The music of Wojciech Kilar‚ 70 in July‚ has been variously described as ‘spuriously kitsch’‚ ‘naively devotional’ or ‘intuitively post­modern’; characteristics found in all four works on this disc. Kilar seems incapable of shaking off his background as a composer for the movies (his successes include Dracula and Death and the Maiden) and the result is music full of epic spectacle if somewhat superficial emotional impact. So this disc‚ with performances of equally epic proportions‚ stands every chance of attracting a huge and enthusiastic following for Kilar’s music. The opulent‚ static‚ richly consonant harmony with which Krzesany begins brings to mind Górecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs. But wait: what do we have here? At 3'52" great swathes of violent chromatics tumble down through the full orchestra in a burst of almost horrifying dissonance. Dramatic‚ if short­lived‚ stuff greatly enhanced by a hearty recording which reminds us just how spatial stereo sound can be. The Polish National RSO pack a hefty punch‚ with pugilistic brass and gloriously incisive strings‚ even if their big toccata at 6'44" reveals less than immaculate ensemble. Antoni Wit wrings every last gramme of excitement and drama from this supercharged score. Angelus and Exodus are extended choral works providing the Cracow singers with ample opportunities to blow away any remaining cobwebs; which they do with a vengeance. Both works are rather too crudely cinematic to be completely convincing (I find the closing crowd scene of Exodus little short of farcical) and both overstay their welcome: the 19­minute orchestral introduction to Exodus‚ based entirely on a seven­note melody‚ is the nearest thing I’ve ever heard to Ravel’s Boléro: apart‚ that is‚ from Ravel’s Boléro itself. On the other hand Victoria (a vaguely vulgar setting of ‘Venimus‚ Vidimus‚ Deus Vicit’) benefits by being very succinct (just three­and­a­half minutes) and very dramatic.