Daniel Kellogg writes from a Christian perspective, George Crumb as a humanist, but both express awe in the face of the mystery of Creation. Kellogg uses a setting of a fourth-century hymn, much as Crumb has used plainchant (in Makrokosmos for example) and both composers reveal the influence of Messiaen, but their music sounds very different. Crumb requires his electronic trio of flute, cello and piano to don half-masks. His intention was to avoid anthropomorphy, but I feel the practice has the opposite effect, its very novelty drawing attention to itself. On record, of course, the music stands on its own merits, which are substantial. A parody of the opening bars of Also sprach Zarathustra appears several times, bizarrely evoking the Dolmetsch Ensemble’s performance of the 1812 Overture at a Hoffnung concert. The central movements are variations named after geological eras, evolving from starkness to a beguilingly lyrical Nocturne, which, to give the Messiaen-spotting game away, is subtitled ‘for the end of time’.

There’s nothing corny or flaky about the music of Kellogg (b1976), once described as ‘the most gifted of the American under-30s’. Divinum Mysterium adds considerable weight to that claim. Its developmental inventiveness, mercurial melodies, jagged rhythms, glittering textures and percussive piano recall Stravinsky, but they also echo the cosmic dances of Messiaen’s Turangalîla Symphony.

eighth blackbird play with great aplomb and, in Divinum Mysterium, power: beware the dynamic contrasts if listening on headphones. Their version of Vox balaenae easily stands up to the other four available recordings.