Giya Kancheli is a Georgian composer (although currently residing in Belgium) who, at least for the past couple of decades, has found a prominent place within the school of Baltic post-modernists, sharing some stylistic sensibilities with Part, Vasks and Gorecki, while also forging his own distinctive sound. Although certainly no stranger to vocals, Kancheli brings them to the fore as instruments with the two works found within his latest release, Little Imber

"Amao Omi" is the more immediate of the two works, and meshes to effective ends the styles of Baltic folksong, liturgical choral music, and minimalism. The choir, set against an instrumental backdrop of saxophone quartet, is an interesting sound palette, and references other modern composers such as Philip Glass and Michael Nyman. The comparisons are only heightened by the slow, tonal pacing of the work. Although largely tentative and somber, there are occasional outbursts from the chorus - both in unison with the saxophone quartet, as well as accent stabs of punctuation - that bring added emotional energy to the piece. Although the lyrics are not provided, the title alludes to Georgian verse about war, and the pacing of the work, as it oscillates between quiet despair and moments of sudden panic, play to this theme.

"Little Imber" is both complementary and something else entirely. A mix of choir, children's chorus, male vocal solo, and chamber ensemble, it feels both through-composed and cinematic. There are so many separate elements of style sewn together in this piece that its patchwork focus is its main unifying theme. The non-classical timbre of the male lead acts almost as narrator to the festivities that bounce from something akin to simple children's song to meditative choral elegies. A pastoral flute strain can emerge out of a hushed choral dirge, before leading the chamber ensemble back to somber sustains. The children's chorus is often placed as an almost distant, angelic refrain to the mix. "Little Imber" is also tied to war through its title, as the people in the British town of Imber were deeply affected and relocated during World War II. The children's chorus and male lead take on almost haunting roles in light of this, as if conjuring memories of those from the past.

As both works deal with themes of war and suffering - although mainly through allusion - you might expect the overall tone to be a bit bleak. And though it does carry that through in places, it certainly is not the sole theme. Much of the music from the prominent Baltic composers marry this balance between dark reflections on their political and war-torn histories with an almost unshakable grounding in their religious faith and unifying national heritage. And so it seems here. There is a quiet resolve to this music, as a lone lantern bravely flickering in the window on a cold night.

Overall, the pieces on Little Imber should find an appreciative audience with those interested in any of composers mentioned in this review. This set offers a touch more immediacy than some of Kancheli's previous work, but continues the style he has established in recent years.