It says a good deal about the state of the record industry that this world première recording of Mark­Anthony Turnage’s second evening­length opera should launch ENO’s in­house label. Its stage predecessor‚ an adaptation of Steve Berkoff’s Greek (1988)‚ was a jewel in the crown of the late­lamented Argo label (7/94)‚ yet it is the new work that has the greater potential audience appeal. The Silver Tassie stakes out its claim to a permanent place in the repertoire by engaging our sympathies as surely as Wozzeck or West Side Story‚ deploying a musical idiom that sits somewhere between these two‚ with Tippett‚ Britten and Knussen the most obvious direct influences. Whatever the models‚ Turnage’s soundworld is never less than intensely personal‚ trademark wailing saxophones and all‚ and his instinct for musical demotic is at its very best in the dance genre allusions of the final act. Some background may be helpful to the uninitiated. The libretto is based on Sean O’Casey’s Dublin­set‚ anti­war play of 1928. The vigorous First Act presents the main characters and gives them a real social context. The hero is – or turns out to be – Harry Heegan‚ who‚ while on leave from the trenches in 1915‚ brings home the eponymous tassie – a football trophy. Turnage ingeniously adopts a more overtly tonal idiom at salient points‚ ensuring that the work’s football theme is easy to pick up. When the men are called back to the front‚ we are pitched into a static tableau that risks seeming merely flat after all that kinetic activity. Without the visual element‚ the combination of Tippettian harmony and Britten­ish choral writing doesn’t quite come off. The action picks up in the Dublin hospital ward of Act 3. With Harry paralysed from the waist down and his neighbour Teddy blinded‚ we discover that Harry’s girlfriend has deserted him for his (able­bodied) best friend. The rest of the drama contrasts Harry’s current plight with his former glory and ultimately addresses the need for us all to move on and live our lives. There is some wonderfully poignant music of loss and despair in Act 4‚ Turnage’s new­found delicacy and introspection complementing his earlier preoccupation with busy surface activity. The present set‚ lavishly packaged for a bargain release‚ was taped during the opera’s original run rather than the recent revival and hence can boast Gerald Finley’s magnificent‚ definitive Harry Heegan. The veteran Gwynne Howell‚ taking the awkwardly symbolic role of The Croucher‚ is Act 2’s prophet of doom‚ while Sarah Connolly works wonders with Susie‚ the insistently religious neighbour­turned­nurse. The minor characters are well characterised‚ even where the Irish accent comes and goes. Live recording brings the usual mix of losses and gains. Finley’s personal triumph is well conveyed‚ although he does wander off­mike in the key football song (CD 1 track 10). Generally speaking‚ the words are far clearer than they could ever be in the opera house. That close focus is rather less sympathetic when it comes to the choral singing of Act 2‚ with the usual flaws in the contribution of the stretcher­bearing boys. I should mention that enthusiastic applause is (briefly) retained; O’Casey’s anti­war theme and sympathetic deconstruction of masculine bravado obviously struck a chord. You can buy the set online but I wouldn’t advise that you drop into the Coliseum foyer as the site suggests – it’s currently a building site.