‘Subversive’ may not be the first word that comes to mind in connection with John Rutter, but (half-humorously perhaps) it is one he uses himself. In a brief introduction to the collection of carols he notes that two of his earliest are included, the Nativity Carol and Shepherd’s Pipe Carol, both written as a student in the 1960s. ‘Writing Christmas carols,’ he says, ‘was an undercover way of slipping a tune or two into circulation’ at a time when ‘the only officially approved style of composition for a classically-trained music student was post-Webernian serialism’. If so, then he has a point, and, since ‘subversive’ (in artistic circles, at any rate) is usually considered a good thing to be, then it must be chalked up for virtue.

His compositions have other virtues, too. The choral writing is that of someone who has it in his bones and knows the business from inside. He writes for enjoyment, which the singers themselves appear to share. He gives them sufficient challenge, specially in keeping the rhythms neat and lively, but manages, as few modern composers do, not to be exclusive – he brings people in to sing rather than sending out the message that singing is a job best left to the professionals. Like Britten in this (though unlike in much else), he knows how to write for children, as in the Star Carol, where Sir David Willcocks wanted a refrain that could be taught to children at a Christmas concert in the Albert Hall and sung by them there and then. And he is a good practical musician, writing Mary’s Lullaby overnight to fill a three-minute gap in a television programme from his Cambridge college, together with the required 40-second instrumental postlude. But when he sets Herrick’s poem starting What sweeter music he does put the very words into our mouth, where they acquire a slightly more acid flavour.

Either of these discs singly, and certainly the two together, will impress the listener with Rutter’s characteristics – the lingering around a nostalgic third or fifth of the scale, exercising a catchy phrase in sequences, introducing a little groovy syncopation and a perky obbligato in the accompaniment. Occasionally something less typical will emerge – the Wild Wood Carol, Out of the deep with its cello solo set darkly against the voices, Behold the tabernacle of God strong in construction as in colour. Yet, even by the fairy-lights of Christmas, and even with the ideal advocacy of his singers and instrumentalists, Rutter’s subversiveness wants strengthening. Too often one seems to hear his audiences murmur a syrupy ‘Isn’t that sweet!’ or even ‘Isn’t that cute!’.