One doesn't necessarily associate punk firebrands the Clash with the radio-ready likes of Third Eye Blind and No Doubt. But in the years since the demise of the Clash, their impact, once localized to the punk underground, has seeped up from the gutter they once championed. ("The truth," rasped Joe Strummer in one of his more memorable couplets, "is known only by guttersnipes.") Burning London affords a dozen-plus popular late-'90s performers the opportunity to tip their hats to the erstwhile scourges of the mainstream. The results, as is common with such tributes, are wildly mixed.
With four recordings in six months, this seems to be open season for the Poulenc motets. The newcomers are up against stiff competition, and don't emerge unscathed from comparison either with the college next door (under Marlow on Conifer) or with the choir under the musical director of the one further along the road (Rutter on Collegium/Gamut).