Alas this is Maxwell Davies at his bad bad worst.
I'm full of admiration for Maxwell Davies for writing music for such a great range of contexts and performers, including amateur choirs, schoolchildren, rock bands, bagpipers, etc., and for understanding the role of his art much more widely than merely the new music community. And he can certainly write reasonably tuneful things that will be inoffensive to most and are sometimes sort of charming.
But being sometimes an admirer of his more earnest work, I anticipated hearing a great master flourishing and blossoming with the ease and fun of writing light music. Instead it is mostly limp and unsatisfying, dull in texture, wet in harmony, merely passable in melody and rhythmn, and altogether disappointing.
Which brings me to the conclusion that Maxwell Davies' inspiration comes from icy tension and dark foreboding, both of nature and the soul. His best work is his most radical, most nasty, most edgy, and most of it dates from 1965-1980. I don't have any special preference for darkness in music, but in his case it is the time his work is exciting. Additionally he is far more interesting the further he gets from convential musical forces. He has been capable of using orchestra and choir in deeply dull ways obfuscating his musical thought throughout his career, but was fabulous with the chamber combinations of the Fires of London.
Suggested alternatives: Eight Songs for a Mad King, Image - Reflection - Shadow, Missa Super l'homme arme, Renaissance & Baroque realisations.