So what is John Tavener's music? Ecstatic? Illuminating? A short cut to Nirvana? The ultimate anti-depressant? The title of this book, Lifting the Veil, suggests apt female-cum-Orthodox associations. Dudgeon is dogged: if he has to prise off all seven veils to locate the core, he will. His sources include Tavener, and an air of the confessional pervades. One is never wholly sure that the composer isn't feeding out gently disguised gambits as part of a propaganda process. But Dudgeon's insights are cleverer: at times, deliberate counter-propaganda. He has a direct line to Mother Thekla, the Yorkshire Orthodox abbess who was Tavener's librettist and mentor for a decade. We watch Tavener lurch from prop to prop in a fraught search for integrity, as he semi-liberates himself from mother (or surrogate mother) fixations to embrace a new maturity, marriage and paternity, amid a fresh musical objectivity embracing Orthodox "nomes" number-patterns and even Greek dance steps... John Tavener is brazenly quirky, and his route is strewn with his exotic discarded muses (Mia Farrow was one). Venerated like icons, they are generally dumped when they respond. There's a lot of unconsummated sex: Eros is the book's, as Tavener's, presiding deity.
Dudgeon has come up with an intriguing psychosexual biography, akin to those "clever carpets of complexity" the composer purports to shun in composers such as Harrison Birtwistle.