While Karlheinz Stockhausen stands now as an unparalleled figure in 20th century electronic and conceptual composition, his early works show quite beautifully (and perhaps inevitably) his place in the tradition of the generation of post-Brahms rebellion. Despite the radical nature that would emerge in such pieces as the vocal sextet Stimmung or the infamous Helicopter Quartet for airborne strings, he is revealed to be a formalist, a disciple at least somewhat faithful to his teacher Olivier Messiaen in the early pieces presented on Plus-Minus.

The three pieces here date from 1951, 1959 and 1963, or in Stockhausen years written between the ages of 23 to 35. Serialism was certainly well established by that point in time, and the composer shows himself to be no stranger to the miniature sensibilities of Webern or the percussive systems of Varèse — there's even a momentary vocal outburst à la his contemporary Luciano Berio. But by no means does this mean that, still at a relatively early point in his career, he didn't have his own voice. The fragmented pulsations and tonal washes heard here are indicative of his later electronic works.

The headliner here is the premiere recording of Plus-Minus, an indeterminate score based on the Fibonacci numerical series. The score is comprised of seven pages each including 53 tonal instructions and another seven pages with staff notations and verbal instructions for realizing the piece. The "plus" and "minus" of the title represent choices the performer can make — in a sense moving up or down to other alternatives. The piece was conceived as a teaching tool, and in his liner notes Christopher Fox (who, along with pianist John Snijders created the score) acknowledges that the piece has a curious authorship in its relationships between composer, interpreter and performer. It's wonderfully played by a 14-piece chamber group drawn, like the other pieces here, from the excellent Ives Ensemble.

Kreuzpiel No. 1/7 (for oboe, bass clarinet, piano and three percussionists) is the oldest of the pieces here, and also the most referential, merging twelve-tone methods with jazz inflections. It's a bit uneven, but comes off as the sort of fast-cutting study that John Zorn would explore some three decades later. Refrain No. 11, from 1959, clocks in at 10 minutes, just under the Kreuzpiel. Essentially a percussion trio, it employs piano, glockenspiel, vibraphone and celesta with handheld woodblocks, cowbells and crotales (a rack of small, tuned cymbals) and more devoutly embraces a Schoenbergian language. It also represents an early example of Stockhausen's graphic scores: The single page features a stave spiraling outward from the center with notated trills and glissandi on a transparency which can be positioned at the discretion of the players (unfortunately not shown on this release, however.)

Overall, the 70 minutes here make for a wonderful listen (for the sort of person who realizes Schoenberg, for example, actually can work as dinner music) while at the same time being an engagingly fresh take on the vocabulary of 20th century composition.