It's a tricky proposition when a member of a culturally dominant class gives a dedication to a historically subjugated group: Whites praising black culture, straight people speaking for the gay community — it's not verboten nor should it be, but there's a certain level of discomfiture about it. John Zorn invites such speculation with his new suite Femina, although such will not be entertained here.

The record's lush packaging includes a list of 50 or so dedicatees ranging from Joan of Arc and Hildegard von Bingen to Dorothy Parker and Martha Graham to Gertrude Stein, Louise Bourgoisie, Yoko Ono and Meredith Monk. The music itself is played by a sextet of women in Zorn's circle: Jennifer Choi on violin, Okkyung Lee on cello; Carol Emanuel on harp, Sylvie Courvoisier on piano; Shayna Dunkelman on percussion and Ikue Mori on electronics, with Laurie Anderson providing an opening incantation. At least as central as any of those lists of names in the overall production is a 52-page perfect bound book of Kiki Smith's photographs. And lest the point be missed, the dye-cut gatefold cover and the plastic sleeve its housed in are liberally sprinkled with engendered circle-and-cross symbols. All told, it's a beautiful package, with the Smith book putting it over the top of richness.

But all of this is precursor to the music contained within. A pretty package and a heartfelt card don't change what's inside the box. And what's inside the box is 35 minutes of elegant, engaging music. On top of all the other front-loaded context here, this is Zorn's first "file card" composition in years, and his return to the technique that put him on the map is both wizened and happily familiar. The cinematic quick-cuts that result from the method (with "scenes" outlined on index cards and then sequenced into a score) have marked some of Zorn's most exhilarating work, from Naked City to The Big Gundown and Spillaine. But whether a product of the composer's age or the fact that this one's for the ladies in the house, the edges are rounder here, the focus softer. There are still sharp turns and the occasional scream, but most of the four-part suite swings gently between serene passages and lilting themes, with the piano, strings and harp being the primary voices. Zorn's best work comes not when he's scoring films but when he's being cinematic in the abstract, and his passions are most often roused in dedication to other artists. Trappings aside (and after all, he didn't claim to be a cowboy when interpreting Morricone), Femina is a satisfying work of classic Zorn.