James Arden checks out the garage rockers latest album.
The Christian rock band from Brighton bring religion to the masses.
Recipe for modern R'n'B album: liberal helpings of guest rappers and an overdose of sexual euphemisms.
However, quantity did little to hinder quality, the gathered forces making a highly individual mark with the opening work, Five Negro Spirituals taken from Michael Tippett’s touching oratorio A Child of Our Time, first performed in 1944. The pieces aptly demonstrated much of the choir’s range, showcasing vocal dexterity and clarity in both moments of delicacy and in the suitably ear-shattering climaxes. Perhaps in-keeping with the programme theme, ‘The English Pastoral Tradition’, this was a highly polished performance, smoothing over many gospel and blues nods. Nevertheless, ‘Nobody knows’ and ‘By and by’ both possessed great buoyancy while ‘Go down, Moses’ held more than enough Old Testament conviction to convince, even if this was very much à la King James Version.
Vaughan Williams’ Mass in G minor drew the audience even further back in time than the 20-year gap between his work and Tippett’s might suggest due to its evocations of 16th century music, the influence of Thomas Tallis, whose compositions were subject to a rediscovery at the time, particularly evident. Seymour allowed the vibrancy of the art of that time to frequently shine through, notably in the lyrical meanderings of the Gloria and the Sanctus. While many louder moments proved somewhat overpowering in the Lyons acoustic, the choir utilised a marvelous sense of ensemble to pull off the softer sections. Despite occasional intonation issues, the solo quartet provided numerous highlights, presenting a sumptuous blend of unique voices: rich in tone, eloquent in delivery.
Opening the second half was Missa Pange Lingua, a new piece penned by third year music student George Haynes. With reduced forces finally resembling a conventional chamber choir, the work slotted remarkably well into the programme, demonstrating an already mature compositional voice capable of stylistic cohesion. Indeed, if anything, it provided a great deal more musical interest than the first half had, featuring added harmonic colour through its subtle blend of consonance and dissonance.
Robert Pearsall’s brief but beautiful ‘Lay a garland’ proved an excellent tonic to guard against the severity of what was to follow: Herbert Howells’ Requiem, a six-part mass written in 1932 following the death of the composer’s nine-year old son. The work somehow generated its own atmosphere from the offset, unsettled poignancy stemming from what often emerged as a collected reflection upon grief rather than expression of grief itself. A refreshingly sombre take on Psalm 23 inspired with its severity, before two heartfelt Requiem aeternam movements sandwiched an intense exploration of Psalm 121. It was the final setting of words from the Book of Revelation, though, that packed the deepest emotional punch, a sense of despair almost palpable within the ebb and flow of the work’s chromaticism.
An encore seemed almost inappropriate after such outpouring, but a return to ‘Lay a garland’ just about did the trick, the luscious polyphony of Pearsall’s writing washing over the ears of the audience with renewed meaning in the wake of Howells’ touching work.
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