Reviews

Fauré, Vivaldi & de Lalande - November 2011
by Nigel Williams

Which should be the happier? A solemn setting of Mary’s exclamation that her spirit rejoices, or a setting of the mass for the dead, written "for pleasure"? There was every reason to smile in Vivaldi's Magnificat and Fauré's Requiem, while the cry of anguish lay in de Lalande's De Profundis.

Clearly not worn out by the afternoon's rehearsal, the chorus had ample energy for all three works, underpinned by organist Edward Batting and a dozen orchestral musicians from the London Sinfonia and highlighted by a handsome quartet of soloists.

The soloists all had Royal College of Music connexions and clearly enjoyed singing together. In their Vivaldi duet Esurientes implevit bonis Susanna Hurrell and Annie Fredriksson negotiated their lines of parallel thirds as if on rails. Susanna Hurrell had most work, filling a building as large as St Martin's with apparent ease, still with the time to flutter a delicate ornament at the close of a rapid Vivaldi line. Also used to large spaces was bass Edward Grint, on the staff of St Paul's. His rendition of Libera Me Domine was full of the joie de vivre and a relish for portamento that might explain how Fauré had composed "for pleasure". Annie Fredriksson had all the versatility demanded of a second soloist, covering a wide compass and blending happily in the ensembles. David Webb was impressive. Seldom loud but always focused, and with diction clear enough even to hear Quis pronounced the French way.

The chorus part in De Profundis covered declamatory homophonic entries and fast contrapuntal passages. The counterpoint held together well, with successive confident entries. As ever, the Choral Society’s words carried clearly. When the words of the psalm were over and they reached Requiem aeternam, the sopranos delivered a welcome sparkle to signal that the piece had entered its finale.

Possibly the hardest choral music lay in Vivaldi’s Magnificat, which opened the programme. Interspersed with verses for solo, duet or trio, were chordal declamations, a fast fugue, and an exposed passage at Fecit potentiam entirely in unison and sung with vigour and clarity. The chordal moments began well at Robin’s cue, but not everyone had the breath to finish some longer phrases. All came in promptly on the word omnes and even put the exposed last consonants in the right place. For In saecula saeculorum the quickfire fugal entries were all securely in place. I even started wondering whether they might dare sing it from memory.

Fauré's Requiem was more familiar still. The Choral Society made that knowledge tell, watching for Robin’s signals and getting right the moments where reviewers think they can catch choirs out. Take, for example, the word lux that sopranos have to pick out of almost nowhere and project softly as the movement Agnus dei changes mood. If I had not heard many other choirs slip up there or heard so many conductors' warnings, I would not have suspected it was difficult.

Having an orchestra made such a difference. A soprano aria coloured with flute and cello lines was lifted from a solo song to a touching musical exchange. Rather than the full St Martin’s organ, Edward Batting played the smaller electronic console, and sat among the orchestra. This made the ensemble tighter and allowed the most dramatic moments in the Requiem to be shared with the other instruments. It was a slightly pared down scoring, minus woodwind and trumpets, but still with a rich palette of colours. Three times, the French horns were given a phrase to set the tone before a big choral entry. The violins largely gave way to darker tones from viola and cello. The solitary violin, Julian Leaper the leader, had his moment in Sanctus, his line circling around the choral antiphon between men and women and culminating in a long high trill that accelerated subtly as it faded almost to nothing. And how excellent it was to have a harp, lending a subtle magic through luminous slow diminuendi that organ alone cannot quite imitate.

There was a lot to enjoy: varied timbres from wind, strings, organ and harp; well-drilled chorus and well-matched soloists; music from three different centuries delivered with clarity and colour. It made for a varied and satisfying evening’s entertainment.

Nigel Williams has served as understudy page-turner for Epsom Chamber Choir, sings irregularly with Epsom Choral Society and regularly (with several Epsom Choral Society members) for St Martin's Church choir.

"Sacred & Secular Summer Music" June 2011
by Nigel Williams

Ten composers, all English speaking and working in the twentieth century, each contributed one secular and one sacred piece to the programme. A bit of fun was to vote on which half supplied the better music. On tonight’s showing, the secular pieces won, playing to the Choral Society’s strengths. Rhythmic accuracy, passing the tunes between parts and cantabile lyricism were all abundantly on show this evening.

Sea shanties grew out of a need to get everyone pulling together. No-one seems to have explained this to Jonathan Willcocks, whose What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor had different off-beats for each part and extra beats even in the best-known line. For most crews, this would raise a severe risk of leaving anchors un-raised or sails un-hoisted, but the Choral Society remained shipshape. Even at a brisk tempo, the complex patterns, glissandi and time-changes remained clear and the words of all four verses came across clearly. This piece must have taken some learning and the singers can claim high scores for both technical merit and artistic impression.

Willcocks suits the Choral Society well. His setting of “Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace” was a highlight of the sacred half. Women’s voices led off, confidently setting out the tune against a cascading counter-melody played by Marion Lea on the piano. As higher voices divided and men joined in, the piece kept its serene mood, however intricate the scoring became.

Two rapid dances scored points for the secular side. Cecilia McDowall’s Oh No John! had men and women singing antiphonally, at a lively pace and with that spirit of fun that turns an enjoyable piece into compelling listening. The lightness of touch and the clear, daylight rests at the end were impressive. Stanford’s Quick! We have but a second was even faster, more homophonic, but with enough verve to lift off the page and become a true jig. As for the spiritual opposite numbers, Glorious and powerful God and I know that my Redeemer liveth, the Stanford sounded less like a school song than Charles Wood’s setting of the same words, but didn’t inspire the same wish as Quick! We have but a second to hear it again. The McDowall’s dissonant moments, rising arpeggios and frequent ornaments were lovingly and skilfully negotiated but still the pace and obvious enjoyment gave the edge to Oh No John!

Elgar bucked the trend. Great is the Lord had the feeling of an oratorio movement that belied its status as a church anthem. Edward Batting’s organ accompaniment was suitably orchestral and the Choral Society adopted their allotted role as an extra section in the orchestra, making every line count even when the score drew the listener’s attention elsewhere. They moved adroitly between low, chugging unison declamation, through brass-like bite to long-sustained phrases in the peroration. My love dwelt in a Northern land was more of a problem. It is asking a lot to balance a very few divisi tenors against twice as many basses and several dozen higher voices. For their part to carry above the accompaniment at “every night we watched the moon” will need the others, even the high sopranos doubling the part, to be several notches quieter. Elgar’s markings seldom leave any doubt, so the very occasional loud bars need to stand out if they are to convey the drama.

Vaughan Williams and Finzi both were sung with a confidence born of long familarity. When the tenors had the spotlight in Loch Lomond the other singers showed that they did know how to accompany discreetly. Eric Whitacre and Bob Chilcott, both far from straightforward to perform, showed signs of becoming favourites of the future. Didn’t it rain had a beautiful-toned interrupted penultimate cadence.

For welcome variety, we heard men’s voices sing Let us now praise famous men, neatly articulating some tricky intervals, and women sing The singing of birds, maintaining their lyricism against an ostinato piano accompaniment. A John Field piano Nocturne from Marion Lea got the warmest applause of the night, since all the Choral Society clapped too, and Edward Batting’s Parry Prelude on St Anne gave a hint of the influence this teacher had had on the rest of the programme.

Finally came the judging, as the audience voted for Sacred or Secular. It came as no surprise that spriteliness and fun won out over sobriety and delicacy. But then, as those members that sang Rossini’s Petite Messe a week earlier could tell you, sacred music can be fun too.