Feelings run high in classical music, especially now. You sense it in audience behaviour. At the Festival Hall last week, Crispin Woodhead, chief executive of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, came on stage before a performance of Bach’s Mass in B minor. The gist of his brief welcome, of which more shortly, was to thank the audience for buying tickets: in so doing, they were supporting an organisation that believes in excellence and in making music available to all. We all knew what he meant. No need to say the words “BBC” or “Singers” or “Arts Council” or “cuts”. But there was unexpected opposition. A man at the front started shouting and gesticulating. The crowd jeered back in an effort to silence him, some in language even more colourful than his own. For an instant, the atmosphere was nasty. He was escorted out. The performance began, magnificent and affecting, and the loss was his.
Bach finished this two-hour choral work in 1749, a year before his death. His reason for writing it is unknown. He probably never heard it performed in its entirety and may not have intended it as a single work. The challenge to the singers is immense. At times, the choral writing is in five parts, high-lying, exposed, technically difficult, tiring. The 22-strong Choir of the Enlightenment was impeccable, each entry confident and precise, keeping up with the brisk tempi set by the conductor, Václav Luks, in his OAE debut. Czech-born, a harpsichordist as well as horn player, Luks is an early music specialist. His application and care showed in every bar and in the thoughtful coherence of the whole: look out for his name.
The drama grew out of music and text, without ever being imposed on it. The opening Kyrie was gentle, beseeching, as befitting the words “Lord have mercy”. As the work unfolded, colours and textures were expressed with compelling variety, helped by excellent soloists, notably soprano Julia Doyle, countertenor Tim Mead and baritone Roderick Williams. Of the many arresting moments, one especially stood out. The transition from the quasi-mathematical choral patterning of the Confiteor (“I acknowledge one baptism for the remission of sins”) through the mysterious, collapsing key changes – one of the strangest moments in all Bach’s music – into the explosive Et exspecto (“And I look to the resurrection of the dead”). As ever with this work, the OAE instrumentalist, with an outstanding continuo section acting as a subtle framework, revelled in their solo moments, among them Lisa Beznosiuk (flute), Roger Montgomery (horn) and the trio of trumpets led by David Blackadder.
Woodhead, after the audience interruption, had gone on to say that, since 2020, the OAE – chiefly a period instrument ensemble, but that description is akin to calling a car a box on wheels – has been based in a north London state school, the first residency of its kind. The school hall is its rehearsal space, the players engage with pupils and have teamed up with them on music, dance and video projects. This example, to which little serious attention has been paid, might help shape UK music in the future, if the BBC continues to annul a century of endeavour. (On Friday morning, in an about turn, a statement from the BBC announced suspension of BBC Singers’ closure while alternative funding proposals are explored. We await further news.)
Amid the anger, justified and needed, the joy: in the vaulted splendour of Bristol Cathedral, another pioneering ensemble, the Aurora Orchestra under the baton of Nicholas Collon, reminded us that music matters at every stage of life, including the closing years. They poured their vigorous all into a performance of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony to 120 residents from six homes in Bristol Care Homes group.
Musicians stood amid the audience, playing from memory in characteristic Aurora mode, moving, swinging, swaying, smiling, always meeting the demands of Beethoven’s rhythmically urgent score. If you don’t want a trumpeter blowing down your ear, wave them away, Collon instructed. No one did. The ancient building’s height and resonance (I counted seven seconds’ reverb on a particular end-of-movement chord) made an already immersive experience overwhelming, as well as thrillingly loud. Tears were shed.
The event, one of a series, was spearheaded by Bristol Beacon while its building – the former Colston Hall – is transformed (it will open in November). Streaming to care homes has already been introduced but this was the first live event of its kind, with no limit imposed on degrees of frailty among those attending. Last Wednesday’s trial run, cancelled in March 2020, was the dream of Geoff Crocker, chairman of the care homes group. He told me of the challenges of coping with the eventualities of physical disability, incontinence, dementia, in an hour-long concert in a cathedral. The logistics – unimaginable; no need to enumerate – were handled with grace and cheer.
Preceding the Beethoven, Aurora also gave the world premiere of Héloise Werner’s for mira, a delicate, sensuous tribute to the late Mira Calix, an experimental composer of genius. Meditative, generous, Werner’s short piece explored memories lost, found, treasured. It spoke to, for and about us all.
