A warm evening and a near-capacity Albert Hall set the stage for Sir John Eliot Gardiner and two of his ensembles, the Orchestre Révolutionaire et Romantique and Monteverdi Choir, joined by a quartet of internationally renowned solists for this performance of Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis.

The work, into which Beethoven channelled his own faith, following extensive research into previous masses written by composers from the pre-Baroque period through to Haydn, remains to this day an exceptionally challenging work for all performers.
The large string sections were offset by wind and brass of authentic to the early nineteenth century, giving the orchestra its unique sound. Rather than being placed in a line across the front the soloists were placed behind the orchestra to the right of the choir, giving them a position as another section of an overall whole.

Despite an unfortunately nervy start in the first couple of phrases (the opening chord was far from together) by the time the choir entered with the opening dotted rhythm ‘Kyrie’ – written on an awkward third beat of the bar – things had settled. The choir’s excellent, clear diction was audiable throughout and the dovetailing between the entries for orchestra, choir and soloists was beautiful.

The contrast between the pianissimo ending of the Kyrie and the fortissimo opening of the Gloria could not have been more marked, a full acclamation that gave real impetus to the opening phrase as it was passed from altos to tenors, basses then sopranos, leading to joyous rhythmic unison. The interjections from the soloists, both individually and when singing together, were a delight, finding just the right balance of floating over the timbres below and blending with them as required. Particularly sensitive work from Lucy Crowe who never came close to smothering the sound, something other sopranos I’ve heard have been inclined to do. The long dominant pedal section leading into the final Amen was taken at the fearsomely quick tempo for which John Eliot Gardiner is renowned – thrilling, to the very end of the movement.

Following the Credo and Sanctus performed in much the same manner: dizzyingly fast in places, with dynamic markings observed at times almost to extremes – came the lyrical, reflective opening of the Sanctus and calm peace of the Benedictus with its violin solo played with grace and feeling by orchestra leader Peter Hanson.

The distant sound of war drums in the closing Agnus Dei reminded me of Beethoven’s troubled relationship with opera and the theatre. At this performance we perhaps came closer to blurring the line between the secular and sacred as I have ever heard in this piece – and it was an absolute pleasure to do so.

Lucas Elkin

Mahler’s seventh symphony, which dates from 1904/5 has more colours in its palette than Joseph’s famous coat so it’s a terrific instrumental showcase – almost a concerto for orchestra. Its problem, and perhaps the reason, it has never achieved quite the popularity of, say his fifth and eighth symphonies, is that it doesn’t really hang together. It feels more like a suite of five pieces, all of them compelling, but each one making an independent statement. Not that this matters in the least when Berlin Philharmoniker and Kirill Petrenko are in the excellent form they brought to this Prom – and, incidentally, what a joy to see them back here once more.

They entered formally at the beginning to a long round of applause. None of the shuffling on at random favoured by most British orchestra for this famous German band. When I was a little girl I read The Observer’s Book of Musical Instruments – a lot. It included a “map” of how an orchestra is seated as if it were immutable. How interesting it is, I thought, as I watched the Berlin Phil’s second violins settling in opposite the firsts and the cellos next to the firsts that these days there are many ways of seating an orchestra as there are orchestras and conductors.

Petrenko gave us lots of textural silkiness in the opening adagio as we worked through all those mood and tempo changes with sombre melodies led by unlikely instruments such as solo trombone. The first, 30 minute, movement is intensely demanding both in terms of technical skill and stamina but of course that was no problem for this orchestra.

Immaculately clean and clear horn motifs in hunting mode dominated the second movement. And the impeccably articulated avian sounds from the woodwind and percussive pizzicato from the strings created a complete change of mood for this “Nachtmusik” section. Petrenko also had fun with the soupy little tune (Mahler meets Eric Coates) in the strings which follows.

We then got all the required mystery in the high octane scherzo with Petrnko bent almost double to stress the music’s many quirky contrasts.

The fourth movement – also badged “Nachtmusik” – features unusual instrumentation including guitar and mandolin. The guitarist, Matthew Hunter, emerged from the back of the violas and returned there at the end of the movement. Petrenko carefully brought each group in and made sure we heard every note of the tiny, tinny sound of the mandolin.

And so to the magnificent, magisterial finale complete with tam tam and all seven percussionists simultaneously very busy with bells and more. Petrenko played up the varying moods and colours with lots of dynamic power and his attention to the big breath before the final chord made a fitting climax. No wonder half the audience immediately leapt to its feet.

A single work 75 minute concert, this was – surely – one of the highlights of the 2022 Prom season.

Susan Elkin

Chineke! was founded in 2015 by Chi-chi Nwanoku (principal double bass in this performance) to provide career opportunities for established and emerging Black and ethnically diverse musicians in the UK and Europe. Chineke! Voices, who formed the choir at this concert, is its sister organisation. Players and singers are drawn together several times a year. That means that they don’t play together as a group all the time and sometimes you can feel that lack of the tight bonding you get in an orchestra which works together continuously.

The main work in this concert was Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony – with very large orchestral forces and a huge choir reaching almost to the beginning of the Royal Albert Hall’s dome. This was old fashioned Beethoven, reminiscent of the recordings I grew up with and light years away form the likes of Eliot Gardiner, Harnoncourt and Norrington. Kevin John Edusei, a measured conductor with a clear down beat and plenty of smiles, took all four movements more slowly than some of his contemporaries and it became almost majestic in places. I don’t mind hearing it like this sometimes because even if there’s occasional raggedness we’re allowed to relish the detail – such as more prominent timp than usual in the opening movement and some very incisive cello and bass pizzicato as we work though all that anxious, anticipatory D minor.

The second movement is almost a timp concerto and Jauvon Gilliam positioned high on the tiers did a fine, incisive job duetting with nicely judged woodwind passages. The soloists arrived quite dramatically on stage before the third movement in which the strings produced an attractive cantabile sound.

The star of the famous finale was definitely bass-baritone Ryan Speedo Green who has one of those powerful, chocolate-rich voices which makes you sit up and listen extra hard from his very first note – a magnificent performance and some colourful quartet work with tenor Zwakele Tshabalala, mezzo Raehann Bryce-Davis and soprano Nicole Cabell.

The choir sang with plenty of attack but there were several spots in which sopranos and altos slipped out of synch with the orchestra. I have sung this work in this space (a massed Kent event with the Kent County Youth Orchestra some years ago) and understand how tricky it is if you seat women on one side of the organ and men on the other because they struggle to hear each other and everyone is a very long way from the conductor which means a time lag. So I sympathise. Each time it happened Edusei got it back on track very quickly but maybe a bit more rehearsal would have prevented these small lapses.

Nonetheless it was an exciting performance, reinforced by the whole raison d’etre of Chineke! and the audience went pretty wild at the end.

The evening had started with Lilacs, a 15 minute work by George Walker. It premiered in 1995 and it won Walker the Pullitzer Prize the following year – the first composer of Black American descent to achieve this award. It’s a song cycle comprising settings of four separate verses of an elegy by Walt Whitman written to honour Abraham Lincoln after the latter’s assassination. The orchestra tackled the tricky score competently enough and Nicole Cabell sang with vibrant passion although the words weren’t audible. The best bit was flute and percussion evoking the sound of the “gray-brown bird.”

Susan Elkin

The architects of Royal Albert Hall knew what they were doing – acoustically as well as visually. For this performance of Elgar’s unique masterpiece, the London Philharmonic and Hallé choirs filled almost all the choir seats so that some of them were singing down to the second tier of boxes and filling every cubic centimetre of that vast space – and the sound was sumptuous.

I have long thought (and for the record, my Masters is in 19th century poetry) that while John Henry Newman should have full credit for driving the re-establishment of Roman Catholicism in Britain, he was no great shakes as a poet. His long mystic poem The Dream of Gerontius would, I’m sure have disappeared down the U bend of unremarkable poetry a century ago had Elgar, a committed Catholic, not got hold of it and given it a permanent afterlife – not unlike the one Gerontius gets in what Elgar was obliged to call an oratorio although the term is a misfit.

Edward Gardiner is a sensitive, scrupulous and cleanly clear conductor who mouths every word. This 90 minute piece uses instrumentation as expressively as it does the three soloists and Gardiner gave us every detail with grace and passion – from the warm darkness of the opening of the prelude with muted violas, clarinets and bassoons through to the final chord.

From his first note, tenor Alan Clayton – a big, bearded Hagrid-like figure – arrested the audience as the titular, dying Gerontius. His voice is piercing and poingnant and his interpretation made dramatic use of dynamics especially in the agonised “I can no more” passage.

Bass, James Platt as the Priest and later as Angel of the Agony sings sostenuto so well that I wondered whether he was using circular breathing. The drama of the narrative was heightened by the contrast between the male singers.

There is usually a tiny break at the end of Part I after which we’re in the next world where Gerontius awaits judgement – and this performance was no exception. Gardiner sipped some water, the orchestra flexed muscles and re-tuned – and Jamie Barton entered, larger than life and glittering in her statement gold dress.

Like many people I am very used to the classic 1965 Barbirolli recording with Janet Baker as the Angel and I’ve seen various mezzos following more or less in Baker’s footsteps over the years. Barton does something very different with it. Her angel is also an actor. She smiles benignly, often turning towards Clayton, and places every note with what feels like warmth and kindness: “Softly and gently, dearly ransomed soul/ In my most loving arms I now enfold thee”. She uses her magnificent voice, of course, but also makes every one present feel blessed. It’s a pretty stunning – and profoundly moving performance.

And behind all this was the vast chorus making a stupendous sound. “The mind bold / And independent”, the punchy double fugue sung by the men as Demons at high speed was a fine moment. So was the final “Praise to the Holiest in the Height”.

My eyes were wet at the end.

Susan Elkin