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