They open with a traditional Norwegian song, Ingen Vinner Frem Til Den Evige Ro, arranged by Norwegian composer Ola Gjeilo (b.1978), now living in the US. That bright, clear ensemble is immediately evident, and the rich basses emerge through the flowing folk lines. The balance of the tenors leading in the third verse over the more choral textures below is also well judged. Lithuanian Onutė Narbutautė (b.1956) is a composer new to me, and her Vasara (Summer) definitely intrigues me to hear more. It opens with a cuckoo call, and makes use of vocalisations of bird calls throughout, rather reminiscent of Janequin’s Le Chant des Oiseaux from some 500 years previous. Aside from the bird sounds, playful flowing rhythms evoke the two young lovers running barefoot through nature. Pianist Alison Frances Gill joins the choir for Lili Boulanger’s (1893-1918) Hymne au Soleil next. Setting an atmospheric text describing Brahmins worshipping the rising sun, Boulanger contrasts bright, homophonic choral treatment of the text initially with more polyphonic entries to evoke seven rushing steeds. There’s plenty of word painting, with high chords for ‘il se lève, il s’élance’(it rises, it soars), and there are also delicate choral echoes alongside a rich solo from mezzo soprano Sarah Anne Champion, before the declamatory style of the opening returns, the combined singers here delivering a powerful climax.
To calm things down, Alison Frances Gill treats us next to one of Rachmaninov’s (1873-1943) 12 Romances, op. 21, namely No. 5, Lilacs. The rippling, flowing textures are given a watery lightness of touch, and Gill effortlessly delivers the final cascade with a flourish.
Morten Lauridsen’s (b.1943) Les chansons des roses, which gives this album its title, is a popular favourite of choirs, with its contrasting tempos and styles across five short movements. Here, they take the opening En une seule fleur at a rapid tempo, making it dance along, staying just the right side of not garbling the French text, although their proficient precision is in danger of making it feel a little throwaway here. For Contre qui, rose, Lauridsen is in the familiar territory of his most famous piece, O magnum mysterium, and it receives a suitably tender reading here, with pure sopranos and rich basses. De ton rêve trop plein contains the most variety, with sparky, snatched faster sections against slower, sweeter passages, and the singers capture the folksy feeling well here, with excitement in the contrasts of tempo and dynamics. For La rose complète, we’re back to O magnum mysterium (Lauridsen does definitely have some trademark chord progressions!), and Gower-Smith shapes the slow build here with considerable tenderness, with a lightness and transparency here to the overall sound from the singers. The piano joins for the final song, Dirait-on, a pretty song that borders on the cheesy, but is saved by clever canons and increasing complexity of texture. The sopranos in particular produce a rich sound here, and there is a successful build overall, before a well-controlled quiet ending.
To break up the choral textures, next comes a performance of the final song, Fleurs, from Poulenc’s song cycle Fiançailles pour rire. Mezzo soprano Beth Moxon gives a tender rendition here, with Gill providing gentle pulsing piano chords in the background, and the return of the first verse is particularly delicate and touching.
Jonathan Dove’s (b.1959) The Passing of the Year was composed in memory of his mother, and sets texts by Blake, Dickinson and Tennyson, amongst others. It launches in with minimalist rapid motion in Invocation, with slow lines on top, and the piano driving the rhythm, and it all builds to a glorious final chord. The singers are in their element here, really being able to expand their sound and create extremes of contrast, and in The narrow bud, their lines fall over one another with great energy over the bell-like piano, before the sopranos positively soar for ‘the spirits of the air’. Answer July has a train-like insistence in its playful rhythmic insistence, leading to its triumphant ending. The singers capture the breathy, muggy oppressiveness of Hot sun, cool fire, with its thick, complex textures, and the lyrical tenors lead in Ah, Sun-flower!, with the upper then lower voices cascading around them. Adieu! Farewell earth’s bliss! is tender and haunting, with the singers again drawing out the contrast between the plaintive ‘I am sick, I must die’ and the anger of the middle verse. Then the cycle concludes with Ring out, wild bells, the ‘O Earth’ chant returning from the opening movement, crashing into the circling piano. Entries ring out, and once again, Dove is the master of choral contrasts, with ominous unison for ‘let him die’, against defiant ‘grief’. The singers build to a glorious sound, letting their powerful combined voices bring this exciting work to a glowing conclusion.
And then for something different to finish – the finale, Make Our Garden Grow, from Bernstein’s (1918-1990) Candide. Here, tenor Gareth Meirion Edmunds opens with a strong, open-hearted Candide, to which soprano Eleanor Garside responds with bright tenderness as Cunegonde. The company expands to seven solo voices, before building to the full-throttled finale. Inevitably, the piano can’t quite compete here, but the operatic scale of the singing is very powerful.
