There’s no doubt about it: Johann Sebastian Bach’s Mass in B Minor is a masterpiece. It is one of the most exhilarating and satisfying works both to perform and to listen to, and probably receives more performances now than at any time in its 275-year history.
We are thrilled to be performing it at Leeds Minster on Good Friday 18 April at 7pm. Tickets are available and you will be very welcome.
At St Peter’s Singers, we’ve been enjoying some wonderful rehearsals: those of us who know the work have loved returning to it afresh, discovering new things we hadn’t heard before; and those who don’t know it have been blown away by the beauty of the music as well as the technical demands it makes on us as singers.
The B Minor Mass is the product of a formidable intellect, a synthesis of Bach’s musical and theological knowledge, his spirituality and understanding of the human condition, and his artistic mastery. And despite its immense complexity, it remains accessible and deeply moving, resonating with audiences across centuries.
You only have to hear the first four spine-tingling bars, as they build to the most impassioned pleading from the human soul, to know that despite the Latin words and the unfamiliar text, this music can speak both to you and for you, whatever you do or don’t believe.
And with those four bars a journey begins, with music that gives voice to deep sadness and grief, wildly joyful dance and celebration, cheeky intimacy, solemn formality, prayerfulness, awe, longing, confidence, even doubt – an astonishing range of human feelings and experience. And all the while working through the Latin text of the Catholic Church’s Mass!
It’s extraordinary to think that Bach himself almost certainly never heard it in its entirety: he only completed it in the last year of his life, and almost certainly didn’t have the resources it requires at his disposal in Leipzig. Listening to it complete, as we do, is a privilege.
But it was composed long ago, and the world has changed, so what does it mean for us today, and does performing it on Good Friday mean anything?
The answer varies, of course, depending on your perspective.
For many, the music still speaks deeply on its own, with a spirituality that touches the parts that little else can reach. It provides a much needed stability and counterweight to the shallow and fly-by-night nature of our Social Media-driven world. The opacity of the Latin ensures that the text is not intrusive. Perhaps the Easter weekend, with its two bank holidays, may bring a slight jolt in the normal rhythms of life, and with it perhaps a prompt to seek out meaning and connection with something deeper than daily life normally offers. Perhaps a live performance in the grandeur of a beautiful church may prove more meaningful than a recording played in the living room.
For Christians, anything that illuminates faith and encourages prayer may be welcome. For those who, on Good Friday, may have experienced a week of intense and dramatic re-enactment of Jesus’ last days and hours, the evening – with Jesus now laid to rest in the tomb – brings a spiritual, almost eerie, peace, and the chance to step back and ponder what it all means. The Mass, reflecting as it does on the sacrifice made by Christ on the cross, is an ideal and – in translation – familiar text, and Bach’s music, as it explores and illuminates it almost clause by clause can undoubtedly bring insight, joy and prayerfulness.
But wherever we come from, Bach’s mighty Mass in B Minor can speak to us all. On the one hand it is steeped in his mature and very considerable understanding of the text, and yet on the other he presents to us the most opaque, mysterious words written in a rich but dead language. It is the music that speaks, conjuring up a sense of great spiritual mystery, meaning and prayerfulness, maybe drawing our tears of sorrow and voicing our pleas but above all calling us to the dance.
Note: This is an annotated form of the programme notes for this recital, exploiting web technologies to allow readers to delve deeper into the biographies of the composers and the meaning of musical and religious terms as they wish.
Mass in B Minor
Johann Sebastian Bach
1685-1750
Ruby Hendry
soprano
Lucy Appleyard
mezzo
Joanna Gamble
contralto
Toby Ward
tenor
Quentin Brown
bass-baritone
St Peter’s Singers
National Festival Orchestra
Sally Robinson leader
Shaun Turnbull continuo
Alexander Woodrow conductor
We would like to thank Canon Paul Maybury, Rector, and the Churchwardens of Leeds Minster for their significant support for St Peter’s Singers, and for hosting tonight’s event.
We would also like to thank The Friends of the Music of Leeds Minster for their generous support.
We remember tonight with the deepest affection and gratitude our Founder and former Director of Music
Photo by Nicki Roach
Dr Simon Lindley (1948-2025)
He was passionate about the music of JS Bach and conducted many inspired and memorable performances
Mass in B Minor
Missa
Kyrie eleison
chorus
Christe Eleison
soprano I, soprano II duet
Kyrie eleison
chorus
Gloria in excelsis Deo
chorus
Et in terra pax
chorus
Laudamus te
soprano II solo
Gratias agimus tibi
chorus
Domine Deus
soprano I, tenor duet
Qui tollis peccata mundi
chorus
Qui sedes ad dextram patris
alto solo
Quoniam to solus sanctus
bass solo
Cum sancto spiritu
chorus
Symbolum Nicenum (Credo)
Credo in unum Deum
chorus
Patrem omnipotentem
chorus
Et in unum Dominum
soprano I, alto duet
Et incarnatus
chorus
Crucifixus
chorus
Et resurrexit
chorus
Et in spiritum sanctum
bass solo
Confiteor
chorus
Et expecto
chorus
Sanctus, Osanna, Benedictus and Agnus Dei
Sanctus
chorus
Osanna
chorus
Benedictus
tenor solo
Agnus Dei
alto solo
Dona nobis pacem
chorus
Text and Translation
The Latin text and an English Translation can be accessed here.
About the B Minor Mass
Bach only completed his ‘Great Catholic Mass’ late in his life, and remarkably, he almost certainly never heard it performed complete. Along with the Kunst der Fuge (‘Art of the Fugue’) on which he was also working in his final years, he seems to have thought of it as a final legacy, a statement both of his faith and of his mastery of Counterpoint. And yet it was not composed in a single act, and he may not have envisioned the whole work when he started on it. So how did this masterpiece come into being ?
Some background: Bach had arrived at Leipzig to his new post as Cantor at the churches of St Thomas and St Nicholas in 1723. He immediately set about re-invigorating the music and for the next five years composed at an astonishing rate: on average a 20-30 minute Cantata every week. In addition, 1724 saw the first performance of the St John Passion, and the St Matthew Passion was composed in 1727. By the last years of the decade he was effectively burned out, at odds with his employers, and settled at that point for using previous compositions to fulfil his church duties.
Composition and genesis
The creation of the B Minor Mass spans several decades but didn’t start in any formal sense until 1733, when he composed a Missa for the Elector of Saxony, which consists of the Kyrieand Gloriasections of the full Mass. He was hoping to secure the title of Court Composer. An offer was eventually forthcoming, but not one that provided the hoped-for exit from Leipzig, and the score was left to gather dust. But this initial offering eventually blossomed into what we now recognize as the B Minor Mass, and actually comprised all the music that precedes tonight’s interval.
The Missaof 1733
The Missa which Bach presented to the Elector of Saxony in 1733 was crafted with meticulous care, showcasing Bach’s ability to intertwine complex Counterpoint with expressive melody, as well as florid duets in the Neapolitan operatic style then in vogue at the Dresden court.
Some of the movements drew on music he had written a long time previously, which he adapted and, as was his custom, took great care to improve. Much of it was composed while he was at Dresden in the spring of 1733, and it was almost certainly performed in the July of that year, but whether Bach directed the performance we don’t know.
With extended fugues and complex choral Counterpoint, ecstatic dances, operatic duets and moments of tender introspection, all underpinned by the considerable resources of the Dresden Court orchestra (three high trumpets, two bassoons et al), it was on a scale never seen before.
This Missa set the standard for the subsequent movements, which Bach would add some fifteen or so years later.
Expansion and completion
It wasn’t until sometime around 1747 that Bach decided to expand the 1733 Missa into a full Mass. Driven perhaps by personal reflection in his later years, Bach embarked on the ambitious task of composing the remaining sections: the Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus, andAgnus Dei. He prepared for this by a thorough study of stile antico (a term meaning ‘ancient style’) exemplified in Mass settings by the likes of Palestrina, Caldara and Lotti.
The Credo(or ‘Symbolum Nicenum’) was conceived on a scale to match the Gloria, making it too long for use in a Church Service (although this has happened!).
Much of it was composed from scratch to fit a carefully designed structural scheme which placed at its centre the three narrative movements recounting the bare facts of Christ’s birth, death and resurrection (Etincarnatus, Crucifixus, Et resurrexit) on which the Christian faith is founded. Of these the Et incarnatus, composed late in 1749 in a late change of plan, is probably the last complete piece of music he wrote, while the Crucifixus, which follows seamlessly on, was originally composed with German words for a Cantata as far back as 1714. The structural change created by the insertion of the Et incarnatus, ensured that in line with Lutheran theology of the Cross, the Crucifixus became the central piece in the structure of the Credo.
It seems that the Symbolum Nicenum left a particularly strong impression on the next generation, with his son Emmanuel, now in Hamburg, composing a Magnificat in 1749 that was clearly indebted to his father’s latest work.
The remaining movements (Sanctus, Benedictus, Agnus Dei) were partially assembled from earlier compositions (the six-part Sanctus from 1724, the Agnus Dei (whose origins lay in the Ascension Oratorio BWV 11 or even earlier), and the Dona nobis pacem (which like the Gratias movement in the Gloria repeats music from the 1731 Cantata BWV 29), while the eight-part Osanna and the Benedictus were fresh compositions.
It is extraordinary, but perhaps the hallmark of Bach’s genius, that despite the diversity of styles and forms, the long gestation, and the re-use of earlier material, the B Minor Mass is imbued with a deep sense of coherence, unity and purpose, allowing it to resonate on multiple levels. This may be partially explained by Bach’s incredibly careful planning of the work’s structure, but also by recurring use of themes, motifs and symbolic musical gestures, such as the cross-motif and the use of numerology, even his B-A-C-H signature (German notation for B flat, A , C, B natural – but inverted on this occasion).
Impact and legacy
Since its completion, the B Minor Mass has been celebrated as one of the pinnacles of Western music. Although it was never performed in its entirety during Bach’s lifetime, its significance has only grown with time. His sons performed sections of it, and allowed copies to be made, one of which, remarkably, came into the hands of Samuel Wesley, father of Samuel Sebastian (who was the first organist of this church). So the work never quite fell into the obscurity that befell the St Matthew Passion for a century. Musicians and scholars alike have marvelled ever since at its complexity, beauty, and spiritual depth.
What is the meaning of the Mass in B Minor?
This question is essentially impossible to answer, such is the richness of the music within which Bach wraps the text.
But perhaps the place to start is with the Catholic Mass, which is the primary form of worship in the Catholic Christian Church (including much of the Anglican church, even if it prefers the term ‘Eucharist’). In this service of thanksgiving, the Church remembers and gives thanks for Christ’s sacrificial act of Love in his death by crucifixion on the Cross, through which fallible humankind is reconciled to God. The service re-enacts the Last Supper that Jesus shared with his disciples, and goes right back to the earliest days of the Church’s existence. As such it combines ritual, re-enactment and prayer.
It follows a basic pattern that includes an act of penitence and forgiveness as preparation (including the Kyrie), then an expression of praise and worship (Gloria), reading of Scripture and teaching, an assertion of Christian beliefs (Credo), prayers for those in need, and then the great thanksgiving and sharing of the bread and wine in memory of the Last Supper (incorporating the Sanctus, Benedictus and Agnus Dei).
The words usually set to music for the Western Catholic Mass, as here in the Mass in B Minor, consist of what is known as the ‘Ordinarium’ – the texts in the service that never vary from week to week:
A sequence of statements beginning I believe… which lay out the central tenets of the Christian faith, as determined at the First Council of Nicaea in 325 AD. Note: this was a bit like the final communique from a modern G7 or COP summit, with every clause having been fought over, hence some of the rather strange formulations designed to hold the line against popular heresies (false doctrines). It expresses the core teaching of the Christian faith as it had developed over the three hundred or so years since Christ’s death.
The Sanctus, which quotes Isaiah’s Vision of the Lord , comes early in the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving where those on earth join the heavenly hosts in praise of God. The Benedictus expresses a blessing on Christ.
A prayer to Jesus, the sacrificial Lamb of God, to have mercy and grant us peace.
On the one hand these texts have to be seen as part of an extremely rich ritual whose significance is appreciated more fully with repetition and practise. It should not be forgotten that for millions of Christians over the ages this ritual was conducted in Latin, an opaque and ancient language whose words they may have learnt by rote, but of which they may have had little understanding. So in some senses it was the ritual that was important, not the precise meaning of the words. As such, this means that with musical settings such as the Mass in B Minor, understanding the words is not necessarily essential and the music may convey meaning in its own right.
But on the other hand, it is impossible, especially with the Mass in B Minor, to ignore Bach’s response to the meaning of the words. To take a few examples: the prayerful upward inflections and downward sighs in the first KyrieFugue, the festive joy of the opening of the Gloria, the sense of mystery in Qui tollis and Et incarnatus, the unbridled liberation at the first mention of the Holy Spirit in Cum sancto spiritu, the extraordinary sinking feeling as Jesus’ burial is recorded at the end of the Crucifixus, the chatty intimacy of the Soprano and Tenor soloists as God the Son comes into the picture in Domine Deus, the initial hesitation when the words et expecto are first introduced (‘I look for the resurrection of the dead’) at the end of the Confiteor, and so many more. All these reflect a profound understanding of the theology, and express it in human terms, the musical language of human emotions, thereby repaying the listener’s engagement with a text that may otherwise be opaque and unapproachable.
For Christians, Good Friday is the culmination of a week in which re-enactment of Jesus’ last days and hours is often the primary means for trying to enter into and discover the meaning of those events. But by the evening of Good Friday, with Jesus dead and his body laid to rest, the opportunity arises to step back and reflect on what it all means. There could hardly be a better opportunity for this than that provided by Bach’s Mass in B Minor.
These notes owe a substantial debt to John Eliot Gardiner’s superlative book on Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven. If any of the above has aroused your interest, you would doubtless be richly rewarded by giving it some time.
It is with the deepest sadness imaginable that we mourn Dr Simon Lindley, who passed away on 25 February, aged 76. He founded the choir in 1977 with his friend Harry Fearnley, and directed us until 2021.
Many of us somehow thought this would never happen. He had been a presence in Leeds for fifty years, involved in almost every musical occasion and the driving energy behind so many of them. A musical force of nature with an unquenchable appetite for making music, he shared his music with anyone and everyone, and most generously with those of us fortunate enough to work with him. His legacy, bequeathed to countless people, is an incalculable debt of gratitude for so many unforgettable musical experiences, and warm memories of an inspirational and generous friend.
Despite being one of the finest organists of his generation, there appeared to be little or no distinction for him between amateur and professional musicians. What counted was how you responded to the music, and he had an extraordinary gift for recognising and encouraging innate musicianship, and imbuing singers with the confidence to express themselves and make music with him. He was a wonderfully instinctive musician, with whom no two performances were ever the same, but with whom every performance bore his hallmark: a live and highly musical interpretation, full of passion, energy and feeling.
For St Peter’s Singers and others this meant the thrill of being drawn into spur-of-the-moment, unrehearsed responses to the music. This was partly because he led us to perform so much music that there often wasn’t time to rehearse it in detail. He wanted fresh, responsive performances and an understanding developed between us (and indeed those who sang for him in other choirs) that led to some very fine music-making. As the vicar of a parish hosting a recital once put it, ‘Ladies and Gentleman, we have just witnessed the mystical union that exists ‘twixt Simon Lindley and the St Peter’s Singers’.
His musical instincts were incredibly strong, but also highly informed both by his extensive knowledge about music and the work in question, and by the depth of his understanding of the usually sacred texts we were singing.
One occasion stands out in the memory – a Good Friday performance of Messiah the first time we collaborated with the National Festival Orchestra. Emboldened no doubt by the quality of their playing, the bass aria Why do the Nations so furiously rage together began with a larger than usual sniff from him on the upbeat (always the harbinger of some excitement) followed by an adrenaline-charged, unbridled gallop which had players and soloist clinging on for dear life (and at least one chorus soprano reduced to helpless giggles).
But what followed was so impressive – the energy was maintained and indeed grew through the succeeding numbers reaching an astonishing climax in an electric Hallelujah chorus – Handel’s and Jennens’ intent revealed afresh by a touch of genius, a deep understanding of the work, his relish for musical drama, and the intense rhythmic vitality he brought to all his music-making . His ability to pace performances of Messiah in ways that illuminated it differently was a revelation every time we performed it.
With the odd curious exception, such as Beethoven, Dr Lindley’s musical tastes were quite catholic, and we were fortunate to be drawn along for the ride as he explored all sorts of different musical avenues and untrodden paths.
Frequent performances of Messiah and other works by Handel, together with the B Minor Mass, the Passions, Christmas Oratorio and numerous cantatas by J S Bach revealed a strong love of these composers. But the Good Friday presentations he started at Leeds Parish Church (now Leeds Minster) also included multiple performances of Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius, the Stabat Maters of Haydn and Dvorak, and Brahms’ German Requiem.
He loved Victorian and Edwardian church music. He was a fine interpreter of his earliest predecessor at LPC, SS Wesley, and an authoritative one of the more recent Edward Bairstow, thanks in part to his longstanding friendship with Bairstow’s pupil and successor at York, Dr Francis Jackson. This friendship led to a commission and to memorable performances and recordings of Dr Jackson’s dramatic monologues Daniel in Babylon and A Time of Fire. Other revivals of neglected works included Somervell’s The Passion of Christ, and in 2005 William Lloyd Webber’s woefully underrated CantataThe Saviour. Under his leadership we commissioned a new work at least once every decade, and he was a strong champion of Matthew Oglesby’s remarkable Penthos.
But he had a deep love of 20th century French music too, and not just for organ or choir: this writer still remembers his exquisite impromptu playing (from memory) of some piano music by Ravel at the conclusion of an LPC Lay Clerk’s funeral in Huddersfield when the organ had also given up the ghost. His pianism was remarkable and made him an exceptional accompanist, especially in the English 20th century Song repertoire, as a number of us were fortunate to enjoy.
Dr Lindley had a genius for programming: who in their right mind would choose to follow Dvorak’s Stabat Mater with Parry’s Blest pair of Sirens, especially on Good Friday? But it proved a masterstroke, with the blazing optimism of the Parry foreshadowing Easter Day and rescuing us all from the immense sadness of the Dvorak. He was equally adept at making unusual selections of pieces that would work together, his last recital with us (a Carol concert at Bolton Priory in 2019) being a case in point.
All this adds up to an extraordinary legacy of musical experiences, many life-shaping, for all those of us who sang in St Peter’s Singers. But it only tells half the story.
Dr Lindley’s personality was strong, complex, eccentric and hugely charismatic. He was highly knowledgeable and articulate, with colourful turns of phrase and an engaging gift for public speaking. Rehearsals were both educational and entertaining. Anecdotes and quotes abound with phrases such as ‘Come on basses, it’s not Lutoslawski’ or ‘Well tenors, I’m glad you’re not guiding me around the dance floor’ enduring in the mind as characteristically humorous rebukes for poor sight-reading or rhythm.
Sometimes he could be exasperating, but those who got to know him will remember him above all for a generosity and personal warmth that transcended these moments. Despite taking on a punishing workload in support of causes he believed in, he was prodigal with his time and energy in support of others, not just young musicians whose careers (musical or otherwise) he would seek to further through advice, coaching or writing references, but also the many grieving families, whose funerals he would transform, compassionately, through his organ-playing, often for little or no charge.
He was deeply loyal and built personal relationships with all those whom he got to know, remembering details of family members and enquiring frequently after their wellbeing, a master of the personal touch. His generosity included a remarkable propensity to forgive, which often inspired those with whom he crossed swords to reciprocate.
Much of this stemmed from his Christian faith, instilled in him by his upbringing but completely absorbed and made his own, and founded on genuine humility, a humility that explains his desire for a very simple funeral.
It may somehow also explain his love of the simplicity of musical miniatures, such as Bairstow’s I sat down under his shadow, which characteristically somehow say so much more by saying much less. This simplicity characterises his own compositions, not least the Taylor Trilogy whose first performance, on the day he was finally taken ill, he sadly missed.
We could not be more proud to have commissioned this last work. His choice of words by Bishop Jeremy Taylor was highly personal and revealing of this warm and generous man, whom we now mourn with every passing breath. May he rest in peace.
Let’s sing Him up again ! Each man wind up his heart To bear a part In that angelic choir, and show His glory high as He was low ! Let’s sing towards men good will and charity, Peace upon Earth, glory to God on high Hallelujah, Hallelujah ! Mysterious God, regard me when I pray: And when this load of clay Shall fall away, O let Thy gracious hand conduct me up, Where on the Lamb’s rich viands I may sup: And in this last Supper I May with Thy friend in Thy sweet bosom lie For ever in Eternity. Allelujah.
St Peter’s Singers return to the superb acoustics of St John’s, Sharow with another programme that offers a superb variety of choral music with something for everyone to enjoy.
Refreshments will be served and the concert will finish about 4.15pm
What better way to spend a Saturday afternoon?
Held within the exquisite venue of St John’s, Sharow, this concert offers a choral tapestry celebrating and illustrating the wonderful variety and richness of Western choral music.
Alongside a heady mix of Romantic-era poetry and love songs, the programme includes the spiritually profound music of Palestrina, marking 500 years since his birth, and a contemporary masterpiece of Sir James MacMillan, born in 1959.
So there is something here for everyone to enjoy, and something to maybe touch the soul where other songs don’t reach.
St Peter’s Singers are passionate about the music we sing and want to share it with as many people as possible. We do all we can to make anyone who comes to our concerts feel welcome and at ease. So if you’ve not tried this music out before, why not come along and bring a friend? St. John’s Church is an accessible venue with good facilities. Everyone is welcome.
Note: This is an annotated form of the programme notes for this recital, exploiting web technologies to allow readers to delve deeper into the biographies of the composers and the meaning of musical and religious terms as they wish.
Programme
Vast Ocean of Light
Jonathan Dove (b 1959)
A Taylor Trilogy
Simon Lindley (b 1948)
Miserere
James MacMillan (b 1959)
Messe Solennelle
Jean Langlais (1907-1991)
Dr Lindley’s work A Taylor Trilogy was commissioned by St Peter’s Singers of Leeds in grateful recognition of the composer’s generous and inspirational leadership, 1977-2021, and here receives its first performance.
Vast Ocean of light, whose rayes surround The Universe, who know’st nor ebb, nor shore, Who lend’st the Sun his sparkling drop, to store With overflowing beams Heav’n, ayer, ground, Whose depths beneath the Centre none can sound, Whose heights ‘bove heav’n, and thoughts so lofty soar, Whose breadth no feet, no lines, no chains, no eyes survey, Whose length no thoughts can reach, no worlds can bound, What cloud can mask thy face? where can thy ray Find an Eclipse? what night can hide Eternal Day?
Jonathan Dove (b. 1959) is a versatile composer in a host of genres, and studied composition with Robin Holloway at Cambridge University. Vast Ocean of Light (2010) sets poetry by Phineas Fletcher, metaphysical English poet of the Renaissance. Dove has said, ‘Light […] has always been a source of inspiration to me, and the heavenly bodies often provoke a desire to create some kind of numinous music’. Listen out for the ostinato sparkling quavers of the organ accompaniment, the dazzling harmonies, the striking use of Canon between the voices, and the overall sense of spaciousness and awe which the music evokes.
What glorious light!
How bright a Sun after so sad a night Does now begin to dawn!
O dearest God preserve our souls In holy innocence; Or if we do amiss, Make us to rise again to th’life of Grace, That we may live with thee, and see thy glorious face, The crown of holy Penitence. Allelujah.
Lord, let the flames of holy charity, And all her gifts and graces slide Into our hearts, and there abide; That thus refined, we may soar above With it unto the element of love, Even unto Thee, dear Spirit, And there eternal peace and rest inherit. Amen.
Let’s sing Him up agen !
Each man winde up’s heart
To bear a part
In that angelick quire, and show
His glory high as He was low !
Let’s sing t’wards men good will and charity,
Peace upon Earth, glory to God on high
Hallelujah, Hallelujah !
Mysterious God, regard me when I pray:
And when this load of clay
Shall fall away,
O let Thy gracious hand conduct me up,
Where on the Lamb’s rich viands I may sup:
And in this last Supper I
May with Thy friend in Thy sweet bosome lie
For ever in Eternity.
Allelujah.
Commissioned by St Peter’s Singers, Simon Lindley’s A Taylor Trilogy is a caring yet confident setting of extracts from the writings of Jeremy Taylor, Bishop of Down and Connor. Taylor is arguably under-represented in the choral repertoire, and so this composer’s very personal selection is most welcome. The sensitive choral writing ebbs and flows unhindered by gratuity and in so doing allows the text to thrive by its own great merit.
Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam: et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem mean
Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me
Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco: et peccatum meum contra me est semper
Tibi soli peccavi et malum, coram te feci: ut justificeris in sermonibus tuis, et vincas cum judicaris
Ecce enim in iniquitatibus conceptus sum: et in peccatis concepit me mater mea
Ecce enim veritatem dilexisti: incerta et occula sapientiae tuae manifestasti mihi
Asperges me hyssopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem de albabor
Auditui meo dabis gaudium et laetitiam: et exsultabunt ossa humiliata
Averte faciem tuam a peccatis meis: et omnes iniquitates meas dele
Cor mundum crea in me, Deus: et spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis
Ne projicias me a facie tua: et spiritum sanctum tuum ne auferas a me
Redde mihi laetitiam salutaris tui: et spiritu principali confirma me
Docebo iniquos vias tuas: et impii ad te convertentur
Libera me de sanguinibus, Deus, Deus salutis meae: et exsultabit lingua mea justitiam tuam
Domine, labia mea aperies: et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam
Quoniam si voluisses sacrificium, dedissem utique : holocaustis non dedectaberis
Sacrificium Deo spiritus contribulatus: cor contritum et humiliatum, Deus, non despicies
Benigne fac, Domine, in bona voluntate tua Sion: ut ædificentur muri Jerusalem
Tunc acceptabis sacrificium justitiae, oblationes et holocausta: tunc imponent super altare tuum vitulos
Have mercy on me, O God, in your goodness: in your great tenderness wipe away my faults;
Wash me clean of my guilt: and purify me from my sin
For I am well aware of my faults: my sin is constantly in mind
Against you, you alone, I have sinned, I have done what you see to be wrong: that you may be justified in your words, and victorious when you give judgement
You know I was born sinful: a sinner from the moment of conception
But you delight in sincerity of heart: and in secret you teach me wisdom
Purify me with hyssop until I am clean: wash me until I am whiter than snow
Let me hear the sound of joy and gladness: and the bones you have crushed will dance
Turn your face away from my sins: and wipe away all my guilt
Create a clean heart in me, O God: and renew a resolute spirit within me
Do not banish me from your presence: do not take away your holy spirit from me
Give me back the joy of your salvation: keep my spirit steady and willing:
I shall teach transgressors your way: and the sinners will return to you
Deliver me from bloodshed, O God, God my saviour: and my tongue will acclaim your righteousness;
Lord, open my lips: and my mouth will speak out your praise
Sacrifice gives you no pleasure, or I would offer it: but you do not desire burnt offerings Sacrifice to God is this broken spirit: you will not scorn this crushed and broken heart, O God
In your graciousness do good to Zion: rebuild the walls of Jerusalem
Then there will be proper sacrifice to please you – holocaust and whole oblation: then shall young bulls to be offered on your altar
Psalm 51
Sir James MacMillan (b. 1959) studied composition with Wakefield-born Kenneth Leighton and John Casken, his music being inspired by many things, including his Catholic faith and the folk music of his native Scotland. Miserere Mei is a substantial ‘a cappella’ work, setting verses from Psalm 51 (as Allegri famously did centuries earlier), and placing significant technical and expressive demands upon the choir. The music has a small number of principal musical themes that occur in various guises throughout the work. There is some amazingly virtuosic soprano writing early on, and a number of very powerful and dramatic moments, a superbly affecting section of simple homophonic free chant at the centre, and at the end a great sense of peace and tranquillity when the writing gives way to a beautiful E major hushed cadence.
Gloria in excelsis Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis. Laudamus te. Benedicimus te. Adoramus te. Glorificamus te. Gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam. Domine Deus, Rex cælestis, Deus Pater omnipotens. Domine Fili unigenite, Jesu Christe. Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, Filius Patris. Qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis. Qui tollis peccata mundi, suscipe deprecationem nostram. Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris, miserere nobis. Quoniam tu solus Sanctus. Tu solus Dominus. Tu solus Altissimus, Jesu Christe. Cum Sancto Spiritu, in gloria Dei Patris. Amen.
Sanctus Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth. Pleni sunt cæli et terra gloria tua. Hosanna in excelsis.
Benedictus Benedíctus qui venit in nomine Domini. Hosanna in excelsis
Agnus Dei Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi miserere nobis Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi miserere nobis Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi dona nobis pacem
Lord, have mercy upon us Christ, have mercy upon us Lord, have mercy upon us
Glory be to God on high, and in earth peace, good will towards men. We praise you. We bless you. We worship you. We glorify you. We give thanks to thee For your great glory. O Lord God, Heavenly King, God the Father Almighty. O Lord, the only-begotten Son, Jesu Christ; O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father. Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. You who takes away the sins of the world, receive our prayer. You who sits at the right hand of the Father, have mercy upon us. For you only are holy. You only are the Lord. You only are most high, Jesus Christ, With the Holy Spirit, In the glory of God the Father. Amen.
Holy, holy, holy Lord Lord God of power and might, Heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.
Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, grant us your peace
Roman Missal
Jean Langlais (1907-1991) was a famous, blind Parisian-based organist, composer and teacher. A pupil of Marcel Dupré and Paul Dukas, he held the position of organist at the Basilica of Sainte-Clotilde in Paris for some 43 years. The Messe Solennelle (1949) is written for choir and two organs, one exceedingly powerful and set at the West End of the church (the Grand Orgue) and one much more accompanimental in nature (the Petit Orgue). As titular organist, Langlais would have played the Grand Orgue and his assistant organist the Petit Orgue; this afternoon, however, Darius manages to blend both organ parts seamlessly into one, making the most of the distinction between the thrilling ‘tutti’ sound of the Leeds cathedral organ for the tutti moments, juxtaposing with the softer stops for supporting the choir.
The five movements comprise some thrilling music. The influence of plainchant, and indeed organum (parallel harmony, Medieval in feel) is never far away, but with a thrilling 20th century use of harmony (in common with the wonderful Requiem by Duruflé, contemporary of Langlais, that was written just a few years earlier). Always attentive to the text that is set, Langlais’ setting of the Mass alternates skilfully between ethereal and tender; and ecstatic and thrilling, using a very distinctive and utterly ‘French’ tonal palette.
Get your Christmas celebrations off to the best possible start in the company of St Peter’s Singers and the beautiful setting of St Oswald’s Church in Guiseley!
With a fine mix of traditional Christmas music and carols, old and new, this will be the perfect opportunity to set aside the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations, find some peace, and feed the soul.
St Peter’s Singers are directed by Alexander Woodrow, with Shaun Turnbull accompanying on the organ.
Choral music by Dove, MacMillan, Lindley and Langlais
17 February 2025
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1:15 pm
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2:00 pm
Join us at Leeds Cathedral for a lunchtime recital of varied and mostly contemporary choral and organ music, inspired by Visions of Darkness and Light.
The programme features the first performance of a new work by our former Conductor Dr Simon Lindley, and the first Leeds performance of James MacMillan’s Miserere mei.
With three of the works composed in the last 15 years, this programme shows the tradition of sacred choral music to be not just alive, but in rude health, with composers continuing to draw inspiration from ancient texts.
Dr Lindley’s work A Taylor Trilogy features the composer’s selection from the relatively unknown writings of the 17th century divine Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), thought by some to be one of the greatest writers of prose in our language. It opens with a vision of glorious sunlight greeting the resurrection of Christ. The work was commissioned by St Peter’s Singers and receives its first performance here to mark the 50th anniversary of Dr Lindley’s arrival in Leeds.
Jonathan Dove also returns to the 17th century, setting a text by another fine poet, Phineas Fletcher (1582-1650). Like many of his contemporaries, Fletcher too draws on the imagery of Light, which is reflected in Dove’s luminous writing for the organ.
James MacMillan takes Psalm 51 (Miserere mei, Dei – Have mercy on me O God) – a seminal, and much darker text with a rich history of choral settings. Typically, he adds another profound chapter to this story, which we’re proud to bring to Leeds for the first time in the work’s history.
The recital ends with movements from Jean Langlais’ ebullient Messe Solennelle, notable for the dynamic and discordant splashes of organ sound that punctuate the singing.
This concert is promoted and provided free of charge by Leeds Leisure Services as part of the International Concert Season. St Peter’s Singers are grateful for the invitation to take part.
As in any walk of life, the technology of musical instruments has evolved with time, composers have exploited the new capabilities, techniques have evolved, and so sounds have changed and grown, pitch has risen, and musical styles, performance and taste have changed. And of course, older techniques and sounds have been lost and forgotten.
In our upcoming concert Baroque classics on June 29 we are collaborating, for the first time, with an ensemble that uses Period instruments and uses techniques and playing styles informed by historical research: Manchester Baroque.
So what is all the fuss about ? Here’s a brief explainer.
What are ‘Period instruments’ ?
Period instruments are musical instruments that date from about the time of the music that is being played and are set up in the way scholars think would have been the case at that time. For instruments from the Baroque period (1600-1750) this includes playing at a slightly lower pitch than is standard today.
String instruments such as violins are setup with gut strings rather than the modern ones that are wound in metal, and are bowed with bows of a different shape and tension from modern bows. The result is usually that the sound they make is softer, both in volume and timbre.
The difference in the bows forces the players to rethink how they use the bows to create musical phrases, usually resulting in shorter phrases and a greater degree of articulation, which both serve to make the music more interesting.
Wind instruments, particularly woodwind (oboes, bassoons and flutes) also tend to be softer, with the flutes made of wood, while brass instruments, being made without modern techniques that favour blend and uniformity, and in some cases without modern valve systems, are sometimes more characterful and quirky in their sound – as well as being harder to play.
This all allows some sounds and parts of the musical texture to be heard in a way that isn’t possible with modern instruments, leading a number of conductors and groups specialising in music from periods such as the Baroque period to to discover how the music would have sounded to the composers who wrote it and in particular what the composer’s intentions may have been.
‘Historically-informed performance’ is a term that is used to describe musical performance which combines the use of period instruments with technical and stylistic knowledge gleaned from academic research to produce musical performances that are as close to the intention and maybe the experience of the composer as we can make them.
The quest for historically-informed performance began in the later years of the twentieth century, being initially termed ‘authentic’ performance. However, as the quest developed and matured, its practitioners became more aware of the impossibility of genuinely authentic performance practice and adopted the term ‘historically-informed’ instead.
Historical information about musical performance is obtained by scrutinising original manuscripts, period instruments, treatises on style and technique, images, reports of concerts and any other available resource. It is then tested and validated in practice to determine what seems to work musically and physically.
So for example the precise way to execute the various types of ornament (extra decorative notes implied by a single musical symbol) in a particular region and period may be informed by a relevant document.
On the other hand, agreement that most Baroque music was played about a semitone lower (A=415Hz) than today’s standard concert pitch (A=440Hz) is based mainly on the physics of period instruments and the ease or otherwise with which vocal music by the likes of Bach and Handel fit the human voice.
It is of course impossible to really know exactly how music of times past would have sounded, and it is important to be clear that much historically-informed performance has also been shaped by experimentation, judgment and preference of experienced musicians, and to a degree, audiences.
The thrilling sounds of the modern professional Monteverdi Choir for instance, even with the elimination of vocal vibrato, are unlikely to be true to the sounds that would have been made by the relatively undernourished children and teenagers of Bach’s choirs in Leipzig, let alone the much smaller vocal ensembles that probably delivered the first performances of his St John and St Matthew Passions.
To an extent, this is a compromise required by modern concert hall performances, but also by taste, with the historically-informed styling combined with the sounds of the period instruments delivering truly thrilling music-making for the modern ear, and which the composers may have dreamt of, but possibly not really experienced.
As our Good Friday presentation of Bach’s magnificent St John Passion on Friday 29 March draws near, this offers a little by way of background about the work and its creation, as well as something about what you can expect if you come to hear it.
Background
The tradition of reciting the Gospel story of Christ’s last hours and death as part of Christian worship during Passiontide goes back many centuries. Spoken or sung to simple plainchant, the words of the characters would be voiced by different readers and the congregation would take the role of the crowd.
Apart from maybe the addition of a Chorale (or hymn), this had changed very little in the Lutheran Church until just a few years before Bach wrote the St John Passion in 1724.
This began to change in 1712, in Hamburg, when Heinrich Brockes produced a poetic text which paraphrased some parts of the biblical text, and added in a number of reflective if rather mawkish texts. Telemann and Handel were among those who, controversially, wrote elaborate, expressive music for Brockes’ text in a trend whose popularity eventually reached Telemann’s former stamping ground, the Neukirche in Leipzig.
Here, finally responding to loss of congregations, the more traditional regimes at the Thomaskirche and Nicolaikirche only relented and allowed more elaborate music just three years before Bach arrived as their Kantor in May 1723. The St John Passion was composed less than a year later, and, typically for Bach, elevated the trend to new heights.
Why is Bach’s St John Passion so special?
Firstly, Bach returned to the scriptural texts and then selected, altered and replaced Brockes’ poetic texts to bring a more serious theological tone to the work.
Secondly, he composed music of a sustained dramatic intensity never heard before outside the opera house.
Thirdly, through his command of highly chromatic harmonies he was able to transform what had become somewhat cliched musical tropes of the Baroque era into music that even now reaches far deeper and more authentically into the human psyche.
While shocking to some as it was, this should not have come as a surprise, as it represented the continuation of a clear and evolving intent on Bach’s part, shown in his weekly cantatas, to offer a blend of word and music that could engage both the intellect and the emotions of the faithful and so assist them in their devotions.
Engagement with the Gospel
In his magisterial study of Bach, Music in the Castle of Heaven, John Eliot Gardiner writes with great insight about Bach’s grasp and musical depiction of the main theological themes of St John’s Gospel, which are deeply embedded within the structures of the music. For instance, the Gospel dwells extensively on the paradox at the heart of the doctrine of the Incarnation, that Jesus could be both God and human being, humbled from his high heavenly throne to come down as man, and then be raised on high again but only through the most degrading death imaginable, raised on the Cross. Note the use of a vertical dimension in the language.
Bach depicts this graphically in the open chorus: the orchestra sets a scene of foreboding with low rumbling strings suggesting foreboding and tension, while two oboes keen out in the minor key a lament full of weeping suspensions over the top. Yet when the choir comes in, it is with a confident and declamatory high-pitched major-key chord on the German word for ‘Lord’ (‘Hail’ in our translation) and a song of praise, and then a quieter descending section to depict Christ’s humbling. Bach clearly understood and could express St John’s intentions. This was absolutely ground-breaking and is partly why he remains one of the greatest composers of sacred music that ever lived.
What is the St John Passion ? Is it an opera?
No, it’s not an opera – that would have been completely unacceptable in church in those days. But it is a highly charged and dramatised account of the trials and other events that preceded and ended with Jesus’ death. The St John Passion alternates between sections of the drama and periods of reflection, with choir and soloists switching between their dramatic roles in Jesus’ downfall, and then voicing the feelings and thoughts of the repentant Christian church and its members, allowing the listeners to meditate.
The drama is told in music that is astonishing in its power to depict but also to trigger emotions. Listen out in the scene about Peter for the cock crow on the cello, for how cold it was, and for the distress in Peter’s weeping. Listen too, in part two, for the brutality of Jesus’ scourging, and for the rising levels of tension, threat, and intimidation as the mob sets about Pilate.
Reflection and meditation come in two forms: the arias sung by soloists, and the chorales. Note how each aria, so carefully placed in the narrative, helps the listener respond and leads them on emotionally to the next stage in the story, whether it be theological meditation, a call to action, or just the expression of raw emotion.
Note too how Bach uses three arias after the death of Christ to pilot his listeners back down emotionally, first through theological reassurance then pure sadness to the elegiac dance of the final Chorus – Sleep well.
The chorales – hymns which would have been well-known and sung by the whole congregation – are contemplative and mostly restful. They must have given the congregation a brief moment to find their bearings amongst all the new musical ideas assailing them. But only to a degree – Bach had completely transformed the old tunes with his ground-breaking harmonisations. Singing them must have felt so different!
How have people reacted to the St John Passion ?
The reaction to the first performance was mixed to say the least, particularly from the authorities, and Bach was forced to make a number of revisions the following year, returning to the original version only, but significantly, in the last two years of his life.
The St John Passion has been quite slow to emerge from the shadow of the monumental St Matthew Passion, taking a while for twentieth-century period-specialist performers to peel away the layers of inappropriate performance practice and so reveal the full extent of Bach’s thought, insight and ambition in planning its structure.
But it is now acknowledged as a masterpiece, and it gives us huge pride and joy to bring it to you.
With thanks and due acknowledgement to Sir John Eliot Gardiner for an inspiring read in his portrait of JS Bach Music in the castle of Heaven, on which this article extensivelyrelies.
£10 Free FTE/U18 available on-line (see below) or at the door
Sung in the superb acoustics of St. John’s Sharow, this concert showcases some beautiful and varied a cappella choral music from three eras and spanning nearly five hundred years.
