It was supposed to be a great choral triptych: the foundation of the Christian church in three musical epics, starting with 1903’s The Apostles and ending with the never-to-be-written The Last Judgement. But Elgar’s inspiration and his Catholic faith both deserted the composer before the sequence could be completed, leaving the story in mid-air with the central panel The Kingdom (1906).
Perhaps that’s why the oratorio has always been treated as the runt of litter – less operatic than everyone’s favourite, The Dream of Gerontius, and less dramatic than The Apostles, which hoovers up both crucifixion and resurrection, leaving The Kingdom with the aftermath. Grassroots Christian evangelism is not obviously the stuff of headlines. Or arias.
And yet, just as WH Auden was drawn to the apostles – in his lyrics for Walton’s The Twelve described as “persons of no importance” – so Elgar took their very ordinariness and made it glow. You might prefer the solo virtuosity of Gerontius, but where it commands you to sit back and marvel, The Kingdom invites listeners to share in something, to find ourselves mirrored back.
Holding up the glass here were conductor Benjamin Nicholas, the Oxford Bach Choir (who Elgar himself conducted in the oratorio in 1911) and the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra – a tight squeeze in the Sheldonian but dramatically effective: engulfing us with their substantial sound. When the Pentecostal tongues of flame licked bright in darting choral entries, and a “mighty wind” rushed in harp and strings we felt the heat and gust; when soprano Sophie Bevan soothed the imprisoned apostles with the caressing “The sun goeth down”, we were lulled alongside them.
The Kingdom is effectively a concerto for choir, and Nicholas’s chorus were the stars. Theirs was a flexible reading, expansive without ever tugging the piece out of shape, respectful of its essentially meditative mood. The BSO took longer to settle, but by the end (after a stylish solo from leader Amyn Merchant) the partnership felt more secure, better able to ride the sidesteps and surges of Elgar’s score. A strong quartet of soloists soared above both: Ben Hulett’s John brilliant and ringing, balanced by the muskier depth of mezzo Catherine Wyn Rogers and Bevan, whose delivery was heartfelt but not quite the gorgeous velvet cloth of sound the writing demands. And what a Peter from Gareth Brynmor John – an evangelist who could have signed me up on the spot.