Page 191 - FINAL_The Sixteen Coverage Book 40th Anniversary Year

continuous whole with links and reminiscences between them. More importantly, however, their
impact is anything but little! It’s a stark, forbidding sound world, whose opening judders with horror
and which culminates in playing of strident frenzy from all three instruments. There are occasional
moments of humour or tenderness, but blink and you’ll miss them, and at moments the piano is
transformed into a giant, demented tolling bell. The music achieves some resolution at the end, but
it’s a long way from being peaceful, and it’s not an especially grateful listen.

Thank goodness that the Nash Ensemble leavened their programme with works that allowed their
lyricism to come right to the fore, with a Beethoven clarinet trio that was assertive in character, but
which had humour and lyricism laced through it, Adrian Brendel’s sensationally smooth cello line
taking centre stage in a slow movement that had the intensity of an operatic aria. There was
songfulness of a very different kind in Dvořák’s Dumky trio: this time it was the folk song of a village
party. This work relies for its effect on extremes of contrast, something the trio understood very well.
Perhaps too well in places, because at times they took the tragedy and jollity to such extremes that
they risked turning them into anachronisms. The unifying thread, though, was the sheer lyricism of the
melodies. Repeatedly, I kept thinking I was listening to songs without words, and whether these were
serious or comic, their overall impact was completely complementary.

And then for the evening it was total MacMillan immersion, in which there were delights aplenty, but
the star was undoubtedly that new symphony, which was a triumph. The Fifth is MacMillan’s choral
symphony, and it’s his meditation on the work of the Holy Spirit. That springs from MacMillan’s deeply
held Catholicism, of course, but more than that, it’s also a meditation on the creative force. MacMillan
sets texts ranging from the Bible, the ancient hymn ‘Veni Creator Spiritus’, and the mystical texts of St
John of the Cross, and he structures the symphony’s three movements around three Biblical and
mystical images for the Holy Spirit, which also happen to be three of the ancient elements: air, water
and fire.

MacMillan uses this structure as an opportunity to explore a whole universe of colour using the
wizards of the Scottish Chamber Orchestra and The Sixteen, and he calls upon a whole range of
extra-musical techniques – such as the chorus’s rhythmic breathing or the musicians smacking the
bodies of their instruments – to explore different aspects of the Holy Spirit’s work. The three-part
structure is a masterstroke: it gives the composer space to innovate, while giving the audience a clear
way into the symphony’s heart, and as such it’s uniquely involving for a piece of contemporary music.

Each movement has a particular ebb and flow that carries emotional weight and musical coherence,
the music gradually filling out like the wind in a sail for the first movement (wind), or swelling and
retreating like a wave for the second movement (water), while steadily gathering more power for the
finale (fire). I simplify with these descriptions, but MacMillan uses these shapes to create a work that
is full of controlled waves of energy; something that’s easy to like and which held the audience
gripped.

MacMillan worked triumphantly with Harry Christophers and The Sixteen to create his searing Stabat
Mater, so it’s entirely appropriate that he should collaborate with them again for his new symphony:
indeed, it was Christophers who conducted this premiere, doing a marvellous job with the structure
and the colour. His chorus was augmented with the voices of Genesis Sixteen, The Sixteen’s Young
Artists Scheme, and they did a fantastic job of evoking both the mystery and the power of the text.
The solos carried crystalline power, and the power of the choral climaxes was strong while remaining
clean.

Most importantly, however, this is an overwhelmingly positive work, conveying some of MacMillan’s
faith and love for the divine force. It’s almost entirely tonal, its textures are delightfully colourful, and
it’s full of melodies that are both appealing and attractive. It feels like the work of a master, somebody
whose ability to write for orchestra and chorus has developed enormously. Next to this, the Second
Symphony sounds quite angry and almost apprentice-like, even when conducted by the composer as
it was here. It has its own merits, of course, and I liked the overall theme of a forward momentum
that’s repeatedly interrupted, but its jagged sounds and mosaic of textures sound pretty immature in
comparison. I’m sure there’s an element of choice there too, but MacMillan’s skill as an orchestrator
has undoubtedly improved in the two decades since writing it, and when the two were played together
the Fifth Symphony rather left the second in the shade.

There was a lot to enjoy in the afternoon concert, too, with a pair of contrasting works pointing up both
the humour and the power of MacMillan’s work. A Scotch Bestiary is a concertante work for organ and
orchestra, drawing inspiration from Mussorgsky’s Pictures and Saint-Saëns’ Carnival of the

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