Frequent concertgoers in our modern age will be all too aware of the irritation factor of mobile phones going off during performance. The King’s Singers, however, make a feature of the phenomenon and take it to another level. This world-class ensemble delighted a packed Hereford Cathedral, the closing concert of their 2011/12 season coinciding with the Three Choirs Festival.
Being Jubilee year, they had chosen an entertaining programme, entitled ‘Royal Rhymes and Rounds’, drawing on music associated with British monarchs through the ages, specifically Henry VIII, Elizabeth I, Victoria and our current Queen. Music played a prominent role during Henry’s reign and not only did he support musicians but works have been ascribed to his own hand, including the first piece of the afternoon. From the opening notes it was clear that these first-rate exponents of close harmony would be a joy to listen to. The security of the notes went without saying, but in addition it was like witnessing a masterclass in diction. Consonants were prepared, endings were crisp, projection was perfect. The balance and timing were spot on. They were literally and metaphorically in tune with each other, clearly listening as much as singing. It was interesting to see how they didn’t keep to the same formation throughout, with the six voices graded from countertenor to bass, but occasionally mixed it up, presumably for each to be better aware of aspects of particular chords produced in combination with certain colleagues.
In between pieces, they took it in turns to make witty introductions to the next, largely without reference to a script, which added to the instant rapport with the audience. Continuing with the Tudors, they sang of loose women, hunters and pastoral idylls. All this by means of a varied set of madrigals, part-songs and rounds, which are apparently capable of turning just a couple of lines – for example, Henry’s own ‘It is to me a right great joy, Free from danger and annoy’ – into a lengthy affair, full of rich texture. In the section of the programme devoted to Victoria, when music was less about the Royal Court and more about the parlour, John Stainer’s If turn’d topsy turvy you’ll find I can go was similarly just two lines long. The trick with this was that after a seemingly simple rendition, the singers exchanged questioning looks with one another then ostentatiously turned their scores upside-down and sang again, resulting of course in an alternative melody that worked just as well. There was also a rather more serious Stainer piece, Flora’s Queen, extolling the monarch’s beauty and virtue, and culminating in a majestic ‘Long live Victoria!’ – this was put into somewhat irreverent context in the intro: ‘by the way, she died soon afterwards’.