To sit directly under the splendid chiaroscuro dome of St Paul's Cathedral, with angels, apostles and Christ himself glittering down from mosaiced arches, is to be in the middle of astonishing beauty. Adding music and dance to this visual feast could seem like overkill, but – as a canon of the cathedral reminded us in his welcome announcement – this space was designed for movement and music, and both are a constant feature of the Christian worship that has gone on here for centuries.
Classical music is, of course, no stranger to church interiors, having roots in liturgical song, many of its triumphs in sacred settings, and still being used as well as performed in churches. Classical dance, on the other hand, perhaps as a result of its origins in the profoundly secular world of the 17th-century court, has kept its distance from religion. As a way to narrow that gap, Tuesday's City of London Festival performance by English National Ballet in St Paul's had the potential to be seriously interesting, particularly given the presence on the bill of two brand new works, but the end result, while enjoyable, did not match its setting in either profundity or sublimity.
A new commission for English National Ballet, The Four Seasons (set to selections of music by Vivaldi, including both The Four Seasons and the Concerti grossi, Op. 3) was a frothy opener. One couple represented each season, their white costumes enlivened by delicately toned colours and featuring a graceful version of the London skyline (although I suspect that detail would have been lost on anyone sitting more than ten rows from the dancers). Van le Ngoc's choreography nicely matched the Baroque formality of the music by deploying and recombining a few clear signature movements, always strongly on the beat. The mood changed appropriately for each season: spring was a flirty, breathless petit allegro (in warm lime green), while the autumn pas de deux over solo violin was as light as a dried leaf, and costumed in golden russet. The whole effect was light and pleasing, but took nothing from its setting in St Paul's; it would be absolutely perfect performed outside on the Embankment on a summer's evening, where the real skyline could echo the dancers' costumes.
The second new work, Antony Dowson's Of A Rose, set to music from John Rutter's Magnificat, deserves credit for taking on the religious theme suggested by a commission which is to have its world première in a cathedral, but ultimately fails to deliver any insight. Anais Chalendard, presumably the rose of the title, is woven around, draped over and lifted by Max Westwell and James Streeter, her extreme thinness (every rib showed in Wizzy Shawyer's white unitards) accentuated by their tall muscularity. Her malleable body briefly assumes the shapes of crucifixion and the pietà, but it's not clear to what end. Although the gymnastic partner-work was executed elegantly and with beautiful control, I was left strangely unmoved by this piece, which lacked narrative drive or emotional development. The City Chamber Choir filled the space with a warm sound, which made up in richness what it lacked in tidiness.