Oliver Leith’s Garland: dreamlike chaos in a Peckham car park

How many of these things have you recently come across at a concert? Some 50 string and brass players, plus four percussionists, a lone pianist and a soprano? Check. A horde of people walking and singing—sure, let’s call it a processional? Check. How about two – not one – conductors to hold this spectacle together? Check. Maybe a bit of cycling to keep you on your toes? A performer cracking a whip? Well, how about an actual horse named Edward? Check. Check. Check. By this point the only question is: has it toppled Wagner in force with over 100 people on stage?

Regardless, Garland stood confidently on its own feet – or rather, on a swarm of them – bringing Oliver Leith’s most ambitious work to life. Set to words by Charlie Fox and conducted by Jack Sheen and Naomi Woo, it brought together 12 Ensemble, GBSR Duo, Exaudi, Musarc, soprano Patricia Auchterlonie, percussionists Sam Wilson, Craig Apps and Jake Brown, and the Bold Chorus, led by Oli Kitching. Ellen Poppy Hill designed the handsome, uniform-like costumes, accented with bits of coloured tape, while a large team worked behind the scenes to realise the production.

The music opened with simple piano chords, but in the blink of an eye grew opulent and hazy, teeming with choppy strings and soft brass textures. Much of it moved downwards, both in mood and in melody, radiating a sweetly sorrowful atmosphere. Leith’s writing shone at its best when he characteristically augmented the standard acoustic line-up with all kinds of unusual sounds: whistling, whirly tubes, tiny bells, ceramic shards, even the sound of a horse walking. It lent the music a nostalgic, dreamlike colour, a yearning for something undefined, just out of reach. I couldn’t help but wonder: where was the irony, the cheek? Halfway through, it arrived in the form of an unresolved pickup to Für Elise, a brief wink in the midst of all the grandeur. Yet it quickly returned to a more serious, poignant note. A hint of musical optimism might have lifted the fairytale’s wistfulness, but can you really expect that from the prince of bubblegum melancholia?

The congregational choir was busy with its procession, circling us in the suitably chosen space of a car park. The unfolding spectacle quickly got messy: they stopped, sat down, split into small groups, dragged metal poles and wooden slabs, and even pulled along a shopping trolley full of bottles. Some musicians also began walking in loops. It became impossible to track everything happening at once – and that was the beauty of Leith’s dramaturgical counterpoint. Carrying the audience from one image to the next, the transitions were satisfyingly smooth. The whole thing looked and sounded utterly romantic: a chance pigeon – miraculously not a dove – soaring through the performers at the most intense moment.

It would be foolish to single out any one performer: together, they conjured an emotionally rich sound world with remarkable skill. Garland showed exactly what the UK new music scene could achieve if funding matched ambition. The music is charismatic and accessible without being dumbed down. When passionate, talented people come together to realise such projects, the result is thrilling. Whether that thrill lasts a day or a week, it is already a significant achievement.