This splendid recording
immortalises one of the highlights of the 2008 Proms season,
a special late-night concert commemorating the 40
th anniversary
of the King’s Singers. This marvellous group continue to
go from strength to strength and their label, Signum, have
chosen to release the concert on both CD and DVD. The DVD
brings definite advantages as we also get extras including
fairly in-depth interviews with each member of the group
and a glance into their past. The surround sound is also
very impressive, though the CD includes more of the spoken
introductions to each song, which have mostly been edited
out for the DVD.
The King’s Singers have
long made a virtue of eclecticism, and typically this collection
includes a bit of everything, including Renaissance madrigals,
English folk-songs, Victorian part-songs and a contemporary
commission,
Scenes in America Deserta. McCabe wrote
this in 1986 especially for the group, setting some remarkably
descriptive words by the architectural historian Peter Reyner
Banham, inspired by his journeys through the great deserts
of the South-West United States. While long, the piece is
quite enthralling as it showcases every facet of the group’s
skill, from grating dissonances through to the eerie transcendence
of its close, by way of some strangely unmusical patter noises. It’s
carried off extremely well, and the visual element of the
DVD helps one to follow the words more easily than if it
was audio only.
The blend among these
six voices is extraordinary: it is rich and mellow when need
be – we wallow in the Victorian part-songs – but razor-sharp
and individually characterful when demanded. The best example
of this is Janequin’s
La guerre, which demands the
imitation of the rat-a-tat of battle, and much more besides. Solo
contributions rise out of the mix momentarily and then subside
back in effortlessly. It’s a priceless illustration of music-making
as an ensemble.
The other French Renaissance
numbers are crisp and effective - listen out for the chicken
noises in
Il est bel et bon! It is good to have the
Poulenc arrangements in the same concert to show how the
later composer, arranging four centuries later, taps into
a similar French tradition and makes his own folk arrangements
sound remarkably like those of his Renaissance predecessors.
Perhaps in spite of
myself, I found the Victorian part-songs meltingly beautiful. The
King’s Singers make no attempt to justify them but take them
as seriously as their overt Romanticism demands.
Phyllis
is my Only Joy and
The Little Green Lane are gorgeously
sentimental, and there must not have been a dry eye in the
house after
The Long Day Closes.
I’ll remember this concert
most, however, for the English folk arrangements which show
the King’s Singers at their dazzling best. The arrangements
themselves are done specially for the group, including one
from a current and a former member, and they fit like a tailor-made
suit. The undulating accompaniment brings a pastoral elegance
to
Greensleeves, while the haunting beauty of
The
Turtle Dove will live long in the memory. As a great
finisher, though, the group sing their version of
Widdicombe
Fair and here the DVD really trumps the CD as we see
their hilarious acting as well as hearing their wonderful
singing. These songs are never seen as daft or unworthy:
instead the group inhabits them as part of a living tradition
which they are doing so much to keep alive.
One gripe to Signum,
though: the descriptive notes to each piece are fine enough,
but there are no sung texts or translations, and not even
the option of subtitles on the DVD. On the one hand this
feels a bit lazy, as Signum have effectively given us the
BBC broadcast without any intervention from them. On the
other hand, though, the group’s diction is so perfect that
no-one will have a problem following the English numbers,
and even the French pieces were clear enough for me to understand
most of what was going on.
A triumphant evening,
then, and a fitting tribute to one of the UK’s greatest cultural
exports. Fans of good singing should not hesitate.
Simon
Thompson