Handel’s Royal Music in Regal Surroundings
Stephen Cleobury knows something about pageantry. After all, he’s spent decades conducting in a building where monarchs have worshipped and where the very stones seem to remember centuries of English ceremony. This recording of Handel’s Coronation Anthems—plus the less frequently encountered Ode for Queen Anne—makes the most of that accumulated authority, though not always in the ways one might expect.
The four anthems composed for George II’s 1727 coronation remain among Handel’s most enduringly popular creations, and with good reason. “Zadok the Priest” alone would secure their immortality—those hushed string murmurings building to that explosive choral entry have thrilled listeners for nearly three centuries. But Cleobury doesn’t go for cheap thrills. His approach is more considered, more… well, English in the best sense. The King’s College Choir produces that characteristic sound: warm, blended, slightly hooded in the upper registers. It’s not the lean, athletic sound of some period ensembles, nor is it the massive cathedral forces one sometimes hears. Something in between, really.
And here’s where things get interesting. The Academy of Ancient Music under Pavlo Beznosiuk’s leadership provides period instruments, yet the overall effect isn’t what we’ve come to expect from the authentic rendition movement. The choir’s vibrato, the slightly cushioned attacks, the generous acoustic of King’s College Chapel—all these conspire to produce something rather more traditional than revolutionary. Is this a problem? Not necessarily.
Listen to “The King shall rejoice” and you’ll hear what I mean. The opening has genuine swagger, the rhythms crisp enough, the trumpets (when they finally enter) properly brilliant. But that final “Alleluia“—the one that should set the chapel ablaze—sounds almost restrained. The tempo is certainly brisk, the articulation clean, but the choir’s fundamental sonority remains so civilized, so beautifully blended, that the music never quite explodes off the page. One thinks of Pinnock’s recording with the English Concert, or even "Presto"n’s Westminster Abbey version, where the sheer visceral excitement makes you sit up straighter.
Still, there are compensations. “My heart is inditing,” that marvelous anthem written for the Queen’s coronation, receives an especially fine reading. Here Cleobury’s attention to inner voices pays dividends—notice how the alto line emerges in “Kings’ daughters,” or the nuanced interplay in “Upon thy right hand.” The album captures these textures beautifully, perhaps too beautifully. EMI’s engineers have given us a sound that flatters and smooths, occasionally at the expense of clarity in the loudest tuttis where things do get rather blurred.
The Ode for the Birthday of Queen Anne occupies roughly half the disc, and it’s here that the recording truly distinguishes itself. This 1713 work—Handel’s first royal commission in England—remains oddly neglected, which is a shame given its considerable beauties. Robin Blaze brings his customary intelligence to the countertenor solos, that pure, focused tone ideally suited to “Let all the winged race with joy.” He ornaments tastefully, never overdoing it, and his diction is exemplary.
Susan Gritton proves equally valuable. Her soprano has the right combination of purity and warmth for “Kind Health descends on downy wings,” that lovely siciliano which unfolds with genuine tenderness. She doesn’t have the effortless coloratura of, say, Emma Kirkby in this repertoire, but she compensates with a more generous tone and real expressive commitment. Michael George anchors things solidly in the bass solos, though one wishes he had a bit more text animation in “Let Envy then conceal her head.”
The famous opening movement, “Eternal source of light divine,” features David Blackadder’s trumpet in dialogue with Blaze. It’s become something of a Baroque hit parade item—you’ve heard it at weddings, funerals, state occasions. Blackadder plays with fine control and a lovely, singing tone, though the acoustic tends to blur some of his faster passagework. The tempo is on the slow side, perhaps too slow, but the effect is certainly grand.
Cleobury’s continuo realization throughout deserves mention—Alastair Ross at the harpsichord provides discreet, tasteful support, never calling attention to himself but always there when you need harmonic clarity. The strings of the Academy play with that slightly lean, focused sound we expect from period instruments, though again the chapel acoustic adds a certain bloom.
What we have here, then, is a distinguished but not definitive recording. The Coronation Anthems have been better served elsewhere—Pinnock remains the benchmark for sheer excitement, "Presto"n for authentic grandeur. But the Ode receives as fine a performance as it’s likely to get, and the overall standard of musicianship is high throughout. If you want Handel’s royal music presented with impeccable taste and luminous sound, Cleobury delivers. If you want it to raise the roof… well, that’s another matter entirely.
Recommended, with reservations.
