A dream at the Barbican

I went to sleep; and now I am refresh’d,
A strange refreshment; for I feel in me
An inexpressive lightness, and a sense
Of freedom, as I were at length myself,
And ne’er had been before.
(John Henry Newman, The Dream of Gerontius)

On a day of tube strikes, our cheffe de chœur (aka Mag) somehow got all of us across London without a hitch: tickets printed, routes sorted, people where they needed to be. Thank you. Genuinely.

And then the real surprise: front row seats, dead centre. What at first might have seemed almost claustrophobic proved, from the very moment that Sir Antonio Pappano and the soloists arrived on stage, to be an exquisite, near-magical vantage point. One could hear every breath, feel every flicker of doubt, see every movement, every tear. And then the sound just opened and carried everything with it.

Edward Elgar’s musical setting does its work—no need to overstate it. One leaves genuinely refresh’d, with that curious, inexpressive lightness. And though two hours long, the whole experience was a real page-turner that flew by far too quickly.

A formidable evening, shared with choir, parish members, family, and friends. Only one thing was missing: Pr. Alan. We felt that. Wishing him a swift recovery.