Handel’s Chandos Anthems Nos. 6 & 10 • Musica Gloria
The program for this album runs just under an hour, featuring two of Handel’s Chandos anthems—multi-movement works written for Anglican worship. The booklet notes offer solid context, explaining the function of these pieces and their place in Handel’s chronology. The two anthems (Nos. 10 and 6) are separated by a performance of the Concerto for Oboe, HWV 302a.
The tenor aria, track 4 (“One thing have I desired…”), presents the singer clearly and forward, with the instruments providing sympathetic support. His approach to vibrato—used tastefully after longer held notes—feels stylistically apt and in good taste.
Unfortunately, this style isn’t consistent across the ensemble. The opening soprano aria (track 2) uses a continuous wobble that I found less satisfying. The timbre itself is pleasant, but that ever-present vibrato isn’t my ideal.
The second soprano solo (track 10) also employs a generous vibrato, but with greater restraint; she holds longer notes steady before allowing vibrato to bloom at the end—a much more engaging approach. It’s a perennial frustration when singers in the same program don’t share a unified sense of performance practice. In the final chorus, however, the small choir is unified, making the text easy to follow for an English-speaking listener.
Clarity, so strong in the solos, becomes muddied when the full complement of singers enters (track 5, “I will offer in his dwelling…”). The recording seems designed to evoke the experience of hearing the work in a chapel, without the benefit of close miking. That’s a defensible choice, though I missed a stronger bass foundation from the continuo. I auditioned the album in a near-field setup but suspect it benefits from headphone listening.
The four-movement concerto that divides the two anthems feels stylistically of a piece with them. The inclusion of a “Fugue” movement—more by title than technique—suggests possible liturgical use. It’s less an “oboe concerto” than a string work colored by the oboe, and the addition of bassoon in the continuo is a fine touch.
The opening of the sixth anthem, with its dynamic contrasts, sounds a bit underpowered; a slightly larger orchestral force might have brought greater impact. The chorus on track 17, by contrast, strikes a good balance—vibrato present but proportionate and expressive.
The solo oboe engages the alto in “Tears are my daily food,” a duet that invites real dialogue between the lines. Co-director Nele Vertommen’s playing is supple and expressive. Later, in “Why so full of grief…,” the oboe pairs with violin to pleasing effect, though I wished for a touch more projection and expressive weight from the violin.
Tempos throughout are well judged—the final chorus especially shows confident pacing. One of the recording’s strengths is the diction: words are delivered with admirable clarity, something not always guaranteed even in English.
The album does, however, suffer from mild balance issues and a lack of transparency. Of course, that’s true to life: in a stone church, sound rises and reverberates, and we lose some detail. The result feels authentic, if slightly distant.
Recordings that bring us closer to the musicians, while allowing some ambience, let us inhabit the performers’ space rather than the pews. In a perfect world, we’d have unlimited mic placements and could “mix” the experience ourselves. If you like the authenticity of a concert experience, this album’s sonic style is aligned to that.
When my Roon software queued up a track from the ensemble’s earlier Encounters in Rome (Corelli’s La Follia), I realized how much closer I wanted to be to these players. With forces this small, a more intimate perspective might have revealed greater nuance and energy.
I compared this performance of HWV 251b with Arcangelo’s recent recording under Jonathan Cohen on Alpha Classics. That album, which includes four anthems, employs a similarly modest ensemble but with a fuller string section. The oboe and bassoon there are beautifully captured, and the oboe–violin duet in the sixth movement is better balanced and more present. The Arcangelo recording feels chamber-sized yet vividly detailed—a perspective that for me flatters the repertoire.
Both releases are well executed, but in terms of balance and sonic character, Cohen’s Arcangelo set has the edge. Fortunately, the overlap is minimal, giving listeners good reason to own both recordings.
