To everyone in the Manly–Warringah Choir
I want to share a few thoughts after Sunday’s concert — not as a critic, but as someone who listens closely, cares about choral music, and recognises the work, discipline, and heart that go into a performance like this.
The programme you took on was no small undertaking. Mozart, Haydn, and the full Requiem in one afternoon is a challenge for any ensemble, and you approached it with commitment and courage.

Te Deum & Ave Verum Corpus.The opening Te Deum had tremendous energy, even if the brass and timpani occasionally made life difficult for you. None of that diminished the intent behind your singing.
But the moment you moved into Ave Verum Corpus, everything settled beautifully. The balance, the warmth, the phrasing — it was simply lovely. You treated the piece with real empathy, and it showed.

Haydn Concerto.  Simon Wolnitzer gave a steady, well‑shaped performance in the Haydn. It was a pleasure to hear the orchestra in a different role before the Requiem.

Mozart Requiem.  Once you began the Requiem, the whole room felt the shift. This is music that asks a lot of a choir — stamina, precision, emotional depth — and you rose to it.  The Kyrie had drive and clarity.  The Dies Irae was full of fire.  The Rex Tremendae had real weight and shape.  And the Lacrimosa was beautifully paced and genuinely moving.

The Soloists.The quartet blended with a natural ease throughout the afternoon.
Molly Ryan’s soprano carried with purity and poise; Amelia Blond brought warmth and steadiness; Spencer Darby shaped his tenor lines with clarity; and Matthew Avery’s rich, resonant baritone grounded the ensemble with real authority.

The Tuba Mirum — A Moment to Treasure. For me, the most unforgettable moment of the afternoon came in the Tuba Mirum.  The trombone solo was played with such restraint and warmth that it created a stillness in the room — and when Molly entered, her voice had a purity that matched it perfectly. The gentle conversation between the two was tender, human, and deeply affecting. It was the kind of moment that reminds us why we sing, why we listen, and why this music endures.

Sanctus to the End. The Sanctus was bold, the Benedictus beautifully shaped by the soloists, and the Agnus Dei brought everything home with dignity and focus. The final return of the opening material felt earned — a true closing of the circle.

In Closing.Yes, there were moments when the modern brass overpowered you — that’s the nature of the modern instruments, not a reflection on your singing. What mattered was the musical intention, the unity of sound, and the emotional honesty you brought to the performance.  And on those counts, you succeeded.

Before I finish, I want to acknowledge something else. After two hours of singing some of the most demanding music in the repertoire — after the concentration, the stamina, the emotional commitment — it seems profoundly unfair that you are then required to put down your scores, pick up a plate, and serve food and wine to the very audience you’ve just moved. Yet you do it with grace, generosity, and good humour, and we all gratefully enjoy the results. It’s another quiet reminder of the spirit of this choir: you give far more than your voices.

It was a performance to be proud of — thoughtful, committed, and full of heart. Thank you for the work you put in, and for giving your audience an afternoon of music that will stay with us.

George Paul

It was like a meeting of old friends.  Handshakes, hugs, kisses, musings on how long since we all met, and a warm welcome for a few new-comers.

The event?  The first orchestra rehearsal for the Choir’s forthcoming concert.  It was on Sunday afternoon, when everyone had broken into their long weekend, to take the first steps towards getting the orchestral music in good shape for next weekend.

As a chorister, it was magic to be there.  Yes, the music is already sounding wonderful, and will no doubt sound even better as the brass and percussion are added.

It was fascinating to watch the rehearsal process.  It was clear that everyone played their own part to the utmost whilst also tuning in to what all their colleagues were doing.  They followed Carlos’ gestures and expressions, and he considered thoughtfully their comments and suggestions.  It was an object lesson in pulling together to achieve a common goal, and the results were obvious.

Why did this strike me?  Because it is in such stark contrast to so much of what we  experience directly and read about.  In so many situations, confrontation seems to be the name of the game, with collaboration sidelined.  It was so refreshing on this occasion to see collaboration at work so successfully.

Speaking of refreshment, Judy, Pam and Tania provided a sumptuous afternoon tea, which Rosemary and her team will follow up with suppers at the rehearsals on Tuesday and Thursday.  It’s a modest “thank you” to the people whose playing adds so much to the Choir’s concerts.  So, “thank you” in turn to all the Choir members who make this gesture possible – another, different form of collaboration.

Isn’t this Mass by Gounod delightful?  It’s full of memorable tunes, distinctive harmonies and dazzling effects.

Speaking of which, I have been musing on the opening to the Gloria.  Unusually, possibly uniquely, it starts very quietly.  Carlos could not think of another Mass with a similar approach to the Gloria.  So, as an experiment, I asked Microsoft’s AI assistant, Copilot,  “In Gounod’s St Cecilia Mass, the Gloria starts quietly. Is this unusual in a Mass?”  Its (or should it be his, her, or their?) reply is:

It’s interesting that you noticed that detail in Gounod’s St. Cecilia Mass! The “Gloria” movement in a Mass setting typically starts with a more triumphant and jubilant tone, as it’s a hymn of praise. However, composers have the creative freedom to interpret and present the text in various ways.

In the case of Gounod’s St. Cecilia Mass, the “Gloria” starts quietly, which is somewhat unusual compared to the more traditional, bold openings. This quiet beginning can create a beautiful and dramatic effect, setting the stage for the build-up to more powerful and celebratory sections.

Composers like Gounod often make these artistic choices to convey specific emotions or to create a unique interpretation of the liturgical text. It’s one of the many ways they bring their personal touch to the music.

Do you have a favorite part in the St. Cecilia Mass?

I then asked Copilot if the feature is unique to this particular Mass.  Their reply:

The feature of starting the “Gloria” quietly is not entirely unique to Gounod’s St. Cecilia Mass, although it is less common. There are other Masses where composers have chosen to begin the “Gloria” with a more subdued or gentle introduction for artistic and interpretive reasons.

For example:

• Franz Schubert’s Mass No. 2 in G major: Schubert opens the “Gloria” with a relatively quiet and gentle beginning before building to a more exuberant section.
• Gabriel Fauré’s Messe des Pêcheurs de Villerville: Although not a traditional setting of the Mass, Fauré’s work begins with a more restrained approach to the “Gloria.”

While these examples are not the norm, they illustrate that composers have occasionally taken creative liberties with the traditional structure of the Mass to bring their unique expression to the liturgical text.

It’s always fascinating to see how different composers interpret the same text in diverse ways. Have you discovered any other Mass settings that stand out to you?

Next, I checked the score of Schubert’s Mass No 2 in G, as we have sung it, and I do not remember a quiet Gloria.  Sure enough, it starts forte and within a few bars is fortissimo.

The Fauré Messe des Pêcheurs de Villerville?  Again, it starts forte, after a few bars there is a short section piano, and then it is back to a consistent forte.

What to make of Copilot and its fellow AI environments?  At first, I was not too worried about their taking over the world.  They will need to get their facts right first.  But then, maybe because they do not always get the facts correct, and because people typically place such blind faith in computer-based systems, we should be extremely concerned.

But it is good to know that a hunch that the Gounod St Cecilia Mass is different from most, if not all, masses in the classical repertoire, is most likely true.

Eckhard sent this fascinating insight into the Bach Chorus, Glory be to God, which we were singing yesterday evening.  It is well worth reading.

Here is what I was trying to say yesterday, but not everyone was able to hear.  In the opening chorus of Part V there is an insight from the original German lyrics that I think has been lost in translation.

The chorus opens
Ehre sei dir Gott, Ehre sei dir Gott,  Ehre sei dir Gott, gesungen,
Glory be to God, Glory be to God,  Glory be to God, Almighty.

On first impressions that is a reasonably good translation, with only the last word being different.  Gesungen vs Almighty.  Sung vs Almighty.

Moving on to the fugue.
Dir sei Lob und Dank bereit.
Glory, thanks and praise be giv’n

The word Bereit is about preparing, preparation, or readiness.
(for you, be praise and thanks prepared would be a better translation).
So in this passage we are singing about preparing the praise that is to be sung to God Most High.  How lovely is that.  Finally, a chorus about choir practice!

Immediately the fugue launches into a light warm-up on scales.  God is not here yet, so we can relax and play and practice these beautiful, light, follow the leader scales and intervals until we are full of confidence and with smiling eyes and tuneful voices we are ready to sing the music that we are preparing to sing to God.

Ehre sei dir Gott, Ehre sei dir Gott,  Ehre sei dir Gott, gesungen,
Glory be to God, Glory be to God,  Glory be to God, Almighty.

Now doesn’t that make a difference!

Thank you, Eckhard!!

Who was J S Bach?

Singing The Christmas Oratorio, and ABC Classic holding a poll to judge whether its composer is “overrated”  (and the answer, thankfully, is that 60% of listeners think he is not overrated), are sufficient stimuli to muse on the issue of who this world famous man was.

Or perhaps, on who he might have been.  It is typical that, over the years, legends and stories arise, some of which form the popular view, and some of which re-inforce the traditions with ornamentation and embellishment.

We can be certain that J S Bach came from a musical family, and that he admired the work of many composers of his day, including the renowned organist, Buxtehude.  We know that in the course of two marriages, he produced twenty two children, some of whom also became musicians.

We also know that Bach was the third choice for the position of Cantor at Leipzig Cathedral, the position he occupied, along with several others demanding roles, while his musical creativity was at its peak.

The seemingly endless stream of music, including cantatas, settings of the Passions, Masses, orchestral suites and concertos, organ voluntaries and inventions, solo violin and cello works, is hugely impressive for its scale alone, never mind the beauty of form and style in each piece.

Simon Tedschi, in a recent article for the ACO, writes about the chain of events involving some of Bach’s sons and some of Felix Mendelssohn’s immediate ancestors, which led to Bach’s music re-emerging in the 19^th century, after a hundred years of the scores sitting in musty trunks in cheerless attics and cellars.  It is amazing to think that, should any of the co-incidences in that chain have been broken, we might never have heard Bach’s music again.

Of course, it is unlikely that we will ever know any more about Bach than is already documented.   Maybe we should settle for enjoying listening to, and for us in the Choir, performing, his music – revelling in its astonishing structures, soaring melodies, rich harmony, luscious textures, and life affirming meaning.