It is perhaps surprising that there are not more complete recordings of The Dream of Gerontius, frequently referred to as the greatest oratorio by an Englishman. As of this writing I have traced just north of two dozen commercial releases. The majority of these involve British ensembles and conductors, some of whom have recorded the work multiple times. Be that as it may, there are some celebrated efforts in this relatively modest catalogue. So while the present offering does not exactly enter a flooded market, it nonetheless faces substantial competition. Still, much would seem to augur well for its success. Conductor Paul McCreesh and his Gabrieli Consort and Players have supplied many fine recordings of large Renaissance and Baroque vocal works. (In my estimation there is no better option than theirs for Handel’s Messiah, to give only one example.) McCreesh is known for his assiduous research, preference for period instruments, and the amazingly pristine sound he elicits from his musicians. All such attributes apply in this new Dream of Gerontius release, which is the first that features instruments from Elgar’s own day. On paper everything should amount to a distinguished venture. And largely it does! But here is an awkward situation where ‘distinguished’ does not necessarily translate to ‘preferred’. For what holds me at arm’s length is something that goes beyond the considerable skill and polish on display: namely, the relative detachment with which this group collectively treats Gerontius’s eschatological dread.Footnote ¹

One can first glean this from the beautifully produced liner notes (curiously unnumbered), if they are read prior to listening. In addition to track listings, sung texts, participant information, and various images, we find three writings: one apiece by pianist-composer Stephen Hough, harpsichordist-commentator Mahan Esfahani, and McCreesh himself. The shared tone of the first two finds telling reflection in the performance. According to Hough, ‘At the end of Elgar’s masterpiece (often with tears on our faces) we realise that belief or doubt, God or zero, is not a required choice. As that final chord subsides we sense our very existence is to be chosen, believed in, loved’. Esfahani writes: ‘Rather, Gerontius is a sonic manifestation of the great spiritual wager made by the faithful against the unfathomable. Even in its breadth and dramatic sweep, it projects as much emotional uncertainty as it does its composer’s Olympian prowess and erudition. It is a work as much from the world of Mallarmé’s L’Après midi d’un faune as it is from that of Parsifal’. He closes with the remark that ‘such works rarely come from those possessed with a belief in their own transcendent infallibility’.

Frankly, I think these remarks miss the point. The question should be less one of whether or not we actually subscribe to Catholic theology, couched in Cardinal Newman’s terms and Elgar’s music. Rather, it should centre on the listener’s willingness to deal viscerally with the premises that both so powerfully put before us: what would it mean, and how would it feel, to personally experience Everyman’s journey from deathbed to Purgatory? It is quite a terrifying prospect, and one which, whatever Elgar actually believed at different times, he was here abundantly willing to entertain. All throughout the score we see signs of an earnestness that he urged his performers to share, with indications like con espressione, molto espresso, dolcissimo, or molto maestoso frequently encountered. And here is where I find this new interpretation falling short. One frequently gets the sense that McCreesh consciously avoids overly effusive outbursts of passion; but these are exactly what drive the music home so powerfully. I am not asking McCreesh to personally accept Purgatory, or to fully approve of nineteenth-century (or even Wagnerian) emotionalism, but I wish he had artistically courted them better. I am somewhat reminded of words from Elgar’s younger contemporary, G. K. Chesterton: ‘When the Professor is told by the Polynesian that once there was nothing except a great feathered serpent, unless the learned man feels a thrill and a half temptation to wish it were true, he is no judge of such things at all’.Footnote ²

Let us proceed to some specifics. From the appearance of the main theme at Rehearsal 4 we apprehend that this Gerontius will be served with a noticeable touch of reserve. McCreesh supplies some of the con espressione Elgar indicates straightaway, but not enough. Part of the problem is that McCreesh observes the dynamics and articulation markings with admirable precision, but hesitates to add too much rubato. The grand choral exultations (such as at the close of Part I and directly before God judges Gerontius in Part II) could use a lustier approach that is less rigidly march-like in places. Similarly, the Chorus of Demons in Part II is wonderfully clear and sharp, but not quite crass enough to paint the picture most vividly. Here is a good place to mention that McCreesh’s commitment to period instruments has its drawbacks. In the liner notes’ third essay, he describes in loving detail all of the older instruments used and their characteristics. To be sure, they provide a unique sound when measured against the modern ones of other recordings. And after all, it’s a sound closer to what Elgar and his contemporary audiences would have heard. I am just not sure that these reasons are worth the drawbacks. In my initial listen I kept noticing how relatively ‘tinny’ this orchestra sounds, and while I eventually became accustomed to it on repeated hearings, there were always places throughout where I thought the comparatively fulsome profile of modern equipment would have better matched the late Romantic idiom. Perhaps this would even have mitigated some of McCreesh’s expressive inhibitions.

But there are definite positives, too. McCreesh and Company are at their finest in the lighter and airier portions. One thinks principally of the opening to both parts of the oratorio but especially the second, which matches excellently the portrayal of Gerontius’s soul first waking in the afterlife. Pretty well all of the choral portions throughout are dispatched with superb text intelligibility and dynamic balance. From the standpoint of technique, I have not heard better. For the most part the soloists also serve well in their roles, at least as far as they are able under McCreesh’s overall vision. Best of all is mezzo-soprano Anna Stéphany as Gerontius’s guiding Angel, whose dramatic task is relatively modest compared with the title character’s. Her warm tone, especially in the cantabile passages, is a treat to hear. Also good for the most part is Nicky Spence in the main role. I have previously praised his voice in this journal, and gladly echo much of that opinion here.Footnote ³ Without doubt he outpaces the strained Peter Pears in Benjamin Britten’s well-known account (Decca 448 170-2), and is also my choice over a hollery Nicolai Gedda in Adrian Boult’s second recorded outing (EMI CDS 7 47208 8). One early juncture especially disappointed me, however: the ‘Sanctus fortis’ passage. We need to feel more desperation here than Spence and his support provide. However, my deepest reservation concerns Andrew Foster-Williams as the Priest, and to a lesser extent as the Angel of Agony. In the former capacity especially, he just does not have the desired heft. Indeed, it is sometimes difficult to hear him against the chorus at the close of the first part. Compare this with the stellar Bryn Terfel in an otherwise middling performance led by Mark Elder (Hallé CDHLD7520).

On balance, this is a studied, thoughtful interpretation of The Dream of Gerontius. It is easily the most meticulous I have ever heard and deserves serious engagement. Certainly, it belongs in the collections of committed Elgarians. But if I am addressing the more casual listener, who wants to own one or maybe two versions and no more, my advice is to invest elsewhere. Because for all of its meticulousness, McCreesh and Company’s Gerontius is in the end a bit too self-conscious. Truthfully, they are not alone. I have detected in other modern recordings a decided hesitancy when it comes to embracing aspects of Elgar’s art and world that accord poorly with certain contemporary sensibilities. Luckily, the available catalogue offers plenty of options. For my money, the Gerontius benchmark is still Malcolm Sargent directing the Huddersfield Choral Society and the Liverpool Philharmonic, featuring Heddle Nash in the title role (1945, Testament SBT2025), with John Barbirolli’s 1964 outing (EMI CZS 573579–2) close on its heels. Neither’s dated sonics can compete with those of the present release, but both grasp the spiritual core of the work more convincingly. For a later alternative, check out Richard Hickox and the London Symphony Chorus & Orchestra (Chandos CHAN8641/2), where Arthur Davies satisfyingly shines as the fraught protagonist. Elgar’s musical world is best experienced at the hands of those who abandon even slight aesthetic or ideological apprehension. No amount of precision can substitute for full-throated conviction.