Handel: Messiah
Academy of Ancient Music, Laurence Cummings
The Barbican, 17 December 2024

Handel’s Messiah is a curious piece. Usually ritualistically churned out at Christmas and Easter, it was first performed at Easter in Dublin in 1742 after a mere 24 days of composition (a speed not unusual in Handel’s opera compositions), the autograph score bearing witness to the compositional haste. It went through several revisions in the following years, generally to suit the available forces for each performance. The score wasn’t published until eight years after Handel’s death. The version used for this Barbican performance from the Academy of Ancient Music stems from the early 1750s. The rather obtuse libretto was put together by the wealthy landowner, Charles Jennens, from the King James Bible and Psalms from the Book of Common Prayer, seemingly in support of his staunch Anglican leanings. The text is not easy to follow, let alone understand, but Handel composed with apparent relish, making no change to the texts to suit his musical ideas.

It is worth watching this 23-minute video discussion with Laurence Cummings, Julia Kuhn, and Ruth Kiang. Amongst many other gems about Messiah and performance practice, Laurence Cummings’ description of Messiah as ‘Theatre of the Mind’ helps to explain his own interpretation of the piece, which is obviously based on a deep understanding of the underlying musical thread that Handel weaves through the complex story of the life of Jesus from Old Testament prophecy to the complex post-Resurrection confirmation of Christian faith. Although apparently a devout believer, Handel’s music seems to hint at humanist thinking, most of the individual contributions reflecting very human emotions, although devoid of the individual characterisations that would have been the case in an opera.

It has been suggested by Handel scholar Donald Burrows that much of the text is largely incomprehensible to those ignorant of the biblical accounts. It is probably not much more understandable to those who have some understanding of theological texts. During Laurence Cummings’ video discussion, he recalls that, as part of the luxurious rehearsal time allowed for opera rather than concert performances, he spent 3 hours discussing one particular aria with two very experienced singers, during rehearsals for a staged production, but they still ended up with no clear idea of what the text actually meant.

I have no idea whether Laurence or any other of the performers are strong believers but, statistically, it is likely that very few are. Does that make a difference? To me, no. I can be moved by operatic arias the texts of which seem, at least to me, to be complete nonsense. Such is the power of Handel’s music. Again I quote Laurence Cummings from the video. Right at the end he is asked for his favourite part of the whole piece. He picks one moment from the last few bars that always makes him cry – the tenor entry as the second voice of the final fugal stretto of the Amen just minutes from the end! Such was the power of that entry from the tenors that I think he might have told them that before the performance.

One aspect of Cummings’ performance that heightened the emotional effect of the Amen chorus, and indeed most of the other choruses, was his beautifully controlled use of dynamics and the build-up of tension. It is something that Handel often writes into the music, not least in the Amen where there is a dramatic jump in volume after a subtle start – with only one word in the whole piece, a fine example of Handel’s use of musical rhetoric to heighten emotional power.

The soloists were Anna Devin, soprano (replacing the indisposed Louise Alder), Tim Mead, countertenor, Nick Pritchard, tenor, and Cody Quattlebaum, bass, the latter providing a marked contrast in physical style and vocal power to the others. Although Anna Devin had slightly more vibrato than I am comfortable with, her last-minute stand-in was excellent, with wonderfully clear articulation and enunciation. Tim Mead and Nick Pritchard were similarly talented, each portraying the complex texts with conviction and outstanding vocal quality. Cody Quattlebaum relished the chunkier roles, shaking the heavens and all nations and furiously raging, whilst projecting sensitivity in the milder moments as he told us a mystery. Incidentally, it was good that all the da capos were respected, notably the B-section of The trumpet shall sound, which is often omitted. I have no idea what the text means by the mortal putting on immortality, but it is a fine counter to the dead being raised incorruptible.

Peter Mankarious, as the only instrumental soloist in the entire piece, was outstanding in sounding the trumpet. The other major instrumental contributions came from the continuo section of Joseph Crouch, cello, Judith Evans, bass, Eligio Lius Quinteiro, theorbo and Alastair Ross, organ and harpsichord, along with Laurence Cummings directing from the harpsichord.

For those interested in such things, the Hallelujah chorus that concludes Part Two produced any almost complete, if initially rather hesitant, upstanding, the only exception seems to be a few who would have probably struggled to get up and two young men who I guess were not of these parts. I know some conductors turn to signal to the audience at the start, but Laurence Cummings’ more democratic approach seemed to work well.