An island of music lovers

When the Guernsey Choral and Orchestral Society are performing, everybody in the know buys their tickets early. It’s an evening that embodies the important role music plays in so many islanders’ lives, young and not-so-young, singers and musicians, all gathered to share the pleasure that music brings them.
I also know, when conductor Rachel Wright steps up to the stage in her sparkles, that we’re in for a brilliant evening. Clearly, so did a packed St James – the excitable buzz stilled in an instant. Mozart was on the menu, and everything else could wait till interval. With her were the four guest soloists: Sophie Akka, Soprano; Gabriel Jones, tenor; Eibhlin Eddy, mezzo-soprano and George Elson, bass; all are students at the Royal Northern College of Music, but with an impressive degree of professional experience already behind them.
The first half of the programme was devoted to sacred motets; starting with the glorious Veni Sancte Spiritus, K.47, written almost unbelievably when Mozart was only twelve. The full-throated sound gave proper substance to the richness of the harmonies, out of which burst a joyous ping pong match of Alleluias, bouncing between the different parts with infectious energy. I thought there was a lovely balance between whole choir and single voices; something I noticed throughout.
Sancta Maria, K273 opened with a crisp and confident lead from the orchestra. Rachel kept the pace skipping along, managing to connect with an enormous body of singers and instrumentalists – and you could see in their faces how closely they follow her.
A motet composed at the far end of Mozart’s tragically short life, was the serenely unhurried Ave Verum Corpus, K618. The simple, beautiful melody washed a tide of calm over us … I particularly noted the resonant groundwork of the double bass holding the whole structure smoothly on track.
One of Mozart’s most beguiling instrumental works is his Sinfonia Concertante for Winds in Eb, K297b. All the sweetness of Mozart’s miraculous gift for melody seeped into us, fusing together the most sublime of harmonies as oboe, bassoon and clarinet wove arabesques around each other over the pulsing strings. This is music of utter contentment – I can imagine a collective drop in blood pressure throughout the audience in those brief moments of bliss.
Sophie Akka had the unenviable task of following this perfection. In the Alleluia from Exsultate Jubilate, K165, and the subsequent Laudate Dominum, K339, she rose impressively to the challenge with an assurance that belied her years.
With music so beloved and familiar to our ears, every singer will know they’re performing against a backdrop of the greats. Sophie appeared undaunted. Her supple soprano danced up and down the scale with effortless fluency, exhibiting a reined-in power that suggests a promising future, potentially operatic, in my view.
Jesu, wahrer Gottessohn, K42, gathered all instrumentalists and singers together in a full-throated display of Rachel’s ability to manage a very large group. Her energy reaches out to the very back rows; she commands attention through her enthusiasm, and generates an eagerness amongst all her musicians to give their very best. It’s a rare talent.
The interval could have been twice as long, and the friends, relatives and supporters of the GCOS wouldn’t have run out of excited conversation… but when the bell rang, nobody wanted to miss a note.
Mozart’s Requiem is one of his most powerful works, hedged about with legend and freighted with emotion, composed in his final, desperate months and unfinished at the time of his death in 1791. It was later completed by his student, Franz Sussmayer). It was not, as rumour had it, written for his own funeral, but his declining health and poverty could not but have influenced its heartfelt anguish and appreciation of the life and love he felt slipping through his fingers.
From the funereal pace of the introit to the sinister triple beat heralding the awe-ful character of the Requiem, the tone was set for a work of profound importance. The slow march forward, lyrically exquisite but weighed down with inescapable awareness of the endpoint of the journey, generates a drama that clutches at the heart. The trombones (beautiful playing) urge the choir forward… none may slip the net.
Into this ocean of mourning our four soloists emerged like souls rising above the waves to plead for mercy. For all their youth, there was a maturity of expression in the sweet intermingling of voices that suggested the possibility of hope. That freshness – sounding as though the work was still new and exciting to them – added a charm that lifted the work from its purely sombre purpose..
Besides their beautiful tone, they listen to each other. The way they filtered in to build a sound of subtle magnificence in the Recordare, kept the intimacy of a conversation.
Guiding the dynamics in so large a group, to build up to the delicate poignancy of the Lacrimosa, via an outburst of unbearable grief, without losing the balance between voice and orchestra was, I thought, one of the most heartrending parts of the Requiem for me. Both forceful and expressive – that implacable bass drum, driving us relentlessly towards the grave – it achieved an authentic sense of the suffering and denial that follows bereavement.
From the Offertorium the mood seemed to move from that underlying note of despair, towards acceptance, in the descanting of the soloists, sometimes pressing forwards, then retreating into pure harmony.
After the incisive opening of the Sanctus, given impetus by Tim Wright’s emphatic percussion, the choir threw their all into the movement – a fervent prayer of supplication – with brio.
The Benedictus which followed gave us a chance to appreciate the soloists’ part singing. Mezzo-soprano Eiblin’s led off with calm authority, her velvety tones joined
and interlaced by the other voices in a gorgeous plait of sound, each rising and sinking into a pattern of tenderness, evolving into a glorious fugue.
The closing movements have a feeling of returning to earlier themes, picking up familiar tunes from the journey – but what a moving journey it has been. We listen to these familiar sounds with changed ears. The beautiful Cum Santus has a quality of acceptance, even assurance about it, as the fugue draws all the performers into a recognition of the immovable laws governing humanity.
Rachel’s ability to guide her enormous ship through the ever-changing seas of one of the most well-loved choral works around, so that it doesn’t disintegrate through sheer complexity, was a remarkable feat. She negotiated the emotional and technical demands with nerve and skill, keeping everyone on board, and giving of their utmost. She must feel very proud of her performance and her musicians, and they of her.
Julia Meredith, May 2026