This pioneering record, first issued in 1984, champions some of Byrd's most exquisitely formed and passionate works. At the time of its release, several commentators noted with surprise how scarce recordings were of these cantiones sacrae (or 'sacred songs'; the word 'motet' loosely corresponds). Seven years on, the majority have never been revisited. It's not that the record industry has been negligent of Byrd, but rather that its basket has reserved pride of place for three particular eggs: Byrd's Masses, new recordings of which tumble from the pressing plants with monotonous regularity. Has commerce here exerted its supremacy over more reasoned critical evaluation? True, the Masses are marvellous works, fully deserving acclaim; but not at the expense of Byrd's earlier and equally important motets. Full marks, then, to the Choir of New College, Oxford, for their confident and powerful advocacy.
There is still uncertainty about how many (if any) of the motets included here would have been sung in Byrd's own day by choirs, rather than consorts of solo voices. Listening to New College Choir, one might reckon the matter to be of academic interest, since the performances are musically so impressive. Even the shorter pieces are made to sound monumental, and in the longer motets—two of which extend to nine minutes or more—Edward Higginbottom achieves a glorious sense of breadth and weight. But all this is at the expense of intimacy and the delicate balance between words and music. Mozart's quartets sound well enough played by a string orchestra, yet few listeners would want to hear them performed in that way. For many the same will be true of Byrd's motets. To them these choral interpretations will often seem frankly overblown.
Some pieces fare better than others. I enjoyed the opening In resurrectione tua for its appropriate sense of liturgical celebration, and Aspice Domine because its musical language, redolent of older Tudor church music, genuinely benefits from a choral sonority. Less successful is the fleet-footed Vigilate, one of Byrd's rare experiments with the madrigal idiom, which sounds laboured when sung by a full choir; and the poignant Tristitia et anxietas receives a performance that is architecturally impressive but emotionally cool. Some day soon, one hopes, there will be an alternative to these versions. In the meantime, this record at least serves to introduce its worthy subjects, and at its best it does so with distinction.'