It is most moving to hear this and to reflect that for the best part of a century – the premiere took place in 1897 in Birmingham – a work so rich in feeling and craftsmanship has lain largely silent and unregarded (though Edward de Rivera has conducted two performances, the last one in 1992 in London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall). The opening Requiem aeternam ought of itself, one would think, to have ensured at least the occasional revival: a warm, lyrical composition, firmly structured and with something unmistakably personal about it, rather as with Dvorak. The Kyrie seems to express affection, though ‘For what?’ one wonders – perhaps for the sheer beauty of sound. The “Gradual” allows interest to slip, recaptured by the “Sequence”, plentiful in ideas and rising to a generous climax in the “Lacrimosa”. The “Offertorium” brings a touch of nineteenth-century Grand Manner, tightening up later with a robust fugal “Quam olim Abrahae”. The Sanctus ends vigorously with its “Pleni sunt caeli”, and a sweet, well-sustained orchestral passage (perhaps with Beethoven in mind) leads into the “Benedictus”. A Funeral March introduces the Agnus Dei, and the whole work, not all that much shorter than the Verdi Requiem, ends with a spacious, steadily developed “Lux aeterna”. Soloists and chorus are used with relish for the capabilities of the human voice, and in listening one thinks (I found) quite as much of opera as of oratorio.
As a fill-up on the second disc we are given further rarities, the Prelude and other excerpts from The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan. This was the first of Stanford’s operas, successfully produced in Germany (premiered in Hanover, 1881) and then awarded a prestigious cast, headed by Nordica, Vignas and Ancona, at Covent Garden – for one night (July 26th, 1891). G. B. Shaw, a tenacious critic of Stanford on most occasions, missed the opera but was charmed by the “bower of roses” song. That is included here, as are two sets of dances. The Prelude, more Brahms than Mendelssohn and with a genial suggestion of the Irish jig, is a thoroughly likeable piece, so once more we are left feeling that here is still another area of Stanford’s output that might reward attention.
The performances are able and enthusiastic. In the Requiem the soloists include a soprano with sweet, fresh tone and a robust bass; all do well. The choir suffer from being insufficiently forward in the balance, but that is a common complaint. Recorded sound might be sharper, but at least it falls more kindly on the ears than do many of more vaunted origin. In any case, we are deeply in Marco Polo’s debt for this revival, and the Growlery is closed.'