The War Requiem is a work of such genius and of such universality that it can benefit from different and complementary readings. The latest, based on live performances in North Germany, is notable for the absolute precision of its ensemble and for the daring of its attack engendered by its conductor's direct, dramatic approach. Gardiner seems intent above all to lay before us the work's musical attributes, so we marvel anew at its taut construction, variety of invention, security of structure, and at Britten's unerring sense of timing and ability to forge poems and ritual, huge forces and chamber ensemble, into a single unified concept. It is a unique achievement here made manifest by one of the most perceptive interpreters of the day. Again and again Gardiner makes musical points through following exactly what is there in the score, as for instance the slow rallentando at ''Quantus tremor'' (Dies irae, fig. 53) and the sense of all horror spent at the end of the Sanctus (fig. 100).
That said, taken as a whole the reading failed to move me or engross my whole being as was the case when listening to the Hickox performance. You have only to compare the opening of the Sanctus, and its continuation for that matter, with the Chandos, where Hickox and his producer make everything immediate, from bells, to orchestra and eventually soprano soloist, whereas the Gardiner is heard as if at one remove. Some may prefer the more recessed choral recording (against which JBS and I have inveighed for so long) and sense of a church perspective—but the Hickox was recorded in a church: Chandos still manage to give us presence and a forward sound without losing a sense of spaciousness.
Listening ever more closely we also notice that the British choral forces seem so much more involved in what they are doing—not only here but throughout—than their German counterparts who are perhaps less familiar with the idiom. And Luba Organasova, though a rewardingly firm and accurate soprano soloist, offers nothing like the conviction of Heather Harper in the succeeding Benedictus let alone that of Vishnevskaya in the composer's set. As you would expect the Tolz Boys sing with an appealingly fresh, honest tone but no more so than the St Paul's Cathedral boys (Hickox) who may be nearer in sound to what Britten intended.
With the baritone soloist similar contrasts appertain. In terms of firm, sappy tone, clear intervals and keen musicianship Boje Skovhus, whom I shall be glad to hear again, is superb, but he cannot in the nature of things give us the interior conviction and character evinced by Shirley-Quirk for Hickox, or Thomas Allen (Rattle). It is left to Anthony Rolfe Johnson to offer the truly authentic and moving interpretation on this new recording, more refined than for Shaw—listen to ''One ever hangs'' now even more plangent. He and his baritone colleague make the required effect of ghost voices from beyond the grave in the closing colloquy; they also do well in the shattering Abraham and Isaac duet.
Were there no other recordings we would probably find this one far more than adequate, but the stringent and inspired standards set by the Chandos, which won two Gramophone Awards in 1992 (Choral and Engineering), are not equalled let alone surpassed here. Even the old Britten/Decca has more presence, though not such a wide range, of course, as the new one, and it still gives off a special, pioneering charge. Rattle is as vital as Gardiner and, for better or worse, more theatrical. Shaw, as ever, offers some superb choral singing and a spacious recording. But the Hickox, for all-round conviction and amazing sound, remains the favourite and includes two other works as a bonus: the new version stands by itself.'