Whereas the recent disc by the choir of Wells Cathedral, ‘Hills of the North, rejoice!’ (Hyperion, 12/02), led with one of the hymns which school assemblies might actually condescend to sing, the record from Truro contains probably more than its fair share of the kind which will generally elicit little more than a murmur. An exception is My song is love unknown, its memorable words by the 17th-century poet and clergyman Samuel Crossman set so beautifully by John Ireland.

The disc ends with Jesus shall reign, and includes Immortal, invisible and The strife is o’er, so it is not entirely deprived of the more popular and stirring numbers in the book; but many are of that whole-some and worthy sort dating from the 18th century or earlier, often German in origin, strong in their bones but somewhat plain of feature.

The style of performance matches strength with strength. Numerically limited (10 boys, 14 men), the singers concentrate their tone, keep sufficient power in reserve to achieve an effective climax, and take care to ensure they are getting their words across. Careful phrasing is another admirable feature, though punctuation may be at times just a shade too deliberate.

The trebles sing out with character and good Cornish spirit; the men are very clean in definition, sometimes brightening vowels and voices excessively. Occasionally, too, a point of style or expression is slightly overdone – the dramatic treatment of the ‘Crucify’ verse in My song is love unknown is an example. Descants also pose problems: at Truro they have a very good writer in David Cheetham, but some (including, I would say, Philip Ledger’s initially exciting descant for Jesus shall reign) become too much of a good thing and kill the tune. Similarly with re-harmonisations: Geoffrey Morgan fits John Ireland out with a last verse dressed up as for a 1950s musical.

One outstanding example of non-interference deserves mention in the face of this – 18 verses of Day of wrath are allowed to speak (or sing) for themselves in plain unaccompanied unison, with only the 19th bringing a rallentando signalling the end of what is very probably the longest hymn in the book.

When the series is complete and we try to recall the different choirs’ contributions, Wakefield will probably be remembered first by the last of its hymns, the Contakion of the Dead, Give rest, O Christ. Sung unaccompanied and set to an unnamed melody from Kiev, it stands out as would an onion-domed Russian church in the Close of an English Gothic cathedral. It is also the single anthem-like hymn the choir allow themselves, and certainly it brings the recital to a memorable conclusion.

A little before it in the programme has come the strongest, most poetical and best-known of the hymns, the 15-year-old John Milton’s Let us with a gladsome mind, sung to Monkland, the tune traditionally associated with it. It is moving to think that this hymn of praise to the giver of light should have been the work of one whose days were to end in darkness.

Otherwise the most popular of the hymns in this collection is probably Rejoice, O Land, again going to its familiar tune of Wareham. It was a slight disappointment to find Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle not set to Pange lingua and Lift up your hearts not to the sturdy Woodlands; good, though, to meet the Old 120th in O Thou not made with hands and to recognise in Virgin born, we bow before thee the ancient tune incorporated so effectively in Holst’s Two Psalms (1912).

The choir sings well in an intelligent but unmannered style. I’m not convinced by their practice of allocating certain verses to soloists. Hymns, after all, are congregational – indeed, it could be said that the series ought at some point to include a record of choir with congregation. Perhaps it should have done so already. If that were to be tried, there could hardly be a finer organist for the job than Louise marsh or a better acoustic than that of Wakefield Cathedral.