Handel composed Dixit Dominus in Rome in April 1707 shortly after he had turned 22. Marcus Creed’s blistering performance is the most consistently thrilling and gripping new version on disc that I’ve heard since Andrew Parrott’s seminal account of the so-called “Carmelite Vespers” – and that’s saying something, as in the intervening years there have been several recordings that possess fine qualities (Minkowski on DG and Henglebrock on DHM, to name just two). Creed commands astonishing power and precision, immaculate choral attack and blend (the concluding “Gloria” is fantastically colourful yet disciplined), and lively playing from his Berliners. There is compelling momentum in the dramatic opening and extrovert movements, and gentle beauty from the strings in “De torrente” (although the two sopranos apply too much “operatic” vibrato). Considering all of this, it is a pity that Harmonia Mundi doesn’t even mention the inclusion of Dixit Dominus on the front cover of this release, but nails its colours firmly to Eternal source of light divine, the ode that Handel wrote (but possibly never performed) for the birthday of Queen Anne in about 1713. Creed and his forces give some of the ode’s less memorable moments a new lease of refreshing life, but there isn’t much of a Purcellian atmosphere here (which surely defeats the point of Handel’s only English court ode), and Andreas Scholl isn’t at his best: his vowels are awkward, and his singing rather effortful, in the languid opening duet with high solo trumpet. This serviceable account of the ode doesn’t hold a candle to the poetic recording by Robin Blaze, the Choir of King’s College, Cambridge and the Academy of Ancient Music under Stephen Cleobury. As it is, this interpretation of the ode is an adequate coupling for an outstanding Dixit Dominus, rather than the reverse situation that HM’s marketing implies. The poor booklet-note contains several misconceived statements and inaccuracies (Dixit Dominus does not show Handel’s exposure to Italian opera any more than it shows his rapid assimilation of Italian sacred music; it is nonsense to suggest that Handel did not develop new genres – English oratorio and the keyboard concerto leap to mind – and the birthday ode was never subtitled “Ode for the Peace”, except by fanciful ideologists in Marxist East Germany). But a bad booklet (albeit attractively illustrated) and an average performance of the ode are a small price to pay for such a magnificent Dixit Dominus. After hearing the disc once, I immediately played Dixit Dominus again – three times.

Dixit Dominus is evidently the main commercial attraction for The Sixteen’s Coro label, although Harry Christophers has chosen to precede it with Agostino Steffani’s Stabat mater. The Sixteen’s sincere and nourishing performance does glorious justice to Steffani’s profoundly moving and lovely setting. The strings, led by Walter Reiter, perfectly convey exquisite melancholy (the tenor duet, “Quis est homo qui non fleret”, or the solemn opening, sung poignantly by Elin Manahan Thomas). The Sixteen’s sensitive interjections are immaculately moulded and blended. The soloists are consistently excellent too, notably Rob Macdonald’s subterranean bass in “Vidit suum dulcem Natum”. Perhaps single voices could have been used throughout, but the choral sections never swamp the intimacy of the music; the suspensions and resolutions in the opening section of “Quando corpus morietur” are beautifully judged.

The Sixteen’s Dixit Dominus is better than average, too. Christophers’s previous recording veered a little too close to blandness at times. The 2009 upgrade of The Sixteen retains only three musicians from two decades ago, and it is a markedly stronger interpretation – dramatically astute, plenty of weight in the dramatic G minor opening, and unbridled (yet never unfocused) choral singing (“Juravit Dominus”). The five members of the choir who step forward for the solos are more convincing than most of their Berlin counterparts (the unforced duet in “De torrente” is ideally spellbinding and ethereal). Christophers’s animated and flawless direction is perhaps amiable in character compared to Creed’s daring performance, which bursts with the impression of Handel unleashing his precocious talent on the Romans (there is an equal place for both approaches, of course). The theatrical effect of “conquassabit” is a startling knock-out blow under Creed, and instead has a measured gravitas under Christophers. The Sixteen’s organist Mark Williams has the spotlight with some embellishments in the opening of “Gloria Patri et Filio”, with a fairly light articulation of the actual basso continuo line, whereas Creed concentrates firmly (and perhaps rightly) on the stark yet vividly rhetorical bass theme. Fussy Handelians won’t be disappointed by either of these two excellent new Dixits, but could be mildly disappointed by the Berliner’s uneven ode, whereas The Sixteen’s advocacy of Steffani’s Stabat mater is essential listening.