Music by Alexander Campkin has only appeared in the Fanfare Archive a couple of times before: a full compact disc of his choral music on Naxos, performed by the Vox Chamber Choir under David Crown (William Kempster in Fanfare 45:2 hated it, but I find myself more amenable, particularly to the Missa brevis) and, on a multi-composer disc, his Ave Regina caelorum (on a disc entitled Stella: Renaissance Gems and their Reflections, Volume 3 by ORA Singers on Harmonia Mundi, Fanfare 46:1). This last is a glorious performance of essentially static music, in which the purity of the solo members of the choir is remarkable. 

So, Campkin gets another chance in this, the Phoenix Consort’s first album. First of all, one sees that Campkin does not shy away from major poets in his settings. We start with Edgar Allan Poe in World of Merriment. First performed in 2015, this piece opens with a wonderful invitation to “Hear the bells,” with the word “bells” accented as if a bell itself, and the melodic contour then arcing upwards. Campkin’s harmonies are carefully considered, allowing for a sort of dissonant elation as well as reflection. 

Bright Apollo sets words by poet and humorist Thomas Hood (1799–1848). Here, Apollo sings high above the tempests below; clearly, his is a place to strive for. Perhaps surprisingly the piece begins calmly, as if the first line “Far above the hollow” is in the manner of a fairy tale’s “Once upon a time.” Campkin does write some passages that are difficult to pitch, though, and the Phoenix Consort needs just a touch more conviction to bring this off. 

The text of Calm me, O Lord is adapted from one found by the composer on a church’s website. The composer’s commentary implies a small aleatoric aspect to this piece in its later passages once the initial homophony has passed. It would be impossible to imagine a more committed performance than that by the Phoenix Consort. When it comes to the text, something similar happens to True Love, which is “inspired by William Shakespeare.” It was sung at the composer ‘s own wedding. Congratulations are due not only to him, but to the sopranos who manage the stratospherically sustained passages above the much lower-pitched repetitions. 

The one arrangement on this disc is of Ivor Gurney’s lovely “Sleep” from Five Elizabethan Songs, which has been memorably recorded before in its original voice and piano form by Ian Bostridge and Julius Drake on their EMI Classics disc The English Songbook. Bostridge’s voice is perfect there, and Drake is as always superb. Bostridge brings a sense of haunted sunset to the song. Sarah Connolly is similarly unforgettable on the Signum Classics disc A Walk with Ivor Gurney (with Aurora Orchestra). Hearing the work here, in Campkin’s arrangement, is fascinating. The opening keening gesture fits the choir like a glove, while Campkin goes on to emphasize the sophistication of Gurney’s dissonances. The recording, made in St. Hild and Bede College Chapel, Durham, allows the midrange harmonies (closely scored) to come through. The combination of detail and warmth is a major factor in the performance’s and the arrangement’s success, as is the excellence of the choir. And if this arrangement leads listeners toward Ivor Gurney’s output, so much the better. 

The piece I saw eternity might seem to be where the disc got its title from, but there are actually several contenders. Anyway, this is the one in purest form. The text is by Henry Vaughan, one of the English Metaphysical Poets, of which the most famous is John Donne; John Fletcher, whose text was also set by Gurney, was another. Written for upper voices only, I saw eternity explores “suspended dissonance and consonance,” to quote the composer. And it does exactly that, sustained by careful phrasing from the singers. 

A setting of Finuola Dowling, I flying, opens with a wondrous unfolding on “We were the flotsam of the day.” The music sems to rotate slowly around a dissonant center (I should not be surprised if the harmonic “bass” lay, for much of the time, in the middle register). The music does indeed “fly” (there are references in the text to the flying of the Archangel Gabriel). The antiphonal layout of upper voices, at least soloistically, is highly effective. 

Interestingly, Vaughan returns for Dazzling Darkness (which appears to include whistling, but it sounds very much like an electronic component). This is an active piece, brilliantly sustained by the choir, with the aggregated layering of the word “delight” culminating in a perfectly placed unison. More Vaughan comes in Bright Shadows, where a unison branches out into highly expressive, dissonant places of rest. 

The carol Sleep, Holy Babe has been recorded a number of times. It gives the name to the Naxos disc by Hilary Campbell and the group Blossom Street in a lovely performance. On Priory Records, the Belfast Cathedral Choir offers the piece in a bigger acoustic and a rather more enthusiastic performance when it comes to dynamics (a touch too much so for my liking); the choir is directed by David Stevens. Finally, the best of all competitors is on the Signum disc Now May We Singen: Music for Advent and Christmas, with the Choir of Westminster School under Timothy Garrard. The Phoenix Consort is the most considered of all, however, allowing the music time to speak. Momentum is ensured by firm underlying pulse, and the textures seem more varied than in any of the other performances mentioned here. Silences register beautifully, as the music arches overs over them to the next verse. 

The second “I saw eternity” is I saw eternity like a shadow—more Vaughan, meditative and beautiful. Its effectiveness is underlined by the pure slurs of the choir, particularly the sopranos. It is separated by another Vaughan setting, Tommy’s Carol, composed by Donald McLeod for Tommy’s Charity (which funds research to save babies’ lives). A vision of Heaven, Tommy’s Carol is very touching in its encapsulation of hope. The text of I saw eternity and the sun, like the immediately preceding Vaughan setting, comes from the poem The World. It is clear that Vaughan stirs something within Campkin, and that as a composer Campkin is able to articulate that connection effectively. Every word, every phrase, is carefully and devoutly set. 

Finally, there comes a setting of a traditional text, Awake, awake! The opening is like a vocal carillon, the whole the most energetic music in the album. There is terrific verve to the performance, not least at “O fair, O fair, Jerusalem.” The disc ends with choral well-wishing for the New Year. 

Phoenix Consort is clearly a crack ensemble, and offers Campkin’s music the very best airing. The music is skilfully conceived, and at its best (generally when he sets Vaughan) can be truly touching.