Clive Osgood’s Stabat Mater is what I would describe as a pastoral, flowing, discreetly orchestrated composition. It is stylistically somewhat reminiscent of Fauré, but without Fauré’s inimitable memorability. That may sound harsh, but several modern composers who produce settings of religious texts do so in a style which is mellifluous on the ear, but just floats past in a rather bland sort of way.

Naturally, a Stabat Mater setting is rather predetermined to be sad. Even James MacMillan restricts himself to a small orchestra and choir, although his work is not aimed at anything other than fully professional performers, and he employs them to produce lacerating and draining music.

I am, naturally, open to correction, but I suspect that Osgood’s work is principally aimed at amateur or semi-professional groups that would find it gratifying to perform, instrumentally and vocally.

And yet there is no doubting the demands on the soloists, particularly the soprano. The part requires an ability to float a high, pure line. Grace Davidson succeeds admirably in the two sections that demand it, O quam tristis and Christe cum sit hinc. In the former, she is complemented by a piano and by Jack Liebeck’s tearfully lyrical violin melody, finely performed. In fact, this is the movement that I have been tempted to repeat over and over, with its mournfully appropriate effect. The booklet note describes it as the ‘heart of the work’.

The orchestra and chorus perform very well. It is a pity that the baritone soloist in the seventh section Virgo virginem is afflicted by an unevenness of vocal production amounting to a wobble. He and the tenor sing in duet, accompanied by a string quartet subsection of the orchestra.

The production values of the release are high. The booklet, in English only, describes each of the ten sections, with full Latin texts and translations. The recorded sound is excellent; everything is caught in a grateful acoustic.