Premiere Review

Essence of the names of God
Ivan Hewett reviews Tavener premiere at Westminster Cathedral

What kind of composer would want to set a list to music? The very idea is a joke, as Rossini acknowledged when he declared he could set a laundry list to music. Even to try seems perverse, when there are so many interesting texts in the world.

But perversity has always been a trait of John Tavener, whose music ranges from Song for Athene, performed at the funeral of the late Princess of Wales, to the seven-hour Veil of the Temple.

His new piece, The Beautiful Names, is a setting of the 99 names of God, as defined in the Koran, and over 70 minutes it processes through them in strict order. There are no time-saving devices, such as layering names one above another in counterpoint. Instead, each of the names is uttered with maximum gravity.

The very opening set the tone. Tenor John Mark Ainsley flung out the name Allah in a tone of heroic radiance, which the BBC Symphony Chorus responded to in kind.

Their rhythm was echoed by the orchestra, as if even dumb things must praise, too. Then the whole gesture was repeated on another chord. And another.

It's the kind of massively simple idea most composers would be embarrassed by. Relying on these gestures is a high-risk strategy, because the gap between inspired simplicity and plodding banality is all too easy to cross.

Tavener did cross it, more than once. But, for me, the remarkable thing about this piece was how well it held its length, and how rarely I found myself counting the names to see how many more I had to sit through.

That Tavener pulled this off is a sign that his language these days seems more disciplined. We didn't get those endless, wailing, "Eastern" vocal lines punctuated by thuds on some exotic-sounding drum.

He showed a knack for capturing a name's expressive essence, such as the dancing brass rhythms for "Al-Muta'âli", "The Most Exalted One".

His real strength, though, is his grasp of form. The names are bunched into groups of 11, each preceded by a shout in praise of Allah, and as the work proceeds subtle symmetries emerge between the groups.

Then, just as you think things are becoming predictable, he breaks the pattern with an awe-inspiring gesture - most notably in the eighth group, when without warning the sound of the organ burst over our heads.

Unusually for Tavener, the music then subsides, ending on an almost diffident note. Could it be the great showman of spiritual music is discovering the value of understatement?