Scenes from a professional life
As a professional tenor, conductor, and pianist I’ve been very fortunate to experience a huge diversity of concerts, recordings and rehearsals at the highest level both in the UK and in many international venues.
My career in choirs began in earnest at Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, under Simon Preston, as well as joining the Monteverdi Choir under John Eliot Gardiner and the newly-formed Sixteen under Harry Christophers. This was a great and formative time, learning with such inspiring leaders, but it has been the subsequent 400 months of being in the country’s only full-time professional choir, the BBC Singers, which has really shaped my knowledge of the choral world in all its depth and splendor.
Adapting technically to the challenge of such a rapid turnover of repertoire week upon week, from 15th-century polyphony to the most outré contemporary score, is not for everyone. Your flexibility, stamina, musicianship and some necessary compromises are tested to the full. A bit of humour goes a very long way, however, and taking yourself too seriously was always discouraged!
Here are some examples of the good, bad and ugly that I recall from all those experiences.
There have been countless musical peaks, from a short piece of atonal Webern – Entflieht auf leichten Kähnen – conducted by Pierre Boulez in Lucerne, which was simply the most stunningly perfect performance ever, to Monteverdi’s 1610 Vespers in Istanbul, where I delivered the tenor solo echoes from a turreted gallery overlooking the city in truly muezzin-like guise. It’s often the unexpected, however, which turns out to be the most memorable performance. In 2006 we gave a concert of unaccompanied choral music to a provincial audience outside Mexico City. Directly in my eye line was a seriously tough-looking hombre, most unlike the standard Radio 3 metropolitan audience member. As Purcell’s Hear my Prayer O Lord unfolded, this man was reduced to tears just by the physical experience of the collective voice in front of him. That is what I consider to be a truly great live performance.
On the other side of the coin, there have been some ‘bads’. The daily Morning Service on Radio 4 was for many years the start of my performing day, live to up to one million listeners. A new and, in Anglican terms, deeply inexperienced conductor had a nerve-wracked first go at leading it. Not only was he removing a shoe (don’t ask) as the red light came on for the broadcast, but he continued to give a note for the hymn a fourth too high! The tenors and basses made a quick calculation that the new key was manageable, the sopranos went back to the written pitch and the altos improvised. The public was treated to a line of John Cage followed by a deafening silence…
Like the good, the ugly can arrive when least expected. Warsaw seems to have been an unfortunate place for such glitches. A live broadcast to several countries was once punctuated by a nun carrying on with her regular flower-arranging in the church with dramatic sellotape ripping and paper shredding, oblivious of the atmospheric calm of the music we were singing.
But more ugly, perhaps, was the encore which we prepared in Polish in the late 80s as a mark of friendship to our hosts. When we started singing, though, the performance was greeted with a shocked silence as the words were, in fact, a celebration of the magnificent character of the Communist Russian rulers!

In July 2019, 22 Voix de Vivre singers set out for Kecskemét in Hungary to take part in the International Kodaly Music Festival, a great honour for us and a landmark in the choir’s history as it was our first ever foreign tour. Most of us flew in, and some intrepid travellers arrived by train, late for the first beer.
Local press review by Varga Géza, hiros.hu
In the second part of the concert, the guest choir first performed late romantic folk songs and then twentieth century and contemporary works. James MacMillan’s The Gallant Weaver particularly moved all those present. Composed to a text by Robert Burns, the Scottish national poet, this piece combined Scottish folk music and Celtic Psalms to produce one of the most distinctive examples of MacMillan’s secular choral music. One could only listen with awe.
The day after our concert our new friends in KEK had organised a trip for us to a Hungarian heritage centre out in the country. It is very flat round there – the clue is in the name, the Great Hungarian Plain – but beautiful with fertile fields of grain and sunflowers stretching to the horizon, and woods of birch, plane and acacia giving welcome shade from the hot sun. We rode in horse-drawn carts, visited a preserved Hungarian peasant’s cottage, ate goulash, made the acquaintance of pigs and turkeys, and were given a fantastic display of horse-riding and driving skills. Margaret maintained British honour by volunteering to mount one of the horses, thereby fulfilling an entry on her bucket list, to ride across the Hungarian plain!













