A sublime evening where the boundaries of light, darkness, and music dissolved into a timeless, sacred space.
The Renaissance Singers’ concert, Lighten Our Darkness, at St. Stephen’s Church was a powerful and moving experience. Before the choir even took to their places, there was a palpable stillness in the air, as though the church itself anticipated the beauty that was about to unfold. The setting could not have been more perfect for what is traditionally known as Compline, the final prayer of the day, offered at the transition between day and night. In this liminal space, music becomes a vessel for contemplation—a bridge between the temporal and the eternal.
Compline is a deeply meditative service, a way of surrendering the day’s worries and entering into restful peace. Its music is known for its simplicity and solemnity, evoking a sense of calm as it draws the listener into a timeless, spiritual space. It was as though the Renaissance Singers, under the careful guidance of their musical director David Allinson, became the voice of the evening itself, drawing us all into that sacred space.
David Allinson’s introduction was simple but profound, sharing a personal memory that deeply resonated with the audience. He spoke of his own youth, how he came from an industrial town and found himself in Oxford, full of doubt about his place there. One autumn night, much like this one, he wandered into Magdalene College Chapel at the hour of Compline, and it was the music that transformed him.
I am often struck by the power of a choir—a collection of voices that come together not in individual pursuit but in communal harmony. Choral music lacks ego; it is pure, simple, and appeals to everyone regardless of background, creed, or age. The program was meticulously curated to reflect the title Lighten Our Darkness, and each piece was a poignant reminder of the interplay between light and shadow, hope and sorrow.
One of the highlights of the evening for me was Christopher Tye’s Ad Te Clamamus. This deeply moving piece encapsulates the raw emotion of the human experience: “To you we cry, the exiled sons of Eve.” The music itself is as plaintive as the text, using rich harmonies to evoke a sense of pleading and longing, which reflects Tye’s Renaissance sensitivity to the human condition. Tye’s ability to convey such a profound sense of yearning and exile speaks to his mastery of counterpoint, where voices echo and answer each other in intricate layers, creating a musical landscape that feels both intimate and expansive.
The second part of the concert invited the audience to join in the singing, transforming the experience from performance to participation. It felt as though we were being welcomed into the act of worship itself, blurring the lines between performer and listener. The choir began Compline from the back of the church, where their voices seemed to rise up from the very walls of the sanctuary. I could not see them—only the altar and a single candle flickering in the darkness. The effect was immersive, the sound enveloping the space as the choir slowly made their way down the aisle, their shadows dancing across the walls, creating an atmosphere that was both mystical and deeply peaceful. As they reached the front of the church and turned to face us, the semi-darkness in which we sat heightened the sense of the sacred.
This was more than just a concert—it was a spiritual experience, a reminder of the quiet power that music has to move, to heal, and to connect. I encourage anyone to attend the Renaissance Singers’ upcoming performances; you’ll find yourself transported by the music and reminded of the beauty in simplicity. It was truly a special evening, one that lingers in the heart long after the last note has faded.