Total Eclipse
St Paul's Cathedral, London ***
The language of spirituality, struggling as it does to find words for the inexpressible, sometimes approaches the language of sexuality. John Tavener's Total Eclipse - given its world premiere on the opening night of the City of London festival - curiously shares its title with Christopher Hampton's haunting study of the creative power of homoerotic love. Both works, essentially about inspiration, also share blinding as an image: Hampton's characters are metaphorically blinded by desire; for Tavener, the light of Christ robs the body of physical sight in order to illuminate the soul.
Writing for performance in St Paul's Cathedral, Tavener takes that saint's conversion on the road to Damascus as an archetypal model of mystical experience. This is music that aspires to convey a sudden flash of insight that resonates through eternity. Tavener, himself a convert to the Eastern Orthodox Church, ranges fearlessly over time, space and tradition. The scoring embraces antiquity and modernity: the main orchestra is a period band (the Academy of Ancient Music, conducted by Paul Goodwin) augmented by modern percussion and ancient Tibetan instruments. Saul/Paul is dually represented by a counter-tenor (Christopher Robinson) and a soprano saxophone (John Harle), the pair of them weaving their way round the building in the enactment of their spiritual journey. The Choir of New College Oxford, in full regalia, anchor the work in ritual. Massive batteries of timpani are placed in each transept.
Tavener exploits to the limit the cathedral's vast 10-second reverberation, and begins by bombarding us with a barrage of sound from all sides in an awesome depiction of the Crucifixion, against which Harle's sax can be heard screaming flutter-tongued imprecations. The tumult is gradually stilled as the voice of Christ (tenor James Gilchrist) drifts down from the dome. Harle's raving is gradually replaced by arpeggiated lyricism. Robson, hitherto silent, finds both voice and words as Paul's conversion is effected.
From this point on Tavener proceeds with the measured solemnity of Orthodox ritual, often impressively, though it strikes me that he comes unstuck in the section that forms the theological crux of the work. This depicts, as Tavener puts it, "the teaching moving through Christ into the mouth of Paul". What actually happens is a lengthy canon for Gilchrist, Robson and Harle, its entries shortening with each repetition as Christ effectively dictates to Paul part of Chapter 13 of the First Letter to the Corinthians. Musically the piece dips here and doesn't regain its momentum by the time it reaches its serene close. Even so, I suspect Tavener has another hit on his hands. The standing ovation that followed was testament to both the work's impact on the audience and his cult status.
