Getting some culcha

It was my mother's birthday on Sunday, and so my sister Hilary organised a surprise night out. We (mater, Hilary, sister Helen and Hilary's husband Dominic) sloped off to The Messiah, performed by The Sixteen in Birmingham Town Hall, which was celebrating its 175th anniversary.

It was revelatory. Rather than the twentieth-century habit of packing as many singers and players into the space as possible (2500 wasn't unknown a century ago), this performance comprised The Sixteen singers, four soloists and a small orchestra playing period instruments, including a Theorbo (looked like a stretched guitar). Normally I'm not one to fetishise the period instrument thing, but it really worked - the sound was really bright and fresh, with none of the bassy syrup you got from big Romantic orchestras.

The soloists were Gillian Keith (in her blonde bob and dark makeup, resembled Poirot's prime suspect in the ballroom), Catherine Wyn-Rogers (galleon in full sail), John Ainsley and Christopher Purves (both would be ideal candidates for Metatron, the Voice of God). Without an overpowering orchestra, the narrative - extracts from the Bible prophesying the appearance of the Messiah and rather hectoring assertions of what he'd do for us - was clear and beautifully inflected, and the chorus (The Sixteen) were, as always, brilliant, especially in the few lines of unaccompanied singing. What linked the choir and orchestra was their control. Yes, the loud bits were stunning, such as the Hallelujah Chorus, for which most people stood, as is traditional, but the quieter, more contemplative episodes demonstrated the incredible restraint and delicacy they possess.

We had very uncomfortable benches around the organ, behind the orchestra. Despite the back pain, it was actually excellent, because we could see conductor Harry Christopher's every expression and gesture, and the responses from the musicians. Christopher is incredibly expressive, pacing round, mouthing every word, arms darting here and there as he communicates with particular musicians. The passion of the players was also there to see: Keith rocking in time and mouthing the words as Wyn-Rogers sung her solo parts. How wonderful it must be to turn up in any city in the world and know without a shadow of a doubt that you're the absolute global élite at what you do - and demonstrate it over and over again.

Did they deserve the standing ovations and three curtain calls? Absolutely. One review so far - largely positive.

Gerontius next, and perhaps some Vaughan-Williams. I'm getting cultured again.