No one could accuse John Tavener of shirking the big issues. His Requiem stares death in the face while also attempting a synthesis of some of the world’s great religions. The Christian requiem text sits alongside the Koran, Sufi mystic poetry and the Hindu Upanishads, the whole made to cohere by the force of Tavener’s conviction.

There are moments of soupy sentimentality, and, at times, the 40-minute piece resembles an assemblage from earlier works, but that is Tavener’s way. In any case the cumulative power sweeps most objections aside. Although the Requiem achieves its own serenity, Tavener’s God seems not to offer solace; instead he inspires fear.

The Requiem was premiered in Liverpool Cathedral last February. Cadogan Hall may be less imposing but it has its own mystic theatricality, which conductor Richard Hickox exploited.
Occupying centre-stage was cellist Josephine Knight, radiantly pregnant as if to remind us that in the midst of death, we are in life. Knight played almost ceaselessly, her tone sometimes sweet or ecstatic, sometimes sorrowful or anguished. Hers was a performance of utter dedication.

Tavener’s writing for voices, including the Joyful Company of Singers, was equally communicative. He wants the words to matter and, by and large, they did. Thomas’s sweet and pure soprano soared heavenwards and if Kennedy’s light tenor was sometimes lost in the maelstrom generated by the City of London Sinfonia, that might embody Tavener’s view of the fate that awaits the individual ego.