If, as is sometimes said, English composers channelled their operatic instincts into church music, then the present collection, instead of bearing the title ''Jerusalem'' (as it does), should be called ''Great Triumphal Scenes''. Certainly the flair and professionalism that go into the organizing of great state occasions have their counterpart in music. Thus the opening item, Parry's I was glad, has the expert touch of Gordon Jacob evident in the orchestration, so that to the sound of cathedral choir and organ is added orchestral splendours fit for a coronation. The nobilmente style continues in Blest pair of sirens, possibly just a little too long, indeed, for there are limits to the timespan during which such a high, exalted state of consciousness can be sustained. Elgar, the master of the style, knew instinctively when to relax, introduce contrast and then start building up again, as he does in both of the large-scale anthems here, Great is the Lord and Give unto the Lord. Then there is Stanford in B flat, refuge and ever-present help in trouble for church choirs throughout the land. Here it is clothed in majesty, with the composer's own richly inventive orchestration, which (and perhaps this is the Irish touch) also brings a sense of fun into the pomp and circumstance. Finally Jerusalem itself comes as the culminating tableau, with the solidity of massed unison voices and the flaming chariots and swirling arrows of desire set ablaze in the orchestral score which Elgar wrote for it four years after Parry's death.
This is a sumptuous programme, and David Hill's by no means meagre forces present it with a fine sense of style and occasion, vividly recorded too. There is not only the splendour of sheer amplitude but also a spring in the rhythm (as in Stanford's Magnificat) and beauty of tone in the quieter passages such as the hymn from Parry's Judith. It is good to hear the tenors striving for ''the beauty of holiness'' like so many Mario Cavaradossis exulting over the victory at Marengo. Good too to have the operatic feeling for colour and atmosphere caught in Patrick Hadley's My beloved spake and the operatic surge of sequential phrases in Bairstow's Blessed city. In short, a splendid record that should be on sale not just in the west end of Winchester Cathedral but in the record shop at Covent Garden as a reminder of what one might call the English Channel in opera, which diverted our composers from the theatre to the church.'