One-to-a-part Bach infiltrated the St Matthew Passion with Paul McCreesh in 2002. I described him then as 'provocative and compelling', and John Butt is no less so. Of his eight remarkable singers (plus two unison sopranos for the opening chorus' crowning chorale) several are barely out of college, but they match spine-tingling tone with astonishing maturity.

From the word go, the Dunedin Consort draws you in. The instruments are perfectly balanced, the playing is soulful, there are subtle swells, and the lilting tempo strikes a happy medium between pace and sobriety.

Having swept the board with their Awardwinning Messiah, John Butt and the Dunedin Consort and Players proceed headlong into the summa of dramatic religious masterpieces. One imagines, however, that this highly singular approach has been marinating in Butt's mind for years. This is a reading (the first to draw on the 1742 performing version with its re-allocation of continuo instruments) where scholarly and musical penetration is indivisible in the strength of the approach and the unswerving commitment of the 'players'.
And 'players' they are – except that Butt argues here for a new dramatic understanding of the Matthew (note the curious de-sanctification) where the work challenges the notion of 'parts' in an opera, towards various 'voices' which reflect the listener's absorption of the conflicting positions – both biographical and emotional – of the main protagonists and the most far-flung thresholds of human experience.
This is achieved using the main singers, from the eight principal voices, in different contexts. Hence, as Butt explains in his illuminating note, the Evangelist may rally us to lament as an allegorical 'Daughter of Zion' in the opening chorus before darting in and out of the story in recitatives, chorus, aria and chorales, mixing up the past and present, first person and third person, in a web of intense and coherent narrative and reflection.
All of this presupposes a one-to-a-part troupe where all these subtle character combinations can be perceived. With such a spectacularly clear and balanced sound from Philip Hobbs, these ambitious perspectives are powerfully realised; refreshingly, too, Bach's 'novel in sound' is presented in a small inter-reliant ensemble without the need for tiresome dog- matic mantras on historical rectitude. Indeed, often so entwined are the textures that singers' vowels are shadowed by instruments in a closeknit rapport of exceptional immediacy.
For those steeped in both recent and old schools, this performance will resonate with both, though it is not always so easy to summarise how. The thread of intensity is achieved largely by the focus and roundness of the Dunedin Consort's palette, the thrusting legatos (when called for) and the welcome presence of a strong, directed bass-line.
Such responses are relatively superficial because Butt's St Matthew is truly original in spheres resonating beyond established parameters.
As his story-teller, Nicholas Mulroy brings his own striking naturalness of delivery, clarity of diction and honesty. At the start of Part 2, especially, there are moments of disarming reportage, such as the encounter with the High Priest where the Evangelist conveys a sickened response to Christ's humiliation and a gutting catch in his voice at the emptiness of Peter's denial. Yet it is Mulroy's identification with the outstanding Christus of Matthew Brook which raises the stakes in this performance. The timing between the two and the realism of the musical choreography is both remarkably patient and animated.
The only downside of a single-part St Matthew is that, while the singers – in Butt's words – 'become familiar to us as the piece progresses', this only works to advantage if they have the tonal and musical range to sustain such an extended and exposed vision. For all the stylistic nuancing and deft ensemble work of the sopranos, their arias rarely lift themselves beyond the generic. 'Ich will dir' sounds unsure and snatched and 'So ist mein Jesus gefangen' fails to demarcate the almost cosmic mystery ('moon and light have set in their anguish') alongside the admirable discipline of the crowd's graphic interjections.
No recorded St Matthew Passion comes without its blemishes but few parade such a compellingly fresh and raw realism, one so strongly identifiable by its wilful clarity of intent that it asks new questions about what this great work can say to us.

The thread of intensity is achieved largely by the focus and roundness of the Dunedin Consort's palette, the thrusting legatos (when called for) and the welcome presence of a strong, directed bass-line. No recorded St Matthew Passion…comes without its blemishes but few parade such a compellingly fresh and raw realism.

Crisp singing and clear diction is matched by outstanding technical ability by the singers