In Paradisium will bring ancient chant, contemporary choral music and luminous acoustics together in Sydney, offering an evening of reflection and renewal.
A World-Class Chamber Choir Carrying Fifty Years of Fire
Sydney Chamber Choir marked its 50th anniversary last year, and their history hums beneath every note – not as weight but as momentum – shaping them into one of Australia’s most fearless and finely tuned vocal groups. Under Sam Allchurch, they honour that legacy while sounding startlingly fresh: curious, bold and completely alive to the emotional pulse of now. Their latest program, In Paradisum, traced a luminous path through ancient chant, Nordic stillness and new Australian voices.
Sydney’s St James’: Sacredness and Sound
I arrived straight from the Saturday afternoon chaos – buskers, wind, shoppers, the usual city restlessness and stepped into the cool marble hush of St James’ Church. The gold-lit dome, the old wooden pews, the towering organ pipes. The church was already full, not just comfortably but packed, a testament to the loyal following this ensemble has built over decades. Sydney Chamber Choir knows exactly how to use this space: the dignity, the air, the acoustics that let their sound rise, settle and hum.
A Carefully Shaped Descent Into Stillness
In Paradisum unfolded like a slow, luminous journey through light, loss and renewal. The programming and pacing were beautifully judged, each work opening naturally into the next and deepening the emotional terrain, weaving ancient and contemporary voices into a single, coherent arc. It is almost impossible to single out highlights in something shaped with such care, but here is what resonated most personally for me.
I was delighted to see Anne Cawrse’s The Greatest of These on the program again. The 1 Corinthians 13 text – widely known from weddings and its “love is patient, love is kind” refrain – is so familiar it risks becoming ornamental, but Cawrse’s composition makes it feel newly illuminated. She pushes beyond the familiar language of romantic love toward something more elemental, a study in vulnerability and resilience. Sung aloud, each line landed with intention, the choir giving the words a pure, unsentimental honesty.
Joseph Twist’s Lament brought a different emotional charge. With his background in film and television, including a little show called Bluey, Twist has an instinct for atmosphere – for shaping sound in a way that feels cinematic without overwhelming the choral line. Guest artist Julian Smiles’ superb cello wove through the voices, creating a rolling, almost epic soundscape that still felt unmistakably choral.
Arvo Pärt’s Bogoroditse Dyevo offered a moment of stillness that seemed to hold the room in place. Then came the earthy, grounded world of Tormis’ Autumn Landscapes, music rooted in land and memory. The jolt arrived with Nystedt’s Stabat Mater: the voices did not just blend; they collided, cascaded and surged. The dissonance hit like a cold front – sharp and deliberate – with Smiles’ cello threading through the turbulence. Grigorjeva’s In Paradisum held the room in suspension, its chanting hypnotic, its textures shifting in ways that felt both surprising and inevitable, while Sisask’s Benedicto followed like a bright release, joyful and weightless – the perfect Amen.
A Choir as Communion
Sydney Chamber Choir remains one of Australia’s world-class vocal ensembles – precise, imaginative and emotionally fearless. Their sound is both disciplined and daring, rooted in decades of excellence yet always reaching toward what choral music can still become.
Somewhere in the middle of the program, I realised the entire audience had softened. Shoulders dropped. Breaths deepened. The room itself seemed to loosen. The choir’s pacing invited that shift – a trust in suspension, in the purity of sound held just long enough to let meaning settle. Breathe in. Breathe out. Reset. That is what Sydney Chamber Choir does so well: they do not just perform; they create an atmosphere where people can feel connected, restored and held. When the final note dissolved into silence, it felt almost sacred.
Stepping back into the city, I carried a calm I hadn’t expected. In Paradisum was not just a choral recital, it was a moment of sanctuary – a reminder of how profoundly music can restore the spirit when it is made with intention, high artistry and heart. You do not need to know the repertoire. You do not need to understand choral technique. Just walk in, sit down and let the sound find you. In a world full of noise and hurry, this is a rare gift.