Charles II liked church music to have a beat. He had spent his exile in France, where Louis XIV’s chapel had a string band, and when he came home he wanted the same. So the Chapel Royal got violins, and the sober polyphony of the Tudors gave way to something brighter: anthems with dancing string interludes, solo verses for virtuoso singers and choruses that, as one disapproving churchman complained, sounded more like a playhouse than a church.
Purcell grew up inside this sound. He sang it as a boy, played it as an organist and wrote it as a young man in such quantity that church music makes up the largest part of his catalogue. If you think of him only as the composer of Dido, the anthems are where you discover the rest of him.
The anthems
Hear my prayer, O Lord (Z 15). Start here. It lasts less than three minutes and sets only one line from Psalm 102. Eight voice parts enter one by one, then grind against each other in ever thicker dissonance until a vast, aching climax. The manuscript stops after it, which has led some to think it is the first section of an unfinished larger anthem. If so, it is the most powerful fragment in English music.
Rejoice in the Lord alway (Z 49). The “Bell Anthem,” from the 1680s, gets its nickname from the string introduction, where the bass plays falling scales like a peal of bells. It is joyful, light on its feet and the perfect example of Charles II’s taste.
My heart is inditing (Z 30). Purcell’s grandest anthem, written for the coronation of James II in 1685, for eight-part choir and strings. It was a big public statement for a young composer.
Remember not, Lord, our offences and Thou knowest, Lord. Short, sober full anthems that look back to the Tudor tradition. The second was sung at the funeral of Queen Mary in 1695, and at Purcell’s own.
Jehova, quam multi sunt hostes (Z 135). A Latin psalm setting of startling drama, probably not for the Anglican service at all.
Songs of devotion
The Evening Hymn, Now that the sun hath veil’d his light (Z 193), is a private prayer for solo voice over a ground bass, published in 1688. It ends with a long chain of Hallelujahs that seem to float free of the bass entirely. It has become a recital favourite, as has the anguished Lord, what is man?, a sacred song that is closer to an operatic scene.
The odes
Every year the court expected music for royal birthdays and homecomings, and Purcell supplied it: welcome songs for Charles II and James II, then birthday odes for Queen Mary. The texts were often terrible. The music rarely was.
Hail, bright Cecilia (Z 328, 1692). Written for London’s annual St Cecilia’s Day festival, the feast of the patron saint of music, this is Purcell’s biggest concert work, nearly an hour long, with trumpets, drums, recorders and a stream of virtuoso solos praising each instrument in turn. Purcell himself reportedly sang the countertenor solo ’Tis Nature’s voice at the first performance, which, if true, says a good deal about his voice.
Come, ye sons of art (Z 323, 1694). The last of six birthday odes for Queen Mary, written months before she died. It contains Sound the trumpet, a duet for two countertenors over a ground bass. (No trumpet plays in it. The singers do the job themselves.)
Where to go next
Robert King and The King’s Consort recorded the complete sacred music and odes for Hyperion, the best place to explore. Start with Hear my prayer. Then put on Hail, bright Cecilia for the opposite extreme: Purcell in full public splendour, with the trumpets out.