Silence descended upon the Chamber Hall of the National Auditorium with an ancient whisper, one that travels through time. On 4 February 2026, La Grande Chapelle at the National Auditorium brought one of the great treasures of sacred music into the present. It was a Baroque concert – centred on the Virgin Mary – which formed part of the programme of the National Centre for Musical Dissemination (CNDM) which, through its concert series, seeks to bring the public closer to our historical musical heritage from a contemporary perspective.
A devotional programme
The concert opened with the Salve Regina (1576) for eight voices, followed by the Missa Salve Regina (1592). These pieces, characterised by their expansive structure and high registers, serve as a sonic and spiritual culmination. What stands out is not only the exceptional mastery of the work, but also the expressiveness it conveys, a legacy of the musical language of Tomás Luis de Victoria, a leading figure in sacred polyphony.
Throughout the programme, motets such as Sancta Maria, succurre miseris, Ne timeas, Maria or Gaude, Maria Virgo provided a spiritual journey, alternating between choral intensity and more intimate moments. The concert concluded with an eight-part Magnificat, inviting contemplation.
La Grande Chapelle
La Grande Chapelle is not just a group; it is a vocal and instrumental ensemble specialising in music from the 16th to the 18th centuries.
Under the direction of Albert Recasens, every pause, every note, reveals the complexity of music that was a language of faith and beauty.
Before the concert began, the conductor asked the audience not to applaud until the end of the programme. This allowed the concert to flow smoothly without interruption, maintaining an atmosphere of calm and concentration throughout.
The silence felt like a breath of fresh air; at times, it felt as though it were part of the composition itself. It was an invitation to listen without haste, even though the occasional, inevitable cough served as a reminder of where we were.
The revelation of the solo
One of the most memorable moments of the evening came with Ne timeas, Maria, performed by a female soloist. Her vocal control and serenity were breathtaking. Accompanied by just two instruments — a theorbo and an organ — the piece took on a special intimacy. A staging that was simple in appearance yet luminous, demonstrating that it does not always take grand gestures to move an audience, but rather hard work, sensitivity and mutual listening.
That piece served almost as a spiritual interlude within the concert, before returning to choral music.
The order of the voices and the value of silence
After the concert, the conductor shared a thought that helped us to gain a deeper understanding of what we had heard: that polyphony is a complete and orderly system in which every part finds its place. When listening to it, the image that comes to mind is almost visual: it is like playing the piano when everything moves in a straight line, or like a sequence of colours gradually gliding towards the exact key to be struck.
But it is not rigid. It is a living harmony, a union in which the voices accompany and complement one another. During the concert, it was astonishing how the voices intertwined without any one voice imposing itself on the others. Although some pieces in the programme were brief — comprising just six or seven lines — when performed, they expanded in time. One word would be drawn out and another voice would pick up where the first had left off before it had finished. It seemed as though they were stepping on one another’s toes, but they were actually converging.
However, this is not immediately accessible music. It requires engagement, patience, and an open mind. Perhaps that is why the request not to applaud until the end transformed the experience, allowing the work to flow continuously and envelopingly without interruption.
As I left the hall, the feeling that lingered was one of profound calm. This music, with its roots in the liturgical tradition, remains an integral part of our cultural memory. It is living history that deserves to be heard and remembered.
