Being a journalist, I rather doubt I shall attain the kingdom of heaven, but in the unlikely event that I do, I fear I may find all that relentless rapture a little heavy-going. So it is with the music of the Latvian composer Eriks Esenvalds (b1977). His rich, sonorous choral writing is in almost permanent ecstasy, with sopranos sailing over great waves of cluster chords, a colouristic vision that, when packed into one album of 16 varied items, is too ravishing to cope with. It’s all beautifully sung, but the sheer quantity of the material diminishes each work’s individual impact. Less is more.
