If any text can be considered the foundation stone on which a choral singer’s repertoire is built, a compelling case could be made for the Catholic mass. Leaving aside its first iterations as Gregorian chant, the earliest known settings date back to the 14th century. We would attempt to estimate how many have been written since, but it would very likely be out of date long before we completed our calculations.

Many members of the SCO Chorus also sing in church choirs, where – with the possible exception of Easter and other significant feasts in the church calendar – settings for unaccompanied voices tend to be the norm. The moment they sing with the Orchestra, however, this opens up the significant repertoire of masses with orchestral accompaniment: some lavish (maybe even bordering on the OTT), while others veer towards more subtle territory. As a result, they have a profound knowledge of the repertoire, making them the perfect guide through what we might call a mass of masses. (Sorry.)

Given the sheer number the Chorus had to choose from when we asked them about their favourites, any named by more than one person has to be quite something, an honour which befalls not one but two (very different) settings.

Let’s start with Vierne’s Messe solennelle. There’s good reason for this being so highly rated: it’s among the relatively small number written with an accompaniment by a pair of organs. A single one takes up quite some space as it is, so those churches which can boast a second are invariably on the larger side. The two instruments are generally placed some distance apart, meaning that when they are played together, there is an inherent potential for high drama. In Vierne's case, one organ accompanies the choir throughout, while the other chips in with a form of commentary, for example punctuating held notes at the other end of the kirk with enormous chords of its own, to undeniably thrilling effect.

One of the Chorus basses relishes this symphonic scale, one which requires "the voices [to] balance against the formidable power of the two organs”. Add to this a “dark, chromatic intensity” evident from the very beginning and it all adds up to a “visceral experience … quite distinct from more traditional liturgical settings.” One of our altos, whose church choir habitually performs this setting at the Easter Vigil, seizes this opportunity to “go for broke" with both hands, even if it’s only with a single organ. As she points out, there’s “no dozing off in the congregation during this one, even with a 5am start”, not least when the tenors sing "a magnificent top A in the Gloria”. (The same applies to the Hosanna in Widor's Mass with two organs, another Easter favourite.)

At the other end of the scale, we have Victoria’s 6-part Missa pro defunctis, a setting of the Requiem mass written almost three centuries earlier. Bombast would of course be inappropriate to funeral music of this period: it can actually seem rather austere by comparison, but as another bass puts it, its “subtly shifting harmonies […] capture something of the eternal”. Another singer confesses herself “gutted” at being assigned the second soprano line the last time she sang this work, as she missed “one of the most gorgeous alto lines” which opens the final movement.

Victoria and his contemporaries are, it turns out, standouts for the Chorus. The interweaving lines typical of the period ensure that Renaissance mass settings remain firm favourites: in the words of one Chorus member, it’s akin to “a game of vocal volleyball”, as the different voices “toss themes” from one to another. Take your pick from Lassus’ Missa Bell Amfitrit’ altera , Victoria’s Missa Alma Redemptoris (both for two choirs), any number of settings by Palestrina (whose music is so extraordinary that, in the words of a Chorus alto, “it’s almost impossible to sound rubbish when singing [it]”) or, closer to home, the Missa Dum sacrum mysterium by Carver.

Not much music by this Scottish composer survives, but this one is remarkable for what could be deemed a touch of humour in its design. Nine of its ten voices represent the orders of angels – that’s Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues,Powers, Principalities, Archangels and Angels, one of our singers reliably informs us – leaving the final one, “poor old mankind, to plod along below” while the others “wheel and clash in wonderful complicated polyphonic lines”. For once the devil doesn't get the best tunes!

Slightly later, and with several more recognisable tunes, we have Charpentier’s Messe de minuit pour Noël (Midnight Mass), the basis of which is no fewer than 10 traditional French carols, rustic tunes reset in French Baroque splendour. Three centuries after the event, they are admittedly no longer as familiar to audiences as once they were, but to quote one particular Chorus member, this is sacred music that is “toe-tappingly danceable!”

By and large, however, these early masses sound more lyrical and contemplative to our modern ears, something which a number of more recent composers have also sought to convey. Arvo Pärt, for instance, often uses the simplest of ideas to incredible effect – including long silences, allowing one phrase to reverberate before building a sense of anticipation for the next statement. His Berliner Messe is a typical example of this, a staple of one singer’s repertoire in her church’s celebration of Palm Sunday (a week before Easter). She has particularly enjoyed hearing its Sanctus in (of all things) the BBC’s recent adaptation of Lord of the Flies, giving this music some well-deserved exposure in mass media.

Stravinsky’s Mass is another example of a decidedly pared-back setting. The SCO Chorus sang it alongside Haydn’s (much better-known) Harmoniemesse in 2019, a juxtaposition one soprano found “really impactful”: put alongside the richly-scored, expansive music of Haydn, “uncertainty and exploration” came to the fore in Stravinsky’s setting, “always searching for meaning”.

Two masses mentioned by other Chorus members also evoke a sense of disquiet. Karl Jenkins’ The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace combines the standard words of the Mass with other texts from disparate sources – the Islamic call to prayer and poetry by Tennyson among them – as a reaction to the many wars of last century, effectively following in the footsteps of Britten’s War Requiem. For one of our singers, this music (above all the final movement, a motet promising an end to war, pain and sorrow) took on particular significance in a concert alongside someone whose brother had been evacuated from Afghanistan with terrible injuries.

Martial rhythms also underpin sections of Beethoven’s Missa solemnis, though the work as a whole thankfully comes with more positive associations – if you disregard the common complaint that Beethoven either didn't realise (or didn't care) that his writing can be decidedly unforgiving on a singer's vocal cords. One Chorus member, who first heard the work 51 years ago, is happy to look past such challenges: “there’s nothing I’d rather sing”.

Another of our singers, this time an alto, took part in “a mammoth performance of Bernstein’s Mass” in her teens, one which she recalls vividly to this day. Few could pull off this composer's patented mash-up of musical styles – “blues meets rock meets gospel meets folk” – so convincingly, and as it happens, she’s not the only person involved in that concert for whom it holds special memories. The singers included a young Russell T Davies (later to achieve fame as the writer of hit TV shows from the 2005 revival of Doctor Who to It’s a Sin), who chose their recording as the track he would save from the waves when he appeared on BBC Radio 4's Desert Island Discs in 2019.

Let us finish with another perhaps unexpected connection: Vaughan Williams and Italy. One of the Chorus tenors sang this English composer’s Mass in G minor on a choir tour to Tuscany nearly 20 years ago – “a lovely, simple a cappella work” which now effortlessly evokes memories of “warm, Italian sunshine and a glass of wine with friends after the concerts.” When it comes down to it, choral singing is a social activity, and sharing its joys with others is a key part of what makes choirs, the SCO Chorus among them, so special.

So once you've heard their performance of Mozart's Requiem and Haydn's Paukenmesse on 30 April and 1 May, feel free to take inspiration from our singers' recommendations and join them on a deep dive into the world of choral masses!