In 1986, freshly graduated and moved to London, I auditioned to join the London Symphony Chorus. This was a way of continuing to enjoy making music, an activity that was so much a part of my life that I took it completely for granted even whilst knowing that life would be much the poorer without it. Fresh from my audition, I joined the choir to rehearse a piece called Belshazzar’s Feast by William Walton. It was a piece the choir had recently performed and we had just one rehearsal before we joined the conductor and orchestra for our joint rehearsals. It was a terrifying circus ride of a musical experience for the newcomer.

Twenty years further on and the London Symphony Chorus continues gladly to perform Walton’s oratorio despite early predictions of its immediate demise. Legend has it that the early addition of brass bands was suggested by the conductor Sir Thomas Beecham prior to its first performance at the Leeds Festival in October 1931. The bands were on hand for a performance of Berlioz’ Requiem, and Beecham said to the young William Walton: “As you’ll never hear the thing again, my boy, why not throw in a couple of brass bands?”

Frankly, Belshazzar’s Feast is a thoroughly good sing. Arranged for two choirs it offers a strong tonal quality (good tunes!) with vibrant synchopated rhythms. Even with its rich orchestration and baritone solo, the choir is centre stage throughout. The piece tells a story and to tell a story, you need singers. No wonder, then, that it has become a perrenial favourite of the concert hall.

Still the full depth and richness of the story is sometimes lost even in the midst of the music’s own drama and joyous rhythms. This is the story, told in the Old Testament book of Daniel, of the captivity of the Hebrews in Babylon under the reign of Belshazzar. Osbert Sitwell’s narrative, drawing on the Psalms and the book of Revelations as well as on the book of Daniel, tells of the weeping of the Hebrews by the rivers of Babylon even as they are required by their captors to sing of their homeland. Their horror when Belshazzar orders the use of sacred vessels from the temple in Jerusalem to serve wine at a feast is easily lost. The narrative also reminds us of the strange writing that appeared on the wall to announce to Belshazzar that he had been weighed in the balance and found wanting. When Belshazzar’s death follows, the Hebrews’ joyful celebration of their freedom is mixed with weeping at the fall of the great City of Babylon.

I think of all these things as we prepare to perform Belshazzar’s Feast under the exacting baton of Sir Colin Davis. I hope that you might be there – at the Barbican on 28th and again on 30th September. And whether or not you’re there, I shall be giving my all, to the story of the Hebrew slaves and to the fine music of Sir William Walton.