The publishing sensation of the 18th century, Pergolesi's Stabat Mater remains the composer's best-known work, its sculptural beauty undeniably enhanced by the tragedy of his early death at the age of 26. It is easy to succumb to the opening movement's grief-drugged walking bass and sighing suspensions. (Pergolesi had already used these in his Salve Regina.) But what of the rest? What of the panting trills, the up-tempo, major-key flames of judgement, the scandalous physicality of Neapolitan passion? To northern European ears, much of the Stabat Mater sounds impious, even flippant. Yet Harry Bicket's exquisitely poised reading with Susan Gritton, Sara Mingardo and The English Concert revealed a work of consummate seriousness and pathos.

This was a Stabat Mater in the model of an altarpiece, its opening and closing duets as clear-eyed and consoling as a pietà, the movements between them miniature dramas of scourging and sorrow. From the scorching trills of "Cujus animam gementem", to the revulsion and horror of "Quae morebat", the violent shifts between major and minor in "Quis est homo", and the gasping syllables of "Vidit suum", the crucifixion is related in striking instrumental detail. Though Anna Caterina Antonacci had been scheduled to sing until a few hours before the performance, Gritton brought a purity of timbre that ideally matched Mingardo's grave contralto, adding to the quality of prayerfulness in Bicket's measured interpretation. After a neat account of Handel's Concerto Grosso No 6, Opus 6, Mingardo's balmy performance of Vivaldi's Nisi Dominus was stylishly supported by muted violins, delicate continuo work from theorbist William Carter and an enchanting viola d'amore solo from Catherine Martin.