IF YOU live within 100 miles of London and possess two ears and half a soul, you would be mad not to look in on World Voice. It’s a 17-day festival that brings some of the world’s great choirs to the South Bank and other venues in the capital.

The culmination will be the final of the European Broadcasting Union’s choirs competition, Let The Peoples Sing — a sort of musical Eurovision Song Contest. Except that Britain is spared the indignity of getting “nul point” on this scoreboard, since we don’t have anyone in the final at all.

But before then choirs from Taiwan to Turkey fly here to give us some sense of the rich tapestry of styles on the international choral scene. Saturday evening’s plump concert — three hours plus — offered a taste of this diversity.

First up was the amazing Tapiola Choir. It’s a Finnish children’s ensemble, whose members not only sing — often in eight-part harmony, from memory — but also dance or turn themselves into a folk fiddle band.

The repertoire specially written for them by Scandinavian composers used all sorts of wacky vocal techniques: jibbering, barking, glissandos, squeaks, even heavy breathing. It generally evoked primordial legends, and often incorporated ancient chants. These virtuoso numbers were interspersed with genuine folk songs. Whatever they sang, however, these remarkable children utilised beguiling, unforced timbres and put the music across with spellbinding vivacity.

What’s more, most numbers were delivered with the choir’s director, Kari Ala-Pöllänen, sitting in the audience. His admirable philosophy is that the children themselves take responsibility for co-ordinating the performance. A wonderful example to those children’s choirs which give the impression that they exist for the greater glory of their conductors.

To go from this light, flexible and charming sound to the mighty Rossica Choir from St Petersburg delivering Rachmaninov’s Vespers with all the liturgical-chant trimmings — vast voices in some pretty vast bodies — was something of a shock to the ears and eyes. And it must be said that these adult professionals could take a few lessons from the Finnish children in matters of intonation and unanimity.

But when those barrel-chested basses descended into the subterranean ledger-lines where only Russians dare to tread, or the full choir swelled into one of Rachmaninov’s ecstatic climaxes, the only appropriate response was a tingle up the spine and moistness round the eyes. A thrilling start to what could be a memorable fortnight.