YES, performing in Bach’s Matthew Passion must be an inspiring, soul-searing event. And knowing that the man who plays the all-important Evangelist is visibly moved by the music around him, and engaged by the awesome story that he’s telling, can and should add to its sum emotional effect.

But tipping the balance too far towards histrionics and away from serene contemplation can be disastrous, and that’s the mistake made by Tom Randle. His Evangelist had some moments of power — the prelude to the betrayal was shot through with fraught tension — but they were overshadowed by two major miscalculations.

One was the inappropriate, almost operatic grandstanding that became an increasing feature of Randle’s interpretation, reaching a climax with his hectoring, outraged report of Jesus’s interrogation and the controversially ambiguous line: “His blood be upon us.” The second was an unacceptable display of affectation: while the other soloists or chorus were singing, Randle decided either to mouth the words, clutch his score to his breast, or sway in time to the music. His antics were distracting.

No such mannerisms marred the conducting of Richard Hickox, who coaxed an earnest reading out of his City of London Sinfonia (divided here into two modest-sized orchestras). There were welcome aspects of “period” performance in the incorporation of the oboe d’amore and oboe da caccia, and the arias in particular benefited from some spry and energetic tempos.

But there were problems of balance at times: notably in the chorales, where no fewer than 36 BBC Singers over-dominated the ensemble, and the orchestral playing lacked deftness and colour.

The serene heart of the Passion is Jesus himself, and Christopher Purves proved a model of warm-hearted profundity — tinted by the very human anguish the baritone found in the haunting moments before Jesus’s arrest. And for exquisite beauty alone the counter-tenor William Towers cannot be faulted: his Ebarme dich was the highlight of the evening, glowingly phrased and spun off a line of ethereal purity.

Vocal riches diminished as the performance went on, however: Sarah Fox’s bright, slightly strident soprano and Barry Banks’s incisive tenor gave way to a blandly underpowered Mache dich, mein Herze, rein from baritone Stephen Varcoe, and Towers floated too serenely through the graphic imagery of Können Tränen. This was a Passion that ultimately lacked the passion of conviction.