FACED with a City of London Sinfonia concert last Monday, Richard Hickox had to bow to illness and call in sick. But there’s nothing like the prospect of standing for three hours conducting a Bach Passion to restore good health. For there he was on Good Friday, with the CLS, the Joyful Company of Singers (the ladies rainbow-hued), the Finchley Children’s Music Group (duck egg blue), Nigel Robson’s Evangelist and friends (black evening wear).

The sartorial mish-mash underlined one crucial fact about this St Matthew Passion. Barbican Hall is not conducive to a spiritual atmosphere; nor is Hickox’s music-making. He is efficient — more than that when there are choruses to rouse, orchestral storms to navigate, or the scores are 20th- century British. But interpretatively he risks little and doesn’t probe very far.

Bach, of course, provides much of the necessary probing himself. As the Crucifixion scenes loomed, the performance tautened and deepened, helped by steadier singing from Robson. His Evangelist was never short of textual clarity and drama; what we often missed in earlier stages was the secure and happy top note.

Elsewhere little wear and tear were audible. The 40 adult choristers and 39 children (Hickox doesn’t believe in slimline Bach) showed themselves strong in attack and focus. James Rutherford’s Christus resonated nobly and, at the end, affectingly. Carolyn Sampson, voice gleaming like a pearl, held us enthralled in her aria Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben. Counter-tenor Michael Chance, tone thinning slightly on top, still reached the audience’s furthest reaches through expression, phrasing and heart. Only Roderick Williams’s bass contributions disappointed: too much poker-faced piety. A prosaic cello obbligato in Komme, süsses Kreuz didn’t help either.Jesus’s sufferings drew a full house, almost double the number that gathered on Saturday for Old Testament chariots and frogs. Handel’s Israel in Egypt may not be core repertoire for Harry Christophers’s group The Sixteen, now in its 25th year, but it made a splendid noise at this official anniversary concert. One blisteringly nimble chorus followed another (for this concert The Sixteen numbered 26); while individual strengths, among sopranos especially, became showcased in arias and duets.

Christophers kept matters light and crisp. Each time the brass and drums of the Symphony of Harmony and Invention sounded, they punched a hole in the air. Woodwinds perhaps could have been perkier. At times, too, you missed the full-blooded blast of larger forces — not for nothing was England’s oratorio tradition built upon Handel. But in the final chorus as the rhythms danced and the horse and rider were thrown into the sea no one could have wished for anything different. Except more bums on seats.