Tourists filing past Wilberforce’s feet to St John’s College Chapel last Saturday were met with two welcome surprises. Not only were their Euro-puffa jackets unnecessary (unlike an impoverished parish church, John’s can afford central heating), but the music presented to enhance the evening’s worship was a cut above the usual, slightly under-rehearsed Cambridge choral evensong. This was no litany of Herbert Howells.

Choral evensong is an Anglican creation, not entirely reflective of the lengthy Sunday masses to which Bach’s Leipzig congregations would have been accustomed. Yet the integration of a Bach cantata as the evening’s anthem enabled Andrew Nethsinga, Director of Music at John’s, to include what is arguably some of the best choral music ever written in the Chapel’s musical diary.

Many choirs would have fallen at the first hurdle of Es erhub sich ein Streit (BWV 19), "one of the most monumental opening choruses in all Bach’s cantatas" (Alfred Dürr), but not the choir of John’s. They tackled Bach’s constant stream of fiddly runs with gusto, summoning musical images of raging biblical beasts. The treatment of Picander’s poetry, both by soloists and choir, was sensitive and well-considered.

Tenor soloist Bradley Smith shone among the soloists, with an impressively secure coloratura in his aria proving the highlight of the cantata. Basil McDonald’s oaky bass did indeed make the listener feel safe and secure; a vocal talent to watch. Soprano soloist Elizabeth Joyce was less steady in both her recitative and aria, perhaps lacking the intensity of voice necessary to impart Picander’s reassuring words.

Instrumentalists from the world-class Baroque ensemble, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, provided a sensitive underlay for the singers, later showcasing their virtuosic skill. Their rendition of the Air from the third Orchestral Suite (BWV 1068), made famous from its use in The Spy who Loved Me in a gory shark attack scene, bristled with life, unlike the dragged-out renditions usually heard.

The best thing about the evening? Being back on the Bach cantata’s home turf. The cantata was performed just as it would have been in 1726, as part of a church service, only we were spoilt by the voices of a 32-strong choir. In Bach’s day, if we are to believe Parrott and Rifkin, there might have been just four singers on Sunday morning. Perhaps twelve. It would have been a lot chillier, too.