The Three Choirs Festival always feels so nourishing, so eternally English, that you sometimes forget how much history has been made there. The point is that there have been moments when the musical universe pivoted around this quiet cathedral close. Premièred in 2001 in Portsmouth, McDowall’s motet combined vigorous choral and string writing with a restless, luminous sense of the sea. I wanted to love it, I really did; but the orchestra under George Jackson had the snap and sparkle of warm lettuce. Let’s blame it on the heatwave; because in most other respects this Fledermaus has a lot going for it.