Vanska is a conductor with tremendous bounce and verve but here he played against type in a performance notable for precision and poise. The same evening’s Late Night Prom of Haydn by John Eliot Gardiner, the Monteverdi Choir, and the English Baroque Soloists was predictably divine, despite soprano soloist Luba Organ?v? idiosyncratic articulation in the Nelson Mass.. And if you don’t know what I mean by that, order a copy of her last album, Crazy and Mixed Up, and listen to “You are too beautiful”.Which, to the exasperation of those readers who prefer abstract music, leaves barely a few lines to commend Osmo Vanska, Stephen Hough and the BBC Symphony Orchestra on their performances of Thea Musgrave’s eloquently structured Turbulent Landscapes, Rachmaninov’s First Piano Concerto, and Nielsen’s Fourth Symphony. In both cases, such extreme freedom – akin to jazz – would be impossible without a superb accompanist. Still, von Otter and Terfel dig deeper than the majority of their peers. Much as I’ve been moved by other artists, very few have passed the Sarah Vaughan test.

The last time I heard a singer invest that much meaning and daring into their words was also at the Proms: Anne Sofie von Otter singing “Scherza infida” from Handel’s Ariodante. The cello solo of Act I was ravishing; Lisa Gasteen (Br?ilde), Waltraud Meier (Sieglinde), and Rosalind Plowright (Fricka) fearless. Placido Domingo, making his Proms debut as Siegmund, was, if anything, in even better vocal form, while Bryn Terfel, though audibly exhausted, gave the kind of performance of “Wotan’s Farewell” that is the stuff of legend, regardless of genre. Even in my kitchen, the electricity in the Royal Albert Hall was palpable, and I should imagine the same was true for thousands of domestic listeners. Were any proof needed that the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House is one of the greatest in the world, this was it.
Having heard the first performance of this run, it was fascinating to hear the last. Notwithstanding a slightly chemical tang to the first violins, it was an impressive performance, and one in which Hickox’s attenuated pianissimi held the audience in thrall. Kate Brown’s semi-staging was amateurishly blocked, exposing the lack of stage experience among some performers.

Mhairi Lawson’s infectious wit, Julia Gooding’s regal grace, Peter Harvey’s refinement, and Mark Le Brocq’s insouciance served them well in the absence of proper direction, while opera stalwart Jonathan Best was an excellent Drunken Poet. Susan Hemington Jones’s light, boyish Night, Daniel Auchincloss’s liquid Secrecy, and Charles Daniel’s magnetic Phoebus were, by contrast, best appreciated with both eyes shut.A better director would have anticipated these problems. But why bother with a semi-staging when most of the audience will be sitting at home, wondering why they keep hearing shuffling feet on the radio? Coridon (Best) and Mopsa (Le Brocq) inevitably raised a laugh, but the musical compromises made at other points outweighed any visual benefits. I’m a sucker for Lawson’s bright, flirtatious soprano and am baffled as to why she has yet to be cast by WNO, ENO or Opera North, but “If Love’s a Sweet Passion” is not a comedy turn.

By the same token, the costumes made the singers look like guests at a registry office wedding between a couple they believed would be divorced within a year. The previous night, I avoided the tropical microclimate of a capacity audience and listened to Antonio Pappano conduct Die Walk?on the radio. Susan Gritton’s performance of Britten’s Quatre Chansons Fran?ses – written at the age of 14, and displaying a chaste sensuality and natural aptitude for word-setting – was faultlessly tender and stylish. The gargantuan tutti chord with organ in the third movement raised the spectre of Duke Bluebeard’s Castle and suffered by comparison. Michael Berkeley’s Concerto for Orchestra, premiered here, reiterated his talent for orchestral colour and relative lack of talent for structure.