Whenever Simon Rattle brings his Berlin Philharmonic to Britain, there’s a sense of boy-made-good about it that’s infectious. Hearts inflate with pride to see a Briton at the helm of arguably the greatest orchestra on earth, and you can feel the audience onside, willing the concert to be special – as it usually is, because the Berlin Phil musicians are like nothing else, with solo-status capabilities that shone when they were here for two high-profile Proms the other week.
An orchestra of soloists, though, is like a chariot pulled by stallions. It’s a hard drive that requires the exercise of something close to tyranny to work. And Rattle is no tyrant. Which is why I tend to leave his Philharmonic concert trying to convince myself that they were wonderful, but fearing that they could have achieved more if Rattle had been tougher on his players and exploited their potential with the ruthlessness that great conducting tends to need.
