French pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet is best known in the work of his compatriots Debussy, Ravel and Satie, which he plays with suave finesse. It's a surprise, then, to hear him in such splashy Soviet-era music as Aram Khachaturian's 1936 Piano Concerto.

One moment as luridly tuneful as Shostakovich in Keystone Cops mode, then suddenly spacious and delicate, the concerto switches mood with the ease of a film score. With the Philharmonia under Rafael Fruhbeck de Burgos in uncompromising form, Thibaudet negotiated the shifts almost nonchalantly.

His left hand rattled the bass register with fearsome power but there was also a light-fingered, even jazzy subtlety. The orchestra played its part, notably slithery bass-clarinet and lamenting oboe, although the second movement's optional flexitone proved as intrusive as a mobile phone.

It is a fine match with Carl Orff 's Carmina Burana. Not for nothing are the Carmina good box-office, and it's not the composer's fault if their gestures are so deeply embedded in the musical language of advertising that they have become clichés.

None of the three soloists was unstretched but baritone William Dazeley brought broad operatic humour to the poet's drunken reverie. Fruhbeck gave players and singers their head; given a full-frontal attack, Orff still hits home.