Shostakovich dedicated his Seventh Symphony to "our struggle against fascism, to our coming victory over the enemy, and to my native city, Leningrad".

In a vehement and polished account, the London Philharmonic Orchestra under their chief conductor, the Russian Vladimir Jurowski, exposed the fury and desolation at the core of this seemingly grandiloquent work.

Written in 1941, the "Leningrad" is celebrated - and castigated - for its ear-piercing "war machine" first movement, so apparently banal as to be repellent yet unforgettable.

A sardonic little tune, lopsided and trite, is repeated 20-fold, starting scratchily then building up to a grotesque, fat, swaggering, sweet-sour climax.

If some conductors throw themselves over the precipice dragging their players with them at this hellish point, Jurowski is not one.

Directing with the precise, well-honed elegance of a thoroughbred stallion, he keeps all in control. The triumphal passages chill the heart, while the hushed string laments are serene rather than lachrymose.

Jurowski had repositioned the strings, with violas next to first violins, which added richness and balance.

Extra brass in this vast orchestra sat up in the choir seats. When the four horns stood and blasted their climactic fortissimos, so dramatic was the impact you couldn't help but sit up to militaristic attention.

It was paired with another work glowing with vivid orchestral colour: Ravel's Concerto for the Left Hand, written for Paul Wittgenstein who, losing his right arm in World War I, commissioned for the left hand only.

Sadly, he was a showy but careless player who sprayed wrong notes at the premiere. Not so Jean-Yves Thibaudet, so at ease with this enigmatic, bluesy work he sounds as if he's playing with three hands not one. Orchestra, conductor and soloist shimmered and shimmied in ideal partnership.