Just when we were thinking that British involvement in any kind of cross-continental music-making was a very bad idea, along comes the ever-reliable Chamber Orchestra of Europe to set us straight. Many of its players were on home ground for this all-Russian programme, which concentrated on the lighter end of that repertoire without bypassing profundity.

The so-called Classical Symphony, Prokofiev's First, is about as light as the Russian repertoire gets. Still, the conductor Manfred Honeck took a straight-faced approach, the model of good taste. You would never suspect that in more mischievous hands moments of this work can sound, well, a little vulgar. In the intricately woven first movement melodies passed mercurially around the ensemble, and even the scurrying finale was classically poised.

If Shostakovich ever wrote a classical symphony, the Ninth is it, though there's a sinister edge to its geniality that was obvious in this performance, and its dark heart in the Largo is unmistakable, especially when the bassoon solos keening over the shells of empty orchestral climaxes are played as eloquently as they were here. But it is also a dazzling ensemble showpiece, to which the winds in particular were more than equal. A spirited account of the Polonaise from Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin was given as an encore.

But the programme's highlight had come earlier in the form of that composer's Violin Concerto, in which the orchestra's lack of bombast suited the Greek violinist Leonidas Kavakos just fine. His first entry was disarmingly simple, even resting on the unadorned sound of an open string. Yet his unfussy performance sometimes betrayed a touch of impatience, and the first movement, though played with conviction and brilliance, didn't seem quite soulful enough.

No sooner were we into the Canzonetta, however, than this impression was dispelled. Absorbed in spinning out the mournful melody, Kavakos brought the movement all the subtle, wistful sensitivity it needed. And in the stomping Cossack dance of the Finale he had fire to spare.

Each time the music picked up speed Kavakos seemed to be challenging the orchestra to keep up, and the grins exchanged as he duelled with individual players suggested he was communicating with his fellow musicians as much as he was with us. His unaccompanied Bach encore, from the Second Partita, was a flowing, wistful lesson from a remarkable violinist in how to make this music sound sublime.