Frans Brüggen's reputation is so intensely bound up with his interpretations of the late 18th and early 19th-century repertoire that the thought of him conducting Berg's Violin Concerto (1935) brings you up with a jolt. Tackling it here with the Philharmonia and Austrian violinist Benjamin Schmid, he brought his usual compelling mixture of strength and clarity to bear upon the piece. He was also very much aware of Berg's pivotal position between Romanticism and modernism, and consequently infused the concerto with a sense of deep nostalgia.

Its trigger was the death from polio of Manon Gropius, the teenage daughter of Alma Mahler and her second husband, the Bauhaus architect Walter Gropius. At Queen Elizabeth Hall, Brüggen adopted a meditative tone throughout, occasionally to the work's detriment - the Allegretto, for instance, which depicts Manon dancing, was a fraction too slow and dark. The gains came later: in the hideous rictus of the Allegro, which marks the sudden onset of illness, and in the calm of the finale, where Berg found spiritual solace. Schmid was wonderful here, supremely lyrical; he gradually intensified both tone and vibrato so that we got a sense of life burgeoning before it is cut short. The orchestral playing, with every line of its counterpoint breathtakingly exposed, was ravishing.

Brüggen flanked the piece with Beethoven's Coriolan and the Eroica Symphony, works from his more usual territory. He was unsparing when it came to laying bare the rhythmic dislocation integral to both - although he has achieved greater heights of tragic intensity in the Eroica elsewhere, most notably with his own Orchestra of the 18th Century. His Coriolan, however, is second to none, its obsessive figurations and brief lyrical flights remorselessly delineating the damaged psyche of Beethoven's hero as well as his pitiless arrogance.