There's something sad about Erich Korngold. As a boy, he was acclaimed as a genius by the likes of Mahler, but neither Oscars, fame nor fortune could later compensate for what he perceived as failure to achieve his first ambition, to be a serious composer. Yet his violin concerto might have been a more even piece had he resisted the temptation to recycle and rework themes from his film scores.

Leonidas Kavakos is one of the youngest of an honourable line of virtuosi - Hubermann and Heifetz were the first - who have thought it a suitable vehicle to display their technique, but even his fine, forthright tone couldn't disguise Korngold's saccharine sentimentality. Conductor Marin Alsop urged the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra on gamely, but she certainly wasn't able to make the Beverly Hill-billy joviality of the finale sound substantial or meaningful. Another concerto would surely have been more worthy of Kavakos's undoubtedly superior musicianship.

At the opening of this concert, Stravinsky's 1919 Firebird Suite had borne the hallmarks of Alsop's discipline, with strong clear lines, but her almost prosaic approach meant that some of the magic and voluptuous exoticism that abounds in the music was missing. Alsop was also curiously matter-of-fact in the main work of the evening, Dvorak's Seventh Symphony. Again, there was no denying the clarity, with all the glorious counterpoints emerging cleanly from the texture, and horns and flute in particular shining through, but it was at the expense of some of the dark mystery and underlying tension of what is some of Dvorak's greatest music.

The middle movements were relatively slow; Alsop seemed to be saving her most emphatic statements for the allegro finale. This was much more dramatic and imposing, achieving a truly symphonic grandeur. In the end, however, it couldn't overcome the overall impression of a workmanlike rather than inspirational performance.