Shostakovich's Seventh Symphony is such a mammoth work that some orchestras duck the problem of choosing a companion piece by presenting it alone. Not so the London Philharmonic, who gave us our money's worth here by pairing it with one of the weightier classical piano concertos, Beethoven's Third.

In Leon McCawley the orchestra had a soloist whose lyricism was underpinned by a satisfying sense of muscle. His interpretation fitted in aptly with that of Kurt Masur; the young British pianist and the veteran German conductor made an effective and sympathetic team. McCawley's playing was robust enough not to be overshadowed by the strong, serious orchestral introduction, but it was consistently thoughtful as well. The highlight was the finale: the spiky, insistent theme kept its piquancy despite so many repetitions, only to be transformed into something truly tender when played in a far-off key. Here the second subject introduced just a touch of mischief, the repeated notes pinging off the keyboard.

Still, the Shostakovich was the main event. Masur's pacing was masterly. The second movement was tautly controlled, hard-edged without lapsing into insincerity. At the opening of the third, the vibrancy of the fortissimo strings was slightly marred by a lack of unanimity. Yet the orchestra generally was on fine form, responding immediately to Masur's slightest shrug so that in this movement he was able to whip a gentle, waltz-like melody into a blustering frenzy in the space of a few bars.

For all the substance in those two movements, the outer ones rightly dominated. Over its unrelenting side-drum rhythm, the 15-minute crescendo of the first morphed almost imperceptibly from distant toy-soldier tattoo into a horrific barrage. Yet what was really terrifying was that the crescendo didn't end when the drum rhythm broke; this march had yet to reach its destination. Only with the shattering climax of the final movement, nearly an hour later, did it seem to have truly arrived.