Every so often, Penderecki produces a composition which seems consciously to contradict the measured, rather undernourished qualities of other relatively recent works, like the Symphony No 8. He did it in 1990_91 with the “opera buffa” Ubu Rex, and then again with the Piano Concerto (2001-02).

A work written in the aftermath of 9/11 and subtitled “Resurrection” might lead you to expect a worthy reaffirmation of enduring Christian values in the face of anti-Western terrorism. But - rather audaciously - Penderecki sets up associations with Mahler's Second Symphony (including, unless my ears deceive me, a grandiose E flat major ending) in ways which proclaim his inability (or disinclination) to take such connections entirely seriously. The concerto - a loosely organised single movement lasting 33 minutes - has as much to do with Prokofiev-like, anti-romantic marching as with late-romantic triumphalism, and the composer appears to be inviting accusations of bad taste in his use of crashing percussion and, at the other extreme, expressions of sugary sentiment. The most dramatic effects come at the end, as an eerie, fragmented descent into the abyss is suddenly countered by frantic celebration.

There's earlier evidence of Penderecki's ability to kick over the generic traces in the 13-minute Capriccio for violin and orchestra (1967), a kind of anti-concerto laid out with vivid sonic imagination and admirable formal economy. Even more economical, and even more sonically extravagant, is De natura sonoris II (1971), designed to give the orchestra of New York's Juilliard School a bracing work-out, and with lots of quasi-electronic effects to suggest modernity on the verge of disintegration. The composer directs extremely vivid performances in no less vivid sound.