Schumann’s year-long tenure teaching at the Leipzig Conservatory, a post that Mendelssohn created for him, was not a happy experience. This sparkling concert in the Gewandhaus is altogether different, one of the more imaginative events that last year marked the 150th anniversary of Schumann’s death. How many of us know the Tchaikovsky arrangement or have heard Ravel’s orchestration (made for Nijinsky in 1914)? The Adagio and Allegro brillante are orchestral arrangements of the final two variations of Schumann’s Etudes symphoniques made in 1863-64 towards the end of Tchaikovsky’s studies in St Petersburg with Anton Rubinstein. I’m not sure I don’t prefer them to the piano originals, so effective is the scoring, the piano’s left-hand demi-semiquaver pattern in Var 9 transferred to shimmering strings, and the finale’s march exuberantly executed by Chailly and his fine players. There are few recordings of either these or the Ravel arrangement. I have heard none of them but can’t imagine that they would outshine these polished, stylish performances. Composer anniversaries offer a useful platform to revive neglected works and rarities but no excuses are needed for these to be heard more regularly.

The Symphony (it was first heard in its original form in the Gewandhaus) is a further reason for investing, proof of the rapport that Chailly has established as the orchestra’s music director. The icing on the cake is the great Martha Argerich in one of her signature pieces. You will have to go a long way to hear the first movement played as beautifully (credit, too, to the sensual first clarinet). Throughout, her dialogue with the orchestra truly reflects the piano’s role as first among equals. Not to be missed and immeasurably better in every aspect than the 1977 telecast of her in the concerto (VAI, 6/02).

Even greater treats are in store for Argerich addicts with her live concert from the 2005 La Roque d’Anthéron piano festival held en plein air. She is aided and abetted by her erstwhile partner, the eccentric Alexandre Rabinovitch. He may look like a gravedigger from a Gothic novel – and he is certainly the first conductor to sport a battery of kirby grips to keep his locks in place – but what a consummate musician the man is. Having whipped the adequate Flanders orchestra through Prokofiev’s Classical Symphony, everyone hanging on for dear life in the finale, with his talismanic soloist he launches into an account of the same composer’s First Concerto that mesmerises from beginning to end. One readily forgives the occasional rough edge for the sheer high octane thrill of it all. The Capuçon brothers join after the interval when night has fallen, first Renaud in the Schumann Sonata whose sound alone could charm the birds from their perches in the surrounding trees. With Gautier joining in the Triple Concerto, this is a performance that benefits from the close friendship, musical empathy and mutual instincts of the three soloists and their conductor. Frédéric Le Clair’s crisp, lively direction contributes to an all-too-brief evening fully worthy of its preservation on film.