Razumovsky Ensemble, Wigmore Hall

Just to contemplate the shifting talent pool of this chamber co-operative can be giddying. Last night 10 great ensemble players, from top violin soloist Alexander Sitkovetsky to three London orchestral principals who must have jumped at the chance to be part of the Razumovsky experience, had their work cut out. Schoenberg and Schubert ask each musician to run the full gamut of Viennese angst and joy. The result was an unrepeatable experience in the spiritual as well as the literal sense.

Both Schubert's Octet and Schoenberg's early string sextet Verklärte Nacht (Transfigured Night) can feel a little unwieldy in chamber musical hands less intent than these on illuminating every human detail of pleasure and pain. Here, given the expected Razumovsky miracle of total communication at any given moment, the length could only seem heavenly. Hellish-to-heavenly in the case of the Schoenberg. It's an early work; he never wrote anything more searingly expressive of the human condition. In Transfigured Night's programmatic inspiration, a poem by Richard Dehmel very daring for the 1890s, a woman out for a moonlit walk with her lover confesses in anguish that she became pregnant by another man before they met. He tells her the strength of their present love "will transfigure the strange child".

Never mind the fin-de-siècle specifics; the music's emotional trajectory surely rings true with anyone who's ever loved. The spell last night was cast from the first mysterious unison of lower strings, and the tears flowed freely. Cultured first violinist Winfried Rademacher and cellist Oleg Kogan, the Razumovsky linchpin, provided the rock around which the younger players could run tormented rings, nearly breaking a string or two before the radiant homecoming of a transfiguration only Mahler could surpass. And hearing Schoenberg's sextet original, rather than his lush but less personal full-string arrangement, made the experience all the more real. The rapt silence at the end from an audience much younger than the usual Wigmore hardcore must have been everything the players could have wanted.

For the Schubert, the lively argument entailed three of the string players facing distinguished orchestral principals - clarinettist Michael Whight, horn-player Laurence Davies and bassoonist Julie Price - with Kogan and double-bass doyen Neil Tarlton acting as intermediaries. This essential theatre meant the audience couldn't always see every player, but what we heard were questions and responses between strings and winds, as well as Schubert's astounding generosity in giving everyone a good line to sing and a dance or two to galvanize us in our plush Wigmore seats.

There was constant cause for wonder and refreshment from routine in the varied treatments of the Adagio's simple lullaby as well as a set of variations that for me could for once have been twice as long and a dramatic finale where Schubert, as projected here by the Razumovskys, plumbs the depths around a witty banquet of exuberant trills (and sudden flourishes of incredible virtuosity effortlessly despatched by Rademacher and Whight).

Chamber playing doesn't get any better than this. But there's more to the Razumovsky set-up; it also runs an academy for young - in some cases very young - musicians. Their high profile in the audience, as enthusiastic witnesses to what dedicated artistry as embodied in their presumably inspiring mentors might mean, gave an extra kick to the evening. They're also showcased in a series of events before the Razumovsky Ensemble concerts. Part of our duty as critics should be to devote more time to the unknown quantity of fresh talent, also running concurrently in the Park Lane Group's annual series at the Southbank. Alas, there are only so many hours in the day for your well-meaning Arts Desk writers, so I can't report on the current batch. Endeavouring to keep a weather eye on developments, though, can only be a pleasure.

The Razumovsky Ensemble and Academy next appear at the Wigmore Hall on 4 March.

The ensemble's website