It may be the power of suggestion, but there was distinctly laid-back vibe at the packed Royal Albert Hall last night. Clapping between movements (and this was an audience never knowingly under-clapped) wasn’t greeted by the any of the usual hisses, and when a latecomer clattered down the entire length of stalls steps before the Largo of Dvořák’s Symphony No 9 she drew only the most indulgent of laughter. The Brazilians had arrived, bringing with them a warmth that extended well beyond the stage.

Shamefully, the Albert Hall was just over half full for this impeccably programmed celebration of that most "youth" of ensemble types, the Wind Orchestra and Brass Band. The air of a glorified school concert was blessedly absent throughout (except for the slightly patronising between-movement applause), which meant that both of these tack-sharp outfits could present their selections seamlessly and without fear of the usual "but they're so young!" silliness in an exclusively British programme.

On the one hand, having a massed brass and percussion section (I counted 16 timpani) in front of three massed choirs lent this evening an air of fantastic anticipation. Boom and crash and honk: that’s what we wanted. On the other hand, it was immediately a measure against which anything less than deafening volume would be harshly judged. All reminders of the potential clout were constantly there, embodied by bored-looking trombonists counting their hundred bars’ rest. The key here is to make those quiet moments magical – and that didn’t quite happen this evening.

A motley crowd at Cadogan Hall on Saturday afternoon: new music aficionados and interested parties; general music lovers; some passing trade; tourists; one dad with a young boy of six or seven. Heaven knows what the latter made of the dissonances, dislocations and heated laments summoned forth by the intrepid performers in this invigorating concert, dominated by the creations of some of the more challenging composers among contemporary Brits.

The first panel in a would-be triptych, Elgar’s The Apostles is also something of a prototype – the musical experiment whose risks would culminate so strikingly in The Kingdom. Tackling the crucifixion from “the poor man’s point of view”, its occluded, obscured vision of events has atmosphere in abundance but a distinct lack of dramatic focus. There’s an awful lot of telling, climaxing in such an astonishing bit of showing that you almost forget the previous two hours’ tedium. Almost.

Messiaen: Turangalîla-Symphonie Steven Osborne (piano), Cynthia Millar (ondes martenot), Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra/Juanjo Mena (Hyperion)

Each year I wonder, as the hit-makers and Radio 1 darlings flock to the Ivor Novello Awards, how many spare a thought for that greatest of melodists, who lends his name to their accolades? Precious few, I suspect. While the musicals of Noël Coward have survived for their wit, the great American classics of Carousel and Oklahoma! for their big numbers and relatable, homespun stories, the eternally anachronistic, fatally glamorous world of Ivor Novello has disappeared without trace.

Why so many empty seats at last night’s Prom? Bringing together several choruses, a percussion-augmented orchestra, dancers, actors, rock-band and children’s choir, Leonard Bernstein’s Mass is surely a Proms dream – a genuinely eclectic work with something for just about everybody. But even as some 11 different Welsh ensembles sung, jived, clapped and shouted for our entertainment yesterday, there was no getting away from the issues with Bernstein’s ageing, mongrel score.

Elgar: Enigma Variations, Cockaigne Overture, Pomp and Circumstance Marches 1-5 Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Barry Wordsworth (RPO)

What better work for Harry Bicket and The English Concert to perform at the Proms than Bach's joyous Mass in B Minor. Joyous firstly because of the music itself, with its vast stylistic and emotional range. Joyous secondly because, despite the intense scholarship to which Bach and his music have been subjected over the years, its genesis remains unusually shrouded in mystery for such a major work.