Angry mob puts the Tsar in his place

Boris Godunov Coliseum, London WC2, until 1 Dec Berezovsky Trio IndigO2, London SE10

Where would Russian opera be without Alexander Pushkin? The author of Eugene Onegin and The Queen of Spades, from which Tchaikovsky fashioned two of his finest works, he also wrote the poems upon which Rimsky-Korsakov based his The Golden Cockerel and other operas, and the play from which Mussorgsky adapted his morbid masterpiece, Boris Godunov. Unabashedly nationalist in both style and content, but neglected after his death, the piece was later reworked by Rimsky and Shostakovich; English National Opera has opted for his original 1869 version, a sequence of seven scenes lasting more than two unbroken hours.

It's an austere, even bleak work of unremitting intensity, set at the turn of the 17th century, but updated in Tim Albery's staging to late Tsarist Russia, with a distinct whiff of revolution in the air. The mob, in the shape of ENO's excellent chorus, turns out to be the star of the show, both musically and theatrically - especially when the tortured Tsar himself, and several other principals, prove as one-dimensional as in this initial cast.

Godunov was the short-lived, pre-Romanov Tsar haunted by his murder of his predecessor's young son. His inner torment is the focus of Mussorgsky's resplendent score, with its strikingly original, multi-layered and (at the time) defiant orchestration; yet Peter Rose, for all the heft of his sonorous bass, cannot convey much more than routine thespian discomfort. Far more evil oozes from John Graham-Hall as his Machiavellian nemesis (and eventual successor), Shuisky. As the 'holy fool' central to the Shakespearean feel of the piece, Robert Murray sings exquisitely but fails to move; more persuasively Russian, more in synch with the work's religious angst, is Brindley Sherratt's imposing Pimen.

Presumably for budgetary reasons, the entire drama takes place in Tobias Hoheisel's giant barn of a set, variously converted by Adam Silverman's clever lighting into monastic cell, country inn, even the Tsar's study. Edward Gardner again brings out the best in ENO's fine house orchestra, reminding us of Mussorgky's unique place in the Russian tradition; yet, for all its nobility, the evening proves more worthy than inspirational.

Another Boris passed through London last week, name of Berezovsky - not the exiled anti-Putin oligarch but the gifted Russian-born, Brussels-based pianist. With the two compatriots who make up the Berezovsky Trio, violinist Dmitri Makhtin and cellist Alexander Kniazev, he made heavy weather of Dvorak's 'F minor trio', before turning in a limpid performance of Rachmaninov's 'Trio Elégiaque No 2'. Given more time together, these three fine individual musicians could blend into a distinctive unit.

Had there been a programme, I could perhaps tell you how long the Berezovsky Trio have been together. But this was an evening as informal as classical music gets. Comfortable seats with holders for drinks in plastic glasses; no nagging interval bells; people wandering around at will, as at a jazz concert - this is musical life down at the Dome.

Yes, classical music has recently arrived at the 02, or in this case Indig02, the smaller of the halls that have turned Richard Rogers's stately pleasure dome from millennial morgue into pulsating fun palace. A tenth the size of its 18,000-seater big brother, the Indigo is capable of seating some 1,700 in its sleek, Las Vegas-style lounge, where artists of the stature of Bryn Terfel, Sarah Connolly and pianist Garrick Ohlsson are on this autumn's bill of fare.

Will they, like Berezovsky, eschew the electronic 'enhancement' on offer in a theatre which normally hosts the likes of Billy Ocean, Shakin' Stevens and the Bootleg Beatles? The RPO didn't last month, when I attended a concert of Sibelius, Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov's third piano concerto, with soloist Peter Donohoe. Indigo's dry, clean acoustic is fine for chamber groups and soloists, but orchestras fare less well in a venue built for jazz and pop, whose every surface is designed to absorb heavily amplified sound. So microphones are hung high above the stage to relay 'fill-in' sound to the seats on the side, and at the back of the balcony, thus simulating a more reverberant acoustic.

Having now sat all over the auditorium, I can testify that the effect is akin to being a guest at a recording session. To admit that I rather liked it would be critical heresy, of the kind that could cost me my job. So it's perhaps just as well that this is my final column. After six and a half years, I am moving on to another challenge in a different field. My warmest thanks for your company, which I have much enjoyed; but I confess that henceforth it will be a relief to attend operas and concerts more for pleasure than for duty. Besides, after some 1,000 musical nights out, and as many CD reviews, I find I have finally run out of adjectives.