Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra, Wigmore Hall

Andrew Parrott, director of the Taverner Consort, once told me of a time he was playing harpsichord at the back of a largish orchestra. Confident that nothing he played would stand the remotest chance of being heard above the general cacophony, he “rather went to town” in his realisation of the continuo part. Afterwards he was congratulated by numerous audience members sat at the back of the hall on his stylish, if unconventional, interpretation. The sound had gone up into the air and bounced straight to the back, giving everyone in the rear four rows a crystal-clear account of his lavish harpsichord playing.

In this, the first of a three-concert Ton Koopman residency at the Wigmore, it wasn’t just the players at the back who were perfectly audible. Every instrument clamoured for attention in a Haydn sandwich of two symphonies and an organ concerto. The result was a massive arch composed of tiny details which made themselves constantly, unrelentingly known.

There were ups and downs to this. In the first movement of Symphony No 87 the flautist opened up the string sound like a glorious waft of fresh air with seemingly no effort at all. The frantically high oboe part in the Menuet (the highest notes Haydn wrote for the instrument) appeared equally effortless, and a gentle accent from the cellos and bass translated into a sonic boom to stir up the final vivace. In Symphony No 85 the almost painfully beautiful swapping of melodies between violin and cello, and oboe and bassoon came fluently to the fore in the first movement. The violas’ held note in the first few bars of the fourth movement must have lasted for all of half a second, but it was a miniature moment of stillness that craved attention before the next detail made itself known.

At the same time, some of the string motifs became irritatingly persistent and abrasive – questioning phrases sometimes felt like more of a whining “why, daddy?” than a subtly whispered proposition or a quizzically raised elegant eyebrow. And with such equality of parts it became difficult to structure the sound; with everything in the foreground there was never a let up.

Koopman certainly showed no signs of letting up. Flamboyant gestures abounded, even in the more introspective movements, which was an occasional irritation. But if the amount of effort he piled into his direction was heavy duty, by the time it had been percolated by the orchestra the result was refined and refreshing. Watching and listening offered very different experiences. Anyone who has listened to his Bach cantata series will know just how well Koopman can bring out the excitement in a piece of music; perhaps it’s a case of shutting your eyes and letting it wash over you.

The Organ Concerto in D is an early work, and doesn’t stand up to the two symphonies in style or substance. Koopman played earnestly and with flashes of flair where the music allowed, but there was a bit too much clunk and grind in the writing for even him to rid it of its ordinariness. The piece can be played on the harpsichord, and the keyboard writing is surely more suited to that than the organ, though by all accounts the concerto was performed in churches during mass, between the Sanctus and Benedictus. Heaven knows for how long the services must have gone on.

The symphonies, however, offer more than enough style and invention for one evening. The slow movement of 85 was sublime, the simple, string beginning so reminiscent of another exquisite Haydn slow movement: that of the String Quartet Op 77 No 2. Later, the rustic but ever-so-slightly wistful Trio beetled along contentedly. Here the abundance of details merged together in a delightful fusion. Haydn’s music, more than most, seems to draw out that quiet half-sigh, half-chuckle of approval that audiences sometimes give before they applaud. Tonight, a good half of that approval was reserved for Koopman and his orchestra.

The Ton Koopman residency at the Wigmore Hall continues on April 25 2010.