Prom 65: Berlin Philharmonic/Rattle, Royal Albert Hall, London

Another exemplary programme, yet more fabulous playing. So why the nagging doubts? Well, only a fool would underestimate Simon Rattle's musical intellect, his clear thinking, his keen ear - but the big issue in this concert was the level of his intervention from the podium. In Brahms' 3rd Symphony too much loving went a long way; Shostakovich's 10th raised questions about characterisation and the nature of the sound.

No doubts about the rightness of that sound in Brahms. The vaulting exultation of the opening was gloriously present, clear and singing on the top, impressively upholstered below. And as we moved into the second subject group, Rattle listening intently to the shifting harmony, an elegant pizzicato nudged forward the mellowest of first clarinets, his solo instantly relaxing us into a sense of well-being. The swinging waltz at the start of the development would compound that well-being with real uplift. So far, so excellent.

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And if you believe, as I do, that Brahms was a more of a radical force than he is sometimes given credit for being, then the intense listening experience that Rattle offered in the second movement andante will have come as a revelation. Such mystery, so many unanswered questions. But here's where the problems began. There's only so much attention you can give this music. By the arrival of the third movement the delectation of every detail, very phrase, was bordering on fawning - too precious for words.

Not so, Shostakovich, of course. Few have a better grasp of the superstructure of his great 10th Symphony than Rattle. But getting the Berlin Philharmonic to do ugly, abrasive, caustic, is a challenge. Traversing the brooding outreaches of the first movement the innate warmth and magnificence of the strings precluded the deathly pallor and numbness of this music. Bereft woodwind solos were too "phrased", too knowing, their beauty compromising the desolation. And whilst Rattle tightened the screw, and how, at the climax, unleashing one of the most startling tremolandos I have ever heard from a violin section, there was still a sense that everything was being "worked" to within an inch of its life.

Even the infamous scherzo, descending like a tornado to mark Stalin's reign of terror, felt controlled, the sabre rattling side drum feeble, the Berlin brass never truly allowed to show their outrage. The strings ran scared to hair-raising effect and yet their efforts still felt merely virtuosic as opposed to spontaneously combustible. Is it possible for an orchestra to be too good? Music is a mysterious art.

BBC Proms continue to 13 September (0845 401 5040)