Opportunities to hear the whole of Ma vlast live are few and far between and so it

Opportunities to hear the whole of Ma vlast live are few and far between, and so it was heartening to encounter Paavo Berglund's forceful performance in the context of the London Philharmonic's "Great Cities of the World" series at the Royal Festival Hall. The decision to spread the cycle over two evenings, however, meant that Smetana's ground- plan was significantly misrepresented: key thematic relationships were obscured (between, say, Tuesday's "Vysehrad" and the previous Sunday's "Vltava") and the overall effect was akin to scrambling the chapters of a novel. The situation was doubly unfortunate given the impressive unity of Berglund's interpretation. And, if a split was truly inevitable, why not give us the first three pieces on Sunday and the last three on Tuesday? In the event, "Vltava", "Sarka" and "From Bohemia's Woods and Fields" took the first lap and "Vysehrad", "Tabor" and "Blanik" the second. "Vltava" opened to deftly turned flute phrases and a swift current, summoned a powerful quintet of "hunting" horns, a lusty peasant's wedding, a linear moonlit glade and a strong, but unhurried, statement of the St John Rapids. "Sarka" burst in with colossal energy and explosive timpani rolls, calmed for one of Smetana's most ardent melodies, perked up again for a rustic dance (where Berglund underlined important inner string voices) and, beyond a baleful clarinet solo depicting Sarka herself, flared to a ranging coda. "From Bohemia's Woods and Fields" is a whole world in itself - spacious, tuneful and incorporating an eerie, reptilian fugue.

But the finest performances of the series crowned the second concert, where "Vysehrad" and "Tabor" were infused with maximum drama and "Blanik" climaxed to a festive amalgam of key themes. Berglund's chief strength is in knowing precisely where to intensify, emphasise and trace significant counterpoint. In that last respect, he had his work cut with Martinu's neo-Baroque Concerto for String Quartet and Orchestra, with its propulsive first movement, painfully ascending Adagio and equivocally joyous finale. Berglund's partners-in-dialogue were the members of the Borodin Quartet (now with a new leader and violist), rich-toned as ever despite their relatively ungrateful role. That was on Sunday, where a taut Mozart "Prague" Symphony opened the programme. Tuesday's concert included an equally rigorous "Haffner" Symphony, though the first half was dominated by a memorable account of Dvorak's Piano Quintet with Stephen Kovacevich and the gifted Keller Quartet.

Kovacevich's approach traced parallels between Dvorak and Brahms and there was some especially sensitive viola playing towards the end of the "Dumka" second movement. But the highlight of the performance was a dancing Scherzo that zipped along with such infectious elan that it prompted a spontaneous burst of applause.Robert Cowan. Since David Bintley became its director 18 months ago, Birmingham Royal Ballet has been establishing itself as Britain's most creative ballet company, but for the winter / spring season it seems intent on proving itself the best. With a new programme of masterworks by two major choreographers joining a superior production of The Sleeping Beauty, there is little competition. The double-bill premiered on Tuesday is BRB's contribution to the Sixties stage of Birmingham's "Towards the Millennium" festival, and a timely reminder of the heights that dance reached during that period. Frederick Ashton's The Dream, made in 1964 for Shakespeare's 400th birthday, then looked a bit old-fashioned but soon demonstrated that timeless would be a better description for its witty, pretty reworking of romantic ideas. One of the most popular works in the repertoire of both Royal Ballet companies, this revival of The Dream is welcome not only for good dancing all round but also for the refreshingly well-considered playing of the quartet of human lovers by Samira Saidi, Chenca Williams, Yuri Zhukov and Joseph Cipolla - all real, living, breathing people, all undergoing repeated and credible transformations through the course of the ballet.Kenneth MacMillan's Song of the Earth, created for Stuttgart in 1965 and surely his best work, makes a serious and moving contrast to Ashton's spirited comedy. This company has never before tackled its long, demanding reflections on life, love and death, but Bintley's new team takes to it beautifully.

Barry Wordsworth's fine direction of Mahler's great score helps tremendously.Co-ordination in the dancers' ensembles was not always impeccable on the first night (partly, I guess, because injuries enforced cast changes during late rehearsals), but the spirit of the ballet was splendidly there. That was true above all of Leticia Muller's reflective, powerfully expressive and subtly inflected performance in the lonely, weary but steadfast lead woman's role.Joseph Cipolla brings a fine dramatic presence and smooth stamina to the central man's role. Young Robert Parker's highly promising performance as the Messenger of Death will be even better with time to settle in; already he has style, strength and the right manner, even if occasionally over-stretched by some of the partnering. Rachel Peppin's bright, happy solo is outstanding among the balance of an impressive cast.The impressiveness comes not only from individual performers but from the way this diverse group of dancers, drawn from all over the world, have settled in to present a great example of ensemble playing in everything they do. The combination of the two long (each about an hour) works could have been made at any time in the past 30 years, but Bintley seems to have been the first to think of it and the result is overwhelming.These two works give a better impression of the real gifts of Ashton and MacMillan than anything I have seen at Covent Garden this season. They share the Birmingham season and subsequent tour with The Sleeping Beauty, in which Peter Wright's ceremonious production and Philip Prowse's sumptuous design likewise show up the London company's miserable staging of the same work.