Heroism and reflection were the two qualities that made conductor Sakari Oramo choose Beethoven’s Eroica symphony for this first of the fortnight of live Proms concerts. In the context of the pandemic, the symbolism of his choice spoke for itself, but, while there were many reasons why this should be a significant occasion, it was the nature of the BBC Symphony Orchestra’s playing of the epic work that spoke volumes. Listening on Radio 3, the clarity, the lyricism and the absence of bombast were revealing.

Oramo, saying heroically little in the face of a lot of talk, suggested that he would treat the empty hall as a recording studio: the result achieved was beautifully balanced and will merit frequent repetition. Watching the television version later was less satisfying in terms of the sound, but it did underline the challenge for the BBCSO, just 40 in number, sitting one to a desk, 2.5 metres apart. Yet, thanks to the essential integrity of Oramo’s interpretation, the reduction in forces brought a gain in intensity of focus. Details of Beethoven’s rhythm and scoring seemed to emerge afresh, dramatic frissons from the timpani in particular, and in the slow movement it was the radiance of the major mode sections, rather than funereal solemnity, that felt emotional.

Hannah Kendall’s Tuxedo: Vasco de Gama, had been commissioned to open the programme. Reflecting on globalisation and multiculturalism, she was inspired by Jean-Michel Basquiat’s screen print Tuxedo (1982-83), with its reference to the 16th-century Portuguese explorer. (Kendall retains Basquiat’s misspelling.) The piece briefly mirrored some of the urgency of his visual gestures before establishing a slower, more expressive vein and creating tensions out of these facets. In aural gestures of her own, Kendall uses harmonicas and, at a key point, lowered the dynamic suddenly so as to have a tinkling musical box play the spiritual Wade in the Water. Seeing the turning mechanism allowed this to work better on television than on radio.

Eric Whitacre’s motet Sleep, sung by the BBC Singers, and Aaron Copland’s Quiet City were included for their resonance with the Covid experience, and both were performed with sensitivity and commitment. But these three works made for a slightly awkward sequence, so it was the live experience of the Beethoven that made all the difference and spelled hope.

Is there a collective noun for sighs, I wonder? Even if such exhalations of breath are not always audible, there must have been more than just a few around Kensington Gore last night. Relief at the BBC that after months of planning and underlying trepidation that good intentions might be thwarted at the last minute, this short season of concerts in the traditional Proms venue could finally be launched. Relief too amongst BBC musicians that after a long hiatus in live performances they were finally together again on a familiar platform with their Chief Conductor in charge. And almost certainly relief also up and down the country at the prospect of a slow, albeit less than all-encompassing, return to normality.

Before Beethoven’s ‘Eroica’ came a series of short pieces based on varying kinds of artistic inspiration, thus forming an excellent bridge to the main work which, when it was first published, included the reference “composed to celebrate the memory of a great man”.

Hannah Kendall’s latest piece, given its world première by the BBC Symphony Orchestra under Sakari Oramo, takes as its starting-point the idea of early globalisation and multiculturalism, first through the memory of Vasco da Gama and then the American artist of Haitian and Puerto Rican descent, Jean-Michel Basquiat, who influenced popular urban culture in the 1980s. Richly textured and with scintillating orchestral effects that include the use of harmonicas, the piece suggests endless transitions, the musical strands coalescing and receding before moving off into unknown regions at the close. At one stage Stephen Bryant’s solo violin rose high above the shimmering harmonies to suggest the flight of a free spirit.

Eric Whitacre’s motet for a cappella chorus derives its inspiration from a Robert Frost poem but uses instead lyrics by Charles Anthony Silvestri, the word “sleep” being repeated to mesmerising effect as the piece steals away. The eighteen members of the BBC Singers were spaced out across the stalls of the Royal Albert Hall and directed from the arena by Nicholas Chalmers. Though modest in terms of numbers, they made a powerful and well-blended sound, the ethereal soprano line freed from all earthly restraint.

According to Aaron Copland, his Quiet City, which originated as incidental music for Irwin Shaw’s play of the same name, was an attempt to mirror the emotions of the troubled main character. The jazz influence is unmistakeable, not only in the harmonies but also the improvisatory quality of the two soloists, distinct yet beautifully matched in the trumpet of Philip Cobb and the cor anglais of Alison Teale. Like the two preceding pieces, the prevailing mood was one of quietude. If New York is indeed the city that never sleeps, this was contrariwise a mood-picture of deserted streets and aching isolation.

Without the usual interval, the two E-flat chords that open Beethoven’s great symphony came as a rude awakening. Upsetting expectations was what this composer was all about. Oramo’s view was very much life-affirming, unburdened by introspection in the Funeral March, the emotions contained rather than worn on the sleeve. The original audience in the Palais Lobkowitz in August 1804 would have had its ears assaulted by the sheer impact of the novel sounds. However, given the modest forces used on this occasion – the strings grounded on four cellos and three double-basses and spread out over the entire platform, the woodwind and brass on risers behind – and the reverberance of an empty hall, there were fewer explosions and dramatic moments, the revolutionary fervour kept largely in check, the lightness of the tread suggesting plimsolls rather than Oxford brogues. One obvious gain was in the airiness of the orchestral textures with the wind given special prominence.

As Stephen Fry commented at the end of the television transmission, it was “like water in the desert”. From the barren terrain of the past few months, new life will surely follow.