In many ways, Daniels has justified his move beyond early-music purism with ease. His tone has always appealed because of its warmth and beauty, more like a mid-scale female mezzo in quality than others of its type, and devoid of any hint of the dreaded hoot. The only minor blemishes occurred when Daniels reached down to his lowest notes and the vocal registers did not quite match.

His good diction was a valuable asset throughout, including in an opening Brahms group that benefited, as did the entire programme, from the dynamic and deep-toned pianism of Martin Katz, one of the finest accompanists around today. A clutch of fragrant songs by the minor French master Reynaldo Hahn also showed how well this sophisticated salon repertoire suits Daniels’s basic set of tonal colours.

There were moments, however, when he looked less than relaxed. Two Handel arias, Cara Sposa from Rinaldo and ­Perfido from Radamisto, felt tense, despite the singer’s ­convincing skill in delivery. Elsewhere, words were ­muddled on occasion. Katz had to prompt Daniels once.

Yet the singer had the capacity ­audience on his side from start to finish, and gave excellent value in some of the antique arias by Caccini and Durante that all vocal students learn, as well as in a fine group of English songs, including moving accounts of Elgar’s Where Corals Lie and Howells’s King David.

The soloist was Joshua Roman, a cellist of extraordinary technical and musical gifts. His Symphony debut, in fact, was so striking in so many ways that it left a listener eager for something more.

Roman, who was appointed principal cellist of the Seattle Symphony at 22 and left two years later to pursue a solo career, coaxes sounds of remarkable beauty from his instrument. The expansive four-note chord that opens the solo part of the concerto instantly set a tone of warmth and vigor, and throughout the first movement, Roman deployed a light touch to produce a graceful, elegant melodic strain.

His technical command was equally impressive, especially in the virtuosic finale. It’s rare to hear a cellist tear through this high-flying passagework so beautifully and precisely - with never a note out of tune or out of place - and rarer still to hear it done with such offhanded panache.

But if Roman’s easy, unruffled approach and charismatic suavity paid dividends in the concerto’s outer movements, the central adagio was so lacking in vigor or intensity that it practically ran aground. The extra-slow tempo adopted by Blomstedt and Roman (at the behest of one or both, who can say?) didn’t help matters, but it was Roman’s nonchalance that proved most problematic.

The same problems surfaced elsewhere - in Roman’s original cadenzas, which were deft but low wattage, and even in his charmingly casual encore, the crossover tune “Julie-O” by Turtle Island String Quartet cellist Mark Summer. I, for one, would happily have traded some of Roman’s gorgeous, expertly tuned passages for a bit more urgency and passion.

Those qualities, fortunately, were in plentiful supply after intermission, when Blomstedt led the orchestra in potent account of Beethoven’s “Eroica” Symphony. The first movement exploded with pent-up energy, and even the funeral march moved resolutely forward, if at a slower pace; the horns sounded a welcome note of clarity in the trio section of the scherzo.

With their massive line-up, hippy appearance and old-school folk-rock sounds they’ve been drawing comparisons to acts like The Polyphonic Spree. And as band leader Alex Ebert explained to triple j’s Richard Kingsmill some people are claiming they’re a little cult-like.

“I feel like the closest we came to anything like that was someone writing in the Birmingham paper that someone should blow our bus up, they’d be doing the world a favour. I don’t know what that means exactly. No one in the band is taking the concept of a cult seriously. There’s no guiding ethos apart from really basic principles that are just beneficial for all of mankind. There’s no drink blood at 7am every Wednesday or some bullshit like that. There’s nothing that we do that’s particularly cultish.”

Since then, the excitement of critics and fans has only grown. The Lovell Sisters’ second studio album, Time to Grow, further showcases thee group’s beautiful harmonies and virtuoso instrumentals.

Thursday’s performance in Herbst Theatre by Nicholas McGegan and the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra was no exception. Mezzo-soprano Susan Graham, making her first appearance with the period ensemble, sang Dido eloquently and with a masterful command of style.

None of it, though, compared with the depth and directness of the final lament, “When I am laid in Earth.” Here Graham mustered all of her tonal splendor and dramatic focus to provide an arresting picture of a woman - and queen - at the end of her tether.

Melodic phrases began in silence and made their presence felt gradually, in a slow upwelling of emotion. The final cry, “Remember me,” was delivered with a controlled fervor that tallied with Dido’s overarching stateliness, and McGegan brought tenderness to the elegiac final measures, with their aching, bittersweet harmonies.

The rest of the performance captured a similar air of probing tragedy. As Aeneas (a comparatively minor role, despite the work’s title), baritone William Berger combined robust tone and impeccable diction for a persuasively heroic portrait.

Bruce Lamott’s Philharmonia Chorale sang with lively precision, particularly in the witches’ laughing chorus. Soprano Cyndia Seiden was an appealing but often underpowered Belinda, though she combined deftly with soprano Céline Ricci as the Second Woman.

Both sopranos fared better as the Two Witches, supporting the commanding Sorceress of contralto Jill Grove. And tenor Brian Thorsett emerged from the chorus to provide brief but memorable cameos as Mercury and the First Sailor.

The first half of this all-Purcell program was less successful, as McGegan seemed to have mislaid his trademark peppiness in favor of a deliberative approach that too often proved simply sluggish.

“O Sing Unto the Lord a New Song,” a variable and wonderfully unpredictable setting of some of Psalm 96, benefited from Berger’s ardent solo turns, but often foundered amid languorous tempos and lax rhythms. The Chorale made a winning contribution with the short “Hear My Prayer, O Lord.”

The concert came fully to life only during the orchestral offerings, including the familiar Chacony in G Minor and the suite of dances and airs from Purcell’s music for “Abdelazer, or the Moor’s Revenge” (the latter including one lively and lascivious song sung by Ricci). Here at last McGegan attacked the music with enough zest to give it life.