Time was when Simon Rattle, a Liverpool lad good at playing drums, thought his destiny was to be a conductor. His main challenge, on top of mastering the task, would be to prise open the ears of know-what-I-like audiences. Instead, he has found himself the unofficially anointed only begotten saviour of the entire art form we call British classical music. It is an onerous burden. Five decades on, he alone guarantees headlines and column inches on issues that matter to the industry. We should be grateful he fights on.
