There is no need to fiddle with the Last Night of the Proms

I have a high regard for Nicholas Kenyon, the director of the Proms. The music-critic-turned-controller-of-Radio-3-turned Proms-supremo has always struck me as the quintessential Englishman. His encyclopedic knowledge of classical music and determination to champion it – however many dubious, headline-grabbing surveys decide that under-12s can't tell the difference between a clarinet and a baseball bat – mark him out as a man of conviction.

Recent initiatives such as Proms in the Park to make the concerts even more inclusive can be laid at Kenyon's door. All the while, that quintessential Englishness is betrayed by his elbows forcing their way through his jumpers, and his dogged refusal to accept that odd socks will never take the fashion world by storm.

But something strange happens to Kenyon when it comes to the Last Night of the Proms. His elbows twitch, they withdraw to a politically correct position, the fibres of his pullover win a rare victory, he seems to panic that a night of British classical music with patriotic overtones will frighten the natives watching BBC 2; he calls a press conference and announces he is to fiddle with recent practice.

Last year, for a reason that has never been satisfactorily explained, he took out patriotic music because of 11 September, even as British troops were going to Afghanistan and patriotism would not have been out of place. Tonight, on the one evening in the classical calendar whose own quintessential Englishness should delight a man such as Kenyon, he has fiddled yet again. A Broadway singer will sing some Richard Rodgers show tunes in celebration of the Rodgers centenary, and the audience will be able to join in with "You'll Never Walk Alone" from Carousel – or from the Anfield Kop, where it is performed rather more often. I could happily listen to a whole evening's tribute to Richard Rodgers; but it needs to be a different evening.

While Kenyon includes a tribute to American musical theatre, he has decided that most of the words of "Rule Britannia" will not be sung, a version with chorus but no verses being offered instead. A few months ago I welcomed Kenyon's restoring a piece of tradition at the Last Night in bringing back "Rule Britannia" and "Land of Hope and Glory" after last year's kneejerk changes. But I was premature in my congratulations. Kenyon was keeping his powder dry, and he had yet to spring on us the Richard Rodgers tribute and the censoring of the "Rule Britannia" words.

I sense in all this a whiff of self-doubt and of political correctness. Kenyon could and should be an evangelist for classical music. He has no need to dilute the Last Night with tunes from the musicals, any more than he need fear a few moments of flag-waving and lusty singing of patriotic songs on just one night of the year.

No one objects to there being an England song in the World Cup, after all. Indeed, Kenyon could go further next year and make the Last Night exclusively a celebration of British music. British classical music is one area where we don't need surveys to tell us there is certainly a widespread lack of knowledge. If variety is needed in the first half of the programme, there could be songs from homegrown musicals and even a smidgeon of pop.

The international importance of the Last Night should not be underestimated. It is beamed live to 25 countries, including Japan, where apparently sizeable numbers get up in the middle of the night to sing along with "Land of Hope and Glory" and "Jerusalem" (oh, for a TV camera to capture that). In America it is on coast-to-coast radio. The Last Night is an opportunity to boast of our musical heritage and our music from more contemporary times.

And don't be too literal, Nick. None of us thinks Britain really rules the waves, or that it should. It's just a song.

*This week Nicholas Logsdail, the owner of the Lisson Gallery in London, angered private-view-goers by inviting them to the opening of an extension to the Lisson, only to present them with a closed gallery, and a corrugated iron sheet covering the front of the building. The "concept" by Santiago Sierra , a Spanish-born artist who lives in Mexico, was that the invitees were the artwork, their frustration a commentary on the frustration of citizens in Argentina, who found banks closed to them. For the owner of a small gallery, Logsdail has had a surprising influence on contemporary art, supplying a number of Turner prize shortlisted artists, and he usually knows his way around the cutting edge. I suspect his mistake was not the concept, but his choice of artist. Had the trick been played by Tracey Emin or Damien Hirst, no one would have complained. Featuring in a concept by Britart star would have given the private-viewer a vicarious fame almost as tantalising as featuring in Tracey's tent. But where's the cachet in being in a Santiago Sierra concept? The cutting edge art lover is fussier than Mr Logsdail thinks.

d.lister@independent.co.uk