An old man sits at the back of the recording studio, intensely silent, his strong features immobile. Only an occasional telltale silver flash – light refracted in a tear falling down his cheek – hints at the strong emotions playing in his mind. The man is Leif Solberg, composer. He is 84 years old. The music he is listening to is a symphony – his own, written 46 years earlier; never before has he heard it properly performed.