Yefim Bronfman is a Russian lion of the piano. (Actually, he’s an American,by way of Russia and Israel,but let that slide.) Lion though he may be, he’s also a musician of refined sensibility. He is as good in Mozart as he is in the splashiest, most athletic literature. Indeed, he brings the same qualities to both – musicianly qualities.And that’s what a musician does, really.

On Sunday afternoon, in Avery Fisher Hall, he played Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 – and he played it consummately. He played it for all it was worth. And it’s worth quite a lot, as Mr. Bronfman reminded us. If you play this piece schlockily, it will sound schlocky. If you play it with discipline, smarts, and heart, the greatness of the piece will out.

And, boy, did it out.

Where to begin? First of all, Mr. Bronfman was blazing hot on Sunday afternoon. He made the piano, and the concerto, growl, kick, and soar. The technique was mind-boggling: rapidfire octaves, sure arpeggios, dauntless leaps. And, as always, there was the sheer solidity of Mr. Bronfman’s playing – a solidity that is without rigidity. Under Mr. Bronfman’s hands, everything interlocks, everything fits, as in well-made furniture. He is ever in balance, applying the proper weight to notes, phrasing naturally. From this fellow, nothing is ever awkward, or unmusical.

Just one detail, from the first movement: Can you think of a little C-major melody in the cadenza? (You’d recognize it if you heard it.) In Mr. Bronfman’s rendering, it was absolutely gossamer, shimmering, nearly ethereal. This lion, as I’ve said, does much more than roar.

Needless to say, the audience applauded heartily, after this first movement. How could it not? An audience would be almost wrong not to. And, as he always does, Mr. Bronfman stood and bowed, briefly. How could he not? To remain seated, in such circumstances, is to be a prig, or a scold, or an ingrate.

The second movement of Tchaikovsky’s concerto is marked Andantino semplice, and that is precisely how Mr. Bronfman played it. (“Semplice” means “simple.”) He let the music unfold, in its lovely, though virtuosic, way. Fast passages were amazingly crisp, sprightly, neatly accented. The last movement, Allegro con fuoco, had due fire, with Mr. Bronfman dancing maniacally, just as Tchaikovsky wants. Toward the end, Mr. Bronfman delivered a furious Niagara of octaves, or rather, it was more like a storm – a storm blowing sideways.

I will “bottom line” it for you, as they say in business: You may never hear the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1 played this well. Contemporary audiences are lucky to live in the Age of Bronfman.

Was there an orchestra in this performance? There sure was: It was the Russian National Orchestra, conducted by the young Vladimir Jurowski. In the first movement, especially, Mr. Jurowski was incomprehensibly sluggish: He simply wouldn’t move, the way Mr. Bronfman wanted things to move (and the pianist was right). I wanted to body-check Mr. Jurowski off the podium, just to let Mr. Bronfman be free. The pianist kept having to wait for the conductor, and this robbed the concerto of momentum and glory.

The RNO did some decent playing, as at the beginning of the second movement, when pizzicatos were fairly together, and the flute played the melody beautifully. Also, the orchestra summoned considerable warmth, where that was desired. But, on the whole, Mr. Jurowski and the orchestra simply lacked oomph. Mr. Bronfman was on fire, and they were virtually asleep. This gross inequality detracted from the experience – but Mr. Bronfman was unstoppable.

The Russians are in town for three concerts, the second of which was Monday night, the last of which is tomorrow night. Their programs are basically all Tchaikovsky (with a little Stravinsky thrown in). The RNO is not quite a youth orchestra, but there are many young people in it, and a few of the guys look not quite ready to shave.

The second half of Sunday afternoon’s program offered Tchaikovsky’s “Manfred” Symphony, and, given the concerto, it was surprising – almost shocking – how good the orchestra was in this work.The symphony was involving, heartfelt, consistently communicative. It was gritty, growling, soulful – those are cliches about Russian orchestras, and Russian pieces, but they are often true cliches. As Mr. Jurowski and the orchestra went about their business, you could imagine Byron’s “Manfred,” if you wanted to (although music without words can be anything you wish). Mr. Jurowski conducted tightly, with a minimum of bluster (almost none, really). And much solo playing in the orchestra was virtuosic: as from the horn, who had botched the beginning of the piano concerto, unfortunately.

So, there was much to cheer about. And I might conclude with a word about cell phones – a word I’ve indulged in before. Reactions to cell phones – cluckings, groanings, mutterings of “Jesus” – are always worse than the ringing itself. I mean, always.

The Russian National Orchestra will perform again March 8 at Avery Fisher Hall (Lincoln Center, 212-875-5656).