On Tuesday night at Carnegie Hall, the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra played a concert with a Spanish accent. And a French accent. They began with a work of Copland. A Brooklyn accent? No, this was his “Three Latin American Sketches.”

The orchestra played these pleasant pieces cleanly and tastefully. There was nothing hokey about the music; it was smart and inviting. And textures were just right: not too thin, and not too full.

Copland’s middle sketch, “Paisaje Mexicano,” was a little plodding, cautious. This may come from not having a conductor — the Orpheus is a riderless horse, as you recall. Sometimes, tentativeness is a fallback position; sometimes, safety is the rule. An individual stamp is sacrificed, in favor of the collective. In any case, the final sketch, “Danza de Jalisco,” had an enjoyable swing.

And isn’t it interesting how Copland always sounds like Copland, even when he is writing “ethnic”? His intervals, harmonies, and modulations are unmistakable. And we have come to think of them as American.

France made its first appearance of the evening with Chausson’s “Poème de l’amour et de la mer.” This is rather like a small, pictorial symphony for soprano and orchestra. On hand to sing was one of our senior sopranos — and best sopranos — Dame Felicity Lott. “Flott,” as she is known, is as equipped to perform this music as anyone.

She is gracious, tasteful, serene, secure. And no one does autumnal better than she. For proof, see, or hear, her handling of late Strauss.

On Tuesday night, she was in good form, as you can expect her to be. Her voice is a little smaller now, and does not quite fill Carnegie Hall. But it didn’t need to. The voice is a little worn around the edges as well — but has much character and beauty. In describing voices, we often like to refer to metals. And, on this occasion, I thought of a beautiful pewter.

Dame Felicity is a real singing musician, and Chausson’s work had all the reflection, ecstasy, and ruefulness it needs. When she sang the word “l’oubli” — oblivion — it sounded like the end of the world. Somehow, every Lott performance seems like a master class in singing — only more fun. The Orpheus Chamber Orchestra did some very, very good playing in the Chausson. They were warm, lovely, and refined. When the sea whipped up, they were startlingly — almost thrillingly — turbulent. And, always, they

sounded French. The solo cello playing in the third section of the work should be singled out: understated, mature, and effective. Following intermission, we had some talking: Tania León came out to discuss her new piece, “Ácana.” Ms. Leon was born and raised in Cuba, and now lives in greater New York. She has had a multifaceted career.

Ms. León was interviewed, after a fashion, by a member of the orchestra. Then she had the orchestra play some excerpts from her piece. This is what is known in today’s music biz as “outreach.” And, to me, that is the most dread word in music, along with “concert-lecture.”

The explanation of this piece seemed to last as long as the piece itself — perhaps a little longer. And it was completely unnecessary. The piece is 100 percent “accessible.” And the demonstration we were given was like that given to elementary-school students. Besides, does new music need an explanatory cushion of this kind? Special pleading? Is it not, at some level, insulting to the composer and audience? In addition to which, there was ample information in the evening’s program booklet — including a Q&A with the composer.

All that said, Ms. León was completely charming.

As for her piece, “Ácana,” it shows many influences: It is Latin, jazzy, New Agey, minimalistic. The percussion are kept busy, as in so many new pieces, of various flavors. And “Ácana” has a logical structure. It is a short (12-minute) piece that feels long to me, however. Could have been the preparatory lecture.

The Orpheus Chamber Orchestra played this work with care, and its trumpeter was outstanding. I believe Arturo Sandoval would have liked him.

The program closed with a masterwork by a 16-year-old: Bizet’s Symphony in C. Really, this is one of the most amazing adolescent achievements in music. Bizet died at 36, shortly after composing “Carmen.” Wagner had 33 more years than he; Verdi had 51 more. (Elliott Carter has so far had 64 more.) Who knows what Bizet would have gone on to do?

In Orphean hands, his symphony was thoughtful, clean, and enjoyable. The first movement featured some truly beautiful oboe playing. And the second movement, the Andante, was wonderful. The orchestra gave it some swelling beauty — and the playing in this movement was probably the best of the night.

The Scherzo was bland, I’m afraid — mediocre, limp. And the Finale held together well enough, without being really tight and giddy, as it should be.

But the Orpheus didn’t have Charles Munch standing in front of them, did they? I know that being conductorless is the Orpheus’s mark of pride. But it is also a conceit (pride and conceit being related). I hereby propose an order of preference: (1) A good conductor in front of a good chamber orchestra. (2) A good chamber orchestra without a conductor. (3) A poor conductor in front of a good chamber orchestra. (4) A bad horse who is riderless.

The Orpheus Chamber Orchestra is a solid No. 2.