Near the end of his creative life, Franz Joseph Haydn was invited to come to London, where he was such a striking success that he returned three seasons later for a second residence. In between these two journeys, he took on the young Ludwig van Beethoven as a pupil. On Tuesday evening at Avery Fisher Hall, the revamped and revitalized Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra presented one of the symphonies that “Papa” Haydn unveiled in England, coupling it with a mature work of Beethoven, which exhibits the profound influence of the avuncular master craftsman.

But first, a little Mozart. “Idomeneo,” despite several recent revivals, has never caught on with the general public like Wolfgang’s other mature operas. Most probably this is because it is a dignified and measured opera seria, evoking the majesty of the ancients in a now dated 18th-century style and lacking the insouciance of a Schickaneder or Da Ponte. But there are memorable moments, both vocal and instrumental.

Bernard Labadie, who brought Les Violons du Roy down from Canada two weeks ago for the “Cosi fan tutte” at La Guardia High School, made a strong case for the Chaconne, producing lively and courtly music with a technically expert ensemble. This is not your father’s Mostly Mozart assemblage. Much thought and effort has gone into providing a truly fine experience: antiphonal platform positioning (with violins on both sides of the conductor) and personnel upgrades have gelled nicely. Krista Bennion Feeney, who, is the concertmistress of the superb Orchestra of St. Luke’s, anchored this fresh sound, providing glorious solos in the Haydn symphony after intermission.

Garrick Ohlsson delivered his, by now, excellent signature performance. The Beethoven Fourth Piano Concerto is defined immediately by its soloist, who sets the mood before the orchestra even begins. There are several legitimate ways for the pianist to steer this work, written when Beethoven was still following – but itching to reject – the teachings of Haydn. The piece can be Olympian and granitic, lyrical and romantic, or, in Mr. Ohlsson’s universe, light and airy.

This prodigiously large man learned his craft from the great Claudio Arrau, who taught him the invaluable lesson of letting gravity do most of the work. When you are as big as Garrick Ohlsson, not much unnecessary energy is needed to strike the keys with a great deal of command. With an uncanny sense of accuracy, Mr. Ohlsson led this performance masterfully, maestro Labadie matching him stroke for stroke.

Oddly, the reading evoked not so much the first decade of the 19th century, but the early years of the 20th, as the crowd rewarded the powerful first movement with an extended ovation, graciously acknowledged from the piano bench. Blissfully unaware of contemporary concert etiquette, this audience really enjoyed themselves, and none of their mobile phones played “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” this particular night. I was certainly not surprised to hear such fine musicianship from Mr. Ohlsson; the real story of the evening was the significant improvement in the orchestra.

Haydn composed the “Drum Roll” Symphony in the 1790s, and it was popular from the first. Although the sobriquet might imply a percussive extravaganza, the piece is actually so nicknamed simply because of a distinctive opening roll of the timpani. When you encounter this colorfully evocative instrumentation, or the even more elaborate timbres of the “Military,” you realize how much more character the great composers could summon from one drum than many of our own contemporaries can squeeze out of several dozen. This was a tight and taut reading, unabashedly emotive in spots, proudly flying in the face of contemporary bloodless trends of Classical interpretation. The Adagio was seriously dark, the Minuet lovely and distinguished, the Finale propulsive and delightfully infectious. What a pleasure to hear an entire spectrum of feeling, instead of a dry as dust “authentic” performance. Technically, the balances were solid, the melodic line fluid. This was music-making of the highest order.

Lawrence Morton, describing a summer concert at the Hollywood Bowl in 1944, wrote that “you learn to park your critical faculties with your car.” Certainly the white jackets of prior Mostly Mozart evenings often accompanied a less than spectacular effort – always a good time, but not the same quality as New Yorkers have come to expect during the main season. Much has now changed, however. This event was by far the superior of, say, the average winter convocation of the Philharmonic on the same stage. Perhaps it is time to start thinking of Mostly Mozart not as a summer festival, but a festival that happens to occur in the summer.