The old Boston Post critic Philip Hale proposed in 1900 that the new Symphony Hall emblazon over its doors the motto “Exit in case of Brahms.” I was reminded of that bon mot during Wednesday evening’s recital at Alice Tully Hall, when violinist Christian Tetzlaff and pianist Lars Vogt presented the three sonatas of Brahms. There was a virtual stampede for the front door at intermission.

Mr. Tetzlaff is not for everyone. His publicity machine is fond of the word “subtleties,” but I found him just plain dull. Mr. Tetzlaff exhibits the fingers and ear of a master fiddler, but not the soul.

Brahms’s Sonata No. 1 for Violin and Piano has shed its once-common appellation, “Rain.” The sobriquet comes from a song (the “Regenlied”) that the composer used for melodic inspiration in much the same manner as Schubert employed “Death and the Maiden” or “Die Forelle.” Further, it establishes just the right mood of sehnsucht (a difficult word to translate – let’s call it a melancholy brought upon by communication with the natural world); you can almost taste the drops on your tongue. Brahms was deeply immersed in the creation of his masterful Violin Concerto when he penned the sonata, and the delicate beauty of the full orchestral composition haunts every measure of the piece. The beginning, hesitantly sensual repetition of the D establishes an immediate radiance as the dominant of G major for the sonata.

Those who don’t care for Romantic excess may have found their exponent in Mr. Tetzlaff. Every aspect of this recital seemed to be designed for minimal effect. Oddly, the sum of his prodigious technical parts does not add up to communicative music-making. Enabled by a modern version of a Guarneri del Gesu violin, his tone is shimmering but not at all warm. He apparently eschews all flair – even his pizzicato and harmonics are self-effacing. Phrasing decisions were questionable throughout, crafted for crispness but never for emotive power.

Mr. Tetzlaff plays with the commitment of a polemicist, which is always dangerous. Although able to employ a strong and healthy vibrato, the notes that he embellishes form only a string of unbroken sound, never a poetic melody. His singing tone quickly degenerates into singsong. And wouldn’t you expect such a robotic practitioner to at least play with pinpoint accuracy? Mr. Tetzlaff instead went off the road several times into the brambles of squawks and shrieks – call it squeakyclean playing.

I hoped for a recovery in the Sonata No. 2, the A major, but it was not to be. Not surprisingly, the third sonata, in D minor, rounded out the program.

The composer never meant for these three works to be offered in the same recital. If he had, he almost undoubtedly would have fashioned their enharmonic patterns in a totally different manner. Rather, Brahms learned the craft of developing a recital program while still a young man. Touring as the accompanist of the Hungarian violinist Edward Remenyi, he became quite adept at concert planning. The great man would have shaken his head at this peculiar bill of fare.

But in our anal-retentive age of encyclopedic completeness, this all-inclusive programming has become the norm. The four piano ballades of Chopin are almost always presented as if they were a set (as, just as incorrectly,are the etudes and the preludes), when in actuality they were written during four distinct periods.The inconvenient fact that the first and the third of these pieces sound remarkably alike is swept aside in favor of a zeal for comprehensiveness.

In fact, these three Brahms sonatas are being given in recital two more times in the month of March here in New York. The mercurial Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg and her simpatico accompanist Anne-Marie McDermott also will be playing them at Alice Tully, while the always reliable Jaime Laredo will explore them all with pianist Leon Fleisher at the 92nd Street Y. Odd that none of these duos is presenting any work of contrast. A little French music, or some contemporary work, or perhaps some Bach? No, we will get all Brahms all the time. So what if the pieces as a totality are sonorously redundant and incompatible?

Programming like this is as ludicrous as offering the 15 similar-sounding string quartets of Dmitri Shostakovich in numerical order. Oh wait, isn’t the Emerson Quartet doing just that this spring?