Tuesday night’s concert in Avery Fisher Hall had a headline: “A Tribute to Arturo Toscanini.” It also had a description: “A Joint Gala Benefit Concert by the Symphonica Toscanini and the New York Philharmonic.” Toscanini, perhaps the most fabled conductor of the 20th century, died on January 16, 1957 — and this event was held 50 years later, to the day. It was a most satisfying evening, too.

It began with the New York Philharmonic, led by its music director, Lorin Maazel. They played Strauss’s “Don Juan,” a favorite of this band, and of this conductor. The piece was sleek, a little hard, and brilliant. Did Mr. Maazel “manage” it? Yes. Did he “micromanage” it? Yes, somewhat. But he managed it very well, which I suppose is the overriding point.

Then it was the turn of the Symphonica Toscanini, a band founded just last spring. It is composed of young musicians, most of them Italian — and its music director is the very same Lorin Maazel. Indeed, he is “music director for life.”

What they played was Respighi’s “Pines of Rome,” given its American premiere by Toscanini in 1926. He was leading the New York Phil. “The Pines of Rome” is a “sonic spectacular,” as the record companies used to say. Fortunately, Mr. Maazel and his young charges rendered it with due sonic spectacularity.

There were mistakes here and there, but the excellence and enthusiasm of the whole could not be denied. The final section of this multi-section work — The Pines of the Appian Way — began ominously, or rather, with anticipation. And it built in its stately, majestic, inevitable, unswerving, thrilling, glorious way. Those who can resist this music are through with music, I’m sorry to say.

Incidentally, Mr. Maazel fluttered his fingers a lot as he conducted “The Pines of Rome.” This was especially true when the birds came out. My thought was, “Hey, this is a tribute to Toscanini, not Furtwängler!” (Furtwängler was the greatest finger-flutterer, and hand-flutterer, of all time.)

After the Respighi, Mr. Maazel turned to the audience to say that he had been made a gift of one of Toscanini’s batons. He said he would never use it — except just this once. Holding that sacred relic, he then led the Symphonica Toscanini in the Intermezzo from Mascagni’s “Cavalleria Rusticana.” The orchestra seemed a little too big for this humble, lovely piece, and the music was a bit too grand — but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

I find it interesting, by the way, that Mr. Maazel should so revere Toscanini (as he obviously does). They could not be more different: Toscanini strict, unyielding; Mr. Maazel a fount of interpretive liberties (and fun). But they are similar in their insistence on absolute conductorial control (and in their huge talent).

The second half of the concert began with some ceremonial business, including a film clip of Toscanini, introduced by the maestro’s grandson. Toscanini conducted Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” — and, boy, was that baby hard and tight. Good, too.

We then had the evening’s soloist, the great German bass René Pape. He was replacing Renée Fleming, the great American soprano, who was indisposed. So, instead of Renée, we had René.

Last summer, I conducted a public interview with Mr. Pape at the Salzburg Festival. Toward the end, I said, “Ever thought of doing a joint concert with Renée Fleming, to be headlined ‘Renée and René’?” He said, “The problem is the names are spelled differently — and whose would come first?”

On Tuesday night, Mr. Pape sang music from two Verdi operas: “Macbeth” and “Don Carlo.” It took him a while to find his vocal footing, but find it he did. His “Ella giammai m’amò” (from “Don Carlo”) was full of authority. And he closed his set with some Mozart — the Catalogue Aria from “Don Giovanni.”

This was not the most Italianate rendering you ever heard, and Mr. Pape did some strange things with rhythm, and words. (What happened to “marchesine”?) But he is a formidable performer, regardless. And Mr. Maazel could not have been more characterful. In his time as music director of the New York Philharmonic, he has never wandered over to the Met, to conduct an opera. A pity.

To close the evening, Mr. Maazel had his New York orchestra and his young Italian orchestra join forces, for Tchaikovsky’s “Francesca da Rimini.” This particular performance had every right to be a mess — all those people, so little rehearsal time (I assume). But it was not. The orchestras played fairly cohesively, and they certainly played passionately — with Mr. Maazel conducting his musical heart out.

And may I say that all those instrumentalists made an absolutely huge, enormous sound. The lights of Avery Fisher Hall should have burst, and its foundation should have cracked. It was as though a teenager had turned his stereo way, way up. And this critic — who may still think of himself as a teenager, at times — liked it a lot.