Yesterday, the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra began a short season at Carnegie Hall. They will play on the next two Sunday afternoons as well. They appear under the baton of their music director, James Levine, who now doubles as the music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He has already visited Carnegie with the BSO a couple of times this season. The opera orchestra does not suffer by comparison; in fact, the BSO – the “aristocrat of orchestras” – may suffer by comparison.

But comparison can be a waste of time.

Yesterday, Mr. Levine began with the Overture to “Euryanthe,” by Carl Maria von Weber. Next Sunday, they will begin with the Overture to Weber’s “Oberon.” The Sunday after that, they will begin with the Overture to his “Freischutz.” That about exhausts the Weber overtures.

The Met forces tucked into “Euryanthe” crisply, briskly, and bouncily. They had come ready to play (at least this opening work).The sections of the overture were nicely defined, with the conductor’s musical and dramatic intelligence hovering over all of it. Weber typically gives the French horns a lot to do, and the Met’s did passably. (They would have worse luck in the next piece.) The violins were sweetly lyrical, when that was asked of them. At the finish, the orchestra produced a full, rich, plush sound – but it was not an obscuring sound. Nothing got smothered. Well done.

The afternoon had a soloist, Gil Shaham, in the Brahms Violin Concerto. He frequently plays this concerto, and he doesn’t seem to tire of it, which speaks well of him. He brings a freshness. He had, as a partner, a first-rate Brahmsian: Mr. Levine combines relaxation and tension in Brahms, reflecting a duality of the composer himself.

Talking of relaxation, Mr. Shaham is a very relaxed violinist – indeed, he can be relaxed, or loose, to the point of nonchalance, which may be musically unhelpful. He was enjoyably swashbuckling in the concerto’s first movement, but he might have been a tad more focused. He did his best playing in the cadenza (which was a touch slidey – marked by portamento – but persuasive); the orchestra’s reentry was pitiable, unfortunately.

In the slow movement, Mr. Shaham did some beautiful phrasing, including bold releases of notes. He perhaps could have used one more rehearsal with his colleagues, however, as they and he were not well coordinated. The same held true in the last movement.

In all, there was some excellent playing – from both soloist and orchestra – in the Brahms concerto, amid spottiness. Mr. Shaham and Mr. Levine have high standards, and they must have known, when all was said and done, that they could have done better.

The second half of the program saw a cute idea: a Parisian in New York, and a New Yorker in Paris. The Parisian in New York was Edgard Varese, in his “Ameriques.” The New Yorker in Paris was – guess who?

In Mr. Levine’s hands, “Ameriques” was much less mysterious and far more straightforward than in some (Lorin Maazel’s, for example). Mr. Levine likes to let a piece sort of play itself. This was very clearly etched, such that you could almost see the score, note for note. Mr. Levine has an amazing talent for conducting a variety of things as he does Beethoven. “Ameriques” had a rigorousness – an almost Germanic discipline – that you seldom hear in it.

At the end of the work, Mr. Levine did something semi-showy, which is exceedingly rare for him: He rose from his chair, on Varese’s giant crescendo.

Much as there was to admire about this account, it was strangely undifferentiated, including in its dynamics. It was consistently – approaching unrelievedly – loud. A woman behind me said to her husband, “I liked it.” He answered, “You could cough during it, that’s why.”

The final piece was, of course, Gershwin’s “American in Paris,” which Mr. Levine began quite fast – it was also a little heavy. This opening section could have been more debonair, more cosmopolitan, more urbane. But it soon settled into a wonderful authenticity. Individual Met players shone, and their capo let them be broadly jazzy. He was a Cincinnatian in New York, playing a New Yorker – a Brooklynite – in Paris. Lovely.

You would not have wanted to cough, even during the loudest parts. The woman behind me contented herself with unzipping and zipping her bag, several times.

***

Guest conductor of the New York Philharmonic’s most recent subscription series was Daniele Gatti, a (relatively) young Italian; its soloist was Yefim Bronfman, who proved once more that he is a great pianist. But first to Mr. Gatti.

He is music director of the Royal Philharmonic in London, and of the Teatro Comunale in Bologna. Several seasons ago, he visited Avery Fisher Hall with the Royal Philharmonic. Among the works that afternoon was Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Mr. Gatti was quite tight, rigid, super-driving. I thought to myself at the time,” I bet he grew up listening to a lot of Toscanini recordings.” And the thought wasn’t entirely complimentary.

I thought of this thought (if you will) when listening to Mr. Gatti with our Philharmonic on Saturday night. He began the concert with the “Manfred” Overture of Schumann. This has been a pretty good season for “Manfred”; two months ago, Sakari Oramo led the Philharmonic in the “Manfred” Symphony of Tchaikovsky; Byron’s poem is getting around.

At any rate, Mr. Gatti opened the overture extremely harshly and bluntly; and cramped, airless playing would follow. The music could have used more bloom, more expansiveness (though you musn’t go crazy). On the positive side, at least it wasn’t sentimental. Mr. Gatti showed a clear conception of the piece, but he was unnecessarily cold in realizing that conception. Furthermore, this account made me dread what would follow intermission: Brahms’s Fourth Symphony.

It’s never too early to dread, at some of these concerts!

In between, however, we had as fine a concerto performance as anyone could ask for. Mr. Bronfman played the Second of Bartok. He has recorded all three Bartok concertos with Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. And here’s a curious fact: The last time anyone played the Second with the New York Philharmonic, it was Yefim Bronfman – 25 years ago.

I, and others, have enumerated this pianist’s virtues many times before, but Saturday night’s performance occasions another listing.

He has the uncanny ability of applying the appropriate weight to every note. He can play loud without pounding. When he is percussive, he is never unpianistic. He has all the technique in the world, and is rarely inaccurate. He is a stickler for rhythm. He handles the pedal shrewdly. He is a virtuoso, but unendingly tasteful. (Note to all virtuosos: Sorry for the “but.”)

Etc., etc.

Mr. Bronfman brought to Bartok’s first movement a playful quality, reminding me a bit of his wonderful recording of Shostakovich’s Concerto No. 2 – in addition to other Shostakovich – with Mr. Salonen. And in the Bartok, he maintained the right texture, a texture nearly transparent, despite the composer’s blizzard of notes. It would be hard to convey to the casual listener just how rare this is.

He also applied, to this first movement, a touch of jazz – appropriate, in this American citizen, Mr. Bronfman.

In the second movement, he was simple, but not ostentatiously so, if you know what I mean. Mr. Bronfman is 100 percent without affectation. And the final movement – Allegro molto – he played with a purposefulness that was almost terrible to behold. He played like some mad, determined lawn mower – but a most musical lawn mower.

We will almost certainly not hear a more exciting performance, of anything, all year.

On the podium, Mr. Gatti did very well, his qualities and tendencies benefiting this concerto: The tightness, the coldness, the clenched fist – that worked. Moreover, he opened the second movement with startling sensitivity.

In discussing how the Brahms Fourth went, we should say that the New York Philharmonic does not specialize in beauty of sound. Some would say that it’s the hall, actually – Avery Fisher – that doesn’t specialize in beauty of sound. Be that as it may. This was not a warm, enveloping Brahms Fourth. It was business-like, although that implies an efficiency that this performance often missed: It had its sloppiness.

The first movement ought to sigh a little, but Mr. Gatti, apparently, is not a sigher. And in the better performances of this music, there is a seamlessness, as parts of the orchestra interlock. Here, however, one was always aware of the parts of the orchestra, and not in a good way. So too, this performance evinced a sense of struggle – but, again, not in a good way. This playing was often effortful. The French horns, in particular, did some wrestling.

And yet, the second movement had a steady pulse, which was appreciated. And the final two had a certain bristling power – though they need not be so constricted. Even if Daniele Gatti isn’t your favorite, you can say this about him: He will never be accused of Bernsteinian bathos.