Sir Colin Davis has blown into town for a three-concert series with the London Symphony Orchestra, of which he is principal conductor. The concerts take place under the aegis of Great Performers at Lincoln Center. Indeed, Wednesday’s concert – offering the Verdi Requiem – opened the Great Performers season. Tonight, Sir Colin et al. will present an all-Sibelius program. And on Sunday afternoon, they will play two British symphonies: one by Vaughan Williams, the other by Walton. Sir Colin has long been a Sibelius specialist, and no one is better in the British repertory. But then, Sir Colin is a complete conductor, weak in nothing.

His Verdi Requiem was a bit unusual: It was, in a word, Berliozian (Berlioz being another of his special emphases). This had its positive side: The Requiem was blooming, expansive, unhurried. But it had its negative side as well: It was a little blowsy, loose, undisciplined. Those who like their Verdi Requiem taut, Toscanini-like, and even terrifying would have been disappointed. The (modern) performance for them would have been James Levine’s, with Metropolitan Opera forces, at Carnegie Hall about four years ago.

I doubt I will ever hear a more Romantic account of the Requiem than from Sir Colin’s baton.

He and his Londoners were never so good as in the opening section of the piece. The sound came out of nowhere – barely audible – and built beautifully. The London Symphony Chorus is one of the best in the world, and they sang like it. At least they did so in this section. Breathing was natural, uniform, and entrances were clean. Sir Colin permitted no shouting from the chorus: They sang with unusual composure.

The entry of the tenor is one of the great moments in music: He makes the A-major sun come out, on the word “Kyrie.” And the American Stuart Neill did his job. He also sang that initial phrase – “Kyrie eleison” – in one breath, which is not common, and not ineffective. Throughout the evening, Mr. Neill showed a powerful, gleaming, adaptable instrument. His singing of the Ingemisco was interesting: He began fairly softly, almost inwardly, and never really wailed. You could argue that the Ingemisco needed more drama – a more Italianate drama. But it was dignified and moving. And in the Offertorio, Mr. Neill was appropriately sweet.

He had some technical difficulties, however: He could veer sharp (as he did in the Quid sum miser), and in sustained quiet passages, he sometimes struggled to hold on – but hold on he did.

The evening’s mezzo-soprano was Ildiko Komlosi, a Hungarian, and she gave us a big, slightly tremulous, oratorio-like sound. (An oratorio-like sound is no problem in the Verdi Requiem, is it?) She, too, had some technical difficulties – for instance some flatness in the Lux aeterna. But she sang with conviction, which is what Verdi (most) wants.

The bass was Orlin Anastassov, and he comes from Bulgaria, land of basses. (Both of his parents, incidentally, were opera singers.) It was clear that he is not letting his tradition down: He sang beautifully and accurately. He also sang evenly, which was especially to be appreciated: A clean, even bass is a joy in any music. And I might relate something interesting that occurred between Mr. Anastassov and his conductor: In the Tuba mirum, Mr. Anastassov took his sweet time between utterances of “Mors.” I mean, he was really milking it, dramatically. Sir Colin looked at him as if to say, “Are you going to come in sometime soon?”

The Requiem, ultimately, belongs to the soprano, and in this case it was Anne Schwanewilms, a German who is not so well known on these shores but has a big career in Europe. (For example, she was a star of the Salzburg Festival last summer.) Her virtues are many: She is pure, sensitive, lovely. The voice can be radiant. But whether she is a Verdi singer – or, more specifically, a Verdi Requiem singer – is an open question. Lyricism is more her strength than … well, strength. The Libera me on Wednesday night was oddly gentle. You might have thought you were hearing Arabella, or some other Strauss heroine. The soprano in the Requiem ought to growl a little, pulse, electrify. And the voice ought to soar gloriously and defiantly through orchestra and chorus – Ms. Schwanewilms’s did not.

And, like at least two of the others, she experienced difficulties: with onsets, with pitch. In addition, she did some unwanted sliding around between notes, in the manner of Renee Fleming – but who will not forgive her (either one of them)?

To return to the conductor, and the big picture: Sir Colin delivered an extraordinarily relaxed Verdi Requiem. And sometimes that relaxedness was mirrored in orchestral and choral sloppiness. The Sanctus – that great, fleet chorus of relief – was disappointingly uncrisp. The Agnus Dei was a little unsmooth. The orchestra’s entrances at the very end were a mess. It appeared that these forces could have used an extra rehearsal or two, which, alas, is often the case in the music business.

But the true star – the true winner – in any Verdi Requiem is the piece itself. Earlier in the week, I mentioned that many people regard “Falstaff” as Verdi’s greatest work, if not the greatest opera in the repertory. (“Falstaff” is currently on the Met’s bill.) Others would argue that the Requiem – a much different piece – is Verdi’s greatest work. But there’s no need of arguing or ranking, when we can have them both, and all.

The London Symphony Orchestra will perform again September 30 and October 2 (Lincoln Center, 212-721-6500).