One of the nicest things about the New York summer – classical-music division – is the International Keyboard Institute and Festival at the Mannes College of Music. What we get is two weeks of concerts, master classes, and other activities. If you want a concentrated pianistic education – you could do worse.

Playing a recital on Friday night was a Georgian-born pianist, Dmitri Bashkirov, now about 75. He is a professor at the Moscow Conservatory, and numbers among his students Dmitri Alexeev and Arcady Volodos. Both of those have made good, to say the least.

Mr. Bashkirov’s recital started almost 15 minutes late, or perhaps I should say almost 10 minutes late, because by tradition in this city concerts start five minutes after the appointed time. In any case, if we’re instilling music-profession values here – a touch more promptness would be nice.

Mr. Bashkirov is a fit, spry, intense man, and he wastes no time moving on and off the stage. He barely acknowledges the audience. He is all business.

The first piece on his program was Mozart’s Fantasy in C minor, K. 396, an unfinished work completed by a composer-priest named Stadler. Immediately, Mr. Bashkirov showed some of his strengths: a sense of space; balance between the hands; definition (lots of it). He was neither too delicate nor too aggressive. It was obvious that a musical intelligence governed those hands.

Mr. Bashkirov was obedient to rhythm, and he provided clear contrasts between the Fantasy’s sections – for example, he really announced C major. If his playing had a drawback, it was a certain lack of smoothness, or naturalness. And some of Mr. Bashkirov’s trills were ungainly.

The pianist next turned to Haydn, that composer’s Sonata No. 49 in E flat. He played it as the Mozart would have led us to expect: It was sturdy, correct, serious. But this sonata, like other Haydn pieces, has some playfulness and humor, and Mr. Bashkirov did not do much with these qualities. His playing was a little thick-fingered, a little stiff. Runs did not exactly trip gaily.

Haydn’s slow movement is marked Adagio cantabile, and Mr. Bashkirov showed a decent singing line. But this was not truly lyrical playing. By the evidence of Friday night, Mr. Bashkirov is a “vertical” player, an up-and-down man. Limpidity is not a specialty. Such pianists are not necessarily disfavored, however – they loved Serkin, didn’t they?

Mr. Bashkirov played Haydn’s last movement (Tempo di Menuetto) in an interesting clockwork and insistent manner. Did the composer intend something so balky? No matter: If Mr. Bashkirov was idiosyncratic, he was not wrong. At one point, he suffered a bad lapse, causing him to shake his head disgustedly. I have a feeling Mr. Bashkirov is even more severe on himself than he is on his students.

After the Haydn came another Classical sonata, Beethoven’s “Moonlight.” But if you’re a pianist, you wouldn’t be caught dead saying “Moonlight” – you say Op. 27, No. 2, thank you very much.

In the first measures, Mr. Bashkirov failed to sound some notes, and as he continued, a hesitancy of rhythm did not help him: This was not a persuasive, musical rubato, but a distracting one. Altogether, Mr. Bashkirov was not smooth and even enough in this movement to give the music its full effect. It did not weave its magic. In fact, it seldom does – this movement may be technically easy, but it is musically elusive. What Mr. Bashkirov had was dignity. And that was to be admired.

He went right into the second movement, as he should, deploying a fairly graceful touch. He pushed and pulled the rhythm convincingly. Then he man aged the last movement – Presto agitato – respectably. It had a quirky electricity behind it. Mr. Bashkirov seems to me overly fond of the pauses he conceives, but he has his reasons.

After intermission came a group of Chopin, beginning with his Op. 1, a rondo in C minor, almost never heard. This is not the composer’s greatest piece, but neither is it his least. Mr. Bashkirov played it with a determined character – which is the way he played most things – but it might have done with more panache. The pianist continued with five of Chopin’s Mazurkas, beginning with one in C major, which brought us charm: For really the first time of the evening, there was charm in Mr. Bashkirov’s playing. And in subsequent Mazurkas, we had nobility, melancholy, wistfulness, a little seduction. Mr. Bashkirov evinced true sympathy for these miniatures; in no other repertory was he so musical.

The Chopin group ended with the Polonaise in F-sharp minor, Op. 44, which rather suits Mr. Bashkirov: It can be played with boldness, drama – even some stiffness. The variety of rhythm is stirring. Mr. Bashkirov was always muscular and usually compelling, but what we missed was some effortlessness. And I will say again that Mr. Bashkirov’s pauses were not helpful: When the Polonaise should have rolled along, it was interrupted.

To close the program were two songs of Rachmaninoff, transcribed by Alexander Vedernikov. Mr. Bashkirov played “Little Island” with simplicity and affection. The second piece, “Spring Waters,” needs a rhapsodic virtuosity that Mr. Bashkirov was not able to give – but he has other strengths, which had been on ample display throughout the recital.

Dmitri Bashkirov is a fine musician who has lived with his craft, and with his instrument’s repertory, for many decades. He has something to say. Some of them don’t, you know.