Sir Georg Solti used to say that a good orchestral musician could come from anywhere, but for the finest training they must study in America. He was specifically referring to three institutions of higher musical learning: The Curtis Institute in Philadelphia and our own Manhattan and Juilliard Schools of Music. On Thursday, Juilliard inaugurated its concert season with a vital and dynamic performance.

The Juilliard Orchestra is the top instrumental ensemble and tends to house the older students, many of whom are pursuing advanced degrees. They are the cream of the world’s crop, and they sound it. Here’s a surprise: The obligatory modern opening piece, a Bernstein-like fanfare by Robert Beaser, was dominated by more than a dozen percussion instruments. Mr. Beaser has embraced tonality, which is admirable. He has also discovered brevity, which in this particular case was very much appreciated. The players tore into this work with disciplined intensity; I don’t suppose that it will ever be performed again as well as it was this night.

James DePriest is a remarkable man. Not just a fine conductor and educator, but a truly remarkable man. In 1962, he traveled to Thailand as a member of a State department tour and contracted polio. Having recently undergone kidney transplantation surgery, Mr. DePriest, a very large individual, now conducts from a power wheelchair. This makes those long arms of his seem all the more imperial after he elevates his chair electronically in a fine bit of anticipatory theater before each appearance. His students love him; not out of fear but rather deep respect, they simply wouldn’t dare make a mistake in front of him.

Beyond the technical prowess of these musicians is their total commitment to the music. They are, in several significant ways, already at the peak of their powers, able to infuse these masterful scores with impetuosity and unbridled enthusiasm, tempered by the strictest of training regimens. The nagging corollary thought, though, is that these are the same people who devolve into the American professional orchestral member, as likely to be at least as concerned about union benefits and parking garages (one of the sticking points that killed the move of the Philharmonic back to Carnegie Hall) as the execution of the music itself.

This all-star team of orchestras has a new mix of personnel every semester, as well as various conductors with different approaches. I have heard them all, and Mr. DePriest gets the most out of his charges year in and year out. Delicacy was on the agenda this evening, as he led a dignified and measured Sinfonia concertante K.364 that allowed the two highly synchronized soloists to shine without any false or undue romanticism or exaggeration. Violinist Miho Saegusa and violist Chihiro Fukuda meshed as well as any soprano and mezzo combination in the opera house.

Many conductors have developed their own compendia of scenes from Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet” for use in the concert hall, but Mr. DePriest is one of the few to arrange the music of “Cinderella” in like manner. This is not your Disney or Rogers and Hammerstein Cinderella, but a horrifying nightmare of paranoia and shattered dreams, written just after the lowest point of Stalinist persecution of musicians in the 1930s. Prokofiev’s genius is to make the dances themselves the villains of the piece; the ball constitutes not Cinderella’s flowering but rather her doom, a subtle coup de theatre for a ballet.

This particular compilation was notable for its emphasis on these evil dances, interspersed with softer and more lyrical passages from the ballet, which are themselves imbued with a neurasthenic energy. The performance was stunning: It is simply amazing that a string section that has been together all of four weeks can sound so lush and yet so taut at the same time.

The highlight of the evening – and of the complete ballet – was the waltz that leads up to the famous clock scene. Prokofiev loved this piece and included it in another of his works, the Waltz Suite, his own grouping of dances from “Lermontov,” “War and Peace,” and “Cinderella.” The music begins in the lowest possible register and the subsequent swirling rhythms become more and more diabolical as the dance reaches its conclusion, the blood-curdling striking of midnight made all the more hollow by the masterstroke of orchestration that employs the wood block as the clacker. The composer, literally on trial for his life, cannot resist a final sardonic laugh, entitling this section “Cinderella’s happiness theme.”

Very few orchestras in America – Philadelphia, Los Angeles, Pittsburgh, and maybe Cleveland on a good day – could have performed this section with any more fire and controlled intensity. This was simply a magnificent effort, filled with little touches of tonal color and disciplined inner passagework. And everyone was on board. Woodwind solos were crisp and the brass section, so vital to Prokofiev’s atmosphere of insecurity, was confidently eloquent. When was the last time you saw the tuba player take a solo bow?