Much has been written about the “Chinese invasion” of classical music, and such a development has indeed occurred. But there are an awful lot of Finns about, too — in every aspect of the profession. They are singers, conductors, sousaphonists — everything.

One of the conductors is Sakari Oramo, who is music director of the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra in Britain. (This is Sir Simon Rattle’s old post.) He also holds two jobs in Finland: at the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra and the Kokkola Opera. Mr. Oramo guest-conducted the New York Philharmonic on Saturday night, and what do you know? He conducted Sibelius — not just one work, but two.

Mr. Oramo is a versatile musician, and there is no law that says a Finn must conduct Sibelius. No one does it better than the thoroughly English Sir Colin Davis. But Mr. Oramo is a fine exponent of his native musical bard, too.

First on the program, however, came some Shostakovich — his Violin Concerto No. 1 in A minor. This is a dauntingly great work, and a summit for any violinist. Attacking the summit this time was the young Georgian violinist Lisa Batiashvili. There are many young violinists today — more than Finns, more than Chinese, almost more than lawyers.

And Ms. Batiashvili was stunningly good in the Shostakovich — stunningly good. Speaking personally, I had heard her once before, but nothing had prepared me for what she did on Saturday night.

She was composed, assured, and in command. She knew what she was doing, and, more important, she knew what Shostakovich was doing. She played the opening Nocturne with beauty — extreme beauty — but with proper anxiety or ambiguity, too. Every measure of this music was shrewdly judged.

And the Scherzo was spiky, precise, disturbed — a wild ride (but not out of control). This is just what this movement should be. And the violinist meshed unerringly with the conductor and orchestra.

The third movement is the Passacaglia. And Ms. Batiashvili sang it nobly, putting some defiance in it, or what you might call a sad resoluteness. In the cadenza that leads to the final movement, she again showed her superb judgment. And she had you on the edge of your seat. She was virtuosic, yes — technically flawless — but that was beside the point. You were totally absorbed in Shostakovich’s world.

That final movement is the Burlesque, and Ms. Batiashvili danced it rivetingly. She was maniacal, but, again, as ever, composed. This was simply a hair-raising experience.

You have heard this concerto played by more famous and more established violinists. But if you have heard it played better — or even as well — you are a lucky person, indeed.

Mr. Oramo was a laudable partner, demonstrating a musical intelligence alternately icy and hot. And the Philharmonic players responded with equal laudability. By the way, when the concerto was over, many of the violinists put down their instruments and clapped. I’m not talking about polite tapping of bows — I’m talking about full-out clapping. They knew.

There was the usual 20-minute intermission, but that wasn’t enough to drain the Shostakovich from one’s blood. I felt a bit sorry for Mr. Oramo, having to continue the concert. Everything else was bound to be anticlimax. All through the second half, I had the Burlesque rattling around in my brain, disturbing my peace.

But Mr. Oramo conducted his Sibelius very, very well. He first conducted the Sixth Symphony, which may not be the best of the composer’s seven, but which is Sibelius after all. Mr. Oramo had the orchestra playing accurately and cohesively. He also had them playing beautifully and convincingly. And he allowed no dragging, which is critical in this symphony.

He ended the program with a tone poem, “Tapiola,” written for Walter Damrosch’s New York Symphony in 1926. (Two years later, that band would merge with the Philharmonic.) “Tapiola” had not been played by the New York Philharmonic since 1934, when (the great) Artur Rodzinski led it. Under Mr. Oramo, it was sweeping, involving, and utterly Sibeliuslike. He did both his bard and himself proud.

People have been talking about Lorin Maazel’s successor as music director of the Philharmonic: Who will it be? Two critics’ darlings are David Robertson and Alan Gilbert. But I have long been high on the Finn in Birmingham. He is in his early 40s, so people who pant after youth should like that. In any case, I adapt an old line from politics: The New York Philharmonic could do worse, and probably will.