Well, where were we? Or rather, where was Valery Gergiev? Last March, the Russian maestro launched a survey of Shostakovich’s symphonies at Avery Fisher Hall, under the auspices of Great Performers at Lincoln Center. He used two orchestras: the Kirov Orchestra of the Mariinsky Theater and the Rotterdam Philharmonic. Mr. Gergiev is capo of both of them.

And, as you may know, this is Shostakovich’s centennial year. He is being played for all he’s worth — which is a lot.

Back in March, I heard Mr. Gergiev’s opening concert, with the Kirov. They did Shostakovich’s First, Second, and Tenth Symphonies. (Obviously, the conductor is not going in order.) Mr. Gergiev was on fire, and he had his players on fire, too. These performances were electric, as you might expect from Mr. Gergiev. But, as you probably would not expect, they were also precise and tight.

Toscanini, had he been in the audience, might have yelled out, “Hey, Valery, loosen up, baby!”

Mr. Gergiev resumed his survey on Monday night, with the Sixth and Eleventh Symphonies. The orchestra was again the Kirov. And this concert was not so fine as that March concert — not nearly. But it had its merits.

The maestro began with the Sixth Symphony, although he was scheduled to begin with the Eleventh. Apparently he changed the order at the last minute. I asked a musical insider why this was so. He answered, “Oh, it was probably Gergiev wanting to be Gergiev.”

In any case, the Sixth is one of the most interesting and engaging of Shostakovich’s 15 symphonies. And it is unusual, among all symphonies, for this reason: It begins with a long slow movement (Largo) and proceeds with two brief fast movements (Allegro and Presto). After the Largo — filled with Shostakovichian anxiety and terror — you need the relief. Of course, Shostakovich never entirely relieves.

The Kirov produced the sounds you expect, and want, from a Russian orchestra, particularly in this composer: grainy, growly, none too pretty. In the first movement, flutes were often piercing, and the brass drilled through your head. The timpani threatened to dislodge your eyes. That was to the good.

And Mr. Gergiev brought out the necessary suspense. You always have the feeling, with this conductor, that anything can happen. And you have that feeling about many — probably most — Shostakovich works, too. In writing about Mr. Gergiev, I keep returning to the word “elemental”: There’s something elemental about him, even when the music-making is sloppy or otherwise objectionable.

At the conclusion of the Largo, Mr. Gergiev went right into the Allegro, which was wise. And this movement was played alertly, if not with pinpoint accuracy. Mr. Gergiev then went right into the Presto — another wise decision. And he and the Kirov galloped along, as you must in this music. The movement was off-kilter — Shostakovich wrote it that way — but not out of control. Mr. Gergiev knew what he was doing.

But the orchestra was even less crisp than in the Allegro. And it completely lacked what you might call a Western polish. I had never heard this music so folk-like, so … un-classical, if you will. And I quite liked it.

By the way, I might mention that the tambourinist banged with purpose. How often do you get to praise — or even note — a tambourinist?

The Eleventh Symphony is nicknamed “The Year 1905,” and it recalls and commemorates “Bloody Sunday,” in which a thousand pleading Russians were mowed down by the czar’s Cossack guards. This is very much an example of program music, of storytelling music, and Mr. Gergiev should be just the man to conduct it. You might say that he was born to conduct music like this, with his flair for the dramatic, the emotional, the visceral.

But this performance was curiously flat — dull, even, in long stretches. The intensity we heard in the Sixth was not there — not in the same measure. Bombast was not quite avoided, or mitigated. Maybe I expect too much from this conductor, but I doubt it. At any rate, he has conditioned us to expect exciting things (if imperfect ones).

Individual players stumbled, too. For example, our bugler had one heck of a time.

This survey of Shostakovich’s symphonies will end on Sunday afternoon, when Mr. Gergiev and the Kirov perform the Eighth and the Thirteenth (“Babi Yar”).

A footnote: Over the years, some readers have asked me to stop referring to this orchestra as “the Kirov.”The reason is, this name was imposed on the orchestra during the Soviet period, and Sergei Kirov was a murderer, though murdered himself. (Communist murderers were always murdering other Communist murderers.)

My position is, I will stop referring to the orchestra as “the Kirov” when the orchestra itself does. Until then …