One of the most frustrating aspects of covering the New York Philharmonic on a regular basis is the realization that many of its individual members are very fine musicians, but their aggregate sound as an ensemble is often dry and pedestrian. No series of concerts emphasizes this phenomenon more distinctly than the Saturday matinees, which consist of a piece of chamber music followed by a symphonic work. Last week at Avery Fisher Hall was no exception.

Mozart’s fondness for puckish humor characterized Saturday’s curtain-raiser, the Serenade in E Flat Major, K375b, performed by an octet of exceptional wind players. Liang Wang and Robert Botti, oboes, Stanley Drucker and Pascual Martinez Forteza, clarinets, Judith LeClair and Roger Nye, bassoons, and Philip Myers and R. Allen Spanjer, horns, created an atmosphere of disciplined but lighthearted interaction that made this performance first-rate. Messrs. Drucker and Wang sang their melodies with rounded lyrical lines, while the company as a whole provided an entertaining bottom. The middle Adagio was simply gorgeous, the outer movements playful and brisk, delicious Mozartean confectionary. The sound quality itself was the rival of any European wind grouping.

After intermission, the full orchestra under guest conductor David Robertson presented an interesting reading of the Symphony No. 1 of Jean Sibelius. This was a good effort with much to praise, but the sound of the ensemble gave this listener pause.

After the opening clarinet solo accompanied by quietly rolling timpani, the full orchestra comes in, and here is where the Philharmonic has a problem. The totality of sound is thin, whiny, metallic when it should be rich, burnished, woody. This has been the norm for so long now that many fail to notice any longer. The Yankees had their M and M boys; the Phil has had their M and M and M boys — Mehta, Masur, and Maazel — and none of them has done much to improve this sound. Maestro Masur may have ratcheted up the discipline of the group — this is debatable at best — but there remains this pallid acoustical finished product. Biographers write that Sibelius suffered from synesthesia. Rather, he was the beneficiary of this neurological condition that links sound to color. In a piece like the First Symphony, which depends to a large extent on changes of instrumental color, ensemble sound is of paramount importance.

Is it possible to divorce the performance from the sound quality? If so, then Mr. Robertson led a passionate, if idiosyncratic, reading. He did a fine job of establishing an overarching flow, the music washing over the listener insistently, importunately. He certainly has no problem invoking the big Romantic gesture, some of his phrases a little heavy on the schmaltz, but Sibelius would not have objected. None of the first chair strings were in attendance, and so the solos from violin and cello were quite lovely and Mr. Robertson led his forces through the minefield of the finale, with its unusual stoppings and startings, rather nimbly.

But those blaring trumpets. Mr. Robertson tends to prefer passages on the loud side. This day, there was a brutally hard edge to many declamations. The violins, perhaps the biggest problem for the current Philharmonic, were their usual banausic, monochromatic selves.

Of course, as a guest conductor with a minimal amount of rehearsal time, Mr. Robertson could do little to ameliorate the situation. Music director designate Alan Gilbert has a Herculean task ahead of him. Will he take it on or just go with the flow? Will he move the violas from their position at the front of the ensemble? Will he actively seek new players? Something has to be done eventually, or the Phil will always be that reliable but undistinguished hometown band that doesn’t quite measure up to the parade of visiting orchestras running through New York.

And don’t blame the hall. It may be true that Avery Fisher does not enhance the sound of an orchestra, but it does not distort it either.