It seems like only yesterday that William Bolcom was just starting out, charting his interesting and independent course. But the calendar tells us that this American composer is 70 this year — remarkable. And he is up to his Eighth Symphony, which had its New York premiere at Carnegie Hall on Monday night. Performing were the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, conducted by James Levine.

Mr. Bolcom’s Symphony No. 8 is in four movements — four choral movements — and it uses texts by William Blake. The texts come from the poet’s Prophetic Books (“America a Prophecy” and so on). Blake has been a big deal in Mr. Bolcom’s career: Perhaps his largest and most ambitious work sets the “Songs of Innocence and of Experience.”

The Symphony No. 8 begins with a bang, literally — and it continues primordial, ancient. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought of Orff’s “Carmina Burana.” You also thought of Stravinsky, in his primitive mode, and Bernstein. But most of all this work is a reflection of Bill Bolcom. It is filled with great American yawps, and there’s a speck — just a speck — of jazz.

Much of this symphony is anthemic, loud. It is also shot through with anxiety — symptomatic of our age of anxiety, which seems never-ending. In the second movement, the chorus starts to talk and bark, in addition to sing. This is odd and unsettling. The third movement brings some calm — calm amid the anxiety. We also have welcome doses of mystery and beauty.

At the end of this work is a kind of coda, treating Blake’s line “For every thing that lives is Holy.” Here, Mr. Bolcom borrows from the Baroque, and the music is grand, glorious, and affirming.

I often say that my highest accolade about a new composition is that I would like to hear it again. And so it is with the Bolcom Eighth.

A slightly impertinent question: Is this really a symphony, this work for chorus and orchestra? Could it equally be called an oratorio? Yes, I suppose. But, for some decades, “symphony” has been an elastic term: You can apply it to just about anything, without fear of contradiction.

Conducting the Bolcom, Mr. Levine demonstrated extreme vigor, a musical virility. Also musical common sense. And the orchestra and chorus responded stoutly. I could not understand a word the chorus sang (or spoke, or shouted), but maybe that can’t be helped, and, in any case, we had our printed lyrics.

The first half of the program comprised Schubert and Brahms. We were to hear Thomas Quasthoff, the German bass-baritone, sing, but he had to withdraw from the concert, owing to a cold. He was to sing Schubert songs, orchestrated. Mr. Levine substituted a Brahms serenade.

He began the concert with a Schubert symphony: No. 4 in C minor, the “Tragic” (not to be confused with Brahms’s “Tragic Overture”). Schubert wrote this symphony in 1816, when he was still a teen. And it is a little Classical masterpiece — or not so little, taking a half hour to perform.

From Mr. Levine and the BSO, the first movement was a model. It was balanced and poised, heartfelt and moving. Mr. Levine knows how to exercise freedom within bounds. And the second movement (Andante) was typical of him: graceful yet strong, refined yet full. The following minuet was allowed its characteristic rhythms. Mr. Levine chose a sensible tempo, which meant that we could enjoy those rhythms fully.

The final movement had an imperfect beginning — but it went along nicely in its insinuating C minor. Toward the end, Mr. Levine injected great and unusual stringency. Or rather, he brought out the stringency that young Schubert baked in.

The Brahms serenade on the program was No. 2, in A major. This is a kindly, genial piece — very much a serenade, and utterly Brahmsian. Mr. Levine and his players handled it competently. But the music was at times dry, and it did not entirely escape dullness. I would not have asked Mr. Levine to sex up the score, heaven knows. But this playing was — just a little pedestrian.

There were high moments, to be sure. The Scherzo had the right pep and deftness. The minuet was duly friendly. And, all through, the Boston woodwinds were admirable in their solos. For example, the closing Rondo featured a joyous, trilling flute — bright but not shrill.

I might note that, in recent months, Mr. Levine has been very, very animated in his chair. Like Brahms’s Scherzo, he is full of pep. I half expect him to get out of that chair any day now.