The Art of the Early Keyboard — better known around town as ARTEK — has been in existence since 1986 and runs a significant weekly series of pre-Classical period performances at the Church of St. Francis of Assisi, near Herald Square. Occasionally, the parent group performs at these concerts, and what better way to begin this year’s exploration than to listen to the authoritative founders of the project?

We all know the music of Jean-Joseph Mouret even if we don’t know that we know it. His Rondeau from Suite de Symphonies No. 1, written in 1729, is the theme of the evergreen television series “Masterpiece Theatre.” But how many of us have ever heard his cantata Andromade et Persee? An extremely rare opportunity to experience this work was the highlight of Wednesday’s concert.

Director and harpsichordist Gwendolyn Toth led Vita Wallace, violin, Lisa Terry, cello, and Charles Weaver, fretted and strummed instruments, in this narrative piece of epic poetry. It was first presented in a private concert for Louis XV at the Hotel de Ville, and, although obscure, the work has direct connections to at least three more familiar operas from the repertoire. Mozart uses essentially the same story — the wrath of Neptune — for his “Idomeneo,” now currently enjoying its run at the Metropolitan, while the inclusion of Perseus, complete with the head of Medusa in tow, is reminiscent of the Berlioz comedy Benvenuto Cellini. Most importantly, Berlioz adopts the exact same declamatory style for the pivotal Laocoön scene, which, once again, is the same tale of sea monsters versus man, for his masterpiece Les Troyens.

Tenor Philip Anderson was the storyteller and did a truly remarkable job. His is a sweet voice that navigates the upper regions of the lower countertenor tessitura with skill and without falsetto, but also can descend to an almost baritonal warmth without any loss of intonation. My only cavil about his performance was that, because he was working with a printed text he held in his hands, he often glanced down to get his bearings, causing his voice to became virtually inaudible within the quirky parabolic acoustics of the roundroofed church. Often this type of dead spot is not so irritating, but, since I was enthralled by Mr. Anderson’s voice and his intelligent employment of it, I was disappointed when I lost him, even for a moment.

Mr. Weaver switched from guitar to theorbo for Jean-Pierre Guignon’s Sonata VIII. This instrument has a body like a portly lute, but one fashioned from a horribly wrong blueprint. Although it allows for the left hand to perform in the normal spot, it has an additional two feet or so of rather imposing fingerboard that juts out to the side (I’ll bet Mr. Weaver gets a seat on the subway whenever he wants one).

Guignon was an Italian, christened Giovanni Pietro Ghignone, whose virtuosity led him to be dubbed the “king of violins.”After immigrating to France, he acceded to the music master position of the royal court and settled in at Versailles, fashioning, among other musical forms, instrumental suites. Remember that the term “sonata” meant something entirely different before Haydn. This very lively set of dancelike movements was presented very crisply by the nimble quartet.

The band was quite impressive in its ability to capture just the right sound for each of these pieces. In the Mouret, they were raucous, rough and tumble, even a little off-putting. This raw style reminded me of the consort alignment of even earlier music, wherein like instruments played together in opposition to groups of other players. The very grainy accompaniment to Mr. Anderson’s liquid singing made the melodic ideas stand out in bas-relief and brought out that age-old question about musical “progress.” Is there an absolute definition of beauty? Was well-tempering really the way to go?

And yet with protean skill, the ensemble turned lyrical and more pleasant (at least by modern standards) for a dramatic scene in the new style. Those familiar with Georg Frideric Handel’s oratorio Samson might recognize the music of Mi palpita il cor, but probably are not aware that it was originally written as a stand-alone piece. It is a passionate statement of unbridled emotion and Mr. Anderson gave it its due. Although some of his melismatic ornamentation tended to fall flat, overall this was quite impressive singing. Meanwhile, the players had morphed into a lush and smooth little orchestra that ushered us back out onto 31st Street at least somewhat comforted and ready to face the maddening crowd once again.