When he was with the Pittsburgh Symphony, Lorin Maazel went through a phase wherein he attempted to be the maestro who conducted the essays of Gustav Mahler slower than any other leader on the planet. Sometimes this worked well, but at least as often phrases were stretched beyond their breaking points and the players rebelled whenever possible, forcing an unwanted acceleration here and there. Apparently maestro is feeling nostalgic for those days lately, as his Beethoven has slowed significantly, as evidenced by the New York Philharmonic’s concert Saturday afternoon.

The piece started out with an even flow and a head-bobbing, relaxed rhythm. But Mr. Maazel’s internal demons soon took over, jumping out from under the shadows of his physical exhortations. He just can’t allow the audience to hear Beethoven without his own personal stamp.

By the third movement things were out of control. One had to consult the program even to realize that this was the Scherzo, so lugubrious was its tempo. The players, unused or unwilling to plod along this trudgingly, began to lose intonation and uniform bowing technique. Without pause, this movement gave way to a slough through the mud that purported to be the finale, but often sounded like that polka that Stravinsky wrote for the Barnum & Bailey elephants. In this era of faster and faster Beethoven based on his own tempo markings, it is laudable that Mr. Maazel has found his own path. I just don’t want to follow him down it.

Since the Philharmonic is never as good as the sum of its parts, the first half of this concert was considerably better. Here the Phil deserves high praise as it is essentially the only major orchestra in America to regularly offer chamber music on its orchestral programs. This day it was the Shostakovich Piano Quintet in G minor from 1940 and was presented with a great deal of sweetness and delicacy. First chair players Glenn Dicterow, Cynthia Phelps, and Carter Brey joined associate principal second violin — because “second first second violin” just sounds terrible — Lisa Kim and pianist Gerald Robbins for a sensitive reading.

Although Shostakovich wrote this piece during the depths of his depression and political persecution, it is a welcome break from the signature downtrodden mood that made him famous. The group achieved a fine blending of strings against a more insistent, percussive keyboard background that made the opening Prelude and Fugue lovely and eloquent. I wished for a little more spirit during the Scherzo, one of those movements that contains what the Russians call a “middle finger in your pocket” sense of rebelliousness, but there were some excellent passages, including cellist Mr. Brey capturing just the right timbre for a section wherein his instrument mimics a saxophone — Shostakovich’s sonic send-up of Prokofiev, who loved that modern sound and used it often during this period. All was well-played, including a lacy, diaphanous ending in glorious quietude.

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On Saturday evening, the Amato Opera presented Giuseppe Verdi’s “Rigoletto.” There is much talk these days about opera companies involving their audiences more intimately. No one does it better than Amato. This “Rigoletto” on a shoestring is amazingly inventive, with key elements of the action occurring right in the audience itself. When “Rigoletto” first meets the killer Sparafucile, he does so in the crowd. When Monterone is paraded through the court under heavy guard, he staggers through the seated patrons. At Amato, you can feel what it must have been like to be a groundling.

The company is a true repertory cast, so performers rotate roles on successive nights. Luck of the draw determines the quality of the resulting performance. This particular overflow crowd — the staff was ultimately forced to turn people away — was extremely lucky to draw baritone Richard Hobson as the jester. Here was a voice of deep power and burnished color. The character might have been stooped by his infirmities, but his voice towered over his peer group.

In addition to some of the best vocal shading I have heard in quite some time, Mr. Hobson is an excellent actor who sent chills at appropriate moments. His scene with the courtiers was really quite memorable. Additionally, he had an infectious sense of melodic flow, making the jaunty music devastatingly familiar. Sometimes a run-up note was flat, but the major stops along the way were always rock solid.

The rest of the cast was a mixed bag. Vincent Titone was a Duke of Mantua with a difference. Do you know how, although he is a pig, the duke’s character receives several very sympathetic arias? Well, Mr. Titone was expert at these, especially in Act II when he settled in to “Parmi veder le lagrime” and, my own favorite that is often cut in major productions, “Possente amor mi chiama.” Although battling some hoarseness, Mr. Titone soldiered on, eliciting fond memories of tenors in Florentine restaurants.

Others of note included Ingmar Bueb as a sinister Sparafucile. Mr. Bueb possesses an unusual voice, perhaps a bit too much throat, but the net result was that he indeed sounded foreign, perfect for the part. As he departed into the darkness of the seated crowd, his two final low tones, on the syllables “… fucile,” were downright heart-in-thethroat scary. And James Woodsworth was ardently frightening as Monterone, whose curse on Rigoletto is the crux of the drama.

Mia Riker-Norrie was challenged as Gilda, but delivered a fine “Caro nome” and consistently hit the high notes in the score (not something that happens on a regular basis uptown). She did a creditable job without an ingénue voice. I could go on, but analyzing too microscopically goes against the overall aesthetic at Amato. Go and be transformed.