Regardless of what is on the program, the one piece of music that always comes to mind when I attend concerts at the Temple of Dendur is Mozart’s “The Magic Flute.” Passing through the back door of this Egyptian monument, patrons come upon the Masonic paintings of the exact era when Franklin, Jefferson, and Wolfgang were all writing string quartets. Simply take a dollar bill out of your pocket and turn it over, and you will see of what I speak.

At the Met (the opera, not the museum), “Die Zauberflote” is dominated by the costumes and puppets of Julie Taymor of “Lion King” fame. But let’s not dwell on them for this season’s premiere, held on Saturday afternoon. Since the new administration has chosen to cut this opera severely (to 90 minutes) and translate it into English for regurgitation this December, I would rather discuss the musical performance in its pristine state – while there’s still time.

This current cast offers much promise but delivers only a serviceable performance. Eric Cutler is a competent Tamino, sweet of voice and sympathetic of manner. He certainly can put over a big number, and produced an above average “Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schon” for this broadcast performance. Less secure is baritone Nathan Gunn, who has the tendency to swallow his lines and phrases before their fruition. He might not possess the vocal dexterity to fashion an impressive Papageno.

But Mr. Gunn is a savvy physical actor and, being fortunate enough to play the part written for himself by impresario Emanuel Schikaneder, led this company in a performance that is actually funny during the spoken parts. Much praise should be reserved for director David Kneuss for making this singspiel move along amusingly in the vernacular rather than plodding through scenes of amateurishly recited German.

I wished for more from the Monostatos of Greg Fedderly and was particularly disappointed in Morris Robinson’s Sarastro. I have heard this man before; he is capable of much more command and power than he exhibited this day. Even his normally accurate lower register was tentative, and an insecure Sarastro throws this entire mad universe into a tailspin.

I really cannot appreciate thoroughly a contemporary performance of the Elgar Cello Concerto because the memory of Jacqueline du Pre simply owns the piece. I experience this same phenomenon with the Queen of the Night. After having heard Lucia Popp, I am spoiled for anyone else. This was hardly a problem on Saturday, however: Erika Miklosa wasn’t even in the same league. She gamely made a stab – well, really only a glancing blow – at the high note in “O zittre nicht, mein lieber Sohn,” but missed the mark by plenty. She made a bit of a recovery in the second act, and even visited briefly, if artificially, the infamous four high F’s of “Der Hoelle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen.”

The best performance of the day belonged to Mary Dunleavy. Having now followed in Ms. Popp’s footsteps and retired the role of the queen for that of Pamina – in other words, moving from the mother to the daughter – she nailed one of Mozart’s most poignant and difficult arias, “Ach, ich fuehl’s, es ist verschwunden” and intoned charmingly with the trio of Genii.

Maestro Levine was conspicuous by his absence. There was nothing particularly wrong with the conducting of debut artist Paul Daniel, late of the English National Opera, but there was little bounce or bite to this orchestral rendition. Ultimately, it is the hand of Ms. Taymor that rules this roost. As I watched the birds and bears charmingly float in and out of their own private Macy’s parade, I was reminded of that famous line uttered by Leo Slezak after once missing his entrance in a performance of Lohengrin. He asked, “What time is the next swan?”

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The “Song of America” tour, sponsored by the Library of Congress, might at first glance seem to be outside of the purview of a New York critic. The project is designed primarily to educate schoolchildren about the history of American song in an era when they are hardly even taught the history of the nation itself. But one aspect of the tour is a concert, and this one stops in such places as Mississippi, Kansas, Texas, and Nebraska. Carnegie Hall is just one whistle-stop along the way.

Still, is it legitimate to evaluate the musical quality of the performances? I would not want to sabotage this highly important endeavor, but since the recitalist is Thomas Hampson, I felt secure in sneaking in for a listen. In a nod to New York sophistication, Mr. Hampson did present the program in its more gussied-up version, offering, except for the traditional ballad “Shenandoah” (which, I am told, he had sung earlier in the day on “Good Morning America”), only thoroughly composed pieces by many well-respected, if not necessarily well-known, songwriters.

Perhaps because of having to awaken so early for TV, Mr. Hampson was not in fine voice, sounding rather strained and gravelly in spots. But he can play hurt. Once I heard him in a remarkable rendition of Mahler’s “Rueckertlieder” with Seiji Ozawa and the Boston Symphony, even though it had been announced that he was indisposed. On that occasion, he turned his weariness into world-weariness, like a great Wotan. A somewhat similar technique carried the day on Thursday.

Contextually, this was an intelligent recital. Beginning with a set of songs by Americans in German, he demonstrated whence classical American music. Afterward, we journeyed through the 19th and 20th centuries “in our own voice.”

There were famous composers such as Copland, Thomson, and Barber, but there were also far more interesting numbers from the obscure. One of especial interest was “Ethiopia Saluting the Colors” by Henry Burleigh, a strident yet melancholic view of war and its ambiguities. Burleigh studied with Dvorak on East 16th Street, where part of Beth Israel hospital now stands. It was easy to hear where those old silent-movie pianists got their inspiration.

Hardly necessary for me, but revelatory nonetheless, was the inescapable conclusion that Charles Ives is the greatest of all American composers. Mr. Hampson was eloquent intoning “In Flanders Fields” and “Feldeinsamkeit,” wherein he displayed a flawless, non-falsetto upper register. This magnificent baritone is one of the few opera singers who really know how to sing lieder. There was never any emphasis on high or loudly sustained note-mongering. This was art song, pure and simple.

Mr. Hampson hedged his bets for his Carnegie recital, employing Wolfram Rieger as his accompanist. Mr. Rieger is not on the remainder of the tour, and that is a shame. It is time to anoint him as the legitimate successor to Gerald Moore, the finest song accompanist in the world. His playing this night was most delicate and poetic. Even his loud passages are deliquescent.

The inescapable reference point is, of course, “I Hear America Singing,” but I prefer a different line from “Leaves of Grass”: “The substantial words are in the ground and sea, they are in the air – they are in you.”

“Die Zauberflote” will be performed again on January 24, 27 & 30, and February 3 at the Metropolitan Opera House (Lincoln Center, 212-362-6000).