Mention the name of Lionel Hampton or Milt Jackson to any jazz historian and he or she will relate how influential these men were, both creatively and innovatively, in the progress of the art form. Their instrument, the vibraphone, became an integral part of a unique combo sound. But when the classical orchestra equivalent, the marimba, is discussed, even the most erudite record collectors would be hard-pressed to name just one outstanding exponent.

Makoto Nakura, who gave an interesting recital at Trinity Church on Thursday, is attempting to change all that. Not satisfied to perform only as an orchestral sideman, he is launching a solo career, presenting material mostly created with his own hands.

The marimba is so wide that Mr. Nakura needed two music stands to hold the printed scores, and it is so varied in sound potential that an additional duo of stands supported dozens of different mallets. The instrument is a five-octave affair; the major difference between it and a standard keyboard is that, as the note goes lower, the key becomes wider. Thus a player must sprint or slide very quickly from one end of this massive percussion table to the other. The general effect is similar to Tom Hanks dancing on the oversized piano in the Penny Marshall film “Big.”

As if this feat of coordination were not enough, the marimbist must also handle two sticks per hand, each one having a head with a different density. Thus, when one strikes the keys, he or she has to use a separate touch for each mallet in the same hand. This instrument is not for the faint of heart.

Mr. Nakura began with a pleasant rendition of two etudes originally written for the guitar by Heitor Villa-Lobos. Immediately the listener was struck with the resonance of the resultant sound. The deep vibrations of the keys coupled with the church’s acoustics made for an echo chamber effect.

Once this introduction — a necessary sound adjustment for our delicate ears — was completed, Mr. Nakura offered two more substantive pieces along similar lines, his own transcriptions of the first two of the Five Preludes for Guitar by the same Brazilian composer, which turned out to be quite impressive. The E minor is a personal favorite and I was agog that I really heard the bass line for the very first time. When Mr. Nakura digs deep, he strikes resonant gold.

Less successful perhaps was his transcription of the G-minor Sonata for Solo Violin of Bach. Although he performed the piece dexterously — he was pretty much on fire for this entire recital — the resulting sounds were not particularly illuminating, the exercise taking on more the aspect of a stunt. When Brahms or Busoni transcribed Bach violin music for the piano, they improved it exponentially. Mr. Nakura, who has proved himself to be a splendid arranger, did little to enhance this particular sonic experience.

When the subject was the fugue from Bela Bartok’s Sonata for Solo Violin, however, Mr. Nakura redeemed himself handsomely. He took a moment to explain an extraordinary addition to the piece. Bartok writes that the violinist should pluck the strings right at the edge of the fingerboard, creating a uniquely percussive sound. Mr. Nakura replicates — and perhaps even improves upon — this sound by adding a wood block to his armamentarium. Thus whenever he is imitating the “Bartok pizzicato,” he strikes the notes with one stick, the deadened block with the other. The result sounded a little more Prokofiev than Bartok, but either way it was fascinating.

Also on the program were two pieces written for this exciting artist. Moto Osada captures the feel of the Noh drama in “Sylvan Lay” and “Pastoral Air.” Although this music was incomprehensible to me, it was clearly difficult to pull off, and Mr. Nakura did so stunningly. More comprehensible but less impressive was “Triple Jump,” by Kenji Bunch, but this noodling around did showcase the extraordinary athleticism of its performer.

There was a certain “Zamfir plays the classics” feel to this event, but surely the musicianship on display is valuable in and of itself. It is easy to extrapolate that on some future occasion, a major composer will create a concerto that will be gloriously interpreted by Makoto Nakura.

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The superb PianoForte series continued on Thursday evening at the Metropolitan Museum as Stephen Kovacevich took his turn at bat. Although the crowd was small, the playing was inspiring.

Instantaneously, in the Partita No. 4 in D major of Bach, Mr. Kovacevich established a particularly bright tone that served him in good stead in both halves of this recital. Adopting a brisk pace to complement this sunny mood, he sailed through the entire work with an enviable sense of balanced touch and a refreshing absence of “look how profound I am” rubato. This was Bach on a modern Steinway that paid homage to the era of the clavier, not showing off but rather allowing the music to be the star.

It is fascinating how one artist can alter the performance history of a particular piece. Before Vladimir Horowitz began to employ “Träumerei” (reverie) by Robert Schumann as his favorite encore, the work was played, as written, at a moderate tempo. But Horowitz slowed it considerably, creating in the process essentially a new feel, one of deep and absorbing nostalgia. This little gem is but one of the jewels in Schumann’s “Kinderszenen” (“Scenes from Childhood”), and the entire work was marvelously offered by Mr. Kovacevich in a somewhat elongated style. Of particular emotional impact were “Pleading Child,” “At the Fireside” — this was positively eye-dampening — and one of Schumann’s most inventive passages, titled “Almost Too Serious.” All in all, such a sensitive treatment recalled the sad plight of this mentally disturbed genius. This was making the Romantic even more romantic and was very affecting, poetic pianism.

When the audience returned from intermission, it appeared that Mr. Kovacevich had gone electric, a speaker and extension cords now set up in front of the piano. But when he emerged, he turned the plugged-in box toward himself, and we realized that it was actually a heater. Now a bit more comfortable, he launched a somewhat uneven version of the great Variations on a Waltz by Anton Diabelli of Beethoven.

That brightness of tone was back, and it transformed the normally rather banal original theme into a rousing, almost martial, subject. This was followed by a noble first variation, and it appeared that this voyage would be a thrilling one. However, the ship hit the rocks immediately thereafter. I’m sure that Mr. Kovacevich would have wished to redo that Poco allegro that followed. This was just one of those times when a performer would love to stop but, of course, must soldier on. Later similar variations were played with enviable dexterity, and overall this was colorful and solid music-making. Does it say anything about performance practice that he was more accurate before his creature comforts kicked in?