Might as well begin with the intermission: In Monday night’s performance of Mahler’s Symphony No. 8, there was an intermission – right after Part I. There is never an intermission in a Mahler symphony, at least in my experience, and to my knowledge. Same as there is never an intermission in a Beethoven sonata (and, granted, these are shorter). Why? Why was that intermission imposed? Did it relate to the physical needs of the conductor, James Levine? But he handles very long operatic acts, such as in “Gotterdammerung.”

If the intermission was necessary, we can of course forgive it. But it was well-nigh ruinous, that intermission. The Symphony No. 8 is a magnificent whole, moving from the hymn to that final scene from “Faust.” (To the uninitiated, I apologize: This is a strange, though transcendent, symphony.) An orchestral transition bridges the two parts. With this intermission – some 25 minutes – there was no need, or less need, for that transition. One of the reasons for the transition is that a listener needs to calm down from the hymn (one of the most stirring, throttling, glorious things in music). But a 25-minute break will do that to you – calm you down, or bring you down.

Then there is this, funny question: Do you applaud after Part I – I mean, when it concludes the first half of a concert? I guess you do – the Carnegie Hall audience applauded lustily, and the maestro took bows and the whole nine yards. And it is true that Part I contains a phenomenally great ending – it practically begs for applause. So this audience, for once, was able to give in, unashamedly.

Even in opera, intermissions can be harmful, because we lose the thread of a work. The Metropolitan Opera’s “Aida” contains three intermissions, totaling over an hour and a half. I once wrote, “Last night, I attended a series of intermissions punctuated by a performance of ‘Aida.'” But, of course, there are sets to change – a Mahler symphony is a different cat.

Anyway, there was an intermission in this Eighth, and that’s that.

The evening marked the first New York performance of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in the James Levine era. He took over as music director this season. Mr. Levine is a longtime Mahler champion, and he decided to launch his BSO tenure in a big way. (His first concert was Friday, in Boston’s Symphony Hall, where they did the Eighth.) The conductor gathered around him what we can assume are a clutch of his favorite singers – about them, more in a moment.

He began the symphony – Part I, the hymn, once called “a gigantic motet”-in his characteristic fashion: It was clean, spare, hard-hitting. Quite Classical. Mr. Levine likes his Mahler light on its feet – fit, lean, ready. The Eighth is called “The Symphony of a Thousand,” but there was nothing elephantine about this account.

I have often said that Mr. Levine’s Wagner is Beethoven-like (much to Wagner’s benefit); Mahler’s hymn was Beethoven-like too (“Christ on the Mount of Olives”?). I thought of Levine performances past in Carnegie Hall: particularly a Verdi Requiem, bristling, tight – one pow after another. This was of a piece.

Much as Mr. Levine’s briskness and vigor were appreciated, this Part I could have been holier, or at least more spiritual – it is a hymn, after all (“Veni, creator spiritus”). It was all too businesslike, too rammed through, kind of hard-edged, a bit unfriendly. And though the playing, and singing, were loud, they were not especially joyous.

Now to those singers: One of the sopranos on hand was Jane Eaglen, who had one of her worst nights in memory. She is a far better singer than she displayed. She was exceptionally blunt and unmusical, and her pitch was a mess – she was badly, badly flat on an important A flat, and at least one C was desperately grabbed at, and ugly. In addition – and what a weird statement for “The Symphony of a Thousand”! – she was … too loud. Can you imagine? If you cannot, I don’t blame you.

Singing beautifully – really beautifully – was tenor Vinson Cole, who substituted for Ben Heppner. He sang understandingly, accurately, affectingly. And the young bass John Relyea was solid and resplendent.

After intermission (ahem),Mr. Levine led a wise account of Part II. It was satisfyingly paced, knowingly judged. It might have included a bit more tension – which, in Mahler (certainly in this work),is more like anticipation than tension – but that is a minor complaint. It built as the composer desires.

The Boston Symphony Orchestra made some beautiful sounds, although it perhaps committed more errors than it might have. The Tanglewood Festival Chorus, and the American Boychoir, sang responsively and persuasively.

Taking the “role” of Pater ecstaticus was Eike Wilm Schulte, the baritone who makes such a splendid Beckmesser (“Die Meistersinger”) and Klingsor (“Parsifal”). He was excellent here, too, although he struggled to be heard over Mr. Levine’s forces. (The soloists were placed behind the orchestra, in front of the choruses.) Mr. Relyea, as Pater profundus, struggled to be heard too, and did some forcing, rare for him. Mr. Cole continued to delight.

The several women acquitted themselves well – Ms. Eaglen was better in this part, incidentally. Hei-Kyung Hong was touching, Stephanie Blythe was, as usual, bold and arresting, Yvonne Naef was, as usual, smart and sure. And amid all of Mahler’s – and Goethe’s – angels was the most angelic singer on the planet: Heidi Grant Murphy. She stepped in at the end to present her usual miracle of control, beauty, and sublimity. It is not easy to do the soft, high singing of the Virgin cold, as it were.

Seldom will you hear a Mahler Eighth clearer or more defined than Mr. Levine’s. But he can do better than Monday night’s performance. It was a fine one, but not one you could really get lost in – not one you could give yourself over to. In the best Mahler performances – certainly of the Eighth – you lose all sense of time and place, to enter the ineffable Mahlerian world.

Did I mention there was an intermission?