The New York Philharmonic’s subscription series last week featured a new work, by a new composer: Jefferson Friedman, born in 1974. (A marvelous American name, by the way: Jefferson Friedman.) He studied with John Corigliano and Christopher Rouse, among others, and has won a slew of prizes. In time-honored fashion, he spent a year at the American Academy in Rome. Among his champions is Leonard Slatkin, who guest-conducted the Philharmonic series. Mr. Slatkin became music director of the National Symphony Orchestra in 1996, after many years in St. Louis. (The NSO, of course, is in Washington, D.C.)

The Friedman work on the program was “The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly.” This is the second piece in a trilogy called “In the Realms of the Unreal.” The third piece was written first; the first is not yet composed. The trilogy is inspired by “outsider artists,” which is one way of describing artists who are highly eccentric, and far from the mainstream. (Although who can say what is mainstream art today? Damien Hirst and his sharks and ewes?) If the composer Harry Partch were with us now, he might be called an “outsider artist,” instead of a sadly mentally ill hobo.

Mr. Friedman’s “Throne of the Third Heaven” uses a ton of percussion, which distinguishes it from just about no other orchestral work today. Modern scores have more pots and pans than Williams-Sonoma. But Mr. Friedman makes interesting use of this stuff. We hear a jangling throughout his piece, as the music storms, and then subsides, and then builds slowly, and storms again. Toward the end, there is a Straussian soaring, somewhat reminiscent of “Death and Transfiguration.” The work concludes with a mammoth chorale – extraordinary.

This is a piece full of great will. It is a piece that believes in itself, and asks you to believe in it, too. It is also a greatly intense piece, and it was conducted that way by Mr. Slatkin, on Friday afternoon. He had some music – and a composer – to sell, and he did so successfully. It should be a pleasure to watch Jefferson Friedman’s development. He has something to say, and anyone who writes a chorale – in whatever garb – is certainly not beholden to the orthodoxies and shibboleths of this age.

Next on the program was Bloch’s “Schelomo,” that “Hebrew Rhapsody for Violoncello Solo and Orchestra.” The soloist was Lynn Harrell, and he delivered a superb reading of this piece. It seems to me that he exercises more interpretive restraint than he once did; I base this on performances heard over the last few seasons. It is easy to let “Schelomo” get schmaltzy, kitschy, or bathetic, but Mr. Harrell did not – although he let the piece be plenty soulful. He made beautiful sounds, and exhibited sure technique. When the music became somewhat unhinged, he was still in control. Just as Bloch intended, he was a man, speaking to us, eloquently.

Messrs. Harrell and Slatkin chose sensible tempos, but they did not lapse into ordinariness – “Schelomo” was duly rattling and odd. It was rhapsodic, too, true to its title. Because the piece was wisely governed, climaxes were really climactic. And when the musicians reached a major, healing key, the effect was stunning. You can go for many a season without hearing this cello staple played so understandingly and authoritatively.

In all “Hebrew” music, woodwinds are important, in addition to strings, and the Philharmonic’s woodwinds – and its strings, for that matter – showed themselves equal to their tasks.

I might also make a quick biographical note: Lynn Harrell and Leonard Slatkin are both “sons,” in that the cellist is the son of the baritone Mack Harrell, and the conductor is the son of Felix Slatkin, the conductor and violinist. The music business, like other businesses, often proves a family business.

Mr. Slatkin ended the program with Strauss’s “Symphonia domestica,” in which the composer tells the story of life at home with his wife and 5-year-old son. The conductor wove Strauss’s various motives and episodes into a satisfying, comprehensible whole. He drew from the orchestra a lush, Straussian sound, which is not always provided by the Philharmonic, especially in Avery Fisher Hall. Furthermore, the orchestra played with precision and unity – also expressiveness. You could see the Strauss-family scenes unfold.

Again, Mr. Slatkin was sensible in his tempos. For instance, the Lullaby might have put the child to sleep, but it did not put us to sleep. From Jefferson Friedman to Ernest Bloch to Richard Strauss, Mr. Slatkin led a notably mature afternoon of music-making.

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On Saturday night, the Tokyo String Quartet played at the 92nd Street Y, where it has been in residence. They offered a well-conceived, well-balanced program, and had with them two guests: the pianist Reiko “Don’t Call Me Mitsuko” Uchida and the soprano Amy Burton.

The program began with Mahler’s piano quartet, or rather that wonderful movement in A minor, from his student days. Mahler was about 16 when he wrote it. Of course, he would abandon chamber-music writing altogether, and all other writing too, except for some songs, and one hears he wrote a few symphonies. This Brahmsian, A-minor beauty makes you wonder what might have been, had Mahler taken a different course. Then again, would anyone vote for a different course?

The Tokyo players did not exactly tuck into this piece, beginning rather tentatively. Indeed, the entire account would have benefited from more of a flow; it was threatened with stasis. Neither did the players make an especially beautiful sound, although they were nicely integrated with one another. The violinist, Kikuei Ikeda, had some intonation problems, as did others. Ms. Uchida handled her part competently. The cellist, Clive Greensmith – not to be confused with Bernard Greenhouse, founding cellist of the Beaux Arts Trio – did, in fact, make a beautiful sound. And toward the end of the piece, Mr. Ikeda contributed a heartfelt, if out of tune, solo flight.

Then it was on to Haydn, without whom you can hardly have a string quartet concert. The TSQ performed the String Quartet in C, Op. 74, No. 1, which is not the master’s most inspired, or most eternal, but which is certainly nothing to throw away. The Tokyo players were imperfect in their technique, but obvious in their commitment. The second movement, Andantino grazioso, breathed Haydn’s pleasantness. The following minuet – marked Allegretto – was surprisingly meaty. It could have been lighter on its feet, more graceful. This was a hearty, rough-hewn peasant dance, which is certainly not inappropriate. And the enthusiasm of the Finale (Vivace) was hard to deny.

I might add that it is a pleasure to watch the face of violist Kazuhide Isomura, the sole founder still in the quartet. He takes a wide-eyed delight in playing.

The big work on the program was one of the most important works in the chamber literature, Schonberg’s String Quartet No. 2, Op. 10. In February, we heard this piece from the Orion String Quartet, in Alice Tully Hall. The String Quartet No. 2 was a pivotal work in the composer’s life, and it would turn out to be pivotal for all of music. Schonberg wrote it at a time of extreme personal duress, and he was striking off, too, for a new music. The text used in the fourth movement – Stefan George’s “Entruckung” (“Rapture”) – begins, “I feel the air of another planet.”

(I should note here that the 92nd Street Y has been marking the 350th anniversary of Jews in America, with an emphasis on immigrant composers. Schonberg is a high example of such.)

The Tokyo String Quartet delivered a worthy performance of the String Quartet No. 2.The first movement had its yearning, searching, and seething. The second – which Schonberg marked “Sehr rasch” – was slower than you normally hear it, and more understated. I’m not sure that the composer’s true thoughts and emotions came through.

Both the third and the fourth movements – which close the quartet – use texts of George, the first being “Litanei” (“Litany”).On hand to do the singing was Amy Burton, who proved excellent. She, too, was understated, which was exactly right. She intoned those words and notes straightforwardly – although they lacked none of their power. Indeed, her straightforwardness enhanced their power. Ms. Burton did not commit the error of providing too much sound, but she was not too meek, either. Her technique held firm, and her high notes were there. The Tokyo players were unmistakably in Schonberg’s world. And they ended this movement marvelously – with a bracing, together release.

The fourth movement, too, was performed with great care and understanding. Once more, Ms. Burton did not try to do anything to the music; she just sang it. And the instrumentalists just played it, letting it grow naturally. Any technical problems were negligible (and, it is true, this music is less exposed than the Haydn, or even that Mahler student piece). The Schonberg String Quartet No. 2 was a crowning event.