The concert at the Rose Theater Sunday afternoon was played by Midori and a gang of her associates. Midori, you know: She is the one-named violinist born in Japan, long resident in the United States. She was a child prodigy, and is now a deeply admired musician in her mid-30s. And her associates? There were seven of them, plus a string quartet. And they played a program of Bach, Schnittke, and Shostakovich.

The idea, apparently, was that Bach was a big influence on the other two composers, those 20th-century Russians. Of course, Bach is a big influence on all composers — whether they know it or not.

The concert opened with a Bach trio sonata, that in G major, BWV 1038. Instruments called for are flute, violin, and cello, in addition to harpsichord. From our gang, the opening movement was a little dull — sleepy, dainty, bloodless. But the next movements were better, certainly doing no harm.

For her part, Midori was clean, tidy, and tasteful. Those are some of her trademarks. And the flutist, Demarre McGill, was superb. He was warm and accurate. And in the upper region, he piped clearly and beautifully. The cellist, Johannes Moser, contributed a nice jauntiness to Bach’s closing Presto.

Next came the first of two Schnittke pieces. Alfred Schnittke was born in 1934, dying in 1998. His music tends to be bleak and mournful — even despairing. Of course, he was entitled, along with the rest of his countrymen.

Midori was joined by Marc-André Hamelin for Schnittke’s Sonata No. 1 for Violin and Piano, composed in 1963. This is a tense, spooky, arresting piece, with a dose of hilarity. It is exceptionally well crafted. And Midori and Mr. Hamelin did very well by it. The pianist is known for his huge, huge technique — a Lisztian technique. He did not have to deploy it here. But he was impressive nonetheless.

He and Midori were alert and precise. This violinist never plays without precision. She is like a machine, but a machine with musicality. Even when her tone is stark and airless — as Schnittke sometimes demands — she is musical. She is a particularly good advocate of modern music, because she never forgets musical values. She is loath for a piece to become vulgar, crude — or anti-musical.

In his sonata, Schnittke offers some childlike simplicity. And this, the players handled beautifully. He also goes in for some circus-like giddiness, or craziness (à la Shostakovich). In this, our players were stringent and stirring. Midori fiddled with abandon — but her kind of abandon, controlled. And here is one of Mr. Hamelin’s merits: He can play loudly — even joltingly — without banging.

From beginning to end, intensity never flagged in this performance. And this was an achievement of both composer and instrumentalists. Midori and Mr. Hamelin were always in balance, each knowing his role (very different). Midori has an excellent regular partner in the pianist Robert McDonald; but she and Mr. Hamelin made a standout duo, too.

The other Schnittke piece was quite different, the Septet written in 1981 and 1982. This calls for flute, two clarinets, violin, viola, cello, and organ. It is spare and ghostly — then a little fuller, and hazy. It has touches of minimalism, and achieves some interesting colors. As usual, Schnittke knew what he was doing.

On Sunday afternoon, however, I found his Septet a little dull, a little long (unlike the sonata). But the players treated it with care. They calibrated the music intelligently. And they seemed to have rehearsed: This did not seem a thrown-together affair. And the violist, David Kim, sitting next to Midori, produced some notably good sounds.

After intermission, Midori was absent from the stage. Doing the playing was Mr. Hamelin plus the Daedalus Quartet, founded only in 2000 and consisting of youthful players. Already, however, the Daedalus has made a mark on the chamber-music scene.

Their piece was Shostakovich’s Piano Quintet (1939), one of Shostakovich’s best works, and, indeed, a jewel in the crown of chamber music. Some of us rank it with Schumann’s piano quintet, and certainly with those of Dvorák. Mr. Hamelin and the quartet did okay by it. But, given their skills, they should have done better.

In the first movement, there were ill-advised hesitations, inaugurated by the pianist. This music benefits from a stricter, more confident tempo. The next movement is a fugue, and it featured some beautiful, even exquisite playing — especially by the first violinist. But the playing, overall, was rather cautious, even overawed.

And the third movement, the Scherzo? This is one of the most thrilling movements in all chamber music — but not on Sunday afternoon. Our five were a little slow, a little ordinary. This music should be bracing, a joyous bucket of cold water. Instead, it was tepid — and Mr. Hamelin played in a dismayingly plodding way.

In the Intermezzo, we had some nice plucking, with some sweet, stringly tones over it. Mr. Hamelin banged a bit, doing no good. And then came the Finale.

Now, this movement should be surprising. It is relaxed, easygoing, very friendly. The fist is totally unclenched. It should come to us as a relief, after four intense, profound, involving movements. But, on this occasion, the Finale did not provide much relief — because not much relief was needed. The previous movements had not been gripping enough.

Mr. Hamelin and the Daedalus played the Finale with the right matter-of-factness. But by then it was … too late.