Robert Schumann had a core group of friends who supported him through his darkest hours. Admittedly several of its members were imaginary, but some were of the flesh and blood variety. In Leipzig, his circle included his wife, Clara, Felix Mendelssohn, the violinist Ferdinand David, and the young Danish composer Niels Gade.

Gade was Mendelssohn’s discovery and even took over the conductorship of the Gewandhaus Orchestra after his mentor’s demise. He wrote many orchestral sketches and eight classically inspired symphonies, which were reasonably well-known in Germanic countries until around the middle of the last century. Since then, he has been relegated to the status of a footnote in some dry music history tome.

Having grown up with his music, I was astounded to learn that the performance of his Symphony No. 2 by the Riverside Symphony on Thursday evening at Alice Tully Hall was the work’s United States premiere.The ensemble deserves high praise indeed for its pioneering efforts – it has introduced more than 150 works to the New York public in its 25 years of operation. It delivered quite a handsome performance this evening.

Presenting a symphony orchestra on the Alice Tully stage creates acoustical and logistical problems. When the space was built, Tully herself agreed with the composer Olivier Messiaen that 44 was the maximum number of musicians that could fit comfortably there, and he designed his “From the Canyons to the Stars” for just that amount. The Riverside group is closer to double that and its sound can be overwhelming. Management had roped off the first two rows of seats entirely and, although they graciously invited me to sit in my customary seat, I hightailed it to the back of the auditorium at the first available opportunity.

And not a moment too soon, as the major piece on the program was the Piano Concerto of Edvard Grieg. Had I not retreated, the titanic opening chords of pianist Terrence Wilson might have blown me onto the floor. Mr. Wilson may reside in Montclair, N.J., these days, but he is and will ever be a native son of the Bronx, and this night he showed great promise.

There are many good technicians among the young crop of pianists, and Mr. Wilson is undoubtedly one of them. However, his ability to communicate a phrase or line is exceptional and was especially impressive in such a Romantic work as the Grieg. Mr. Wilson is a keyboardist, but his playing reminds me of Joshua Bell in that he has a thorough understanding of and respect for poetic communication. Both gentlemen are rather anachronistic, reminding of an era less self-consciously able to emote.

Mr. Wilson is not shy about employing rubato, embellishing his solo passagework with frequent slowings of tempo to emphasize the beauty of a particular melodic thought. His Adagio was extremely heartfelt and his remarkably soft touch near the very end of the Andante maestoso elicited audible sighs in my section of the house. He also captured that rarest of qualities as he brought out the humor in some rhythmic figures of the opening movement, a quality missed by so many soi-disant exponents of “refinement.” Predictions are notoriously foolhardy, but there is little reason why Mr. Wilson cannot become a superstar.

The orchestra did a very good job of accompaniment, although its medium size may have shortchanged some of the more lush passages. In the reprise of the gorgeous main theme of the second movement, the string section as a whole was opulent, but earlier, when the cellos alone stated the second subject of the first movement, the contrast to Mr. Wilson’s expansive style was noticeable. Perhaps this was strictly a function of not enough instruments, itself a corollary of playing at Alice Tully.

There was another premiere of sorts on tap, as the group mounted the first New York performance of Andrew Imbrie’s Symphony No. 2. The style is recognizable late 1960s, an era when the recordings of Schonberg’s music by Robert Craft held sway among the Young Turks. It seems that Imbrie composed this in the thrall of Schonberg’s “Begleitungsmusik” (Music for a Cinematographic Scene), as this symphony generously appropriates not only its overall sound but some passages verbatim (with a little Variations for Orchestra thrown in). This is very difficult and complex music, and the ensemble handled it expertly. It was hard to imagine the more famous orchestra next door at Avery Fisher presenting such labyrinthine music at anywhere near this level of precision.

The Riverside Symphony is not the Gewandhaus Orchestra, but neither does it pretend to be. Rather it is a very dedicated assemblage of hardworking, adventurous musicians who present interesting and varied programming at a time in our history when many concerts seem to emerge from a giant cookie cutter.