Until now, there has been only one Till in music, namely, Till Eulenspiegel, the subject of a Richard Strauss tone poem. But now there is another: Till Fellner, a 30-something Austrian pianist. He played a recital at the Metropolitan Museum on Thursday night, and he chose a meaty, attractive program: an early Beethoven sonata; Bach’s threepart inventions (all of them, all 15); and a late, great Schubert sonata.

The Beethoven sonata was the one in F major, Op. 10, No. 2. And Mr. Fellner quickly showed himself a confident, poised musician — a musician who knows his own mind. He did some lively playing in the first movement, and at times it was even too lively: Mr. Fellner over-toyed, just a little. But his ornaments were clear, snappy, and beautiful. And he was moderate in his dynamics, though not dull in them.

Unfortunately, Mr. Fellner did some odd things, too. He decided to hold certain notes just a little longer than written; this was annoying and not especially musical. And a harshness crept up every now and then, with some banged accents.

The middle movement, Allegretto, was nicely shaped. And how about the closing Presto? It is fleet (of course), light, and altogether lovable. But not from Mr. Fellner. In his hands, it was slowish, heavy, and mechanical. He pounded, thumped, and clattered. Listening to this performance, I had a wicked thought: “He sounds like he was taught by Alfred Brendel.” And, lo, he was.

(I should quickly add that I’ve heard Mr. Brendel play superbly, as we all have.)

The harsh, mechanical style really let Mr. Fellner down in the Bach inventions. He did some admirable playing, yes, for he is no dummy. But too much of his playing was rote and unsinging. He was overly “vertical,” without a sufficient sense of line. He simply hit the notes, rather than truly playing them. The guy can put the hammer in hammerklavier.

Why pianists want to do this — and it is a choice — I can’t explain. Violinists don’t play that way, singers don’t sing that way. Mr. Fellner’s banging of the first note of the B-flat invention was almost shocking. Can he not hear it? And does he really desire it?

But the Schubert was a whole different ballgame, or almost wholly so. This was the Sonata in A, D. 959, one of the grand and sublime works of the literature. Mr. Fellner managed it well, not letting it get away from him — and a sprawling score can get away from you. In the first movement, he expressed both brawn and poetry (as Schubert does). In the second, he was dramatic without being hysterical — very mature. And in the Scherzo, he was duly sprightly and accurate. He was also aristocratic, and that was an interesting quality to bring to this movement.

Where things broke down — or rather, reverted — was in the last movement, the Rondo. This is one of Schubert’s pianistic songs, and Mr. Fellner did precious little singing in it. He poked at the keyboard, jabbed at it, particularly with the right hand (which often accompanies the melody). Notes that should have come in wellphrased groups were single, separate, clumsy.

But most of the Schubert had been first-rate, and Till Fellner is clearly a pianist to reckon with. I will provide further proof of his maturity: He played no encore, though the applause was loud and long. He knows that the Schubert A-major is a formidable last word.