Pianist Andre Watts has been one of America’s most celebrated classical artists since the day, at the age of 16, he was chosen by Leonard Bernstein to debut with the New York Philharmonic in a nationally broadcast Young People’s Concert. His performance of the Liszt E Flat Concerto was so electrifying that two weeks later, when Glenn Gould canceled his scheduled appearance with the orchestra, Mr. Watts was invited to substitute for him. The event became the storybook launch of a truly distinguished career.

Over the years, the pianist has played and recorded solo and with the world’s great orchestras, appeared on television in other groundbreaking telecasts (incredibly, his “Live From Lincoln Center” performance of three full concertos also included live interviews during intermissions), and also found time to teach. Most recently, he assumed the newly created Jack I. and Dora B. Hamlin Endowed Chair in Music at Indiana University. These multifaceted activities will come together this Saturday, April 30, when Mr. Watts completes a series at the Metropolitan Museum, titled “The Art of Andre Watts,” by giving what he calls an “illustrated talk” on Beethoven’s Sonata in D, Op. 10, No. 3.

The lecture-recital format was not his idea, Mr. Watts told me recently over dinner, but that of Hilde Limondjian, general manager of Metropolitan Museum Concerts & Lectures. Yet the seeds of the event can be traced all the way back to his earliest encounters with Mr. Bernstein. “When I substituted for Glenn Gould,” Mr. Watts said, “there was a big shoot for Life magazine at Bernstein’s home. In fact, there is a picture of Bernstein and me together on the balcony, and he is gesturing with his arm out, as if saying, ‘Someday, my boy, all this will be yours.'”

Bernstein, of course, was a master at explaining classical music, as well as performing it. “I remember that during our conversation he raised a question: ‘How do you know the music? Can you talk your way through a Beethoven sonata?'” Mr. Watts said. “That has always stuck with me. I found it fascinating. ‘Do you know the piece in the way of explication?’ I’ve thought about this over the years. When serious orchestra players discuss conductors, they often talk about who really knows the score. This doesn’t mean knowing that at letter H the horn comes in on the second beat – of course, that’s essential. But there is a deeper way of knowing the score, so that when you close your eyes and somebody says, ‘Schubert’s Fifth Symphony,’ you have a complete picture. And this is related to Bernstein’s question: ‘Can you talk yourself through the piece?'”

At the Metropolitan Museum, Mr. Watts will put himself to this test. The choice of repertoire is a practical one. Beethoven is heralded for his masterly ability to build entire works out of just a few small melodic fragments, and his music offers especially rich opportunities for analysis. “When you hear Beethoven, there is some inexplicable logic – the stuff holds together, even if you don’t understand exactly why,” said Mr. Watts. “You might have a similar experience in architecture, when admiring a building. You don’t really know about the interior scaffolding – were they two by fours, or four by eights? – but something tells you, ‘That’s some building!’ I think that’s true of Beethoven particularly.”

Mr. Watts confessed that he would probably feel more comfortable were the subject Schubert, “since he’s my favorite composer.” But the result, he feels, would be too subjective; besides, he loves this particular sonata. “Everyone talks about how Beethoven could make a masterpiece out of just four notes,” he said. The first movement of Op. 10, No. 3 is one of the best and, in a way, most disguised examples of that. When you start figuring out how this piece is put together, it becomes fun. And the slow movement is one of the first great slow movements in the literature. Actually, the piece offers all the earmarks of the Beethoven we know – the great emotional range, the rough humor – with the possible exception of his ‘fist shaking at the heavens’ pose.”

Mr. Watts sees the analytical portion of the evening as an important aid for audiences. “People come into the concert hall, and who knows what they’ve been through in the course of their lives?” Mr. Watts said. “Yet, you sit down and play a piece and you want them immediately to be in the middle of it. Realistically, you’re happy if you are in the middle of it, because of what has been going on in your life!” Yet Mr. Watts has never been an especially didactic player – rather, his strength as a pianist is in the emotional power his renderings convey. Does this confuse the message?

“When I was 26 and teaching up at Tanglewood,” he replies, “someone brought in Liszt’s ‘Totentanz.’ I started to take it apart for the class. Someone said, ‘You actually do that kind of analysis? Your playing doesn’t sound like it.’ And I thought, ‘Thank you so much.’ The analysis is for the talking part. Hopefully those who stay for the performance will remember what I’ve said, but the actual playing should transcend that skeletal underpinning.”

“Look at a human being – I can point out this part and that part. But if I say, ‘Okay, take off, run,’ even though I’ve explained to you how the body works, you won’t really see the skeleton anymore. You’ll get the impression of someone running. The talk part is like the chart in a doctor’s office that shows you the sinew, the muscle, the organs. The performance is the whole person. The parts are not hidden, exactly, but something else supercedes them.”

Andre Watts will perform April 30 at 8 p.m. (Metropolitan Museum of Art, 212-570-3949).