For a city “From New World,” New York has a large variety of places associated with the lions of the artistic world. Of European composers, Rachmaninoff and Schoenberg lived here. Mahler resided at the corner of Fifth Avenue and East 59th Street, and Stravinsky on West 73rd. At Bargemusic on Saturday, we heard from the two composers who wrote the most significant music here in town: Béla Bartók, who lived in various places but is commemorated on West 57th Street, and Antonin Dvorák, who occupied 327 E. 17th St.

Bargemusic’s string quartet in residence (Jose-Maria Blumenschein and Johannes Dickbauer, violins; Lily Francis, viola, and Nicholas Canellakis, cello) is named the Vertigo and was formed at the Curtis Institute in 2005. The brochure promised us Haydn, but what we received was the next best thing, one of the six string quartets of Mozart dedicated to Haydn, who was Mozart’s sometime mentor and fellow quartet performer.

The Vertigo offered String Quartet No. 15, in the dramatic D minor. It is surely the Sturmiest and Drangiest of the set of six, and these fine young musicians emphasized these intense qualities.

Technically secure, they are at the stage where nuance and stylistic thought need to take center stage. This version, for all its impressive individual playing, seemed a bit heavy, laden with its own emotional freight. A lighter touch will work wonders in Mozart, underlining the contrast between movements such as the Andante and Menuetto. But this will come with time.

Bartók composed the last of his six string quartets just before embarking for America. It is a powerful work that ultimately returns to tonality, albeit a transformed version, even as it ventures far into the realms of the dissonant. Extremely difficult music to pull off, it has a great many unusual transitions and a large variety of string effects. Here, the present quartet members were impressive in their elocutions, producing virtually every surprising sound as if it were part of a simple tonic-dominant relationship.

In striving so assiduously for accuracy, however, these aspirants may have sacrificed some of the visceral excitement of the piece, trading the music for the notes. This essay needed to breathe a little more.

After intermission, the group performed a very lively rendition of Dvorák’s Quartet No. 12, known as “The American.” Although the composer was then living here in New York, he spent some time at a Czech community in Spillville, Iowa, where he captured many American sounds of the time. The work is imbued with New World imagery and gemütlichkeit.

The Vertigo did right by this ebullient piece, generating a great deal of optimism and creating an atmosphere of limitless possibilities. With Mr. Dickbauer in the first chair, they captured the proper sound, not stuffy but rather relaxed, almost folkish. Melodies were allowed to develop organically, seemingly without care. Some additional thought to dynamics might have made this reading a bit better, particularly in the contrast between original statements and their immediate reprises in the Lento, but overall this was highly infectious musicmaking.

The city has finally knocked down the old freight terminal next to the barge in preparation for the creation of a new park. The view was always glorious from this floating hall, but now listeners can also see the Statue of Liberty from the side windows.

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When Henry VI founded King’s College Cambridge in 1441, one of its functions was to provide the vocalization for daily church services. The choir of male voices continues to the present day, and it made a stop on Friday evening at St. Thomas Church.

The 30-voice assemblage presented a varied program. There was British music to be sure, but also French and German. The evening began with a set of polyphonic a cappella pieces from the early days of the Church of England, including works by Orlando Gibbons, Thomas Weelkes, and Thomas Tomkins. Much of this music had the sound of the boy choir, but there was an illusion of a full chorus both male and female during Gibbons’s work, “This is the Record of John.”

There were two anniversaries celebrated. The first, the 100th birthday of Olivier Messiaen, brought a section from his monumental organ work “Méditations sur la Mystère de la Sainte Trinité,” a piece that will be performed in its entirety this Sunday at the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer. Organist Tom Kimber emphasized its provocatively dissonant chords with extremely dramatic pauses. Messiaen certainly creates an acoustical otherworld that has little in common with our quotidian universe.

A rarity of interest was “O vos omnes” of Pablo Casals, a dark responsory with a few stratospheric high notes. Director Stephen Cleobury closed out the first half with four motets of Francis Poulenc, the second of which contained some angry outbursts that recalled the wrathful utterances of Gibbons. Throughout this difficult set, the top line was a bit ragged, several notes reached for but ultimately not captured.

Bach dominated after intermission, specifically the reverberant motet “Lobet den Herrn,” which was thrilling in such an echoing performance space, and the famous organ prelude in E-flat major, BWV 552 (i), nobly intoned by soloist Peter Stevens.

Modern Britain was also represented. In a truly magical moment, William Walton’s inspiring “Set Me as a Seal” was augmented by the bells of 9 o’clock, adding considerable gravitas and nobility to this already steadfast music.

Remember that David Bowie song “Space Oddity”? Composer Judith Weir certainly does, as her “Ascending Into Heaven” has the same post-moon-landing feel, a new firmament for a new generation. Or perhaps Mr. Bowie got his inspiration at church?

Finally, the other anniversary of the evening was the 50th anniversary of the death of arguably the greatest of all British composers, Ralph Vaughan Williams. Ending their labors with his rousing “O Clap Your Hands” was an excellent gambit, leaving the very full church in a state of heightened inspiration. Any callowness of voice was more than compensated for by natural charm and a dedicated and palpable enthusiasm. There is something profoundly stirring and heartening about hearing a musical tradition preserved so lovingly.