The joke in San Francisco used to be that, before its renovation, Davies Symphony Hall, with its pronounced echoes, was the best venue for music because the listener heard everything twice. Applying this same logic, lovers of the New York Philharmonic must have been in heaven Monday evening as the orchestra presented its annual Memorial Day concert at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.

The concert is free and is a welcome gift to New York, the unofficial start of a music lover’s summer. The large church was filled to capacity, as was an outlying building. Additionally, many hundreds of listeners stretched out on the lawn to hear, if not see, the ensemble. Next stop: the parks.

The reverberations were not as overwhelming this year as they were last season. Temporary construction walls have been removed and a cathedral official assured us all that by next Memorial Day all of the renovations will be complete. Then the Phil will only have to deal with the gamelan-like acoustics engendered by the extremely high, curved ceilings.

Guest conductor David Robertson led what seemed to be a distinguished performance of the Symphony No. 8 of Franz Schubert. At one time, schoolchildren used to sing along to the famous main theme, “This is the symphony that Schubert wrote but never finished.” But this premise is incorrect. Like the youthful statues of Michelangelo at the Accademia in Milan, these figures are indeed finished, they just appear to be striving to break free. The bizarre sound from the stage helped to increase the mystery of this realization, Mr. Robertson conducting the rhythms of the melodies in an exaggerated manner in order to keep everyone together. One lawn denizen remarked upon departing that the Schubert lacked sorrow. I don’t disagree, but it seems a bit unfair to expect such subtleties under these challenging auditory conditions.

It is always great fun to hear a performance of the Symphony No. 4 of Felix Mendelssohn, the images as vivid as the drawings and sketches that the composer produced on his visit to this sunny land, but seldom was it as amusing as in this rendition of the “Italian.” Right from the outset, the underlying notes, employed to drive an infectious propulsion, were just a mishmash of random sounds and echoes. Still, Mr. Robertson managed to convey the ebullience of the work, even as he must have been having a deuce of a time hearing his instrumentalists.

The acoustical anomaly tended to be parabolic, so the boys in the back, particularly the horns, were disproportionately loud. However, they were having a rollicking good night, so many of us just relaxed and appreciated hearing some interesting inner voices normally obscured. The Phil did a nice job of holding the crowd’s attention and the audience reacted with a hearty ovation — at least, it sounded hearty under these echo-chamber conditions.

Rather surprisingly, the Philharmonic does not play American music (or music of remembrance, for that matter) on Memorial Day. This year, an appropriate piece would have been an orchestration of “The White Peacock” by Charles Tomlinson Griffes, since one of these magnificent and noble creatures was perched on the fence in front of the cathedral, welcoming both ticket holders and passersby.