Riccardo Muti, the Italian conductor, has been much in the news lately, having quit La Scala – that is an interesting story. But that is not today’s story: Mr. Muti was in New York last week, for a subscription series with the Philharmonic. On his program were two seldom-heard works, the first more seldom heard than the second: Goffredo Petrassi’s “Coro di morti” (“Chorus of Dead Ones”) and Liszt’s “Faust Symphony.” Saturday’s was a concert of the highest order.

Petrassi was long a bigwig at the Santa Cecilia Academy in Rome, and he lived to almost 100: Two years ago he died at 98. He wrote his “Coro di morti” – called a “Dramatic Madrigal” – in 1941, when his country, along with most of the rest of the world, was at war. It uses a poem by Giacomo Leopardi imagining a “dialogue” between the Dutch anatomist Frederik Ruysch “and his mummies.” No, this is not an everyday text.

The “Coro di morti” is scored for a relatively small, stringless orchestra and men’s chorus. That orchestra includes three pianos, and the Philharmonic had three grands lined up, looking very impressive. For as little as the pianists have to do, it’s amazing that Petrassi needs three.

Before beginning the work, Mr. Muti took a microphone and announced that he was “dedicating” the performance to “the victims of violence in the world.” He asked that there be no applause after the performance, but instead a “moment of meditation.” Usually, this doesn’t work – some in the audience forget not to applaud, and when they do, they’re belligerently shushed by the rest of the audience. Amazingly, no one applauded after this performance.

Not that it wasn’t a good one. The “Coro di morti” has a steady, spooky pulse, which Mr. Muti kept. Petrassi goes for Dies Irae touches, and some of them are effective. But ultimately this is a bombastic work, empty of emotional power. Mr. Muti seems devoted to it – and if you’re going to perform it, you might as well do so with conviction (which this conductor did).

A quick side note about Signor Petrassi: A couple of months ago, I interviewed Lee Hoiby, the American composer, and he spoke of having received a Fulbright grant in the 1950s, to study at Santa Cecilia. Problem was – he was not admitted to Santa Cecilia. He played some of his pieces for Petrassi one day, and the maestro said, “You have talent, but you must find a new musical language – no one writes in that old tongue anymore.” As Hoiby put it, he wanted to grow roses, and the music establishment insisted on cactuses. He went his separate way. We’ll see whose music proves the more enduring, Petrassi’s or Hoiby’s.

What is forever enduring is Goethe’s “Faust,” as reflected in music. This season we have heard Berlioz’s “Damnation of Faust” and Mahler’s Eighth Symphony (which employs the legend); on Thursday night, the Metropolitan Opera will debut a new production of Gounod’s “Faust.” And on Saturday night, it was that Liszt symphony, dedicated to Berlioz.

Mr. Muti had utter command of the score and the orchestra. The Philharmonic played with gleaming sound and technical cohesion. Mr. Muti let them get away with nothing.

He allowed the work its full Romanticism, but he eschewed the blowzy. This was a disciplined “Faust Symphony”- but also a loving one. Am I saying that the conductor administered tough love? I suppose so.

The first movement – describing the character of Faust – was beautifully phrased, as the entire symphony would be. The orchestra was well balanced, with each section heard clearly. Rarely has a big orchestral work of Liszt been so transparent. Many individual players shone, including the principal violist, Cynthia Phelps, whose offerings were both rich and insistent. Joseph Robinson did his usual smooth and stylish job on the oboe.

Liszt’s second movement is devoted to the character of Gretchen, and, under Mr. Muti’s baton, it was like a sweetly reasonable conversation. There was also an ethereality about this music, and sometimes it had the character of a lullaby. The hall filled with warmth, and neither the New York Philharmonic nor Avery Fisher Hall is known for warmth. (In Carnegie Hall, a kazoo quartet could sound warm.)

The third and final movement describes Mephistopheles, and it was immediately diabolical and crisp. Mainly, however, this movement was exuberant and festive – that’s the kind of devil this one is.

Crowning the work is what Liszt calls the Mystical Chorus, which was hugely noble. It was nobler than it was mystical, in fact. It had some of the pride of Beethoven. The men of the New York Choral Artists sang capably – as they had in the Petrassi – and the tenor soloist was Thomas Moser. He did not have his best night, straining mightily. But that part is hard and high-lying, and judgments should be gentle.

In my view, “A Faust Symphony” is not a masterwork, but there are those who see it as such. In any case, Mr. Muti conducted it as though it were a masterwork, which is what counts. A few brief points about him, before closing.

First, he does not need to stamp his feet, on the podium. No great conductor has had to do that, to get what he wants. Foot-stamping is for three-year-olds. It is more vulgar, and less exciting – and more detracting – than Mr. Muti may suppose.

Second, Mr. Muti was alert, engaged, and compelling all through this long work, the Liszt symphony. In the past, he has lost focus, after starting admirably.

Third, Mr. Muti smiled quite a bit at the orchestra, and smiling, he is not famous for – the orchestra gets tremendous credit here.

Last, it seems to me that Mr. Muti has become significantly better as a conductor – which allows me to restate a pet point: Certain critics are always asking for youth in conductors – younger, hipper, is the watchword. Why? Conductors of riper years have always led the field, and age has regularly proved an asset. Conducting is not female gymnastics.

***

On Friday night, the Russian violinist Viktoria Mullova played a recital at Carnegie Hall, with the French pianist Katia Labeque. When young, Ms. Mullova won a couple of big competitions, including the Tchaikovsky in Moscow. She has since gone in some unconventional directions – for example, into pop and jazz, or some hybrid involving the two. Ms. Labeque is one half of the famous sister-sister duo-piano team (the other half is Marielle). She too has a taste for the unconventional, and has formed her own band – the Katia Labeque Band (what else?).

The keyboard player in that band is Dave Maric, a 35-year-old Brit who also composes. Ms. Mullova and Ms. Labeque played a work of his written for them, “Falling to the Sky.” (Funky concept, huh?) It has three movements: Static, Endless, and Hyper. Mr. Maric is true to his descriptions, in each case. The second movement gives the impression of continuity in space – and, frankly, it, too, is hyper, although not as hyper as the third movement. “Falling to the Sky” is a clever composition, and I will pay it a high compliment: I would like to hear it again.

The recitalists had begun with Stravinsky’s “Suite italienne,” drawn from his ballet “Pulcinella.” They did not quite have their act together in this work: Coordination was spotty, and the music was often ill-defined, rushed, and sloppy. But Ms. Mullova did some beautiful playing, particularly in the slower movements: She breathed peace, serenity, balance, poise. She also showed a true piano, not a fake one – not one deprived of body. And she has plenty of tonal colors, and widths, and textures.

After the Stravinsky came a Romance by Clara Schumann, which Ms. Mullova handled with charm and restraint. This is a smart violinist. She went right into the Maric piece, with no pause whatsoever. It was hard to tell where Clara Schumann left off and Dave Maric began. Why did she do this? We would have to interview her. She would surely have an answer – which would not necessarily make her right.

The second half of the recital consisted of Schubert’s Fantasy in C major and the Ravel Sonata. The former brought improved coordination, and considerable refinement. Part of what Ms. Mullova achieved was a Schubertian simplicity, and she permitted no dragginess of tempos. Her intonation was imperfect, and she suffered various glitches – but her musical sense carried the day. You could have argued for a fuller, freer Schubert, but Ms. Mullova stuck to modesty.

By far the highlight of the evening was the Ravel Sonata. This was an unusually exciting performance, but one that did not abandon taste. In the opening movement, Ms. Mullova again breathed her peace, that serenity, sculpting Ravel’s phrases. Ms. Labeque was lovely, alert, and crystalline on the piano. (Incidentally, her mother studied with Marguerite Long, the original Ravel pianist, you might say – other than Ravel.) The second movement – Blues: Moderato – was a hoot. It was marked by extremes (not very moderato), but it worked. The timing of both musicians was fantastic. I could have done without the “We’re really riffing” looks Ms. Labeque kept giving Ms. Mullova, but that was merely visual. Once, I believe, Ms. Labeque made her Steinway physically shake – but she was somehow not vulgar. And the last movement, a perpetual-motion wonder, whirled vigorously and dazzlingly.

The first encore was a Bartok Hungarian tune, played with marvelous sensitivity by – I will say again – this very smart violinist. Note, too, that this was an eclectic and appetizing program – program selection plays its part in musical intelligence.