The Opera Orchestra of New York, or OONY, supplies opera-in-concert. And they supply it very well. They give us operas that are off the beaten track. And they give us singers worth hearing — singers with something to say. Such was the case on Sunday night, when OONY did Puccini’s “Edgar” at Carnegie Hall.

Puccini composed “Edgar” in 1889, when he was 30; it was his second opera (after “Le Villi”). There is one fairly well-known aria for soprano: “Addio, addio, mio dolce amor.” Leontyne Price made a supreme recording of it. There is a lot of other good music in “Edgar,” too. This includes a baritone aria and many inspired pages for chorus. Oddly, the tenor aria is not so good.

Incidentally, OONY’s program notes informed us that Toscanini conducted the funeral march from “Edgar” at Puccini’s funeral. Toscanini knew what he was doing.

In this opera, you hear glimpses — if you can hear glimpses — of the composer’s future operas: such as “La Rondine,” “Tosca,” and “Turandot.” The musical mind is pretty much established. And what a wonderful and rare mind that is. Disparagers of Puccini are a sad, misguided lot.

The story is a bizarre and ghastly one (therefore operatic). I will make one brief remark on it: There’s a good girl and a bad girl; the title character, Edgar, is torn between them.

Singing this role was Marcello Giordani, the Italian tenor who has just wrapped up a run of Verdi’s “Ernani” at the Met. In “Edgar,” he was everything he is touted as: virile, bold, and very Italianate. He was a tenorial athlete. He can put a sob in his voice, a song in his heart — all of it. He sang some bad notes, and did not seem especially secure at the subforte level. But he proved the real McCoy — a real Italian tenor.

In the part of Fidelia, the good girl (as the name will tell you), was Latonia Moore. She is the young, immensely likable soprano from Houston. She showed her big, fat lyrical voice — a voice with plenty of cutting power, too. At one point, she soared splendidly through her four cast mates, the orchestra, and the large chorus behind the orchestra. She did some wayward singing, and her aria — “Addio, addio, mio dolce amor” — was not very well shaped. But Ms. Moore sang with due emotion and vocal glory.

The bad girl, Tigrana (!), was sung by Jennifer Larmore, the famed mezzo-soprano. She was a super-svelte temptress in a slinky red dress. (Later, she wore black.) Do you remember that line from “The Music Man”? “I smile, I grin, when the girl with a touch of sin walks in.” Ms. Larmore sang correctly, characterfully, and smokily. She was gaily sensual. And her Italian diction was admirable.

A baritone, Stephen Gaertner, sang Frank, brother of Fidelia and luster of Tigrana. He was warm and passionate. He gave the impression of pleasure in singing. And he projected power without forcing. Another baritone, Giovanni Guagliardo, sang the small role of Gualtiero, father of Frank and Fidelia (and foster father, apparently, of Tigrana). He did his bit with dignified pathos.

We heard some excellent singing on that Carnegie Hall stage on Sunday night — some very operatic singing. Sensible abandon was the order of the day. The cast sang freely, almost hungrily. And this hall, remember, is very flattering of singers (and others). Note, too, that the cast did a little acting — quite effective. Nothing silly about it (amazingly).

The chorus was the New York Choral Society — and they sang beautifully. They also sang off pitch, much of the time (flat). And, while beautiful, they could have been more gutsy and operatic — for example, on the line, “To the crows with his corpse!”

How’s that for a deprecation?

The orchestra could have been gutsier and more operatic as well. But they had no problem being loud. In fact, they often covered singers, especially Ms. Larmore, whose mezzo notes could not fight through. But Maestro (Maestra?) Eve Queler handled the evening competently — with a solid understanding. And her clarinetist made some fine solo contributions.

I will say what I have said before about these OONY performances: It would be swell if the organization could use Carnegie Hall’s supertitles, rather than a libretto. Faces should not be buried in books. But the libretto is handsome, as well as useful.

Finally, note that Carnegie Hall was packed for this performance. A Sunday night, an obscure Puccini opera, a concert performance, rather than a staged one — and a packed house. Honestly, New York is a strange town, and a wonderful one.