In recent weeks, several conductors have made their New York Philharmonic debuts. The latest to do so is Andrey Boreyko, born in St. Petersburg, now working principally in Germany and Switzerland. When he walked to the podium on Saturday night, a woman said to her companion, “A young man.” And, mercifully, everyone’s young to someone: Mr. Boreyko is 50. But he looks younger, even with his beard.

His program began with a little work by Jacques Ibert, the French composer who lived between 1890 and 1962. This was “Hommage à Mozart,” a rondo for orchestra, written in 1956. In that year, the world celebrated the 200th anniversary of Mozart’s birth. Fifty years later, we were to have another Mozart blowout. Indeed, the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra, in 2006, played this very Ibert piece.

It is quick, deft, sparkling — Mozartean. Ibert fashioned a fine homage. But it was not shown to best effect on Saturday night. Under Mr. Boreyko, the Philharmonic was a little heavy, a little flatfooted — and ragged. The piece felt like a duty to play, rather than the delight it is. Nonetheless, there was some nice, piping flute playing, and some good brass playing as well: clear and unblaring.

French pianists are often called on to play Ravel’s Concerto in G major — and, less frequently, Ravel’s Concerto in D, which is for the left hand alone — and Hélène Grimaud has put in her share of performances. She put in another one on Saturday night.

Ravel’s G-major concerto is a hard one to begin, where both piano and orchestra are concerned. But these forces began it very well. Throughout the first movement, Ms. Grimaud was superb — cool and elegant, sensible and subtle. Very Ravelian. She was also very fluid, with relaxed hands and arms. The Philharmonic’s brass and woodwinds played in the woozy manner prescribed for them. In all, this first movement was A-1.

The second movement, Adagio assai, begins with the piano alone. And here again Ms. Grimaud was superb. She sang the melody beautifully, and kept the necessary pulse. All the notes had the right weight — absolutely crucial. When this music is played well, it is transporting, as it was on this occasion. The entire auditorium was rapt.

But things went slightly awry later in the movement. Orchestra and pianist were not quite together, and the (extended) English horn solo was not the best possible. At the end of the movement, Ms. Grimaud executed a wonderful long trill (though faster than it might have been). Still, did she need to sock that final B?

The audience applauded, which I’d never heard after the second movement of this concerto. This prevented an immediate jumping into the closing Presto, which we desire.

In this Presto, Ms. Grimaud played with unusual clarity, not letting the music become a mad jumble. But she also missed more than the usual quota of notes. As for the orchestra, it played skillfully. But, for some reason, the movement lacked fire and pop — was a bit of a let-down. Even so, there was that marvelous first movement, and at least half of the Adagio.

After intermission, Mr. Boreyko conducted Shostakovich’s Fourth Symphony, which is not heard often. Certain conductors like to take it up, and André Previn, prominently, has been a champion. Mr. Boreyko affiliates with it too: He recently recorded it with the Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra.

The beginning of the Fourth should be banging, snarling, perverse. It should carry some screwy inexorability. Later in the first movement, the music should be puckish, creepy, majestic. Somehow, we are in the land of anticipation here: We expect something’s coming, but don’t know exactly what it is (though figure it will not be good). Mr. Boreyko conducted competently; he was an able manager of affairs. And yet the music was somehow — undersold.

Much the same could be said of the second movement. This part of the symphony sounded more like a study — like some high-level experimenting — than music ready to go. Ready to be performed. Conductor and orchestra gave the impression of being unconvinced — of sort of feeling their way through. And yet this movement’s ending was very effective: clockwork, squirmy, and spooky.

After each of the first two movements, the Philharmonic lost a lot of customers — they headed to the exits. I could not bring myself to blame them. The performance was competent — I come back to that word — but not quite taking hold.

The third and final movement was adequate, almost satisfactory. Mr. Boreyko and the Philharmonic ground it out. The orchestra’s sound is suited to this music: hard and brilliant (and, indeed, Shostakovich-like). The final pages had a decent excitement. Not often do you complain that a conductor lacked showmanship, “showmanship” being a fairly negative word. But Mr. Boreyko could have used some more — certainly some more flair, an enhanced sense of theater.

In any case, he is obviously a solid musician, and it would be good to hear him again. Or, to use an ancient line, “Once more, with feeling.”