Arnold Schoenberg was born on September 13, 1874. As music history’s most ardent triskaidekaphobe, he harbored an irrational fear that he would die on the thirteenth of a month; and he did (on July 13, 1951). So there is little chance that he would have been persuaded to attend the concert by the Metropolitan Opera Chamber Ensemble at Zankel Hall on Sunday afternoon, February the 13th. But he would have enjoyed it.

Schoenberg’s “Five Pieces for Orchestra” is the single most important work of music written in the twentieth century. Revolutionary in the extreme, it ushered in the era of pantonality – Schoenberg himself hated the term “atonality.” Because symphonic concerts were expensive to mount, Schoenberg founded the Society for Private Musical Performances, which produced his music in intimate settings. Maestro Levine conducted the composer’s own transcription of the work for eleven instruments.

The first piece, “Premonitions,” was the best performance of the lot. Mr. Levine, known for his slow tempi at the opera house, tends to play these Second Viennese School essays at a very fast pace. Here the alacrity blended nicely into the aural vignette of children at play.

But the brisk tempo was the undoing of the next piece, “The Changing Chord.” This work relies on a measured slowness, as each repetition of the chord in question is only slightly altered from its predecessor. Mr. Levine’s hurry only led to muddle, colors running quite sloppily. He recovered nicely in the final two movements. “Peripetia’s” sudden reversal of fortune sent chills and “The Obbligato Recitative” was a marvelously crisp and clean account. Overall, this was fine music-making, helping to make intelligible some of the most difficult and significant passages in the repertoire.

Opening the program were two short pieces. “A Little Night Music” by Schoenberg epigone Luigi Dallapiccola contained some moments of serene beauty, but “Luimen” by Elliott Carter for trumpet, trombone, harp, mandolin, guitar, vibraphone, and subway just seemed arbitrary – any note could have gone anywhere within its pages and sounded equally acceptable.

Dawn Upshaw treats Schoenberg’s “Pierrot Lunaire” as a lieder recital of three distinct pieces, each of which she sang accurately and with much lyricism. However, she sang so quietly throughout that often she was drowned by the seven instruments who adopted, with the help of their leader, a rather boisterous stridency. Her rendition was much too polite for this raucous music. Schoenberg, the former cabaret manager, wrote it originally not for a singer, but for the actress Erika Stiedry-Wagner. But the conducting was exceptionally clear.

Schoenberg once stated that “my music is not bad, just badly played.” It’s a pity that he could not have lived to hear his pieces conducted by James Levine.

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The membership of the Tokyo String Quartet has changed considerably over the years – only violist Kazuhide Isomura remains from the original ensemble – as has its ethnicity. The acoustical personality of the group is gloriously colored by their set of Strads, the “Paganini Quartet.” Additionally, the group benefited when Clive Greensmith abandoned the first cello chair of the Royal Philharmonic for the more individually satisfying world of chamber performance.

But some of the changes have been perceived as missteps. Adding Mikhail Kopelman, for many years the spirited first violinist of the Borodin Quartet, was disastrous: his effusive Slavic brio was too much for this previously smoothly blended ensemble. After two seasons, he was asked to step aside.

In their latest incarnation, the quartet presented a varied program at the 92nd Street Y on Saturday evening. Joined by wind players Tara Helen O’Connor, Alan R. Kay, and Frank Morelli, they offered the rarely heard “Circus” Septet of Hanns Eisler, a Neoclassical narrative originally written for a Charlie Chaplin film. Musically, the highlight this night was the extended lyrical romance between Mr. Kay’s clarinet and the voluptuous sound of relatively new first violinist Martin Beaver.

Haydn’s “Rider” Quartet is Classical narrative of the cinematic variety and so was very close in feel to the Eisler. It was during this remarkable performance that I was finally able to relax about the Tokyo String Quartet: They are back and they sound terrific. The blending in the minuet was exquisite, a winning combination of Cremonese instruments and dedicated, heartfelt symbiosis among the membership.

The opening of Alexander Zemlinsky’s Fourth String Quartet – a six movement suite in homage to Alban Berg – is decidedly grief-stricken, composed right after Berg’s sudden and early death. The Tokyo was eloquent in its whispers of angst and regret. In the Burleske, the wild but intensely controlled pizzicato of second violinist Kikuei Ikeda was supremely arresting.

The Tokyo String Quartet has offered us an object lesson over the past five years: No amount of individual brilliance or technique can overcome an elemental loss of shared sonic beauty. Only when you can listen to yourselves objectively can you begin to make the proper strides to right the ship. They have now done so, and we will all want to listen to them in the future.