Maurice Ravel was an ambulance attendant in the Great War. He saw a lot of men die. As a memorial he composed “Le Tombeau de Couperin,” a suite wherein each movement is a different portrait of a recently deceased friend. Another 20th-century French composer dealt with his personal grief in a similar manner. When someone close to Francis Poulenc expired, he tended to write about it cathartically in music. His “Elegie for Dennis Brain” is as perceptive as the work of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, his Oboe Sonata a tribute to Prokofiev, and his Sonata for Violin and Piano is an homage to his friend Lorca – complete with a movement featuring the strumming of the fiddle in a guitar-like manner.

When longtime confidant and fellow composer Arthur Honegger passed, Poulenc turned to the doleful sounds of the clarinet. This particular wind sonata was featured in a recital at the Metropolitan Museum on Saturday night, as Andre Watts began his current residency with an evening of chamber music. Mr. Watts had already assured the success of these concerts some months ago, by selecting his associates with great care. Playing this particular clarinet part was the current dean of the instrument, David Shifrin.

Mr. Shifrin just retired this past spring as head of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center in order to focus more on his own individual performance. He has long been a favorite here, known for his clear lines and reverberant tone, a throwback to the era of the wooden clarinet. Combined with exceptional breath control, his sound is reminiscent of Simeon Bellison, longtime principal in New York and featured performer in Koussevitzky’s ensemble Tzimro.

The Poulenc was sensitively played; the poignant melodies, including one from his own opera “La voix humaine,” delivered in almost breathless hush. Mr. Watts had chosen to be somewhat self-effacing this evening, playing the accompanist throughout. In this role he was superb, never moving the spotlight from his colleagues. The final section, marked tres anime, was more evocative of our handed-down image of Poulenc the gadfly, the duo energetically coordinated in their brashness. This ending reminiscence of Poulenc himself is especially ironic since the sonata turned out to be a requiem for its creator, who died before its premiere realization.

Did Mozart indeed play a game of skittles as he composed the Kegelstatt Trio? Probably not, but the story is apt in describing the insouciant nature of the piece and the need for a truly fine performance not to take the work too seriously – as the emperor, speaking of his own hand, tells Wolfgang in the film “Amadeus,” “it’s not a holy relic.” Yet many musicians take it as if it were somewhat ceremonial, courtly like a stiff, overly diagrammed minuet. What made Saturday’s reading so authoritative and enjoyable was the group’s ability to keep it light throughout. Joined by violist Paul Neubauer, Messrs. Watts and Shifrin steered clear of louder volumes, opting instead for an intimate and playful interchange. Once again, Mr. Shifrin impressed, this time with a positively bel canto tone and phrasing structure.

After the intermission, Mr. Watts and new partner Georg Schenck explored a repertoire largely forgotten in the 21st century. Music for two pianos was very common in Mozart’s day and well into the Romantic era, but has lost its luster in the post-virtuosic pianistic universe. Very different from music for one piano four hands – a medium primarily designed for home use in the days when an educated person could play the piano as easily as being able to recite Greek poetry – two-piano pieces require a pair of highly competent partners. Over time, duo piano teams, once as common as overtures on concert programs, have marched, hand in hand, into oblivion.

In fact, it was the inspired play of one of the most renowned of these pairs, Gold and Fizdale, that caused Poulenc to write his sonata. The two had dazzled in the composer’s concerto and he accommodated them with a recital piece. Most of these Siamese twins would line up with pianos facing each other, their instruments fitting together like the continents in modern geological theories of the history of the earth. But Messrs. Watts and Schenck opted instead for the side by side approach, creating, with their individual page-turners, a line-up of four musicians dressed in black, each with intensity furrowing their brows.

The Poulenc and the corresponding Mozart sonata (the D Major) were well played but seemed ultimately but a compendium of notes that fit but never thrilled. The entire experience was more coordinated than inspired, the four reminding of a serious row of students typing away at a Downtown Internet cafe.

***

The central event of “Tannhauser,” both literally and dramatically, is a singing contest. For most Metropolitan Opera-goers, the introduction of a new cast also revolves around such a competition, but not necessarily the one held at the Wartburg. Rather, it is an opportunity for rabid local fans to hear Deborah Voigt sing “Almighty Virgin, hear my sorrow” or Thomas Hampson perform the “Song to the Evening Star.” Since this is the Paris version of the opera – Wagner with castanets – it is also a chance to hear mezzo Michelle DeYoung at her most sensual (in the original version, Venus is a soprano).

So let’s get right to it. Ms. DeYoung was in fine fettle for the Thursday premiere, powerful and throaty, regal of both voice and bearing. She handled the sustained notes with ease and was a marvel of steady pitch. Her character, however, was a bit disappointing. As Venus she seemed oddly dispassionate. As Venus Scorned she was simply phlegmatic.

Deborah Voigt was making her debut as Elisabeth, and in the main she did very well. Her voice was crystalline and even radiant in spots, the demands of the score mere bagatelles for her prodigious talents. At the moment when one ringing tone from this heroine quells the violence of all the men, Ms. Voigt was in total command. But it was clear the role was still a work in progress: At some key spots, she was inaudible; the pit musicians simply overwhelmed her. Perhaps she has not yet established an intimate enough rapport with this particular maestro, Mark Elder, to motivate him to dampen his instrumental forces for her.

The leading men were much more impressive. Kwangchul Youn has the deep basso of a Tibetan monk and his Landgrave was superb. The big surprise of the evening was the Tannhauser himself, debut tenor Peter Seiffert. Often the title character is somewhat left out of the competitive proceedings (except, of course for the actual singing contest, which usually pales by comparison to the parade of big “numbers”), but this is understandable considering how deeply conflicted he is. The role is unforgiving: The singer must express complex emotions of love and lust to the back of the balcony. This Mr. Seiffert did with great aplomb; we felt his pain. He has a very secure upper register, allowing him to hover expertly between the lyric and heroic styles.

But the undisputed star of the show was baritone Thomas Hampson. He has been performing the role of Wolfram von Eschenbach for some years now, and he has honed it to the finest of edges. As the opera progresses, it becomes clear that this indeed is the real hero of the piece – Wagner had great respect for the man as, after all, the author of the original version of Parsifal – and, as the acts progress, we realize that his love for Elisabeth is at a level of purity towards which “Tannhauser” can only unsuccessfully aspire. I am not sure if this exactly meshes with the plot, but in this case he is the clear winner of the singing contest.

Most performances are not as clear as to the ascendancy of Eschenbach. With Mr. Hampson, though, the development is masterful. He somehow keeps a youthful quality to the voice while simultaneously intoning in the most burnished of pear-shaped utterances. Combined with a flawless stage presence and an ability to capture the audience even when in the shadows, this is a Wolfram for the ages. I have not heard him quite so achingly vulnerable since his Billy Budd here more than 15 years ago.

The conducting of Mr. Elder was brisk and propulsive. Hearing the overture was as good as any likely concert experience of Wagner at the present moment, and it served as another preview of what life may be like at the Met after James Levine. The old sets of Gunther Schneider-Siemssen were a pleasure to revisit. Venusberg is a grotto with more than a hint of pre-Raphaelite sensuality, the dusty flags of the Wartburg remind of many old castles in contemporary Europe, and the trumpets atop the ramparts pleasantly transport us back to Bayreuth.

If you are curious about Ms. Voigt’s weight, I am not planning on discussing it. This was, however, the hot topic at the opera house last evening, and not just in the lobby. Unfortunately, many rather intrusive discussions commenced as soon as the curtain went up for Act II. But if you lean more towards Oprah than opera, then by all means come to this run of “Tannhauser.” While you are assessing the latest diet results, there is quite a lot of marvelous singing to enjoy.

“Tannhauser” will be performed again tonight, November 26 & 30 and December 9 & 14 at 7:30 p.m.; December 4 at 8 p.m.; December 18 at 1:00 p.m. (Lincoln Center, 212-362-6000).