It is generally accepted that Liszt and Brahms were great pianists, but the anecdotal evidence is somewhat colored by the partisanship of the Brahms-Wagner feud that raged in the last quarter of the 19th century. We have no independent way of verifying how a Claudio Arrau, to select someone extremely conversant with both of these titans of the keyboard, would stack up in a head-to-head competition.

But when the subject is Rachmaninoff, the game changes. Posterity is blessed with fine recordings from the Philadelphia Orchestra in the 1930s, and a case can confidently be made for nominating the composer as the most proficient exponent of his own works. So when Leif Ove Andsnes sat down at the piano at Carnegie Hall on Wednesday night to traverse the Second Piano Concerto, he was challenging not only his immediate listeners but the ear of history as well.

Mr. Andsnes is in the midst of his “perspectives” series at Carnegie, performing as a solo recitalist, an accompanist, a “duo recitalist,” and as a soloist with orchestra, while also planning and coordinating an entire chamber music festival replicating the one that he chairs in Europe each summer. It is a singular opportunity for the young Norwegian, but thus far, the results have been somewhat disappointing.

His recital in January was marred by a superficial Schubert reading that lacked both grace and charm and a “Pictures at an Exhibition” without any sense of characterization or nuance. The musical phrasing, normally so connected to the rhythms of the Russian language itself, was presented rather as an excuse for showcasing this pianist’s undeniable ability to play accurately at an accelerated speed.

Mr. Andsnes delivered an athletic but desiccated rendition of the Rachmaninoff concerto, technically sound but musically dubious. His is a Baroque conception of the piece, akin to that infamous Glenn Gould interpretation of the Brahms First Concerto from 1957,an approach so radical that accompanying conductor Leonard Bernstein came out before the performance at Carnegie and disavowed it in advance.

For Mr. Andsnes, every section of this normally elastic piece should be played at exactly the same tempo, and that rather nimble cruising speed did not allow for the eloquence of the pauses so painstakingly constructed by the composer. The pianism was indeed solid, its integrity beyond reproach. But with no dramatic tension, what was really the point?

It hardly abetted the performance of Mr. Andsnes that he was paired with the seriously overrated San Francisco Symphony, an ensemble that has been extremely lucky to have been able to literally ride the coattails of a charismatic and popular conductor and that has taken full advantage of the prestidigitation of recording engineers to produce compact disc performances of a high quality even though their raw, live sound is woefully deficient. Michael Tilson Thomas is himself a “perspectives” artist this season, so perhaps this explains the collaboration.

The string sound of this ensemble is remarkably dull, with no sheen or veneer to distinguish itself from mere bowing exercises. Playing soft is not their forte: In the Adagio sostenuto they proved that they cannot do lush. The extended reprise in the strings of the “Full Moon and Empty Arms” theme was laughable. Against such a tepid background, Mr. Andsnes’s aridity began to seem like the opulence of a Paderewski.

There is a deliquescent moment in the slow movement, when the flute gives way almost imperceptibly to the clarinet that should send chills. Unfortunately, Mr. Tilson Thomas, who up to this point had not invested this reading with even a soupcon of rubato, chose this exact spot to have a brief pause, thus destroying one of the most beautiful effects in early 20th century music. Unpardonable.

It takes a while to grasp what exactly is wrong with this orchestra, but the horn solo in the Moderato might explain a lot. The player intoned each and every note staccato, with synaptic separations between each utterance, thus destroying any sense of a singing line. He did, however, hit each note quite flawlessly. The whole ensemble seems afraid to make a mistake and so play every line, every phrase gingerly. All that is lost is the music.

During the “Orchestral Variations” of Aaron Copland, the chain that unites Boulanger, Copland, Bernstein, and Mr. Tilson Thomas may have been broken forever. The initial note was plagued by the musicians ignoring MTT’s rather strong downbeat, each going off on his own. The three variations appeared to be loud, louder, and loudest. The nostalgic and rather loony Symphony No. 15 of Dmitri Shostakovich rounded out the program.

Back at the intermission of that January recital, no fewer than five local critics convened to discuss Mr. Andsnes. One of my colleagues stated that “Fred was looking for something a little more Schubertian.” Wednesday night, it was Rachmaninoff for whom I longed. Perhaps it is simply a matter of perspective.