Yesterday afternoon, the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra continued its January season at Carnegie Hall. This was the second of three concerts; the last will take place next Sunday. Yesterday’s program began with a Weber overture, proceeded to Elliott Carter – a favorite of the Met’s conductor, James Levine – and culminated in one of the greatest works for orchestra and voices ever written: Mahler’s “Das Lied von der Erde” (“Song of the Earth”). Those who worry that Levine/Met standards have sagged can be reassured: On this occasion, those standards were sky-high.

Each of this month’s concerts begins with a Weber overture, and yesterday it was “Oberon’s” turn. This is a nifty piece, and the Met Orchestra played it niftily. The opening horn solo was beautiful, and the horn continued in this vein. Mr. Levine did his usual act of shrewd calibration. At one point, the music – abruptly – becomes fast and spirited. Mr. Levine, in effect, threw a switch – and it was electrifying (forgive me). Through to the end, the orchestra was both tight and luxurious, like a Rolls-Royce capable of taking hairpin turns.

So good was this account of the “Oberon” Overture, you could have recorded it and begun selling it, right on the spot.

Few contemporary composers have as faithful a friend in high places as Elliott Carter has in James Levine. The conductor – in a variety of forums – programs him repeatedly. In the meantime, the tonalists (to speak crudely) tend to be ignored. Question: When was the last time you heard a Piston symphony in concert? Ever? Although in this regard I should point out that, next month in Carnegie Hall, the Cleveland Orchestra will play Roy Harris’s Third Symphony.

Back to the Met concert: Mr. Levine and his orchestra performed Mr. Carter’s Variations for Orchestra, begun in Rome in the early 1950s. (At exactly this time, Lee Hoiby – a “tonalist” who had won a Fulbright scholarship – was rejected by the Santa Cecilia Academy, for not being hip enough, compositionally. Mr. Hoiby had an opera performed in New York this season – not at the Metropolitan Opera, or even City Opera, but at the Manhattan School of Music. I’m afraid I have digressed again.) The Carter Variations are highly intelligent and engaging, and the Met Orchestra treated them splendidly. Mr. Levine arranged for just the right textures, and his players had a chance to display their virtuosity.

At the end, Mr. Carter – entering his 97th year – took a bow, delighting the audience, which rose to its feet.

In “Das Lied von der Erde,” Mr. Levine did nothing to diminish his reputation as a Mahlerian. First, however, to the singers, who were Anne Sofie von Otter – substituting for Lorraine Hunt Lieberson – and Ben Heppner. With Mr. Heppner, you never know, but he was in fine shape yesterday afternoon. And when I say, “You never know,” that should not be read as an insult: With singers generally, you never – or seldom – know. That is the nature of the vocal beast, and that is part of what makes singing so exciting.

I’m not sure I have ever heard Mr. Heppner better. He sang correctly and expressively – a sleek heldentenor. I was concerned that he would not be light and lyrical enough in “Von der Jugend,” but he certainly was, even if he did some straining and pinching. (This comes with the Heppnerian territory.)

Ms. von Otter is a regal, aware, often sublime mezzo, and she was superb on this occasion. There was a slight rasp to her voice, or perhaps you could call it a light husk. In any event, it was not unattractive. This singer did not over interpret her music, reminding me of her cannier forebears, such as Christa Ludwig and Janet Baker. She let Mahler do the work.

A couple of details: In “Der Abschied,” particularly, Ms. von Otter did not shy from significant portamento, which is Mahlerian indeed. And, in this same song, we find one of the juiciest phrases in all of vocal music – on the words “Die liebe Erde alluberall.” Ms. von Otter sang it magnificently.

In regard to the orchestra, I was going to single out the horn (again), and the (wonderfully musical) trumpet, and the clarinet, and the oboe, and the flute – better to say that the entire band delivered. From Mr. Levine, you could have asked for a lighter feeling at times, but this conductor’s Mahler can hardly be gainsaid. He had the orchestra growl, sing, roar, sigh, and bless, as appropriate. In myriad ways, he proved that he understands the impulses and purposes of this music.

An orchestral detail: When the horse took off in “Von der Schonheit,” Mr. Levine went like the wind, and the orchestra responded faultlessly. When they returned to a normal gait, however, they were not together.

But who can talk of details in a performance so transcendent as this? One could forget Mr. Levine and the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and listen to Mahler, and what he had to say. George Szell had this ability, and under whom did Mr. Levine apprentice?

Add to a string of great Levine/Met Orchestra performances in Carnegie Hall – of the Verdi Requiem, of the Mozart C-minor Mass, of Schoenberg’s “Gurrelieder” – this performance of “Das Lied.” It is practically routine.

***

Leif Ove Andsnes is embarked on what Carnegie Hall calls a Perspectives series, in which a musician participates in a variety of concerts, over a couple of seasons. On Thursday night, Mr. Andsnes – the young, popular Norwegian pianist – played a recital.

He began with one of the great sonatas in the literature, Schubert’s in D, Op. 53 (or D. 850, if you like). Murray Perahia, when young, would play this sonata, with huge success. It is sprawling and difficult, requiring a first-class technique and a first-class mind.

In the first movement, Mr. Andsnes was almost shockingly bad, because un-Schubertian. He was no-nonsense (which is fine), but also cold, and much too fast. His severity recalled Maurizio Pollini at his least musical. Also – and this is unusual – Mr. Andsnes was muddled, leaving certain passages undefined. (His speed did not help his clarity.) Mr. Andsnes is excellent at taking a big, sloppy Romantic work – I think of the Grieg concerto – and taming it. His discipline can be a boon. But Schubert’s first movement doesn’t need such discipline, or taming. It has warmth and lyricism that Mr. Andsnes simply missed. His runs tended to be even – not muddled – but they were strictly mechanical. And there was too little contrast between sections.

Seldom do you hear Schubert-playing so unfeeling.

The second movement begins with a little song, which Mr. Andsnes played nicely. His straightforwardness served him well in the first part of this movement. Later on, however, some spirituality should be felt, and Mr. Andsnes didn’t play that way at all. It is often hard to be transported by this pianist. Hearing him can be like watching a carpenter, going about his work diligently and efficiently – but without much soul.

The Scherzo passed decently, although Mr. Andsnes – to cite one detail – might have made more of rests. These help give that music character. And the Rondo should come as a bit of a shock, as it is small-scale, lighthearted, and folkish, in contrast with the preceding movements. Because Mr. Andsnes’s playing had not been varied enough, or moving enough, the Rondo did not deliver that shock, that sense of relief. Which was doubly a shame, because Mr. Andsnes played this movement superbly. He was full of character, and he embroidered the main theme gracefully (gracefulness having been scarce).

His pedaling produced some twanging, which a pianist must find a way to avoid.

After the Schubert, a suited man – surely a union member – walked out to place a music rack on the piano, and a page-turner’s chair next to the bench. How much did that cost Carnegie, and, by extension, ticket-buyers? Then Mr. Andsnes played a new work, commissioned by Carnegie Hall. This was “The Shadows of Silence,” by Bent Sørensen, a Danish composer. Something like Mr. Sørensen’s piece can be heard most any night in a concert hall: spooky, frightened (more than frightening), repetitive. Repetitive. This is what the music establishment likes, however, and this is what we get.

And yet, Mr. Sørensen’s work has some interesting Impressionistic moments, and is better in quieter, simpler passages than in the horror-movie soundtrack that is a mark of our age.

As for Mr. Andsnes, he played the work brilliantly: with a shimmering consistency, with rare intelligence and control. Every new piece – every piece – should enjoy such advocacy.

On the second half of the program, the pianist played a “Pictures at an Exhibition” that was simply … boffo. Musically and technically, it was inarguable. Mr. Andsnes’s characteristic straightforwardness helped him here, as did a keen sense of rhythm and accentuation. Like the Grieg concerto, “Pictures” can use a tamer, and Mr. Andsnes played that role. At the same time, he applied considerable color.

To comment on some particular movements (or paintings): The Old Castle was alluring, and perfectly judged. The Tuileries was ultra-stylish, and Bydlo carried huge authority. The Ballet of the Chicks in Their Shells was a crisp scherzo (although Mr. Andsnes could have been more playful). Con Mortuis in Lingua Mortua was as haunting as possible, and The Hut on Fowl’s Legs had fabulous power (even if it could have stood a tad more finesse). The Great Gate of Kiev was fast, and a little hard-driving, but it was satisfying. It concluded on a wonderfully confident unison note.

You are lucky to hear Mussorgsky’s work played that well on the piano in your lifetime.

Then came the encores, of which there would turn out to be four. First was a Mompou piece, which Alicia de Larrocha used to play consummately. Mr. Andsnes about equaled her. Second was a Mendelssohn Song Without Words, which was a little mechanical. And then came a bit of encore abuse: Was there really enough applause and enthusiasm to justify a third encore? I don’t think so – especially one so long as the Janacek piece that Mr. Andsnes chose (from “In the Mists”). I was reminded that this pianist once played “L’Ile joyeuse” as an encore. Debussy’s piece is a great one, of course, but an encore?

Last, Mr. Andsnes rushed to the piano to play a little Schumann piece (Fuguette). Charming. And enough.