Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 8, presented by the Philadelphia Orchestra on Tuesday evening at Carnegie Hall, ushered in Mahler’s last period of composition. He returned to the glorious sound of the human voice in a work combining the power of oratorio with the drama of opera.

Mahler was by profession an opera conductor, and it was only a function of a lack of time that he never composed for the stage (he did reconstruct the Weber opera “Die Drei Pintos”). In the Eighth Symphony, however, he fashions a complete scene with multiple characters as he presents the last part of Goethe’s “Faust” as a musical closet drama. The mystical world of the poet seeking the eternal feminine is filled with allusions to both the past and the future, and Mahler uses remembrance as a motivic device akin to the proleptic technique pioneered by Wagner in “Der Ring des Nibelungen.”

Christoph Eschenbach, conducting his final concert in New York as music director of the orchestra, led a mixed performance. Although there were moments of brilliance and drama in the “Veni, creator spiritus,” the overriding problem was an imbalance of sound. Confusing volume for power, Maestro let his choral forces loose to such a high decibel level that the septet of soloists positioned at the front of the stage had to resort to shouting to make themselves heard. Except for soprano Christine Brewer and mezzo Stephanie Blythe, this led to some rather poor intonation.

The combined choruses were often out of tune, and even the normally steady instrumentalists were pressed to the limit. Having the trombones up in the balcony might have been a good effect, except that when they intoned their flourishes they were inaudible over the soupy sound emanating from the stage.

Mahler’s strangest music is the orchestral interlude of this symphony, and here both conductor and orchestra were impressive. Without the ear-splitting din to distract us, the music making was mysterious, creating a positively interplanetary atmosphere, just right for introducing the mystical Faustian ending.

The scene from Goethe went quite well. Ms. Brewer and Ms. Blythe are such good singers that it was a pure joy to sit back and let their sounds wash over us. The surprises of the evening, however, were the gorgeous solos of soprano Michaela Kaune, who portrayed the poenitentiam. The other two women were also good, with mezzo Charlotte Hellekant a bit underpowered but secure of voice, and soprano Marisol Montalvo radiant as the angelic voice.

The men were a different story. James Morris was a rock at the end of the line, his sturdy bass never wavering or equivocal. Baritone Franco Pomponi was weak, and tenor Vinson Cole was especially emotive as Doctor Marianus but tended to sharp quite often. The orchestra did not have a great night, the high brass in particular screechy and strained. However, the harps and celesta, along with the little touches in the percussion section, were tasteful.

At the end of the night, the real problem was that this performance did not transport. The words might have indicated a journey to heaven, but the music did not follow suit.

The hasty decision to hire Mr. Eschenbach cost Philadelphians five seasons of mediocre concerts. As it so happens, right now in Berlin, Simon Rattle — although recently the beneficiary of a vote of confidence from his players — is in hot water with Philharmonic management, and the focal point of complaints from subscribers. Mr. Rattle has openly stated that he would like to come to Philadelphia sometime in the future, and he enjoys principal guest conductor status and a special rapport with the musicians there. Could Sir Simon soon be occupying a fashionable home on Rittenhouse Square?