The Bronfman-Shaham-Mørk Trio is a starry ensemble. They were scheduled to play in Carnegie Hall on Sunday afternoon. But the cellist, Truls Mørk, had to withdraw, owing to an illness in his family. So instead we heard the Bronfman-Shaham-Harrell Trio — another starry ensemble. And the cellist, Lynn Harrell, is used to playing in such ensembles, having joined up with André Previn and Anne-Sophie Mutter.

Bronfman, as you know, is Yefim Bronfman, the pianist, and Shaham is Gil Shaham, the violinist. You can do worse than pick up Mr. Harrell as a sub.

The first half of their program consisted of the two “birthday boys” of 2006: W.A. Mozart (b. 1756) and D.D. Shostakovich (b.1906).The group started with one of Mozart’s best pieces — you could say that about hundreds of them — his Piano Trio in C, K. 548.

At the outset, the group sounded rather odd: too dark, too rich, blurry. Mozart was missing his sparkle and definition. Mr. Shaham, in particular, had a rough start, with faulty intonation, and a tendency to rush. But he settled down, and so did the group as a whole. Mr. Shaham did some nice singing in Mozart’s slow — or semi-slow — movement, the Andante cantabile.

And Mr. Bronfman is a model Mozart pianist. He is a Russian virtuoso, yes, but that doesn’t keep him from being a model Mozartean: He is a complete pianist, and musician. From him came taste, beauty, proportion — everything the composer demands. Mr. Bronfman applied a bit too much bravura in certain passagework, but that was forgivable, and not really out of bounds.

The Shostakovich on the program was his Piano Trio No. 2 in E minor, written during the war: 1944. Funny, but you can go years without hearing this work, and Carnegie Hall has offered it twice within a month. In mid-October, another high-powered trio — led by the violinist Maxim Vengerov — played it, and played it frighteningly well.

The Bronfman-Shaham-Harrell Trio played it well, too. But it was a bit relaxed, a bit comfortable, a bit “Western,”if you will. It can be far more intense, more raw, more “Soviet.” The second movement, in particular, can be wilder, certainly more biting. The closing movement was decently off-kilter — but not cuckoo-scary, as it can be. Still, there is something to be said for the approach we heard: Shostakovich can bear understatement; you must not go overboard with him.

And to return to praise of Mr. Bronfman: His unison playing in the first movement was absolutely chilling — just as Shostakovich intends. His chords at the beginning of the third movement were likewise chilling, and majestic. He has a phenomenal ability to unleash appropriate aggression on the keyboard without pounding — at all.

After intermission, we had a great, late work of Franz Schubert, his Piano Trio No. 2 in E flat, D. 929. (I should pause to acknowledge how strange it is to call “late” a work composed by a man hardly 30.) Our players started together — and remained together. Their ensembleship was superb, and so was their musical expression: They were both meaty and songful, a wonderful combination for this work (and for much Schubert). The playing was natural, but ever alert. It was modest — unshowy — but not too self-effacing. In short, it was Schubertian, and glorious.

In the second movement, Mr. Harrell contributed some remarkable shivery lines. And, in the last, Mr. Bronfman’s runs and such were so smooth — so limpid, so right — it was almost unbelievable. If there is a better pianist in the world, he has yet to show his face.

As I mentioned in my review of the Vengerov-led trio three weeks ago, I have changed my mind on something key: I used to maintain that these star-filled, or soloist-filled, ensembles rarely worked, and that regular, fulltime ensembles were superior — you know, the Guarneri Quartet, the Beaux Arts Trio, etc. I am far less sure now, to say the least.

I’ll tell you a story: In 1992, basketball’s Bill Walton made a prediction: He said that the five freshmen of the University of Michigan would win the national tournament. (In the end, they finished second.) Challenged on this, he said, “I’ll take talent over experience any day.” Something like this may apply to chamber music.

And I’ll tell you another story: On Sunday afternoon, as I was making my way to the Bronfman-Shaham-Harrell concert, I found my route blocked by the New York City Marathon. So, in all earnestness, I asked a policeman, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” Sharing a cultural inheritance, we grinned. (And, for the very young — or perhaps fresh immigrants — the classic answer is, “Practice, practice, practice.”)

***

A few hours after the trio left, the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra came into Carnegie Hall, to finish up its three-concert stand. Mariss Jansons was once more on the podium, and he had a piano soloist: Lang Lang, the young Chinese phenom. (Lang Lang is now 24, and I have been referring to him as “the young Chinese phenom” for years. How many years do I have left? I’d say about three, five tops.)

The concert began with a piece by Rolf Liebermann, not to be confused with the American composer Lowell Liebermann. Rolf Liebermann was a Swiss musician who lived from 1910 to 1999. The Bavarian orchestra played “Furioso,” composed in 1947. It is furious indeed — also jazzy and exciting, with a lovely, slow middle section.

I heard a little of “An American in Paris” in this work. I also — hang on to your hat — heard the theme to “The Simpsons,” composed by Danny Elfman in the late 1980s. Check it out for yourself.

In any case, Mr. Jansons’s orchestra played “Furioso” splendidly, excelling in both precision and sound. That sound was glowing, big-boned, beautiful.

And then came Lang Lang, for Beethoven’s Concerto in C major. He was his willful and ultra-talented self: The first note he played was wrongly accented, and he would continue with wrongness throughout the concerto. There were more unwritten and unwanted accents. There were silly rushings and slowings. There was cutesy phrasing. There were obnoxious, look-at-me dynamics. This was not so much a Beethoven concerto as a Lang Lang concerto after Beethoven.

If Ivo Pogorelich hadn’t played a recital at the Met Museum two weeks ago, Lang Lang would be the weirdest pianist New York has seen lately.

But, oh, what gifts he has: the fluidity, the silkiness, the beauty of tone. The shocking technical ease. The astounding soft playing. When Lang Lang has his head screwed on right, he is world-beating. Otherwise, he is music-beating.

Incidentally, he played an encore, a Chinese piece, and did so exquisitely — not to mention virtuosically.

After intermission came a symphony: the Second of Sibelius, in D major. There was much to admire in what Mr. Jansons did, and in what the orchestra did. That sound remained in place, bathing us and sometimes stirring us. The precision remained, too. You should have heard the pizzicatos in the second movement — dead-on (for a change).

Mr. Jansons obviously knows the architecture of this work, and he shaped it confidently. He gave the music some of the definition and verve of Beethoven, rather than the cool horizontality we may associate with Sibelius. He did nothing stupid, nothing offensive — this is a rock-solid musician.

And yet there was something overly calculating and deliberate about this account, and stretches of it were downright dull. The Finale ought to make the heart race, or at least uplift it. But it was curiously flat in spirit.

Mr. Jansons delivered two encores, the first of which was the inevitable Sibelius one: “Valse triste.” This suffered from an overslowness, and also some more of the conductor’s overdeliberateness. The music should move with a ghostly grace, and it was sluggish, almost stagnant. Second came another waltz — the big one from Strauss’s “Rosenkavalier.” And that packed its fabulous punch. Mr. Jansons and the orchestra had done the “Rosenkavalier” Suite on Friday night. How nice and smart to bestow a reprise!