On Friday night, Carnegie Hall hosted a concert-lecture, on a fairly grand scale. David Robertson dropped by with his St. Louis Symphony Orchestra for a program called “Seeing Debussy, Hearing Monet.” Cute, huh? The words “seeing” and “hearing” are in what appear to be the wrong places. The evening launched Maestro Robertson’s “Perspectives” series at Carnegie, in which he will preside over a variety of concerts.

As you have guessed, the conductor’s purpose on Friday night was to link the Impressionist painter Claude Monet with the Impressionist composer Claude Debussy – two Claudes, as Mr. Robertson pointed out. This was to have enhanced our understanding of Debussy (as well as Monet). And this is the sort of programming that critics and soi-disant innovators absolutely love. They’re always looking for “new ways” of putting on concerts, to get beyond the “old ways,” which are said to be exhausted. They especially love anything that smacks of the multimedia. It so happens that, if you present your ticket from Friday night at the Museum of Modern Art, you get in at half price. (Through December 3!)

Mr. Robertson came out and directed his orchestra for two minutes of Debussy’s “Jeux.” Then he turned around and talked, for about 45 minutes, asking the players behind him to give musical examples here and there. He wore a lavalier microphone and one of those solid-black, funny-collared shirts so prized in the musical community these days. No tie, no jacket. Casualness is another prime value in music today – it is proof of “realness” and “authenticity,” and part of “reaching out” to the proley public.

The conductor first explained that, although orchestras love to play “Jeux,” audiences, in his experience, don’t derive the same enjoyment, lacking a proper appreciation of the work. It occurs to me that this may have something to do with mediocre performances. It also strikes me that Mr. Robertson is flirting with another phenomenon of our times (and probably all times) – audience-blaming.

He is no doubt a good talker, almost in the Levine or Barenboim league. Mr. Robertson is soft-spoken, sincere, earnest. He has a “power whisper,” as someone once described the speech of Washington commentator George Stephanopoulos. Mr. Robertson is humorous, too: Every time a cell phone went off, he made a crack about it (a gentle one). He also said that he wanted no one to leave the hall with the impression that Debussy is a “girly man.”

And may I add that Mr. Robertson sings admirably on pitch? (He did some demonstrating without his orchestra.) He has a good ear.

Mr. Robertson made a great many comparisons between the composer and the painter, and those comparisons seemed just. For example, he said that both Debussy and Monet liked to work one motive, over and over. Of course, this is true of many composers – and painters – but it is nonetheless true in their cases. He spent a lot of time on “foreshortening” and “elongation,” and how they operate in both. And he chose to link Debussy’s “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun” – the other (musical) work on the program, besides “Jeux” – with Monet’s “Morning on the Seine” series. He apologized for having only reproductions to show us, on the screen overhead.

This reminded me of the late conductor Sergiu Celibidache’s famous quip about musical recordings: Listening to one is “like kissing a photograph of Brigitte Bardot.”

When Mr. Robertson and the St. Louis Symphony got around to playing the “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun” – complete, without interruptions – they did so very, very well. Mr. Robertson can be a somewhat obvious, blunt conductor, short on sophistication, or musical wizardry. I sometimes think of a basketball player who telegraphs his passes (resulting in stolen balls and other misfortunes). But this performance was shimmering, beautiful, superbly judged – and exceptionally precise. Entrances, in particular, were immaculately clean. Seldom will you hear a technically more accomplished account of the “Prelude.”

After he put down his baton, Mr. Robertson said to the audience, “Doesn’t that make you glad you have ears?” Yes.

He then began an extended discussion of “Jeux,” which he associated with Monet’s water-lily paintings. He asked us to think of Debussy’s semitones as ripples of water (I think) – just for the night, if never again. He also asked for a particular theme to be thought of as the water-lily theme. What I myself learned about “Jeux” on this evening was something that Mr. Robertson didn’t mention: A progression of Debussy’s chords sounds amazingly like a progression in Dukas’s “Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” (The Dukas was written in 1897, the Debussy in 1913.) I make no accusation, I assure you – just notin’.

Eventually, it was time for the complete performance of “Jeux” – Monet’s water lilies floating on the screen – and this was not so well played as the “Prelude.” It was supple, thoroughly prepared, and alert. But it was also a little dull – lacking mystery and enchantment, and also a sufficient sense of play. (“Jeux,” recall, means “Games.”) Again, however, the orchestra’s technical proficiency was remarkable.

I have said before that the most dread (hyphenated) word in the English language is “concert-lecture” – but David Robertson carries one off very well. He is a knowledgeable, thoughtful, likable guy. No wonder certain critics like him so much – his laid-backness, his Californianess. In this town, they weren’t so crazy about Kurt Masur, who was just an excellent conductor, poor guy – he never got the hang of “reaching out.” He thought that all he needed to do was communicate music’s greatness through music.

I’m not sure that Mr. Robertson’s concert-lecture – good as it was – enhanced our understanding or appreciation of Debussy. He is the composer, after all, who said, “Music takes over where human speech leaves off.” I thought of a doctor, or anatomist, dissecting the aforementioned Brigitte Bardot. Better simply to look at her.

And Mr. Robertson himself had quoted the poet Mallarme, who envied music, for its expressive means – means more numerous and profound than those available to him. The following night, Mr. Robertson and his orchestra gave a concert without the lecture. Now that’s music! Or another Perspective, Carnegie Hall might tell us.