The concert by the New York Philharmonic on Tuesday night had a dorky title: “Romancing the Riviera.” But you have to sell the product. And, when it comes to summertime concerts, a little dorkiness is certainly allowed.

The evening began with a Rossini overture — that to “L’Italiana in Algeri.” We have always translated this opera “The Italian Girl in Algiers.” The Philharmonic’s program had a translation of goofy political correctness: “The Italian Woman in Algiers.”

Give us a break.

What do you want from a Rossini overture? You want wit, crispness, mirth, sparkle. From the Philharmonic, under Maestro Bramwell Tovey, you got all of these — only in insufficient degrees.

Pizzicatos were okay. Articulation was decent. The oboe was okay. Everything was a little sluggish, a little flaccid.

After this good-enough-for-government-work start, we had our soloist, James Ehnes. This Canadian violinist — age 32 — looks like an Eagle Scout. And he is one of the most impressive violinists on the scene, which happens to be filled with impressive violinists.

His first piece was “Zigeunerweisen” (“Gypsy Airs”), by Sarasate. Every violinist has a little Gypsy in him — it is a matter of degree.

Mr. Ehnes has loads of technique, and he showed it. All his passagework was nimble. When the music picked up, he wanted to go faster than the orchestra — but the orchestra, stubbornly, would not play ball.

Throughout “Zigeunerweisen,” Mr. Ehnes was tasteful and serious-minded. He did not show off, which is to be commended. But he might have displayed more heart and dash. There could have been more joy in this playing (without ham).

In any case, he moved on to the Introduction and Rondo capriccioso by Saint-Saëns. And, with his account, there was nothing wrong — not a thing.

The Introduction was smart, stylish, and beautiful. The Rondo capriccioso was sly, infectious, debonair — just what the doctor ordered. Mr. Ehnes found just the right combination of the formal and the popular. (So did Saint-Saëns.)

Mr. Tovey and the orchestra, too, were stylish. And the flute playing of Sandra Church was an outstanding contribution.

Then, Mr. Tovey, your genial host, conducted a brief interview of Mr. Ehnes: “Tell us about your violin?” etc. Afterward, soloist, orchestra, and conductor-host performed an encore: Paganini’s “Moto perpetuo.” The violinist was poised and clear.

He accomplishes intense things without tension in his arms — and that is a great secret of technique.

The second half of the program was all-orchestral, leading off with Rimsky-Korsakov’s ingenious and ever-lovable “Capriccio espagnol.” Mr. Tovey conducted with assurance and sympathy — and without extremes. The sections of the piece were properly varied, but the whole was kept in mind.

Orchestra principals get a chance to shine in this work, and the Philharmonic players took advantage of it. Sheryl Staples, the concertmistress, played vigorously and musically — she really attacked her part. The clarinetist, Stanley Drucker, was a pro. The harpist, Jessica Zhou, was deft. And, again, Ms. Church played beautifully.

Mascagni’s Intermezzo from “Cavalleria rusticana” served rather as an intermezzo in this concert — and Mr. Tovey made it breathe nicely. There might have been a touch more ethereality, however: that quality that causes the music to waft through the air.

The program ended with a suite from Falla’s “Three-Cornered Hat.” And the Philharmonic suffered a wretchedly ugly beginning: The strings were anemic and sour. But the orchestra got back on track, and so did Falla.

I might say, too, that the English hornist, Thomas Stacy, delivered a fine solo — complete with the desired impertinence.

As you know, Mr. Tovey talks throughout these summertime concerts, and he can be relied on to charm. But, on Tuesday night, he blundered, in my opinion: He made snarky and disparaging remarks about Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Mr. Webber will be remembered long after Mr. Tovey and most of the rest of us are forgotten — if we are even remembered now. There is good reason for this, too. Will Mr. Tovey ever contribute anything as good as that duet, “All I Ask of You”? Any musician with an ounce of sense would kill to have written this. They all know it, if only in the dark of night.

The woman sitting next to me said, “He made me feel bad for liking Andrew Lloyd Webber.” No, madam: It’s Mr. Tovey who should feel bad. His remarks were small-minded and stupid. They were thus unworthy of the excellent Mr. Tovey. He should reconsider.