SALZBURG, Austria — The Vienna Philharmonic is hard at work, as it usually is at the Salzburg Festival. This is their summer home — their gig, their glory. Late last week, they played programs of Bartók and Brahms. Those programs give us plenty to chew on.

This is something of a Bartók summer here in Salzburg. About a dozen of that composer’s works are sprinkled throughout the festival, including concertos, sonatas, ballets — and the composer’s lone opera, “Bluebeard’s Castle.” There is even a Bartók Camp, at which children 11 to 15 learn about “Bluebeard’s Castle,” eventually staging their own production.

“Bluebeard’s Castle” may not strike you as a children’s opera — it is about as gruesome and scary as they come. But these must be tough campers, as well as happy ones.

At just more than an hour, “Bluebeard’s Castle” is not quite a full evening. So the Vienna Philharmonic had two works to go with it, both by the featured composer, Bartók. The orchestra was led by Peter Eötvös, a Hungarian conductor and composer. He said in an interview here that Bartók is his “mother tongue.” Whatever the case, he conducts him well.

The evening began with the Four Pieces for Orchestra, written early in Bartók’s career, and bearing traces of Debussy, Stravinsky, and a few others. The first of these pieces (Preludio) was shimmering, glistening, and altogether Impressionistic. At the same time, it was not drippy, as it can be from inferior conductors and orchestras. The third piece (Intermezzo) was similarly dreamlike. And the fourth (Marcia funebre) was perfectly satisfactory.

The second piece, a scherzo, brings up an interesting issue. I have often said that the Vienna Philharmonic can play too beautifully for its own good. Sometimes, music needs a bit of rawness or severity. The Viennese players recoil from the unbeautiful. But if an excess of beauty is your problem — you don’t have the worst of problems.

Bartók wrote a great number of pieces in his life, but he is said to have had a favorite composition: his “Cantata profana,” subtitled “The Nine Enchanted Stags.” The work is based on Romanian folk music, and is scored for tenor, baritone, double mixed chorus, and orchestra. It is a long, long way from my favorite Bartók piece — but every composer is entitled to his pet.

And, after the Four Pieces, Mr. Eötvös and his forces — including the Vienna State Opera Chorus — gave a good account of the cantata. The tenor, Lance Ryan, was often pinched and strangled, but he was also strong and rather exotic. The baritone (or bass-baritone, in this case), Falk Struckmann, was his usual excellent self: sturdy, understanding, and rich.

This performance of the “Cantata profana” was staged, by the way, and it was staged by the Dutch director Johan Simons. The set had elements of Seuss and Sendak. There was a neon-orange tree, and also a huge swollen bird, belly up. The chorus was stacked in two large structures, with each member looking out a little window. The whole deal, though goofy-seeming, was not uninteresting.

And neither was “Bluebeard’s Castle,” which Mr. Simons also directed. The story, you may recall, is about a duke who collects wives, and finishes them off. His latest wife is Judith, who discovers the secrets of the castle by opening door after door — seven of them — until her own finish.

In this production, there are no doors. Judith seems to be a nurse, wearing the white uniform but not sensible shoes — she’s in white high heels. The duke is in a wheelchair, wearing sunglasses. This equipment seems to be borrowed from last year’s production of Haydn’s “Armida” — in that production, Ubaldo was sitting in a wheelchair, wearing shades. Salzburg has a theme going. In addition, Duke Bluebeard has something in place of an arm, long and wavy. It is not a cast or prosthesis. What is it?

Listen, here in Salzburg, I’ve learned not to ask questions, certainly of the opera productions.

But Mr. Simons has produced something intriguing. Often in a “Bluebeard,” Judith is weak and cowering, a victim. The duke runs the show. In this production, it’s the other way around: Judith dominates the duke, pushing him around (sometimes literally). The duke seems weak and pitiable — helpless. Is Judith a loving caregiver or Nurse Ratched? Before she opens the seventh door, she almost pushes the duke over the edge of the stage, and she eventually topples him onto that stage.

Whatever the meaning of the production — and “Bluebeard’s Castle” is an essentially psychological work, anyway — the opera was very well performed. The duke was Mr. Struckmann, who did not disappoint, even though he had to execute his part sitting down. And Michelle DeYoung, the mezzo-soprano singing Judith, had a superb night.

This is no walk in the park, the role of Judith, and Ms. DeYoung handled it with ease. Bartók’s tricky intervals posed no problems for her. She was always accurate and clean, and she made her usual warm, interesting, enveloping sound. Her high C was glorious — and sounded more like a soprano’s, frankly, than a mezzo’s.

Neither singer is Hungarian — Mr. Struckmann is German and Ms. DeYoung is American — but Bartók and his team would have been pleased, I believe. The singers were utterly convincing: vocally, mentally, theatrically. Mr. Eötvös, in the pit, must have been pleased, too. And he conducted the opera like a pro. It moved along inexorably, without hurry, without manipulation. This was a magisterial unfolding. And seldom has the score sounded so much like a fairy tale (from the shimmering Vienna Philharmonic) — though a gruesome fairy tale, to be sure.

* * *

The next morning, the Vienna Philharmonic was again in the Great Festival Hall, though this time under Riccardo Muti, the veteran Italian maestro. He led them — and the Vienna State Opera Chorus — in Brahms’s Requiem.

In the last several seasons, Mr. Muti has been pretty much the dominant conductor here at the Salzburg Festival. And he can be relied on for competence. But he did not have his most inspired outing on this particular morning. The Requiem did not unfold organically, inevitably, transporting the listener. Too many pages lacked natural breathing. Another way of saying this is that the conducting was too much in evidence.

Some things were very good, of course. Mr. Muti allowed some rare portamento, some sliding in the strings, which was terribly effective. Parts of the Requiem were unusually operatic, and not ineffective. In the second section of this seven-section work, there was arresting, muscular rhythm.

But much of the Requiem was pedestrian, ordinary, even outright dull. In the Bachian music leading from the third section to the fourth, where was the joy? And in that fourth section — known in English as “How lovely is thy dwelling-place” — where were bloom and grace? The closing section, I’m afraid, was leaden.

Mr. Muti will have better occasions, and may well have the very next day.

The Vienna State Opera Chorus could not be faulted, and they were particularly admirable in their soft singing. Even when they were at their softest, they were never limp, maintaining intensity or at least body. As for the orchestra, they are practically built for the Brahms Requiem — with their warm, glowing, all-embracing, all-consoling sound. Sometimes that sound included a slight growl, as at the very beginning of the piece — perfect.

Let it be said, however, that the Vienna Philharmonic is not always a model of execution. For example, they are capable of lousy pizzicatos, like every other orchestra. And the cellist veered off pitch in his solo. Immediately after, he looked at a neighbor and shrugged, as if to say, “Oh, well.”

Brahms’s Requiem requires two singers, a baritone and a soprano — and they were Peter Mattei, from Sweden, and Genia Kühmeier, from right here in Salzburg. The local girl was sensationally good earlier this year at the Salzburg Easter Festival. In those weeks, she participated in Haydn’s “Creation.” In Brahms’s Requiem, she did not display great purity of voice. She is not a Heidi Grant Murphy or a Christine Schäfer — but she tastefully got her job done.

Mr. Mattei, New York audiences may know as Figaro, from Rossini’s “Barber of Seville.” The Brahms is a more serious task, of course. Yet Mr. Mattei looked somehow amused and amusing, sitting in his chair, waiting to sing. He has a long sit. And when it was his turn, he was ready, singing confidently and well. Actually, he has a little cockiness in him, which is not bad. He did not try to be profound in the Requiem, smart boy — he knows that the music is profound enough. He just sang.

Brahms’s Requiem – “A German Requiem,” to give it its proper title — is some people’s favorite piece of music, all time. That is an understandable choice. This requiem is as eternal as the blackness of Maestro Muti’s hair.

Finally, please note that this concert was performed in memory of Herbert von Karajan, the late conductor. He was once lord of this festival (and other things). Because “K” was born in 1908, this city has been in centennial mode.