There was a cancellation at the New York Philharmonic last week – not of a person, but of a piece. On its subscription series, the orchestra was to have performed a new work by Peter Lieberson: “The World in Flower.” (Nice title, huh?) But, according to the Philharmonic, the work was not completed in time for this series, and will be performed at some future date. Instead, music director Lorin Maazel led the orchestra in Mahler’s First Symphony.

The concert began with a previously scheduled work: Berlioz’s “Harold in Italy” – or, to give the full title, “Harold in Italy, a Symphony in Four Parts for Orchestra With Solo Viola, after Byron, Op. 16.” (Berlioz was taken with the epic poem “Childe Harold.”)

Mr. Maazel is a dedicated Berliozian, and in fact he will conclude the Philharmonic’s season with the “Symphonie fantastique” this week. Soloist in “Harold in Italy” was the orchestra’s principal violist, Cynthia Phelps.

Please be clear that “Harold in Italy” is not a viola concerto, and far from it. It is a symphony – a Romantic-style symphony – with a prominent viola solo part. I’m not even sure that the violist should stand out front, as Ms. Phelps did. In any case, she seemed glad to be out of her concert black, wearing a jazzy pink-and-tan number (if I saw it correctly).

What do we want in a performance of “Harold in Italy”? Warmth, lushness, dreaminess. Imagination without mental sloppiness. Utter Romantic feeling within a structure. On Friday night, Mr. Maazel gave us all of that, and so did Ms. Phelps. This was a superb account. The conductor’s tempos were inarguable, neither dragging nor hurried. He displayed sound judgment all through. And his Philharmonic was unusually – un cannily – accurate.

Ms. Phelps played in a fond, unsentimental way. She often caressed Berlioz’s notes. Like the orchestra, she was unforced and unshowy. She had the requisite modesty for this piece – and I don’t mean that as faint praise.

For the Mahler First, Ms. Phelps was back in the orchestra, and back in her concert black. And Mr. Maazel conducted the blazes out of this work. It was (largely) accurate, like “Harold in Italy.” But more than that, it was marvelously musical, Mahlerian to a T.

In the first movement, the conductor committed some of his Maazelisms – unexpected and exaggerated ritards – and the horns did some muffing. But those things can be discounted. The playing was suspenseful, endearing, or throttling, as necessary. The second movement had vigor – a vigor it often lacks – and a not-tooslow tempo (blessedly).

Doing his customary smooth job in the third movement was Eugene Levinson, the Philharmonic’s principal bass. Mr. Maazel would accord this distinguished gent the first solo bow. And Mr. Maazel did something unusual between the third and fourth movements: He never stopped conducting, never stopped feeling the music, in particular its inherent rhythm. A striking transition.

That final movement took its stirring course. When the adored, heroic theme in the brass first appeared, Mr. Maazel made sure it was not too big – he was saving power for the end. And when that ending came, it was powerful and heroic indeed. As I’ve noted before in these pages, Mahler’s C natural, as the music is steaming along in D major, is one of the most thrilling notes in all of music, and Mr. Maazel hit it gloriously. This was a tremendously exciting performance. Mr. Maazel was wired.

There is so much mediocrity, so much listlessness, in concert halls. What a joy when a conductor – or anyone – is alive!

***

Appearing at the Metropolitan Museum on Thursday night was Frederic Chiu, a pianist with a devoted following. He is known, particularly, for Prokofiev, whose complete piano works he has recorded. His program at the Met included no Prokofiev – it was Bach and Brahms, with some twists.

Mr. Chiu began with the Prelude and Fugue in A flat from Bach’s “Well-Tempered Clavier” (Book II). He played the Prelude beautifully. For one thing, he knew he was playing the piano; he didn’t confuse it with a harpsichord. He was generous with the sustaining pedal, but not vulgar. His phrasing and dynamics were free, but not un-Bachian. There were a few unwanted accents – clunkers – but these were incidental. As it would turn out, this was the best playing Mr. Chiu did all night.

In the Fugue, he was a bit slap-happy – by that I mean, he played on the surface of the keys, rather slapping at them. And he was altogether too mechanical for this music (or most any).

Following the Fugue, Mr. Chiu grabbed a microphone and began talking to the audience. They can’t help themselves, can they? Radio stations speak of “More rock, less talk.” In our concert halls, we increasingly have “More talk, less Bach” (or something). I have come to dread the word “outreach,” particularly when it is preceded by “audience.” I think of that expression, “Shut up and sing!” But audiences seem not to mind – even to like it. So perhaps I myself should shut up.

What Mr. Chiu played next, his talking concluded, was Bach’s transcription of a Vivaldi violin concerto (Op. 3, No. 12). As Mr. Chiu said in his remarks, this is not Vivaldi’s best piece, fine as Bach’s transcription is. But it is a better piece than the pianist showed.

He again slapped at the keys, and went through the outer movements mechanically. A greater roundedness in his playing would be most welcome. In the middle movement, however, Mr. Chiu did some nice singing on those keys.

To close the first half of the recital was Bach’s Partita in C minor, a masterpiece (it might go without saying). Mr. Chiu was frustrating, not least in his accents: odd, out of place, adding lumps. Mr. Chiu did not give us much in the way of a lyrical line. The Allemande was unusually heavy and plodding. Mr. Chiu tended to play note by note, or thud by thud, rather than in proper phrases. The Capriccio, which ends the Partita, was particularly unfortunate: blunt and unmusical. The Sarabande, however, had offered some beauty.

At the beginning of the second half, Mr. Chiu played an unscheduled work – there he needed the microphone! This was a Brahms transcription of a Bach piece in G minor, for unaccompanied violin. Mr. Chiu sort of slopped through it, but it was good to hear. That Brahms loved Bach helped Brahms, immeasurably.

Mr. Chiu closed the printed program with Brahms proper, his Op. 1. You remember that Mills Brothers hit, “Opus One”? “I’m wrackin’ my brain to think of a name … ” Well, Brahms’s Op. 1 is his Piano Sonata in C major, a sprawling, impetuous, athletic work.

And Mr. Chiu managed it ably. He didn’t command it – didn’t inhabit it, or slay it – but managed it. In the Adagio, he brought out various voices, which was admirable.

And for an encore? Mr. Chiu played more Bach, in a Busoni transcription. This was a chorale – and the pianist raced and banged his way through it. Ah, Chiu! I have a feeling that he’s better than he displayed on this evening. And that he will prove so in due course.