Appreciating the art of Vladimir Feltsman is an acquired taste, one that I acquired soon after he reached our shores in the late 1980s. Mr. Feltsman, a Russian who specializes in the German repertoire, has made a Faustian trade of accuracy for poetry, and it is perfectly understandable that some keyboard aficionados do not care for his approximating technique. But many of us think of him as one of nature’s noblemen and forgive his trespasses willingly. Few pianists performing today can find both the center and the shape of an individual piece as certainly as this fine communicator.

Yesterday afternoon at Carnegie Hall, we were treated to the very core of the German repertoire – two Beethoven sonatas – and the quintessential Russian work of pianism, Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition.” Beginning quite dramatically with the first chord of the “Pathetique” sonata, Mr. Feltsman seemed to be headed for a big-gesture, Romantic reading of Beethoven. But actually he delivered a model of Classical restraint, an allegro molto of unswerving rhythm and aristocratic shape.

The beautiful adagio cantabile, which always makes me remember Karl Haas so fondly (it was his theme song on the radio), was performed at virtually the same tempo as the first movement, only now we were in the loving arms of a barcarolle of great consolatory power. The rondo/allegro was notable for little accelerandos and ritardandos within individual phrases; Mr. Feltsman even got most of the notes right. He followed with a superb version of the Opus 110, notable for its regal spirit and expansive exposition of the complex thought of a deaf man.

Since there is such a connection between the rhythms of the Russian language and the music of “Pictures,” Russian artists simply play it differently from others. I own over 50 recordings of this piece and few non-Cyrillic versions pass muster. Last season, it was no accident that Sergei Schepkin performed it so brilliantly while Leif Ove Andsnes sounded clueless. Mr. Feltsman is a bit of a hybrid – a man of Germanic sensibilities and Russian heritage – and his playing reflected this. An episodic piece by its very nature, “Pictures” can showcase the quirkiness of an artistic personality, and that is exactly what we got on this day.

This ravishing performance featured a “Bydio” of a high level of gravitas, a “Promenade” of rather fast speeds, and an “Old Castle” of timeless mystery and descriptive mastery. But nothing could prepare me for the finest of all effects: Mr. Feltsman’s quiet grandeur in the “Great Gate” section put the lie to the notion that one must be loud to be imperial. This was truly a triumphant performance, and the pianist knew it: His body language betrayed the confident stride of the victor. If you must hear every note, then he may not be your man, but if it’s the music that you are after, this is as good as it gets.

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Puccini’s final opera had a long gestation period. Distracted by ill health, the composer took pains to explore many differing librettos, including, rather tantalizingly, one about Oliver Twist. He eventually settled on the Chinese princess Turandot, even though – or perhaps because – the fairy tale had just been mounted successfully by Ferruccio Busoni. Puccini used travel to loosen the burden of his physical condition, journeying to Florence to meet Arnold Schoenberg when the master came to conduct his new piece, “Pierrot Lunaire,” and also going to London and Vienna for performances of his own operas. But the pains in his throat, around which he wore a collar made of radium, eventually caught up with him. He died without quite finishing his last masterpiece.

The story of the ending of “Turandot” is well known. Toscanini stopped the orchestra after Liu’s cortege, turning to the audience to announce that there would be no more music, as this is the point when the maestro died. The conductor did not care for the ending composed by Franco Alfano, and had asked him to shorten it significantly. A new ending for Turandot has now been fashioned by Italian composer Luciano Berio, who has also written new material for works by Schubert and Brahms, and will be given its New York premiere on January 30 at Carnegie Hall. Until then, City Opera audiences will have to make do with the old Alfano ending.

On Saturday afternoon, Lori Phillips, whose Cio-Cio-San was the finest performance last season at City Opera, appeared as Puccini’s other Oriental heroine. Ms. Phillips is a powerful presence, and she took over this performance when finally allowed to offer her declamation (the princess doesn’t sing until midway into the second act). As erect as a caryatid, she filled the New York State Theater with sound. Her “In questa reggia” was spectacular. No one sleeps when she unleashes this booming voice.

It is fortuitous that I have heard Ms. Phillips before; otherwise, I might have concluded that she sounded this full-throated simply in contrast to the voices around her on this particular afternoon. Philip Webb’s Calaf was weak and unconvincing throughout; reasonably accurate in pitch, his voice was often strained as he labored to project. Mr. Webb has the requisite barrel-chest for this brave suitor but not the vocal power to sustain his heroic character. His “Nessun dorma,” the one aria everyone knows from this piece, was wan and undernourished. To make it worse, the management decided to fete us all with a much more zaftig recorded rendition as we departed the auditorium.

Guylaine Girard, a Canadian making her City Opera debut, was fine as Liu. Her sweet, prayerful voice was quite poignant in the “Signore, ascolta,” which received an intrusive but persistent ovation. Matthew Burns was competent as the mandarin and Michael Corvino, Keith Jameson, and Joel Sorensen were delightful as that marvelously politically incorrect trio of Ping, Pang, and Pong.

Music director George Manahan led a typically good performance from the pit, although the orchestra exhibited more than a few wanderings from proper intonation in the final act. Some very dissonant passages, where pentatonic clashes with diatonic, were handled adroitly. There was, however, something indefinably wrong with this realization, a certain enervation that kept everyone from sounding their liveliest.

The production stressed the thanatological side of the story, and the aforementioned trio of clowns juggled skulls at one point. Considering the small budget on this side of the plaza, the effects were stunning, including a grisly beheading and a savage danse macabre featuring the executioner of Terry Lacy. Also, with a full chorus and two shadow groups of children and ghosts, this is about as much splendiferous pageantry as one will ever receive from this particular company.

And what of the Alfano ending? Well, this audience laughed at it, and rather heartily at that. It looks like Toscanini might have been right.

“Turandot” will be performed again on November 1, 4, 6, 8, 10, 16 & 19 at the New York State Theater (Lincoln Center, 212-870-5570).