The Sunday morning “Coffee Concerts” at the Walter Reade Theater tend to be some of the most enjoyable of the season, which is why I was so disappointed that the first concert of the year was considerably below the high standards of the series. Romanian pianist Mihaela Ursuleasa began with Beethoven and began badly.

The piece was the Fifteen Variations and a Fugue on an Original Theme in E major, known colloquially as the “Eroica” Variations. Ms. Ursuleasa, in what can charitably be described as a bold move, performed an important service, and decided to offer her own version of the opening theme, a distortion that certainly roused everybody from their Sunday slumbers. Call it youthful impetuosity or just plain hubris, but if you’re going to state your own interpretation of Beethoven’s theme, as if to say,”if you want to know what he wrote, go to the library!” you jolly well better have squeaky clean technical skills to back it up.

Unfortunately, Ms. Ursuleasa fumbled and stumbled her way through most of the variants, as if she were looking past this relatively simple pianism to a much more difficult work to come. She is a bit of a pounder, producing clangorous high passages that ultimately annoyed rather than impressed. Of course, some of the variations were played well, but at least an equal number of others were subject to ragged landings, rhythmic uncertainties, and what we call in Brooklyn, fat fingering. Actually the fugue was sailing along rather well until she hit a single bump, which led to an unfocused and wildly inaccurate last few minutes.

Perhaps the boldest move of all was programming one of the most difficult pieces in the entire literature, Maurice Ravel’s “Gaspard de la nuit.” From the very opening notes of the Ondine, Ms. Ursuleasa was in deep trouble. This portrait of the water nymph relies on a steady right hand creating an undulating wave pattern upon which Ravel paints a shimmering pastel with the left. However, this pianist could not sustain a regular rhythm for more than two or three notes at a time, which ruined the effect before it ever had a chance to develop. At this particular juncture, I felt for the young woman, but these empathetic feelings changed soon enough.

Le Gibet (the hangman) was actually performed quite well, and was certainly the highlight of this particular recital. Here Ms. Ursuleasa seemed to be willing to patiently explore the pendulous atmosphere of the swinging rope, keeping her tendencies for high volume under wraps as she built a slow and steady crescendo, leading to a frightening conclusion. Poetically, this was fine playing and technically was unobjectionable.

However, the start of Scarbo — the most challenging part of the piece from a digital dexterity perspective — was just offensive. Ravel painstakingly establishes a dramatic scene with subtle dynamic changes, but this interpreter would have none of it. She chose instead the cheapest of Hollywood effects, making the opening a battle between triple forte and pianissimo. If only that hack Ravel could have thought of that! My empathy turned to icy skepticism.

Not surprisingly, this realization was filled with mistakes. Even the best of the technical wizards has a devil of a time with this section. Ravel was himself not a very skilled pianist, and I have always thought of Scarbo as his perverse revenge on his more nimble colleagues. After a while, this simply became another Ursuleasa interpretation, as if this were a jazz concert. With so much alteration of the printed score, this rendition made me wonder what type of piano recital Lorin Maazel might perform if his instrument of choice were not the violin.

Audiences tend to vote with their feet, and there were quite a few walkouts after the Ravel. I’m guessing these people missed not only the Sonata No. 1 of Alberto Ginastera but the coffee as well. There are really two types of Ginastera composition. One is the ultramodernist experimental type and the other is the more traditional, heavily influenced by the rhythms of Spain (he was from Argentina).This piece is definitely an example of the latter, but in Ms. Ursuleasa’s hands sounded oddly like the Ravel (who was, admittedly, half Basque). Too much pounding, too little poetry.