At the beginning of Monday afternoon’s concert by the Jupiter Symphony Chamber Players, an interesting problem arose. Workers outside the Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church, home of the Players, would not cease until 2:15; the concert was starting at 2. Mei Ying, who runs this series (splendidly), told the audience that she had had a conversation with the workers: They said it would cost $5,000 for them to stop. She also consulted with her musicians, who said, “Let’s start on time anyway.”

As usual, said Mei Ying, the union “Goliath” could not be fought. (She was referring to the workers, not to the musicians!) And, for that quarter-hour, string players competed with construction sounds — usually winning.

It was a winning concert, too. The program offered some rarities, including by canonical composers, and some familiar, cherished works as well.

We started with a piece by Rossini, written when he was about 12. This is a sonata for two violins, cello, and double bass (a kind of string quartet). It was nice to hear a work by Rossini outside opera — although his last movement, marked Tempesta, sounds like one of his madcap opera scenes. The movement ends calmly, however, the “tempesta” evidently having subsided.

The Jupiter foursome played well, with an unusually rich, darkish sound. (Perhaps the church’s acoustics had something to do with this.) There was some scary intonation, but it was shortlived. And, in that tempest, the players were wonderfully agile.

We next heard a vocal work by Schubert, his Salve Regina, D. 676. It was good to have some little-known Schubert — even if this is not an immortal piece.

The soprano soloist was Christine Goerke, who has been heard at the Metropolitan Opera and other major houses around the globe. Readers may remember particularly her Donna Elvira (in Mozart’s “Don Giovanni”) and her Madame Lidoine (in Poulenc’s “Dialogues of the Carmelites”). But she is singing ever more Strauss and Wagner, and seems set to become a Wagnerian.

She was not her best self in the Schubert: Entrances and onsets were messy, and her sound was pillowy. Moreover, she fought the flats (and not too successfully). But that is still a lush carpet of a voice, and she would sing far better later in the afternoon.

Following the Schubert, we heard some Beethoven, his Wind Sextet in E flat, written when he was about 16. It is an excellent piece, with a beautiful Adagio and a masculine — you might even say macho — minuet. Go figure.

The piece was played by a crack team, too: not that they cracked. Horns and all others were well-behaved. A bassoonist, Gina Cuffari, showed a fine sense of phrasing in the Adagio. And you might appreciate a biographical fact about the second bassoonist, Adrian Morejon: In addition to his bassoon credentials, he has a diploma in harpsichord performance from the Curtis Institute. Beat that.

After intermission, we had a piece by Ernesto Cavallini, who, as Charles Neidich explained, was known as “the Paganini of the Clarinet.” Cavallini lived from 1807 to 1874.

And who is Charles Neidich? He, too, is a Paganini of the clarinet. He played Cavallini’s Adagio and Variations, and did so brilliantly. He was all facility and savoir-faire — tons of fun, too. He reminded me of an especially good Rossini soprano, or mezzo-soprano. And, when he was through, the crowd cheered for him as for a diva.

I felt a bit sorry for Christine Goerke, who had to follow that display — but she came through beautifully. She sang one of Wagner’s “Wesendonck Lieder,” the most popular and transporting, “Träume.” The composer wrote it in preparation for “Tristan und Isolde”; perhaps Ms. Goerke is singing it in preparation for that opera as well. She was backed up by a small chamber army, including a flute, a string quartet, those bassoons — everything the Jupiter Players had.

And she sang “Träume” marvelously, at a proper pace, and with a sure sense of legato: A legato in a dramatic soprano is a very attractive thing.

When the song was concluded, the audience would not quite clap. Maybe it was transfixed (as Wagner can do to you); maybe it just didn’t know the song had ended. Ms. Goerke smiled and laughed, and, before she sang the next piece — the last work on the program — she said, “I promise you’ll know when this one’s over.”

That final piece was Beethoven’s “Ah, perfido,” the composer’s bestknown work for voice (along with dear “Adelaide”). (No fair counting “Fidelio” or the Ninth Symphony.) This is a great, great concert aria, and Ms. Goerke rocked the house — rocked the church — with it. She was incisive and dramatic, lyrical and sensitive, correct and glorious. She showed a juicy mezzo range, with a very strong low B flat — to go with impressive high ones.

And she was right: We knew, for sure, when the piece was over.