On Wednesday night, the New York Philharmonic gave a strange concert — strange, but not bad. Certainly not entirely so. On the podium was Christoph von Dohnányi, the German conductor who once led the Cleveland Orchestra. He now leads the NDR Symphony Orchestra, in Hamburg, and the Philharmonia Orchestra, in London. The guest soloist on Wednesday night was a violinist: Nikolaj Znaider. As his bio says, he was born in Denmark to Polish-Israeli parents. That says something about the 20th century, and beyond.

He came out to play the Sibelius Concerto in an open-collared shirt, with jacket, and a smart red hankie in that jacket’s pocket. He must have seemed big, imposing, and athletic. The woman behind me stage-whispered to her husband, “He looks like a football player.”

Mr. Znaider began the concerto with a quietness that drew you in. When she was a girl, Marilyn Horne would hear from her father, “If you want to get people’s attention, sing softly.” Mr. Znaider, and Sibelius, had our attention. Unfortunately, Mr. Znaider did some sliding and gulping in these opening pages. The music might have been better off cooler and more Classical.

Later, the violinist’s sound would turn thin, and not in a good way — it was somewhat wispy and scratchy. Moreover, he seemed to wrestle with his instrument, and with the score (a notoriously hard one). In the course of all this, he did some phenomenal playing: as when he had the violin talk insistently under a sustained trill. And, in the cadenza, he was both strong and intense — not silken, not effortless, and not beautiful. But strong and intense — and interesting.

As for Mr. von Dohnányi, he was robust and edgy in this first movement. He was not overly mystical; he wasn’t communing with any Nordic gods. He had the orchestra play in huge, almost alarming blocks of sound, and I had never thought of this music as so monumental. Also, he struggled to keep orchestra and violinist together. Mainly, he succeeded.

The slow movement, from all musicians concerned, was quite unusual: It was turbulent, restless, disturbing. There was almost a desperation to this music, and not a quiet, Thoreauvian desperation — an open one. As he went along, Mr. Znaider was far less romantic, beautiful, and transcendental than others tend to be. And far less pure. But, again, he was interesting.

In the midst of this music, he committed one wretched squeak. It practically knocked the birds from the trees outside. But, like a hornist who flubs, or a basketball player who misses a dunk, he had to go on, unfazed. And Mr. Znaider appeared to do just that. Nonetheless, he did some very curious playing: some ugly and flat playing — yet playing that had interpretive determination.

Mr. von Dohnányi began the last movement with the appropriate churning, and Mr. Znaider churned too, on his violin. And he fought his way to the end. As in the first movement, Mr. von Dohnányi struggled to keep orchestra and soloist together. This time, however, he did not succeed very well. And Mr. Znaider had some extraordinarily messy spots. In a way, this was good to see: We’re used to violinistic whizzes onstage — kids who never miss a note or break a sweat. Mr. Znaider was a lot more human (shall we say).

Most important, he reached people, causing much of the audience to rise to its feet — and many of the Philharmonic’s violinists to put down their fiddles and clap.

The concert had begun with a piece by Sir Harrison Birtwistle, the composer born in 1934. This was “Night’s Black Bird,” written three years ago, a piece inspired by the Renaissance master John Dowland. You could say that all English composers, no matter how funky they get, are the offspring of Tallis and Byrd, Dowland and Purcell.

I offer deep and embarrassed apologies: I missed “Night’s Black Bird,” unable to get to the hall. But I’m glad for seekers after the unfamiliar that it was on the program — because not just the Sibelius Concerto but Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony shared the bill.

Mr. von Dohnányi led a highly uneven performance of the symphony. The first movement was first-rate — really superb. The music was brisk, clean, fresh — bracing. Dynamics were pronounced, and rhythm was precise. The veteran maestro virtually jolted us. He kept a firm tempo, but varied it just enough to let some notes breathe. He was disciplined but not fanatical.

The second movement was similar: fast — almost rushed — but musical and fulfilling. This movement was expertly sculpted, close to a model.

It was in the third and penultimate movement that things began to fall apart — pretty badly. The players were not together, and there were a couple of weird premature entrances. In the fourth movement, the playing was sloppy — very sloppy. This was true collectively and individually. More broadly, Mr. von Dohnányi fell into a monotony — a hell-bent, hard-charging monotony. A little nuance, and a little majesty, would have gone a long way.

Still, it was good to hear this piece — a great and immortal piece, loved in every corner of the world. Isn’t it nice when the world is right?