Brahms wrote four symphonies, but the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra had only two nights – they chose to play No. 2 and No. 4. Fortunately, Brahms wrote two piano concertos – so they could do those “complete.”

The orchestra performed in Avery Fisher Hall – on Monday and Tuesday nights – under the auspices of Great Performers at Lincoln Center, specifically its series called “The Classical Romantic: The Music of Johannes Brahms.” The soloist was Mikhail Pletnev, who had given a stellar recital in this venue the previous week. He was less stellar on Monday night – but he still outshone the orchestra, by a lot.

This is an orchestra with a long and proud history, and it is now led by Herbert Blomstedt, who conducted these Brahms concerts. Mr. Blomstedt, though born in America, grew up in Sweden, and he replaced Kurt Masur as chief of the Leipzigers in 1998 – Mr. Masur had been with them for 27 years.

On Monday night’s bill were the Piano Concerto No. 1 in D minor and the Symphony No. 2 in D major. (The concerto, incidentally, contains plenty of D major: the second movement, the end of the third.) We could tell, at the beginning of the concerto, that the Gewandhaus Orchestra had not quite adjusted to the acoustics of Avery Fisher Hall. They sounded muted, far away. And, in these opening pages, they were more ponderous than grand or imposing, and given to messy attacks.

When Mr. Pletnev entered, he was very free with rhythm – distractingly so. He also played as though improvising, which was interesting, but a little selfish. And as he played, he reminded me that he is Russian. I’m not one to make much of nationality in musical performance (and I hope you aren’t, either) – but he reminded me.

Though this was not a particularly good outing for Mr. Pletnev, he did much that was admirable: His Brahms is meaty – at least it was in this concerto – even when he is being quiet and lyrical. Mr. Pletnev does not have “a touch”; he has a thousand touches, available to the music at hand. And those first-movement octaves were wonderful and terrifying.

Still, this entire movement should have breathed and moved more. Mr. Blomstedt and the orchestra were musty, limp. The pianist often seemed to be trying to liven up matters, but with little help from the forces behind him.

Those forces began the second movement – Adagio – with a miserable entrance. And they might have played this beautiful music much more beautifully. Where was the sighing, for example? When it was his turn, Mr. Pletnev again played as though making it up on the spot, to nice effect. But he also played eccentrically – and that is unusual for Mr. Pletnev. Even when he is being individualistic, he is not eccentric, as a rule. In the course of this movement, he committed some bizarre accents, distorting the Brahmsian line. This was in addition to some truly inspired playing, giving the music the holiness it should exude.

The orchestra had few good moments. The winds, in particularly, were feeble – anemic. The orchestra’s final, D-major chord was miserably out of tune. But say this for them: Some soft playing in the middle of the movement made you lean forward in your seat. Or was that just a matter of their not having adjusted to the acoustics?

Mr. Pletnev began the Rondo promisingly: He gave those magnificent measures definition and verve. As he continued, he seemed to seek ways to make the music especially fresh. He was spunky, saucy, brazen. But, again, also a little eccentric. Is he bored with this piece, trying to make it more interesting to himself? It sometimes happens in music. I believe it happened with Mstislav Rostropovich, in the Dvorak Concerto, that (great) work that cellists have to return to over and over.

And I should also mention that Mr. Pletnev missed notes. So what? Don’t pianists miss notes? Yes – but we’re talking about Mikhail Pletnev. He has always seemed exempt from human error.

The orchestra played as though thoroughly bored. It was dutiful (at best), dull. The buildup to the closing D-major section – which should be thrilling – was a zero. And when that fast D major came – it is one of the most joyous moments in all of music – it, too, was a zero. Nor were pianist and orchestra even mechanically competent: They did not play together.

So, this performance was both strange and boring, an unwanted combination.

At intermission, a music scholar remarked that Leipzig had historically not liked Brahms, and that the Gewandhaus Orchestra was playing like it today. They certainly played the D-major symphony as though they weren’t crazy about Brahms – as though the score left them unmoved. They weren’t outright bad, mind you; it’s just that they did nothing special, nothing compelling. And if you’re going to come to New York to play a work so familiar, you ought to have something on the ball.

The fourth movement began with – yes – another miserable entrance (or onset, or attack). It kind of went blop. But the orchestra woke up in this movement, for its best playing of the night. At last, it joined the game, actually enjoying the music, and doing justice by it. This practically redeemed the night.