My fondest memory of the old Metropolitan Opera House comes from New Year’s Day of 1964, when I heard Roberta Peters sing Zerbinetta in a production of “Ariadne auf Naxos” by Richard Strauss. It was hilarious to see her gracefully frolic in the ocean surrounding the rather pompous and deadly serious Bacchus and Ariadne. But what I most remember was the young woman who radiantly sang the role of the composer, a certified star in the making. Her name was Teresa Stratas.

On Thursday, Ms. Stratas appeared in New York for the first time since she retired in 1991, as the Metropolitan Opera Guild presented an evening with her at Town Hall. Always uncomfortable in the public eye, Ms. Stratas has lived on her farm in Florida since leaving the stage and, apparently, is still fighting her personal demons.

Although interviewer Paul Gruber gently attempted to draw out of her some personal reflections, it was clear from the outset that she was disturbed by discussing her childhood and so the conversation centered instead around specific operatic people and events. Interspersed among the comments were priceless pieces of film that made the evening special.

Ms. Stratas is Greek the way that Maria Callas was; that is, she was born in Toronto like La Divina was born in Brooklyn. She did not study opera as a child, auditioning with the song “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” as her most sophisticated vehicle. But so much talent could not be gainsaid.

Those of us who have a special feel for the Second Viennese School remember Teresa Stratas particularly because she premiered the role of Alban Berg’s Lulu in the Pierre Boulez – Patrice Chéreau production in Paris that introduced the long-hidden third act to the world. After this triumph, James Levine cast her in the same role at the Met, putting his reputation on the line to demand and receive a telecast of the controversial twelve-tone masterpiece. However, Ms. Stratas, who canceled often, did not feel up to the broadcast and Levine had to go with a substitute, Julia Migenes-Johnson. For three decades, the general public never saw Ms. Stratas as Lulu, a major missed opportunity.

But the dress rehearsal was taped, and the Guild showed a section of it on Thursday. With Franz Mazura as Doctor Schoen and a brief appearance by Evelyn Lear, the Lulu of the previous generation, we were able to thrill to musical history before our eyes and ears.

Ms. Stratas was also shown in the letter scene from Eugene Onegin via Canadian television, as the Bartered Bride in two performances, one with Heinz Zednik in German and one with fellow Canadian Jon Vickers in English. On the lighter side, she appeared with Frederica von Stade in a documentary about the making of a new cast album of Jerome Kern’s “Showboat.”

Perhaps Ms. Stratas’s most significant contribution to music was her espousal of the works of Kurt Weill. Befriending Lotte Lenya, about whom she rather frustratingly would not talk this evening, she received a large packet of previously unpublished songs of Weill, which she then recorded. On film, we were treated to a scene from her portrayal of the prostitute Jenny from “The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny.”

Ms. Stratas talked about her deep feeling that musicians exist to serve the work in question, to make sure that it is communicated properly. When asked what she wanted from directors, she replied, “to stay out of my way.”

It was a great night as a plethora of singers showed up to honor their esteemed colleague. For me it was especially memorable because one of them turned out to be Roberta Peters.* * *

The Ninth Symphony of Ludwig van Beethoven, performed on Friday evening at Carnegie Hall by the San Francisco Symphony, is so universally beloved that when laser technology was still in its infancy and the compact disc was invented in Japan, its size was determined by how much space was necessary to fit the work on one individual unit (to this day the “Ode to Joy,” with total audience choral participation, is a tradition there for graduation ceremonies and New Year’s concerts).

The message of the brotherhood of man is a powerful one, but it should be pointed out that the Nazis also revered this piece and used it for propaganda purposes. The finale is one of the most revolutionary works in all of music, equal in its rebellion to any of the essays of Liszt or Schoenberg. The inclusion of the barbarous Janissary March, with its tingling Turkish cymbals, and the horizontal tonal clusters that form the final moments are totally impolite and impolitic, befitting a movement that elevates an old drinking song to beatific heights.

Michael Tilson Thomas led a performance that was technically impressive but interpretively suspect. All of the notes except for the first one were played together, the ensemble demonstrating a high degree of precise coordination. The opening Allegro ma non troppo was a strange journey, as the conductor seemed to be digging deeply into the music, attempting to extract its beauty in nugget form, posting occasional victories with the revelation of inner voices and an overall string sound that was pleasant if not polished. But what was sorely lacking was dramatic tension. This was not a taut reading of the score, and that signature Beethovenian undercurrent of discontent was notably absent.

The Molto vivace was well played at a relatively brisk pace, but its result was more the satisfaction of solving a complicated puzzle than communicating a deeply felt mood. What should have been a charming or a contemplative Adagio was in reality a bit of a slog, exhibiting mechanical competency but not poetic veracity. If anything, this movement, which should stir the listener with its sheer perfection of structure and subtle buildup of cerebration, was a bit of a soporific. Maestro certainly exhorted his players to release some emotion — he does quite a bit of exaggerated exhortation as part of the act — but little was forthcoming.

That famous Finale was really quite laudable in terms of technique and sonic blending, although the orchestral sound as a whole seemed to lack a powerful bottom as the cellos and basses were held a little too firmly in check. The New York Choral Artists were fine while the soloists were, as is often the case in this piece, a mixed bag. Best of the lot was bass Alastair Miles, while tenor Garrett Sorenson had difficulty holding his big notes, sometimes not even attempting to elongate them as required. Soprano Erin Wall was commanding, while mezzo Kendall Gladen had the thankless job of attempting to be heard against the wall of sound that Beethoven establishes in opposition to her range — this is a famously insoluble problem for mezzos in this particular work. I was seated sufficiently close to enjoy her mellifluous tones, but I seriously doubt if anyone in the back heard even one of them. Gyrating to beat the band, MTT held this movement together well.

The program opened with the Symphony No. 3 of British composer Oliver Knussen, which was mercifully compact. In fact, it only lasted a few minutes longer than Tilson Thomas’s lecture on the subject.