It is something to hear the gorgeous tone Perlman commands, and experience his heartfelt expression in the music he loves. There were moments when he reached the stars in his program of Mozart, Beethoven and Ellen Taaffe Zwilich.

But, whether because of the cavernous arena setting - which made this chamber recital sound too distant - or for Perlman's understated playing, some of the magic was missing. It wasn't until the second half, when Perlman pulled out the bon bons - including a dazzling Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso by Saint-Saens - that he connected with the audience of nearly 1,600.

Perlman opened with Mozart's Sonata in B-flat Major, K. 454, a gem of a piece. It was crisp and the duo's ensemble was peerless. The slow movement (Andante) was the high point, when Perlman turned to the audience and communicated its moods with beauty and lyricism.

Beethoven's Sonata No. 7 in C Minor, Op. 30, No. 2, had some fire and spirit, and Perlman made its fiendishly difficult passages look easy. The slow movement was as memorable for his apparent affection for the music, as for his sweet, pure tone. It was the pianist, though, that gave the work much of its power, drive and color, in another seamless collaboration.

The printed program concluded with Episodes for Violin and Piano, a new work by Zwilich. She wrote it for Perlman, who gave the world premiere in Clearwater, Fla., in February and quipped "This is definitely the Oxford, Ohio, premiere of this piece."

Its two movements lasted about 12 minutes. The first, Arioso, had a haunting, angular theme. Perlman gave its lower register a throaty vibrato, and soared to the upper stratosphere with a rich, singing tone. The second, a Vivace, was a drive-ahead scherzo, where Perlman seemed to enjoy tackling feats such as left-hand pizzicatos and sudden glissandos.

Between numbers, he joked with the audience about the program misprint ("We are not the Moscow Chamber Orchestra"), and his encores ("This piece is so old, it cost 65 cents. Today for 65 cents, you get three notes.").

His first three encores were from the old romantic school: a Mazurka that he lavished with romantic slides and rubatos and two Fritz Kreisler transcriptions (Chopin's Mazurka in A Minor and Tchaikovsky's Humoresque).

But it was the Saint-Saens that held the crowd spellbound. It unfolded like one big cadenza - a spectacle of runs, arpeggios and high-flying upper passages, tempered by beautifully felt lyrical moments. The showstopper had the crowd on its feet, and displayed the fiddler's undeniable genius.

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E-mail jgelfand@enquirer.com