For his second weekend of concerts with the BSO this season, André Previn chose three works that seem to share no common features. The pioneering optimism of Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring Suite was followed by the more enigmatic fare of Maurice Ravel’s Piano Concerto for the Left Hand and Shostakovich’s Sixth Symphony. There were no big themes to the program, and no grand messages. But it was a well thought-out bill with some music that doesn’t get played as often as it should. If Previn isn’t the world’s most exciting conductor, he does have an excellent ear for color and a grasp of the architecture of complex pieces. And the BSO responded to his leadership with outstanding playing.

All the same, the Appalachian Spring Suite was a disappointment. Like most of Copland’s music, it needs rhythmic punch, and that’s never been Previn’s strong suit. The opening, with its hushed motifs in the winds and strings, was played in a straightforward and pedestrian manner that robbed it of its mystery and atmosphere. Balances seemed off as well, with the brasses tending to cover the rest of the orchestra whenever they entered. But things came together nicely at the work’s summit, a set of variations on the Shaker tune " Simple Gifts. " This is one of the crowning glories of American music: like a great hymn, it captures American spirituality in microcosm. And it can survive almost any performance. William Hudgins’s clarinet solos were outstanding.

Matters got better as the mood darkened. The Ravel was written for the pianist Paul Wittgenstein, who lost his right arm during the First World War. It’s a somewhat sinister piece, with little of the lightness and grace that make Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G (which Pierre-Laurent Aimard performed with Roberto Abbado and the BSO last month) so popular. It begins in total gloom, with arpeggios in the basses and cellos forming the background for the first melody in the contrabassoon (wonderfully played by Gregg Henegar). When the orchestra finally emerges at full strength, it’s quickly cut off by a jagged cadenza for the pianist, and right off the bat you know that Ravel didn’t intend to make any concessions to his one-handed soloist. A later section mixes elements of jazz with a brutal march that’s been thought to foreshadow the tramp of Nazi soldiers. This strange work shares much with La valse, Ravel’s nightmarish vision of Viennese culture literally dancing itself to death.

Jean-Yves Thibaudet was the soloist, and he was terrific. There are moments where Ravel calls on the pianist to negotiate melody, bass line, and accompaniment simultaneously, and Thibaudet did all that with a clarity that, if you had your eyes closed, would have convinced you he was playing with both hands. To this he added color and great rhythmic control, and Previn allowed him to be heard clearly even in the densest passages. The bassoon and trombone solos were sinuous and full of character. This was a terrific performance of a difficult piece, and a good argument that it’s worth more exposure than it gets.

After intermission, Previn led a powerful Sixth that had both passion and a firm sense of direction. This is one of the most introspective and idiosyncratic of Shostakovich’s symphonies, with a spacious Largo being followed by a Scherzo and then a Finale of almost manic energy. The Largo is full of angular melodies and long instrumental solos that sound like confessions. The sense of desolation is pervasive and somehow puzzling, as if Shostakovich, having weathered both censure and rehabilitation, were wondering just who he was as a composer.

The two fast movements sounded slower than usual but had a kind of grim inexorability to them, and Previn caught the sense of empty rejoicing that pervades Shostakovich’s music. There was exuberance in the brass playing, and timpanist Thomas Gauger handled the difficult cross-rhythms in the finale. My guess is that in the months that precede James Levine’s arrival, the orchestra will become increasingly grateful for Previn’s leadership and the trust he inspires.