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THE MAJOR NEWS in the world of classical music is the decline (and fall?) of the classical-recording industry, though when the HMV store in Harvard Square closed, it was in spite of the success of its classical and DVD sales. Some old methods of selling recordings have reappeared. A couple of weeks ago, cellist Pieter Wispelwey signed copies of his CDs at the Virgin Superstore (formerly Tower Records), and even a superstar like Cecilia Bartoli signed copies of her Salieri Album for crowds of people after her concert at Symphony Hall. Some years ago, the Tallis Scholars started their own label, and so more recently has violinist Gil Shaham.

The Borromeo Quartet, which is based in Boston, has impressed its knowledgeable fans here with the warmth of feeling and technical bravura of its playing and its extraordinary sense of ensemble (even with major personnel changes in recent years). It’s been a source of frustration to the Quartet’s admirers that major labels have not come calling — and no doubt also to the Quartet itself.

The Borromeo’s solution has been what the members call their Living Archive. They record and videotape almost every performance, and after each concert, they take orders for CDs ($20 each) or DVDs ($25), which they copy on demand. You can even combine performances from several different concerts. There’s an order form you can fill out at the concert hall, or you can go directly to the Quartet’s Web site: www.borromeoquartet.com. I haven’t had a chance to hear or see any of these yet, but since I missed the Borromeo’s Brahms Second Quartet at the Gardner Museum a few weeks ago but was bowled over by its Ligeti First Quartet, that concert is already on my must-have list. With the beginnings of the recording industry a century ago, classical artists started to become known primarily through their recordings. Now live concerts may once again replace recordings as a primary venue. But will an audience for the Borromeo ever come anywhere near what Bartoli’s audience is?

I’d certainly like for more people to hear the concert the Borromeo Quartet did for the FleetBoston Celebrity Series last weekend — a "Boston Marquee Event," part of a series devoted to the most outstanding locally based musicians (that remarkable original, pianist Andrew Rangell, is next, at Jordan Hall on April 3). Like the marvelous Takács Quartet just a week before, the Borromeo started with one of Haydn’s "Tost" quartets, which were written for businessman and violinist Johannes Tost. This was the one in E-flat, Opus 64 No. 6. And like the Takács, the Borromeo played with an emotional directness that’s rare in performances of Haydn. The players "get" the jokes, but they also understand the depth of feeling those jokes are often a way of lightening, at least for a moment. They made the most of the poignant dialogue between first violin (Nicholas Kitchen) and viola (Mai Motobuchi) and of the tenderly soulful, lullaby-like slow movement. The courtly yet sly Menuet, with its lilting theme tossed from one player to the next (the other teammates are violinist William Fedkenheuer and cellist Yeesun Kim), suggested not only perukes and silks but also a party with secret and possibly dangerous intrigues. All ends in a playful Presto Finale. There’s hardly anything in chamber music more satisfying than Haydn taken seriously.

That was followed by two pieces from Osvaldo Golijov, the MacArthur-winning Jewish-Argentine composer who now lives in Newton. His Yiddishbuk consists of two short movements — one dedicated to three children who died at Terezin, the second to Isaac Bashevis Singer — followed by a longer movement dedicated to Leonard Bernstein, all identified only by their initials. (Except that all the dedicatees are Jewish, I’m not sure what else they have in common.) The violent opening of Yiddishbuk made a striking contrast with the more refined Haydn. And the wild dance of the second movement continued that difference. The last movement, beginning with whispered murmurings sul ponticello (playing on the instrument’s bridge), created more mystery.

After intermission came the Boston premiere of Golijov’s Tenebrae — a response to September 11. Inspired by François Couperin’s great Leçons de ténèbres, the piece begins with a repeated basso ostinato in viola and cello followed by a melody in the violins. Soon, though, I was feeling that the melody was too similar to Barber’s famously elegiac Adagio for Strings and the approach too reminiscent of Pachelbel’s Canon — popular, sentimental favorites. Like most of Golijov’s music, the piece seemed made up more of gestures than of ideas that maintain interest through musical development — gestures that never add up to something more than just a collection of gestures. This gives the players a chance to show how well they can play in a variety of styles, but I’m not sure there’s anything deeper for them to explore.

The closing piece was one of Brahms’s late masterpieces — the autumnal Clarinet Quintet. The clarinettist was Richard Stoltzman, who has sometimes distressed me by turning his gorgeous sound and fabulous technique into a vehicle for the display of his own brilliance. This time he impressed me with the solemnity and restraint of his playing and his eloquent, thoughtful phrasing. This time, he was not just the visiting celebrity but an ideal partner for this wonderful Quartet.