Meaning in music has always been a vexed question. A symphony heard innocently, without the goading of program notes or introductory lectures, can mean radically different things -- or nothing at all -- to different listeners. Shostakovich's music is a textook example of this problem. Music was freighted with meaning for him. His works are often pictorial, and they carry an emotional weight that, if nothing else, conveys the complexity and turmoil of their creator's inner life. Yet if the opinions and commentary included in Solomon Volkov's ''Testimony'' are truly those of Shostakovich, the composer himself often gave conflicting explanations of his pieces.
The Eleventh Symphony, which Yakov Kreizberg conducted as the centerpiece of his New York Philharmonic debut on Wednesday evening, has two competing stories, one official, the other subversive. Officially, it was composed in 1957 to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the Russian Revolution, and it draws its themes from revolutionary songs. Its title, ''The Year 1905,'' refers to the failed revolution of that year, and its movements are steeped in tragedy. Unofficially, it is said to have been Shostakovich's protest of the Soviet Government's crushing of the Hungarian uprising in 1956.
Essays in the Philharmonic's program book by two experts on Russian music disagree on the validity of this reading. Harlow Robinson endorses it; Laurel Fay notes that Shostakovich had spoken about the work's programmatic details long before the Hungarian revolt. But surely, if Beethoven could compose the ''Eroica'' as a tribute to Napoleon and recast it as an indictment of tyranny after Napoleon crowned himself Emperor, Shostakovich can have it both ways as well. The bottom line is the same: meaning hangs on extramusical information.
On its own terms, the Shostakovich Eleventh probably says more to a Russian audience than to one unfamiliar with the songs its themes are based on, but its evocations of street fighting and gunfire are clear, as is its intensely mournful character. Mr. Kreizberg, who was born and trained in Russia, found a workable balance between specifics and generalities: he shaped the recurring folk themes in a way that highlighted their transformation in light of either story of government suppression, but they rarely overshadowed the more universal sense of tragedy that pervades the score.
Before the Shostakovich, the pianist Mitsuko Uchida gave a sharply-etched account of Mozart's Concerto No. 20 in D minor (K. 466). Ms. Uchida's charm has been her ability to find surprising turns in familiar works. Here, those came in her characterization of the solo line as changeable, if not quite mercurial, with gentle introspection and restraint offset by tumultuous, free-spirited readings of the Beethoven cadenzas.
Mr. Kreizberg and a reduced orchestra accompanied her with admirable precision and, particularly in the finale, the kind of vivid articulation that makes for a lively dialogue between soloist and ensemble.
The program is repeated tonight and Tuesday evening.