Midori and Ozgur Aydin at Carnegie Hall The violinist Midori at Carnegie Hall. Most violinists have a particular sound - creamy or bright, soulful or trenchant - that serves as a calling card. Not Midori. Now 41, she has been a fixture on international stages for 30 years, and she has as many different sounds at her disposal as the hues on a Pantone color chart. On Wednesday evening Midori and the Turkish-American pianist Ozgur Aydin presented a recital at Carnegie Hall that was built around three Beethoven sonatas in the key of A. In the hands of another violinist that program might have made for a monochrome evening. But supplemented by two sets of exquisitely delicate works by Anton Webern and George Crumb, it became a master class on color and nuance. In Beethoven's Sonata No. 2 (Op. 12), Midori underlined the work's Classical grace with clean phrases and a certain expressive reticence that heightened the effect of the more emotionally expansive middle movement. Mr. Aydin is a sensitive and flexible partner, and one finely attuned to humor; the ending of the first movement sounded like a knock-knock joke. The Sonata No. 6 (Op. 30), which Beethoven dedicated to the young Czar Alexander I, has more heroic ambitions but also a lot of frills, which Midori allowed to gleam like gilded stucco. There are few string players outside the early music movement who use vibrato as sparingly as Midori, yet she is able to create fine gradations in resonance without it. Webern's Four Pieces for Violin and Piano are enigmatic miniatures in which form is dissolved into pure texture. Much of the music is so quiet that it can be a challenge to project it in as large a space as Carnegie Hall. Midori and Mr. Aydin instead drew the listener inward, as she spun spidery threads of sound above the piano's inky chords. Crumb's "Four Nocturnes (Night Music II)," written in 1964, called forth more sorcery, especially on the part of Mr. Aydin, who coaxed clusters of unexpected sounds from the innards of his Steinway. A caress of the piano's strings with the fingernails produced a metallic shiver; a chord played on the keyboard while Mr. Aydin damped the strings" vibrations, sounded like hollow wood. In the concertolike "Kreutzer" Sonata (Op. 47) Midori seemed to run into trouble. There were intonational impurities, though those could have stemmed from tuning problems in a half-empty hall chilled by drafts. This was the first concert in the Stern Auditorium after a 10-day run of cancellations and postponements and a loss of utilities at Carnegie in the wake of Hurricane Sandy, and another storm was causing havoc outside. And some of her rapid staccato phrasings took on a harshness that began to grate. But the opening chorale was delivered with ascetic concentration and the middle movement with engaging simplicity. It sometimes seemed that in this relationship it was Mr. Aydin who was the Romantic, his playing almost uniformly liquid and sweet, while Midori could appear cerebral and skittish. The first encore was more night music: an elegant rendition of Debussy's "Clair de Lune" that was beautifully underscored by Mr. Aydin's shadow play at the piano. The two ended the evening with the whimsical "Chinese Tambourine" by Fritz Kreisler, which brought out a playfully seductive side of Midori.