The Hawaii Symphony Orchestra offered a special treat Friday, featuring Cuban-American guitarist Manuel Barrueco in not one, but two great works for guitar and orchestra.

Among the concerto repertoire, works for guitar and orchestra are relatively rare, the two having developed along separate traditions. By the time the orchestra made its appearance, the guitar had been around for centuries and was prized as one of the most expressive of instruments. The guitar is also one of the more intimate instruments, and because of the imbalance in dynamic power between guitar and orchestra, the two were combined only rarely until the 20th century, with the advent of microphones.

Barrueco opened the concert with Toru Takemitsu’s “To the Edge of Dream” from 1983, an impressionistic meditation on tone colors and shifting moods. Takemitsu wrote the piece in an evocative, cinematic style, with quiet moments and climaxes of sound rather than of themes. The music is quite beautiful and does not so much feature the guitar as envelop it, creating an intricate tapestry that invites rehearing, becoming more interesting each time.

Barrueco’s playing was focused, intense, expressive, brilliant, wonderful. He is a master in every sense of the word, able to sing arching melodies, scurry through virtuosic passages, float the most delicate note, and wring out dissonant chords.

Barrueco closed his half with Joaquin Rodrigo’s “Concierto Aranjuez” from 1940, by far the most well-known and ever-popular of guitar concertos. It is a work that is just plain fun to hear — melodic, arresting and warmly picturesque.

Barrueco’s performance was outstanding, and conductor Junichi Hirokami is a very appealing and skilled conductor, but the combination in this particular piece was that rare instance of excellence on all sides that didn’t quite mesh enough to ignite.

Hirokami brought to the piece a classical perspective — control, balance, symmetry and expressiveness within bounds. Instead of a rubato-rich flow, “snapped” Spanish rhythms, and barely controlled passion, the music had a cool beauty about it: transparent instead of smoky, reasoned instead of heated. The famous second-movement theme was beautifully melancholy, lovely but not heart-wrenching.

Hirokami’s approach worked beautifully in the Takemitsu and actually improved Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No.2 of 1908, which filled the second half of the evening.

Rachmaninoff’s music, with its waves of Romantic sentiment, long lines, and some of the most extended climaxes in history, has the potential to become overblown (literally, in the case of the winds). Rachmaninoff showcased the full power and glory of the symphonic orchestra, creating a sound that when performed live, remains unmatched by any recording system yet devised.

Hirokami added much-needed restraint, allowing the music to be full without blaring, rich but not messy. He is a very expressive conductor who crafted each line and half-danced his movements, focusing the orchestra and engaging the audience throughout. When that famous second-movement melody emerged, you could feel the ripple of recognition through the audience.

One of the most delightful aspects of Hirokami’s style was his ability to choose and hold a perfect slow tempo, the most misunderstood of tempos and one in painfully short supply in modern life.

When Hirokami brought the Rachmaninoff to its close, the audience rose for an enthusiastic and well-deserved standing ovation, replete with bravos and halloos.