SALZBURG, Austria – About 10 years ago, Cecilia Bartoli was the hottest thing in music (classical division). Now the hype has largely died down, and she is just an ordinary superstar. But of course, there’s nothing ordinary about La Bartoli: She is a phenom. And she put in a phenomenal appearance at the Grosses Festspielhaus on Monday night.

Isn’t her voice – a light, lyric, coloratura mezzo-soprano – a little too small for the Grosses? Wouldn’t it be better off in the Kleines? No. First of all, the Kleines Festspielhaus is no more: It is being transformed into a House for Mozart. Second, Miss Bartoli had no trouble filling the larger hall.

And she filled it with the recital repertory she is known for: Italian songs by a variety of composers (Italian or not). Most of the texts on this program were written by Metastasio, that ubiquitous 18th-century scribe. And she had as her accompanist a major pianist, András Schiff, who often collaborates with her (and has recorded with her). As a rule, these star-star pairings don’t work. But sometimes they do: Renee Fleming/Jean-Yves Thibaudet is a modern example; Bartoli/Schiff is another.

They began with two beloved Mozart songs, “Un moto di gioia” and “Ridente la calma.” The question to ask about Miss Bartoli was, Would she be cutesy? And, Would she be vulgar? She was not exactly cutesy, but she flirted with vulgar. “Un moto di gioia” is a simple, quick, sweet song, but Miss Bartoli tried to make a big deal out of it. She acted the ham all the way through. In fact, she was the biggest ham in the Grosses Festspielhaus since … the pianistic phenom Lang Lang played there the day before.

“Ridente la calma” is another simple song, but a beautiful song, and, again, Miss Bartoli did far too much: She slowed down, she drew out, she manipulated. You would hesitate to do as much to the Immolation Scene.

Mr. Schiff, I should add, accompanied cleanly and sensibly, as he would all night long. But I had to ask: Why does he go along with Miss Bartoli’s excesses (which is to say, go along with her), and how can he take these all-Italian evenings? Some of these songs are little more than ditties, lighter than air.

From Mozart, Miss Bartoli moved on to Beethoven, singing two songs almost never heard.”La partenza” is a beauty, with an uncomplicated but interesting piano part, resembling Mozart’s famous lied “Abendempfindung.” The second song, “Dimmi, ben mio,” is a kind of Beethoven “Moto di gioia,” brief, gay, just-right. Miss Bartoli rendered both persuasively – she indulged in nothing excessive.

Then came “Ah! perfido” (also by Beethoven). What, you’ve never heard this scena accompanied by a piano, rather than an orchestra? Neither had I. It benefits from an orchestra. And when Miss Bartoli began the piece, I had to suppress a laugh, because she sounded like an angry little Mozart character, or Rossini character. “Ah! perfido” could use a bigger, more imposing voice: To cite two contemporary examples, I like Deborah Voigt and Alessandra Marc. And Miss Bartoli was hysterical, though not in the way Beethoven intends. She was simply way over the top, in her emotions.

And yet she is bursting with talent, and she has gobs of technique. I have long said it: If Miss Bartoli had more musical discipline, she would be a frighteningly powerful performing machine. And even as she is, she is that, sometimes.

She continued with Meyerbeer, six “canzonette” the composer wrote when he was 18. She sang these songs beautifully, with a keen sense of line. And if her passagework is detached or breathy (or both), that is the Bartoli style, well entrenched. Meyerbeer’s songs benefited from her salesmanship in a way that “Ridente la calma” did not. And it struck me that, ham though she may be, she is an utterly sincere ham: She believes in everything she is doing, and it seems churlish to object.

The mezzo closed the first half of her recital with a Rossini cantata, “Giovanna d’Arco” – nicely shaped, superbly embroidered.

The second half began with some Schubert: four of his Italian songs this singer loves so well. She rendered them attractively, as did her accompanist, a dedicated Schubertian. And did you know that Weber – Carla Maria von Weber – wrote Italian songs? Neither had I. Miss Bartoli offered two of them, interspersed with two Bellini songs. One of the latter was that enduring hit, “Vaga luna.” When Mr. Schiff began it, he might have been playing Chopin, which was appropriate, for Chopin deeply admired – and learned from – the Italian-opera writer. But Miss Bartoli made it an overly soupy affair; “Vaga luna” is so much better off straight. She is most successful in fast songs, because she can do less damage in them – her latitude is restricted. Weber’s “Ch’io mai vi possa” is both quick and comic: And Miss Bartoli is unsurpassed in such music.

To end the program was some more Rossini, beginning with two songs in French, breaking the pattern. (French songs by an Italian composer!) One of these was “La grande Coquette,” and, boy, can Miss Bartoli do such a woman! The last song – almost inevitably – was “La Danza,” which from Miss Bartoli was molto, molto piccante. Andras Schiff, astonishingly enough, was still keeping his dignity.

The Salzburg audience applauded like mad, and stamped its feet, and Miss Bartoli took it all in like a pleased little girl: eyes closed, hand to heart, grinning, excited. She favored the adoring throng with two encores, predictable ones (and right ones): “Voi che sapete” (Mozart) and “Non piu mesta” (Rossini). The second was super-embellished, and irresistible.

From the beginning, I have had my reservations about Miss Bartoli, and hoped that she would enact some reforms. It’s getting late, however, and she’s not going to. She is what she is. And she likes what she is. And so do millions around the world. And so do I, I suppose, in the end.