EMI Classics has released a disc called “Kiri Sings Karl.” Kiri, we know: Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, the veteran soprano from New Zealand. But who’s Karl? He is Karl Jenkins, a Welshborn composer who is wildly popular in the U.K. Wildly popular for a classical composer, that is — and he almost is one.

Mr. Jenkins has a varied background, in jazz, advertising (musical branch), and film (ditto). He is also heavy into what we call “world music.” In the mid–1990s, he launched his “Adiemus” project, which explores, adopts, and adapts music around the globe. And in 1999, he composed his “Armed Man: A Mass for Peace,” which can be considered a half-classical, half-popular oratorio.

The booklet of the new CD informs us that this oratorio has been performed in the U.K. more than 200 times in the last year and a half. Not too shabby.

Mr. Jenkins has found a way to merge the popular and the classical, and he often writes music deemed “spiritual.” He reminds me, in certain respects, of two other Brits: Rachel Portman and Paul McCartney. Ms. Portman, who has written dozens of film scores, is the composer of “The Little Prince,” an opera for children (and appreciative adults). Mr. McCartney belonged to a rock band — I forget which. His latest “classical” work is, like Mr. Jenkins’s “Armed Man,” an oratorio: “Ecce Cor Meum” (also available on EMI Classics). Whatever you think of this work — and you may not think much — the boy is a tunesmith.

The title of the new Jenkins CD — “Kiri Sings Karl” — is slightly misleading. The soprano sings Mr. Jenkins’s music, all right, but she also sings music of several other composers, arranged by Mr. Jenkins. Prominent among these composers are Guastavino and Ginastera.

Mr. Jenkins proves a skillful arranger, but, in these Latin American songs, he goes rather too native. In a CD-booklet note, he says that arranging Guastavino and Ginastera allowed him to “indulge my predilection for employing indigenous percussion instruments.” I would say overindulge. It is all a bit MGM, as if Bob and Bing were on the road to Caracas.

Along with Dame Kiri, Mr. Jenkins’s “Adiemus” singers are present on this disc. He has written music for them, but also a whole new language: new words. One piece, “Antema Africana,” sounds like so much tribal chic, perhaps out of Broadway’s “Lion King.”And then there is “Y Cyfrinwyr,” which appears to be a Welsh song with freaky African-ish interventions.

“In Paradisum”sounds like the Fauré Requiem gone pop, even bubblegum. Then there is an Italian song, which is to say, one that uses Italian lyrics (and an Italianate feel). Called “Capriccio d’Amore,” it is rather enjoyable.

A piece with the clever name “Allegrettango” manages to combine Bizet’s “Habañera” with the second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. The music is clever, too. In “Mazurka,” Mr. Jenkins does something wonderful with Chopin. And the disc ends with a number called “Paya Paya,” which sounds like music you would hear on a cruise ship, when it pulls up to a Caribbean island — particularly a Spanish-speaking one.

But that would be a fairly classy cruise ship.

As for Dame Kiri, she has long been a queen of crossover — which is no disparagement, in my book. And how does she sound on this disc? Well, even with the enhancements of the studio, that beautiful voice sounds a little worn — as it has a right to be: Dame Kiri made her Covent Garden debut in 1971. She sings one Fauré song here, and it is a beauty: “Le Secret.” But she sings it pop style, not to say lounge style.

Still, Dame Kiri is a very classy lounge act.

She is much deprecated — especially by critics — but the woman has lavish gifts. And Karl Jenkins is an interesting fellow. They seem to have enjoyed making this extremely odd album together. Many people will welcome it, and they won’t be all wrong.

STEVEN MERCURIO
‘Many Voices’

From Sony Classical, we have songs of an American composer, Steven Mercurio. The title of this album is “Many Voices,” and that probably refers to compositional voices. But Mr. Mercurio has assembled some well-known singer voices here: those of Rolando Villazón, Sumi Jo, Gino Quilico — even Andrea Bocelli. Mr. Mercurio often works as an opera conductor, and one can imagine the contacts he has made.

As a composer, he tends to be Romantic, lush, and yearning, not one to obey the dictates of the establishment. Good for him. The songs on “Many Voices” are uneven in quality, but the best of them give pleasure.

One song is a lullaby, appropriately titled “Good-Night.” It uses words of Jane Taylor (1783–1824), whose words also appear in a song that has done pretty well: “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” How’s that for immortality? Mr. Mercurio’s “Good-Night” is lovely, nicely conceived, and we can always use another lullaby: something to sing to our babes.

The composer also employs a poem of Eugene O’Neill, “Song in Chaos,” a marvelous thing. O’Neill wrote it for the birthday of his wife. I believe Mr. Mercurio’s song grows too anthemic and rapturous, and I would also have a man sing it, rather than a woman. (Mr. Mercurio designates a soprano.) But it’s his song, after all.

Another poet on this disc? Mr. Bocelli — yes, Andrea Bocelli. Mr. Mercurio has set two of his poems, “Desiderio” and “Paternità.” Mr. Bocelli wrote the second poem on the birth of his son. Amateur though it may be, it is touching. Perhaps one of the reasons it’s touching is that it’s amateur.

Strangely, Mr. Bocelli does not sing “Paternità” on this disc. (He sings “Desiderio.”) Another Italian tenor, Marcello Giordani, does the honor. For me, the song is too simple and repetitious, but, again, Mr. Mercurio has his own conception.

He ends his album with a lengthy Serenade for Tenor and Orchestra (and, of course, when you think serenades for tenor, you think Britten). This is a dreamy affair, but the dream is often nightmarish: full of anguish and regret. Despite its effusive, shameless tonality, it is a disturbing work, as Mr. Mercurio must intend. One has the feeling that it’s intensely personal.

Every song on this disc is orchestrated — even the lullaby. In my view, some would be better off with the intimacy and relative plainness of the piano. But Mr. Mercurio has thought big — thought grand — and made his splash.