Have I got a voice recital for you — or rather, Weill Recital Hall did, Thursday night. Onstage was Joyce DiDonato, the Kansas-born mezzo (and her accompanist, the London-born Julius Drake). Ms. DiDonato sang a recital that should last in the memories of all who attended.

This lady has lit up opera stages around the world, and she is especially prized in Rossini. I have called her a “sparkplug” of a mezzo, and she is. But she has deep qualities, too. And the scintillation and depth were amply in evidence at Weill.

She began with five songs of Bizet, who should be known for more than “Carmen.” From the first moment, Ms. DiDonato was super-secure, both musically and technically. She was always in the center of the note. She did justice to both the words and the music, but remembered that musical matters are foremost. She used a wide range of dynamics — and she did not sing prissily, did not sing in a “recital voice.” She opened up as appropriate.

No note was covered, no note was fake, no note was precious — this was just good, honest singing.

Ms. DiDonato poured on her celebrated personality, although “personality” is a poor word for what this singer has: It’s more like the ability to bring a piece fully to life. Throughout the Bizet songs, she was saucy and delicious. Normally, I am opposed to any acting in recital, and Ms. DiDonato acted, just a touch. But it seemed perfectly appropriate, even an enhancement.

In Bizet’s mysterious, beguiling “Adieux de l’hôtesse arabe,” Ms. DiDonato was a little breathy and dramatic, but she still scored. And if I may sneak in a CD recommendation: Beg, borrow, or steal — or buy! — Marilyn Horne’s 1979 Salzburg recital on VAI. She sings “Adieux de l’hôtesse arabe,” and much else, consummately.

Ms. DiDonato went on to another Horne specialty, as it happens, Rossini’s cantata “Giovanna d’Arco.” This is a tour de force for the mezzo who can make it so — and Ms. DiDonato is one of them. In addition to singing brilliantly, she sang bravely, especially when unaccompanied, and utterly exposed in that small hall. Ms. DiDonato presented what you have to call a scorching bel canto.

Her second half was all-Spanish, and she seemed to be channeling Conchita Supervia, her great mezzo predecessor (and a predecessor sparkplug). She started out with five songs of Granados — and her love of the language, along with the music, was obvious. She especially enjoyed those aitchy Gs. Each song was packed with soul, but Ms. DiDonato never overdid it.

In the final song, “No lloréis ojuelos” — I hope you were able to hear de los Angeles and de Larrocha in it — something very odd happened: Ms. DiDonato committed a speck of bad intonation, highlighting that she had committed none before. So we learned that she was fallible.

She then moved to Falla’s “Seven Spanish Popular Songs,” which few singers can resist. In “El paño moruno,” Ms. DiDonato was just slightly stiff, a little unflavorful. “Seguidilla murciana” could have been lighter and fleeter. In “Nana,” Ms. DiDonato did not produce great purity of sound, but she sang affectingly. And “Polo” had due fire, with the mezzo spitting out the final words superbly.

And I’m happy to report that she did not yelp at the end. You can yelp or not — and I put in a strong vote for not.

Ms. DiDonato closed her printed program with three songs from Montsalvatge’s “Canciones negras,” though not the most famous, the lullaby that begins “Ninghe, ninghe, ninghe.” She was especially effective in the jazzy and infectious “Canto negro.” It was simply — to use high-flown critical language — way-cool.

Then, for an encore, it was more Spanish music, after a fashion, and some more Rossini: his “Canzonetta spagnuola” (another Horne specialty). (Come to think of it, everything on this program was a Horne specialty.) And Ms. DiDonato did something strange in this fetching little song: She began it very, very slowly, then sped up, to a frenzy. This worked, more or less.

After that, a dazzler of a Rossini aria, “Non più mesta.” And Ms. DiDonato sang the stuffing out of it, ornamenting it to the gills. Her final Bs were not especially pretty — she had sung enough — but they were solid.

And, to send the audience home, she did, in fact, sing that Montsalvatge lullaby, tiredly but touchingly.

Ladies and gentlemen, you hope against hope for a first-rate voice recital — and, occasionally, you get one.