If you’re going to be the biggest star in classical music, you’d better have something on the ball – and Renee Fleming has a lot on the ball. Whether or not she is your favorite, she is a singer of formidable gifts. Miss Fleming has had a banner season, with justly acclaimed appearances in Handel’s “Rodelinda” at the Metropolitan Opera, and a new book, to boot: “The Inner Voice.” It is an absorbing and accomplished book – not a piece of celebrity fluff – and I have it on trustworthy authority that she wrote it herself.

She gave a recital in Carnegie Hall on Monday night, the first half of which was Purcell and Handel, the second half of which was Berg and Schumann. Accompanying her on the first half was the original-instruments band Rebel. Remember when Sir Neville Marriner referred to the “sandals-and-granola crowd”? Well, this is what he meant. Rebel sounded like wheat germ, or straw. But many people like this and want this, and those people evidently include Renee Fleming. Plus, who can argue with “authenticity”?

The singer began with Purcell’s “Sweeter Than Roses,” in which she showed some hardness – hardness of sound. She also showed her famous long breaths (one of which, however, was a little short). She sang this piece with liberal expression – as she does all Purcell, and all early music, and everything – but she was not inappropriate. When she got to the beloved, irresistible section asking “What magic has victorious love?” she was surprisingly fast: She might have been statelier, jauntier – more “victorious.” But it was a choice.

In “I Take No Pleasure in the Sun’s Bright Beams,” she displayed her beautiful, cello-like lower register, even if higher notes weren’t fully warmed up yet. “I Attempt from Love’s Sickness to Fly” seemed half spoken, which was odd, but not ineffective. “Oh, Let Me Weep” was rather self-conscious, and therefore less moving than it might have been. It didn’t help that a Rebel violinist was sawing away flatly.

The Purcell group ended with “The Blessed Virgin’s Expostulation.” As expected, Miss Fleming sang this challenging piece with considerable passion, and her cries of “Gabriel!” were stirring. Again, however, there was a certain self-consciousness, the singer perhaps too aware of making beautiful and stylish phrases. This was the rap against Dame Kiri Te Kanawa (who sang this piece – very well). It wasn’t always true of her, and it’s certainly not always true of Miss Fleming. But it’s true of each, now and then.

Miss Fleming has been on something of a Handel kick: There was “Rodelinda,” and we also have a new CD of Handel arias (from Decca). Miss Fleming began her group at Carnegie Hall with “Oh! Had I Jubal’s Lyre,” and as Rebel was scratching its way through the opening, I, for one, was longing for the entry of that superb voice: It indeed came as a relief. Outstanding in the Handel group was “Calm Thou My Soul … Convey Me to Some Peaceful Shore,” which was unself-conscious, unmannered – helpfully “straight.” And “Endless Pleasure, Endless Love” was executed perkily and skillfully.

Berg’s “Seven Early Songs,” Miss Fleming sings over and over, and it’s hard to blame her: If she likes them, they like her, equally. On this occasion, as on others, she wrapped herself around these songs deliciously. Her pianist – Rebel safely retired – was Hartmut Holl, who played with a confidence well earned.

One should avoid comparison, but it’s hard not to note that Christine Schafer was in town recently, singing this same Berg. Miss Fleming and the German soprano are quite different – the former more “emotional,” the latter cooler, more cerebral (not to suggest an unintelligence in Miss Fleming’s singing – not at all). With Christine Schafer, it’s possible to be conscious only of Berg, and the text; with Miss Fleming, one is never not conscious of … Miss Fleming.

But then, how many of us would want to be?

The Berg set was not without problems: “Traumgekront” ended on a very, very flat G. But “Im Zimmer” was nicely conversational and accurate, and “Liebesode” was so sensuous, it might have come in a brown paper wrapper. “Sommertage” was big and rhapsodic, like Strauss (about him, more later).

Ending the printed program were eight Schumann songs. The first was “Standchen,” which was pretty much perfect – voice, pitch, and interpretation coming together. Next was “Mondnacht,” whose opening Mr. Holl played exquisitely. Would that his soprano had taken his lead: She might have sung this music much more straightforwardly. In a sense, we can savor “Mondnacht” more if the singer savors it less. So too, a later song, “Du bist wie eine Blume,” begged to be simpler.

But “Er ist’s” was … perfect. And “Hochlandisches Wiegenlied” was fabulously touching. Miss Fleming concluded the set with “Stille Tranen.” Here, she did some more flatting, and some straining – she also returned to an earlier hardness, up top. But she gave the song an unusual anthemic quality, which worked.

Encores? There were four – one Marx and three Strauss. Before beginning the Strauss songs, Miss Fleming quipped, “You didn’t think I was going to let you get out of here without some Strauss from me, did you?” The first of these was the world’s most popular encore: “Zueignung.” The second was what seems to me Miss Fleming’s most frequent encore: “Cacilie.” If Leontyne Price weren’t down in the Village, Miss Fleming would be the greatest “Cacilie” singer alive. (Mr. Holl, unfortunately, half butchered his accompaniment Monday night.) And finally – what else? – “Morgen.”

But that must not be the last word. You will want to know – some of you – what she was wearing. Don’t deny it. It was an angelic, pinkish, wedding gownish job, courtesy of Oscar de la Renta. (So the program informed us.) In my expert view, it was right purty.