Some say that Stephanie Blythe’s voice is too big for a recital – and certainly too big for Alice Tully Hall. This, as I trust you know, is nonsense. The recital can accommodate many voices, and many personalities; so can Alice Tully Hall. Ms. Blythe, the American mezzo star, is a splendid recitalist, as she proved again yesterday afternoon at … Alice Tully.

She began with six of Faure’s best-known songs, starting with “Fleur jetee,” which may well be Faure’s biggest: and Ms. Blythe sang it that way, unapologetically. More composed in character is “Les Roses d’Ispahan,” which was the second song. Janet Baker used to do it transportingly (as she did a lot of things); Ms. Blythe was not so transporting, but she was elegant.

And how about the last song of the group, “Notre amour”? This is a song one hears from lightish voices, and Ms. Blythe was not light in it – but she made a case (although she rushed, and distorted some rhythms).

Concluding the first half of the program were three songs by Frank Bridge, who may be fated to be known, chiefly, as Benjamin Britten’s teacher. (The younger man memorialized him in “Variations on a Theme by Frank Bridge,” for strings.) Joining Ms. Blythe and her accompanist, Warren Jones, for these songs was David Heiss, a cellist with the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. These are not immortal songs, in my view, but the three musicians performed them tastefully. The last of them, incidentally, was “Music, When Soft Voices Die,” which sets a poem handled more famously by Roger Quilter.

After intermission, Ms. Blythe sang “Songs of Travel,” by Vaughan Williams. This is arguably the outstanding song-cycle in English, sometimes thought of as the British “Winterreise.” Ms. Blythe was incredibly stalwart in the first song, “The Vagabond” (competing, by the way, with a loudly whistling hearing aid). She would continue to be her best in the more clarion songs. “Youth and Love” might have been more intimate, in its first part; that would have made the stormy second part more interesting.

To finish off the printed program was a set of real curiosities, “Songs Parodying Advertisements,” written in 1924 by Nicolas Slonimsky (himself a real curiosity).Ms. Blythe sang them characterfully and hilariously, ending the last song – pushing Pepsodent – with a huge high A. They must have heard that one on the East Side.

The first of the encores was an Edith Piaf number, which Ms. Blythe rendered smokily, Frenchly, vulgarly, and gloriously. She bade farewell with a Noel Coward song, put over with a sweet sincerity.

The pianist, Mr. Jones, performed impressively, as he usually does. As far as I know, he is alone among accompanists in playing from memory. On this afternoon, he had a solo piece, Percy Grainger’s arrangement of “Apres un reve” (another Faure song).

I believe Mr. Jones made one consequential mistake. After the first song in “Songs of Travel,” he turned to the audience and admonished, “You’ll have plenty of time to turn the [program] pages. Trust me.” Members of the audience applauded. This was far, far more disruptive of Vaughan Williams’s cycle than any premature page-turning could have been. But many performers can’t resist scolding, and many audience members can’t resist distancing themselves from their erring fellows, by applauding that scolding. A curse of concert life.

***

On Saturday night, Carnegie Hall saw a Mozart premiere of sorts: The Orchestra of St. Luke’s and the Carnegie Hall Festival Chorus, together with four fine soloists, all under the direction of Helmuth Rilling, performed a “completion” of Mozart’s Mass in C Minor by Robert D. Levin. It was not exactly Mozart – but it was not exactly not-Mozart, either.

Mozart wrote the Mass in 1783 – more than a decade before his death – but did not finish it. His Requiem, he did not finish either, but that is because death intervened. The Mass – like the Requiem – is one of Mozart’s greatest works, and therefore one of the greatest works in music. It is performed every year at the Salzburg Festival, in the church where it was first heard: St. Peter’s. This is often a blessed relief from the stupid and vulgar productions seen on Salzburg’s opera stages.

Mr. Levin is a scholar and pianist who makes something of a specialty of completing incomplete Mozart works. He reports that he found sketches possibly related to the Mass, and he used these to fashion his completion. “For listeners familiar with the standard performing versions of the Mass,” he writes, “seven of the 19 movements will be new. “The “Levin” Mass is half again as long as the typical.

I will say about his completion that it is interesting, creditable, and plausible. That may sound like faint praise, but it is not: This is Mozart’s Mass we’re talking about; completing it is different from gathering Puccini’s notes and tacking on an ending to “Turandot”(as Franco Alfano did). On one hand, I say, “The more C-minor Mass, the better.” On the other, I say, “Can someone else’s archeology improve on pure, authentic Mozart (to the extent that we have such Mozart)? Can what Mozart left us possibly be enhanced? Or only subtracted from?” I am glad that Mr. Levin undertook this project, and I am happy to have heard its result. I am not sure that a completion on this scale can be done better; I am equally unsure that such a task should be attempted.

The new version certainly received an excellent performance. Helmuth Rilling is one of the best conductors we have, and I hold his recording of the Requiem – with the late Arleen Auger as one of the soloists – to be unsurpassed. On Saturday night, he was smart, assured, and consistently musical. Two sopranos were front and center, those being Marlis Petersen and Juliane Banse. Ms. Petersen sang clearly and cleanly, and she showed the gift of being incisive and even dramatic, without being “operatic.” It was unfortunate that she was badly, badly flat through one aria. Ms. Banse was exemplary as usual: solid, savvy, exquisite.

The men have never had much to do in the C-minor Mass, and the tenor has some more to do now: James Taylor (no, not the pop star) performed pleasantly and skillfully. The bass still has next to nothing to do, but Nathan Berg sang his part both richly and nimbly.

Under Mr. Rilling, the chorus was alert and capable, and so was the orchestra. The “Gratias” chorus was filled with quivering C-major joy – a heart-pounding exultation – and Ms. Petersen, seated next to the conductor, looked up at him sort of wonderingly. No wonder.

***

Two seasons ago, Julia Fischer made her New York Philharmonic debut. With Maestro Lorin Maazel – a champion of hers – she played the Sibelius Violin Concerto. In my view, she was undistinguished; at least one of my colleagues thought her atrocious. In any case, she was not up to the standards of a soloist with a major orchestra.

Therefore it was a surprise – a surprise to me – that she gave a first-rate recital in Zankel Hall on Friday night. This young Munich-born violinist was superbly commanding. You felt that you were in the presence of a formidable musical mind.

Accompanying her was Oliver Schnyder, a young Swiss-born pianist who studied with, among others, Leon Fleisher. (Better instruction is hard to come by.) Their program was as meaty as could be lined up: Beethoven’s “Kreutzer” Sonata; Schubert’s Rondo in B minor; Bach’s Sonata No. 3 in C; and the Prokofiev sonata known as “Op. 94bis” (about that, more later).

Note the unusual order as well. How do you continue with a recital when you have opened with the “Kreutzer” Sonata, the granddaddy of all music for violin and piano? But this duo did.

When Miss Fischer began the “Kreutzer,” she was arresting, as though to say, “Hello, here I am.” The pianist – when it was his turn – followed suit. Their tempo was on the slow side, although we could call it deliberate. Miss Fischer did not offer great beauty of sound, but she offered something better: interesting sounds. In Beethoven’s first movement, she was bold, fearless, evincing a sort of righteousness. Her rests were daringly full.

Mr. Schnyder has ample technique, but some of his passagework could have been more fluid. He is a “vertical” pianist, a straight-up-and-down guy. In some of the quieter passages, notes failed to sound. Almost all pianists – of whatever type – contend with this problem.

Miss Fischer played the second movement – that theme and variations – in a calculated fashion, although she did not seem unnatural. In the early going, phrasing from both musicians was slightly blocky, but they had clear ideas. Even when their playing wasn’t beautiful, or smooth, it was thoughtful. The violinist suffered some flatness, most unfortunately on the movement’s final note.

I believe they should have gone right into the Finale. But they fiddled around, so to speak, letting the audience cough and murmur. When they played, they did not do so at breakneck speed; they selected an intelligent tempo. This is a sign of maturity. Miss Fischer was angular, jaunty; she knows just when to pounce on a note. Mr. Schnyder was adequate, but could have lent the music more character.

It was not long ago at Carnegie Hall that I heard Maxim Vengerov play this sonata (with Fazil Say). Mr. Vengerov is a superstar, with extravagant gifts. But I submit that Miss Fischer’s account was the more satisfying.

Miss Fischer began the Schubert Rondo – called “Rondo brillant” – as she began the Beethoven: arrestingly. In the first section of the Rondo, she was righteously imperious. She also suffered some further flatness. Most important, however, is that she kept her attention throughout, giving every phrase purpose. She does not revert to autopilot. Her ending – “brillant” indeed – was exciting and virtuosic. But Miss Fischer is not the type of violinist to commit virtuosity for virtuosity’s sake. This was a musical, sincere display.

After intermission, Miss Fischer stood before the audience to play that monumental sonata of Bach. Zankel Hall is a most exposed, or exposing, venue, and it is thus pitiless. (I am referring to the acoustics.) In an unaccompanied violin piece, this is especially so. But Miss Fischer was undaunted; she had ample reason for her confidence.

Wisely, she waited for complete silence, before beginning this semi-holy work. She let the opening Adagio build, breathing into it insistence. Soon she had the audience in a spell – a spell interrupted only by the rumbling of the subway. This movement – like the recital as a whole – had technical imperfections, but the general musical effect is what counted.

The sonata’s Fuga was enthralling. The poise, self-control, and integrity of this young woman matched Bach’s conception. The Largo was okay – not exactly melting – and the final movement (Allegro assai) was fast and determined. Once more, there was that sense of righteousness. And any rubato was tasteful, even fetching.

Violinist and pianist finished the program with that Prokofiev sonata, Op. 94bis.This is the one that began life as a flute sonata (Op. 94) before being transformed by the composer (at the behest of the Soviet Union’s foremost violinist, David Oistrakh).

This was different music from the preceding pieces, but Miss Fischer employed those same qualities, winningly: She was spiky, resolute, and, yes, righteous. The Andante was rather like a lullaby. And in the final movement – which brings to mind Prokofiev’s “Classical” Symphony – Miss Fischer was convulsive, demonic.

Her audience stood for her, as was only fitting. The world has the good fortune to be swimming in fine violinists, a lot of them young. To our list we must add Julia Fischer.