Fazil Say is no doubt the most famous Turk in classical music. Of course, as Bill Buckley once said in another context, that’s like pointing out the tallest building in Wichita, Kan. Heretofore, Turks in music have mostly been found in comic opera (Mozart, Rossini). Nationality aside, Mr. Say is a much-acclaimed pianist, and he gave a recital at the Metropolitan Museum on Friday night.

He is an adventurous musician, doing a lot of composing, seeking out unusual repertory, playing jazz. At the museum, he served up a program consisting mainly of Bach: straight Bach – that is, Bach as Bach wrote the music – and transcribed Bach. The transcribers were Liszt, Busoni, and Mr. Say himself.

Kudos to Mr. Say for opening himself to transcriptions – to both playing them and making them. For many years, transcriptions were out of favor, considered impure and uncool. They were relics of a discredited era. But now they’re making a comeback, as a worthy aspect of the general repertory.

I long to hear the Bach transcriptions of the British pianist Harriet Cohen (a contemporary of Myra Hess). Alicia de Larrocha recorded a couple of them; they are never – as far as I know – performed in recital.

Mr. Say began his program with some straight Bach: the French Suite No. 6 in E major. The opening Allemande did not augur well. It was detached and mechanical, although some variation in dynamics was helpful. Later, the Sarabande began in a clotted, blunt, ungraceful way; and then Mr. Say stretched it out, as though playing a Chopin nocturne. The Bouree was largely clumsy and dense, and the Gigue – that fleet, lithe, gay creation – was oddly leadfooted.

In addition to which, Mr. Say has an arsenal of gestures to make Liberace blush. He swoons around, sometimes looking behind him. He grimaces in pain, and then beams in ecstasy. He sings loudly, he conducts himself. Really, if he’s going to indulge in these antics, he should play better.

The Liszt transcription was of Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in A minor, BWV 543, originally for organ. This is a wonderful, opportunity-filled transcription, and Mr. Say gave it appropriate freedom. This included lots of pedal. But he did some ugly pounding and committed some absurd accents. Also, he revealed another gesture in his arsenal: He wiggles his hand on the keyboard, as though trying to produce vibrato. Sorry, Charlie – doesn’t work (groovy as it may look, to some).

Then it was time for Busoni’s transcription of Bach’s famous Chaconne in D minor. This is one of the most transcribed pieces in all of music – Brahms did a version for left hand alone. Mr. Say did some truly awful playing in the Busoni: clunking, unfeeling, unreasonable. I wished he had sung even more loudly, to cover up the playing. At other times, he did some truly admirable playing: as in the D-major chorale. This was beautiful. And Mr. Say demonstrated an excellent pianissimo.

After intermission, the pianist turned to the Italian Concerto – more straight Bach – whose first movement was a relief: sensible in phrasing, sensible in overall conception. In the second movement (Andante), Mr. Say’s tempo was quite slow, in a departure from the way people do things in Bach these days. But it was a good tempo, and Mr. Say was steady within it. Also, he sang nicely – with his fingers, I mean.

The closing movement was a letdown. Marked Presto, it is often taken like the wind; Mr. Say’s tempo was unusually moderate, which was fine. But his playing was – again – heavy, thudding, mechanical. Such a puzzle.

And Mr. Say’s own transcription? It was of the beloved Passacaglia in C minor for organ. Mr. Say has done a very good job, adding to the storehouse of Bach transcriptions. I hope that other pianists will play this transcription, and play it better than its creator did on Friday night: less mechanically and more musically.

Interestingly, Mr. Say used sheet music, for the first time of the evening – in his own piece. He also relied on sheet music for the closing pieces on the program: Brahms’s three intermezzos, Op. 117. It was strange that he used music here, as these pieces are quite familiar.

Even stranger was that Mr. Say tacked on these Brahms pieces in a Bach program. Was he making a statement, or did he simply want to end intimately, ruminatingly, quietly? Whatever the case, the intermezzos are superb, and Mr. Say played them well, exhibiting some nuance missing from other parts of the program.

Mr. Say is an interesting musician, and undoubtedly an interesting man. But his recital was a frustrating one, full of showmanship, crudeness, and clear ability.

***

Appearing in Weill Recital Hall on Thursday night was the soprano Eilana Lappalainen. Pretty name, huh? She is Finnish-Canadian, and she’s had a busy career in opera. She seems to make a specialty of the role of Salome. At Weill, she sang an attractive program consisting of four groups of songs – some of them familiar, some of them not.

She opened, appropriately enough, with a group of Sibelius. The Finnish star Karita Mattila sings his music; so does the Swedish mezzo-soprano Anne Sofie von Otter. Otherwise, we don’t hear the mighty Finn much these days. I mean, in the recital hall.

Ms. Lappalainen sang six songs, beginning with “Illalle” (“To Evening”). Given the title, you expect a calm song, even a cool one (or a spooky one). Instead, it is rhapsodic.

Let it be said that Ms. Lappalainen is not a typical song-singer. She has a big voice, and she wasn’t afraid to deploy it in the intimate setting of Weill. It is also the kind of voice I call “heavily draped” – weighty, thick, throbbing. Ms. Lappalainen is an old-fashioned opera soprano, and she tends to wear her heart on her sleeve. Again, not the world’s idea of a song-singer. She is not to be mistaken for Ian Bostridge, brooding around.

But I maintain that every voice, every kind of singer, should sing recitals – why not? Variety is the spice of life (as I believe I once heard).

Ms. Lappalainen sang “Illalle” affectingly, and her pianist, Robert Miller, showed sensitivity and care. The rest of the group went tolerably well. You may not have liked what Ms. Lappalainen was doing – asking for more subtlety, for example – but it was a pleasure to hear Sibelius in this genre.

Next on the bill was a group of Puccini. Yes, he wrote some songs, most of them linked to his operas, anyway. Ms. Lappalainen and Mr. Miller began with the touching, delicate lullaby “E l’uccellino.” She did not succeed in lightening the voice effectively; and Mr. Miller might have been sprightlier, crisper. I might mention, too, that Ms. Lappalainen wins no prizes for Italian diction.

“E l’uccellino” was followed by “Salve Regina,” which Ms. Lappalainen sang with full sensuality, not bothering with religious feeling. “Morire?” is maybe the most famous of Puccini’s songs; he placed it in one version of “La Rondine” (later scratching it). Ms. Lappalainen gave “Morire?” a big operatic ending, which the composer probably wouldn’t have minded.

She ended this group with “L’ora, o Tirsi,” which you can find in “Manon Lescaut.” Talk about an operatic ending: Ms. Lappalainen delivered a big ol’ C (high, of course). Not bad.

After intermission, it was four of Richard Strauss’s greatest hits – starting with “Zueignung,” a song that many singers like to use as an encore. Ms. Lappalainen was slow and stately in it. She was too deliberate, for my taste, but hers was a point of view. She next sang “Heimliche Aufforderung,” without rhapsody, without uplift. That was strange – especially from so assertive a singer. Mr. Miller was rather timid at the keyboard; he may well have been conforming to Ms. Lappalainen’s conception.

He played the opening of “Morgen!” beautifully – simply and beautifully. Ms. Lappalainen had too little modulation in the voice to do the song justice, but she kept her dignity. The group closed with a decent “Cacilie.”

To end the printed program, Ms. Lappalainen sang the “Wesendonck-Lieder” of Wagner, five songs that prefigure “Tristan und Isolde.” A lack of modulation was still a problem, but the soprano was not without virtues. The third song, “Im Treibhaus,” was really moving. The final song, “Traume,” was missing its transport. But Ms. Lappalainen did something interesting with the last line: She sang it in a conversational way, highly unusual. Again, interesting.

Encores were two. More Sibelius? No. Ms. Lappalainen first sang “Somewhere,” from “West Side Story” (Bernstein, of course). She was off pitch – for basically the first time of the evening – but she was sincere. And, oh, what a beautiful song!

Then she sang another beautiful song, one that also uses the word “Somewhere” – “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” music by Harold Arlen, lyrics by Yip Harburg. We tend to forget what a gem this is. Ms. Lappalainen did something surprising here. She lightened that heavy voice, considerably. Indeed, she sang in a kind of half voice, even a quarter voice. And she was as effective and endearing as she’d been all night.

A lovely sendoff.