Campaigning in 1992, Bill Clinton would tell audiences they’d get “two for the price of one” – given his canny spouse. Whether we hear the same line in 2008 remains to be seen. In any case, the audience in the Metropolitan Museum’s Temple of Dendur Friday night got two for the price of one: a joint recital by Stephanie Blythe and John Relyea. A joint recital is a rare thing, and Ms. Blythe and Mr. Relyea made theirs a joyous occasion.

She is an American mezzo-soprano, and he is a Canadian bass-baritone. They are well matched. First, each has a big voice, in addition to a rich, beautiful one. Her voice, in particular, is huge – gloriously huge. You know that ad for some stereo system in which a young man sitting in an armchair gets his hair blown back? That’s the way I felt, in the third row, when Ms. Blythe let out a high note, fortissimo.

These singers also share a sense of solidity. Each is sure-footed in his technique, and neither flutters around, interpretively. They are straightforward, rugged, non-flighty singers.

Their program in the Temple of Dendur was an amazingly diverse one. It began with music from Thomas’s opera “Mignon,” the title role of which Ms. Blythe sings superbly. In this recital, she sang the hit aria from the show, “Connais-tu le pays.” You may say Ms. Blythe is not a natural French singer – but she’s an intelligent singer, and intelligent singers can sing anything. Therefore, she is a French singer.

Also – as she showed in this aria and elsewhere – this is a likable singer. Likability may not count for much in other areas of music, but it counts for a lot in singing, with its often deeply personal communication. Ms. Blythe is a singer whom audiences like to embrace as a friend.

Before the “Mignon” aria, Ms. Blythe and Mr. Relyea had sung a duet from this opera, “Legeres hirondelles.” They blended nicely, in both sound and imagination.

When the two were through with Thomas, Mr. Relyea went on to the “Don Quixote” songs of Ravel, one of the most attractive sets for low male voice. In the first of the three songs, “Chanson romanesque,” Mr. Relyea was all nobility and suavity. In the second, “Chanson epique,” he was duly grave, but the voice needn’t have been so heavy. This was true at other points in the recital, too: The voice is sometimes too heavily draped, too weighed down, too thick, too burdened – too “I am a basso.”

I felt this was true in the third of Ravel’s songs: the “Chanson a boire,” which could have used less Boris Godunov and more Maurice Chevalier. (I’m using fairly ridiculous shorthands here.) Also, Mr. Relyea was a mile flat on an important highish note toward the end, but that was unusual for him.

Our joint recitalists then proceeded to a set of Brahms, and, to begin it, Ms. Blythe sang “Wie Melodien zieht es mir,” one of the smoothest songs ever conceived. It could have stood more legato from Ms. Blythe. And in the second song, “Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer,” she was just slightly stilted. That song, too, could have stood more of a flow.

But to her credit, Ms. Blythe did not approach these songs daintily – she sang them like a full-blooded woman, and that is the way Brahms wrote them: full-bloodedly.

Mr. Relyea then joined the mezzo for “Klage,” in which they again blended admirably. Afterward, Mr. Relyea sang two songs on his own: “Aus dem Kirchhofe” and “Verrat.” The latter is one of the most terrible songs in the repertoire (“terrible” in the original sense), and Mr. Relyea brought out basically the right emotions.

To begin the second half of the program? A Wagner song – in French. This was “Les deux grenadiers,” a piece of enjoyable bluster. Mr. Relyea sang it with conviction and panache. Then we had more Wagner, from the evening’s pianist, Warren Jones. He is a ubiquitous accompanist, and one of the best. He was consistently excellent in this recital.

A couple of details: He accompanied “Connais-tu le pays” with a rare, and touching, simplicity. And his shaping of “Verrat” helped give that song the power it deserves.

His solo Wagner was Liszt’s arrangement of the Liebestod from “Tristan und Isolde.” Here the old sorcerer – Liszt – takes one of the most sublime pieces ever written to create one of the trashiest. Oh, those tremolos! But people love it – including some of the finest musicians – and Mr. Jones played it extremely well. As the last notes perished, he stayed hunched over the keyboard for a dramatically long time. Sarah Bernhardt might have blushed.

Then Ms. Blythe sang three Liszt songs, ending with “Die Lorelei.” In this song – as elsewhere – Ms. Blythe revealed many colors in her voice. The text includes the interesting word “Abendsonnenschein”: evening’s sunshine. Ms. Blythe’s voice sounded rather like that.

At this point, Verdi – two arias from “Don Carlo.” Ms. Blythe, as you might guess, sang “O don fatale,” and in doing so she simply put on a clinic of Verdi mezzo singing. It was hard not to shout after that. I felt sorry for Mr. Relyea, having to follow this incredible display, but he sang King Philip’s lament, “Ella giammai m’amo,” sturdily and movingly.

The printed program ended on a much lighter note, which was welcome: The recitalists gave us the duet “O che muso!” from “L’Italiana in Algeri,” one of Rossini’s comic masterpieces. Not long ago, I was writing about the Polish contralto Ewa Podles, and I observed that little is more thrilling than a big voice that moves. Ms. Blythe proved the point again in this music. And Mr. Relyea hammed it up appropriately.

Encores? Sure – there were three: a song from the mezzo, a song from the bass-baritone, and a last duet. Ms. Blythe’s song was one of the most perfect ever written: “What’ll I Do,” by Irving Berlin. And I’m very happy to report that she sang it perfectly: It was unaffected, heartrending, and almost breathtaking. Ms. Blythe bids fair to out-Eileen Farrell Eileen Farrell.

Then Mr. Relyea sang the birthright of every bass: Jerome Kern’s “Ol’ Man River.” He delivered it with marvelous idiomatic feeling, although I wish he had sung the word “Jordan” – as in the river – “Jerdan.” But how much can you ask of a Canadian?

Finally, the two collaborated on Cole Porter’s “Night and Day,” in which Ms. Blythe, in particular, was so sensual as to border on dirty.

You may well ask the question, Why did Stephanie Blythe and John Relyea sing a joint recital (as opposed to giving separate ones)? I have no idea. But I would gladly hear another one from them.

Oh, and regular readers may remember this, from back in January. In a preview piece, surveying (probable) highlights to come, I noted that this recital would take place on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day – surely the singers would have to include something Irish. They didn’t. Not quite.

Before he played the Liebestod from “Tristan und Isolde,” Warren Jones commented that this would be “the token Irish piece.” (Think “Tristan and Iseult.”) Very clever, Mr. Jones – very, very clever.

***

In the above review, I mentioned “Ol’ Man River.” And as it happened, one of the great singers of “Ol’ Man River” performed in Carnegie Hall on Saturday night. That was Thomas Quasthoff, the German bass-baritone. No, he didn’t sing “Ol’ Man River” – he sang another good piece, Schubert’s song cycle “Die schone Mullerin.” Accompanying him was the German pianist Justus Zeyen.

Mr. Quasthoff was capping a busy week at Carnegie Hall. He gave two master classes, and you have never witnessed teaching like this. Mr. Quasthoff was blunt, brusque, and penetrating. He was mean, profane, and offensive. He was theatrical, entertaining, and fall-down hilarious. A man of lavish gifts, Mr. Quasthoff (and not an uncomplicated one). Also a teacher of a high order (if you can take him).

As for “Die schone Mullerin,” he sang it extremely well. He applied his golden voice, his sure technique, and his abundant understanding – and that, folks, is what it takes.

Mr. Quasthoff is a bass-baritone, and makes use of both parts of that compound word. Indeed, sometimes, when he was in baritonal mode, he sounded positively tenorial. Any worry that he would not be youthful enough for “Die schone Mullerin” was dispelled. We heard lots of head voice, and, come to think of it, several different voices (although still identifiably Mr. Quasthoff’s). When someone – or something – other than the narrator was speaking, you knew that.

The singer gave us the entire arc of the cycle, following the poet’s, and the composer’s, emotions. But he never overdramatized. His tempos were relatively fast, for Mr. Quasthoff is not a dragger. He gets on with it. You have never heard so impatient an “Ungeduld”! (The name of that song means “Impatience.”)

Mr. Quasthoff’s German was exceptionally clear, and his intonation was spot-on. He sang hundreds of notes, for an hour straight, and was just about never off-center. You would have been hard-pressed to find any rough edge in this performance at all. Mr. Quasthoff did nothing forced. At the end of “Trockne Blumen,” he suffered a little hoarseness, but only a little – and this problem made no reappearance.

Mr. Zeyen, at the piano, matched Mr. Quasthoff perfectly, breathing with him, thinking with him. The pianist seems as no-nonsense as the singer. At every turn, Mr. Zeyen was alert and responsive, and he played well from a sheer pianistic point of view.

The world has a number of good lieder singers today, and, in the case of the German-Canadian tenor Michael Schade, it has a great singer of “Die schone Mullerin.” You may think that a tenor has a natural advantage in this cycle – but, whatever his range, Mr. Quasthoff is very, very hard to beat.

Some people consider encores verboten after “Die schone Mullerin”; Mr. Quasthoff isn’t one of them. Bantering with the audience, he sang three Schubert songs (three more Schubert songs, you might say). These were “Der Wanderer,” “Seligkeit,” and “An die Musik.” I recall a time – in this same hall, Carnegie – when, after singing Bach’s great and holy cantata “Ich habe genug,” Mr. Quasthoff sang “Ol’ Man River.”

If after “Ich habe genug,” why not after “Die schone Mullerin”?