Thursday night Jack Kleinsinger’s Highlights in Jazz presented a concert billed as an evening of singer songwriters – which is not quite right, as Blossom Dearie would never claim to be a composer on Dave Frishberg’s level. Rather, what the 900 or so fans in the audience saw was two amazingly intimate singer-pianists – two great purveyors of narrative. It was a splendid evening, marred only by a brief (though not brief enough) dance interlude.

Mr. Frishberg went on first, holding the audience spellbound with just his voice and piano (I have almost never seen him with a bass or drums). Mr. Frishberg is justifiably celebrated as a great lyricist, but his melodies deserve to be more widely appreciated.

In “The Hopi Way,” the speaker puts down the in-your-face way in which most people conduct themselves in contemporary culture. At the same time, the composer employs a tom-tom-like rhythm, the kind used to underscore the approach of Native Americans in old Westerns, as a way of poking fun at himself – putting down the putdown. In “Do You Miss New York,” one of Mr. Frishberg’s most touching songs, he tries to capture his fellow Angelinos’ mixed feelings about the city they left behind, rather than just dismiss them as shallow.

In both cases, Mr. Frishberg wrote the music as well as the words. His point of view is wry but not arch, he uses irony but never sarcasm, and he points out the excesses of society without ever being snide or dismissive. Equally moving is “Eastwood Lane,” inspired by the turn-of-the-century composer of that name; the song pays homage to several generations of nostalgic songs that depict an idealized state of home sweet home.

Unfortunately, after Mr. Frishberg came da bomb: a loud and flashy tap-dance troupe that totally obliterated the intimate mood. The Young Hoofers are an exuberant, exciting act that would be welcome on most any jazz concert, especially one of Mr. Kleinsinger’s usual rousing jam sessions – any jazz concert, that is to say, except for this one. Making it worse the Young Hoofers, in the modern, Savion Glover mode, dance to drum accompaniment only – after 25 minutes or so, the relentless percussion grew monotonous. Would it kill them to dance to a melody once in a while?

After intermission, the legendary Ms. Dearie restored peace and order. There is no one better at telling a story and making the audience feel it, or making a concert hall seem like a living room. Ms. Dearie turns 80 next year, but her voice hasn’t deteriorated at all since the 1950s, and her playing has grown even more harmonically and dynamically savvy.

Even in a large space, Ms. Dearie’s subtleties are always perfectly con veyed. Ms. Dearie sings the outrageous puns in “Rhode Island Is Famous For You” completely straight, which somehow makes them seem funnier. And when she sings “Surrey With the Fringe on Top” you can feel the swaying of the carriage and the wind blowing through your hair (even if you don’t have any to begin with).

It should be mandatory for every New Yorker to see Ms. Dearie, who can be found most weekends at Danny’s Skylight Room. Granted, Ms. Dearie has been doing the same set of songs for as long as I’ve been listening, including Mr. Frishberg’s three biggest hits, “I’m Hip,” “My Attorney, Bernie” and “Peel Me a Grape.” But no one would want her to change the act or the set list. You can’t improve on perfection.

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Speaking of perfection, Barbara Cook just opened a six-week run at the Cafe Carlyle, her first New York nightclub engagement of the millennium. The program is completely different from the concert that she presented last year at the Vivian Beaumont Theater. This set is called “Tribute.”

The emphasis is on two songwriters celebrating centennials this year (Harold Arlen and Dorothy Fields) and two fallen friends, Bobby Short and Wally Harper, her musical director of many years. Like the late Rosemary Clooney, Ms. Cook has mastered the art of transforming standards into autobiography, and like the late Mabel Mercer, she makes almost every song, eventually, seem to be about lost innocence.

When Ms. Cook sings “I’m Like a New Broom” she is optimism personified. When she sings “Out of This World,” there’s no doubt that she comes from some other planet in which it’s possible to love someone for multiple eternities. In the early Gershwin hit and Short favorite “Nashville Nightingale,” she lets us know that a sense of humor is not the least of her assets, as she tells us of a “Darktown Tettrazini.” And when she sings “So now let’s reminisce,” in “Last Night When We Were Young,” you never doubt for a second she really wants to.

Barbara Cook at Cafe Carlyle until May 27 (35 E. 76th Street, 212-744-1600).