Not so long ago, a recital by a countertenor would have been unusual. These days, however, countertenors are almost as common as mezzo-sopranos. And one of our most prominent countertenors gave a recital in Zankel Hall on Tuesday night.

He was Andreas Scholl, a German. Mr. Scholl enjoys a big recording career, on the Decca label. He may not be a superstar, like his fellow countertenor David Daniels, but he is certainly a star – and the audience at Zankel Hall accorded him whoops and cheers.

Chronologically, his program stretched from the Middle Ages to Mozart. (Actually, there were some Haydn songs composed after Mozart’s death, but let’s not quibble.) Mr. Scholl began with a real rarity: a song by the 15th-century German poet-knight Oswald von Wolkenstein.

This was a bold beginning, in that the song was unaccompanied, very exposed. Mr. Scholl sang purely, sweetly, accurately. He provided just enough variation to mitigate repetitiveness. And he held his pitch – he ended in the same key in which he began, which not all singers can do. Even very good ones.

As soon as he was finished with this song, Mr. Scholl went for one of the two glasses of water placed behind him. Singers are doing this more and more: having water onstage with them, gulping freely. In the past, this would have been considered gauche, verging on unprofessional. One ducked backstage, if necessary. I’m not sure the past was worse.

Once hydrated, Mr. Scholl sang the greatest hit of Giulio Caccini (c. 1545-1618), “Amarilli, mia bella.” Really, is there a more beautiful song? You can sing it very sensually, or somewhat soberly. Mr. Scholl chose a nice middle path. He was neither unemotional nor nuts. And he ornamented the song smartly.

Later in the recital, Mr. Scholl gave us the two greatest hits of Henry Purcell: “Music for a While” and “Sweeter Than Roses.” In the first, Mr. Scholl was surprisingly elastic, in his tempo and his rhythm. One did not expect that from a Baroque specialist. And this elasticity was not helpful to the song. Also, Mr. Scholl might have sung more insinuatingly, for this song is nothing if not insinuating.

In “Sweeter Than Roses,” Mr. Scholl was again elastic, and this multi-sectioned song seemed disjointed. The final section of the song – “What magic has victorious love” – is stately, triumphant, glad. It did not come off that way, from Mr. Scholl.

Furthermore, I question whether Mr. Scholl’s physical movements did much for him, or for Purcell. But on the positive side, Mr. Scholl revealed a marvelous lower register in this song: darkish and glowing, to go with lovely high notes.

Haydn was represented by three of his English songs. Mr. Scholl sang these tastefully – not too dramatically and not too decorously. He suffered some poor intonation, for the first time of the evening, but this was not important. Mr. Scholl’s pianist, J.J. Penna, played very well. His Haydn was not dissimilar to the singer’s: tasteful, but unafraid, undainty. Plus, Mr. Penna made a beautiful sound. He appeared to be a pianist especially concerned about sound – which is good news for the singers he accompanies.

By the way: Could there be a cooler name in music than “J.J. Penna”? And the word, or name, Penna has particular meaning in the song world: Think of Wolf’s “Ich hab’ in Penna,” from

“The Italian Songbook.”

Messrs. Scholl and Penna performed two Mozart pieces, the first being an aria composed for someone else’s opera (Pasquale Anfossi’s “Il Curioso Indiscreto”). “Ah, spiegarti, o Dio,” K. 178, is not often heard, and Mr. Scholl was wise to present it. He sang it competently – but he could have been brighter in it, more forward. He was slightly flat in feeling, and nearly flat in pitch.

He then sang the beloved song “Abendempfindung,” sometimes called “the first lied.” Mr. Scholl’s tempo was rather slow, and he was short on energy in the breath. His “Abendempfindung” was mournful, elegiac. It can be so, but it need not be so. And, frankly, Mr. Scholl did not quite escape dullness.

The second half of the recital began with Handel, really the bread and but ter of a countertenor. Mr. Scholl sang two arias from “Julius Caesar,” and he did so without Mr. Penna. He was surrounded by six members of the St. Luke’s Chamber Ensemble.

Mr. Scholl started out with “Aure, deh, per pieta,” simply one of the most gorgeous things ever written. He did not give it great beauty or warmth, but he gave it some. The St. Luke’s players, by contrast, gave it none. They were sickly, in that worst originalist style. This aria needs flow – legato – and it was denied it, all chopped up.

The second aria was “Al lampo dell’armi,” a showpiece full of fire. Mr. Scholl sang it correctly, and nicely, but the fire was more a flicker. One craved more bite, and also more volume. Then again, one might have grown up with too many Marilyn Horne recordings.

At this point, the players from St. Luke’s had a turn of their own, performing a Vivaldi trio sonata. Why this vocal recital had to be interrupted for this, I can’t tell you. The Vivaldi was an anemic, squeaky, out-of-tune affair. One understands the vagaries of gut strings and so on. But can originalism really be worth this?

When Mr. Scholl returned – with his own original instrument – he sang another gorgeous Handel aria, “Cara sposa” (from “Rinaldo”). And he did so with grace and sincerity. The printed program ended with two little-known arias from two little-known composers, who were contemporaries of Handel: Antonio Lotti and Nicola Antonio Porpora.

In all, an evening with Andreas Scholl put you in the company of a civilized man, one obviously and touchingly devoted to music.