Blowing into town on Wednesday night was a musical phenom: Measha Brueggergosman, the soprano from New Brunswick, Canada. She sang a recital in Zankel Hall. Ms. Brueggergosman was concluding a tour meant to accompany her new CD, “Surprise,” which peddles cabaret songs. These are songs that require personality, and lots of it. And this singer has personality to burn.

Looking queenly and warm, Ms. Brueggergosman opened with Britten’s “Cabaret Songs” — in particular, “Tell Me the Truth About Love.” The first words — spoken — were “Liebe, amor, amoris.” Ms. Brueggergosman spoke these words saucily, wonderingly, and seductively. And that pretty much set the tone for the entire evening.

Ms. Brueggergosman’s voice is an interesting and effective one. It has plenty of smoke in it, which is worth lingering on: Usually, you find smoke in mezzos and contraltos. When you find it in a soprano — look out. A smoky soprano is a valuable commodity. In addition, Ms. Brueggergosman seems to have two voices, one in the lower register, one in the upper — they are both pleasing, but you don’t necessarily hear the link.

And speaking of being able to hear: Sometimes Ms. Brueggergosman was quite muted, even in this smallish, bright hall. You had to strain to hear her. And her pianist, Roger Vignoles, had to work to keep under her. I thought, “Funny that such a big personality should have a voice no bigger than that.”

As for diction, you could generally hear what Ms. Brueggergosman was saying, or singing. Indeed, she is a determined pronouncer of consonants — maybe an over-pronouncer. For example, if she sang “Don’t be upset about that,” you would hear every “t,” like pricks.
Notable in her Britten set was “Funeral Blues,” which had grim inexorability, just what the doctor ordered (or rather, just what Britten and the poet, Auden, ordered). Next on the program came Ned Rorem: three songs, two of which explicitly reflected the composer’s extreme love of France. “Early in the Morning” is one of the most famous of all American art songs. Ms. Brueggergosman sang it with a nice straightforwardness, and Mr. Vignoles played the same way.

Then it was Schoenberg’s “Cabaret Songs,” in which Ms. Brueggergosman was knowing, delicious — and oh so communicative. “Galathea” concludes with the words “die Phantasie,” and you could clearly hear the fantasy. And how about Schoenberg’s song concerning the happily beating heart — the heart that goes “boom, boom, boom”? Ms. Brueggergosman sold this with ease.

After intermission, Poulenc, beginning with the sly, bluesy, smoky “Hôtel.” From Ms. Brueggergosman and Mr. Vignoles, this was too slow to work, really. It badly needed more momentum; it cannot work static. And the final song, “Voyage à Paris,” needed more charm and more gaiety. It’s hard to imagine Measha being low on those — but she was.

Later, she sang two songs of Satie, including “La diva de l’Empire.” And she confirmed something that is unmistakable on her CD: She has the requisite naughtiness for this kind of music. I think of some marvelous lines from “The Music Man”: “I smile, I grin, when the gal with a touch of sin walks in. I hope, and I pray, for Hester to win just one more ‘A.'”

Obviously up her alley are the “Cabaret Songs” of William Bolcom. Ms. Brueggergosman sang “George” with camp, heart, and soul. And in “Amor” she was sauciness itself — absolutely fabulous.

By the way, I always say that that beloved song contains one of the great socialist lines of all time. On one glorious day, writes lyricist Arnold Weinstein, “the poor stopped taking less, the rich stopped needing more.” Yeah, I learned that too.

In a recital of encores (essentially), what do you sing for an encore? Ms. Brueggergosman began her group with “Ride On, King Jesus,” arranged by Hall Johnson. Leontyne Price took this arrangement all over the world. (Anderson sang Harry T. Burleigh.) Ms. Brueggergosman did well, but, referring to the river, she sang “Jordan,” not “Jerdan.” What do you expect from a northern girl?

And she ended with a Tom Lehrer number, “The Old Dope Peddler,” during which members of the audience laughed and laughed. Some people find this little ditty about drugs — written in the relatively innocent 1950s — funnier than others do.

This was a peculiar recital, not one that Elly Ameling, say, should have sung. But Frederica von Stade should, and so should Measha Brueggergosman. The repertoire suits her, and she suits it. In singing, as in other fields, there are “horses for courses.” The cabaret repertoire isn’t for everybody. But they didn’t have to come, did they? I have the feeling that you either like Measha and her act or you don’t. I do. And so does a public that should keep her cash register singing for years.