PCMS presents Julia Bullock, soprano, and John Arida, piano

Bullock possesses a unique and appealing voice, at once familiar and difficult to categorize. Her rich lower register has an almost contralto-like resonance, with a pleasant heft and lots of juice. Her sound fills a hall easily, and in its best moments, she wraps herself around a lyric as if shrouding her voice in a silken garment. These qualities best served the program’s opening group of Schubert lieder.

Finding bliss

Although born and raised in Saint Louis, Bullock sang the German texts with a native’s fluency and provided her own translations for the printed handbill. She shaped the line of each song with a rich, romantic ease, inviting the listener to get lost in Schubert’s masterful pairing of music and text. She also overcame Arida’s sometimes-plodding accompaniment.

Before singing the final Schubert selection, “Seligkeit” (“Bliss”), Bullock paused to speak to the audience. Explaining that the lied concerns itself with the euphoric promise of Heaven, she commented, “We can find bliss right here on Earth.” And for a moment while she sang, I believed her.

The feeling was short-lived. Bullock next presented Samuel Barber’s "Hermit Songs," Op. 29, which seemed an ill fit for her voice and manner. Leontyne Price introduced these settings in 1953, and she’ll always be a tough act to follow. In contrast to Price’s ethereally floating top, the higher reaches of Bullock’s voice turn hollow, which created an earthbound impression.

Bullock sang the entire set with a seriousness that served some of the music well. The final two songs, “The Praises of God” and “The Desire for Hermitage,” emerged with appropriate religiosity.

But other selections, such as “Promiscuity” (which comprises a single line of text) and the rollicking “The Monk and the Cat,” lacked necessary humor. Barber’s contemplative “Knoxville: Summer of 1915” seems a more natural fit; she will perform that piece at Carnegie Hall later this month.

Mixed results

The recital’s second half began with selections from Gabriel Fauré’s “La Chanson d’Ève” — or, rather, with a 10-minute explanation of the cycle. Bullock certainly has passionate ideas about what the music means. She spoke of reclaiming Eve’s voice and returning her to a narrative controlled by God and men — but isn’t that what performance of the song is supposed to communicate?

Likewise, the printed program’s final grouping of American women singers and songwriters felt like an honors thesis: impeccably researched and rehearsed, with a clear and important message, but an imperfect marriage of artist and repertoire.

Bullock had trouble adapting her classical voice to the blues style of Alberta Hunter; she missed the pathos in “Driftin’ Tide” and the spice in “You Can’t Tell the Difference After Dark.” And although she sang Billie Holliday’s “Our Love Is Different” with a pretty tone, I missed Lady Day’s distinctive timbre.

Only in an a cappella version of Nina Simone’s “Revolution” did Bullock fully lose herself and live the music. A chill swept through the hall as she sang, “the only way that we can stand in fact / is when you get your foot off my back” — a line that, sadly, has only become timelier in the 50 years since it was written. This selection showed the full power music can communicate.

Bullock offered two arresting encores, including a memorable arrangement (by Jeremy Suskind) of “One by One,” a haunting ballad by midcentury folk singer Connie Converse. (Check out Converse’s Wikipedia page — her story is fascinating). She honored Josephine Baker with a spirited rendition of “La Conga Blicoti.”