MUSIC REVIEW : Stade Warms a Cold Pavilion

She is, among singers, what used to be called the girl next door--ingenuous, shyly eager, good-hearted--qualities visible even through her outward sophistication and artistry.

But when Frederica von Stade returned Tuesday to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion--looking as lovely as ever in a black silk off-the-shoulder job, with billowy skirts showing off her wasp waist--voice fanciers who have followed the lyric mezzo to other major local platforms were deprived of her full-impact recital.

For one thing, the Pavilion is not designed even for minimal intimacy. Vast and cold for a lone performer, with high overhead lights that cast her eyes in shadows, it kept Stade from her wonted audience contact.

As a result, the eloquent transitions she usually makes from song to song, signaling with her face and eyes the change to gleeful or sad, were missing. So, too, the cues to refrain from applause between songs.

And because Stade doesn’t seem to have an authoritarian bone in her body, she did not raise a hand, but accepted the untimely clapping--albeit with a certain sheepish gratitude.

For those who have not heard her at more hospitable venues, however--at Ambassador Auditorium, two years ago, for example--the singer did not disappoint. She was in fine voice and chose a program tailored, for the most part, to her talents.

An ardent Francophile, Stade weighted the evening heavily with Faure, Thomas, Offenbach and early songs sung in delectably luscious, light and languid French. Her perfect blend of word and vocal timbre led to all sorts of interpretive subtleties.

The only nod to German, as usual, was Mahler. But her way with “Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen” fell short of the mark despite depth of feeling; she pulled the phrases out of shape and failed to find the idiomatic expression. The redoubtable Martin Katz, who otherwise served her well with his piano accompaniments, could not save this cycle.

But there was plenty of compensation. In a tribute to Copland and Bernstein (“both of whom we lost last year,” she said, meaning 1990) the girl next door showed how an American opera singer puts across show tunes without stiff hootiness.

“A Little Bit in Love” from “Wonderful Town” was a dazzling seduction, a moment when the Pavilion suddenly shrank to a tiny room. And, in encore, her rendering of Perichole’s drunken aria was naughty, controlled and adorable as could be.

Even when all things are not optimal Stade is completely convincing. What she presents is not a calculated act or a charade of self-conscious ploys but a gauge to the actual person. That alone makes her very special indeed.