The sense of civic good will surrounding the opening festivities at The Kimmel Center has been unlike anything I’ve seen in the Philly arts community. Indeed, to entertain even a vaguely negative thought seems downright unpatriotic. Nonetheless, I felt uneasy as I approached the building, which from the exterior still looks to me disconcertingly like a very posh suburban Nordstrom.

But I happily joined the enthusiasm of the throngs inside. The Kimmel Center needs to be seen from within, where the space has a joyful and unexpected dynamism. The atrium invites gawking that I imagine will continue for months — rightly so, since it’s awe-inspiring, unlike anything else in town.

Of course, the theaters are really the thing. Verizon Hall really is a spectacular space — fluid, warm, intimate in feeling despite its size (2,500 seats). There’s a sense of something special in enjoying the arts there that I think goes beyond the newness. But I’ll have to reserve judgment on the acoustics. This concert was amplified, and some of it didn’t work. Occasionally the large brass section overwhelmed the singer.

It’s also clear that there was a scramble to open Kimmel on time. Some of it is very much in progress. There are unanswered questions and little grumbles. Neither website nor box-office ticketing is glitch-free. Though the Perelman Theater has been used, it’s clearly unfinished. What’s the story with the roof garden (a great idea but not yet hospitable)? And will all the building’s restaurants really close too early to grab a post-concert meal?

Audra McDonald, who played The Kimmel Center on Dec. 19, is about as talented as it’s humanly possible to be. She’s a fine dramatic actress. She’s a vocal wonder, gifted with a superb (and superbly deployed) instrument that is completely engaged throughout a considerable range. When singing as a soprano, she can sound the equal of our finest opera divas. As a belter, she joins and furthers the grand Broadway tradition. High, low, loud, soft — it’s all there. And as seen in concert at The Kimmel Center, despite a rather odd costume (black ’50s lounging pajamas with matching overskirt — imagine Lucy Ricardo in Mourning Becomes Elektra), she is radiantly beautiful.

McDonald also has star quality, that incandescence that can’t be defined but audiences know it’s there.

All these gifts have not gone unappreciated. McDonald is already a three-time Tony Award winner. She is a muse to young theater composers like Michael John LaChiusa and Adam Guettel. She has a loyal, even fanatical, following, who has granted her the ultimate signifier of importance. Like Liza — or, even better, Judy — McDonald has entered that pantheon of divas identifiable by first name only. She’s simply Audra.

The Kimmel Center concert, for the most part, confirmed McDonald’s — er, Audra’s — sovereignty in all these areas. There were a few surprises too. Though she’s famous for premiering new music, McDonald’s program largely focused on songs from the 1930s through the ’60s. Inexplicably, many of Verizon’s 2,500 seats were empty (a fact made embarrassingly clear because the theater’s configuration places part of the audience behind the stage and in full view of the rest of the theater). McDonald was both gracious and self-effacing about it all, and therein was another surprise. For all her assurance and power as a song interpreter, McDonald’s patter and by-play with the audience seems downright girlish, even awkward. Yet there’s considerable charm in that disconnect — the star’s exterior and the very human creature inside. It makes us want to protect her.

It’s the sort of feeling that Judy Garland used to invoke, and twice during the course of the show McDonald dared the comparison by performing a pair of Harold Arlen/Ira Gershwin songs from A Star Is Born. In "Lose That Long Face," the vocal goods were there, but it was one of McDonald’s few miscalculations — Garland’s sheer energy remains impossible to equal. "The Man That Got Away" is, if anything, even more identified with Judy, and it takes a nervy performer to try it. It worked — McDonald’s innigkeit was substantially different from Judy’s histrionics. This was one of several real "bring the house down" moments, and the performance both honored the original and broke new ground.

Like all great singers, McDonald has her mannerisms. For fans, these become trademarks, an inherent part of the art. Others hear them as flaws. McDonald’s include a way of introducing substantial vibrato midway through a note. More problematic to me is a regular tendency to sing off the beat and break up phrases in a way that wants to sound conversational. It’s McDonald’s good-actress impulses that lead her in this direction, but sometimes both music and lyrics can lose a critical sense of line. This detracted from a few ballads ("Bill" and "Ill Wind") that would’ve benefited from more incisive phrasing — and, frankly, from a bit more simplicity and a lighter touch.

But there’s so much more to admire! The program, chosen by McDonald and her fine music director Ted Sperling, was a triumphant mix of familiar favorites and songs that deserve to be better known. The arrangements (by Sperling and others) offered variety and simultaneously sounded appropriate to the period and utterly fresh. In the interest of space, I’ll mention only three particular performances among many that achieved greatness: Irving Berlin’s "Suppertime," pitched in the soprano range, had grandeur and pathos. "Ain’t It de Truth" (another Harold Arlen song, this one from Jamaica) was a rabble-rousing, gospel-style finale. And Jay Leonhart’s "Beat My Dog" is a delicious trifle that showcased McDonald as a feisty saloon singer extraordinaire and allowed her to duet with her husband, bass player Peter Donovan.