It was a vast, eclectic set list: Not just the hits or the crowd-pleasers, but impassioned re-imaginings of material from across Mitchell’s catalog, like the romantically tranquil title track from the 1991 album “Night Ride Home” and the fiery social commentary of “Sex Kills” from 1994. A clear highlight was “Amelia,” a plangent, airy meditation on freedom and flight. Mitchell’s vocals sounded especially muscular, and the musician and producer Blake Mills accompanied her, with grace and agility, on Mitchell’s own guitar. Backing vocals from Lucius, percussion from Marcus Mumford, and guitar and vocals from Celisse Henderson (whom Mitchell, admiringly, called “a lady Jimi Hendrix”), among other musicians, rounded out the set’s lush sound.

Mitchell can’t hit those canary-like high notes anymore. So what. As she put it Saturday night in a sonorously sung “Both Sides Now,” “Something’s lost but something’s gained in living every day.” What Mitchell has gained is a fine command of her sumptuous lower register — an androgynous, omniscient voice, like a wise, benevolent god. Given this unexpected third act as a performer, Mitchell has become resourceful with what others may see as potential limitations. As she and the others around her sang, the cane she uses to aid in her mobility — on Saturday it was topped by a glittering wolf’s head — became both a percussion instrument and a royal staff.

As the night went on, Mitchell became increasingly chatty, telling delicious stories about friends and peers like Bob Dylan and Van Morrison. She recalled the time when Prince had invited her onstage to sing during the “Purple Rain” tour, and she confessed she didn’t know the words to the title track; he assured her there were really only two. Though Mitchell rivals any rock icon, she was not always afforded the respect of her male contemporaries throughout her career. Lennox, in one of the night’s most heartfelt monologues, acknowledged, “Back in the day, there were so few of us women doing this thing that we’ve been doing.”

Since Mitchell’s recovery from her aneurysm, though, the world seems to be making up for lost time, belatedly recognizing her extraordinary influence on popular music and bestowing upon her one accolade after another. In the past several years, she has received a Kennedy Center Honor, the Recording Academy’s MusiCares Person of the Year award, and, most recently, the Library of Congress’s Gershwin Prize for Popular Song.

So many laurels hung around one’s neck can easily become heavy, but Mitchell has welcomed all of this fanfare with an amused lightness — a shimmy, a chortle and a fresh round of pinot grigio. And, of course, another song. She sang a few lively covers of classics from what she called her “rock ’n’ roll dancing days” — “Love Potion No. 9,” “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” — but closed with what she introduced as a “Frank Sinatra song,” “Young at Heart.”