Jonas Kaufmann sings Schumann and Strauss in California

Schumann: Selections from Kerner Liedern, Op.35
Schumann: Dichterliebe, Op.48
Strauss: Schlichte Weisen, Op.21
Strauss: ‘Sehnsucht‘, Op.32/2
Strauss: ‘Nachtgang‘, Op.29/3
Strauss: ‘Freundliche Vision‘, Op.48/1
Strauss: ‘Ich liebe dich‘, Op.37/2
Strauss: Vier Lieder, Op.27

Jonas Kaufmann (tenor)
Helmut Deutsch (piano)

Sunday, March 13
CalPerformances: Zellerbach Hall, Berkeley, California

Five encores, Jonas? Only the five?

Quite frankly, this concert defied anything along the lines of ordinary ‘criticism’, at least in the usual Beckmesser mode. Kaufmann’s San Francisco/Bay Area debut married complete command of individual songs, a satisfying overall progress, and attention to detail that boggled. Its power was hinted at by the brave decision to finish not with the greatest of all Strauss’s songs, ‘Morgen‘, but its partner ‘Cäcilie‘, whose final verse runs:

Wenn du es wüsstest,
Was leben heißt, umhaucht von der Gottheit
Weltschaffendem Atem,
Zu schweben empor, lichtgetragen,
Zu seligen Höhn,
Wenn du es wüsstest,
Du lebtest mit mir!

If that isn’t a statement of artistic intent – and the highest, strongest note of the entire evening came on ‘lebtest‘ – I don’t know what is. (Translations of all songs are best found at http://www.recmusic.org/lieder/.)

In lieder and opera, I have a thing for the emotional range expressed in single words: the favourite example is always Sieglinde’s ‘tränen‘ in act one of Die Walküre. Kaufmann is a total master at this. Even in the early Kerner Liedern we got an inkling of what was to come: no need for Kaufmann to take time warming up. In ‘Wanderlied‘, the word ‘zieht‘ in ‘Mit eilenden Wolken der Vogel dort zieht‘ was floated as if were indeed up amongst the fluffy stuff. In ‘Erstes Grün‘, Kaufmann brought a pessoptimistic stillness (sorry for that adjective, I’ve been reading Jonathan Franzen again), with a pained constricting of tone to ‘O wie mein Herz nach dir verlangt!‘. ‘Stille Tränen‘ was, as its text suggests, slow to rouse, with a world of sorrow encased in ‘Schmerz‘, and a vast climb beyond it towards the conclusion.

Even that old warhorse the Dichterliebe came out anew. The plainness of ‘Im wunderschönen Monat Mai‘ suggested a wonderful union of nature and protagonist – the Romantic dream – yet concluded with a deeply personal ‘Verlangen‘ (with gloriously expressive consonants). By the fourth song, ‘Wenn ich in deine Augen seh’‘, our tragic course was well set and fully defined by Kaufmann’s enunciation of ‘Ich liebe dich!‘ And yet we were constantly reminded that Kaufmann and his long-term recital partner Deutsch are above all a partnership, and nowhere more so than in ‘Im Rhein, im schönen Strome‘, where we were, for once, not immediately put in the world of architecture in the first verse (for the tenor sings of the protagonist’s human connections to the stone), but we were after Kaufmann’s final verse, as Deutsch broadened his tone and volume: the cathedral, after all, remains long after our human relations to it have disappeared. The focus more on inward emotion than outward context was again present in the ninth song, ‘Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen‘, with its tales of trumpets blaring: instead of milking this line, Kaufmann showed us that those trumpets were of minor importance to his lover dancing in. More intriguing still was Kaufmann’s treatment of ‘Ich grolle nicht‘, in which the lover, Wotan-like, renounces his grudge: Kaufmann suggested that, perhaps, this wasn’t quite as it might seem, as his usually rolled ‘r’s were rejected in favour of a much plainer treatment of consonants. The emotional and textual commitment we had to the other songs was not shown here, not as a relaxing of mood, but as an artistic point. On we strove towards ‘Die alten, bösen Lieder‘, towards more astonishing control (‘Gebührt ein großes Grab‘) and a quite revolting sound on the ‘ein‘ of the final ‘hinein‘: in a song burying songs, Kaufmann suggested that with the painful tunes sunk in a sea-bound coffin, we still barely knew the emotions the previous Lieder had encompassed.

How fun, after that, to move into Kaufmann in unbuttoned mode with Strauss’s Schlichte Weisen and their riotous humour. Kaufmann’s command of Strauss’s songs has rarely been in doubt: one of his first recordings, full of Strauss, was universally acclaimed. Throughout, the quality was higher than can be imagined. In ‘Freundliche Vision‘, for instance, we had just the right blend between reverence of the dream we seem to be in (though the first line suggests not) and knowledge of its vapidity. In the punishing straits of ‘Ich liebe dich‘, I wondered how good Kaufmann must be at the impossibly difficult opening song of Das Lied von der Erde: the challenge, although shorter, is not that different here. And finally, finally here Kaufmann let his voice ring out fully: the release on ‘nach‘ rattled my chair.

But it was for the Op.27 songs that we waited, and there was to be no disappointment. Sung out of order, we had hints of Kaufmann’s upcoming Siegfried in the final verse ‘Heimliche Aufforderung‘, before a quite brilliant ‘Ruhe, meine Seele‘, whose ‘lichter Sonnenschein‘ seemed dappled (can a voice really be dappled?), whose storms really did tremble, and whose final lines put me straight in mind of a third act Tristan. What a hope that might be, Kaufmann as Tristan. It would ruin his voice, but Parsifal, Lohengrin, Siegmund… what else can follow? ‘Morgen‘ hinted, perhaps, at tiredness, as its opening line was tuned all over the place: maybe, however, it was simply a measure of Kaufmann’s half-toned, longingly slow daring. Its radiance fully encapsulated ‘des Glückes stummes Schweigen‘.

And so we moved on, after a rambunctious but warm-hearted Cäcilie, to the encores. I’m partially guessing at what they were here, mostly because by the time I could start doing research with my iPod, I’d almost forgotten what I’d heard half an hour previously. But the first three were Strauss: ‘Breit über mein Haupt‘, ‘Nichts‘, and ‘Wie sollten wir geheim sie halten‘. Any previous intimations of fatigue were quickly dispelled. Then came the one showpiece, Lehar’s ‘Dein ist mein ganzes Herz‘, achingly poignant in its central section (Deutsch was forced to improvise the final bars, as his music fell off the stand). And, finally, we heard Schumann’s ‘Mondnacht‘ – by now Deutsch was forced to read off an iPad – and Kaufmann soared to the stratosphere at a barely audible pianissimo. Those who stayed, and this hall was never full, were deeply, richly rewarded.

How, then, to conclude? It seems banal in the extreme to resort to a soundbite, to insist that there is nobody better in Strauss (there isn’t), that I won’t hear such musicianship again for a long time, if ever (I won’t), that Kaufmann is at the top of his game and is quite clearly the world’s greatest tenor (he is), and that I wandered round in a daze for hours afterwards, getting soaking wet in Berkeley (I did). His is a totally unique voice, destroying previously-considered artistic boundaries, akin to the pure thrill of Pavarotti or Domingo but with even more class (and German!): my God that baritonal heft transposed upwards is affecting. He has that ability with vowels to suggest an entire philosophy, a kind of ‘tragic realism’ (Franzen again) which penetrates the soul. Unlike others, his brilliance is completely human, stunningly effective, and entirely at the service of the music. I will leave it to the text of ‘Ruhe, meine Seele‘ to end, for Kaufmann’s Liederabend for me provided the tonic that Strauss found in love:

Diese Zeiten sind gewaltig,
Bringen Herz und Hirn in Not.
Ruhe, ruhe, meine Seele,
Und vergiß, was dich bedroht.

* * * * *

NB Carping can be found from Joshua Kosman here. The comparison of Kaufmann and Justin Bieber made me feel more than a little bit ill with its fatuity (it has the handy benefit of fooling the legion Bieber fansites into thinking dear Jonas is relevant). From Mercury News comes Georgia Rowe – here – who appears to think that Romanticism consists solely of excess, and clearly gave up after four encores. From an earlier concert in Los Angeles comes Chris Pasles here, who thinks that Kaufmann “may be living off his capital not his interest,” whatever that might mean. What on earth would it take to impress these writers?