It was distracting, but I didn't mind.  How could I? I understood it
perfectly.  In fact, beyond understanding, I felt deep empathy.

Five minutes into Thomas Quasthoff's San Francisco recital debut tonight in
Herbst Theater, I saw in the audience a woman's shoulders shaking.  I was
sitting a few rows behind her and didn't see her face, but it was obvious
that she was sobbing.  The reason for that was just as clear.

The second song in Schubert's "Schwanengesang" is "Kriegers Ahnung"
("Warrior's Foreboding"), and Quasthoff just finished singing it.  In
the next-to-last line, "Soon I shall rest well and sleep deeply," that
solid baritone arched up twice, light beams dancing wearily, then he sang
the last line - "My love, goodnight!" - in a kind of monotone, but the
repetition of "Herzliebste, gute Nacht!" suddenly took words and music to
another level, internalizing, understanding, quietly exploding with the
finality of it, "goodnight" trailing into heartbreaking silence.

Others may sing, Quasthoff creates overwhelming moments like this,
but never compromising the music's integrity; in fact, he honors and
communicates songs like few others in recent history.  What's extraordinary
is how quickly he "gets to the audience" - lieder recitals usually take
about half the program before the cumulative effect of a good performance
makes its mark.  Quasthoff can do that almost instantly.

The evening was far from flawless, but as in opera - more than in lieder -
the high points dominated and left the audience shouting its approval and
yearning for more even when it was clear that the evening was over with
Schubert's "Heiden-Roslein" and "Die Forelle," and that ever-surprising,
always amazing and moving "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot."

This was Quasthoff's first appearance in San Francisco, but I've been
attending his recitals and concerts for some seven years now.  If you
follow him regularly, each time you expect miracles while afraid that
he may not keep up with the Carol Channing singing Dolly daisy fresh for
thousandth time routine - and then he sneaks up and hits you with something
new, right in the solar plexus.

Among the problems:  something like the residue of a cold, making him
cough several times between songs (but not really audible in the voice),
running out of breath at the end of nothing less than "Standchen," turning
emotionally flat at the beginning of "Am Meer," following the text of "Die
Tabenpost" (with a resulting diminution in musical value).

And yet, these are so many scratches on a Beckmesser's tablet against
those high points, coming hot and heavy especially in the evening's second,
all-Brahms, half.  Every one of the "Funf Lieder," Op.  94, came across
with illuminating clarity, a classical sort of romanticism, the singing
deeply felt but never sentimental.

This was the sixth time I heard Quasthoff's performance of "Vier ernste
Gesange" and yet it all sounded new. . . and magnificent.  Justus Zeyen,
the baritone's true partner at the piano, was especially excellent here -
with some wonderful "singing" of his own, at the end of "Denn es gehet dem
Menschen," but really throughout every song.

Perhaps the highest of the high points from Quasthoff came in "O Tod,
wie bitter bist du," as drew a straight, powerful line from the opening
bitterness to the closing acceptance - a major, stunning drama playing out
in a few minutes, but taking the audience beyond time.

Hitting with equal impact, the closing Brahms song, "Wenn ich mit Menschen"
- the Corinthians' "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels"
- once again provided proof that Quasthoff is now the singer, the musician,
against whom others can be measured.  His artistry is a new standard of
excellence, a heartening example of direct, unaffected, powerfully moving
communication.

Janos Gereben/SF
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