SWEDISH BARITONE : HAGEGARD IN RECITAL AT AMBASSADOR

Hakan Hagegard, once Ingmar Bergman’s unforgettable Papageno and now a luminary of sorts at the Met, returned to Pasadena Sunday night for his third Ambassador Auditorium recital in as many seasons. This occasion, however, wasn’t like the others.

The personable Swedish baritone had brought along Judith Blegen for pretty-soprano support in 1984, and Barbara Bonney filled a similar function last year. In both of the joint recitals, the musical menu had juxtaposed high art with low schmaltz and cabaret banter.

This time, a far more somber Hagegard carried the vocal honors alone--with a lot of help from his accompanying pianist, Warren Jones. The singer banished all traces of cutesy talk and, apart from a strange operatic detour in mid-program, concentrated on relatively lofty poetic challenges.

He devoted the first half of the evening to 10 of the 14 Lieder that comprise Schubert’s so-called “Schwanengesang.” Given the brevity of the program, one wondered why Hagegard didn’t attempt the entire set. Since the composer himself never envisioned these songs as a unified cycle, however, the selective survey inflicted no aesthetic harm.

Hagegard lacks the sheer vocal weight, the vocal profundity and the dark vocal colors required for maximum impact in such brooding, bitter, heroic challenges as “Der Atlas” and “Der Doppelgaenger.” When listening to his intelligent, essentially lyrical performances, it is best to put the sound of Hans Hotter or Alexander Kipnis out of memory’s ear.

At the other expressive extreme, Hagegard did little to convey the growing cynicism that lurks beneath the cheerful, nimble surface of “Abschied.” Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau proved decades ago that even a light voice can project the inherent drama of this little masterpiece if sufficient attention is paid to tension of line and nuance of articulation.

In the more straightforward, equally intimate songs, Hagegard impressed with pervasive sweetness of tone, with lightness of articulation and with simple, unabashed charm. Yet he relied too much, even here, on pretty sounds and casual parlando. One longed for a legato better sustained, for a pianissimo better focused.

After intermission, in a bizarre shift in stylistic gears, Hagegard turned to the pop extroversion of the “Pagliacci” prologue. He phrased elegantly if not idiomatically, rose to a ripsnorting high A-flat, but never could let one forget that this was a slender Silvio voice trying valiantly to impersonate a fat-toned Tonio.

Matters improved emphatically from this point on.

Hagegard luxuriated in the introspective nostalgia and muted Wagnerian nobility of Wolfram’s ode to the evening star.

He brought compelling rapture and, as needed, wit to three Richard Strauss songs. It will be difficult to forget the nostalgic, poised, ascending lines--exquisitely articulated, perfectly focused--that ended “Anbetung.” Wie schoen!

The final Hugo Wolf group, delivered with comparable point and sensitivity, culminated in the kick-the-critic-down-the-stairs whimsy of “Abschied.” It is always good for a laugh.

Only two encores followed, one arcane and one obvious. First Hagegard ventured a poignant Carissimi aria, then Brahms’ Lullaby.