MUSIC REVIEW : A Song Recital for Connoisseurs

‘I only expected 20 people,” Barbara Hendricks said in response to an ovation at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion on Wednesday night. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know so many of you had boats.”

That was at the close of her exquisite song recital, sponsored by the Los Angeles Philharmonic. At the beginning, she had sent out Ernest Fleischmann, the ubiquitous impresario, to invite everyone in the house to move forward. It was a wise and generous gesture.

The surprisingly large, gratifyingly hardy crowd welcomed her bid for proximity. Then it basked in the intimacy of her art.

Hendricks knew what she was doing. Her voice, for all its silver luster, is small. The Pavilion, which can accommodate well over 3,000, is much too big for the delicate pathos of German Lieder and the fragile charm of French melodies .

Undaunted, the soprano from Stephens, Ark., conquered the wide open spaces. And she didn’t do it the easy way. She selected a fascinating, demanding, subtle program, devoid of obvious bonbons, arias and popular favorites. She refused to exaggerate, refused to stoop to grandiose effects, refused to compromise her standards.

Rising to her implicit challenge, the audience focused its attention with her. It really concentrated, really listened, really cared. On occasion, the crowd gave Hendricks the compliment of a communal sigh, which means much more than push-button applause.

The lesson was sobering: Never underestimate the sophistication of the Los Angeles public, especially if it braves the elements while the sky is falling in order to hear a little Schubert and Faure.

The program began with six Schubert songs, and with rapt silence between entries. Hendricks turned each little Lied into a miniature drama, inflecting the text with tiny shafts of color and focusing the poetic imagery with uncanny precision. She avoided theatrical tricks of any kind, allowed her voice to do the work.

It will be a long time before we forget the innocence she conveyed in “Lachen und Weinen,” the unsentimental yearning she brought to “Standchen,” the legato lyricism she sustained in “Nacht und Traume.” It will be a long time before we forget the gentle heartbreak she found in “Du liebst mich nicht.”

In the Hugo Wolf group that followed, she introduced compelling elements of wry humor, even perky whimsy. She took dangerous liberties with the tempo and mood changes of Mignon’s “Kennst du das Land,” adding an element of tragedy to the tender emotion. But it worked.

The sweetness and purity of Hendricks’ voice, combined with the simplicity of her delivery, recalls the standard of such Germanic coloraturas as Erna Berger and Maria Ivogun. That puts her in lofty company.

After intermission, she demonstrated the same sensitivity and comparable understatement in Faure’s “Bonne chanson” plus songs of Chausson, Gounod and Bizet. Here, however, she added the haze of sensuality and the poise of elegant suavity.

Highlights among the highlights: the wispy insinuation of Chausson’s “Papillons” and the dramatic flourishes, complete with climactic cadenza, of Bizet’s “Adieux de l’hotesse arabe.”

At encore time, she illuminated Faure’s wistful “Apres un reve” and Delibes’ delicately showy “Chanson espagnole.” Then, unaccompanied, she offered a haunting performance of “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child.” Finally, she added a rousing spiritual, “His Name’s So Sweet,” and sent everyone home happy. “I know you all want to catch the last boat,” she said.

Staffan Scheja was the ever-stylish, supportive accompanist. Daniel Rothmuller--son of a celebrated singer (Marko Rothmuller) and associate principal cellist of the Philharmonic--was the stellar page-turner.