Florian Boesch reminded me of the terror I felt as a nine year-old boy treble: I had to walk home in the dark after rehearsing Schubert's version of The Erlking, with phantoms following. Boesch brought back the memory, because he really became each character as he sang - father, boy and Erlking - engaging with each to such an extent that he made it seem as if his throat was constricted with fear when the child was grabbed, this time in Carl Loewe’s version of Erlkönig, “Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich An!” He must have read Stanislavski’s An Actor Prepares, he was so immersed and involved in the characters and the themes, or perhaps he has watched old expressionist films, because he has a presence which would fit well into one.
Boesch was well-known to many in the audience at this concert who remembered him from a previous Leeds Lieder+ Festival when he had arrived as a substitute for Robert Holl, who was indisposed. That was for a Winterreise which by all accounts was sensational. Some substitute! With the Festival’s Artistic Director Malcolm Martineau, a hawk of an accompanist, Boesch took us through a programme dominated by the words of the greatest German poets and the music of Schumann, Schubert, Loewe and Wolf. Boesch’s baritone voice is really imposing, more so in the lower registers, his charisma remarkable.
He was born for lieder-singing, and was perfectly at home with Schumann’s great song-cycle Liederkreis, conveying romantic grief as if it had just been invented, involving his whole body, appropriate gestures and a constantly earnest facial expression. He dealt with extremes while remaining intelligently detached, as in Warte, warte Wilder Schiffsmann (Wait, wait, wild seaman) where he delivered lines like “Blutquell, brich aus meinem Leib” (“Blood gush from my body”) with passion and magnificent sonority while remaining in charge. His capacity for tenderness was brought out in Mit Myrten und Rosen, lieblich und hold (With myrtles and roses, sweet and beautiful), in which sadness shades into hope, treading carefully and subtly through passages about the rekindling of old fires, the breaking of a magic spell, sadness and the breath of love.