The Lied and how to sing it

For some five years now I have been a regular attendee at the Wigmore Hall of a Monday lunchtime, taking in the BBC Radio 3 concert of the day. The standard of chamber music making is consistently high, but what has been relatively new to me in this period is the world of classical song.

Early on I really struggled with vocal or operatic classical music. "A lot of shouting in a foreign language" is how I heard opera described on the radio once, and that stayed with me for a long time as I struggled to get past the barrier of not knowing the words or, worse, not being able to hear them. And now, thanks largely to the Wigmore concerts, things have changed.

A composer's songs are, perhaps not surprisingly, among the most expressive parts of their output, and it is amazing how helpful it is to either follow the text or preview it beforehand, perhaps along with a synopsis of the piece itself.

My gradual thawing through the world of song has its roots in England and France. A study of Benjamin Britten's 'Serenade for tenor, horn and strings' at university revealed this incredibly emotional music, beautifully structured and orchestrated, with plenty of room given for Peter Pears to project the words. A few years later for a birthday present I was given Anne Sofie von Otter's album 'La Bonne Chanson', and loved the Ravel setting of three Mallarmé settings – more, it has to be said, for the instrumental colour, but gradually the wonderful voice above it shone through.

Yet it's the Wigmore concerts that have really made the difference, and have gradually opened my eyes to the writing of the 'Lied' composers, Schubert, Schumann and Wolf especially.

Five of those concerts really stick out in my mind. Firstly Mark Padmore, singing 'Winter Words' in a way that brought through Britten's stunning Hardy settings, vividly pictorial. Then Gerald Finley sang a concert of Schumann and Grieg, concentrating on settings of the poet Heinrich Heine, and giving a remarkable account of the former composer's 'Belsatzar'.

Then it was Anne Schwanewilms, with the best vocal concert I have yet seen, showing amazing control of the long phrases in Debussy's 'Proses Lyriques' before the same in some sumptuous Richard Strauss. Just as important in this respect was accompanist Roger Vignoles, who proved capable of realising the quasi-orchestral textures on the piano.

Christopher Maltman also proved a surprise hit, with an imaginative program of Richard Strauss, Korngold and four songs by Gustav Holst, an unexpected source. The timeless 'Betelgeuse' was by far the strangest of the quartet, a kind of shorter cousin to 'Saturn' from 'The Planets' in its cumbersome old age, but one that resonated for long afterwards. Finally Véronique Gens, performing the Berlioz song cycle 'Les Nuits d’été', gave an especially sparkling performance of the opening song, 'Villanelle'.

So why am I sharing these five special experiences? To show, I think, that with repeated attempts to get to know a style of music better, it can on occasion be possible to achieve a breakthrough and to grow to love it, especially given the right performers and venue.

I have been very lucky in this case, though I can't yet see how this is going to happen with Country & Western!