Ten years ago, many people considered Austrian baritone Wolfgang Holzmair to be one of the finest of all lieder singers. He was admired, above all, for the refinement and subtlety he brought to his performances and for the silky elegance of his voice, which, though never large, had a unique beauty. Of late, however, he seems to have slipped from his position of pre-eminence.
His UK appearances have become scarce and a new generation of very different baritones - including Dietrich Henschel, Thomas Quasthoff and Matthias Goerne - has eclipsed him in the public imagination. This performance of Schubert's Winterreise, with his regular accompanist Imogen Cooper, also revealed a certain slippage in both vocal beauty and communicative power.
Much of his interpretation does, it is true, remain telling, and sometimes creates powerful cumulative effects by the simplest means. Speeds are on the fast side, often at speaking pace, which generates tremendous urgency. As the narrator's mood darkens, Holzmair undercuts lyricism with shafts of irony.
You are aware throughout of the psychological progression from the credulous nostalgia of the opening Gute Nacht to the final song, Der Leiermann, which he delivers with the clipped, tight-lipped exhaustion of a broken man. Cooper, meanwhile, has an instinctual understanding of his approach.
Yet Holzmair's voice is not what it was. His soft singing is still ravishing - you surrender totally when he gets to Der Lindenbaum - but under pressure the tone turns tremulous and his lower register has lost its fullness.
More important, however, is his refusal to engage fully with his audience. He avoids eye contact, sings to the floor, the ceiling and sometimes to Cooper, but rarely to us. Given that Winterreise is about a man who has lost contact with humanity, you could argue that it is in some sense appropriate that the audience should be placed in the position of eavesdroppers or voyeurs. Yet the overall effect is at once disconcerting and alienating.
Ultimately we are kept at arm's length throughout, and the impact of this greatest and most tragic of song cycles is blunted.
