Christian Gerhaher’s latest recital with his regular accompanist Gerold Huber was structured round three song cycles that alternately define and push the boundaries of form: Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte, the first song cycle as such, and still one of the handful of examples to adopt a genuinely cyclic structure; Schoenberg’s Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, which redefines harmonic tradition by pushing into atonality; and Berg’s aphoristic Altenberg Lieder, ferocious in their compression, and taking the singer to extremes.

In many respects it was a remarkable occasion. Gerhaher is on superb form at the moment. Recent concerns about self-conscious artistry and disengagement evaporated, and his familiar, glorious, coloristic range was allied, in this instance, with an ease of manner and a naturalness of delivery. Sound and sense were finely fused, emotions grippingly realised.

Beethoven’s sad resignation to the continued absence of his lover contrasted beautifully with the frustration of Schoenberg’s bitter meditation on the end of an affair: we were reminded that the text of Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, sometimes seen as vague, is actually quite explicit. The Altenberg Lieder, envisioning a world teetering on the edge of metaphysical dissolution, displayed Gerhaher’s expressive powers at their finest, with enthralling declamation, unnerving whispers and shocking falsettos. All three works are as much about the piano as the voice: Huber’s lapidary playing was wonderfully intense and keenly felt.

A group of Haydn’s English songs and Beethoven’s Adelaide were also on the programme, works that steer the art song towards the operatic aria. Gerhaher’s verbal dexterity slips a bit in English, though Haydn’s Sailor’s Song, with its big statement that “Tis Britain’s glory we maintain”, brought spontaneous applause from the audience. The flowing lines of Adelaide, though, were beautifully realised. Mozart’s Abendempfinding was the single encore, exquisitely done.