What a puzzlement Thomas Hampson is. This American baritone, who will turn forty-five in June, is at once a prodigiously gifted singer and an infuriatingly pompous, aloof artist. On the operatic stage, his excesses might be deemed virtues, along with his strapping, bluff physiognomy, but on the recital platform his hectoring delivery, stiff gestures, and occasionally rough timbre invite less compassion. (The baritone’s thrashing of Schubert’s Winterreise a couple of years ago still troubles the memory.) And yet Hampson can just as easily remind us why he is so acclaimed: his crisp diction, rich tone, and interpretive sensitivity rival any singer concertizing today. So what’s a song lover to do when Hampson once more alternates between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in the concert hall?

Suffer and smile, one supposes, for Hampson provoked both pain and pleasure at Segerstrom Hall on January 25, when he and the pianist Craig Rutenberg i ...

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