What bliss
by Susanne Krekel
Salzburg, August 7, 2026 - If the art of the Lied were a commercial brand, Konstantin Krimmel would have secured an ambassadorship deal long ago: he is the consummate Lied singer—everything about him is just right—featuring perfect diction, a charming yet unpretentious stage presence, and a subtle use of facial expressions and gestures that allows us to perceive him as a storyteller rather than a protagonist. And, of course, there is that unmistakable voice—sounding like liquid gold and deployed with masterful skill, ranging from the tenderest pianissimo to dramatic fortissimo. It all feels so natural that one can only guess at the immense hard work behind it. A perfect Lied singer requires a perfect pianist, a role filled with absolute brilliance by Ammiel Bushakevitz. Unobtrusive yet commanding a strong presence, he lays the foundation for the vocal line with focus and attentiveness; he sustains dramatic pauses, and his solo passages stand powerfully on their own.
This was certainly the case last night in the Great Hall of the Salzburg Mozarteum. The program was a special one, dedicated to Robert Schumann, Johannes Brahms, and Eusebius Mandyczewski. It began with the Liederkreis (Song Cycle), Op. 39, set to poems by Joseph von Eichendorff. It is a journey through a wide array of moods and images—and Krimmel and Bushakevitz bring them all vividly to life. From the wistfulness of "In der Fremde" to the erotic irony of "Zwiegespräch," a breathtakingly beautiful "Mondnacht," and the fascinating tableau of "Auf einer Burg"—one listens with bated breath. When Krimmel and Bushakevitz finally head to the intermission after being called back twice, one has to take a moment to reorient oneself: "Where am I, exactly, and what was that I just experienced?"
The second half of the evening is dedicated to Mandyczewski and Brahms. Konstantin Krimmel explains that the two men were contemporaries and friends. Tonight’s program is a selection from the new CD due out at the end of the month—in a sense, we are attending the pre-launch party. These songs possess a unique charm; they have a folk-like quality, and some—such as "Cinel-cinel"—are incredibly catchy. Those who do not speak Romanian can simply glance at the translation in the program, set aside linguistic concerns, and surrender themselves to the melodic sound of the lyrics and Konstantin Krimmel’s voice. One need not understand every word; the melodies and the expressive power of the performance are enough.
The subsequent songs by Brahms—setting texts by poets as diverse as Heine, Platen, and Liliencron—all lean toward a somber, melancholic mood. Once again, Konstantin Krimmel and Ammiel Bushakevitz conjure up vivid images: a boat drifting past happiness (Heine’s "Meerfahrt") or lonely graves (Liliencron’s "Auf dem Kirchhofe"). As the final notes of "Die Mainacht" fade away, a tear might well roll down our own cheeks.
Enthusiastic applause, endless cries of "Bravo," and a standing ovation—naturally, the artists cannot call it a night without an encore. Anyone expecting a cheerful "Taubenpost" or „Abschied” to conclude the evening would be mistaken. First, they recount the legend of Belshazzar, whose hubris proves his undoing—Honni soit qui Donald pense.… And finally, Schubert does get his turn after all, with "Willkommen und Abschied." And when the words go, “And loving—what bliss,” we think: ‘What bliss to have been there tonight.’
And we step out onto the street, lost in a dream and still utterly enchanted (what a pity the German language has no equivalent for the English word “enchanted”)—only to find a city of cars, lights, and noise, and—it starts to rain. Seriously?