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It might have been foolhardy, after a week of severe headaches, to go to an all-percussion concert, or to plan on two concerts in one day. But I am an artistically intrepid sort so I headed to Berkeley last Sunday to hear Les Percussions de Strasbourg in the afternoon, before Jonas Kaufmann’s local debut in the evening.

This was a fiftieth-anniversary tour for Les Percussions, though the personnel has changed since their early days (the current line-up: artistic director Jean-Paul Bernard, Claude Ferrier, Bernard Lesage, Keiko Nakamura, Francois Papirer, and Olaf Tzschoppe). The program covered just about every sound possible from a percussion ensemble, starting with a classic of the genre, Varese’s Ionisation, which has a clattering, very urban sound – funny that it’s the repeated siren that anchors this piece in the urban experience, just as (in some of the other pieces) a stick striking wood can summon up traditional Japanese theater, or a temple out in the woods.

Edmund Campion’s Ondoyants et Divers took us into a gentler place, followed by Philippe Manoury’s more metallic Le Livre des claviers. After an intermission we had the more industrial sounds of Raphael Cendo’s Refontes, followed by Yoshihisa Taira’s Hierophonie V, which ended in a swelling of frightening drumming, accompanied by the drummers’ shouts, something which always strikes me as slightly ridiculous when it’s written into a score. It was an invigorating way to spend a rainy afternoon. I had no trouble getting a rush ticket, though Hertz Hall looked almost full.

I had plenty of time to stroll down the campus to Zellerbach for Kaufmann’s recital; actually, I went off campus a taqueria, killed some time there, and ended up seeking refuge from the rain in Zellerbach about an hour before the scheduled 7:00 start time. I wonder how much time I’ve wasted in my life hanging out in theaters, waiting for a performance to start.

Kaufmann’s first local appearance had been eagerly awaited, so the vast barn that is Zellerbach looked full, and judging from the enthusiastic ovation that greeted the tenor as he first walked out on stage, he already has a big fan base in this area. The concert was deeply enjoyable, and I felt I really would have missed something special if I hadn’t been there. (Of course, if I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have really known I was missing something special.) That doesn’t mean there weren’t odd things about it, like the program, for instance: German lieder just seems to belong to a more intimate setting. It also seemed a little odd – though in a risk-taking and therefore endearing way – to build an entire program for an American audience, many of whom were there because they're opera fans, around German lieder. I didn’t feel the oddity so much during the first half, which was all Schumann (four selections from Kerner Liedern, followed by Dichterliebe, whose extended piano passages really highlighted the wonderful accompanist, Helmut Deutsch), mostly because I’m always happy to listen to Schumann, but I did think it during the all-Richard Strauss second half, which struck me as more uneven in quality. Although the quiet, slow numbers Ruhe, meine Seele and Morgen were highlights in an evening full of strengths, a song like Die Frauen sind oft fromm und still, about devout women seeing heaven and being filled with strength and hope, just struck me as hopeless kitsch, though Kaufmann sure was selling it, complete with concluding glances upward to heaven.

In fact he sold all the songs – he’s a powerful stage presence, and not just because he’s so handsome (or, as the old ladies behind me kept saying, “adorable”). He has an interesting nineteenth-century air, with his mass of dark curls, that made him look at times like an actual German romantic poet, and not just someone singing their words. (His appearance made me want to see his Werther.) He can declaim with authority, elegantly controlling his muscular sound. Oddly for a tenor, the lower parts of his voice seemed the most powerful; when he moved into the upper part of his voice, there was a strange hollow quality – not unpleasant, but not the ringing tones for which tenors are supposedly favored. Not that I have much expertise in these matters, but I wondered why he wasn’t a baritone.

The audience gave him a really enthusiastic and heart-felt ovation at the end, and eventually earned five encores. First came more Strauss – Breit über mein haupt, Nichts, and Wie sollten wir geheim sie halten. Then came the one aria of the evening; rumors have been flying for months about a possible local operatic debut, and Kaufmann is mostly known as an opera singer, so I thought it was interesting that he delayed the operatic repertoire until the fourth encore, even though by then the audience was shouting requests (“Werther! Werther!”). Kaufmann never spoke to the audience, even to announce the encores. I guessed correctly when I heard the number that it was Lehar; so good for me for guessing, since I generally avoid Viennese operetta. It was an appealing and slightly kitschy piece (Dein ist mein ganzes Herz), its appealing quality inseparable from and caused by its kitschyness. I have no idea why the sole exception to the Schumann/Strauss program was Lehar. That seemed bizarre. For the last encores it looked as if they brought the music out on an iPad – I look forward to the day when technological innovations at recitals include projecting translations, as is regularly done in opera houses. After a final return to Schumann (Mondnacht) the audience finally let the smiling Kaufmann leave, and left itself.