Jonas Kaufmann, the McDreamy of the opera world. I have heard recordings of his dark, intense tenor and seen the brooding photos that are inescapable for anyone who loves opera. But I had never heard him in person before tonight. I must admit to having wondered whether anyone could live up to the hype. I needn’t have worried; his singing was exquisite.

The evening was devoted solely to Puccini, and Kaufmann was partnered by the London Philharmonic Orchestra. The evening began a trifle inauspiciously with a Prelude symphonic for which the rhythm was somewhat shaky, and “Ecco la casa,” from Le Villi, in which Kaufmann’s burnished tenor seemed slightly strained (although the top B flat was stunning). But everything from then on was utter pleasure (with the mild exception of the LPO’s Intermezzo from Suor Angelica, which was a bit tentative).

The first half contained selections from Le Villi (as mentioned), Edgar, and Manon Lescaut. I was only familiar with “Donna non vidi am” and “Guardate, pazzo son” from the latter opera, and perhaps it is for that reason that I thought they were by far the finest moments in that half. It is much easier to sing well loudly than to sing well quietly, and I was utterly gobsmacked by Kaufmann’s mastery of dynamic control and constant, absolute attachment to pitch. The LPO, and conductor Jochen Rieder, also deserve praise for their attention to detail and similar dynamic control.

The second half began with selections from Tosca, and I have never heard a better “E lucevan le stelle.” Ordinarily, artists in recital make lip service to acting, and focus only on the voice. Not Kaufmann – if I closed my eyes, I would have believed myself at the beginning of the final act of Tosca. It was utterly beautiful, perfectly despairing, and as subtle as that aria could possibly have been. It did not leave me in the state of bliss that it ought to have done, however, as I was filled with rage at the coughing hordes who hacked up lungs during what should have been only music. I was not alone in my anger, however, and the collective feeling of the healthy majority of the audience seemed to have pierced the shell of selfishness of the afflicted, resulting in (relatively) peaceful silence for the rest of the half.

Intermezzi from Madama Butterfly and Suor Angelica represented the LPO’s primary contributions to the second half, and Kaufmann’s “Una parola sola…Or son sei mesi” produced more glorious, bang on-pitch B flats. But the unquestioned highlight of this half was Kaufmann’s Nessun Dorma. There are a very few instances of great art that retain their power no matter how cliched they have become. The Ride of the Valkyries, Hamlet’s To Be or Not To Be speech, etc. Nessun Dorma is amongst those, and listening to Kaufmann’s vocal intelligence and that spinning, espresso tone, I truly believed that Calaf would win. It was phenomenal.

The encores included more selections from Tosca and Fanciulla, and went beyond Puccini to include selections like Refice’s Ombra di nube. It was a stupendous, stonking evening. And after the first admiration of the dinner jacket, I didn’t think once about his looks. The voice was all.