With Julius Drake, piano, at Alice Tully Hall on Wednesday, March 31.
Tenor Ian Bostridge has an odd presence on stage. He must be in his forties, but he has the gawky, stretched-out limbs of a teenage boy who’s just experienced a massive growth spurt, his adolescent air exacerbated by overlarge ears and floppy, baby-fine hair. As he sings, he lurches about unpredictably, swaying and twitching, hands fluttering. Some people consider his bearing and behavior distracting (a couple of them sat behind me at this performance), but I find it sort of endearing. Too goofy to be contrived, his movements might be weird but they’re undoubtedly innate and sincere. Then again, I often sit with my eyes closed at concerts, so I might not be the best judge—especially because Bostridge’s clear, expressive voice could easily inspire me to forgive all manner of sins.