Äneas Humm and Doriana Tchakarova: Finding a Voice Together
On 15 October 2026, Swiss baritone Äneas Humm and Bulgarian-born pianist Doriana Tchakarova performed at Oxford’s Holywell Music Room as part of Oxford International Song Festival. The pair have worked together for six years. Opened in 1748, Holywell is widely regarded as Europe’s oldest purpose-built concert hall.
Their programme brought together songs by Robert Schumann, Clara Schumann, Amy Beach and Hugo Wolf. Among these, I was particularly struck by the songs of the American composer Amy Beach.
Humm shaped the vocal lines with subtle shifts of colour and supple phrasing, while Tchakarova’s piano had a vivid presence of its own, its changing textures and dynamics closely attuned to the voice. Their performance balanced lyrical intimacy with a palpable dramatic tension, allowing emotion to build through the interplay of voice and piano rather than spelling everything out.
Neither simply accompanied the other; each seemed to draw the other further into the music.
Beach was one of the leading American composers of her generation, as well as a pianist who forged a career in a musical world largely dominated by men. Her songs engage with the European art-song tradition while revealing a distinctive musical voice. Her sensitivity to poetry and the intricate relationship between vocal line and piano offer performers considerable room for interpretation. In Humm and Tchakarova’s hands, her songs revealed a dramatic edge beneath their lyrical surface.
Their choice of repertoire also reflects the way their partnership has developed. Humm has long been drawn to German Lied, particularly Schumann and Schubert, and recorded Schumann songs on his second solo album. Tchakarova has encouraged him to venture further afield, introducing him to Hugo Wolf and championing Beach’s music. She has an instinct for finding repertoire that suits a singer’s voice and temperament, while also opening up new possibilities.
For Humm, Lied is about much more than singing a beautiful melody. The singer must let the words speak, while the pianist contributes not just harmony but an equally vital musical voice. Both share responsibility for bringing the poetry to life. When they find the right sound together, he says, voice and piano can become something more than the sum of their parts.
That understanding has grown through disagreement as much as agreement. Humm recalls approaching Schumann’s Auf einer Burg at a particularly slow tempo, reflecting what he had learnt at the Juilliard School. Tchakarova pointed out the structure of Schumann’s four-bar phrases, and they eventually met somewhere in the middle. In another rehearsal, when Humm wanted a phrase to sound more sharply articulated, Tchakarova urged him to think more like a chamber musician: to let the line move towards the next bar rather than treating each note as an isolated event.
For Tchakarova, the piano part is never simply accompaniment. She adapts her tempo, dynamics and phrasing to each singer, while making sure the different voices within the piano writing remain clear. In Schumann especially, she listens for the interplay between the upper line and the bass, and for the polyphonic detail that can easily be lost if the piano is treated as a supporting role.
Humm’s approach to interpretation has also been shaped by the violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja, who has spoken about making music her own. He believes the same is true of Lied: performers must find their own relationship with the words and consider how they feel each sentence. One of the pleasures of working with Tchakarova, he says, is her readiness to suggest, “Let’s try.” They may disagree in rehearsal, but he sometimes finds himself later acknowledging that she was right about a tempo or phrase.
For both musicians, the art of Lied is a conversation: between poetry and music, singer and pianist, score and imagination. Their six years together have taught them that the most convincing interpretation is not necessarily the one they arrive at first, but the one they discover by listening to each other.
The Riff Questionnaire: Äneas Humm and Doriana Tchakarova
AH=Äneas Humm
DT=Doriana Tchakarova
When did you first realise that music would become your life?
AH: I sang in the Zurich Boys’ Choir as a child. Whenever I sang, I could lose myself in the music and forget about time. That feeling has stayed with me.
DT: I initially wanted to be a solo pianist. Then, in my first or second year at university, I accompanied a singer who told me I played well. That was when I began to think that collaborative piano might be what I really wanted to do.
Is there a piece of music that changed the way you understand music?
AH: Two Mozart works come to mind. One is a violin sonata with a passage marked Tempo di Menuetto. I heard Anne-Sophie Mutter’s recording as a teenager and was fascinated by it. There was something of an Andante, a little Allegretto, yet the music kept moving steadily. Her interpretation made me feel as though I were hearing an entire life. The other is The Magic Flute, particularly the “March of the Priests”. I’ve sung Papageno 50 or 60 times, so I know the opera well. But when the strings really dig into the music, it can sound almost painful. The score may look beautiful on the page, but the performance can completely change its effect.
DT: Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony and Schubert’s String Quintet. I love the drama in both, especially the emotionally charged passages in the Schubert. Music can take you somewhere much deeper than beauty alone.
If you could introduce someone new to Lied through just one song, which would you choose?
DT: Schubert’s Der Lindenbaum. Its melody draws you in, and it’s a wonderful introduction to the relationship between poetry and song. Mendelssohn’s Auf Flügeln des Gesanges would also be a good choice.
AH: Schubert’s Du bist die Ruh, or Die Forelle. Schubert is the king of Lied. He has a remarkable ability to reach people emotionally without needing to explain everything.
What does music school not teach you that you have to learn in the profession?
AH: Music school gives you the tools, but once you leave, you have to find your own voice. I remember Joyce DiDonato saying something along the lines of doing what you want to do. You have to stand by your own interpretation, even if some people don’t like it, while remaining open to criticism.
DT: School doesn’t teach you how to work with different artists. You might collaborate with one singer today, another tomorrow, then work with an orchestra or give a Lied recital. Everyone has a different personality and way of making music. You have to stay open and learn to adapt.
What quality do you value most in a musical partner?
AH: Curiosity.
DT: Curiosity, too, but also kindness and friendship. You need to get along, trust each other and feel comfortable expressing different opinions.
If you could invite composers to dinner, whom would you choose?
AH: Richard Wagner and Franz Schubert. Dinner with Wagner might be exhausting, but it would certainly be interesting. I’d also love to meet Schubert and find out what he was really like.
DT: Franz Liszt, or perhaps Erich Wolfgang Korngold as well.
After six years of working together, what might surprise people about your partner?
AH: Doriana can turn the pages of her music on an iPad using facial movements or gestures. I think that’s amazing.
DT: Äneas gets very nervous before performances, but once he’s on stage, he looks like Superman.
AH: I do get nervous. I keep wondering whether I’ll be good enough. I have enormous respect for the repertoire, and sometimes I feel like leaving before the music even begins. But once I start singing, I get into it and the nerves gradually disappear.
Describe your partner in three words.
AH: Courageous, gifted and open to new possibilities.
DT: Special, funny and handsome. And intelligent, too!
Do you have a pre-performance ritual?
AH: Ten to twenty push-ups.
DT: I talk to myself in Swiss German in front of a mirror. Sometimes I write little notes of encouragement and stick them on it, especially when I’m ill or fighting a cold.
If a piece of music could describe your life at the moment, what would it be?
AH: The past few weeks have been very busy, with around ten concerts and trips to Portugal and Austria. I recently came across Lighter Notes by the German jazz pianist Luca Sestak on Apple Music. I love the way he brings jazz and classical music together.
DT: Mahler’s Rückert-Lieder, particularly Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder! To me, it says: let me do my thing. My business is my business. I don’t want people interfering too much.
If you could change one thing about the classical music world, what would it be?
DT: I’d like people to be more open to different interpretations. Just because a work has always been performed in a certain way doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. There should be room for musicians to bring their own perspective to the music.
AH: I’d like classical music to be less pretentious. Artists should be approachable and authentic, rather than trying to fit some imagined ideal of what a classical musician should be. With the internet, audiences can see who we are away from the stage, too. I think it’s important to show your true self.
If you were stranded on a desert island, which three pieces of music would you take with you?
AH: Bach’s St Matthew Passion, Mozart’s The Magic Flute, and Bach’s Violin Partitas.
If you could perform only one piece for the rest of your life, what would it be?
DT: Schubert’s An den Mond. I love it so much that I’d even like it to be played at my funeral.
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