One of the best singers in the world, the German soprano Christine Schafer, gave a recital in Alice Tully Hall on Friday night. She has given several recitals in this hall, and they have been among the most satisfying events in New York over these last many seasons. Concerts come and go, but Schafer recitals linger in the memory: Wolf’s “Morike Lieder,” Messiaen’s “Poemes pour Mi,” a bit of George Crumb.

What makes Ms. Schafer so great? She is a superb opera singer, a truly compelling actress, as she has proven in, for example, the Met’s “Lulu.” But we should concentrate on her song singing (not that that’s an utterly different enterprise). She reflects the virtues of her teachers, who include Arleen Auger and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. In fact, she very much resembles the late Auger: She sings cleanly, purely, intelligently – with direct communication. She has a knack for getting herself out of the way and letting the song come through. She is a transparency for the composer (and poet).

She is serious-minded, but not overly grave – not self-consciously grave. Not self-consciously anything. The voice is lovely and adaptable, and the technique is assured: She seldom sings off pitch. She sings a consummate German – and a good French, and a good English – and she knows not to make too much of text. She never forgets that the songs she sings are pieces of music, and that what she is doing is different from poetry reading.

In short, you never have to worry about Christine Schafer. You can simply sit back and listen to whatever Schubert – or Wolf, or Debussy – has written.

Her program on Friday night was all German, consisting of Schubert’s “Mignon Lieder,” Berg’s “Seven Early Songs,” and an assortment of Richard Strauss. The applause that greeted Ms. Schafer was long, as if the audience knew what it was in for.

The voice was a little less pure than in the past, showing signs of wear. This is natural, and no cause for alarm. The voice is far from shot – it’s just more “mature,” you might say. And the singing was as commanding as ever, although “commanding” is a slightly odd word to use about a singer so modest (but immodestly gifted).

One could analyze – and rhapsodize about – each song, but let us have a modest sample, in keeping with the singer’s nature: Schubert’s “Nur Wer die Sehnsucht kennt” was simple, clean, and heartbreaking. She added nothing to it, did not force anything: It just came out. The drama was “undramatic,” if you will. And, like Auger and other great singers, Ms. Schafer suggests fragility but does not break.

When she sang, “So lasst mich scheinen,” I thought, “This must be the most unmannered lieder singer who ever lived.” She seems uninterested in interpretation. If song singing can be objective – which, on its face, is ridiculous – Ms. Schafer shows us how. She is the soprano equivalent of the Budapest String Quartet (minus the coldness).

The first song of the Berg set, “Nacht,” contains the line: “Weites Wunderlandist aufgetan” (“A distant wonderland is opened up”). (Not bad, huh?) Ms. Schafer’s sound exactly matched the picture – indeed, gave us the picture. In “Die Nachtigall,” each time the voice rose, it sent a little shiver down the spine. As for “In Zimmer,” it seemed to amaze itself.

Before the second half began, a Lincoln Center official came out to announce that the singer wished to perform the remaining music – three separate sets of Strauss songs – straight through, without interruption. This was a little weird – too reverent, for my taste – but the soprano gets her way.

The first song was “Schlechtes Wetter,” which could have been crazier, but which was not without flair. Ms. Schafer does not really do crazy (even in “Lulu”); she does impart flair, however. And as the piano played the end of that song, I thought of something – it was like realizing that the dog wasn’t barking: Ms. Schafer wasn’t mugging, wasn’t acting. Every singer mugs – at least a little – during these piano-only measures. Not this singer. A blessed relief.

“Hat gesagt – bleibt’s nicht dabei” was enjoyable, but not jokey (for once). In the very high-lying “Liebeshymnus,” Ms. Schafer showed some stridency, but that was unusual. And in “Allerseelen,” one may prefer – I prefer – a richer, plusher voice: a Leontyne Price, a Jessye Norman, a Renee Fleming. This is sumptuous Strauss (as I construe it). But it was interesting – and different – to hear Ms. Schafer’s modest, thin-ribboned case.

She concluded with a perfectly unmannered “Morgen.”

Accompanying Ms. Schafer was the eclectic pianist Ted Taylor, who does not suffer from reticence: Here is a pianist who will play out. He never quite overwhelmed the soloist, however. There was sometimes a lack of limpidity in his playing, but he was always competent. And he made the decision not to have a page turner. (There are arguments for and against.) Mr. Taylor had one mishap – the sheet music falling to the key board – but he recovered nimbly.

In all, Christine Schafer provided our usual experience of her. It was a celebration of good singing – almost a confirmation of it. Are record companies preserving her as they should? No offense, but – youthful and beautiful and lissome as she is – she’s not getting any younger, and neither are we.