Angelika Kirchschlager, the mezzosoprano from Salzburg, is one of the best lieder singers we have. She is no slouch in the opera house, either: as Octavian (in Strauss’s “Rosenkavalier”), for example, or Cherubino (in Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro”). But it was as a lieder singer that New York heard her on Sunday afternoon; the venue was Alice Tully Hall.

By the way, when I say that Ms. Kirchschlager is from Salzburg, I don’t mean that she is associated with the festival there, which she certainly is: I mean that she is a real, live Salzburger.

She sang two composers here in New York: Schumann in the first half (12 songs) and Schubert in the second (11 songs). How she determined this order, I can’t quite say; Schumann is the later composer, as you know. She chose not to intersperse songs, either: a group of Schumann followed by a group of Schubert followed by more Schumann, for example. And she sang each half without any break whatsoever. Sunday afternoon was, in small part, a feat of vocal stamina.

Ms. Kirchschlager gave a recital of wonderful intelligence and musicality. From her first notes — in Schumann’s “Freisinn” (“Enlightenment”) — she was in command, and on the money. She never tried to overpower a song, or a phrase; she “sang within herself.”But she was never for a moment weak, or too retiring. “Freisinn” is just a little song, but Ms. Kirchschlager managed considerable variety in it — without overinterpreting. And her German is crystal-clear.

Accompanying her was the pianist Malcolm Martineau, who was superb, as usual. In Schumann’s “Hoch, hoch sind die Berge” (“High, High Are the Mountains”), he was delicate and modest, but properly intense — just like his singer. She sang the words “O Mutter, o Mutter” (“Oh Mother, oh Mother”) with unbelievable tenderness (and a delicious double consonant!). At one point, she ran out of tonal gas, as she would a couple of other times in this recital. That is, she stopped “phonating,” as they say; the sound would not continue. But this was trivial.

In “Die Soldatenbraut” (“The Soldier’s Sweetheart”), she was cute, but not cutesy — a distinction that makes a world of difference. To “Liebeslied” (“Love Song”), she lent just the right touch of rhapsody — only a touch.”Stille Tränen” (“Silent Tears”) is one of Schumann’s most beloved songs, and Ms. Kirchschlager sang it with amazing smoothness and poetic awareness. She seemed to stop time — but there was not a hint of preciousness in this rendering. Preciousness never stops time, only annoys.

I ask you, is there a weirder song in the entire song literature than “Die Löwenbraut” (“The Lion’s Bride”), which is about a beast’s fatal love for the daughter of a guard at the zoo? In any case, Ms. Kirchschlager sang the song with gripping drama (most of it quiet), and Mr. Martineau played it the same way. You could hear the slowly building rage from that piano.

Later, Ms. Kirchschlager sang “Die Einsiedler” (“The Hermit”), and I thought that Alice Tully Hall would levitate and simply float away. She closed her Schumann half with “Abendlied” (“Evening Song”), in which she sounded like some reassuring angel (“your way through the night shall be safely guided”).

It is evident, whenever she sings, whatever she sings, that Ms. Kirchschlager is a real musician. She was trained as a pianist, incidentally. And at some point in this first half, I noticed a dog not barking: Ms. Kirchschlager had no intonation trouble whatsoever. Her technique could be taken for granted, so that you could simply enter the worlds of the songs.

Of the Schubert second half, I could give you a blow-by-blow, but you have the picture already. One could make various criticisms, too, but they would be small, insignificant.I might note that Ms. Kirchschlager ended her printed program with the inevitable: Schubert’s “An die Musik” (“To Music”).

And I should emphasize how good Mr. Martineau was, a musician partnering a musician. He was well-nigh impeccable, throughout the afternoon. He did none of the mugging — mugging to the audience — that I mentioned a few weeks ago, in a review of his recital with Magdalena Kozena. That was a relief. I was afraid I’d have to start calling him “Muggin’ Malcolm Martineau.”

Ms. Kirchschlager sang two encores on Sunday afternoon (first complimenting the audience on being so quiet for her). A Spanish number and a spiritual? No, no — to begin with, “Widmung” (“Dedication”), Schumann’s great song. But then she actually departed from lieder, singing Poulenc’s “Hôtel.” She explained that it was her favorite encore. She also wondered whether it would be legal to sing it in America — because it ends, “I don’t want to work, I want to smoke”!

The mezzo from Salzburg spun this song tantalizingly, deliciously. When she sang the final notes — a slightly bluesy F to F sharp — I confess I was beaming at her like a fool. And I left the hall with two dominant thoughts: first, gratitude at such a recital. And then regret, that such a performance, such singing, can never really be captured on a recording.