It was Benjamin Britten Night at Zankel Hall, as Ian Bostridge launched a five-concert series called “The Sound of Song.” Mr. Bostridge is the brainy, pencil-thin, wildly admired tenor from England. His series will encompass the work of various composers. But he began on Wednesday night with a countryman.

Britten wrote a lot of music for tenor, owing, surely, to his close relationship with the tenor Peter Pears. Part of that repertoire is the song cycle “Winter Words,” composed to texts of Thomas Hardy. This cycle is the birthright and province of every U.K. tenor, and I think in particular of Ian Partridge, Mr. Bostridge’s great predecessor Ian. (Come to think of it, their last names sound alike, too.)

It was with “Winter Words” that Mr. Bostridge began the program on Wednesday night. This work, like much Britten, is marked by strangeness, and I use that word in the sense advanced by the critic Harold Bloom. It may be his highest compliment, indicating great originality, unusualness, wonder. Mr. Bostridge happened to be in very good form on this occasion, and that made a touching experience.

I hope that his fans – of whom I am one – won’t be too cross if I say that there is a hint of the amateur about Mr. Bostridge. His technique seems rather homemade. But that technique gets the job done, as it did in “Winter Words.” Mr. Bostridge had some trouble with the tough tessitura at the beginning of the last song of the cycle, “Before Life and After,” but he sailed smoothly thereafter.

And, throughout the cycle, he communicated what must be communicated. He matched music and words smartly (as Britten does). He did not let storytelling distort musical line or shape. Neither did he become mired in intellectuality, as can happen.This was direct, honest, and affecting songsinging. And Mr. Bostridge was accompanied superbly by a knowing and talented pianist.

That was Julian Drake, the singer’s fellow Englishman. What is it about the United Kingdom and accompanists? They sometimes seem to have as many of them as gardeners. I think it has to do with a general character, including reserve, tastefulness – civilization. But we need not get into cultural stereotypes, even positive ones.

Mr. Drake played the “Winter Words” accompaniments rather Impressionistically, as befits Britten (often). And he gave each song, or portion of a song, its appropriate flavor. In “The Choirmaster’s Burial,” one could see, and hear, the vicar in the piano part. And in “Before Life and After,” Mr. Drake was nearly transporting.

The tenor and the pianist, in equal measure, caught and conveyed the strangeness of this excellent song cycle.

After intermission, we had performances of all five “Canticles.” Britten wrote these works between 1947 and 1974. Before Mr. Bostridge and his crew appeared – more about the crew in a moment – a hall official came out to ask the audience to withhold applause until after the last “Canticle.” The musicians wanted the five to be thought of as a complete work.

Personally, I’m not convinced the “Canticles” constitute a whole, but that is a debate for another time.

The crew? The tenor is the constant in all five pieces,but he needs friends: a pianist, of course, and two other singers, and a French-horn player, and a harpist. Mr. Bostridge had arranged for a topnotch supporting cast.

The first “Canticle” – “My Beloved Is Mine” (text by the 17th-century poet Francis Quarles) – happens to be for tenor and piano alone. It is a tremendously moving work, and Messrs. Bostridge and Drake performed it with due understanding and heart. The vocal lines at the end are exposed – almost brutally so – but Mr. Bostridge negotiated them well. He suffered a little flatness of pitch,but that was not too jarring.

The second “Canticle” treats the momentous drama of Abraham, Isaac, and the (near) sacrifice. It calls for the tenor and the pianist to be joined by a countertenor, who in this case was Bejun Mehta. The performers – all three of them – had no trouble putting over the power this piece contains. The singers started a bit uncertainly, but they quickly got on track.At the end – when all is calm, clear, and beautiful – Mr. Mehta sang angelically.

In 1954, Britten set Edith Sitwell’s extraordinary poem about the Blitz (and more): “Still Falls the Rain.” This is “Canticle” No. 3. It requires a horn, and Mr.Bostridge had with him David Jolley, who handled his part with notable dignity and control. The others – Messrs. Bostridge and Drake – were no worse.

And the next “Canticle,” being about the Wise Men, requires three singers. (The text is T.S. Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi.”) Joining Mr. Bostridge and Mr. Mehta was the baritone Nathan Gunn, barely recognizable with his shirt on. (Opera producers love to take it off, exposing a “bari-hunk,” as the phrase goes.) Anyway, back to this holy work: The performers rendered it ably.

The final “Canticle” – “The Death of Narcissus”(also Eliot) – dispenses with a piano, using a harp instead. Mr. Bostridge’s harpist was Bridget Kibbey, virtuosic and musically acute.

I will say again that I’m not sure we need all five “Canticles” in one evening. I’m not even sure this does the “Canticles” a favor. But the capacity audience at Zankel Hall clearly thought otherwise. For the most part, they were rapt, as though having a transcendent experience. It may have been as close as some of them ever get to church. And they rewarded the performers with loud and sustained applause.

The evening no doubt marked a triumph for Ian Bostridge. That Hardy poem, “The Choirmaster’s Burial,” refers toward the end to “the tenor man.” Mr. Bostridge was our tenor man, indeed, and a fine one.