Wigmore Hall is turning 125, its director John Gilhooly was being granted honorary membership of the Royal Philharmonic Society, and everyone in the audience was shouted a free drink, but there was another cause for celebration on Sunday night. With Lise Davidsen, the world’s most in-demand opera singer, giving an all-Schubert recital it was a case of standing room only.

The Norwegian soprano has a Rolls-Royce instrument, more than capable of filling a house the size of the Metropolitan Opera, but up close she brought other qualities to the table. Her disarming warmth in seemingly off-the-cuff spoken introductions put the audience entirely at ease. Her ability to inhabit a character, as she does on stage, ensured songs such as Gretchen am Spinnrade and Die Junge Nonne were dramatic highlights. The former opened with a throbbing intensity and built to an eruption of volcanic proportions. Her fledgling nun seethed with a scared rapture that verged on the dangerously corporeal.

The big beasts – Ganymed, for example, with its sly, priapic crescendo, or a turbulent Erlkönig, taken at an RSI-inducing lick by supportive pianist James Baillieu – hit their mark. Her voice has an extraordinary amplitude and a focused core of steel, although when pressed hard in the burgeoning upper register, the odd consonant was inclined to go astray. It was impossible to find fault, however, with Die Allmacht, surely Schubert’s most Wagnerian utterance. Nailing her operatic colours to the mast, Davidsen threw caution to the wind, and unleashed her inner Valkyrie.

It was the more intimate songs, however, several of them welcome rarities, that brought the greatest pleasure. Du Bist die Ruh, with an imposing final diminuendo, was a masterclass in breath control; the singer’s unassuming honesty tapped hidden depths in Mignon’s So Lasst Mich Scheinen. Baillieu, her rock throughout, brought a tender flexibility to Goethe’s heart-wrenching Nur Wer die Sehnsucht Kennt. Saving the best until last, the recital concluded with a spellbinding account of the quasi-religious Am Tage Aller Seelen. Davidsen’s seamless soprano barely rose above a whisper as the voice dispensed balm to the broken-hearted, every word and emotion crystal clear.