With his latest release, Jonas Kaufmann ventures deep into the little-charted territory of Austro-Hungarian operetta. “Magische Töne” (“Magical Sounds”) is indeed a potpourri of Belle Époque mystique: playful, mischievous, and bittersweet.

Its 22 tracks comprise lyrical evergreens like the “Wolgalied” (“Es steht ein Soldat am Wolgastrand”), alongside the rather obscure “Julia” by Paul Abraham, as well as Fred Raymond’s “Maske in Blau.” There is also plenty from the pens of Emmerich Kálmán (“Gräfin Mariza,” “Kaiserin Josephine,” “Die Csárdásfürstin”) and Franz Lehár (“Das Land des Lächelns,” “Friederike”).

Together, these turn the album into a follow-up to Kaufmann’s “Du bist die Welt für mich” (2014, also on Sony Classical)—though arguably the program has grown more comprehensive. Unlike its predecessor, “Magische Töne” is less anchored in a showpiece romance; rather, it bristles with individual vignettes—like a mosaic—each unique in tone and atmosphere.

To piece them together, Kaufmann displays a golden luminescence—retrieved after years of vocal brittleness and related health issues (notably a multi-resistant germ in his lungs).

The delivery is not purely operatic; Kaufmann croons expertly, for instance in “Der schönste Gedanke auf Erden.” In “Die Juliska aus Budapest” (from “Maske in Blau”), his wryness takes on an almost theatrical allure, reminiscent of the rather silly “Diwanpüppchen” from the earlier 2014 recital. Ever the entertainer, he confidently overacts with charm; his characters are painted with bold strokes, quite different from the psychological spectrum achieved in traditional opera.

The same is not necessarily true for “Es steht ein Soldat am Wolgastrand.” Though sentimental, its arching lines are somewhat Puccinian (as is the theme), and Kaufmann accordingly phrases with breadth. His lines are inflected with minute attention to dynamic variation and color.

Yet despite its merits, I personally wished for more elasticity (think Fritz Wunderlich)—both in terms of rubato and spontaneity. Might the arrangement by Matthias Spindler be an unwilling culprit? It is hard to tell, as the information provided in the booklet remains rather scarce—confined, in this case, to a footnote.

It is also the only track in which Dirk Kaftan and the Hungarian State Opera Orchestra do not fully realize their potential. This is particularly noticeable in the pastoral interlude leading into the second cantabile; it seemingly stays behind the impact offered by its string-led surge.

I have one more reservation: the title track appears a tad mannered, steeped as it is in a demi-falsetto voice. “Magische Töne” (from Karl Goldmark’s “Die Königin von Saba”—one of only two operas represented) lacks the self-irony found elsewhere on the album, particularly in the duets with Nikola Hillebrand (excellent in “Tanzen möcht’ ich”).

On a final note, Kaufmann once again proves himself a polyglot. The Hungarian-language parts exude the same lightness—and hearty nostalgia—as the somewhat more familiar German ones.

“Magische Töne,” as a whole, is like a box of delicious viennoiseries—pun intended; it effortlessly completes the trajectory set by “Du bist die Welt für mich” and, in 2019, “Wien.” Yet vocally, and in terms of repertoire, it surpasses both its predecessors.