The tenor capped an unusually generous recital for Philadelphia Chamber Music Society with an encore of the Roman ballad “Serenata sincera.” Appearing alone onstage, he explained the song had no official standard arrangement; rather than being joined by his pianist Ken Noda, he would improvise his own accompaniment.

Speaking to the audience, Polenzani offered a brief translation of the lyrics, which hinged on the wry observation that “sincerity is the enemy of love.” Love, however, has the power to overcome irony.

It was a fitting conclusion for an artist who wore his sincerity on his sleeve all night. Who else might conceive of a program that included Schwanengesang and “O Sole Mio”—or respond with such genuine kindness when his accompanist miffed the cyclical verses of Schubert’s “Abschied?” And who else would undersell his skills at the piano before delivering a spontaneous bagatelle that sounded like Irving Berlin’s “They Say It’s Wonderful” by way of Tosti?

Polenzani’s effortless charm carried easily throughout the whole evening, which stretched to nearly two-and-a-half hours but rarely felt tiresome. He remains indefatigable, with an easy, ringing top despite recent ventures into heavier repertoire on the opera stage. If occasionally he approached Schubert’s world of lieder more from the perspective of an opera singer than a recitalist, the sui generis pleasure of his voice excused any generalization in his textual delivery.

Some contemporary singers attempt to force a narrative onto the loose collection of songs that form Schwanengesang – Jonas Kaufmann and Helmut Deutsch turned it into a theatrical monodrama with the director Claus Guth, and Konstantin Krimmel recently reordered them for their recital at The 92nd Street Y, while also adding additional Schubert’s settings of poems by Johann Gabriel Seidl. Aside from the unusually slow tempo employed in “Die Taubenpost,” which imbued the outlying song with a surprisingly sinister subtext, Polenzani and Noda mostly met the music where it lived, segueing between jollity, passion, and despair.

The highlights of Polenzani’s interpretation were not the expected ones, although he delivered the familiar “Stӓndchen” with a pleasant lyricism and “Der Doppelgӓnger” with the appropriate psychological weight. Instead, I’ll remember Polenzani’s “Aufenhalt,” which he turned into a gripping monodrama that would have fit right into Winterreise or Die schöne Müllerin; the surprising tenderness of his “Ihr Bild;” and the romping, athletic delivery of “Frühlingssehnsucht.” Noda should also be commended for his stately postlude in “Libesbotschaft” and his mysterious, beguiling account of “Der Atlas,” the latter of which was occasionally eclipsed by Polenzani’s extreme dynamic shifts.

The concert’s second half consisted of Italian-language art songs, though Polenzani threw in an ardent account of “L’anima ho stanca” from Adriana Lecouvreur for good measure. He conveyed longing in Hahn’s “Sopra l’acqua indormenzada” before shifting effortlessly to the same composer’s lively “La barcheta,” and his rendition of Pizzetti’s “I pastori” proved so rousing that the audience couldn’t wait for the end before they burst into appreciative applause. Perhaps most captivating here was Tosti’s narrative ballad “Non t’amo più,” where each repeat of the anchoring phrase Te ne ricordi ancor? – Do you still remember? – was imbued with a deeper, more plangent sense of meaning as it became clearer that the speaker’s love affair had ended.

And what about “O Sole Mio?” Polenzani cheekily told the audience it would need no introduction. It’s cheesy, sure, but again the singer’s sincerity shone through. He treated the piece with the same respect he showed to Schubert, Hahn, and Tosti.

He also encouraged the crowd to sing along, but no one dared. Thank god. We heard who we came to hear.