Bona-fide heldentenors are about as plentiful these days as dodos. The world is waiting for a heavyweight hero - just one, please - blessed with endless stamina, a voice of steel, a gutsy ego and a reasonably sympathetic persona. If such a paragon exists andcan survive the cruel tessitura of Wagner's Tannhäuser, universal joy would border on delirium.

Under the circumstances, one went to the Met on Thursday with hope undermined by realistic pessimism. A new contender from Germany was impersonating the minstrel knight who flip-flops between the fleshly realm of Venus (potentially interesting) and the spiritual domain of Elisabeth (potentially boring). Peter Seiffert, nearly 51, came, sang and conquered, after a limited fashion. He does not, cannot, make a mighty noise, and he sometimes sounds a bit edgy and tight. Still, he knows how to pace himself over the very long haul, knows how to phrase in a telling manner, how to project character, sustain tension and dominate the stage. For Wagnerites of a certain age, he conjures memories of Windgassen, not Melchior. It is enough.