Schubert's 1823 song cycle Die Schöne Müllerin, snapshots of love simply found and lost, is a seminal work. Most male lieder singers attempt it at some point in their careers. And all - no exceptions - could have learned from the enthralling performance given at the Wigmore Hall, in a rare recital by the veteran tenor, Peter Schreier.
The pianist, Andras Schiff, had already established a wistfully Schubertian atmosphere in the first half with the second group of Four Impromptus, Op 142. His approach was far from sentimental; at times it was almost nonchalant. The third was the most involving, Schiff leaving the effects largely understated but still tracing lucid mood swings as the variations pulled away from the theme and then back again.
But on this occasion, Schiff was even better as accompanist. Schreier is 67, and his voice isn't quite the formidable instrument it once was, but this was a masterclass in communication and in building a complete performance within one's resources. He can still sing with agility, precise intonation, open, unstrained high notes and a beautiful, sweet tone. It is not now a large voice, but with Schiff's sensitive support this was never a problem.
Nor was the fact that Schreier was singing the role of a young narrator. Schubert didn't even make it to middle age, but his early diagnosis of syphilis meant that many of his greatest works, including this, were written with a bittersweet acknowledgment of his mortality. Tapping into this, Schreier played down the puppyish optimism in the earlier songs and sang as if looking back on the loss of innocence.
The uncomplicated happiness of the first half still came over strongly, Schreier bursting into previously unheard joyful tone at "Dein ist mein Herz!" in Ungeduld (Impatience). The pain was even more convincing: the narrator's petulance when he has to share the miller's daughter's goodnight with the others, the stabs of small rejections, his anger and then self-mocking resignation as he complains that "no nice girl" would do what she has. And when despair sank home in Die Liebe Farbe, the lonely piano line dogging the melody seeming to haunt him with the sound of his rival's hunting horn. After this, the final two songs had an almost unbearable sweetness. It is rare indeed to experience the cycle at this intensity.
