As the journey through Hyperion’s Schubert Edition nears its end, we notice, as ever, towering landmarks, some familiar, a few unfamiliar, as well as lesser sights, engaging to encounter once or twice but not of great consequence. During the years 1822-25 covered here, as Schubert nears the end of his life, he is often exploring new ideas, new modes of expression. But I was rather underwhelmed by the first four offerings, where a breathy, tentative soprano doesn’t make much of Schwestergruss, which needs some singing. Lynne Dawson shows the way in Pilgerweise, but the song languishes a little too much for its own good. Then suddenly a great song, Dass sie hier gewesen, hoves into view: as Johnson comments, ‘No matter how many times one hears the song, it always comes as a surprise.’ So it is again, in Langridge’s finely shaped, plaintive reading.
The next major landmarks (though we note in passing a pleasing quartet alternative to the solo version of Gondelfahrer) are the ever-popular, and justifiably so, Du bist die Ruh, with Dawson again in pristine form, and three notable bass songs: the fine but neglected Ruckert setting, Greisengesang, splendidly intoned by Neil Davies who does just as well by one of the late Mayrhofer settings. Der Sieg, once made popular by Harry Plunkett Greene (presumably singing in English) and the thoughts of the death-wishing gravedigger in Totengrabers Heimweh, are good vehicles for Christopher Maltman, though he doesn’t efface a towering account of the latter by the young Hotter on a 1944 version, now on Dante Lys. Finally, among the treasures comes the virtually unknown ballad Lied des gefangenen Jagers, based on a Scott text from The Lady of the Lake, of which Hampson gives a typically sonorous, imaginative account. Otherwise some enjoyable trifles entertain without demanding serious attention. Johnson is our ever-faithful guide, pianist and writer through the varied journey. Now on to the final heights – Schubert’s and the series’ – of Schwanengesang.'