This is the kind of disc that makes me leap to my word-processor to try to convey the pleasure I have derived from it, that pleasure doubled when it is somewhat unexpected, so I beg you not to overlook it just because it comes from an unfamiliar source. Elisabeth Speiser proves a treasurable interpreter of Schubert. In my review last month of Arleen Auger's CD in Hyperion's Schubert Edition, I implied that it really does help to have German as one's native language when tackling Lieder, and here is Speiser to prove the point. Time and again she goes to the heart of the matter in the thoughtfulness of her phrasing, or in her verbal emphasis. But that would be of little avail were it not for the sheer beauty of her singing. There's something of Margaret Price, something of Irmgard Seefried in her tone, yet she has a plaintive quality very much her own. That makes her ideally suited to the programme she has chosen, which has the sub-title ''Schone Welt, wo bist du...?''
She and her equally admirable pianist, John Buttrick, have picked well from the many songs dealing with the search for peace and happiness mostly beyond reach. The grief of Am Grabe Anselmos and the longing of Der Wanderer an den Mond, the death thoughts of Nachtstuck or the unease amid happy surroundings of Fruhlingsglaube are moods all caught and held, with tempos ideal, lines clear and verbal accents precisely placed.
In the well-known challenges, Speiser and her partner can for the most part stand with the best of the past. I like the way they gradually and unerringly build the tension of Gretchen am Spinnrade, how the soprano in her eager spontaneity banishes the memory of so many 'careful' but plain accounts of Ganymed. This latter reading, with its shining tone, smile in the voice and natural movement forwards and upwards, is absolutely right, with the final phrase taken all in one breath and without a break in the seamless line. Marvellous! My paean could continue to include praise for the lovely account of the Mayrhofer Schlaflied, a gently flowing one of that matchless song Heimliches Lieben, a properly disturbing account (superbly accompanied) of An mein Herz. Any failures? Just one: I don't feel Speiser has quite the repose or the weight for Im Abendrot, nor does she sing it with sufficient awe. In every other respect, not least for its forward, ideally balanced sound, this is an absolute 'must' for Lieder lovers, even in a field that's becoming highly competitive. And now I think I shall go back and play again Speiser's perfect evocation of the Leitner setting Der Winterabend, a song that can become tedious in lesser hands, but here is given with just the ease and point it calls for.'