Hendricks and Lupu are not the first names that would spring to mind for a Schubertiade. And it is precisely the fresh, un-hidebound approach of both artists to even the most well-aired Lieder which makes this such an attractive recital.
The first song, Der Wanderer an den Mond is set to win the listener's heart. Lupu's bright, semi-staccato sprung rhythms, and Hendricks's girlish, smiling phrasing refresh both word and music: I like, too, her momentary quietening of the voice to whisper ''Ich ernst und trub, du mild und rein'' as an intimate aside. They both, in fact, sing and play like innocents. Hendricks is wan and wistful in her Mignon song, and never lets us forget for a moment who it is who sings Goethe's haunting Der Konig in Thule as it circles high in the voice. Lupu, a little less successfully, provides an introduction for An Sylvia so laid-back as to sound slightly tongue-in-cheek.
Hendricks's ability to maintain the bloom on a remarkably still, vibrato-less line comes into its own in Nacht und Traume and in Du bist die Ruh. But it is a voice without a great range of colours and lights, and this, together with her tendency to harden the line at moments of emphasis, and to use the full voice only seldom, may well try the patience of some listeners.
There are times when, beguiled by the sheer beauty of sound, one begins to crave a little more engagement with language (Der Musensohn); a little more intense concentration on structure (Gretchen am Spinnrade). But, for the beauty there is, we must be thankful, and regret only that the recording tends to recess much of interest in Lupu's playing, making it sound misleadingly detached from the vocal performance.'