It was nearly five years ago that Christian Gerhaher, arguably the finest and most fascinating lieder singer working today, revealed that he was working on a major project to record all of Schumann’s songs (2/17). The first two individual albums released in the series lived up to the promise: ‘Frage’ (2/19), the first, won a Gramophone Award, and the follow-up, ‘Myrthen’ (12/19), maintained the high standard. Now, nearly two years later (and a year behind the originally announced schedule), we get the complete set in one fell swoop. The majority of the songs are sung by Gerhaher himself, with a selection of other singers joining in for those songs not suitable for baritone, as well as for duets and other ensembles.

‘Alle Lieder’ presents 299 of Schumann’s songs, which means that it’s not quite as comprehensive as Hyperion’s ‘The Complete Songs’ (at 318): Gerhaher chooses to omit uncharacteristic pre-1840 songs, as well as ensembles with a more choral character. Indeed, in his introduction in the booklet, he explains that he and his longtime musical partner, Gerold Huber, wanted to offer something situated somewhere between Hyperion’s survey and that of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. ‘Our own objective’, he writes, ‘is to present Schumann as we have come to appreciate him over the years.’ Later, he notes, it’s less about being encyclopaedic than aiming at ‘an artistically interpretive approach’ to the songs.

The songs are presented in two halves, those from the almost miraculous Liederjahr of 1840 (plus a little bit of 1841) in the first half, the traditionally more problematic songs composed later in the 1840s and the early 1850s in the second. They are straightforwardly split into opus numbers, vaguely but by no means exhaustively chronologically ordered. The set is therefore notably easy to navigate, and is further illuminated by Gerhaher’s brief, slightly aphoristic introductions to each group – not always elegantly translated, though, it must be said.

There’s a useful index by first line but it’s a great shame – indeed arguably unforgivable – that the booklet includes texts in German but no translations. The baritone offers philosophical reasons for this decision: he prefers to let listeners compare the original poems with Schumann’s settings, rather than muddying matters with another layer of interpretation. It’s an argument that German speakers are likely to find more persuasive than those with no German.

One final bit of discographical housekeeping: as well as incorporating recordings from the recent ‘Frage’ and ‘Myrthen’ albums, the set includes material from Gerhaher’s previous Schumann albums – ‘Melancholie’ (7/08), plus an earlier release coupling Dichterliebe with, among other things, the Lieder und Requiem, Op 90 (12/04). Some label blurb I’ve seen suggests both of those earlier albums are fully incorporated but in fact the new set includes only, as far as I can tell, ‘Belsatzar’ and ‘Die Löwenbraut’ from the first album (albeit with the recording of the latter apparently misdated in the booklet), while from the second album we have the Liederkreis, Op 39, and the Andersen and Reinick songs of Opp 40 and 36, recorded in 2007. All the other recordings, beautifully engineered, date from between 2017 and 2020 – one can’t help wondering whether the original plan was to record everything fresh.

Whatever the case, this set taken as a whole is a wonderful achievement and a marvel of sustained artistry: subtle, intelligent performances, impeccably prepared and movingly executed. In every bar Gerhaher and Huber display their rapport, an almost hypnotic closeness and singlemindedness forged over several decades. As I noted in my review of ‘Frage’, they create an extraordinary imaginative world all their own: it’s an internalised poetic universe of the soul, to which this set lets you escape for hours on end. But what becomes even clearer in listening to this new set – and comparing Gerhaher’s earlier Schumann recordings with those from the last few years – is how it sees the baritone cultivating what might justifiably be described as a late style. Less is more: interpretations are defined by the subtlest of touches.

It’s an approach that also reflects the fact that Gerhaher’s voice, still an instrument of rare beguiling beauty, has inevitably lost some of the youthful bloom it had 15 years ago. It’s now a little wirier and less flexible and rich, meaning that exuberance seems to be refracted through experience, feelings retold rather than relived. Yet there is rarely, if ever, any sense of compromise or of pushing the voice in the heat of the moment (the baritone always stops short of hectoring). Indeed, one feels that there’s no such thing as the heat of the moment, only a meticulously worked-out interpretative path, devoid of indulgence or empty effects, faithfully followed.

It’s particularly fascinating to hear how, for example, Gerhaher’s new recording of Dichterliebe compares to that of nearly two decades ago. Phrases are filled out less generously now, dying out a little earlier, and there’s even a slight breathlessness and stiffness, for example, at ‘so werd’ ich ganz und gar gesund’ in the cycle’s fourth song. But there’s an exquisite tenderness to ‘Im wunderschönen Monat Mai’, while ‘Ich hab’ im Traum geweinet’ becomes a compelling study in numb concentration. ‘Ich grolle nicht’ (crowned by a respectable top A) offers not just anger but a whole complex of emotions. Huber’s contributions are superb, too: listen to the detail of his playing in ‘Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen’ or the pearly beauty he achieves in beautiful accounts of ‘Hör ich ein Liedchen klingen’ or ‘Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen’.

Elsewhere there are plenty of moments that call for a slight adjustment, where one might be used to more heroism than Gerhaher is willing to provide. He inevitably sounds a little reticent in ‘Tragödie I’ (from Op 64) or ‘Mit Myrthen und Rosen’ (from Op 24), for example, compared with the youthful Christopher Maltman on Hyperion (not to mention when compared with the young Simon Keenlyside in the Kerner Lieder and more). Rarely is his interpretative strategy less than fully convincing, though, and initially understated performances of ‘Der Soldat’ and ‘Der Spielmann’ (from Op 40) nevertheless end up delivering considerable dramatic power.

Gerhaher is undoubtedly at his best, though, in the more reflective and tender numbers – or moments – which abound in Schumann’s output. The Sechs Gesänge of Op 107 (already released on ‘Frage’) are a case in point, and there are plenty of breathtaking touches in the performance of Op 90, too, with which Gerhaher concludes the set. I must admit that the final ‘Requiem’ is a little disappointing: I prefer the more naturally communicative approach of the pair’s earlier recording. In the context, though, that feels like a very minor complaint.

There’s an enormous amount to enjoy from the other singers on the project, too, who, with Huber’s help, fit remarkably well into the general interpretative approach. I praised the clear-voiced Camilla Tilling in my review of ‘Myrthen’, and another superb singer, Julia Kleiter, bags the biggest other soprano assignment, giving us a beautifully understated and moving account of Frauenliebe und -leben, which imbues this wonderful cycle with a special freshness and directness. She’s also excellent in her contributions to the Mignon songs of Op 98a. The rich-voiced Wiebke Lehmkuhl is affecting, too, in the Gedichte der Königin Maria Stuart, if perhaps not as urgent as Hyperion’s Juliane Banse.

The ensembles and duets are all beautifully done, and it’s especially enjoyable to hear Gerhaher let his hair down with his colleagues in these numbers, many far from inspired, admittedly, but still providing numerous highlights. They complete a set that is ultimately less a labour of love – of Gerhaher and Huber’s love for Schumann – than a wonderful celebration of it, as well as a testament to their astonishing artistic partnership. It represents a moving, engrossing and enlightening achievement, and an essential addition to any lieder lover’s shelf.