For all their radical stylistic differences, Schumann and Berg were composers whose creative personas had much in common. In particular, both were steeped in literature, and both had a lifelong fascination with cryptograms and numerical symbolism of all kinds. But while Berg’s formative years were spent composing virtually nothing other than Lieder, Schumann turned seriously to song only after a decade spent writing almost exclusively music for solo piano. Not by chance, Schumann’s change of direction in 1840 coincided with his long- postponed marriage to Clara Wieck. In that one year alone, as though in rapturous greeting to his bride, he composed around 130 Lieder — a body of work that is sufficient in itself to place him as second only to Schubert in the pantheon of
song composers.
One of the cycles of that time,
Frauenliebe und -leben, to poems by the French-born Adelbert von Chamisso, itself encapsulates the life of a married woman. “I have lived and loved”, she sings in the last of the eight songs, and the cycle traces her journey from first love, through betrothal, marriage and childbirth, to bereavement. Not only does the final number of the cycle end with an almost exact recollection of the piano part of the first song, but Schumann adopts a “closed” form in the majority of the intervening numbers by repeating the opening line (or lines) at the end. The exceptions are those songs whose narrative progression makes such a reversion unfeasible. In the fifth song, for instance, as the bride-to-be bids her sisters farewell, the melody of the opening bars is transformed into a miniature wedding march; and the accelerating pace of the cycle’s penultimate song culminates in a moment of reverie, after which the piano is left on its own to express the exultation of love in a new melody whose flowing quality enhances the dramatic effectiveness of the bleak closing song.
That final song, as the loss of the woman’s husband causes a veil to descend over her future, leaves the music open- ended, and a short dissolve leads to the piano’s long reminiscence of the cycle’s opening number. The concluding moments present the piano part exactly as it was in the second verse of the original song. At first, that part had doubled the vocal line; but at the point where the two had diverged, and the piano had assumed a purely accompanimental role, the listener now becomes acutely aware of the missing voice. It is an ending of infinite tenderness, and an overwhelming expression of loss. . .
We'll take for granted the lovely, limpid, not-too-close sound provided
by Decca. The singing is exquisite; Röschmann has a silvery, soaring
soprano in the Lucia Popp/Margaret Price category, light, bright, pure
and shimmering with easy top notes and real intensity without a hint of
wobble or scratch. Her diction is ideal and she sings with real passion.
Perhaps the most beautiful thing here is her rendering of "Mondnacht",
where the delicacy of Uchida's pianism matches Röschmann's poise. Hear,
too, the skill with which Röschmann manages the tricky intervals and
sustains perfect intonation in "Auf einer Burg" . . . [Uchida's] style
suits perfectly both the singer's vocal layout and the mood of the
songs, especially the tenderness of "Frauenliebe und Leben", which is
given an account to match the best predecessors . . . The haunting Berg
songs are creamily sung and make an apt interlude between the two
Schumann cycles . . . I cannot imagine any aficionado being disappointed
by such musically flawless singing and playing. (Ralph Moore,
MusicWeb International / 01. November 2015)
