Prey has just the right
voice for Loewe’s strophic ballads.
A warm, flexible and adeptly lyric baritone,
it’s one capable of irresistible mezza
voce and considerable colour. It also
has great authority and a certain grand
seigneurial status. And yet, again,
there is a benign authority and a sense
of grave narration that compels not
only attention but provokes thought.
Loewe’s ballads, after his initial successes,
were, after all, routinely denigrated
by comparison with Schubert’s songs.
Prey and Engel, a long-standing partner,
prove masterly guides to these twelve
songs in a studio recording made back
in 1976.
They catch the distinctly
Schubertian military march feel of Nächtliche
Heerschau with Prey proving, by
turns, bluff and withdrawn, employing
his half voice here with authority and
imagination. Much of the same shading
and lightening of the voice can be heard
illuminating Süßes Begräbnis,
a setting of Rückert that shows
that Prey’s voice, though powerful,
can be adeptly scaled down. And then
there’s Prey’s fusion of manly swagger
and conversational ease in Heinrich
der Vogler – it comes with ease
of vocal production, the animating feature.
In the longer ballads the duo manage
to corral the rhetoric with crisp rhythm
and telling gesture. In a simpler setting,
calling for more focused intensity,
they have lyric generosity in abundance
– try Die Uhr which is beautifully
done. In Der Nöck, an eight
minute setting, we find them embracing
ebullience as much as discursive simplicity,
with Engel proving eloquent indeed;
how well did Loewe know Chopin’s Preludes
one wonders after listening to some
of the piano writing? We end, appositely,
with the controlled dread and anticipation
of Der Feind – where the nervous
tension is as telling as an M.R. James
short story.
The notes are bold
in their summation of Loewe’s battles
and the performances are, as I have
indicated, just as notable and consuming.
Jonathan Woolf