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                turns, bluff and withdrawn, employing 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