How much outward action does it take to create an entire world? In Franz Schubert’s Winterreise, all it takes is a wanderer setting out on his way – and music that, step by step, leads ever deeper into memory, loss and solitude. At the Hagenhaus, Swiss baritone Äneas Humm and pianist Kit Armstrong devoted themselves to one of the most compelling song cycles of the Romantic repertoire.
Twenty-four songs lead from Gute Nacht to Der Leiermann. What at first appears to be a journey through a winter landscape gradually becomes an inward one. Hope emerges only to disappear again; memories offer a fleeting sense of warmth before the cold present returns. Schubert needs no large-scale dramatic action to achieve this. Small shifts in harmony, rhythm and colour are enough to transform the emotional landscape again and again.
The piano is far more than an accompaniment. It evokes footsteps, traces wind and water, circles above the wanderer with the crow and can suddenly seem to freeze into complete stillness. The voice tells and remembers, while the piano repeatedly opens another layer beneath the words. Much of the extraordinary tension of Winterreise lies precisely in this relationship: voice and piano appear to tell the same story, yet at times seem to point in different directions.
For Äneas Humm and Kit Armstrong, this dialogue is central. Humm’s artistic profile is marked by rhetorical precision, finely differentiated vocal colours and a strong sense of dramatic architecture. Armstrong’s approach to music, meanwhile, is shaped by an unusually broad engagement with the arts, mathematics and the sciences. In song, pianist and singer become equal partners – essential to allowing Schubert’s subtle transitions between memory, dream and reality to unfold.
At the end stands Der Leiermann. The music has become almost bare; the journey seems to have reached a place from which there is no obvious way forward. Schubert offers no answer. Perhaps that is precisely why the cycle remains so powerful: Winterreise does not explain isolation – it makes it audible. And it demonstrates how, with remarkably restrained means, music can create an inner world that has lost none of its immediacy almost two centuries later.