Album Review: Schubertreise Volume 1 by James Lisney
If you’re a fan of classical music with a soft spot for the Romantic era, Schubertreise Volume 1 is an album that deserves your attention. Released in 2012 under Woodhouse Editions, this UK & Europe-based project brings together Franz Schubert's timeless compositions and Árni Björnsson’s evocative works, all interpreted masterfully by pianist James Lisney. Produced and recorded by Gary Cole, the album feels intimate yet expansive—like stepping into a quiet concert hall where every note breathes life.
The album opens with Schubert’s Minuet In A, D 334, a piece that immediately grabs hold of your ears. It’s light, graceful, and almost playful, but there’s a depth to it that sneaks up on you. Lisney plays it with such clarity that you can practically hear Schubert himself tinkering at the keys centuries ago. What sticks with me about this track is how effortless it sounds—like a warm hug wrapped in lace. The phrasing is delicate without being overly polished, which makes it feel real, raw even. Too often, classical recordings lean toward perfectionism, losing the human touch. Not here. You can tell Lisney isn’t just playing notes; he’s telling a story.
Another standout is Thirteen Variations On A Theme Of Anselm Hüttenbrenner, D 576. This one feels like a journey rather than a single piece. Each variation builds on the last, creating layers of emotion that range from tender introspection to bold declarations. By the time you reach the final variation, you’ve been through something—a little musical odyssey. Lisney handles these shifts beautifully, never overplaying or rushing. His pacing lets each section breathe, giving listeners room to soak it all in. It’s not flashy, but it doesn’t need to be. The complexity speaks for itself.
Árni Björnsson’s contributions (tracks 9-11) add another dimension to the album. They feel more modern while still respecting the Romantic tradition, bridging old and new in a way that keeps things fresh. Photography by Suzie Maeder also deserves a shoutout—the cover art perfectly mirrors the mood of the music: understated elegance with a hint of mystery.
What stays with me after listening isn’t just the technical brilliance (though there’s plenty of that) but the emotional weight behind each track. Lisney has this rare ability to make you forget you’re listening to “classical music” and instead draw you into a world of sound and feeling. At times, I caught myself holding my breath during quieter passages, only to exhale as the music swelled again.
Final thought? Listening to Schubertreise Volume 1 feels like rediscovering an old book you forgot you loved. Familiar, yes, but somehow richer than you remembered. And honestly, who knew piano music could make you want to sit outside in the rain just to think? Yeah, it’s that kind of album.
