You call yourself artists? Musicians you are! I am an artist, me! I am Schubert… You crawling and knawing worms which my foot should tread down…!“
This is the same Schubert? And then the insecure song-virtuoso is said to have composed everything at his desk because he never could afford a piano? And all that without any corrections and reworking like Beethoven and Brahms did? Against all worn out clichés, Schubert’s story is surprisingly contradictory and absolutely thrilling.