NATURE AND NURTURE
with WILFRID MELLERS
Janacek: 'Diary of a Young Man who
Disappeared'
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Leos Janacek, born in 1854 in Moravia, a land of dark, dense forests,
had obvious links with 19th century nationalist traditions, but was also
vividly responsive to the desperations of our war-racked human story, writing
almost all the music we remember him by over the two decades previous to
his death in 1928. He was not, like Fibich or Sibelius, a 'European', preoccupied,
in symphonic abstraction, with conflicts between the private and the public
life, but was essentially a theatre composer, living in a specific community,
creating 'slices of life' even more potent than those typical of verismo
opera, in a language both topical and local. His vocal lines make audible,
visible, even tactile, the people living and suffering in his world, for
the melodies' short, reiterated motives echo the word- and body-gestures
of rudimentary human creations, while the orchestra 'incarnates' the natural
and social environment they inhabit.
Since Janacek equivocates between 'unconscious' Nature and the hyperconscious
modern psyche, it may not be fortuituous that his most representative works
were composed just before, during, and just after the First World War that
delivered so brutal a blow to the traditional concept of 'Europe'. This
applies not only to his operas, which are among the supreme musical-theatrical
works of our century, but also to his chamber music; even the two 'abstract'
string quartets have more to do with spoken conversation, gestural behaviour,
and ritual festivity than with art music in a concert hall. The main work
on this CD - written during the war-years 1916-19 - is also chamber music
in that it is scored for tenor and contralto soli, a small ensemble of women's
voices, and piano; yet in effect it is a mini-opera, telling a story from
everyday life, since Janacek found the verses, reputedly by a peasant youth,
in a local newspaper to which he was himself sometimes a contributor. Rumours
that the poet was in fact an 'educated' author going slumming have recently
been substantiated; but what matters is that Janacek believed in their raw
authenticity, and that they enacted his own tussle between Nature and Nurture,
since the young farmer, lured by a gypsy as much animal as human, leaves
hearth and home for her, albeit racked by guilt. Autobiographical undertones
are insiduous, given Janacek's obsessive affair with the relatively young
Kamila Stosslova whom the composer, in several letters, explicitly equated
with his imagined gypsy siren: though the real Kamila seems to have been
a shade stodgy, lacking the gypsy Jefka's oncomingness and Cleopatra-like
allure.
Janacek tells the story - usually known in English as Diary of a Young
Man who Disappeared - in a sequence of 22 songs, beginning with a group
of eight in which the farmer sings of the wild one's stunning impact on
him. These songs, as intense as they are brief, are 'moments' in which the
vocal lines mirror the gestures of speech and the turmoil of adolescent
sexuality in figures that are rudimentarily pentatonic, yet chromatically
unstable in their interrelationships; sometimes they panic into rootless
whole-tone formulations. The piano part, like Janacek's operatic orchestra,
quivers in response to the lad's tremulous heart, while at the same time
defining the sounds of the rural world - sighing breezes, rippling brooks,
carolling birds, man-made village bands. In the climacteric ninth number
the Gypsy appears, in shadowy twilight, with girl-companions whose singing
evokes a world irremediably 'other'. This is the most potent instance, outside
his mature operas, of Janacek's ability to achieve maximum dramatic and
magical effect from minimal means. A short, rhythmically savage piano interlude
signals the seduction's consummation, and perhaps the conception of the
'half-caste' child.
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Copyright © Wilfrid Mellers, May
1st 1999
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