Rehearsal impressions

The one-week rehearsal phase in February 22 opened up a lot. It is very impressive to listen to the works, which have been with us for several years now, in greater depth and over and over from new perspectives.

The songs by L. Spinner turn out to be real song gems; in them, linguistic gestures and musical rhythms are very finely tuned on each other. The regular meter of the poem is layed over a calm musical pulse, and only in carefully selected places do small irregularities catch the ear. For example, at the beginning of the first song Der schwere Traum, where the first line of the poem Ich hab die Nacht geträumet, written in iambs, begins with a quarter-triplet movement that creates a slight irregular wave movement, like being gently washed ashore, a sense of wonder and listening attentively at the same time, a conscious focusing of the attention on the sorrowful story.

The regular and calm pulse enables a highly differentiated texture of fine rhythmic nuances between piano and voice, countermovements, additions, detachments, syncopations; a web of interrelated and at the same time detached free-floating tones is created.

For me it is a challenge not to allow the sometimes very expressive phrasing of the voice to become overwhelming for the porous piano part. Presumably the following applies to both parts: despite of the subtlety and soft dynamics, it’s above all about expressiveness.

I am amazed at how the songs have really different characters in the implementing of content, despite the similarity of the compositional style, and how each song is characterized by small but clear compositional motifs; for example, in Septembermorgen the quiet single-tone motif that underlines the silence and the quiet atmosphere.

When I work with the Spinner songs, I become very still inside; it is as if I am being led into a protected, light-filled space painted in pastel colors. It is magical to immerge into this world of sound, which focuses and centers me and demands a great deal of unflinching tenderness from me.

In Kahn’s Lyrisches Konzert, I enter a completely different space. Here it is about architecture, a transparent scaffold. I experience Kahn’s tonal language as constructing in the void. Platonic solids floating in empty space. The Lyrisches Konzert reminds me strongly of the compositions of J.S. Bach, principles that create a spiritual building.

With Kahn, I can’t shake off the impression that the spiritual building serves to dissolve severity, to relativize it. The fact that, unlike in Bach, the traditional harmonious references are completely absent – e.g. the voice and the piano never meet on the same note, and there is no consonance at all, not even within the piano part -, gives the impression that references are avoided, and as a result, certain connotations cannot take place. It is as if one were sent to war, only to look around somewhat perplexedly to find oneself again in an enemy-free area. The landscape is similar, but the inhabitants are foreign and peaceful.

Could it be that dodecaphony – as a mirroring of the social changes from monarchy (the tonal system based on a fundamental tone) to democracy (the interval, the relationship between two tones as a new entity) -, in its effect dissolves the complex relationship processes within a hierarchical system and transforms them into relationships which in turn attempt to form a new whole in an until now unknown way? The bursting of the form from within?

I sense something here, but I can’t yet take hold of it enough to find words for it. I simply know that it is no coincidence that it was precisely in the first half of the 20th century, with the great upheavals and the two big catastrophes of the two world wars, that such a great change in listening and composing took place, catapulting the entire musical tradition into a new dimension.

Whenever humanity threatens to sink into a self-created abyss, new abilities to overcome this abyss, new tools and potentials for a renewal of human development emerge at the same time. The emergence of the new musical language is certainly one of these tools.

For me, singing Kahn in its connection with Rilke’s Duino texts means growing beyond any view of things, entering a channel of openness whose quality moves beyond devotion, beyond any manifestation of will or non-will; only emptiness of presence and transcendence.

Kahn’s work has a tremendous thrust. It is about deepest transformation. The lift of the buried, the engraved. It seems to me that this music, as well as the choice of texts for it, resembles a protective suit for extracting contaminated substances. Thereby, it is not about analysing or classifying them, but only about transformation, neutralization.

It is difficult to explain why this image comes to me; it feels like this.

Perceiving tone pitches

Working with a singer means coordinating not only rhythms but also pitches. This is not a problem, but luck. In new music, nothing is more boring than musicians who only play the right notes out of a sense of duty. Here we are dependent on each other: If I miss important cue notes, I get Eva into trouble. So I have to listen the pitches, again and again. As I’m not able to grasp all the notes by reading, I have to memorize them, to bring them into my ear. In the course of this week, I was shocked to realize that I don’t even have the melody notes of the first few bars of Leopold Spinner’s songs in my head, and I immediately set about correcting this deficiency.

This music is not atonal but multitonal: all combinations are possible, nothing is excluded, so in both compositions also major and minor triads occur. But when the voice part is added, turning triads into tetrachords and sixths into sevenths, my hearing sensation changes fundamentally. This can lead to complete disorientation for me and I have to start again from the beginning, even if I have tried to imagine the singing voice while practicing.

However, this is not only a difficulty, but also an opportunity.

Intervals must be listened to precisely, otherwise the music becomes a mere gesture. A descending seventh is something different from a descending sixth and must be played differently; for the singer this is self-evident, but not for the pianist. There is tension and relaxation here, too. However, since in this music dissonances no longer have to be dissolved into consonances, this simple orientation is missing. We have to find out the harmonies of these works ourselves by hearing.

Knowing the twelve-tone rows of the composition is a help when it comes to identify reading and writing errors, otherwise it contributes little to the understanding of the works. At best, one observation may be interesting: everything that is determined by the row, that is to say a constant sequence of intervals, horizontal or vertical, can be hardly perceived by mere hearing as soon as the rhythm and gestures change.

Voice leading

In contrast to the style of the post-war avant-garde, these works are conceived in linear voices, i.e. also the piano part proceeds in various independent lines. The interpreter should depict this as well as possible, should he hear it himself. This is not easy due to the many voice crossings. Just in the first bar of Das verlassene Mägdlein, Spinner writes two opposing gestures that cross each other, whereby one of them yet branches out. Only six notes in total, very easy to play but difficult to depict.

In the 5th variation of Lyrisches Konzert, there is a complicated fugue to which the voice part moves as if it comes from another planet. This exceeds the limits of the listener’s uptake. I had to revise my deep aversion for the practice of emphasizing the theme in fugues. Otherwise, the piece would be completely incomprehensible.

Metre

In this respect, too, this music adheres to tradition. The first beat of a bar should be perceptible as a point of orientation. This is not easy to achieve, as the metre is softened by syncopation, syncopated entries, shifted triplets and shifted accents.

Nevertheless: Das verlassene Mägdlein has the character of a slow waltz. The song Die Schönheit has something of a sarabande.

Language

Both Leopold Spinner and Erich Itor Kahn adhered to the classical idea of setting songs to music: language and music should get together to form a unity. At the beginning of our rehearsals the focus is more on the sound of the language. Eva recommends me that I pronounce the words while playing, because each consonant has its own transient oscillation and therefore also influences the timing of the music.

As far as the meaning of the words for the music is concerned: with Spinner, the realization is clear to me, it is not banal, but it is understandable. With Kahn it is more difficult, partly because of the complexity of the Duino Elegies. We (at least I) haven’t got that far yet. Anyway, we are still very much stuck in the details, of which there are so many in this music. The view on the larger coherences will still appear, I think.

Canonisation

Finally, a recall on our rehearsal week: at the end of the week, in addition to our songs, we rehearsed a piece by the composer Leo Collin for a concert. We suddenly realized how many questions a score leaves unanswered despite careful notation and how glad one is to be in contact with the composer, who in this case also took part in the performance. With Kahn and Spinner, we have to answer these questions ourselves. As performances of these works are extremely rare, we also lack the performence traditions that are omnipresent in the canonised classical-romantic standard repertoire. And yet, it is also an opportunity for us: a free access that we are denied with the classics of art song literature.

Addendum (beginning of March 2022)

On February 24, 2022, the war has returned to Europe, and I realize how much I had supplanted the war in the former Yugoslavia in the 1990s. This time it’s different: the conditions for art have changed for me. Art has become more political, regardless of whether there is an intention behind it on the part of the authors.

When I listen to the background music of videos about the current war (from both war parties), something resists inside me. It is an emotionalization on prescription, you can safely turn it on and off, and over time you get used to it: first to the music, then also to the images of horror.

Immediately after 1945, Erich Itor Kahn, meanwhile in his second exile in New York, attempted to apprehend artistically the catastrophes of National Socialism and World War II. His Lyrisches Konzert is the opposite of background music: language arises from the music. Thereto, Kahn uses key sentences from Rilke’s Duino Elegies. The singing voice is repeatedly interrupted by piano passages. The music tells its own story: the loss of orientation through tonality. It tells how the composer tries to find a replacement for the tonal functions. As a performing musician, one gets involved in this search by aiming at playing the dense piano setting in such a way that musical form emerges, neither ignoring nor exaggerating occasional tonal associations.

As Kahn himself was an excellent pianist, I am aware of the fact that behind his occasionally massive chord sequences there is a clear conception of sound. In contrast to the post-war avant-garde, Kahn not only retained the espressivo, but radicalized it, which, too, is a challenge for the performers. The musical tradition is still present, but endangered, and also the metre has become so variable that sometimes the first beat of the bar is not communicable anymore.

Like many key works of the twentieth century, Kahn’s Lyrisches Konzert has remained a fragment. Only the first movement is complete, but it ends in the nothing: the piano’s gallop rhythms disappear in the high register into the pianissimo. No notes of the second movement have survived. The fact that the extensive third movement breaks off abruptly, presumably shortly before the planned end, is an unintended final point.

I was born about two decades after the Lyrisches Konzert was composed, into a world that emerged after the collapse of 1945 and is in danger of sinking into violence again today. The discipline and skill through which Kahn translates his perplexity and pain over his artistic loneliness in exile into music is a great help to me. That thereby unique sounds of beauty were created helps as well.

Rehearsing Variations II to VI of the Lyrisches Konzert was extremely intens.

Once again, it was a matter of LISTENING, of apprehending what sounds, how it sounds together, how it is meant. Over the course of the three days, we succeeded in achieving greater transparency. It showed that the more clearly our ears permeate the braid, the more permeable the sound becomes and the more comprehensible it becomes for the listener.

The issue of stability kept us busy: where is the stability that enables us to orientate ourselves? The rhythmic component is the most “reliable”, it ties in most with familiar parameters and is the closest link between voice and piano. The task of purposely stabilizing ourselves rhythmically was very important; adapting the tempo to our listening led to greater calm and ease in the rhythmic flow.

Variation II: It now gets more softness, more permeability, and begins to vibrate.

Variation III: Here too, the calmness creates more permeability. The filigree figures in the piano become lively ornaments in the otherwise astonishingly thin piano part; together with the voice, quasi a baroque four-part aria is created. The 12/8 measure and the text “Dass mich mein strömendes Antlitz glänzender mache, dass das unscheinbare Weinen blühe” remind us vaguely of the “Erbarme dich” from Bach’s St. Matthew Passion.

Variation IV: At the beginning, the Grave in 3/2 bestows the framework for the rhythmic diversification in the second part. The piano moves from the initially chorale-like middle register into evermore spread registers, creating a wide space between contra E and E6, in which the voice, thus embraced by heaven and earth, moves in calm scales from bottom to top and back again.

Variation V: The three-part fugue uses a somewhat nervous-sounding semiquaver raster which, when clearly kept, conveys great energy. Thereto, the voice part moves in large waves, completely independent and with no obvious connection to the piano. With a final cascade of seven thematic entries in the piano, Kahn leads over to Variation VI.

Variation VI: The piano as precentor, the voice imitating and repeating. A kind of final chorale, final chorus, a tutti; the only occasion when piano and voice convey the same thing, melody, rhythm, text, which here come into a balanced relationship for the first time. The quintessence: a culmination of regret: “Wir, Vergeuder der Schmerzen, wie wir sie absehn voraus in die traurige Dauer, ob sie nicht enden vielleicht”.

Crucial question: on which theme are the variations based? On the lost 2nd movement?

* * *

The music and the vocal part, which is large, exuberant and expansive, together with the incessant search during singing for how voice and piano are meant to be together, lead me into an expansion and extension that are not always easy to handle. There are moments when I get the impression that Kahn is searching for a breakthrough into the spiritual dimension. Not simply walk over or gliding across, but a struggle for a new form, a new geometry. A geometry that contains a new being-human, that makes it possible and gives it the ability to arise anew. However, it is not yet born; but rather, it is about transition, transformation and metamorphosis; it is a bardo state, an intermediate state that Kahn composes here.

To transformation belongs the acknowledgment of the present state, of where we come from, and its transmutation.

In his Duino Elegies, Rilke repeatedly focuses on both the separation and the fragile connection between “this world” (life lived in the visible) and “the other world” (the world of angels and the divine and spiritual forces in the invisible): man’s search for this connection, which seems possible, but at the same time makes separation and failure painfully clear. The one without the other is not possible, they are mutually dependent. In the attempt to turn towards the spiritual and divine, the whole dimension of the human reveals itself, spreads and becomes conscious in all its shadings.

Rilke’s texts provide Kahn with the framework to develop his musical vision. Could it be outlined as follows: a sound structure and the sound current flowing therein, which evoke a new level of being, a new level of vibrancy, which strengthens the connection to a higher dimension and enables renewal: “Dass ich dereinst an dem Ausgang der grimmigen Einsicht, Jubel und Ruhm aufsinge zustimmenden Engeln.”

And which at the same time embody the state of great emotional and psychic work and transformation through which we are going: “Dass von den klar geschlagenen Hämmern des Herzens keiner versage an weichen, zweifelnden oder reissenden Saiten. Dass mich mein strömendes Antlitz glänzender mache; dass das unscheinbare Weinen blühe.”

Both Rilke and Kahn move in an intermediate state, in the bardo, that constitutes the being human.

Before the recordings, our rehearsals from January 31 to February 2 were preceded by two rehearsal days from January 20-22 in Switzerland. This was important and necessary, especially as I had to break off the November rehearsals at an early stage.

The Rilke settings by Leopold Spinner proved to be more difficult than the first listening impression suggested. The piano part involves a lot of crossing of the hands and therefore countless clef changes, which makes reading and the motoric sequences very complicated. As my voice is moving more and more into the lower register, we transposed all three songs down a minor third. That made it more pleasant and easier for me, but meant a lot of relearning for Tomas.

A number of times – in connection with a symposium on Thomas Harlan that had taken place a few days earlier at the Brecht House in Berlin -, conversations arose between us, once again focused on the occurences of extermination, the naked violence of which again shook me to the core. Again, the question arose: how do / did people who were threatened and were able to flee deal with it? They were the ones who “were meant”. They were catapulted out of any social context, and their flight was an inevitable consequence of the exclusion that had been decided and implemented beforehand. And I asked myself again, as I have many times before: how does it feel to belong to a part of society that has never really been allowed to socially put down deep roots? And yet belongs entirely to the culture of this society, shaping, creating, enlivening and living it?

Perhaps furthermore influenced by the current turbulent and controversial atmosphere, the terrible events of that time hit me again with full force. The ice layer of peaceful coexistence is thin, and the human spirit tips into separation incredibly fast. Inevitably, violence is then the consequence. Since I, when I sing, become sort of a channel wherein I encounter and balance most differing information, all this demands a great deal of strength.

Being paralysed, again and again the feeling of paralysis. Especially with Erich Itor Kahn’s music. The impression that it’s about struggling for form, for being held, and at the same time there is no holding, no protection, neither inside nor outside, nowhere. The tradition is there, it is relevant, it was shaped by everyone. But now it is no longer habitable.

In the experience of such massive aggression, the hope for healing dies. Healing would mean being alive, and being alive would mean that healing and change are possible. The absence of hope for healing leads to paralysis and resignation.

In Erich I. Kahn’s Lyrisches Konzert, I feel the expression of inner paralysis indirectly in his choice of texts, as well as in his great and far-reaching vision of remaining true to the musical tradition, though without really refilling it anew; no longer habitable and yet once home, it serves as a passageway into the unknown, the uninhabited.

With the Four Nocturnes, this sensation took on another dimension. The three languages – German, French and English – allude to Kahn’s ways of exile, his stay in France and his arrival in the USA. The darkness that is addressed in all four texts hints at actual experiences and events, but is kept neutral and always at a distance. There is no emotional approach.

In Tristan Corbière’s poem, the tombs remain silent and the invitation to sleep offers protection from fear. Hans Sahl bases his depression on shared suffering with others, and J.P. Worlet (Kahn himself) evokes sleep as a friend of forgetfulness. In fairytale-like and in imagery rich language, Victor Hugo’s Djinns sweep across the nocturnal landscapes, leaving behind a confused but at least unharmed witness. In Percy Shelley’s elegy, souls linger after dying in the intermediate realm of the dead, initially without hope of finding peace.

I have the impression that I am moving in an intermediate field. The old world and its inhabitants have died. The new world and its inhabitants have not yet been born.

The Rilke songs by Leopold Spinner embody the paralyzing element, which in E.I. Kahn’s work I meet more directly, less strongly. Spinner finds his space for the dimension of Rilke’s poems, the linguistic gesture is unadulterated and yet developed; no text is repeated. Piano and voice are engaged in an interactive dialog.

Spinner’s approach to the Nietzsche settings is even freer and more daring. Large intervals characterize the gestures of both instruments, and this without impairing or streching the flow of language. Here, too, an immediate and direct communication between the instruments; the impulses jump back and forth quickly and vividly between the two.

In our rehearsals, the question arises from time to time as to whether we are pushing our limits with our involvement with this music. I’m never sure whether this is a question of the usual technical or musical problems, or whether the extreme circumstances in which some of these works were created also manifest themselves in emotional pressure that is then transferred to the performing musicians. During the process of practicing and rehearsing it’s difficult to say, but in general I didn’t have the feeling of being emotionally overwhelmed, rather I had the feeling of being exposed to something. It is often the case that I can’t completely control the impact a work of art has on me.

I guess it is not without reason that the Lyrisches Konzert remained a fragment; not much would have been missing for its completion. That doesn’t diminish my interest in this piece; for me it is an outstanding attempt to assemble the musical energies of its time which were drifting apart. The fact that Kahn did not really succeed in filling the tradition anew, as Eva noted in her last post, does not necessarily speak against the composition. The successful or seemingly successful attempt to recreate tradition often ends in kitsch.

For me, the Four Nocturnes are different. The text of Les Djinns is a scare story, and that’s why I feel more distance, even where the music becomes extremely dramatic. However, I can also imagine that Kahn gave this text a second meaning: The Djinns as a metaphor for a reign of terror. Schlaflied is more likely an attempt to take away the emotional pressure that I occasionally feel in Kahn’s music. That this never happens so forthrightly with Kahn, that the piano accompaniment here also wanders through many stages until it finally calms down, is probably part of his personal style.

With Leopold Spinner, I am less aware of these exaggerations. However, I also have the feeling that there are untamed and uncontrollable elements hidden beneath the surface of this seemingly so controlled music.

I am cautious about claiming that there is a direct causal influence of exile on the compositions. However, when it comes to the origin and reception of these works, one repeatedly comes across the characteristic features of the exile situation. The difficulty of being performed at all has consequences for the compositions: many fragments, small ensembles, density of ideas for little spaces of time, are the consequence of rushed and blocked circumstances of life as well.