Josef Maria Horvath
Kanteletar


Akseli Gallen-Kallela: The Fratricide (1897)
From the Ateneum Art Museum, Helsinki


Josef Maria Horvath – Kanteletar; cantata on Finnish folk song texts (1956) for soprano, alto and 9 instrumentalists [flute / clarinet / string quartet / xylophone / small drum / piano]

Josef Maria Horvath [xylophone] – J. Heller [soprano] – J. Falk [alto] – Ensemble from Salzburger Mozarteum

Private recording. Duration: 27:25

With this recording, Josef Maria Horvath catches my full and marked attention. I feel a strong spiritual affinity with the legendary tales of old Finland. I even brought along the Kalevala for two of my mountain hikes in Northern Lapland, to have reading-matter of a kind that would fit seamlessly with the barren and desolate views of rock deserts and glaciers that I would traverse with my 25-kilo backpack.

I must admit, though, that I didn’t yet read Kalevala’s companion work, Kanteletar, which indeed is less known, compared to its very famous counterpart. Notorious Elias Lönnrot of Finland, who published Kanteletar in Helsinki in 1840 – 41, has assembled both collections. Kanteletar is comprised of 600 lyrics and ballads, which have been handed down orally from generation to generation, and also recorded by scholars spread over the centuries. Much of the content could be characterized as peasant wisdom.

Horvath has chosen 7 out of these 660 verses for his musical rendition, to which he has added an instrumental Intermezzo, inserted midway. These choices will be reprinted at appropriate locations in this review, in their German translations, as they are used on the recording.

It was Hungarian – Swedish composer and musician Zoltán Gaál who introduced me to the oeuvre of Josef Maria Horvath during and after the Nordic Music Days in Norrköping, Sweden at the end of August, beginning of September 2007, and who supplied me with a few CDR copies of Horvath’s compositions, recorded during concerts down in Europe. Horvath also sent me a couple of unattainable LP records of some of his works via Gaál, for me to study and review at Sonoloco. Otherwise it is very hard – strangely enough – to get hold of Horvath recordings. Considering the inherent strength and vivid artistic brilliance of his works, this is confusing. His music ought to be easily accessible in good music stores and through Internet distributors.

Horvath’s Kanteletar begins full speed, full thrust, without a second of forewarning, with a heated, rhythmic hocetus argument lashing out between two groups; one consisting of flute and percussion; the other made up of piano and percussion – and then the progression moves in fast staccatos down the line, whirling like - at their most feverish score abreactions! - Shostakovich or Shostakovich’s friend and colleague Vainberg, to whom he dedicated his 10th String Quartet (1964).

Some strange, ear-bending switches of tonalities and pitches wring your mind into a stooping, forward-falling motion, until you spread imaginary wings and fly off like Peter Pan. Eventually this crunching force and break-neck velocity calms down, as the ensemble pulls the breaks and come to all but a complete halt in the darkness and the mud of some World War I battlefield, suddenly abandoned; the trenches winding like earthworms through the fields, scattered helmets and weaponry littering the landscape.

Cello and piano moves in ominous, deprecating gestures through fateful sonorities, in which you bend and hide, sensing some unknown kind of imminence. However, as viola and violins draw thinner lines on the window of time, the soprano and alto voices open in clear, Gesang-der-Jünglinge-like vocals, firm but vulnerable, in a verse called Die Geburt der Kantele (The Birth of the Kantele). The melody is simple and pleasantly rising above the troubles and worries of a tormented mankind, and the voices are echoed in the ensemble; sometimes even shadowed very effectively. Some Bartók percussive moments draw by like wind flurries, as the singers dance around one-another, in a vocal dance figure of sorts, incredibly beautiful.

In the pauses the music kind of listens, hardly moving, like a being standing still, one foot raised, watching for shadows in the dark.


DIE GEBURT DER KANTELE

Lauter Albernheiten sagen,
trügerische Worte lügen,
die uns die Mär so erzählen,
von der Kantele also künden:

Väinemöinen hab’ gemeißelt,
Allvater hab’ sie geschaffen
aus des Wunderhechtes Knochen,
aus des Wasserhundes Kiefer.

Qual allein schuf die Kantele,
Leidenholz gab ihr Leben,
Kummer gebar die Zaubersaite,
schwarze Trauer den Griff ihr schuf,
Bitterkeit beide Arme,
Traurigkeit die grauen Nägel.

Darum kann ihr Lied nicht lachen,
ihre Saite tönt nie heiter,
selten klingt sie sanftem Singen,
denn aus Qua list sie erschaffen,
Leidensholz gab ihr Leben.

Soon the ensemble thickens like its plot, moving like one man through the muddle, stubbornly, like Roman soldiers in their square formations protected by a layer of shields all around and their lances risen towards the sky in a grove of sharp, deadly metal as the singers, high up now like swifts, break into the words of Blutige Schlachten erspar mir (Spare Me from Bloody Slaughter), while the orchestra persists in its staccatos, making mincemeat of whoever gets in its way. The intensity rises all the way up to the end of the verse.


BLUTIGE SCHLACHTEN ERSPAR MIR

Vater, Allmächt’ger, bewahr mich,
schütze mich, Ewiger, Du!
Blutige Schlachten erspar mir,
schlage mich nicht mit Hufen.

Vater, Allmächt’ger, bewahr mich,
schütze mich Ewiger, Du!
Spare mir fressendes Eisen,
vor dem Schwert bewahr Du mich,
vor dem Schlund der Kanone,
vor der Feldschlange Todesbiß!

Vater, Allmächt’ger, bewahr mich,
schütze mich, Ewiger, Du!
Wirf mich nicht in Kampf und Leiden,
Wo die Helden alle fallen,
Menschen durschlägt fressend Geschoß,
wüten fürchterliche Waffen,
seines Todes harret jeder,
Leiber liegen halb zerrissen,
Locken kleben starr in Blute,
Schlamm bedeckt rußige Wangen.

A much more downplayed, melancholy passage follows as Immergrün Tannen verdorren (Winter Green Firs Wither) commences in subdued, swaggering alto vocals over the transparence of the ensemble layer. It is a sad, lamenting song, in which the person desperately seeks consolation.

The smooth, withheld atmosphere is somewhat abandoned midway, when the soprano and alto move through lines like: “Trauer gräbt in meinem Herzen, Traurigkeit umhüllt die Seele…”, where the strong emotions rub off on the ensemble music and makes it more desperate. Here I feel emotions akin to Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder, as I’ve heard them through the interpretation of Kathleen Ferrier, with the Wiener Philharmoniker conducted by Bruno Walter, recorded in Kingsway Hall in London, 1949.


 IMMERGRÜN TANNEN VERDORREN

Immergrün Tannen verdorren,
niemals trocknen mir die Augen.
Es taut auch der Frost der Flüsse,
eisiger Schmerz taut niemals.

Was soll ich tun, wo find’ ich Trost,
meinem Schmerz heilenden Balsam,
was sol lich tun in meiner Qual,
wer erhellet mein Betrübnis?

Trauer gräbt in meinem Hertzen,
Traurigkeit umhüllt die Seele.

Erscheint dann der junge Frühling,
so bricht er die Nacht des Winters,
vielleicht bringt er den Tod für mich,
sanft löscht er die müden Augen.

Gras auf Erden, Laub auf Bäumen,
mich umfängt grefrorene Erde,

wär’ ich nur ein Falter jenseits,
Wurm in der nachtdunklen Erde.

When Herr der Wälder (Lord of the Woods) begins, it does so in a lone clarinet, which emits its brownish, rounded-off sound, vibrating earth-like, until the two female singers break into their song, in lovely vocal embellishments, shadowing and counter-acting each other, the flute adding a third layer to the two vocal ones. Here the music turns especially intricate in all its focused transparence; incredibly engaging and beautiful. Later the singers rise through the pitches to the level of shrill birdsong!


HERR DER WÄLDER

Warum zürnt der Herr der Wälder,
nährt mich nicht mein güt’ger Schöpfer?
Gibt mir nicht mer Trank und Speise,
schafft mir nicht üppige Beute?
Er erhielt doch meine Ahnen,
meine Sippe ließ er wachsen,
gab Vater auch noch zu essen.
Warum läßt er mich Not lieden,
daß ich hilflos und hungrig bin
in dem Wäldern meiner Ahnen?

Weil ich vielleicht schmutzig scheine,
mager scheine, müde scheine?

Wenn ich nur genug essen könnt’,
würde ich fein und frölich sein,
rund wären wieder die Backen.
Laß mir, Tapio Fee,
laß zum Leben soviel Nahrung,
wie du auch meinen Ahnen gabst.
Gib zu trinken, gib zu essen,
gib, daß ich auch andern geben kann,
allen, die noch ärmer als ich.

Mach mir die Arbeit nicht so schwer,
laß mich abends Ruhe finden,
wenn die Herde heim sich wendet,
Dämmerung sinkt auf dunklen Wald.

An Intermezzo follows, starting high up in the violin, until viola, flute etcetera merges with it or below it, eventually filling the space with dynamics from the lowest cello to the loftiest violin and flute, in a slowly breathing swell which picks up speed and velocity, gathering energy which topples the melody over and leaves it at a sudden halt!

Ei, sieh mir doch die Burschen da (Hey, Look At the Boys Over There) starts and continues with the same feverish energy as the beginning of the whole work, with no time to get ready or even to breath; it’s just to hang on! Here the composition passes through a country comedy phase, folkloristic and humorous, flapping by like a scattered flock of jackdaws ‘round a couple of teenage girls in rural 19th century. This is Horvath rock ‘n roll! Half way through this song, the singers describe how different the nice girls look in comparison to the dirty and unruly boys, and the music is lenient and sounds like the girls look; tidy and well-behaved, just at the music portrayed the filthy boyish troublemakers of the same rural circumstances earlier, in wild and hopping orchestral pranks.

I didn’t think Horvath could get any wilder than he already had, but in Hab’ das eine Lied gesungen he outdoes himself in a frantic, rushing tour-de-force with rich use of percussive means and a female singer that knows how to move words fast! Wild!


HAB’ DAS EINE LIED GESUNGEN

Hab’ das eine Lied gesungen,
hab’ das andre hingesummet,
gebet mirnun Dank und Beifall,
beuget schön euch bis zum Boden!

Wer mir meine Musik lobt, wer
meine Lieder rühmt und ehrt: ein
schoner Sohn sei ihm geboren,
tüchtig wie einbraver Bauer,
hochgewachsen wie die Tanne,
geschmeidig wie die Baumzweige,
klug und listig wie sein Vater,
weise vor dem Richter redend,
in dem Rate wohlbesonnen.

Wer zu wenig lobt die Lieder,
meine Gesänge verschmähet,
dem werd’ eine träge Tochter,
wie der Ruß, so schmutzig, fettig,
wie die Klötze, plump und klobig,
wie die Mutter sei sie haarig,
lung’re gähnend under Bäumen,
faul und fressend in dem Garten

The last part of Kanteletar is Wiegenleid (Lullaby). At first sight it may sound like a common lullaby, sincerely beautiful and calming, the female singer accompanied but by a piano – but as I hear the text I realize that she sings to a little boy that has died from her, and that she sings him into the earth, into the beyond, and she finishes her horrible song with the last two lines: “Spacious is the hall of the Beyond; cold is the house of Death…” – so my notion of Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder was quite precise, after all…

Josef Maria Horvath’s Kanteletar is a great and intimate, heartfelt, ardent and fervent work: great art. It ought to be widely appreciated and performed. I’m glad I have had the possibility to hear it.


WIEGENLIED

Heia, heia, Elfenkindlein,
schlaf ein, schlaf ein, Goldkäferlein.
In der braunen Nacht, im Haus, in
brauner Wiege ich schaukle dich.
Ich sing dich in die Unterwelt,
sing dich in den Schoß der Erde,
meinem armen, kleinen Knaben
sachte und still in finstern Sarg.

Läge er in kühlen Nächten:
des Todes schöne Mägde
führen ihn in sanfte Auen,
des Jenseits milde Feen
summen schaurig schöne Lieder.

Reich ist des Todes Wiege,
süßer wiegen, süßer singen
der Unterwelt stille Frauen.

Weit ist die Halle des Jenseits,
kühler ist das Haus des Tode





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