Capriccio has done
well for Krenek. They’ve recorded his
one-act operas from the later 1920s
and also his piano works (all have been
reviewed
on this site) as well as his string
quartets. So it should be no surprise
that they now extend the same largesse
to his lieder and they spread the net
widely, ranging from 1926 to 1975, his
Op.222. Songs were a constant throughout
his life and it should be no surprise
that one who had written a large number
of texts should prove so adept at setting
the words of others.
Monolog der Stella,
to words by Goethe, is a short concertante
piece, tonal, expressive but one that
embodies a rather larky nineteenth century
coloratura moment, one that occupies
the borderline between pastiche and
affection. It’s a rather oddly fashioned
work, moving from the gestures of the
first part to the more extrovert – one
might almost say perky – and deliberate
archaisms of the second. Two years earlier
Krenek had written Ô Lacrymosa,
three poems sent to the composer by
the poet Rilke shortly before his death.
The association of course has resonance
and the collaboration between the young
composer and the older poet an intriguing
study. Krenek certainly catches the
reflective intimacy and silences of
the first, one that ends in tonal surety
and vests the third with a restless
vampy piano part. Here though he pushes
the voice ungratefully high – it feels
rather like it in this performance –
for all that he ends in an affirmative
way.
The cycle Durch
die Nacht, takes us to the beginning
of the next decade. Here Krenek joins
the songs through a linking passage
on the piano. He variously flirts with
atonality but also cleaves more strongly
to late romanticism. The fifth setting
has an appealing gentleness about it
and Krenek’s bridging passages become
more and more ingenious as the cycle
progresses until the final song with
its glinting treble and warm, consoling
chording in the left hand. Die Nachtigall
of 1931 reverts to the earlier coloratura
extravagances of the Goethe Monolog.
In this we hear part melisma, part pastiche
but there’s also some highly sophisticated
technical devices and a clever thinning
of both the solo and the accompanying
part to single lines.
Wechselrahmen was
written during 1964 and 1966. Here clusters
and expressionism have come to the fore.
There’s a jagged quality to the writing
that isn’t immediately appealing, a
tough and sinewy declamation. By the
time of his setting of Randulph’ s Two
Silent Watchers a decade later we
find that the vocal and piano lines
have become almost entirely independent
of each other. The effect is one of
a certain amount of alienation.
Ilana Davidson and
Debra Ayers cope relatively well with
Krenek’s demands. Though the pianist
bears quite a brunt it’s the soprano
soloist who’s pushed towards acts of
coloratura rodomontade. Quite a few
of Krenek’s lines lie very high and
this causes Davidson problems. However,
chances of hearing this repertoire are
few and the performances certainly warrant
close listening. There are full notes
and texts.
I can’t say it was
unmitigated joy listening to his songs
– I much prefer his operatic work –
but Krenek’s is a powerful voice and
it needs to be heard.
Jonathan Woolf
Ilana Davidson (soprano) 
