SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Prom 47, Janáček,  Osud: Soloists, BBC Symphony Orchestra, BBC Singers, Jiří Bělohlávek (conductor), Royal Albert Hall, London,  21.8.2008 (AO)

Štefan Margita – Živnỳ

Amanda Roocroft – Míla

Rosalind Plowright – Míla’s mother

Other parts : Aleš Briscein, Aleš Jenis, Owen Gilhooly, Ailish Tynan, Martina Bauerovà, George Longwortjh, and members of the BBC Singers.


So what if the Proms don’t do fully staged operas ? If anything, this performance of Janáček’s Osud proved the benefits of presenting opera shorn of decoration.  Jiří Bělohlávek is changing the way Janàček is being heard in this country:  his Excursions of Mr Brouček revealed the magic of the work as never before. ( Please see the review which appeared in January 2007.)

Bělohlávek does the same with Osud. This was a brilliant performance, capturing the composer’s idiomatic sound world. What he demonstrates is how closely the music and words follow similar syntaxes. These cadences grow specifically from the Czech language and  Janàček's music arose from “speech rhythms”. Change the language and their distinctive patterns are lost. Hearing Osud in English takes away the sharpness of the original, and breaks the connection between words and music. Bělohlávek however, restores Janàček’s context.

Osud isn’t as popular as Kàt’a Kabanova, Jenůfa and The Cunning Little Vixen because it isn’t conventionally dramatic and doesn’t tell a story. The plot is bizarre, as if Janáček is acting out his inner frustrations. Anyone reading the composer's correspondence will recognize the recurring themes: his mistreatment of all the women in his life, his obsession with Kamila Stösslovà and the idea of having a child by her, which also relates to the end of his fallow periods as a composer. It’s not a roman à clef  though, and shouldn’t be taken too literally, except perhaps for its vague insights into the composer’s psyche. Yet listen to Osud as an orchestral piece with singers and choir, and the whole perspective changes. It is in some ways less an opera than an orchestral fantasy with vocalists.

Bělohlávek’s pacing was deft. The constant upward and downward cadences flowed naturally, the way speech flows up and down. Osud is propelled not so much by its plot as by this sense of movement, the rising notes like “questions”.  It’s no coincidence that Janàček gives Živnỳ such long monologues. He’s talking, not showing off his coloratura skills (or whatever the male equivalent may be. And it’s “normal” speech not histrionics, even though it was sung.) It’s a big part, for Živny is the composer’s voice as it were.  That’s why I was so impressed by Štefan Margita.  He understands how the part works in relation to the whole.  It’s written so the voice is never pushed into upper registers. Živnỳ’s underlying strain and tension are written into his music. You don’t need word for word or false passion : character is built into the music and interpretation grows out naturally from within. There’s also a lovely sensual edge to Margita’s voice which also indicates expresses Živnỳ’s erotic, willful nature. Nice, and subtly expressed.

Similarly, we know Míla’s mother goes mad, but her “mad scene” comes from within the music rather than through exaggerated volume. Rosalind Plowright was impressive vocally and emotionally, all the more so because she looked so composed! In the broadcast, Amanda Roocroft described Míla as a bit vacant. It’s true, in the sense that she’s just a projection of Janáček’s idealized image of Kamila Stosslovà, in his opinion, a passive, put-upon victim. But what attracted Živnỳ to her in the first place? A bit more colour might have helped though the minor parts were pungently sung, those sharp consonants shot out like staccatos.

Members of the BBC Symphony Orchestra aren’t, for the most part, Czech speakers, but Bělohlávek gets idiomatic playing from them. The orchestration came alive with this pungent playing, brassy in the best sense of the word. Like the voices, a slight shrillness at the top highlights the underlying mood of discontent in the opera. It’s called Osud after all, “fate” or “destiny”, which moves inexorably, against our will. Hence the pizzicato passages that sound hollow and wooden, which Bělohlávek let unfold quietly, without adornment, just as in Živnỳ’s monologues where the orchestra falls silent while he sings.The keyboard parts were also refined, their spareness symbolic.  The organ part in the third Act is written with great subtlety. Instead of big, booming sonority, the organ interjectscomments, like an otherworldy, invisible member of the orchestra, sometimes flutelike, sometimes like a horn.  In the libretto, Živnỳ plays the piano and in this Prom, the orchestra’s pianist can be seen, surrounded by other musicians, yet playing alone. At the very end, the music stops suddenly, the last notes unfinished, frozen in mid-air. On recordings, this can be missed, but in this Prom, Bělohlávek made sure that it carried dramatic impact. Who needs staging when the orchestra is so well drilled ?

The concert  actually started with Dvòrak’s Slavonic Dances op 46. These were lovingly played but served mainly to make us appreciate Janàček all the more.

Anne Ozorio


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