Further Information on Kaprálová:
www.kapralova.org
This disc must contain
some of the most purely beautiful music
I have heard in a long while. Vitĕslava
Kaprálová had a cruelly
short life (she died age 25 of tuberculosis)
and one is left wondering just what
she might have achieved if she had been
granted a longer stay. All credit to
Supraphon for furnishing us with a beautifully-produced
disc of some sensuous gems. This includes
an interesting essay by the pianist
here (Timothy Cheek) and full texts
and multi-lingual translations.
Cheek suggests that
Kaprálová’s songs can
stand alongside those by Wolf and Debussy
and that they achieve ‘a true marriage
of music and words’. Certainly Kaprálová
shows great sensitivity when it comes
to choice of poets, for the very poems
themselves are of the highest beauty.
It takes a major talent to do poetry
that already stands so strongly on its
own justice, and that is exactly what
Kaprálová achieves.
Pupil of Vítĕslav
Novák, Zdenĕk Chalabala,
Václav Talich, Charles
Munch, Bohuslav Martinů and Nadia
Boulanger (quite a roster!), Kaprálová’s
music remains individual, despite the
occasional nod in the direction of Janáček
(heard in some of the piano writing).
The disc presents the
songs chronologically, over a mere eight-year
span. Right from the first song, ‘Morning’,
one is gripped. The melodic line refuses
to act as one might expect it to, while
being fully sensitised to words and
accentuation. The piano part is lovely,
free and almost improvised; the autumnal
harmonies of the second song, ‘Orphaned’
reflect the beauty of the poem (by R.
Bojko). Dana Burešová’s pristine-sounding
voice comes across as a breath of fresh
air (although taken as a whole it can
become a little tiring to listen to).
The set of four songs
under the title Sparks from Ashes
(on texts by Bohdan Jelínek)
seem to breathe a particularly Czech
nostalgia. So the first, an evening
song, finds Cheek in particular conjuring
up a crepuscular atmosphere. The words
of the third song, ‘Oh stay yet, my
dear girl’, are positively heart-rending;
more melancholy informs the final song
of the set also. If Burešová
can on occasion seems somewhat shrill
in tone, she nevertheless brings out
the inherent sadness effectively.
There seems too little
gap on the disc between the Op. 5 songs
and ‘January’ (‘Leden’), a miraculous
song for voice, piano, flute, two violins
and cello. This, surely, is the highlight
of the disc, the delicate scoring, the
inconclusive ending and an overall hypnotic
element all combining to mesmeric
effect. The poem (by Vítězslav
Nezval) is a masterpiece in itself –
this is surely a realisation of the
text sent from Heaven.
It is astonishing to
think that Opp. 10 and 12 are the works
of a woman still in her early twenties,
so assured is the writing. An apple
from the lap, Op. 10, centres on
impending doom. The pliant, Nature-ridden
first song gives way to a tender and
intimate lullaby. The final song is
the most extrovert of the set and finds
Kaprálová using spicy
harmonies to illustrate the ‘Spring
Fair’.
Timothy Cheek evidently
sees Kaprálová’s Op. 12
as a masterpiece. Certainly this set
of three songs under the title, Forever,
is extremely beautiful; the bare, spare
textures of the second, ‘What is my
grief’, appealed in particular to this
reviewer. But perhaps Op. 14 (‘Waving
farewell’) is more of a masterpiece.
Hyper-Romantic in its sometimes extrovert
piano writing and soaring vocal lines,
its fairly extended duration (six minutes)
means Kaprálová is able
to flex her compositional muscles. Again,
Burešová can tend towards the
shrill at climaxes, but to compensate
she can be unbearably touching within
piano.
The witty ‘Koleda’ (Carol) on a folk text is
the wittiest piece of the collection, complete with animal impressions
and a cheeky, chirpy accompaniment. It is logically paired with
a Christmas Carol, where I for one would have difficulty sleeping
through the shrill second verse!
Seconds,
Op. 18, has a Bartókian simplicity to
it and includes a ‘Posthumous Variation’,
a piano interlude based on the folksong,
‘Tatíčku starý nás’ (‘Our old daddy’),
Janáček-like in the insistence
of its inner parts. The final song (‘New
Year’s’) is interesting in its
use of almost ecstatic harmonies.
If
Janáček is a fairly frequent visitor
to these works, it is Stravinsky that
turns up in the final song of Sung
into the Distance, Op. 22, where
the piano part turns jagged.
The final offering
of this
recital is the predominantly resigned,
‘Dopis’ (‘Letter) of 1940, a song written
five days after her wedding. The music
lights up at the words ‘Pan Bůh’
(‘Lord God’).
The music of Vítĕzslava
Kaprálová is well worth
investigating and this is as good a
place as any to start. The whole enterprise
exudes professionalism and dedication.
Colin Clarke
.
see also review
by Rob Barnett
Dana Burešová (sop) 