None other than Stephen Foster's "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair," sung by the one and only great Jussi Björling. It's so fantastically well sung, so expressive, and so beautiful it belies the artistry and technique of this singer. It's also such a simple song- and one that for many of us is wrapped up in memories of Bugs Bunny- it's hard to take seriously at first. Jussi, on the other hand, sings this like the melancholy song it is of a lover lost forever.
Another Jussi cut, this time in his native Swedish, Till Havs (To Sea), which is thrilling. Here is Björling singing full tilt, but not oversinging. In his own language in particular, his singing is more nuanced and even more expressive. One criticism of him was that his emotions are a little generalized in Italian, or at least that his singing is somewhat less nuanced. That is somewhat true, in that he was not fluent in the language and let's face it, singing is not just singing, or even just music, but communicating. In opera, that is all the more true in that the emotional intensity is turned ALL THE WAY UP. Music with words is an interesting marriage- at their best, the intensity of the other brings out the best of both. This is true in any musical genre, by the way, Jazz, Rock, religious music, opera, you name it.
Let's look at a text in English: "the sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful, and so are you" sounds like something my four year old might write. However, in context of a masterpiece like this-
The Beatles, of course, "Dear Prudence," 1968- those words are still simple, but beautiful, too. They're layered in meaning just as the simple melody of this song and the simple, almost hypnotic finger-picking guitar style is layered with sound, creating something incredible. The last time he repeats the text, at the song's climax, we've got a real piece of art!
So here is something very different, the opening song of Schumann's Dichterliebe (A poet's love), poetry by the great Heinrich Heine. Heine was a German Jew who lived most of his life as an exile in France; he had nominally converted to Christianity as it was his "passport to European civilization" yet never took his conversion seriously. He lived essentially as a perpetual outsider: to the Jews, he was a traitor and a convert, to the Germans, a Jew, and the French, a foreigner. His poetry reeks of sarcasm and alienation. Here is the opening poem:
In the wonderfully beautiful month of May,
When all the buds were bursting,
then in my heart
Love spring forth.
In the wonderfully beautiful month of May,
when all the birds were singing,
then I revealed to her
my love and longing.
It sounds better in German, as if such a thing was possible. The poem is gorgeous, and not too difficult to understand. Enter Robert Schumann, insane person, madly in love with his piano teacher's daughter, and writes this:
Sung by Wunderlich as wonderfully as ever (it's even what his name means!). Schumann's setting is so moody- so painfully evocative not of the happy spring time but of desperate longing. The song doesn't even end on a tonic chord, but sets up the next song. But this moody opening- this is not going to be a happy love affair, clearly. A lesser composer might have made this a happy little springtime song. Schumann creates an entirely different atmosphere loaded with emotional anguish. It's frankly delicious. Shall we hear more?
Well, we know this is going to be an unhappy affair, but that is made all the more clear by the fourth song:
When I gaze into your eyes,
All my pain and grief vanish-
and when I kiss your mouth,
I am made truly well.
When I lean your bosom,
joy as of heaven comes upon me!
But when you say, "I love you"
I must weep bitterly.
Clearly, the poet knows that his beloved is lying to him. Since when do the words "I love you" make anyone weep "bitterly?" Well, Schumann clearly gets it:
Schumann's little piano postlude is in and of itself no throw away. Very clearly, this love affair is about over. The setting, so simple, is also so remarkable in its emotional intensity.
Brahms, of course, was a friend and student of Schumann. A far more talented composer, he really could write these songs and pieces of stunning emotional power without packing a big punch. For the Germans, emotion is something to bathe in, not discharge like static electricity, something more in the Italian vein. Here is a beautiful song of Brahms. The poetry is originally from the Persian-
How delightful you are, my Queen,
Because of gentle kindness,
You need but smile and scents of spring waft
Blissfully through my heart!
The splendor of unfolded roses,
Shall I compare it to you?
Above all else that blossoms
Your flowering is delightful!
If you walk through arid deserts,
Green shadows will spread-
Where horrible heat waves endlessly extend
What joy, what bliss!
Let me perish in your arms-
within them even death
ever the bitterest deadly torture
would seem as extacy.
It's a beautiful poem, but in the hands of Brahms, brilliant:
The melody is beautiful, to be sure. But one of the best things in the piece- and not immediately recognizable without listening to it, is the accompanying figure in the bass (piano left hand). It comes in slightly later in each measure, creating a sense of breathless anticipation.
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