Two masters of the sung lied: tenor Ilker Arcayürek and his accompanist Ammiel Bushakevitz
Who has never wiped away a tear while reading and listening to "Die schöne Müllerin", the song cycle that leaves no heart untouched with music by Franz Schubert and texts by the poet Wilhelm Müller (what's in a name?).
Unrequited love, it was Schubert's path of suffering. His great heart knew an open wound. That wound resonates in almost all of his works: the unfulfilled love, the yearning for an embrace, a kiss, the look in the eyes and oh so much more. Müller must have experienced it too, for how could one write such a compelling, emotionally charged collection of poems without experiencing heartbreak? Müller and Schubert have elevated love in a superhuman way to the most beautiful and at the same time the saddest. Who better than the somewhat melancholic by nature tenor Ilker Arcayürek can interpret these songs in all their poignant finesse? He reaches another dimension, it is no longer just beautifully performed, he truly weeps.
Is it because of his difficult childhood and the heavy labor that fell to him? Or is it as he told me himself: "We Turks are melancholic, you know, just look at our TV soaps". Yes, Ilker has Turkish roots, but apart from his black hair and his name, you notice nothing of it. He speaks wonderfully beautiful German, has a very rich and varied vocabulary – it is truly a pleasure to talk with him – and he has accumulated enormous knowledge and conveys it very thoughtfully. Later we will publish an interview with him. A little more patience please.
Yes, that oh so beautiful Miller's daughter, why didn't she have eyes for that oh so lovesick young fellow and why did her attention turn to the other one? She didn't listen, not even to the little stream that kept trying to tell her with the rushing water that made the young lovesick fellow's tears flow into the river and the young miller became one with it and she never knew. It is dramatic, painful, but set to music so profoundly that the pain, the suffering is soothed and accepted. It all goes so much deeper than you can imagine, it touches me ever deeper and deeper each time. How mature was that genius Schubert? Was he really only 31? It is truly infinitely impressive in itself.
Impressive, just like the texts and the music was also this performance. Arcayürek does not interpret, what would he, he has sung this so many times. He experiences it in all his fibers and expresses it in his singing, in his facial expressions, in his gestures, in his entire demeanor. What a noble artist he is and he is followed, as if by a twin brother, by pianist Bushakevitz. Yes, I have to wipe away tears and I am not alone, a singer on stage has to swallow at the end. The lady next to me whispers to me: "He sometimes breaks down during performance because it touches him so deeply. What a unique person". The Golden Label that he was awarded in 2018 for his first CD (also Schubert) I would give again, without hesitation, preferably immediately during the concert. Oh yes, I am very moved, together with the few hundred listeners who wait a moment before applauding. The silence must first settle, the music and the texts must come to rest, breathe, deeply and slowly… Then it breaks loose: bravos and foot stomping on the wooden floor of the Markus-Sittikus-Saal, one of the best chamber music halls I know, perhaps even in the world.
Winterreise…
I walk through the little town along the river. The trees and vegetation along the bank remind me of the Müller cycle and of Die Forelle. In Schubert's time, those ugly square, soulless, dumb blocks didn't exist yet, there was nothing ugly 'functional', only beautiful, simple or radiating wealth but always beautiful, harmonious, soft colors, never obtrusive. And so much, so very much nature, singing birds non-stop. What must that have been infinitely inspiring. It invites you to walk, to observe, to listen to nature, breathe deeply, to shift and forget your cares. Beauty in its purest form. Yes, then such an artistic talent as the genius Schubert comes home after his walk with a mass of music in his head. It was so much that he could never write it all down. Winterreise was fortunately committed to paper. It is a different Schubert who composes here. More darkly melancholic. He knew so well that that end was coming now and that it was still far too soon, that he could not finish his work, he still had so much to compose, he wrote like a man possessed, one page after another full, just to get past that hated door. And then there are those poems, the Winterreise…
Andrè Schuen, a powerful baritone from South Tyrol and the dedicated pianist Daniel Heide perform the collection of poems set to music, also written by Wilhelm Müller. What a voice! What a warm, deep color, what a carrying power. And I have the impression that the voice is becoming even more mature even though the singer is 42, a year older than the tenor we heard in the afternoon. Schubert's circle had a harder time with these songs, which he sang himself just before his death. Actually, they only enjoyed Der Lindenbaum. Schubert's words came true: later it would all be appreciated much more. Still, I can understand his friends. After all, they could not accept, who would?, that this young, so talented, friendly fellow with whom they experienced so much pleasure and musical highlights, was standing so close to death? They knew it, really, but yes…
Schuen sings compellingly, the piano has it as cold as the freezing frost that resonates in the notes or it thaws the frozen tears while the singer tells his sad story. If only 'die Post' had brought the much-expected letter with good news. Alas, thrice alas… The last hope falls with the leaves of the trees… It is the last poem / song from the cycle. Schubert closed his eyes… A silence falls over the audience, no one dares to start the applause. Everyone is so deeply impressed. Until one person cautiously begins to clap and then it breaks loose. Just like Ilker and Ammiel, Andrè and Daniel must return to greet the audience multiple times to receive the bravos, the foot-stomping on the wooden floor and very grateful applause.
My two days of Schubertiade in Hohenems are over. I fear an ordeal with the Deutsche Bahn heading home. The fear is confirmed. Ah, I have some extra night hours to muse about all the beauty I was allowed to enjoy and absorb and how I would put it into words for you, readers of our shared Klassiek Centraal. Thank you!