17.11.2016
Being friends with Janáček
In 2010, St. Petersburg audiences discovered Leoš Janáček’s opera Kát’a Kabanová. The production was led by conductor Peter Feranec. As the opera makes its return to St. Petersburg, so too does the great Slovak conductor.
Peter, your devotion to Janáček is commendable — but the composer’s works are not all that well-known in Russia...
Janáček is hugely popular in some countries: audiences are always keen to hear his works in France, Germany, and Britain. He is not quite so popular in Italy. And even in his native country, the Czech Republic, the number of performances of his works has started dwindling. You are right to say that he is not very well-known in Russia. I remember suggesting that we should put on an opera by Janáček when I worked at the Bolshoi Theatre, and one particular lady, a venerated national treasure, asked me: «Peter, who might he be? A friend of yours?» I couldn’t believe it. I realized the best thing to do was to drop the subject.
Why isn’t he better known in Russia?
I often ask myself the same question. Janáček is a truly great composer. But the Revolution of 1917 isolated Russia from the rest of the world. The country forged a different path and began producing its own musical geniuses: Shostakovich, Prokofiev... it was hard for Janáček to find a place in that context. He sounded like a stranger, a foreigner.
Alexander Ostrovsky’s plays are enjoying something of a renaissance on the Russian stage. It is partly down to this that the production has been given the title The Storm, after the literary work on which it was based. Is it possible that Janáček’s time has finally come as well?
That is a difficult question. I should point out that Janáček did not follow Ostrovsky’s plot to the letter: he wrote his own libretto. He stripped away all the superfluous plot points to focus on Kát’a alone, in her personal dungeon, guarded by her ghastly mother-in-law. She is a captive searching for freedom, for open air. A decent, pious woman, she is constantly reaching for the light. The church is the only place where she can breathe freely, all alone and speaking directly to God. Even this sets her apart from the rest of the townsfolk, whose faith is mostly for show.
Can you briefly summarize the opera? Is it about a woman who yearns for happiness, but has no idea where to find it?
She is a pure soul. She knows full well what constitutes true happiness. But in this environment, this cramped prison, this provincial town with its clear-cut rules and rigid family structures, there is no room for happiness. There is no room for love: the very concept of love is alien to this world. Here, it is the parents who decide whom their kids are going to marry. In fact, in the countryside, love was an idle pastime, a privilege of the aristocracy. Boris and Kát’a seem to have stumbled by accident into this life, where feelings are forbidden. They are two people looking for beauty in this terrible environment. They find one another — and they find love. We should note that both protagonists have a history of abandonment. Theirs was a life devoid of love and companionship.
Russian women are known for their strong moral compass. Russian men often seem to lag behind in this respect. Is this another message to be taken from The Storm?
I don’t think Janáček can have been aware of that. After all, he never lived in Russia. His Ván’a Kudrjás’, for example, is a forward-thinking man who talks about electricity... In a sense, he functions as a rabble-rouser who bucks the trend of the rustic worldview, which would have it that electricity must be the work of the devil. In the end, Kát’a dies, and Boris lives on. But it’s not that the woman is stronger or more fully realized than the man: she was simply backed into a corner, with no way out.
Either way, The Storm is about a woman’s lot in life. You are surrounded by women: you and your wife have two daughters. Has that helped you in this production?
That’s true: my wife is an opera singer; my eldest daughter is a psychologist who studied Japanese culture; and my youngest has just started university, where she is majoring in cultural management. Our children were raised in a different way, of course; they are entirely free to make their own decisions. This generation is fundamentally incapable of relating to Kát’a. How can they possibly understand? We are living in an age of libertarianism, in which we are free to choose who we marry and which country we live in. To the younger generation, stories set in a world without choice are akin to fairy tales.
And yet they seem to enjoy Janáček’s opera.
Of course. This is complex, emotional music; it speaks directly to the heart. Everyone who saw Kát’a Kabanová was absolutely captivated.
Peter, your devotion to Janáček is commendable — but the composer’s works are not all that well-known in Russia...
Janáček is hugely popular in some countries: audiences are always keen to hear his works in France, Germany, and Britain. He is not quite so popular in Italy. And even in his native country, the Czech Republic, the number of performances of his works has started dwindling. You are right to say that he is not very well-known in Russia. I remember suggesting that we should put on an opera by Janáček when I worked at the Bolshoi Theatre, and one particular lady, a venerated national treasure, asked me: «Peter, who might he be? A friend of yours?» I couldn’t believe it. I realized the best thing to do was to drop the subject.
Why isn’t he better known in Russia?
I often ask myself the same question. Janáček is a truly great composer. But the Revolution of 1917 isolated Russia from the rest of the world. The country forged a different path and began producing its own musical geniuses: Shostakovich, Prokofiev... it was hard for Janáček to find a place in that context. He sounded like a stranger, a foreigner.
Alexander Ostrovsky’s plays are enjoying something of a renaissance on the Russian stage. It is partly down to this that the production has been given the title The Storm, after the literary work on which it was based. Is it possible that Janáček’s time has finally come as well?
That is a difficult question. I should point out that Janáček did not follow Ostrovsky’s plot to the letter: he wrote his own libretto. He stripped away all the superfluous plot points to focus on Kát’a alone, in her personal dungeon, guarded by her ghastly mother-in-law. She is a captive searching for freedom, for open air. A decent, pious woman, she is constantly reaching for the light. The church is the only place where she can breathe freely, all alone and speaking directly to God. Even this sets her apart from the rest of the townsfolk, whose faith is mostly for show.
Can you briefly summarize the opera? Is it about a woman who yearns for happiness, but has no idea where to find it?
She is a pure soul. She knows full well what constitutes true happiness. But in this environment, this cramped prison, this provincial town with its clear-cut rules and rigid family structures, there is no room for happiness. There is no room for love: the very concept of love is alien to this world. Here, it is the parents who decide whom their kids are going to marry. In fact, in the countryside, love was an idle pastime, a privilege of the aristocracy. Boris and Kát’a seem to have stumbled by accident into this life, where feelings are forbidden. They are two people looking for beauty in this terrible environment. They find one another — and they find love. We should note that both protagonists have a history of abandonment. Theirs was a life devoid of love and companionship.
Russian women are known for their strong moral compass. Russian men often seem to lag behind in this respect. Is this another message to be taken from The Storm?
I don’t think Janáček can have been aware of that. After all, he never lived in Russia. His Ván’a Kudrjás’, for example, is a forward-thinking man who talks about electricity... In a sense, he functions as a rabble-rouser who bucks the trend of the rustic worldview, which would have it that electricity must be the work of the devil. In the end, Kát’a dies, and Boris lives on. But it’s not that the woman is stronger or more fully realized than the man: she was simply backed into a corner, with no way out.
Either way, The Storm is about a woman’s lot in life. You are surrounded by women: you and your wife have two daughters. Has that helped you in this production?
That’s true: my wife is an opera singer; my eldest daughter is a psychologist who studied Japanese culture; and my youngest has just started university, where she is majoring in cultural management. Our children were raised in a different way, of course; they are entirely free to make their own decisions. This generation is fundamentally incapable of relating to Kát’a. How can they possibly understand? We are living in an age of libertarianism, in which we are free to choose who we marry and which country we live in. To the younger generation, stories set in a world without choice are akin to fairy tales.
And yet they seem to enjoy Janáček’s opera.
Of course. This is complex, emotional music; it speaks directly to the heart. Everyone who saw Kát’a Kabanová was absolutely captivated.
