Of course, the “poisoning pigeons” must not be missing. If you record a CD with songs by Georg Kreisler, the song that comes to mind first when you think of Kreisler should not be missing. You can think of it, but you’ve never heard it like that. Kreisler was the man on the piano, but here the brass comes in with a bang, the music wanders in six-eighth time, oh, that would be a cozy swaying, folk festival and stuff, but it’s just nasty. Nikolaus Habjan, who sings here, doesn’t actually sing, no, he does in a way, but he actually plays with his voice, one-man theater, the woodwind trilling, everything Kreisler came up with becomes bigger, becomes a scene, becomes a three-minute epic.
Yellow, red: the colors of the CD signal explosive things on the occasion of the 100th birthday of the singer, poet and Viennese Georg Kreisler, who despaired of Vienna.
(Photo: Col legno)
This CD was released at the beginning of July, for which Markus Kraler and Andreas Schett arranged songs by Kreisler and arranged them for the combo, whose musical fortunes they largely determine: Franui. This (according to their self-description) Musicbanda comes from East Tyrol, from the town of Innervillgraten, is named after an alpine meadow there and has been playing together with almost the same line-up since 1993. When they started, they played at weddings, fire department festivals and funerals, above all funerals, which Kreisler always legitimizes, they are familiar with all kinds of funeral marches. And with the theatre, they have that in common with Nikolaus Habjan. He is a director, a gifted puppeteer and an artistic whistler (unfortunately he doesn’t whistle here). And he has a long association with Kreisler’s work. When he was supposed to sing his favorite song at school, he sang “Poison Pigeons” – and his parents were summoned to the teacher, who informed them that their son had a predisposition to torment animals.
The abysses get deeper
Live, Franui just presented a program with songs by Gustav Mahler, Carl Loewe and the Bavarian Radio Choir. This is important because here Mahler’s music wafts through Kreisler’s songs, twisting catchy tunes into a question mark. The larger sound suits Kreisler’s music surprisingly well. Franui don’t see it as cabaret, but as art. Think more of Schubert and multiply the timbres with various wind instruments, strings and other strings. The abysses become deeper, the rifts wider, “The Triangle” is resplendent with deep sadness and a smorgasbord of quotes that Kreisler thought along with, but could not execute on the piano alone, “My freedom, your freedom” becomes an anti-model of egoism in the chattering sound of the Berlin 1920s. And on one point Franui and Kreisler meet as if they had worked on these recordings together: cheek wins, but only if you can do something.