http://www.popmatters.com/pm/features/article/44529/dietrich-fischer-
dieskau-vocal-lightning-captured-in-a-fragile-bottle/

Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau: Vocal Lightning Captured in a Fragile Bottle
[31 August 2007]
Fischer-Dieskau's voice carries us to that primal, first speech, that
musical utterance that communicates desire, represents passion, and
attempts to eradicate the barriers that separate human beings.by
Chadwick Jenkins

In his Essay on the Origin of Languages, Jean-Jacques Rousseau
insisted that gesture was far more eloquent than verbal language in
the communication of thought. Gesture, he claimed, relied to a lesser
degree on convention, could convey numerous bits of information
simultaneously, and manifested the intention of the communication
before the eyes with an inimitable precision. Necessity, Rousseau
postulated while reveling in the open paradox, was far better served
by gesture than by speech. Speech merely served to dilute such
clarity of expression.

Thus Rousseau hypothesized that speech arose not out of need but
rather out of passion. Vocal sounds arouse our sympathy. We
physically respond to the voice of the other; we come to resonate
with the tones of the vocal utterance so that we feel speech as much
as we understand it. Because articulate sounds are attained only with
great difficulty, Rousseau imagined that the first languages were
comparable to song; pitched syllables melded into one another to
create legato melodic lines. The first speech-utterance was musical;
it found its purpose in the communication of desire, the
representation of passion, and the attempt to eradicate the barriers
that separate human beings to bring the speaker and the listener into
a shared resonance of emotion, their bodies sympathetically
vibrating, joined in inexplicable communion.

As everyday speech gradually eschewed pitch, song became a separate
entity, a sanctified reserve for the primal emotionality that drew
human beings into closer association. One might imagine that as
quotidian life divorced itself from song, those who exemplified the
fullness of melodic expression came to be valued as quasi-sacrosanct
representatives of a human purity that reached back to recover the
vestiges of a more basic humanity no longer directly accessible for
the majority of worldly beings. Perhaps Rousseau's observations are
one way of accounting for the cult of the voice that has arisen in
connection with certain figures, both mythic and mortal, since
Orpheus purportedly moved gargantuan rocks, uprooted trees, and
inveigled Death to forfeit one of his acquisitions (Eurydice), with
his voice. As contrived as we might believe song to be, perhaps it
connects us to something primordial in our very essence as human
beings, it reunites us with our deeper emotive impulses, feelings
that refuse to submit to the intellect, desires that refuse to
surrender to rationality.

Within the pantheon of celebrated voices, there are a few singers who
seem to transcend our reasonable expectations for what a voice can be
thought to accomplish. Maria Callas, revered as much for the tragedy
of her personal life as for her ability to transmute that pain into a
tortured and public art, embodied the unlikely combination of a keen
dramatic sensibility with a voice that quavered on the edge of
instability and yet managed to wrest an unimaginably beautiful tone
from the brink of collapse. Joan Sutherland, despite her utter
inability to enunciate in any language whatsoever, demonstrated that
the supposed limits of the human voice were no impediment to a
virtuosic impetuosity that dared to adorn the mellifluous with
dizzying acts of acrobatic agility. Franco Corelli, with his rarefied
amalgam of animality and urbane charisma, electrified audiences and
yet could deliver himself of surprisingly haunting subtleties. And
yet, perhaps the greatest of them all—if only owing to his surpassing
professionalism and the chameleon-like flexibility of his musical
character (always different, yet always the same)—was a baritone
known more for his lieder than for his operatic performances
(although he was a prolific performer in both realms): Dietrich
Fischer-Dieskau.


Autumn Journey & A Franz Schubert Recital is a fitting tribute to a
musician (in the deepest sense of the term) whose career spans over
half a century. Indeed, the DVD not only celebrates a remarkable
career, but also exemplifies the miraculous quality of his matchless
ability (vocal lightning captured in a fragile bottle) by including a
full recital of Schubert lieder. If anything, the inclusion of the
recital might be the downfall of the overall product in that Fischer-
Dieskau's unrivaled mastery of his instrument overshadows any
documentarian's ability to chart the life and accomplishments of an
artist of this caliber. However, even should one only wish to sit
through the documentary portion (Autumn Journey) of the DVD once, the
recital will prove itself worthy of repeated viewings / listenings,
each of which will repay one's patience with fresh discoveries, new
insights into a seemingly depthless talent. (I found myself compelled
to hear it twice through in immediate succession upon my first
encounter with the concert and have continually returned to it
since.)

Autumn Journey comprises a series of interviews with Fischer-Dieskau
on the occasion of his 70th birthday in 1995. The baritone had just
recently decided to retire as a singer (his final performance was as
the eponymous antihero of Verdi's Falstaff in 1992) and thus seems to
have been in a reflective mood. Indeed, Fischer-Dieskau (both within
these interviews and a host of others available in print) strikes one
as an artist touched to the quick by an awareness of the passing of
his ability (he claims his retirement was instigated by the gradual
decline in the quality of his instrument, despite the fact that any
such deterioration is practically impossible to detect in the 1991
recital recorded a mere four years prior) and the fear that his
accomplishments will be lost to the vicissitudes of time and musical
taste. A singer, he laments, must suffer two deaths: the death we all
experience as mortals coupled with the earlier demise of his / her
voice that leaves the singer to bear witness to a living death,
bereft of the gift that made life meaningful. And yet, as evidenced
in the documentary, Fischer-Dieskau seems to evade that singerly
death altogether—perhaps because he transferred his energies to
conducting and teaching or perhaps because his voice was always
timeless, always beyond the depredations of age and fortune.

The baritone worries that ours is an era of banality in which a
corporate mentality that has imposed itself upon artistic expression
threatens to eradicate the radical qualities of untamable
individuality necessary for art in preference for a secure and
manageable sameness that vouchsafes continuous revenue. And yet
Fischer-Dieskau fervently believes that the lied (the artform that he
clearly feels embodies the highest form of vocal expression) reached
its fullest maturation in the early Romantic era, a mere decade or so
after its inauguration, with the achievements of Franz Schubert.
Later composers, it would seem, merely appended beautiful footnotes
to Schubert's rich accomplishment and modern singers were the humble
vessels (by no means an easy existence) through which this holy
cultural gift continues to live.

Thus, in a sense, vocal art is inherently a religion of the dead, a
commemoration of past ingenuity. Simultaneously, Fischer-Dieskau
humbly celebrates his connection to such luminaries of the world of
musical composition as Benjamin Britten, Paul Hindemith, Hans Werner
Henze, and Aribert Reimann. The baritone closely collaborated with
all of these men to create some of the most important vocal works of
the 20th century. The singer seems to see no need to clarify such
paradoxes; he has lived them fully. He strikes one as an improbable
musical conservative heedlessly willing to undertake the arduous
difficulties of some of the most perilous creations of the avant-
garde. When Fischer-Dieskau brings Reimann's Lear to life, there can
be no apparent contradiction with the baritone's insistence that
Schubert was the apex of vocal composition. Music, in all of its
contemporary complexity, was never in better hands.

The documentary charts Fischer-Dieskau's extraordinary career from
his childhood to the early years of his post-retirement turn to
conducting and running masterclasses. He vividly recounts his first
public recital (given in 1943 at the tender age of 17) in which he
tackled Schubert's incredibly demanding song cycle, Winterreise, in
Berlin during an RAF bombing. When the shells began to fall, they
halted the concert as the audience and performers took refuge in a
shelter. When the bombing ceased, the recital recommenced. Such were
the vicissitudes of art in the time of war.

He later was conscripted into the army and landed in a POW camp where
he entertained fellow soldiers with unaccompanied performances of
lieder (he wonders, with an amused expression, how many of them would
have preferred less serious material). The master singer discusses
his marriage to soprano Julia Varady (his earlier marriages go
without mention); he describes his close collaborations with
conductors, accompanists, and soloists; he details his surprising,
self-imposed restriction as an opera singer to primarily two venues
(the Berlin and Bavarian State Operas), insisting that he required
such stability in order to create the characters in a convincing
manner; finally, he outlines the unique challenges of a song recital,
the demands it makes that far surpass those of an opera performance.
Mostly, he speaks of an artistry that boggles the mind. But he speaks
of it with the placid assurance of the everyday, the familiar. He
speaks with the confidence of a man who knows his craft.

Most importantly, the documentary intersperses clips of his various
performances throughout its running time. Though doubtless intended
as evidentiary displays of his ability, the sheer understated
virtuosity and haunting musicianship of the clips rupture the smooth
narrative the film attempts to establish. These excerpted
performances emerge as both the subject of the investigation and the
impossible limit of the film's ability to penetrate that subject. The
immense sounding presence of his voice defies attempts at
explanation; it resists our efforts to pin it down to chronological
development. This voice seems to stand outside time. Indeed, this is
the most remarkable aspect of the DVD.

Fischer-Dieskau insists that he was not "born a star," that his voice
developed slowly over time and through great effort, and that he
retired as he started to notice his capabilities declining, but the
performances, ranging from the years immediately following the Second
World War right up to the years just prior to his retirement, seem to
belie such assurances. His voice seems untouched both by the excesses
typical of youth and the ravages of time. The Schubert recital that
constitutes the second half of the DVD provides eloquent testimony
that just prior to his 70th birthday, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau
remained . . . well, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau; which is to say, he
remained an artist of immeasurable ability equipped with a profound
musical insight.

The documentary is not without its flaws but these are mostly
shortcomings in production values. Instead of subtitling the
interviews, the producers decided to overdub an English translation.
In doing so, however, they hired a voice actor whose timbre and range
are so close to Fischer-Dieskau's that, at times, the two voices—
simultaneously speaking at almost equal volume (an utter failure on
the part of the sound engineer)—cancel each other out, making it
nearly impossible to comprehend what is being said. Furthermore, all
of the clips showing the musician conducting rehearsals or leading
masterclasses are neither subtitled nor overdubbed with translations.
Therefore, unless you are fairly well versed in German, you will miss
out on precisely those aspects of the segments that are of the
greatest interest.

Here Fischer-Dieskau imparts his hard-earned wisdom and insight to
future musicians, but if German is unintelligible to you, then so
will be his teachings—a real shame that could have easily been
avoided. This is particularly troubling in a clip that shows the
master working with a singer on the initiation of a phrase during a
Schumann song. He instructs the singer on the precise manner of
attack and the particular buzzing timbre the opening "Za" sound
should receive to make the greatest effect. This attention to detail
and the rhythmic exactitude are among the elements that separate
Fischer-Dieskau's art from that of so many other, lesser singers. But
again, without basic German, it will be lost on the English-speaking
viewer.

Perhaps the greatest flaw of the DVD is not really a flaw at all;
indeed, it is the disc's greatest asset: the inclusion of the Franz
Schubert recital. Here we see an extended example of Fischer-Dieskau
in action but the concert is so moving, so fascinating, that it
renders the documentary itself almost pointless. There is no
possibility of understanding this music; one must experience it. More
to the point, to return to Rousseau, one must resonate
sympathetically with this Orphic master. The recital also neglects to
include subtitles (although the curious viewer can easily find all
texts and translations through a simple search online) but here what
would seem to be a deficit merely elucidates Rousseau's notion that
vocal sound is the perfect vehicle not for the communication of
concepts but rather for the communication of the passions.

One never feels at a loss for what is being conveyed; while the exact
nature of the poetry may remain inscrutable, the feelings behind the
performances are rendered in exacting detail. Every nuance, every
subtle shading of the voice speaks to us, makes specific what we must
feel. Fischer-Dieskau has the remarkable capacity for "hearing" a
song in its entirety, as a whole, an all-at-once. He is then able to
transmute that spatial understanding of the songworld into a temporal
unfolding in which every miraculous moment remains faithful to his
global conception. I can think of few other musicians (not just
singers) who can manage this so effectively.

While viewing this DVD, I decided to order some CDs of Fischer-
Dieskau's recorded work (many of which I already own) to give as
presents. I discovered that many of them are out of print and only
available through used CD sellers. When I first heard the baritone
complain that he was being forgotten, I dismissed the notion as the
empty worry of an aging artist, but the dearth of available
recordings (including, I fear, some of the most valued constituents
of my personal collection) made me question whether he was correct in
his assessment. I certainly hope not. Surely these recordings will
soon be reissued. It would be a devastating loss if they were not. In
the meantime, I can think of no better item to tie one over than this
DVD. Even if you purchase it for the documentary out of historical
curiosity, you will return to it time and again for the recital and
its marvelous access to a direct form of communication that Rousseau
well understood but that Fischer-Dieskau truly embodied.

Chadwick lives in New York City where he is finishing his
dissertation in Musicology at Columbia University. He has given
papers on topics ranging from 12th Century lament to Duke Ellington
and early radio to the use of Wagner's music in Bugs Bunny cartoons.
He has published in scholarly journals on the music of John Cage,
Richard Strauss, and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He has taught courses
on music history, the history of rock, and the history of jazz at the
University of Maryland, College Park, and Columbia University.