Hearing an author does not necessarily mean putting a microphone in front of her. At Wien Modern, Elfriede Jelinek’s voice, recorded piano sounds and live music are set to come together. Who speaks then: the writer, her character or already the composition itself? The birthday becomes an occasion to reflect on listening.
Jelinek turned 80 on 20 October 2026. Wien Modern, which runs from 30 October to 30 November, joins the Musikverein in dedicating a programme to her from 31 October to 4 November. The events on 3 November in particular promise an approach that goes beyond biographical milestones: through piano, voice, film and organ.
One instrument, two times
At 7.30pm, the Musikverein’s Großer Saal hosts the world premiere of “AnTasten_Schatten” by Marianne Schroeder and Elfriede Jelinek, commissioned by both organisers. Its starting point is Jelinek’s own grand piano, which, according to the festival, had not been tuned for three decades. Schroeder combines recorded sounds from this instrument with piano playing and improvisation; Jelinek’s text and voice are also part of the material.
The announced structure comprises an organ prologue, a piano drama and a vocal epilogue. The juxtaposition of a live instrument and a recording raises a specific question about listening: how does a musician respond to recorded playing that cannot itself react? The old grand piano would then be not a biographical exhibit, but a counterpart whose course through time is already fixed.
Earlier, at 6.30pm in the Gläserner Saal, Constantin Wulff’s 14-minute film “schatten + flügel” (shadows + wings/grand piano) is scheduled alongside a conversation between the director and Claus Philipp. It accompanies the world premiere but is a work in its own right: film and concert should not be confused.
Who speaks for whom?
The literary source, “Schatten (Eurydike sagt)” (Shadow (Eurydice Says)), shifts the perspective of the Orpheus myth to Eurydice: here, she is a writer and he a celebrated singer. Who gets to speak, and who becomes the subject of someone else’s art? This question of power is already implicit in the choice of speaker. In a musical adaptation, it should not disappear behind merely atmospheric accompaniment.
For precisely this reason, it would be too simple to treat Jelinek’s own voice as the key to the only correct reading. The person at the microphone and the “I” of a text are not identical. An adaptation must also decide how intelligible the words remain, how much weight pauses carry and how much space the instruments claim. Only the performance will reveal whether “AnTasten_Schatten” makes such tensions audible. What is interesting for now is that the announced structure does not simply equate text, voice and instrument.
Time beneath the hands
At 9.15pm in the Großer Saal, Angela Metzger follows with organ works by Betsy Jolas, Olivier Messiaen and György Ligeti. The programme is set to include Ligeti’s “Volumina” and Messiaen’s “Les yeux dans les roues” from “Livre d’orgue”. This also brings Jelinek’s own musical training into play: she studied the organ.
In her essay “Die Zeit flieht” (Time Flees), she recalls a performance of this Messiaen piece in which the tempo seemed to run away from her. The text treats music not as a soothing background art, but as a demanding activity: time must be structured, realised through hands and feet, and held steady against one’s own impatience. Talk of the musicality of her language thus meets a practical counter-question: who sets the tempo, and who has to follow it?
That would be one achievement of this anniversary programme: not turning every musical decision into an illustration of a life. Instead, paying closer attention to what happens between the written sentence, the recorded voice and playing in the present.
Original reviewed by the editors · 25 October 2026
