elizabeth thompson, michaelyn jackson, frances jimenez, edna philips, thelma hill, delores browne, cleo quitman, sylvester campbell, charles neal,
graham johnson, theodore duncan, guy allison, and gene sagan photographed in louis johnson’s waltze by bruno
The Kozena Fest continues; four down, three to go. If the Bach was excellent, this is devastatingly good.
Our gal looking all glamorous.
This album has whopping 42 tracks, consisting of seven short song cycles and couple of individual songs by three Czech composers - Antonin Dvorak, Leos Janacek and Bohuslav Martinu. The title comes from the first, Dvorak’s eight-song cycle Pisne milostne op. 83. All of these songs have beautiful melodies and their respective moods come through even if I don’t actually understand anything of the text - which, reading the booklet, are very good btw. Very few brooks under rose bushes here. I don’t actively remember hearing Martinu’s music before, and on this disc love everything by him - the cycle Miniatures is humorous and fresh, the first of the New Slovak songs devastating in its beauty. Dvorak and Janacek were contemporaries, but the style of their songs here is very different - Dvorak has a sound similar to Elgar, Grieg and Sibelius, while Janacek is more modern and the Moravian folk songs on this album have a more Slavic feel to them. The Martinu and Janacek songs are definitely more interesting that the Dvorak ones.
This is a good time to take a moment to talk about accompanists. Kozena is teamed up with the legendary Graham Johnson here, and his playing makes this album just as much as her singing. I love the piano accompaniments of songs - sometimes more than the sung part itself, they paint the scene, create the mood, have amazing, captivating details the songs would be empty without.
Favourite tracks: it’s pretty hard to choose from 42 tracks, so I’m going to go with a favourite cycle, though even that is a toss up between Martinu’s Songs for a friend of my country (nos. 17-20) and Songs on one page (26-32), the scale just tipping on the side of the latter.
Love Songs : Dvorak - Janacek - Martinu
Magdalena Kozena, mezzo
Graham Johnson, piano
From the way his partner is standing in the doorway, shifting foot to nervous foot but not crossing the threshold, Lev knows Graham can sense that he’s angry. He always tries to keep it in check, but it’s still hard. Sometimes it seeps out through his skin and into the atmosphere.
He sighs. It's not fair to be like this, not when it’s not his fault. “Yeah actually. That would be great.”
“On it.”
The sound of Graham retreating down the hallway, and a few moments later, the kettle clicking on.
-
“Do you still love me?”
After he says the words Graham smiles, a little coy, a little cheeky. He’s sitting at the counter, spoon halfway to his mouth, bowl of yoghurt and fresh apricots in front of him.
There’s more sugar than cinnamon in his beard now, but damn does it look good.
Lev answers by sliding between Graham’s knees and the table, and kissing him. Lips part under his as he does, the gentle taste of vanilla on the tip of Graham’s tongue. Gets the same feeling in his stomach that he does every time, that flip and twirl.
“Of course I do. You okay?”
“Yeah.” A casual shrug. “Just angling for a kiss really. Better now.”
“Good.”
-
“Do you want a cuppa?”
“Yeah, love.”
“On it.”
-
“Do you reckon they’ll want it painted? To match the others.”
Graham hums, puts down his plastic bucket. There’s a smear of dirt on his cheek. Cute. “Lemme take a look.”
They live simply, and yet don’t want for much. Already have everything they could have ever asked for—which mostly amounts to just... time. Time to fix the house, to build furniture, to weed and weed and weed because the damn things never stop sprouting anew. To have people over for wine and cards, or to look after friends when the chips are down.
Time to be, and to love.
Graham looks softer now. Laugh lines around hazel eyes. Cracked hands, but soft where it counts. Lean enough for Lev to be envious of his metabolism. They’ve traded hairstyles—while Lev’s is long enough to tie back more often than not, Graham’s is short at the back and sides.When he speaks it’s low, and warm.
Lev doubts his own corners have rounded as kindly, but knows they must have rounded some by years of wear and tear. The anxiety protected him for so long, but living without it is far easier than he’d imagined it being.
It helps that Graham still treats him as twenty five and gorgeous, rather than double that and jaded. Even sweaty in the mid-afternoon heat, Graham drapes an arm over Lev’s shoulder, casually conspicuous, like they’re flirting at the back of the theatre.
“I think it looks good as is. I really like the uh. Uh…” Graham gestures to the bottom of the planter box.
“Feet?”
“Yeah, is that what they’re called?”
Lev laughs. “I guess so—one of those things that just gets an approximate term…”
“What colour are the rest?”
“White, I think.”
A face. “Nah this is better. Paint just looks weird when it inevitably peels.”
“I agree, but the school might still want it to match.”
“Could offer to scrape back the others?”
Lev looks up at him. “Do you want to offer to be on your hands and knees scraping off paint?”
“Mmm. No. I was saying you could do it.”
Leaning into him a little more, Lev grins. “Asshole.”
“You love it. But yeah, it looks really good,” Graham says before groaning, back popping as he bends to stretch it.
“Shower?”
“Absolutely.”
-
“Do you want a cuppa?”
Lev takes a deep breath in, sucking oxygen into his lungs as if he’s addicted to the stuff. Blows it out like it’s toxic.
It’s not fair to be angry. Not when he doesn’t know.
“I’ll come make it in a sec.”
“Sorry…”
But none of this has ever been fucking fair, has it?
“It’s fine, love. I’ll come make it in a sec, okay?”
“Nah nah nah, I’ll get you one. Sit tight.”
The shuffle of Graham’s feet as he retreats down the hallway. The kettle clicking on.
-
“Do you want me to do it?”
“No,” comes the curt reply. A frown. “I've got it.”
Lev purses his lips. Refocuses his attention away from the clipboard balanced on Graham’s knee, and to some other part of the room. His eyes are drawn to the mum and young bub at the opposite end of the waiting room, reading the soft plush book, the little one poking her chubby fingers through the holes to get at the fur of ‘C is for Cat’. He smiles and wiggles his fingers when the baby’s eyes hone in on him and stare, and laughs when the mum waves her daughter’s hand back in his direction.
“Just saying, it’s not too late…” and a nudge to his ribs.
It’s an old wedge sanded down, just like all the other parts of the two of them. Something that used to hurt, but doesn’t anymore.
Lev swats back playfully. “Focus.” He rubs Graham’s bouncing knee a little, smoothing over his printed slacks until the movement stops.
It’s not long before the specialist emerges. “Mr. Johnson?”
“Yes,” Graham answers with a smile, standing, passing the clipboard to Lev. Lev smiles too, but it’s half in an attempt to bite back the it’s ‘Dr’ actually.
As his partner is distracted, Lev quickly reviews the sheet—strikes through some parts, hastily scribbles down others—doesn’t get through all of it before Graham is turning back around. “You coming or staying here?”
“Do you want me in?”
Graham waves a hand. “Nah, all good. Unless you want to see me in the sexy gown.”
Though he wants to see him safely in, he doesn’t want to hover. Lev bids him off with a kiss.
-
“Do you want a cuppa?”
Lev tilts his head. Thinking. Does he actually?
“Nah, thanks though.”
“You sure? I can make it fancy.”
“How would you make it fancy?”
“Honey, little bit of lemon maybe?”
Lev had always thought he’d be the one. Had never stopped to consider any other possibility.
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
“On it, boss.”
The sound of Graham Johnson retreating. The kettle clicking on.
-
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”
Not one person out of the four others seated at the table says a single word, shocked into silence by the sudden outburst. Gentle falling electric guitar strums on in the background, an ethereal woman’s voice floating above the hum.
Graham jabs an accusatory hand in Darren’s direction. “He’s moving his marker when he thinks we’re not looking.”
“I’m not, mate,” Darren says, raising his own hands. “I’m really not.”
“You fucking are. You’re cheating.”
“Hang on.” Pavita leans across the table, picking up Darren’s scoring meeple in one hand and marks the place with her other thumb. “Let’s just count backwards a little and sort this out, yeah? Yeah. Okay, so six points from the first city, eight from the monastery…”
“Forget it—” Graham casts his hand through the tiles, scattering them, and knocking Lev’s drink off the table in the process.
“Whoa,” Pavita and River exclaim in unison. Lev catches the glass, but the lemonade has already emptied itself onto his pants, and all over the floor. Mouth hanging open, he looks up at Graham.
Before anyone can speak, Graham is already stalking off in the direction of the bedroom. Slamming the door.
Lev’s mouth is dry. Rage sparks in him, at the looks in their eyes, but can’t go anywhere. He wants to scream. “I’m, uh. Maybe we should put off games night for the time being.”
River sucks her teeth. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
“We can do something more chill next time,” Darren offers. He’s younger than the rest of them, one of Graham’s ex-students, and the one who’d brought the game. “Are you… is it better if we leave?”
“Uh. Yeah, I think that would be best.”
“Are you going to be alright?”
The guy is sweet, and it makes this even harder. Black hair, bright blue eyes, early thirties at most.
“Yeah,” Lev says. “I’m really sorry, again, this...”
“Is not your fault. Or anyone’s.”
Their guests leave right as the song finishes, the woman’s voice echoing out in solo. Lev still holds the empty glass in his right hand.
-
Graham is standing in the doorway, face blank.
“I... forgot what I came over to ask you.”
When Graham puts a hand over his eyes, embarrassed, Lev feels his own heart rend. It’s pain enough to elicit guilty action—he stands, takes his partner’s hand, makes a show out of being calm. Content. Smooth like a move in a dance, though he'd almost forgotten that the next step was supposed to be towards his partner, not away.
“Time for a cuppa, I think,” Lev says. “You in?”
Grahams eyes narrow as he tries to put himself together. It hurts to watch, but he cant imagine how terrifying it is to feel. After a few moments, Graham exhales through the nose.
“I, um. I think I've been getting, uh, worse, lately? And...” He trails, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice.
“I know,” Graham says, kissing the inside of Lev's palm. He shakes his head, like starting over. A shaky breath. “Um... do you want a cuppa?”
Lev can’t stop his face from doing whatever it’s going to. “It’s okay,” he lies, through his fear, through his grief. “We... we can book in for the neurologist again, yeah?”
Graham blinks, looks at the carpet, up at the ceiling. “Yeah... yeah. I just... yeah. Sorry.”
Lev takes Graham’s face between his hands, and presses their lips together. Sugar, cinnamon. “I love you so much, okay? So much. And nothing is ever going to change that.”
“Yeah. I’ll help make it for us.”
With lemon and honey, just how Graham promised it a half-hour ago. Why not.
-
“Do you still love me?”
The way that Graham asks it is so sincere each time. Like he’s worried the answer has changed.
And it’ll happen, eventually—the day will come when recognition turns over and turns over in his partner’s eyes but fails to start. Lev has read every book that had been recommended to him. It’s only a matter of time.
At least the question implies you loved me, once. If Lev could beg to let his partner keep one thing, it’d be the memory that he was loved.
“Ahuh.” Lev scrunches his nose in his direction, like of course I love you, dingus. “Do you love me?”
