Nathailie Broodcoorens: An Interview with Lars David Kellner (master's thesis about L. Janacek's 'On an Overgrown Path', 7/2026)

Nathailie Broodcoorens: An Interview with Lars David Kellner

Lars David Kellner is a German pianist whose focusing includes the complete piano works of Leoš Janáček. His 3-CD box set featuring all of Janáček’s piano works (2013) is an impressive testament to this. He has since also released recordings of all of Janáček’s harmonium compositions (2025).

Kellner has thoroughly studied Janáček’s music, drawing on the original manuscripts and the earliest available sources. For his harmonium recordings, the artist used two different instruments: a suction-wind harmonium and a pressure-wind harmonium. By making use of their differing tonal characteristics, the performer strives to stay as close as possible to the composer’s intent and to do justice to the rich palette of colors in Janáček’s music.

In light of my research, this conversation was incredibly enriching. I am therefore very grateful to Lars David Kellner for his willing cooperation.

NB: In my view, Janáček is a composer who knows how to translate his feelings into music in an exceptionally direct and nuanced way. Since your recordings are characterized by a remarkable sense of atmosphere and expression, I would like to ask you a few questions to deepen my artistic research.

You recorded the first manuscript on the harmonium, as originally intended. What motivated you to make this choice? Do you notice a difference in intensity or expressive possibilities between performing on the harmonium and on the piano? And which do you personally prefer? Do you perhaps hope to record the entire cycle on the harmonium?

LDK: When Leoš Janáček wrote down his first “Mood Pictures” in 1900—which he would later title “On an Overgrown Path”—he was evidently caught between the harmonium and the piano in his compositorial approach. Today, the “Overgrown Path” is one of the most popular works of the 20th century. While the early pieces are clearly oriented towards the harmonium, Janáček underwent a relatively quick conceptual shift in favour of the piano.

From a musicological perspective, it is well known that the creation of this collection of pieces was an intricate process that spanned more than a decade. There are numerous sources from various hands (autographs and copies) that document different versions and stages of revision.

Having first encountered the harmonium over 10 years ago as a concert pianist and having since become thoroughly familiar with this keyboard instrument, it seemed natural to perform what the first edition calls “Small Compositions for the Harmonium” on this particular instrument as well. This endeavor proved to be extremely rewarding and eye-opening, as the piano and the harmonium not only differ fundamentally in how they work, but also offer very different auditory experiences. Performing the same musical material on two such dissimilar keyboard instruments was a highly exciting artistic process.

Looking back, I can say that the interpretation on both instruments has been mutually beneficial. The art harmonium opens up expressive possibilities that are not available to the piano in this way. On the other hand, playing the harmonium—especially due to the absence of the right piano pedal—requires a completely different technical approach, which presents a considerable challenge, particularly for pianists. A carefully executed legato is essential here, and the larger the hands, the better!

Several pieces from the “Overgrown Path” were part of my harmonium recitals during the 2025 season. This year, 2026, I am performing the complete cycle again on the piano. I always strictly follow the instrumentation specified by the composer: From the first series of the cycle, only five pieces are suited to the harmonium; they appeared in the first printed editions of 1901 and 1902. The idea of performing all the pieces from the first series on the harmonium would contradict the composer’s intention.

NB: The cycle 'On an Overgrown Path' is often associated with the death of Janáček’s daughter Olga in 1903. At the same time, we know that several pieces from the first manuscript were already composed around 1900. Do you think that, in interpretation, a distinction should be made between the early material and the later additions? In your opinion, is there already a sense of drama or foreboding present in the first manuscript?

LDK: We know about Olga Janáčková that she was in poor health throughout her life. This must have weighed heavily on Leoš Janáček, and of course such family circumstances also influence one’s musical work.

I myself perceive a certain sadness in all the pieces from the “Overgrown Path”. This, let’s call it, “dark element” somehow holds the entire series together—as a result, the pieces form a homogeneous whole despite their diverse musical stylistic devices.

NB: How do you approach the entire cycle in relation to this biographical detail? Do you think that prior knowledge of the biographical background is necessary to fully understand this work? Do you view the work more as a cohesive whole, or as a collection of autonomous, almost diary-like miniatures? And would you characterize it as programmatic, autobiographical, or rather psychoanalytic? The often descriptive, poetic titles were added only later to the piano version. To what extent do you think these elements influence the interpretation and the emotional experience?

LDK: It can certainly be beneficial to be familiar with a composer’s biographical history. With this broader perspective, a musical work can often be better contextualized.

In the case of Leoš Janáček and his cycle “On an Overgrown Path”, I see certain formal parallels to Robert Schumann’s “Kinderszenen”: For a concert performance, a single piece or a few pieces can easily be extracted from the collection; at the same time, however, the performance of the complete set also has a certain appeal. From Janáček’s correspondence, we know that his pieces—much like Schumann’s—were initially conceived as pure “mood pictures”. It was only later that the collection received its well-known collective title, and in a subsequent step, the individual pieces were named. So is it not “program music” after all? In my view, it does not really matter which came first, the title or the music, but rather whether the music is related to something extramusical and is intended to be understood as such.

In any case, I believe that these retrospective titles should be understood merely as verbal approximations—as attempts to put the complex musical message into words. In the end, however, only the music itself can reveal the level of expression that is beyond the reach of linguistic description.

And on the keyword of “psychoanalytical”: In my opinion, composing is always an expression of inner emotions, of one’s own soul. Every musical composition bears traces of psychological processes, whether conscious or unconscious. Ultimately, the instrumental soloist’s performance is also a psychological interpretation of the composition, shaped by the performer’s own experiences and perceptions. The composer’s work thus becomes a projection screen—both for the performer and for the listener, who in turn reads meanings and reacts emotionally to it.

NB: The music itself features striking contrasts: lyrical, poetic moments are interspersed with erratic rhythms and sometimes unexpected harmonies. How do you interpret these tensions?

LDK: That is a very fitting description of the musical stylistic devices in Leoš Janáček’s piano music. I would add a certain impulsive element that occasionally bursts into his music in a deliberately rough manner. It is precisely such sonic intensifications that are a characteristic feature of his musical language.

We see this exemplified right in the first piece: After the opening section, a sort of musical thunderstorm occurs virtually without warning, reminiscent of a sudden hailstorm pattering down from the sky—a sonic gesture of immediate, almost abrupt intensity.

But Janáček, of course, by no means relies exclusively on such intense means of expression: in the piece “Unutterable Anguish”, we encounter a very different quality indeed; here, the beating of the heart seems to have been set to music in a haunting, subtle, and inimitable way. This contrast once again highlights the delicate nuance and expressive range of his musical language.

The diversity of Janáček’s works—especially in the “Overgrown Path”—undoubtedly places high demands on the performer. Presenting the different levels of expression on each instrument in a nuanced, stylistically precise, and yet musically compelling manner proves to be both a major artistic challenge and a source of joy.

NB: Janáček's music is often difficult to understand and is considered "quite bizarre". Do you share this opinion?

LDK: I get the impression that quite a few pianists struggle with Leoš Janáček’s music because his very specific musical language is apparently not immediately accessible.

To me, however, this music has always seemed extraordinarily natural, almost as if it were part of my own musical sensibility. In my youth, when I first played Janáček’s works at the age of 11, I naturally did not yet possess the background knowledge I can rely on today—and yet the music spoke for itself immediately.

Even back then, the poetic titles of the “Overgrown Path” were for me more intellectual inspirations than definitive interpretations.

NB: Finally, I’m curious about your personal relationship with this work. Has your interpretation changed over time? What has your intensive engagement with this music taught you, both about the work itself and about your own emotional world? And do you think listeners in general can relate to the emotions that Janáček expresses here?

LDK: Leoš Janáček’s piano cycle “On an Overgrown Path” was one of the first major works I studied with my Czech piano teacher in the 1980s. This piece has been a constant companion ever since, and even decades later, I still perform it regularly in my concerts.

The cycle is now deeply embedded in my long-term memory, so that I can perform it “spontaneously” at any time. Nevertheless, my interpretation is subject to constant change—just as life itself is constantly changing. This approach, incidentally, also aligns with one of Janáček’s artistic principles: to be able to surrender spontaneously to the mood of each individual moment and give it appropriate musical expression.

I consciously follow this impulse; as a result, every performance feels fresh and, in a certain way, different. It remains an exciting prospect for me to observe which inner and outer paths this work will lead me along in the coming decades.