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Georg Kreisler
Take a closer look at Kreisler’s works and you will see many parallels to his own life story. He says this is not intentional and has little patience for such works. “I think autobiographies are usually lies. I think fiction -- a novel or a play ... that’s the truth,” he says. “The truth lies in art, not in journalism.” Nonetheless, he does admit that everything he writes has autobiographical elements,” but it has gone through the grinder first. “I’ve never written anything autobiographical except perhaps Lola Blau, but even that is only partly autobiographical.”
Alongside the witty texts, an important part of Kreisler’s cabaret programs has always been his piano playing. But even here, Kreisler remains humble. “I just write in a way that I can play,” he says. “You have to practice the piano and you have to work at it and I do too many things to be able to do this. A pianist has to work on his technique and that bores me a little.”
Indeed, Kreisler does have plenty of “other” things to do. He has written 18 books, recorded numerous CDs, written an opera and many satirical essays, and despite having “retired” from piano playing, as he puts it, he continues to present readings of his works together with his wife, Barbara Peters, who is also a cabaret artist.
But despite his prolific output, there are times, he admits, when it takes a while to generate new ideas. “An idea is not enough,” he says. “You have to have craftsmanship. You have to work at it.” It often happens that he works at an idea for days only to throw it away when he realizes it won’t work. “I sit down at the piano and start playing a little bit and usually I have melody and the lyrics come at the same time. Usually I have that and the next day I throw that away and start working on something else,” he says.
At 80-plus, Kreisler shows no signs of slowing down. He says so long as you have your health and you can still see and hear, not much else matters.
“I certainly don’t feel old, ” he says. It is only when younger people start treating him with the respect usually reserved for elderly folk that he realizes he is 80. Asked what he feels he has achieved, it obvious it’s a question he’s been busy with.
He pauses, takes a big breath and says reflectively, “It’s practically impossible to know what you have changed. Yes, I do get letters from people who say, 'You’ve changed my life' or 'You have changed my thinking.' It is not what you’re out to do, you just have to speak your own mind. And if you change other people’s minds so much the better,” he says.
Breandáin O'Shea
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