Fyodor M. Dostoevsky and the Devil
For a long time I have had the thought that it would be worth arranging something by Tamás Cseh — and making a video about it — because his guitar-and-vocal format, even though many songs later add further instruments and sometimes a whole band, seems naturally suited to ukulele and voice as well.
I have been experimenting with several of his songs for years, and I think they sound good on ukulele. The harder part is that Tamás Cseh's performance style is extremely difficult to imitate. Alongside the accompaniment, you have to concentrate intensely on the lyrics, and Cseh himself also performed his songs in different ways; this one, for example, had a different chord accompaniment live from the one heard on the LP.
The accompaniment to “Fyodor Mikhailovich” consists of three chords and can be put together quickly. Even a fingerstyle arrangement can be worked out in no time. The lyrics and the singing — or rather the actual “performance” — are, in my view, much more difficult, so they deserve a great deal of practice.
I will not attempt to perform the whole song, but I am happy to show you both the accompaniment and the fingerstyle arrangement. I demonstrate both in two keys, C major and D major. Here they are.
[D]On a snow-white night Fyodor Mikhailovich
Stopped there in Petersburg, with nobody behind,
Except some[A]one — and since [G]he knows who it is,
Without turning around, Fyodor Mikhailovich says:
“Speak, devil, what do you want with me? Make it brief,
Then off with you! I cannot stand you! (Nu, sto?)”
“You are still a young writer, Fyodor Mikhailovich!”
A voice said from behind, “your future is a precious thing,
And here you are conspiring against the Tsar!
Dangerous is the company you have joined,
Imagining Paris here instead of Petersburg,
All pride and conspiracy!
But tomorrow morning you will surely be in chains,
And you will live — I can predict it now —
For eight long years in Siberia!”
“Ho-ho!” laughs Fyodor Mikhailovich,
“For a writer, experience and suffering are precious things.
So let us see Siberia!”
“You are still a young writer,” said the devil there,
“So perhaps I should continue with the prophecy,
Because there will be a bitter, curious turn...
Fine, let us say Fyodor Mikhailovich suffers there,
And when he returns, there is little to prevent him
From writing his great books — but listen now, brother —
In those great works he will condemn
The former comrades with whom he now stands,
Conspiring here against the Tsar.
And Paris, with its new ideas, will become a swamp;
Instead of Why, he will seek only How, because
People themselves are interesting!
Thus he will reach the Human Being instead of the Institution.”
The voice spoke and laughed there behind him:
“Hee-hee-hee, Dostoevsky!”
And so Fyodor Mikhailovich remained there alone,
Shaking his roaring head, unable to form a thought...
“What will happen here — who can understand it?
What will happen here — who can understand it?
A train of thought instead of a thought...
Who can understand it? What will happen here...?”
