Four Songs for Soprano 1 The Pear Tree 4'48" 2 Bargain Basement 3'32" 3 Sleight-of-hand 2'29" 4 Sonnet XVIII 2'47" Four Archaic Songs 5 In Praise Of Art 2'13" 6 To Saint Mary Magdalen 2'43" 7 A Prayer to the Holy Trinity 1'52" Samantha Smith 8 Blow, blow thou winter winde 1'55" Five Australian Songs 9 Botany Bay 2'54" [the innocent youth is condemned to transportation] q0 Moreton Bay 3'11" [he describes the horrors of the penal system] qa Click Go the Shears 2'33" [he survives to become an itinerant worker] qs The Streets of Forbes 2'46" [he loses all and becomes a bushranger] qd Waltzing Matilda 3'36" [under persecution he takers his own life] Richard Peter Maddox Letters from Armidale qf Lovely Day 0'57" qg Figs 0'53" qh Letters 1'53" qj News Flashes 0'47" Recorded on 8 and 10 September 1998 qk Rain 1'12" in the Newcastle Conservatorium Auditorium, Australia. The Stranger in My Skin * Piano by Stuart and Sons. ql Stranger 4'13" w0 Looking Down From Bridges 4'51" P 2000 Move Records wa The Swimming-Pool 1'51" move.com.au ws Bedroom Conversations 2'25" wd A Peasant Idyll 2'46" Graham Maddox Four Songs for Soprano 2 Bargain Basement (Frederick T. Come on, my dear: Macartney) there’s nothing for us here. 1 The Pear Tree (Dame Mary Gilmore) Thank goodness, we still have, in the Lay Not there, my dear, not there; By “What be you a-lookin’ at, Emily Ann, this way—down the stair. (for what it’s worth Starin’ with your eyes all set?” Have you a line of hillocks and some when we two die) “I bin seein’ a ghost, Amanda, white that remnant double-width of damaged And I be a-seein’ it yet.” absurd young lambs, all wool, and light earth. “Where was it you seen it, Emily Ann?” as leaping air? Modern Australian Poetry ed. H.M. “It was hung on the big pear tree; No, sir—sorry!... Green, Melbourne University Press I seen a ghost, Amanda, Alright, don’t worry. 1946, © J.M. Auld And the ghost it said it was me. You keep, perhaps “Put your hand on my heart, Amanda, some inexpensive scraps 3 Sleight-of-hand (Bruce Dawe) Feel of the life of it there; of early green For the ghost was hung on the big pear springtime sateen, Especially I like the bit where tree, with colour partly lost they take the sun away It had my eyes, and my hair.” in folds of frost, by sliding a cloud hinged to a hill prinked with those flowers that smell over it late in the day “O moon that blanches the grass, so sweetly?—I know them well —it is so nicely done, this part, Why is the tree so white?” but can’t recall the name: barely noticeable until There is a bird in the tree, I saw them somewhere a month ago. it is, well, over... Was never a bird so white! Unfortunately, madam, no... I like particularly Was never a bird so white, Ah, what a shame! the humility in the skill But its head bends over, I say, I’d like a length of thin that would much rather dodge There, where it hangs in the tree, pale sea-water to wear next to the skin. the embarrassing applause, Dead for a lover. None? A creek, then?—with embroideries and under the finger-tented “O moonlight sheeting the grass, of eucalypt trees, cloth gradually withdraws What will cover her there?” the soldierly sort that gets until there is only the shadowy There will be frost on the tree, dignity from its golden epaulets. stage, the hat, cloak, cane, And frost on her hair. No, sir, impossible.... the tumbler of still water, “O white moon turn from that tree, Oh, well— and last but not least, the plain Shine not so clear and high, Then, do you stock gesture of reversal even now She was too young for frost on her hair, that delicate sort of frock returning to scarves She was too young to die!” now worn by blossoming orchards, thin, of the most fluid silk the world’s Fourteen Men, Angus & Robertson wide and airy, like a crinoline? pocketful of doves. 1954, © ETT Imprint No, madam, no; but I might find... Sometimes Gladness, Longman O, never mind. Cheshire 1978, © Addison Wesley Longman 4 Sonnet XVIII (William Shakespeare) composer who adds music to an existing said nothing she was seen to droop. One poem must pay a great deal of respect night, to the surprise of the two elder Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? to the words which the poet has chosen women in the kitchen, it being the middle Thou art more lovely and more temperate; and organised with such care. In some of the week and not Saturday, she took Rough winds do shake the darling buds of places I have tried for the Renaissance a bath “all over”, and put on everything May, ideal of “word-painting”; in others I have clean, even to a white frock and flounced And summer’s lease hath all too short a been more concerned with overall mood- petticoat she had saved for special date; painting. occasions. In the morning, out in the frost, Sometime too hot the eye of heaven they found her hanged on the big pear- shines, ‘The Pear Tree’ is the simplest of the four, tree in the orchard. Then they knew why And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; I suppose because the simplicity of the she had taken a bath, and why she had And every fair from fair sometime story did not call for over-elaboration. In dressed in white. ‘She wanted to go clean declines, ‘Bargain Basement’ the rich imagery of and all in white to her Maker’, said the By chance or natures changing course Macartney’s poem seemed to demand a elder women. untrimm’d; fairly rich setting. Bruce Dawe’s ‘Sleight- “When the moon was full, the story But thy eternal summer shall not fade, of-hand’ was originally published in was that her ghost could sometimes be Nor lose possession of that fair thou the Sydney Morning Herald, and I was seen between the trees, or where she owest, again struck by the poet’s imagery. To had hanged herself. As a child, when Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his try and create a sense of mystery and staying at Tenandra, I used to peer out the shade, disorientation I set this in a 7/4 time- window at night, looking for the ghost. While in eternal lines thou growest; signature. Unfortunately, the one who I never saw the ghost, but the moonlight So long as men can breathe, ended up being most disoriented was the was so white it was terrifying.” or eyes can see, pianist! Shakespeare’s poetry has always So long lives this, fascinated me, and the sonnet ‘Shall I Four Archaic Songs and this gives life to thee. compare thee to a summer’s day’ virtually Complete Works, Rex Library, 1973 wrote itself as a song. 5 In Praise Of Art (Michelangelo Buonarotti, translated by Paul Stenhouse) These were almost my first attempt at The following note to ‘The Pear Tree’ was song-writing. They were not conceived written by Dame Mary Gilmore: How is it, my love, that as we humans as a cycle, but were grouped together for know convenience. I subsequently learned that “When I was a child there was a young By long experience, an image carved in it was not necessary to make the music girl employed as kitchen help at Tenandra stone as florid as possible. They represent four Park, then a station belonging to Edward Of mountain, hard as iron, survives alone experimental attempts to grapple with the Beveridge. Everyone liked this girl. She When craftsmen by age to ashes are problem of combining words and music. was about sixteen and was courted by a brought low? Each proposes a different solution, but young man on the place. Suddenly the Sculptor to sculpted rock must bow, and common to them all is the notion that a man disappeared, and though the girl go Like Nature to Art, and as Victor it And so the zeale, which then shall burne Because thou art not seene, enthrone. in mee Although thy breath be rude. The corruption of Time and Death when May make my hart lyke to a lampe Heigh ho, sing heigh ho unto the greene sown appere, holly, Bear little fruit where Art is King; for so And in my spouses pallace give me place. Most friendship is fayning; most Loving Can I give us both long life, not flesh and mere folly: bone 7 A Prayer to the Holy Trinity Then heigh ho the holly But faces carved in marble, or colour (Richard Stanyhurst) This Life is most jolly. bright. Each of us will I save from everlasting Trinity blessed, deitee coequal, Freize, freize thou bitter skie night, Unitee sacred, God one eeke in essence, That dost not bight so nigh, So that a thousand years beyond it will be Yeeld to thy servaunt, pitifully calling As benefitts forgot: known Merciful heering. Though thou the waters warpe, How lovely was your face, how harrowed Vertuous living did I long relinquish, Thy sting is not so sharpe, mine, Thy wyl and precepts miserablye As friend remembered not. How right my eyes from love of you to scorning, Heigh ho... shine. Graunt to mee, sinful pacient, repenting, translation © Paul Stenhouse Helthful amendment. Blessed I judge hym, that in hurt is healed: These songs were the result of a 6 To Saint Mary Magdalen Cursed I know hym, that in helth is commission from Naomi Senff, who (Henry Constable) harmed: deluged me with a sheaf of poems from Thy physick therefore toe me, wretch various sources. I selected from the pile Blessed Offendour: who thyself hast try’d unhappy, the ones that appealed to me most, and How far a synner differs from a Saynt, Send, mye Redeemer. this set is the result. Joyne thy wet eyes with teares of my Glorye too God the father, and his onlye complaint, Son, In Praise of Art While I sighe for that grave for which thou The protectoure of us earthlye sinners, This setting of Buonarotti’s Rima no. 239 cry’d. Thee sacred spirit, laborers refreshing, reflects my memory of the Michelangelo No longer let my synfull sowle abyde Still be renowned. Amen. sculptures in the Louvre, Paris, In feaver of thy first desyres faynte: collectively titled The Prisoners. I saw But lett that love which last thy hart did 8 Blow, blow thou winter winde the figures struggling to escape from the taynt (William Shakespeare) stone in which they were held captive, With pangs of thy repentance pierce my and this image suggested the capture of syde. Blow, blow thou winter winde, the music by the pedal note D and the So shall my sowle no foolish vyrgyn bee Thou art not so unkinde struggling accompaniment figure which With empty lampe, but lyke a Magdalen As man’s ingratitude; runs through most of the song. In my Beare for oyntment box a breast with oyle Thy tooth is not so keene, mind, this struggling reflected humanity’s of grace: (ultimately futile!) struggle against the Five Australian Songs “O son! O son! What hast thou done? ravages of time. In the last two lines of the Thou art bound for Botany Bay.” song the escape is achieved. 9 Botany Bay q0 Moreton Bay To Saint Mary Magdalen Come all young men of learning good, Once again, the poem recalled a visual a warning take by me; One summer morning as I went walking image, this time a wooden sculpture of I’ll have you quit night-walking and shun by Brisbane Waters I chanced to stray; an emaciated Mary Magdalene returning bad company; I heard a prisoner his fate bewailing, as on after years in the wilderness, which I had I’ll have you quit night-walking, or else the sunny river bank he lay: seen in Florence. The opening gesture in you’ll rue the day, I am a native of Erin’s island, and the piano accompaniment suggests the And you will be transported and sent to banished now from my native shore; idea of flagellation, which is gradually Botany Bay. They tore me from my aged parents, and softened by the “pangs of repentance”. from the maiden that I do adore. I was brought up in London town, a place A Prayer to the Holy Trinity I know full well, Ive been a prisoner at Port Macquarie, at The energy of this poem seemed to require Brought up by honest parents, the truth to Norfolk Island and Emu Plains, the sort of bouncy setting which can be you I’ll tell, At Castle Hill and at curst Toongabbie— heard here, and the short lines at the end Brought up by honest parents who loved at all those settlements I’ve worked in of each stanza suggested a musical rhyme. me tenderly, chains. The exuberance of the song is capped by Till I became a roving blade to prove my But of all the places of condemnation and the ecstatic repetition of the final “Amen”. destiny. penal settlements of New South Wales, To Moreton Bay I have found no equal, Blow, blow thou winter winde My character was taken and I was sent to excessive tyranny each day prevails. I have tried to match the cynicism of jail, As Shakespeare’s well-known text (from My parents tried to clear me but nothing For three long years I was beastly treated, You Like It ) with a setting which uses a sort would prevail, and heavy irons on my legs I wore; moto perpetuo of in the accompaniment to ‘Twas at our Rutland sessions the judge to My back from flogging was lacerated, and suggest both the fierceness of the winter me did say: oft-times painted with my crimson wind and the inevitability of human “The jurys found you guilty, you must go gore! moto perpetuo frailty. The seems to be about to Botany Bay.” And many a man, from downright to start a third round when the song starvation lies mould’ring now suddenly ends with the shout of “jolly!” To see my poor old father, as he stood at underneath the clay; the bar, And Captain Logan, he had us mangled at Likewise my dear old mother, her old gray the triangles* of Moreton Bay. locks she tore, And in tearing of her old gray locks these Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews words to me she did say: we were oppressed under Logan’s yoke, Till a native black, lying there in ambush, The tar-boy is there and a-waiting in A thousand pound was on his head, with did deal this tyrant his mortal stroke! demand, Gilbert and John Dunn. My fellow prisoners, be exhilarated that With his blackened tar-pot in his tarry Ben parted from his comrades, the all such monsters such a death may find! hand. outlaws did agree And when from bondage we’re liberated, Sees one old sheep with a cut upon its To give away bush-ranging and to cross our former sufferings shall fade from back— the briny sea. mind. Here is what he’s waiting for, it’s “Tar here, Jack!” Ben went to Goobang Creek, found a * Triangular wooden frames to which Click go the shears... friend to help his need; offenders were tied to receive the lash But this friend had read of the big reward, Shearing is all over and we’ve all got our and his sould was filled with greed. qa Click Go the Shears cheques; ‘Twas early in the morning, upon the fifth Roll up your swags, boys, we’re off on the of May, Down by the shed the old shearer stands, tracks. When the seven police surrounded him as Clutching his shears in his thin bony The first pub we come to, it’s there we’ll fast asleep he lay! hands, have a spree, Eagerly he watches the bare-bellied yo*, And everyone that comes along, it’s Bill Dargin** he was chosen to shoot the Lordy if he gets her won’t he make the “Come and drink with me!” outlaw dead; ringer** go! Click go the shears... The troopers then fired madly and filled Click go the shears, boys, him full of lead! click, click, click, * Ewe They rolled him in a blanket and strapped Wide is his blow and his hands ** The champion shearer him to his prad***, move quick. *** The loafer of the shed Then they led him through the streets of The ringer looks around and is Forbes, just to show the prize they had! beaten by a blow qs The Streets of Forbes And curses the old snagger*** * Police with the bare-bellied yo. Come all you Lachlan lads, and a ** An Aboriginal tracker working for the police In the middle of the floor in his cane- sorrowful tale I’ll tell, ***Horse bottom chair Concerning of a hero bold who through Sits the boss of the board with his eyes misfortune fell. qd Waltzing Matilda everywhere, His name it was Ben Hall, a man of good Notes well each fleece as it comes to the renown, Once a jolly swagman* camped by a screen, Who was hunted from his station and like billabong** Paying strict attention that it’s taken off a dog shot down. Under the shade of a coolibah tree, clean. And he sang as he watched and waited till Click go the shears... Three years he roamed the roads, and he his billy*** boiled, showed the traps* some fun; “You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.” Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, This set arose from a commission from the And I can just see the shadow of a bee You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with singer Dorothy Williams, then resident in Checking my head to see if there’s pollen. me. Belgium, for a setting of Waltzing Matilda Lovely day! in (as she put it) “the style of Benjamin Down came a jumbuck**** to drink at the Britten”(!) to be sung at a reception at * One of the dogs billabong, the Australian Ambassador’s residence Up jumped the swagman and grabbed in Brussels. After I had completed this qg Figs him with glee, arrangement, it was suggested to me And he sang as he stowed that jumbuck in by friends that I should make a set of The wattle-birds and silvereyes and his tucker-bag, arrangements of Australian songs. ‘Click sparrows are having a ball, “You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with Go the Shears’ was an obvious choice, an autumn final fling, in the ripening fig- me.” and so too was ‘Moreton Bay’, which tree. Waltzing Matilda... I have always thought had one of the They are all quite polite and take the top- loveliest melodies of all folk-songs. I most figs, Down came the squatter***** mounted on found an unusual version of ‘Botany Bay’ leaving the lower ones for us. his thoroughbred, in Ron Edwards’ collection of Australian It’s a particularly good crop this year. Up rode the troopers, one, two, three: songs, The Overlander Song Book, where Well, a bad year for cows, a good one for “Where’s that jolly jumbuck you’ve got in it is included as ‘Botany Bay 2’, and my figs. your tucker-bag?” brother Graham suggested ‘The Streets of C’est la vie. “You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with Forbes’. The sun never sets on an artist’s work. me.” Unlike other professions. Waltzing Matilda... I have tried in these settings to reflect the overall mood of the songs with qh Letters Up jumped the swagman and sprang into accompaniments that underline their the billabong: emotional content. A letter has its charms. “You’ll never take me alive”, said he, It’s one of the first things we learn to do And his ghost may be heard as you pass Letters from Armidale with our early writing skills— by that billabong, send a letter to Granma, “You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with qf Lovely Day write a letter to the neighbours— me.” so message sending goes back a long way. Waltzing Matilda... Maybe a blanket and a good, smoky fire, It’s a beautiful day. or one of those very long Swiss horns, The cabbage moth is floating in the grass. * An itinerant rural worker a conch, a cow-bell, Eenie’s* fertilizing the flowers. ** A small water-course or a flaming arrow? The sun is reflected pale on the roof. *** Water can How would I send this letter? The gum-boots have heated up to twenty- **** Sheep Tightly folded up in a pearl of an oyster. ***** Land-owner eight degrees in the shade on the foot! Because they’re black and soak up the sun. qj News Flashes the extroverted nature of the words. ‘Figs’ and there I stood, for the first time: called for a more fluid, flight-like setting. taller, shorter, We’re all fine. ‘Letters’ is set in a fairly remote way, to broader, thinner, fairer, darker, intensely Ellie’s off to Trial Bay for the last week of ` match the distance the letters had to cover. other than school. ‘News Flashes’ represents my homage to the me that posed forever in my life Star* got shaved yesterday, and obviously the Shostakovich of the Satires song-cycle: (Decoré-blonded, needs to go on a diet. the piano accompaniment repeats the Berlei-moulded, Factor-ized, for sale). (Eenie** didn’t recognize her!) same ideas almost endlessly, just as family I felt no guilt for being what I was, The horses are fat and friendly. news (and for that matter, television news) no shame that I no longer fitted neatly The cattle are fat, but not as friendly as the endlessly repeats the same trivia. The last the Iron Maiden men had made for me. horses. song is in a different, more serious vein, It was as if I’d taken possession of I’m still drawing! reflecting the changes in our relationship myself at last, the stranger in my skin, that were taking place in the middle of and stood there in the dream-wind, * One of the dogs 1992. shivering, free.” ** The other dog The first song, ‘Lovely Day’ was written w0 Looking Down From Bridges qk Rain on 29 January 1993, during a visit to Armidale. The last, ‘Rain’ was written Looking down from bridges over main Raving in light, quick whispers; as a Christmas present, and completed roads And drenching the already damp ground. on 24 December 1994. It was then that I sometimes we still see troops of tiny I pull in rain’s kite to my empty heart, decided to complete a group of songs, and children Never forgetting it was you who brought numbers 2 (‘Figs’) and 4 (‘News Flashes’) tentatively skipping blue-metal across the string! were written between Christmas and 31 black water, December 1994, with the third, ‘Letters’ racing paddle-pop sticks through the These songs use for texts extracts from being added on 31 January 1995. algae letters that my friend Mary Buck wrote or wrestling among aniseed bushes to me while I was living in Sydney. The The Stranger in My Skin —another kind to those neat T-shirted and first and last were deliberately written as stubbied kids poems, while the other three are simply ql Stranger we turn loose at appropriate restaurants part of the exchange of information and and parks comment that goes on between friends to ponder the silent semis and the pet “I had a dream that all those images who correspond over a period. In each wallaby tethered that tell me what I am or what I should be case I have tried to match the ideas of to a FREE BALLOONS sign. Looking (madonna, goddess, Barbie Doll, the text with music that will reflect or down we see Miss Pretty, comment on them. ‘Lovely Day’ is set an earlier world living on in the interstices femme fatale, and Eve, and little Eva, in a jaunty kind of rhythm and with a of the present, Barbarella, whore, and kitchen-maid) degree of dissonance that seems to suit like green wheat in the gutters all fell away like so much morbid flesh, of the bulk feed store or the odd shy flying ants), puzzling over But to no end—all conversations weatherboard the latest delinquency of the filter pump, sink under the weight of holding out between factories. the first rumour of algae on the PVC... abstraction, of wiggling dreams from If we were to spit Our dream: which, from the rails of our world into theirs the simple one of holding in one place only occasionally, they rise the water would ripple, if we took off our by nuts and bolts and galvabond and tape with experimental eyebrows, lips still shoes and walked 10,000 litres of town water hydrophaned framing in the uncut grass there would be cobbler- as carefully as supreme incompetence cutenesses in between answering: pegs in our cuffs, can hope to effectuate, and so sustain “Mmmnn?... and if we sang to each other through the within the compass of too brief a season What’s that, Mum?... I didn’t hear you?...” silted-up culverts a Mediterranean of splashing laughter, there would be an echo of sorts, but what a mare nostrum of sleek happiness, a con wd A Peasant Idyll broken-picketed fences to cheat the years, to sucker the smug sun, would we scramble through as these do, and give the forks to all necessity. Love, like trouble, steps out of the thick dodging theraised forest voice in the lowered evening, and what and stands in our presence, gentle and other large distances ws Bedroom Conversations trembling. would we need to cross, we, us, and ours, We were strolling along, our axe on our to be truly there, torn jumpers and tousled Young girls entering their shoulder, hair, parents’ bedroom eager for grumbling the rough lyrics of peasantry, on the old paths embedded with bits of conversation of the most cosmic the blade of the sun slicing the boughs, broken china? kind “Mum, I was wondering...,” or the song of the birds like the song of small “Mum, remember how you said...?” thieves wa The Swimming-Pool pause suddenly who have absconded from the counting- as they pass before the mirror, their eyes house Every summer we construct the sea flicking like tiddlers into that to tally henceforth only leaves. from rusting bits and pieces specially kept bland pool “just one flick and they’re In our nostrils the broth of air under the house through three indifferent gone” was delightful, murmuring of home, seasons. finning busily in the depthless element when there, in a sudden clearing, on the The floor of the back-yard ocean slopes of their vanity, their restless soft grass, despite search for reassurance, you stood, your eyes as sweet as spring excavations that gave us a nominal hill while parents, water, converted to a rockery... in that other world beyond, scoop the birds fallen silent, the air still, only the Each morning patiently sunlight we patrol its limits, scooping out at the surface, smilingly murmur: “Well, bothering us with its wry syllables. the overnight freight of soggy insects go on... Bruce Dawe, Towards Sunrise, (moths, midges, mosquitoes, beetles, you were wondering...” and: “As you Longman Cheshire were saying...” 1986, © Addison Wesley Longman This cycle was the result of a commission with first class Honours. In 1977 he completed his MA in Music at from Mary Buck. I had for some time the University of Sydney, and embarked been captivated by the poetry of Bruce Samantha has been a soloist under for Los Angeles to study for the PhD in Dawe, so it was natural that I went to many conductors at the University of Music at the University of California, Los his collection Towards Sunrise, which I Newcastle Conservatorium, including Angeles. In 1982 he returned to Australia had come across not long before. Mabs the late Professor Michael Dudman, John to take up a lectureship at the University responded positively to my selection of O’Donnell, Christopher Allan, Philip of New England in Armidale, NSW, and five poems, and was especially pleased Mathias, Robert Constable and Nigel subsequently completed his PhD in 1987. with ‘Stranger’, the poem which gave Butterley. In 1996 Samantha performed the In 1991 he retired from the University the song-cycle its title. In retrospect, I leading role of Nero in Monteverdi’s The of New England to pursue his musical realised that there was a thread running Coronation of Poppea, directed by Yaron interests as performer and composer. through the five poems, in the form Lifschitz with musical direction by Robert of the examination of various kinds of Constable. Graham Maddox was also born in relationships. The first, ‘Stranger’, deals Apia, Western Samoa, and grew up in with the singer’s relationship with herself; She has been the recipient of a number Sydney. Besides pursuing a distinguished the second, ‘Looking Down From Bridges’, of scholarships during her years at academic career (currently he is a with a nostalgic relationship with the the Conservatorium, including a Vice- Professor of Politics in the University of past (especially one’s own childhood); Chancellor’s Honours Scholarship in 1997, New England), he studied oboe on an the third, ‘Bedroom Conversations’, with and is the current holder of the Doris Smith orchestral scholarship with Ian Wilson the relationship with a growing daughter; Scholarship for advanced vocal tuition. She at the Sydney Conservatorium, and with the fourth, ‘The Swimming Pool’, with is continuing her post-graduate studies in Neil Black, John Anderson and Evelyn a family in the seasonal activity of opera at the University of Newcastle, with Rothwell in London. He has performed reconstructing the backyard pool; and the vocal tuition from Christopher Allan and widely, and has given many first last, ‘A Peasant Idyll’, with the coming of Ghillian Sullivan, and thesis supervision performances of works by his brother. love. from Rosalind Halton. Graham is also a talented conductor, and The Performers Richard Peter Maddox was born in has directed many oratorio and other Apia, Western Samoa, and grew up in performances with the Armidale Choral Sydney, NSW. He completed a Bachelor Society, the New England Sinfonia, and Samantha Smith was born in Sydney, of Commerce degree at the University of the Armidale Symphony Orchestra. and grew up in the Rocky River region New South Wales in 1962. Following a near Armidale. She completed her number of years working as a company Bachelor of Music Honours degree at the accountant and controller, he decided to University of Newcastle in 1997, becoming leave the world of commerce, taking a the first music graduate in the University’s Bachelor of Music from the University of history to be awarded a University Medal. London by external study in 1973. She was also a part-time lecturer in Musicianship while completing her degree Acknowledgments Recording details and credits

Grateful thanks are due to the copyright Recorded 8 and 10 September 1998 in the owners listed below for permission to use Newcastle Conservatorium Auditorium. and reproduce the following texts: Piano by Stuart and Sons. To ETT Imprint, P.O. Box 157, Kings Cross, NSW, 2011 for permission to use ‘The Pear Recorded by Nigel Kentish and Tree’ by Dame Mary Gilmore. Nathan Scott. Mastered by Barry Henninger, To Mr. J.M. Auld for permission to use Soundview Studios. ‘Bargain Basement’ by Frederick T. Macartney. Cover illustration by James White, Botany Bay. To Addison Wesley Longman, P.O. Box 1024, South Melbourne, Vic, 3205, for Artist photos by K. Sakora permission to use Bruce Dawe’s poems (Samantha Smith), ‘Sleight-of-hand’ from Sometimes Gladness Rachel McSweeney and Stranger , ‘Looking Down from (Richard Peter Maddox) and Bridges’, ‘The Swimming-Pool’, ‘Bedroom S. Smith (Graham Maddox). Conversations’, and ‘A Peasant Idyll’ from Towards Sunrise. Annotations by Richard Peter Maddox C 1998 Richard Peter Maddox To Dr. Paul Stenhouse, MSC, translator, for permission to use the translation of Michelangelo Buonarotti’s Rima 239, ‘How Is It, My Love’.