TWENTY-FIVE WORKS FOR THE DRAMATIC SOPRANO VOICE AND ORCHESTRA; A STUDY GUIDE

DOCUMENT

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree

Doctor of Musical Arts

in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

By

Kathleen Beth Sasnett, M.M.

*****

The Ohio State University 2006

Document Committee: Approved by:

Professor Robin Rice, Advisor

Professor Loretta Robinson ______

Professor Charles Patrick Woliver Advisor School of Music Graduate Program

ABSTRACT

This document is meant to serve as a study guide of twenty-five works for the dramatic soprano voice with orchestra. Criteria used for inclusion include range, tessitura, orchestral scoring, dramatic intensity, and cultural diversity. There are examples of works dating from 1787 through 2004, and include song cycles, monoperas, monodramas, scena and arias, symphonic rhapsodies, cantatas, symphonic cycles, and lyric tragedies. Adhering to the basic requirement of the piece being suitable for the dramatic soprano voice, the chosen works are eclectic in language, style, ethnic origin, and musical period. A cursory definition of the dramatic soprano voice is included.

Information is provided for each listing, including a brief biographical sketch of the composer and the work’s history and lyrics.

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Dedicated to my three dear children:

Joseph Roger, Nicole Elizabeth, and Benjamin Harris Sasnett,

And my wonderful third son,

Jonathan Hudson,

And my three darling grandchildren,

Celeste Elizabeth, Benjamin Joseph, and Charity Lynn,

And their devoted grandfather, father, and my heart of twenty-eight years,

Roger Harris Sasnett

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge with profound thanks, Dr. Robin Rice at The Ohio

State University, for his vast encouragement, instruction, guidance, advice, and friendship during the past two years. Heartfelt thanks go to Professor Loretta Robinson,

Dr. Charles Patrick Woliver, and Dr. Wayne Redenbarger for their assistance and support on my behalf during this process. I also want to thank my husband, Roger, for his unfailing encouragement and love, even while completing his Ph.D. in School

Psychology. I would be remiss if I did not also thank the present day composers whose generosity in providing their musical and dramatic pieces of art, allowed for a more complete representation of the exciting repertoire that is available to the dramatic soprano today.

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VITA

April 23, 1952………………………………Born – Seattle, Washington

1987 ………………………………………...Bachelor of Arts, Vocal Performance University of Washington

1993…………………………………………Teaching Certificate K-12 Vocal Music Endorsement State of Washington

1993…………………………………………Teaching Credential Elementary and Early Childhood Ed Pacific Oaks College

2001…………………………………………Master of Music, Vocal Performance Winner-Masters Concerto/Aria Competition Graduate Teaching Assistant Central Washington University

2004 – present……………………………… Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society University Graduate Fellowship Graduate Outstanding Achievement Award Winner of DMA Concerto/Aria Competition Graduate Teaching Associate The Ohio State University Teaching Experience

1979-1993…………………………………. Director, Miniature Opera Company Kid’s Chorus Clubs

1989-1993…………………………………..American Sign Language, 6-adult Music/Drama - Seattle Children’s Theatre

1993-1994…………………………………..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 7-9 Redmond Junior High Lake Washington School District

1994-1996…………………………………..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades K-6 Kenmore Elementary School Northshore School District

2000-2001…………………………………..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 6-8 v

Morgan Middle School Ellensburg School District

2001-2002…………………………………..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 4-12 East Valley Intermediate East Valley Central East Valley High School East Valley School District

2002-2003…………………………………..Vocal Music Specialist, Grades 7-9 Exploring Performing Arts Kingston Junior High School North Kitsap School District

1999-2001…………………………………. Adjunct Professor of Voice Graduate Assistant Opera Workshop Assistant Director Vocal Coach “Oklahoma!” Guest Artist Aldonza “Man of La Mancha” Central Washington University

2004-2006…………………………………..Graduate University Fellowship Graduate Teaching Assistant The Ohio State University

2006…………………………………………Assistant Professor of Voice and Opera Sunderman Conservatory of Music Gettysburg College

Performance Experience

Opera 1987 – 2003…………………………………University of Washington La Clemenza di Tito Vitellia Die Fledermaus Rosalinda

Seattle Opera Outreach Hansel and Gretel Witch Hansel and Gretel Mother

Tacoma Opera Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother

Capitol Opera Suor Angelica Angelica vi

Seattle Opera Young Artist Madama Butterfly Cio Cio San Tosca Tosca Ariadne auf Naxos Ariadne Un Ballo in Maschera Amelia Lohengrin Elsa Tannhäuser Elisabeth Tristan und Isolde Isolde Cavalleria Rusticana Santuzza

Seattle Opera Il Trovatore Leonora (Cover) Turandot Liu (Cover) Andrea Chenier Maddalena (Cover) Elektra 5th Maid

2004…………………………………………Natchez Opera Festival Turandot (Cover performance) Turandot

Cortona, Italy Dialogues of the Carmelites Blanche

Firenze, Italy Dialogues of the Carmelites Blanche

The Ohio State University Everyman Jack Woman

2005…………………………………………The Ohio State University Fidelio (Concert Version) Leonore

City of Gaithersburg, MD Hansel and Gretel Witch

Bel Cantanti Opera Hansel and Gretel Witch

German Embassy, Washington D.C Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother

Bel Cantanti Opera Amahl and the Night Visitors Mother

2006…………………………………………Amici Opera Il Tabarro Giorgetta vii

Pagliacci Nedda Cavalleria Rusticana Santuzza

Natchez Opera Festival Il Tabarro Giorgetta

Oratorio 1987 – 2003……………….. Verdi Requiem Seattle Choral Company December Seattle Choral Company St. Cecelia Mass Eugene Concert Choir Beethoven 9th Bremerton Sym Orchestra High Holy Days Temple de Hirsch, Seattle Love Songs Fort Collins Sym Orchestra Mozart Requiem Bremerton Sym Orchestra V. Williams Hodie Puget Sound Civic Chorus V. Williams Hodie Rainier Chorale Handel Messiah Payson Civic Chorale Mendelssohn Elijah Payson Civic Chorale Chichester Psalms The Seattle Symphony Ceremony of Carols The Leonard Moore Chorale Schubert Mass in G Bellevue Phil Orchestra Bach Cantata #4 University of Washington Brahms Requiem City Singers Hovhaness Magnificat The Seattle Chorale

2004…………………………Arias in Czech Republic Praha, Czech Republic Evening of Opera Lüneberg, Germany Evening of Opera Munich, Germany Concert/Master Class Howard University Rodgers and Hammerstein Natchez Opera Festival Broadway Stars Evening Cortona, Italy Classical Concert Series Firenze, Italy

2005…………………………Tsunami Benefit Concert Columbus, Ohio

2006…………………………Beethoven Ah, perfido! The Ohio State University

Musical Theatre 1987 – 2003……………….. Phantom Opera Diva Seattle 5th Avenue Brigadoon Fiona Seattle Civic Lt Opera Kismet Marsinah Burien Little Theatre The Sound of Music Maria Northshore Civic 1776 Martha Payson Community The Music Man Marian Village Theatre Carnival! Lili Seattle Civic Opera Carousel Julie Seattle Civic Opera viii

Oklahoma! Laurie Northshore Civic Brigadoon Fiona Off Broadway Prod. West Side Story Maria Shoreline Co College Fiddler on the Roof Hodel Shoreline Co. College Fahrenheit 451 Mrs. Hudson New City Theatre Man of La Mancha Aldonza Central WA Univ.

2004…………………………Show Boat Parthy Natchez Opera

2006…………………………Fiddler on the Roof Golde Natchez Opera

1952 – 2006……………….. Significant voice teachers Elizabeth Moore, Leonard Moore, Edmund Hurschell, Mary Curtis Verna, Marsha Baldwin, Dr. Linda Marra, Dr. Bill Hall, Dr. Robin Rice

1987 – 2006…………………Professional Voice and Drama Teacher Private Studios in Washington, Utah, Florida, Ohio, and Pennsylvania, providing instruction in performance for adults, teens, and children for 30 years

PUBLICATIONS

FIELDS OF STUDY

Major Field: Music

Areas of Emphasis: Vocal Performance Vocal Pedagogy Vocal Literature Opera

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page Abstract…………………………………………………………………………………ii

Dedication……………………………………………………………………………...iii

Acknowledgments……………………………………………………………………...iv

Vita……………………………………………………………………………………...v

List of Figures………………………………………………………………………….xii

Introduction……………………………………………………………………………..1

Voice Classifications…………………………………………………………………....2

Justification for Inclusion/Exclusion ………………………………………………...... 8

Individual Chronological Listing

Pre-1900 ………………………………………………………………………10

Bella mia fiamma, K528 Mozart 1787……11

Scena di Berenice Haydn 1795……16

Ah, perfido! Beethoven 1796……21

Les Nuits d’été, Op. 7 Berlioz 1841……26

Wesendonck Lieder Wagner 1862……34

Poème de l’amour et de la mer, Op.19 Chausson 1893……40

1900-1950……………………………………………………………………………...46

Shéhérazade, Op. 35 Ravel 1903……47

The Mystic Trumpeter, Op. 18 Holst 1904……52

Sieben frühe Lieder Berg 1907……58 x

Erwartung Schoenberg 1909……64

Our Hunting Fathers, Op. 8 Britten 1936……71

Knoxville: Summer of 1915, Op. 24 Barber 1947……77

Vier letzte Lieder Strauss 1948……82

1950-2004……………………………………………………………………...87

La Voix humaine Poulenc 1958……88

Andromache’s Farewell Barber 1962……97

Flower and Hawk Floyd 1972……102

The Diary of Anne Frank Frid 1976……110

Trumpet Voluntary Eaton 1991……118

Byzantium Tippett 1991……122

Death of a Little Girl with Doves Beck 1998……127

Umuntu: Threnody and Dances Ndodana 2001……138

Medusa Bolcom 2003……145

Letter to Warsaw Pasatieri 2003……156

The Phoenix Sheng 2004……166

Erotic Spirits Paulus 2004……171

References……………………………………………………………………………..177

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LIST OF FIGURES

Figure Page

1. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart…………………………………………...... 11

2. Franz Joseph Haydn………………………………………………………...16

3. Ludwig van Beethoven…………………………………………………...... 21

4. Hector Berlioz……………………………………………………………....26

5. Richard Wagner………………………………………………………...... 34

6. Ernest Chausson………………………………………………………...... 40

7. Maurice Ravel…………………………………………………………….....47

8. Gustav Holst……………………………………………………………...... 52

9. Alban Berg……………………………………………………………...... 58

10. Arnold Schoenberg……………………………………………………….....64

11. Benjamin Britten………………………………………………………...... 71

12. Samuel Barber…………………………………………………………...... 77

13. Richard Strauss…………………………………………………………...... 82

14. Francis Poulenc…………………………………………………………...... 88

15. Samuel Barber…………………………………………………………….....97

16. Carlisle Floyd…………………………………………………………….....102

17. Grigorii Frid………………………………………………………………...110

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18. John Eaton……….………………………………………………………….118

19. Michael Tippett…………………………………………………..…………122

20. Jeremy Beck………………………………………………………………...127

21. Bongani Ndodana-Breen……………………………………………………138

22. William Bolcom…………………………………………………………….145

23. Thomas Pasatieri…………………………………………………………....156

24. Bright Sheng………………………………………………………………..166

25. Stephen Paulus……………………………………………………………...171

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INTRODUCTION

In the spring of 2005, at The Ohio State University, I won the DMA

Concerto/Aria Competition and was discussing with Maestro Marshall Haddock, of The

Ohio State University Symphony Orchestra, and Dr. Robin Rice, my DMA advisor and voice teacher, what repertoire I should perform with the symphony orchestra the following year. We talked about individual opera arias, but wanted a more substantial work where I could be featured in an orchestral program as the soprano soloist.

I am not a “true” dramatic soprano, my timbre is not dark; it is very clear and bright and able to be heard easily over an orchestra, especially in the upper range. In

Europe I would be termed a Zwischenfach; my most comfortable operatic repertoire includes some of the lighter Dramatischer Sopran roles and the heaviest of the (Spinto)

Jugendlich Dramatischer Sopran roles. I am also a true crossover in that I can easily perform musical theatre roles and lighter repertoire vocally, consequently performing many “Broadway Evenings” with symphony orchestras. In classical singing, the dramatic soprano repertoire has always felt the easiest for me to perform.

In discussing possibilities for a program, we realized there was no published listing of existing repertoire for the dramatic soprano voice and orchestra. We determined Beethoven’s Ah, perfido! to be appropriate for this occasion, due to the prior knowledge of Maestro Haddock. This situation made it evident that there was a need for a resource for this particular repertoire.

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VOICE CLASSIFICATIONS

The world of the soprano voice classification is subjective and certainly dependent upon many variables; however, there are some generally accepted voice categories, as outlined in the German Fach system which has attempted to narrow and define the different properties required for the soprano voice for particular musical presentations. In this document, I will list the classifications for the soprano voice in the world of classical music, opera, oratorio, and solo orchestral works, as most generally defined in the German Fach System.

Soprano Voice Classifications

As found in Voice Categories in Singer’s Edition by Richard Boldrey and Robert

Caldwell, the soprano voice can be classified into the following groupings:

Leggero (Soubrette)

Lyrischer Koloratursopran (Lyric Coloratura)

Dramatischer Koloratursopran (Dramatic Coloratura)

Lyrisher Sopran (Full Lyric)

Jugendlich Dramatischer Sopran (Spinto)

Dramatischer Sopran (Dramatic)

Hochdramatischer (Heroic)

Not everyone in the world agrees as to how many voice categories there are, and their differences, but I will concentrate on solely the German way of classifying. I chose

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to refer to these published voice classifications because they are the most widely accepted in the opera world today. Each of these categories can be subcategorized, but for the sake of brevity, I will concentrate on the most general former listing.

There are several standard characteristics that are generally accepted to help classify the voice into one of these categories. They are:

Range

Tessitura

Timbre

Weight

Agility

Range refers to the actual notes the soprano can sing: her highest and lowest. All sopranos are expected to be able to sing a high C (C5), however, the heavier dramatic voices usually do not perform higher, whereas a coloratura soprano is expected to have a high F above high C (F5). A voice’s range is a primary consideration, but cannot be the sole determining factor in identifying a singer’s fach.

Tessitura is the area in one’s voice where one feels the most comfortable singing; anywhere from a fourth to an octave. It usually refers to where the majority of a certain role’s notes lie, and where a singer can perform without feeling too taxed. A soubrette’s voice can usually sustain many high light notes, whereas a spinto will sing the bulk of her music in the middle and low, leading to a climactic high note toward or at the end of a long phrase.

Timbre is the soprano’s voice color; the quality of sound, and can range from light to dark, smooth to brilliant, slender to lush, mellow to metallic, clear to rich, and

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from silver to gold. Timbre is an important vocal characteristic in determining the category most appropriate for a particular soprano voice.

Weight refers to the heaviness or loudness or thickness of a voice. It is described by timbre and decibels and is often characterized by the thickness of the singer’s vocal folds. A heavy voice (thicker folds) will carry over a full orchestra, even at lower pitches, and is what is referred to when talking about small or large voices. But often, weight can be confused with darkness and brightness, which are timbres.

Agility is the ability to execute trills, runs, scales, and arpeggios easily, at fast speeds, and with clear enunciation. This ability and range are what will determine the difference between a lyric coloratura soprano and a full lyric soprano, or a dramatic coloratura and a dramatic soprano, because their timbre and weight can often be very similar.

After judging all these criteria in one singer, one still has a difficult time “pigeon- holing” a performer into only one vocal category because each voice is unique; each is dynamic and can change with time, experience, physical maturity, and learned technical skills. A singer can change from one fach to another because of these changes and can be classified a Zwischenfach Sopran which identifies a soprano who can sing some roles from two neighboring fachs; heaviest of one and lightest of the other.

Arguably, the accepted criteria for each vocal category are as follows:

Voice Range Tessitura Timbre Weight Agility

Soubrette Bb2-C5 good top tender light flexible

clear middle

weaker low

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Lyric

Coloratura C3-F5 great top slender medium agile

warm

Dramatic

Coloratura C3-F5 good top metallic very strong flexible

strong middle dramatic

penetration

Full Lyric Bb2-C5 solid mellow solid, not exquisite

throughout loud phrasing

Spinto A2-C5 low more darker than lyric, with can create

powerful Lyrics more dramatic

volume climaxes

Dramatic B2-C5 generous top metallic voluminous great

well-developed darker than big, heavy penetration

and rich middle Spintos spacious seldom float

hefty low high notes

Heroic G2-C5 well-developed metallic exceptionally great

middle and low strong penetration

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In the German Handbuch der Oper by Von Rudolf Kloiber and Wulf Konold, there is a listing of roles from operas that each singer in each fach is expected to be able to perform when hired in that particular voice classification. This well-known reference can assist in determining what operatic repertoire is suitable for the dramatic soprano voice and help clarify the vocal type.

As stated earlier, this is a very general categorizing of the soprano voice, and there are many exceptions as to what can be suitable, depending on the individual singer.

It may be possible for a soprano to vocally perform a certain orchestral work more easily than other dramatic sopranos, because one or more of the vocal characteristics are uniquely different for her (i.e., more agile perhaps, but still with a dramatic timbre), making particular works more accessible to her alone, and not every dramatic soprano.

This system of classification can be so subjective as to make it almost impossible to predict a work that will fit every dramatic soprano voice.

The issue of categorizing the many possible classifications for the soprano voice is essential for the singer to perform the various scena composed with orchestral accompaniment included in this listing. After determining the voice type, vocal production plays a hugely important role in determining the success of the individual singer in performing this difficult music; all dramatic sopranos need to understand and acquire the vocal techniques necessary to sing these dramatically varied works.

Listing of selected sopranos who sing dramatic soprano repertoire:

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Kirsten Flagstad

Birgit Nilsson

Aprile Millo

Régine Crespin

Eleanor Steber

Renata Tebaldi

Cheryl Studer

Catherine Malfitano

Phyllis Curtin

Martina Arroyo

Zinka Milanov

Helen Traubel

Regina Resnik

Eileen Farrell

Eva Marton

Maria Callas

Hildegarde Behrens

Jessye Norman

Janice Baird

Leontyne Price

Alessandra Marc

Jane Eaglen

Deborah Voigt

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JUSTIFICATION

Criteria for inclusion/exclusion:

I decided on strictly soprano/orchestral compositions and did not include any works with other soloists (vocal or instrumental), chorus, or piano only accompaniment.

Some selected pieces have a smaller orchestral scoring (i.e., string orchestra). I chose to be eclectic in language, style, ethnic origin, and musical period, all the while adhering to the basic requirement of the work being suitable for the dramatic soprano voice.

A variety of cultures are represented with their individual ethnic musical expressions: German, French, Polish, Russian, American, English, Italian, South

African, Chinese, and Jewish (including two works about Holocaust victims). With each foreign language lyric, I have included the English translation. Range, tessitura, and duration of piece were elements researched for consideration. Recorded and live performances by known dramatic sopranos of some of these pieces help show the appropriateness of the work, however, many of the compositions can be performed by more than one voice type. Scena and aria, song cycle, monodrama, monopera, symphonic rhapsody, cantata, symphonic cycle, and lyric tragedy are all represented in this listing. The works themselves had to have a dramatic, emotional effect, either through the text or music or both. They are all profound in their own way – utilizing the text to present a passionate, gripping, terrifying, beautiful, or stunning performance.

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Time periods with their respective historical styles needed to be represented and that criterion tempered my selections. This listing is not all inclusive, but representational for the dramatic soprano voice. .

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PRE-1900

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Figure 1: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756 – 1791) (Wikipedia)

“My subject enlarges itself, becomes methodized and defined, and the whole, though it be long, stands almost complete and finished in my mind, so that I can survey it, like a fine picture or a beautiful statue, at a glance.” (ThinkExist)

Bella mia fiamma (1787)

K452

Composer:

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Type:

Concert Aria

Originally composed for Josepha Duschek

Duration:

10 minutes

Libretto:

Taken from the opera, Cerere placata, composed by Niccolò Jommelli with text

by Michele Sarcone

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Publishers:

Bärenreiter Kassel, Basel, Tours, London

Musical Time Period:

Classical

World Premiere:

Unknown, but the scena was composed while Mozart was staying at the country

home of Josepha Duschek’s after the successful premiere of Don Giovanni

Scoring:

flutes, 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, I violins, II violins, viola, violoncello, basso

Vocal Range:

D3 – A4

Tessitura:

G3 – G4

Role:

Titano

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

The Goddess Ceres is furious that Titano has eloped with her daughter,

Prosperina. As punishment, Ceres banishes Titano and he sings farewell to all.

Justification:

Composed for Josepha Duschek, same soprano as Beethoven’s Ah, perfido!

Range, tessitura, orchestration, dramatic text all support inclusion

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Historical Significance:

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s music is an amazing balance between immediate audience appeal and complexity of technique and depth of feeling. He has been highly admired by later composers and many of his works have become part of the standard concert repertoire, recognized the world over as masterpieces of the Classical style. His music is noble, yet entertaining, expressive, yet tasteful, simple, yet complex, and audiences everywhere to this day, flock to hear his compositions. Most of Mozart’s soprano leading ladies were soubrette, light lyric, coloratura types. Very often today, a

Mozart opera role will be a young singer’s first introduction to opera, because the music can be performed by young, agile, florid voices. Mozart’s writing is full of skips, jumps, runs, and arpeggios and the musical line often has many, many words, almost like patter singing. (Burkholder, 201, 202) It has been said that to sing Mozart is to keep your voice young; and this is the reason. It is difficult to have a heavier voice sing music composed by Mozart because he did not provide long phrases on one open vowel long enough for one to open up and really sing with power through the phrase; the voice seems to be always moving, and that takes a different kind of emphasis and technique and is tiring on the weightier voice.

It has also been said, jokingly, that Mozart hated sopranos, and that was why he

wrote such difficult music for them. He does not allow, very often, for natural vowel

modification in the top voice; many times one must sing a high G (G4) or higher with an

unacceptable vowel in Italian. It is interesting to think that perhaps this is because Italian

was not his native tongue, but the same can be said of his German soprano pieces as well.

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If one can learn to sing with exceptional vocal technique and production, his music can

be a thing of incredible fireworks and breathtaking beauty in any language.

However, there are always exceptions and hence the inclusion of Bella mia

fiamma in this catalogue. True to Mozart, this concert aria is difficult, but a dramatic

soprano should be capable of performing this demanding piece; he composed this concert

aria with a particular singer of the day in mind: Josepha Duschek, the same artist

Beethoven used later for his Ah, perfido! Musicians in the Classical time period

composed for individual singers of the time, and often wrote music especially suited to

that prima donna’s voice. The limited range, the lower tessitura, the dramatic quality of

the text, the orchestration, and the length of the piece are all elements that suggest this

scena is more suited to the heavier dramatic soprano voice. (Nehmt Meinen Dank, K.383)

Lyrics:

Bella mia fiamma, addio! My beautiful flame, goodbye! Non piacque al cielo di renderci felici, It is not pleasing to heaven that we should remain happy, Ecco reciso, prima d’esser compito, Here, torn unsunder, before it is fully tied Quell purissimo nodo, that purest bond, Che strinsero fra lor gl’animi nostril that united our souls Con il solo voler. with a single wish, Vivi! Cedi al destin! Cedi al dovere! Live! Yield to destiny! Yield to duty! Della giurata fede la mia morte t’assolve; My death absolves you from your oath; A piu degno consorte…o pene! To a more worthy consort…o grief! Unita vivi più lieta a più felice vita. Live a more joyous and more happy life. Ricordati me, ma non mai turbi Remember me, but never may the D’un infelice sposo la rara rimembranza memory of an unhappy husband Il tuo riposo! disturb your tranquility! Regina, io vado ad ubbidirti Queen, I go in obedience to you; Ah, tutto finisca il mio furor col morir mio. Ah, all my wrath may end with my death. Cerere, Alfeo, diletta sposa, addio! Ceres, Alfeus, beloved, goodbye!

Aria: Resta, oh cara! Acerba morte me separa Stay, oh beloved! Bitter death separates me, oh Dio, da te. oh, God, from you. Prendi cura di sua sorte, Look after her,

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Consolarla almen procura. Console her. Vado…ahi lasso! Addio per sempre! I go…alas, unhappy one! Goodbye for ever! Quest’affanno, This anguish, questo passo è terribile per me. This step is terrible for me. Ah, dov’è il tempio? dov’è l’ara? Ah, where is the temple? Where is the altar? Vieni affretta la vendetta! Come, hasten my vengeance! Questa vita cosi amara più This life, so bitter, Soffribile non è, no. is no longer bearable. O cara, addio per sempre! O darling, farewell forever!

(Coffin)

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Figure 2: Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) (Wikipedia)

“How much remains to be done in this glorious art!” (Wikipedia)

Scena di Berenice (1795)

Berenice, che fai? Hob:XXIVa:10

Composer:

Franz Joseph Haydn

Type:

Cantata

Two recitatives and two arias

Originally composed for Brigida Giorgi Banti (1756 – 1806)

Duration:

13 minutes

Libretto:

Pietro Metastasio, originally Pietro Antonio Trapassi

Act III, Scene 7 from Antigono

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Publishers:

Ludwig Doblinger, Bernhard Herzmansky, K.G. Wien, Munich

Musical Time Period:

Classical

World Premiere:

New Room at the Haymarket Theatre

London, England

May 4, 1795

Artist: Brigida Giorgi Banti

Benefit Concert

Scoring:

2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, two horns, I violins, II violins, viola, violoncello,

basso

Vocal Range:

Bb2 – C5

Tessitura:

F3 – F4

Role:

Princess Berenice

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

300 B.C.

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Place:

Macedonia

Synopsis:

King Antigonus Gonatus rules as the King of Macedonia. He is engaged to

Princess Berenice, but she actually is in love with his son, Demetrius. Earlier,

King Alexander of the Epirotes had wooed Berenice, but she scorned his

advances. The daughter of King Antigonus Gonatus, Ismene is in love with King

Alexander. Demetrius renounces Berenice so she can marry his father. This

scene takes place when Berenice is convinced that Demetrius, out of anguish for

the situation, is about to kill himself. She asks herself what she should do. She

approaches hysteria as she contemplates her future, her love, and the choices she

must make. This scena has two recitatives that meld into two arias, reflecting a

volatile state of mind.

Justification:

Often recorded by Mezzo-Sopranos, but suitable for Dramatic Sopranos as well

Beethoven used this scena as a model for his own composition of Ah, perfido!,

Op. 65.

Historical Significance:

Franz Joseph Haydn bears the distinction of “fathering” the classical symphony and string quartet, and was a prolific composer. His development of the sonata form and inventive creations of movement to transitional keys were revolutionary at the time, and adopted by both Mozart and Beethoven. He took the genre of the symphony which was characteristically short and slowly expanded its length, weight and complexity. Music

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during this period was structured by tonality and tonal cadences. Over the five decades of his ever increasing musical sophistication, Haydn learned from his own experience. In his early career, Haydn was subject to compositional deadlines, due to the demanding whims of his employers, the Princes of the Eszterházy family. As he became wealthy and able to compose in a more leisurely manner, his works reflected a more intentional style, with a gradual liberation from aristocratic deadlines and a movement toward a more liberated, concentrated development of a musical piece of art. (Wikipedia)

On May 4, 1795, Haydn premiered two important works at a farewell concert in

London at the King’s Theatre: his cantata for Soprano and Orchestra, Berenice, che fai and his Symphony No. 104. The Scena di Berenice contains two dramatic recitatives and two moving arias. Haydn was not exactly pleased with the performance of Brigida

Giorgi Banti, the season’s new opera star, (“she sang scanty”) but was very pleased with the profits he made from the gala event. Haydn uses rapidly shifting tempi with angular melodic lines that modulate into the arias full of sorrowful and tragic emotions. (Youens)

Lyrics:

Scena di Berenice Berenice’s Scene Berenice, che fai? Muore il-tuo bene, Berenice, what are you doing? The one you stupida, e tu non corri! love is dying, foolish girl, and you do not run to him! Oh Dio! Vacilla l’incerto passo; Oh God! My uncertain step hesitates; ungelido mi scuote insolito tremor tutte an unaccustomed, icy tremor shivers through le vene, e a gran pena il suo peso il piè my veins, and my feet can hardly bear my sostiene. weight. Dove son? Dove son? Qual confusa Where am I? Where am I? What a host of folia d’idee tutte funeste woeful thoughts adombra la mia ragion? clouds my reason! Veggo Demetrio; il veggo che in atto I see Demetrius; in the act of ferir…Fermati! Fermati! Vivi! striking…Stop! Stop! Live! D’antigono io sarò. I shall belong to Antigonus. Del core ad onta volo a giurargli fè: I fly to him against my will to swear my fidelity to him:

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dirò, che l’amo; dirò… I shall say, that I love him; I shall say… Misera me, s’oscura il giorna, Unhappy me, the day is dark, balena il ciel! The sky is full of lightning! L’hanno irritato I miei meditati My deliberate perjuries have spergiuri. irritated it. Ahimè! Lasciate ch’io soccorra il mio ben, Alas! Let me help my love, babari Dei. cruel gods! Voi m’impedite e intanto forse un colpo You hold me back, while, perhaps, an Improvviso… unexpected blow… Ah, sarete contenti; eccolo ucciso. Ah! You will be satisfied; see he is killed. Aspetta, anima bella: ombre compagne a Wait, lovely soul: our shades shall go Lete andrem, together to Lethe. Se non potei salvarti, potrò fedel… if I could not save you, faithful, I shall be able to… Ma tu mi quardi, e parti? Non partir! But you look at me, and go? Do not leave!

Aria: Aria: Non partir, bell’idol mio, Do not go, my handsome love, per quell’onda across that water all’altra sponda to the other shore, voglio anch’io passar con te. I wish to cross with you.

Recitativo: Recitative: Me infelice! Unhappy me! Che fingo? Che ragiono? What am I pretending? What am I saying? Dove rapita sono Where have I been carried dal torrente crudel de’miei martiri? by the cruel torrent of my sufferings? Misera Berenice, Unhappy Berenice, ah, tu deliri! ah! you are delirious!

Perchè, se tanti siete Why, if you are so many che delirar mi fate, that you make me go mad perchè non m’uccidete. do you not kill me. affanni del mio cor? torments of my heart? Crescete, oh Dio, crescete, Increase, oh God, increase affanni del mio cor, these torments of my heart, finchè mi porga alta until the excess of grief con togliermi di vita brings me help l’eccesso del dolor. by taking my life from me.

(Mozart)

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Portrait by Carl Jäger

Figure 3: Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) (Wikipedia)

“I have never thought of writing for reputation and honor. What I have in my heart must come out; that is the reason why I compose.” (Moncur)

Ah, perfido! (1796)

Op. 65

Composer:

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

Type:

Scena and Aria for Soprano and Orchestra

Originally dedicated to Countess Josephine von Clary-Aldringenon, but first

performer was soprano Josepha Duschek

Duration:

12 – 15 minutes

Libretto:

Pietro Metastasio, originally Pietro Antonio Trapassi

A scene from the opera Achille in Sciro 21

Publishers:

The Well-Tempered Press,

Masters Music Publications, Inc.

Musical Time Period:

Classical

World Premiere:

Leipzig, Germany

November 21, 1796

Artist: Josepha Duschek

Scoring:

flutes, 2 clarinet in B, 2 bassoon, 2 horns in E, 1st violin, 2nd violin, viola,

violoncello, basso

Vocal Range

Bb2 – Bb4

Tessitura:

E3 – G4

Role:

Deidamia, daughter of King Lycomedes

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Greek Mythology

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Place:

Skyros

Synopsis:

Skyros is an island which is ruled by King Lycomedes. The mother of Achilles

hides him there and dresses him as a girl because an oracle prophesied he would

die in Troy when he was a young man. While at Skyros, Achilles falls in love

with Deidamia, the King’s daughter and they have a son together. Odysseus, with

Phoenix and Nestor, come to Skyros to find Achilles, because they need him in

order to win the battle at Troy. Beethoven composed the piece that is Deidamia’s

reaction to Achilles leaving for the Trojan War.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Kirsten Flagstad, Birgit Nilsson, Aprile Milo, Regine Crespin, Eleanor Steber,

Maria Callas, Renata Tebaldi, Cheryl Studer

Historical Significance:

Ludwig van Beethoven is viewed as the most influential composer in the transition from the Classical to Romantic eras of musical history. His contributions to form development include building on the conventional sonata form and motivic themes, extending them, writing longer and much more ambitious movements. He redefined the symphony, taking Haydn’s established four movement form and restructured it to sustain as many movements as necessary to give the work cohesion. An undisputed musical genius, Beethoven’s compositions echoed his own personal torment and triumph, with three distinct periods of musical creativity. In his early period, Beethoven emulated

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Mozart and Haydn in form and technique, while concurrently exploring new directions and expansion of their accepted musical ideas. The middle period began shortly after

Beethoven’s personal crisis with deafness, and includes many of his most famous large- scale works, namely No. 3-8 symphonies, and his only opera, Fidelio. Beethoven’s late period began around 1816 and his works during this final stage reflect a highly personal expression, experimentation and evolvement in artistic style and originality, culminating in recognizably Romantic elements. (Wikipedia)

Beethoven was in Prague on a pianist concert tour in February, 1796, when he completed the scena and aria, Ah, perfido! for soprano and orchestra, op. 65. The premiere of this work was performed the following November by Josepha Duschek, a well-known soprano in her day. The first Viennese performance of this work was in

1808, in a very lengthy concert where Beethoven presented his 5th and 6th Symphonies, a

piano concerto, the Choral Fantasy, and several other works, including Ah, perfido! The soprano, Josephine Killitschgy, was young and inexperienced and had an attack of nerves during the performance, and did not sing well. The concert seemed fraught with mishaps and was considered a disaster. (Teeters)

Contrasting moods, extremes in range, beauty of line, difficult tessitura, even elements of fioratura are present in this powerful, yet poignant piece of vocal art. Today,

Ah, perfido! is considered a masterwork and a tour de force showpiece for any dramatic soprano.

Lyrics:

Ah, perfido! spergiuro, Ah, perfidious-one, perjured-one, Barbaro traditor, tu parti? Cruel traitor, you depart? E son questi gl’ultimi tuoi congedi? And are these last your farewells?

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Ove s’intese tirannia piu crudel? Where has one heard of more cruel tyranny? Va, scellerato! Va, pur fuggi da me, Go, scoundrel! Go, then flee from me, L’ira de’Numi non fuggirai! You will not escape the wrath of the Gods! Se v’e giustizia in Ciel, se v’e pieta, If there is justice in Heaven, if there is pity, Congiureranno a gara tutti a punirti! They will compete with each other to punish you! Ombra seguace, A spectre, following you, Presente, ovunque vai, vedro le mie vendette; Present, wherever you go, I will see my vengeance; Io gia le godo immanginando; I already enjoy it in my imagination; I fulmini ti veggo gia balenar d’intorno. I already see the lightning flash around you. Ah no, ah no, fermate, vindici Dei, Ah no, ah no, stop, avenging Gods, Risparmiate quel cor, ferite il mio! Spare that heart, wound mine! S’ei non e piu qual era son’io qual fui; Though he is no longer what he was, I am still what I was; Per lui vivea, voglio morir per lui! For him I lived, I want to die for him!

Aria: Per pieta, non dirmi addio, In pity, do not say to me goodbye, Di te priva che faro? Of you deprived, what shall I do? Tu lo sai, bell’idol mio, You it know, beautiful-idol mine, Io d’affanno moriro. I of anguish will-die. Ah crudel! Tu vuoi ch’io mora! Ah cruel-one! You want me to die! Tu non hai pieta di me? Have you no pity for me? Perche rendi a chi t’adora Why do you render to the one who adores you Cosi barbara merce? Such barbarous reward? Dite voi, se in tanto affanno Tell-me if in so-much anxiety Non son degna di pieta? Am I not worthy of compassion?

(Mozart)

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Figure 4: Hector Berlioz (1803-1869) (Wikipedia)

“Every composer knows the anguish and despair occasioned by forgetting ideas which one had no time to write down.” (ThinkExist)

Les Nuits d’été (1840/41)

Op. 7

Composer:

Hector Berlioz

Type:

Song Cycle of 6 Poems

Originally composed for:

1. Mlle. Wolf, singer at the Ducal Court of Weimar

2. Mlle. Falconi, singer at the Ducal Court of Gotha

3. Mme. Milde, singer at the Ducal Court of Weimar

4. Mme. Nottes, singer at the Royal Court of Hanover

5. M. Caspari, singer at the Ducal Court of Weimar

6. Mme. Milde, singer at the Ducal Court at Weimar

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Duration:

32 minutes

Libretto:

Théophile Gautier

Publishers:

Éditions Musicales du Marais, Paris

Musical Time Period:

Romantic

World Premiere:

Unknown

Scoring:

2 flutes, oboe, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 3 horns, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

G2 – A4

Tessitura:

D3 – F4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Six poems of love and loss, set to melodies more operatic in nature; difficult

tessitura, greater dynamic variation, extreme tempi and phrasing

Can be performed by other voice types (Mezzo-soprano, tenor, etc.)

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Justification:

Recorded by:

Jessye Norman, Régine Crespin, Eleanor Steber

Historical Significance:

Hector Berlioz was a man of intense passion. He believed profoundly in the expressive power of music to enhance the words, poetry, and personal experience. Most of his music is based on the great dramatists and poets that inspired him, and he wrote no

"pure" sonatas or symphonies of an abstract kind. Berlioz developed a profound affinity toward music and literature as a child. He was 17 when his father sent him to Paris to study medicine, but he found himself enchanted by Christoph Willibald von Gluck's operas. It was then he decided to become a composer. The first love of his life was a famous Shakespearean Irish actress, named Harriet Smithson. He was totally enamored, but Ms. Smithson did not return his feelings; she was famous, and he was not. It wasn’t until after his first symphony (Symphonie fantastique), which actually reflected his

unrequited love for her, that she deemed him worthy of marriage. This first marriage

eventually failed, and when Harriet died in 1854 he married again, this time to a singer.

His last years were clouded by illness and disappointment, and his son, an officer in the

Merchant Marine, died in 1867 at the age of 33. This was a terrible blow, and with his

strength failing, and he died in Paris on March 8, 1869, at the age of 65. Berlioz, the

passionate, ardent, irrepressible genius of French Romanticism, left a rich and original

legacy which exerted a profound influence on nineteenth century music. (Hector Berlioz)

He composed this exquisite set of six songs in 1840-41. The songs in Les Nuits

D’été each have their own character, are very dramatic, and are often close to being that

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of an operatic aria, filled with contrasts, exciting freedom of movement, brooding sadness, and spiritual exhilaration. Each song was composed or dedicated to a singer

Berlioz knew at the time, and today often are sung by more than one performer, as the tessitura in each represents a particular difficulty and voice type. Above all, Berlioz's music sounds unique; this composition includes abrupt contrasts, fluctuating dynamics, and many changes in tempo. In his own words regarding this work:

" The prevailing qualities of my music are passionate expressiveness, inner fire, rhythmic drive, and unexpectedness. To render my works properly requires a combination of extreme precision and irresistible verve, a regulated vehemence, a dreamy tenderness, and an almost morbid melancholy." (Dzvinochok)

Lyrics:

Les Nuits d’été Summer Nights

1) Villanelle Villanelle Quand viendra la saison nouvelle, When the new season comes, Quand auront disparu les froids, When the cold has gone, Tous les deux nous irons, ma belle, We two will go, my sweet, Pour cueillir le muguet au bois; To gather lilies-of-the-valley in the woods; Sous nos pieds égrenant les perles Scattering as we tread the pearls of dew Que l’on voit au matin trembler, We see quivering each morn, Nous irons écouter les merles We’ll go and hear the blackbirds Siffler! Sing!

Le printemps est venu, ma belle; Spring has come, my sweet; C’est le mois des amants béni, It is the season lovers bless, Et l’oiseau, satinant son aile, And the birds, preening their wings, Dit ses bers au rebord du nid. Sing songs from the edge of their nests. Oh! viens donc sur ce banc de mousse, Ah! Come, then, to this mossy bank Pour parler de nos beaux amours, To talk of our beautiful love, Et dis-moi de at voix si douce: And tell me in your gentle voice: Toujours! Forever!

Loin, bien loin, égarant nos courses, Far, far away we’ll stray from our path, Faisons fuir le lapin caché, Startling the rabbit from his hiding place Et le daim au miroir des sources And the deer reflected in the spring, Admirant son grand bois penché; Admiring his great lowered antlers; Puis, chez nous, tout heureux, tout aises, Then home we’ll go, serene and at ease, En panier enlaçant nos doigts, And entwining our fingers basket-like,

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Revenons rapport ant des fraises We’ll bring back home wild Des bois! Strawberries!

2) Le spectre de la rose The spectre of the rose Soulève ta paupière close Open your eyelids, Qu’effleure un songe virginal; Brushed by a virginal dream; Je suis le spectre d’une rose I am the spectre of a rose Que tu portais hier au bal. That yesterday you wore at the dance.

Tu me pris encore emperlée You plucked me still sprinkled Des pleurs d’argent de l’arrosoir, With silver tears of dew, Et parmi la fète étoilée And amid the glittering feast Tu me promenas tous le soir You wore me all evening long.

O toi qui de ma mort fus cause, O you who brought about my death, Sans que tu puisses le chasser, You shall be powerless to banish me: Toutes les nuits mon spectre rose The rosy spectre which every night À ton chevet viendra danser. Will come to dance at your bedside.

Mais ne crains rien, je ne réclame But be not afraid - I demand Ni messe ni De profundis; Neither Mass nor De Profundis; Ce léger parfum est mon âme, This faint perfume is my soul, Et j’arrive du paradis. And I come from Paradise.

Mon destin fut digne d’envie: My destiny was worthy of envy: Et pour avoir un sort si beau, And for such a beautiful fate, Plus d’un aurait donné sa vie, Many would have given their lives - Car sur ton sein j’ai mon tom beau, For my tomb is on your breast, Et sur l’albâtre où je repose And on the alabaster where I lie, Un poète avec un baiser A poet with a kiss Écrivit: Ci-gît une rose Has written: Here lies a rose Que tous les rois vont jalouser. Which every king will envy.

3)Sur les lagunes On the lagoons Ma belle amie est morte: My dearest love is dead: Je pleurerai toujours; I shall weep for evermore; Sous la tombe elle emporte To the tomb she takes with her Mon âme et mes amours. My soul and all my love. Dans le ciel, sans m’attendre, Without waiting for me Elle s’en retourna; She has returned to Heaven; L’ange qui l’emmena The angel who took her away Ne voulut pas me prendre. Did not wish to take me. Que mon sort est amer! How bitter is my fate! Ah! Sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer! Alas! To set sail loveless across the sea!

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La blanche créature The pure white being Est couchée au cercueil. Lies in her coffin. Comme dans la nature How everything in nature Tout me paraît en deuil! Seems to mourn! La colombe oubliée The forsaken dove Pleure et songe à l’absent; Weeps, dreaming of its absent mate; Mon âme pleure et sent My soul weeps and feels Qu’elle est déparillée. Itself adrift. Que mon sort est amer! How bitter is my fate! Ah! Sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer! Alas! To set sail loveless across the sea!

Sur moi la nuit immense Above me the immense night S’étend comme un linceul; Is spread like a shroud; Je chante ma romance I sing my song Que le ciel entend seul. Which heaven alone can hear. Ah! comme elle était belle, Ah! how beautiful she was, Et comme je l’aimais! And how I loved her! Je n’aimerai jamais I shall never love a woman Une femme autant qu’elle. As I loved her. Que mon sort est amer! How bitter is my fate! Ah! Sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer! Alas! To set sail loveless across the sea!

4) Absence Absence Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aimée! Return, return, my sweetest love! Comme une fleur loin du soleil, Like a flower far from the sun, La fleur de ma vie est fermée The flower of my life is closed Loin de ton sourire vermeil! Far from your crimson smile! Entre nos coeurs quelle distance! Such a distance between our hearts! Tant d’espace entre nos baisers! So great a gulf between our kisses! Ô sort amer! ô dure absence! O bitter fate! O harsh absence! Ô grands désirs inapaisés! O great unassuaged desires!

Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aimée! Return, return, my sweetest love! Comme une fleur loin du soleil, Like a flower far from the sun, La fleur de ma vie est fermée The flower of my life is closed Loin de ton sourire vermeil! Far from your crimson smile!

D’ici là-bas, que de campagnes, So many intervening plains, Que de villes et de hameaux, So many towns and hamlets, Que de vallons et de montages, So many valleys and mountains À lasser le pied des chevaux! To weary the horses’ hooves! Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aimée! Return, return, my sweetest love! Comme une fleur loin du soleil, Like a flower far from the sun, La fleur de ma vie est fermée The flower of my life is closed Loin de ton sourire vermeil! Far from your crimson smile!

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5) Au cimetière At the cemetery Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe Do you know the white tomb, Où flotte avec un son plaintif Where the shadow of a yew L’ombre d’un if? Waves plaintively? Sur l’if, une pâle colombe, On that yew a pale dove, Triste et seule, au soleil couchant, Sad and solitary at sundown Chante son chant; Sings its song;

Un air maladivement tendre, A melody of morbid sweetness, À la fois charmant et fatal, Delightful and deathly at once, Qui vous fait mal Which wounds you Et qu’on voudrait toujours entendre, And which you’d like to hear forever, Un air, comme en soupier aux cieux A melody, such as in the heavens, L’ange amoureux. A lovesick angel sighs.

On dirait que l’âme éveillée As if the awakened soul Pleure sous terre à l’unisson Weeps beneath the earth together De la chanson, With the song, Et du malheur d’être oubliée And at the sorrow of being forgotten Se plaint dans un roucoulement Murmurs its complaint Bien doucement Most meltingly.

Sur les ailes de la musique On the wings of music On sent lentemente revenir You sense the slow return Un souvenir; Of a memory; Une ombre, une forme angélique A shadow, an angelic form Passe dans un rayon tremblant, Passes in a shimmering beam, En voile blanc. Veiled in white.

Les belles-de-nuit, demi-closes, These beauties of the night, half- closed, Jettent leur parfum faible et doux Shed their fragrance sweet and faint Autour de vous, About you, Et le fantôme aux molles poses And the phantom with its languid gestures Murmure, en vous tendant les bras: Murmurs, reaching out to you: Tu reviendras? Will you return? Oh! jamais plus, près de la tombe Ah! nevermore shall I approach that tomb, Je n’irai, quand descend le soir When evening descends Au manteau noir, In its black cloak, Écouter la pâle colombe To listen to the pale dove Chanter sur la pointe de l’if From the top of a yew Son chant plaintif! Sing its plaintive song!

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6) L’île inconnue The unknown isle Dites, la jeune belle, Tell me, pretty young maid, Où voulez-vous aller? Where is it you would go? La voile en-fle son aile, The sail is billowing, La brise va souffler! The breeze about to blow!

L’aviron est d’ivoire, The oar is of ivory, Le pavillon de moire, The pennant of watered silk, Le gouvernail d’or fin; The rudder of finest gold; J’ai pour lest une orange, For ballast I’ve an orange, Pour voile une aile d’ange, For sail an angel’s wing, Pour mousse un séraphin. For cabin-boy a seraph.

Dites, la jeune belle, Tell me, pretty young maid, Où voulez-vous aller? Where is it you would go? La voile en-fle son aile, The sail is billowing, La brise va souffler! The breeze about to blow!

Est-ce dans la Baltique, Perhaps the Baltic, Dans la mer Pacifique, Or the Pacific, Dans l’île de Java? Or the Isle of Java? Où bien est-ce en Norvège, Or else to Norway, Cueillir la fleur de neige To pluck the snow flower Où la fleur d’Angsoka? Or the flower of Angsoka?

Dites, la jeune belle, Tell me, pretty young maid, Où voulez-vous aller? Where is it you would go?

Menez-moi, dit la belle, Take me, said the pretty maid, À la rive fidèle To the shore of faithfulness Où l’on aime toujours. Where love endures forever. - Cette rive, ma chère, - That shore, my sweet, On ne la connaît guère Is scarce known Au pays des amours. In the realm of love.

Où voulez-vous aller? Where is it you would go? La brise va souffler! The breeze is about to blow!

Translation by Bernard Taylor (Berlioz)

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Figure 5: Richard Wagner (1813-1883) (Wikipedia)

“Joy is not in things; it is in us.” (ThinkExist)

Wesendonck Lieder (1857/58)

Composer:

Richard Wagner

Type:

Song Cycle of 5 Poems

Duration:

16 minutes

Libretto:

Mathilde Wesendonck

Publishers:

Dover Publications, Inc., New York

Musical Time Period:

Romantic 34

World Premiere:

Near Mainz, Germany

July 30, 1862

Under the title Five songs for a female voice

Scoring:

Originally for piano

Orchestrated for large orchestra by Felix Mottl, the Wagner Conductor

Vocal Range:

C3 – Ab4

Tessitura:

E3 – E4

Voice:

Medium or High Voice

Synopsis:

Five wistful, bitter-sweet poems full of yearning and longing

Justification:

Recorded by:

Régine Crespin, Kirsten Flagstad, Birget Nilsson, Aprile Millo, Jessye Norman,

Cheryl Studer, Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

If one had studied the childhood of Richard Wagner, his consequent stunning career in composing theatrical operatic works might not come as surprising. When he

was fifteen, he wrote a grisly play where no less than twenty-seven characters were killed

35

off before the end of the first act! He studied music in Leipzig and in Dresden where he composed his first opera, Die Feen at the age of twenty. After marrying the actress,

Minna Planer, he found odd jobs as a conductor and composer, but was constantly in debt

and moved frequently. Rienzi was his first successful opera and this work established the young composer as a force in the operatic world. Mythic texts were used as the basis for his music; leit-motifs helped audiences recognize musical themes associated with characters and his development of pageantry and orchestration as equal partners were revolutionary. He changed the face of opera for all time; his Ring Cycle left many stunned, some violently enthusiastic, and some totally confused. He was a musical genius, a prolific writer, a German nationalist, and a controversial figure, but his music will remain arguably, the most influential of the 19th century. (Seattle Opera)

The Wesendonck Lieder is a cycle of songs set to poems by Mathilde von

Wesendonck, the wife of one of Wagner’s friends. Wagner and his 2nd wife, Minna, were living in a small cottage on the Wesendonck estate, where Wagner was composing the first act of Die Walküre. Speculation suggests that Mathilde and Wagner had a love

affair that directly influenced the intensity of his music composed during this time, and

was also the inspiration for his opera, Tristan und Isolde. The Romantic chromatic and

harmonic style which permeates this song cycle is recognized in later melodic and

musical ideas developed within Tristan und Isolde. The songs were first composed for

voice and piano alone, however, a fully orchestrated version of Träume was performed

for Mathilde under her window for her 29th birthday. Both versions are equally effective,

and The Wesendonck Lieder are widely performed and recorded today, and constitute a

place in standard recital repertoire. (Wikipedia)

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Lyrics:

1) Der Engel The Angel In der Kindheit frühen Tagen In childhood’s early days, Hört ich oft von Engeln sagen, I often heard them speak of angels, Die des Himmels hehre Wonne Who would exchange Heaven’s sublime bliss Tauschen mit der Erdensonne, For the Earth’s sun.

Daß, wo bang ein Herz in Sorgen So that, when an anxious heart in dread Schmachtet vor der Welt verborgen, Is full of longing, hidden from the world; Daß, wo still es will verbluten, So that, when it wishes silently to bleed Und vergehn in Tränenfluten, And melt away in a trickle of tears,

Daß, wo brünstig sein Gebet So that when its prayer ardently Einzig um Erlösung fleht, Pleads only for release, Da der Engel niederschwebt, Then the angel floats down Und es sanft gen Himmel hebt. And gently lifts it to Heaven.

Ja, es stieg auch mir ein Engel nieder, Yes, an angel has come down to me, Und auf leuchtendem Gefieder And on glittering wings Führt er, ferne jedem Schmerz, it leads, far away from every pain, Meinen Geist nun himmelwärts! My soul now heavenwards!

2) Stehe still! Stand Still! Sausendes, brausendes Rad der Zeit, Roaring and rushing wheel of time, Messer du der Ewigkeit; You are the measurer of Eternity; Leuchtende Sphären im weiten All, Shining spheres in the wide universe, Die ihr umringt den Weltenball; You who surround the world globe, Urewige Schöpfung, halte doch ein, Eternal creation, halt! Genug des Werdens, laß mich sein! Enough development, let me be!

Halte an dich, zeugende Kraft, Cease, generative powers, Urgedanke, der ewig schafft! The primal thoughts which you are ever creating! Hemmet den Atem, stillet den Drang, Slow your breathing, still your urge Schweiget nur eine Sekunde lang! Silently, only for a second long! Schwellende Pulse, fesselt den Swelling pulses, fetter your beating, Schlag; Ende, des Wollens ew'ger Tag! End, o eternal day of willing! Daß in selig süßem Vergessen That in blessed, sweet forgetfulness, Ich mög alle Wonnen ermessen! I may measure all my bliss!

Wenn Aug' in Auge wonnig trinken, When one eye another drinks in bliss, Seele ganz in Seele versinken; And one soul into another sinks, Wesen in Wesen sich wiederfindet, One nature in another finds itself again,

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Und alles Hoffens Ende sich kündet, And when each hope's fulfillment is finished, Die Lippe verstummt in staunendem When the lips are mute in astounded Schweigen, silence, Keinen Wunsch mehr will das Innre And no wish more does the heart invent, zeugen: Erkennt der Mensch des Ew'gen Spur, Then man recognizes the sign of Eternity, Und löst dein Rätsel, heil'ge Natur! And solves your riddle, holy Nature!

3) Im Treibhaus In the Hothouse Hochgewölbte Blätterkronen, High-vaulted crowns of leaves, Baldachine von Smaragd, Canopies of emerald, Kinder ihr aus fernen Zonen, You children of distant zones, Saget mir, warum ihr klagt? Tell me, why do you lament?

Schweigend neiget ihr die Zweige, Silently you bend your branches, Malet Zeichen in die Luft, Draw signs in the air, Und der Leiden stummer Zeuge And the mute witness to your anguish Steiget aufwärts, süßer Duft. A sweet fragrance - rises.

Weit in sehnendem Verlangen In desirous longing, wide Breitet ihr die Arme aus, You open your arms, Und umschlinget wahnbefangen And embrace through insane predilection Öder Leere nicht'gen Graus. The desolate, empty, horrible void.

Wohl, ich weiß es, arme Pflanze; I know well, poor plants, Ein Geschicke teilen wir, A fate that we share, Ob umstrahlt von Licht und Glanze, Though we bathe in light and radiance, Unsre Heimat ist nicht hier! Our homeland is not here!

Und wie froh die Sonne scheidet And how gladly the sun departs Von des Tages leerem Schein, From the empty gleam of the day, Hüllet der, der wahrhaft leidet, He veils himself, he who suffers truly, Sich in Schweigens Dunkel ein. In the darkness of silence.

Stille wird's, ein säuselnd Weben It becomes quiet, a whispered stirring Füllet bang den dunklen Raum: Fills uneasily the dark room: Schwere Tropfen seh ich schweben Heavy drops I see hovering An der Blätter grünem Saum. On the green edge of the leaves.

4) Schmerzen Sorrows Sonne, weinest jeden Abend Sun, each evening you weep Dir die schönen Augen rot, Your pretty eyes red, Wenn im Meeresspiegel badend When, bathing in the mirror of the sea Dich erreicht der frühe Tod; You are seized by early death.

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Doch erstehst in alter Pracht, Yet you rise in all your splendor, Glorie der düstren Welt, Glory of the gloomy world, Du am Morgen neu erwacht, Newly awakening in the morning Wie ein stolzer Siegesheld! Like a proud, victorious hero!

Ach, wie sollte ich da klagen, Ah, why should I then lament, Wie, mein Herz, so schwer dich sehn, Why, my heart, are you so heavy, Muß die Sonne selbst verzagen, If the sun itself must despair, Muß die Sonne untergehn? If the sun must set?

Und gebieret Tod nur Leben, And if Death gives rise only to Life, Geben Schmerzen Wonne nur: And pain gives way only to bliss, O wie dank ich, daß gegeben O how thankful I am, that Solche Schmerzen mir Natur! Nature gives me such anguish!

5) Traüme Dreams Sag, welch wunderbare Träume Tell me, what kind of wondrous dreams Halten meinen Sinn umfangen, are embracing my senses, Daß sie nicht wie leere Schäume that have not, like sea-foam, Sind in ödes Nichts vergangen? vanished into desolate Nothingness?

Träume, die in jeder Stunde, Dreams, that with each passing hour, Jedem Tage schöner blühn, each passing day, bloom fairer, Und mit ihrer Himmelskunde and with their heavenly tidings Selig durchs Gemüte ziehn! roam blissfully through my heart!

Träume, die wie hehre Strahlen Dreams which, like holy rays of light In die Seele sich versenken, sink into the soul, Dort ein ewig Bild zu malen: there to paint an eternal image: Allvergessen, Eingedenken! forgiving all, thinking of only One.

Träume, wie wenn Frühlingssonne Dreams which, when the Spring sun Aus dem Schnee die Blüten küßt, kisses the blossoms from the snow, Daß zu nie geahnter Wonne so that into unsuspected bliss Sie der neue Tag begrüßt, they greet the new day,

Daß sie wachsen, daß sie blühen, so that they grow, so that they bloom, Träumed spenden ihren Duft, and dreaming, bestow their fragrance, Sanft an deiner Brust verglühen, these dreams gently glow and fade on your breast, Und dann sinken in die Gruft. and then sink into the grave.

Translation from German to English copyright © by Emily Ezust (Wagner)

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Figure 6: Ernest Chausson (1855-1899) (Wikipedia)

“I have the presentiment that my life must be short. I would not want to die without having created something.” (Duchen)

Poème de l’amour et de la mer (1882-90)

Op. 19

Composer:

Ernest Chausson

Type:

For High Voice and Orchestra

Duration:

31 minutes

Libretto:

Maurice Boucher

Publishers:

Rouart, Lerolle, & Co., Paris, France

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Musical Time Period:

Romantic

World Premiere:

Brussels

1893

Subscription Concert organized by Octave Maus

Artist: Désiré Demest (tenor)

Scoring:

Not available

Vocal Range:

Db3 – Ab4

Tessitura:

F3-F4

Voice:

High

Synopsis:

Exquisitely orchestrated, this two poem piece is filled with gently flowing, highly

sensual Romantic mood and scene painting.

Justification:

Can be sung by Mezzo Soprano, or Dramatic Soprano

Recorded by:

Janet Baker, Victoria de Los Angeles, Jessye Norman

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Historical Significance:

Ernest Chausson was killed when he was only forty-four; a man who had five children, a happy marriage, wealth, education, culture, and talent. He had only just begun to pursue the artistic fulfillment he craved; his compositional life was full of self-doubt and self-criticism, always struggling with his own perfectionistic tendencies. His inherited fortune enabled him to host other like-minded artists: Debussy, Fauré, Renoir,

Monet, and Degas, where topics of music, visual art, politics, and history were discussed.

Studying under Jules Massenet and César Franck, Chausson’s musical genius blossomed, but because of his personal fears and struggles with composition, very few works are his legacy today. (Wikipedia)

Poème de l’amour et de la mer is intensely Romantic; full of lush, emotional orchestration that reflects Wagner’s extraordinary influence. Chausson’s music is exquisitely and irresistibly beautiful, creating images and sensations that reflect so perfectly this poignant text. This stunning tone poem has three main movements with sections within each, some for orchestra alone. (Duchen)

Lyrics:

Poème de l’amour et de la mer Poem of love and the sea

La fleur des eaux The flower of the waters

I L’air est plein d’une odeur exquise de lilas The air is filled will the exquisite scent of lilac Qui, fleurissant du haut des murs jusqu’au bas, which, flowering from the top of the walls to the bottom, Embaument les cheveux des femme. Perfumes the women’s hair. La mer au grand soleil va toute s’embraser, The whole sea goes to the great sun to be set aglow, Et sur le sable fin qu’elles viennent baiser and, over the fine sand which they come to kiss,

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Roulent d’éblouissantes lames. Dazzling waves roll. O ciel qui de ses yeux dois porter la couleur, Oh sky which has to wear the colour of her eyes, Brise qui vas chanter dans les lilas en fleur breeze which goes to sing in the lilacs in bloom Pour en sortir toute embaumée, so as to come out of them all scented, Ruisseaux qui mouillerez sa robe, o verts sentiers, streams which will moisten her dress, or green paths, Vous qui tressaillerez souls ses chers petits pieds, you who tremble beneath her dear little feet, Faites-moi voir ma bien-aimée! Let me see my beloved!

II Et mon Coeur s’est levé par ce matin d’eté And my heart arose on this summer’s morning; Car une belle enfant était sur le ravage, for a beautiful girl was on the beach, Laissant errer sur moi des yeux pleins de clarté, letting eyes full of brightness wander over me, Et qui me souriait un air tender et sauvage. And which smiled to me with a tender and wild expression.

Toi que transfiguraient la jeunesse et l’amour, You whom youth and love transfigured, Tu m’apparus alors come l’âme des choses; you appeared to me like the soul of all things; Mon Coeur vola vers toi, tu le pris sans retour, my heart flew towards you, you took it forever, Et du ciel entr’ouvert pleuvaient sur nous roses. And roses rained upon us from the part-opened sky.

III Quel son lamentable et sauvage What mournful and wild sound Va sonner l’heure de l’adieu! Wills sound the hour of farewell! La mer roule sur le ravage, The sea rolls over the beach, Moqueuse, et se souciant peu teasing, and hardly concerning itself Que se soit l’heure de l’adieu. That it is the hour of farewell.

Des oiseaux passent, l’aile ouverte, Birds pass by, wings outspread, Sur l’abîme Presque joyeux; nearly joyful over the deep; Au grand soleil la me rest verte, in the full sun the sea is green, Et je saigne silencieux and, silent, I bleed En regardant briller les cieux. Looking at the heavens shining.

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Je saigne en regardant ma vie I bleed as I look at my life Qui va s’éloigner sur les flots; about to depart over the waves; Mon âme unique m’est ravie my very soul is taken from me Et la somber clameur des flots and the deep clamour of the waves Couvre le bruit de mes sanglots. Covers the sound of my sobs. La mort de l’amour The death of love

IV Bientôt l’île bleue et joyeuse Soon the blue and joyful isle Parmi les rocs m’apparaîtra: will appear to me among the rocks: L’île sur l’eau silencieuse the isle will float upon the silent water Comme un nénuphar flottera. Like a water-lily.

A travers la mer d’améthyste Across the amethyst sea Doucement glisse le bateau, the boat gentle slips, Et je serai joyeux et triste and I shall be joyful and sad De tant me souvenir – bientôt! To remember so much – soon!

V Le vent roulait les feuilles mortes; me pensées The wind rolled the dead leaves; my thoughts Roulaient comme les feuilles mortes, dans la nuit. Rolled like the dead leaves, in the night. Jamais si doucement au ciel noir n’avaient lui Never had the thousands of golden roses, from which Les milles roses d’or d’ou tombent les rosées. Fall the dews, sparkled so softly in the black sky.

Une danse effrayante, et les feuilles froissées, A terrifying dance, and the crumpled leaves Et qui rendaient us son métalique, valsaient, which gave out a metallic sound, waltzed, Semblaient gémir sous les étoiles, et disaient seemed to moan beneath the stars, and told of L’inexprimable horreur des amours trépassées. The inexpressible horror of the dead loves. Les grands hêtres d’argent que la lune baisait The great silver beaches which the moon kissed Étaient des specters: moi, tout mon sang se glaçait were ghosts: me, all my blood froze En voyant mon aimée estrangement sourir. Upon seeing my beloved smiling strangely.

Comme des front de morts nos fronts avaient pâli, Our brows had paled like the brows of the dead,

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Et, muet, me penchant vers elles, je us lire and, silent, leaning towards her, I was able to read Ce mot fatal écrit dans ses grands yeux: L’oubli. That fatal word written in her large eyes: oblivion.

VI Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses The season for lilac and the season for roses Ne reviendra plus à ce printemps ci; will not come back again to this spring; Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses the season for lilac and the season for roses Est passé, le temps des oeillets aussi. Is passed, the season for carnations too.

Le vent a change, les cieux sont moroses, I bleed as I look at my life Et nous n’irons plus courir, et cueillir about to depart over the waves; Les lilas en fleur et les belles roses; my very soul is taken from me Le printemps est triste et ne peut fleurir. The spring is sad and cannot blossom.

Oh! joyeux et doux printemps de l’année Oh! Joyful and sweet springtime of the year Qui vins, l’an passé, nous ensoleiller, which came, last year, to light us with its sunshine, Notre fleur d’amour est si bien fanée, our flower of love is so withered, Las! que ton baiser ne peut l’éveiller! alas, that your kiss cannot awaken it!

Et toi, que fais-tu? pas de fleurs écloses, And you, what are you doing? No flowers in bloom, Point de gai soleil ni d’ombrages frais; no happy sun nor cool shade; Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses the season for the lilac and the season for roses Avec notre amour est mort à jamais. With our love has died forever.

©translated by Christopher Goldsack (Chausson)

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1900 – 1950

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Figure 7: Maurice Ravel (1875 – 1937) (Wikipedia)

“We should always remember that sensitiveness and emotion constitute the real content of a work of art.” (BrainyQuote)

Schéhérazade (1903)

Op. 35

Composer:

Maurice Ravel

Type:

Song Cycle with Orchestra

Duration:

14 minutes

Libretto:

3 poems by Tristan Klingsor (pseudonym for Léon Leclère)

Publishers:

Durand & Co., Paris, 1914

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Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Paris, France

Société National de Musique

Conductor: Alfred Cortot

Artist: Jane Hatto

Scoring:

1 piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 hautebois, 1 English horn, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns in

F, 2 trumpets in C, 3 trombones, 1 tuba, percussion, celeste, 2 harps, 1st violins,

2nd violins, violas, violoncello, contrabass

Vocal Range:

C#3 – Bb4

Tessitura:

E3 – E4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

These poems have a sense of longing for the sensual, exotic Far East

Justification:

Recorded by:

Jessye Norman, Victoria de los Angeles, Régine Crespin

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Historical Significance:

Maurice Ravel, born on March 7, 1875, was a French composer and pianist, mostly known for his subtlety, innovative harmonies, and richness of tone color in his orchestral compositions. One of the six “Apaches” (self-named group of young artists with a penchant for wildness), Ravel was a piano major at the Conservatoire de Paris, and studied for fourteen years with Gabriel Fauré. A scandal ensued when Ravel, the known favorite, was not chosen as the winner of the Prix de Rome, a competition for composition, and the director of the Conservatory at the time had to resign. Along with

Debussy, Ravel became known for his impressionistic music, but declared the greatest influences on his writing were Mozart and Couperin, with their classical forms and structures. He was also highly influenced by the musical elements of Asian and Russian music, Eastern European folk songs, and American Jazz. He never married, and in 1932 had a traffic accident that left him unable to continue his prolific musical output. He never fully recovered and in 1937 had a neuro-operation which failed and he soon died.

(Wikipedia)

Ravel’s Schéhérazade, the song cycle, was composed immediately after Ravel’s friend and writer, Léon Leclére, (pen name Tristan Klingsor) published his Schéhérazade, a work of poetry, in 1903. Using three of the poems, Ravel created an extraordinary work which was very successful in its premiere on May 17, 1903. He had always felt the

Orient had a sensual allure and created music to reflect the exotic texts. Greatly influenced by Debussy, Ravel’s work has obvious similarities in orchestral texturing, with whole-tone or pentatonic scales which can evoke an exotic sound. However, his instrumentation and skill in the manipulation of modality and classic form, allow us to

49

hear his own voice. Careful adherence to the text throughout, supported with muted and climactic orchestral effects, make this work unforgettable. (Freed, McGregor)

Lyrics:

Asie Asia Asie, Asie. Asie! Asia, Asia, Asia! Vieux pays merveilleux des contes de nourrice Ancient, marvelous lands of nursery tales Où dort la fantaisie comme une impératrice Where imagination sleeps like an empress En sa forêt emplie de mystère. In her forest, surrounded in mystery. Asie: Asia: Je voudrais m'en aller avec la goëlette I should like to leave with the schooner Qui se berce ce soir dans le port, Rocking tonight in the habor, Mystérieuse et solitaire, Mysterious and alone, Et qui déploie enfin ses voiles violettes And at last unfurling purple sails Comme un immense oiseau de nuit dans le ciel d'or. Like an huge night bird in the golden sky. Je voudrais m'en aller vers des îles de fleurs I should like to leave for the flower islands En écoutant chanter la mer perverse Listening to the perverse ocean sing Sur un vieux rythme ensorceleur. To an old, bewitching rhythm. Je voudrais voir Damas et les villes de Perse I should like to see Damascus and the cities of Persia Avec les minarets légers dans l'air. With light minarets in the air. Je voudrais voir de beaux turbans de soie I should like to see beautiful silk turbans Sur des visages noirs aux dents claires; Over dark faces with shining teeth; Je voudrais voir des yeux sombres d'amour I should like to see eyes darkened with love Et des prunelles brillantes de joie And pupils shining with joy Et des paux jaunes comme des oranges; Against skins golden as oranges; Je voudrais voir des vêtements de velours I should like to see velvet clothes Et des habits à longues franges. And robes with long fringes. Je voudrais voir des calumets entre des bouches I should like to see pipes in mouths Tout entourées de barbe blanche; Surrounded by white beards; Je voudrais voir d'âpres marchands I should like to see grasping merchants aux regards louches, with shady looks, Et des cadis, et des vizirs And cadis and viziers, Qui du seul mouvement de leur doigt qui se penche Who with a mere crook of the finger Accordent vie ou mort au gré de leur désir. Dispense life or death at will. Je voudrais voir la Perse, et l'Inde, et puis la Chine, I should like to see Persia, and India, and then China,

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Les mandarins ventrus sous les ombrelles, Pot-bellied mandarins under umbrellas, Et les princesses aux mains fines, And princesses of slender hands Et les lettrés qui se querrellent And scholars arguing Sur la poésie et sur la beauté; Over poetry and beauty; Je voudrais m'attarder au palais enchanté I should like to linger in the enchanted palace Et comme un voyageur étranger And, like a foreign traveller, Contemple à loisir des paysages peints Contemplate at leisure painted landscapes Sur des étoffes en des cadres de sapin On fabrics in pine-wood frames Avec un personnage au milieu d'un verger; With a figure in the middle of an orchard; Je voudrais voir des assassins souriants I should like to see assassins smiling Du bourreau qui coupe un cou d'innocent As the executioner cuts off an innocent head Avec son grand sabre courbé d'Orient. With his great curved oriental saber. Je voudrais voir des pauvres et des reines; I should like to see paupers and queens; Je voudrais voir des roses et du sang; I should like to see roses and blood; Je voudrais voir mourir d'amour ou bien de haine. I should like to see dying of love or of hate. Et puis m'en revenir plus tard And then return Narrer mon aventure aux curieux de rêves To recount my adventures to those curious of dreams, En élevant comme Sinbad ma vieille tasse arabe Raising, like Sinbad, my old Arab cup De temps en temps jusqu'à mes lèvres From time to time to my lips Pour interrompre le conte avec art. . . . To interrupt the tale, artfully.

Translation by D. Kern Holoman (Ravel)

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Figure 8: Gustavus Theodor von Holst (1874 – 1934) (Wikipedia)

“Never compose anything, unless the not composing of it becomes a positive nuisance to you.” (Amacher)

The Mystic Trumpeter (1904)

Op. 18/H. 71

Composer:

Gustav Holst

Type:

Scena for Soprano and Orchestra

Duration:

21 minutes

Libretto:

Walt Whitman: The poem, The Mystic Trumpeter, ‘From Noon to Starry Night’

from Leaves of Grass

Publishers:

Novello and Company Limited, London

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Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

London, England

Queen’s Hall

June 29, 1905

London Symphony and Royal College of Music Orchestras

Conductor: Gustav Holst

Artist: Cicely Gleeson-White

Scoring:

3 flutes (3=piccolo), 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets in Bb, bass clarinet in Bb,

2 bassoons, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in F, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion,

harp, strings

Vocal Range:

B2 – C5

Tessitura:

E3 – F4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Walt Whitman’s 3rd poem out of 22, from his 32nd book entitled “From Noon to

Starry Night” in Leaves of Grass, reflecting the relationship between Man and

Spirituality, written in 1872

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Justification:

Recording:

Claire Rutter; no other recording to date

Ms. Rutter sings Abigaille from Verdi’s Nabucco, Tosca from Puccini’s

Tosca, Maddalena from Giordano’s Andrea Chenier, Ameila from

Verdi’s Un Ballo in Maschera, all considered heavier roles, more suited

for the dramatic soprano voice

Huge orchestration with significant brass; indicative of Wagner’s influence on

Holst’s musical development

Historical Significance:

Gustav Holst was born in England in 1874 and began piano lessons at an early age. He was stricken with a nerve condition that prohibited his playing and studied the trombone instead. While attending the Royal College of Music in London, he met a life- long friend, fellow classmate and composer, Ralph Vaughan Williams. Old English folk songs, madrigal singers, and simplicity of melody were used as elements in each of their subsequent song writing. During Holst’s years there, he became interested in socialism, and Indian mysticism and spirituality, which influenced his later music. Depressed at not winning the coveted Ricordi Prize, a competition for composition, on a doctor’s recommendation he visited Algeria and his travels in that country and others inspired many following works, including his most famous, The Planets Suite. His later years were plagued with stomach problems and after surgery, succumbed to complications. He died on May 25, 1934. (Lace)

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One of the poets to influence Holst’s life was Walt Whitman. The Mystic

Trumpeter is taken from Leaves of Grass, a compilation of Whitman’s extensive writings.

The poem has to do with Man’s relationship to Spirituality and the Infinite and was an exciting vehicle for Holst to try his hand at creating a masterpiece of vocal and instrumental cohesiveness. An early work, his ecstatic musical language and texture firmly reflect the exultant, youthful text and the result is an exciting, dramatic piece.

(Lace)

Lyrics:

The Mystic Trumpeter 1 Hark, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician, Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night. I hear thee trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes, Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me, Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost. 2 Come nearer bodiless one, haply in thee resounds Some dead composer, haply thy pensive life Was fill'd with aspirations high, unform'd ideals, Waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging, That now ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, pealing, Gives out to no one's ears but mine, but freely gives to mine, That I may thee translate. 3 Blow trumpeter free and clear, I follow thee, While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene, The fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day withdraw, A holy calm descends like dew upon me, I walk in cool refreshing night the walks of Paradise, I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses; Thy song expands my numb'd imbonded spirit, thou freest, launchest me, Floating and basking upon heaven's lake. 4 Blow again trumpeter! and for my sensuous eyes, Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world. What charm thy music works! thou makest pass before me, Ladies and cavaliers long dead, barons are in their castle halls, the troubadours are singing,

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Arm'd knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in quest of the holy Graal; I see the tournament, I see the contestants incased in heavy armor seated on stately champing horses, I hear the shouts, the sounds of blows and smiting steel; I see the Crusaders' tumultuous armies--hark, how the cymbals clang, Lo, where the monks walk in advance, bearing the cross on high. 5 Blow again trumpeter! and for thy theme, Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting, Love, that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang, The heart of man and woman all for love, No other theme but love--knitting, enclosing, all-diffusing love. O how the immortal phantoms crowd around me! I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and know the flames that heat the world, The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lovers, So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark, and nigh to death; Love, that is all the earth to lovers--love, that mocks time and space, Love, that is day and night--love, that is sun and moon and stars, Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume, No other words but words of love, no other thought but love. 6 Blow again trumpeter--conjure war's alarums. Swift to thy spell a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls, Lo, where the arm'd men hasten--lo, mid the clouds of dust the glint of bayonets, I see the grime-faced cannoneers, I mark the rosy flash amid the smoke, I hear the cracking of the guns; Nor war alone--thy fearful music-song, wild player, brings every sight of fear, The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder--I hear the cries for help! I see ships foundering at sea, I behold on deck and below deck the terrible tableaus. 7 O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest, Thou melt'st my heart, my brain--thou movest, drawest, changest them at will; And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me, Thou takest away all cheering light, all hope, I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of the whole earth, I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race, it becomes all mine, Mine too the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of ages, baffled feuds and hatreds, Utter defeat upon me weighs--all lost--the foe victorious,

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(Yet 'mid the ruins Pride colossal stands unshaken to the last, Endurance, resolution to the last.) 8 Now trumpeter for thy close, Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet, Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future, Give me for once its prophecy and joy. O glad, exulting, culminating song! A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes, Marches of victory--man disenthral'd--the conqueror at last, Hymns to the universal God from universal man--all joy! A reborn race appears--a perfect world, all joy! Women and men in wisdom innocence and health--all joy! Riotous laughing bacchanals fill'd with joy! War, sorrow, suffering gone--the rank earth purged--nothing but joy left! The ocean fill'd with joy--the atmosphere all joy! Joy! joy! in freedom, worship, love! joy in the ecstasy of life! Enough to merely be! enough to breathe! Joy! joy! all over joy!

(Holst)

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Figure 9: Alban Maria Johannes Berg (1885 – 1935) (Alban Berg)

“Music is at once the product of feeling and knowledge, for it requires from its disciples, composers and performers alike, not only talent and enthusiasm, but also that knowledge and perception which are the result of protracted study and reflection.” (BrainyQuote)

Sieben frühe Lieder (1905-08)

Composer:

Alban Berg

Type:

Song Cycle

Orchestrated and first published in 1928

Duration:

17 minutes

Libretto:

7 poems from different poets:

1) Nacht - Carl Hauptmann

2) Schilflied – Nikolaus Lenau

3) Die Nachtigall – Theodor Storm

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4) Taumgekrönt – Rainer Maria Rilke

5) Im Zimmer – Johannes Schlaf

6) Liebesode – Otto Erich Hartleben

7) Sommertage – Paul Hohenberg

Publishers:

Universal Edition AG, Vienna

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

“Im Zimmer”, “Liebesode”, and “Die Nachtigall” were first performed by

Schoenberg’s students on November 7, 1907 in the Saal des Gremiums of the

Wiener Kaufmannschaft in Vienna, while Berg was under Schoenberg’s tutelage

The Orchestral Premiere of the Sieben frühe Lieder was in Vienna

November 6, 1928

Conductor: Robert Heger

Artist: Claire Born

Scoring:

2 flutes, (1 doubling piccolo), 2 oboes, (1 doubling English horn), 2 clarinets, bass

clarinet, 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns in F, 2 trumpets, 2 trombones,

percussion, harp, celeste, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 – A4

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Tessitura:

D3 – F4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Seven Romantic poems reflecting nature, life, and love.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Jessye Norman, Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Alban Berg was a terrible student; he had to repeat two separate years of high school before he could finally graduate. He also became a father at the age of seventeen.

His life took a major turn when he and Anton Webern, signed up for composition lessons with Arnold Schoenberg, after seeing an add in a newspaper for new pupils. Berg brought some thirty songs he had already composed to Schoenberg, and many more

Lieder were added during their relationship which lasted for over six years. During this time in the “Second Viennese School” (Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven comprising the

First), Berg learned the traditional principles of composing music with an emphasis on counterpoint, harmony, development and variation. These three composers were to change the focus of tonality in music to extended atonality and absence of the major- minor system. Berg adapted the use of Schoenberg’s twelve tone row or set, and devised new playing techniques on traditional instruments. His two Expressionistic operas,

Wozzeck, and Lulu, have themes of social criticism, and are atonal, using elaborate leit-

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motifs. In 1935, at the height of his artistic production, Alban Berg died on Christmas

Eve, apparently from blood poisoning caused by an insect bite. (Alban Berg)

The Seven Early Songs were chosen by Berg out of the many Lieder he composed during the years with Schoenberg. In 1928 he reassembled and brilliantly orchestrated them into the work that is performed today. Because they are compositions from his musically formative years, influences by Brahms, Strauss, Wagner and Schoenberg can all be recognized. (Seven Early Songs)

Lyrics:

1) Nacht Night Dämmern Wolken über Nacht und Tal, Twilight clouds the valley’s night, Nebel schweben, Wasser rauschen sacht. Mists hover, waters whisper, Nun entschleiert sich’s mit einmal: Now the veil is lifted quite: O gib acht! Gib acht! Oh, pay heed, pay heed! Weites Wunderland ist aufgetan. A magic landscape opens wide. Silbern ragen Berge traumhaft gross, Dream-high the silver mountains stand, stille Pfade silberlicht talan Toward the valley silent silver paths aus verborgnem Schloss; Lead from a secret land. Und die hehre Welt so traumhaft rein. Noble, pure, the dreaming country sleeps. Stummer Buchenbaum am Wege steht By the path stands the black shadow schattenschwarz, ein Hauch vom fernen Hain Of a beech; a breath from distant lonely einsam leise weht. Groves is wafted. Und aus tiefen Grundes Düsterheit From the valley’s darkest depth blinken Lichter auf in stummer Nacht. Little lights blink in the silent night. Trinke Seele! Trinke Einsamkeit! Drink, oh my soul, of solitude! O gib acht! Gib acht! Oh, pay heed, pay heed!

Carl Hauptmann

2) Schilflied Song among the Reeds Auf geheimnem Waldespfade Through green secret paths I wander schleich’ ich gern im Abendschein to the reedy pool’s quiet brink, an das öde Schilfgestade, in the evening there to ponder, Mädchen, und gedenke dein. Sweet girl, there of thee to think. Wenn sich dann der Busch verdüstert, Soon the sun’s rays will be dying, rauscht das Rohr geheimnisvoll, rustling reeds speak secretly,

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und es klaget und es flüstert, ever moaning, ever sighing, dass ich weinen, weinen soll. Telling me to weep for thee. Und ich mein’, ich höre wehen And it seems the breezes blowing leise deiner Stimme Klang, in the air your voice retain, und in Weiher untergehen and the water, scarcely flowing, deinen lieblichen Gesang. Brings your song to me again.

Nikolaus Lenau

3) Die Nachtigall The Nightingale Das macht, es hat die Nachtigall ’Tis the doing of the nightingale die ganze Nacht gesungen; That sang the whole night through; da sind von ihrem süssen Schall, From the sweetness of its song, da sind in Hall und Widerhall From the sound and echoed sound, die Rosen aufgesprungen. The rosebuds have burst open. Sie war doch sonst ein wildes Blut; Once a wild young thing, she walks nun geht sie tief in Sinnen, Now deep in meditation, trägt in der Hand den Sommerhut Her summer bonnet in her hand, und duldet still der Sonne Glut Silent in the sun’s warm glow, und weiss nicht, was beginnen. And knows not where to turn.

Theodor Sturm

4) Traumgekrönt Crown of Dreams Das was der Tag der weissen The white chrysanthemums did Chrysanthemen, bloom as never before, mir bangte fast vor seiner Pracht… I almost feared their brilliant light… Und dann, dann kamst du mir die Seele nehmen And then, and then you came, my soul to tief in der Nacht. Gather deep in the night. Mir war so bang, und du kamst lieb und leise, I was afraid, and you came softly to me, ich hatte grad im Traum an dich gedacht. As I’d just hoped in dreaming that you might. Du kamst, und leis’ wie eine Märchenweise You came, and softly like an old, old story erklang die Nacht. We heard the night.

Rainer Maria Rilke

5) Im Zimmer Indoors Herbstsonnenschein. Der liebe Abend blickt so Autumn sunset. The tender night still herein. Peers in. Ein Feuerlein rot knistert im Ofenloch und loht. A tiny fire crackles and glows. So! Mein Kopf auf deinen Knie’n, so ist mir gut. So, my head upon your knee, and all is well.

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Wenn mein Auge so in deinem ruht, wie leise die When my eyes thus in yours rest, how softly Minuten zieh’n. the minutes flee.

Johannes Schlaf

6) Liebesode Lover’s Ode Im Arm der Liebe schliefen wir selig ein. Embraced by love we blissfully fell asleep. Am offnen Fenster lauschte der Sommerwind, A breeze of summer stood by the garden door, und unsrer Atemzüge Frieden trug er hinaus in waiting to bear our peaceful breathing out to die helle Mondnacht. The night that was bathed in moonlight. Und aus dem Garten tastete zagend sich ein And from the garden came to us timidly the Rosenduft an unserer Liebe Bett rose’s fragrance, blessing our bed of love und gab uns wundervolle Träume, and bringing wonderful sweet dreaming, Träume des Rausches, so reich an Sehnsucht. Dreaming in rapture, and filled with longing. Otto Erich Hartleben

7) Sommertage Summer Days Nun ziehen Tage über die Welt, Now days of summer ride through the world, gesandt aus blauer Ewigkeit; heralds of blue eternity; im Sommerwind verweht die Zeit. On gentler winds hours flee. Nun windet nächtens der Herr By night the Lord gently weaves Sternenkränze mit seliger Hand über Wander- starry garlands with his blessed hand, hangs und Wunderland. Them over his wide and wonderful land. O Herz, was kann in diesen Tagen My heart, in these days what can dein hellstes Wanderlied denn sagen you say with all your singing von deiner tiefen, tiefen Lust: of what you deeply, deeply feel? Im Wiesensang verstummt die Brust, For beauty all our words doth steal, nun schweigt das Wort, wo Bild um Bild and comes in silence with the view zu dir zieht und dich ganz erfüllt. Of eventide, and filleth you.

Paul Hohenberg Translations by Eric Smith (Seven Early Songs)

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Photo by Florence Homolka 1948

Figure 10: Arnold Franz Walter Schoenberg (1874 – 1951) (Wikipedia)

“Whether one calls oneself conservative or revolutionary, whether one composes in a conventional or progressive manner, whether one tries to imitate old styles or is destined to express new ideas - one must be convinced of the infallibility of one's own fantasy and one must believe in one's own inspiration.” (BrainyQuote)

Erwartung (1909)

Op. 17

Composer:

Arnold Schoenberg

Type:

Monodrama in one act

Duration:

31 minutes

Libretto:

Marie Pappenheim

Publishers:

Universal Edition, A.G., 1916

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Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Prague

Neues Deutsches Theater

June 6, 1924

Conductor: Alexander Zemlinsky

Artist: Marie Gutheil-Schoder

Scoring:

piccolo, 3 flutes (1 doubling as piccolo 2), 3 oboes, English horn (doubling as

oboe 4), 4 clarinets (1 in D, 1 in Bb, 2 in A), bass clarinet, 3 bassoons, 1

contrabassoon, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 4 trombones, 1 bass tuba, harp, celesta,

percussion, strings

Vocal Range:

G2 – B4

Tessitura:

D3 – G4

Role:

Woman

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Night

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Place:

Forest

Synopsis:

4 different Scenes:

Scene 1 – Woman enters the forest in search of her lover, becomes terrified of the

darkness and solitude.

Scene 2 – she is deep in the woods, lost and and alone and frightened.

Scene 3 – she comes to a clearing but continues to be overwhelmed with anxiety

and with mounting hysteria cries for help.

Scene 4 – she comes to a larger clearing, exhausted, with a torn dress and face and

hands scratched and bloody. She sees a house and thinks her lover might have

gone there with another woman. She stumbles against her lover’s murdered,

bloody body. The rest of the scene is a psychological drama that explores the

Woman’s demented anguish.

Justification:

Performed by:

Jessye Norman, Hildegarde Behrens, Allessandra Marc, Deborah Voigt

Historical Significance:

Arnold Schoenberg revolutionized the way composers thought about traditional musical elements in creating music. In his early years, he took counterpoint lessons with the composer Alexander von Zemlinsky, and in his twenties, made a living by orchestrating and composing. Gustav Mahler and Richard Strauss both recognized the talent in Schoenberg and Mahler adopted him as a protégé. His wife, Mathilde, left him

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for a time, and this emotional upheaval in his life reflected in his writing; he began to take a radical approach to composition. Believing the evolvement of music had reached a historical breaking point, Schoenberg wanted to take music in a new direction. He developed the 12 tone row, a system of writing music where each of the twelve notes had equal value in the composition, resulting in an atonal work with no key center. This method of composition produced works that were so radical in sound that the public divided into two camps; those who thought the new method was revolutionary and innovative, and those who thought the new method was creating noise on paper. Whether this new technique was well received or not, his idea was ground-breaking and

Schoenberg shared his ideas with other like-minded composers, including Alban Berg and Anton Webern, in their “Second Viennese School.” He continued composing with his new methods and in 1933, immigrated to Paris and then to the United States where he was to live the rest of his life, teaching in Los Angeles, California. (Wikipedia)

In 1909, Schoenberg composed Erwartung, a monodrama for one woman and orchestra, which was unlike anything ever written before. The libretto was written especially for Schoenberg by Marie Pappenheim and he, upon receiving it, wrote the 30 minute piece in just 17 days. This psychological thriller includes explicit dramatic directions and staging and is an example of an Expressionistic work. This challenging piece was first performed 15 years later. It employs a large orchestra and according to

John L. Church (Opera World, 2001), the music is “lush, strident, abrasive, soothing, sinister, and sometimes downright frightening.” (Church)

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Lyrics:

Expectation Scene I Into here? …The road can’t be seen…How silver the tree trunks shimmer… like birches…Oh, our garden…The flowers for him are surely withered…The night is so warm …I am afraid… What a heavy air strikes from the wood…like a storm standing still… So dreadfully quiet and empty… But here it is at least bright…The moon was so bright before…Oh! always still the cricket with its love song…Don’t speak…it is so sweet near you… The moon is in the dusk… Coward you are… don’t you want to seek him? So then die here…How menacing the stillness is…The moon is full of horror…does it look inside? I alone into the gloomy shadow…I want to sing, then he will hear me…

Scene II Is this still the road? Here it is level…What?...Let go! No, it was something that crawled…And here also…Who is touching me? …Away…Away, just keep going…for God’s sake…Now, the road is wide…it was so quiet behind the walls of the garden…No scythes any more…no calling and going…And the city in luminous mist…so longingly I gazed across…And the sky so immeasurably deep above the road which you always take to me…still more transparent and more distant…the evening colors…But you have not come. Who is weeping there? Is someone here? Is someone here? Nothing…But there was…Now it is rustling overhead…It strikes from branch to branch…It is coming upon me…Not here! Let me go…Lord God, help me…It was nothing…But fast, but fast…Oh, oh…what is that? A body…No, only a tree trunk…

Scene III There comes a light!...Ah! only the moon…How good…There something black is dancing…hundred hands…Don’t be foolish…it is the shadow…Oh! how your shadow falls upon the white walls…But so soon you must go…Are you calling? …And it is so long till evening…But the shadow does creep!...Yellow, wide eyes…So outgushing…as if on stalks…How it glares…No beast, dear God, no beast…I am so much afraid…Beloved, my beloved, help me…

Scene IV Neither is he here…Upon the whole, long roadway not a living thing…and no sound…The broad pale fields are without breath, as if dead…no blade is moving…Still the city… and this pale moon…No cloud, not the wing shadow of a night bird in the sky…this boundless death pallor…I can hardly go further…And there they do not let me in…The strange woman will chase me away…If he be ill…A bench… I must rest…But for so long I have not seen him…No, this is not the shadow of the bench…Someone is there…He does not breathe…Moist…Something is flowing here…It shines red…Ah, my hands are torn with wounds…No, it is still wet, it is from there…I cannot…That is he…The moonlight …no, there, There is the dreadful head…the ghost…If it would only

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disappear at last….like that in the wood…A tree shadow, a ridiculous branch…The moon is malicious, because it is bloodless, it paints red blood …But it will melt away at once…Don’t look at it…Don’t notice it…It will surely dissolve…like that in the wood…I want to get away…I must find him…It must be late already…It is no longer there…I knew…It is still there…Lord God in Heaven… It is alive…It has skin…eyes…hair…His eyes…it has his mouth…You…you…are you it…I have looked for you so long…in the wood and …Do you hear? Speak at last …Look at me…Lord God, what is…Help…For God’s sake …quick…but doesn’t anyone hear me?...he lies there…

Wake up…Just wake up…Do not be dead…my beloved…Only do not be dead…I love you so. Our room is half lit…everything is waiting …the flowers give off a powerful fragrance…What should I do…what should I only do, that he awake? Your dear hand…So cold? …Does it not become warm at my breast? My heart is so hot from waiting…The night is soon over…Yet you wanted to be with me this night. Oh! it is broad day…Are you staying by day with me? The sun glows upon us…your hands lie upon me…your kisses…you are mine…you…Just look at me, beloved, I lie beside you…So just look at me…Ah! How rigid…How frightful your eyes are…Three days you have not been to me…But today…so sure…The evening was so full of peace…I kept looking and waiting…Over the garden wall towards you…it is so low…And then we both wave…No, no…it is not true…How can you be dead? Everywhere you lived…Just now in the wood…your voice so near to my ear…Always, always you were with me…your breath upon my cheek…your hand upon my hair…Not true…it is not true? Yet your mouth just curved under my kisses…Your blood even now is trickling with gentle beat…Your blood is still alive…Oh! the broad red streak…The heart they have hit…I want to kiss it…with my last breath…to let you go no more…To look into your eyes…All light, indeed, came from your eyes…I grew dizzy, when I looked upon you…Now kissing you I kiss myself to death.

But so strange your eye is …Where are you looking? Then what are you seeking? Is someone standing there? But how was it the last time?...Was not that also then in your look? No, only so distracted…or…and suddenly you took hold of yourself…And for three days you were not with me …no time…So often you have not had time in these last months…No, that really is not possible…that really is…Ah! Now I remember…the sigh in half-sleep…like a name…you kissed the question away from my lips…But why did he promise me to come today? I will not have it…no, I will not…Why did they kill you? …Here before the house…Did someone discover you? No, no,…my only sweetheart…not that…Oh, the moon staggers…I cannot see…Just look at me…Again you are looking there? Where is she then…the witch the hussy…the woman with the white arms…Oh, you do love them, the white arms…how you kiss them red…Oh, you…you…you wretch, you liar…you…How your eyes evade me! Do you cringe for shame? Have embraced her? …Yes?...so tenderly and avidly…and I waited…Where did she run, when you lay in blood?...I want to drag her here by her white arms…so…There is no place here for me…Oh! not even the grace that I may die with you…How dearly, how dearly I have loved you…Far from all things I lived…strange to everything…I knew nothing but you…this whole year…since you took my hand for the first time…oh, so

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warm…never before did I love anyone so…Your smile and your talk…I loved you so dearly…My sweetheart…my only darling…have you kissed her often?...while I was dying of longing. Have you loved her very much? Do not say yes…You smile painfully…Perhaps you have also suffered…perhaps your heart called after her…Was it your fault?...Oh, I cursed you…but your pity made me happy…I believed…was in bliss…

Beloved, beloved, the morning comes…what should I do here alone?...In this endless life…in this dream without limits and colors…for my limit was the spot at which you were…and all colors of the world burst forth from your eyes…The light will come for all…but I alone in my night?...The morning parts us…always the morning…So hard you kiss at parting…again an eternal day of waiting…Oh but you will awake no more…Thousand people march by…I do not perceive you…All are living…their eyes flame…Where are you? It is dark…your kiss like a fiery sign in my night…my lips burn and gleam…towards you…Oh, are you here? I was seeking…

(Stanley)

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Photo by Edward Morgan 1974

Figure 11: Benjamin Britten (1913 – 1976) (Barnett)

“It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness and of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature, and everlasting beauty of monotony.” (ThinkExist)

Our Hunting Fathers (1936)

Op. 8

Composer:

Benjamin Britten

Type:

Symphonic Cycle for High Voice and Orchestra

Duration:

27 minutes

Libretto:

W.H. (Wystan Hugh) Auden

Publishers:

Boosey & Hawkes, Music Publishers Limited, 1936 71

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Norwich, England

September 25, 1936

St Andrew's Hall, Norfolk and Norwich Triennial Music Festival

Symphony: London Philharmonic Orchestra

Conductor: Benjamin Britten

Artist: Sophie Wyss

Scoring:

2 fl (II=picc), 2 ob (II=ca), cl in B flat (=A), cl in E flat (=bass cl), alto sax, 2 bn-4

hn, 2 tpt in C, 2 trbn, bass trbn, tuba-timp, 2 perc (sd, td, cymb, bd, xyl, trgl,

tamb)-harp-str

Vocal Range:

G2 – B4

Tessitura:

D3 – A4

Voice:

Soprano

Justification:

Extremely low and high range; voice part must sustain difficult top tessitura with

volume, very full orchestration

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Historical Significance:

Of the 20th century operas composed in the last 100 years, only a hand-full are

performed regularly. Benjamin Britten is regarded as one of those composers who have

combined all the elements of modern musical thinking into creating powerful artistic

conceptions that still have audience appeal. Benjamin Britten was born in 1913 and

started composing when he was five. He had the luxury of having supportive parents

who encouraged his musical expression and was only 31 when his first opera, Peter

Grimes, was produced. His music is a mixture of diatonic tonality with modal and

chromatic effects and orchestral color with musical elements which he uses to associate

certain motives, chords, keys, collections of pitches, timbres, etc. with characters, groups,

deep human emotions, physical imagery, and even humor. These works have a directness

of message and language which grip the imagination. This composer’s originality of

work allowed him to express values, concepts, and ideas in music as well. (White, 13,

112, 117)

Britten called this composition his “real Opus One.” Poetry such as this that

reflected his own feelings regarding man’s inhumanity to man would become a recurring

theme in his later operas. Very difficult to sing and as challenging to play, this work is a

masterpiece of vocal and orchestral bravura. (Our Hunting Fathers)

Lyrics:

Prologue They are our past and our future; the poles between which our desire unceasingly is discharged. A desire in which love and hatred so perfectly oppose themselves, that we cannot voluntarily move, but await the extraordinary compulsion of the deluge and the earthquake. Their affections and indifferences have been a guide to all reformers and tyrants. Their appearances in our dreams of machinery have brought a vision of nude and fabulous epochs.

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O pride so hostile to our charity. Bur what their pride has retained we may by charity more generously recover.

A) Rats Away! I command all the rats that are hereabout That none dwell in this place, within or without: Through the virue of Jesus that Mary bore, Whom all creatures must ever adore; And through the virtue of Mark, Matthew, Luke and John, All four Archangels that are as one; Through the virue of Saint Gertrude, that maid clean, God grant in grace That no rats dwell in the place That these names were uttered in; And through the virtue of Saint Kasi, That holy man who prayed to God Almighty Of the scathes they did His meadows amid By day and by night. God bid them flee and go out of every man’s sight. Dominus, Deus, Sabaoth, Emmanuel, great name of God, Deliver this place from rats and from all other shame. God save this place from all other wicked wights, Both by days and by nights, Et in Nomine Patris et Filii et Sancti Spiriti, Amen.

W.H. Auden

B) Messalina Ay me, alas, heigh ho, heigh ho! Thus doth Messalina go Up and down the house a-crying, For her monkey lies a-dying. Death, thou art too cruel To bereave her of her jewel; Or to make a seizure Of her only treasure. If her monkey die She will sit and cry: Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie!

Anon.

C) Dance of Death Whurret! Duty Beauty Quando Timble

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Travel Trover Jew Damsel Hey dogs hey! Ware haunt hey! Sith sickles and the shearing scythe Hath shorn the fields of late, Now shall our hawks and we be blithe, Dame Partridge ware your pate! Our murdering kites In all their flights Will seld or never miss To truss you ever and make you bale our bliss. Whurret! Wanton Sugar Mistress Sempster Faver Minx Callis Dover Sant Dancer Jerker Quoy

Whurret! Tricker Crafty Minion Dido Civil Lemmon Cherry Carver Courtier Stately Ruler German let fly! O well flown, eager kite, mark! We falconers thus make sullen kites Yield pleasure fit for kings, And sport with them in those delights, And oft in other things.

T. Ravenscroft

Epilogue Our hunting fathers told the story Of the sadness of the creatures, Pitied the limits and the lack Set in their finished features; Saw in the lion’s intolerant look, Behind the quarry’s dying glare, Love raging for the personal glory. That reason’s gift would add, The liberal appetite and power, The rightness of a god.

Who nurtured in that fine tradition Predicted the result, Guessed love by nature suited to The intricate ways of guilt; That human company could so His southern gestures modify

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And make it his mature ambition To think no thought but ours, To hunger, work illegally, And be anonymous?

W.H. Auden (Britten)

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Photo G.Schirmer, Inc.

Figure 12: Samuel Osborne Barber (1910-1981) (Lieberman)

“I was meant to be a composer and will be I'm sure. Don't ask me to try to forget this unpleasant thing and go play football - please.” (age 9) (Inkpot)

Knoxville: Summer of 1915 (1947)

Op. 24

Composer:

Samuel Barber

Type:

For Voice and Orchestra

Commissioned by Eleanor Steber

Duration:

16 minutes

Libretto:

James Agee

Publishers:

G. Schirmer, Inc.

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Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Boston, Massachusetts

April 9, 1948

Boston Symphony Orchestra

Conductor: Serge Koussevitzky

Artist: Eleanor Steber

Scoring:

flute, (doubling piccolo), oboe (doubling English horn), clarinet, bassoon, 2 horns,

trumpet, optional triangle, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 – Bb4

Tessitura:

F3 – F4

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Summer of 1915

Place:

Knoxville, Tennessee

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Synopsis:

“We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville, Tennessee in the time that

I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.”

Samuel Barber

Justification:

Performed by:

Eleanor Steber, Leontyne Price, Eileen Farrell

On the lighter side but still can be performed by heavier voice

Historical Significance:

Samuel Barber began composing when he was seven years old and attended

Curtis School of Music at 14. Growing up in a well-to-do household, he was provided

many opportunities for his extraordinary talents to bloom. Possessing a beautiful

baritone voice, at one time he considered pursuing a professional singing career. This

love and understanding for vocal performance never left Barber; it served him well in his

creation of many vocal/orchestral works. While at Curtis, he met a young Italian-

American by the name of Gian-Carlo Menotti. They formed a deep relationship, both

professionally and personally, and spent many years together, traveling the world,

composing and collaborating on artistic endeavors. Barber’s music has elements of neo-

romanticism; it is full of traditional harmonies and lush melodic lines that evoke an

immediate emotional response in his audience. Adagio for Strings, and his opera,

Vanessa (which won him a Pulitzer Prize) are two of his best known works. Although

Barber and Menotti were estranged at the time of Barber’s death from cancer in 1981,

Gian-Carlo was at his bedside. (Wikipedia)

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Knoxville, Summer of 1915 is an intimate moment of a quiet summer evening.

Barbers’s melodious jewel is nostalgic, peaceful, poetic; perfectly suited to James Agee’s remembrance of his early childhood, lying on the lawn in the Southern summer heat, drifting off to sleep under the stars. The music hovers between tenderness and anguish and is intensely personal. Premiering on April 9, 1948, this lovely musical portrait that captures the essence of the South, was a huge success and has enjoyed an immense popularity ever since. (Kuenning)

Lyrics:

We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville, Tennessee in that time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.

...It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds' hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt; a loud auto; a quiet auto; people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber.

A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping, belling and starting; stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter, fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.

Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose. Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes.... Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces. The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.

On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there....They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine...with voices gentle and meaningless like

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the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.

After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.

James Agee

Copyright 1949 by G. Schirmer, Inc. Used by permission. (Barber)

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Figure 13: Richard Strauss (1864-1949) (Wikipedia)

“The human voice is the most beautiful instrument of all, but it is the most difficult to play.” (ThinkExist)

Vier letzte Lieder (1947/48)

Composer:

Richard Strauss

Type:

For Soprano and Orchestra, set of four songs

Originally composed for Kirsten Flagstad

Duration:

18 minutes

Libretto:

1) Im Abendrot – Joseph von Eichendorff

2) Frühling – Hermann Hesse

3) Beim Schlafengehn – Hermann Hesse

4) September – Hermann Hesse

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Publishers:

Boosey & Hawkes, London

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

London, England

Royal Albert Hall

London Philharmonic Orchestra

Conductor: Wilhelm Furtwängler

Artist: Kirsten Flagstad

Scoring:

4 flutes and piccolo, 3 oboes and English horn, 3 clarinets and bass clarinet, 3

bassoons, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, celesta, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

Db3 – B4

Tessitura:

G3 – G4

Voice:

Soprano

Synopsis:

Four ‘symphonic songs’ with the orchestration varied from one to the next,

creating a sumptuous, sensual, and serene cycle

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Justification:

Recorded by:

Kirsten Flagstad, Jessye Norman, Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Wagner’s music lead to major 20th century musical developments and had a direct influence on Richard Strauss, whose music was regarded as revolutionary as well. Born in 1864, Richard began writing music when he was six and continued until he passed away at the age of 85. Known for his tone-poems, Strauss found his artistic self, particularly in the creation of shocking orchestral effects, and a more sophisticated use of dissonance. His early opera, Salome, based on the play by Oscar Wilde, created such a sensation when it premiered at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City in 1907, it was closed after only one performance. Even so, Strauss knew he had discovered his own musical voice, saying,

"I now comfort myself with the knowledge that I am on the road I want to take, fully conscious that there never has been an artist not considered crazy by thousands of his fellow men."

Strauss went on to create operas in a lighter social vein, but still full of complex harmonies and 20th century musical elements and have become standard operatic repertoire produced today in major opera houses in the world. (Botstein)

Strauss’ Four Last Songs were composed in 1948, just a year before he died; he never heard them in a performance. The soprano voice held a profound fascination for him. It is not surprising he would compose his final work for soprano and orchestra.

Kirsten Flagstad was his chosen soprano and would perform his last composition for its premiere in London. Recorded by many dramatic sopranos, these “symphonic songs” are

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a musical culmination of the genius of Richard Strauss and a stunning vehicle for a memorable performance. (Freed)

Lyrics:

Vier letzte Lieder Four Last Songs

Frühling Spring In dämmrigen Grüften In dusky hollows träumte ich lang I long dreamed von dein Bäumen und blauen Lüften, of your trees and blue skies, von deinem Duft und Vogelsang. of your fragrance and bird song

Nun liegst du erschlossen Now you stand revealed in Gleiss und Zier in glitter and glory, von Licht übergossen flooded with light, wie ein Wunder vor mir. like a miracle.

Du kennst mich wieder, You recognize me, du lockst mich zart, and gently beckon; es zittert durch all meine Glieder my whole body trembles deine selige Gegenwart! with your holy presence!

Hermann Hesse

September September Der Garten trauert, The garden is in mourning: kühl sinkt in die Blumen der Regen. the rain falls cool among the flowers. Der Sommer schauert Summer shivers quietly still seinem Ende entgegen. on its way toward its end.

Golden tropft Blatt um Blatt Golden leaf after leaf nieder vom hohen Akazienbaum. falls from the tall acacia. Sommer lächelt erstaunt und matt Summer smiles, astonished, feeble, in den sterbenden Gartentraum. in this dying dream of a garden.

Lange noch bei den Rosen For a long while, yet, in the roses bleibt er stehn, sehnt sich nach Ruh, she will linger on, yearning for peace, langsam tut er and slowly die müdgeword'nen Augen zu. close her weary eyes.

Hermann Hesse

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Beim Schlafengehen Going to Sleep Nun der Tag mich müd' gemacht, Now that day wearies me, soll mein sehnliches Verlangen my yearning desire freundlich die gestirnte Nacht will receive more kindly, wie ein müdes Kind empfangen. like a tired child, the starry night.

Hände, lasst von allem Tun, Hands, leave off your deeds, Stirn, vergiss du alles Denken, mind, forget all thoughts; alle meine Sinne nun all of my forces wollen sich in Schlummer senken. yearn only to sink into sleep.

Und die Seele unbewacht And my soul, unguarded, will in freien Flügen schweben, would soar on widespread wings, um im Zauberkreis der Nacht to live in night's magical sphere tief and tausendfach zu leben. more profoundly, more variously.

Hermann Hesse

Im Abendrot In the Glow of Evening Wir sind durch Not und Freude Through sorrow and joy gegangen Hand in Hand, we have walked hand in hand; vom Wandern ruhen wir let us rest now from wandering nun überm stillen Land. in this quiet country.

Rings sich die Täler neigen, Mountains slope all around us, es dunkelt schon die Luft; and the sky already darkens; zwei Lerchen nur noch steigen only two larks climb in the sky, nachträumend in den Duft. dreaming in the night.

Tritt her und lass sie schwirren, Come in; let them flutter, bald ist es Schlafenszeit, for it is already time to sleep; dass wir uns nicht verirren let us not lose our way in dieser Einsamkeit. in this loneliness.

O weiter, stiller Friede! Come nearer, gentle peace, So tief im Abendrot. profound in the glow of evening! Wie sind wir wandermüde; How weary we are of wandering; ist dies etwa der Tod? is this perhaps death?

Joseph von Eichendorff (Strauss)

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1950 - 2004

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Figure 14: Francis Poulenc (1899-1963) (Classical Net)

“The entire work should be bathed in an orchestral sound of the utmost sensuousness.” (Poulenc)

La Voix humaine (1958)

Composer:

Francis Poulenc

Type

Lyric Tragedy in one act

Originally composed for Denise Duvall

Duration:

40 minutes

Libretto:

Jean Cocteau

Publishers:

S. A. Editions, Ricordi, Paris, 1959

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Musical Time Period

20th Century

World Premiere:

Paris, France

February 6, 1959

Paris Opéra-Comique

Salle Favart

Artist: Denise Duval

Scoring:

2 flutes, 1 piccolo, 1 English horn, 2 clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, 2 horns

in F, 2 trumpets in C, trombone, tuba, percussion, cymbals, xylophone, harp,

strings

Vocal Range:

C3 – C5

Tessitura:

F3 – D4

Role:

Elle

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Late 1950s

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Place:

A woman’s boudoir

Synopsis:

Elle (She) spends 40 minutes talking on the telephone, making the last call to her

lover who had kept her as a mistress but who now wants to move on, but also

dealing with the interruptions of an inept telephone company

Justification:

Performed by Catherine Malfitano, Denise Duval

Tessitura is comfortably in the middle range with occasional leaps to high notes

Can be sung by Mezzo-Soprano, Full Lyric Soprano, Spinto Soprano, or Dramatic

Soprano

Historical Significance:

A self-taught composer, Francis Poulenc was raised with music in his home; his mother was an amateur pianist who shared with him the rudimentary components of composition and when he was 18 he had his first major success. Poulenc’s music is so melodic and original in scope that it is easily recognized when heard. Strong, precise rhythms, lush and novel harmonies, tuneful progressions, this composer’s music bridged the gap between popular style and modern elements. A member of “Les Six,” he strove to eradicate Impressionism and Germanic elements from French music, along with other compatriot artists. After the death of a dear friend, Poulenc turned back to his Catholic faith. This was to be a decisive move in his composing; he became one of the most prolific writers of religious choral works in this modern era. Poulenc excelled in many genres of musical composition; chamber music, concerti, choral, opera, but only wrote a

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few orchestral works. His opera, Dialogues of the Carmelites has become a standard work in the international operatic literature today. Poulenc died of heart failure in his beloved Paris in 1963. (Swartz, Wikipedia))

La Voix humaine was written with Denise Duval in mind as the heroine. She had

just premiered Blanche in Poulenc’s Dialogues of the Carmelites and he knew intimately

of her capability to move an audience dramatically and vocally. This is a harrowing

scene; a rejected woman living through feelings of loneliness and despair, leading to

suicidal thoughts. The orchestra acts as the lover on the other side of the conversation

and maintains the tension through pauses as if answering. Whispers, sobs, sighs, and

exclamations; all expressive elements dynamically of the human voice are needed to

express this woman’s anguish. However, Poulenc insisted each note is to be well-sung;

no sprechtstimme here. Another tour-de-force for any dramatic soprano, this staggeringly

theatrical piece ends with a final desperate act: she strangles herself with the telephone

cord. (Henry)

Lyrics:

Hello, hello... No; no. Madame. -But this is a party line. Please hang up .But I was on the wire first ... If you please, will you get off the line ! . . . Operator, please . . . Oh no. this is not Dr. Schmid... 0-0-8. not 0-0-7... Hello! this is absurd .. .They keep ringing, I wonder why.

(She hangs up. her hand on the receiver. The telephone rings.)

Hello! ...But Madame. What do you want me to do? . . .What do you mean ? Not at all : . . . Operator, please . . . would you kindly tell this lady to hang up.

(She hangs up. The telephone rings.)

Hello, it's you? Yes…quite clearly... It was dreadful not to hear what you were saying because of all those people . . . Yes ...yes ... no ... it just so happens ... I came back a little while ago . . . Perhaps you called while I was out? . . . Ah ! . . . no…no ...I went out for dinner . . .with Martha ... It must be a little past eleven . . .Are you at home ? . . .Then take a look

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at the clock in the hallway ... It's just as I thought . . . Yes, yes, cheri ... Last night? Last night I thought I would go to bed early, but then I had trouble in falling asleep. I took a pill... No...only one ... at nine o'clock ... I did have a bit of headache, but then it went away. Martha came this morning, and we had breakfast together. I did some errands, and then I carne directly home . . . I . . .What? . . . I'rn trying . . . Oh I think I've lots of courage . . . And then? And then I got dressed for the evening, had a lovely time with Martha, came home around eleven. She's really been an angel . . . She seems aloof, but she's really not. Yes. you were completely right, as always . . . My red dress . . . My black hat . . . Yes, it's the one you liked — I still have it on... And you? You went out?... Or did you stay at home tonight ? . . .What lawsuit ? Ah ! yes . . .Hello, cheri ... If we're cut off. you must call me back right away . .". Hello ! No ... I'm still here . . .The bag?...Your letters and mine. Yes, you can send for it when you like . . . it's not easy. I understand . . . Darling, you needn't apologize. That's not at all strange. It is I — I who am stupid . . . You are so nice . . . YOU are so nice . . . Nor did I…I didn't think I had the courage... Putting on an act? . . . Hello . . .Who? . . .You think I'm putting on an act? Me! .. .You know me well. I am not the sort who would ever pretend ... Not at all ... I'm not angry. . .You will see ... I said: You will see. Tell me, do I sound like a person who has something to hide? ... No. I made up my mind that I would be brave, and I will ... I got what I deserved. I was out to be reckless, I was taking a chance… Let me talk. Do not blame yourself. It was all my fault. Yes, yes . . . You remember that Sunday in Versailles when I sent that wire? ...Ah! ...You see! ...It was I who said I wished to come. It was I who would not let you speak. It was I who behaved as if I did not care... No... no... now you are unfair ...I...I remember— I called you first...A Tuesday...I'm quite sure. Tuesday, the twenty-third. You ought to realize that I know those dates by heart. Your mother? But why? ... It is hardly worth the trouble...I honestly don't know. Yes...perhaps...Oh no! certainly not right away. And you ? .. .Tomorrow? ... I had no idea that it would be so soon.. .Well then, we'll manage…it's so simple... tomorrow morning I'll leave the bag with the janitor. Joseph can come and pick it up tomorrow. Oh. I don't know. Maybe I'll stay awhile in the city. Or I may decide to go away for a couple of days in the country, at Martha's…Yes, cheri... but of course, cheri... Hello .. What is wrong? ... Dearest, I am speaking loud... And now do you hear me ?... I said: and now do you hear me? ... It's funny, I can hear you as plainly as if you were right here beside me...Hello!... hello, I... Oh, it's really absurd! Now I cannot hear a word... As if from afar, from far... Now can you hear? It's each of us in turn... No. quite clearly... I can hear you better than before, but there is a buzz in your phone. It doesn't sound like your telephone at all...

I can see yes, oh yes. (He makes her guess.) ...What scarf? .. .You have on the red one.. You have your sleeves rolled back a little... In your left hand? The receiver. And a fountain pen in your right. You are drawing on the blotter, hearts and profiles and stars. Ah, you smile! I have eyes tucked away inside my ears...

(She makes a mechanical gesture hiding her face.)

No. no … cheri, oh please don't look at me now... Afraid?... No, I am not afraid... It's even worse ... Oh darling, I'm no longer used, to sleeping alone... Yes ... yes... yes.. .I promise... I promise… You are so nice ... I do not know, I try not to look at myself, I do not dare

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any more to turn on the light in my dressing room. Last night, there I was suddenly face to face with an old woman ... No, no! an old woman with hair so white, and a face full of little wrinkles.. .You are too kind! But. cheri, a face that everyone envies—that is worst of all. That is for an actress ... I preferred it when you said: "Funny face! Where did you get that funny face? ".. .Yes, my dear sir!... I was joking... Don't be silly...

How lucky that you are so awkward and that you love me. For if you did not love me and were not so awkward, this telephone could easily become a terrible weapon. A weapon that would leave no marks, nor make a noise... Me. naughty? .. .Hello!... hello! cheri... Are you there? ...Hello, hello, operator.

(She rings.) Hello. Someone cut us off. (She hangs up. Silence. She takes the phone.} Hello, it's you? ... No. no. operator. I was cut off... I don't know... 1 mean...yes .. just a moment... Auteuil seven-seven three, Hello!.. It's busy...Operator, he's trying to call me back...Alright. (She hangs up. The telephone rings.)

Hello! Auteuil seven-seven-three? Hello! It's you, Joseph? ... It's Madame... Monsieur and I we were disconnected... Not home? ... yes... yes... he’s not coming back tonight...How stupid of me! Monsieur must have telephoned me from outside. We were disconnected, so I called his number— my mistake. Excuse me. Joseph. ..I will...Thank you...Good night. Joseph…

(She hangs up, feeling almost ill. The telephone rings.)

Hello! Ah. cheri! it's you?.. .They cut us off... No, no. I was waiting. Someone rang, I answered right away, but there was no one... I suppose so... Of course You are sleepy…it was kind of you to call again…So kind... (She is crying... a silence) No, I am here…What? ... Forgive me...it's too silly…Nothing... there's nothing wrong...But I swear there's nothing wrong... Nothing's changed...Not at all. You're mistaken...it is only that all this talk, this talk ...

(She weeps.) My darling, listen. I have never told you lies…Yes. I know. I know. I believe you. I'm sure of it, dear... No. it isn't that... it's only that I lied to you before... yes... on the telephone, just fifteen minutes, ago. I know well that it's too late for my luck to return. But a lie won't bring me back my luck. Besides, I hate to tell you a lie. I cannot lie—I cannot lie to you, even for your own good... Oh. nothing serious, mon cheri... I lied in describing the dress that I was wearing, also when I said I had dinner with Martha... I've had no dinner, I'm not wearing my red dress, only a coat over my nightdress, because I was waiting all evening for you to call. And what with my staring at the phone, and sitting down, and jumping up and pacing up and down the room, I was almost frantic! And so I put on my coat, I was going out to take a taxi, to -wander underneath your windows ... stand there waiting... ah, yes, stand waiting—I don't even know what for…you… are so right... yes. I am listening... I shan't be foolish...... and I will keep my head. I promise... Right here... I didn't eat a thing... I simply couldn't...

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Last night I meant to take a pill that would put me to sleep. I thought that if I took more than one, I'd sleep so much better. I thought that if I took them all I'd sleep without a dream and never wake — I'd sleep forever! (She weeps.)... And so I swallowed twelve... in hot water... All in a lump…Then — then I was dreaming, you were going away. And then when I awoke I felt so happy, because it was just a dream. But when I knew it was true, that I was alone, that my head was not against your shoulder, then I knew I could not go on living…My body felt cold and light, and my heart was no longer beating, and death was slow in coming. Since I was in terrible pain, after an hour I managed to phone Martha. I lacked the courage to die alone... cheri... cheri... It was four o'clock in the morning. Finally she came, and with her that doctor who lives in her house. I had a hundred and two. The doctor wrote out a prescription, and Martha remained till tonight. I begged her to leave me alone, since you had promised to phone me as soon as you were free — I was afraid they would try to keep us apart… I'm alright…Don't you worry now…(She weeps)

... Hello!...I thought they had cut us off... You're so kind. cheri... My darling - whom I have hurt so very much…Yes. speak. Say anything at all... I have suffered enough to drive me mad; yet you have only to speak, and I feel well again, and can close my eyes. You know, sometimes when we were in bed and my head was resting in its usual place, pressed against your chest, I could hear your voice exactly as it…

Hello! Why do I hear music?...I said: Why do I hear music? .. .Well then, you should knock on the wall and complain if your neighbors play their gramophone so late at night... It's useless. Anyhow, Martha's doctor is coming back tomorrow... Don't you worry now... Of course... She will let you know what he said…What? ... Oh yes! so much better. If you hadn't called tonignt I would have died...

(She paces up and down and her suffering makes her moan.)

... Forgive me, dear. I know you find this scene quite unbearable, and that you are being very patient. But if you knew what torture I suffer. This wire —the only bond that still connects me with us…Monday evening? I slept quite well. I went to bed with the telephone... No, no. In my bed...Yes. I know. I'm being silly. But I kept the telephone in my bed, in spite of it all, it is a link —something that connects us... Only because you are speaking, it's five years now that I've lived through you, that I've spent my time waiting for you, thinking you were dead every time you were late — I could die at the thought—and reviving the moment you appeared; and when you were finally here, dying at the thought that you'd leave me. And now I can breathe because I hear your voice...

But of course, my sweet darling, I slept. Oh indeed. I could sleep because it was only the first time…The first night you sleep…What is really hard to bear is the second night—last night; and then the third —tonight! And then day after day, doing what, dear God? ... And... even if I'm able to sleep I still have to face the horror of dreams, and awaking, and eating. and getting up. and getting: dressed, to go out — to go out 94

where? ... Oh my darling, my sweet, all I've ever had to fill my life was you. Martha has organized her life ...I'm alone. .. .

The last two days he has not gone out of the hallway... I have tried to call him; I've tried to pet him. He won't even let me touch him. In fact, he almost bit me... Yes. me! He frightens me, I swear. He won't eat a thing. He doesn't move. And when he turns his eyes on me, I get gooseflesh all over.,. How do you expect me to know? Maybe he thinks I have done you some harm... Poor little dog... I have no reason at all to hold it against him. I can understand him so well. He loves you. He doesn't see YOU any more, and so he thinks it's my fault.. .Oh yes. cheri. I understand. He's not to blame. In spite of his intelligence he surely cannot guess the truth...

I don't really know darling! How d'you expect me to know? I am not myself. Think of it: I tore up that package of photographs - ripped them —just like that! and didn't even notice. Even for a man it would have been a feat… …

Hello! hello! Madame. Will you hang up! But you cut in on our line, hello! Oh no. Madame,.. But. Madame. we're not trying to be interesting, I can assure you... if you really find us so silly, why are you wasting your time instead of hanging up?... Oh!... Don't be angry...

At last! ...No, no. She just hung up, after having been so terribly nasty... You sound upset..yes… you are upset. I know your voice... But dearest, she must have been a very sick woman, and she doesn't know you at all. Perhaps she believed you were just like the others... Oh no. cheri, it is not at all the same. People think it's either love or hatred. Once an affair is over, it's over. They know everything. YOU will never make them understand... You will never make them understand that things are not simple.., It's better to do the same as I: laugh at them all... and ignore them...

(She utters a stifled cry of sorrow.)

Oh! ... Nothing, I could swear that we were talking just the same as always. All of a sudden I realized the truth... (Tears)... When we still saw one another, we could still lose our heads, forget a broken promise, and take such chances. Our love could conquer every doubt with a tender kiss, or with a wild embrace, just a look could change everything. But what with this telephone between, what is done is done...

Don't worry. No one ever tries to kill himself twice ... I would hardly know where to buy a revolver…Can you see me buying a revolver? ... Where would I find the strength to think up a lie at this moment, my poor darling? ... I couldn't... I would never have the courage. There are circumstances where a lie might be useful. If you had lied to me, to make our separation seem less painful... I did not say you were lying. I said: if you had lied and I knew about it… if… for example, you were not at home, and you were to tell me ... No. no. cheri! Listen please... I believe you ... Yes…your voice suddenly sounds angry. I meant only to say that if 95

you told a lie out of kindness, and I had known that you did, it would only cause me to love you more... Hello!...

hello! ...(She hangs up, murmuring very quickly:) Dear God make him call me back. Dear God make him call me back. Dear God make him call me back Dear God make him call me back Dear God make —

(The telephone rings. She takes thereceiver.)…

We were disconnected. I was saying that if you had lied out of the goodness of your heart and I noticed you were lying, it would only cause me to love you more.., Of course…You are mad!... Oh my love... my dearest love...

(She winds the telephone cord around her neck.)

...I know well that we must, but it is dreadful… No…I never could summon up the courage... Yes. I have the illusion that I'm right besides you. And all at once, the cellars and sewers, a whole city lies between us ...I have wound the cord around my neck... I can feel your voice around my neck… your voice surrounding my neck... They could hardly cut us off - except by mistake...

Oh cheri! Oh how could YOU even imagine I'd think such an ugly thought? I am well aware that this thing is more difficult for you… more painful in every way than for me... no... no ...To Marseilles? ... Oh listen, cheri. Since you will be in Marseilles at least for a week, may I ask...I really would like... I would like it if you did not go to that little hotel where we always stayed together…You are not angry? ...

Because the things I don't have to imagine do not exist. Or let's say that they exist in some very vague kind of place … that does not hurt so much... You understand?.. Thank you ... thank you. You are good. I love you

(She gets up and walks towards the bed with the telephone in her hand.)...

So here we are... I was about to say, out of habit, "I'll see you soon" . ... I doubt it... Oh!... It's better... Much better...

(She lies down on the bed and clasps the telephone in her arms.)

...Oh darling... my sweet darling... I'll be brave. Let's make an end. Go on. Hang up! Hang up quickly! I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you... love you...

(The telephone falls to the ground)

Translation by Joseph Machlis (Poulenc) 96

Photo by G. Schirmer

Figure 15: Samuel Barber (1910-1981) (Lieberman)

"The universal basis of artistic spiritual communication by means of art is through the emotions." (Questia)

Andromache’s Farewell (1962)

Op. 39

Composer:

Samuel Barber

Type:

For Soprano and Orchestra

Commissioned by the New York Philharmonic in celebration of its opening

season in Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts

Originally composed for Martina Arroyo

Duration:

12 minutes

Libretto:

Text is from “The Trojan Women” by Euripides, translated by John Patrick

Creagh 97

Publishers:

G. Schirmer, Inc., New York

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

New York, New York

Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts

April 4, 1963

New York Philharmonic Orchestra

Conductor: Thomas Schippers

Artist: Martina Arroyo

Scoring:

piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets in Bb, bass clarinet, 2

bassoons, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in Bb, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion,

celeste, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 – Bb4

Tessitura:

F3 – F4

Role:

Andromache, widow of Hector, Prince of Troy

Voice:

Soprano

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Time:

Just before dawn, during the Trojan War

Place:

An open space before Troy

Synopsis:

Troy has just been captured by the Greeks. All the women and children are held

captive and each Trojan woman has been assigned to a Greek warrior.

Andromache has been given as a slave-wife to the son of Achilles and has been

told she cannot take her little son with her. He is to be hurled over the battlements

of Troy. She bids him farewell.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Martina Arroyo, Leontyne Price

Historical Significance:

The only composer with the distinction of having two major works included in this listing, Samuel Barber was a master at creating emotional musical monodramas for the soprano voice. He remained true to his own talent; that of writing music that is genuinely heartfelt and utterly sincere in order to communicate the text in a very personal way. His instinctive feel for the human voice and its capabilities for expression and beauty served him well in shaping Andromache’s Farewell. A heart-wrenching scene,

one feels the deep anguish, and yet personal strength of this heroine through the poignant

and dramatic accompaniment. This work is scored for a large orchestra, but the

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combined effect of voice and instrument is never overwhelming; on the contrary, it is a work that is stunning in its unified channel of human emotion. (Arnest)

Lyrics:

So you must die, my son, my best-beloved, my own, by savage hands and leave your Mother comfortless, Hector’s valiant spirit, shield of thousands, Is death to his own son.

My wedding day! it was my sorrow that day I came to Hector’s hours to bear my son. He was to be Lord of all Asia and not for Greeks to slaughter.

My boy, you are weeping. Do you know then what awaits you? Why do you hold me so? clutch at my dress? (a small bird seeking shelter under my wing.) Hector cannot come back with his brave spear to save you. He cannot come from the grave nor any of his princes.

Instead, from the height, flung down! oh pitiless! head foremost! falling! falling!...... Thus will your life end.

Oh dearest, embrace, sweet breathing of your body, Was it for nothing that I nursed you, that I suffered? consumed my heart with cares, all for nothing?

Now, and never again, kiss your Mother. Come close, embrace me, who gave you life. Put your arms around me, your mouth to mine…. And then no more.

You Greeks, contrivers of such savagery. Why must you kill this guiltless child?

Helen! you they call daughter of God, I say you are the spawn of many fathers:

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Malevolence, murder, hate, destruction – all the evils that afflict the earth. God curse you , Helen, for those eyes that brought hideous carnage to the fair fields of Troy.

Take him then, take him away, break his body on the rocks; Cast him down, eat his flesh if that is your desire… Now the Gods have destroyed us utterly, And I can no longer conceal my child from death.

Hide my head in shame; Cast me in the ship, as to that marriage bed across the grave of my own son I come!

(Barber)

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Photo: B&H/Jim Caldwell

Figure 16: Carlisle Sessions Floyd (1926 - ) (Blue)

“I think anything that is expressed directly and as honestly as possible will last.” (BrainyQuote)

Flower and Hawk (1972)

Composer:

Carlisle Floyd

Monodrama for Soprano and Orchestra

Originally composed for Phyllis Curtin

Duration:

45 minutes

Libretto:

Carlisle Floyd

Publishers:

Belwin-Mills Publishing Corp. 1977

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Musical time period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Jacksonville, Florida

May 16, 1972

Director: Frank Corsaro

Conductor: Willis Page

Artist: Phyllis Curtin

Symphony: Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra

Scoring:

2 flutes, (II=picc) 2 oboes (II=corA) 2 clarinets (II=bcl) 2-4.2.1-timp-perc:SD/TD

tamb/susp.cym/crashcym/whip/bell/gong/chimes/vib/mar/xyl/glsp/cel-harp/strings

Vocal Range:

A#2 – B4

Tessitura:

F3 – G4

Role:

Eleanor of Aquitaine

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

1189

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Place:

Salisbury Tower, England

Synopsis:

Queen Eleanor of Aquitane is imprisoned in the Tower. She has been there for

almost 16 years because of a rebellion staged by her sons and herself against her

husband and their father, King Henry II. This scena has her recalling happier

times and reliving her memories, but finally sinking into hopelessness and

despair. Then the bells ring, announcing King Henry’s death and her freedom.

Justification:

Performed by:

Phyllis Curtin

Historical Significance:

Composer Carlisle Floyd developed a love for music at an early age; his mother was a pianist and started his lessons when he was 10. Early promise propelled him to study at Converse College and then at Syracruse University with Ernst Bacon beginning at the age of 16. A professorship at Florida State University allowed him dual careers: teaching and composing. Most known for his operas, Floyd writes both libretto and music and his style is lyrical and mostly conservative. Susannah, considered a dramatic folk opera, was an instant success when it debuted with New York City Opera in 1956, and is performed the world over today. In 1976 he left Florida State University and took up residence in Houston as the co-director of Houston Grand Opera. He is considered a fine teacher and conductor and his latest opera, Cold Sassy Tree, debuting in 2000, was received with rave reviews. (Carlisle Floyd)

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The dramatic monologue, Flower and Hawk was composed specifically for

Phyllis Curtin in 1972. Ms. Curtin had read a remarkable story about Eleanor of

Aquitaine and had given the book to Floyd, who was then inspired to create this master work. Forty-five minutes long, this monodrama is fascinating, revealing the duality of the heroine’s character; that of possessing qualities that represent the gentler, beautiful heart and a strong, calculating mind. On view in the Louvre is her seal as Queen of

France and England, with a flower in one hand and a hawk in the other. At the heart of this portrayal is a wide range of emotion and intensity, with passion and despair throughout. The power in this piece is its glimpse into the indominatable character of this remarkable woman. (Phyllis Curtin Interview)

Lyrics:

Fifteen years…five thousand, four hundred and eighty-three days… And now another day has passed. Or have I lost count again? Fifteen years shut away in this bleak room in this sun-starved country, England, Shut away like some mad-woman, hidden from the world. Fifteen years, fifteen years, of lonely exile, of lonely exile. Does anyone remember me? Does anyone know I am still alive? Will I ever be free again? Or will I die alone and be buried in some unmarked grave? Will I ever go back home again? Will I ever see Aquitaine again? Will I ever go back home? Will I ever be free again? Will this exile never end?

Have there been no messages today? Did the priest bring no news for me, or the merchant from London who came at noon? Did no one send a message to me? No one? No one? If this is what lies ahead for me, then I no longer want to live, I would choose to die instead! It would be done so quickly: with this poison only a minute or two and this endless waiting would be over. I am so old now… It would cheat death so little, so little. I will close my mind to this wretched present time and place. I will no longer notice this room, this wretched room. For if I do, if I do, I will lose my reason or I shall destroy myself. I will fix my mind on past happier times when I was free, when I was queen.

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I am to wed to Louis and am crowned Queen of France! Oh, what splendor! Oh what grandeur! Flaming candles, great voiced choirs, processions of cardinals, princes and kings while I sit here on the great high throne. Your honor to us does you honor. Your honor to us does you honor. Is my neck quite straight, my lord? I so abhor a crooked neck. If one is born to wear a crown, one’s neck should be straight and not bent like a goose. A bent neck appears a judgment of God, saying one is unfit to rule. Is my neck quite straight, my lord? I so abhor a crooked neck. I’ve carried a weight on my head all week to strengthen my neck to wear this crown, and now I am no longer able to tell. Your honor to us does you honor. What is it, my lord? Have you nothing to say? The nuns all say I talk too much but they also say I am wise for my years. I read and speak four languages and am very skilled at chess. The holy fathers say I have an agile mind. I sew and knit and embroider quite well. I dance and play the lute. I’m often told I have a pleasing touch. I’m widely read in philosophy, in metaphysics and astronomy. And at present, I am learning the arts of state-craft and diplomacy. My lord, why do you stare at me? Do my accomplishments surprise you? Or is my neck not straight? Is my neck not straight? Your honor to us does you honor.

Richard, oh my son, your words still pierce my heart. Will they never stop haunting me? They hover at the edge of my mind like dark, menacing birds of death. Your voice was hoarse, just a whisper; I could hardly hear what you said. And then came those desolate words that I cannot erase from my mind. “Vanity, all life is vanity…and living is a cruel jest…the struggle even to breathe is mockery.” You lay there dying, dying, with that hideous wound in your back, gnawing and sucking your life away, while I implored you to live, implored you to live. And you would not even struggle, you welcomed death.

Should I no longer struggle to live? Should I abandon all hope of being free again? But I have struggled all my life, to shape my life, to remain free, as I struggled against Louis many years ago in Antioch, struggled and won! Unbind me, I command you! Release me, I demand it! Unbind my hands, untie my feet! Have these soldiers untie me. Order them to release me at once! These ropes are cutting my flesh! If I am still your queen and still Queen of France, I demand you release me at once! I demand it! I demand it! At once! How dare you seize me and bring me here? How dare you have me seized? You, my husband and King! Tied, bound, and gagged like some wretched thief. How dare you allow them to touch me: as my husband, how dare you do that? And how dare you as the King of France? Oh, Louis, you erred most grievously, and you will pay dearly for your mistake. You will pay dearly, dearly! I shall return to France with you: but once we are there, once we are there, I intend to divorce you! On grounds of common blood, I intend to divorce you!

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Your face is stricken, my lord, and you are weeping. I have no wish to wound you for I know you love me well. But we are not suited, you and I, our natures are too diverse. So let me go out of your life, unnoticed, and unmourned: like a shadow that shrinks with the sun, leaving not even memory behind. And that mild and gentle man sadly let me go and I was free again. But if I had not struggled…had not struggled…

Why would you not struggle? Why would you not fight to live? Was there more I could have done to keep you alive? Was there more? Was there more? More? I must find an answer. I must put my doubts to rest.

The sun has set and night is falling; darkness enshrouds the earth. All is quiet now. Only the lidless eye of God is awake, and I am awake. And if I lie awake, if I lie awake, I’m afraid I’ll abandon hope; I so fear despair, I so fear a wakeful night. I will fix my mind on past, happier times…on past happier times…

Oh what happy times, years ago when my troubadour came to me at night, many years ago at Poiters where I reigned over the most splendid court in Europe. Maneuvers and ploys, gambits and schemes, alliances formed, treaties signed and marriages arranged. Come in, my lord duke, please be seated. You are seeking a bride for your son? Your lands are to the north, are they not? And is your son sole heir to these lands? I see. And what treaties are you bound by? And with whom do you seek alliances? I see, I see. And what is the condition of your treasury? I see, I see. Is that in land or gold? And who is your overlord, if I may ask? Oh yes, of course! The King of France! From what you have told me, I would suggest the young Countess of Anjoulême. And good day, my lord duke, to you.

What is it? My troubadour? Coming tonight? Then tonight cannot come too soon! All day while I have held court, how I have yearned for the night and my troubadour, the night when the Duchess has retired, the night that belongs to Eleanor: no more treaties to ponder, no more accounts to read. Hurry sun, now on your way West, my lover comes when the first stars appear tonight. I will lie in my lover’s arms and his voice and hands will caress me, all night long in my lover’s arms until the sun rises and combs the fields with light. Hurry sun, on your way West. My lover arrives with the stars!

This room is cold now and cheerless and bleak and lonely. Does anyone remember me? Does anyone know I am still alive? Anyone? Bring some wood for this fire! There is a deep chill in here! Rosamond…Rosamond…Rosamond…The King’s darling… I am growing old. The words are bitter on my lips. I have long refused to see the truth this cruel glass has shown to me.

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But now fair Rosamond, Henry’s pretty young love, has forced this hateful truth on me. I am growing old, I am growing old. My youth is gone and with it goes my husband, I fear. Who will comfort and solace me now that I’ve looked in this glass? Now that I’ve seen its bitter truth, what will solace me now? My lord, Henry, please come in. Won’t you be seated? Then I shall also stand. It has come to my ears that your mistress, Rosamond, has been shown in my place at the English court with you. I hear this on every hand. Are all these reports true? Then you are indeed a fool, Henry. You are indeed a fool, to think I’d endure such mockery. I’ll not endure that, Henry. I’ll not endure that! I’ll not be mocked as your queen! My lord, Henry, won’t you be seated? Then I shall also stand. How could you so quickly forget the sons and daughters I’ve borne you. Will you have more? Will you have more children? I can’t give you more; I can’t bear more children: my womb is barren now! I loved you from the first, my lord; with you, I found a man at last to match my spirit, ambition and fire. And we forged an empire together: an empire form Scotland to the Pyrenees! I love what we have made together; I love it as well as you do. But I will shatter that empire, shatter it completely: your sons and I will tear it apart. I will see it in ruins; see it in ruins before I allow you to mock me! I beg you, Henry, don’t force me to this; the stakes are too high for both of us! Too high, too high! Whom shall it be, my lord? Your mistress or your queen?

Then I am no longer your wife or your queen: we are parted forever! Leave now…leave at once… Leave now, leave at once! My nails are burning, burning, to get at your face! Henry, you have broken my heart; you have made me old. And for a long time after that I could find little reason to live: my soul was sick with despondency. Only when Richard died was I so close to despair. Only when Richard died…when Richard…

He was sinking…and the priest had not come. His life was ebbing away. He was sinking, sinking, sinking, without a struggle…and still the priest didn’t come… Live, Richard, live, son! Live! “Absolve, Domine, animas omnium fidelium defunctorum ab omni vincul delictorum…” Is the priest still not here? Live, Richard, live, son! Live! Live, son, live! He is gone. Richard, or Richard! Oh, my son, my son, my son! Oh, Holy Mother of God, oh, Holy Mother of God, receive my son unto thy bosom, receive my son. Oh, Holy Mother of God, oh, Holy Mother of God, love my son as I have loved him and grant him Paradise. I ache, I ache. My heart is cut out of me. I am an old and weary woman, already scarred by grief. Why should I suffer more?

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Why am I asked to bury still another child? And why Richard, the dearest of all to me? I cannot bear this loss! God is cruel, God is unjust! It is not right that I suffer more! If only I might have died, if only I might have died instead of you, oh, my son, instead of you. Oh, Holy Mother of God, love him as I have loved him and grant him Paradise.

Yes, of course…yes, of course…I see it…I see it now. Richard welcomed death as I flee it: he yearned for death as I hunger for life. There was nothing more I could have done, no way I could have saved him, for he was drawn to death and suffering like a babe to its mother’s breast, like a plant seeking the sun. May he find peace at last. May this most cherished child find peace at last. “Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine: et lux perpetua luceat eis, et lux perpetua luceat eis…”

Why are the bells tolling? What has happened? What is their news? Why are the bells being rung?

Henry…dead? God rest his soul and be merciful. Then I am…free…I am free… If Henry is dead, then I am free. My exile is over and I am free, free at last! God be praised! Christ be praised! I can wait now… For I am free at last, at last!

(Floyd)

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Figure 17: Grigorii Samuilovich Frid (1915 - ) (Wikipedia)

The Diary of Anne Frank (1969)

Composer:

Grigorii Frid

Type:

Opera monodrama

21 Scenes

Duration:

60 minutes

Libretto:

Libretto by Grigorii Frid after The Diary of Anne Frank

English translation by Alla Giomon and James Briscoe

Publishers:

G. Schirmer, New York

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Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Moscow, Russia

1972

Symphony: Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra

Conductor: Andrei Tsjistiakov

Artist: Eva Ben Zvi

Scoring:

flute, clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, percussion, piano, violin, violoncello, double

bass

Vocal Range:

A2 – Cb5

Tessitura:

Eb3 – G4

Role:

Anne Frank

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

June 12, 1942 – August 1, 1944

Place:

Hidden rooms in the Secret Annex of Otto Frank’s office in Amsterdam

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Synopsis:

A 13 year old girl’s inner-thoughts during their family’s hiding from the Nazis in

occupied Amsterdam, starting with her 13th birthday and continuing for 2 years

until their capture

Justification:

The tessitura, and range; even though the character in this work is a 13 year old

girl, the opera is vocally appropriate for a dramatic soprano

Historical Significance

Grigorii Samuilovich Frid was born in St. Petersburg in 1915, the son of a pianist mother and literary journalist father. Due to the civil war in that country, they fled again and again; many relatives of the family were killed during the Stalin regime. They settled in various Russian cities until they headed for Siberia where the father had been banished. In Moscow, Frid finished his music studies and taught music theory and composition at the Music School of the Conservatory, working simultaneously as a radio composer. Frid was influenced musically by Berg, Schoenberg, and Shostakovich and

his writing tends to project the more Romantic elements of these composers’ musical

ideas. (Wikipedia)

In 1969, Frid read Anne Frank’s diary and began to write the libretto soon after.

He used excerpts from the original diary entries, choosing episodes in the young girl’s life. The music conveys many emotions; often wistful, or full of anxiety, sometimes threatening, sometimes dreamy, but always supporting the extraordinary mood of the text. The angular, yet dance-like rhythmic portions of the accompaniment are reminiscent of Shostakovich or Prokofiev. The first production was in Russia in 1972,

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with another in 1977, before Frid smuggled the score to America where it has, since then, achieved international acclaim. (Ferjutz)

Lyrics:

Translation by Alla Gomon and James Briscoe

1. Introduction

2. Birthday On Friday I awoke at six o’clock. And no wonder - my birthday, my birthday. But never mind, that I must not get up so early, I had to keep quite still on my birthday until six forty five. I couldn't bear any longer. So I went right into the dining room, then started to unwrap my presents. And you, my diary, I found you the first of all, that was my best gift on my birthday. Father and mother got me such fine presents, bunches of presents. So long now, I’m so happy that you are here with me!

3. School Now it’s Sunday, it’s the twenty-first of June in the year nineteen forty-two. Our whole class is frightened and trembling. Soon now, soon now the teachers’ meeting will be held. Old Mister Kepler the old Math master has for a long time been annoyed with me; he has said that I chatter too much. But I told him that talking is a trait of women, a trait of women. Mama talks as much as I, as much as I or more and what can one do about it? You can’t deny your very nature. Old Mister Kepler just chuckled at my reasons, then he made such fun: "Quack-Quack, Mamselle Duckling!" My class howled with laughter.

4. Conversations with Father My father often stays at home now, often he stays at home now, my father may not go to work now. How sad not to live a full life and to be unwanted. Today, as he and I went walking, Papa told me all the plans about the "Hiding Place". He said it would not be a good life in such a place, where the world would be cut away far from us. "We must escape the dreaded Fascist hand. That is why we must hide away, we must not wait and let them capture us." Oh, how I do wish this day were so far away, so far away!

5. Notice from the Gestapo Today the eighth of July. So many things have happened, it seems that the whole world turned over! My Father opened up a notice from the Gestapo, and that means: Concentration Camp... Mama went to see the Van Daans, to ask if now we should go to our hiding. To hide up in

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the attic of my father’s warehouse. The van Daans and we are seven, we will be seven there, we will be seven there....

6. Hiding Place Saturday the eleventh of July. Our "Hiding Place". Papa, Mama and Margot just can’t get used to the sound of the tower, of the striking. But I loved it from the start, so very pretty, especially at night. Our secret Annex, is such an ideal hiding place. It’s no matter that it is damp and leans to one side, in all of Holland you won’t find a better hiding place from the storm. It is the silence, when I get so very frightened, especially, especially at night. I think we shall never see the daylight. Never live to be free and get out of here, they will find us and shoot us.

7. By the Window I sit by the window and see the world go whirling by people scramble and disappear. It is so strange to see how they run. How they hurry into darkness, hurry into nothingness, my window opens just enough to let me wonder. This quarter near us is poor working folk, the children so desperate. Through the window there are many things to see: there are tulips, daffodils, raindrops...and all hiding under black umbrellas.

8. I Was Told Friday now, it’s October sixteen. Now in the news they call for diaries to be published after the war and novels, too. I wonder if it’s true, yes, I’ll write a novel of my own "My hiding place". How silly such a title how very bad, they’ll think of some detective story, some Sherlock Holmes! When the war is done, when we are free, they won’t believe me if I write my story and if I describe how we were forced to live. Now we are all so frightened. We’re told a worker in the warehouse beneath the attic suspects we are hiding here. Who knows, if we can trust such a person or not... They won’t believe me, if I write my story and if I describe how we were forced to live.

9. Despair The weight upon my heart presses always and pulls to a deep chasm. A songbird am I with her song quiet, a songbird with no voice, how she struggles, struggles, struggles never free to sing, never free to leave her cage, never. "Oh freedom, oh freedom I cry deep inside. I want to, to breathe, to laugh out"! But I know it, I will never be free. I’m off to bed now; it’s all I can do to shorten the hours of silence and fear of silence.

10. Recollection When I think about my life, my life before Germans came to Holland, all was so ideal, all is so distant. Another Anne was living inside me. Now peace is gone, peace is no more, no more. So careless such a lighthearted child so happy that Anne never will return.

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11. Dream Last night deep a sleep, I had such a dream, such a nightmare. I saw her there before me. My friend, my girlfriend Liess. In silence and in tears exhausted, dressed in rags. Hope was gone, even in the darkness she appeared, emaciated, a skeleton. Her eyes, her eyes so sad. They stared at me, they reproached me, it was as if she spoke to me: "Anna, oh Anna, stay with me, don’t abandon me! Take me away out of this torment." I cannot help her now, I cannot help...I pray to God to save her, to give her peace, save her; Oh dear God, support her, and bring her back to us!

12. Interlude music

13. Duet of the Van Daans Today I’ll describe a very common, very common squabble of Mrs. van Daan and her husband. "Dearie" that is what she calls him, "I do not know why the English stopped the bombing?" "Because the weather now is so bad, don’t you see that?" "Oh, Dearie, no the sky was lovely yesterday!" "Ah, please don’t say it, please don’t repeat the same old thing!" "Why can’t a woman share her opinions just like men?" "Stop it!" "Why say ‘Stop it’?" "Oh hell, just shut up! Idiot!" "But now I know the Allies won’t come, they won’t come at all!" "Stop it!" "Why say ‘Stop it’? Why say ‘Stop it’?" "Shut up your stupid blabber, your stupid pig snout! Someday I’ll make you sorry, sorry you were ever born! You God forsaken fool! I can’t stand this nonsense! You should rub your nose into your filth, rub it in rubbish." The curtain falls on this drama. I couldn’t keep from laughing, laughing. I was laughing so hard! Peter and Mama could not hold it back.

14. Robbers Today the fourth of August nineteen hundred forty three. A robber in the warehouse! Below us, just below us. The robber, who can it be, what can he want? But what if he tells the Gestapo that he heard us, just to save himself?

15. Recitative One day Peter and I found a quiet place there in the attic we sat down together, on a box. We were sitting very close, his hand found mine in the silence. How lovely the trees coming out this year, sunlight calls us to come out a while, sky so

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blue, so blue, such crystal blue. I long to go out and touch the world.

16. I Think of Peter… Late every night I lie awake and wonder, I wonder if he dreams of me. I think of his earnest glance, tender glance, when our eyes meet, and of our fear to speak the truth: Of love, future years, happiness, and then I think about not our sadness but of all the wonders, of lovely nature, of life in the world, in spite of evil and fear, this world is still beautiful. And as for man he too is good at heart... In life there’s no pleasure in life, there’s no beauty like greeting the morning and knowing that nature is begging for you to come sing, and feeling the sun and watching the moon, and loving each other, and caring for someone, and silently waiting.

17. At the Russian Front We hear in the news the Russians are winning! At the Polish border they will come all the Allies. They take many captives. And now all the Nazi boys know about defeat. Tralala la la la la hooray for freedom! All we hidden ones are in a happy mood. Any moment now, we’ll hear something wonderful that the Allies are at hand. In Moscow shouting, in London there’s laughter and in Washington they cheer like thunder, I do not know why they make such noise like thunder cries and shouts laughter. You could say they can’t express any other way after all the joy of all the world.

18. Round-up Knocking beneath us here. It’s quiet again. Again knocking. Terror. They’re there walking Gestapo. In the warehouse beneath our hiding place... We didn't dare to breathe, all you could hear was the frantic beating of seven hearts. Steps, steps, they’re stopping at our stair, closer, closer, closer! They’re at the cupboard that hides our stair, oh, God! Again they shake it, again.. Something’s falling down. The steps, now they move away. We are burning with fever. And never since that very night such a danger, danger, as on this night. The Gestapo stood right at the cupboard, but nothing did they find, nothing did they find.

19. Solitude Actually in youth all is far more lonely than old age. The young have passions ideals, the old are far more practical and they know what they must do in life. But as for youth when life is new. It is hard to be so sure in times like these when we see all ideals collapse before us, when all about is falsehood, justice is forsaken, happiness gone! Ideals and dreams shining expectations cannot be still in our hearts, and if hope comes to us, the horrible reality will destroy hope utterly...

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20. Passacaglia It’s a wonder that up to now I still have hope and keep my spirit high. I see how now the world is becoming nothing but a desert. Now the thunder of war is here, it threatens to find and destroy us it seems to me, that we exist in a patch of sky, blue sky, between the black, hateful storm clouds. But it is coming nearer and nearer, it will absorb us in our desperate struggle, struggle for freedom How we shove and strangle each other. We see how people down in the street struggle too, we see how hatred overcomes us all and now the dark surrounds us, blackens us and separates like a, a curtain. The darkness ever pressing on us ever like a wall moving to us to crash us. And now all I can do is pray: "Adonoi eluhenu, make our way open our path to freedom!"

21. Finale Now the sun shines skies are clear and blue. One can’t even take in the beauty. Each morning I go to the roof to breathe deep the fresh air. The roof has become my favorite place, I see before me canals like ribbons. Chestnuts bare of leaves and the sparkling diamonds of dew. I see seagulls soaring in the blue sky their wings seem like silver sails on the horizon. I gaze out from my open roof top perch, from where I can see all of Amsterdam, a sea of roofs that stretch out all the way to the horizon. So long as I have this sunlight, so long as I have the earth and all nature that exists for me, for me to love, I can never be sad! Whenever you are put to trial, whenever you are lonely, unhappy go out and be unto yourself where it’s peaceful, where you can be unhindered. Alone with nature alone with God, at last now I know nature makes our life whole, suf’ring she can send away, pain is gone at nature’s hand. And when I look up to heaven, then I can think that every cruelty someday must have an end, and once again peace and love shall reign on earth. But ‘til that time we must keep our faith, our hopes and dreams. We must hold to courage, tho’ the weak may fall, the strong endure to carry on. I am prepared to sacrifice my life for the future. And if the Lord wills that I should survive, I shall give my self to serve the world. For now I realize that courage and loving kindness must be dearer now than ever! Power, glory, that is as nothing. But a joyous heart will falter for a moment only, ever more hope will awaken and hope will remain your heart’s strength all your life. So long as you can look up without fear to the heavens....

Translation by Alla Gomon and James Briscoe (Encompass New Opera Theatre))

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Figure 18: John Eaton (1935 - ) (Schirmer)

“I want the audience to be so involved in the sweep of the music. Because after all, music, of all the arts, is that that most begins with the fundamental basis of the universe itself. It begins with energy. And it begins with the very tissue of human and even natural experience on every level.” (Oteri)

Trumpet Voluntary (1991)

Composer:

John Eaton

Type:

Dramatic Soprano with Brass Quintet

Commissioned by the Chaucer Society for their Annual Convention in 1992

Duration:

8 minutes

Libretto:

Geoffrey Chaucer, from The House of Fame

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Publishers:

As yet unpublished, see composer for score

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Seattle, Washington

August 1, 1992

Scoring:

2 trumpets in Bb, trombone, French horn, tuba

Vocal Range:

Ab2 – C#5

Tessitura:

E3 – G4

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

Synopsis:

This is a declamatory poem that necessitates a firm, strong voice to carry the text

over the trumpets, horn, trombone, and tuba.

Justification:

“I chose the dramatic soprano voice primarily for the subject matter of the Chaucer fragment…also because it was to be accompanied (appropriately, again, considering the subject matter) by brass quintet. I needed the thrilling quality and weight of the dramatic soprano voice to soar over the brass instruments.” John Eaton

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The highest note, C#5, may be too high for some dramatic sopranos, as ordinarily

the accepted top range is C5.

Historical Significance:

A winner of three Prix de Rome awards and two Guggenheim grants, American composer John Eaton is internationally recognized as a composer of electronic and microtonal music. Born in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania in 1935, Eaton immersed himself with the new wave of 20th century’s innovative focus for composition and his recognized talent allowed him to study under Milton Babbitt and Roger Sessions. He received his

BA and MFA degrees at Princeton University and is currently Professor Emeritus at the

University of Chicago, where he served as Professor of Music Composition from 1991 through 2001. His chamber, vocal, and orchestral music expand traditional tools of composition through the use of microtonal scales; a fuller spectrum of notes per octave than the usual twelve tones. A prolific composer, Eaton’s operas include Danton and

Robespiere, composed in 1978, The Cry of Clytaemnestra, a work with over 17 productions and counting, written in 1980, and The Tempest, created in 1985 and

commissioned by Santa Fe Opera. In 1990 he received the MacArthur “genius award,”

and has written numerous articles on new music, as well as the book Involvement with

Music: New Music since 1950. (Schirmer)

In 1991, Eaton composed Trumpet Voluntary for Dramatic Soprano and Brass

Quintet. This work was commissioned and performed for the Chaucer Society in Seattle,

Washington for their Annual Convention in 1992. An eight minute piece, the power of

this unique composition lies in the dual roles of both voice and brass to present an

artistically integrated message. (Schirmer)

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Lyrics:

Go to Aeolus the God of Wind Go to Aeolus In Thrace you’ll find him… Bid him bring his clarion so full of different sounds… The one, ‘Clere Laudis’ or ‘Shining Praise’… And bid him bring his other horn… Called…Slander…with which heroes defame Those I wish…, and give them shame. Now take the one called Laud, and blow. Let fame go easily… and not too fast… Through out the world…

Gladly lady and he brandished the trumpet of gold… And set it…to his mouth and blew… East and west and south and north as loud as thunder, That all was wonder, and with it went… The smell of balm and roses, balm and roses,

Then Aeolus took his trumpet… Black, of brass, and through every region went the sound… As swift as a pellet from a gun, and such smoke, Came from that trumpet’s end… Black, blue, green and darkish red, Black, blue… green… and darkish red

Geoffrey Chaucer Translated by Anne Prescott (Eaton)

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Figure 19: Michael Kemp Tippett (1905-1998) (Steenslid)

“I am quite certain in my heart of hearts that modern music and modern art is not a conspiracy, but is a form of truth and integrity for those who practise it honestly, decently and with all their being.” (BrainyQuote)

Byzantium (1989/90)

Composer:

Sir Michael Tippett

Type

Rhapsody for Soprano and Orchestra

Co-commissioned by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Carnegie Hall in

honour of their respective centennials

Originally composed for Jessye Norman to perform, but two weeks prior to the

performance, she cancelled. Faye Robinson stepped in to sing it in her place

Duration:

27 minutes

Libretto:

Poem by W. B. Yeats, 1930

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Publishers:

Schott & Co. Ltd, London

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Chicago, Illinois

Orchestra Hall

April 11, 1991

Chicago Symphony Orchestra

Conductor: Sir Georg Solti

Artist: Faye Robinson

Scoring:

3 flutes (doubling 3 piccolos), 2 oboes, English horn, 3 clarinets in Bb (1st

doubling clarinet in Eb, 3rd doubling bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4

horns in F, 2 trumpets in C, 3 trombones, tuba, percussion, celeste, synthesizer,

2 harps, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 – Bb4

Tessitura:

F3 – G4

Voice:

Soprano

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Justification:

Repeated octave jumps with loud, held upper notes. Tessitura high; must have

heavier voice with power and point to be heard over thick orchestral texture.

Historical Significance:

Sir Michael Tippett was born in London in 1905, a child of nine years at the outset of World War I. This exposure to the effects of war on his country, the nations of the world, and all of humanity, would shape what would soon become the main focal points of his life; pacifism and music. After hearing of the 1938 pogrom against the

Jews, Tippett produced A Child of Our Time, “an impassioned protest against the conditions that make such persecution possible.” It was this composition that would bring notoriety to the new composer. A great humanitarian, Tippett was imprisoned for being a conscientious objector in World War II and was incarcerated for three months.

After the war, he poured himself into the pacifist movement and served on the Council of the Peace Pledge Union, and as Honorary President of that organization until his death in

1998. A knighthood and the Order of Merit were bestowed upon Tippett for his contributions to the world’s musical repertoire, which were many, but he would constantly interrupt his increasingly busy schedule of composition and performance to

speak about the importance of the relationship between, and the responsibility of, the

creative artist and humanity. (Wikipedia)

Ordinarily, Tippett would prefer to write his own libretto, but in the case of

Byzantium, his fascination with Yeats allowed for the creative path Tippett chose. In his

words:

“My own attraction to…Byzantium, as a vehicle for composition, was twofold: firstly, the crystalline intensity of the poem itself offered a challenge in setting its verbal imagery

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to music; secondly, I identified completely with its emphasis on the notion of artifacts, enshrining values that can be set against the impermanence of the everyday world and the complexities of the human beating heart.

The poem begins with a picture of the historical Byzantium that polarizes the ‘unpurged images of day’ against the star-lit dome of Santa Sophia (a fine example of an artefact, an architect’s articulation of immense interior space). The poet’s own visionary state, after he has metaphorically climbed the winding stair into the tower, is evoked in the second stanza, through communication with an elemental spirit. In the third stanza, the poet identifies as the city’s principal symbol the golden bird, the ‘miracle’ that is the antithesis of nature (the bird doesn’t sing in the poem, but it provided my setting with an obvious musical focus). Dance is the focal point of the fourth stanza, a rite of purgation. Finally, Yeats sees the world as also made up of such passionate images: while the poet (and in this case, the composer) stands back from the welter of experience, from the vantage point of Byzantium, he remains eternally fascinated by it as a mode of self-renewal – the images he uses (of the dolphin and the sea) themselves ‘fresh images beget’, and music can do the same.” Michael Tippett

This work requires a powerful, strong soprano; it is a long, demanding role which

is more declamatory than lyrical, with a brutally high tessitura. The angular and

explosive vocal line with an orchestral accompaniment to match, enhance the complex

poetry and is another masterpiece for a dramatic soprano. Byzantium is a mesmerizing

exhibition of sensuous mystery which provides an opportunity for virtuosic display.

(Tippett)

Lyrics:

Byzantium

The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong; A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains All that man is, All mere complexities, The fury and the mire of human veins.

Before me floats an image, man or shade, Shade more than man, more image than a shade;

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For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth May unwind the winding path; A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon; I hail the superhuman; I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.

Miracle, bird or golden handiwork, More miracle than bird or handiwork, Planted on the starlit golden bough, Can like the cocks of Hades crow, Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud In glory of changeless metal Common bird or petal And all complexities of mire or blood.

At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.

Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood, Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood, The golden smithies of the Emperor! Marbles of the dancing floor Break bitter furies of complexity, Those images that yet Fresh images beget, That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

(Tippett)

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Figure 20: Jeremy Beck (1960 - ) (New Music Jukebox)

“Music and drama can create an intensely personal and even spiritual experience (in the broadest sense of the term) for an audience, and it is this type of intimacy that moves me the most. For all the irony to be found in much post-modern music, I have little interest in anything which doesn’t seek to make an emotional connection. That’s what drew me to music way back when, what still draws me in to certain pieces, and what I strive to create.” (Beck)

Death of a Little Girl with Doves (1998)

Composer:

Jeremy Beck

Type:

A Symphonic Rhapsody for Soprano and Orchestra

Commissioned by the Waterloo/Cedar Falls Symphony Orchestra

Originally composed for Leslie Morgan and the Waterloo/Cedar Falls Symphony

Orchestra, Iowa

Duration:

35 minutes

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Libretto:

Jeremy Beck

Text based on the life and letters of sculptor Camille Claudel

Publishers:

Rental agent, The Edwin A Fleisher Collection of Orchestral Music at the Free

Library of Philadelphia, (215) 686-5313

Musical Time Period:

20th Century

World Premiere:

Cedar Falls, Iowa

February 5, 1999

Waterloo/Cedar Falls Symphony Orchestra

Acting Music Director: Jack Graham

Artist: Leslie Morgan

Scoring:

piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets in Bb, bass clarinet, 2

bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in C, 3 trombones, tuba,

timpani, 3 percussion, harp, piano, strings

Vocal Range:

G#2 – A4

Tessitura:

F3 – E4

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Role:

Camille Claudel

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Scene 1 – 1886

Scene II – March 13, 1913

Scene III – after some time in the Asylum

Scene IV - 1937

Place:

Scenes I, II – Camille’s studio in Paris

Scenes III, IV – in the Asylum

Synopsis:

This operatic soliloquy is based on the life of French sculptor Camille Claudel

who lived from 1864 to 1943. The final 30 years of her life were spent in an

asylum. This work gives us snapshot instances of time where we get a glimpse of

the turmoil and loss in her life.

Justification:

Recorded by:

Rayanne Dupuis

“full orchestra…has to tackle a wide range of expression and style: full operatic temperament, parlando, ardent sentiment, speech, and word sound-play. Comparison can be made with Britten, but in his 1930’s phase…(the masterly Our Hunting Fathers…Barber Knoxville…).” Rob Barnett

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Historical Significance:

A first-rate dramatic and lyrical composer, Jeremy Beck is on an exciting musical path. He was born in 1960 and received degrees from Yale School of Music and the

Mannes College of Music where he studied with Lukas Foss, Jacob Druckman, Stephen

Jaffe and David Loeb. Awards, honors and grants have come from the American

Composers Orchestra, California Arts Council, the Los Angeles Chapter of the American

Composers Forum, the Kentucky Foundation for Women, Millay Colony for the Arts,

Meet the Composer, the Wellesley Composers Conference, Oregon Bach Festival, Iowa

Arts Council and the American Music Center. Beck’s opera The Highway was performed by New York City Opera in May of 2000, as part of that company’s Showcasing

American Composers series. This composer’s musical style incorporates continuous melodic line, mildly dissonant harmonies, and is full of great beauty. One of his many talents is his ability to clearly express his musical thoughts through the use of attractive, convincing orchestration. (Jeremy Beck)

Death of a Little Girl with Doves is a compelling work. It is a fantasy, but Beck’s libretto is taken from the tragic life of sculptress Camille Claudel. Claudel was an accomplished artist in the late 1800’s, an apprentice to Rodin. They became lovers, and when the relationship dissolved, Claudel experienced terrible mental and physical anguish. She was committed to an asylum against her will in 1913 and spent the next 30 years there until her death. This dramatic work is the mouthpiece to express her triumphs, struggle and pain. The music is gripping; the forceful literary portrayal persuasive and yet haunting. With Beck’s imaginative treatment of singing and speaking, his fresh, ingenious use of orchestration, and his undeniable sense of emotional

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connection, Death of a Little Girl with Doves is an overwhelmingly artistic experience.

(Jeremy Beck)

Lyrics:

I. In Paris I share these thoughts only with you My despair and anger, only with you Please, I beg you, don’t tell anyone - Don’t tell Maman, she would be so angry with me! Please, I beg of you...

Dear Paul, dear brother! Thanks for your letter No, I am fine Those people are liars! Who told you I’m broke, and living in rags? My room is a studio, of course it’s a mess! I’m a sculptor - what do they expect? That I should clean after cutting stone? Who are they to judge me? Silly fools and gossips! Jealous women - Frightened men.

Afraid of a woman who dares to be free! Afraid of passion! Afraid of me! Who are they to judge this life that I have chosen? A glorious life! Shaping the clay, feeling the earth in my hands...

The joy of holding clay in one’s hands... caressing the earth And this other soul, Working with me, passionate artist! He understands, Like no one has ever understood! Oh, Paul! He’s a good man, a great man -

Don’t call me foolish! Don’t call me young! I’m already twenty-two!

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So what if he’s older? So what if he’s married? We work together, that’s all! I’m learning so much, so much from this Master, this passionate artist - Rodin!

Ssh! Quiet! Ssh! Quiet! Keep this all to yourself Useless to speak out Better to act under cover Don’t show my letter to anyone Beware of how they bribe you Don’t mention any names Otherwise they’ll threaten me

Ssh! Quiet! Be quiet! Not a word...

It is so pretty here, out in the country, at this estate - I went for a walk in the gardens, such lovely flowers! If you are good enough to come, We shall be in paradise! I’ve thought about your latest work; I want you here to talk about it. And I’ve been painting - I can’t wait to show you! Each night I go to bed naked pretending that you are there but when I wake up it’s not the same thing...

Rodin... Rodin... Rodin...

Rodin! Rodin! That devil! He cannot be trusted, and he cannot be stopped! He steals from me! They all do! They use me - They have no ideas - nothing new!

Ssh! Quiet! Keep this all to yourself Useless to act under cover That devil! Raping my imagination! Getting rich from my work! They all make money! Millions of francs!

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The scoundrel takes advantage of us, of me, of you, and makes himself quite a little bundle. And when I fight against him, he uses you and Maman to whip me (spoken) “I am like a cabbage that is gnawed on by caterpillars As soon as I grow another leaf, they eat it.”

Ssh! Quiet! Millions of francs for the caster, millions for the merchants, millions for the dealers Millions of francs for the Master, Millions of francs, millions of francs, millions of francs, millions of francs, millions of francs -

II. “It is March 10, 1913; another Monday in Paris. Two men force their way into Camille Claudel’s studio, and bodily take her away by car. Unknown to Camille, it was her brother Paul - esteemed writer, poet and diplomat - who applied for the medical certificate, authorizing her internment in the asylum at Ville-Évrard.”

Dear Paul, It’s illegal! Criminal! I’ve been kidnapped - and I know by whom! That devil, Rodin - He wants his fame untarnished by me!

When I am out, once I am free revenge will be mine! Justice is no use - What one needs is a pistol, The only argument. I have to stop him!

Paul, help me Have me released - I must get out! I know you will help me, But please don’t tell Maman...

Dear Paul! Thanks for your letter - Once I am out, I’ll get back to work! I have a lot of ideas Here are some sketches

See? Three people listening to another behind a screen I call it: “The Gossipers!” Here is another group of three:

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A young girl huddled on a bench and crying while her parents look on, astonished. “La Faute”... “The Mistake”...

III. In the Asylum “Monsieur: I am taking the liberty of sending you the enclosed letter which I am sending to my daughter Camille Claudel. It is an answer to her letters in which she accuses us of a lot of things to which we are strangers, that is why my letter is so harsh. In your last health bulletin, you told me that her persecution complex had diminished, and that she could be let out of your establishment on a trial basis. According to the letters I have received from her, I see that her ideas have not changed. Her state of mind is always the same, always believing herself to be the victim of everything which is not in the slightest bit true. It is she who has been her own executioner. It is impossible to believe she has a healthy mind and that she can behave reasonably, no more so now than when she first entered the home for mental patients in which, no longer able to cope with her incoherencies, we had to place her ten years ago. If she were to leave you, she would begin again immediately, I am certain, and would cause us the biggest problems. One cannot allow freedom to those who suffer from a persecution complex without grave danger because once back in their own surroundings, they would quickly resume old ideas.”

“Dear daughter, Your last letter is before my eyes and I can’t imagine that you can write such horrors to your mother. God alone knows what I will have suffered on account of my children! How dare you accuse me of poisoning your father! You know as well as I do that he was nearly 90 years old when he left us! How terribly he suffered, when he learned the truth about your relations with that monster Rodin, and the disgraceful comedy you performed for us on your visits. And I, I was naive enough to invite the “Great Man,” along with his wife and you, his concubine! While you played the sweet innocent and were living with him as a kept woman. I hardly dare write the words that come to mind! Let’s stop here, shall we? Your letter is nothing but a mass of slanders, each more odious than the next. -I send you a kiss.”

Dear Maman, It has been so cold; I am numb. These hands, which drew life from clay and from stone, now shake, I can barely hold a pen... I haven’t been warm all winter. Tell me, how is Paul? Where is he now?

Mother, please come see me Mother, please forgive. I’m frightened and lonely I miss you and Paul...

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You treat me so harshly, your letters, so cold If you could only see conditions here Perhaps you’d be moved I still am your daughter.

You don’t forgive me for being an artist You don’t forgive me for once being young... For my freedom, for passion, For Rodin! Life was once a swirling wave of hope and light.

Please don’t forget your little sculptor daughter Please don’t forget; Forgive...

(small laugh) Mother, your daughter is in prison - don’t forget! In prison with lunatics who yell all day, spitting, making faces! No place for me! I was praying you would help me, but unhappily I see now you have always let yourself be manipulated by those who wish me harm. They had only one thing in mind, those people: Get me out of Paris, grab my work, make themselves rich without any trouble! And leading them all, Rodin!

Since the imagination, emotion, the new, are part of a fine mind, those thick brains need someone else to explore, to feel!

All of this comes from Rodin - Still jealous! He keeps me in his clutches from behind the Gates of Hell!

You say, God has mercy on the afflicted, God is good! Let’s talk about your God! A God who lets an innocent woman rot away in an asylum!

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Forgotten! Abandoned! Where is your God? Where is God?

IV. I share these thoughts only with you My despair and anger, only with you

Dear Paul, dear brother! Thanks for your letter No, I am fine Those people are cruel - who cares what they say about me? Gossips! Idiots!

You know what I do, when something unpleasant happens? I take my hammer and I crush a statue! A lot of executions have taken place! You should see the pile of rubble! It’s a grand human sacrifice!

Where - are you? I am waiting for the visit you promised last summer - I know - Paris is so far away...

At this holiday time, I always think about Mother - I never saw her again, not since the day you sent me here. I remember her eyes, filled with sadness (spoken) “I am thinking about the beautiful portrait I did of her in the shade of our beautiful garden. I remember a spirit of resignation over her face...”

It’s been twenty-four years since Rodin and the dealers sent me away, condemning me to a place where they themselves should be! Especially, Rodin!

They want me to die, forgotten, in rags! An artist without any defense - How could you believe their lies about me? How could you be fooled?

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Ah, Rodin! I knew you would come! I knew you would keep your promise!

Do you like it? This painting? It’s new! I’m not quite finished, still thinking of adding flowers, some flowers - (he kisses her neck, she smiles) (spoken) “Stop it! That tickles!” Do you like it? This painting? I know, it’s not finished, But can you feel how peaceful it is? The doves surround her, protect the young girl... Their wings caress, with tenderness...

Yes - I know, the colors are dark. No, she’s not sleeping.

(spoken) Hmm? I call it “Death of a Little Girl with Doves.” text © 2001 by Jeremy Beck (Beck) www.BeckMusic.org CD available from www.innova.mu Score available from The Edwin A. Fleisher Collection of Orchestral Music at the Free Library of Philadelphia (215) 686-5313

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Figure 21: Bongani Ndodana-Breen (1975 - ) (SA Composers)

“I have been drawn more and more towards an ‘African aesthetic’ within my art form, which is music riddled with European conventions. In trying to make sense of a cultural paradox, a new musical language emerges. I have learnt to trust my inner ear and rhythmic instinct. This allows me to draw upon a greater reserve of musical concepts. In drawing these two streams of music together (African and European), the hybrid outcome is more easy to identify with. It is a mirror of the society I live in.” (Bongani Ndodana)

Umuntu: Threnody and Dances (2001)

Composer:

Bongani Ndodana-Breen

Type:

Monodrama for Soprano and Celli

Commissioned by the National Arts Council of South Africa

Duration:

55 minutes

Libretto:

Written in total by Bongani Ndodana-Breen with the exception of Scene I, which

is from a poem by Wilfred Owen entitled, Be Slowly Lifted Up

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Publishers:

Presently unpublished, contact composer

Musical Time Period:

21st Century

World Premiere:

Durban, South Africa

March, 2001

Auditorium of the SABC Studios in Durban

Artist: Linda Bukhiosini

Scoring:

4 celli

Vocal Range:

B2 – C5

Tessitura:

E3 – G4

Role:

Nomzamo

Voice:

Soprano

Time:

Present day

Place:

South Africa

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Synopsis:

“Nomzamo (the main character’s name) means “One who strives in Xhosa” (a group of over eight million people living in South Africa). Nomzamo is a fictional character who is a summation of all the women who have been victims of war in Africa, from the Congo to Angola, from Mozambique to Uganda. I wrote this as a meditation on the civic/ethnic strife in Africa and how it has affected women.” Bongani Ndodana-Breen

Justification:

This work has been performed by an accepted Dramatic Soprano today. Its

inclusion is based on its meeting all the criteria, personal perusal, and its

representation as an important cultural and historical work.

Historical Significance:

Composer and conductor Bongani Ndodana-Breen has written a wide range of music encompassing symphonic work, opera, chamber music and vocal music. Groups from around the world have performed his music. No less than nine organizations have commissioned his compositions and he currently directs the Toronto-based

MusicaNoir/Ensemble Noir, which was the first Canadian classical music ensemble to tour Africa, Ghana, Nigeria, and South Africa. Ndodana-Breen was awarded the

Standard Bank Young Artist Award for Music in 1998, one of South Africa’s most prestigious arts prizes, which led to a commission for his opera-oratorio Uhambo that he conducted at South Africa’s National Arts Festival. Following the premiere of his African

Kaddish for orchestra, led by German conductor Bernhard Gueller, Ndodana-Breen was described as “a wonder boy composer with a natural gift second to none” by the Mail and

Guardian (Johannesburg, July 2001). Ndodana-Breen is a passionate advocate for the

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music of our time. His own works are influenced by the lyricism and rhythms of Africa,

blended with an eclectic, post-modern approach to contemporary music. (SA Composers)

This work, Umuntu: Threnody and Dances, has explicit dramatic directions and

staging included in its score. The libretto is written in a stream of consciousness form of a woman’s thoughts and experiences. When asked why he chose a string accompaniment, the composer explained,

“The blend of soprano and four celli is just a very gorgeous sound. The vocal line moves from lyrical and smooth lines to angular, anguished melody. I quoted a lot of Beethoven and Bach in No. VIII Interlude, and basically tear apart a fragment of Bach’s Brandenburg #3, symbolizing the looting and pillage of Africans by Colonial powers from Europe.”

In a musical review by Bernard Holland in the New York Times, Ndodana’s music is described as

“airy, spacious, terribly complex but never convoluted – has a lot to teach the Western wizards of metric modulation and layered rhythms about grace and balance. He reminds us that most of our notions about musical motion on the last century came in their round-about way from Aftrica or Southeast Asia in the first place, and that Africans tend to do it better than we do.”

An important work representing music with a blend of cultural elements from

West and East, Umuntu: Threnody and Dances demonstrates that “Ndodana is not a raw talent; he is a talent and, at 31, possesses a clear and gentle voice of his own.” (Holland)

Lyrics:

Prologue You all wonder why I am here; I should be asking you the same thing. You see, this is my mind; the inside of my mind. The doctors tell me it’s broken. They give me tablets to drink, and the nurses slip in a little vodka, with a bribe, of course. Since you’re here, welcome. Welcome! Welcome to MY madness, my world filled with a past that haunts me…my world that is constant – painfully constant and filled with my waking vivid Dreams. The only difference is that my Dreams are true. Oh how I wish it were otherwise. My name is Nomzamo, the daughter of a great General, who freed my country from the white man. He ruled until he died…then our troubles began.

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I. Be Slowly Lifted Up Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm, Great gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse; Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm, And beat it down before its sins grow worse; But when thy spell be cast complete and whole, May God may God may may God may may God curse thee curse thee and cut thee from our soul!

Wilfred Owen

II. A Deep Winter It was a deep winter. The frost biting on our tired feet, numb from days of walking, my child crying on my back. The Rebels were gaining on us. Baleka, Baleka Mfazi! The Rebels were coming. They’re gaining Ah! Spare my child and take me take me a child is useless to your cause. But they took him away from my back and ran a knife through his breast. It was a deep winter. The frost biting and my hands dripping with my infant’s blood. I could not find the tears to shed all I know is, once I had a baby boy I called him Africa. I called him Africa. All was lost to me that winter. I shall never bear a son again again. Oh a deep winter it was. When will these senseless wars end?

III. Lament on the Sudan (only Celli)

IV. Spirit of Sharpville Comrades! Comrades! Here begins a prophet’s story. Remember Remember Remember Remember Comrades Comrades what happened. Look Look Look recall the suffering. We have become Orphans with no Fathers! Fathers! Fathers! Our Mothers are now Widows Widows Widows. Our inheritance is naught, turned to strangers Our necks are under persecution. We labor and have no rest. The joy in our heart has ceased, our Dance is now turned to Mourning to Mourning Mourning Mourning. Has the world forgotten us? Ha Haa Haaa Haaaa I am the spirit of Sharpville the Daughter of its ill-fortune Daughter of Daughter of Daughter of the Spirit of Spirit of Spirit of Sharpville.

Part II

V. Then the Children Scattered Then our our children scattered like water running, exiled to all four corners of this world. The hearth was empty with no one to fetch water, wood, coal. Mothers and Grandmothers left barren as if they had never given birth. hunger and shame gripped us as our only hope of survival was our children. Children that served Idi Amin, Mobuto cut from our lives and sacrificed to their demonic powers. May your Gods or the Demons

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that possessed you spare your awful souls from the fires that await you. Now the great Satan will have some new tenants.

VI. General, Sir General, Chief most excellent, supreme warrior and father of this great public, brave warrior, brave warrior who jumps from battle to battle leaving fire in his wake. Most excellent sir and great unequaled leader liberator great lion of Africa. Why do you let children starve and die and how can you let children suffer from flies and worms draining what life strength they had? May you may you may you may you may you choke choke you infant murderer pig your gluttenous greed will be your end and may your seed be cursed! For a hundred generations. General sir our most most brave revered, great warrior. He who jumps from battle to battle leaving fire in his wake!!!

VII. Father Ah Ah Ah Father, General my leader Why do you haunt me Father? You, only you alone spoil your fantasy or corrupt blood thirsty cruel power Father forgive your little princes for being human, human Father forgive me for having a heart to care when people suffer I am no monster I shared no part of your evil no part no part in all this. Power corrupts the very hand that wields it. Greed, revenge and hatred bear not children but evil evil You lay with my mother, but I am no daughter of yours. Go and rest your grave and the demons that guard it await their master await.

VIII. Interlude – The Smell of Blood

IX. Hymn

Part III

X. Legend Legends say there once was a girl who was a prophet. She saw visions of the ancient ones by a river. She saw what? She thought were those who have gone before us to that other world Thula thula thula thula Ndivile Ndivile Thula Sendivile Thula She was called a prophet by all in her village. By her order all was reared and slaughtered by a river. They feasted. Thula Thula Thula Ndivile Thula Thula (sprechtstimme) Kill, kill all your cattle kill them and feast and feast. They slew all cattle they had and harvested all crops they had Little did they know, the shadow figures in the river were men ready to enslave them Thula Thula Thula Thula Ndivile Ndivile Thula Ndivile Thula Ndivile

XI. After the Legend And so you understand that my people have been easily led astray but not only by white men masquerading as shapes but also they are fooled by the false prophets and their greed. These prophets are false They’re idols are made of clay False leaders love power to them it’s life life Listen then with caution to their promises which are veiled in sweet

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deceit Take caution my people watch their eyes watch their mouths listen to their hearts do they really care for the hungry and oppressed? The hungry and oppressed? Dance! My people! Dance! For Peace! Dance! For Love! Dance! Children of Africa! Dance! For Love!

Bongani Ndodana-Breen (Ndodana) www.ensemblenoir.org

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Figure 22: William Elden Bolcom (1938 - ) (Wikipedia)

“I knew I was going to be composing. It all makes sense in retrospect. But you don't know while you're in the process of improvising your life.” (ThinkExist)

Medusa (2002)

Composer:

William Bolcom

Type:

Monodrama for Dramatic Soprano and String Orchestra

Originally composed for Catherine Malfitano

10 Scenes

Duration:

45 minutes

Libretto:

Poem by Arnold Weinstein 145

Publishers:

Edward B. Marks Music Company and Bolcom Music, not yet in print

Musical Time Period:

21st Century

World Premiere:

New York, New York

March 5, 2003

Carnegie Hall

Conductor: Dennis Russell Davies

Orchestra: Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra

Artist: Catherine Malfitano

Scoring:

5 Violin I, 5 Violin II, 4 Viola, 3 Violoncello, 2 Contrabass

Vocal Range:

G#2 – C5

Sprechtstimme

Tessitura:

D3 – G4

Role:

Medusa

Narrator

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

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Time:

Greek Mythology

Place:

The entrance to the Underworld, on the side of the Western Ocean

Synopsis:

Medusa was a Gorgon, born beautiful and mortal. In one of Athena’s temples,

she was raped by Poseidon, who was disguised as a horse. Athena was furious

and as punishment, turned Medusa’s hair into writhing snakes. Her appearance

was so fearsome that men who looked on her were turned into stone. However,

she was mortal, and Perseus was sent to kill her. He accomplished this by staring

into his shield and seeing her reflection instead of looking into her eyes, while

Athena guided his hand with the sword. After he beheaded her, her blood

produced two offspring: Chrysaor, and Pegasus, a winged horse.

Justification:

Scored specifically for Dramatic Soprano

Composed for Catherine Malfitano

Historical Significance:

Born in Seattle, Washington, in 1938, William Elden Bolcom was a bonafide child prodigy; at the age of 11 he entered the University of Washington to study

composition and piano. Under tutelage with prominent pianists and composers, he

graduated with a doctorate in composition from Stanford University in 1964 and went on

to receive the 2ème Prix de Composition at the Paris Conservatoire in 1965. Significant

awards throughout his career include the Marc Blitzstein Award in 1966 from the

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Academy of Arts and Letters for his opera, Dynamite Tonite, a Pulitzer Prize for music in

1988 for 12 New Etudes for Piano, and 3 Grammy Awards in 2006 for his setting of

William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience. He has received commissions from over 12 symphony orchestras, 10 organizations, and numerous soloists and chamber music organizations world-wide. He is married to Mezzo Soprano Joan

Morris and together they have concertized for the past 30 years. (Wikipedia)

Medusa is an unparalleled work. From the moment of the first sound which is a scratching technique in the bows, this music keeps the audience totally transfixed for 45 minutes. Medusa is introduced to us through horrific sound and eerie sprechtstimme.

This role is not for the feint of heart; one has to know how to deliver screams, whispers, growls, chortles, wheezes, gasps, and still sing from a very low throaty chest register to a high C (C5). The character portrayal and text delivery are all important for this work. To quote Jay Nordlinger from The New York Chronicle,

“The big news of this evening was the Bolcom work: Medusa, which is subtitled “Monodrama for Dramatic Soprano and String Orchestra.” That is a tidy summing up of the piece…Bolcom composed this extraordinary Medusa with his longtime collaborator, the writer Arnold Weinstein…Weinstein came up with a brilliant libretto on the Medusa theme. As Bolcom says in his accompanying notes, ‘I have tried to sail my musical boat according to Weinstein’s laid-out course – a wild ride full of surprises…The grand curve of the work traverses Medusa’s early beauty, her horrifying transformation, and her death, which again leaves beauty in its wake.’ The audience was reluctant to stop applauding and to leave…Bolcom’s score grips and startles and amuses throughout, qualifying as a triumph.”

(Nordlinger)

Lyrics:

I. The Hag on the Crag COME SEE THE MONSTER MEDUSA I GUARANTEE SHE’LL PRODUCE A JOY ANY MAN’S VISION CRAVES. COME SEE HER NOSTRILS FLARE

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LIKE A PAIR OF OPEN GRAVES. SEE THE TONGUE LAP THE LIZARD-SKIN CHIN, SEE THE GUMS HANG IN FESTOONS FORMING THE BARRACUDA GRIN OF THE MEDUSA. Come see the monster Medusa. Look, listen and gasp at the serpents coiling in her curls, the adder and the asp. Listen to the hissing, you don’t know what you’re missing till you hear reptiles reminisce about dear desert days before their exile to the hair, the writhing crawling hair of the Medusa. SEE HER CRIES POLLUTE THE SKIES, SEE HER CRUSTED EYES, BLOOD RED AS THOUGH A SEA-HAWK HAD BEEN FED LIKE NOBODY YOU EVER KNEW. LIKE NOTHING YOU DID EVER VIEW. COME SEE THIS MONSTER MEDUSA. THIS GRUESOME MUSE OF UGLINESS. THIS DEFORMED ENORMITY WHICH IN THE SWEET USED-TO-BE IS NOT AT ALL WHAT SHE WAS BEFORE THE FALL OF THE MEDUSA. (ah ah)

11. In Athena’s Temple Time was, of all the vestal virgins in Athena’s temple Medusa was the most devoted and most lovely. When the gold of her hair caught the light of the sun Ev’ryone was captured. When she lit the lamps her face was crowned With a beauty so profound Young and old, shy and bold Crowded round, enraptured. Tongues of desire flickered in eyes, Even the eunuchs’ tunics would rise; One could safely say No man came to the temple to pray But to sing love’s perennial psalm. Cold and calm, she walked away. Till one day the great god Neptune Sang to her the same inept tune: “You don’t mean to say That you devote each day To the virgin goddess In that skimpy bodice. And that floor-length sun-lit hair!

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It’s unfair!” He also sang off key. She responded respectfully: “I know this is the move men make But a god must know my soul’s at stake. As Athena’s vestal virgin I Would rather die than break my vow.” Neptune was more excited now. Tender virgins like you, child, Drive us Olympians wild, child, With your exquisite golden hair, Fairer than gold, and more rare, child.

III. The Rape Suddenly with sinewy muscle and breath like flame Neptune became a stallion and tore into the virgin on the pristine temple floor While Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, Hid behind her shield In divine disgust and jealously As she watched the virgin yield To the mighty lust of Neptune. He triumphantly shook his mane And giving his nose a snort Returned to his myriad nereids Corralled in his coral court.

IV. The Sentence Envy burned Athena’s reason. She turned the child into a deformed woman And ordered Vulcan: “Stop sulkin’ over the Venus and Mars affair And forge me a pair of claws of brass To replace the devoted hands That lit votives to me.” Then she had Vulcan hammer our fangs for her mouth, One going north, one going south. And as for Medusa’s golden hair Athena placed serpents there. Now crawling, writhing creatures wreathed her pug-ugly features But Athena knew that even then, Men being men, They’d sooner hug A sagging dug Than spend a night alone. So Athena put into Medusa’s glare The stare that turned men to stone.

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V. The Expedition: Scena Medusa, bewildered and ashamed Of what she was blamed for, Terrified that her family would be petrified by her look, Marooned her lonely loathsome self To a crag on the ocean shelf And wondered and waited. The goddess Athena was not mistaken: Expeditions were undertaken. Boats came, kept coming. The twenty-four man-o’war slumming to hear the hair hiss and the brass claws clack, To see from afar The raging stare of petrifaction ready to attack. Even the farmer In second-hand armor, Sword and dagger, Look at him swagger Like bow-legged Hercules, Ready to brave the seas To see the Medusa. Sail, sailor, don’t be so slow, Sail and see who runs the show. Not the captain or admiral or Surely no the man behind the oar, While Neptune’s down in his watery harem Having an after-orgy snore. Farmer, give your shield a shine You’re a stoic, you’re heroic, Sail to me. You are mine.

VI. The Storm And Medusa called on the sea, that mother of all things, To bring on a typhoon, And a typhoon struck! Ships went under, the sea went amuck! The sky cracked open, fore and aft, And port and starboard flew apart. The wind was captain of the craft. The rain was mater of the master’s art. The storm hit harder, a timber snapped. Then one big wave slapped the whole fleet down. Making a great sarcophagus of bones Of men who became their own tombstones,

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Having looked into the eyes, the eyes Of the Medusa. Hear a lament of a hero for his life, A faithless husband for his wife. Hear the despair that rang through the air, How it was music to Medusa of the hissing hair. In the eternal necropolis below Fish with eyes on the side of their head Eternally watch a stone dead farmer Watch the rust grow on second-hand armor. Back home, a sweetheart of the fleet In blissful ignorance embroiders a sheet; On it is the face Of the Medusa.

Part 2 VII. Interlude

VIII. After the Petrifaction: Scena Thanks for the look, boys, I needed that. Orpheus, you had to look back. Oedipus, you had to scour the country. When will men’s eyes ever learn to behave? I need a well-deserved wash, now the water is quiet. Neptune left behind a mess only gods can make. (Screams) Looked at her writhing reflection: Frightened frightening thing. Poor scary thing herself was scared. But I still have my hate to keep me hot. Being screwed by a god and a goddess, and a stallion, Puts a girl in a pretty bad mood. When the fires on the distant shore die down, Dawn coming in, all darkness done, I for one must prepare To blow your breath out with a stare. How time passes since I’m trapped in immortality! Eternal life is too long to live without revenge. When the fires on the distant shore die down, Dawn coming in, all darkness done, I for one must prepare To blow your breath out with a stare, with a stare. Climb aboard, hero, haven’t you heard: Hunger is the new beauty? Here’s your chance, hero, Meet the girl with the withering glance, hero!

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HERO, YOU ARE MINE!

IX. A Beating of Wings A beating of wings. Who’s there? Not a normal sightseeing snoop Swooping on the spit-white dawn. Looks like a hero trolling for a dragon. One look, hero, you’ll go under, Amonument to make fish wonder. You’re very formal, hero, With your shield all a-shine, hero. You’re divine, hero. I like you. Don’t look at me, not yet. Not yet. I promise you ecstasy Next to me. Glide through me. Slide through the slimy fog To love.

X. Perseus Lurking in the wings is a story Common as Queen Anne’s lace: A story of another god raping Another pretty face. Jove came to our hero’s mother In a shower of gold Of loving liquefaction. (At least that’s the tale she told.) And Danae gave birth To Perseus the fatherless Who will offer Medusa’s head To a king who will marry his mother. (Any good son feels it his duty To give his mother a King-sized bed.) The gods are family. Athena gave Perseus her shield. Hermes gave him a sword To slice off the head of Medusa And a pouch to hold it in, And the address of the cave Where lived the three grey ladies Who had the only remaining map That led to the Medusa. In a twilit cave the three grey ladies, Dino, Enyo, and Perphrido, Had one grey eye and one grey tooth among them:

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Dino, Enyo, and Perphrido. One eye, one snaggle tooth they passed, they passed one to the other. Persus flew down to the cave Where he told the ladies his tale of woe. Fatherless boy who yearns for legitimacy. But how without Medusa’s head? The grey ones wept, Passing their one eye To each other to share their tears. They would show him the way But the map had to stay. But swift Perseus grabbed the one weeping eye And refused to return it Until the ladies gave him the map. He swore he’d bring it back. They’re waiting still.

XI. Perseus Approaches With the pouch, magic sword, and map, Perseus flew to Medusa. Watch him circling around me. Welcome, hero, have a seat. Bite to eat? My crustaceans can’t be beat. Have a drink. Snap a sea-weed bubble. Close your eyes, Don’t take the trouble to think. FEEL! My body still is finger lickin’ fine. It’s yours Everything is yours, yours. All the colors of the rainbow, yours My thighs across the horizon, yours My scaly gown of skin is yours. The human heart that beats within is yours. Breathe deep. Dive in. Love somehow lives in me. Love I never knew could be Till you flew by. Take the knee-guards from your knees! Take the breast-plate from your breast! Let me breathe into your ear Inspiration you’re the first to hear. Many have sailed,

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Tried me and failed, Ev’ry century or so, Only to sink below. But you, my wand’ring sea hawk, You’ll go home safe. Ah! How gracefully He circles to me! Now, flying straight at me. But with his back to me! Looking in the mirror of his shield, With his back to me! Back-ward, back-ward, Back-ward, with his sword Beheading me! Slicing through my neck, Pouring my blood on the ground! Pouring ly head into a swarming pouch, Holding it high!

XII. Finale: Pegasus Flying toward royalty, The assassin disappeared with the swarming pouch held high As it whispered: WHAT A SHAME, WHAT A SIN. YOU AND ME, WE COULD HAVE BEEN HERO AND HAG, TOP OF THE CRAG… WHAT A DRAG. Then the dying Medusa Heard the sound of the birth of Pegasus Through her blood, out of the earth Toward the sky. From his hooves in the puffy clouds And the snakes hissing in her hair. From these, Athena invented the art of music.

Medusa by William Bolcom and Arnold Weinstein is © 2002 by Edward B. Marks Music Company and Bolcom Music. Used by Permission. All Rights Reserved. (Bolcom)

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Figure 23: Thomas Pasatieri (1945 - ) (Koymasky)

(Speaking about his first opera, The Women) “The story came to me in a dream, full-fledged, everything. When I woke up from this dream, I began to write the libretto. I worked twenty-four hours a day writing the libretto and the music and then orchestrating it. I will never forget that, it was like a bolt of lightning in my life. It was of a whole cloth, the way that it came to me, and I was absolutely possessed. I had to write it. My belief is that it was sent to me because it was meant to be the direction of my life. And I would have to say it was the turning point of my life.” (Blue)

Letter to Warsaw (2003)

Composer:

Thomas Pasatieri

Type:

Song Cycle for Soprano and Orchestra

Six texts and six orchestral interludes

Commissioned by Music of Remembrance

Originally composed for Jane Eaglen

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Duration:

70 minutes

Libretto:

Six texts by the Polish cabaret artist Pola Braun, composed while incarcerated in

the Warsaw ghetto and in the concentration camp Majdanek

Publishers:

As yet unpublished, but can be found at Theodore Presser Company,

Pennsylvania

Musical Time Period:

21th Century

World Premiere:

Seattle, Washington

Benaroya Hall

Holocaust Remembrance Concert

May 10, 2004

Music of Remembrance Chamber Orchestra

Conductor: Gerard Schwarz

Artist: Jane Eaglen

Scoring:

flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, trumpet, piano, harp, violin, viola, 2 celli, double bass

Vocal Range:

C3 – Bb4

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Tessitura:

D3 – E4

Role:

Pola Braun

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

Time:

During the Holocaust

Place:

Warsaw ghetto and Majdanek concentration camp

Synopsis:

Six powerful texts of one woman that opens a window to the emotional life of all

women trapped in the the Holocaust tragedy

Justification:

Originally composed for and performed by Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Thomas Pasatieri was born on October 20, 1945 in New York City. By the age of

10, he was an accomplished pianist and performer and was composing when he was 15.

At 16, he entered the Julliard School of Music with a scholarship for composing and was

that school’s first recipient of a doctoral degree. He has created 17 operas, hundreds of

songs, many choral works, concerti and sonatas. Pasatieri has taught composition at

Julliard, The Manhattan School of Music, and Cincinnati College and Conservatory of

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Music and was the Artistic Director at Atlanta Opera. In 1984 he moved to Los Angeles to create his own film music production company entitled Topaz Productions, where

Pasatieri scored the music for Fried Green Tomatoes, Scent of a Woman, The Shawshank

Redemption, American Beauty, Erin Brockovich, Finding Nemo, and Angels in America.

(Koymasky)

Letter to Warsaw is a powerful score that echoes Pola Braun’s poignantly written account of her ordeal during the Holocaust. Commissioned by Music of Remembrance in

Seattle, Washington, this haunting 70 minute song cycle was written for Jane Eaglen to premiere and the music is unsurpassed in its portrayal of grief, passion, and sorrow. Two of the six poems in this song cycle, Jew and Tsurik, were written during Braun’s period in the Warsaw ghetto. The remaining four – Mother, Letter to Warsaw, Ordinary Day and

Moving Day – date from her incarceration in Majdanek concentration camp, where she subsequently perished. Braun was a cabaret artist and sang her own songs, accompanying herself on the piano, but the music was lost. Braun has found a soul-mate in Pasatieri; his neo-romantic style of writing only enhances such a riveting text. In his words:

“I was inspired by these poems, and their descriptions of a woman’s loss of freedom and her home. That’s how it all began. I am so fortunate to have had such incredible texts to set.” (Friedman, Music of Remembrance)

Jane Eaglen, the dramatic soprano for whom this work was composed is quoted

by Melinda Bargreen from the Seattle Times as saying:

“It’s so beautifully written for the voice…He really knows how to set words. And what words! Lines like : ‘Where will you lead us: to freedom, or to the gas?’ are so simply set, so they have a tremendous amout of power. Nothing is exaggerated or over- emphasized. The music allows the words to speak for themselves.”

(Bargreen)

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Lyrics:

Letter to Warsaw

Jew Tell me, dear mama, what does the word “Jew” mean? Is it something shameful, some sort of disgrace? Tell me, do Jews really wear long beards, Tell me, do they sway when they pray? Tell me, dear mama, is it a disgrace, That I am such a little Jew?

A Jew, dear child, is suffering, A Jew, dear child, is a bad fate, A Jew, dear child, is worry, A Jew must hold back every blow. A Jew, dear child, is a hopeful heart, A Jew is belief in the future, in better days to come, A Jew never loses his courage, He laughs, though his heart sometimes trembles.

Tell me, dear mama, why everyone sneers at him, Why everyone laughs and sneers? Tell me, are Jews good for nothing? Tell me, have they never produced anything? Tell me, dear mama, is it a disgrace, That I am such a little Jew?

A Jew is…wait, I know what to tell you, Jew is a mighty word, believe me, A Jew is very likely the only person, Who knows truly bitter tears.

Tsurik a heym You do not know Yiddish, Madam, You don’t know what it means, Madam, When someone laments in this language. You keep on asking “Why?” Madam— How can I explain this to you? Either you understand or you don’t. Can I lend you my heart, Madam? A person feels such things, after all. When nostalgia takes hold of you, You’ll easily understand these words.

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A heym—means “home.” Tsurik—means “back.” And someone’s secretly crying, And a heart is fiercely pounding. A heym—is nostalgia, It’s a locomotive’s whistle, It’s a sign you’re gladly returning, That you’re already returning home.

You don’t know what it means, Madam, To be an exile in a strange town, How nice it is to be from Warsaw. How can I explain this to you? That someone from Lodz, Wohmja, Bejeshch, Cannot get along here in Warsaw.

You came here from Zurawia, But that’s just a few streets away. Those others roam here as if in a mad dream Counting the days by the miles of tears.

A heym—means “home.” Tsurik—means “back.” And you want to share your sorrows, Cry out your longing to someone. Tsurik means to return. A heym—to your home Where you no longer need to be sad, Because you’ll begin to live anew.

Mother Mère, Mother, Mutter in Polish means “Mama.” In every language round the world the letter “M” is the same. And everywhere around the world a mother’s heart is the same She always appears, comes running, when she hears a child cry, “Mama.”

Madame Janette tosses and turns in bed for the fifth year in a row, Suffers from nervous shock before she drifts off, because her son fell in battle Mistress Cripps strolls Hyde Park slowly and in dignified fashion, Prayers flow from her colourless lips, because her son fell in battle.

Frau Schmidt generouosly showers strangers with financial gifts, She’d like to help the children of others, because her son fell in battle. And Mrs. …no! I won’t say who, sews and unsews fasteners, Her scissors cut ever quicker as her thoughts wander back in time….

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To that day, when horrid fate insidiously and deceptively Struck a cruel and staggering blow, because it took a child from its mother. Whoever survived that terrible day, when the children were taken away, Will for ever hear, sounding in her ears, that last frightful cry: “Mama.”

He who was not a witness to those horrid days, though greatly moved he might be, Will think, “What a terrible nightmare!” walk away, and forget. But Janette, Mistress Cripps, and Frau Schmidt will not forget their children, A painful, bloody scar will remain for ever on their hearts.

And one certain lady faced a calamity greater than Janette’s, Cripps’ or Schmidt’s, Her son was taken by fate for one word—“Jew”—written on his birth certificate. Every one of these four women experienced a great tragedy, A Jewish woman, you see, suffers just like a German, French or English woman.

If suddenly these four ladies were to find themselves together, Perhaps the nations of the world would no longer kill each other. And if the mothers would take their place among the League of Nations, Perhaps the cruel slaughter taking place in this world would finally see an end.

Because Mère, Mother, Mutter in Polish means “Mama.” In every language round the world the letter “M” is the same.

Letter to Warsaw I barely get lost in thought in the barrack, Gazing out of the window through the mist of stubborn tears, Before I’m dreaming about Warsaw and the Vistula And I’m so sad—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Just yesterday while drinking black coffee, Black as my unbearable thoughts, Someone came up to me: “Give me your letter to Warsaw, But hurry, I’m leaving today.”

Warsaw, what shall I write you? Warsaw in ruins, Warsaw covered in blood, Will I ever again hear the rhythm of your streets? My native town, how sad I feel.

Warsaw, my dearest, Is your song now a bullet’s whistle? Proud city, endure your chains, Place my letter next to your heart!

I yearn to fall upon the ruins of your streets, Kiss your walls and embrace them warmly,

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My loving home-town, City of my youth and first tremblings. Oh, to return someday to Theatre Square On the first sunny day of freedom!

Imagine—just several days later, A letter from Warsaw was delivered to me, A letter without address or addressee. Written with tears under threat of enemy guns Amid blazing fuses, grenades and bombs. And in the letter were just a few words.

Faithful Warsaw awaits your return, Stubborn and strong as its own cobblestones. Though the misery of battle is immense, Though the march of strangers’ shoes torments, Neither fire nor the enemy’s labours, Will destroy Warsaw obscured by tears, Nor will a foreign placard stain these walls, For beneath any placard are the same old stones.

You will mould bricks from the sweat of your own labour, From these bricks the city will rise and take flight. So don’t give in to nostalgia— Drive sadness and anger’s shadow from your brow! You will again return to Theatre Square On the first sunny day of freedom.

I. An Ordinary Day This is how my day began: A headache in the morning, Then those sundry rumours And an ever-changing mood. The strange apprehension Mixed with serious panic, Then dull resignation: Why even bother? Who’s it for? Better, more talented souls have died, And the world likewise didn’t care. It’s really not a big deal, If one more person isn’t spared. Even so, I don’t want to die, In fact, I really want to live. It’s just so dreadful knowing, That there is no place to hide. That you’ll neatly stand in rows of five

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During the roll-call every day, And you’ll simply go this way To a known and certain end. Yet something taps at the bottom of your heart, Something still makes it stir, Does not want to let you consider Thoughts of a sudden death. Something inside still gives you hope, And your thoughts wander in circles: Perhaps not all is lost? Perhaps, after all, they won’t have time?

II. Moving Day We moved Without furniture, packages, knick-knacks. No one brought us bread and salt, No one brought us flowers. But who really cares about any of this? We’ve moved during this war From Bielsko to Lwow, then Lodz;. We’re used to it by now— Ever since the war broke out— Used to this endless migration, The constant variation. Even so, though it might be senseless, may even be childish, The mind does not want to adapt To things new, strange and cold. Small wonder, then, that a person Walks around gloomy and cross, All the more so since she’s ill at ease, And there’s a drizzling rain outside. And all the more so now That we live so close to the highway To which our fate Has been inseparably joined. And blind fate holds us tightly As if in a spider’s web And one would only like to ask: When must we move again? Answer us fate, And this time be true, Where will you lead us: To freedom, or to the gas?

III. Mourner’s Kaddish Yis-gadal v’yis-kaddash sh’mey raba, b’alma di v’ra kir-usei,

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V’yam-likh malkhusei b’hayeikhon u-v’ yomeikhon u-v’hayei d’khol beys Yisra-el, ba’agala u-vi-z’man kariv, v’imru amen.

Y’hei shmei raba m’varakh l’alam u-l’almei almaya.

Yis-barakh v’yishtabah v’yispa-ar v’yisromam v’yisnasei V’yis-hadar v’yis aleh v’yis-halal sh’mei d’kudsha, b’rikh hu L’ela min kol birkhasa v’shirasa, tushb’hasa v’nehemasa Da’ amiran b’alma, v’imru amen.

Yhei sh’lama raba min sh’ maya V’hayim aleinu v’al kol Yisrael, v’imru amen.

Oseh shalom bi-m’romav, hu ya’ aseh shalom Aleinu v’al kol Yisra-el, v’imru amen.

May God’s name be exalted and hallowed throughout the world that He created, as is God’s wish. May God’s sovereignty soon be accepted, during our life and the life of all Israel. And let us say: Amen.

May God’s great name be praised throughout all time.

Glorified and celebrated, lauded and worshiped, exalted and honoured, extolled and acclaimed may the Holy One be, praised beyond all song and psalm, beyond all tributes that mortals can utter. And let us say: Amen.

Let there be abundant peace from heaven, with life’s goodness for us and for all Israel. And let us say: Amen.

May the One who brings peace to His universe bring peace to us and to all Israel. And let us say: Amen.

Texts by Pola Braun (c. 1910-1943) (Presser) Warsaw ghetto, Majdanek concentration camp English translation: Barbara Milewski

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© Photo by Alex Cao

Figure 24: Bright Sheng (1955 - ) (Schirmer)

"I as an audience member want to be touched, moved or shocked. I want something to happen to me. Coming out indifferent is tragic.” (Spaner)

The Phoenix (2004)

Composer:

Bright Sheng

Type:

For Soprano and Orchestra

Co-commissioned by The Seattle Symphony and The Danish National Symphony

Orchestra

Originally composed for Jane Eaglen

Duration:

23 minutes

Libretto:

Bright Sheng

Adapted from tale from Hans Christian Anderson 166

Publishers:

G. Schirmer, Inc., New York

Musical Time Period:

21th Century

World Premiere:

Seattle, Washington

Benaroya Hall

February 5, 2004

The Seattle Symphony

Conductor: Gerard Schwarz

Artist: Jane Eaglen

Scoring:

3 flutes (2nd doubling alto flute and piccolo 2, 3rd doubling piccolo 1), 2 oboes,

English horn, 3 clarinets in Bb (2nd doubling Eb clarinet, 3rd doubling bass

clarinet) 2 bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns in F, 3 trumpets in C, 2 trombones,

bass trombone, tuba, timpani, 4 percussion, harp, strings

Vocal Range:

C3 – B4

Tessitura:

G3 – G4

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

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Synopsis:

Narration about the mystical bird Phoenix, who dwells in Arabia, but flies around

the world – giving the gift of music

Justification:

Originally composed for and performed by Jane Eaglen

Historical Significance:

Proclaimed as a fresh voice in cross-cultural music, Bright Sheng has combined the traditional elements of Western music with the flavor and beauty of Chinese folk melodies. Born in 1955 in Shanghai, China, Sheng was studying piano with his mother by the time he was four. Moving to New York in 1982, he pursued his education in composition at Queens College and Columbia University, graduating with a Masters and

Doctorate, under the tutelage of Leonard Bernstein, among others. Receiving many commissions for his compositions, he writes symphonic works, concerti, and chamber works. In 2003, Santa Fe Opera presented the world premiere of Madame Mao, a two

act psychological portrait of Jiang Qing, Chairman Mao’s wife. Sheng has been a

member of the composition faculty at the University of Michigan since 1995 and now

serves there as Leonard Bernstein Distinguished University Professor of Music. In

addition to composing, Sheng enjoys an active career as a conductor, concert pianist, and

artistic director to orchestras and festivals. (Schirmer)

The Phoenix premiered in Seattle on February 5, 2004. The work is stunning; an evocative instrument of shimmering beauty. The concept for the composition came from two separate commissions, as described by the composer:

“In the spring of 2003, I was approached by both the Seattle Symphony and the Danish National Symphony Orchestra to write a new work for each orchestra.

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The Seattle Symphony requested a work for voice and orchestra for the superb soprano Jane Eaglen for the Symphony's centennial celebration; and the commission from the Danish National Symphony Orchestra would be for the bicentennial birth anniversary of Hans Christian Andersen. While perusing through Andersen's works, I came upon a prose text called The Bird Phoenix. I was immediately drawn to the thought of combining these two projects together. I was attracted not only to the beautiful and beguiling narrative, but also moved by the profundity and the grandiose portrayal of the mystical bird phoenix — the bird of Arabia. I found Andersen's interpretation of the bird to be illuminating in that it went far beyond the traditional understanding of the legend. He had transformed the celebrated bird into the muse of all artistic creation — a bird of epic proportion and majestic inspiration, and the muse of all peoples.” Bright Sheng

Sheng has captured the essence of the mystical bird in this composition. He does not employ conventional harmony; dissonance and consonance live together in a technique that has voice and instrument combine to become pure musical expression.

(Bargreen) In a critical review by Diane Wright of the Seattle Times at the premiere of

The Phoenix, she states,

“It was an evening rich with musical imagery…Bright Sheng’s ode to music’s immortality. The Phoenix, set to a libretto inspired by Hans Christian Andersen’s tale…Sheng’s music, a dialog of Eastern and Western sensibilities, is at times as highly colored as Stravinsky, other times subtle and sinuous, with suggestions of birdlike sounds from a large wind combination, expecially piccolo and oboe, and suspenseful vibrato and pizzicato from the strings. And this work, which begins in the Garden in Eden, had both those elements, rising and subsiding like flood tides. The audience was on its feet after this modern masterpiece premiered and it’s sure to be part of Seattle Symphony’s repertoire for decades to come.”

(Wright)

This work is stirring; its sounds ethereal and other-worldly. The long flowing lines of the soprano voice soar above the lush instrumentation of the orchestration and this work, as its own entity, is a symbol of the beauty found in music.

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Lyrics:

The Phoenix

In the Garden of Eden, under the tree of knowledge, bloomed a rosebush. Here in the first blossom, a bird was born — her flight was as swift as the flashing of light, and her plumage was as ravishing as her enchanting songs.

Yet when Eve plucked the apple from the tree, and she and Adam were expelled from Paradise by the angel's flaming sword, a spark fell into the bird's nest, setting it ablaze. The bird perished in the flames, but from one red hot egg deep inside the nest, there fluttered aloft a new bird — the one and only Phoenix! The legend tells us that she dwells in Arabia and every hundred years she sets afire her own nest and dies. But each time from the glittering egg, arises a new Phoenix, dashing into the world.

She hovers around us, swift as light, sweet in song and resplendent in color. When a mother sits by her baby's cradle, the bird rests on the pillow and her bright wings form a glory around the baby's head. She flies through the houses of the poor and brings rays of sunshine, leaving behind the perfume of violets. The Phoenix is not only seen in Arabia. No, she soars through the glimmer of the northern lights across the icy plains of Lapland. She dances among the yellow flowers in the short summers of Greenland. And in the shape of a moth, she flies over the hymns of the miners beneath the copper mountains of Fahlun and coal mines of England. On a leaf of a lotus, she floats down the sacred waters of the Ganges and brightens the eyes of the Hindu Girl.

The bird Phoenix! Do you not know her? The bird of Paradise, the holy swan of songs! On the Thespian cart, she flapped her filthy black wings, disguised as a chattering raven. Her red swan beak glided across the Icelandic harp. And she flew through the halls of songtest in Wartburg. She sang the Marseillaise and you kissed the beautiful feather as it fell from her wing.

She came in the splendor of Paradise. The Phoenix, the holy swan of songs, reborn each century, created in flames to perish in flames! Your golden rimmed portrait hangs in the palaces of kings, but you yourself, lost and lonely, wing around only in the legend: the Phoenix of Arabia.

In the Garden of Eden, under the tree of knowledge, you were born. When the first rose blossomed, God kissed you and called you your rightful name — music.

Adaptation by Bright Sheng (Sheng)

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Figure 25: Stephen Paulus (1949 - ) (Blue)

"As a composer you have long stretches when you are writing and thinking and cogitating and ruminating and finally it all comes together. Then you have a burst of a few days to a few weeks, depending of whether it's a chamber work or an opera, when there's this intense public activity. You go to rehearsals, interact with performers, talk to the conductor, meet patrons and board members and you're expected to be able to speak about your work. Then all of a sudden, you crawl back in your hole or wherever and go back to writing music again." (Blue)

Erotic Spirits (2004)

Composer:

Stephen Paulus

Type:

Song Cycle for Soprano and Orchestra

Commissioned by the Augusta Symphony Orchestra

Originally composed for Deborah Voigt

Duration:

25 minutes

Libretto:

Ancient texts of love taken from: 171

1) Eros – Sappho

2) Together we Celebrate Love - The Song of Songs

3) How Sweet – Asklepiados

4) Love’s Delicacy – Sappho

5) Doing a Filthy Pleasure Is, and Short – Petronius Arbiter

6) Alone, Lonely – Tzu Yeh

7) Fireflies – Isumi Shikibu

8) Late Evening – Otomo No Yakamochi

Publishers:

As yet unpublished; contact composer

Musical Time Period:

21 Century

World Premiere:

Augusta, Georgia

September 11, 2004

First Baptist Church of Augusta

Augusta Symphony Orchestra

Conductor: Donald Portnoy

Artist: Deborah Voigt

Scoring:

2 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns in F, 2 trumpets in

C, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, 2 percussion, harp, strings

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Vocal Range:

D3 – C5

Tessitura:

G3 – G4

Voice:

Dramatic Soprano

Synopsis:

8 different ancient love poems

Justification:

Originally composed for Deborah Voigt

Historical Significance:

Stephen Paulus has composed over 200 works for orchestra, chorus, chamber ensemble, solo voice, keyboard and opera. Born in Summit, New Jersey, Paulus began studying piano with his parents when he was 10, and at 13 he began composing. He receives commissions from all over the world from organizations, symphony orchestras, soloists. His choral works have been performed and recorded by some of the most recognizable and distinguished groups in the United States, with his music being represented on over 50 recordings. This composer is credited with nine operas to his name to date, including The Postman Always Rings Twice which was the first American production to be presented at the Edinburgh Festival. Commissions and performances have come from such companies as Opera Theatre of St. Louis, Washington Opera,

Boston Lyric Opera, Florida Grand Opera, Berkshire Opera Company, Minnesota Opera,

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and Fort Worth Opera. Paulus has been guest conductor at Aspen, Santa Fe,

Tanglewood, Aldeburgh and Edinburgh Festivals.

Paulus’ music has been described by critics as rugged, angular, lyrical, lean, rhythmically aggressive, original often gorgeous, moving, and uniquely American. (Blue,

Arsis Audio) Pierre Ruhe of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution called the premeire performance of Erotic Spirits with Deborah Voigt in Augusta, Georgia, as “exhultant, tranquil and pastoral.”

Erotic Spirits was composed for Deborah Voigt, one of the foremost reigning dramatic sopranos of our time. This piece was commissioned by the Augusta Symphony

Orchestra and debuted in Augusta on September 11, 2004, and then making its New York debut May 3, 2006 with Deborah Voigt and ACO. This moving work is a set for eight ancient poems addressing contrasting sentiments pertaining to different aspects of love and longing. (Paulus)

Lyrics:

I. Eros Eros seizes and shakes my very soul Like the wind on the mountain Shaking ancient oaks.

Sappho (6th Century B.C.E.)

II. Together We Celebrate Love Give me all the kisses of your mouth. Your love is better than wine.

Your body oils are fragrant, your name pours from my tongue. That is why I adore you.

Call me and I will follow, and enter the chambers of a king.

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Together we celebrate love, a love more fragrant than wine. Oh, how I adore you!

The Song of Songs (ca. 3rd Century B.C.E.)

III. How Sweet Think how unspeakable sweet the taste of snow at midsummer, how sweet a kind spring breeze after the gales of winter.

But as we all discover, nothing's quite as sweet as one large cloak wrapped around two lovers.

Asklepiados (ca. 320 B.C.E.)

IV. Love's Delicacy I love Love's Delicacy. Love offers me This brilliant sun, who greets me in my dreams the virtue of its beauty

Sappho (6th Century B.C.E.)

V. Doing a Filthy Pleasure Is, and Short Doing a filthy pleasure is, and short; And done, we straight repent us of the sport: Let us not rush blindly on unto it; Like lustful beasts, that only know to do it; For lust will languish, and that heat decay. But thus, thus, keeping endless holiday, Let us together closely lie and kiss, There is no labour, nor no shame in this; This hath pleased, doth please, and long

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will please; never Can this decay, but is beginning ever.

Petronius Arbiter (d. 66.C.E.) Translation Ben Johnson

VI. Alone, Lonely Bright moonlight shines through the trees. In a rich brocade, the flowers bloom.

How can I not think of you- alone, lonely, working at my loom.

Tzu Yeh (4th Century)

VII. Fireflies When I think of you, fireflies in the marsh rise like the soul's jewels, lost to eternal longing, abandoning my body

Izumi Shikibu (970-1030)

VII. Late Evening Late Evening finally comes: I unlatch the door and quietly await the one

Otomo No Yakamochi (718-785) (Paulus)

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