'" lf wishes were fairies 1 would not stay, But they would wile my soul away; And peace would creep Into my sleep as soft As a dream at evenfall , J1NlX When the crickets sing CoU"',- 'Loch Kyoonbawn, the fair, calm lake · Moymalla, the plain of honey Michelle Latour Text by Joseph Cambell ( 1879- 1944) soprano FacultyRecital featuring Weiwei Le, violin Andrew Smith, cello Jennifer Grim, flute Barbara Risl Wednesday,Mar ch 24, 2010 5:30pm DocRando Recital Hall Beam Music Center l l """' """' Program ,....,Notes and Translations,..., from 25 Schottische Lieder, Op. 108 Ludwig van Beethoven from 25 Schottische Lieder, Op. 108 The sweetest lad was Jamie (1770-1827) Sunset Ludwig van Beethoven's folksong settings are among the least familiar of his output, yet he wrote far more of them than any other genre, composing 180 arrangements of Scottish, Irish, and Welsh folksongs for one or more voices with piano, violin, and cello accompaniment between I 809 and 1818. This body of work stemmed from Four Songs for soprano, cello and piano Andre Previn collaboration with George Thomson, a Scotsman who was an avid music lover and Mercy (b. 1929) amateur cellist, and grew out of a movement from the early 18thcentury to collect Stones folksongs. However, Thomson wanted to make his collections surpass his predeces The Lacemaker sors in scope, variety, and quality. To do this, he commissioned well-known figures such as Haydn and Beethoven to write complex harmonizations, to compose in Shelter strumental introductions and postludes, and to add optional violin and cello parts. Although Beethoven's settings were considered to be of exceedingly high quality, they were too complicated for amateur musicians to play. As a result, none of them Schon lacht der holde Fruhling W.A. Mozart sold well, and were deemed too difficult for their intended public. (1756-1791) The sweetest lad was Jamie The sweetest lad was Jamie, The sweetest, the dearest, ,....,Intermission ,...., And well did Jamie love me, And not a fault has he. Yet one he had it spoke his praise, He knew not woman's wish to tease, Leden Yftezslava Kapnllova He knew not all our silly ways, alas! The woe to me! (1915-1940) For though I loved my Jamie Sincerely and dearly, from Romance-Suite Dmitri Shostakovich Yet often when he wooed me, 1 held my head on high; llecm1 O¢emrn (1906-197 5) And huffed and tossed with saucy air, M.bJ6bJJUfBMeCTe And danc'd with Donald at the fair, ropop, cmrT And plac'd his ribbon in my hair and EypSI Jamie pass'd him by! TaHr!bJe 3HaKH So when the war pipes sounded, My3hiKa Dear Jamie, he left me, And now some other maiden Will Jamie turn to woo. My heart will break, Three Pastoral Songs, Op. 22 Roger Quilter And well it may, I will go with my father a-ploughing (1877-1953) For who would word of pity say Cheny Valley To her who threw a heart away, I wish and I wish So faithful and so true! 2 ... Oh! Knew he how I loved him , Four Songs for soprano, cello, and piano Sincerely and dearly; How I would fly to meet him! Oh! Happy were the day! Four Songs for soprano, cello and piano were written in 1994 by Andre Previn, and Some kind, kind friend, use poems by Toni Morrison. The first song, Mercy, examines how the media looks Oh, come between, at starvation , blood and misfortune in settings such as Ethiopia. The traveler and the And tell him of my altered mien! probing camera, as referred to in the poem, attempt to exploit those in this circumstan·ce That Jeanie has not Jeanie been who can only turn away in shame. The poem expresses embarrassment at the way Since Jamie went away. the media invades the privacy of the dying. The musical setting for thi s poem can be described as static, somber, slow and chromatic. The poem used for Stones is based on an old blues song called Rocks in my Bed and was inspired by the blues singer Bessie Sunset Smith. The voice in this poem is a brash, bold woman who is angry at the absence of a man in her life. Only stones warm her bed at night. In The Lacemaker, the character The sun upon the Weirdlaw hill , in the poem is hollow, regretful , and mournful . The lyrics describe a spinster, a woman In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet; who has settled for less in life. Her vocation as a lacemaker has prevented her from The westland wind is hush and sti ll , committing 'crimes' in her life- that is, passions that she has left unexplored . The The lake lies sleeping at my feet. music reflects this intense sadness and di sappointment. The vocal line is segmented Yet not the landscape to mine eye and simple, while the cello and piano are highlighted throughout. In thi s way, Previn 's Bears those bright hues that once it bore; music is highly representative of the poem; underscoring a woman who has lived an Tho' Ev'ning, insignificant and lackluster life. The final song,Shelter, is about a woman who is having With her richest dye, a good time in her imagination. She thinks about her man and of the challenges, both Flames o'er the hulls on Ettrick's shore. mythical and metaphorical , that she can overcome with him. With listless look along the pl ain , I see Tweed's silver current glide; Mercy And coldly mark the holy fane of Melrose rise in ruin 'd pride. I could watch heads The quiet lake, the balmy air, turn from the traveler's look The hill , the stream, the tower, the camera's probe The tree, are they still bear the purity of their Such as once they were, shame Or is the dreary change in me? hear mute desolation in syllabl es anci ent as Alas the warp'd and broken board , death. How can it bear the painters dye? I could do these things if only if only The harp of strain 'd and tuneless chord, l knew that when milk How to the minstrel's skill reply? spi lis To aching eyes and hearts stop Each land scape lowers, underheel To feverish pulse each gale blows chill: some small thing gone And Araby's or Eden's bowers, chill Were barren as this moorland hill. is right to warm toward a touch because mercy Text by George Thompson ( 1757 - 1821) lies in wait like a shore. Mercy like a shore. 3 4 In this soft pl ace Under your wings I don't need no man I will find shelter telling me I ain 't one. From ordinary things. My trigger finger strong as his on a shot gun . Tex t by Toni Morrison (b. 193 1) Buttercake and roses smooth stones in my bed . Handmade quilts cover stones in my bed. I don' t need no man Schon lacht der holde Friihling telling me I ain 't one. My backbone ai n' t like his but at least I got one. W.A. Mozart 's Schon lacht der holde Friihling is full of coloratura writing High-heeled slippers break pyrotechnic runs, leaps, and ornaments in the upper range of the soprano voice. lt stones in my bed. is a free-standing concert aria that does not come from a Mozart opera, although it Games played at night trick is commonly included in the less-than-famous !l barbiere di Siviglia by Giovanni stones in my bed . Paisiello . Stones in my bed . Stones. I don't need no man telling me. Schon lacht der holde FrUhling Already fa ir Spring smiles Auf blumenreichen Matten, On flowerdight meadows, The Lacemaker Wo sich Zephire gatten Where west winds mate Unter geselligem Scherze. ln convivial sport. I am as you see Wenn auch auf allen Zweigen Although young blossoms appear what most becomes me; Sich junge BlUten zeigen, On every branch, miles skipped Kehrt doch kein Ieiser No gentle consolation cancelled trips Trost in dieses arme Her Returns to thi s poor heart. masters yet unmet. Da sitze ich und weine Here 1 sit and weep Lace alone is loyal , sacred , royal, Einsam auf der Flur Alone in the lea in control Nicht urn mein verlornes Schafchen, But it is not for my lost lamb, of crimes stopped Nein , urn den Schafer Lindor nur. No, it is for the shepherd Llndoro that I weep. by pattern s of blood bred to best behavior. Anonymous text Translation by S. Spencer As you see I am what has become of me. Shelter Leden In thi s soft place Under your wings In her short li fe, Vitezslava Kapralova showed every sign of becoming a major I will find shelter mu sical figure in the 20'h century, studying with prominent composition and From ordinary things. conducting teachers, winning prestigious international composition prizes , and even conducting the BB C Orchestra in London in 1938. She composed in all Here are the mounta ins genres yet mai nta ined a special place in her heart fo r the art song. Leden was written I want to scale in 1933. For the surrealistic text by the Czech poet Yftezslav Nezval, KapnHova Amazon rivers chose an unusual instrumentation, flu te, two violins, cello and pi ano, the affect of I'm dying to sail. which creates a unique atmosphere, capturing the decadent imagery and melancholy emotions of the poem. Kapralova died in exile in France in 1940 fro m tuberculosis. Here the eyes of the forest I can hold in a stare And smile at the movement Of Medusa's green hair. 5 6 Ones v noci vymaloval mraz Today in the night the frost painted Mbl 6bJJut BMecTe We were together na 1110je okno kfehkou vazu. on my window a delicate vase. Desfm se zimnfch dnu i vaz, I am horrified of winter days and vases, Mbt 6btJlH BMecTe, noMHto 5I We were together, I remember desfm se jejich zimostn\zu. I am horrified of their boxwoods. HoLtb sonHosanacb, CKpHnKanena , Violins sang in vibrant darkness, Tbt B 3TH AI!H 6btJla M051, You were mine then, Sto svfcf nad varhanami One-hundred candles above the organ Tbt c K3)f(JJ,b1MLtacoM xopowena. With every hour you grew more fair. se ti'pytf v matutinu sera. glitter in the matin twilight. Dum s ledovymi pannami The house with icy virgins CKB03b Twxoe )f(ypLtaHbe cTpyi1, The secrets of a woman's smile, je zabednen tak jak by! vcera. is boarded up just like it was yesterday. CKB03b Tai1t-ry)f(eHCTBeH:Hoi1 ynbt6KH The quiet whispering of breezes K ycTaM npocwnc51no~enyi1, Set tender kisses on my lips, Coz nerozsype se ten chram? Well , is that cathedral toppling down? OpocwnHCbB cepJJ,~e3BYKHCKpHnKH. Like the strings of love in my heart. Rozbfjfm vazu, strop se borf. I am shatteringthe vase,the ceiling is collapsing. A zda se mne, ze umfram And it seems to me that I am dying already jiz pri pohledu na nadvorf. while looking at the courtyard. fopOJJ, CllMT The Sleeping City Text by Vftezslav Nez val ( 1900- 1958) Translation by Timothy Cheek fopOJJ,CllHT, OKyTaHMrJlOIO, The city sleeps enveloped in the mist, lfyTb Mep~atOT TaM, 3a AaHwei1 C'-laCTJlHBOH, Beyond the happy land of Denmark, Tai1Hbie 3HaKM Secret Signs Eepera TBOHso Mrne The shores are in darkness , Ban cepAHTbiH, rosopnwBbiH The angry waves wash Pa3ropaiOTC51TaHHbie 3HaKH The secret signs appear MoeT cne3bt Ha cKane. Over the rocks . Ha rnyxoi1, Henpo6yAHOHCTeHe On the impenetrable wall. 30J10Tble H KpaCHbleMaKH Golden and crimson poppies Mwnbti1 BOHHHe sepHeTC51, My warrior shall not return , J-laJJ,OMHOH T51rOTeiOT BO CHe. Blossom in my dreams. Becb oJJ,eTbti1B cepe6po All dressed in silver. B rpo6e T5f)f(KOBCKOJlbtXHeTc51 The bow, and the black feather YKpbiBaiOCb B HO'-IHbten e~epbt I drown in the caverns of night EaHT "' LtepHoenepo . Will restlessly lie in their grave. VI He nOMHIOcypoBblX 7 8 Y6era10 B npowe}1.wHe MHrH, These moments will disappear, I will go with my father a-sowing 3aKpbJBaJo OT CTpaxa rnaJa, And the young beauty's eyes To the red field by the sea, Ha JJHCTaxxoJJOAe iOil\eH KHHrH- Will close And the rooks and the gulls 30JJOTa51AeBH'IbSI KOCa . Like the pages of a book. and the starlings Will come flocking after me. Ha11.oMHOH H e6ocBOJl.y)f(e HH30K, The star's canopy is low now, I will sing to the striding sowers l.£epHbiH COH TSirOTeeTB rpyJl.H. The darkest dreams Lie In the bottom of the heart. With the finch on the flow ' ring sloe, MoJ';iKOHeu, npeAH aYepTaJ-tHbJH6JJH30K , My end is close, as fate has ordained, And my father will sing the seed-song 11 BOHHa,H no)f(ap - snepeJl.H. War and fire are before me. That only the wise men know. I will go with my father a - reaping MpbtKa Music To the brown field by the sea, And the geese and the crows 8 HO%, KOrJl.aycHeT Tpesora At night , when ag itation dies down, and the children l1 rOpOACK pOeTCSI80 MrJJe, When the city si nks into the mist, Will come flocking after me. 0 , CKOJJbKOMY3bJKH y 6ora, 0 how much music 1 will sing to the weary reapers KaKHe 3BYKH Ha JeMne! There is in the heavens, With the wren in the heat of the sun , And what concert on earth! And my father will sing the scythe-song That joys for the harvest done. LJTO6ypS1 >KH3HH, Forget the storms of your life, EcnH p03bl TBOHu,s eTyT MHe H ropSIT! See such beautiful roses bloom! LITo •JenoseYeCKHe cne3bl, What are the tears of humans Cherry Valley Kor11.apyMSIHHTCSI JaKaT! When the hour of twilight comes! In Cherry Valley the cherries blow; flpHMH, 8 JJaAbi'IHU,a BCeJJeHHOH, 0 sovereign of the universe, The valley paths are white as snow. CKB03b KpOBb, CKB03b MYKH, Accept through pain and blood And in their time with clusters red CKB03b rpo6a The cup filled to the brim The heavy boughs are crimsoned. 0o cJJe}1.HeH CTpaCTHKy60K neHHbiH. With your slave's desires. Now the low moon is looking thro' the glimmer of the honey dew. Text by Alexander Blok ( 1880- 192 1) Translation by Jeremy Drake A petal trembles to the grass, the feet of fairies pass and pass. I wish and I wish Three Pastoral Songs I wish and I wish and I wish I were A golden bee in the blue of the air, Roger Quilter was an English composer who is known mostly for his vocal music. Winging my way at the mouth of day A prolific composer, his output forms an important body for early 20'" century To the honey marges of song repertoire. Three Pastoral Songs use verses by a contemporary Irish poet, Loch Kyoonbawn·; Joseph Campbell. It dates from 1921 and was designed originally for low voice and Or a little green drake or a silver swan, piano trio. Floating upon the stream of Aili, and I to be swimming gaj ly, gaily. I will go with my father a-ploughing I wish and I wish and I wish I could be A bud on the branch of a red thorn tree I will go with my father a- ploughing That blows at the head of Blanid's Bed, To the green field by the sea, And sheds a petal at ev'ry breath; And the rooks and the crows Or a white mil estone on the shining path and the seagulls That climbs the cairn and dips the hollow, Will come flocking after me. Up to the walls of bright Moymalla*. I will sing to the patient horses With the lark in the shine of the air, And my father will sing the plough-song That blesses the cleaving share. 9 10