Nicholas Phan | Tenor Gabriel Kahane | Piano Sunday, July 18, 2021 | 2PM NICHOLAS PHAN Tenor GABRIEL KAHANE Piano

Sunday, July 18, 2021 | 2pm Herbst Theatre

SCHUBERT Frühlingsglaube, D. 686 MATTHEW Final Privacy Song ZAPRUDER SCHUBERT Lied eines Schiffers an die Dioskuren, D. 360

II.

SARAH KIRKLAND How Graceful Some Things Are, SNIDER Falling Apart SCHUBERT Im Haine, D. 738 CAROLINE SHAW And So

III.

SCHUBERT Aus Heliopolis I, D. 753

SARAH KIRKLAND Mad Song SNIDER

ESPERANZA Little Fly SPALDING

2 IV.

SCHUBERT Frühlingssehnsucht from Schwanengesang, D. 957 Nachtstück, D. 672

SCHUBERT Des Fischers Liebesglück, D. 933

VI.

GABRIEL KAHANE Final Privacy Song (World Premiere)

Commissioned by San Francisco Performances Matthew Zapruder’s poem, which provides the text for the work, was commissioned for the occasion by the composer.

VII.

SCHUBERT Wandrers Nachtlied II, D. 768

Nicholas Phan is represented by Opus 3 Artists 470 Park Avenue South, 9th Floor, New York, NY 10016 opus3artists.com

Gabriel Kahane is represented by MKI Artists One Lawson Lane, Suite 320, Burlington, VT 05401 mkiartists.com

Hamburg Steinway Model D, Pro Piano, San Francisco 3 ARTIST PROFILES

Nicholas Phan is SF Performances’ Vocal Artist-in-Residence Emer- itus (2014–18) and appears for the third time in a mainstage concert. SF Performances presents Gabriel Kahane for the fourth time.

Described by the Boston Globe as “one of the world’s most re- markable singers,” American tenor Nicholas Phan is increasingly recognized as an artist of distinction. An artist with an incredibly diverse repertoire that spans nearly 500 years of music, he performs regularly with the world’s leading orchestras and opera companies. Phan is also an avid recitalist and a passionate advocate for art song and vocal chamber music; in 2010, Phan co-founded Collaborative Arts Institute of Chica- go (CAIC), an organization devoted to promoting this under- served repertoire. A celebrated recording artist, Phan’s most recent album, Clairières, a recording of songs by Lili and Nadia Boulanger, was nominated for the 2020 Grammy Award for Best Clas- sical Solo Vocal Album. His album, Gods and Monsters, was nominated for the same award in 2017. Phan’s growing discography also includes a Grammy-nominated recording of Stravinsky’s Pulcinella with Pierre Boulez and the Chicago Symphony, as well as the world premiere recording Elliott Carter’s A Sunbeam’s Architecture. Sought after as a curator and programmer, in addition to his work as artistic director of CAIC, Phan has also created programs for broadcast on WFMT and WQXR, and served as guest curator for projects with the Philadelphia Chamber Mu- sic Society, Laguna Beach Music Festival, Apollo’s Fire, and San Francisco Performances, where he served as the vocal artist-in-residence from 2014–2018. Phan’s programs often ex- amine themes of identity, highlight unfairly underrepresent- ed voices from history, and strive to underline the relevance of music from all periods to the currents of the present day. Gabriel Kahane is a musician and storyteller whose work increasingly exists at the intersection of art and social prac- tice. Hailed as “one of the finest songwriters of the day” by

4 The New Yorker, he is known to haunt basement rock clubs and august concert halls alike, where you’ll likely find him in the green room, double-fisting coffee and a book. He has released four albums as a singer-songwriter, including, most recently, the intimate Book of Travelers (Nonesuch Records), which Rolling Stone called “a stunning portrait of a singular moment in America.” As a composer, he has been commissioned by many of America’s leading arts institu- tions, including the Brooklyn Academy of Music, Carnegie Hall, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Orpheus Chamber Or- chestra, and the Public Theater, which in 2012 presented his musical February House. In 2019, Kahane was named the inaugural Creative Chair for the Oregon Symphony, following the premiere in Port- land of his oratorio emergency shelter intake form, a work that explores inequality in America through the lens of hous- ing issues. The piece was released as an album in March of 2020 and is scheduled for performance by half a dozen other American orchestras in the coming years. Kahane’s discography also includes 2014’s The Ambassa- dor, which received an acclaimed staging at BAM, directed by Tony and Olivier Award-winner John Tiffany; an album of chamber music, The Fiction Issue, with the string quartet Brooklyn Rider and vocalist/composer Shara Nova; a recording with The Knights of his orchestral song cycle Crane Pa- limpsest; as well as the original cast album for February House. A frequent collaborator across a range of musical commu- nities, Gabriel has worked with an array of artists including Paul Simon, Sufjan Stevens, Andrew Bird, Phoebe Bridgers, Caroline Shaw, and Chris Thile. After nearly two decades in Brooklyn, Kahane relocated with his family to Portland, Or- egon, in March of 2020. Their freakishly self-possessed cat, Roscoe Greebletron Jones III, when not under investigation for securities fraud, continues his fruitless attempts to mone- tize his Instagram account.

5 ABOUT THE PROGRAM

This concert orbits the world premiere of Gabriel Kahane’s Final Privacy Song, a setting of a new text which finds its au- thor—the acclaimed poet Matthew Zapruder—grappling with our ever-shifting relationships to nature and technolo- gy. Tracing these themes from present to past and back again, the program juxtaposes Kahane’s music with a selection of Schubert songs: prophetic miniatures that chronicle the earth’s beauty, its divinity, and the sublime terror—found in nature—that brings us closer to an understanding of the human condition.

SONG TEXTS & TRANSLATIONS

Please hold your applause until the end of each set.

FRANZ SCHUBERT

Frühlingsglaube, D. 686

Die linden Lüfte sind erwacht, Sie säuseln und weben Tag und Nacht, Sie schaffen an allen Enden. O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang! Nun armes Herze, sey nicht bang! Nun muß sich Alles, Alles wenden.

Die Welt wird schöner mit jedem Tag, Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag, Das Blühen will nicht enden. Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Thal. Nun armes Herz, vergiß der Qual! Nun muß sich Alles, Alles wenden.

Text: Johann Ludwig Uhland (1787–1862)

6 Balmy breezes are awakened

Balmy breezes are awakened, They whisper and move day and night, And everywhere creative. O fresh scent, o new sound! Now, poor heart, don’t be afraid. Now all, all must change.

With each day the world grows fairer, One cannot know what is still to come, The flowering refuses to cease. Even the deepest, most distant valley is in flower. Now, poor heart, forget your torment. Now all, all must change.

Translation: © by David Gordon

Lied eines Schiffers an die Dioskuren, D. 360

Dioskuren, Zwillingsterne, Die ihr leuchtet meinem Nachen, Mich beruhigt auf dem Meere Eure Milde, euer Wachen.

Wer auch, fest in sich begründet, Unverzagt dem Sturm begegnet; Fühlt sich doch in euren Strahlen Doppelt muthig und gesegnet.

Dieses Ruder, das ich schwinge, Meeresfluthen zu zertheilen; Hänge ich, so ich geborgen, Auf an eures Tempels Säulen.

Text: Johann Baptist Mayrhofer (1787–1836)

7 Dioscuri, twin stars

Dioscuri, twin stars that shine upon my skiff, you comfort me on the ocean with your mildness and your watchfulness.

He who firmly believes in himself and unswervingly meets the storm feels himself, in your light, doubly courageous and blessed.

This oar that I ply to part the ocean waves, I shall hang, once I am safe on land, upon your temple’s pillars.

Translation: © by Emily Ezust from the LiederNet Archive https://www.lieder.net/

II.

SARAH KIRKLAND SNIDER

How Graceful Some Things Are, Falling Apart

How graceful some things are, falling apart. Stopped clocks, a dancer tumbling, or a breaking heart. A missing child, an empty plate, the rust on a lost wind-up toy. A shattered glass. Or looming towers crumbling into dust.

Text: Jonathan Breit

8 FRANZ SCHUBERT Im Haine, D. 738

Sonnenstrahlen Durch die Tannen, Wie sie fallen, Ziehn von dannen Alle Schmerzen, Und im Herzen Wohnet reiner Friede nur.

Stilles Sausen Lauer Lüfte, Und im Brausen Zarte Düfte, Die sich neigen Aus den Zweigen, Atmet aus die ganze Flur.

Wenn nur immer Dunkle Bäume, Sonnenschimmer, Grüne Säume Uns umblühten Und umglühten, Tilgend aller Qualen Spur!

Text: Franz Seraph Ritter von Bruchmann (1798–1867)

In the wood

Sunbeams through the fir-trees falling, Draw from there all pain; and in our hearts dwells pure peace only.

9 The still murmuring of mild breezes, And the whispering of delicate scents: they float down from the branches, breathing gently on the entire meadow.

If only the dark trees, the shimmering sunlight, and the green forest-edge, could blossom and glow around us all the time, erasing every trace of pain!

Translation: © by Emily Ezust, from the LiederNet Archive https://www.lieder.net/

CAROLINE SHAW And So would a song by any other name sound as sweet and true would all the reds be just the same or violets as blue if you were gone would words still flow and would they rhyme with you if you were gone would i still know how to love and how to grow and how the vowel threads through. and so they say the saying goes a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a tired rhyme but in the verse there’s always time.

10 would scansion cease to mark the beats if i went away would a syllable interrupt the feet of tetrametric iambs when i am gone listen and i will sing a tune of love and life and of the ocean’s prose and the poetry of a red, red rose, that’s newly sprung in june. and so you say the saying goes a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is how I’m keeping track of time. ahen a’ the seas rise high, my dear and the rocks melt with the sun will the memory of us still rhyme with anyone will we still tune our violins will we still sing of roses will we exist at all, my love, or will we fade to stanzas of the dust that i suppose is all we were and all we’ll be. and so the saying “so it goes” depends a lot on if a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is a thing sublime and so we stay, on borrowed time

Text: Caroline Shaw (after Robert Burns, Gertrude Stein, Billy Joel, & Shakespeare)

11 III.

FRANZ SCHUBERT Aus Heliopolis I, D. 753

Im kalten, rauhen Norden Ist Kunde mir geworden Von einer Sonnenstadt. Wo weilt das Schiff, wo winkt der Pfad, Die mich zu ihren Hallen tragen? Von Menschen konnt’ ich nichts erfragen, In Zwiespalt waren sie verloren. Zur Blume, die sich Helios erkoren, Die ewig in sein Antlitz blickt, Wandt’ ich mich nun, —und ward entzückt:

»Wende, so wie ich, zur Sonne Deine Blicke! Dort ist Wonne, Dort ist Leben; Treu ergeben, Pilg’re zu, und zweifle nicht; Ruhe findest du im Licht; Licht erzeuget alle Gluten, — Hoffnungspflanzen, Thatenfluten!«

Text: Johann Baptist Mayrhofer (1787–1836)

From Heliopolis I

In the cold, rough north I received word of a city - the city of the sun. Where awaits the ship, where is the path to bring me to those halls? From men could I ascertain nothing, for, in dissention, they were confused.

12 To the flower, which Helios chose himself, and which always gazes toward his face, I now turned, and was enchanted.

“Turn, as I do, toward the sun your eyes! There is bliss, there is Life; truly devoted, forge ahead toward it and do not doubt; peace will you discover in the light. Light produces all the fires, all the fruit of hope, and all the floods of deeds.

Translation: © by Emily Ezust, from the LiederNet Archive https://www.lieder.net/

SARAH KIRKLAND SNIDER Mad Song

The wild winds weep, And the night is a-cold; Come hither, Sleep, And my griefs infold: But lo! the morning peeps Over the eastern steeps, And the rustling birds of dawn The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault Of paved heaven, With sorrow fraught My notes are driven: They strike the ear of night, Make weep the eyes of day; They make mad the roaring winds, And with tempests play.

13 Like a fiend in a cloud With howling woe, After night I do croud, And with night will go; I turn my back to the east, From whence comforts have increas’d; For light doth seize my brain With frantic pain. Text: William Blake (1757–1827)

ESPERANZA SPALDING Little Fly

Little fly, Thy summer’s play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away.

Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me?

For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life And strength and breath, And the want Of thought is death,

Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die. Text: William Blake (1757–1827)

14 IV.

FRANZ SCHUBERT Frühlingssehnsucht from Schwanengesang, D. 957 Säuselnde Lüfte Wehend so mild, Blumiger Düfte Athmend erfüllt! Wie haucht Ihr mich wonnig begrüßend an! Wie habt Ihr dem pochenden Herzen gethan? Es möchte Euch folgen auf luftiger Bahn! Wohin?

Bächlein, so munter Rauschend zumal, Wallen hinunter Silbern in’s Thal. Die schwebende Welle, dort eilt sie dahin! Tief spiegeln sich Fluren und Himmel darin. Was ziehst Du mich, sehnend verlangender Sinn, Hinab?

Grüßender Sonne Spielendes Gold, Hoffende Wonne Bringest Du hold. Wie labt mich Dein selig begrüßendes Bild! Es lächelt am tiefblauen Himmel so mild, Und hat mir das Auge mit Thränen gefüllt! - Warum?

Grünend umkränzet Wälder und Höh’! Schimmernd erglänzet Blüthenschnee! So dränget sich Alles zum bräutlichen Licht;

15 Es schwellen die Keime, die Knospe bricht; Sie haben gefunden was ihnen gebricht: Und Du?

Rastloses Sehnen! Wünschendes Herz, Immer nur Thränen, Klage und Schmerz? Auch ich bin mir schwellender Triebe bewußt! Wer stillet mir endlich die drängende Lust? Nur Du befreiest den Lenz in der Brust, Nur Du!

Text: Ludwig Rellstab (1799–1860)

Spring longing

Rustling winds blow so gently, Their breath overflowing with flowers’ perfume! How lovely is the greeting you breathe to me! What have you done to my pounding heart? It wants to follow on the path you blow! To where?

Little stream, your rushing always so lively, Eagerly drop, shimmering, into the valley. The smooth waves, they hurry along! Meadows and sky are mirrored deeply within. How do you draw me, longing, desirous spirit, Away?

Playful gold of the beckoning sun,

16 You tenderly bring hopeful joy! How the sight of your sacred greeting refreshes me! It laughs lightly within the deep blue sky And fills my eyes with tears, Why?

The forests and hills are crowned with green! The glint of snowy white blossoms shimmers! All strain toward the bridal light; Sprouts swell, buds open; They have found what they desire: And you?

Restless desire, longing heart, Is it always to be only tears, complaint and pain? I also know the swelling desire! Who can finally still this burning longing? Only you can set free the springtime in my breast, Only you! Translation: © by Michael P. Rosewall

FRANZ SCHUBERT Nachtstück, D. 672

Wann über Berge sich der Nebel breitet, Und Luna mit Gewölken kämpft, So nimmt der Alte seine Harf’, und schreitet, Und singt waldeinwärts und gedämpft: “Du heil’ge Nacht! Bald ist’s vollbracht. Bald schlaf ich ihn Den langen Schlummer, Der mich erlöst

17 Von jedem Kummer.” Die grünen Bäume rauschen dann, Schlaf süß du guter alter Mann; Die Gräser lispeln wankend fort, Wir decken seinen Ruheort; Und mancher traute Vogel ruft, O laßt ihn ruh’n in Rasengruft! -

Der Alte horcht, der Alte schweigt - Der Tod hat sich zu ihm geneigt.

Text: Johann Baptist Mayrhofer (1787–1836) Nocturne

When over the mountains mist is spread, and Luna battles against the clouds, then the old man takes his harp and strides toward the forest, singing in a subdued voice:

“You holy night: soon it will be over, soon I shall sleep the long sleep that will free me from every torment.”

The green trees then murmur: “Sleep sweetly, you good, old man...” The grasses whisper as they wave: “We will cover his place of rest...”

And many a lovely bird calls: “O let him rest in his grassy tomb!” The old man hears, the old man is silent; [for] Death has [now] leaned toward him.

Translation: © by Emily Ezust, from the LiederNet Archive https://www.lieder.net/

18 V.

FRANZ SCHUBERT Des Fischers Liebesglück, D. 933

Dort blinket Durch Weiden, Und winket Ein Schimmer Blaßstrahlig Vom Zimmer Der Holden mir zu.

Es gaukelt Wie Irrlicht, Und schaukelt Sich leise Sein Abglanz Im Kreise Des schwankenden See’s.

Ich schaue Mit Sehnen In’s Blaue Der Wellen, Und grüße Den hellen, Gespiegelten Strahl.

Und springe Zum Ruder, Und schwinge Den Nachen Dahin auf Dem flachen, Krystallenen Weg.

19 Fein-Liebchen Schleicht traulich Vom Stübchen Herunter, Und sputet Sich munter Zu mir in das Boot.

Gelinde Dann treiben Die Winde Uns wieder See-einwärts Vom Flieder Des Ufers hindann.

Die blassen Nachtnebel Umfassen Mit Hüllen Vor Spähern Den stillen, Unschuldigen Scherz.

Und tauschen Wir Küsse, So rauschen Die Wellen Im Sinken Und Schwellen, Den Horchern zum Trotz.

20 Nur Sterne Belauschen Uns ferne, Und baden Tief unter Den Pfaden Des gleitenden Kahn’s.

So schweben Wir selig, Umgeben Vom Dunkel, Hoch überm Gefunkel Der Sterne einher.

Und weinen Und lächeln, Und meinen, Enthoben Der Erde, Schon oben, Schon drüben zu seyn.

Text: Karl Gottfried von Leitner (1800–1890)

The fisher’s joy in love

Yonder blinks through the pasture And winks a pale shimmer From the room Of the beloved toward me.

21 It sways like a will-o’-the-wisp And rocks softly, Its reflection in the circle Of the swelling lake.

I gaze with longing Into the blue of the waves, And greet the bright, Reflected ray.

And I jump to the rudder, And I swing the small boat Thereward upon the flat, Crystal way.

The fine beloved sneaks cautiously From the little room downward, And she hurries chipperly Toward me into the boat.

Gently then the wind Chases us again Lakeward, away from the plants

22 On the shore out there.

The pale night fog Embraces, as a covering Look-out, the still, Innocent joke.

And we exchange kisses, While the waves rustle In sinking and swelling In spite of the listeners.

Only stars observe us From afar, and bathe Deeply under the path Of the boat.

So we sway blissfully, Surrounded by darkness, High above the twinkling Of the stars herein.

And we cry, and we smile, And imagine, lifted above

23 The Earth, already up, Already above to be.

VI.

GABRIEL KAHANE Final Privacy Song

I woke up in California, Wondering, wondering Can all this information They are teaching to teach itself Put out these fires before they begin?

From here I can see figures Walk up the hill Not wearing their masks Then moving into that building Across the avenue.

Behind its giant windows Calm new questions are spoken. How many metal trees To reverse the past Should we plant in the desert Where only spirits go? Can they learn to breath smoke?

Here in this room Let the fires for an hour Like Brother Martin Ash, who, Deep in meditation walked Around the campus where I work Wearing a cassock tied with a rope, Be forgotten.

24 He died In a little room And no one Will read his book.

And when I die Please bury me Underneath an old oak Near the train in sleep city,

And do not tell the ones Who can see me Through this screen Where I’ve gone.

All morning I sat breathing Filtered air. Above me Simon and Sarah were asleep Then they were not.

There was wailing Then much frenzied joy Not unlike when they Secretly slipped an artificial Otter into the lake at the zoo And everyone was happily fooled Especially the real otters Who played too long With their new inexhaustible friend.

Now Simon has gone to school With his little pictures that light up And shoes and Sarah has gone To the city to meet with a demon Who built a lucrative portal And wants now to construct A great hall named after his father

25 A master of oil, and fill it Forever with old music.

Under Mission Under the Armory Under the silent buses With tinted windows There is a river They call a creek That really does still flow (You can read about it In a booked called “Vanished Waters.”)

I want to ask If terrible youths With the beauty Of pure losers Still come to this city To try to refuse.

Like them I lived At the end of the quiet age. No matter how much Din we made, no one Could hear. We drew

The names of our bands With black sharpies We stole from the office Of someone’s dad, we hung The posters in the constant Rain, like them I lived At the end of the quiet age.

We knew that we would see Each other under the perfectly Damaged hues of our hair

26 At the crumbling palace Where art was glad to end Its walls flickered unwatchable Films of films by friends of friends Inhabiting dingily grand apartments That the landlords could barely Remember they owned.

Those rooms where intricate Chandeliers had swayed above The meticulous cabinetry In every harmless quake Who lives in them now?

I slept surrounded by fog In a room someone had painted A particular orange. Each night I crossed the bridge someone Never stops painting the color Of the sun just after it has beneath The horizon disappeared.

And when I die Please bury me Underneath an old oak Near the train in sleep city

And do not tell the ones Who can see me through This screen where I’ve gone.

In dream moving north Toward the redwoods And their letters, High up in the canopy Each night I crossed To no one

27 and no one said Far too late don’t fall asleep in the dream.

Each day we’d sleepwalk To our pretend jobs Without seeing the ghosts Of the two villages That were next to the creek Before the settlers came And gave the lake a new name.

Now it’s a sad waterless pool Full of human toys, scientifically Lonely with desire to remember, It’s so easy to forget that they Lived here until they lay down Or were taken north in little Boats across the bay to build Their own hospital where they Could die from our disease.

My dad flew in for an hour And remarked you have no door Then went back across the country To where I never grew up under Maryland elms.

Now he is wherever Those spirits who sat with us During those now extinct Afternoons of doing nothing Have gone.

At last the smoke Is blowing out Through the gate to the sea. I hear

28 The emperor shift In his bed. He can’t Remember who He ordered to watch Us or the name In which we did All these things Written on The glowing scroll I am reading Here at the end As it moves endlessly down

O analytical daylight I hear the old song That says we were born When we fell asleep underneath those trees That when they burn Will not return No matter what we invent Or how alive or strong They look to us in dusk.

—Matthew Zapruder

29 VI.

FRANZ SCHUBERT Wandrers Nachtlied II, D. 768

Über allen Gipfeln Ist Ruh’, In allen Wipfeln Spürest du Kaum einen Hauch; Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde. Warte nur, balde Ruhest du auch.

Text: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)

Wanderer’s nightsong II

Over all the peaks it is peaceful, in all the treetops you feel hardly a breath of wind; the little birds are silent in the forest... only wait—soon you will rest as well.

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32 Ms. Diana Nichols Ms. Karen Sharp Judith L. Nichols and Michael Berg Mr. William M. Sharp Ms. Sherri Nordwall Wylie and Judy Sheldon Neil O’Donnell and Chris Motley Mr. Daniel Shin Dr. and Mrs. Hans I. Orup Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Shoehalter Mr. David Ow Emilya Shtivelman Mr. Norman Packard Mr. Matthew Shuster Ms. Mitzi S. Palmer Stephen Siegelman Ms. Amy Panitz LaVerne C. and Alan Silverman, Mr. James Parsons and Ms. Andrea Hong in memory of Mary Huff and Hannah Silverman Ms. Barbara Paschke Mr. Dean A. Silvers Mr. Victor Penico Ms. Anne B. Simons Mr. Alan R Perlman Herbert and Glenda Smith Ms. Patricia E. Perry and Mr. Stephen J. McPhee Melanie Smith and Bill Pine Mark Phillips and Roberta Seifert Jennifer Sobol Rita Piagneri Ms. Cherrill Spencer Ms. Dorothy A. Praeger Mr. Paul Steckel Susan K. Prather Mrs. Gussie Stewart Mr. Philip Purcello Françoise Stone Martin and Maria Quinn Mr. and Mrs. Thomas H. Stone Ms. Fran Quittel Mr. Benedikt Strebel and Ms. Kathy Klausner Ms. Virginia Reames Victoria Sung Mr. Glenn Reid Mr. David Swain Ms. Becky Richardson Toby Symington Mr. and Mrs. John Richmond Nobuyuki Tanaka Penny Righthand, in memory of Richard I. Levine, M.D. Mr. Stanley Tanaka Mr. Robert Ripps and Mr. Steven Spector Alan Templeton Anmarie B. Roache Mr. Richard Terdiman and Ms. Linda Foy Mr. William Roberts The Laney and Pasha Thornton Foundation Mr. James Robinson Chris and Naomi Thorpe Mr. Ernest Robles Ms. Jill Tolfa Arthur and Toni Rembe Rock Ms. Katherine Triest Horacio and Angela Rodriguez Ms. Susan Tuohy Michael and Janet Rodriguez Mr. Paul Upham Mr. Michael Rodriguez Laura Vacco Jane P. Rogers and Michael L. Fischer Ms. Jacqueline S. Valentine and Mr. Robert J. Spjut Mr. Ronald Rogness Ms. Linda Vallee Heli Roiha and Terry McKelvey Ms. Jill Van Gee Ms. Elsa Rosenberg and Mr. David Zuckerman Mr. Leon Van Steen Ms. Bettina Rosenbladt Ms. Lucia Varela Ms. Lisa Rosenthal Mr. Douglas Vaughan Ms. Carol Rossi Mr. Patrick Vaz Mako U. Rova Mr. Eduardo Vergara William D. Radiak Walter Chalmers Smith Family Fund Ms. Julie Rulyak William Welch Ms. Abby Rumsey Mrs. Anne Wellner de Veer Bob and Terri Ryan Mr. Eric Wells Sack Family Fund Peter Weltner and Atticus Carr Ms. Judith Sahagen Julienne Weston Bill Saphir and Melissa Saphir, Mr. Mark D. Whatley and Ms. Danuta M. Zaroda in memory of Florence Saphir Mr. Doug Wilcoxen Fred Saunders and Charles Kredensor S.B. Hadley Wilson Thomas A. Savignano and Peter A. Benson Ms. Jennifer Winch Patricia Unterman and Tim Savinar Jerri Witt Carl Schaper Keeman Wong Mr. Dan Scharlin and Ms. Sara Katz Dr. Maylene Wong Mr. and Mrs. Dietar Scherer Ms. Betty Woo Stefan Hastrup and Gary Schilling Dr. and Mrs. Roger Wu J.P. Schlegelmilch Paul and Pien Yarbrough Mr. Justus J. Schlichting Mr. Norman Young David Gast and Elena Schmid Mr. Philip Young Mr. Jim Schwarz and Mr. Jim Zayac Carolyn Zaroff Mr. and Mrs. Dana S. Scott Frank and Nora Zepeda Pamela W. Sebastian Michael A. Zimmerman Mr. Terry Senne Carl and Betty Zlatchin Ms. Linda Shaffer Anonymous, in memory of Peter F. Ostwald, M.D. James and Connie Shapiro Anonymous (14) Stephen R. Shapiro

33 SAN FRANCISCO WAR MEMORIAL AND PERFORMING ARTS CENTER: HERBST THEATRE Owned and operated by the City and County of San Francisco through the Board of Trustees of the War Memorial of San Francisco The Honorable London N. Breed, Mayor TRUSTEES Thomas E. Horn, President Charlotte Mailliard Shultz, Vice President Nancy H. Bechtle Stanlee Ray Gatti Lt. Col. Wallace I. Levin CSMR (Ret.) Gorretti Lo Lui Mrs. George R. Moscone Maj. Gen J. Michael Myatt, USMC (Ret.) Paul F. Pelosi Diane B. Wilsey Brenda Wright John Caldon, Managing Director Jennifer E. Norris, Assistant Managing Director

Elizabeth Murray, Managing Director Emerita

HERBST THEATRE EXIT MAPS In an emergency, follow any lighted exit sign to the street. Do not use elevator. Walk, don’t run.

34 2021–2022 SEASON A Joyful Return! Joyful A