Jourdan Laine Howell
soprano
Christopher Steele, piano
assisted by:
Carla Copeland-Burns, flute
Diana Yodzis, mezzo-soprano
Graduate Recital
Friday, April 19, 2013
7:30 pm
Recital Hall, Music Building
Program
The Clan of the Lichens (2004) Abbie Betenis
All things live (b. 1980)
Night and the Little Failures
The Prayer Wind
from Giulio Cesare (1724) George Frideric Handel
“Non disperar” Act I, Scene 5 (1685-1759)
“V’adoro pupile” Act II, Scene 2
Three Irish Folksong Settings (1988) John Corigliano
The Salley Gardens (b. 1938)
The Foggy Dew
She Moved Thro’ the Fair
Carla Copeland-Burns, flute
Intermission
Jägerlied, Op. 64 Nr. 4 (1875) Johannes Brahms
Guter Rat, Op. 75, Nr. 2 (1878) (1833-1897)
Walpurgisnacht, Op. 75, Nr. 4 (1878)
Diana Yodzis, mezzo soprano
Nuit d’Espagne (1872) Jules Massenet
(1842-1912)
Guitare (1866) Georges Bizet
(1838-1875)
Le bachelier de Salamanque, Op. 20, Nr. 1 (1919) Albert Roussel
(1869-1937)
The Clan of the Lichens (2004) Abbie Betenis
A Tale for Children and Taller Ones
The Clan of the Lichens
Jourdan Laine Howell is a student of Dr. Robert Wells
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Doctor of Musical Arts in Performance
Selected program notes
Three Irish Folksong Settings
“In 1982, I composed Pied Piper Fantasy for flute and orchestra, a piece with stage action,
inspired by the virtuosity of James Galway on the flute and the tin whistle. That was a
fairy-tale work, bubbling with the humorous, sometimes sardonic personality of Mr.
Galway himself. Six years later, I tried to explore the more poetic side of Irish flute music in
these settings of folk or folk-like texts by W.B. Yeats, Padraic Colum and an anonymous
author.”
- John Corigliano
The Clan of the Lichens
“Composer Abbie Betenis writes music praised for its unfolding form and dramatic
impulse, characterized by patterns of rhythmic vigor and playfulness. She loves language
and has set texts in Gaelic, ancient Greek, Latin, Norwegian, medieval Persian, Spanish,
Tang-era Chinese, and gibberish. Her text setting has been called imaginative and sensitive,
even while pushing performers to explore extended vocal techniques such as yodeling,
crying, spitting, whistling, glottal grunts, or bird-calling.
Her recent projects investigate topics as varied as ancient Greek binding spells, pre-
Christian Gaelic keening, Newton’s laws of motion, Chinese compassion mantras, early
American shape-note singing, and – in an extended work for women’s voices with cello,
Oud, and Persian hand drums – the mystical imagery of 14th century Sufism.
With over 50 commissioned works for ensembles such as Cantus, the Dale Warland
Singers, New England Philharmonic, and The Rose Ensemble, Abbie has been awarded a
McKnight Composer Fellowship, grants from the American Composers Forum, ASCAP,
and Jerome Foundation, and was recently listed in NPR Music’s Top 100 Composers Under
40.” (from www.abbiebetenis.com)
“Opal Whiteley (1897-1992), child literary prodigy and acclaimed Oregon naturalist, was
famous for her bestselling childhood diary (1920), but also wrote some poetry. These
poems, extracted from her little-known collection The Flower of Stars, were written when
Whiteley was in her early 20's. Whiteley's unique and consistent mythology permeates all
of her writing, and these poems are no exception. She often returns to such themes as the
universal journey of man, the substantive nature of time, the purity of the color blue, the
instinctual understanding of children, the music of the solar system, and a host of
metaphors from nature to illuminate personal relationships. After a tremendous scandal in
which the true authorship of Whiteley's celebrated journal was questioned, she became
virtually unknown and died in 1992 in a London asylum.”
- Abbie Betenis
Recognition and thanks
Many thanks to Blayne Ziegenfuss for designing the recital gown for this evening. Your
creativity and talents are boundless – cheers to finding the perfect dress form, sir. No
doubt you will need it straight away!
Sincere thanks to Dr. Robert Wells and Rebecca Wilt for staying calm in the face of mini-melt
downs and recital crises! Your continuous guidance is much appreciated!
A million thanks to Dr. Christopher Steele, Carla Copeland-Burns, and Diana Yodzis for
performing on this recital, and to my studio mates for your honest critiques and praise.
“We are the music makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams…”
To my support system, those of you who have been by my side this semester, filling my
mind and heart with positivity and love, I sincerely thank you.
The aim and final end of all music should be none other than the glory of God and the refreshment of
the soul. - Johann Sebastian Bach
The woods would be very silent if the only birds that sang were those who sang best. - Henry David
Thoreau
Abbie Betenis
The Clan of the Lichens
Text by Opal Whiteley (1897-1992)
All things live
All things live;
The innermost thoughts of a man’s soul
Walk the highway of the universe
And are seen by all the pilgrims
Who have gone before.
Night and the Little Failures
Night took up the web of life
And wove a start thereon
Of amethyst and silver glimmering.
From her rosary she drew a pearl
And gave its holding to a star
Lest coldness come to her heart
Also, Night took from her girdle, a rose
And caught in its petals the hour
glimmering
That this star might be a flower
To shed its fragrance on earth fields.
So wove she into beauty
The little failures of man,
But his successes
She cast to earth again.
The Prayer Wind
There was quiet in the garden,
Save for the music from the harp of stars,
When to its playing came the Prayer Wind
Wearing rose petal slippers
And twining for-get-me-nots
In her hair.
There was quiet in the garden
While the Prayer Wind
Dropped her for-get-me-nots
From twining in her hair
They fell to earth
With the low sweet notes
From the harp of stars
George Friedric Handel
from Giulio Cesare
Non disperar, chi sa?
Text by Nicola Francesco Haym (1678-1729)
Non disperar, chi sa?
Se al regno non l’avrai,
Avrai sorte in amor.
Mirando una beltà
In essa troverai
A consolar un cor.
V’adoro pupile
V’adoro, pupille, saette d’amore;
Le vostre favile son grate nel sen.
Pietose vi brama il mesto mio core,
Ch’ogno’ora vi chiama l’amato suo ben
John Corigliano
Three Irish Folk Settings
The Salley Gardens
Text by William Butler Yeats
Down by the salley gardens
My love and I did meet;
She pass’d the salley gardens
With little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy,
As the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish,
With her would not agree.
They gently drifted down
And homes were gladder that day –
Nobody knew why, only
There were more blue-eyed children.
from Julius Ceasar
Do not despair, who knows?
Do not despair, who knows?
If you do not have the kingdom,
You may have luck in love.
Look upon a beautiful woman
You may discover
Consolation in your heart.
I adore you, eyes
I adore you, eyes, arrows of love;
Your sparks are welcomed in my breast.
My sad heart longs for you to have pity,
At every hour my heart calls you beloved.
Down by the salley gardens
My love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder,
She laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy;
As the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish
And now am full of tears.
The Foggy Dew
Text by unknown
A-down the hill I went at morn,
A lovely maid I spied.
Her hair was bright as the dew
That wets sweet Anner’s verdant side.
“Now where go ye, sweet maid?” said I.
She raised her eyes of blue
And smiled and said, “The boy I’ll wed
I’m to meet in the foggy dew!”
Go hide your bloom, ye roses red
And droop ye lilies rare,
For you must pale for very shame
Before a maid so fair!
Says I, “Dear maid, will ye be my bride?”
Beneath her eyes of blue
She smile and said, “The boy I’ll wed
I’m to meet in the foggy dew!”
She Moved Thro’ the Fair
Text by Padraic Colum
My young love said to me,
“My mother won’t mind and my father
won’t slight you for your lack of kine.”
And she stepped away from me
And this she did say, “It will not be long
love, ‘till our wedding day.”
She stepp’d away from me
and she went thro’ the fair, And fondly I
watched her move her and move there,
And then she went homeward with one star
awake, As the swan in the evening moves
over the lake.
Johannes Brahms
Jägerlied, Op. 64, Nr. 4
Text by Karl August Candidus (1817-1872)
Jäger, was jagst du die Häselein?
Häselein jag’ ich, das muss so sein.
Jäger, was steht dir im Auge dein?
Tränen wohl sin des, das muss so sein.
Jäger, was hast du im Herzelein?
Liebe und Leiden, das muss so sein.
Jäger, wann holst du dein Liebchen heim?
Nimmer, ach nimmer, das muss so sein.
A-down the hill I went at morn,
a-singing I did go.
A-down the hill I went at morn
She answered soft and low.
“Yes, I will be your own dear bride
And I know that you’ll be true.”
Then sighed in my arms, and all her charms
They were hidden in the foggy dew.
Last night she came to me,
She came softly in. So softly she came
that her feet made no din,
And she laid her on me
And this she did say, “It will not be long
love, ‘till our wedding day.”
Hunter’s Song
Huntsman, why do you hunt the hare?
I hunt the hare, it must be so.
Huntsman, what is that in your eye?
They are tears, it must be so.
Huntsman, what do you have in your
heart?
Love and sorrow, it must be so.
Huntsman, when will you bring your
beloved home?
Never, ah never, it must be so.
Guter Rat, Op. 75, Nr. 2
Text by unknown
Ach Mutter, liebe Mutter,
Ach gebt mir einen Rat!
Es reitet mir alle Frühmorgen
Ein hurtiger Reuter nach.
“Ach Tochter, liebe Tochter!
Den Rat, den geb’ ich dir:
Lass du den Reuter fahren,
Bleib noch ein Jahr bei mir!”
Ach Mutter, liebe Mutter.
Der Rat, der ist nicht gut;
Der Reuter, der ist mir lieber
Als alle dein Hab und Gut.
"Ist dir der Reuter lieber
Als alle mein Hab und Gut,
So bind dein' Kleider zusammen
Und lauf dem Reuter nach!"
Ach Mutter, liebe Mutter,
Der Kleider hab' ich nicht viel;
Gib mir nur hundert Taler,
So kauf' ich, was ich will.
"Ach Tochter, liebe Tochter!
Der Taler hab' ich nicht viel;
Dein Vater hat alles verrauchet
In Würfel- und Kartenspiel."
Hat mein Vater alles verrauschet
In Würfel- und Kartenspiel,
so sei es Gott geklaget,
Daß ich sein' Tochter bin.
Wär' ich ein Knab' geboren,
Ich wollte ziehn über Feld,
Ich wollte die Trommel rühren
Dem Kaiser wohl um sein Geld.
Walpurgisnacht, Op. 75, Nr. 4
Text by Willibald Alexis (1798-1871)
Liebe Mutter, heut Nacht heulte
Regen und Wind.
Ist heute der erste Mai, liebes Kind.
Liebe Mutter, es donnerte auf dem
Brocken oben.
Lieb Kind, es waren die Hexen droben.
Liebe Mutter, ich möcht keine Hexen sehn.
Liebes Kind, es ist wohl schon oft geschehn.
Liebe Mutter, ob im Dorf wohl Hexen sind?
Sie sind dir wohl näher, mein liebes Kind.
Good advice
Ah mother, dear mother,
Ah, give me a bit of advice!
There rides after me every morning
A swifter rider.
“Ah daughter, dear daughter!
The advice I give you is this:
Let the rider go on,
Stay one more year with me!”
Ah mother, dear mother,
The advice, it is not good;
The rider, he is dearer to me
Than all of your belongings.
“If that rider is dear to you
Than all my belongings,
Then tie your dresses together
And go after the rider!”
Ah mother, dear mother,
I do not have many dresses;
Give me only a hundred thalers
So I can buy what I will.
Ah daughter, dear daughter
I do not have many thalers;
Your father has squandered all
On dice and card playing.
If my father has squandered all
On dice and card playing
Then I lament to God
That I am his daughter.
If I had been born a boy,
I would go across the field,
I would beat the drum
For the Emperor and his gold.
Walpurgis Night
Dear mother, tonight howls
rain and wind.
It is the first of May, dear child.
Dear mother, it thunders over the
top of the Brocken.
Dear child, there are witches up there.
Dear mother, I do not want to see witches.
Dear child that probably already happened.
Dear mother, the witches are even in town?
They are even closer, my dear child.
Ach Mutter, worauf fliegen die Hexen
Zum Berg?
Auf Nebel, auf Rauche, auf lodern-dem
Werg.
Ach Mutter, was reiten die Hexen beim
Spiel?
Sie reiten, sie retien den Besenstiel.
Ach Mutter, was fegten im Dorfe die Besen!
Es sind auch viel Hexen auf’m Berge
gewesen.
Ach Mutter, was hat es im Schornstein
gekracht!
Es flog auch wohl Eise hinaus über Nacht.
Ach Mutter, dein Besen war die Nacht nicht
zu Haus.
Lieb’s Kind, so war er zum Brocken hinaus.
Ach Mutter, dein bette war leer in der
Nacht!
Deine Mutter hat oben auf dem Blocksberg
gewacht!
Jules Massenet
Nuit d’Espagne
Text by Louis Gallet (1835-1898)
L’air est embaumé,
La nuit est sereine
Et mon âme est pleine
De pensers joyeux;
Ô bien aimée,
Viens! ô bien aimée,
Voici l’instant de l’amour!
Dans les bois profonds,
Où les fleurs s’endorment,
Où chantent les sources;
Vite enfuyons nous!
Vois, la lune est Claire
Et nous sourit dans le ciel…
Les yeux indiscrets ne sont plus à craindre.
Viens, ô bien aimée,
La nuit protégé ton front rougissant!
La nuit est sereine, apaise mon Coeur!
C’est l’heure d’amour!
Dans le somber azur,
Les blondes etoiles
Ecartent leurs voiles
Pour te voir passer,
Viens! ô bien aimée,
Voici l’instant de l’amour!
J’ai vu s’entr’ouvrir
Ton Rideau de gaze.
Ah mother, how do the witches fly
To the mountain?
On fog, on smoke, on the glowing blaze.
Ah mother, what do the witches ride to
their gatherings?
They ride, they ride on broomsticks.
Ah mother, brooms that swept the village?
Here are also many witches on the
mountain.
Ah mother, something crashed into the
chimney!
There was one that flew out at night.
Ah mother, your broom was not in the
house last night.
Dear child, it was on top of the Brocken.
Ah mother, your bed was empty last night!
Your mother kept watch on the top of the
mountain!
Spanish night
The air is fragrant,
The night is calm
And my soul is full
Of joyful thoughts;
O beloved,
Come! O beloved,
Here is the moment of love!
In the deep woods
Where the flowers fall asleep,
Where sing the sources;
Quickly we run away!
See, the moon is clear
And we smiled in the sky…
We are no longer afraid of prying eyes,
Come, o beloved,
The night protects your blushing face!
The night is calm, soothes my heart!
It is the hour of love!
In the dark blue,
The yellow stars
Spread their sails
To watch you pass,
Come, o beloved,
Here is the moment of love!
I saw half opened
Your gauze curtain
Tu m’entends, cruelle,
Et tu ne viens pas!
Vois, la route est somber
Sous les rameaux enlaces!
Cueille en leur splendeur
Tes jeunes années,
Viens! Car l’heure est brève,
Un jour effeuille les fleurs
Du printemps!
La nuit est sereine, apaise mon Coeur!
C’est l’heure d’amour!
Georges Bizet
Guitare
Text by Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
Comment, disaient-ils,
Avec nos nacelles,
Fuir les alguazils?
Ramez, disaient-elle.
Comment, disaient-ils,
Oublier querelles,
Misère et perils?
Dormez, disaient-elles.
Comment, disaient-ils,
Enchanter les belles
Sans philters subtils?
Aimez, disaient-elles.
Albert Roussel
Le bachelier de Salamanque, Op. 20 Nr. 1
Text by René Chalupt (1885-1957)
Où vas-tu, toi qui passes si tard
Dans les rues désertes de Salamanque,
Avec ta toque noire et ta guitare,
Que tu dissimules sous tam ante?
Le couvre-feu est déjà sonné
Et depuis longtemps
Dans leurs paisibles maisons
Les bourgeois dormant à poings fermés.
Ne sais-tu pas qu’un edit de l’alcade
Ordonne de jeter en prison
Tous les donneurs de serenade,
Que les maladrins couperont ta chaîne dor.
Et que la fille de l’Almirante,
Pour qui vainement tu te tourmentes,
Se moque de toi, derrière son mirador?
You hear me, cruel one,
And you do not come!
See, the road is dark
Under the entwined branches!
Harvest in their splendor
The years of your youth,
Come! The hour is short.
Only one day bloom the flowers
Of spring!
The night is calm, soothes my heart!
It is the hour of love!
Guitar
How, they asked,
With our small boats,
Do we flee the aguazils*?
Row, they said.
How, they asked,
Do we forget quarrels,
Misery and peril?
Sleep, they said.
How, they asked,
Do we enchant pretty girls
Without subtle potions?
Love, they said.
*Spanish term for sheriff
The student from Salamanca
Where are you going, you who pass so late
In the streets of Salamanque,
With your black cap and your guitar
That you conceal beneath your coat?
The curfew has already sounded
And for a long time
In their peaceful homes
The burghers* have been sound asleep.
Do you not know the edict of the mayor
Orders to imprison
All those who sing serenades,
That the brigands will cut your gold chain.
And that the daughter of the Admiral,
For who you sigh in vain,
Mocks you from her mirador**?
*burgher means wealthy citizen
**mirador means an enclosed balcony
Abbie Betenis
The Clan of the Lichens
Text by Opal Whiteley (1897-1992)
A Tale for Children and Taller Ones
There is a little comet
That whirls around the world.
Sometimes,
He is seen nearing earth,
But, mostly, he is seen
Dancing and prancing up and down
The high hall of heaven.
He goeth quickly,
Yet may be always with us.
He sparkles a song
Like a ribbon
Have you heard him sing?
The Clan of the Lichens
We will be gray
For the dumbness of old things
And we will be
Without form
As are old longings.
And we will be like petal
As are new yearnings.
And we will be
Gray with a little green
As are old hopes
That live on with a foreseeing
And a dream.
“I’m so weary and lonely
Most people think me
A comet only…
My tail can be very big with light
But I’d like to go to bed at night.
I’ll come with patter light
At latter light…
And we will cling
That no wind may part us
As old friends.
We will be a symbol
Of things grown old
And the beauty that yet is
When youth glory sleeps.
