Priscilla Jane Smith
mezzo-soprano
Elizabeth Loparits, piano
Juan Pablo Andrade, piano
assisted by:
Brian Carter, violoncello
Holly Kortze, clarinet
Yana Romanova, flute
Senior Recital
Friday, April 28, 2006
5:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
Hark! The Ech’ing Air from The Fairy Queen Henry Purcell
The Blessed Virgin’s Expostulation (1659-1695)
Elizabeth Loparits, harpsichord
Brian Carter, violoncello
Zwei Gesange, Op. 91 (1884) Johannes Brahms
Gestillte Sehnsucht (1833-1897)
Geistliches Wiegenlied
Elizabeth Loparits, piano
Holly Kortze, clarinet
Intermission
Chansons Madécasses (1926) Maurice Ravel
Nahandove (1875-1937)
Aoua!
Il est doux
Elizabeth Loparits, piano
Brian Carter, violoncello
Yana Romanova, flute
Siete Canciones Populares Españolas (1914) Manuel de Falla
El Paño Moruno (1876-1946)
Seguidilla Murciana
Asturiana
Jota
Nana
Cancion
Polo
Juan Pablo Andrade, piano
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Bachelor of Music in Performance
_____
The hall is equipped with a listening assistance system.
Patrons needing such assistance should contact an usher in the lobby.
Henry Purcell was born and died in London, England. He was not only one of the most important
composers of the 17th century, but one of the most influential English composers in the repertoire.
He spent his young life as a chorister at Chapel Royal, and studied with John Blow and
Christopher Gibbons. He was involved in the music at the English court and at Westminster
Cathedral throughout his life. The Fairy Queen, one of Purcell’s semi-operas, was first performed
at Queen’s Theatre, Dorset Garden on May 2, 1692. The libretto is based on Shakespeare’s A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, although none of his actual text was used. Hark! The Ech’ing Air, is
taken from the final masque of act 5. In the scene, the four lovers are happily (and correctly)
reunited, and the Duke agrees to let them marry. The Blessed Virgin’s Expostulation is an
example of Purcell’s many domestic sacred works, taken from his anthologies of devotional music
entitled Harmonia Sacra. The text was written by Nahum Tate, with whom Purcell frequently
collaborated. Set in five sections, the piece is an “astonishingly vivid and human portrayal” of
Mary’s desparation caused by the loss of her son. Purcell uses many affective devices, including
the descending chromatic lines he so often uses to invoke despair, and the cry of “Gabriel” set to
repeated high F’s over increasingly clashing harmonies.
Johannes Brahms was born in Hamburg, Germany. A piano student of Cossel and Marxsen,
Brahms was very fond of German romantic poetry, particularly that of Eichendorff, Heine and
Emanuel von Geibel. Brahms’ love of folklore remained with him throughout his life, and can be
seen in the whispering of the wind and the little birds of Gestillte Sehnsucht. A prolific song
writer, with over 190 songs to his credit, Brahms is the successor to Schubert and Schumann in
the lieder genre.The title of the first song in the set, Gestillte Sehnsucht, is misleading in its irony;
the poem is about unstilled longing. As long as his spirit is drawn to distant, unattainable beauty,
the poet’s desires will remain unfulfilled. They will be stilled only when he dies, and the speaker
accepts this fate. The mood depicts the beauty of sunset, without sadness. Geistliches
Wiegenlied, composed in 1863-4, was the first of the set to be written. It was inspired by an old
German carol that was well known in the 15th century. Originally written for voice, piano, and viola,
Brahms gave the melody of that carol to the viola, and had the words printed in the score under
the notes of the introduction. The lilting melody has been used by Liszt, Smetana, Humperdinck,
Wolf, and Max Reger in Mariä Wiegenlied. The text chosen for the singer, in which a raging wind
threatens to disturb the sleep of the holy child, is from Geibel-Heyse’s “Spanish Song Book”
translated to German by Lope de Vega. Brahms concieved of his version as a late wedding gift to
his friends Amalie and Joseph Jaochim, she a singer, he a violinist; by the time it was published
they had already separated. Gestillte Sehnsucht was written in 1884 the vain hope of effecting a
reconciliation.
Maurice Ravel was born in Ciboure, France, near the Spanish border. He spent most of his life in
Paris, and studied piano and composition at the Conservatoire de Paris. He was a contemporary
of Debussy and Poulenc. Ravel emphasized the skill of orchestration very much, and regarded it
as a task separate from composition. He was influenced by his French predecessors, as well as
by jazz in his later compositions. Chansons Madécasses, commissioned by the American
patron Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, was written in 1925 and 1926. The text is taken from Evariste
de Parny (1753-1814), a creole poet based in France. Set in pre-colonial Madagascar, the piece
can be characterized by “African luxe, calme, et volupté,” although neither Parny nor Ravel ever
visited Madagascar. Ravel’s fascination with the exotic can be heard in the songs. The first song
depicts a forest encounter between two lovers, from the perspective of the man, who anticipates
the return of the woman. The second song tells of a violent war between the native people and
European settlers, in which the speaker cries “beware of the whites.” The third song describes the
tropical climate in which the native people live everyday. Ravel experimented with bitonality in the
piece, especially in the second song, and empolyed his interest in counterpoint, giving each
instrument equal importance.
Manuel de Falla was born in Cádiz, Spain. Although he stayed true to his own heritage in his
music, he was also highly drawn to French music of the time, especially that of Claude Debussy.
He began his musical studies by taking piano lessons from his mother, and later became a
student of Alejandro Odero and José Tragó at the Madrid Conservatory. He spent a large portion
of his life in Paris, where he met many artists involved in the impressionist movement, including
Maurice Ravel, Claude Debussy, and Paul Dukas. His time there had an important influence on
his compositions, and was is in Paris where he wrote the Siete Canciones Populares
Españolas. The seven songs are based on folk dances from various regions of Spain. De Falla
uses motifs and stylistic techniques used in traditional Spanish music.
Grove, 2006
Henry Purcell:
The Blessed Virgin’s Expostulation
Text by Nahum Tate (1652-1715)
Tell me, some pitying angel, tell quickly, say
Where does my soul’s sweet darling stay?
In tiger’s, or more cruel Herod’s way?
Ah! Rather let his little footsteps
Press Unregarded through the wilderness
Where midler savages resort,
The desert’s safer than a tyrant’s court.
Why, fairest object of my love,
Why dost thou from my longing eyes remove?
Was it a waking dream
That did foretell Thy wondrous birth?
No vision from above?
Where’s Gabriel now, that visited my cell?
I call ‘Gabriel!’
He comes not;
Flatt’ring hopes farewell.
Me Judah’s daughters once caress’d.
Call’d me of mothers, the most bless’d.
Now fatal change of mothers most distress’d.
How shall my soul its motions guide?
How shall I stem the various tide,
Whilst faith and doubt my lab’ring Soul divide?
For whilst of thy dear sight beguil’d
I trust the God, but oh!
I fear the child.
Maurice Ravel:
Chansons Madécasses
Text by Evariste de Parny (1753-1814)
Dedicated to Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge
Nahandove
Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove!
L’oiseau nocturne a commencé ses cris,
La pleine lune brille sur ma tête,
Et la rosée naissante humecte mes cheveux.
Voici l’heure: qui peut t’arrêter,
Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove?
Le lit de feuilles est préparé
Je l’ai parsemé de fleurs et d’herbes
Nahandove
Nahandove, o beautiful Nahandove!
The nocturnal bird has begun its cries,
The full moon shines on my head,
And the dew, just forming, moistens my hair.
It is the hour: what can be stopping you,
Nahandove, o beautiful Nahandove?
The bed of leaves is prepared
I have strewn it with fragrant flowers and
odoriférantes,
Il est digne de tes charmes
Nahandove, ô belle Nahandove!
Elle vient.
J’ai reconnu la respiration précipitée
Que donne une marche rapide;
J’entends le froissement de la pagne
Qui l’enveloppe:
C’est elle,… c’est Nahandove…
O reprends haleine, ma jeune amie;
Repose-toi sur mes genoux.
Que ton regard est enchanteur,
Que le mouvement de ton sein est vif et
délicieux
Sous la main qui le presse!
Tu souris, Nahandove,…
Tes baisers pénètrent jusqu’à l’âme;
Tes caresses brûlent tous mes sens:
Arrête, ou je vais mourir.
Meurt-on de volupté,
Nahandove?...
Le plaisir passe comme un éclair;
Ta douce haleine s’affaiblit,
Tes yeux humides se referment,
Ta tête se penche mollement
Et tes transports s’éteignent dans la langueur.
Jamais tu ne fus si belle,
Nahandove…
Tu pars, et je vais languir
Dans les regrets et les désirs;
Je languirai jusqu’au soir;
Tu reviendras ce soir, Nahandove…?
Aoua!
Aoua!
Méfiez-vous des blancs,
Habitants du rivage.
Du tems de nos pères,
Des blancs descendirent dans cette île;
On leur dit: Voilà des terres;
Que vos femmes les cultivent.
Soyez justes, soyez bons, et devenez nos
frères.
Les blancs promirent
Et cependant ils faisaient des retranchements,
Un fort menaçant s’éleva;
Le tonnerre fut renfermé dans des bouches
d’airain;
Leurs prêtres voulurent nous donner un Dieu
Que nous ne connaissons pas;
Ils parlèrent enfin d’obeissance et d’esclavage:
Plûtot la mort!
Le carnage fut long et terrible:
Mais malgré la foudre qu’ils vomissaient,
Et qui écrasait des armées entières,
Ils furent tous exterminés.
Nous avons vu de nouveaux tyrans,
Plus forts et plus nombreux,
herbs,
It is worthy of your charms
Nahandove, o beautiful Nahandove!
She comes.
I recognized the quickened breath
That is given by a fast pace:
I hear the rustling of the cloth
That covers her:
It is she,… it is Nahandove…
Oh, catch your breath, my young friend;
Rest yourself on my knees.
How your glance is bewitching,
How the movement of your breast is alive and
delicious
Under the hand which presses it!
You smile, Nahandove,…
Your kisses penetrate my soul;
Your caresses burn all my senses:
Stop or I will die.
Does one die of voluptuousness,
Nahandove?...
The pleasure passes like lightning;
Your sweet breath becomes weaker,
Your moist eyes close again,
Your head bends down gently
And your transports die down into languor.
Never have you been so beautiful,
Nahandove…
You leave, and I shall languish
In regret and desire;
I shall languish until evening;
Will you return this evening, Nahandove…?
Aoua!
Aoua!
Beware of the whites,
Inhabitants of the riverbank.
In the time of our fathers,
The whites came down into this land
We said: here is the land;
Let your women cultivate it.
Be just, be good, and become our
brothers.
The whites promised
And however they made some retrenchments,
A menacing fort was raised;
The thunder was shut into mouths of
bronze;
Their priests wanted to give us a god
That we do not know;
They spoke finally of obedience and slavery:
Rather death!
The carnage was long and terrible:
But despite the lightning they vomited,
And which wiped out entire armies,
They were all exterminated.
We saw new tyrants,
Stronger and more numerous,
Planter leur pavillon sur le rivage:
Le ciel a combattu pour nous;
Il a fait tomber sur eux les pluies,
Les tempêtes et les vents empoisonnés.
Il ne sont plus, et nous vivons libres.
Il est doux
Il est doux de se coucher
Durant la chaleur sous un arbre touffu,
Et d’attendre que le vent
Du soir amène la fraicheur.
Femmes, approchez.
Tandis que je me repose
Ici sous un arbre touffu,
Occupez mon oreille
Par vos accens prolongés;
Répétez la chanson de la jeune fille,
Lorsque ses doigts tressent la natte,
Ou lorsqu’assise auprès du riz,
Elle chasse les oiseaux avides.
Le chant plaît à mon âme;
La danse est pour moi
Presqu’aussi douce qu’un baiser.
Que vos pas soient lents,
Qu’ils imitent les attitudes du plaisir
Et l’abbandon de la volupté.
Le vent du soir se lève;
La lune commence à briller
Au travers des arbres de la montagne.
Allez, et préparez le repas.
Johannes Brahms:
Zwei Gesange, Op. 91
Gestillte Sehnsucht
Text by Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866)
In gold’nen Abendschein getauchet,
Wie feierlich die Wälder stehn!
In leise Stimmen der Vöglein hauchet
Des Abendwindes leises Wehn.
Was lispeln die Winde, die Vögelein?
Sie lispeln die Welt in Schlummer ein.
Ihr Wünsche, die ihr stets euch reget
Im Herzen sonder Rast und Ruh!
Du Sehnen, das die Brust beweget,
Wann ruhest du, wann schlummerst du?
Beim Lispeln der Winde, der Vögelein,
Ihr sehnenden Wünsche, wann schlaft ihr ein?
Ach, wenn nicht mehr in goldne Fernen
Mein Geist auf Traumgefieder eilt,
Nicht mehr an ewig fernen Sternen
Mit sehnendem Blick mein Auge weilt;
Dann lispeln die Winde, die Vögelein,
Mit meinem Sehnen mein Leben ein.
Build their pavillion on the riverbank:
The sky fought for us;
It made fall on them rains,
Tempests and poisoned winds.
They are no more, and we live free.
It is sweet
It is sweet to lie down
During the heat under a shady tree,
And wait for the wind
Of night to bring coolness.
Women, approach.
While I rest
Here under a tree,
Occupy my ear
With your drawn out accents;
Repeat the song of the young girl,
When her fingers braid the mat,
Or when seated next to the rice,
She chases the avid birds.
The song pleases my soul;
The dance is for me
Almost as sweet as a kiss.
Let your steps be slow,
Let them imitate the attitude of pleasure
And the abandon of voluptuousness.
The wind of evening cries;
The moon begins to shine
Through the trees on the mountain.
Go, and prepare the meal.
Stilled Longing
Dipped in the golden glow of evening,
How festive the woods appear!
Into the soft voices of the little birds
The gentle evening wind blows.
What are the winds and the little birds
whispering?
They are whispering the world into slumber.
You wishes, that are constantly stirring
In my heart without any respite!
You, longing that agitates my breast,
When will you rest, when will you slumber?
In the whispering of the winds, of the little
birds,
You longing wishes, when will you fall asleep?
Ah, when my spirit no longer hastens
To golden distances on the wings of dreams,
No longer will my eyes linger
With a longing gaze on eternally distant stars;
Then the winds and the little birds will whisper
My longing to sleep along with my life.
Geistliches Wiegenlied
Text by Felix Lope de Vega (1562-1635)
Trans. by Emanuel von Geibel (1815-1884)
Josef, lieber Josef mein,
Hilf mir wieg’n mein Kindlein fein,
Gott der wird die Lohner sein,
im Himmelreich der Jungfrau Sohn,
Maria, Maria.
Die ihr schwebet um diese Palmen
In Nacht und Wind,
Ihr heil’gen Engel, stillet die Wipfel!
Es schlummert mein Kind.
Ihr Palmen von Bethlehem im windesbrausen,
Wie mögt ihr heute so zornig sausen!
O rauscht nicht also, schweiget,
Neiget euch leis’ und lind;
Stillet die Wipfel es schlummert mein Kind.
Der Himmelsknabe duldet Beschwerde;
Ach, wie so müd’er ward vom Leid der Erde.
Ach, nun im Schlaf, ihm, leise gesänftigt,
Die Qual zerrinnt,
Stillet die Wipfel, es schlummert mein Kind.
Grimmige Kälte sauset hernieder,
Womit nur deck ich des Kindleins Glieder!
O all ihr Engel, die ihr geflügelt
Wandelt im Wind,
Stillet die Wipfel es schlummert mein Kind.
Manuel de Falla:
Siete Canciones Populares Españolas
El Paño Moruno
Al paño fino, en la tienda,
Una mancha le cayó;
Por menos precio se vende,
Porque perdió su valor.
Seguidilla Murciana
Cualquiera que el tejado, tenga de vidrio.
No debe tirar piedras, al del vecino.
Arrieros semos; puede que en el camino
Nos encontremos!
Por tu mucha inconstancia
yo te comparo
Con peseta que corre de mano en mano;
Que al fin se borra, y creyendola falsa
Nadie la toma!
Sacred Lullaby
Joseph, my dear Joseph,
Help me rock my fine little child,
God, he will reward you,
In the Heavenly Kingdom, the Virgin’s son,
Mary, Mary.
You who hover about these palms
In night and wind,
You holy angels, quiet the treetops!
There sleeps my child.
You palms of Bethlehem in the raging wind,
How angrily you howl tonight!
O roar not, thus! Be still.
Bend down softly and gently;
Quiet the treetops, there sleeps my child.
This Heaven’s boy suffers hardships;
Ah, how tired he became from the pain of the
earth.
Ah, now in sleep his torment, quietly softened,
Melts away.
Quiet the treetops, there sleeps my child.
Fierce coldness rushes downward;
With what can I cover the little child’s limbs?
O all you angels, you winged ones who
Wander in the wind,
Quiet the treetops there sleeps my child.
The Moorish Cloth
On the delicate fabric, in the shop,
There fell a stain;
It sells for less,
For it has lost its value.
Seguidilla from Murciana
Anyone whose house is made of glass
Should not throw stones to his neigbors’.
Muleteers are we; perhaps on the road
We shall meet again!
Because of your great inconsistency,
I compare you
To a coin that goes from hand to hand;
It fades in the end, and thinking it false
No one takes it!
Asturiana
Por ver si me consolaba,
Arrimeme à un pino verde
Por ver si me consolaba,
Y el pino como era verde,
Por verme llorar lloraba.
Jota
Dicen que no nos queremos
Porque no nos ven hablar;
A tu corazón y al mio
Se lo pueden preguntar.
Y a me desipdo de tí
De tu casa y tu ventana
Y aunque no quiera tu madre,
Adiós, niña, hasta mañana.
Nana
Duérmete, niño,
Duerme, mi alma,
Duérmete, lucerito de la mañana.
Nanita, nana
Duérmete, lucerito de la mañana.
Canción
Por traidores, tus ojos,
Voy á enterrarlos;
No sabes lo que cuesta,
“Del aire”
Niña, el mirarlos.
“Madre, á la orilla”
Dicen que no me quieres,
Y a me has querido…
Váyase lo ganado
“Del aire”
Por lo perdido.
“Madre, á la orilla”
Polo
Guardo una pena en mi pecho
Que á nadie se la diré!
Malhaya el amor, malhaya
Y quien me lo dió á entender!
Asturian Song
To see if it might console me,
I drew near a green pine
To see if it might console me.
And the pine, since it was green,
Wept to see me weeping.
A Dance of Aragon
They say we’re not in love,
Since they never see us talk;
Of your heart, and mine,
Let them ask.
I must leave you now,
Your house and your window
And though your mother dissaproves,
Good bye, love, until tomorrow.
Lullaby
Sleep, little one,
Sleep, my darling,
Sleep, my little morning star.
Lullay, lullay,
Sleep, my little morning star.
Song
Since they are treacherous, your eyes,
I am going to bury them;
You know not what it costs
“Of the air”
Dearest, to gaze into them
“Mother, to the shore”
They say you do not love me,
But you loved me once…
Make the best of it
“Of the air”
For what is now lost
“Mother, to the shore.”
A Dance of Andalusia
I keep a sorrow in my heart
That I’ll tell no one!
Love be cursed, cursed
And the one who taught it to me.
