The
American
Art Song
MUP 513 Performance of Art Song
Final Recital
Thursday, December 6, 2012
1:00 pm
Recital Hall , Music Building
Program
Jessica Lee, piano
Song (1951) (from Songs on Poems of Frank O’Hara) Christopher Berg
Kathryn Skawski, soprano (b. 1949)
Love at the Door Samuel Barber
Mclain Thompson, baritone (1910-1981)
Good morning, midnight (from Four Emily Dickinson Arthur Farwell
Songs, Op. 101) (1872-1952)
Anne Niver, soprano
Lions Richard Hundley
Meris Gadaleto, soprano (b. 1931)
Kristen Ironside, piano
Good morning, midnight (from Three Dickinson Songs) André Previn
Diana Yodzis, mezzo soprano (b. 1929)
Fur (Murray the Furrier) (from Cabaret Songs) William Bolcom
Anne Niver, soprano (b. 1938)
And What of Love (from A Winter Come) Morten Lauridsen
Kathryn Skawski, soprano (b. 1943)
Of Pearls and Stars (from LoveSongs) Robert Aldridge
Jonathan Ray, tenor (b. 1954)
The Farmer’s Curst Wife (from American Folk Steven Mark Kohn
Song Settings) (b. 1957)
Ethan Price, baritone
Shannon Huang, piano
The Blessing (from Songs from “The Telephone Poles”) James Sclater
Meris Gadaleto, soprano (b. 1943)
Flowers on the A Train (from Missed Connections) David Sisco
Bianca at INA (from Missed Connections)
Mclain Thompson, baritone
Anxiety (from From The Diary of Virginia Wolff) Dominic Argento
Diana Yodzis, mezzo soprano (b. 1927)
What If… Lee Hoiby
Ethan Price, baritone (1926-2011)
Flames (from Another Reason Why I Don’t Keep a Gun in the House) Tom Cipullo
Jonathan Ray, tenor
Christopher Berg:
Song (1951)
Text by Frank O’Hara (1926-1966)
I’m going to New York!
(what a lark! what a song!)
where the tough Rocky’s eaves
hit the sea. Where the’Acropolis
is functional, the trains
that run and shout! the books
that have trousers and sleeves!
I’m going to New York!
(quel voyage! jamais plus!)
far from Ypsilanti and Flint!
where Goodman rules the Empire
and the sunlight’s eschatology
upon the wizards bridges
and the galleries of print!
Samuel Barber:
Love at the Door
Text from the Greek Meleager
Translated by John Addington Symonds
(1840-1893)
Cold blows the winter wind:
'tis Love, whose sweet eyes swim with
honeyed tears
That bears me to thy doors, my love,
Tossed by the storm of hopes and fears.
Arthur Farwell:
Good morning, midnight
Text by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Good Morning—Midnight—
I'm coming Home—
Day—got tired of Me—
How could I—of Him?
Sunshine was a sweet place—
I liked to stay—
But Morn—didn't want me—now—
So—Goodnight—Day!
I’m gong to New York!
(to my friends! mes semblables!)
I suppose I’ll walk back West.
But for now I’m gone forever!
the city’s hung with flashlights!
the Ferry’s unbuttoning its vest!
Cold blows the blast of aching Love,
But be thou for my wand'ring sail
Adrift upon these waves of love
Safe harbor from the whistling gale.
I can look—can't I—
When the East is Red?
The Hills—have a way—then—
That puts the Heart—abroad—
You—are not so fair—Midnight—
I chose—Day—
But—please take a little Girl—
He turned away!
Richard Hundley:
Lions
Text by James Purdy (1914-2009)
Lions have lain in grasses before
& pale hares in lonely lanes,
but the trees and the leaves
& the leaves and the trees
are choicer and much more fair.
Abandon then lions
ignore pale hares
for with the trees and the leaves
& the leaves and the trees
you’ve found your choicest fair
by far choicest and fair.
André Previn:
Good morning, midnight
Text by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Good Morning Midnight
I'm coming Home
Day got tired of Me
How could I of Him?
Sunshine was a sweet place
I liked to stay
But Morn didn't want me now
So Goodnight Day!
William Bolcom:
Fur (Murray the Furrier)
Text by Arnold Weinstein (1927-2005)
My Uncle Murray the furrier
was a big worrier
but he’s no hurrier now
not today.
He’s good and retired now,
didn’t get fired, now
fulfills his desires
on half of his pay.
He eats in the best of dives
although he dines alone.
He buried two wonderful wives
and he still has the princess phone.
It’s the best of all possible lives
owning all that he owns
on his own.
You see, he never took off a lot,
and used to cough a lot
(fur in his craw from hot
days in the store).
Worked his way up to the top.
Was the steward of the shop.
Has a son who is a cop.
And he is free!
I can look can't I
When the East is Red?
The Hills have a way then
That puts the Heart abroad
You are not so fair Midnight
I chose Day
But please take a little Girl
He turned away!
My Uncle Murray the retiree
loves this democracy
and says it very emphatically.
He lives where he wishes,
when he wants does the dishes,
eats greasy knishes,
yessiree!
He is free!
No guilt, no ghost,
no gift for no host,
he goes, coast to coast,
coughing,
coughing,
My Uncle Murray the furrier—
no, no worrier he.
Morten Lauridsen:
And What of Love
Text by Howard Moss (1922-1987)
And what of love that old men dead and
gone
Have wintered through, and written
messages
In snow so travelers, who come too warm
To what may grow too cold, be safe from
harm?
Robert Livingston Aldridge:
Of Pearls and Stars
Text by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Translated by David Doggett
The pearly treasures of the sea,
The lights that spatter heaven above,
More precious than these wonders are
My heart-of-hearts filled with your love.
The ocean's power, the heavenly sights
Cannot outweigh a love filled heart.
And sparkling stars or glowing pearls
Pale as love flashes, beams and darts.
Steven Mark Kohn:
The Farmer’s Curst Wife
Text is an American folk song
There was an old man at the foot of the hill.
If he ain’t moved away, he’s a’ livin’ there
still.
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i diddle-i
day.
The devil he come to his house one day,
Says “one of your fam’ly I’m gonna take
away.
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i diddle-i
day.
“Take her, my wife, with all a’ my heart,
And I hope, by golly, you never part.”
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i diddle-i
day.
The devil he put her up on his back,
And off to Hell he went, clickity clack.
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i diddle-i
day.
When he got her down to the gates of Hell,
He says “punch up the fire, we’ll scorch her
well.”
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i diddle-i
day.
They know the fire of flesh is winter’s cheat
And how the icy wind makes young blood
sweet
In joining joy, which age can never have.
And that is what all old men know of love.
So, little, youthful maiden come
Into my ample, feverish heart
For heaven and earth and sea and sky
Do melt as love has melt my heart.
In come a little devil draggin’ a chain,
She upped with a hatchet and split his
brain!
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i diddle-i
day.
Now nine little devils went a’ climbin’ the
wall
Sayin’ “take her back, daddy! She’ll a’
murder us all!”
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i…
Diddle-i day!
The old man was a’ peepin’ out of a crack,
And he saw the old Devil come draggin’
her back.
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i diddle-i
day.
Now, there’s one advantage women have
over men.
They can all go to Hell! …and come back,
again.
Sing hi diddle-i diddle-i fi diddle-i…
Diddle-i day!
James Sclater:
The Blessing
Text by John Updike (1932-2009)
The room darkened, darkened until
our nakedness became a form of gray;
then the rain came bursting,
and we were sheltered, blessed,
upheld in a world of elements
that held us justified.
In all the love I had felt for you before,
in all that love,
there was no love
like that I felt when the rain began:
dim room, enveloping rush,
the slenderness of your throat,
the blessèd slenderness.
David Sisco:
Flowers on the A train to 14th Street
Text from Craigslist Missed Connections
You boarded with flowers,
An exquisite odor filled the musty car
I commented, then sniffed.
You asked if I was happy, with a charming
smile.
I said, Yes. No. Yes.
And you made me smile.
Maybe you'd like to find out how happy I
can be.
Dominick Argento:
Anxiety
Text by Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)
Why is life so tragic;
so like a little strip of pavement
over an abyss.
I look down; I feel giddy;
I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.
But why do I feel like this?
Now that I say it I don’t feel it.
The fire burns;
we are going to hear the Beggars Opera.
Only it lies about me;
I can’t keep my eyes shut.
Bianca at the INA
Text from Craigslist Missed Connections
I was trying on pants when you were
checking out
And mentioned your address
Across the street from my own.
Should have continued the conversation
Or run after you in my socks
With the theft alarm blaring in the store
behind me.
Tag still dangling from the side of the pants.
Lee Hoiby:
What If…
Text by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
(1772-1834)
What if you slept?
And what if in your sleep you dreamed?
And what if in your dream you went to
heaven
And there plucked a strange and beautiful
flow’r?
And what if when you awake,
You had the flower in your hand?
Ah! What then?
Tom Cipullo:
Flames
Text by Billy Collins (b. 1941)
Smokey the Bear heads
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of wooden matches.
His ranger's hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.
His brown fur gleams
under the high sun
as his paws, the size
of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.
He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper,
the dumbbell hiker.
He is going to show them
how a professional does it.
