Chamber Singers
Welborn E. Young, conductor
Liz Doebler, assistant conductor
Mary V. Dunnam, guest conductor
Elena Nezhdanova, accompanist
University Chorale
Carole Ott, conductor
Aaron Jackson, assistant conductor
Stephanie Schmidt, accompanist
with:
Robert Bracey, tenor
Janet Lilly, choreographer
Sunday, April 28, 2013
3:30 pm
Aycock Auditorium
Program
Chamber Singers
Hymn To St. Cecilia, Op. 27 (1942) Benjamin Britten
In a garden shady this holy lady (1913-1976)
I cannot grow
O ear whose creatures cannot wish to fall
Kari Ringgenberg, Heather Ellis, Ainsley Patterson,
Jonathan Ray, Matthew Arnold, soloists
Quartets for Four Voices and Piano Johannes Brahms
Der Abend, Op. 64, No. 2 (1874) (1833-1897)
Warum? Op. 92, No. 4 (pub. 1884)
Liz Doebler, conductor
Horizons Peter Louis Van Dijk
(b. 1953)
Diana Yodzis and Daniel Kossel, soloists
Mary Virginia Dunnam, conductor
Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine Eric Whitacre
(b. 1970)
Kari Ringgenberg, Haley Rollins,
Mary Virginia Dunnam, Liz Doebler, soloists
----- Intermission -----
University Chorale
Three Summer Scenes Libby Larsen
Primrose (b. 1950)
The Night of the Full Moon
Picking Apples
Selections from Drei Quartette Op. 31 Johannes Brahms
Der Gang zum Liebchen (1833-1897)
Neckerein
Aaron Jackson, conductor
Choral Dances from Gloriana Benjamin Britten
(1913-1976)
Robert Bracey, tenor
Janet Lilly, choreographer
Recognition of Dr. William P. Carroll
Sue Stinson, Interim Dean
School of Music, Theatre and Dance
Give Me Your Stars To Hold (2011) Richard Waters
(b. 1973)
William P. Carroll, conductor
Adam Ward, accompanist
Liz Doebler and Mary Virginia Dunnam are students of Dr. Welborn Young
Aaron Jackson is a student of Dr. Carole Ott
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Doctor of Musical Arts in Conducting
Benjamin Britten
Hymn To St. Cecilia, Op. 27
Text: W. H. Auden (1907-1973)
I.
In a garden shady this holy lady
With reverent cadence and subtle psalm,
Like a black swan as death came on
Poured forth her song in perfect calm:
And by ocean's margin this innocent virgin
Constructed an organ to enlarge her prayer,
And notes tremendous from her great
engine
Thundered out on the Roman air.
Blonde Aphrodite rose up excited,
Moved to delight by the melody,
White as an orchid she rode quite naked
In an oyster shell on top of the sea;
At sounds so entrancing the angels dancing
Came out of their trance into time again,
And around the wicked in Hell's abysses
The huge flame flickered and eased their
pain.
Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions
To all musicians, appear and inspire:
Translated Daughter, come down and
startle
Composing mortals with immortal fire.
II.
I cannot grow;
I have no shadow
To run away from,
I only play.
I cannot err;
There is no creature
Whom I belong to,
Whom I could wrong.
I am defeat
When it knows it
Can now do nothing
By suffering.
All you lived through,
Dancing because you
No longer need it
For any deed.
Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions
To all musicians, appear and inspire:
Translated Daughter, come down and
startle
Composing mortals with immortal fire.
III.
O ear whose creatures cannot wish to fall,
O calm of spaces unafraid of weight,
Where Sorrow is herself, forgetting all
The gaucheness of her adolescent state,
Where Hope within the altogether strange
From every outworn image is released,
And dread born whole and normal like a
beast
Into a world of truths that never change:
Restore our fallen day; O re-arrange.
O dear white children casual as birds,
Playing among the ruined languages,
So small beside their large confusing words,
So gay against the greater silences
Of dreadful things you did: O hang the
head,
Impetuous child with the tremendous
brain,
O weep, child, weep, O weep away the
stain,
Lost innocence who wished your lover
dead,
Weep for the lives your wishes never led.
O cry created as the bow of sin Is drawn
across our trembling violin.
O weep, child, weep, O weep away the
stain.
O law drummed out by hearts against the
still
Long winter of our intellectual will.
That what has been may never be again.
O flute that throbs with the thanksgiving
breath
Of convalescents on the shores of death.
O bless the freedom that you never chose.
O trumpets that unguarded children blow
About the fortress of their inner foe.
O wear your tribulation like a rose.
Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions
To all musicians, appear and inspire:
Translated Daughter, come down and
startle
Composing mortals with immortal fire.
Johannes Brahms
Der Abend, Op. 64, No. 2
Text: Friedrich Schiller (1759-1805)
Senke, strahlender Gott, die Fluren dürsten
Nach erquickendem Tau, der Mensch
verschmachtet,
Matter ziehen die Rosse, senke den wagen
hinab.
Sehe, wer aus des Meeres krystallner Woge
Lieblich lächelnd dir winkt! Erkennt dein
Herz sie?
Rascher fliegen die Rosse.
Thetys, die göttliche, winkt.
Schnell vom Wagen herab in ihre Arme
Springt der Führer. Den Zaum ergreift
Kupido.
Stille halten die Rosse,
Trinken die kühlende Flut.
Auf dem Himmel herauf mit leisen
Schritten
Kommt die duftende Nacht; ihr folgt die
süsse Liebe. Ruht und liebet!
Phöbus, der Liebende, ruht.
Warum?, Op. 92, No. 4
Warum doch erschallen
himmelwärts die Lieder?
Zögen gerne nieder Sterne,
die droben blinken und wallen,
zögen sich Lunas lieblich Umarmen,
zögen die warmen, wonnigen Tage
seliger Götter gern uns herab!
Peter Louis Van Dijk
Horizons
Sleep, my springbok baby,
Sleep for me, my springbok child,
When morning comes I’ll go out hunting,
for you are hungry and thirsty.
Small moon, Hai! Young moon,
When the sun rises you must speak to the
Rain, Charm her with herbs and
honeycomb,
O speak to her, that I may drink, this little
thing
She will come across the dark sky:
Mighty Raincow, sing your song for me
Sleep, my springbok baby,
Sleep for me, my springbok child,
When morning comes I’ll go out hunting,
for you are hungry and thirsty.
O Star, Hai! Hunting Star,
The Evening
Let it sink, radiant God- the fields thirst
for refreshing dew; the people languish,
the steeds are weary-let
the chariot sink down!
Behold the one who beckons to you,
sweetly smiling, from the sea's crystalline
wave!
Does your heart recognize her?
Faster fly the steeds;
Thetys, the divine one, beckons.
The driver leaps quickly from the chariot
into her arms. Cupid seizes the reins;
the steeds stand still
and drink at the cooling stream.
Ascending in the sky with quiet steps
comes the fragrant night; sweet love
follows.
Rest and love!
Phoebus, the loving one, rests.
Why?
Why then do songs resound
heavenwards?
They would fain draw down the stars
they would draw to themselves the moon’s
lovely embrace;
they would fain draw the warm, blissful
days
of the blessed gods down upon us!
When the sun rises you must blind with
your light The Eland’s eyes,
O blind his eyes, that I may eat, this little
thing
He will come across the red sands:
Mighty Eland, dance your dance for me,
Sleep, my springbok baby,
Sleep for me, my springbok child,
When morning comes, they’ll come a-hunting,
for they are hungry and thirsty.
They will come across the waters:
Mighty saviours in their sailing ships,
And they will show us new and far
horizons.
And they came, came across the waters:
Gods in galleons, bearing bows of steel,
Then they killed us on the far horizon.
Eric Whitacre
Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine
Text: Charles Anthony Silvestri (b. 1965)
I.
Leonardo Dreams of his Flying Machine…
Tormented by visions of flight and falling,
More wondrous and terrible each than the
last,
Master Leonardo imagines an engine
To carry a man up into the sun…
And as he’s dreaming the heavens call him,
softly whispering their siren-song:
“Leonardo. Leonardo, vieni á volare.”
“Leonardo. Leonardo, come fly.”
L’uomo colle sua congiegniate e grandi ale,
facciendo forza contro alla resistente aria.
A man with wings large enough and duly
connected
might learn to overcome the resistance of
the air.
II.
Leonardo Dreams of his Flying Machine…
As the candles burn low he paces and
writes,
Releasing purchased pigeons one by one
Into the golden Tuscan sunrise…
And as he dreams, again the calling,
The very air itself gives voice:
“Leonardo. Leonardo, vieni á volare.”
“Leonardo. Leonardo, come fly.”
Vicina all’elemento del fuoco…
Close to the sphere of elemental fire…
Scratching quill on crumpled paper,
Rete, canna, filo, carta.
Net, cane, thread, paper.
Images of wing and frame and fabric
fastened tightly.
…sulla suprema sottile aria.
…in the highest and rarest atmosphere.
III.
Master Leonardo Da Vinci Dreams of his
Flying Machine…
As the midnight watchtower tolls,
Over rooftop, street and dome,
The triumph of a human being ascending
In the dreaming of a mortal man.
Leonardo steels himself,
takes one last breath,
and leaps…
“Leonardo, Vieni á Volare! Leonardo, Sognare!”
“Leonardo, come fly! Leonardo, Dream!”
Libby Larsen
Three Summer Scenes
1. Primrose
Text: William Carlos Williams
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole--
Clear yellow!
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks--
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the flange of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
great oaktree--
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes--
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.
2. The Night of the Full Moon
Text: Lloyd Frankenburg
O come with me into this moonlight world.
The trees are large and soft tonight,
With blossoms loaded soft and white,
A cloud of whiteness furling and unfurled.
The houses give their sounds upon the air
In muted tones and secrecies,
Their lights like laughter through the trees.
The evening breathes its vows into our hair.
The evening puts its lips to throat and brow
And swears what it has sworn before
To others and will swear to more.
The evening has its arms around us now.
3. Picking Apples
Text: Maurice Lindsay
Apple time and the trees brittle with fruit,
My children climb the bent half-sapping
branches to where the apples
checked with the flush of Autumn hang.
The children bark their haunches
and lean on the edge of their balance.
The apples are out of reach,
so they shake the tree.
Through the tussle of leaves and laughter,
the apples thud down; thud on the orchard
grasses in rounded, grave finality, each one
after
the other dropping: the muffled sound of
the apples dropping like suddenly hearing
the beats of one’s own heart falling away, as
if shaken by some storm as localized as this.
Loading them into the cart,
the sweet smell of their bruises moist in the
sun. their skins bloom tacky against the
touch. I experience fulfillment suddenly
aware of some ripe, wordless answer,
knowing no such answers exist only
questions, questions.
Time and the apples falling
and shrill among the leaves the children
calling.
Johannes Brahms
Op. 31
Der gang zum Liebchen
Es glänzt der Mond nieder,
Ich sollte doch wieder
Zu meinem Liebchen,
Wie mag es ihr geh’n?
Ach weh’, sie verzaget
Und klaget, und klaget,
Daß sie mich nimmer
Im Leben wird seh’n!
Es ging der Mond unter,
Ich eilte doch munter,
Und eilte daß keiner
Mein Liebchen entführt.
Ihr Täubchen, o girret,
Ihr Lüftchen, o schwirret,
Daß keiner mein Liebchen,
Mein Liebchen entführt!
Neckerein
Fürwahr, mein Liebchen,
ich will nun frein,
Ich führ’ als Weibchen
dich bei mir ein,
Mein wirst du, o Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein,
Und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein.
“So werd’ ich ein Täubchen
von weißer Gestalt,
Ich will schon entfliehen,
ich flieg’ in den Wald,
Mag dennoch nicht deine,
mag dennoch nicht dein,
Nicht eine Stunde sein.”
Ich hab’ wohl ein Flintchen,
das trifft gar bald,
Ich schieß’ mir das Täubchen
herunter im Wald;
Mein wirst du, o Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein,
Und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein.
“So werd’ ich ein Fischchen,
ein goldener Fisch,
Ich will schon entspringen
ins Wasser frisch;
Mag dennoch nicht deine,
mag dennoch nicht dein,
Nicht eine Stunde sein.”
Ich hab’ wohl ein Netzchen,
das fischt gar gut,
The Walk to the Beloved
The moon shines down;
I really should return
to my beloved.
How is it for her?
Alas, she despairs
and bewails and bemoans
that she will never see me
in this life again.
The moon went down;
I hurried very quickly,
I hurried so that no one
would abduct my beloved.
O coo, you little doves,
and whir, you gentle breezes,
so that no one
will abduct my beloved.
Teasing
Indeed, my sweetheart,
I want to court you,
to introduce you as my
dear wife at my house.
You'll be mine, my darling,
indeed you will be mine,
even if you don't want to be.
Then I'll become
a little white dove;
I already want to fly away,
I want to fly into the forest.
I don't want to be yours,
I don't want to be yours,
not for one hour.
I have a good little rifle
that shoots pretty easily;
I will shoot down the little dove
there in the forest.
You'll be mine, my darling,
indeed you will be mine,
even if you don't want to be.
Then I'll become a little fish,
a golden fish;
I will indeed escape
into the fresh water.
I don't want to be yours,
I don't want to be yours,
not for one hour.
I have a good little net
that fishes quite well;
Ich fang’ mir den
goldenen Fisch in der Flut;
Mein wirst du, o Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein,
Und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein.
“So werd’ ich ein Häschen
voll Schnelligkeit,
Und lauf’ in die Felder,
die Felder breit,
Mag dennoch nicht deine,
mag dennoch nicht dein,
Nicht eine Stunde sein.”
Ich hab’ wohl ein Hüdchen,
gar pfiffig und fein,
Das fängt mir das Häschen
im Felde schon ein:
Mein wirst du, o Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein,
Und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein.
Benjamin Britten
Choral Dances from Gloriana
Text: William Plomer
Time
Yes, he is Time, Lusty and blithe!
Time is at his apogee
Although he thought to see
A bearded ancient with a scythe.
No reaper he That cries ‘Take heed!’
Time is at his apogee!
Young and strong in his prime!
Behold the sower of the seed!
Concord
Concord is here
Our days to bless
And this our land to endue
With plenty, peace and happiness.
Concord and Time
Each needeth each:
The ripest fruit hangs where
Not one, but only two, only two can reach.
I'll catch me the golden
fish in the steam.
You'll be mine, my darling,
indeed you will be mine,
even if you don't want to be.
Then I'll become a bunny,
full of speed,
and run off into the field,
the wide field.
I don't want to be yours,
I don't want to be yours,
not even for one hour.
I have a good little dog,
rather clever and sly,
that will surely catch
the bunny in the field.
You'll be mine, my darling,
indeed you will be mine,
even if you don't want to be.
Time and Concord
From springs of bounty
Through this county
Streams abundant
Of thanks shall flow.
Where life was scanty,
Fruits of plenty
Swell resplendent
From earth below!
No Greek nor Roman
Queenly woman
Knew such favour
From Heav’n above
As she whose presence
Is our pleasance …
Gloriana
Hath all our love!
Country Girls
Sweet flag and cuckoo flower
Cowslip and columbine
Kingcups and sops-in-wine,
Flower deluce and calaminth,
Harebell and hyacinth,
Myrtle and bay and rosemary between,
Norfolk’s own garlands for her Queen.
Rustics and Fisherman
From fen and meadow
In rushy baskets
They bring ensamples of all they grow.
In earthen dishes
Their deep-sea fishes;
Yearly fleeces,
Woven blankets;
New cream and junkets
And rustic trinkets,
On wicker flaskets,
Their country largess
The best they know.
Richard Waters:
Give Me Your Stars To Hold
Text: Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
Peace flows into me
As the tide to the pool by the shore;
It is mine forevermore,
It ebbs not back like the sea.
I am the pool of blue
That worships the vivid sky;
My hopes were heaven-high,
They are all fulfilled in you.
I am the pool of gold
When sunset burns and dies –
You are my deepening skies,
Give me your stars to hold.
Final Dance of Homage
These tokens of our love receiving
O take them, Princess great and dear.
From Norwich city you are leaving,
That you afar may feel us near.
University Chorale
SOPRANO
Kimberly Alden
Megan Callahan
Natalie Chamat
Holly Curtis
Ashley Earnhardt
MacKenzie Ellis
Felicia Francois
Kate Jackson-Adams
Meredith Mormann
Nicole Ramsey
Katie Skawski
Georgia Smith
ALTO
Katherine Burleson
Rachael Bumsted
Gianna Capelli
Chantel Cobb
LaBreta Johnson
Gretchen Krupp
Virginia Lee
Emily Northridge
Megan Raisner
Maggie Ramsey
Beth Rogers
Eun-Ju Seo
TENOR
Matthew Bishop
David Boyd
Ryan Brock
Davis Kelton
Aaron Jackson
James Smidt
BASS
Brent Byhre
Ryan Chavis
Lesley Dumé
Matthew Funigiello
Deon’te Goodman
Jacob Gilbert
John Jones
Mike Karkoski
Aaron Matson
Andreas Nassar
Tyler Rathbone
Lucas Varsano
Chamber Singers
SOPRANO
Mahari Conston
Liz Doebler
Mary Virginia Dunnam
Heather Ellis
Kari Ringgenberg
Haley Rollins
Claire Wright
Emily Wolber (S/A)
ALTO
Amanda Girelli
Jessica Johnson
Lora Mitchell
Anne-Claire Niver
Ainsley Patterson
Lydia Pion
Dianna Yodzis
TENOR
Nicholas Del Prince
Will Kelly
Eric Langer
Jonathan Ray
Matthew Reese
Blayne Ziegenfuss
BASS
Mathew Arnold
Wilson Brooks
Daniel Crupi
Daniel Kosel
Ethan Price
Mac Thompson
Dancers
Brooke Brown
Samantha Carranza
Paige Derosa
Emma Elliott
Elizabeth Hale
Olivia Mitchell
Matthew Rock
Thank you to Hinshaw Music, Inc., Roberta Whittington, President for providing the
music to Give Me Your Stars to Hold.
Thank you to all who have made this weekend in honor of Dr. William P. Carroll
possible including:
Mary Anne Bolick
Anne Coltrane
Carolyn Hall
Christy Elkins
Marc Foster
Sue Stinson
Bill Stephens
David Huskins
Kelly Turner
Debbie Merritt
Brad McMillan
Jim Bates
Karen Hayden
Phi Mu Alpha
Amy Moore
Dennis Askew
Thank you to all the Alumni, Faculty Colleagues, and Friends who have come
together to celebrate the university career of William P. Carroll
Department of Performance – Voice Area at UNCG:
Dr. Robert Bracey, Chair
Dr. Donald Hartmann
Dr. Carla LeFevre
Ms. Clara O’Brien
Ms. Levone Tobin-Scott
Dr. Nancy Walker
Dr. Robert Wells
Mr. David Holley, Director of Opera
Dr. Carole J. Ott, Associate Director of Choral Activities
Dr. Welborn E. Young, Director of Choral Activities
