9.12.23 Colleen Skull, Soprano

Evening Concert 2024 Season

Sara M. Snell Music Theater

Tuesday, September 12th at 7:30 PM

Colleen Skull, soprano

Risa Okina, piano

Ah! Perfido…Per pieta, non dirmi addio! Op. 65 Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827)

Petits poèmes du bord de l’eau

1. La rivière

2. La barque

3. Les saules

4. La lune

5. L’ondine

6. L’hiver

Dosyt' nevil'naja dumka movčala

Ne berit' iz zelenoho luhu verby

Ni, ne spavaj pisen' veselykh

from Moments in Sonder

Tears

Grief A Conceit

Secret from Brettl-Lieder

Gigerlette

Galathea

Arie auf dem Spiegel von Arkadien

Hedwige Chrétien (1859–1944)

Yakiv Stepovyi (1883–1921)

B.E. Boykin (b. 1989)

Arnold Schoenberg (1874–1951)

PROGRAM NOTES

The programming of this recital is reflective of my journey as an artist, educator, and human being. To begin, my love for opera and art song serves as a continuous source of inspiration in my life as an artist, teacher, and academic. Given my love for, and experience singing opera, we will begin with the tour de force concert aria “Ah! Perfido...Per pietà, non dirmi addio!” Op. 65, by Ludwig van Beethoven, poetry by Pietro Metastasio. This scene and aria highlight the emotional contrasts felt after a painful parting of two lovers, reflecting the range of emotions experienced in response to a betrayal. The aria showcases Beethoven's mastery in conveying human emotions through music and his ability to create a vivid narrative within a concert piece. "Ah! perfido..." is reflective of Beethoven's early style and his exploration of operatic elements in a concert context, making it a remarkable addition to his vocal repertoire.

Constantly on the lookout for new repertoire, I came across these songs recently and fell in love with them. Petits poèmes du bord de l'eau (Little poems from the waterside) is a collection of six songs composed by Hedwige Chrétien. She wrote over 70 mélodies, often favoring texts reminiscent of France’s medieval past. These songs, written in the early 20th century, capture the serene and evocative atmosphere of nature by the water's edge. Chrétien's music reflects the Impressionist style prevalent during her time, characterized by delicate harmonies, subtle textures, and an emphasis on mood and atmosphere.

The next three folk songs are by the Ukrainian composer, Yakiv Stepovyi. “Dosyt' nevil'naja dumka movčala" (A thought has come to me) is a wellknown Ukrainian folk song that has been arranged and popularized by various musicians. The song is a poignant and contemplative piece that touches upon themes of longing, reflection, and the passage of time. The poetry speaks of a wandering thought that has entered the singer's mind, prompting feelings of nostalgia and a sense of yearning for a distant time or place. The music mirrors these sentiments, creating an atmosphere of introspection and melancholy. “Ne berit' iz zelenoho luhu verby" (Don't take from the green grove) is a wellknown song, associated with the grassland regions of Ukraine. This piece is

often sung in a group or chorus, capturing the spirit of the vast Ukrainian landscapes and the traditional way of life that reflects the deep connection between the people of Ukraine and the natural world that surrounds them. The poetry expresses a message of caution, urging people not to take from the green grove or disturb the tranquility of nature. The green grove symbolizes the untouched beauty of the land and encourages respect for the environment and an understanding of the delicate balance between humans and nature. The final selection, “Ni, ne spavaj pisen' veselykh" (Don't sing happy songs to me) is a somber and reflective song, that conveys a sense of yearning and sadness. The simplicity of the music allows the emotions expressed in the lyrics to take center stage. The poet does not want to hear happy songs, as they only serve to intensify their feelings of sorrow and heartache.

The next set of four selections are by living composer, B.E. Boykin. With a deep love of the poetry of Maya Angelou, B.E. Boykin selected fourteen shorter poems for her work Moments in Sonder, organized to be shared like brief moments in time. We will end with her stand-alone art song “Secret” highlighting the poetry of Gwendolyn Bennett, a key figure in the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s. This piece depicts a song written by a secret admirer who is too shy to let their feelings be known.

Our final three songs of the evening are taken from Schoenberg’s Brettl-Lieder, also known as the Cabaret Songs, written in 1901. The poetic texts are taken from a collection of poetry, Deutsche Chansons, published by Otto Bierbaum. These cheeky character pieces explore notions of love, lust, and merriment. "Gigerlette" captures the lighthearted and satirical spirit of Vienna's cabaret scene at the turn of the 20th century. The text, written by Leo Lenz, describes a man's infatuation with a cigar-smoking woman. Schoenberg's music incorporates elements of traditional tonality while also hinting at his later innovative harmonic language. Set to a text by Felix Dörmann, “Galathea” tells the story of a statue coming to life. The "Arie aus dem Spiegel von Arcadien" (Aria from 'The Mirror of Arcadia') is illustrative of Schoenberg’s post-Romantic period and showcases his early atonal style. The text, written by Ferdinand von Saar, conveys themes of various forms of romantic love, intimacy, and reflection.

Ah! Traitor…have mercy do not bid me farewell! (Metastasio)

Ah! You treacherous, faithless, barbaric traitor, you leave? And is this your last farewell? Where did one hear of a crueller tyranny?

Go, despicable man! Go, flee from me! You won't flee from the wrath of the gods. If there is justice in heaven, if there is pity, all will join forces in a contest to punish you. I follow your trail! I am wherever you go, I will live to see my revenge, I already take my delight in it in my imagination. I already see you surrounded by flashes of lightning. Alas! Pause, avenging gods!

Spare that heart, wound mine!

If he is not what he was, I am still what I was. For him I lived, for him I want to die!

Have mercy, don't bid me farewell, what shall I do without you?

You know it, my beloved idol! I will die of grief.

Ah, cruel man! You want me to die!

Don't you have pity on me?

Why do you reward the one who adores you in such a barbaric way?

Tell me, if in such a grief I do not deserve pity?

*Translation from www.aria-database.com

Petits poèmes du Bord de l'eau (Fortolis)

The River

In its mantilla of flowers, The river flows by. She wears the colors That space adorns. She chooses as her lover The first cloud that sways in the firmament

The breeze or the storm, But no sooner has he passed When another awaits her kiss! In its mantilla of flowers

The Willows

On the edge of the river, the whitehaired willows look like praying older people joining their trembling fingers In the spring, the breeze ripples the water with its shivers the heart of the willows turns gray to kiss and sing

Water Nymph

The sour kiss who sighs in the reed harp,

The Boat

The boat on the rippling water bears lovers along, who both vehemently exchange eternal vows

But the green water that streams in its bubbling says to them: That quickly, faster than the water itself, Love here on the boat is fleeing with promenading lovers on the rippling water!

The Moon

They say that in the streams in the summer the moon comes to drink It makes me happy. I don't want to believe it, because when in the blue sky his cold eye becomes iridescent. It's not just the water, the moon is grey

Winter

After winter in the hollow of the valley

Surprised,

the burst of laughter of

a water nymph at the bottom of the waters

A kiss of anger

Broken the waxwing reeds. Seeing the water sprite play mocking sounds with her flute.

*Translations by Colleen Skull

A heavy coat of crystal blew on the river

The blue fish spun like serpents down through the clear water and the bitter winter froze the pink fingers of the water nymphs

My Captive Thought (Ukrania) All translations provided by Pavlov Hunka

My captive thought has remained silent for too long, Like a bird in a cage, shut out from the world, My song has not flown for a long time, Tamed by grief, pierced by sorrow. It is time my song walked into the world, To straighten my wings, to shed my grief, Time for my song to soar, to listen, How the wind plays upon the sea, Flow, my song, like an unsteady wave, She does not ask whither she flows, Fly, my song, like a swift seagull, She is not afraid that she will die in the sea.

Play, my song, like the wind plays! Howl, like that roar of the swirling around the boat! It does not matter that the wind does not reply, The sound of the waves charms the future!

Do Not Take the Willow from the Green Grove (Oles)

Do not take the willow from the green grove, Neither to the yellow sands nor to the cliffs, For it will wither from yearning and sadness For the green grove…

And do not take the pine tree to the green grove, For it will be sad on the plain, And it will wither in the water from fiery yearning for the distant peak…

Do Not Sing Happy Songs (Oles)

No, do not sing happy songs

About flowers and love, Do not break my heart

By showing me pictures of happiness

Look at the unhappiness, Despair and tragedy around us

Can you hear the endless groans

And weeping that break the heart?

Do you see the burning tears, Do you hear the rattling chains?

O, do not sing cheerful songs, Do not lull your brothers to sleep

From Moments of Sonder (Angelou) Tears

Tears, the crystal rags viscous tatters of a worn-through soul. Moans, deep swan song blue farewell of a dying dream.

Grey Day

The day hangs heavy loose and grey when you're away. A crown of thorns a shirt of hair is what I wear. No one knows my lonely heart when we're apart.

A Conceit

Give me your hand, Make room for me to lead And follow you

Beyond this rage of poetry. Let others have the privacy Of touching words And love of loss Of love

For me

Give me your hand.

Secret (Bennett)

I shall make a song like your hair. . . . gold-woven with shadows green-tinged, And I shall play with my song As my fingers might play with your hair. Deep in my heart

I shall play with my song of you, Gently. . . .

I shall laugh

At its sensitive lustre. . .

I shall wrap my song in a blanket, Blue like your eyes are blue With tiny shots of silver. I shall wrap it caressingly, Tenderly. . . .

I shall sing a lullaby

To the song I have made

Of your hair and eyes . . .

And you will never know That deep in my heart

I shelter a song of you Secretly . . . .

From Brettl-Lieder (Cabaret Songs)

Gigerlette (Bierbaum)

Miss Gigerlette invited me to tea. Her evening gown was as white as snow; She was done up exactly like a Pierrot. I'd wager that even a monk would look upon Gigerlette with pleasure. A red room it was in which she received me. Yellow candlelight shimmered in the space, And as always, she was full of life and ésprit. Never can I forget it: the room was as red as wine, she white as a blossom.

And in a trot on all fours the two of us went for a ride in that land called happiness.

That we do not lose rein on the course of our destination, in the background, near the journeying of our ardent limbs, perched Cupid.

Galathea (Wedekind)

O, how I burn with longing, Galathea, beautiful child,

To kiss your cheeks, for they are so delightful. Please me once again, Galathea, beautiful child,

To kiss your tresses, for they are so beguiling. Never will I be able, until I die, Galathea, beautiful child,

To resist kissing your hands, for they are so enticing. Ah, you cannot know how I burn, Galathea, beautiful child,

To kiss your knees, for they are so enticing. And what I would not do, you sweet

Galathea, beautiful child,

To kiss your feet, for they are so tempting. But never offer your mouth, maiden, to my kisses, For its charming fullness

I will only kiss in my dreams.

Aria from The Mirror of Arcadia (Schikaneder)

Since I’ve seen so many women, My heart beats so warm, It hums and throbs here and there, Like a swarm of bees. And if her flame is equal to mine, Her eyes aglow and clear, So beats my heart like a hammer’s beat evermore. Bum, bum, bum.

I’d wish a thousand women for me, If it was God’s will; I’d dance like a prairie dog In the cross and in the crossway.

It would be a life of the world, and I would be happy, I’d hop like a rabbit through the field. and my heart would beat on.

Bum, bum, bum.

The man who doesn’t know to treasure a woman, is neither cold nor warm.

And lies around like a block of ice on some young lady’s arm. But I am quite a different sort of man, I leap around the room; my heart beats happily against her breast and sounds: bum, bum, bum.

*All German translations from www.liedernet.com