Master of Music in Vocal Performance Degree Recital —————————————————
1

Kristine Overman, Soprano
Claude Debussy was born in 1862, to a middle class family in the outskirts of Paris, France. A child of immense talent, he was accepted to the Conservatoire de Paris at only ten years of age. He would remain at the conservatory for the next eleven years of his life, studying piano, solfege, composition, and organ with the renowned César Franck. According to many of his teachers, Debussy was an excellent student, but prone to skipping class. Despite this, he would receive many accolades with the school, eventually leading him to win the prestigious Prix de Rome in 1884 for his cantata L’Enfant Prodigue. For all of his success, the conservatory disagreed with Debussy’s philosophies, and Debussy fled to Rome to pursue compositional freedom. While in Rome, Debussy began work on the Ariettes Oubliées, with text by the famous French poet Paul Verlaine. The set was completed upon his return to Paris in 1887. The cycle was dedicated to Mary Garden, a soprano who also sang Melisande in Debussy’s opera of the same name. Both Debussy and Verlaine were deeply inspired by musical subtlety, using rhythm and tone color (both musically and in a textually) to create a fresh style. In this cycle, Debussy sets the text by expertly highlighting the French language, combining the natural rhythm with a multitude of harmonic shifts to create a uniquely Impressionistic coloring, which would become his signature. This cycle in particular sets the tone for all of Debussy’s future vocal compositions, especially regarding his attention to poetic detail.
2

Claude Debussy (1862-1918)
I.
C’est l’extase langoureuse
C’est l’extase langoureuse, C’est la fatigue amoureuse, C’est tous les frissons des bois Parmi l’étreinte des brises, C’est, vers les ramures grises, Le chœur des petites voix.
It is languorous rapture It is amorous fatigue, It is all the tremors of the forest In the breezes’ embrace, It is, around the grey branches The choir of tiny voices.
Ô le frêle et frais murmure! Cela gazouille et susurre, Cela ressemble au cri doux, Que l’herbe agitée expire… Tu dirais, sous l’eau qui vire, Le roulis sourd des cailloux.
O the delicate, fresh murmuring! The warbling and whispering, It is like the soft cry The ruffled grass gives out… You might take it for the muffled sound Of pebbles in the swirling stream.
Cette âme qui se lamente En cette plainte dormante C’est la nôtre, n’est-ce pas? La mienne, dis, et la tienne, Dont s’exhale l’humble antienne Par ce tiède soir, tout bas?
This soul which grieves In this subdued lament, It is ours, is it not? Mine, and yours too, Breathing out our humble hymn On this warm evening, soft and low?
3

Ariettes Oubliées
Il pleure dans mon cœur Comme il pleut sur la ville: Quelle est cette langueur Qui pénètre mon cœur?
Tears fall in my heart As rain falls on the town; What is this languishing Pervading my heart?
Ô bruit doux de la pluie Par terre et sur les toits! Pour un cœur qui s’ennuie Ô le bruit de la pluie!
Ah, the soft sound of rain On the ground and roofs! For a listless heart, Ah, the sound of the rain!
Il pleure sans raison Dans ce cœur qui s’écœure. Quoi! Nulle trahison?… Ce deuil est sans raison.
Tears fall without reason In this disheartened heart. What! Was there no treason?… This grief is without reason.
C’est bien la pire peine De ne savoir pourquoi Sans amour et sans haine, Mon cœur a tant de peine.
And the worst pain of all Must be not to know why Without love and without hate My heart feels such pain.
III. L’ombre des arbres L’ombre des arbres dans la rivière embrumée Meurt comme de la fumée Tandis qu’en l’air, parmi les ramures réelles, Se plaignent les tourterelles.
The shadow of trees in the misty stream Dies like smoke, While up above, in the real branches, The turtle-doves lament.
Combien, ô voyageur, ce paysage blême Te mira blême toi-même, Et que triste pleuraient dans les hautes feuillées Tes espérances noyées!
How this faded landscape, o traveller, Watched you yourself fade, And how sadly in the lofty leaves Your drowned hopes were weeping!
4

II. Il pleure dans mon cœur
Tournez, tournez, bons chevaux de bois, Tournez cent tours, tournez mille tours, Tournez souvent et tournez toujours, Tournez, tournez au son des hautbois.
Turn, turn, you fine wooden horses, Turn a hundred, turn a thousand times, Turn often and turn always Turn and turn to the oboes’ sound.
L’enfant tout rouge et la mère blanche, Le gars en noir et la fille en rose, L’une à la chose et l’autre à la pose, Chacun se paie un sou de dimanche.
The red-faced child and the pale mother, The lad in black and the girl in pink, One down-to-earth, the other showing off, Each buying a treat with his Sunday sou.
Tournez, tournez, chevaux de leur cœur, Tandis qu’autour de tous vos tournois Clignote l’œil du filou sournois, Tournez au son du piston vainqueur!
Turn, turn, horses of their hearts, While the furtive pickpocket’s eye is flashing As you whirl about and whirl around, Turn to the sound of the conquering cornet!
C’est étonnant comme ça vous soûle D’aller ainsi dans ce cirque bête: Rien dans le ventre et mal dans la tête, Du mal en masse et du bien en foule.
Astonishing how drunk it makes you, Riding like this in this foolish fair: With an empty stomach and a headache, Discomfort in plenty and masses of fun!
Tournez, dadas, san qu’il soit besoin
Gee-gees, turn, you’ll never need
5

IV. Chevaux des bois
The help of any spur To make your horses gallop round: Turn, turn, without hope of hay.
Et dépêchez, chevaux de leur âme, Déjà voici que sonne à la soupe La nuit qui tombe et chasse la troupe De gais buveurs que leur soif affame.
And hurry on, horses of their souls: Nightfall already calls them to supper And disperses the crowd of happy revelers, Ravenous with thirst.
Tournez, tournez! Le ciel en velours D’astres en or se vêt lentement. L’église tinte un glas tristement, Tournez au son joyeux des tambours!
Turn, turn! The velvet sky Is slowly decked with golden stars. The church bell tolls a mournful knell — Turn to the joyful sound of drums!
V. Green Voici des fruits, des fleurs Des feuilles et des branches Et puis voici mon cœur Qui ne bat que pour vous. Ne le déchirez pas avec vos deux mains blanches Et qu’à vos yeux si beaux L’humble présent soit doux.
Here are the fruits, the flowers, The fronds and the branches, And here too is my heart That beats just for you. Do not tear it with your two white hands
J’arrive tout couvert encore de rosée Que le vent du matin vient glacer à mon front. Souffrez que ma fatigue à vos pieds reposée Rêve des chers instants qui la délasseront.
I come all covered still with the dew Frozen to my brow by the morning breeze. Let my fatigue, finding rest at your feet, Dream of dear moments that will soothe it.
And may the humble gift please your lovely eyes.
6

D’user jamais de nuls éperons Pour commander à vos galops ronds: Tournez, tournez, sans espoir de foin.
On your young breast let me cradle my head Still ringing with your recent kisses; After love’s sweet tumult grant it peace, And let my sleep a while, Since you rest.
VI. Spleen Les roses étaient toutes rouges Et les lierres étaient tout noirs.
All the roses were red And the ivy was all black.
Chère, pour peu que tu te bouges, Renaissent tout mes désespoirs.
Dear, at your slightest move, All my despair revives.
Le ciel était trop bleu, trop tendre, La mer trop verte et l’air trop doux.
The sky was too blue, too tender, The sea too green, the air too mild.
Je crains toujours,—ce qu’est d’attendre! Quelque fuite atroce de vous.
I always fear—oh to wait and wonder! One of your agonizing departures.
Du houx à la feuille vernie Et du luisant buis je suis las,
I am weary of the glossy holly, Of the gleaming box-tree too,
Et de la campagne infinie Et de tout, fors de vous, hélas!
And the boundless countryside And everything, alas, but you!
Johnson, Graham, and Richard Stokes. A French Song Companion. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Print.
7

Sur votre jeune sein laissez rouler ma tête Toute sonore encore de vos dernier baisers; Laissez-la s’apaiser de la bonne tempête, Et que je dorme un peu Puisque vous reposez.
Vincenzo Bellini, affectionately named “the Swan of Catania,” was an Italian operatic composer, well known for his long, sweeping melodies. His nick name came because of his remarkably long neck, likened to a swan. Born in Catania to a musical family, Bellini was able to earn an education in Naples simply because his talent was so undeniable as a young person. Bellini remains the quintessential composer of Italian bel canto style in the early 19th century, gaining admiration from composers such as Verdi and Wagner. He came to know great success during his lifetime, with many of his operas enjoying great success with the public. Unfortunately, Bellini would have a remarkably short life, dying in France at the age of 33. His opera La Sonnambula, (The Sleepwalker) was written in 1830 and premiered in 1831 at the Teatro Carcano in Milan. The libretto was adapted from a “ballet-pantomime,” by Eugène Scribe, which had premiered in Paris in 1827 during a time in which somnambulism was a common theme incorporated into stage works. The opera semiseria in two acts follows the story of Amina and her romance with Elvino. Engaged at the beginning of the opera, their happiness is interrupted by the arrival of a stranger (Rodolfo) to their village who admires Amina, causing Elvino to become jealous. That night, Amina begins to sleepwalk, finding her way into Roldolfo’s bedroom. Elvino finds her there and renounces her on the spot, causing Amina to become despondent. Despite the townspeople insisting upon Amina’s innocence, Elvino will hear none of it. Amina, exhausted from grief, falls asleep and begins to sleepwalk again, this time finding herself atop of the mill bridge. In the first part of this beautiful aria, Amina is asleep, crying out for her lost love. In the second half, she has fallen, caught by Elvino and reunited with him, singing of their new found joy. The phrase “Ah! Non creed mirarti, sì presto estinto, o fiore,” (“I did not believe you would fade so soon, oh flower”) is inscribed on Bellini’s tomb in Sicily.
8

Vincenzo Bellini (1801-1835)
Ah! Non credea mirarti sì presto estinto, o fiore. Passasti al par d’amore, Che un giorno sol durò. Potria novel vigor Il pianto mio recarti… Ma ravvivar l’amore Il pianto mio non può.
Ah, I did not think I should see you Withered in such a short time, o flower; You passed like love Which lasted one day only. My tears could give new strength to you
Ah! Non giunge umano pensiero Al contento ond’io son piena: a’ miei sensi io credo appena; Tu m’affida, o mio tesoro. Ah! Mi abbraccia, e sempre insieme, Sempre uniti in una speme, Della terra in cui viviamo Ci formiamo un ciel d’amore.
Ah, human thought cannot conceive Of the happiness that fills me; I can hardly trust my senses; Have faith in my, my beloved. Embrace me, and always together, Forever joined in one hope, Of the earth where we live We will make a heaven of love.
But my tears cannot revive love.
Ricordi Opera Anthology: Lyric Coloratura to Lyric Soprano. , 2020. Musical score
.
9

Ah, Non Credea…Ah! Non Giunge
Ricky Ian Gordon is an American composer born in 1956. A prolific talent, he has composed many art songs, several operas, and a musical. Born in Oceanside, New York, he grew up on Long Island to a middle class family with three sisters. He would go on to study at Carnegie Mellon University, where he would be schooled in piano, composition, and acting. After his studies, he relocated to New York City, and saw huge success, emerging as a leading writer of vocal music in almost every genre. His songs have been performed and recorded by many of the worlds leading singers. He has been a visiting professor at many national music schools including Juilliard, Eastman School of Music, Yale, and the University of Michigan, to name a few. In his cycle A Horse with Wings, we can observe a collection of songs drawing from a multitude of different compositional styles. His setting of Emily Dickinson’s “Will there really be a Morning?” paints a highly atmospheric picture with the overall timbre of the piece, utilizing the same melody while adding increasing depth in the piano part, as if the vocalist is asking two very different questions despite remaining in the same melody. “Coyotes,” is a fiery tango, with the piano supplying rhythmic and harmonic intensity and taking the vocalist to soaring heights. The final piece “A Horse with Wings,” is Gordon’s own poetry, and truly highlights his range as a composer. Despite having great success as a classical composer, this song sounds like a musical theater ballad, with simple piano part accompanying a simply beautiful poem.
10

Ricky Ian Gordon (1956~)
Will there really be a morning? Is there such a thing as day? Could I see it from the mountains, if I were as tall as they? Has it feet like water lilies? Has it feathers like a bird? Does it come from far off places of which I have never heard? Oh, some scholar! Oh some sailor! Oh some wise man from the sky, Please to tell a little pilgrim where that place called morning lies. Coyotes I understand you, coyotes. I understand the song you croon. I never did before, before I hungered for his kisses underneath an amber moon. Oh how I loath you, coyotes, And everything you know of me! You sing of my demise, that laughter in your eyes Turns all my love to bitter mockery— Yes, coyotes! You tell of all that I am dreaming of— Yes, coyotes! You sing of these fools fool enough to love, laugh on! Laugh on you wild coyotes. With angels on their razor backs, who tell me not to stay, And beckon me away to run the ridges with their frenzied packs. No man may own my soul, from off this frozen knoll, I’ll scream it ‘till I turn that moon to wax. A Horse with Wings I wanna cry I wanna feel the world around my whirling by. I wanna cry for those that live, and those that die. You sing a lullaby. I wanna cry. I wanna pray, that all my wishes could come true after today, And should I put a word for you in, should I say an extra Kyrie? I wanna pray.
11

Will There Really be a Morning?
12

I wanna lie. I wanna think that things are better than they are. I wanna think we’ve gotten further, And that far is just an inch away. I wanna lie. A horse with wings, I wanna think of things like that and other things. I want two brothers, one who laughs, and one who sings. I hope the future brings a horse with wings. I wanna know the things they told me way back then Were really so. I wanna make a little mark before I go, Not barely just get by, I wanna fly!
Richard Strauss was a German composer, conductor, pianist, and violinist. Often considered a successor of Wagner and Liszt, he was a leading composer in the late Romantic and early modern era. Skilled in composing almost every conceivable genre, he is most well remembered for his powerful symphonic works and operatic output. Born to a horn player in Munich in 1864, he began musical studies at age four, taking piano lessons and attending orchestra rehearsals. He began composing at the age of six, and would go on to receive formal lessons in composition by age eleven. In addition to his formal education, Strauss was profoundly influenced by his fathers musicianship. Franz Strauss would teach his son the music of Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart, and Schubert, and would often provide advice and criticisms to Strauss’s later compositions. Strauss’s admiration for his father is evident in his love for the horn, which is frequently showcased in his compositions. Controversy entered his life during the rise of the Nazi party, when Richard was appointed as President of the Reichsmusikkammer. Strauss maintained that while he did not support the Nazi party, he cared deeply for the preservation of German art and culture, and strove to conduct works by banned composers such as Mahler and Debussy. It is also speculated that he chose to remain under Nazi influence to protect his Jewish grandchildren. Known for his expert vocal writing, his songs are operatic in nature, and tend towards the soprano voice, as his wife Pauline de Ahna was herself an accomplished soprano. She would voice many of his operatic heroines. Prior to their wedding in 1894, Strauss composed a set of four songs for voice and piano as a gift for his bride. They were not orchestrated until 1948, after Strauss had completed his Four Last Songs, to which the first song of Opus 27. “Ruhe, meine Seele!” is frequently added due to its profound poetry. Drawing on many poets for this cycle, Strauss sets four highly evocative texts in increasingly lavish settings, culminating in a tranquil final setting of “Morgan.”
13

Richard Strauss (1864-1949)
I.
Ruhe, meine Seele!
Nicht ein Lüftchen regt sich leise, Sanft entschlummert ruht der Hain; Durch der Blatter dunkle Hülle Stiehlt sich lichter Sonnenschein. Ruhe, ruhe, meine Seele, Deine Stürme gingen wild, Hast getobt und hast gezittert, Wie die Brandung, wenn sie schwillt! Diese Zeiten sind gewaltig, Bringen Herz und Hirn in Not, Ruhe, ruhe, meine Seele, Und vergiss, was dich bedroht!
Not a breeze stirs, The grove has gently fallen into slumber; Through the dark covering of leaves Seals the bright sunshine. Rest, rest, my soul, Your storms were wild, You have raged and have trembled, Like the surf, when it swells! These times are powerful, Bring heart and head into misery, Rest, rest, my soul, And forget whatever threatens you!
14

Opus 27, No. 1
Auf, hebe die funkelnde Schale empor zum Mund, Und trinke beim Freudenmahle dein Herz gesund. Und wenn du sie hebst, so winke mir heimlich zu, Dann lächle ich und dann trinke ich still wie du… Und still gleich mir betrachte um uns Das Heer der trunknen Schwätzer— Verachte sie nicht zu sehr. Nein, hebe die blinkende Schale, gefüllt mit Wein, Und lass beim lärmenden Mahle Sie glücklich sein. Doch hast du das Mahl genossen, Den durst gestillt, dann verlasse der lauten Genossen festfreudiges Bild Und wandle hinaus in den Garten Zum Rosenstrauch, Dort will ich dich dann erwarten nach altem Brauch. Und will an die Brust dir sinken,
Up, raise the sparkling vessel up to your mouth, And drink at the feast to your heart’s health. And when you raise the vessel, wave secretly to me, Then I will smile and drink quietly like you…
eh’du’s gehofft, Und deine Küsse trinken, wie ehemals oft, Und flechten in deine Haare der Rose Pracht. O komm, du wunderbare, ersehnte Nacht!
Before you had hoped for it, And drink your kisses, as so often before, And braid into your hair the rose’s splendor. Oh come, you wonderful, longed-for night!
And quietly, like me, watch around us the multitude of the drunken babblers— Do not despise them too much. No, lift the shining vessel, filled with wine, And let them be happy at the noisy banquet. But when you have enjoyed the meal And quenched your thirst, then leave the noisy scene of the festive party, And wander out into the garden to the rose bush, There I will wait for you as is our old custom. I will sink on your breast,
15

II. Heimliche Aufforderung
Und morgen wird die Sonne wieder scheinen Und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde, Wird uns, die Glücklichen, sie wieder einen Inmitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde… Und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblauen Werden wir still und langsam niedersteigen, Stumm werden wir uns in die Augen schauen, Und auf uns in die Augen schauen, Und auf uns sinkt des Glükkes stummes Schweigen…
And tomorrow the sun will shine again And on the path, where I shall walk, It will again unite us, the happy ones In the midst of this sun-breathing earth… And to the wide, blue-waved shore, We will quietly and slowly descend, mute, we will gaze into each other’s eyes, And on us sinks the muted silence of happiness…
IV. Cäcilie Wenn du es wüsstest, was träumen heisst Von brennenden Küssen, von Wandern und Ruhen mit der Geliebten Aug’ in Auge und kosend und plaudernd, Wenn du es wüsstest, du neigtest dein Herz! Wenn du es wüsstest, was bangen heisst, In einsamen Nächten, umschauert vom Sturm, Da niemand tröstet milden Mundes die kampfmüde Seele, Wenn du es wüsstest, du kämest zu mir. Wenn du es wüsstest, was leben heisst, Umhaucht von der Gottheit weltschaffendem Atem
If you only knew what it means to dream Of burning kisses, of wandering and resting with the beloved, Eye into eye and caressing and talking, If you only knew you would bow your heart! If you only knew what yearning means, In lonely nights, shuddered about by storm, When no one with gentle words comforts The strife-weary soul, If you only knew, you would come to me. If you only knew what it means to live, Blown about by the world-creator’s breath
Zu schweben empor, lichtgetragen, zu seligen
To soar upwards, lightly carried to blissful
Höh’n,
heights,
Wenn du es wüsstest, du lebtest mit mir!
If you only knew, you would dwell with me.
Strauss, Richard, Laura Ward, Richard Walters, and Evelyn Lear. 40 Songs. Milwaukee: H. Leonard, 1995. Musical score.
16

III. Morgen!