Barber Lunchtime Concert: Oxford Lieder wom3n 18.2.22

Rowan Hellier mezzo-soprano Sholto Kynoch piano Friday 18 February 2022 | 1pm

wom3n __________________________________________________________________________ Judith Weir (b. 1954) The Voice of Desire 1. The voice of desire 2. White eggs in the bush 3. Written on terrestrial things 4. Sweet little red feet

Robert Bridges (1844-1930) Trad., trans. Ulli Beier (1922-2011) Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) John Keats (1795-1821)

Kate Whitley (b. 1989) Gorgeous Beasts

Hollie McNish (b. 1983)

Olga Neuwirth (b. 1968) Tintarella di luna i. attrib. Sapho (c. 610 - c. 570 BCE) ii. Michelangelo Buonarotti (1475-1564) iii. Giacomo Leopardi (1798-1837)

Kate Whitley This is My Love Poem for You

Sabrina Mahfouz

TEXTS & TRANSLATIONS The voice of desire Weir / Bridges Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come, And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom Ye learn your song: Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there, Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air Bloom the year long!

Barren are those mountains and spent the streams: Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams, A throe of the heart, Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound, No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound, For all our art.

Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then, As night is withdrawn Dream, while the innumerable choir of day Welcome the dawn. from Nightingales by Robert Bridges

White eggs in the bush Weir / Trad., trans. Beier The blue cuckoo lays white eggs in the bush.

When war captures the town the blue cuckoo cries: “Kill twenty, kill twenty!”

The red-bellied cuckoo cries: “Kill thirty, kill thirty!”

Then death will not fail to come, then death will not fail to come.

When men begin war, the blue cuckoo cries: “Fools, fools!”

The red-bellied cuckoo cries: “The world is spoiled, the world is spoiled!”

Then death cannot fail to come, then death cannot fail to come. from Blue Cuckoo - Hunter Poems of the Yoruba, trans. by Ulli Beier

Written on terrestrial things Weir / Hardy I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be The Century’s corpse outleant, His crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead, In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited; An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.

The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy

Sweet little red feet Weir / Keats I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: Oh, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hand’s weaving; Sweet little red feet! why should you die — Why should you leave me, sweet dove! Why? You liv’d alone on the forest-tree, Why, pretty thing! Could you not live with me?

I kiss’d you oft and gave you white peas; Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

'I had a Dove and the sweet Dove died'

Gorgeous Beasts Whitley / McNish (*Text in brackets not set)

when i was terrified of starting big school; the gates loomed far too large. palms still yet to sweat yet fingers twitching frantic prayers, you took my hand in yours, my friend, walked me to the swings till I was certain we could fly when i sat on the sidelines, you passed me every ball when you, pushed in the canteen; when i, tripped in the hall when the crush was just a bitter joke, the whole class shook laughing (when i did not want to go to town alone to buy myself a bra) when blood came unexpectedly and i had no bloody clue there you were, tampon-ready, giggling from the cubicle tiptoeing next door’s toilet seat, nose peaking the wall encouraging me on like some menstruation football coach one leg up on the lid! you shouldn’t feel it when it’s in! aim towards your backbone! take it out and try again! without the wisdom of your words, my friends what would i have done? when the outfits did look shit on and we need the fucking truth or we’re sweating in a changing room, the dress a size too small stuck around our blushing necks, arms held up to the heavens (as friends stretch fabric just enough to sprint out of the shop before anybody sees how quick our stitches rip apart)

when hearts are hung to dry and we just want to drunken dance; douse stinging flames with stamping feet you are lipstick-pouted ready (friends to strut red-carpet) pavements friends; when all we need is to vent, you are silent lack of judgement friends, when the stars are muddled guidance and we just need blunt advice; there you always are (my friends) cheering from the sidelines when foundation is not correctly rubbed into our jawlines; face and neck a different colour; skirt tucked into knickers, toilet paper stuck to shoe; when we are smiling unaware of spinach in our teeth; there you always are my friends, you gorgeous fucking beasts! (in each downpour, in each downpour dancing pissed against the slanting rain oh band of bloody brothers! hyenas shrieking chatter to brighten bitter moons) when the blue line does not come; when a blue line comes too soon; when we miscarry again; when our smears are inconclusive when bruises can’t be hidden and we beg a space of refuge when, stitches still not healed; when menopause; when thrush! when drawn out divorce! when selfish lovers lovely lovers! when sex toy advice! when cramping! when coming! (when cystitis!) when pregnancy!; when birth! when recovery! (when prolapse!) when mothering! when babies do not sleep and we are sobbing in the toilets praying for (a cup of tea made by anybody else); an hour from our children without crumpling in guilt, our body bloody shipwrecks searching island sands to moor onto in storms that start at midnight; when we need someone to call before the moon drags our flailing tide back gasping to the shore there you are, (my friends), kettle clicked already on umbrellas clutched (in palm) to shelter one another from those constant thrashing hailstones and no, we’re not offered any gemstones nor showered in confetti but who needs a lump of diamond to prove how lush this love can be you know my mind and body better than most lovers ever have you are everything i ever need, except for cunnilingus the greatest love of all is surely that of friendship So if you every need a shoulder, mine are very, very sexy (it was you who told me that, my friend) - (so lean in any time we can chat until the moon skinny dips into the dawn our problems sunrise-warmed; i’ve all the biscuits in the world;)

and if you ever need a lifeboat, i’ve a thousand in my pockets to pass below the cubicle anytime some bleeding comes (with unexpected vigour) (and if you’re ever in the changing room stuck inside a secret; i promise not to tell) and if you ever need a hand to hold to walk through unknown gates that loom a little large; chances are, i do as well

Tintarella di luna I. Midnight Poem (attrib. Sappho) Mitte der Nächte, vergeht die Stunde doch ich lag allein darnieder.

Und ich sehn mich und ich begehr...

In the middle of the nights, hours time passes but I lie languishing alone And I crave and I desire…

(Sappho 31) dir gegenübersitzen darf und nahe den süßen Stimmenzauber vernehmen und des Lachens lockenden Reiz

to be couched with you face to face In your warm manner, your amiable Talk and inviting

Das läßt mein Herz im Innern mutlos zusammenkauern Blick ich ganz flüchtig nur an, die Stimme stirbt, eh sie laut ward,

Laughter - the revelation flutters My ventricles, my sternum and stomach.

The least glimpse, and my voice stutters, Refuses to come back

ja, die Zunge liegt wie gelähmt, auf einmal läuft mir Fieber unter der haut entlang, und meine Augen weigern die Sicht es überrauscht meine Ohren

Because my tongue is shattered.

Gauzy Flame runs radiating under My skin; all that I see is hazy My ears all thunder Sappho 31 trans. © Aaron Poochigian

II. (Michelangelo Buonarotti) Qual meraviglia è, se prossim al foco mi strussi e arsi, se or ch’egli è spento di fuor, m’affligge e mi consuma drento, e ’n cener mi reduce a poco a poco?

How wonderful it is if close to the fire I was consumed and burned, yet now extinguished outside, it afflicts me and consumes from within, and the ashes reduce me little by little?

(Giacomo Leopardi: Canto X. Il primo amore) Che gli occhi al suol tuttora intenti e fissi io mirava col lei ch’a questo core primiera il varco ed in(n)oce(n)te aprissi Al cielo, a voi, gentili anime, io giuro che vogli a non m’entrò bassa nel petto, ch’a(r)si di fuoco intaminato e puro

When, with eyes fixed wholly on the ground I marvelled at her, she who was first to open, all innocent, the passage of my heart.

I swear to heaven, to you, great spirits, that there was no low desire in my heart: it burned with pure, unblemished fire.

(Leopardi: Canto XXXII) ...ma la speme, io certo Dirò la speme

…but hope, I’ll certainly tell of hope

III. Buonarotti - Rime no. 27 Fuggite, amanti Amor, fuggite il foco; l’incendi o è aspro e la piaga è mortale, c’ol tr’a l’impeto primo più non vale né forza ragion né mutar loco.

Fuggite! or che l’essemplo non è poco d’un fiero braccio e d’un acuto strale; leggete in me, qual sarà il vostro male,qual sarà l’impio e dispietato gioco. Fuggite amanti Amor.

Flee Love, lovers, Flee the fire; the burning is harsh and the plague is mortal, so first impulses have no more value, Neither force nor reason nor to change location.

Flee! Now you have no small demonstration of a fierce arm and an arrow’s sharpness; read in me what will be your sickness, what will be your ungodly and ruthless game. Flee Love, lovers.

This is My Love Poem for You Whitley / Mahfouz There is a place where my eyes go in those precious moments when we make precious tesserae out of time.

You’re there too with that hanging heart it’s angled airport architecture keeping it grounded; with that face, the skies of its beauty untouched by aviation making me free fall into it as if each time my foot left the ground since birth it has been only for this jump.

It’s a place I never knew until I knew you.

Where tube maps of mistakes make sense; where the unaired space given to start breathing makes sense; where I, not just my borders, make sense.

It’s heavily protected, I can’t always make it in despite the largeness of my eyes, despite memorising all the codes and alarmed laser beam positions.

I understand the lengths it goes to If everyone knew it existed how to find it then fields would be unploughed stocks would go back to being what they are nothing would be cleaned, created or invented; people would forget how to be discontent.

ARTISTS BIOGRAPHIES Rowan Hellier Lauded worldwide for her stage and concert appearances, critics have praised Scottish mezzo Rowan Hellier for ‘the lovely richness of her tone’ (Opera Today) and her ‘focus, drama and clarity’ in performance (The Herald).

Highlights of Rowan’s 2021/2022 season include the world premiere of SLEEPLESS by Péter Eötvös at Staatsoper unter den Linden, Grand Théâtre de Genève and Müpa Budapest, Dead Man Walking at Staatstheater Braunschweig and solo recital wom3n at Wigmore Hall. 2019/2020 engagements comprised of Widmann’s Babylon and Die Liebe zu den drei Orangen, Prokofiev, at Staatsoper unter den Linden, Müller’s Germania at Volksbühne Berlin and her concert debut at Elbphilharmonie Hamburg.

Equally at home on the opera stage and concert platform, Rowan appears regularly in concert with the world's leading orchestras including BBC Symphony Orchestra, London Philharmonic Orchestra, Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, Royal Scottish National Orchestra and Stavanger Symphony Orchestra. Her American debut was as mezzo soloist in the Mozart Requiem with the Seattle Symphony, conducted Itzhak Perlman. Rowan performs as soloist with prominent baroque ensembles The King’s Consort, Ensemble Resonanz, and Trevor Pinnock and Friends, with whom she sang the title role Dido in Dido and Aeneas. A regular with the Dunedin Consort, she was mezzo soloist on their Gramophone Award-winning Mozart Requiem recording. She has made appearances at Bregenz Festival and St. Magnus International Festival.

Rowan is a passionate recital artist and has given concerts for Opéra de Lille, the Oxford Lieder Festival, and with the Prince Consort. She has appeared on numerous live radio broadcasts and recordings in Europe and for the British Broadcasting Corporation.

On the operatic stage, Rowan has performed at Welsh National Opera, Berlin Staatsoper, Hamburg Staatsoper, with Theater Magdeburg and was previously a member of the Salzburg Landestheater ensemble, under the musical directorship of Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla. She performed the roles of Frau Grubach and Washerwoman in the world premiere of The Trial by Philip Glass at Linbury Studio Theatre Royal Opera House, Wellgunde in Das Rheingold at the Royal Festival Hall conducted Vladimir Jurowski, and Zidiana in Vivaldi’s Teuzzone with La Serenissima in Venice.

Her discography includes Mozart’s Requiem with the Dunedin Consort for Linn Records, The Trial by Philip Glass for Orange Mountain Music, and Honegger's König David with the Prometheus Ensemble and Junges Ensemble Berlin for Rondeau Productions.

As a member of the International Opera Studio at Staatsoper Unter Den Linden, Berlin, under the artistic direction of Daniel Barenboim, she was the recipient of the Liz Mohn Kultur und Musikstiftung scholarship.

Sholto Kynoch Sholto Kynoch is a sought-after pianist who specialises in song and chamber music. He is the founder and Artistic Director of the Oxford Lieder Festival, which won a prestigious Royal Philharmonic Society Award in 2015, cited for its ‘breadth, depth and audacity’ of programming. In July 2018, Sholto was elected a Fellow of the Royal Academy of Music in the RAM Honours.

Recent recitals have taken him to Wigmore Hall, Heidelberger Frühling in Germany, the Zeist International Lied Festival in Holland, the LIFE Victoria festival and Palau de la Música in Barcelona, the Opéra de Lille, Kings Place in London, Opernhaus Zürich, Maison Symphonique de Montréal, and many other leading venues and festivals nationally and internationally. He has performed with singers including Louise Alder, Benjamin Appl, Sophie Daneman, Tara Erraught, Robert Holl, James Gilchrist, Dietrich Henschel, Katarina Karnéus, Wolfgang Holzmair, Jonathan Lemalu, Stephan Loges, Daniel Norman, Christoph Prégardien, Joan Rodgers, Birgid Steinberger and Roderick Williams, amongst many others.

Together with violinist Jonathan Stone and cellist Christian Elliott, Sholto is the pianist of the Phoenix Piano Trio. The Trio’s recent CD, ‘The Leipzig Circle’, was described as ‘splendidly vibrant’ (BBC Music Magazine) and having ‘unaffected freshness and charm’ (Gramophone).

They have commissioned a number of new works, and recorded Cheryl Frances-Hoad’s The Forgiveness Machine for Champs Hill and Philip Venables’ Klaviertrio im Geiste for NMC. In recent years, he has curated several series of recitals around exhibitions at the National Gallery, including their ‘Monet and Architecture’ exhibition in 2018, and a series for the British Museum.

He has recorded, live at the Oxford Lieder Festival, the first complete edition of the songs of Hugo Wolf. Other recent and forthcoming recordings include discs of Schubert and Schumann lieder, the complete songs of John Ireland and Havergal Brian with baritone Mark Stone, recital discs with Martin Hässler and Anna Stéphany, and several CDs with the Phoenix Piano Trio.