Robert Blocker, Dean March 8, 2021 7:30 pm | Morse Recital Hall in Sprague Memorial Hall
master of musical arts degree recital
Julia Orosz mezzo-soprano Opera
Kyle Swann piano
Joaquin Rodrigo 1901–1999
Cuatro Canciones Sefardíes (1965) I. Respóndemos II. Una pastora yo ami III. Nani, nani: Canción de cuna IV. “Morena” me llaman
Anonymous
Erich Korngold 1897–1957
4 Shakespeare Songs, Op. 31 I. Desdemona’s Song II. Under the Greenwood Tree III. Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind IV. When Do Birds Sing
William Shakespeare
brief pause
Johannes Brahms 1833–1897
Meine Lieder, Op. 106, No. 4
Adolf Frey
Wie rafft' ich mich auf in der Nacht, Op. 32, No. 1
August von PlatenHallermünde Christian Reinhold
Nachtigall, Op. 97, No. 1 Von ewiger Liebe, Op. 43, No. 1 Botschaft, Op. 47, No. 1 An eine Äolsharfe, Op. 19, No. 5
August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben Georg Friedrich Daumer Eduard Mörike
Leonard Bernstein 1918–1990
La Bonne Cuisine: Four Recipes for voice and piano (1947) I. Plum Pudding II. Queues de Bœuf (Ox-Tails) III. Tavouk Gueunksis IV. Civet à Toute Vitesse (Rabbit at Top Speed)
Émile Dumont translated by Leonard Bernstein
This performance is in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Master of Musical Arts degree.
Cuatro Canciones Sefardíes Respóndemos
Answer Us
Respóndemos, Dio de Abraham, respóndemos! Respóndemos, El que respónde, en hora de voluntad, respóndemos! Respóndemos, Pavor de Yitshak, respóndemos! Respóndemos, El que respónde, en hora de angustia, respóndemos! Respóndemos, Fuerte de Yaakov, respóndemos! Respóndemos, Dio de la merkava, respóndemos! Respóndemos, O Padre piadoso y gracioso, respóndemos! Una pastora yo ami Una pastora yo ami, una hija hermoza, de mi chiques que l’adori, más qu’ella no ami. Un día que estavamos en la huerta asentados, le dixe yo: “Porti mi flor, me muero de amor.”
Answer us, God of Abraham, Answer us! Answer us, You who answer in times of grace, Answer us! Answer us! Fear of Yitshak, Answer us! Answer us, You who answer in times of anguish Answer us! Answer us, Strength of Yaakov, Answer us! Answer us, God of the Merkava, Answer us! Answer us, Oh gracious and merciful Father, Answer us! A Shepherdess I loved A shepherdess I loved, A gorgeous girl, On my youth days I loved But she doesn’t love me. One day we were Sitting in the orchard, I told her: “For you my flower, I die of love.”
Nani, nani: Canción de cuna
Nani, nani: Song of cradle
Nani, nani, nani, nani, nani, quere el hijo, El hijo de la madre, De chico se haga grande. Ay, durmite mi alma, durmite, mivida, Que tu padre viene Con muncha alegría. Ay, avrimex la puerta, avrimex mi dama, avrimex! Que vengo muy cansado De arar las huertas. Ay, la puerta yo vos avro, Que venix cansado, Y verex durmido Al hijo en la cuna. “Morena” me llaman “Morena” me llaman, yo blanco nací, De pasear, galana, mi color perdí. De aquellas ventanicas m’arronjan flechas, Si son de amores, vengan derechas!
Nani, nani, nani, Nani, nani, wants my son Son of his mother, The boy is getting big. Ay, Sleep my little soul, Sleep my life, Your father is coming With great joy. Ay, Open the door, Open the door my lady! I am coming very tired From working the land. Ay, I open the door, For you come tired, And will see you, Son, sleeping in the cradle. “Brunette” they call me “Brunette” they call me, But white I was born, Of wandering around, I lost my color. From those cute windows They throw me arrows. If they are of love, I take them straight away! Translations by Luis Aguilar
Four Shakespeare Songs 1. Desdemona’s Song The poor soul sat sighing By a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow: Her hand on her bosom, Her head on her knee, Sing willow, willow, willow: The fresh streams ran by her, And murmur’d her moans; Sing willow, willow, willow: Her salt tears fell from her, And soften’d the stones; Sing willow, willow, willow. Sing all a green willow My garland must be, Sing all a green willow: Let nobody blame him, His scorn I approve, Sing willow, willow, willow: I call’d my love false love; But what said he then? Sing willow, willow, willow: If I court moe women, You’ll couch with moe men! Sing willow, willow, willow.
3. Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind Blow, blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath, thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! Sing, heigh-ho! Unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, Most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly!
2. Under the Greenwood Tree
Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, Here shall he see no enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i’the sun, Seeking the food he sats And pleas’d with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, Here shall he see no enemy But winter and rough weather. If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here shall he see gross fools as he, And if he will come to me. Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me.
Freeze, freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Thou dost not bite so nigh as benefits forgot. Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember’d, remember’d not. Heigh-ho! Sing, heigh-ho! Unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, Most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly!
4. When Birds Do Sing
It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; That o’er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding; Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; These pretty country folks would lie, In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.
Johannes Brahms
Meine Lieder
Wenn mein Herz beginnt zu klingen Und den Tönen löst die Schwingen, Schweben vor mir her Und wieder bleiche Wonnen, Unvergessen, und die Schatten von Zypressen. Dunkel klingen meine Lieder. Wie rafft’ ich mich auf in der Nacht Wie rafft’ ich mich auf in der Nacht Und fühlte mich fürder gezogen, Die Gassen verließ ich vom Wächter bewacht, Durchwandelte sacht in der Nacht, Das Tor mit dem gothischen Bogen. Der Mühlbach rauschte durch felsigen Schacht, Ich lehnte mich über die Brücke, Tief unter mir nahm ich der Wogen in Acht, Die wallten so sacht in der Nacht, Doch wallet nicht eine zurücke. Es drehte sich oben unzählig entfacht Melodischer Wandel der Sterne, Mit ihnen der Mond in beruhigter Pracht, Sie funkelten sacht in der Nacht, Durch täuschend entlegene Ferne
This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; How that a life was but a flower, In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding; Sweet lovers love the spring. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding a ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.
My Song When my heart begins to sound And the tones loosen the wings, Float before me here And again pale bliss, Unforgotten, and the shadow from Cypress trees. Dark sounds my songs. How I pulled myself up in the night How I pulled myself up in the night And felt my future, my future drawn on, The streets I left, watched by Guardian guards, Gently walked through in the night, The gate with the gothic arc. The Millbrook rushed through rocky well, I leaned myself over the bridge, Deep below I took in the waves They billowed so gently in the night, But not one flowed back. It turned itself above, endless sparks More melodic change of stars, With you the moon in calm splendor, They glittered softly in the night, Through a deceptively remote distance.
Ich blickte hinauf in der Nacht, Und blickte hinunter aufs Neue; O wehe, wie hast du die Tage verbracht, Nun stille du sacht in der Nacht, Im pochenden Herzen die Reue! Nachtigall O Nachtigall, dein süsser Schall, Er dringet mir durch Mark und Bein. Nein, trauter Vogel, nein! Was in mir schafft so süsse Pein, Das ist nicht dein, Das ist von andern, himmelschönen, Nun längst für mich verklungenen Tönen, In deinem Lied ein leiser Widerhall. Von ewiger Liebe Dunkel, wie dunkel in Wald und in Feld! Abend schon ist es, nun schweiget die Welt. Nirgend noch Licht und nirgend noch Rauch, Ja, und die Lerche sie schweiget nun auch. Kommt aus dem Dorfe der Bursche heraus, Gibt das Geleit der Geliebten nach Haus, Führt sie am Weidengebüsche vorbei, Redet so viel und so mancherlei: ,,Leidest du Schmach und betrübest du dich, Leidest du Schmach von andern um mich, Werde die Liebe getrennt so geschwind, Schnell wie wir früher vereiniget sind. Scheide mit Regen und scheide mit Wind, Schnell wie wir früher vereiniget sind.” Spricht das Mägdelein, Mägdelein spricht: ,,Unsere Liebe sie trennet sich nicht! Fest ist der Stahl und das Eisen gar sehr, Unsere Liebe ist fester noch mehr. Eisen und Stahl, man schmiedet sie um, Unsere Liebe, wer wandelt sie um? Eisen und Stahl, sie können zergehn, Unsere Liebe muß ewig bestehn!”
I gazed up in the night, And looked down anew; O woe, how do you spend the days, Now quiet, gentle silence in the night, The remorse that pounds in your heart! Nightingale O Nightingale, your sweet sound, It penetrates me through my marrow and bone. No, darling bird, No! What causes me such sweet pain Is not your tones, The pain is from others, heavenly, Long ago has faded in me, I hear it echoing in your song. Of Eternal Love Dark, how dark in forest and field! Evening already, the world is now silent. Nowhere yet light and nowhere yet smoke, And the lark is silent now too. Out comes the lad from the village, Escorting his sweetheart towards home, He leads her past the willow bushes, And speaks about so many different things: “Do you suffer with shame and grief, From those around me? Will our love end so swift, As quickly as we were united? Parting with rain and parting with wind, As quickly as we were united?” Speaks the young maiden, she speaks: “Our love will not separate! Firm as if steel and iron, Our love is even more solid. Iron and steel one forges around you, Our love, who will transform it? Iron and steel, they can melt, Our love will forever persist!”
Botschaft
Wehe, Lüftchen, lind und lieblich Um die Wange der Geliebten, Spiele zart in ihrer Locke, Eile nicht, hinwegzufliehn! Tut sie dann vielleicht die Frage, Wie es um mich Armen stehe, Sprich: ,,Unendlich war sein Wehe, Höchst bedenklich seine Lage; Aber jetzo kann er hoffen Wieder herrlich aufzuleben, Denn du, Holde, denkst an ihn.” An eine Äolsharfe Angelehnt an die Efeuwand Dieser alten Terrasse, Du, einer luftgebor’nen Muse Geheimnisvolles Saitenspiel, Fang’ an, fange wieder an Deine melodische Klage! Ihr kommet, Winde, fern herüber, Ach! von des Knaben, Der mir so lieb war, Frischgrünendem Hügel. Und Frühlingsblüten unterweges streifend, Übersättigt mit Wohlgerüchen, Wie süss bedrängt ihr dies Herz! Und säuselt her in die Saiten, Angezogen von wohllautender Wehmut, Wachsend im Zug meiner Sehnsucht, Und hinsterbend wieder. Aber auf einmal, Wie der Wind heftiger herstösst, Ein holder Schrei der Harfe Wiederholt, mir zu süssem Erschrecken Meiner Seele plötzliche Regung, Und hier, die volle Rose streut geschüttelt All ihre Blätter vor meine Füsse!
A Message
Woe breeze, gentle and sweet, Blow around the check of my beloved, Play tenderly in their curls Make haste and flee away! Then if she, perhaps asks a question About how I am, Say: “His woe has been unending, His situation highly apprehensive; But now he can hope To live wonderfully again, Because you, my fairest, think of him.” To an Aeolean harp Leaning on the ivy wall Of this old terrace, You, an airborne Muse, Secret whispers of string music, Begin, begin again, Your melodious song! You come, winds, from afar, Alas! by the boys Who are so dear to me, Fresh green the hill. And spring flowers sweeping along, Jaded with fragrance, How sweetly pressed on my heart! And whispers here in the strings Attracted by harmonious melancholy, Growing in the train of my longing, And dying once more. But all at once, The wind violently rushes, A sweet cry of the harp Echoes to me, pleasantly frightening My soul suddenly feels faint, And here the full rose strews, shaken, All its petals fall at my feet! German translations by Julia Orosz
La Bonne Cuisine: Four Recipes 1. Plum Pudding Now first you take eleven pounds of juicy Concord grapes combined with equal parts of extra fine Tokays. (Be sure they are juicy;) And then you take two cups or so of breadcrumbs into which you melt a pound or so of butter, fat or lard: (Use Spry, or use Crisco.) Eleven cups of sugar (either brown or white or powdered); a glass of milk, and half a glass of Bacardi or brandy; three eggs, and a lemon. Now mustard, powdered cinnamon, and ginger, all together making half a teaspoonful of condiment which you combine with half a teaspoonful of table salt. 2. Queues de Bœuf (Ox-tails) Are you too proud to serve your friends an ox-tail stew? You’re wrong! For if you have enough of them you’ll find you can make a fine ragout. Remove the tails which you have used to make the stew, and then you can bread them, and grill them, and prepare them with a sauce. You’ll find them delicious and diff’rent and so tempting. Are you too proud to serve your friends an ox-tail stew? 3. Tavouk Gueunksis Tavouk guenksis, so Oriental! Put a chicken to boil, young and tender and sweet; then in the Arab manner you slice it up into pieces. Then boil flour and water, and add to it the chicken; then prepare it as above, in the manner we described for Mahallebi. Tavouk guenksis, a Turkish heaven. 4. Civet à Toute Vitesse (Rabbit at Top Speed) When you have a sudden guest, or you’re in an awful hurry, may I say, here’s a way to make a rabbit stew in no time. Take apart the rabbit in the ordinary way you do. Put it in a pot or in a casserole, or a bowl with all its blood and with its liver mashed. Take half a pound of breast of pork, finely cut (as fine as possible); add little onions with some pepper and salt (say twenty-five or so); a bottle and a half of rich claret. Boil it up, don’t waste a minute, on the very hottest fire. When boiled a quarter of an hour or more the sauce should now be half of what it was before. Then you carefully apply a flame, as they do in the best, most expensive cafés. After the flame is out, just add the sauce to half a pound of butter with flour, and mix them together… and serve.