March 15 Spring Concert

March 15, 2019

À la carte

Spring Concert

March 15, 201

Abdelazar Suite: II. Rondeau

Henry Purcell

(1659–1695)

 

En attendant, Esperance                                                       

Jacob Senleches

(fl. 1383 – 1395)

 

Odyssey Allusions: II. a red yes (Penelope)                                                  

Lance Hulme

                                                                                   

 

Chanson Perpetuelle                                                             

Ernest Chausson

(1855–1899)

 

Not Enough Sky                                                                   

Brian Horton

 

The Night of the Four Moons                                              

George Crumb

(*1929)

 

Spain                                                                                    

Chick Corea

(*1941)

 

Musicians:

Erika Boysen, flute

Kelly Burke, clarinet   

Samuel Taylor, guitar

Erik Schmidt, percussion

James Douglass, piano

Clara O’Brien, mezzo-soprano

Marjorie Bagley, violin

Wenyin Phoenix Deng, violin 

Scott Rawls, viola        

Alexander Ezerman, cello       

 

Brian Horton Ensemble

Brian Horton, sax


Ernest Turner, piano


William Ledbetter, bass
Jeremy Clemons, drums 

 

TEXTS      

En attendant, Esperance

 

En attendant, Esperance conforte

l’omme qui vuolt avoir perfeccion;

en attendant se deduc et deporte,

en attendant li proumet guerredon,

en attendant passe temps et sayson,

en attendant met en li sa fiance;

de toulz ces més est servis a fayson

cilz qui ne sceit vivre sans Esperance.

 

Esperance tient overte le porte

dont chaschuns puet avoir guarison.

Esperancë est de si noble sorte

que cilz ne doit prendre confusion

qui l’a o soy; et sanz li ne puet on

avoir loing temps playsir habundance,

dont prendre assés puet consolation

cilz qui ne sceit vivre sanz Esperance

 

Pour ce conoy et voy qu’elle m’ennorte

a li tenir; et j’ay cause et rayson

quar je schay bien que s’elle estoit morte,

pou y veroit le mien entencion.

Dont je vos pris, en ma conclusion,

que Belle Acueil priés pour m’alagance;

en attendant suy sanz presoncion

 

While waiting, Hope comforts

The man who seeks perfection;

While waiting, she amuses and entertains him,

While waiting, she promises him reward,

While waiting, time and seasons pass,

While waiting, she is faithful to him:

From all these dishes is amply served

The man who cannot live without Hope.

 

Hope holds opens the door

Through which each can enjoy protection.

Hope is such noble company

That whoever has her with him

Should come to no harm; and without her

One cannot not have much joy for long:

From this he can take some consolation,

The man who cannot live without Hope.

 

So I acknowledge and see that she counsels me

To stand by her; and I have good reason to,

Because I know well that if she were dead

She wouldn’t see my intention,

Thus, in conclusion, I beg you to pray to

Fair Welcome for my relief;

While waiting, I am, without presumption,

The man who cannot live without Hope.

 

 

 

Chanson Perpetuelle  (Charles Cros)

Bois frissonnants, ciel étoilé

Bois frissonnants, ciel étoilé,

Mon bien-aimé s’en est allé,

Emportant mon cœur désolé!

 

Vents, que vos plaintives rumeurs,

Que vos chants, rossignols charmeurs,

Aillent lui dire que je meurs!

 

Le premier soir qu’il vint ici

Mon âme fut à sa merci.

De fierté je n’eus plus souci.

 

Mes regards étaient pleins d’aveux.

Il me prit dans ses bras nerveux

Et me baisa près des cheveux.

 

J’en eus un grand frémissement;

Et puis, je ne sais plus comment

Il est devenu mon amant.

 

Et, bien qu’il me fût inconnu,

Je l’ai pressé sur mon sein nu

Quand dans ma chambre il est venu.

Je lui disais: « Tu m’aimeras

Aussi longtemps que tu pourras! »

Je ne dormais bien qu’en ses bras.

 

Mais lui, sentant son cœur éteint,

S’en est allé l’autre matin,

Sans moi, dans un pays lointain.

 

Puisque je n’ai plus mon ami,

Je mourrai dans l’étang, parmi

Les fleurs, sous le flot endormi.

 

Au bruit du feuillage et des eaux,

Je dirai ma peine aux oiseaux

Et j’écarterai les roseaux.

 

Sur le bord arrêtée, au vent

Je dirai son nom, en rêvant

Que là je l’attendis souvent.

 

Et comme en un linceul doré,

Dans mes cheveux défaits, au gré

Du [flot]1 je m’abandonnerai.

 

Les bonheurs passés verseront

Leur douce lueur sur mon front;

Et les joncs verts m’enlaceront.

 

Et mon sein croira, frémissant

Sous l’enlacement caressant,

Subir l’étreinte de l’absent.

 

Que mon dernier souffle, emporté

Dans les parfums du vent d’été,

Soit un soupir de volupté!

 

Qu’il vole, papillon charmé

Par l’attrait des roses de mai,

Sur les lèvres du bien-aimé!

 

 

Quivering woods, starry sky

Language: English after the French (Français)

Quivering woods, starry sky,

my beloved has gone away

taking with him my desolate heart!

Winds, may your plaintive noises,

charming nightingales, may your songs

go to tell him I’m dying!  

 

From the first evening he came here

my soul was at his mercy.

I no longer cared about pride.  

 

My eyes kept telling him my thoughts.

He took me in his nervous arms

and kissed my head close to my hair.  

 

That caused me a great trembling;

and then, I no longer know how,

he became my lover.  

 

And although he was unknown to me,

I clasped him against my naked breast

when he came into my bedroom.  

 

I kept saying: “You will love me

for as long as you are able!”

I would sleep well only in his arms.  

 

But he, feeling his heart grown cold,

departed some mornings ago,

without me, for a distant land.  

 

Since I have my lover no longer

I will die in the pond, among

the flowers, under the sleeping water.  

 

Amid the noise of foliage and stream

I will tell the birds of my sorrow

and will cause the reeds to part.  

 

Pausing on the edge, I will speak

his name to the wind, while dreaming

that I often awaited him there.  

 

And as if in a golden shroud,

with my hair undone, I will let myself go

wherever the [current]1 takes me.  

 

The happy times I have known will shed

their gentle light on my forehead;

and the green reeds will entwine me.  

 

And my breast will believe,

as it trembles caressed and entwined,

that the absent one is embracing me.  

 

May my final breath, borne away

among the scents of the summer wind

be a sign of sensual pleasure!  

 

And may it fly, like a butterfly charmed

by the beautiful roses of May,

onto the lips of my beloved!

 

The Night of the Four Moons

(García Lorca)

 

La luca está muerta, muerta;

pero resucita en la primavera.

 

Cuando sale le luna,

el mar cubre le tierra

y el corazón se siente

isla en el infinito.

 

III.

Otro Adán oscuro está soñando

neutra luna de piedra sin semilla

donde el niño de luz se irá quemando.

 

“¡Huye luna, luna, luna!

Si vinieran los gitanos,

harian con tu corazón

collares y anillos blancos.”

«Niño, déjame que baile.

Cuando vengan los gitanos,

te encontrarán sobre el yunque

con los ojillos cerrados.”

«¡Huye luna, luna, luna!

que ya siento sus caballos.”

«Niño, déjame, no pises

mi blancor almidonado.”

 

¡El jinete se acercaba

tocando el tambor del llano!

dentro de la fragua el niño

tiene los ojos cerrados.

 

¡Por el loivar venían,

bronce y sueño, los gitanos!

Las cabezas levantadas

y los ojos entornados.

 

Cómo canta la zumaya,

¡ay, cómo canta en el árbol!

 

 

Por el cielo va la luna

Con un niño de la mano.

 

The moon is dead, dead;

but it is reborn in the springtime.

 

When the moon rises,

the sea covers the earth

and the heart feels like

an island in infinity.

 

III.

Another obscure Adam dreams

neuter seedless stone moon

where the child of light will be kindling.

 

“Run away moon, moon, moon!

If the gypsies should come,

they will make of your heart

necklaces and white rings.”

“Child, let me dance.

When the gypsies come,

they will find you on the anvil

with your little eyes closed.”

“Run away moon, moon, moon!

for I hear now their horses.”

“Child, leave me, do not step

on my starched whiteness.”

 

Drumming the plain

the horseman was coming near!

Inside the smithy

the child has closed his eyes.

 

Along the olive grove

the gypsies were coming, bronze and dream!

heads high

and eyes half-closed.

 

How the owl hoots!

Ah, how it hoots in the tree!

 

Through the sky goes the moon

holding a child by the hand.