TRANSCRIPT: MAY 20, 2020 MID-WEEK MUSICAL INTERLUDES #3 Hi, my name is Melissa Givens, Assistant Professor of Music at Pomona College in Claremont, California, and I'd like to welcome you to ÒMid-Week Musical Interludes,Ó our podcast series featuring an array of glorious new and not-so-new works as recently performed by faculty, guests and students of Pomona College. For more information on the music from our podcasts please visit us at pomona.edu/musicpodcast, and music podcast is all one word. For todayÕs episode, I am delighted to share with you some selections from recitals I performed in 2017 and 2019. In order, the songs are: She never told her love by Haydn; Bess of Bedlam by Purcell; Ne donne pas ton coeur by Massenet; Chanson na•ve by Chaminade; La Statue de Bronze from "Trios MŽlodies" by Satie; Vorrei teco montare su quel leggiadro colle from "Pagine sparse" by Martucci, and Ich hab in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen by Wolf. The pianists are Shannon Hesse and Genevieve Feiwen Lee. [She never told her love] She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask cheek. She stood, like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. [Bess of Bedlam] From silent shades and the Elysian groves where sad departed spirits mourn their loves, from crystal streams and from that country where Jove crowns the fields with flowers all the year, poor senseless Bess, clothÕd in her rags and folly, is come to cure her lovesick melancholy. ÒBright Cynthia kept her revels late while Mab, the Fairy Queen, did dance, and Oberon did sit in state when Mars at Venus ran his lance. In yonder cowslip lies my dear, entombÕd in liquid gems of dew; each day I'll water it witha tear, its fading blossom to renew. For since my love is dead and all my joys are gone, poor Bess for his sake a garland will make, my music shall be a groan. IÕll lay me down and die within some hollow tree, the ravÕn and cat, the owl and bat shall warble forth my elegy. Did you not see my love as he passÕd by you? His two flaming eyes, if he comes nigh you, they will scorch up your hearts: Ladies beware ye, lest he should dart a glance that may ensnare ye! Hark! Hark! I hear old Charon bawl, his boat he will no longer stay, and furies lash their whips and call: Come, come away, come, come away! Poor Bess will return to the place whence she came, since the world is so mad she can hope for no cure. For loveÕs grown a bubble, a shadow, a name, which fools do admire and wise men endure. Cold and hungry am I grown. Ambrosia will I feed upon, drink Nectar still and sing.Ó Who is content, does all sorrow prevent? And Bess in her straw, whilst free from the law, in her thoughts is as great, great as a king. [Ne donne pas ton coeur] Ne donne pas ton coeur aux roses du chemin, Tu ne verrais pas les Žpines; Ne donne pas ton coeur aux fra”ches Žglantines Vers qui dŽjˆ tu tends la main; Garde ta libertŽ, passe-toi dÕun sourire, Vis plut™t tout seul, ˆ lÕŽcart Ñ On nÕa point fait un pas quÕil est dŽjˆ trop tard Et quÕon est rŽduit ˆ maudire! Ne donne pas ton coeur! [Chanson na•ve] La petite chanson triste quÕelle chantait autrefois, Dans ma mŽmoire persiste, je la fredonne ˆ mi voix. La petite chanson tendre que nous aimions les deux, MÕŽvoque encore, ˆ lÕentendre, nos beaux rves hasardeux La petite chanson frle, sa voix ne la dira plus; Je nÕai pas veillŽ sur elle, nos bonheurs, Nos bonheurs sont rŽvolus! La petite chanson douce qui mÕa fait pleurer souvent, Tout la murmure: la mousse, lÕeau, les arbres et le vent. La petite chanson grave sanglote au fond du soir las, Et je souffre un mal suave, suave comme lÕodeur des lilas. La petite chanson tremble et sÕŽloigne et va mourir... Pourquoi nÕtre plus ensemble, au moins pour la secourir. [La Statue de Bronze] La grenouille Du jeu de tonneau SÕennuie, le soir, sous la tonnelle... Elle en a assez! DÕtre la statue Qui va prononcer un grand mot: Le Mot! Elle aimerait mieux tre avec les autres Qui font des bulles de musique Avec le savon de la lune Au bord du lavoir mordorŽ QuÕon voit, lˆ-bas, luire entre les branches... On lui lance ˆ coeur de journŽe Une p‰ture de pistols Qui la traversent sans lui profiter Et sÕen vont sonner Dans les cabinets De son piŽdestal numŽrotŽ! Et le soir, les insectes couchant Dans sa bouche... [Vorrei teco mantare su quell leggiadro colle] Vorrei teco montare su quell leggiadro colle,seder su lÕerba molle e allegri inni cantar. Di lˆ si vede il mare sparso di vele bianche, Le nostre anime stanche potremo alfin calmar. [Ich hab in Penna einen Liebstein wohnen] Ich hab in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen, In der Maremmeneb'ne einen andern, Einen im schšnen Hafen von Ancona, Zum Vierten mu§ ich nach Viterbo wandern; Ein Andrer wohnt in Casentino dort, Der NŠchste lebt mit mir am selben Ort, Und wieder einen hab' ichin Magione, Vier in La Fratta, zehn in Castiglione! _________________________________________________________________________________ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ON THE PODCAST, including text translations: This podcast combines selections from Ms. GivensÕ last two performances in Mabel Shaw Bridges Hall of Music located on the campus of Pomona College, 150 E. Fourth St., Claremont, CA,; April 3, 2017 with pianist Shannon Hesse and February 15, 2019 with pianist Genevieve Feiwen Lee. Read about Ms. Givens at www.pomona.edu/directory/people/melissa-e-givens Translations and Notes: Haydn, She never told her love (text: William Shakespeare) [2017 concert] Purcell, Bess of Bedlam (text: anonymous) [2017 concert] The first two songs deal with darkness of the mind. In HaydnÕs setting of this brief Shakespeare text from Twelfth Night, Viola, disguised as a man and describing herself, tells Orsino of the ways women keep unrequited love hidden and the cost it incurs. Meanwhile, in PurcellÕs song, an anonymous author chronicles the madness to which one sad woman was driven by love, replete with images of mythological and literary personages. Massenet, Ne donne pas ton coeur (text: Paul MariŽton) [2019 concert] Though lionized for his operas, MassenetÕs melodies often get short shrift. In fact, Pierre Bernac, the famous interpreter and grand poobah of French Lyric diction, dismissed them as not even worth discussing in The Interpretation of French Song: ÒMassenet abandoned himself to his unique gift and fluency which, in his mŽlodies, led to a sugary sentimentalism. They cannot be recommended.Ó Apparently too many singers took that dictum to heart, as recordings and translations of many of his songs areas scarce as henÕs teeth! They do have an abundance of charm, though, and some, like this one, are wry and witty. MassenetÕs fiftieth year found him in Vienna. Werther was opening after some delay, and he began to write the opera ÒTha•sÕ for his muse, the soprano Sybil Sanderson. Its religiously tinged theme of guarding against romantic entanglements may have led him to this poem by Paul MariŽton, entitled ÒConseilÓ (Advice), from his 1884 collection Souvrances (Memories). Ne donne pas ton coeur DonÕt give your heart to the roses along the road You wouldnÕt see the thorns; DonÕt give your heart to the fresh wild roses To which you already hold out your hand; Keep your freedom, get away with a smile, Appear then, to be all alone, set apart Ñ YouÕve barely moved and itÕs already too late Then youÕre reduced to cursing! Never give away your heart! ÐTranslated by Melissa Givens Chaminade, Chanson na•ve (text: Louise Perny) [2019 concert] Toward the second half of her life, CŽcile Chaminade focused on smaller forms, like songs, which became her most popular works during her lifetime. Like many women composers, her songs are beginning to be rediscovered, although her flute music has remained a staple of the repertoire. Her music was introduced to America at the turn of the twentieth century and she traveled to meet her American fans in 1908. Her husband (who she may have married for convenience) died in 1907, and she remained single thereafter. The poet Louise Perny, forced by convention to publish under the male name Pierre Reyniel, provided the sweet, nostalgic text. Chaminade paired it with a sweetly insistent setting. Chanson na•ve The sad little song that she used to sing Lingers in my memory; I hum it in half-voice. The tender little song that we both loved Brings back to me, when I hear it, our beautiful careless dreams. The fragile little song her voice wonÕt sing again I didnÕt watch over it; our joys, our joys have passed! The sweet little song that often made me cry Is murmured by all: the mosses, the water, the trees, the wind. The serious little song weeps in the basin of the unfettered evening And I suffer from a subtle sickness, subtle as the odor of lilacs The little song trembles, moves away and goes to die... Because we canÕt be together again, not even to save it. ÐTranslated by Kathleen Comalli Dillon, 2017. Used with permission Satie, La statue de bronze (text: LŽon Paul Fargue) [2019 concert] When you ask people what word comes to mind when they hear the name Satie, a good number will mention his iconic ÒGymnopŽdiesÓ for piano and more will likely say, Òweird.Ó Satie reveled in being an iconoclast; though he knew and socialized with Les Six, the famed French composers, he was not really a part of the group. He wasnÕt very successful at his music studies the first time around and went back as an adult to finish them. What he loved, however, was the dance hall music that saturated Parisian culture, and he incorporated it into his compositions in all genres. Likewise, once he discovered a fellow traveler in poet LŽon Paul Farge, the two teamed up for his later cycle, ÒLudions.Ó FargueÕs poetry borders on the absurd, imbuing creatures and objects with thought and agency. La statue de bronze The frog Of the barrel game Grows weary at evening, beneath the arbor... She has had enough! Of being the statue Who is about to pronounce a great word: The Word! She would love to be with the others Who make music bubbles With the soap of the moon Beside the lustrous bronze tub That one sees there, shining between the branches... At midday one hurls at her A feast of discs That pass through without benefit to her And will resound In the chambers Of her numbered pedestal! And at night, the insects go to sleep In her mouth.... ÐTranslated by Shawn Thuris, n.d. Used with permission Martucci, Vorrei teco montare su quell leggiadro colle (text: Corrado Ricci) [2017 concert] Pagine Sparse (Scattered Pages) is a song cycle by the relatively unknown Giuseppe Martucci. Moreso in style than in mood, they are very short songs have a lightness and clarity that belies the relative melancholy of Corrado RicciÕs texts. They are songs of love and loss in terms of place and time: under the night sky, near a deserted monastery, at the transition between night and day and winter and spring, and on a sea coast. Vorrei teco montare su quell leggiadro colle I want to climb that charming hill with you, to sit on the soft grass and sing cheerful songs. From there we will gaze at the sea, sprinkled with white sails. Our exhausted souls can be, at last, calmed. ÐTranslated by Melissa Givens Wolf, Ich hab in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen (text: Paul Heyse) [2017 concert] In this German art song pure light and joy characterize WolfÕs little work from the Italianisches Liederbuch (Book of Italian Songs). Ich hab in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen I have a lover living in Penna, Another lives in Maremma, One lives in the beautiful port city of Ancona, To see the fouth, I have to go to Viterbo; Another lives over in Casentino, The next lives with me in my own place, And then I have one in Maggione, Four in La Fratta and ten in Castiglione! ÐTranslated by Melissa Givens