Recital: Andrew Stack '22 GD, Baritone
NEC's students meet one-on-one each week with a faculty artist to perfect their craft. As each one leaves NEC to make their mark in the performance world, they present a full, professional recital that is free and open to the public. It's your first look at the artists of tomorrow.
Andrew Stack '22 GD studies Voice with Michael Meraw and is the recipient of the Annabelle Bernard Mercker Memorial Scholarship.
The overarching narrative of this recital ("Processing...") is meant to be a meditation on the states of mind associated with processing difficult emotions, in this case grief. The program begins as any meditation would as an honest soul searching before the mind is distracted and pulled down a rabbit hole of melancholy leading to despair. Despair eventually gives way to hope, transforming grief into bittersweet nostalgia before finally becoming acceptance. This program is meant to be a spiritual successor to my undergraduate senior recital - "Songs My Mother Taught Me", which was programmed as a memorial to my mentor, Lindsey Christiansen, following her last days battling terminal brain cancer.
This recital will be viewable in-person and also livestreamed.
- Andrew Stack '22 GD, baritone
- J.J. Penna, piano
- Michael Meraw, studio teacher
Reading | "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver
Artists- Michael Meraw, reader
William Bolcom | Blue
Text
Blue
This is what I want to do
my heart
is sit real still with you.
After all that cruising
in
around
and out of town,
Put them down who dare refuse me
and the same old line I threw
ah, but up
up
up
I grew
And now all I want to do
my heart
is sit real still with you.
After all that screeching
talking fast
and slowing down
Only now and then to reach you
when you let me know I knew
that what I preach is none too true
That’s why all I want to do
my heart
is sit real still with you.
(Cause I do know this about people
and I DON’T mean some:
Awf’ly smart people are often awful dumb!
Aren’t we?
We just don’t realize
that behind the eyes,
behind the mind,
you find the sweetest brilliance
and a stillness of such blue that...)
That’s why all I want to do
my soul
is sit real still with you.
Ah so sweetly down the hill
That is what I want to do
sweet soul
is sit real still with you.
Arnold WeinsteinMatthew Aucoin | A Clear Midnight, from 3 Whitman Songs
Text
A Clear Midnight
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
Walt Whitman
John Musto | Litany, from Shadow of the Blues
Text
Litany
Gather up
In the arms of your pity
The sick, the depraved,
The desperate, the tired,
All the scum
Of our weary city.
Gather up
In the arms of your pity.
Gather up
In the arms of your love–
Those who expect
No love from above.
Langston HughesSamuel Barber | Nocturne, op. 13 no. 4
Text
Nocturne
Close my darling both your eyes,
Let your arms lie still at last.
Calm the lake of falsehood lies
And the wind of lust has passed,
Waves across these hopeless sands
Fill my heart and end my day,
Underneath your moving hands
All my aching flows away.
Even the human pyramids
Blaze with such a longing now:
Close, my love, your trembling lids,
Let the midnight heal your brow,
Northward flames Orion’s horn,
Westward th’ Egyptian light.
None to watch us, none to warn
But the blind eternal night.
Frederic ProkoshReading | "On Meditating...Sort Of" by Mary Oliver
Artists- J.J. Penna, reader
Gabriel Fauré | Cygne sur l'eau, from Mirages, op. 113 no. 1
Text
Cygne sur l’eau
Ma pensée est un cygne harmonieux et sage
qui glisse lentement aux rivages d'ennui
sur les ondes sans fond du rêve, du mirage,
de l'echo, du brouillard, de l'ombre, de la nuit.
Il glisse, roi hautain fendant un libre espace,
poursuit un reflet vain, précieux et changeant,
et les roseaux nombreux s'inclinent quand il passe,
sombre et muet, au seuil d'une lune d'argent;
et des blancs nenuphars chaque corolle ronde
tour-à-tour a fleuri de désir et d'espoir...
Mais plus avant toujours, sur la brume et sur l'onde,
vers l'inconnu fuyant, glisse le cygne noir.
Or j'ai dit, « Renoncez, beau cygne chimérique,
à ce voyage lent vers de troubles destins;
nul miracle chinois, nul étrange Amérique
ne vous accueilleront en des havres certains;
les golfes embaumés, les îles immortelles
ont pour vous, cygne noir, des récifs périlleux;
demeurez sur les lacs où se mirent, fidèles,
ces nuages, ces fleurs, ces astres, et ces yeux. »
Antoine de Brimont
Swan on the water
My thought is a harmonious and wise swan
which glides slowly to the shores of boredom
upon the bottomless waters of dreams, mirages,
of echoes, fogs, shadows, of the night.
It glides, haughty king cleaving a free space,
chases a vain, precious and changing reflection,
and the plentiful reeds bow when it passes by,
sombre and silent, at the threshold of a silver moon;
and one by one each round corolla of the white water lilies
has flowered with desire and hope...
But always in front of all, upon the mist and upon the water,
fleeing towards the unknown, glides the black swan.
And then I said, "Handsome illusory swan, renounce,
this slow journey towards troubled destinies;
no Chinese miracle, no strange America
will welcome you in safe havens;
the fragrant gulfs, the immortal isles
hold for you, black swan, perilous reefs;
remain on the lakes in which, ever faithful,
these clouds, these flowers, these stars, and these eyes are reflected."
Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2020 by Christopher Goldsack, reprinted with permission from melodietreasury.comGabriel Fauré | Reflets dans l'eau, from Mirages, op. 113 no. 2
Text
Reflets dans l'eau
Étendue au seuil du bassin,
dans l'eau plus froide que le sein
des vierges sages,
j'ai reflété mon vague ennui,
mes yeux profonds couleur de nuit
et mon visage.
Et dans ce miroir incertain
j'ai vu de merveilleux matins...
J'ai vu des choses
pâles comme des souvenirs
sur l'eau que ne saurait ternir
nul vent morose.
Alors _ au fond du Passé bleu _
mon corps mince n'était qu'un peu
d'ombre mouvante,
sous les lauriers et les cyprès
j'amais la brise au souffle frais
qui nous évente...
J'amais vos caresses de sœur,
vos nuances, votre douceur,
aube opportune;
et votre pas souple et rythmé,
nymphes au rire parfumé,
au teint de lune;
et le galop des aegypans,
et la fontaine qui s'épand
en larmes fades...
Par les bois secrets et divins
e'écoutais frissonner sans fin
l'hamadryade.
O cher Passé mystérieux
qui vous reflétez dans mes yeux
comme un nuage,
il me serait plaisant et doux,
Passé, d'essayer avec vous
le long voyage!...
Si je glisse, les eaux feront
un rond fluide... un autre rond,
un autre à peine...
Et puis le miroir enchanté
reprendra sa limpidité
froide et sereine.
Antoine de Brimont
Reflections on the water
Stretched along the threshold of the pool,
in the water colder than the breast
of untarnished virgins
I reflected my vague boredom,
my profound eyes, colour of the night
and my face.
And in this uncertain mirror
I saw wondrous mornings...
I saw pale
things like memories
on the water which could not tarnish
any morose wind.
Then at the bottom of the blue past,
my slim body was nothing but a bit
of moving shadow,
beneath the laurels and the cypresses
I liked the breeze with the fresh breath
which lays us open...
I liked your sisters' caresses
your inflections, your gentleness,
opportune dawn;
and your supple and rhythmical step,
nymphs with perfumed smiles,
with the colour of the moon;
and the gallop of the aegypans,
and the fountain which spreads
in bland tears...
Through the secret and divine woods
I listened to the hamadryade
quivering endlessly.
O dear mysterious Past
which you reflect in my eyes
like a cloud,
it would be pleasant and sweet,
past, to attempt
the long journey with you!...
If I glide, the waters will form
a fluid sphere... another sphere,
hardly another...
And then the enchanted mirror
will regain its cold
and serene limpidity.
Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2020 by Christopher Goldsack, reprinted with permission from melodietreasury.comFrancis Poulenc | Sanglots, from Banalités
Text
Sanglots
Notre amour est réglé par les calmes étoiles
Or nous savons qu'en nous beaucoup d'hommes respirent
Qui vinrent de très loin et sont un sous nos fronts
C'est la chanson des rêveurs
Qui s'étaient arraché le cœur
Et le portaient dans la main droite
Souviens-t‘en cher orgueil de tous ces souvenirs
Des marins qui chantaient comme des conquérants
Des gouffres de Thulé des tendres cieux d'Ophir
Des malades maudits de ceux qui fuient leur ombre
Et du retour joyeux des heureux émigrants
De ce cœur il coulait du sang
Et le rêveur allait pensant
A sa blessure délicate
Tu ne briseras pas la chaine de ces causes
Et douloureuse et nous disait
Qui sont les effets d'autres causes
Mon pauvre cœur mon cœur brisé
Pareil au cœur de tous les hommes
Voici, voici nos mains que la vie fit esclaves
Est mort d'amour ou c'est tout comme
Est mort d'amour et le voici
Ainsi vont toutes choses
Arrachez donc le vôtre aussi
Et rien ne sera libre jusqu'à la fin du temps
Laissons tout aux morts
Et cachons nos sanglots
Guillaume ApollinaireSobs
Our love is ruled by the calm stars
Now we know that many men breathe within us
Who came from very far distances, and are one beneath our brow
This is the song of the dreamers
Who had torn out their hearts
And carried them in their right hand
Remember well, dear pride, all of these memories
Of the sailors who sang like conquerors
Of the chasms of Thule, of the gentle skies of Ophir
Of the damned sick who flee from their own shadows
And of the joyous return of the happy emigrants From this heart blood once ran
And the dreamer went on thinking
About his delicate wound
You will never shatter the chain of these events
And painfully and he told us
Which are the effects of other causes
My poor heart my shattered heart
Just like the hearts of all men
Here, here are our hands which life has made slaves of
Has died of love, or so it seems
Has died of love and so it goes
This is the way of all things
So tear your own heart out as well
And nothing will ever be free until the end of time
Let us leave everything to the dead
And hide our sobs
Translation by Andrew StackReading | "Starlings in Winter" by Mary Oliver
Artists- Andrew Stack, reader
Hugo Wolf | Lebe wohl
Text
Lebe wohl
„Lebewohl!“ – Du fühlest nicht,
Was es heisst, dies Wort der Schmerzen
Mit getrostem Angesicht
Sagtest du's und leichtem Herzen.
Lebe wohl! – Ach! tausendmal
Hab ich mir es vorgesprochen,
Und in nimmersatter Qual
Mir das Herz damit gebrochen.
Eduard MörikeFarewell
„Farewell!“ – You don’t feel it,
What it means, this pain-riddled word;
With a face full of confidence
And a light heart you say it
Farewell! – Oh! A thousand times
I have recited it to myself,
And in insatiable torment
Have broken my own heart with it.
Translation by Andrew StackArnold Schoenberg | Sommermüd
Text
Sommermüd
Wenn du schon glaubst,
Es ist ewige Nacht,
Hat dir plötzlich ein Abend
Wieder Küsse und Sterne gebracht.
Wenn du dann denkst
Es ist alles, alles vorbei,
Wird auf einmal wieder Christnacht
Und lieblicher Mai.
Drum dank Gott und sei still,
Dass du noch lebst und küßt
Gar mancher hat ohne Stern
Sterben gemüsst.
Jakob HaringerSummer Weariness
If you already believe,
That it is eternally night,
Suddenly one evening
Will bring you kisses and stars again
If you already think
That all of it, everything is over,
Suddenly it is Christmas Eve
And lovely May once again.
Then thank God and be still,
That you are still living and kissing:
For many have had to die
With no star at all.
Translation by Andrew StackHugo Wolf | Der Genesene an die Hoffnung
Text
Der Genesene auf die Hoffnung
Tödlich graute mir der Morgen;
Doch schon lag mein Haupt, wie süß!
Hoffnung, dir im Schoß verborgen,
bis der Sieg gewonnen hieß
bis der Sieg gewonnen hieß
Opfer bracht‘ ich allen Göttern,
Doch vergessen warest du;
Seitwärts von den ew’gen Rettern
Sahest du dem Feste zu.
O, vergib, du Vielgetreue!
Tritt aus deinem Dämmerlicht,
Dass ich dir in’s ewig neue,
Mondenhelle Angesicht
Einmal schaue, recht von Herzen,
Wie ein Kind und sonder Harm;
Ach, nur einmal ohne Schmerzen
Schließe mich in deinen Arm!
Eduard MörikeThe Recovering One on Hope
The morning dawns like death:
Yet already my head is laying, so sweetly
Hope, hidden in your lap,
Until the victory is won,
Until the victory is won.
I have brought offerings to all the other gods,
Yet I had forgotten you;
Off to the side from the eternal saviors
You watched the feast.
O, forgive me, faithful one!
Step out of your twilight,
That I might look upon your eternally new
Moon-brightened face
Once more, directly from my heart,
Like a child and griefless;
Oh, just once without pain,
Enclose me in your arms!
Translation by Andrew StackGabriel Kahane | Underberg, from The Memory Palace
Text
Underberg
Underberg has fallen down.
They’ve carted the last brick out to a junkyard town.
She put her head on my shoulder, sighed a sob that said we’re older,
And Underberg has fallen down.
Well, brick by brick and stone by stone they razed,
And ghosts of teenage love and lust escaped.
Soon it’ll be but a hole off a sidewalk way too wide,
Well we watched Underberg drown, and it drowned till it died.
On the day of the demolition, I showed up at her house half-past nine
With cardboard cups full of coffee and tears, and the foreman began to eulogize:
“Building’s never so lonesome, as when it hits the ground,
And Underberg has fallen down.”
In high school we would steal inside at night,
And make out by the glow of a traffic light.
When we tired of touching, she would turn to me and say
“You know they’ll tear down this building some bitter, some bitter black day.”
I wanna watch them tear down that building with you
And watch them watch you tear me down too.
And Underberg has fallen down
Underberg has fallen down.
Last time I saw her was 1993
In a punk rock shirt and acid-washed jeans.
Standing under a building with a sign of hand-painted words:
“Kitchen supplies by Samuel Underberg…”
And now Underberg has fallen down.
Gabriel KahaneFrancis Poulenc | Les chemins de l'amour
Text
Les chemins de l’amour
Les chemins qui vont à la mer
Ont gardé de notre passage,
Des fleurs effeuillées
Et l'écho sous leurs arbres
De nos deux rires clairs.
Hélas! des jours de bonheur,
Radieuses joies envolées,
Je vais sans retrouver traces
Dans mon cœur.
Chemins de mon amour,
Je vous cherche toujours,
Chemins perdus, vous n'êtes plus
Et vos échos sont sourds.
Chemins du désespoir,
Chemins du souvenir,
Chemins du premier jour,
Divins chemins d'amour.
Si je dois l'oublier un jour,
La vie effaçant toute chose,
Je veut, dans mon cœur, qu'un souvenir repose,
Plus fort que l'autre amour.
Le souvenir du chemin,
Où tremblante et toute éperdue,
Un jour j'ai senti sur moi
Brûler tes mains.
Jean AnouilhThe pathways of love
The pathways which lead to the sea
Have kept from our passing by,
The fallen flower petals
And the echo from under their trees
Of our bright laughter.
Alas! Days of happiness,
Radiant joys have flown away
I return, unable to find a trace of them
In my heart.
Pathways of my love,
I will always seek you,
Lost pathways, you are no more
And your echoes are hollow.
Pathways of despair
Pathways of memory,
Pathways of the first day,
Divine pathways of love.
If one day I must forget her,
Life erasing all things,
I wish, in my heart, that one memory remains
Stronger than that of all other loves.
The memory of the path,
Where trembling and utterly lost,
One day I felt the burning
Of your hands on me.
Translation by Andrew StackGabriel Kahane | Merritt Pkwy, from The Memory Palace
Text
Merritt Pkwy
I was on the side of the road,
shiny traffic beetling by.
She picked up a box of my clothes,
offered me a wash and a ride.
We collected clovers in a park
Threaded them through our little fingers,
She pulled up her shirt and showed me the mark,
Where her father’s snow-white knuckle lingered.
I say now what I said then, please let me forget you.
In some hot one-gas-station town please let me forget you.
We came up with names for our kids
Though we’d only met an hour before
Names with an Eastern European fit,
Frederick Casimir and Isadore.
At a sea-side town we picked at our lunch
Talking of family, the books that we’d read.
Back in the car, too nervous to touch,
She emptied a bottle of water on my head
I say now what I said then, please let me forget you.
In some hot one-gas-station town, please let me forget you
Please, please, please.
Gabriel KahaneReading | "In Blackwater Woods" by Mary Oliver
Artists- Andrew Stack, reader
Richard Strauss | Morgen!
Text
Morgen!
Und morgen wird die Sonne wiederscheinen
Und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde
Wird uns, die Glückliche, sie wieder einen
In mitten 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 sinkt des Glückes stummes Schweigen
John Henry MackayTomorrow!
And tomorrow the sun will shine again
And along the path that I will travel,
We will, the happy ones, be reunited
In the midst of this sun-breathing Earth…
And on that shore, among the wide, blue waves,
We will quietly and slowly float downwards,
Silently we will gaze into each other’s eyes
And the hushed silence of joy will fall upon us…
Translation by Andrew StackWilliam Bolcom | Blue
See text in the opening piece