Recital: Emma Strange '22, Soprano
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.
Emma Strange '22 studies Voice with Michael Meraw.
This performance is open to in-person audiences, and can also be viewed via livestream.
- Emma Strange '22, soprano
- Miles Fellenberg, piano
- Erica Smith, clarinet
- Michael Meraw, studio teacher
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart | Alcandro, lo confesso, K. 512
Text
Alcandro, lo confesso
Pietro Metastasio (1698–1782)
Alcandro, lo confesso,
Stupisco di me stesso. II volto, il ciglio,
La voce di costui nel cor mi desta
Un palpito improvviso,
Che le risente in ogni fibra il sangue.
Fra tutti i miei pensieri
La cagion ne ricerco, e non la trovo.
Che sarà, giusti Dei, questo ch'io provo?
Non so d'onde viene
Quel tenero affetto,
Quel moto che ignoto
Mi nasce nel petto,
Quel gel, che le vene
Scorrendo mi va.
Nel seno destarmi
Sì fieri contrasti
Non parmi che basti
La sola pietà.
Alcandro, I confess it
Alcandro, I confess it,
I am astonished at myself. His countenance, his gaze,
his voice: they awaken in my heart
a sudden trembling
that my blood feels anew in every fiber of my being.
I search for the cause within all my thoughts,
and cannot find it.
Great gods, what is this I am about to undertake?
I do not know from whence comes
That tender affection,
that unknown vibration
which is born in my breast,
that ice which flows
throughout my veins.
To me it does not seem
that mere pity
can possibly awake my heart
to such fierce conflict.
Translation from Italian to English copyright
© 2018 by Andrew Schneider, reprinted with
permission from the LiederNet Archive.William Walton | Three Façades
Daphne
Through Gilded Trellises
Old Sir FaulkTexts
Daphne
When green as a river was the barley,
Green as a river the rye,
I waded deep and began to parley
With a youth whom I heard sigh.
'I seek', said he, 'a lovely lady,
A nymph as bright as a queen,
Like a tree that drips with pearls her shady
Locks of hair were seen;
And all the rivers became her flocks
Though their wool you cannot shear,
Because of the love of her flowing locks,
The kingly sun like a swain came strong,
Unheeding of her scorn,
Wading in deeps where she has lain,
Sleeping upon her riven lawn
And chasing her starry satyr train.
She fled, and changed into a tree,
That lovely fair-haired lady...
And now I seek through the sere summer
Where no trees are shady!’
Through Gilded Trellises
Through gilded trellises of the heat,
Dolores, Inez, Manuccia, Isabel, Lucia,
Mock Time that flies.
‘Lovely bird, will you stay and sing,
Flirting your sheenéd wing,
Peck with your beak, and cling to our balconies?’
They flirt their fans, flaunting
‘O silence enchanting as music!
Then slanting their eyes,
Like gilded or emerald grapes,
They make mantillas, capes,
Hiding their simian shapes.
Sighs each lady, ‘Our spadille’s done.’
‘Dance the quadrille from Hell's towers to Seville;
Surprise their siesta,’ Dolores said.
Through gilded trellises or heat,
Spangles pelt down through the tangles of bell flowers;
Each dangles her castanets,
Shutters fall while the heat mutters,
With sounds like a mandoline or tinkled tambourine...
Ladies, Time dies!
Old Sir Faulk
Old
Sir
Faulk,
Tall as a stork,Before the honeyed fruits of dawn were ripe, would walk,
And stalk with a gun
The reynard-coloured sun,
Among the pheasant-feathered corn
The unicorn has torn, forlorn
the
Smock-faced sheep
Sit
and
sleep;
Periwigged as William and Mary, weep...
‘Sally, Mary, Mattie, what's the matter, why cry?’
The huntsman and the reynard-coloured sun and I sigh;
‘Oh, the nursery-maid Meg
With a leg like a peg
Chased the feathered dreams like
Hens, And when they laid an egg
In the sheepskin
Meadows
Where,
The serene King James would steer,
Horse and hounds, then he
From the shade of a tree
Picked it up as spoil to boil for nursery tea", said the mourners.
In the
Corn, towers strain,
Feathered tall as a crane,
And whistling down the feathered rain, Old Noah goes again -
An old dull mome
With a head like a pome,
Seeing the world as a bare egg,
Laid by the feathered air: Meg
Would beg three of these
For the nursery teas
Of Japhet, Shem and Ham, she gave it
Underneath the trees,
Where the boiling
Water,
Hissed,
Like the goose-king's feathered daughter-kissed,
Pot and pan and copper kettle
Put upon their proper mettle,
Lest the Flood - the Flood -
The Flood begin again through these!
Edith Sitwell (1887–1964)Louis Beydts | Chansons pour les oiseaux
La colombe poignardée
Le petit pigeon bleu
L’oiseau bleu
Le petit serine en cageTexts
La colombe poignardée
Si Dieu n'avait pas fait le soleil et les mondes,
Il n'y aurait pas eu les douleurs,
ni ma blonde,
Pas de coups, de sang rouge et ni ma bien-aimée . . .
Il n'y aurait sur terre colombe poignardée.
Si Dieu n'avait pas fait la lune et les orages,
Il n'y aurait pas eu de pleurs aux doux visages,
Ni de couteau farouche et ni ma bien-aimée . . .
Il n'y aurait sur terre colombe poignardée. . .
Si Dieu n'avait pas fait les jours après le jour,
Il n'y aurait pas eu d'amour, ni mon amour!
Il n'y aurait sur terre colombe poignardée.
Et ni, Seigneur! ma bien-aimée.
Le petit pigeon bleu
Je voudrais être petit pigeon bleu
Sur le toit de ta chaumière
Pour t’écouter remuer les assiettes
et mettre des pommes de pin au feu.
J’écouterais aussi la belle histoire
Que tes enfants écoutent chaque soir.
C’est toi qui la contes, je serais heureux
Tout comme un ange écoutant le bon Dieu.
Oui la belle histoire du paradis,
Quand les oiseaux s’aimaient entre eux,
Les arbres aussi, les poissons aussi,
Les chênes, les carpes, les hochequeues,
Les pins parasols, les écureuils,
Les zéphyrs, les roseaux, les roses,
Les arcs-en-ciel sur les eaux,
Les gouttes de rosée
et deux personnes.
Sur le toit de ta chaumière,
Je voudrais être petit pigeon bleu.
J'écouterais entre les pailles, heureux,
Tout comme un ange écoutant le bon Dieu!
L’oiseau bleu
Aliénor, Eléonor, Genièvre,
Ilse, Nausicaa, Viviane,
Eve, Blancheflor, Urgèle et Gwendoloéna,
Carotte, Céphise, Amalthée,
Rosalys, Rosalinde rose,
Eunice, Eione, Galatée,
Sylphes, nymphes, apothéose,
Muses, Musette, Mélusine,
Musidora, Muse adorée,
Germaine Tourangelle,
Ondine, Calliope, Clio dorée,
Vénus Anadyomède, Irène, Roxane, Io,
reines, impératrices, fées, voix heureuses d'être fées,
Ah, Nourdjebane, Badoulboudour,
la Sulamite et la Sultane,
Yseut, Isoline, Peau d’Ane,
Amour.
Le petit serin en cage
Il était un p’tit jaune tout habillé de gris, canari,
Qui demandait l'aumône aux chats et aux souris,
canari, toto canaro, canari.
Compère, Mistigri, le lairras-tu, le lairras-tu souffri ?
Le chat d’la Mèr’ Michel, canari,
ses moustach’s comme un gril, canari,
A fait la courte échelle aux rats et aux souris,
canari,toto canaro, canari !
Ah! Père Mistigri, me lairras-tu mouri ?
Tu t’en iras au ciel, canari,
croqué par les souris, canari,
les rats, (c’est rationnel) te croqu’ront bien aussi,
canari, toto canaro, canari.
Et Mistigri chéri croqu’ra le tout, miaou !
Le chaton, qui l’eut cru ?
C’est le père Lustucru,
ce vieux monstre malotru,
qui l’a croqué tout cru.
Paul Fort (1872–1960)The Stabbed Dove
If God had not made the sun and the worlds,
There would not have been pain,
Nor my sweetheart,
No beatings, red blood, nor my beloved.
There would not be a stabbed dove on Earth.
If God had not made the moon and the storms,
There would not have been tears on soft faces,
Neither a fierce knife, nor my beloved…
There would not be a stabbed dove on Earth…
If God had not made day after day,
There would not have been love, nor my love!
There would not have been a stabbed dove on Earth,
And nor, God, my beloved!
The Small Blue Pigeon
I would like to be a small blue pigeon,
On the roof of your cottage
To listen to you stir the plates
And put pine cones on the fire.
I would also listen to the beautiful story
That your children listen to every night
It’s you who tells it, and I would be happy
Just like an angel listening to the Good Lord.
Yes, the beautiful story of paradise,
When the birds loved each other,
The trees also, the fishes also,
The oak trees, the carps, the wagtails,
The umbrella-like pines, the squirrels,
The zephyrs, the reeds, the roses,
The rainbows on the waters,
The drops of dew
And two people.
On the roof or your cottage,
I would like to be a small blue pigeon.
I would listen between the straws, happy,
Just like an angel listening to the Good Lord!
The Blue Bird
Alienor, Eleanor, Genevieve,
Ilse, Nausicaa, Viviane,
Eve, Blancheflor, Urgele, Gwendolyn,
Carrot, Cephise, Amalthea,
Rosalys, pink Rosalinde,
Eunice, Eione, Galatea,
Sylphs, nymphs,apotheosis,
Muses, Musette, Melusine,
Musidora, adored muse,
Germaine Tourangelle,
Ondine, Calliope, golden Clio,
Venus, Anadyomene, Irene, Roxanne, Io,
Queens, empresses, fairies, voices happy to be fairies,
Ah, Nourdjebane, Badoulboudour,
The Shulamite and the Sultan,
Iseult, Isoline, Donkey Skin,
Love.
The Little Canary in the Cage
He was a little yellow one all dressed in gray, canari,
Who begged the cats and mice for alms,
Canari, toto canaro, canari.
Comrade Mistigri, will you leave him to suffer?
The cat of Mother Michel, canari,
His mustache (whiskers) like a grill, canari,
Climbed the short ladder to the rats and mice,
Canari, toto canaro, canari!
Ah! Father Mistigri, will you leave me to die?
You will leave off to heaven, canari,
Bitten by the mice, canari,
The rats (it’s rational) will bite you as well,
Canari, toto canaro, canari.
And darling Mistigri will eat the rest, meow!
The kitten, who would have believed it?
He is the father Lustucru,
That old brutish monster,
Who ate [the canary] totally raw.
Translations by Emma StrangeFranz Schubert | Der Hirt auf dem Felsen
Text
Der Hirt auf dem Felsen
Wenn auf dem höchsten Fels ich steh',
In's tiefe Tal hernieder seh',
Und singe,
Fern aus dem tiefen dunkeln Tal
Schwingt sich empor der Widerhall
Der Klüfte.
Je weiter meine Stimme dringt,
Je heller sie mir wieder klingt
Von unten.
Mein Liebchen wohnt so weit von mir,
Drum sehn' ich mich so heiß nach ihr
Hinüber.
In tiefem Gram verzehr ich mich,
Mir ist die Freude hin,
Auf Erden mir die Hoffnung wich,
Ich hier so einsam bin.
So sehnend klang im Wald das Lied,
So sehnend klang es durch die Nacht,
Die Herzen es zum Himmel zieht
Mit wunderbarer Macht.
Der Frühling will kommen,
Der Frühling, meine Freud',
Nun mach' ich mich fertig
Zum Wandern bereit.
Wilhelm MüllerThe Shepherd on the Rock
When I stand on the highest rock,
Look down into the deep valley
And sing,
From far away in the deep dark valley
The echo from the ravines
Rises up.
The further my voice carries,
The clearer it echoes back to me
From below.
My sweetheart lives so far from me,
Therefore I long so to be with her
Over there.
Deep grief consumes me,
My joy has fled,
All earthly hope has vanished,
I am so lonely here.
The song rang out so longingly through the wood,
Rang out so longingly through the night,
That is draws hearts to heaven
With wondrous power.
Spring is coming,
Spring, my joy,
I shall now make ready
to journey.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder
(Faber); Provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)Artists- Erica Smith, clarinet
I would like to start by expressing my deepest appreciation
to the Schmidt Foundation, without whom attending NEC and pursuing my career in opera
would not have been possible.
I would also like to extend my sincere gratitude to Michael Meraw,
Victoria Cole and Sara Doncaster, all of whom I am extremely grateful to have received
such wonderful tutelage under.
I would also like to thank my close friends and colleagues
for being by my side through the last four wildly unpredictable years.
Finally, I would like to thank my parents,
who have been by my side and cheering me on since I started my love of music
before I can remember. Words cannot express the gratitude I have that they have been there for me through thick and thin. Thank you all!