Simon Keenlyside, baritone

The Walter & Emilie Spivey Foundation
and
Clayton State University
present
Simon Keenlyside
baritone
Pedja Muzijevic
piano
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Spivey Hall
Where Great Music Thrives
The Walter & Emilie Spivey Foundation
Created in 1986 to Support Fine Arts Programs and Activities at Clayton State University
Board of Trustees
Alex Crumbley, Chairman
Dr. Harry S. Downs, Chairman Emeritus
Robert G. Edge, Vice Chairman
Judge Eugene E. Lawson, Vice Chairman
Kevin W. Sparger, Treasurer
Dr. Thomas J. Hynes
Clayton State University
Dr. Thomas J. Hynes, President
SPIVEY HALL
Samuel C. Dixon
COLLEGE OF ARTS & SCIENCES
Dr. Nasser Momayezi, Dean
Sherry Echols
DEPARTMENT OF
VISUAL & PERFORMING ARTS
DIVISION OF MUSIC
Dr. Susan Tusing
Executive & Artistic Director
Business Manager
Tammy Moore
Patron Services Manager
Michael Ozment
Production Manager
Chair
Dr. Shaun Amos
Catherine E. Giel
Director of Choral Activities
Susan L. Volkert
Director of Orchestra and
Instrumental Studies
Education Manager
Marketing Manager
Megan H. Wefald
Development Specialist
Richard Morris
Organist-in-Residence
Alan Lind
Tijah Sikes
Iván Segovia
House Managers
Simon Keenlyside
baritone
Pedja Muzijevic
piano
Dr. Richard Bell
Dr. Christina Howell
Assistant Professor of Voice
Dr. Kristin Lyman
Coordinator of Music Education
& Percussion Studies
Saturday, October 13, 2012 8:15 PM
Pre-concert Talk at 7:15 PM
by Dr. Kurt-Alexander Zeller
Dr. Michiko Otaki
Director of Keyboard Studies
Dr. Shawn Young
Assistant Professor of Music
Dr. Kurt-Alexander Zeller
Director of Vocal & Operatic Studies
and Music Coordinator
Mr. Alex Benford
The 2012-2013 Spivey Hall Concert Season is
sponsored in part by
The Walter & Emilie Spivey Foundation
Accompanist
Mrs. Delores Toothaker
Administrative Assistant
SPIVEY HALL CHILDREN’S CHOIR PROGRAM
Dr. Martha Shaw, Artistic Director
Judy Mason, Asst. Dir. & Accompanist
Craig Hurley, Director, Young Artists
Marcena Kinney, Accomp., Young Artists
Carol Abarr, General Manager
Sharon Bonner, Financial Manager
This program is supported in part by the Georgia Council for the Arts
through appropriations from the Georgia General Assembly.
GCA is a Partner Agency of the National Endowment for the Arts.
Century Club cont.
PROGRAM
Sea Fever
Youth and Love
The Infinite Shining Heavens
When I Was One-and-Twenty
The Sprig of Thyme
Think No More, Lad
The Lads in Their Hundreds
The Vagabond
The Three Ravens
Thy Hand in Mine
The Vagabond
Beat! Beat! Drums!
Dirge for Two Veterans
John Ireland
Ralph Vaughan Williams
Ralph Vaughan Williams
George Butterworth
arr. Percy Grainger
George Butterworth
George Butterworth
John Ireland
arr. John Ireland
Frank Bridge
Ralph Vaughan Williams
Kurt Weill
Kurt Weill
– Intermission –
Selections from Mörike-Lieder
Auf einer Wanderung
Heimweh
Schlafendes Jesuskind
Lied eines Verliebten
Der Jäger
Selected Songs
Der Einsame
An den Mond in einer Herbstnacht
Geheimes
L’incanto degli occhi
Im Walde
Hugo Wolf
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Stephen K. Ross
Stephen & Susan McMinn
Walter Schlosser, Jr.
Ted & Ethel Mendelsohn
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Charles Schultz
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Robert Minnear
Robert Spence
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Program Notes
The following program notes for the first half of this evening’s recital
are adapted from Simon Keenlyside’s notes for his SONY Classics
recording, Songs of War.
In choosing to make a recording of war songs, one could be forgiven for
thinking that the result might be a 70-minute dirge, staring unblinkingly
into the face of death and destruction. However, even a brief perusal of
war poetry written in the English language shows that in the main, war
poetry is as much concerned with life as with death.
Almost by default and a long time ago, I began reading military
obituaries in the papers. An odd pastime, perhaps, but I found them
strangely moving. It might sound a bit pious, but in the present time,
when most of the news is about war and destruction, to read of the
exploits of these old soldiers was certainly uplifting to me. They told
of escapes and desperate strategies to survive; of helping friends to
do the same – and the message was almost perversely optimistic. I
and those of my generation who have lived our lives in relative peace
and stability are the immediate beneficiaries of such immeasurable
sacrifice.
What many of those servicemen and women did after the war was even
more uplifting – taking part in great adventures in far-away places;
helping with humanitarian projects around the world such as irrigation
schemes or working with amputees – restless people, perhaps less able
to fulfill themselves in the domestic tranquility that had nurtured them
before the wars which were to change them forever.
I chose “Sea Fever” not because of its being a war poem; it isn’t!
However, to my mind, it reflects something of the restlessness of so
many old soldiers once the conflicts are over. Indeed, many of the
songs I have chosen for this disc reflect that very restlessness. Poems
such as “The Vagabond” (particularly the Vaughan Williams setting)
seem to me to represent something of that quality. The same is true
of “Youth and Love.” It is not specifically about war, but alludes to it
nevertheless. The young man is up and out, keen for a life of adventure
in the big wide world … but the trumpet fanfare in the texture of the
piano accompaniment hints at military life.
The George Butterworth song “When I Was One-and-Twenty,” set to
a poem by A. E. Housman from the collection A Shropshire Lad, gave
me the courage to include pieces that were not overtly about war at all.
Why? Context is everything. A. E. Housman’s poems, spawned by the
Boer wars of 1881 and 1899, are inextricably linked with the business
of war. Yet many of the poems chosen do not concern themselves with
conflict at all. Instead they speak of a longing for home and loved ones,
for pubs and well-remembered country lanes, for rivers, for friends,
laughter, hearth, and home. Their subjects could as easily relate to a
life led far away from the battlefield.
On the face of it, Robert Louis Stevenson’s collection of poems Songs
of Travel is about his life and thoughts while on the road. For the most
part, he writes of the self-same subjects as do the soldier poets. Vaughan
Williams wrote his cycle of songs of the same name between 1901 and
1904. I cannot say to what degree the two Boer wars “at home” (1881
and 1896) would have impinged upon either man’s consciousness or his
art and if they were both engrossed solely in nature and the traditional
“wanderer” theme or if they wrote as a reaction away from conflict or
whether their work resonated with the times in which it was written…
It is for some of the above reasons that I haven’t called this disc War
Poems. All of the songs that I have chosen are there because of my
empathy for servicemen and women in theatres of war, irrespective
of the rights and wrongs of any given conflict and of being mindful of
their safety and for those left at home.
The two collections of poems – A. E. Housman’s A Shropshire Lad and
R. L. Stevenson’s Songs of Travel – could be considered, in terms of
their content, as sibling works. They mine a similar emotional seam,
as soldier poets write for the most part about life, not death. I imagine
it’s what’s uppermost in their minds.
There is nothing in the poem “When I Was One-and-Twenty” that ever
speaks of war. The real weight of Butterworth’s song comes only when
juxtaposed with thoughts of the flower of British youth (Butterworth
himself ultimately one of them) being sent in their hundreds of thousands
to the trenches of the First World War, there to be slaughtered wholesale.
This song, coupled with another in this collection, “Think No More,”
points up the age-old story of as yet unknowing youth, straining for
glory – countless young men whose thoughts will, all too soon, turn
from adventure to pain, loss, and introspection.
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Songs like Butterworth’s “Lads in Their Hundreds” contain
uncomfortable observations. The soldier returns, ghost-like, to his old
community and comments on the faces and attitudes he sees in the
streets. It’s an awkward place to be, as a civilian, under the spotlight of
the old soldier’s gaze. There is observation, judgment even, from those
who have lived heightened and extreme lives, those whose sacrifices
are often perceived as unappreciated by the community which they
served and whose actions ostensibly were for the good of all. Yet as
they scrutinize the world passing before their changed eyes, we are
often found…wanting.
I recently had occasion to read The Junior Officers’ Reading Club, a
memoir of a present-day soldier. It too had something of the same
oblique look at civilians and civilian life. We who have not faced the
terror of war and the prospect of our own destruction are seen through
their eyes as weak and phlegmatic.
Butterworth’s song and A. E. Housman’s “The Lads in Their Hundreds”
are more of a musing than a judgment. If only one could know who,
among all those around us, is marked for good or ill? Who will return
and who not? Adopting a technique used by the great German poet
Heinrich Heine earlier in the 19th century of often finishing his poems
with unexpected and barbed remarks, so Housman in his poem twists
the knife. The poet envies those who return so soon to their Maker,
perfect in their glorious youth, bright as new coins, never having to
suffer the indignities of old age.
I chose the John Ireland song “The Vagabond” as representing
something I feel in myself. Such a perplexing species, Man, with
his penchant for waging innumerable and shattering wars against his
fellow man. It is a strange legacy of this amazing species of ours.
It leaves me and my little round irrelevant life incomprehensive of
…almost everything. The songs “The Three Ravens,” “The Infinite
Shining Heavens,” and particularly “Thy Hand in Mine” are the best
and only recourse, defense, comfort, joy, and consolation to that feeling
of absolute incomprehension over the meaning of life … namely, love.
In so many war poems, the palpable yearning for home and family is
heartbreaking.
I finished the disc with two songs by Kurt Weill and Walt Whitman.
They are bitter indictments of war and the appalling euphemistic term
which we use today…“collateral damage.” They turn their spotlight
on those innocents who had neither asked for nor provoked conflict or
attack. Whoever they are and wherever they come from, they are just
the same, bombed out of their beds and out of existence, their peaceful
lives in tatters and – far from the front line – ruined beyond repair.
These are the guts of the song “Beat! Beat! Drums!”.
It feels to me that, in the last song, “A Dirge for Two Veterans,” the
singer is a narrator. No involvement, no huge scything waves of emotion
over the rights and wrongs. Just great empathy and love for those who
fought in battle. Interesting to me is that both the Kurt Weill songs
are in C major. No flats, no sharps – uncompromising, clear, didactic.
Right or wrong? It doesn’t matter. And the savagery of Whitman’s
toothless gnashing, changing nothing, leaving only a residue of…pity.
Sustaining Artistic Excellence
The Friends of Spivey Hall play a central role in achieving the
artistic mission of Spivey Hall, and take pride in knowing their
gifts make a critical difference in sustaining artistic excellence at
the Southeast’s most celebrated recital hall.
War, always war. This Gordian knot is one of those eternal,
uncomfortable facets of the human species. Wilfred Owen, the best
known and greatest of all British war poets, put it better than I ever
could when he wrote:
Through their annual donations, The Friends support Spivey
Hall’s presentation of the world’s most distinguished musicians
as well as its award-winning music education programs.
“My subject is war and the pity of war. The poetry is in the pity. All a
poet can do is warn.”
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– © Simon Keenlyside 2011
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Thank you!
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SPIVEY HALL
Mission Statement
Clayton State University’s Spivey Hall is dedicated to artistic excellence
and enriching the lives of people through access to fine music, consistent
with the vision of its founders, Walter and Emilie Spivey.
Spivey Hall fulfills its mission by presenting performances by
outstanding international classical, jazz and world-music artists in its
acoustically superb, 392-seat recital hall, and through music education
programs developed in collaboration with educators, all of which
address the needs of the diverse communities it serves.
Texts and Translations
Sea Fever
John Ireland (1879-1962)
Text: John Masefield (1878-1967)
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking.
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call, that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like
a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Youth and Love
Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)
Text: Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside.
Passing for ever, he fares; and on either hand,
Deep in the gardens golden pavilions hide,
Nestle in orchard bloom, and far on the level land
Call him with lighted lamp in the eventide.
Thick as stars at night when the moon is down,
Pleasures assail him. He to his nobler fate
Fares; and but waves a hand as he passes on,
Cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate,
Sings but a boyish stave and his face is gone.
The Infinite Shining Heavens
Ralph Vaughan Williams
Text: Robert Louis Stevenson
The infinite shining heavens
Rose and I saw in the night
Uncountable angel stars
Showering sorrow and light.
I saw them distant as heaven,
Dumb and shining and dead,
And the idle stars of the night
Were dearer to me than bread.
Night after night in my sorrow
The stars looked over the sea,
Till lo! I looked in the dusk
And a star had come down to me.
When I Was One-And-Twenty
from A Shropshire Lad
George Butterworth (1885-1916))
Text: A. E. Housman
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.
Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano
Vlad Iftinca, piano
Sunday, March 24, 2013 3:00 PM
Pre-concert Talk 2:00 PM
From Carnegie Hall and the Metropolitan Opera to the Salzburg Festival
and the Vienna State Opera, Isabel Leonard, winner of the prestigious
Beverly Sills Award, garners praise for her “fresh, effervescent, and
lovely” singing. “She maintained an exquisite poise, leaving the drama
to the voice, where it flowered richly in coloratura more expressive than
the words themselves” (The New York Times). “Genuine star quality is a
rarity on the opera stage — or anywhere — but it’s abundantly clear that
Isabel Leonard has it in spades” (The Classical Review).
Chanticleer
Saturday, April 20, 2013 8:15 PM
Pre-concert Dinner 6:30 PM (Advanced reservation required)
Grammy Award-winning Chanticleer – based in San Francisco – is
cherished for the seamless blend of its twelve male voices ranging from
countertenor to bass. This world-renowned “Orchestra of Voices”
performs original interpretations of a vocal literature, from Renaissance,
jazz, and gospel to venture-some new music. “The singing of Chanticleer
is breathtaking in its accuracy of intonation, purity of blend, variety of
color and swagger of style” (The Boston Globe).
Nowhere do they sound better than in the superb acoustics of Spivey Hall,
where their every performance is cause for celebration.
Tickets
www.spiveyhall.org
(678) 466-4200
Also in the
Spivey Hall
2012-2013 Vocal Series
The King’s Singers
Sunday, October 28, 2012 3:00 PM
Celebrated worldwide, The King’s Singers are a class act with
delightfully British wit, “still unmatched for their sheer musicality and
ability to entertain” (The Times, London). With “voices of spun gold”
(BBC Music) the sextet performs a lively capella program of
Riddles, Rhymes and Rounds, combining North American folksongs
arranged by Bob Chilcott, English songs by King Henry VIII,
Orlando GIBBONS, and Edward ELGAR, plus popular songs
in close harmony.
Andreas Scholl, counter-tenor
Tamar Halperin, piano
Sunday, December 2, 2012 3:00 PM
Pre-concert Talk 2:00 PM
A Grammy Award-nominated Metropolitan Opera star possessed of
“splendid lyrical gifts” (The New York Times), Andreas Scholl is “a story
teller supreme, daring his audience to stay engaged for every compelling
second. . .Scholl’s voice rushes through the bloodstream, so tender and
gravely beautiful that time seems to stand still” (The Times, London).
Program
Songs by HAYDN, MOZART, SCHUBERT, BRAHMS,
DOWLAND, and PURCELL
The Sprig of Thyme
Traditional, arr. Percy Grainger (1882-1961)
Wunst I had a sprig of thyme,
It prospered by night and by day
Till a false young man came acourtin’ te me,
And he stole all this thyme away.
The gardiner was standiddn by;
I bade him che-oose for me:
He chose me the lily and the violet and the pink,
But I really did refuse them all three.
Thyme it is the prettiest thing,
And time it e will grow on,
And time it’ll bring all things to an end
Addend so doz my time grow on.
It’s very well drinkin’ ale
And it’s very well drinkin’ wine;
But it’s far better sittin’ by a young man’s side
That has won this heart of mine.
Think No More, Lad
from A Shropshire Lad
George Butterworth
Text: A. E. Housman
Think no more, lad: laugh, be jolly:
Why should men make haste to die?
Empty heads and tongues a-talking
Make the rough road easy walking,
And the feather pate of folly
Bears the falling sky.
Oh, ’tis jesting, dancing, drinking
Spins the heavy world around.
If young hearts were not so clever,
Oh, they would be young for ever:
Think no more: ’tis only thinking
Lays lads underground.
Please turn the page silently
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly:
Why should men make haste to die?
Empty heads and tongues a-talking
Make the rough road easy walking.
And the feather pate of folly
Bears the falling sky.
The Lads in Their Hundreds
from A Shropshire Lad
George Butterworth
Text: A. E. Housman
The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There’s men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.
There’s chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,
And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,
And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,
And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave.
I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell
The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;
And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell
And watch them depart on the way that they will not return.
But now you may stare as you like and there’s nothing to scan;
And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,
The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
FOR GREAT MUSIC TO THRIVE IN SPIVEY HALL,
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
Just as painters need a surface on which to create their work, musicians
need a background of silence in order for their performances to be heard
and appreciated.
Spivey Hall’s superb acoustics make listening to music here exceptionally rewarding. However, these very sensitive acoustics also amplify
all other sounds in the hall, which can significantly diminish the concert
experience.
Additionally, most Spivey Hall concerts are recorded for delayed public
radio broadcast. Extraneous noise can adversely affect the recording
quality.
Therefore, to optimize the concert experience for the performing artists
and audience members alike:
• Please do not talk during the music.
• Please cover your mouth when coughing or sneezing. (Complimentary
tissues and cough drops are available from the ushers.) If your coughing
persists, kindly move quietly to the lobby.
• Please minimize noise from cough drop or candy wrappers (it’s best to
unwrap them quickly).
• Please turn off all electronic devices before the music begins.
(Browsing web sites, reading email or sending text messages may be
distracting to patrons sitting behind you.)
• Please do not rustle program book pages, papers, or jewelry during the
music.
• Please hold your applause until the end of each complete work, or
group of shorter works. Clapping between movements of a work can
often disrupt the continuity of the performance. If you’re unsure of when
to clap, wait for the musician(s) to turn to the audience, or for others to
applaud first.
Spivey Hall’s musicians and your fellow music-lovers greatly appreciate
your cooperation.
Thank You...and Enjoy the Performance!
Pedja Muzijevic
Pianist Pedja Muzijevic has performed with the Atlanta Symphony, Residentie
Orkest in The Hague, Milwaukee Symphony, St. Paul Chamber Orchestra,
Dresden Philharmonic, Shinsei Nihon Orchestra in Tokyo, Orquesta Sinfónica
in Montevideo, Zagreb Philharmonic, Boston Pops, and Santa Fe Pro Musica,
among others. He has played solo recitals at Alice Tully Hall in New York,
Casals Hall and Bunka Kaikan in Tokyo, Teatro Municipal in Santiago de
Chile, Frick Collection in New York, and National Gallery in Washington,
DC, on Lincoln Center’s “What Makes It Great” Series in New York, and for
Arizona Friends of Chamber Music in Tucson, the Lane Series at University
of Vermont, the Aldeburgh Festival, among many others. His Carnegie
Hall concerto debut, playing the Mozart Concerto K.503 with the Oberlin
Symphony and Robert Spano, was recorded live and has been released on the
Oberlin Music label.
After his Atlanta Symphony debut in the summer of 2009, playing Mozart’s
Concerto K.466 with Grant Llewellyn conducting, Mr. Muzijevic was reengaged for the ASO’s subscription series in 2010, playing the Mozart Concerto
K.453 under Gilbert Varga. He made his St. Paul Chamber Orchestra debut
in 2009, playing Berg’s Chamber Concerto with violinist Steven Copes and
conductor Douglas Boyd. He performed a song recital with Simon Keenlyside
for Lincoln Center’s Great Performers series at Alice Tully Hall and returned
to the Spoleto USA Festival in Charleston.
His many festival engagements also encompass performances at Tanglewood,
Mostly Mozart, Newport, OK Mozart, Bridgehampton, Bay Chamber
Concerts, San Miguel de Allende, Aldeburgh, Lucerne, Holland, Melbourne,
Aix-en-Provence, Dubrovnik, Merano, and Bratislava. He has toured with
Mikhail Baryshnikov and the White Oak Dance Project throughout the United
States, South America, Europe, and Asia and with Mr. Keenlyside in Trisha
Brown’s staged version of Schubert’s Winterreise at Lincoln Center in New
York, the Barbican in London, La Monnaie in Brussels, and Opéra National
de Paris, as well as in Amsterdam, Lucerne, and Melbourne.
Mr. Muzijevic’s solo recording entitled Sonatas and Other Interludes is
available on Albany Records. It juxtaposes music for prepared piano by John
Cage with composers ranging from Wilhelm Friedemann Bach and Domenico
Scarlatti to Franz Liszt and Robert Schumann. His discography also includes
two CDs performed on fortepianos – A Schumann Salon Concert and Mozart
and Beethoven quintets for piano and woodwinds.
Recordings by Pedja Muzijevic are available on the Albany Records label
The Vagabond
John Ireland
Text: John Masefield
Dunno a heap about the what an’ why,
Can’t say’s I ever knowed.
Heaven to me’s a fair blue stretch of sky,
Earth’s jest a dusty road.
Dunno the names o’ things, nor what they are,
Can’t say’s I ever will.
Dunno about God – he’s jest the noddin’ star
Atop the windy hill.
Dunno about Life – it’s jest a tramp alone,
From wakin’-time to doss.
Dunno about Death – it’s jest a quiet stone
All over-grey wi’ moss.
An’ why I live, an’ why the old world spins,
Are things I never knowed.
My mark’s the gypsy fires, the lonely inns,
An’ jest the dusty road.
The Three Ravens
Traditional; arr. John Ireland
There were three ravens sat on a tree,
Downe a downe, hay downe, hay downe,
They were as blacke as they might be.
With a downe.
The one of them said to his mate,
Where shall we our breakfast take?
With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe.
Downe in yonder greene field,
There lies a Knight slain under his shield,
His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they their Master keepe,
Please turn the page silently
His Hawkes they flie so eagerly,
There’s no fowle dare him come nie,
Downe there comes a fallow Doe,
As great with yong as she might goe,
She lift up his bloudy head,
And kist his wounds that were so red,
She got him up on her backe,
And carried him to earthen lake,
She buried him before the prime,
She was dead her self ere e’en-song time.
Simon Keenlyside
Born in London, Simon Keenlyside made his operatic debut at the Hamburg
State Opera as Count Almaviva in Le nozze di Figaro. He has since sung in
Geneva, Zurich, Barcelona, Madrid, San Francisco, Brussels, Paris, Vienna,
Munich, Tokyo, Ferrara, and at the Metropolitan Opera, Salzburg Festival and
Easter Festival, and the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, in roles ranging
from Mozart’s Don Giovanni to Debussy’s Pelléas. For his roles as Billy Budd
at the English National Opera and as Winston in 1984 at the Royal Opera House,
he won the 2006 Olivier Award for outstanding achievement in opera. In 2007
he was given the ECHO Klassik award for male Singer of the Year, and in 2011,
he was honored with Musical America’s Vocalist of the Year Award.
God send every gentleman,
Such hounds, such hawkes, and such a Leman.
He will soon return to the Vienna State Opera, Royal Opera House, and
Bayerische Staatsoper in a variety of roles including Wozzeck, Don Giovanni,
and Eugene Onegin.
Thy Hand in Mine
Frank Bridge (1879-1941)
Mr. Keenlyside enjoys extensive concert work and has sung under the batons of
many of the world’s leading conductors, appearing with the Chamber Orchestra
of Europe, Berlin Philharmonic, City of Birmingham and London Symphony
orchestras, Philharmonia, Cleveland Orchestra, and Vienna Philharmonic, to
mention a few.
Text: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861-1907)
Thy hand in mine, Thy hand in mine,
And through the world we two will go,
With love before us as a sign,
Our faces set to ev’ry foe,
Thy hand in mine, Thy hand in mine.
My heart in thine, My heart in thine.
Through life, through happy death the same,
We two will kneel before the shrine,
And keep alight the sacred flame.
My heart in thine, My heart in thine.
A renowned recitalist, Mr. Keenlyside appears regularly in most of the
world’s major recital venues. He has recorded four recital discs with
Malcolm Martineau, of Schubert, Strauss, Brahms, and most recently, English
songs, Songs of War, which was awarded the Solo Vocal Award at the 2012
Gramophone Awards, as well as a disc of Schumann Lieder with Graham
Johnson.
He has also recorded Mahler’s song cycle Des Knaben Wunderhorn under Sir
Simon Rattle, the title role in Don Giovanni under Claudio Abbado, Carmina
burana under Christian Thielemann, Marcello in La bohème under Riccardo
Chailly, the title role in Billy Budd under Sir Richard Hickox, Papageno in
The Magic Flute under Sir Charles Mackerras, and Count Almaviva in the
Grammy award-winning Nozze di Figaro under René Jacobs. For Sony BMG
he has released an orchestral arias disc, which won Gramophone’s 2007 best
recital award, and an operetta disc with Angelika Kirchschlager.
Simon Keenlyside was made a Commander of the British Empire (CBE) in
2003.
Simon Keenlyside appears by arrangement with Askonas Holt, London
and by kind permission of the Metropolitan Opera
Recordings by Simon Keenlyside are available on the Sony BMG label
Ewig’s Rauschen sanfter Quellen
Zaubert Blumen aus dem Schmerz,
Trauer doch in linden Wellen
Schlägt uns lockend an das Herz;
Fernab hin der Geist gezogen,
Die uns locken, durch die Wogen.
Eternally rushing clear springs
Conjure flowers from the pain,
Grief, however, in gentle waves
Falls upon our hearts enticingly;
Drawn fully forth, the spirit,
Tempts us through its surging.
Drang des Lebens aus der Hülle,
Kampf der starken Triebe wild
Wird zur schönsten Liebesfülle
Durch des Geistes Hauch gestillt.
Schöpferischer Lüfte Wehen
Fühlt man durch die Seele gehen.
Pulling life out of its shell,
The strong impulse struggles wildly
Becoming a wealth of beautiful love
Appeased by the spirits’ breath.
The effects of creative breezes
one feels wafting through the soul.
Windes Rauschen, Gottes Flügel,
Tief in dunkler Waldesnacht!
Freigegeben alle Zügel,
Schwingt sich
des Gedankens Macht,
Hört in Lüften ohne Grausen
Den Gesang der Geister brausen.
Rushing winds, God’s wing,
Deep in a dark forest night!
All the reins released,
The power of thought
rouses itself,
Fearlessly hearing in the breezes
The spirits’ roaring song.
– English translations by Nick Jones
The Vagabond
from Songs of Travel
Ralph Vaughan Williams
Text: Robert Louis Stevenson
Give to me the life I love,
Let the lave go by me,
Give the jolly heaven above,
And the byway nigh me.
Bed in the bush with stars to see,
Bread I dip in the river
There’s the life for a man like me;
There’s the life for ever.
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o’er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I seek, the heaven above
And the road below me.
Or let autumn fall on me
Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,
Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field –
Warm the fireside haven –
Not to autumn will I yield,
Not to winter even!
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o’er me;
Give the face of earth around,
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask the heaven above,
And the road below me.
Please turn the page silently
Beat! Beat! Drums!
Kurt Weill (1900-1950)
Text: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Beat! Beat! Drums! – Blow! Bugles! Blow!
Through the windows – through doors – burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
Into the school where the scholar is studying,
Leave not the bridegroom quiet – no happiness must he have now with
his bride,
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his
grain,
So fierce you whirr and pound you drums – so shrill you bugles blow.
Beat! Beat! Drums! – Blow! Bugles! Blow!
Over the traffic of cities – over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must
sleep in those beds;
No bargainers’ bargains by day – no brokers or speculators – would they
continue?
Would the talkers be talking? Would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums – you bugles wilder blow.
Beat! Beat! Drums! – Blow! Bugles! Blow!
Make no parley – stop for no expostulation,
Mind not the timid – mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties,
Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the
hearses,
So strong you thump O terrible drums – so loud you bugles blow.
Beat! Beat! Drums! Beat! Beat! Drums! Blow! Bugles! Blow!
Euer Wundern, euer Sehnen!
Your wondering and longing!
Ja, mit ungeheuren Machten
Blicket sie wohl in die Runde;
Doch sie sucht nur zu verkünden
Ihm die nächste süße Stunde.
Yes, she may well look around
With a powerfully shrewd eye;
But she seeks only to suggest to him
[the pleasures of] the next sweet hour.
L’incanto degli occhi
The Magic of Your Eyes
Da voi, cari lumi,
Di pende il mio stato;
Voi siete i miei Numi,
Voi siete il mio fato.
A vostro talento
Mi sento cangiar,
Ardir m’inspirate,
Se liete splendete;
Se torbidi siete,
Mi fate tremar.
On you, dear lights,
Hangs my being;
You are my gods,
You are my fate.
To your will
I feel drawn,
Inspired with courage,
By your splendid shining;
But when you are disturbed,
You make me tremble.
Im Walde
In the Woods
Windes Rauschen, Gottes Flügel,
Tief in kühler Waldesnacht!
Wie der Held in Rosses Bügel,
Schwingt sich
des Gedankens Macht;
Wie die alten Tannen sausen,
Hört man Geisteswogen brausen.
Rushing winds, God’s wing,
Deep in a cold forest night!
Like the hero in his steed’s stirrup,
The power of thought
raises itself;
As the old pines swish,
One hears spirit waves roaring.
Herrlich ist der Flamme Leuchten
In des Morgenglanzes Rot,
Oder die das Feld befeuchten,
Blitze, schwanger oft von Tod.
Rasch die Flamme zuckt
und lodert,
Wie zu Gott hinaufgefodert.
Glorious is the flames’ brilliance
In the morning’s red glow,
Or, illuminating the field,
Lightning, oft foretelling death.
Quickly the flames leap
and mount,
As though summoned by God.
D.902; Op. 83 No. 1
Text: Pietro Metastasio (1698-1782)
D.708
Text: Friedrich von Schlegel (1772-1829)
Please turn the page silently
Du siehst auch meine Freunde,
Zerstreut in fernen Landen:
Du gießest deinem Schimmer
Auch auf die frohen Hügel,
Wo ich oft als Knabe hüpfte,
Wo oft bei deinem Lächeln
Ein unbekanntes Sehnen
Mein junges Herz ergriff.
You also see my friends,
Scattered in distant lands:
You pour your light
Also on the happy hill,
Where I often played as a boy,
Where often, at your smile
An unknown longing
Gripped my young heart.
Du blickst auch auf die Stätte,
Wo meine Lieben ruhn,
Wo der Tau fällt auf ihr Grab,
Und die Gräser drüber wehn
in dem Abendhauche.
You look also upon the places,
Where my friends rest,
Where the dew falls on their graves,
And the grass above them waves
In the evening breezes.
Doch dein Schimmer dringt nicht
In die dunkle Kammer,
Wo sie ruhen von des
Lebens Müh’n,
Wo auch ich bald ruhen werde!
But your glow does not penetrate
Into the dark chamber;
Where they rest from
life’s travails,
Where I also shall rest soon!
Du wirst geh’n
Und wiederkehren,
Du wirst seh’n
Noch manches Lächeln;
Dann werd’ ich nicht mehr lächeln,
Dann werd’ ich nicht mehr weinen,
Mein wird man nicht mehr
gedenken
Auf dieser schönen Erde.
You will go on
And come again,
You will see
Many smiles yet;
Then shall I smile no more,
Then shall I weep no more,
No one will think of me
again
Upon this beautiful earth.
Geheimes
Secret
Über meines Liebchens Äugeln
Stehn verwundert alle Leute;
Ich, der Wissende, dagegen,
Weiß recht gut, was das bedeute.
Everyone is scandalized
At my sweetheart’s roving eyes;
But I, who know her,
Know full well what they mean.
Denn es heißt: ich liebe diesen,
Und nicht etwa den und jenen.
Lasset nur, ihr guten Leute,
For they say: I love this one,
And not that one or another.
So, good people, put an end to
D.719; Op. 14 No. 2
Text: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
Dirge for Two Veterans
Kurt Weill
Text: Walt Whitman
The last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish’d Sabbath,
On the pavement here – and there beyond, it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.
Lo! the moon ascending!
Up from the east, the silvery round moon;
Beautiful over the house tops, ghastly phantom moon;
Immense and silent moon.
I see a sad procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-key’d bugles;
All the channels of the city streets they’re flooding,
As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding,
And the small drums steady whirring;
And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
Strikes me through and through.
For the son is brought with the father;
In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell;
Two veterans, son and father, dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them.
Now nearer blow the bugles
And the drums strike more convulsive;
And the day-light o’er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
O strong dead-march, you please me!
O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.
The moon gives you light
And the bugles and the drums give you music;
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.
Hugo Wolf (1860-1903)
Selections from Mörike-Lieder
Texts: Eduard Mörike (1804-1875)
15. Auf einer Wanderung
On a Ramble
In ein freundliches Städtchen
tret’ ich ein,
In den Straßen liegt
roter Abendschein.
Aus einem offnen Fenster eben,
Über den reichsten
Blumenflor,
Hinweg, hört man
Goldglockentöne schweben,
Und eine Stimme scheint
ein Nachtigallenchor,
Daß die Blüten beben,
Daß die Lüfte leben,
Daß in höherem Rot die Rosen
leuchten vor.
Into a friendly little town
I enter,
Upon its streets lies
the evening’s red glow.
From a just-opened window,
Over the richest
flowering of blooms,
One hears floating from afar
the sound of golden bells,
And a voice seeming like
a chorus of nightingales,
So that the flowers tremble,
So that the breezes come to life,
So that the roses glow
brighter red than before.
Lang’ hielt ich staunend,
lustbeklommen.
Wie ich hinaus vor’s Tor gekommen,
Ich weiß es wahrlich selber nicht.
Ach hier, wie liegt die Welt so licht!
Der Himmel wogt in purpurnem
Gewühle,
Rückwärts die Stadt
in goldnem Rauch;
Wie rauscht der Erlenbach, wie
rauscht im Grund die Mühle!
Ich bin wie trunken, irrgeführt –
O Muse, du hast mein Herz berührt
Mit einem Liebeshauch!
Long I tarry, astonished,
overcome with pleasure.
How I came to be outside that door,
I myself truly do not know.
Ah here, how lightly the world lies!
The heavens surge in a purple
throng,
Back there, the town swims
in a golden haze;
How the alder brook rushes, how
the mill roars as it grinds!
I’m as if drunken, befuddled –
O Muse, you have brushed my heart
With a breath of love!
der lauten Welt
Das irre Herz gefesselt hält,
Gibt nicht Zufriedenheit.
noisy world, what
The restless heart holds tightly,
Does not bring satisfaction.
Zirpt immer, liebe Heimchen
In meiner Klause eng und klein.
Ich duld’ euch gern:
ihr stört mich nicht
Wann euer Lied das Schweigen
bricht
Bin ich nicht ganz allein.
Sing always, dear cricket
In my small, narrow cell.
I endure you gladly:
you don’t disturb me
When your song breaks
the silence
I am not so lonely.
An den Mond
in einer Herbstnacht
To the Moon
on an Autumn Night
Freundlich ist dein Antlitz,
Sohn des Himmels!
Leis sind deine Tritte
Durch des Äthers Wüste,
Holder Nachtgefährte!
Your face is friendly,
Son of the sky!
Your steps are gentle
Through the desert of space,
Blessed night companion!
Dein Schimmer ist sanft
und erquickend,
Wie das Wort des Trostes
Von des Freundes Lippe,
Wenn ein schrecklicher Geier
An der Seele nagt.
Your glow is gentle
and refreshing,
As a word of comfort
On the lip of a friend,
When some terrible sorrow
Gnaws at the soul.
Manche Träne siehst du,
Siehst so manches Lächeln,
Hörst der Liebe
trauliches Geflüster,
Leuchtest ihr auf stillem Pfade;
Hoffnung schwebt
auf deinem Strahle,
Herab zum stillen Dulder,
Der verlassen geht
Auf bedorntem Weg.
You see many tears,
See so many smiles,
Hear the lover’s
intimate whisper,
And light his silent way;
Hope floats
on your rays,
Down to the silent sufferer,
The forlorn one going
On his thorny way.
D.614
Text: Aloys Wilhelm Schreiber (1761?-1841)
Please turn the page silently
Und auf! und nach
der Liebsten Haus!
Und sie gefaßt um’s Mieder!
“Drück’ mir die naßen Locken aus,
und küß’ und hab’ mich wieder!”
So up! and off to
my sweetheart’s house!
And grasp her about the bodice!
“Dry out your wet locks,
And kiss and be mine again!”
Songs by Franz Schubert (1797-1828)
Der Einsame
The Solitary One
Wann meine Grillen schwirren,
Bei Nacht, am spät erwärmten Herd,
Dann sitz ich mit vergnügtem Sinn
Vertraulich zu der Flamme hin,
So leicht, so unbeschwert.
When my crickets chirp
at night by the late-warming hearth,
then I sit with contented mind
cozily by the flames,
so happy, so light-hearted.
Ein trautes, stilles Stündchen
Bleibt man noch gern
am Feuer wach,
Man schürt, wann sich
die Lohe senkt,
Die Funken auf und sinnt
und denkt:
Nun abermal ein Tag!
For a quiet, peaceful hour
One remains awake
by the fire,
Stirring it when it
dies down,
The sparks rising, and muses
and thinks:
Now another day has passed!
Was Liebes oder Leides
Sein Lauf für uns dahergebracht,
Es geht noch einmal durch den Sinn;
Allein das Böse wirft man hin,
Es störe nicht die Nacht.
Whatever joy or grief
it has brought to us,
Goes through the mind again;
One discards only the bad,
It must not disturb the night.
Zu einem frohen Traume
Bereitet man gemacht sich zu,
Wann sorgenlos ein holdes Bild
Mit sanfter Lust die Seele füllt,
Ergibt man sich der Ruh.
For pleasant dreams
One prepares oneself,
When, carefree, a sweet image
Fills the soul with gentle pleasure,
One gives oneself to sleep.
O wie ich mir gefalle
In meiner stillen Ländlichkeit!
Was in dem Schwarm
O how I sink
Into my quiet rusticity!
In the hubbub of the
D.800; Op. 41
Text: Karl Gottlieb Lappe (1773-1843)
37. Heimweh
Homesickness
Anders wird die Welt
mit jedem Schritt,
Den ich weiter von der Liebsten
mache;
Mein Herz, das will nicht weiter mit.
Hier scheint die Sonne kalt
in’s Land,
Hier däucht mir Alles unbekannt,
Sogar die Blumen am Bache!
Hat jede Sache
So fremd eine Miene,
so falsch ein Gesicht.
Das Bächlein murmelt wohl
und spricht:
Armer Knabe, komm bei mir
vorüber –
Siehst auch hier Vergißmeinnicht!
– Ja, die sind schön an jedem Ort,
Aber nicht wie dort.
Fort, nur fort!
Die Augen gehn mir über!
The world becomes different
with each step,
That I take away from my
sweetheart;
My heart will not go any further.
In this land the sun shines
coldly,
Everything here seems unknown,
Even the flowers by the brook!
Every object has
So strange a look,
so false a face.
The brook murmurs placidly
and says:
“Poor boy, come over here
by me –
See, here also are forget-me-nots!”
Yes, they are lovely everyplace,
But not like the ones there.
On, ever onward!
My eyes are running over!
25. Schlafendes Jesuskind
Sleeping Child Jesus
Sohn der Jungfrau, Himmelskind!
am Boden,
Auf dem Holz der Schmerzen
eingeschlafen,
Das der fromme Meister,
sinnvoll spielend,
Deinen leichten Träumen
unterlegte;
Blume du, noch in der Knospe
dämmernd,
Eingehüllt die Herrlichkeit
des Vaters!
Son of the Virgin, heavenly Child!
lying on the ground,
Sleeping on the wood
of pain,
Which the pious master-painter,
(meaningful association),
Has laid under your
light dreams;
You flower, even in unformed
bud,
Wrapped in the glory
of your Father!
Please turn the page silently
O wer sehen könnte, welche Bilder
Hinter dieser Stirne,
diesen schwarzen Wimpern,
Sich in sanftem Wechsel
malen!
[Sohn der Jungfrau, Himmelskind!]
Oh who could see what images
Behind this brow,
these dark lashes,
Are being painted in gentle
variations!
Son of the Virgin, heavenly Child!
43. Lied eines Verliebten
Song of a Lover
In aller Früh,
ach, lang vor Tag,
Weckt mich mein Herz,
an dich zu denken,
Da doch gesunde Jugend
schlafen mag.
Every morning,
oh, long before daylight,
My heart awakes me,
thinking about you,
When healthy youth
should be sleeping.
Hell ist mein Aug’ um Mitternacht, My eye is bright at midnight,
Heller als frühe
Brighter than at morning’s
Morgenglocken:
early bells:
Wann hätt’st du je am Tage
When do you think of me
mein gedacht?
even in the day?
Wär’ ich ein Fischer, stünd’ ich auf, If I were a fisherman, I would,
Trüge mein Netz hinab zum Fluße, Bringing my net down to the river,
Trüg’ herzlich froh die Fische
Happily carry the fish
zum Verkauf.
to sell.
In der Mühle, bei Licht,
By day in the mill,
der Mühlerknecht
the millhand
Tummelt sich, alle Gänge klappern; Stays busy, all the gears a-clatter;
So rüstig Treiben wär’ mir
Such active labor would
eben recht!
do me good!
Weh, aber ich! o armer Tropf!
Muß auf dem Lager mich
müßig grämen,
Ein ungebärdig Mutterkind
im Kopf.
But I, alas, oh poor wretch!
Must lie in bed
idly grieving,
Feeling myself an unruly
mama’s boy!
40. Der Jäger
The Hunter
Drei Tage Regen fort und fort,
Kein Sonnenschein zur Stunde;
Drei Tage lang kein gutes Wort
Aus meiner Liebsten Munde!
Rain for three days, on and on,
Not even an hour’s sunshine;
For three long days, no kind word
From the lips of my beloved!
Sie trutzt mit mir und ich mit ihr,
So hat sie’s haben wollen;
Mir aber nagt’s am Herzen hier,
Das Schmollen und das Grollen.
She sulked at me and I at her,
Thus she has willed it to be;
But it gnaws at my heart,
This pouting and complaining.
Willkommen denn, des Jägers Lust,
Gewittersturm und Regen!
Fest zugeknöpft die heiße Brust,
Und jauchzend euch entgegen!
Welcome, then, to hunter’s pleasure,
Thunderstorm and rain!
The hot breast, tightly buttoned,
rejoices to engage you!
Nun sitzt sie wohl daheim
und lacht
Und scherzt mit den Geschwistern;
Ich höre in des Waldes Nacht
Die alten Blätter flüstern.
Now she is probably sitting at home,
laughing
And joking with her siblings;
At night in the forest I listen to
the dried leaves rustle.
Nun sitzt sie wohl und
weinet laut
Im Kämmerlein, in Sorgen;
Mir ist es wie dem Wilde traut,
In Finsternis geborgen.
Now she probably sits and
weeps aloud
For sorrow, in her little room;
It’s as though the wilderness,
Holds me engulfed in darkness.
Kein Hirsch und Rehlein überall!
Ein Schuß zum Zeit vertreibe!
Gesunder Knall und Widerhall
Erfrischt das Mark im Leibe. –
No stag or deer anywhere!
Not a shot to while away the time!
Healthy bang and echo would
Refresh the life of the body. –
Doch wie der Donner nun verhallt
In Tälern, durch die Runde,
Ein plötzlich Weh mich überwallt,
Mir sinkt das Herz zu Grunde.
But now as the thunder dies away
In valleys all around,
A sudden pain overwhelms me,
My heart sinks to the depths.
Sie trutzt mit mir und ich mit ihr,
So hat sie’s haben wollen;
Mir aber frißt’s am Herzen hier,
Das Schmollen und das Grollen.
She sulked at me and I at her,
Thus she has wanted it to be;
But here it eats at my heart,
The pouting and complaining.
Please turn the page silently