Artist Series Sample Program Insert

Naomi O’Connell
Program
March 17, 2013
4:00 p.m.
Naomi O'Connell - mezzo-soprano
Brent Funderburk - piano
Witches, Bitches & Women
Women of the Woods
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
And’res Maienlied (Hexenlied)
Elfe
Die Musikantin
Das Köhlerweib ist trunken
Die Zigeunerin Ich hab’ in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen
In the Ocean’s Embrace
La Dame de Monte Carlo
Trois Chansons de la Petite Sirène
Chanson des Sirènes Berceuse de la Sirène
Chanson de la Poire
The Irish Rose Grows a Thorn
Dirty Work
in
Britches
Charles Villiers Stanford
(1852-1924)
Felix Mendelssohn
(1809-1847)
Hermann Zilcher
(1881-1948)
Hugo Wolf
(1860-1903)
Francis Poulenc
(1899-1963)
Arthur Honegger
(1892-1955)
Havelock Nelson
(1917-1996)
Song to the Seals
Granville Bantock
(1868-1946)
The Irish Ballad
Tom Lehrer
(b. 1928)
~ INTERMISSION ~
Saints or Witches
(written for Naomi O’Connell)
Her Kind
Can I Fly, Too?
Introducing that Most Marvellous Human Freak,
the Bearded Lady Miss Lupin
Don’t Say I Said
Daughters of the Revolution
Die Kleptomanin
Die Dame von der alten Schule
Raus mit den Männern aus dem Reichstag
Ich Bin Von Kopf Bis Fuss Auf Liebe Eingestellt
What Women Want
Animal Passion
Make The Man Love Me
Modest Maid
Christopher Berg
(b. 1928)
Friedrich Hollaender
(1896-1976)
Rudolf Nelson
(1878-1960)
Hollaender
Jake Heggie
(b. 1961)
Arthur Schwartz
(1900-1984)
Marc Blitzstein
(1905-1964)
Program subject to change
Naomi O’Connell is First Prize-winner of the
2011 Concert Artists Guild Victor Elmaleh Competition.
and appears by special arrangement with
Concert Artists Guild--850 Seventh Ave, PH-A, New York, NY 10019
www.concertartists.org
About Witches, Bitches & Women
Naomi O’Connell, 2013
in
Britches
“How do you write women so well?” In the movie As Good As It Gets, a gushing
fan asks this of Melvin Udall, the prickly, obsessive-compulsive author played by Jack
Nicholson. Without hesitation, Udall replies, “I think of a man….and I take away
reason and accountability.”
Countering Mr. Udall’s cynical, amusing equation, the remarkable women of this
program span centuries and continents with one thing in common: they are all written
extremely well. These are women who live on the fringes of society and trample the
restrictions of “shoulds and oughts.” They range from the feared legendary figures of
temptresses, sirens and witches, to trapped women with threatened sanities, women ‘in
britches’ who fight for equality and bend the boundaries of gender, to women who are
murderesses, kleptomaniacs and home-wreckers.
I like all of these characters, even those with less redeeming qualities, for their humour,
energy, passion and strength. Having come from a family of strong, wonderful
women, this particular program was a joy to put together.
We begin our journey in the forests – home to Keats’ Belle Dame Sans Merci, and
various dangerous women from the Lieder of Mendelssohn, Zilcher and Wolf. From
the woods of Germany to the shores of France, where Poulenc’s Dame de Monte Carlo
wrestles with her past and wishes to sleep on the seabed of the Mediterranean and
Honegger’s tiny jewel of a song-cycle introduces us to the world of singing sirens.
We travel by sea to Ireland and England, where we meet two Irish lasses with an
overwhelming urge to kill off their families and a maiden whose lilting song enchants
seals living in the coastal waters.
The second half of this recital takes the form of a cabaret. I am proud and delighted to
present a brand new work called Saints or Witches, written for me by New York-based
composer Christopher Berg. Not only are these songs great to perform, they contain
one of the best performance directions I have ever come across: “As if you had a
cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other.” (Research was naturally required!)
From New York, we travel back in time to Berlin during the Golden Twenties. These
songs by Friedrich Hollaender and Rudolf Nelson portray a time of sexual discovery,
the rise of feminism, and a newfound freedom of expression. To close our program,
three great American song composers portray three very different women, all with
insatiable sexual appetites.
Charles Villiers Stanford
In 1877, the birth year of the microphone, Edison’s phonograph, and Brahms’ second
symphony, a young Irish composer named Charles Villiers Stanford sat down at his
desk to set the famous Keats ballad La Belle Dame Sans Merci to music. Stanford
had been interested in the singing voice from an early age; his life-long love of opera
was born while in the audience of the Italian Opera Company’s annual performances
in Dublin. At Cambridge, he was the director of the University Musical Society and
in 1888 would marry Jennie Wetton, a German singer he had met while studying in
Leipzig.
The simple, bardic melody of the song varies slightly from verse to verse, with the
piano part initiating most of the dramatic changes as we move from scene to scene
within the story. The character of La Belle Dame Sans Merci as a temptress - a ‘faery’s
child’ – both beautiful and fatal, was one popular among pre-Raphaelite painters.
Felix Mendelssohn
One of the strong stylistic influences on the music of Charles Stanford was that of Felix
Mendelssohn, who included And’res Maienlied in one of his earliest song publications,
written before he turned eighteen years old. Set to the poetry of Ludwig Hölty, this
song depicts the broomstick flight of witches from the doorsteps of their homes to
Brocken Mountain, the highest peak of Northern Germany. Mists and fog shroud this
mountain for over 300 days of the year, and it has long been associated with legends
of witchcraft and devilry, making it the perfect venue for a dance party with Beelzebub.
Hermann Zilcher
One of the unsung heroes of German vocal literature, Hermann Zilcher was born in
Frankfurt am Main in 1881 and began piano lessons with his father at the age of
five. He performed his first musical compositions in concert at the age of fifteen and
went on to study at the Frankfurt conservatory of music. In 1901, he moved to Berlin
and became one of the most sought-after accompanists in the city. In the next twenty
years he moved between Frankfurt and Munich, before settling in Würzburg, where
he became director of the music conservatory in 1920. During his twenty-five years
at Würzburg, he established the Mozartfest chamber music festival, which is hailed as
Germany’s longest running Mozart festival to this day. In addition to his vast output of
orchestral works, chamber and piano music, he wrote a total of eighty-two Lieder with
piano.
Elfe and Die Musikantin are taken from his Eichendorff-Zyklus Op. 60, composed in
1927. From Eichendorff’s collection Frühling und Liebe (Spring and Love), Elfe invites
us to come join the dance under the moonlit sky where we will be sure to find the
most beautiful girl. One such girl is Die Musikantin, a woman dancing alone with
her tambourine, who sings to banish away the anguish of her heart. This woman
is displaced; her heart is far away and she describes her song as ‘ein Angstruf’ (a
cry of fear). Her wild dance and the swing of the tambourine are portrayed in the
piano part, while the fading echoes of the tambourine are reminiscent of Mahler’s Des
Knaben Wunderhorn.
Hugo Wolf
Composed between 1886 and 1896, these three songs of Hugo Wolf are a perfect
example of the composer’s ability to crystallize an entire character in a couple of
pages of music. Das Köhlerweib ist trunken is a poem by Keller that tells the story
of a once beautiful woman who dallied too long in choosing a husband, ended up
marrying the charcoal burner, became an alcoholic and now goes singing drunk in
the woods by herself. The song is a clear depiction of both the Köhlerweib and the
character who tells us about her: a bitchy, gossiping woman only too eager to point
out the downfall of her peer. Die Zigeunerin is taken from Eichendorff’s Wanderlieder
and is the most mysterious character of these three women. We see this wandering
gypsy woman only at twilight and dawn, never during the day. Her wordless singing
is the recurring theme; her character seems at once aloof, intuitive and extremely
dangerous. From Heyse’s Italienisches Liederbuch, the song Ich hab’ in Penna einen
Liebsten wohnen is often described as the female version of the catalogue aria from
Mozart’s Don Giovanni. In this case, our ‘Donna Juana’ has lovers stashed in towns
all over Italy: in Penna, Maremma, Ancona, Viterbo, Casentino, Magione, four in La
Fratta, and TEN in Castiglione!
Francis Poulenc
In 1961, Francis Poulenc wrote in his diary “A phantom [has] invaded my music!
Monte Carlo! Monte Carlo, the Venice of my twenties!!” On a recent trip to Cannes,
he had come across a book containing Jean Cocteau’s monologue, originally intended
for the singing actress Marianne Oswald (who was an inspiration not only for Cocteau
and Poulenc, but also for Arthur Honegger). Poulenc saw it as the perfect vehicle
for Denise Duval, who had recently created the role of Elle in La voix humaine, and
scored La dame de Monte Carlo for a similar, but smaller, orchestra. This piece is
a dramatic scene portraying a woman who has reached ‘the end of her day;’ she is
the epitome of faded elegance; life has battered her, the casinos have bled her dry.
“Yes, gentlemen,” she says, “This is what is left for cowards and bastards.” Her mind
meanders between the past and the present, which is represented by the many swift
changes in musical texture. It is certainly operatic in scale; Poulenc himself said, “It
needs to be sung like the prayer scene in Tosca.”
Arthur Honegger
Arthur Honegger wrote the Trois Chansons de la Petite Siréne for the singer Régine
de Lormoy, who premiered the work in Paris on March 26th, 1926. Honegger’s
contemporary René Morax adapted the text from extracts of the book La Petite Sirène
by Hans Christian Andersen, the same story that was later adapted by Disney in
the 1989 film The Little Mermaid. And though there are no singing crabs in this
short song cycle, the last song is as light-hearted as the first two are ethereal, telling
a nonsense story about picking pears with a clever rhyming structure. Painting
with a whole-tone sound palette, Honegger creates an atmosphere of magical
otherworldliness in the first two songs. In Chanson des Sirènes, sirens sing to the
sailors from underwater, urging them to “come to us, immortal soul.” The second song
is a lullaby, also intended for the sailors where they are summoned to “dance with us
in the ocean, dive with us into the foam.”
Havelock Nelson
Havelock Nelson was one of Northern Ireland’s leading musicians. A composer,
pianist and conductor, he studied at the Royal Irish Academy of Music and Trinity
College, Dublin. In 1947, he joined the BBC in Northern Ireland and was awarded
an OBE for his services to music in 1966. Dirty Work was written for the late Irish
mezzo-soprano Bernadette Greevy, and tells the story of Maria Jane, a woman with
great botanical knowledge and even greater murderous ambitions. The poem is
written by John o’the North - a pseudonym for Harry T Browne - a writer from Larne in
County Antrim.
Granville Bantock
Sir Granville Bantock was a British composer, whose writing was often influenced by
folk songs of the Hebrides. The poet Sir Harold Boulton was a writer with a great
interest in song literature, and published a number of valuable song collections of the
time. First recorded by the Irish tenor John McCormack, this song features a sea maid
who lures seals to the shore with her singing of the refrain Hoiran, oiran, oiran, oiro.
A note printed on the sheet music tells us that, “the refrain of this song was actually
used recently on an Hebridean Island by a singer who thereby attracted a quantity of
seals to gather round and listen intently to the singing.”
Tom Lehrer
While studying at Harvard for an MA in Mathematics, Tom Lehrer would entertain
his friends with satirical songs he wrote and performed from the piano. He recorded
and toured during the 1950s and 60s, and though his musical career was relatively
brief, he had a huge following across the world. A genius of comic timing, his songs
often parody popular song styles - in this case, the Irish ballad. In 1972, he joined
the faculty of the University of California, teaching an introductory course entitled
‘The Nature of Mathematics’ to liberal arts majors, a course which Lehrer promptly
nicknamed ‘Math for Tenors.’
Christopher Berg
It is our great pleasure to present a brand new work called Saints or Witches,
a song cycle written for me by New York-based composer Christopher Berg. An
acclaimed composer of song, Chris’ works include the celebrated Songs on Poems
of Frank O’Hara, the orchestral cycle Not Waving, But Drowning, and Portrait en
Miniature de Madame de Sévigné, which premiered in Paris in 2002. He has
collaborated with such artists as Paul Sperry, Elaine Stritch and the Mirror Vision
Ensemble. The New York Festival of Song featured his O’Hara settings in their 200304 season opening concert ‘The New York Poets.’ Brent and I first met Chris when
Margo Garrett invited him as a guest lecturer to our Vocal Accompanying class at The
Juilliard School in 2010. We both enjoyed his music very much and were delighted
when he agreed to write us some songs for this program, the world premiere of which
took place at Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall on March 12, 2013.
The poems I chose for this set were ones that, once I had read, I couldn’t stop thinking
about. The witch in Anne Sexton’s Her Kind is a woman who is misunderstood. A
queasy feeling of being different and therefore wrong, of being a woman but “not a
woman, quite” pervades the poem, juxtaposed with a steely determination and fierce
pride. My mother, Hilde, introduced me to the beautiful Philip Hobsbaum poem,
which suggests that a witch is not someone to be feared, but to be looked up to. The
imagery in Clare Pollard’s poem is razor-sharp, uncomfortable and brilliant; the line “If
he is she, if wrong feels right” makes this Bearded Lady Miss Lupin a most fascinating
woman ‘in britches.’ Sophie Hannah’s Don’t Say I Said made me laugh out loud to
read it, because it felt just like getting a haircut after a break-up (which is really never a
good idea.)
Christopher Berg writes about composing Saints or Witches:
When Naomi showed me the four poems she had assembled for me to set to
music, each one immediately suggested its “natural” musical setting. The Sexton
poem, with its three verses and insistent refrain line, seemed to be a sultry blues;
Philip Hobsbaum’s spare lines a slow, rapturous art song, with moments of vocal
gorgeousness; Clare Pollard’s sprawling monologue a circus barker’s spiel; and
Sophie Hannah’s a sophisticated show tune, suitable for performance before
a crowd of hard drinkers in elegant (though fading) surroundings. And as an
erstwhile collaborator of mine once said, “Never overlook the obvious!” Of
course in the writing, changes were rung on these generic ideas. Her Kind is
a 15- (rather than 12-) bar blues that changes keys several times and, while
starting in the American South, ends up with Satan on a creaking horse-cart in
medieval Europe. Can I Fly Too? begins with a Thomas Adès-inspired descending
chromatic piano solo that introduces a vocal setting that may call to mind Duparc.
Clare Pollard’s barkering bearded lady engages directly and aggressively with
her potential customer. And Sophie Hannah’s sophisticated lady sings not a
strophic show tune but four completely different “verses” in the Broadway sense
-- introductory and prosy -- which are supposed to lead to the main “refrain” -- but
in this case come to their conclusion before ever getting to the tune. What fun they
were to write!
Friedrich Hollaender
As a young child in London, Friedrich Hollaender spent hours at the Barnum and
Bailey Circus, where his father worked as musical director. For the rest of his life, he
would never be far from a theatre, setting up his own ‘Tingel Tangel Theater’ in Berlin
in 1931. The song Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss auf Liebe eingestellt (‘Falling in Love
Again’), performed by Marlene Dietrich in the 1929 film Der blaue Engel, brought him
fame and recognition. Hollaender emigrated to the United States in 1934 and found
his reputation had preceded him; he established himself quickly as a film composer
and director, receiving four Academy Award nominations for his compositions. In
1956, he returned to Germany and made his home in Munich, where he died in
1976.
In ‘Desiring Berlin’, Dorothy Rowe writes about the city in pre-war years: “Berlin had
become a metaphor for a modernity both feared and desired, and as such it had
become embodied in the figure of a sensuous woman.” The songs on this program
are a small sample of both Hollaender’s artistry as a songwriter and of the rapidly
changing political climate in which these songs were born. We meet the unashamed,
quirky Kleptomanin and are swept into the soft, all-enveloping arms of Ich bin von
Kopf bis Fuss auf Liebe eingestellt. During these years, the freedom to criticize social
and political issues from the cabaret stages was of huge importance, and Raus mit
den Männern aus dem Reichstag is a song that pulls no punches. The extraordinarily
witty text describes an uprising of women across the world; they wish to throw men
out of all the government houses, from the Reichstag (Berlin’s Parliament House) to the
smaller Herrenhaus (local office, or literally ‘man’s house’) which will be replaced with
a Frauenhaus (‘woman’s house’)!
Rudolf Nelson
Rudolf Nelson fell in love with the music of the Berlin cabaret at a young age and spent
his early career working in well-known houses such as the Chat Noir, before opening
his own ‘Nelson-Theater’ in 1920. During the war, he emigrated to Amsterdam and
later was interned in the Westerbork concentration camp. In 1949, Nelson returned to
live in Berlin and opened the Nelson-Revue-Gastspiel. Die Dame von der alten Schule
is a song from the 1932 revue Es Hat Geklingelt, and tells the story of a woman who
is trapped in the narrow confines of an old-fashioned, respectable lifestyle. Her wishes
are simple: just once, she would like say something mean, just once, she would like to
act out. But she knows it cannot be and sighs, Ich bin verflucht und zugenäht, which
literally translates as “I am cursed and sewn up tight,” but can also be used as a mild
swear word. Perhaps our Dame von der alten Schule doesn’t know of any juicier
swear words, though she would certainly love to find out about them.
Jake Heggie
American composer Jake Heggie is renowned for both his operatic works, which
include Dead Man Walking and At the Statue of Venus (libretti by Terrence McNally)
and his many song collections. ‘An ardent champion of writers,’ Heggie has set the
texts of poets such as Edna St. Vincent Millay, Maya Angelou, Vincent Van Gogh and
Emily Dickinson. ‘Animal Passion’ is taken from his Faces of Love collection, set to the
poetry of California-based writer Gini Savage.
Arthur Schwartz
Arthur Schwartz was a New York-based composer and film producer, whose
collaborations with songwriter Dorothy Fields included the Broadway shows Stars In
Your Eyes and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, where the song Make The Man Love Me is
sung by the character of Katie Nolan, after her first romantic encounter with a man.
The original Broadway show opened in 1951 and ran for 267 performances. It was
revived in 2005 in an Encores! production at New York City Center.
Marc Blitzstein
“Music must have a social as well as artistic base; it should broaden its scope and
reach not only the select few but the masses,” wrote Marc Blitzstein in 1935. His
works include the political opera The Cradle Will Rock, the radio play I’ve Got The
Tune, the Airborne Symphony, and his adaptation of the Weill/Brecht Threepenny
Opera. The song Modest Maid was written in 1943, while he was working as music
director of the American broadcasting station in London. The dry wit and delicious
rhymes of the text certainly have an English lilt to them. This ‘prim and modest’ maid is
our final lady of the evening and from her we can learn to “temper witchery with wit”
and “make with bitchery a bit.”
Text & Translations
La Belle Dame sans Merci
Charles Villiers Stanford (1852 – 1924)
John Keats (1795 – 1821)
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So lone and palely loitering,
The sedge hath wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone,
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said –
‘I love thee true’.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried – ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
I saw their starv’d lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gaping wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side!
And this is why I sojourn here
And there she lullèd me asleep
And there I dreamed – Ah! woe betide! – Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the
The latest dream I ever dream’d
lake,
On the cold hill’s side.
And no birds sing!
And’res Maienlied (Hexenlied) Other May Song
(Witch’s Song)
Felix Mendelssohn (1809 – 1847)
Ludwig Hölty (1748 – 1776)
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Die Schwalbe fliegt,
Der Frühling siegt,
Und spendet uns Blumen zum Kranze!
Bald huschen wir
Leis’ aus der Tür,
Und fliegen zum prächtigen Tanze!
The swallow flies,
Spring is triumphant,
And offers us flowers for our wreaths!
Soon we will flit
Quietly out the door
And fly to the magnificent dance!
Ein schwarzer Bock,
Ein Besenstock,
Die Ofengabel, der Wocken,
Reißt uns geschwind,
Wie Blitz und Wind,
Durch sausende Lüfte zum Brocken!
A black billy goat,
A broom,
The oven fork, the spindle,
Lets us travel as quickly
As lightning and wind,
Through the howling air to Brocken
mountain!
Um Beelzebub
Tanzt unser Trupp
Und küßt ihm die kralligen Hände!
Ein Geisterschwarm
Faßt uns beim Arm
Und schwinget im Tanzen die Brände!
Und Beelzebub
Verheißt dem Trupp
Der Tanzenden Gaben auf Gaben:
Sie sollen schön
In Seide geh’n
Und Töpfe voll Goldes sich graben!
Around Beelzebub
Dances our troupe,
And kisses his taloned hands!
A swarm of ghosts
Take us by the arm
And swings the flames into dance!
And Beelzebub
Promises the troupe of dancers
Gifts upon gifts:
They shall walk arrayed
In beautiful silks
And dig up pots of gold!
Ein Feuerdrach’
Umflieget das Dach,
Und bringet uns Butter und Eier.
Die Nachbarn dann seh’n
Die Funken weh’n,
Und schlagen ein Kreuz vor dem
Feuer.
Die Schwalbe fliegt,
Der Frühling siegt,
Die Blumen erblühen zum Kranze.
Bald huschen wir
Leis’ aus der Tür,
Juchheisa zum prächtigen Tanze!
A fiery dragon
Flies around the roof,
And brings us butter and eggs.
The neighbors see
The sparks flying
And cross themselves before the fire.
The swallow flies,
Spring is triumphant,
The flowers blossom for our wreaths.
Soon we will flit
Quietly out the door
Hurrah! to the magnificent dance!
Elfe
Elf
Hermann Zilcher (1881 – 1948)
Joseph von Eichendorff (1788 – 1857)
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Bleib bei uns! Wir haben den Tanzplan
im Tal
Bedeckt mit Mondesglanze,
Johanniswürmchen erleuchten den Saal,
Die Heimchen spielen zum Tanze.
Stay with us! We have the decked the
valley
With moonlight for the dance,
Fireflies light up the hall,
Crickets play music for the dancing.
Die Freude, das schöne leichtgläubige
Kind,
Es wiegt sich in Abendwinden:
Wo Silber auf Zweigen und Büschen
rinnt,
Da wirst du die Schönste finden!
Joy, the beautiful, innocent child,
Rocks itself in evening winds;
Where silver lines the branches and
bushes,
There you will find the most beautiful
girl!
Die Musikantin
The Musician
Hermann Zilcher (1881 – 1948)
Joseph von Eichendorff (1788 – 1857)
based on a text by Alvaro Fernandez de Almeida
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Schwirrend Tamburin, dich schwing ich,
Doch mein Herz ist weit von hier.
Whirling tambourine, I swing you,
Though my heart is far from here.
Tamburin, ach könntst du’s wissen,
Wie mein Herz von Schmerz zerrissen,
Deine Klänge würden müssen
Weinen um mein Leid mit mir.
Tambourine, oh if you could only know,
How my heart is torn with pain,
Your notes would have to
Weep with your pity for me.
Weil das Herz mir will zerspringen,
Laß ich hell die Schellen klingen,
Die Gedanken zu versingen
Aus des Herzens Grunde mir.
Because my heart wishes to shatter,
I let the bright bells ring,
To sing away the thoughts
Out of the depths of my heart.
Schöne Herren, tief im Herzen
Fühl ich immer neu die Schmerzen,
Wie ein Angstruf ist mein Scherzen,
Denn mein Herz ist weit von hier.
Handsome men, deep in my heart,
I always feel the pain anew,
My jesting is like a cry of fear,
Because my heart is far from here.
Das Köhlerweib ist trunken
The charcoal burner’s wife
is drunk
Hugo Wolf (1860 - 1903)
Gottfried Keller (1819 – 1890)
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Das Köhlerweib ist trunken
Und singt im Wald;
Hört, wie die Stimme gellend
Im Grünen hallt!
The charcoal burner’s wife is drunk
And sings in the forest;
Listen, how her piercing voice
Echoes through the greenery!
Sie war die schönste Blume,
Berühmt im Land;
Es warben Reich’ und Arme
Um ihre Hand.
She was the most beautiful flower,
The most famous of the land;
Both rich and poor courted her
For her hand in marriage.
Sie trat in Gürtelketten
So stolz einher;
Den Bräutigam zu wählen,
Fiel ihr zu schwer.
She walked about wearing a chatelaine
And was so full of herself;
To pick a bridegroom
Was too difficult for her.
Da hat sie überlistet
Der rote Wein Wie müssen alle Dinge
Vergänglich sein!
Then she was outwitted
By red wine –
As with all things
Nothing lasts forever.
Das Köhlerweib ist trunken
Und singt im Wald;
Wie durch die Dämmrung gellend
Ihr Lied erschallt!
The charcoal burner’s wife is drunk
And sings in the forest;
How bitterly through the twilight,
Echoes her shrill song.
Die Zigeunerin
The Gypsy
Hugo Wolf (1860 - 1903)
Josef von Eichendorff (1788 – 1857)
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Am Kreuzweg da lausche ich, wenn die
Stern’
und die Feuer im Walde verglommen,
und wo der erste Hund bellt von fern,
da wird mein Bräut’gam herkommen.
La, la, la, la.
At the crossroads, I listen, when the stars
And the fires in the forest die down,
And where the first dog barks in the
distance,
My bridegroom will come from there.
La, la, la, la.
“Und als der Tag graut’, durch das
Gehölz
sah ich eine Katze sich schlingen,
“And as the day dawns, through the
woods
I saw a cat slinking,
ich schoß ihr auf den nußbraunen Pelz,
wie tat die weit überspringen!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
I shot at her nut-brown pelt,
How far she leapt!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Schad’ nur ums Pelzlein, du kriegst
mich nit!
mein Schatz muß sein wie die andern:
braun und ein Stutzbart auf ung’rischen
Schnitt
und ein fröhliches Herze zum Wandern.
La, la, la, la.
It’s a pity about the pelt, you won’t
catch me!
My lover must be like the others:
Brown and a moustache in the
Hungarian style
And a merry heart for wandering.
La, la, la, la.
Ich hab in Penna einen
Liebsten wohnen
I have a lover living in Penna
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Hugo Wolf (1860 - 1903)
Paul Heyse (1830 – 1914)
Ich hab in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen,
In der Maremmeneb’ne einen andern,
Einen im schönen Hafen von Ancona,
Zum Vierten muß ich nach Viterbo
wandern;
Ein Andrer wohnt in Casentino dort,
Der Nächste lebt mit mir am selben Ort,
Und wieder einen hab’ ich in Magione,
Vier in La Fratta, zehn in Castiglione.
I have a lover living in Penna
Another in the Maremma plain,
One in the beautiful harbour of Ancona,
For the fourth I must travel to Viterbo;
Another one lives yonder in Casentino,
The next one lives with me in the same
place,
I have yet another in Magione,
Four in La Fratta, ten in Castiglione.
La Dame de Monte Carlo
The Lady Of Monte Carlo
Francis Poulenc (1899 – 1963)
Jean Cocteau (1889 – 1963)
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Quand on est morte entre les mortes,
Qu’on se traîne chez les vivants,
Lorsque tout vous flanque à la porte
Et la ferme d’un coup de vent,
Ne plus être eune et aim e...
Derriere une porte fermée
Il reste de se fiche à l’eau
Ou d’acheter un rigolo.
Oui, messieurs, voil ce qui reste
Pour les lâches et les salauds.
Mais si la frousse de ce geste
S’attache à vous comme un grelot,
Si l’on craint de s’ouvrir les veines,
On peut toujours risquer la veine
D’un voyage a Monte-Carlo.
Monte-Carlo, Monte-Carlo.
When one is dead among the dead,
When you drag yourself among the
living,
When everyone has thrown you out the
door
And it is slammed shut by a gust of wind,
No longer young and beloved…
Behind a closed door,
All that remains is to drown oneself
Or to buy a gigolo.
Yes, gentlemen, that is what is left
For cowards and bastards.
But if the fear of this gesture
Haunts you like a rattle,
If you are scared to slash your wrists
You can always take the gamble
Of a trip to Monte Carlo.
Monte Carlo, Monte Carlo.
J’ai fini ma journée.
Je veux dormir au fond de l’eau
De la Mediterranée.
Après avoir vendu votre âme
Et mis en gage des bijoux
Que amais plus on ne réclame,
La roulette est un beau joujou.
C’est joli de dire: “Je oue”.
Cela vous met le feu au joues
Et cela vous allume l’oeil.
Sous les jolis voiles de deuil
On porte un joli nom de veuve.
Un titre donne de l’orgueil!
Et folle, et prête, et toute neuve,
On prende sa carte au casino.
Voyez mes plumes et mes voiles,
Contemplez le strass de l’étoile
Qui me mène à Monte-Carlo
La chance est femme.
Elle est jalouse
De ce veuvages solennels.
Sans doute ell’ m’a cru l’ épouse
D’un v ritable colonel.
J’ai gagné, gagné sur le douze.
Et puis les robes se d cousent,
La fourrure perd ses cheveux.
On a beau répéter: “Je veux”,
Dès que la chance vous déteste,
Dès que votre coeur est nerveux,
Vous ne pouvez plus faire un geste,
Pousser un sou sur le tableau
Sans que la chance qui s’écarte
Change les chiffres et les cartes
Des tables de Monte-Carlo.
Les voyous, les buses, les gales!
Ils m’ont mise dehors... dehors...
Et ils m’accusent d’être sale,
De porter malheur dans leurs salles,
Dans leurs sales salles en stuc.
Moi qui aurais donné mon truc
A l’oeil, au prince, à la princesse,
Au Duc de Westminster, au Duc,
Parfaitement.
Faut que ça cesse,
Qu’ils me criaient, votre boulot!
Votre boulot!...
My day is over.
I want to sleep on the seabed
Of the Mediterranean.
After having sold your soul
And pawned jewellery
That you will never again reclaim,
The roulette wheel is a pretty plaything.
It’s nice to say: “I gamble.”
It lends a fire to your cheeks
And it illuminates your eyes.
Under the fine mourning veils
One bears a fine widow’s name.
A title gives pride!
And crazy, up for anything, and
completely fresh,
You take out a casino card.
Look at my feathers and my veils,
Admire the sequins of the star
That leads me to Monte Carlo.
Luck is a woman.
She is jealous
Of these solemn widowhoods.
No doubt, she believed me to be the wife
Of a real Colonel.
I won, I won on the twelve.
And then the dresses came unstitched
The fur shed its hair.
One may well repeat: “I want”,
Once Luck turns against you,
Once your heart is nervous,
You cannot move a muscle,
Push a coin on the board,
Without Luck stepping aside
Changing numbers and cards
On the tables of Monte Carlo.
The hoodlums, the fools, the bad-mouthers!
They threw me out… out…
And they accused me of being dirty
Of bringing bad luck into their rooms,
In their gaming rooms of filthy stucco.
I, who would have given my system
For nothing, to the prince, to the princess,
To the Duke of Westminster,
To the Duke, absolutely.
This has to stop,
They shouted at me, this business.
Ma découverte.
J’en priverai les tables vertes.
C’est bien fait pour Monte-Carlo.
Monte-Carlo.
Et maintenant, moi qui vous parle,
Je n’avouerai pas les kilos que
J’ai perdus à Monte-Carle,
Monte-Carle ou Monte-Carlo.
Je suis une ombre de moi-même...
Les martingales, les systèmes
Et les croupiers qui ont le droit
de taper de loin sur vos doigts
Quand on peut faucher une mise.
Et la pension où l’on doit
Et toujours la même chemise
Que l’angoisse trempe dans l’eau.
Ils peuvent courir.
Pas si bête.
Cette nuit je pique une tête
Dans la mer de Monte-Carlo.
Monte-Carlo.
Your business!...
My discovery.
I’ll deprive the green tables of it.
Too bad for Monte Carlo.
Monte Carlo.
And now, I who speak to you,
I’ll not admit the kilos
I have lost at Monte Carle,
Monte Carle or Monte Carlo.
I am a shadow of myself…
The bluffing of the bets, the rules of the games
And the croupiers who have the right
To rap you on your knuckles from afar
When you’re about to retrieve a bet.
And the board I owe at the guesthouse
And always the same nightdress
Drenched in anguish.
They can sing for it.
I’m not that stupid.
Tonight I will dive headfirst
Into the sea of Monte Carlo.
Monte Carlo.
Trois Chansons de la petite Sirène
Arthur Honegger (1892 – 1955)
René Morax (1973 – 1963)
After text by Hans Christian Andersen
Chansons des Sirènes
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Songs of the Mermaids
Dans le vent et dans le flot
dissous toi fragile écume
Dissous toi dans un sanglot
pauvre coeur rempli d’amertume
In the wind and in the waves
dissolve yourself, fragile foam
Dissolve yourself in a sob
Poor heart filled with bitterness
Prends ton vol dans le ciel bleu
vois la mort n’est pas cruelle.
Tu auras la paix de Dieu
viens à nous âme immortelle...
Take your flight in the blue sky
Look, death is not cruel.
You will have the peace of God
Come to us, immortal soul…
Berceuse de la Sirène
Lullaby of the Mermaid
Danse avec nous dans le bel Océan
le matin ou le soir sous la lune d’argent.
Plonge avec nous dans le flot
transparent,
chante au soleil dans l’écume et le vent.
Mer berce nous dans tes bras caressant
Mer berce nous sur ton coeur
frémissant.
Dance with us in the beautiful Ocean
Morning or evening under the silver
moon
Dive with us into the transparent waves,
Sing to the sun in the foam and the wind.
Sea, lull us in your caressing arms
Sea, rock us on your trembling heart.
Chanson de la Poire
Song of the Pear
C’est l’histoire
d’une poire
on la cueille
dans les feuilles
on la tape
tant et tant,
qu’elle en claque
en trois temps
d’une attaque
Il faut boire
à la poire
un bon coup.
Il faut boire
et c’est tout.
This is the story
Of a pear
That one plucks
In the leaves
That one hits
So much so,
That it falls
The third time
It is attacked
One must drink
To the pear
A good glass.
One must drink
And that is all.
Die Kleptomanin
The Kleptomaniac
Friedrich Hollaender (1896 – 1976)
Translation: Guelcin Koerpe & Naomi O’Connell
Schon als Mädel war ich immer so
erregt,
lag was da, was einer achtlos hingelegt,
immer gab’s mir durch den Körper einen
Riss,
Und dann stahl ich einmal das und
einmal diss;
ach, ich stahl schon meinem Vater das
Gebiss.
Denn ich stahl ohne Wahl, ganz egal.
Ja, ich stahl und stahl, und war es selbst
aus Stahl.
Ob ich’s brauchen konnte, fiel nicht ins
Gewicht;
ich stahl auch Busenhalter, was ja für
mich spricht,
denn damals hatte ich noch keinen Busen
nicht!
Und das macht mir ein Gefühl, ich kann’s
nicht sagen...
im Magen, im Magen, im Magen.
Even as a little girl I would always get
excited
If something’s carelessly left lying there
shortsighted,
My whole body it would shudder and
would freeze
And then I stole all those things and then
stole these,
Ah sure, I even stole my father’s false
teeth.
Because I stole with no goal on the
whole,
Yes, I’d steal and steal, even if it was
made of steel!
If I needed it or not, had no authority,
I even stole bras, which rather speaks for
me,
Because back then I had no bust, no
siree!
And it gives me such a feeling, I can’t
describe it…
In my belly, in my belly, in my belly.
Ach, wie mich das aufregt!
Oh, how it excites me!
Ach, wie mich das aufregt!
Ach, ich kann’s nicht sehn, wenn wo was Oh, how it excites me!
Oh, I can’t bear to see it, if something’s
steht:
there,
Ich muß es haben, haben, haben, haben,
haben, haben, haben, haben!
Ach, und was ich mause,
kaum hab ich’s zu Hause,
wird mein Kopf so dumpf und schwer,
ich bin gar nicht sinnlich mehr,
Und ich schmeiß’ den ganzen Dreck
weg, weg, weg!
I have to have it, have it, have it, have it,
have it, have it, have it, have it!
Oh! And what I pilfer,
as soon as I get it home, sir,
My head becomes so empty and dull,
I’m not aroused anymore at all
And I throw the lot of rubbish out, out,
out!
Kurz, es treibt mich, was zu klauen mit
Gewalt.
Selbst vor Bechstein-Flügeln mache ich
nicht halt!
Ach, wie süß, wenn ich erwischt werd’
mittenmang!
Und ich brauch auch nicht zur
Angeklagtenbank;
denn ich bin ja verrückt, Gott sei Dank!
Nach jeder Zuckerzange, die mir nicht
gehört,
werde ich von blinder Leidenschaft
verzehrt.
Geht ‘ne Frau wo und es hängt ein Gatte
dran,
sag ich gleich: Gnädige Frau, ich fleh’
Sie an,
ach, verstecken Sie, ach, verstecken Sie
ihren Mann!
Denn mir uckt’s schon wieder, na, wie
soll ich sagen...
Im Magen, im Magen, im Magen.
In short, something drives me to this
powerful urge to steal,
Even nicking grand pianos wouldn’t ever
stop me!
Oh, how sweet, if I were caught running
amok,
And they wouldn’t even put me in the
dock,
Because I’m crazy loop-the-loop, thanks
be to God!
For every pair of sugar tongs that isn’t
mine
With an all-consuming passion I do pine.
If I see a woman with a husband in her
company,
I say: “My dearest woman, I implore you
earnestly,
Oh, please, just hide that precious
hubbie away from me.”
Because I already feel a twitching, well,
how shall I put it?
In my belly, in my belly, in my belly.
Ach, wie der mich aufregt!
Ach, wie der mich aufregt!
Ach, ich kann’s nicht sehn, wenn wo was
steht:
Ich muß es haben, haben, haben, haben,
haben, haben, haben, haben!
Ach, und was ich mause,
kaum hab ich’s zu Hause,
wird mein Kopf so dumpf und schwer,
ich bin gar nicht sinnlich mehr,
Und ich schmeiß’ den ganzen Dreck
weg, weg, weg!
Oh, how he excites me!
Oh, how he excites me!
Oh, I can’t bear to see it, if something’s
there,
I have to have it, have it, have it, have it,
have it, have it, have it, have it!
Oh! And what I pilfer,
as soon as I get it home, sir,
My head becomes so empty and dull,
I’m not aroused anymore at all
And I throw the lot of rubbish out, out,
out!
Die Dame von der
alten Schule
Rudolf Nelson (1878 - 1960)
Hans Zerlett (1892 -1949)
Bei uns zu Hause da sind aus Plüsch die
Möbel
und Häkeldeckchen liegen stets darauf
An der einer Wand da hängen
Ehrensäbel
und an der andern häng ich mich bald
auf
Bei uns zu Haus verachtet man das
Heute
wir leben einzig in der Tradition
Wir sind stinkfeine angesehene Leute
bei uns herrscht noch der gute alte Ton
Aber
Ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
mal was Gemeines sagen
und seidne Wäsche tragen
Und ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
mal in die Suppe hauen
den ganzen Tisch versauen
dass alle trifft der Schlag
und noch am selben Tag
Aber ich weiss, dass das nicht geht
ich bin verflucht und zugenäht
Mein Gatte trägt nur hohe steife Kragen
Ich trag, weil sichs gehört, stets ein
Korsett
Des nachts wird nur das lange Hemd
getragen
Pyjamas tragen Schweine nur im Bett
Bei uns hat noch meine Gatte mich nicht
betrogen
er trat noch niemals in der Ehe fehl
und weil ich ganz genau wie er
erzogen
war ich auch ganz genauso ein Kamel
Aber
ach ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
es einmal richtig wissen
und einen Giggolo küssen
Und ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
The Lady of the Old School
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
At our house, the sofa is made of finest
plush,
And lace doilies must always lie thereon,
On one wall, hang mounted swords,
And on the other, I’ll soon hang myself
upon.
At our house, we scorn the modern day,
We live only in the most traditional way,
We are filthy-rich, respectable people
At our house, good old-fashioned
manners still prevail.
But…
I’d really like, I’d really like,
For once, to say something mean,
And wear silk underwear.
I’d really like, I’d really like
To slam my fists into the soup,
Make a mess of the whole table,
So that they all have heart attacks,
On the very same day.
But I know, that it can’t be,
I am cursed and sewn up tight.
My husband wears stiff collars of quality
renown,
While every day into my ribs a corset
digs.
At night, one must only wear a long
nightgown,
For pajamas are solely worn in bed by
pigs!
My husband has never once yet lied to
me,
He never cheated or into misdemeanor
fell,
And because I was raised as proper as
can be,
I behaved just like the camel he is, as
well.
But…
I’d really like, I’d really like,
Just one time to really know,
To kiss a gigolo,
die Tauentzien mal ruff gehn
und dann in einen Puff gehn
Pfui Deibel wär das schön
könnt mich mein Mann dort sehn
Aber ich weiss, dass das nicht geht
ich bin verflucht und zugenäht
I’d really like, I’d really like
To go up the redlight Tauentzin road
And go into a whorehouse,
Oh goodie, wouldn’t that be lovely,
If my husband could see me there.
But I know, that it can’t be,
I am cursed and sewn up tight.
Raus mit den Männern!
Chuck all the men out of the
Reichstag
Friedrich Hollaender (1896 – 1976)
Translation: Jeremy Lawrence
Es geht durch die ganze Historie
ein Ruf nach Emanzipation
vom Menschen bis zur Infusorie
überall will das Weib auf den Thron.
Von den Amazonen bis zur Berliner
Range
braust ein Ruf wie Donnerhall daher:
Was die Männer können, können wir
schon lange
und vielleicht `ne ganze Ecke mehr.
Raus mit den Männern aus dem
Reichstag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Landtag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Herrenhaus,
wir machen draus ein Frauenhaus!
Raus mit den Männern aus dem Dasein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Hiersein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Dortsein,
sie müßten schon längst fort sein.
Ja: raus mit den Männern aus dem Bau,
und rein in die Dinger mit der Frau!
Die Männer haben alle Berufe,
sind Schutzmann und sind Philosoph,
sie klettern von Stufe zu Stufe,
in der Küche stehen wir und sind doof.
Sie bekommen Orden, wir bekommen
Schwielen,
liebe Schwestern, es ist eine Schmach.
Ja sie trauen sich gar, die Politik zu
spielen,
The battle for emancipation’s been
raging
Since history first began,
Yes, feminists of every nation
Want to chuck off the chains made by
man.
Hula girls and housemaids and wives in
Maribou
Hear all our voices thunder in protest;
Anything that men do, women can do
too
And more that that, we women do it
best.
Chuck all the men out of the Reichstag
And chuck all the men out of the
courthouse.
Men are the problem with humanity,
They’re blinded by their vanity.
Women have passively embraced them
When we could have easily outpaced
them,
Yes we should have long ago replaced
them
Or better yet erased them.
If we haven’t made our feelings clear,
We women have had it up to here!
The men get their pick of professions,
They’re policemen or scholars or clerks,
They get rich and acquire possessions
While we wives stay home keeping
house for these jerks.
They’re ruining the country while we
mop up the floor,
They’re flushing this whole nation down
the drain.
aber, na, die ist ja auch danach!
Raus mit den Männern aus dem
Reichstag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Landtag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Herrenhaus,
wir machen draus ein Frauenhaus!
Raus mit den Männern aus dem Dasein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Hiersein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem
Dortsein,
sie müßten schon längst fort sein.
Ja: raus mit den Männern aus dem Bau,
und rein in die Dinger mit der Frau!
Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss
auf Liebe eingestellt
Sisters stand together, let’s show these
men the door
Before they drive us totally insane!
Chuck all the men out of the Reichstag
And chuck all the men out of the
courthouse.
Men are the problem with humanity,
They’re blinded by their vanity.
Women have passively embraced them
When we could have easily outpaced
them,
Yes we should have long ago replaced
them
Or better yet erased them.
If we haven’t made our feelings clear,
We women have had it up to here!
I am from head to toe
prepared for love
Friedrich Hollaender (1896 – 1976)
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Ein rätselhafter Schimmer,
Ein “je ne sais-pas-quoi”
Liegt in den Augen immer
Bei einer schönen Frau.
Doch wenn sich meine Augen
Bei einem vis-à-vis
Ganz tief in seine saugen
Was sprechen dann sie?
An enigmatic shimmer,
A ‘ e-ne-sais-pas-quoi’
Always lies within the eyes
Of a beautiful woman.
But when my eyes,
Face to face,
Look deeply into his,
What do they say?
Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß
Auf Liebe eingestellt,
Denn das ist meine Welt.
Und sonst gar nichts.
Das ist, was soll ich machen,
Meine Natur,
Ich kann halt lieben nur
Und sonst gar nichts.
I am from head to toe
Prepared for love
Because this is my world
And besides that, nothing at all.
It is, what can I do,
My nature –
I can only love
And nothing else at all.
Männer umschwirr’n mich,
Wie Motten um das Licht.
Und wenn sie verbrennen,
Ja dafür kann ich nicht.
Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß
Auf Liebe eingestellt,
Ich kann halt lieben nur
Und sonst gar nichts.
Men swarm around me
Like moths around light
And if they burn up,
Well, I can’t help that.
I am from head to toe
Prepared for love
Because this is my world
And nothing else at all.
Was bebt in meinen Händen,
In ihrem heißen Druck?
Sie möchten sich verschwenden
Sie haben nie genug.
Ihr werdet mir verzeihen,
Ihr müßt’ es halt versteh’n,
Es lockt mich stets von neuem.
Ich find’ es so schön!
Something trembles in my hands,
In their hot pressure,
They want to live life to the full,
They can never get enough.
You will all forgive me,
You just have to accept it,
It entices me each time anew,
I like it so much.
Please support the programs and services of
The Artist Series
by purchasing raffle tickets for a
Grand Prize $500 Publix gift card.
The drawing will be held Sunday, April 7
prior to the final concert of the 2012-13 season.
You do not need to be present to win.
Details are available at www.TheArtistSeries.org.