THE FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY College of Music presents
Faculty Solo Recital of Natalie Sherer, piano
“An Evening of American & German Melodies” with Marcía Porter, soprano
Marcy Stonikas, soprano
Evan T. Jones, baritone Benjamin Sung, violin
Thursday, March 7, 2024 7:30 p.m. | Dohnányi Recital Hall
To Ensure An Enjoyable Concert Experience For All…
Please refrain from talking, entering, or exiting during performances. Food and drink are prohibited in all concert halls. Recording or broadcasting of the concert by any means, including the use of digital cameras, cell phones, or other devices is expressly forbidden. Please deactivate all portable electronic devices including watches, cell phones, pagers, hand-held gaming devices or other electronic equipment that may distract the audience or performers.
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PROGRAM
Tiger, Tiger
Rebecca Clarke
The Cloths of Heaven (1886–1979)
The Seal Man
Beside the Sea Florence Price
I Grew A Rose (1887–1953)
Song to the Dark Virgin
Marcía Porter, soprano
Three Songs, Op. 10 Samuel Barber
1. Rain has fallen (1910–1981)
2. Sleep now
3. I hear an army Marcy Stonikas, soprano
Selections from Porgy and Bess
George Gershwin
Summertime and A Woman is a Sometime Thing (1898–1937)
My Man’s Gone Now tr. Jascha Heifetz
It Ain’t Necessarily So
INTERMISSION
Three Romances for Violin and Piano, Op. 22 Clara Schumann
1. Andante molto (1819–1896)
2. Allegretto
3. Leidenshaftlich schnell
Your Devoted Hugo (2020)
Benjamin Sung, violin
Timothy Hoekman
4. Mörike Madness (b. 1954)
Mörike-Lieder
Hugo Wolf
10. Fussreise (A walk) (1860–1903)
5. Der Tambour (The drummer boy)
23. Auf ein altes Bild (On an old painting)
53. Abschied (Farewell)
Evan T. Jones, baritone
Tiger, Tiger text by William
BlakeTiger Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat. What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
The Cloths of Heaven text by William
Butler YeatsHad I the [heavens’]1 embroidered cloths Enwrought with golden and silver light
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
The Seal
Man
text by John Masefield
And he came by her cabin to the west of the road, calling. There was a strong love came up in her at that, and she put down her sewing on the table, and “Mother,” she says, “There’s no lock, and no key, and no bolt, and no door. There’s no iron, nor no stone, nor anything at all will keep me this night from the man I love.”
And she went out into the moonlight to him, there by the bush where the flow’rs is pretty, beyond the river. And he says to her: “You are all of the beauty of the world, will you come where I go, over the waves of the sea?”
And she says to him: “My treasure and my strength,” she says, “I would follow you on the frozen hills, my feet bleeding.”
Then they went down into the sea together, and the moon made a track on the sea, and they walked down it; it was like a flame before them. There was no fear at all on her; only a great love like the love of the Old Ones, that was stronger than the touch of the fool. She had a little white throat, and little cheeks like flowers, and she went down into the sea with her man, who wasn’t a man at all. She was drowned, of course. It’s like he never thought that she wouldn’t bear the sea like himself. She was drowned, drowned.
Beside the Sea
text by Paul Laurence
DunbarIf you could sit with me beside the sea to–day, And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o’er and o’er; I think I should not find the clouds so dim and gray, And not so loud the waves complaining at the shore.
If you could sit with me upon the shore to–day, And hold my hand in yours as in the days of old,
I think I should not mind the chill baptismal spray, Nor find my hand and heart and all the world so cold.
If you could walk with me upon the strand to–day, And tell me that my longing love had won your own, I think all my sad thoughts would then be put away, And I could give back laughter for the Ocean’s moan!
I Grew a Rose
text by Paul
Laurence DunbarI grew a rose within a garden fair,
And, tending it with more than loving care, I thought how, with the glory of its bloom, I should the darkness of my life illume;
And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud
Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.
My rose began to open, and its hue
Was sweet to me as to it sun and dew;
I watched it taking on its ruddy flame
Until the day of perfect blooming came, Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red— Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!
Song to the Dark Virgin text by Langston Hughes
Would that I were a jewel, A shattered jewel, That all my shining brilliants Might fall at thy feet, Thou dark one.
Would that I were a garment, A shimmering, silken garment, That all my folds
Might wrap about thy body, Absorb thy body, Hold and hide thy body, Thou dark one.
Would that I were a flame, But one sharp, leaping flame
To annihilate thy body, Thou dark one.
Barber, Op. 10 texts by James Joyce
Rain has fallen
Rain has fallen all the day.
O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way
Of memories.
Staying a little by the way
Of memories shall we depart. Come, my beloved, where I may Speak to your heart.
Sleep now
Sleep now, O sleep now,
O you unquiet heart!
A voice crying “Sleep now”
Is heard in my heart.
The voice of the winter
Is heard at the door.
O sleep, for the winter
Is crying “Sleep no more.”
My kiss will give peace now
And quiet to your heart -- -
Sleep on in peace now,
O you unquiet heart!
I hear an army
I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers.
They cry unto the night their battle-name:
I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter.
They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame, Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil.
They come shaking in triumph their long, green hair:
They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore.
My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair?
My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone?
Mörike Madness
text by Hugo Wolf
tr. Nina Radtke and Timothy Hoekman
(to Edmund Lang, 1888)
My dear Edmond,
I just wrote a new song, a divine song, I tell you. Very heavenly, wonderful, O God, soon it will be over with me since my cleverness is growing day by day. How far will I be able to reach? I shudder to think about it. I lack the courage to compose an opera, for fear of so many ideas. Ideas, my friend, are frightful. I feel it. My cheeks are glowing with excitement like molten iron, and this state of inspiration for me is not pure joy, but exquisite torture. I improvised almost a whole comic opera today at the piano. I think I could create something good in this style. What does the future hold for me? Am I destined? Maybe even chosen? God forbid the latter! That would be horrible! I must be crazy to tell you such silly things. No offense meant! Your old Fluchu.
Dear Edmondo,
Today I produced my masterpiece. “Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchens” is by far my best accomplishment. In comparison with this song, everything before is merely child’s play. The music has such a striking characteristic, with an intensity that could tear apart the nervous system of a block of marble. The poem is crazy, the music no less so, as is your Fluchu.
I revoke that “Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchens” is my best, because what I wrote this morning, “Fussreise,” is a million times better. When you hear this latest song, you will have just one more wish: to die. But, in the meantime, live well. Your overjoyed Wölfing.
Mörike-Lieder
texts by Eduard MörikeFussreise (A Journey on Foot)
English translation © Richard Stokes
When, with a freshly cut stick, I set off early like this
Through the woods
And over the hills:
Then, as the bird in the branches
Sings and stirs,
Or as the golden cluster of grapes
Feels the rapture
Of the early morning sun:
So too my dear old Adam
Feels autumn and spring fever,
The God-inspired, Never forfeited
Primal bliss of Paradise.
So you are not as bad, old
Adam, as strict teachers say; You still love and extol,
Still sing and praise,
As if Creation were forever new, Your dear Maker and Preserver.
If only He would grant it, My whole life
Would be, gently perspiring, Just such a morning journey!
Der Tambour (The Drummer-boy)
English translation © Richard Stokes
If my mother could work magic
She’d have to go with the regiment To France and everywhere, And be the vivandière.
In camp, at midnight,
When no one’s up save the guard,
And everybody – man and horse - is snoring, Then I’d sit by my drum:
My drum would be a bowl, With warm sauerkraut in it, The sticks would be a knife and fork, My sabre – a long sausage;
My shako would be a tankard
Filled with red Burgundy.
And because I lack light, The moon shines into my tent; And though it shines in French, It still reminds me of my beloved: Oh dear! There’s an end to my fun!
– If only my mother could work magic!
Auf ein altes Bild (On an old painting)
English translation © Richard Stokes
In the summer haze of a green landscape,
By cool water, rushes and reeds,
See how the Child, born without sin, Plays freely on the Virgin’s lap!
And ah! growing blissfully there in the wood, Already the tree of the cross is turning green!
Abschied (Goodbye)
English translation © Richard Stokes
Without knocking a man one evening enters my room:
‘I have the honour, sir, to be your critic!’
He instantly takes my lamp in his hand, Inspects at length my shadow on the wall, Moves back and forth: ‘Now, young man, Be so good as to view your nose from the side!
You’ll admit that it’s a monstrosity.” –
– What? Good god – you’re right!
Bless my soul! I never thought, In all my life, I had a nose of such cosmic size!!
The man said various other things, What – I truly no longer recall; Maybe he thought I should confess to him. At last he got up; I lit his way.
As we stood at the top of the stairs, I gave him, in the best of spirits, A wee little kick
On his derrière –Goodness me! What a rumbling, A tumbling, a stumbling!
I’ve never before seen the like, Never in all my born days have I seen A man go downstairs so fast!
Texts/Translations sourced from oxfordsong.org, lieder.net, graphitepublishing.com/product/your-devoted-hugo, poetryfoundation.org, and songofamerica.net