95216 music booklet 03 by Klassiek.nl

95216

Music, When Soft Voices Die Elgar 路 Stanford Vaughan Williams Bridge 路 Parry 路 Moeran

Quink

vocal ensemble

“Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” Percy Bysshe Shelley These words, written early in the nineteenth century, show the importance of literature in great parts of English (cultural) life. Poetry from present and all previous centuries show the life, mirror and guide the moral standards, of a nation. Since Englands’ Golden Age the symbiosis between poets and composers has always been apparent. Revival of British musical life from the mid-nineteenth century reestablished this bond. Englands’ great composers from the nineteenth and twentieth century made extensive use of texts from famous poets, both contemporary and from earlier ages. The result is an uncountable number of compositions that solely because of their sheer beauty are still sung and enjoyed in our own era. A small palet of this vast collection is put together by Quink, whose love and special interest for English music was obvious from the earliest start of this remarkable Dutch ensemble in 1977. It was Edward William Elgar who put back again English music on an international high standard. He was also considered to be one of the first composers taking the gramophone seriously. His works became very popular and famous (f.i. Enigmavariations, Land of Hope and Glory…). Coming from a very musical family he learned to play the violin, viola and organ. He arranged and composed and worked as a conductor. In 1916 he orchestrated the song ‘Jerusalem’ by Charles Hubert Parry, which is now still being sung every year at The Last Night of the Proms, together with the audience! Parry was composer and historian of music. His job was writing many articles for the famous Grove’s Dictionary of Music and, in 1909, a study of Johann Sebastian Bach. Some contemporaries, such as Charles Villiers Stanford rated him as the finest English composer since Henry Purcell. Amongst his students at the Royal College of Music were Ralph Vaughan Williams and Frank Bridge. Stanford was an Irish composer, born to a highly musical family in Dublin. He was educated at Cambridge 2

University before he went to study in Leipzig and Berlin. At the age of 29 he was one of the founding professors of the earlier mentioned Royal College of Music, where he taught composition for the rest of his life. Gustav Holst, Ralph Vaughan Williams and John Ernest Moeran were amongst his students at the Royal College. Frank Bridge is mostly remembered to privately tutoring Benjamin Britten. Britten was Bridge’s only composition pupil but nonetheless Britten spoke very highly of his teaching skills, stating in 1963 he felt “he still hadn’t come up the technical standards that Bridge had set him”. When Britten left for the United States with Peter Pears in 1939, Bridge handed Britten his Giussani viola and wished him ‘bon voyage and bon retour’; Bridge died in 1941 without ever seeing Britten again. Many books were written about Ralph Vaughan Williams, who is considered one of the most influential British composers in the first half of the twentieth century. His composition skills developed slowly and began to flourish after him studying with Max Bruch and Maurice Ravel. Vaughan Williams started to collect British folk tunes en words, since folk music was almost becoming extinct because of the rapidly changing character from oral tradition to literacy. The enormous work has been of unequalled importance for preserving the cultural sources of English music. The staggering evolution of Vaughan Williams’ works between 1913 (Three Elizabethan Partsongs) and 1957 (Silence and Music) is apparent on this cd. John Ernest Moeran had strong connections to Ireland (his father was Irish), he spent much of his life in the land of his father and eventually died in Ireland. While studying with Stanford, he met Vaughan Williams and started, like him, collecting folk music from Norfolk and Suffolk. His preferred method was to sit in a country pub and wait until an old man started singing. He noted down the song and then asked for more… A strong facet of his music is the madrigal. Moeran was capable of staggering harmonic invention whilst working within the madrigal form. © Harry van Berne

Quink is a unique ensemble of international reputation. Since its first concerts in 1978 the group ranks among the top a cappella ensembles of the world. Quink’s regular members are four professional singers. Depending on the repertoire the group extends to 5-8 singers. Quink’s vast repertoire stretches from the Middle Ages to Contemporary Music, thus spanning more than 800 years of musical history! The musicians have always been praised for their flexible and versatile musicianship. Quink strives to authenticity in the way they perform different styles of music. For baroque and romantic repertoire Quink joins forces with instrumental specialists of the relevant era. For many years now Quink acts as an ambassador for new Dutch music and has performed many successful premieres.

1. O HAPPY EYES O happy eyes, for you will see  My love, my lady pass today;  What I may not, that may you say  And ask for answer daringly. O happy eyes. O happy flow’rs that touch her dress, That touch her dress and take her smile, O whisper to her all the while Some words of love in idleness. O happy flowers. O happy airs that touch her cheek, And lightly kiss and float away, So carelessly as if in play, Why take ye all the joy I seek? O happy eyes my love to see, Alas! alas! I may not greet With word or touch my lady sweet; More happy eyes, say all for me. Caroline Alice Elgar (1848 – 1920) 2. LOVE Like the rosy northern glow Flushing on a moonless night Where the world is level snow, So thy light.

In my time of outer gloom Thou didst come, a tender lure; Thou, when life was but a tomb, Beamedst pure. Thus I looked to heaven again, Yearning up with eager eyes, As sunflow’rs after dreary rain Drink the skies. Oh glow on and brighter glow, Let me ever gaze on thee, Lest I lose warm hope and so Cease to be. Arthur Maquarie (1874 – 1955) 3. MUSIC , WHEN SOFT VOICES DIE Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live with in the sense they quicken; Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved’s bed, And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822)

4. THE BEE The bee buzzed up in the heat, “I am faint for your honey, my sweet.” The flower said, “take it, my dear, For now is the spring of the year, So come!” “Hum!” And the bee buzzed down from the heat. And the bee buzzed up in the cold, When the flower was withered and old. “Have you still any honey, my dear?” She said, “It’s the fall of the year, But come!“ “Hum!” And the bee buzzed off in the cold. Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 – 1892) 5. SWEET DAY Sweet day, so cool, so calm , so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall tonight; For thou must die……. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die……

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turns round to coal, Then chiefly lives. George Herbert (1593 – 1633) 6. THE WILLOW SONG The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow; Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee Sing willow, willow, willow. The fresh streams ran by her and murmur’d her moans; Sing willow, willow, willow: Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones; Sing willow, willow, wilow, Sing all a green willow must be my garland. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) 7. O MISTRESS MINE O mistress min, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love’s coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know.

What is love? ‘tis not hereafter; Present mirth has present laughter; What’s to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth’s a stuff will not endure. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) 8. AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air, To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, And tell me our love is remember’d, even in the sky. Then I sing the wild song ‘t was once such pleasure to hear! When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear; And, as Echo far off through the vale my said orison rolls, I think, oh my love! ‘tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls, Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. Thomas Moore (1779 – 1852)

9. IT IS NOT THE TEAR It is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o’er him, That can tell how belov’d was the friend that’s fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. ’t Is the tear, thro’ many a long day wept, ‘t Is life’s whole path o’ershaded; ’t Is the one remembrance, fondly kept, When all lighter griefs have faded. Thus this memory, like some holy light, Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright, When we think how we liv’d but to love them! And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume, Where buried saints are lying, So our hearts shall borrow a sweet’ning bloom From the image he left ther in dying! Thomas Moore (1779 – 1852)

10. O WEARY HEARTS O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved, shall be loved again! No one is so accused by fate, no one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, responds unto his own. Responds, as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings; And whispers, “Where has thou stayed so long?” O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved, shall be loved again! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882) 11. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn this merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i’ the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) 12. THE RIVER-GOD’S SONG Do not fear to put thy feet Naked in the river sweet; Think not leech, or newt, or toad, Will bite thy foot, When thou hast trod; Nor let the water rising high, As thou wad’st in, make thee cry And sob; but ever live with me, And not a wave shall trouble thee! John Fletcher (1579 – 1625) 13. SPRING, THE SWEET SPRING Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, puwee, towittawoo!

The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, puwee, towittawoo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives asunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, puwee, towittawoo! Thomas Nashe (1567 – 1601) 14. LOVE IS A SICKNESS Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, Heigh-ho! Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full nor fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, Heigh-ho! Samuel Daniel (1562 – 1619)

15. SIGH NO MORE, LADIES Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny. Sing no more ditties, sing no more Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) 16. GOOD WINE Now that the Spring hath filled our veins With kind and active fire, And made green liveries for the plains, And every grove a quire: Sing we a song of merry glee, And Bacchus fill the bowl. Them here’s to thee; and thou to me And every thirsty soul.

Nor Care nor Sorrow e’er paid debt, Nor never shall do mine; I have no cradle going yet, Not I, by this good wine. No wife at home to send for me, No hogs are in my ground, No suit in law to pay a fee, Then round, old Jockey, round. Shear sheep that have them, cry we still, But see that no man ‘scape To drink of the sherry, That makes us so merry, and plump as the lusty grape. William Browne (1591 – 1643) 17. TO DAFFODILS Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early rising sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day has run But to the evensong; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer’s rain; 10

Or as the pearls of morning’s dew, Ne’er to be found again. Robert Herrick (1591 – 1674) 18. AUTUMN The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, On the earth her deathbed, in a shroud of leaves dead, is lying. Come, months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling, For the year, The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling;

Come, months, come away; Put on white, black, and grey, Let your sisters play Ye, follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822)

I have no other choice Either for pen or voice To sing or write

19. LOVE IS A SICKNESS Love is a sickness, full of woes, All remedies refusing: A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Hey ho! Samuel Daniel (1562 – 1619)

Fair house of joy and bliss Where truest pleasure is, I do adore thee; I know thee what thou art, I serve thee with my heart, And fall before thee. anonymous

20. FAIN WOULD I CHANGE THAT NOTE Fain would I change that note To which fond love hath charmed me. Long, long to sing by rote Fancying that that harmed me. Yet, when this thought doth come “Love is the perfect sum Of all delight,”

O Love, they wrong thee much That say thy fruit is bitter, When thy rich fruit is such, As nothing can be sweeter.

21. SHALL WE GO DANCE THE HAY, THE HAY? Shall we go dance the hay, the hay? Never pipe could ever play Better shepherd’s roundelay. Shall we go sing the song, the song? Never Love did ever wrong, Fair maids, hold hands all along. Shall we go learn to woo, to woo? Never thought ever came to, Better deed could better do. 11

Shall we go learn to kiss, to kiss? Never heart could ever miss Comfort, where true meaning is. Thus at base they run, they run. When the sport was scarce begun. But I waked–and all was done. Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) 22. OH BREATHE NOT HIS NAME Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonoured his relics are laid; Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o’er his head. But the night-dewe that falls, tho’ in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where it sleeps, And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. Thomas Moore (1779 – 1852)

23. SILENCE AND MUSIC Silence, come first Silence. I see a sleeping swan, wings closed and drifting where the waters lead, a winter moon, a grove where shadows dream, a hand outstretched to gather hollow reeds. The four winds in their litanies can tell all earth’s stories as they weep and cry, the sea names all the treasure of her tides the birds rejoice between the earth and sky. Voices of grief and from the heart of joy; so near to comprehension do we stand that wind and sea and all of winged delight lie in the octaves of man’s voice and hand and music wakes from silence, where it slept. Joan Ursula Penton Lock (1911 – 2007) 24. HOW SWEET THE ANSWER How sweet the answer echo makes To Music at night,

When, rous’d by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away, o’er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light! Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e’er beneath the moonlight’s star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. ‘Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, And only then, The sigh that’s breath’d for one to hear, Is by that one, that only dear, Breath’d back again. Thomas Moore (1779 – 1852) 25. SINCE THOU, O FONDEST Since thou, O fondest and truest, hast loved me best and longest, And now with trust the strongest the joy of my heart renewest; Since thou art dearer and dearer while other hearts grow colder, And ever, as love is older, more lovingly drawest nearer. Since now I see in the measure of all my giving and taking, Thou wert my hand in the making,

the sense and the soul of my pleasure; The good I have repaid thee, in heav’n I pray be recorded, And all thy love rewarded, by God, thy master that made thee. Robert Bridges (1844 – 1930) 26. IF I HAD BUT TWO LITTLE WINGS If I had but two little wings And were a little feathery bird, To you I’d fly, my dear! But thoughts like these are idle things, And I stay here. But in my sleep to you I fly: I’m always with you in my sleep! The world is all one’s own. But then one wakes, and where am I? All, all alone. Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: So I love to wake ere break of day: For though my sleep be gone, Yet while ‘tis dark, one shuts one’s lids, And still dreams on. Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

27. THERE ROLLS THE DEEP There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; For tho’ my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell. Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 – 1892) 28. WHAT VOICE OF GLADNESS What voice of gladness, hark! In heaven is ringing? From the sad fields the lark Is upward winging. High through the mournful mist that blots our day Their songs betray them soaring in the grey. See them! Nay, they

In sunlight swim; above the furthest stain Of cloud attain; their hearts in music rain Upon the plain. Sweet birds, far out of sight Your songs of pleasure Dome us with joy as bright As heaven’s best azure. Robert Bridges (1844 – 1930) 29. MUSIC, WHEN SOFT VOICES DIE Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.

Quink Vocal Ensemble is grateful to everyone who contributed to the financing of this CD. Our special thanks go to the following people (in alphabetical order): Corrie Beekman, KeesJan & Lourie de Koning, Deanne Lassche, Dorinde van Oort, Sacha van Rooijen, Wim Ruijgrok, Albert Schuurman, Marijke & Jan Stavast, Willem Veltheer, Frank van Vliet, René Wijkamp, Machteld van Woerden

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap’d for the beloved’s bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822)