1314 Program Notes: Anush Avetisyan, soprano

center

program

Mondavi

Anush Avetisyan, soprano cathy miller, piano

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Anush Avetisyan, soprano Cathy Miller, piano A Debut Series Event Sunday, November10, 2013 Vanderhoef Studio Theatre Sponsored by There will be one intermission.

Individual support for the Debut Series artist residency program provided by Eunice Adair-Christensen in memory of Oren Christensen.

Program I — And So It Begins Love’s Philosophy

So Pretty

How Fair This Spot

Art is Calling for Me II — Memories (a) Very Pleasant (b) Rather Sad

Roger Quilter Leonard Bernstein Sergei Rachmaninoff Victor Herbert Charles Ives

III — Poetry “Hands” Sarah Kay

IV — Armenian Song Book

“Anor” H. Berberyan

“Kakavik” Komitas

“Arax” Intermission V — Poetry “If I were to have a daughter”

Sarah Kay

VI — The American Song Book

“My Heart is Singing” Walter Jurman

“Beneath the Lights of Home”

“Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” Jerome Kern

“The Man I Love” George Gershwin VII — Italian Art Song

“La Promessa”

“Il Bacio”

Gioacchino Rossini Luigi Arditi

VIII — Musical Theater

“I Feel Pretty”

“Till There Was You”

Bernstein Willson

texts

Quilter: Love’s Philosophy Text: Percy Bysshe Shelley

Rachmaninoff: How Fair This Spot Text: Glafira Adol’fovna Galina

Herbert: Art is Calling for Me Text: Harry B. Smith

The fountains mingle with the River And the Rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another’s being mingle.

Why not I with thine?

Here are all things fine ...

Look off yonder, far away, With fire the river comes alight; Gay colored rugs the meadows lay, Clouds turn a brighter white.

Mama is a queen and Papa is a king So I am a princess (and) I know it But court etiquette is a dull dreary thing I just hate it all and I show it To sing on the stage that’s the one life for me My figure’s just like Tetrazzini I know I’d win fame if I sang in Bohéme That opera by Signor Puccini I’ve roulades and the trills That would send the cold chills Down the backs of all hearers of my vocal frills Aah-aah-aah-aah-aah-aah-aah-aah-aah-aaaaahhhhhh

See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What are all these kissings worth If thou kiss not me?

Bernstein: So Pretty Text: Betty Comden and Adolph Green We were learning in our school today All about a country far away Full of lovely temples painted gold, Modern cities, jungles ages old.

And the people are so pretty there, Shining smiles and shiny eyes and hair.

Then I had to ask my teacher why War was making all those people die.

They’re so pretty, so pretty.

Then my teacher said and took my hand, “They must die for peace you understand.”

But they’re so pretty, so pretty.

I don’t understand.

Here, none cometh nearby ...

Here is mute tranquility ...

Here are only God and I, Flowers, yes, this old pine tree, And you, blest dream of mine!

I long to be a prima donna, donna, donna I long to shine upon the stage I have the embonpoint To become a queen of song And my figure would look pretty as a page I want to be a screechy peachy cantatrice Like other plump girls that I see I hate society I hate propriety Art is calling for me I’m in the elite and men sigh at my feet Still I do not fancy my position I have not much use for the men that I meet I quite burn with lyric ambition Those tenors so sweet If they made love to me I’d be a success, that I do know And Melba I’d oust if I once sang in Faust That opera so charming by Gounod Girls would be on the brink Of hysterics, I think Even strong men would have to go out for a drink I long to be a prima donna, donna, donna I long to shine upon the stage With my avoirdupois And my tra la la la la I would be the chief sensation of the age I long to hear them shouting: “Viva” to the Diva Oh, very lovely that must be That’s what I’m dying for That’s what I’m sighing for Art is calling for me

Ives: Memories (A. “Very Pleasant”; B. “Rather Sad”) Text: Charles Ives A. We’re sitting in the opera house, the opera house, the opera house; We’re waiting for the curtain to a-rise with wonders for our eyes; We’re feeling pretty gay, and well we may, “O, Jimmy, look!” I say, “The band is tuning up and soon will start to play.”

We whistle and we hum, beat time with the drum.

We’re sitting in the opera house, the opera house, the opera house; awaiting for the curtain to rise with wonders for our eyes, a feeling of expectancy, a certain kind of ecstasy, expectancy and ecstasy, expectancy and ecstasy, Sh’..s’..s’.s’.

B. From the street a strain on my ear doth fall, a tune as threadbare as that “old red shawl,” it is tattered, it is torn, it shows signs of being worn, it’s the tune my Uncle hummed from early morn, ‘twas a common little thing and kind ‘a sweet, but ‘twas sad and seemed to slow up both his feet; I can see him shuffling down to the barn to the town, a-humming.

“Hands”

By Sarah Kay People used to tell me that I had beautiful hands told me so often, in fact, that one day I started to believe them until I asked my photographer father, “Hey daddy could I be a hand model?” to which he said “No way.” I don’t remember the reason he gave me and I would’ve been upset, but there were far too many stuffed animals to hold, too many homework assignments to write, too many boys to wave at, too many years to grow. We used to have a game, my dad and I about holding hands cause we held hands everywhere, and every time either he or I would whisper a great big number to the other, pretending that we were keeping track of how many times we had held hands that we were sure, this one had to be 8 million 2 thousand 7 hundred and fifty-three.

Hands learn more than minds do, hands learn how to hold other hands, how to grip pencils and mold poetry, how to tickle pianos and dribble a basketball, and grip the handles of a bicycle how to hold old people, and touch babies. I love hands like I love people; they’re the maps and compasses in which we navigate our way through life. Some people read palms to tell your future, but I read hands to tell your past, each scar marks the story worth telling, each

callused palm, each cracked knuckle is a missed punch or years in a factory, now I’ve seen Middle Eastern hands clenched in Middle Eastern fists pounding against each other like war drums, each country sees their fists as warriors and others as enemies even if fists alone are only hands.

But this is not about politics, no hands are not about politics, this is a poem about love, and fingers, fingers that interlock like a beautiful zipper of prayer. One time I grabbed my dad’s hands so that our fingers interlocked perfectly but he changed positions quickly, saying “No that hand hold is for your mom.” Kids high five, but grown-ups, we shake hands, you need a firm hand shake, but don’t hold on too tight, but don’t let go too soon, but don’t hold down for too long, but hands are not about politics, when did it become so complicated? I always thought it was so simple.

The other day my dad looked at my hands, as if seeing them for the first time, and with laughter behind his eyelids, with all the seriousness a man of his humor could muster, he said “You know … you got nice hands, you could’ve been a hand model,” and before the laughter can escape me, I shake my head at him, squeeze his hand, 8 million 2 thousand 7 hundred and fifty four.

“If I Should Have a Daughter” Sarah Kay If I should have a daughter … instead of “Mom,” she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the backs of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.

And “Baby,” I’ll tell her, “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”

But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, ’cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.

I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone

booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ’cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.

You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naïve but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

“Baby,” I’ll tell her, “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”

Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep, hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.”

Jurman: “My Heart Is Singing” Text: Gus Kahn My heart is singing because it’s May My cares go winging and fly away For spring came swinging along Bringing a song today.

The breeze that lingers upon his way To watch a sunbeam at play Composes a love song to the roses A love song that my heart is singing today.

On the wings of song, let me fly away Where woodland voices are calling Leaving all my cares behind me Never more to find me While I tell the world this is May. For spring came swinging along Bringing a song today.

Composes a love song to the roses A love song that my heart is singing today.

Jurman: “Beneath the Lights of Home” Text: Bernie Grossman I can see the lights of home Shining brightly o’er the foam, Beckon to me while I roam Away from lights of home.

I can see somebody there, Loving eyes and silver hair, I can see her kneel in prayer Beneath the lights of home.

In that little old sleepy town, Nothing happens when the sun goes down, Not a thing but moonbeams run around, In a starry dome.

Turn the hands of time for me, Let me live my memory, Once again I long to be Beneath the lights of home.

Kern: “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” Text: Otto Harbach They asked me how I knew my true love was true, I of course replied, something here inside cannot be denied.

They said someday you’ll find all who love are blind, When your heart’s on fire, you must realize, Smoke gets in your eyes.

So I chaffed and then I gaily laughed, To think that they could doubt my love, Yet today, my love has flown away, I am without my love.

Now laughing friends deride tears I cannot hide, So I smile and say when a lovely flame dies, Smoke gets in your eyes.

Gershwin: “The Man I Love” Text: Ira Gershwin Someday he’ll come along, The man I love, And he’ll be big and strong, The man I love, And when he comes my way I’ll do my best to make him stay.

He’ll look at me and smile.

I’ll understand And in a little while He’ll take my hand.

And though it seems absurd I know we both won’t say a word.

Maybe I will meet him Sunday, Maybe Monday, maybe not.

Still, I’m sure to meet him one day, Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day.

We’ll build a little home Just meant for two, From which I’ll never roam.

Who would, would you?

And so all else above I’m dreaming of The man I love.

Rossini: La Promessa (“The Promise”) Text: Pietro Metastasio Ch’io mai vi possa lasciar d’amare,

No, nol credete, pupille care, Ne men per gioco v’ingannerò.

Voi foste e siete le mie faville, E voi sarete, care pupille, Il mio bel foco finch’io vivrò.

That I will ever be able to stop loving you, No, don’t believe it, dear eyes!

Not even to joke would I deceive you about this.

You alone are my spark, and you will be, dear eyes, my beautiful fire as long as I live, ah!

Arditi: Il bacio (“A Kiss”) Text: Gottardo Aldighieri Sulle labbra se potessi dolce un bacio ti darei.

Tutte ti direi le dolcezze dell’amor.

Sempre assisa te d’appresso, mille gaudii ti direi, Ah! ti direi.

Ed i palpiti udirei che rispondono al mio cor.

Gemme e perle non desio, non son vaga d’altro affetto.

Un tuo sguardo è il mio diletto, un tuo bacio è il mio tesor.

Ah! Vieni! ah vien! più non tardare!

Ah vien! nell’ebbrezza d’un amplesso ch’io viva!

Ah!

If I could only give you a kiss on your lips, It would tell you all the delights of love, Abiding to speak a thousand joys to you!

Ah, thus it would speak to you along with my heart’s palpitations.

I do not desire gems or pearls, nor do I seek others’ affections.

Your look is my delight, your kiss is my treasure.

Ah ! Come! Do not delay!

Ah! Come! Let us enjoy love’s life-giving intoxication.

Ah!

Bernstein: “I Feel Pretty” from West Side Story Text: Stephen Sondheim I feel pretty Oh so pretty I feel pretty and witty and bright And I pity Any girl who isn’t me tonight I feel charming Oh so charming It’s alarming how charming I feel And so pretty That I hardly can believe I’m real See the pretty girl in that mirror there?

Who can that attractive girl be?

Such a pretty face Such a pretty dress Such a pretty smile Such a pretty me!

I feel stunning And entrancing Feel like running And dancing for joy For I’m loved By a pretty wonderful boy

Have you met my good friend Maria The craziest girl on the block?

You’ll know her the minute you see her She’s the one who is in an advanced state of shock She thinks she’s in love She thinks she’s in Spain She isn’t in love She’s merely insane It must be the heat Or some rare disease Or too much to eat Or maybe it’s fleas Keep away from her Send for Chino This is not the Maria we know Modest and pure Polite and refined Well-bred and mature And out of her mind!

Miss America, Miss America, speech!

I feel pretty Oh so pretty That the city should give me its key A committee Should be organized to honor me(la la la la la la la la) I feel dizzy I feel sunny I feel fizzy and funny and fine And so pretty Miss America can just resign (la la la la la la la la) See the pretty girl in that mirror there (What mirror, where?)

Who can that attractive girl be?

(Which, what, where?)

Such a pretty face Such a pretty dress Such a pretty smile Such a pretty me!

I feel stunning (I feel stunning) And entrancing (And entrancing) Feel like running and dancing for joy (Feel like running and

dancing for joy) For I’m loved By a pretty wonderful boy Willson: “Till There Was You” from The Music Man Text: Meredith Willson There were bells on the hill But I never heard them ringing, No, I never heard them at all Till there was you.

There were birds in the sky But I never saw them winging No, I never saw them at all Till there was you.

And there was music, And there were wonderful roses, They tell me, In sweet fragrant meadows of dawn, and dew.

There was love all around But I never heard it singing No, I never heard it at all Till there was you!

Behind the Face Behind the Face is a recital inspired by a jazz song of the same title by Carmen McRae. In examining the question “What truly lies behind a face?” the young opera singer Anush Avetisyan found a deep connection to her own family history and its stories of tragedy and endurance. A first generation Armenian-American immigrant whose family survived the Armenian genocide, Avetisyan discovered through this

project the richness that lies in the roots of our respective cultures and the power that lies in peace and acceptance. As a young person coming of age in a world that seems often to stress superficial interaction over self-examination and growth, Avetisyan turns to music of many genres and many perspectives to present a program that communicates her own passion for personal and profound communication through the art form she loves.

Anush Avetisyan, soprano

Catherine Miller, piano

In June of 2013 soprano Anush Avetisyan, “who, at age 21, proved to be a gifted singer and interpreter beyond her years” (German World magazine), received her B.A. from UCLA with a double major in vocal performance and music education as a student of Vladimir Chernov. In February, she sang the role of Euridice in Opera UCLA’s Orpheus in the Underworld

by Jacques Offenbach, directed by Peter Kazaras, and in May sang the title role in UCLA’s production of Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea, directed by James Darrah. In June of 2011 she sang the role of Amelia in excerpts from Simon Boccanegra and the role of Leonora in an excerpt from La forza del destino under the baton of Maestro Donald Neuen at UCLA’s Opera Gala. Also under Maestro Neuen, Avetisyan performed in last season’s Messiah with the Angeles Chorale.

In 2011 she created the role of Alice B. Toklas in the world premiere of a new chamber version of Jonathan Sheffer’s Blood on the Dining Room Floor with text by Gertrude Stein and is featured in a professional recording released with Sheffer conducting. Avetisyan regularly performs with the LA Opera Education and Community Programs department in an attempt to bring opera to the local community. Her series Project Behind the Face, a recital aimed at celebrating and inspiring young talent, premiered at UCLA in April of 2013.

Pianist Catherine Miller is a native of Sacramento and a graduate of John F. Kennedy High School. Having completed her bachelor of music degree from the University of Southern California, she also holds a master of music degree from the Juilliard School and was a Fulbright Scholar in Budapest, Hungary. Active as an operatic pianist, she served as a longtime music staff member for both Los Angeles Opera and Opera Pacific. She was recently the principal pianist/ coach for Opera Santa Barbara’s production of Aida and is currently one of the pianist/coaches for the University of California Herb Alpert School of Music, Los Angeles. A frequent pianist for the opera performed at the Hollywood Bowl with the Los Angeles Master Chorale, she most recently worked with Maestro Gustavo Dudamel on last summer’s production of Aida. Active as a recitalist, she most recently performed at Wigmore Hall in London with soprano Angel Blue. Other recitals venues include The Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts and the Salon Series of Opera San Luis Obispo. Internationally, she has been a music staff member at the Teatro Municipal in Santiago, Chile, the Lucca Opera Theater and the Spoleto Festival in Italy. She has worked with the Santa Fe Opera, the San Diego Opera Ensemble, as an apprentice coach with the San Francisco Opera Center’s Merola Program and has participated in the Western Opera Theater’s National Tour. Miller is currently serving as organist at St. Matthew’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in North Hollywood.

This past season, Avetisyan won first place in the Palm Springs Opera Guild competition, first place in the New Century Singers Whittier competition, first place in the Mondavi Center Young Artists Competition (where she was later featured singing the national anthem at UC Davis’ 2012 Convocation), and fourth place in the Loren L. Zachary Society Competition. She was also a Wolf Trap Studio Young Artist in the 2013 season.

Avetisyan is a scholarship recipient from UCLA Gluck Foundation, The Opera Buffs inc., Loren L. Zachary Society, California Women’s Chorus and Armenian Allied Arts Association.

In addition to her work as an operatic vocal coach and piano teacher, Miller is the artistic consultant for the Pasadena Opera Guild and has served as accompanist for the National Children’s Choir. Active as a competition accompanist, Miller is the official accompanist for the Metropolitan Opera Competition for the Los Angeles District and the West Coast Auditions and Dalis Vocal Competition in San Jose, CA. She has recently been appointed as the official accompanist for the Loren L. Zachary National Vocal Competition for Young Opera Singers held in the spring of 2014. Other competitions for which she has played include the Classical Singer Convention, the Operalia World Voice Competition and the Jose Iturbi International Competition.