JUNIOR VOCAL RECITAL
Ria Patel, soprano
Monica Adams, piano
Bergen Finley, guitar
Tuesday, April 9, 2024
7:30 pm
Recital Hall
L’abbandono (1835)
APRIL 9, 2024, 7:30 PM
Monica Adams, piano
Tonadillas en estilo antiguo, H. 136
El majo tímido (1912)
El tra la la y el punteado (1912)
El majo discreto (1912)
Amor y odio (1913)
Callejeo (1913)
Nature Boy (1948)
Monica Adams, piano
There Will Never Be Another You (1942)
Bergen Finley, guitar
जूता (Shoe) from Chuti hui jagah (2015)
Fiançailles pour rire, FP 101 (1839)
La dame d’André
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Violon
Je veux vivre from Roméo et Juliette (1867)
Monica Adams, piano
This recital is presented as a degree requirement for a Bachelor of Music in Music Performance.
Ria Patel is a third-year performance major, studying voice with Daniel Ebbers, jazz voice with Melissa Fulkerson, and coaching with Eric Dudley. She performs with Pacific Singers, sings lead soprano in Pacific’s Vocal Jazz Ensemble, and most recently played the roles of Oberto in Alcina and Rapunzel in Into the Woods with Pacific Opera Theatre.
Vincenzo Bellini (1801–1835)
Enrique Granados (1867–1916)
eden ahbez (1908–1995)
Harry Warren (1893–1981)
Reena Esmail (b. 1983)
Francis Poulenc (1899–1963)
Charles Gounod (1818–1893)
Bellini: L’abbandono
Solitario zeffiretto, a che muovi i tuoi sospiri?
Il sospiro a me sol lice, ché, dolente ed infelice, chiamo Dafne che non ode l’insoffribil mio martir.
Langue invan la mammoletta e la rosa e il gelsomino; lunge son da lui che adoro, non conosco alcun ristoro se non viene a consolarmi col bel guardo cilestrino.
Ape industre, che vagando sempre vai di fior in fiore, ascolta.
Se lo scorgi ov’ei dimora, di’ che rieda a chi l’adora, come riedi tu nel seno delle rose al primo albor
—anonymous
The Abandonment
Lonely breeze to whom do you direct your sigh?
The sighing is meant for me alone for, grieving and unhappy, I call to Dafne, who does not hear my unbearable torment.
The little violet, and the rose and the jasmine languish in vain; I am far from him whom I adore, I know no relief if he does not come to console me with his beautiful blue eyes.
Industrious bee, who is always roaming from flower to flower, listen.
If you see him wherever he is, tell him to return to the one who adores him, like you return to the bosom of the roses at the first light of dawn.
—trans. anonymous
Granados: Tonadillas en estilo antiguo Tonadillas (Songs) in Old Style
El majo tímido
Llega a mi reja y me mira por la noche un majo que, en cuanto me ve y suspira, se va calle abajo. ¡Ay qué tío más tardío! ¡Si así se pasa la vida estoy divertida!
Otra vez pasa y se aleja y no se entusiasma y bajito yo le digo ¡Adiós Don Fantasma! ¡Ay que tío más tardío! Si así se pasa la vida estoy divertida. A Timid Man
Arriving at my window grate to look at me in the evening is a gent, who, when he sees me and sighs, disappears down the road.
Ah, what a fleeting fellow!
If this is how life goes, I’m amused!
It happens again and he goes away and is not enthused, and I say softly to him, “Adios, Mr. Ghost!”
Ah, what a fleeting fellow!
If this is how life goes, I’m amused!
El tra la la y el punteado
Es en balde, majo mío, que sigas hablando
porque hay cosas que contesto yo siempre cantando: Tra la la . . .
Por más que preguntes tanto: tra la la . . .
En mí no causas quebranto ni yo he de salir de mi canto: tra la la . . .
El majo discreto
Dicen que mi majo es feo. Es posible que sí que lo sea, que amor es deseo que ciega y marea. Ha tiempo que sé que quien ama no ve.
Mas si no es mi majo un hombre que por lindo descuelle y asombre, en cambio es discreto y guarda un secreto que yo posé en él sabiendo que es fiel.
¿Cuál es el secreto que el majo guardó? Sería indiscreto contarlo yo.
No poco trabajo costara saber secretos de un majo con una mujer. Nació en Lavapiés.
¡Eh, eh!
¡Es un majo, un majo es!
The Tra la la and the Picking
It is in vain, my boy, that you go on talking,
For there are things to which I always answer in song: Tra la la . . .
No matter how many times you ask: Tra la la . . .
You cause me no grief and I will not cease to sing: Tra la la . . .
The Discreet Lover
Some say that my beloved is ugly. It is possible that may be the case, For love is desire which blinds and dizzies. For a while I have known that those who love do not see.
But if my beloved is not a man whose beauty turns heads and astonishes, Rather, he is discreet and keeps a secret that I entrusted to him knowing that he is true.
What is this secret
that my beloved is guarding? It would be indiscreet for me to reveal it.
It would be no small feat to learn the secrets between a man and a woman. He was born in Lavapiés.
Uh-huh!
He’s a dear, a dear he is!
Amor y odio
Pensé que yo sabría ocultar la pena mía que por estar en lo profundo no alcanzara a ver el mundo: este amor callado que un majo malvado en mi alma encendió.
Y no fue así porque él vislumbró el pesar oculto en mí. Pero fue en vano que vislumbrara pues el villano no mostrose ajeno de que le amara.
Y esta es la pena que sufro ahora: sentir mi alma llena de amor por quien me olvida, sin que una luz alentadora surja en las sombras de mi vida.
Callejeo
Dos horas ha que callejeo pero no veo, nerviosa ya, sin calma, al que le di confiada el alma.
No vi hombre jamás que mintiera más que el majo que hoy me engaña; mas no le ha de valer pues siempre fui mujer de maña y si es menester, correré sin parar tras el entera España.
Fernando Periquet
Love and Hate
I thought that I could conceal my sorrow, That because it is so deep, it would not see the world: This quiet love that a wicked man lit in my soul.
And it wasn’t so because he caught sight of the grief hidden within me. But it was in vain that he glimpsed it, for the villain did not distance himself From that which he loved.
And this is the pain that I suffer now:
Feeling my soul filled with love for one who has forgotten me, Without an encouraging light to pierce through the shadows of my life.
Wandering
Two hours I’ve been wandering but I don’t see, now agitated and without peace, the man to whom I trustingly gave my soul.
I’ve never before seen a man that lied more than the man who now deceives me; but, it’ll be of no use to him for I’ve always been a resourceful woman and if necessary, I’ll run without stopping through all of Spain.
trans. Ria Patelahbez: Nature Boy
There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy
And sad of eye
But very wise was he
And then one day
One magic day he passed my way
And while we spoken of many things, fools and kings
This he said to me
The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved in return
—eden ahbezWarren: There Will Never Be Another You
There will be many other nights like this
And I’ll be standing here with someone new
There will be other songs to sing
Another fall, another spring
But there will never be another you
There will be other lips that I may kiss
But they won’t thrill me like yours used to do
Yes, I may dream a million dreams
But how can they come true
If there will never ever be another you?
—Mack GordonEsmail:
Shoe
When the shoe bites
Then it becomes difficult to delineate (navigate through) the world
And when the shoe stops biting
Then it becomes difficult to delineate (navigate through) time.
—trans. Reena Esmail
Poulenc: Fiançailles pour rire
La dame d’André
André ne connaît pas la dame
Qu’il prend aujourd’hui par la main.
A-t-elle un coeur à lendemains, Et pour le soir a-t-elle une âme?
Au retour d’un bal campagnard
S’en allait-elle en robe vague Chercher dans les meules la bague
Des fiançailles du hasard?
A-t-elle eu peur, la nuit venue, Guettée par les ombres d’hier, Dans son jardin, lorsque l’hiver
Entrait par la grande avenue?
Il l’a aimée pour sa couleur, Pour sa bonne humeur de Dimanche.
Pâlira-t-elle aux feuilles blanches
De son album des temps meilleurs?
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Doux comme un gant de peau glacée
Et mes prunelles effacées
Font de mes yeux des cailloux blancs.
Deux cailloux blancs dans mon visage
Dans le silence deux muets
Ombrés encore d’un secret
Et lourds du poids mort des images.
Mes doigts tant de fois égarés
Sont joints en attitude sainte
Appuyés au creux de mes plaintes
Au nœud de mon cœur arrêté.
Et mes deux pieds sont des montagnes, Les deux derniers monts que j’ai vus
À la minute où j’ai perdu
La course que les années gagnent.
Whimsical Betrothal
André’s Lady
André does not know the lady whose hand he takes today.
Does she have a heart for tomorrows, And in the evening, does she have a soul?
Returning from a country dance, did she go off in a flowy dress to look in the millstones for the ring of a chance engagement?
Was she afraid once the night came, threatened by the shadows of yesterday, In her garden, when the winter entered through the grand avenue?
He had loved her for her complexion, for her good Sunday humor.
Will she fade into the blank pages of her album of better times?
My Corpse Is Soft Like a Glove
My corpse is soft like a glove
Soft like a glove of icy skin
And my faded pupils
Make white pebbles from my eyes.
Two white pebbles in my face
In the silence, two mutes
Shadowed still by a secret
And heavy with the dead weight of images.
My often straying fingers
Are joined together in a holy pose
Leant on the hollow of my sorrows
At the knot of my stopped heart.
And my two feet are mountains
The last two hills that I saw
At the moment when I lost
The race that the years won.
Mon souvenir est ressemblant, Enfants emportez-le bien vite, Allez, allez, ma vie est dite.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant.
Violon
Couple amoureux aux accents méconnus
Le violon et son joueur me plaisent.
Ah! j’aime ces gémissements tendus
Sur la corde des malaises.
Aux accords sur les cordes des pendus
À l’heure où les Lois se taisent
Le coeur en forme de fraise
S’offre à l’amour comme un fruit inconnu.
My memory is life-like, Children, take it away quickly. Go, go, my life is spoken for. My corpse is soft like a glove.
Violin
Amorous couple of unknown accents, The violin and his player please me.
Ah! I love these taut moanings on the chord of malaises.
To the chords [played] on the cords of the hanged, in the hour where the Law hushes, the heart, in the form of a strawberry offers itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Gounod: Je veux vivre
Ah! Je veux vivre
Dans ce rêve qui m’enivre; Ce jour encore,
Douce flamme, je te garde dans mon âme
Comme un trésor!
Cette ivresse de jeunesse
Ne dure, hélas, qu’un jour!
Puis vient l’heure où l’on pleure,
Le cœur cède à l’amour,
Et le bonheur fuit sans retour.
Loin de l’hiver morose
Laisse-moi sommeiller
Et respirer la rose
Avant de l’effeuiller.
Douce flamme,
Reste dans mon âme
Comme un doux trésor
Longtemps encore!
—Jules Barbier and Michel Carré—Louise de Vilmorin music.pacific.edu
I Want to Live
—trans. Laura Claycomb
Ah! I want to live
In this dream that intoxicates me
This day again!
Sweet flame, I guard you in my soul
Like a treasure!
This intoxication of youth
Doesn’t last, alas, but a day!
Then comes the hour at which one cries, The heart surrenders to love
And happiness flees without return.
Far from the morose winter
Let me sleep
And breathe in the rose
Before it dies.
Sweet flame, Stay in my soul
Like a sweet treasure
For a long time, again!
—trans. Robert Glaubitz