SENIOR VOICE RECITAL
Monica Adams, piano
Friday, April 19, 2024
7:30 pm
Recital Hall
APRIL 19, 2024, 7:30 PM
I Attempt from Love’s Sickness to Fly from The Indian Queen (1695)
Sweeter Than Roses from Paisanius (1695)
Lascia ch’io pianga from Rinaldo (1731)
Bel piacere from Agrippina (1709)
Zwölf Gedichte aus ”Liebesfrühling,” op. 12 (1841) Liebst du um Schönheit
Das Veilchen (1853)
Mein Stern (1846)
Die Lorelei (1843)
Frère! Voyez! from Werther (1887)
Intermission
Henry Purcell (1655–1695)
George Fredric Händel (1685–1759)
Clara Schumann (1819–1896)
Jules Massenet (1842–1912)
APRIL 19, 2024, 7:30 PM
Ariettes oubliées (1885)
C’est l’extase langoureuse
Green
Chevaux de bois
Three Shakespeare Songs, op. 37 (1897)
Fairy Lullaby
Three Browning Songs, op. 44 (1899)
The Year’s at the Spring
Irish Folk Song Arrangements
The Last Rose of Summer (1960)
This recital is presented as a degree requirement for a Bachelor of Music in Music Performance.
Sacramento native Jordan Yang is in her final semester at University of the Pacific, guided by Daniel Ebbers. A talented Hmong-American soprano, Yang started her musical journey at age twelve. She has performed at diverse events, including the Hill Tribe Fusion’s fashion show: Journey. Her notable roles at Pacific include Cinderella in Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods in spring 2023 and Morgana in Alcina in spring 2024. After graduation, she hopes to start a successful operatic career, aspiring to be the first Hmong-American opera singer at the Metropolitan Opera.
Claude Debussy (1862–1918)
Amy Beach (1867–1944)
Benjamin Britten (1913–1976)
Händel: Lascia ch’io pianga
Armida, dispietata colla forza d’abisso, rapimmi al caro.
Ciel di miei contenti, e qui con duolo eterno viva mi tiene in tormento d’inferno.
Signor! Ah! Per pietà, lascia mi piangere
Lascia ch’io pianga
Mia cruda sorte, E che sospiri
La libertà.
Il duolo infranga
Queste ritorte, De’ miei martiri
Sol per pietà.
Händel: Bel piacere
Bel piacere è godere, È godere fido amor!
—Giacomo Rossi
Questo fà contento il core.
Di bellezza non s’apprezza lo splendor; Se non vien d’un fido core.
—Giacomo Rossi
Schumann: Liebst du um Schönheit
Liebst du um Schönheit, O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe die Sonne, Sie trägt ein gold’nes Haar!
Liebst du um Jugend, O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe den Frühling, Der jung ist jedes Jahr!
Let Me Weep
Armida, merciless with the strength of the abyss, kidnap me from my dear. Heaven of my contentments, and here with eternal pain alive keeps me in torment of hell. God! Ah! For pity’s sake, let me cry.
Let me weep
My cruel fate, And that I should have freedom. The duel infringes within these twisted places, in my sufferings I pray for mercy.
—trans. Aaron Green
A Great Pleasure
A great pleasure it is to enjoy a faithful love! This suffices to make the heart happy.
Beauty's splendor is no welcome guest if it comes not from a faithful heart.
—trans. Andrew Schneider
If You Love for Beauty
If you love for beauty, O love not me!
Love the sun, She has golden hair.
If you love for youth, O love not me!
Love the spring
Which is young each year.
Liebst du um Schätze, O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe die Meerfrau, Sie hat viel Perlen klar!
Liebst du um Liebe, O ja, mich liebe!
Liebe mich immer, Dich lieb’ ich immerdar!
—Friedrich Rückert
Schumann: Ein Veilchen
Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese stand, Gebückt in sich und unbekannt; Es war ein herzigs Veilchen.
Da kam ein’ junge Schäferin
Mit leichtem Schritt und muntrem Sinn
Daher, daher, Die Wiese her und sang.
Ach! denkt das Veilchen, wär ich nur
Die schönste Blume der Natur, Ach, nur ein kleines Weilchen, Bis mich das Liebchen abgepflückt
Und an dem Busen matt gedrückt!
Ach nur, ach nur
Ein Viertelstündchen lang!
Ach! aber ach! das Mädchen kam
Und nicht in Acht das Veilchen nahm, Ertrat das arme Veilchen.
Es sank und starb und freut’ sich noch:
Und sterb’ ich denn, so sterb’ ich doch
Durch sie, durch sie,
Zu ihren Füßen doch.
Das arme Veilchen
Es war ein herzigs Veilchen!
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
If you love for riches, O love not me!
Love the mermaid Who has many shining pearls.
If you love for love, Ah yes, love me! Love me always, I shall love you ever more.
—trans. Richard Stokes
A Violet
A violet was growing in the meadow, Unnoticed and with bowed head; It was a dear sweet violet.
Along came a young shepherdess, Light of step and happy of heart, Along, along Through the meadow, and sang.
Ah! thinks the violet, if I were only
The loveliest flower in all Nature, Ah! for only a little while, Till my darling had picked me And crushed me against her bosom!
Ah only, ah only For a single quarter hour!
But alas, alas, the girl drew near And took no heed of the violet, Trampled the poor violet.
It sank and died, yet still rejoiced: And if I die, at least I die Through her, through her And at her feet.
The poor violet!
It was a dear sweet violet!
—trans. Richard Stokes
Schumann: Mein Stern
O du mein Stern, Schau dich so gern, Wenn still im Meere die Sonne sinket, Dein gold’nes Auge so tröstend winket
In meiner Nacht!
O du mein Stern, Aus weiter Fern’, Bist du ein Bote mit Liebesgrüßen, Laß deine Strahlen mich durstig küssen In banger Nacht.
O du mein Stern, Verweile gern, Und lächelnd führ’ auf des Lichts Gefieder
Der Träume Engel dem Freunde wieder
In seine Nacht.
—Friederike Serre
O You My Star
O you my star, I love to observe you, When the sun slips quietly into the sea, And your golden gaze beckons so consolingly In my night!
O you my star, From afar
You bring me tidings of love, Let me passionately kiss your rays
In fearful night.
O you my star, Linger gladly, And smilingly on the wings of light
Escort once more the angel of dreams to your friend
In his night.
—trans. Richard Stokes
Schumann: Die Lorelei
Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten, Daß ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten, Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die Luft ist kühl und es dunkelt, Und ruhig fließt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar, Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet, Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.
Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme
Und singt ein Lied dabei, Das hat eine wundersame, Gewalt’ge Melodei.
Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh; Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe, Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh’.
Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Die Lorelei getan.
—Heinrich HeineLoreley
I do not know what it means
That I should feel so sad; There is a tale from olden times I cannot get out of my mind.
The air is cool, and twilight falls, And the Rhine flows quietly by;
The summit of the mountains glitters
In the evening sun.
The fairest maiden is sitting
In wondrous beauty up there, Her golden jewels are sparkling, She combs her golden hair.
She combs it with a golden comb
And sings a song the while; It has an awe-inspiring, Powerful melody.
It seizes the boatman in his skiff
With wildly aching pain; He does not see the rocky reefs, He only looks up to the heights.
I think at last the waves swallow
The boatman and his boat;
And that, with her singing, The Loreley has done.
—trans. Richard StokesMassenet: Frère! Voyez!
Frère! voyez!
Voyez le beau bouquet!
J’ai mis, pour le Pasteur, le jardin au pillage!
Et puis, l’on va danser!
Pour le premier menuet c’es sur vous que je compte . . .
Ah! le sombre visage!
Mais aujourd’hui, monsieur Werther,
Tout le monde est joyeux!
Le bonheur est dans l’air!
Du gai soleil, pleine de flamme, Dans l’azur resplendissant, La pure clarté descend de nos fronts jusqu’à notre âme!
Tout le monde est joyeux!
Le bonheur est dans l’air!
Et l’oiseau qui monte aux cieux dans la brise qui soupire . . .
Est revenu pour nous dire que Dieu permet d’etre heureux!
Tout le monde est joyeux!
Le bonheur est dans l’air!
Tout le monde est joyeux!
—Édourd Blau, Paul Milliet, Georges Hartmann
Brother! Look!
Brother! Look!
Look at the beautiful bouquet!
I have pillaged from the garden for the Pastor.
And afterwards, we are going dancing! For the first minuet it is on you that I count . . .
Ah! The sombre face!
But today, Mr Werther, All the world is joyous!
Happiness is in the air!
From the cheerful sun, full of flame, In the brilliant azure, the pure light descends from our forehead to our soul.
All the world is joyous!
Happiness is in the air!
And the bird which climbs into the sky
On the breeze which sighs, Has come back to tell us
That God permits us to be happy!
All the world is joyous!
Happiness is in the air!
Everyone is joyous!
—trans. Charlotte Hoather
TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS
Debussy: C’est l’extase langoureuse
C’est l’extase langoureuse, C’est la fatigue amoureuse, C’est tous les frissons des bois
Parmi l’étreinte des brises, C’est, vers les ramures grises, Le chœur des petites voix.
Ô le frêle et frais murmure!
Cela gazouille et susurre,
Cela ressemble au cri doux
Que l’herbe agitée expire …
Tu dirais, sous l’eau qui vire, Le roulis sourd des cailloux.
Cette âme qui se lamente
En cette plainte dormante
C’est la nôtre, n’est-ce pas?
La mienne, dis, et la tienne, Dont s’exhale l’humble antienne
Par ce tiède soir, tout bas?
—Paul VerlaineIt Is Languorous Rapture
It is languorous rapture, It is amorous fatigue, It is all the tremors of the forest
In the breezes’ embrace, It is, around the grey branches, The choir of tiny voices.
O the delicate, fresh murmuring!
The warbling and whispering, It is like the soft cry
The ruffled grass gives out . . .
You might take it for the muffled sound Of pebbles in the swirling stream.
This soul which grieves
In this subdued lament,
It is ours, is it not?
Mine, and yours too,
Breathing out our humble hymn
On this warm evening, soft and low? —trans. Richard Stokes
Debussy: Green
Voici des fruits, des fleurs, des feuilles et des branches
Et puis voici mon cœur qui ne bat que pour vous.
Ne le déchirez pas avec vos deux mains blanches
Et qu’à vos yeux si beaux l’humble présent soit doux.
J’arrive tout couvert encore de rosée
Que le vent du matin vient glacer à mon front.
Souffrez que ma fatigue à vos pieds reposée
Rêve des chers instants qui la délasseront.
Sur votre jeune sein laissez rouler ma tête
Toute sonore encore de vos derniers baisers; Laissez-la s’apaiser de la bonne tempête,
Et que je dorme un peu puisque vous reposez.
—Paul VerlaineGreen
Here are flowers, branches, fruit, and fronds,
And here too is my heart that beats just for you.
Do not tear it with your two white hands
And may the humble gift please your lovely eyes.
I come all covered still with the dew Frozen to my brow by the morning breeze.
Let my fatigue, finding rest at your feet,
Dream of dear moments that will soothe it.
On your young breast let me cradle my head
Still ringing with your recent kisses; After love’s sweet tumult grant it peace, And let me sleep a while, since you rest.
—trans. Richard StokesDebussy: Chevaux de bois
Tournez, tournez, bons chevaux de bois, Tournez cent tours, tournez mille tours, Tournez souvent et tournez toujours, Tournez, tournez au son des hautbois.
L’enfant tout rouge et la mère blanche, Le gars en noir et la fille en rose, L’une à la chose et l’autre à la pose, Chacun se paie un sou de dimanche.
Tournez, tournez, chevaux de leur cœur, Tandis qu’autour de tous vos tournois
Clignote l’œil du filou sournois, Tournez au son du piston vainqueur!
C’est étonnant comme ça vous soûle
D’aller ainsi dans ce cirque bête: Rien dans le ventre et mal dans la tête, Du mal en masse et du bien en foule.
Tournez, dabas, sans qu’il soit besoin
D’user jamais de nuls éperons
Pour commander à vos galops ronds: Tournez, tournez, sans espoir de foin.
Et dépêchez, chevaux de leur âme, Déjà voici que sonne à la soupe
La nuit qui tombe et chasse la troupe
De gais buveurs que leur soif affame.
Tournez, tournez! Le ciel en velours
D’astres en or se vêt lentement.
L’église tinte un glas tristement.
Tournez au son joyeux des tambours!
Paul VerlaineWooden Horses
Turn, turn, you fine wooden horses, Turn a hundred, turn a thousand times, Turn often and turn for evermore Turn and turn to the oboe’s sound.
The red-faced child and the pale mother, The lad in black and the girl in pink, One down-to-earth, the other showing off, Each buying a treat with his Sunday sou.
Turn, turn, horses of their hearts,
While the furtive pickpocket’s eye is flashing
As you whirl about and whirl around, Turn to the sound of the conquering cornet!
Astonishing how drunk it makes you, Riding like this in this foolish fair: With an empty stomach and an aching head, Discomfort in plenty and masses of fun!
Gee-gees, turn, you’ll never need
The help of any spur
To make your horses gallop round: Turn, turn, without hope of hay.
And hurry on, horses of their souls: Nightfall already calls them to supper
And disperses the crowd of happy revelers, Ravenous with thirst.
Turn, turn! The velvet sky
Is slowly decked with golden stars. The church bell tolls a mournful knell— Turn to the joyful sound of drums!
—trans. Richard Stokes
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Coming soon . .
Apr. 20, 7:30 pm, Recital Hall
Pacific Vocal Jazz Ensemble
Apr. 21, 2:00 pm, Recital Hall
Pacific Jazz Combo Concert
Apr. 22, 7:30 pm, Recital Hall
Varied Ensembles Concert I
Apr. 23, 7:30 pm, Faye Spanos Concert Hall
Pacific Percussion Ensemble
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