JUNIOR VOICE RECITAL
Monica Adams, piano
Mike Belasco, guitar
Wednesday, April 12, 2024 7:30 pm
Recital Hall
Mia Janosik , mezzo-soprano
APRIL 12, 2024, 7:30 PM
Voi che sapete, from Le nozze di Figaro (1786)
Mia Janosik, mezzo-soprano
Monica Adams, piano
Luna d’estate (1911)
La serenata (1888)
Marechiare (1886)
Michael Megenney, tenor
Monica Adams, piano
Des Fischers Liebesglück, D. 993 (1827)
Mia Janosik, mezzo-soprano
Mike Belasco, guitar
Die schöne Müllerin, D. 795 (1823)
Mit dem grünen Lautenbande Wohin?
Am Feierabend
Michael Megenney, tenor
Monica Adams, piano Intermission
Wolfgang Amadè Mozart (1756–1791)
A Charm of Lullabies (1947)
A Cradle Song
The Nurse’s Song
From the Diary of Virginia Woolf (1974) Parents
Mia Janosik, mezzo-soprano
Monica Adams, piano
Paolo Tosti (1846–1916)
Franz Schubert (1797–1828)
Schubert
Benjamin Britten (1913–1976)
Dominick Argento (1927–2019)
Lydia, op. 4, no. 2 (1870)
Mandoline, op. 58, no. 1 (1867)
Vainement, ma bien-aimée, from Le roi d’Ys (1888)
Michael Megenney, tenor Monica Adams, piano
Les amants de Séville (Tirana pour deux voix) from Pèchés de ma veillesse, vol. 3, no. 3
Mia Janosik, mezzo-soprano
Michael Megenney, tenor Monica Adams, piano
Gabriel Fauré (1845–1924)
Edouard Lalo (1823–1892)
Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868)
This recital is presented as a degree requirement for a Bachelor of Music in Music Performance.
Mia Janosik, in her third year at University of the Pacific, studies voice with Daniel Ebbers. As a passionate performer, she sings with Pacific Singers and Pacific Opera Theatre. Janosik was most recently seen on stage in Handel’s Alcina, a production of Pacific Opera Theatre. She is also active in the Conservatory as a member of Mu Phi Epsilon and working with the stage crew.
Michael Megenney is in his third year pursuing a bachelor’s degree in music performance with a concentration in voice at University of the Pacific. Studying with Daniel Ebbers for three years now, Megenney has participated in a broad range of performances such as musical theater, choral ensemble work, and Baroque opera. Committed to his love of music, Megenney enjoys spending time with his music fraternity, Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia.
Mozart: Voi che sapete
Voi che sapete che cosa e amor, Donne, vedete s’io l’ho nel cor.
Quello ch’io provo vi ridiro, E per me nuovo, capir nol so.
Sento un affetto, pien di desir, Ch’ora e diletto, ch’ora e martir.
Gelo e poi sento l’alma avvampar, E in un momento torno a gelar.
Ricerco un bene fuori di me, Non so ch’il tiene, non so cos’e.
Sospiro e gemo senza voler, Palpito e tremo senza saper, Non trovo pace notte ne di, Ma pur mi piace languir cosi.
Voi che sapete che cosa e amor, Donne, vedete s’io l’ho nel cor.
Lorenzo da Ponte
Tosti: Luna d’estate
Luna d’estate ho un sogno nel mio cuore
Evo’ cantando tutta notte al mare:
Mi son fermato a una finestra in fiore
Perchè l’anima mia febbre ha d’amore.
Mi son fermato a una finestra in fiore
Ove son due puppille affatturate.
E chi le guarda soffre per amore
E sogno per desio, Luna d’estate!
Luna d’estate, amore è come il mare
Ed il mio cuore è un’onda senza posa:
Ma solamente lo potran fermare
Le puppille e il labro suo do rosa.
Evo’ cantando tutta notte al mare
Per quelle due puppille addormentate.
Ho il pianto agli occhi e la speranza in cuore
E splendo come te, Luna d’estate
Mazzola
You Who Know
You who know what love is, Ladies, see if I have it in my heart.
I’ll tell you what I’m feeling, It’s new for me, and I understand nothing. I have a feeling, full of desire, Which is by turns delightful and miserable. I freeze and then feel my soul go up in flames, Then in a moment I turn to ice.
I’m searching for affection outside of myself, I don’t know how to hold it, nor even what it is!
I sigh and lament without wanting to, I twitter and tremble without knowing why, I find peace neither night nor day, But still I rather enjoy languishing this way.
You who know what love is, Ladies, see if I have it in my heart.
trans. Naomi Gurt LindSummer Moon
Summer moon, I have a dream in my heart
And I go on singing all night by the sea:
I stopped at a flower-decked window
Because my soul has caught the fever of love.
I stopped at a flower-decked window
Where there are two spellbinding eyes.
And whoever sees them suffers from love
And dreams with desire, summer moon!
Summer moon, love is like to sea
And my heart is a constantly moving wave: But it can only be stopped by Her eyes and rosy lips.
And I go on singing all night by the sea
Because of two sleeping eyes.
I have tears in my eyes and hope in my heart
And I shine like you, summer moon!
—trans. Barbara Miller
Tosti: La serenata
Vola, o serenata: La mia diletta è sola, e, con la bella testa abbandonata, posa tra le lenzuola: O serenata, vola.
O serenata, vola.
Splende pura la luna, l’ale il silenzio stende, e dietro i veli dell’alcova
bruna la lampada s’accende.
Pura la luna splende.
Pura la luna splende.
Vola, o serenata, Vola, o serenata, vola.
Ah! La. Ah! La.
Vola, o serenata: La mia diletta è sola, ma sorridendo ancor mezzo assonnata, torna fra le lenzuola: O serenata, vola.
O serenata, vola.
L’onda sogna su l’ido, e’l vento su la fronda; E a’ baci miei ricusa ancore un nido la mia signora bionda. Sogna su l’ido l’onda. Sogna su l’ido l’onda.
Vola, o serenata, Vola, o serenata, vola.
Ah! La. Ah! La. —Giovanni Alfredo Cesareo
The Serenade
Fly, o serenade: My beloved is alone, with her beautiful head hidden under the sheets: O serenade, fly. O serenade, fly.
The moonlight is pure, wings of silence stretch out, and behind the veils of the dark alcove the lamp burns. The pure moonbeams shine. The pure moonbeams shine.
Fly, o serenade, fly, o serenade, fly.
Ah! la. Ah! la.
Fly, o serenade: My beloved is alone, but still smiling, half asleep, she has returned beneath the sheets: O serenade, fly. O serenade, fly.
The waves dream on the shore, and the wind blows through the branches; and my kisses don’t result in a nest, by my blonde lady.
Dreaming on the shore, are the waves. Dreaming on the shore, are the waves.
Fly, o serenade, fly, o serenade, fly.
Ah! la. Ah! la.
—trans. Laura Prichard
Tosti: Marechiare
Quanno sponta la luna a Marechiare pure li pisce nce fann’ a l’ammore, se revoltano l’onne de lu mare, pe la priezza cagneno culore quanno sponta la luna a Marechiare. A Marechiare nce sta na fenesta, la passione mia nce tuzzulea, nu carofano addora int’a na testa, passa l’acqua pe sotto e murmulèa: A Marechiare nce sta na fenesta.
Chi dice ca li stelle so lucente nun sape st’ucchie ca tu tiene nfronte, sti doje stelle li saccio io solamente, dint’a lu core ne tengo li pônte, Chi dice ca li stelle so lucente?
Scetate, Caruli ca l’aria è doce, quanno maie tanto tiempo aggio aspettato?
P’accompagnà li suone cu la voce stasera na chitarra aggioportato!
Scetate Caruli, ca l’aria è doce! —Salvatore Di Giacomo
Marechiare
When the moon comes out in Marechiare, even the fish are making love, the waves of the sea revolt changing their color from joy When the moon comes out in Marechiare. In Marechiare there is a window, my passion knocks on it, A fragrant carnation in a vase, beneath it the water breaks and murmurs In Marechiare there is a window.
Whoever says that the stars are bright do not know these eyes gracing your face, Myself alone I know of these two stars they are in my heart I have spikes, Whoever says that the stars are bright?
Wake up, Caroline, the air is sweet how on Earth did I linger so long?
To accompany the sounds with voice, tonight I’ve brought a guitar!
Wake up Caroline, the air is sweet!
—trans. Anna German
Schubert: Des Fischers Liebesglück
Dort blinket
Durch Weiden, Und winket
Ein Schimmer
Blassstrahlig
Vom Zimmer
Der Holden mir zu.
Es gaukelt
Wie Irrlicht, Und schaukelt
Sich leise
Sein Abglanz
Im Kreise
Des schwankenden Sees.
The Fisherman’s Happiness in Love
Yonder light gleams through the willows, and a pale glimmer beckons to me from the bedroom of my sweetheart.
It flickers like a will-o’-the-wisp, and its reflection sways gently in the circle of the undulating lake.
Ich schaue
Mit Sehnen
In’s Blaue
Der Wellen, Und grüsse
Den hellen, Gespiegelten Strahl.
Und springe
Zum Ruder, Und schwinge
Den Nachen
Dahin auf
Den flachen, Krystallenen Weg.
Fein-Liebchen
Schleicht traulich
Vom Stübchen
Herunter, Und sputet
Sich munter
Zu mir in das Boot.
Gelinde
Dann treiben
Die Winde
Uns wieder
See-einwärts
Vom Flieder
Des Ufers hindann.
Die blassen
Nachtnebel
Umfassen
Mit Hüllen
Vor Spähern
Den stillen, Unschuldigen Scherz.
Und tauschen
Wir Küsse, So rauschen
Die Wellen
Im Sinken
Und Schwellen, Den Horchern zum Trotz.
I gaze longingly into the blue of the waves, and greet the bright reflected beam. And spring to the oar, and swing the boat away on its smooth, crystal course.
My sweetheart slips lovingly down from her little room, and joyfully hastens to me in the boat.
Then the breezes gently blow us again out into the lake from the elder tree on the shore.
The pale evening mists envelop and veil our silent, innocent dallying from prying onlookers.
And as we exchange kisses, the waves lap, rising and falling, to foil eavesdroppers.
Nur Sterne
Belauschen
Uns ferne, Und baden
Tief unter
Den Pfaden
Des gleitenden Kahns.
So schweben
Wir selig, Umgeben
Vom Dunkel, Hoch über’m
Gefunkel
Der Sterne einher.
Und weinen
Und lächeln, Und meinen, Enthoben
Der Erde, Schon oben, Schon drüben zu sein.
—Carl Gottfried von LeitnerSchubert: Die schöne Müllerin Mit dem grünen Lautenbande
Schad um das schöne grüne Band, daß es verbleicht hier an der Wand, ich hab das Grün so gern!
So sprachst du Liebchen, heut zu mir; gleich knüpf ich’s ab und send es dir: Nun hab das grüne gern!
Ist auch dein ganzer Liebster weiß, soll Grün doch haben seinen Preis, und ich auch hab es gern.
Weil unsre Lieb ist immer grün, weil grün der Hoffnung Fernen blühn, drum haben wir es gern.
Only stars in the far distance overhear us, and bathe deep down below the course of the gliding boat.
So we drift on blissfully, in the midst of darkness, high above the twinkling stars.
Weeping, smiling, we think we have soared free of the earth, and are already up above, on another shore.
—trans. Richard WigmoreThe Fair Miller-Maid With the Green Hair Ribbon
It’s a pity for that green ribbon, that it fades here on the wall, I like green so very much!
So you said, sweetheart, today to me; I shall unite it and send it to you: Now be fond of green!
Even though your lover is white with flour, green shall still have its praise, And I also like green.
Because our love is evergreen, because Hope’s far reaches bloom green, we are both fond of green.
Nun schlinge in die Locken dein das grüne Band gefällig ein, du hast ja’s Grün so gern. Dann weiß ich wo die Hoffnung wohnt, dann weiß ich wo die Liebe thront, dann hab ich’s Grün erst gern.
Wohin?
Ich hört’ ein Bächlein rauschen wohl aus dem Felsenquell, hinab zum Tale rauschen so frisch und wunderhell.
Ich weiß nicht, wie mir wurde, nicht, wer den Rat mir gab, ich mußte auch hinunter mit meinem Wanderstab.
Hinunter und immer weiter, und immer Bache nach, und immer frischer rauschte und immer heller der Bach.
Ist das denn meine Straße? O Bächlein, sprich, wohin? Sprich, wohin? du hast mit deinem Rauschen mir ganz berauscht denn Sinn.
Was sag ich denn vom Rauschen? das kann kein Rauschen sein: Es singen wohl die Nixen tief unten ihren Reihn.
Laß singen, Gesell, laß rauschen, und wandre fröhlich nach! Es gehn ja Mühlenräder in jedem klaren Bach.
—Wilhelm MüllerNow pleasantly entwine in your locks this green ribbon, You are so fond of green. Then I will know where Hope dwells, then I will know where love is enthroned, then, I will be really fond of green.
Where to?
I hear a brooklet rushing right out of the rock’s spring, Down there to the valley it rushes, so fresh and wonderfully bright.
I don’t know how I felt this, Nor do I know who told me to do so I must go down With my wanderer’s staff.
Down and ever farther, And always the brook follows after, and always rushing crisply, and always bright is the brook.
Is this then my road?
Oh, brooklet, speak! Where to? Speak! Where to?
You have with your rushing intoxicated my senses.
Why do I speak of rushing?
That can’t be the rushing: It must be the water-nymphs singing rounds down there in the deep.
Let them sing, let it rush, and wander joyously after!
Mill-wheels turn
In each clean brook.
—trans. Emily EzustAm Feierabend
Hätt ich tausend
Arme zu rühren!
könnt ich brausend die Räder führen! könnt ich wehen durch alle Haine! könnt ich drehen
alle Steine!
Daß die schöne Müllerin merkte meinen treuen Sinn!
Ach, wie ist mein Arm so schwach! Was ich hebe, was ich trage, was ich schneide, was ich schlage, jeder Knappe tut mir’s nach. Und da sitz ich in der großen Runde, in der stillen, kühlen Feierstunde, und der Meister sagt zu allen: euer Werk hat mir gefallen; und das liebe Mädchen sagt allen eine gute Nacht.
—Wilhelm MüllerBritten: A Charm of Lullabies A Cradle Song
Sleep! Sleep! beauty bright, Dreaming o’er the joys of night; Sleep! Sleep! in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
O, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break,
From thy cheek and from thy eye, O’er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heav’n and Earth of peace beguiles.
—William BlakeAt the Restful Evening
If I only had a thousand arms to move!
I could loudly drive the wheels!
I could blow through all the groves!
I could turn all the stones! So that the beautiful Miller might notice my faithful soul.
Ah, why is my arm so heavy?
What I lift, what I carry, what I cut, what I beat, Every lad does it just as well as I do.
And there I sit in the great gathering, In the quiet, cool hour of rest,
And the master says to all: Your work has pleased me
And the lovely maiden says “Good night” to all.
—trans. Emily EzustThe Nurse’s Song
Lullaby baby, Thy nurse will tend thee as duly as may be. Lullaby baby!
Be still, my sweet sweeting, no longer do cry; Sing lullaby baby, lullaby baby.
Let dolours be fleeting, I fancy thee, I, To rock and to lull thee I will not delay me.
Lullaby baby, Thy nurse will tend thee as duly as may be. Lullaby baby.
The gods be thy shield and comfort in need! Sing lullaby baby.
They give thee good fortune and well for to speed, And this to desire I will not delay me. This to desire I will not delay me.
Lullaby baby, Thy nurse will tend thee as duly as may be. Lullaby baby.
—John PhilipArgento: Parents
How beautiful they were, those old people I mean father and mother how simple, how clear, how untroubled. How beautiful they were. How beautiful they were. I have been dipping into old letters and father’s memoirs. He loved her, he loved her: oh and was so candid and reasonable and transparent . . . How beautiful they were. How serene, how serene and gay even, Their life reads to me: no mud; no whirlpools. Simple, clear, gay, serene. And so human with the children and the little hum and song of the nursery. But if I read as a contemporary I shall lose my child’s vision and so must stop.
Nothing turbulent; Nothing involved; no introspection. How beautiful they . . .
—Virginia WoolfFauré: Lydia
TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS
Lydia sur tes roses joues
Et sur ton col frais et si blanc
Roule tincelant
L’or fluide que tu dénoues;
Le jour qui luit est le meilleur, Oublions l’éternelle tombe.
Laisse tes baisers de colombe
Chanter sur ta lèvreen fleur.
Un lys caché répand sans cesse
Une odeur divine en ton sain; Les délices comme un essaim
Sortent de toi, jene déesse.
Je t’aime et meurs, ô mes amours, Mon âme en baisers m’est ravie!
O Lydia, rends-moi la vie, Que je puisse mourir toujours!
—Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle
Fauré: Mandoline
Les donneurs de sérénades
Et les belles écouteuses
Échangent des propos fades
Sous les ramures chanteuses.
C’est Tircis et c’est Aminte, Et c’est l’éternel Clitandre, Et c’est Damis qui pour mainte cruelle, Fit maint ver tendre.
Leurs courtes vestes de soie, Leurs longues robes à queues, Leurs élégance, leur joie
Et leurs molles ombré bleues
Tourbillonnent dans l’extase
D’une lune rose et grise, Et la mandoline jase
Parmi les frissons de brise.
—Paul Verlaine
Lydia
Lydia, on your rosy cheeks, And on your neck, so fresh and white, Flows sparklingly
The fluid gold that tresses which you loosen.
This shining day is the best of all; Let us forget the eternal grave, Let your kisses your kisses of a dove, sing on your blossoming lips.
A hidden lily spreads unceasingly
A divine fragrance on your breast; Numberless delights
Emanate from you, young goddess.
I love you and die, oh my love, Kisses have carried away my soul!
Oh Lydia, give me back life!
That I may die, forever die!
—trans. Rowcliffe Browne
Mandolin
The singers of serenades
Whisper their faded vows
Unto fair listening maids
Under the singing boughs.
Tircis and Aminte are there, And there is the eternal Clitandre And Damis for many a fair Tyrant makes many a song.
Their short vests, silken and bright, Their long, pale silken trains, Their elegance of delight, And their soft blue shadows.
Swirling in ecstasy
Of a pink and gray moon
And the mandolin chatters
Among the shivering breeze.
—trans. Michael
Lalo: Vainement, ma bien-aimée
Puisqu’on ne peut fléchir ces jalouses gardiennes, ah, laissez-moi conter mes peines, et mon émoi!
Vainement, ma bien-aimée, on croit me désespérer; Près de ta porte fermée je veux encor demeurer!
Les soleils pourront s’éteindre, les nuits remplacer les jours, sans t’accuser et sans me plaindre. Là je resterai, toujours!
Je le sais, ton âme est douce, et l’heure bientôt viendra où la main qui me repousse ver la mienne se tendra!
Ne sois pas trop tardive à te laisser attendrir! Si Rozenn bientôt n’arrive, je vais, hélas, mourir!
—librettist: Edouard Blau
Rossini: Les amants de Séville (Tirana pour deux voix)
Loin de votre Séville, loin de la foule et de la ville, dans un séjour tranquille, calm et rêveur règne le bonheur.
Écoute: c’est la voix, c’est la voix du rossignol des bois. Les amoureux zéphyrs y mêlent leurs plus doux soupirs. Le tendre écho des vallons redira nos chansons, nos chansons. L’amour est là: Fuyons!
In Vain, My Beloved
Since one can not sway these jealous protrectesses, ah, let me recount my sorrows and my feeling!
In vain, my beloved, they think I’m desperate; by your closed door I still want to stay!
The suns can be extinguished, nights replace the days, without accusing you and without complaining. There I shall stay always!
I know it, your soul is sweet, And the day will soon come where the hand that pushes me away will reach out for mine!
Don’t be too late to let you wait. If Rozenn doesn’t arrive soon, I shall, alas, die!
—trans. Michael Megenney/Daniel Ebbers
The Lovers of Seville (Tirade for two voices)
Far from your Seville, far from the crowds and the city, in a tranquil retreat, happiness reigns calm and dreamlike.
Listen: it’s the song of the woodland nightingale. The loving breezes add their softer sighs to the music. The gentle echo of the valleys will repeat our songs, our songs.
Love is there: let’s run away!
Je tremble! Il m’aime! Je t’aime! Partons!
Ah! Malgré vos serments hélas! J’hésite à fuir si vite.
Dans les plus doux moments on est trompé par les amants. Les hidalgos sont légers, et leurs discours mensongers; de vous dépend tout mon sort: c’est à la vie, à la mort! De vous dépend tout mon sort: c’est à la vie, à la mort!! Que de beaux jours brillent toujours pour nos amours! Ah!
Loin de votre Séville . . .
Je tremble! Il m’aime! Je t’aime! Partons!
Pour mon cœur enivré qu’un divin rêve enfin s’achève.
Oui, tant que je vivrai c’est vous, c’est vous que j’aimerai. plus de succès, de plaisir! Je n’ai qu’un vœu, qu’un désir! Esclave heureux dans vos fers, soyez pour moi l’univers; Mon âme à vous; des jours si doux luiront pour nous. Ah!
Loin de votre Séville . . .
Le bonheur nous attend. Partons! voici l’instant.
Mon amour est pour moi le gage de sa foi!
Mon cœur, ma foi, mon cœur à toi!
I’m afraid! He loves me! I love you! Let’s go!
Ah! despite your avowals, alas, I hesitate to run away so quickly. Lovers deceive you at the sweetest moments. Spanish gentlemen are fickle, their words are false;
My fate is in your hands: be it life or death!
My fate is in your hands: be it life or death!
May fine days ever shine down upon our love! Ah!
Far from your Seville . . .
I’m afraid! He loves me! I love you! Let’s go!
Let a divine dream finally come true for my enamoured heart! Yes, as long as I live, it’s you, it’s you I’ll love. No more success or pleasure! I’ve only one wish, one desire! I’ll be a happy slave, bound to you: be the universe for me.
My soul is yours! Such sweet days will dawn for us! Ah!
Far from your Seville . . .
Happiness awaits us. Let’s go! The time is right. For me, my love is proof of his faith!
My heart, my faith, my heart is yours!
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