JUNIOR VOICE RECITAL Jordan Yang, soprano
Friday, April 28, 2023
7:30 pm
Recital Hall
Carl Pantle, pianoBe Kind and Courteous, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1959–60)
Oh! quante volte, from I Capuleti e i Montecchi (1830) from Italienische Liederbuch Auch kleine dinge (1891)
Ich hab in Penna (1896) Verschwiegene Liebe (1888) from Gedichte von Eduard Mörike Elfenlied (1888)
Intermission
Dans le forêt de septembre, op. 85, no. 1 (1902) Notre amour, op. 23, no. 2 (c. 1879)
Après un rêve, op. 7, no. 1 (1877)
from Six Elizabethan Songs (1957) Spring Sleep Winter
Benjamin Britten (1913–1976)
Vincenzo Bellini (1801–1835) Hugo Wolf (1860–1903)
Gabriel Fauré (1845–1924)
Dominick Argento (1972–2019)
This recital is presented as a requirement for the Bachelor of Music degree in vocal performance.
Jordan Yang is a third-year vocal performance major at the University of the Pacific studying with Daniel Ebbers and coaching with Eric Dudley. Earlier this month she played the role of Cinderella in Pacific’s production of Into the Woods. Though her main interest is classical voice, she has also performed at countless pop, R & B, and rock events ranging from family gatherings to concerts with other artists such as the Sounders. She strives to become a professional opera singer after her time at Pacific.
Bellini: Oh! quante volte
Eccomi in lieta vesta . . .
Eccomi adorna come vittima all’ara.
Oh! almen potessi qual vittima
cader dell’ara al piede!
O nuziali tede, abborrite così fatali, siate, ah, siate per me faci ferali.
Ardo . . . una vampa, una foco
Tutta mi strugge.
(Si affaccia alla finestra, e ritorna.)
Un refrigerio ai venti io chiedo invano.
Ove sei tu, Romeo? In qual terra t’aggiri?
Dove, inviarti, dove i miei sospiri?
Oh! quante volte, oh quante ti chiedo al ciel piangendo!
Con quale ardor t’attendo, e inganno il mio desir!
Raggio del tuo sembiante
ah! parmi il brillar del giorno:
ah! l’aura che spira intorno mi sembra un tuo sospir.
Felice RomaniWolf: Auch kleine dinge
Auch kleine Dinge können uns entzücken, Auch kleine Dinge können teuer sein.
Bedenkt, wie gern wir uns mit Perlen schmücken;
Sie werden schwer bezahlt und sind nur klein.
Bedenkt, wie klein ist die Olivenfrucht, Und wird um ihre Güte doch gesucht.
Denkt an die Rose nur, wie klein sie ist Und duftet doch so lieblich, wie ihr wisst.
—Paul Heyse after an Italian folksong
Oh! How much time
Here I am in a cheerful dress . . . Here I am adorned like a victim on the altar.
Oh! If only I could as a victim fall from the altar to the floor!
Oh wedding candles, abhorred, so fatal, be, ah, be the candles on my deathbed. I burn . . . a flame, a fire everything torments me. (She goes to the window and reutrns.)
I ask for a cool breeze but in vain. Where are you, Romeo? In which land? Where, where should I send you my sighs?
Oh! How many times, oh, how many, did I ask the heavens for you, crying! With such ardor I wait for you, but my desire is in vain! The light of your presence
ah! shines for me like daylight: ah! the air that dances around me reminds me of your breath.
Even Small Things
Even small things can delight us, even small things can be precious. Think how gladly we deck ourselves with pearls; they cost dearly but are only small.
Think how small the olive fruit is, and yet it is prized for its goodness. Think only of the rose, how small it is, and yet smells so lovely, as you know.
Ich hab in Penna
Ich hab’ in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen, In der Maremmeneb’ne einen andern, Einen im schönen Hafen von Ancona, Zum vierten muss ich nach Viterbo wandern; Ein andrer wohnt in Casentino dort, Der nächste lebt mit mir am selben Ort, Und wieder einen hab’ ich in Magione, Vier in La Fratta, zehn in Castiglione.
—Paul Heyse after an Italian folksong
Verschwiegene Liebe
Über Wipfel und Saaten
In den Glanz hinein— Wer mag sie erraten, Wer holte sie ein?
Gedanken sich wiegen, Die Nacht ist verschwiegen.
Gedanken sind frei.
Errät’ es nur eine, Wer an sie gedacht
Beim Rauschen der Haine, Wenn niemand mehr wacht
Als die Wolken, die fliegen— Mein Lieb ist verschwiegen
Und schön wie die Nacht.
Joseph, Freiherr von Eichendorff
I have in Penna
I have one lover living in Penna, another in the Maremma plain, one in the beautiful port of Ancona, for the fourth I must go to Viterbo; Another lives over in Casentino, the next lives with me in my own town, and I’ve yet another in Magione, four in La Fratta, ten in Castiglione.
Silent Love
Over treetops and crops and into the splendor— who may guess them, who may catch them? Thoughts sway, the night is silent.
Thoughts are free. If only she would guess who has been thinking of her by the rustling of the groves, when no one else is awake except the clouds that fly by— my love is silent and as beautiful as the night.
Elfenlied
Bei Nacht im Dorf der Wächter rief: »Elfe!«
Ein ganz kleines Elfchen im Walde schlief —Wohl um die Elfe—
Und meint, es rief ihm aus dem Tal
Bei seinem Namen die Nachtigall, Oder Silpelit hätt ihm gerufen.
Reibt sich der Elf die Augen aus, Begibt sich vor sein Schneckenhaus, Und ist als wie ein trunken Mann,
Elf Song
The village watch cried out at night: “Eleven!”
A very little elf was sleeping in the wood —just at eleven— And thinks the nightingale was calling him by name from the valley, or Silpelit* had sent for him. The elf rubs his eyes, steps from his snail-shell home, and looking like a drunken man, *King of the elves
Sein Schläflein war nicht voll getan, Und humpelt also tippe tapp
Durchs Haselholz ins Tal hinab, Schlupft an der Mauer hin so dicht, Da sitzt der Glühwurm, Licht an Licht.
„Was sind das helle Fensterlein?
Da drin wird eine Hochzeit sein: Die Kleinen sitzen beim Mahle, Und treibens in dem Saale; Da guck ich wohl ein wenig ’nein!“
—Pfui, stösst den Kopf an harte Stein! Elfe, gelt, du hast genug?
Gukuk! Gukuk!
—Eduard Mörike
Fauré: Dans la forêt de septembre
Ramure aux rumeurs amollies, Troncs sonores que l’âge creuse, L’antique forêt douloureuse S’accorde à nos mélancolies.
Ô sapins agriffés au gouffre, Nids déserts aux branches brisées, Halliers brûlés, fleurs sans rosées, Vous savez bien comme l’on souffre!
Et lorsque l’homme, passant blême, Pleure dans le bois solitaire, Des plaintes d’ombre et de mystère L’accueillent en pleurant de même.
Bonne forêt! promesse ouverte
De l’exil que la vie implore!
Je viens d’un pas alerte encore Dans ta profondeur encor verte,
Mais, d’un fin bouleau de la sente, Une feuille, un peu rousse, frôle Ma tête, et tremble à mon épaule; C’est que la forêt vieillissante, Sachant l’hiver, où tout avorte, Déjà proche en moi comme en elle, Me fait l’aumône fraternelle
De sa première feuille morte.
Catulle Mendès
not having slept his fill, and hobbles down, tippety tap, through the hazelwood to the valley, slips so close to the wall, where the glowworm sits, light on light. “What are the bright little windows? There must be a wedding inside: The little folk are sitting at the feast and skipping around the hall; I’ll take a little peek inside!”
Ugh, he hits his head on hard stone! Elf, don’t you think you’ve had enough? Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
In the September Forest
Branch with the muffled murmurings, sonorous trunks hollowed out by age, the ancient and sorrowful forest harmonizes with our melancholy.
O pines clutching the abyss, barren nests on the broken branches, scorched thickets, flowers without dew, you know well how one suffers!
And when the man, passing by, pale, weeps in the lonely wood, laments of shadow and of mystery greet him likewise weeping
Good forest! Open promise of the exile that life implores! I come with an alert step again into your still green depth.
But, from a slender birch on the path a leaf, slightly russet, grazes my head and trembles at my shoulder; it is that the aging forest,
Knowing winter, when all aborts, already close in me as in itself, is giving me the fraternal alms of its first dead leaf.
Notre amour
Notre amour est chose légère Comme les parfums que le vent Prend aux cimes de la fougère Pour qu’on les respire en rêvant.
—Notre amour est chose légère !
Notre amour est chose charmante, Comme les chansons du matin
Où nul regret ne se lamente, Où vibre un espoir incertain.
—Notre amour est chose charmante !
Notre amour est chose sacrée Comme les mystères des bois
Où tressaille une âme ignorée, Où les silences ont des voix.
—Notre amour est chose sacrée !
Notre amour est chose infinie, Comme les chemins des couchants Où la mer, aux cieux réunie, S’endort sous les soleils penchants.
[—Notre amour est chose infinie !]*
Notre amour est chose éternelle Comme tout ce qu’un dieu vainqueur
A touché du feu de son aile, Comme tout ce qui vient du cœur, —Notre amour est chose éternelle !
Armand Silvestre
Our Love
Our love is something light like the perfumes that the breeze gathers from the tips of ferns for us to breathe as we dream.
—Our love is something light.
Our love is something enchanting like the songs of the morning in which no regrets lament in which uncertain hopes vibrate.
—Our love is something charming.
Our love is something sacred like the mysteries of the woods in which an unknown soul quivers in which silences have voices.
—Our love is something sacred!
Our love is something infinite like the paths of the sunsets, where the ocean, joined with the sky, falls asleep under slanting suns.
[—Our love is something infinite!]*
Our love is something eternal like all that a victorious god has touched by the fire of his wing, like all that comes from the heart.
—Our love is something eternal!
*Omitted by Fauré
Après un rêve
Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image
Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage, Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore;
Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l’aurore ;
After a Dream
In a slumber enchanted by your image
I dreamt of happiness, ardent mirage, your eyes were softer, your voice pure and sonorous; you shone like a sky lit up by the dawn;
Tu m’appelais et je quittais la terre Pour m’enfuir avec toi vers la lumière, Les cieux pour nous entr’ouvraient leurs nues, Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues.
Hélas ! Hélas ! triste réveil des songes Je t’appelle, ô nuit, rends-moi tes mensonges, Reviens, reviens radieuse, Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse!
—Romain Bussine after the anonymous Tuscan
You called me and I left the earth to run away with you towards the light, the heavens opened their clouds for us, Unknown splendors, divine flashes glimpsed,
Alas! Alas! Sad awakening from dreams I call you, O night, give me back your lies, return, return radiant, return, O mysterious night.
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