4/26/23 Student Senior Recital, Kailey Diggs

SENIOR VOICE RECITAL

Kailey Diggs, soprano

Wednesday, April 26, 2023

7:30 pm

Recital Hall

Carl Pantle, piano

Vado, ma dove, K. 583 (1789)

Vergebliches Ständchen, from 5 Romances and Songs, op. 84, no. 4 (1881)

Von ewiger Liebe, from 4 Songs, op. 43, no. 1 (1864)

Da unten im Tale, from 49 Deutsche Volkslieder, WoO 33, no. 6 (1894)

Pause

Mi chiamano Mimi, from La Bohème (1895)

Wolfgang Amadè Mozart (1756–1791)

Johannes Brahms (1833–1897)

Siete canciones populares españolas (1914)

III. Asturiana

IV. Jota

V. Nana

VI. Canción

Les chemins de l’amour (1940)

Giacomo Puccini (1858–1924)

Manuel de Falla (1876–1946)

Francis Poulenc (1899–1963)

This recital is presented as a requirement for the Bachelor of Music degree in vocal performance.

A native of the stage, soprano Kailey Diggs shares dramatic vibrancy and captivating emotion in her tone. She was named first-place winner in several events, including the California Capital Chapter NATS Vocal Competition, Fresno State Art Song Festival, and Pacific Repertoire Orchestra Concerto Competition. She placed second in Opera Modesto’s Kristina Townsend Vocal Competition. This summer Kailey can be seen in the title role of an original opera in the Operation Opera program, presented by the Four Corners Ensemble. She is currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in vocal performance from the University of the Pacific studying with Daniel Ebbers and coaching with Eric Dudley. music.pacific.edu

Mozart: Vado, ma dove

Vado, ma dove? Oh Dei! Se de’ tormenti suoi, se de’ sospiri miei non sente il ciel pietà!

Tu che mi parli al core, Guida i miei passi, amore; Tu quel ritegno or togli Che dubitar mi fa.

Lorenzo da Ponte

Brahms: Vergebliches Ständchen

Er: Guten Abend, mein Schatz, Guten Abend, mein Kind! Ich komm’ aus Lieb’ zu dir, Ach, mach’ mir auf die Tür, Mach’ mir auf die Tür!

Sie: Mein’ Tür ist verschlossen, Ich lass’ dich nicht ein; Mutter, die rät’ mir klug, Wär’st du herein mit Fug, Wär’s mit mir vorbei!

Er: So kalt ist die Nacht, So eisig der Wind, Dass mir das Herz erfriert, Mein’ Lieb’ erlöschen wird; Öffne mir, mein Kind!

Sie: Löschet dein’ Lieb’; Lass’ sie löschen nur!

Löschet sie immerzu, Geh’ heim zu Bett, zur Ruh’! Gute Nacht, mein Knab’!

I go, but where?

I go, but where? Oh Gods! If for his torments, if for my sighs, Heaven has no pity.

You who speak to my heart guide my footsteps, love; remove the obstacle that makes me doubt.

Futile Serenade

He: Good evening, my sweetheart, good evening, my child! I come out of love to you; ah! open up your door to me, open up your door!

She: My door is locked, I won’t let you in; my mother advises me wisely; if you were let right in, it would be over for me!

He: So cold is the night, so icy the wind, that my heart will freeze, my love will be extinguished! Open for me, my child!

She: If your love is extinguished, then let it be extinguished! If it keeps going out, then go home to bed, go to sleep! Goodnight, my lad!

Brahms: Von ewiger Liebe

Dunkel, wie dunkel in Wald und in Feld! Abend schon ist es, nun schweiget die Welt.

Nirgend noch Licht und nirgend noch Rauch, Ja, und die Lerche sie schweiget nun auch.

Kommt aus dem Dorfe der Bursche heraus, Gibt das Geleit der Geliebten nach Haus, Führt sie am Weidengebüsche vorbei, Redet so viel und so mancherlei:

„Leidest du Schmach und betrübest du dich, Leidest du Schmach von andern um mich, Werde die Liebe getrennt so geschwind, Schnell wie wir früher vereiniget sind. Scheide mit Regen und scheide mit Wind, Schnell wie wir früher vereiniget sind.“

Spricht das Mägdelein, Mägdelein spricht: „Unsere Liebe sie trennet sich nicht!

Fest ist der Stahl und das Eisen gar sehr, Unsere Liebe ist fester noch mehr.

Eisen und Stahl, man schmiedet sie um, Unsere Liebe, wer wandelt sie um?

Eisen und Stahl, sie können zergehn, Unsere Liebe muß ewig bestehn!”

—August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben after a traditional Sorbian (Lusation) text

Brahms: Da unten im Tale

Da unten im Tale

Läufts Wasser so trüb, Und i kann dirs net sagen, I hab di so lieb.

Sprichst allweil von Liebe, Sprichst allweil von Treu, Und a bissele Falschheit

Is auch wohl dabei.

Of Eternal Love

Dark, how dark in forest and in field! It is already evening, and the world is silent. Nowhere a light and nowhere smoke, Yes! And the lark is silent now too.

The lad comes out of the village, accompanying his beloved home, leads her past the willow grove, talking so much and of so many things:

“If you suffer disgrace and if you grieve, if you suffer disgrace from others around me, then let our love be severed as swiftly, as swiftly as we were united before. Depart with the rain and depart with the wind, as swiftly as we were united before.”

The maiden speaks, the maiden says: “Our love cannot be severed! Steel is strong, and iron even more, our love is even stronger still: iron and steel, one can reforge them, but our love, who will change it? Iron and steel can be melted down, our love must forever endure!”

Down there in the valley

Down there in the valley the water runs so murkily, and I cannot tell you that I love you so.

You speak only of love, speak only of fidelity, and a bit of falsehood goes with it too.

Und wenn i dirs zehnmal sag, Daß i di lieb, Und du willst nit verstehn, muß i halt weitergehn.

Für die Zeit, wo du g’liebt mi hast, Dank i dir schön, Und i wünsch, daß dirs anderswo Besser mag gehn. Traditional

Puccini: Mi chiamano Mimi

Sì. Mi chiamano Mimì, ma il mio nome è Lucia. La storia mia è breve.

A tela o a seta

ricamo in casa e fuori . . .

Son tranquilla e lieta ed è mio svago

far gigli e rose.

Mi piaccion quelle cose che han sì dolce malìa, che parlano d’amor, di primavere, di sogni e di chimere, quelle cose che han nome poesia . . . Lei m’intende?

Mi chiamano Mimì, il perché non so.

Sola, mi fo

il pranzo da me stessa. Non vado sempre a messa, ma prego assai il Signore.

Vivo sola, soletta

là in una bianca cameretta:

guardo sui tetti e in cielo; ma quando vien lo sgelo

il primo sole è mio

il primo bacio dell’aprile è mio!

Germoglia in un vaso una rosa . . .

Foglia a foglia la spio!

Cosi gentile

il profumo d’un fiore!

Ma i fior ch’io faccio, ahimè!

non hanno odore.

Altro di me non le saprei narrare. Sono la sua vicina

che la vien fuori d’ora a importunare.

Giuseppe Giacosa

And if I tell you ten times that I love you, and you don’t want to understand, then I must move on.

For the time that you loved me, I thank you very much, and I wish that elsewhere you might fare better.

They call me Mimi

Yes. They call me Mimi, but my real name is Lucia. My story is brief. Canvas or silk

I embroider at home or outside . . . I’m tranquil and happy, and my pastime is making lilies and roses. I love those things that have gentle magic, that talk of love, of spring, of dreams and of fancies, the things called poetry . . . Do you understand me?

They call me Mimi, I don’t know why. Alone, I make lunch by myself. I don’t always go to mass, but I pray to the Lord. I live alone, all alone in a tiny white room, I look at the roofs and the sky. But when the thaw comes the first sun is mine the first kiss of April is mine! A rose blossoms in a vase . . . petal by petal, I watch it. So sweet is the flower’s perfume. But the flowers I make, alas, have no scent.

I couldn’t say anything else about myself. I am your neighbor, who disturbs you at this impossible hour.

Falla: Siete canciones populares españolas

Asturiana

Por ver si me consolaba, arrimeme a un pino verde, Por verme llorar, lloraba. Y el pino como era verde, por verme llorar, lloraba!

Jota

Dicen que no nos queremos, porque no nos ven hablar. A tu corazón y al mío se lo pueden preguntar.

Ya me despido de tí, de tu casa y tu ventana. Y aunque no quiera tu madre. Adiós, niña, hasta mañana.

Nana

Duérmete, niño, duerme, duerme, mi alma, duérmete, lucerito, de la mañana.

Naninta, nana. duérmete, lucerito de la mañana.

Canción

Por traidores, tus ojos, voy a enterrarlos.

No sabes lo que cuesta “del aire.”

Niña, el mirarlos “Madre, a la orilla.”

Dicen que no me quieres, ya me has querido. Váyase lo ganado, “del aire.”

Por lo perdido, “Madre, a la orilla.”

Seven Popular Spanish Songs

Asturian Song

To see if it might console me I leaned against a green pine. To see me weep, it wept. And the pine, since it was green, wept to see me weeping!

Jota

They say we’re not in love because they never see us talk; your heart and mine they should ask!

Now I must say goodbye to you, to your house and your window, and though your mother may not like it, goodbye, sweet love, till tomorrow.

Lullaby

Sleep, child, sleep, sleep, my soul, sleep, my little morning star.

Little lullaby, lullaby, sleep, little star of the morning.

Song

Since your eyes are treacherous, I’m going to bury them; you know not what it costs, (“from the air,”) dearest, to gaze into them. (“Mother, to the shore.”)

They say you do not love me, but you loved me once. What was earned goes away, (“from the air.”) and cut your losses, (“Mother, to the shore.”)

Poulenc: Les chemins de l’amour

Les chemins qui vont à la mer

Ont gardé de notre passage

Des fleurs effeuillées

Et l’écho sous leurs arbres

De nos deux rires clairs.

Hélas! des jours de bonheur, Radieuses joies envolées, Je vais sans retrouver traces

Dans mon coeur.

Chemins de mon amour, Je vous cherche toujours, Chemins perdus, vous n’êtes plus Et vos échos sont sourds.

Chemins du désespoir, Chemins du souvenir, Chemins du premier jour, Divins chemins d’amour.

Si je dois l’oublier un jour, La vie effaçant toute chose, Je veux dans mon coeur qu’un souvenir Repose plus fort que l’autre amour. Le souvenir du chemin, Où tremblante et toute éperdue, Un jour j’ai senti sur moi brûler tes mains.

Jean Anouil

The Paths of Love

The paths that lead to the sea have retained from our passing the flowers that shed their petals and the echo beneath their trees of our clear laughter. Alas! Of our days of happiness, those radiant joys now flown, I can find no trace in my heart.

Paths of my love, I search for you always, lost paths, you are no more and your echoes are muted. Paths of despair, paths of memory, paths of our first day, divine paths of love.

If I must forget one day, since life obliterates everything, I wish in my heart that one remembrance, stays more vivid than the other love, the remembrance of the path where trembling and quite bewildered, one day I felt on me your passionate hands.

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