Christianne & Rick Stotijn, Joseph Breinl
Trioprogramma vrijdag 25 oktober 2013 20.15 uur, Aalmarktzaal mezzosopraan Christianne Stotijn contrabas Rick Stotijn piano Joseph Breinl Giovanni Bottesini (1821-1889) Une bouche aimée ; Tutto il Mondo Serra (voor mezzosopraan, contrabas en piano) Giovanni Bottesini Capriccio di bravura (voor contrabas en piano) Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) Cinq Mélodies Populaires Grecques (voor zang en piano) Le réveil de la mariée Là-bas, vers l’église Quel galant m’est comparable Chanson des cueilleuses de lentisques Tout gai! Michail Glinka (1804-1857) Arrangementen voor mezzosopraan, contrabas en piano O lyre How sweet it is to be near thee Traveling Song Doubt
pauze Ned Rorem How like winter (voor mezzosopraan, contrabas en piano op sonnetten van Shakespeare) 97. How like a winter 98. From you have I been absent in the spring Emil Tabakov (1947- ) Motieven (1968) (voor contrabas solo) Michel van der Aa (1970- ) How are we today; Miles Away voor mezzosopraan, contrabas en piano William Bolcom uit: Cabaret Songs (arrangementen voor mezzosopraan, contrabas en piano) Fur (Murray the Furrier) (arr. Wijnand van Klaveren) Places to live (arr. Marijn van Prooijen) The Actor (arr. Marijn van Prooijen) Song of Black Max (As told by the Kooning Boys) (arr. Wijnand van Klaveren)
Voorwoord van Christianne Stotijn 'Mijn broer Rick Stotijn, Joseph Breinl en ik hebben gezocht naar een programma, dat alle elementen in zich draagt om het publiek te verrassen, te bewegen, uit te dagen, en te omarmen. Dit betekent dat de rode lijn van het programma begint bij romantisch, traditioneel repertoire, zoals de liederen van Glinka en Ravel en de zeer romantische Bottesini. Ondanks dat deze componist minder bekend is, die overigens zelf contrabassist was, zijn de stukken heel toegankelijk en liefdevol. Omdat er weinig muziek bestaat voor de unieke combinatie contrabas, piano en stem was het voor ons een grote kans en uitdaging zowel de oudere, meer 'conventionele' en lyrische Amerikaanse componist Ned Rorem uit te nodigen, als wel de zeer veelzijdige en uitdagende Michel van der Aa, om voor ons speciaal te schrijven. Een aantal jaren geleden, hoorde ik muziek van Ned Rorem, gezongen door Susan Graham. Ik werd meteen getroffen door zijn lyriek en eigen stijl, die toch vanuit harmonie en traditie is opgebouwd. Hier ontstond het idee om Ned Rorem te vragen, ook omdat hij zeer veel muziek voor kamerbezetting met zang heeft geschreven. Michel van der Aa bouwt hierop voort met nieuwe expressie-middelen en schreef al eerder een stuk voor mij en het Concertgebouworkest- 'Spaces of Blank' ,waarin ook elektronische elementen zijn toegevoegd zonder de relatie met de aangrijpende poëzie van Emily Dickinson, Anne Carson en Rozalie Hirs te verliezen. Ook Michel gaat uit van de tekst en het verhaal. Zo heeft hij voor de trio-compositie teksten gekozen van Carol Ann Duffy-veel rauwere poëzie en soms bitter- ironisch. Maar daardoor een sterke combinatie met de specifiek donkere klank en mogelijkheden van de contrabas. Het was puur toevallig, dat ik vorig jaar ook een
andere Amerikaanse componist - William Bolcom ontmoette, tijdens het Ojai Music Festival te Californië, waar de pianist Leif Ove Andsnes dat jaar artistiek directeur was. Andsnes stelde mij voor om Bolcoms Cabaret Songs uit te voeren, welke ik toen nog niet kende, samen met pianist en echte Bolcom-kenner Marc-André Hamelin. Dit werd een ware ontdekkingstocht; zo origineel en fantastisch geschreven voor de stem en tegelijkertijd heel pianistisch en virtuoos. Het leek ons een fijn idee om enkele Cabaret Songs te laten bewerken voor zang, piano en contrabas en dit hebben contrabassist /componist Marijn van Prooijen en organist/componist Wijnand van Klaveren naar ons idee origineel en vol humor gedaan. Al jaren lang spreken mijn broer en ik over het idee veel meer samen te werken, te meer omdat we niet alleen een muzikale taal delen, maar ook humor en 'adem'. Lastig uit te leggen, hoe we 'adem' kunnen delen, maar we komen tenslotte uit dezelfde creatieve baarmoeder en soms lijkt het wel of we muzikale tweelingen zijn. Dat maakt een onderlinge taal mogelijk, welke zonder woorden tussen ons wordt begrepen en waar Joseph vaak om glimlacht en de flexibiliteit hierin deelt en geniet. En zo hopen wij het publiek te kunnen aanvuren en inspireren met een veelzijdig en virtuoos programma!'
Liedteksten Giovanni Bottesini Une Bouche Aimée Une bouche aimée à dit a mon cœur: “Viens, o mon amour, o toi, mon seul Bonheur Viens ah! Viens, mon cœur, O toi, mon seul bonheur.”
Beloved lips Beloved lips said to my heart: “Come, O my love, O thou, my only joy. Come, ah! Come my heart O thou, my only joy.”
Adieu les tristes automnes, Voici venir le printemps, La terre se couvre de fleurs, Les rayons dorés ont tari ses pleurs. Dans la feuille nouvelle Chante la tourterelle, La sève des bourgeons entrouverts, Du parfum des bois des prés verts remplit les airs.
Farewell sad autumns, Here comes the spring. The earth is covered with flowers, the golden rays have dried her tears. In the new foliage sings the turtle-dove The sap of the half-opened buds fills the air with the scent of the woods and of the green meadows
Mon cher amour, ma vie, ah! Viens mon seul bonheur, mon amour, mon bonheur. Une bouche aimée…
My dear love, my life, ah! Come my only joy, my love, my joy
Tutto che il mondo serra Tutto che il mondo serra di più caro per me da me s’invola. Ah! Oggi per sempre ed ogni gaudio perdo. Ogni speranza che l’amara terra dell’esiglio feconda esser non puote se non d’affanno, se non d’affanno.
All that the world holds All that the world holds that is dearest to me is slipping away from me. Ah! Today I lose forever all joy and hope. For my troubles serve only to feed the bitter land of exile.
Beloved lips…
(teksten Giovanni Bottesini)
Maurice Ravel Cinq Mélodies Populaires Grecques Le réveil de la mariée Réveille-toi, réveille-toi, perdrix migonne, Ouvre au matin les ailes Trois grains de beauté, mon cœur en est brûlé
The awakening of the bride Awake, awake, my darling partridge, Open your wings to the morning Three beauty marks, my heart is on fire!
Vois le rubandór que je t’apporte Pour le nouer autour de tes cheveux. Si tu veux, ma belle, viens nous marier. Dans nos deux familles, tous sont alliés.
See the ribbon of gold that I bring To tie around your hair. If you want, my beauty, we shall marry! In our two families, everyone is related!
La-bas, vers l’église Là-bas, vers l’église, Vers l’église Ayio Sidéro, L’église, ô Vierge sainte, L’église Ayio Costanndino, Se sont réunis, rassemblés en nombre infini, Du monde, ô Vierge sainte! Du monde tous les plus braves!
Yonder, by the church Yonder, by the church, By the church of Ayio Sidero, The church, o blessed Virgin, The church of Ayio Costanndino, There are gathered, assembled in numbers infinite, The world's, o blessed Virgin, All the world's most decent folk!
Quel galant m’est comparable Quel galant m’est comparable, D’entre ceux qu’on voit paser? Dis, dame Vassililki? Vois, pendus, pendus à ma ceinture, Pistolets et sabre aigu… Est c’est toi que j’aime!
What gallant compares with me What gallant compares with me, Among those one sees passing by? Tell me, lady Vassiliki! See, hanging on my belt, My pistols and my curved sword. And it is you whom I love!
Chanson des cueilleuses de lentisques Ô joie de mon âme, Joie de mon cœur, trésor qui m’est si cher; Joie de l’âme et du cœur Toi que j’aime ardemment, Tu es plus beau qu’un ange. Ô lorsque tu parais, ange si doux, Devant nos yeux, Comme un bel ange blond, Sous le clair soleil, Hélas, tous nos pauvres cœurs soupirent!
The Song of the Girls Collecting Mastic O joy of my soul, joy of my heart, treasure which is so dear to me, joy of my soul and heart, you whom I love ardently, you are more handsome than an angel. O when you appear, angel so sweet, Before our eyes, Like a fine, blond angel, under the bright sun, Alas! all of our poor hearts sigh!
Tout gai! Tout gai, ha, tout gai! Belle jambe, tireli, qui danse Belle jambe, la vaisselle danse. Tra-la-la
Everyone is joyous! Everyone is joyous, joyous! Beautiful legs, tireli, which dance, Beautiful legs; even the dishes are dancing! Tra-la-la
teksten Michel Dimitri Calvocoressi (1877-1944)
Michail Glinka
Shine and be respendent, light my path, Lead to unhoped for happiness A man who did not know hope. My heart at they sight exults and grows faint.
O lyre O lyre, echo of my sorrows, Why are you to be heard again? My heart is too weary to express its unhappiness, (tekst Pjotr Ryndin) My heart is too weary. Traveling Song The steam rises, the engine whistles and roars, In vain do these strings awake, On the platform, people laugh, shout and hustle. Their vibrant trembling The crowd is full of joy. Cannot express my sighs The train shoots forward and speeds through or my plaintive sadness. the countryside, freer than the wind To my deep groans Even swifter do secret thoughts fly away, You reply with noisome sobs. Beating hearts mark each second, No, these tears have other reasons that is not Just as perfidious thoughts come through one’s my complaint. mind, Alas, never more shall my eyes see People sigh: “How long the journey is!” The one to whom I devoted all my dreams. It is not green countryside that attracts unhappy My heart is too weary to express hearts, but two magnificent, shining eyes. Its love-lorn unhappiness Sweet is the moment of reuniting, And also that of separation, full of hope. (tekst anoniem) How sweet it is to be near thee How sweet it is to be near thee, Plunging my soul silently Into the blue of thine eyes. With an ardour that words Could not equal, they express All the fire, all the passion that is in thee, My heart at the sight of thee beats so fast! How sweet it is to look at thee: How joyful is thy smile, Thy gestures so tender. In vain do I seek to repress the surging Of my loving heart, In vain does reason try to appease it. My heart at the sight of thee loses all reason. And so like a marvelous star Thou didst appear to me. Illuminating my heaven.
The steam rises, the engine whistles and roars… (tekst N. Kubolnik) Doubt Passions, torments, be silent! And thou, my heart, rest in peace! I weep, I groan, My indolent soul far from thee is consumed, I suffer and am in torment, But my tears suffice not to express my sorrow. In vain does hope Foretell happiness for me. No, I wish not to believe In these perfidious promises. Separated hearts soon love no more. As if in a heartless, baleful dream I believe I have a more fortunate rival,
My jealous and cruel heart Boils and burns! My cruel hand Seeks a weapon. In vain did my love Foretell her treachery. No, I wish not to believe In this perfidious insult. You are mine again, I live once more. Sorrows fade away, Once more we will embrace, My heart will be born again, More fervent than yesterday And our lips will be joined, Ever more ardent
Sonnet nr. 98 From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, As with your shadow I with these did play. (teksten William Shakespeare)
(tekst N. Kubolnik) Michel van der Aa Ned Rorem How like winter Sonnet nr. 97 How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: Yet this abundant issue seemed to me But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute: Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
And How Are We Today? The little people in the radio are picking on me again. It is sunny, but they are going to make it rain. I do not like their voices, they have voices like cold tea with skin on. I go O O O. The flowers are plastic. There is all dust on the petals. I go Ugh. Real flowers die, but at least they are a comfort to us all. I know them by name, listen. Rose. Tulip. Lily. I live inside someone else's head. He hears me with his stethoscope, so it is no use sneaking home at five o'clock to his nice house because I am in his ear going Breathe Breathe. I might take my eye out and swallow it to bring some attention to myself. Winston did. His name was in the paper. For the time being I make noises to annoy them and then I go BASTARDS.
Miles Away I want you and you are not here. I pause in this garden, breathing the colour thought is before language into still air. Even your name is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again and again, it will not stay with me. Tonight I make you up, imagine you, your movements clearer than the words I have you say you said before.
Worked his way up to the top. Was the steward of the shop. Has a son who is a cop and he is free!
Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me with a look, standing here whilst cool late light dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong, but it still smiles. I hold you closer, miles away, inventing love, until the calls of nightjars interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain into memory. The stars are filming us for no one.
No guilt, no gift for no host, He goes, coast to coast, Coughing, coughing. My Uncle Murray the furrier No, no worrier he.
(teksten Carol Ann Duffy) William Bolcom uit Cabaret Songs Fur (Murray the Furrier) My Uncle Murray the furrier was a big worrier but he’s no hurrier now – not today. He’s good and retired now Didn’t get fired, now Fulfills his desires on half of his pay. He eats in the best of dives Although he dines alone. He buried two wonderful wives And he still has the princess phone. It’s the best of all possible lives Owning all that he owns on his own. You see, he never took off a lot, And used to cough a lot, Fur in his craw from hot days in the sore.
My uncle Murray the retiree Loves this democracy And says it very emphatic’ly. He lives where he wishes. When he wants does the dishes, Eats greasy knishes, yes sirree! He is free!
Places to live Places to live! Give me places to live! Wonders to wander to, places to live! My feet are dreaming of new dust, new dirt; My hips want to swing in a cellophane skirt. Give me my change in a celluloid note While I buy wooden hats from the factory boat. Places to live! Give me places to live! Wonders to wander to, places to live! My tonsils are longing to hum a new tune; I’m dying to dance by the dark of the moon With mustachioed Mounties in deep purple kilts And me in blue velvet on flaming red stilts. Places to live! Give me places to live! Wonders to wander to, places to live! My soul is keening for new forms of faith! I need a new God more than Henry the Eighth To take off my feathers and give me release, And I’ll kneel in the sand and I’ll drown my valise. Places to live! Give me places to live! The Actor A man I know To keep alive dies for a living. To survive!
To keep alive dies for a living. Stands upon a stage each night Matinees from two to five to keep the show alive, To keep the show alive, dies for a living. Song of Black Max (As told by the de Kooning Boys) He was always dressed in black, Long black jacket, broad black hat, sometimes a cape, And as thin, and as thin as rubber tape: Black Max He would raise the big black hat To the bigshots of the town who raised their hats right back, Never knew they were bowing to Black Max.
Those days you went crazy and died and he did. And at the coffin before they closed the lid, who raised his lid? Black Max. I was climbing on the train one day Going far away to the good old U.S.A When I heard some music underneath the tracks. Standing there beneath the bridge, long black jacket, broad black hat. Playing the harmonica, one hand free to lift that hat to me: Black Max, Black Max, Black Max. (teksten Arnold Weinstein)
I’m talking about night in Rotterdam When the right night people of all the town Would find what they could in the night neighborhood of Black Max. There were women in the windows with bodies for sale Dressed in curls like little girls in little dollhouse jails. When the women walked the street with the beds upon their backs, Who was lifting up his brim to them? Black Max! And there were looks for sale, the art of the smile, Only certain people walked that mystery mile: Artists, charlatans, vaudevillians, Men of mathematics, acrobatics and civilians. There were knitting-needle music from a lady organ-grinder With all her sons behind her, Marco, Vito, Benno (Was he strong! Though he walked like a woman) and Carlo, who was five. He must still be alive! Ah poor Marco had the syph, and if you didn’t take the terrible cure
Dit concert is mede mogelijk gemaakt door het Fonds Podiumkunsten.
Binnenkort in de Stadsgehoorzaal: Ysaÿe Kwartet: afscheidstournee
donderdag 12 december 20.15 uur Aalmarktzaal Beethoven Strijkkwartet nr. 11 “Serioso” Mozart Strijkkwartet nr. 15 in d Debussy Strijkkwartet in g Na 30 jaar neemt Quatuor Ysaÿe afscheid van het concertpodium. Uw laatste kans dus om dit Franse topkwartet live te horen. Ze sluiten af met Debussy, hun oudste liefde.