Nocturnal
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DUSK
Twilight
Francesca Hauser
We start our evening where you might expect: just as the sun goes down, with this beautiful piece from up-and-coming Canadian composer Francesca Hauser, who just graduated with her Masters in Music Technology from the University of Toronto. She's a talented musician and a featured composer with Modern Sound Collective, a by-youth-for-youth Toronto-based choral organization whose aim is to foster an inspiring community for young artists. Hauser wrote this piece two years after the start of the pandemic, saying: “Making music started to feel comforting and inspiring to me again, and this poem by Sara Teasdale reflected that newfound inspiration. I wanted to write a piece that felt good to sing, and something that brought people together after difficult times.” “Twilight” by Sara Teasdale Dreamily over the roofs The cold spring rain is falling; Out in the lonely tree A bird is calling, calling. Slowly over the earth The wings of night are falling; My heart like the bird in the tree Is calling, calling, calling
NIGHTFALL: REFLECTION
Drinking Alone Under the Moon
Graham Yates
ft. Erin Yousef, Brigid Becker, Michael Evans
As I mentioned in my welcome note, I was lucky enough to get to sing the premiere of this piece with Inversion Ensemble in 2021 and it really stuck with me. I loved its simplicity, its humanity, and its comforting assurance. The text was written by 8th century Chinese poet Li Bai, one of the most important writers of the Tang Dynasty. Within Li Bai’s poem, Graham was drawn to the persona’s “joyful defiance: alone in the forest, he imagines the moon and his shadow as companions. Instead of fear or self-pity, he chooses delight.” Legend has it that Li Bai died after having fallen from his boat while drunk, as he tried to embrace the reflection of the moon in the Yangtze River. Hopefully our love for the moon reaches until just before that point. A jug of wine among the flowers I drink alone, I think. I tip my cup to the bright moon. The moon, my shadow, and I make three. The moon does not care to drink. My shadow only trails along. Fleeting friends, we three: the moon, my shadow, and I. Still, let us make merry til the end of Spring. The moon swaying as I sing. My shadow dancing in step along with me. Sober, we happily honor the hour. Drunk, we part. Our meeting beyond the heavens, Until we gather again. These two and I. Beneath the Heavenly River.
O schöne Nacht
Johannes Brahms
This beautiful romantic piece is a favorite among choral singers and one of Brahms’ best known vocal compositions. It is one of 4 quartets from his Opus 92, which all have an atmospheric or nocturnal quality about them and display Brahms’ skilled writing for both piano and voices. It was written in 1877 at a time when Brahms was doing quite well in his career and emerging as a major player in the world of music, after the success of his Requiem and other symphonic works and having received numerous awards. These quartets are quite different from his earlier dialogue-based quartets like his Liebeslieder and Neue Liebeslieder Waltzes with their traditional folk “oom-pah-pah” style, although they do share the same author for their respective texts, Georg Friedrich Daumer, whose poetry Brahms set more than any other writer. Listen for some quintessential Brahms-isms: gentle syncopations, luxurious piano scoring that reaches ever upward, gorgeous text painting, and duple versus triple rhythms, all in praise of a lovely night under the moon and the stars. O schöne Nacht! Am Himmel märchenhaft Erglänzt der Mond in seiner ganzen Pracht; Um ihn der kleinen Sterne liebliche Genossenschaft. Es schimmert hell der Tau am grü-nen Halm; mit Macht in Fliederbusche schlägt die Nachtigall; Der Knabe schleicht zu seiner Lieb-sten sacht O schöne Nacht! O lovely night! In the heavens, the moon shines magically in all its splendour; around it, the sweet company of little stars. The dew glistens brightly on the green blades of grass; with great power, the nightingale sings out in the lilac bush; the young man steals away quietly to his sweetheart - O lovely night!
Walker, There is No Road
Graham Yates
ft. Jennifer Wang
Antonio Machado’s Walker, There Is No Road resonates as a balm for my own midlife reflections. The poem reminds us that there is no “should,” no preordained path. Life is created as we walk it, unique and meaningful in its fleeting impermanence. The road each person leaves behind is significant precisely because it cannot be retraced, yet ultimately ephemeral: “a wake upon the sea.” –Graham Yates Caminante, no hay camino, Caminante, no hay camino, Son tus huellas el camino, Son tus huellas el camino. Caminante, no hay camino, Si no estelas en la mar. Caminante, no hay camino. Walker, there is no road, Walker, there is no road. There is only your own footsteps, Only your own footsteps. The road is made by walking. And the road you make is a path that will never be traced again. Walker, there is no road, Walker, there is no road. There is only your own footsteps. Walker, there is no road, only a wave upon the sea. Walker, there is no road.
NIGHT OUT: REVELRY
Dances in the Streets: Paddington
Bob Chilcott
ft. Steve Olivares, Cami Everitt, Mary Ashton Gray, Kylie Jensen, Nooshin Wilson, Jake Bleything, Braden Weitzel, Benedict Anwukah, and Andy Young
We then move to our Revelry section with pieces that have a groove, celebrating the joy we experience from a good old fashioned night on the town. This work is a setting of two poems from 'Romances sans paroles' by Paul Verlaine. The songs are sung in French, but I have given the work an English title, as the poems, which burst with character and atmosphere, reflect on two areas of London: Soho and Paddington. The first, “Soho”, is a jig, a popular dance in 19th century London. The second, Paddington, captures the atmosphere of a song from the Sixties that might have been sung by a singer such as Yves Montard, and here the song is cast as a languid tango. --Bob Chilcott Ô la rivière dans la rue ! Fantastiquement apparue Derrière un mur haut de cinq pieds, Elle roule sans un murmure Son onde opaque et pourtant pure, Par les faubourgs pacifiés. La chaussée est très large, en sorte Que l'eau jaune comme une morte Dévale ample et sans nuls espoirs De rien refléter que la brume, Même alors que l'aurore allume Les cottages jaunes et noirs. Oh the river in the street! A fantastical apparition Behind a five-foot wall, It flows without a murmur Its water, opaque yet pure, through the peaceful suburbs. The road is very wide, so that the water, pale as the dead, rushes broadly and without any hopes of reflecting anything but mist, even when the dawn lights up the yellow and black cottages.
Nyon Nyon
Jake Runestad
"Nyon Nyon" is an exploration of the effects that one can produce with the human voice. I created original words to achieve varieties of colors and mixed and matched them within the ensemble to produce a diverse sonic landscape. Incorporating effects similar to a flanger, wah-wah pedal, drum and bass, and synthesizers turns the choir into a full-fledged vocal orchestra. --Jake Runestad
El cumbanchero
Rafael Hernandez Marin, arr. Guarionex Morales Matos
Rafael Hernández Marín (1892-1965) was one of the most important and beloved composers in the history of Puerto Rican and Latin American popular music. During World War I, he joined the U.S. Army's all-Black 369th Infantry Regiment band, the "Harlem Hellfighters," where he was exposed to American jazz and ragtime—influences that would flavor his own compositional style. El cumbanchero, composed in 1943, is one of Hernández's most iconic works, a piece of extraordinary electricity and rhythmic vitality. The lyrics are simple and infectious, celebrating the "cumbanchero"—a party-goer or pleasure-seeker. The song is a pure expression of joy and celebration, evoking the atmosphere of a vibrant street festival that lasts long into the night. This choral arrangement by Guarionex Morales-Matos transforms the choir into a percussion section. El cumba cumba cumba, cumbanchero A bongo bongo bongo, bongocero Príquiti que va sonando el cumbanchero, Bongocero que se va. Y suena así el tambor: Príquiti bom bom bam. Y vuelve a repicar Príquiti bom bom bam. The fun fun fun party-maker A bongo bongo bongo bongo-player Príquiti the sound when the party-maker comes by When the party-maker comes by And the drum sounds like this: Príquiti bom bom bam. And it beats again: Príquiti bom bom bam.
MIDNIGHT: PASSION
Honeysuckle at Dusk
Florence Price
ft. Benjamin Dia
Wait, I thought we were already well past dusk?!? It’s true, but this piece by Florence Price is too beautiful to pass up so we had to slip it into our Midnight section all about passion. Price was a groundbreaking 20th century composer, the first African American woman to have a composition played by a major orchestra. According to her daughter, Price originally wanted to become a doctor but felt that the difficulties of becoming a female doctor at the time were too formidable. Instead, she became an even greater rarity—a female composer of symphonies, plus concertos, choral works, art songs, chamber music and more! She wrote this beautiful piano piece in 1941 and to us, it feels a little bit like a sweet conversation between lovers that develops into a brief passionate quarrel before returning to each other’s loving embrace.
Tirsi Morir Volea
Giaches de Wert
Gasp! Grab your pearls so that you might clutch them during this scandalously sensual piece by Giaches de Wert, a Franco-Flemish composer and pivotal figure in the evolution of the late Renaissance madrigal. Working primarily at the courts of Mantua and Ferrara, he was integral to the development of seconda pratica—a style of music where the rules of counterpoint and melody are subservient to the emotional and dramatic meaning of the text. His expressive and often daring use of harmony and declamatory rhythms had a profound influence on the next generation of composers, most notably Claudio Monteverdi, who worked under Wert in Mantua. Tirsi morir volea (Thyrsis Desired Death), from Wert's Seventh Book of Madrigals (1581), is a setting of an erotic poem by Giovanni Battista Guarini. In Renaissance and Baroque poetry, the verb "morire" (to die) was frequently used as a metaphor for passionate climax, an experience often referred to as "the little death." The poem describes the shepherd Tirsi and his nymph, who, burning with equal passion, desire to "die" together. Wert structured the piece for two choirs that represent the two lovers, singing in alternation, musically enacting the lovers' conversation. The two choirs finally merge at the end, their voices intertwining at the culminating moment of their simultaneous "death.” Tirsi morir volea, Gl'occhi mirando di colei ch'adora; Quand'ella, che di lui non men ardea, Li disse: "Oime, ben mio, Deh, non morir ancora, Che teco bramo di morir anch'io." Freno Tirsi il desio, Ch' hebbe di pur sua vit' alhor finire; Ma sentia mort' in non poter morire. E mentre'l guardo suo fisso tenea Ne' begl'occhi divini E'l nettare amoroso indi bevea, La bella Ninfa sua, che gia vicini Sentia i messi d' Amore, Disse con occhi languidi e tremanti: "Mori, cor mio, ch' io moro." Cui rispose il Pastore: "Et io, mia vita, moro." Cosi moriro i fortunati amanti Di morte si soave e si gradita, Che per ancor morir tornaro in vita. Thyrsis desired death, Looking into the eyes of the girl he adored, When she, who burned no less for him, Said to him, “Alas my dear, Oh, do not die yet, For I desire to die with you.” Thyrsis reined in his desire To end his life alone; But he felt death in not being able to die. And while he kept his gaze fixed on those Beautiful divine eyes And drank the amorous nectar, His beautiful nymph, Who felt love’s beckonings drawing nigh, Said with languid and trembling eyes, “Die, my heart, for I die.” The shepherd answered her, “And I, my life, die.” So the fortunate lovers died so sweet and Welcome a death, That they returned to life to die again.
Let Him Kiss Me
Sven-David Sandstrom
Swedish composer Sven-David Sandström (1942-2019) started out as one of Sweden’s foremost modernists, but during the 1980s he turned towards postmodernism, cultivating a simpler, less astringent musical language, and his Four Songs of Love exemplify this style perfectly. He set selected verses from the Biblical Song of Songs (Song of Solomon) for these four brief pieces, and tonight we present the first movement, Let him kiss me, which beautifully explores the interplay of romance, beginning with the upper voices and moving to the lower with more of a vertical “orchestration” than traditional linear voice-leading. Perhaps the final “mmm” of the lower voices represents the kiss itself. Referenced from notes by Francis Pott © 2023 Let him kiss me with kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Behold, thou art fair, my love: thou hast doves’ eyes.
WEE HOURS: FRIGHT
Ejszaka
Gyorgy Ligeti
We now move to our “Fright” section of the concert, with pieces that evoke both our predator and prey instincts. Things are gonna get a little spooky. György Ligeti was one of the most important avant-garde composers of the second half of the 20th century. A Hungarian-Austrian composer of Jewish descent, he fled the communist regime in Hungary in 1956 and settled in Austria, where his radical musical ideas found fertile ground. He is best known for developing the technique of "micropolyphony," in which extremely dense, complex canons are woven together at different tempos and rhythms to create slowly shifting clouds of sound. But before he moved toward micropolyphony, his compositional style was centered around chromatic tone clusters which you can hear in this piece. Éjszaka (Night) was written as the first of a pair of pieces (along with Reggel/Morning) in 1955 while Ligeti was still in Hungary. It sets text by the Hungarian poet Sándor Weöres, whose work was a lifelong source of inspiration for Ligeti. Weöres's poetry often uses the sonic and onomatopoeic qualities of the Hungarian language to create vivid, concentrated images. Ligeti described these pieces as snapshots of moods, saying, "In Éjszaka the night appears to us as an immense jungle, a wilderness full of magical silence". The tone clusters are formed by canons where each voice moves independently and the overall effect is not one of melody or traditional harmony, but of a static texture that is buzzing with internal activity. We hope it beckons the thorny wilderness while bringing you into awareness of your own heartbeat in the silence. Rengeteg tövis: csönd. Én csöndem: szívem dobogása... Éjszaka. Many thorns: silence My silence: my heart beating Night.
Owls (An Epitaph)
Edward Elgar
Sir Edward Elgar (1857-1934) is celebrated as one of the foremost British composers of his time. While he is often associated with the grandeur and confidence of the Edwardian era, exemplified by works like his Pomp and Circumstance Marches, his music is equally characterized by a deep sense of nostalgia, melancholy, and intimate introspection. Owls (An Epitaph) is the final piece from his Four Part-Songs, Op. 53, composed at the end of 1907. It stands as one of the most bewildering and unconventional compositions in his entire output. The strange, macabre text was written by Elgar himself. It is a bleak meditation on death and nothingness, progressing through three stanzas, each ending with the haunting refrain, "Nothing." The music is as unsettling as the text. Described by one critic as "fragmentary, halting, dissonant and weird," it is a powerful corrective to the popular image of Elgar as just a composer of pomp and circumstance. Elgar himself was somewhat dismissive of the piece’s meaning, telling his publisher, "It is only a fantasy & means nothing. It is in [a] wood at night evidently & the recurring 'Nothing' is only an owlish sound.” But we find that it has more intensity and despair than he might have realized or been willing to admit. Adding to the piece's drama is its dedication: "To my friend Pietro d'Alba," or “White Peter,” the name given to his daughter's pet angora rabbit. What is that? ... Nothing; The leaves must fall, and falling, rustle; That is all: They are dead As they fall, - Dead at the foot of the tree; All that can be is said. What is it? ... Nothing. What is that? ... Nothing; A wild thing hurt but mourns in the night, And it cries In its dread, Till it lies Dead at the foot of the tree; All that can be is said. What is it? ... Nothing. What is that? ... Ah! A marching slow of unseen feet, That is all: But a bier, spread With a pall, Is now at the foot of the tree; All that could be is said. Is it ... what? ... Nothing.
Panda Chant II
Meredith Monk
Meredith Monk is a true pioneer of American performance art. A composer, singer, choreographer, and filmmaker, she has spent over six decades creating interdisciplinary works that defy categorization. She is most renowned for her groundbreaking work in extended vocal techniques exploring the vast sonic possibilities of the human voice as an instrument in its own right, often completely divorced from text. Panda Chant II is a movement from The Games: a science fiction opera, a 1984 collaboration with director Ping Chong. The opera is set on an imaginary planet in a post-nuclear future, where the descendants of Earth's survivors perform ritualistic games to preserve the fragmented memories of their ancestral culture. The "Panda Chant" functions within the opera as an energetic, communal ritual performed as a preparation for one of the games. Like much of Monk's work, the piece uses non-lexical phonemes rather than words. Its structure is one of cumulative layering. It begins simply, then combines short, repeated vocal phrases with body percussion—rhythmic stomps and claps—that build in density and intensity. The energy gathers until it reaches an explosive climax, followed by an abrupt and startling silence. While Monk intended for the work to be joyful, we hope she won’t mind us taking it to a slightly more sinister level for the wee hours of the night.
DEAD OF NIGHT: PROFUNDITY
Notturno
Ottorino Respighi
ft. Benjamin Dia
Ottorino Respighi was one of the most significant Italian composers of the early 20th century, celebrated for his masterful and brilliant orchestration, most famously displayed in his "Roman Trilogy" (Fountains of Rome, Pines of Rome, and Roman Festivals). His musical identity was twofold: he was a purveyor of lush, post-Romantic and Impressionistic orchestral color, but also a devoted scholar and arranger of early Italian music from the 16th to 18th centuries. Tonight's performance of Notturno is presented as a piano solo, offering an intimate glimpse into Respighi's more personal compositional world. The piece is the third and by far the most famous of his Sei pezzi per pianoforte (Six Pieces for Piano), composed between 1903 and 1905. It is a quintessential nocturne, a piece that perfectly captures the contemplative and dream-like qualities of the night. The music beautifully melds the lyrical, song-like melodies of a Chopin nocturne with the atmospheric harmonies and shimmering textures of French Impressionism, particularly the music of Claude Debussy. The work is built upon a hypnotic, ostinato-like accompaniment of gently arpeggiated chords, which supports what one analyst has called a "neverending melody poised above delicately shifting thirds". Its structure is a subtle and unconventional ABA form. A long, languid opening section gives way to a surprisingly short and dramatic middle section that functions like a free, improvisatory cadenza, before a brief reprise of the opening material leads to a quiet, reflective coda. The overall effect is one of spontaneous, dream-like reverie.
A Fluted Shell
Graham Yates
C.E.S. Wood’s A Fluted Shell confronts mortality more directly. Hiking to a mountaintop, one may imagine a fragile seashell at our feet under a vast cosmic sky. The piece reflects both the vulnerability of life and the comforting permanence of the world around us. In this setting, fragility and endurance coexist: the shell remains, held by the eternal cosmic “lap.” --Graham Yates On this high mountain cliff, which once the sea waves tore. A fluted shell, frail blossom of that timeless shore. I shall pass, I, and all my braggart thought. I shall die, I, and all my braggart thought. I die, I die, I die. Little fluted shell. I die, I die, I die, I die. Here, on the great lap caught, a little fluted shell. I die, I die, I die, I die. I shall pass, I, and all my braggart thought. As dies on air a sounding bell.
Miserere
Gregorio Allegri
Gregorio Allegri was an Italian priest, singer, and composer of the Roman School who served in the prestigious Papal Choir of the Sistine Chapel. Though he lived and worked in the early Baroque era, his fame rests almost entirely on a single work that has become one of the most iconic pieces of Renaissance polyphony: his setting of Miserere mei, Deus. The history of the Miserere is steeped in legend. Composed in the 1630s, it was written for the exclusive use of the Sistine Chapel during the Tenebrae services of Holy Week. Its beauty was so revered that the Vatican forbade its transcription or performance elsewhere, threatening excommunication for anyone who dared to copy it. This prohibition created an aura of profound mystery around the piece for over a century. The secret was famously broken in 1770 when a 14-year-old Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, visiting Rome, heard the piece performed once and later transcribed it from memory with near-perfect accuracy. The text is Psalm 51 (Psalm 50 in the Vulgate Bible), a powerful and deeply personal prayer of penitence and a plea for divine mercy. Allegri's setting is structured as an alternation between a full five-part choir, a smaller four-part solo quartet (traditionally placed at a distance to create an ethereal echo effect), and sections of plainchant. The version we hear today, with its famous, soaring high C for the solo soprano, is itself a product of history and myth. Allegri's original score was a relatively simple falsobordone setting. The intricate embellishments, including the high notes, were part of an unwritten performance tradition known as abbellimenti, which were improvised by the highly skilled soloists of the Papal Choir and passed down orally from generation to generation. The specific high C that has become so iconic likely solidified in the 19th century, possibly as the result of a transcription error that was then codified in subsequent publications. Thus, the Miserere we hear is not just Allegri's work, but a living document shaped by centuries of performance, legend, and even happy accident. Miserere mei, Deus: secundum magnam misericordiam tuam. Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam. Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me. Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco: et peccatum meum contra me est semper. Tibi soli peccavi, et malum coram te feci: ut justificeris in sermonibus tuis, et vincas cum judicaris. Ne proiicias me a facie tua: et spiritum sanctum tuum ne auferas a me. Ecce enim veritatem dilexisti: incerta et occulta sapientiae tuae manifestasti mihi. Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor. Auditui meo dabis gaudium et laetitiam: et exsultabunt ossa humiliata. Averte faciem tuam a peccatis meis: et omnes iniquitates meas dele. Cor mundum crea in me, Deus: et spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis. Tunc acceptabis sacrificium justitiae, oblationes, et holocausta: tunc imponent super altare tuum vitulos. Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy. According unto the multitude of Thy tender mercies remove my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquities, and cleanse me from my sin. I knowingly confess my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me. Against Thee only have I sinned, and done evil before Thee: that they may be justified in Thy sayings, and might they overcome when I am judged. Do not cast me away from Thy presence: and take not Thy holy spirit from me. Behold, Thou desirest truth in my innermost being: and shalt make me to understand wisdom secretly. Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, make me whiter than snow. Open my ears and make me hear of joy and gladness: and my bones that have been humbled shall rejoice. Turn away Thy face from my sins: and remember not all my misdeeds. Create in me a clean heart, O God: and make anew a righteous spirit within my body. Then shalt Thou be pleased with the sacrifices of righteousness, with small and large burnt offerings: then shall they lay calves upon your altar. Text and Translation by: Aaron Green, B.A., Classical Music and Opera, Westminster Choir College of Rider University
DAWN
Sunrise
Michael Hennagin
The concert concludes with a work by the American composer Michael Hennagin. A professor at the University of Oklahoma, Hennagin was a versatile and prolific composer who studied with 20th-century luminaries like Aaron Copland and Darius Milhaud. His career spanned from writing scores for Hollywood television series such as Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea to creating a substantial body of highly regarded music for choir, orchestra, and chamber ensembles. Sunrise is the second movement of a larger choral work titled Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun, which sets text adapted from Walt Whitman's epic poem Leaves of Grass. The selected lines are a paean to the beauty of the natural world, a yearning for simple, profound experiences. Hennagin's music provides the program with its final, glorious resolution. The score is described as "melodically rich with soft dissonances that seem to depict the sun beams gently shining over the horizon". After a long journey through the passions, mysteries, fears, and prayers of the night, Sunrise offers a moment of catharsis and hope. The setting of Whitman's ecstatic, nature-worshipping text provides a powerful and uplifting conclusion, fulfilling the promise that even after the darkest and most complex of nights, a new day will dawn. Give Me the Splendid, Silent Sun Give me the sunrise when I can walk alone, Give me the nights perfectly silent on high plateaus, And I, looking up at the stars, Take me away, take me back home. Give me a garden of flowers, give me an arbor, the trellised grape, Give me an orchard, the bough rich with fruit, give me the field, the meadow, Give me the sunrise, the sunset, give me the harvest moon. Give me to sing my songs, give me to sing spontaneous songs. Take me back home again. Give me the splendid, silent sun. -Adapted from “Give Me the Splendid, Silent Sun” Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
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Special Thanks
Katie Gleason
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