BF1 / LSO artwork

52 Pages·2013·0.3 MB·English

BF12_2013AW:BF1 / LSO artwork 10/05/2013 18:30 Page 1
Les chansons
instrumentales
The chamber music of
Poulenc and Hahn
James Baillieu piano
Part 1
Wed 15 May 2013, 7.30pm
Part 2
Fri 17 May 2013, 7.30pm
Part 3
Sat 18 May 2013, 7.30pm
The Steinway concert piano chosen and hired by
Brighton Festival for this performance is supplied and
maintained by Steinway & Sons, London
All Saints Church, Hove
Brighton Festival programmes are supported by WSL (Brighton) Ltd
Please ensure that all mobile phones are switched off
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Part 1
Ailish Tynan soprano
James Baillieu piano
Poulenc Airs chantés
Air romantique
Air champêtre
Air grave
Air vif
Hahn Venezia
Sopra l’acqua indormenzada
La barcheta
L’avvertimento
La biondina in gondoleta
Che pecà!
Poulenc Trois poèmes de Louise de Vilmorin
Le garçon de Liège
Au-delà
Aux Officiers de la Garde Blanche
INTERVAL
PART 1
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Poulenc La courte paille
Le sommeil
Quelle aventure!
La Reine de Coeur
Ba, be, bi, bo, bu
Les anges musiciens
Le carafon
Lune d’avril
Fiançailles pour rire
La dame d’André
Dans l’herbe
Il vole
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Violon
Fleurs
Hahn À Chloris
En sourdine
Fêtes galantes
PART 1
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Francis Poulenc (1899–1963)
Airs chantés
Air romantique
Air champêtre
Air grave
Air vif
Francis Poulenc After World War I, the ethos of French art across the board lay in the direction of
clarity and simplicity. Cocteau further cried for ‘an end to clouds, waves, aquariums,
water nymphs, an end to fogs’, and Erik Satie, the cultural godfather of the new
French music, warned that fogs had been the death of as many composers as sailors.
Another target was the ‘music one listens to head in hands’ — Wagner most notably,
but also Schumann. For Poulenc then, in quest of song texts, the 19th century was
largely to be avoided; only one of his texts, Théodore de Banville’s Pierrot, was
published during it, while Jean Moréas’s four poems forming the Airs chantéswere
printed in the first decade of the 20th century. Otherwise Poulenc sought either
distancing through pre-Romantic poetry or immediacy through poetry of his own time.
It is not always wise to take composers wholly at their word. Poulenc was not alone in
occasionally liking to tease his readers, so his claim that he loathed the poetry of Jean
Moréas (Yannis Papadiamantopoulos, 1856–1910) and chose these poems as being
suitable for mutilation should probably be taken with a pinch of salt; as should his
condemnation of ‘Air grave’ as ‘certainly my worst song’, though it may be true that
he was more successful elsewhere in imitating ‘ancient’ textures. Here, as with his
outright rejection of many of his piano pieces, we should bear in mind Poulenc’s
perennial sensitivity to his place in 20th-century music: one gets the impression that
often his masochistic barbs may simply have been a way of getting in before the
critics.
Poulenc professed to be annoyed by the success of the second and last songs of the
Airs chantés. It is hard to see why. For a start, he dedicated them to two of his
favourite singers, Suzanne Peignot and Jane Bathori, which must have meant
something. Then, they both flow with an easy charm. In ‘Air champêtre’ Poulenc
barely moves out of the key of G major, but within that restriction invents melodic lines
of considerable beauty, mirroring that of the apostrophized goddess, before signing
off with a quotation from a Chopin étude. ‘Air vif’ is a portrait of the wind racing over
the countryside, ‘Presto — très gai’. The only song to escape censure was the opening
‘Air romantique’, where Poulenc again concentrates the music round the tonic, this time
E minor, in parallel with the unvarying tempo.
PART 1
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Air romantique Romantic air
J’allais dans la campagne avec le vent d’orage, I wandered through the countryside with the wind
of a storm,
Sous le pâle matin, sous les nuages bas; In the pale morning, under low clouds;
Un corbeau ténébreux escortait mon voyage, A gloomy raven escorted me on my journey,
Et dans les flaques d’eau retentissaient mes pas. And my steps echoed in the puddles.
La foudre à l’horizon faisait courir sa flamme The lightning on the horizon ran its flame
Et l’Aquilon doublait ses longs gémissements; And Boreas redoubled his persistent howling;
Mais la tempête était trop faible pour mon âme, Yet the tempest was too weak for my soul,
Qui couvrait le tonnerre avec ses battements. Whose pounding sounded above the thunder.
De la dépouille d’or du frêne et de l’érable From the golden garment of the ash and maple
L’Automne composait son éclatant butin, Autumn gathered its glistening harvest,
Et le corbeau toujours, d’un vol inexorable, And the raven all the while, with its inexorable
flight,
M’accompagnait sans rien changer à mon destin. Followed me without changing my destiny.
Air champêtre Pastoral air
Belle source, belle source, Beautiful spring, beautiful spring,
Je veux me rappeler sans cesse, I wish to remember forever
Qu’un jour, guidé par l’amitié, That one day, guided by affection,
Ravi, j’ai contemplé ton visage, ô dèesse, Enchanted, I looked at your face, o Goddess,
Perdu sous la mou, sous la mousse à moitié. Half concealed beneath the moss.
Que n’est-il demeuré, cet ami que je pleure, Has he but remained, this friend for whom I mourn,
O nymphe, à ton culte attaché, O nymph, adhering to your cult,
Pour se mêler encore au souffle qui t’effleure, To mingle still with the breeze that touches you,
Et répondre à ton flot caché? And to respond to your hidden waters?
PART 1
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Air grave Serious air
Ah! fuyez à présent, Ah! Flee now
Malheureuses pensées! Miserable thoughts!
O! colère, o! remords! Oh! rage, oh! scruples!
Souvenirs qui m’avez Memories that have
Les deux tempes pressées Pressed both my temples
De l’étreinte des morts. In the grip of the dead.
Sentiers de mousse pleins, Paths of thick moss,
Vaporeuses fontaines, Vaporous fountains,
Grottes profondes, voix Deep grottos, voices
Des oiseaux et du vent Of birds and the wind,
Lumières incertaines Uncertain lights
Des sauvages sous-bois, Of wild primeval forests,
Insectes, animaux, Insects, animals,
Beauté future, Future beauty,
Ne me repousse pas, Do not turn me away,
Ô divine nature, O divine nature,
Je suis ton suppliant. I am your supplicant.
Ah! fuyez à présent, Ah! Flee now,
Malheureuses pensées! Miserable thoughts!
O! colère, o! remords! Oh! rage, oh! scruples!
Air vif Lively air
Le trésor du verger et le jardin en fête, The treasure of the orchard and the festive garden,
Les fleurs des champs, des bois, éclatent de The flowers of the fields, the woodlands, burst with
plaisir, pleasure,
Hélas! hélas! Et sur leur tête le vent enfle sa voix. Alas! alas! And above them the wind raises his voice.
Mais toi noble océan que l’assaut des tourmentes But you noble ocean that the assault of storms
Ne saurait ravager Could not ravage
Certes plus dignement, lorsque tu te lamentes, Certainly with more dignity, once you lament,
Tu te prends à songer. You lose yourself in dreams.
Jean Moréas [Yannis Papadiamantopoulos]
PART 1
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Reynaldo Hahn (1875–1947)
Venezia
Sopra l’acqua indormenzada
La barcheta
L’avvertimento
La biondina in gondoleta
Che pecà!
Reynaldo Hahn
Reynaldo Hahn, born in Venezuela in 1875, was taken to Paris as a small
boy and made France his home for the rest of his life. Despite his astonishing
precocity (he wrote perhaps his most famous song, ‘Si mes vers avaient des
ailes’ when he was 13), by the 1890s he had made two serious errors. The
first, to be a Jewish foreigner, was hardly his fault. The second, to become the
darling of the salons, certainly was. The social reasons behind his success are
obvious: Parisian salons were run by women, and in such a milieu an
unattached, talented young man was likely to do well, the more so when he
was known to be homosexual. Admiration and flirtation became safe. But in
the eyes of ‘serious’ musicians, Hahn was only a ‘salon singer’. They were
missing a great deal thereby.
In 1900, with his lover Marcel Proust, Hahn visited Venice. He spoke
Venetian dialect perfectly and while he was there he wrote the group of six
songs called Venezia (of which we hear the first five this evening). He was
not only a sensitive pianist but a seductive singer, even with what a friend
called ‘a slim thread of a voice’, which he slimmed down further by singing
with a cigarette dangling from his mouth (to prove that ugly jaw-work was not
necessary for clear enunciation). ‘I was alone’, he later wrote, ‘with the piano
and two rowers in an illuminated barge. I was surrounded by gondolas; we
took up our positions at a point where three canals met, under three elegant
bridges. The Venetian songs produced the effect of cartridges exploding.
“Ancora! Ancora!” they shouted from above.’
Through all the songs the piano accompaniment, often in 6/8 metre, echoes
the rocking waters of the lagoon. The vocal lines are manifestly in the
tradition of Hahn’s teacher Massenet, with a few light Fauréan harmonies
added here and there.
PART 1
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Sopra l’acqua indormenzada Asleep on the water
Coi pensieri malinconici Let not melancholy thoughts
No te star a tormentar: Distress you:
Vien con mi, montemo in gondola, Come with me, let us climb into our gondola,
Andaremo fora in mar. And make for the open sea.
Passaremo i porti e l’isole We will go past harbours and islands
Che circonda la cità, Which surround the city,
El sol more senza nuvole And the sun will sink in a cloudless sky
E la luna spuntarà. And the moon will rise.
Oh! che festa, oh! che spetacolo, Oh! what fun, oh! what a sight,
Che presenta sta laguna, Is the lagoon,
Quando tuto xe silenzio, When all is silent,
Quando sluse in ciel la luna; When the moon climbs in the sky;
E spandendo i cavel morbidi And spreading its soft hair
Sopra l’acqua indormenzada, Over the tranquil waters,
La se specia, la se cocola, It admires its own reflection
Come dona inamorada. Like a woman in love.
Tira zo quel velo e scòndite, Draw your veil about you and hide,
Che la vedo comparir! For I see the moon appearing!
Se l’arriva a descoverzarte, And if it catches a glimpse of you,
La se pol ingelosir! It will grow jealous!
Sta baveta, che te zogola This light breeze, playing
Fra i caveli imbovolai, Gently with your ruffled tresses,
No xe turbia de la polvere Bears no trace of the dust raised
De le rode e dei cavai. By cartwheels and horses.
Se in conchigli ai Grevi Venere If in other days Venus
Se sognava un altro di, Seemed to the Greeks to have risen from a shell,
Forse visto i aveva in gondola Perhaps it was because they had seen
Una zogia come ti. A beauty like you in a gondola.
Ti xe bela, ti xe zovene, You are lovely, you are young,
Ti xe fresca come un fior; You are fresh as a flower;
Vien per tuti le so lagrme; Tears will come soon enough;
Ridiadesso e fa l’amor! So now is the time for laughter and for love!
PART 1
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La barcheta The little boat
La note è bela. The night is beautiful.
Fa presto, o Nineta, Make haste, Nineta,
Andemo in barcheta Let us take to our boat
I freschi a ciapar! And enjoy the evening breeze!
A Toni g’ho dito I have asked Toni
Ch’el felze el ne cava To remove the canopy
Per goder sta bava So that we can feel the zephyr
Che supia dal mar. Blowing in from the sea.
Ah! Ah!
Che gusto contarsela What bliss it is to exchange
Soleti in laguna, Sweet nothings,
E al chiaro de luna Alone on the lagoon
Sentirse a vogar! And by moonlight!
Ti pol de la ventola Borne along in our boat
Far senza, o mia cara, You can lay aside your fan, my dear,
Chè zefiri a gara For the breezes will vie with each other
Te vol sventolar. To refresh you.
Ah! Ah!
Se gh’è tra de lori If among them
Chi troppo indiscreto There should be one so indiscreet
Volesse da pèto As to try to lift the veil
El velo strapar, Shielding your breast,
No bada a ste frotole, Pay no heed to its nonsense,
Soleti za semo For we are all alone
E Toni el so’ remo And Toni is much too intent
Lè a tento a menar. On plying his oar.
Ah! Ah!
PART 1
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L’avvertimento The warning
No corè, puti, Do not rush, lads,
smaniosi tanto So eagerly,
Drio quel incanto After the charms
Che Nana g’ha. Of the lovely Nana.
Xe tuto amabile All is enchantment
Ve acordo, in ela; In her, I grant you;
La xe una stela She is like a star
Cascada qua, Fallen to earth,
Ma… ma… La Nana cocola But… but… That lovely Nana
G’ha el cuor tigrà. Has the heart of a tiger.
L’ocio xe vivo Her eye is lively
Color del cielo, And heavenly blue,
Oro el cavelo Her hair is spun gold
Balsamo el fià; And her breath a balm;
Ghe sponta in viso Roses glow
Do’ rose intate. In her cheeks.
Invidia al late Her breasts are whiter
Quel sen ghe fa, Than milk,
Ma… ma… La Nana cocola But… but… That lovely Nana
G’ha el cuor tigrà. Has the heart of a tiger.
Ogni ochiadina Every glance
Che la ve daga, She darts at you,
Da qualche piaga Carries its own
Voda no va! Sweet poison!
Col so’ granelo Nor is guile
De furbaria Ever absent
La cortesia From her
Missiar la sa… Gentle manner…
Ma…ma… La Nana cocola But… but… That lovely Nana
G’ha el cuor tigrà. Has the heart of a tiger.
PART 1