Komt het zien. De show ‘Ik ben

ontwerper en heb een kekke bril’

Komt het zien. De show ‘Ik ben

ontwerper en heb een kekke bril’

Christianne & Rick Stotijn, Joseph Breinl

pauze

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

mezzosopraan Christianne Stotijn contrabas Rick Stotijn piano Joseph Breinl

Trioprogramma vrijdag 25 oktober 2013 20.15 uur, Aalmarktzaal

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 om-

armen. 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 Ameri-

kaanse 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 opge-

bouwd. 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 aangrijpen-

de 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 combi-

natie met de specifiek donkere klank en moge-

lijkheden 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 tegelij-

kertijd 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.”

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.

Mon cher amour, ma vie,

ah! Viens mon seul bonheur, mon amour, mon

bonheur.

Une bouche aimée…

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.

(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

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.”

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

My dear love, my life,

ah! Come my only joy, my love, my joy

Beloved lips…

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.

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.

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!

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!

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!

Tout gai!

Tout gai, ha, tout gai!

Belle jambe, tireli, qui danse

Belle jambe, la vaisselle danse.

Tra-la-la

teksten Michel Dimitri Calvocoressi (1877-1944)

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!

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!

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!

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!

Everyone is joyous!

Everyone is joyous, joyous!

Beautiful legs, tireli, which dance,

Beautiful legs; even the dishes are dancing!

Tra-la-la

Michail Glinka

O lyre

O lyre, echo of my sorrows,

Why are you to be heard again?

My heart is too weary to express its unhappiness,

My heart is too weary.

In vain do these strings awake,

Their vibrant trembling

Cannot express my sighs

or my plaintive sadness.

To my deep groans

You reply with noisome sobs.

No, these tears have other reasons that is not

my complaint.

Alas, never more shall my eyes see

The one to whom I devoted all my dreams.

My heart is too weary to express

Its love-lorn unhappiness

(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.

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.

(tekst Pjotr Ryndin)

Traveling Song

The steam rises, the engine whistles and roars,

On the platform, people laugh, shout and hustle.

The crowd is full of joy.

The train shoots forward and speeds through

the countryside, freer than the wind

Even swifter do secret thoughts fly away,

Beating hearts mark each second,

Just as perfidious thoughts come through one’s

mind,

People sigh: “How long the journey is!”

It is not green countryside that attracts unhappy

hearts, but two magnificent, shining eyes.

Sweet is the moment of reuniting,

And also that of separation, full of hope.

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

(tekst N. Kubolnik)

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.

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)

Michel van der Aa

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.

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.

(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.

Worked his way up to the top. Was the steward of the shop. Has a son who is a cop and he is free! 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! No guilt, no gift for no host, He goes, coast to coast, Coughing, coughing. My Uncle Murray the furrier No, no worrier he.

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.

I’m talking about night in Rotterdam

When the right night people of all the town

Would find what they could in the night neigh-

borhood of Black Max.

There were women in the windows with bodies

for sale

Dressed in curls like little girls in little doll-

house 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

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)

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.