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Translations copyright © Derek Welton.
Aria recording
Guildhall School of Music and Drama Recording Studio, 21 October 2009
Humperdinck Hänsel und Gretel, Act 1 Scene 3
Aria (Peter) „Ral la la la … Ach, wir armen leute“
Aria (Peter) „Ral la la la … Ach, wir armen leute“
Ach, wir armen Leute!
Alle Tage so wie heute
In dem Beutel ein großes Loch
Und im Magen ein größ’res noch
Ral la la la,
Hunger ist der beste Koch!
Ja, ihr Reichen könnt euch laben!
Wir, die nichts zu essen haben,
Nagen, ach, die ganze Woch’
Sieben Tag an einem Knoch’!
Ach, wir sind ja gern zufrieden,
Denn das Glück ist so verschieden,
Aber wahr ist’s doch:
Armut is ein schweres Joch!
Ja ja, der Hunger kocht schon gut,
Sofern er kommandieren tut.
Allein was nutzt der Kommandör,
Fehlt euch im Topf die Zubehör?
Ral la la la,
Kümmel ist mein Leiblikör!
Alle Tage so wie heute
In dem Beutel ein großes Loch
Und im Magen ein größ’res noch
Ral la la la,
Hunger ist der beste Koch!
Ja, ihr Reichen könnt euch laben!
Wir, die nichts zu essen haben,
Nagen, ach, die ganze Woch’
Sieben Tag an einem Knoch’!
Ach, wir sind ja gern zufrieden,
Denn das Glück ist so verschieden,
Aber wahr ist’s doch:
Armut is ein schweres Joch!
Ja ja, der Hunger kocht schon gut,
Sofern er kommandieren tut.
Allein was nutzt der Kommandör,
Fehlt euch im Topf die Zubehör?
Ral la la la,
Kümmel ist mein Leiblikör!
Ah, we poor people!
Each day just like today
A big hole in our pockets
And a bigger one yet in our bellies
Ral la la la,
Hunger is the best cook!
Yes, you rich ones might be able to feast!
But we, who have nothing to eat
Nibble, ah! the whole week,
Seven days on one single bone!
Ah, but we are easily contented,
For happiness has so many forms,
But it is still true:
Poverty is a heavy yoke!
Yes, yes, hunger does cook well,
So long as he is in command.
However, what use is the commander,
If there are no ingredients in the pot?
Ral la la la,
Liquor is my staple diet!
Each day just like today
A big hole in our pockets
And a bigger one yet in our bellies
Ral la la la,
Hunger is the best cook!
Yes, you rich ones might be able to feast!
But we, who have nothing to eat
Nibble, ah! the whole week,
Seven days on one single bone!
Ah, but we are easily contented,
For happiness has so many forms,
But it is still true:
Poverty is a heavy yoke!
Yes, yes, hunger does cook well,
So long as he is in command.
However, what use is the commander,
If there are no ingredients in the pot?
Ral la la la,
Liquor is my staple diet!
Mozart Le Nozze di Figaro KV 492, Act 3 Scene 4
Aria (Conte) ‘Vedrò, mentr’io sospiro’
Aria (Conte) ‘Vedrò, mentr’io sospiro’
‘Hai già vinta la causa!’
Cosa sento? In qual laccio cadea?
Perfidi! io voglio di tal modo punirvi,
A piacer mio la sentenza sarà.
Ma s’ei pagasse la vecchia pretendente?
Pagarla! In qual maniera?
E poi v’è Antonio
Che all’incognito Figaro ricusa
Di dare una nipote in matrimonio.
Coltivando l’orgoglio di questo mentecatto…
Tutto giova a un raggiro… Il colpo è fatto.
Vedrò mentr’io sospiro felice un servo mio?
E un ben che invan desio, ei posseder dovrà?
Vedrò per man d’amore unita a un vile oggetto
Chi in me destò un affetto, che per me poi non ha?
Ah no! lasciarte in pace, non vo’ questo contento,
Tu non nascesti, audace, per dare a me tormento,
E forse ancor per ridere di mia infelicità.
Già la speranza sola delle vendette mie
Quest’anima consola, e giubilar mi fa.
Cosa sento? In qual laccio cadea?
Perfidi! io voglio di tal modo punirvi,
A piacer mio la sentenza sarà.
Ma s’ei pagasse la vecchia pretendente?
Pagarla! In qual maniera?
E poi v’è Antonio
Che all’incognito Figaro ricusa
Di dare una nipote in matrimonio.
Coltivando l’orgoglio di questo mentecatto…
Tutto giova a un raggiro… Il colpo è fatto.
Vedrò mentr’io sospiro felice un servo mio?
E un ben che invan desio, ei posseder dovrà?
Vedrò per man d’amore unita a un vile oggetto
Chi in me destò un affetto, che per me poi non ha?
Ah no! lasciarte in pace, non vo’ questo contento,
Tu non nascesti, audace, per dare a me tormento,
E forse ancor per ridere di mia infelicità.
Già la speranza sola delle vendette mie
Quest’anima consola, e giubilar mi fa.
‘You have already won the case!’
What do I hear? Into what trap have I fallen?
Traitors! I want to punish you in such a way,
The sentence will be to my pleasure.
But if he pays off the old pretender?
Pay her! How?
And then there is Antonio,
Who to the nobody Figaro will refuse
To give his niece in marriage.
To cultivate the pride of this halfwit…
Everything has its purpose… The deed is done.
Shall I see, while I sigh, a servant of mine happy?
And a good thing, which I desire in vain, shall he possess?
Shall I see her by the hand of love united to a base thing,
Who in me aroused a feeling, which for me she does not have?
Ah no! to leave you in peace: I do not wish that happiness,
You were not born, audacious one, to give me torment,
And perhaps also to laugh at my unhappiness.
Already the sole hope of my revenge
Consoles my heart and makes me rejoice.
What do I hear? Into what trap have I fallen?
Traitors! I want to punish you in such a way,
The sentence will be to my pleasure.
But if he pays off the old pretender?
Pay her! How?
And then there is Antonio,
Who to the nobody Figaro will refuse
To give his niece in marriage.
To cultivate the pride of this halfwit…
Everything has its purpose… The deed is done.
Shall I see, while I sigh, a servant of mine happy?
And a good thing, which I desire in vain, shall he possess?
Shall I see her by the hand of love united to a base thing,
Who in me aroused a feeling, which for me she does not have?
Ah no! to leave you in peace: I do not wish that happiness,
You were not born, audacious one, to give me torment,
And perhaps also to laugh at my unhappiness.
Already the sole hope of my revenge
Consoles my heart and makes me rejoice.
Bizet Carmen, Act 2
Couplets (Escamillo) ‘Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre’
Couplets (Escamillo) ‘Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre’
Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre, señors,
Car avec les soldats, oui, les Toréros peuvent s’entendre;
Pour plaisirs, ils ont les combats!
Le cirque est plein: c’est jour de fête!
Le cirque est plein du haut en bas;
Les spectateurs, perdant la tête,
S’interpellent à grand fracas!
Apostrophes, cris et tapage, poussés jusques à la fureur!
Car c’est la fête du courage!
C’est la fête des gens de cœur!
Allons! en garde!
Toréador, en garde!
Et songe bien en combattant
Qu’un œil noir te regarde,
Et que l’amour t’attend!
Tout d’un coup, on fait silence…
Ah! que se passe-t-il?
Plus de cris, c’est l’instant!
Le taureau s’elance en bondissant hors du Toril!
Il s’élance! Il entre, il frappe!
Un cheval roule, entraînant un Picador,
«Ah, bravo, toro!», hurle la foule!
Le taureau va, il vient et frappe encore!
En secouant ses banderilles, plein de fureur, il court!
Le cirque est plein de sang!
On se sauve, on franchit les grilles!
C’est ton tour maintenant!
Allons! en garde!
Car avec les soldats, oui, les Toréros peuvent s’entendre;
Pour plaisirs, ils ont les combats!
Le cirque est plein: c’est jour de fête!
Le cirque est plein du haut en bas;
Les spectateurs, perdant la tête,
S’interpellent à grand fracas!
Apostrophes, cris et tapage, poussés jusques à la fureur!
Car c’est la fête du courage!
C’est la fête des gens de cœur!
Allons! en garde!
Toréador, en garde!
Et songe bien en combattant
Qu’un œil noir te regarde,
Et que l’amour t’attend!
Tout d’un coup, on fait silence…
Ah! que se passe-t-il?
Plus de cris, c’est l’instant!
Le taureau s’elance en bondissant hors du Toril!
Il s’élance! Il entre, il frappe!
Un cheval roule, entraînant un Picador,
«Ah, bravo, toro!», hurle la foule!
Le taureau va, il vient et frappe encore!
En secouant ses banderilles, plein de fureur, il court!
Le cirque est plein de sang!
On se sauve, on franchit les grilles!
C’est ton tour maintenant!
Allons! en garde!
Your toast I can return to you, gentlemen
For with soldiers, yes, Toréros can agree;
For pleasure they have combat!
The arena is full: it is a festival day!
The arena is full from top to bottom;
The spectators, losing their heads,
Begin fighting wildly!
Insults, cries and uproar, pushed into a frenzy!
For it is a festival of courage!
It is the festival of people of heart!
Let’s go! En garde!
Toréador, en garde!
And remember well while fighting
That a black eye is watching you
And that love awaits!
All of a sudden, there is silence…
Ah! what is happening?
No more cries: it is the moment!
The bull barges, bounding, out of the Toril!
He barges, he enters, he strikes!
A horse rolls, dragging a Picador
‘Ah, bravo, bull!’, roars the crowd,
The bull goes, he comes, and strikes again!
Shaking his banderillos, full of rage, he runs!
The arena is full of blood!
The crowd runs for cover, it passes the gates
It is your turn now!
Let’s go! En garde!
For with soldiers, yes, Toréros can agree;
For pleasure they have combat!
The arena is full: it is a festival day!
The arena is full from top to bottom;
The spectators, losing their heads,
Begin fighting wildly!
Insults, cries and uproar, pushed into a frenzy!
For it is a festival of courage!
It is the festival of people of heart!
Let’s go! En garde!
Toréador, en garde!
And remember well while fighting
That a black eye is watching you
And that love awaits!
All of a sudden, there is silence…
Ah! what is happening?
No more cries: it is the moment!
The bull barges, bounding, out of the Toril!
He barges, he enters, he strikes!
A horse rolls, dragging a Picador
‘Ah, bravo, bull!’, roars the crowd,
The bull goes, he comes, and strikes again!
Shaking his banderillos, full of rage, he runs!
The arena is full of blood!
The crowd runs for cover, it passes the gates
It is your turn now!
Let’s go! En garde!
British Youth Opera, 11 September 2009
Stravinsky The Rake’s Progress (Libretto: Auden), Act 3 Scene 2
Aria (Nick Shadow) ‘I burn! I freeze!’
Aria (Nick Shadow) ‘I burn! I freeze!’
I burn! I freeze! In shame I hear
My famished legions roar:
My own delay lost me my prey
And damns myself the more.
Defeated, mocked, again I sink
In ice and flame to lie.
But Heaven’s will I’ll hate and till
Eternity defy.
Your sins, my foe, before I go
Give me some power to pain:
To reason blind shall be your mind;
Henceforth be you insane!
My famished legions roar:
My own delay lost me my prey
And damns myself the more.
Defeated, mocked, again I sink
In ice and flame to lie.
But Heaven’s will I’ll hate and till
Eternity defy.
Your sins, my foe, before I go
Give me some power to pain:
To reason blind shall be your mind;
Henceforth be you insane!
George Butterworth
Six songs from ‘A Shropshire Lad’ (Texts: Housman)
Marek Ruszczyński, piano
Barbican Hall, 5 May 2009
No 1 ‘Loveliest of trees’
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
No 5 ‘The lads in their hundreds’
The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There’s men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.
There’s chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,
And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,
And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,
And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave.
I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell
The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;
And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell
And watch them depart on the way that they will not return.
But now you may stare as you like and there’s nothing to scan;
And brushing your elbow unguessed at and not to be told
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,
The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
There’s men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.
There’s chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,
And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,
And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,
And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave.
I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell
The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;
And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell
And watch them depart on the way that they will not return.
But now you may stare as you like and there’s nothing to scan;
And brushing your elbow unguessed at and not to be told
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,
The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
No 6 ‘Is my team ploughing?’
‘Is my team ploughing,
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?’
Ay, the horses trample,
The harness jingles now;
No change though you lie under
The land you used to plough.
‘Is football playing
Along the river-shore,
With lads to chase the leather,
Now I stand up no more?’
Ay, the ball is flying,
The lads play heart and soul;
The goal stands up, the keeper
Stands up to keep the goal.
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?’
Ay, the horses trample,
The harness jingles now;
No change though you lie under
The land you used to plough.
‘Is football playing
Along the river-shore,
With lads to chase the leather,
Now I stand up no more?’
Ay, the ball is flying,
The lads play heart and soul;
The goal stands up, the keeper
Stands up to keep the goal.
‘Is my girl happy,
That I thought hard to leave,
And has she tired of weeping
As she lies down at eve?’
Ay, she lies down lightly,
She lies not down to weep:
Your girl is well contented.
Be still, my lad, and sleep.
‘Is my friend hearty,
Now I am thin and pine,
And has he found to sleep in
A better bed than mine?’
Yes, lad, I lie easy,
I lie as lads would choose;
I cheer a dead man’s sweetheart,
Never ask me whose.
That I thought hard to leave,
And has she tired of weeping
As she lies down at eve?’
Ay, she lies down lightly,
She lies not down to weep:
Your girl is well contented.
Be still, my lad, and sleep.
‘Is my friend hearty,
Now I am thin and pine,
And has he found to sleep in
A better bed than mine?’
Yes, lad, I lie easy,
I lie as lads would choose;
I cheer a dead man’s sweetheart,
Never ask me whose.
Johann Sebastian Bach
Cantata BWV 159 Sehet, wir gehn hinauf gen Jerusalem
Guildhall Symphony Orchestra
David Angus, conductor
Barbican Hall, 5 May 2009
No 4 Aria „Es ist vollbracht“
Es ist vollbracht,
Das Leid ist alle,
Wir sind von unserm Sündenfalle
In Gott gerecht gemacht.
Nun will ich eilen
Und meinem Jesu Dank erteilen
Welt, gute Nacht!
Es ist vollbracht!
Das Leid ist alle,
Wir sind von unserm Sündenfalle
In Gott gerecht gemacht.
Nun will ich eilen
Und meinem Jesu Dank erteilen
Welt, gute Nacht!
Es ist vollbracht!
It is complete,
The pain is over
We have been, from our sins,
by God restored to right.
Now I shall hurry
And to my Jesus impart thanks
World, good night!
It is accomplished!
The pain is over
We have been, from our sins,
by God restored to right.
Now I shall hurry
And to my Jesus impart thanks
World, good night!
It is accomplished!
Kathleen Ferrier Awards Final
Wigmore Hall, 24 April 2009
Bojana Dimković, piano
Vaughan Williams The House of Life (Text: D G Rossetti)
No 2 ‘Silent noon’
No 2 ‘Silent noon’
Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass,
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms
’Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
Are golden kingcup fields with silver edge
Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn hedge.
’Tis visible silence, still as the hour glass.
Deep in the sunsearched growths the dragon-fly
Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky:
So this winged hour is dropt to us from above.
Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
This close-companioned inarticulate hour
When twofold silence was the song of love.
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms
’Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
Are golden kingcup fields with silver edge
Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn hedge.
’Tis visible silence, still as the hour glass.
Deep in the sunsearched growths the dragon-fly
Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky:
So this winged hour is dropt to us from above.
Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
This close-companioned inarticulate hour
When twofold silence was the song of love.