Recital: Andrew Stack '22 GD, Baritone

NEC: Williams Hall | Directions

290 Huntington Ave.
Boston, MA
United States

NEC's students meet one-on-one each week with a faculty artist to perfect their craft. As each one leaves NEC to make their mark in the performance world, they present a full, professional recital that is free and open to the public. It's your first look at the artists of tomorrow.

Andrew Stack '22 GD studies Voice with Michael Meraw and is the recipient of the Annabelle Bernard Mercker Memorial Scholarship.

The overarching narrative of this recital ("Processing...") is meant to be a meditation on the states of mind associated with processing difficult emotions, in this case grief. The program begins as any meditation would as an honest soul searching before the mind is distracted and pulled down a rabbit hole of melancholy leading to despair. Despair eventually gives way to hope, transforming grief into bittersweet nostalgia before finally becoming acceptance. This program is meant to be a spiritual successor to my undergraduate senior recital - "Songs My Mother Taught Me", which was programmed as a memorial to my mentor, Lindsey Christiansen, following her last days battling terminal brain cancer.

This recital will be viewable in-person and also livestreamed.

Watch livestream from Williams Hall

Artists
  1. Reading | "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver

    Artists
  2. William Bolcom | Blue

    Text

    Blue

    This is what I want to do
    my heart
    is sit real still with you.


    After all that cruising
    in
    around
    and out of town,

    Put them down who dare refuse me
    and the same old line I threw
    ah, but up
    up

    up
    I grew


    And now all I want to do
    my heart
    is sit real still with you.

    After all that screeching
    talking fast
    and slowing down
    Only now and then to reach you
    when you let me know I knew
    that what I preach is none too true


    That’s why all I want to do
    my heart
    is sit real still with you.


    (Cause I do know this about people
    and I DON’T mean some:
    Awf’ly smart people are often awful dumb!

    Aren’t we?
    We just don’t realize
    that behind the eyes,
    behind the mind,
    you find the sweetest brilliance
    and a stillness of such blue that...)


    That’s why all I want to do
    my soul
    is sit real still with you.

    Ah so sweetly down the hill
    That is what I want to do
    sweet soul
    is sit real still with you.                                                                                          


    Arnold Weinstein

  3. Matthew Aucoin | A Clear Midnight, from 3 Whitman Songs

    Text

    A Clear Midnight

    This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
    Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
    Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
    Night, sleep, death and the stars.

    Walt Whitman

     

  4. John Musto | Litany, from Shadow of the Blues

    Text

    Litany

    Gather up
    In the arms of your pity
    The sick, the depraved,
    The desperate, the tired,
    All the scum
    Of our weary city.

    Gather up
    In the arms of your pity.
    Gather up
    In the arms of your love–
    Those who expect
    No love from above.


    Langston Hughes

  5. Samuel Barber | Nocturne, op. 13 no. 4

    Text

    Nocturne

    Close my darling both your eyes,
    Let your arms lie still at last.
    Calm the lake of falsehood lies
    And the wind of lust has passed,
    Waves across these hopeless sands
    Fill my heart and end my day,
    Underneath your moving hands
    All my aching flows away.

    Even the human pyramids
    Blaze with such a longing now:
    Close, my love, your trembling lids,
    Let the midnight heal your brow,
    Northward flames Orion’s horn,
    Westward th’ Egyptian light.
    None to watch us, none to warn
    But the blind eternal night.


    Frederic Prokosh

  6. Reading | "On Meditating...Sort Of" by Mary Oliver

    Artists
  7. Gabriel Fauré | Cygne sur l'eau, from Mirages, op. 113 no. 1

    Text

    Cygne sur l’eau

    Ma pensée est un cygne harmonieux et sage 
    qui glisse lentement aux rivages d'ennui
    sur les ondes sans fond du rêve, du mirage,
    de l'echo, du brouillard, de l'ombre, de la nuit.

    Il glisse, roi hautain fendant un libre espace, 
    poursuit un reflet vain, précieux et changeant,
    et les roseaux nombreux s'inclinent quand il passe,
    sombre et muet, au seuil d'une lune d'argent;

    et des blancs nenuphars chaque corolle ronde

    tour-à-tour a fleuri de désir et d'espoir... 
    Mais plus avant toujours, sur la brume et sur l'onde, 
    vers l'inconnu fuyant, glisse le cygne noir.

    Or j'ai dit, « Renoncez, beau cygne chimérique, 

    à ce voyage lent vers de troubles destins; 
    nul miracle chinois, nul étrange Amérique 
    ne vous accueilleront en des havres certains; 

    les golfes embaumés, les îles immortelles 

    ont pour vous, cygne noir, des récifs périlleux; 
    demeurez sur les lacs où se mirent, fidèles, 
    ces nuages, ces fleurs, ces astres, et ces yeux. »


    Antoine de Brimont
     

    Swan on the water

    My thought is a harmonious and wise swan
    which glides slowly to the shores of boredom
    upon the bottomless waters of dreams, mirages,
    of echoes, fogs, shadows, of the night.

    It glides, haughty king cleaving a free space,
    chases a vain, precious and changing reflection,
    and the plentiful reeds bow when it passes by,
    sombre and silent, at the threshold of a silver moon;

    and one by one each round corolla of the white water lilies
    has flowered with desire and hope...
    But always in front of all, upon the mist and upon the water,
    fleeing towards the unknown, glides the black swan.

    And then I said, "Handsome illusory swan, renounce,
    this slow journey towards troubled destinies;
    no Chinese miracle, no strange America
    will welcome you in safe havens;

    the fragrant gulfs, the immortal isles
    hold for you, black swan, perilous reefs;
    remain on the lakes in which, ever faithful, 
    these clouds, these flowers, these stars, and these eyes are reflected."


    Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2020 by Christopher Goldsack, reprinted with permission from melodietreasury.com 

  8. Gabriel Fauré | Reflets dans l'eau, from Mirages, op. 113 no. 2

    Text

    Reflets dans l'eau

    Étendue au seuil du bassin, 
    dans l'eau plus froide que le sein 
    des vierges sages, 
    j'ai reflété mon vague ennui, 
    mes yeux profonds couleur de nuit 
    et mon visage. 


    Et dans ce miroir incertain 
    j'ai vu de merveilleux matins... 
    J'ai vu des choses 
    pâles comme des souvenirs 
    sur l'eau que ne saurait ternir 
    nul vent morose. 

    Alors _ au fond du Passé bleu _ 
    mon corps mince n'était qu'un peu 
    d'ombre mouvante, 
    sous les lauriers et les cyprès 
    j'amais la brise au souffle frais 
    qui nous évente... 

    J'amais vos caresses de sœur, 
    vos nuances, votre douceur, 
    aube opportune; 
    et votre pas souple et rythmé, 
    nymphes au rire parfumé, 
    au teint de lune; 

    et le galop des aegypans, 
    et la fontaine qui s'épand 
    en larmes fades... 
    Par les bois secrets et divins 
    e'écoutais frissonner sans fin 
    l'hamadryade. 

    O cher Passé mystérieux 
    qui vous reflétez dans mes yeux 
    comme un nuage, 
    il me serait plaisant et doux, 
    Passé, d'essayer avec vous 
    le long voyage!... 

    Si je glisse, les eaux feront 
    un rond fluide... un autre rond, 
    un autre à peine... 
    Et puis le miroir enchanté 
    reprendra sa limpidité 
    froide et sereine.
     

    Antoine de Brimont


     

    Reflections on the water 

    Stretched along the threshold of the pool,
    in the water colder than the breast
    of untarnished virgins
    I reflected my vague boredom,
    my profound eyes, colour of the night
    and my face.


    And in this uncertain mirror
    I saw wondrous mornings...
    I saw pale 
    things like memories
    on the water which could not tarnish
    any morose wind.

    Then at the bottom of the blue past,
    my slim body was nothing but a bit
    of moving shadow,
    beneath the laurels and the cypresses
    I liked the breeze with the fresh breath
    which lays us open...

    I liked your sisters' caresses
    your inflections, your gentleness,
    opportune dawn;
    and your supple and rhythmical step,
    nymphs with perfumed smiles,
    with the colour of the moon;

    and the gallop of the aegypans,
    and the fountain which spreads
    in bland tears...
    Through the secret and divine woods
    I listened to the hamadryade
    quivering endlessly.

    O dear mysterious Past
    which you reflect in my eyes
    like a cloud,
    it would be pleasant and sweet,
    past, to attempt
    the long journey with you!...

    If I glide, the waters will form
    a fluid sphere... another sphere,
    hardly another...
    And then the enchanted mirror
    will regain its cold
    and serene limpidity.


    Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2020 by Christopher Goldsack, reprinted with permission from melodietreasury.com 

  9. Francis Poulenc | Sanglots, from Banalités

    Text

    Sanglots

                Notre amour est réglé par les calmes étoiles
                Or nous savons qu'en nous beaucoup d'hommes respirent 
                Qui vinrent de très loin et sont un sous nos fronts


    C'est la chanson des rêveurs 
    Qui s'étaient arraché le cœur 
    Et le portaient dans la main droite 
    Souviens-t‘en cher orgueil de tous ces souvenirs 

                Des marins qui chantaient comme des conquérants 
                Des gouffres de Thulé des tendres cieux d'Ophir
                Des malades maudits de ceux qui fuient leur ombre 
                Et du retour joyeux des heureux émigrants

    De ce cœur il coulait du sang 
    Et le rêveur allait pensant 
    A sa blessure délicate 

                Tu ne briseras pas la chaine de ces causes
     
    Et douloureuse et nous disait 
                Qui sont les effets d'autres causes
    Mon pauvre cœur mon cœur brisé 
    Pareil au cœur de tous les hommes 

                Voici, voici nos mains que la vie fit esclaves
    Est mort d'amour ou c'est tout comme 
    Est mort d'amour et le voici 

                Ainsi vont toutes choses
    Arrachez donc le vôtre aussi 
                Et rien ne sera libre jusqu'à la fin du temps 

    Laissons tout aux morts 
    Et cachons nos sanglots


    Guillaume Apollinaire

    Sobs

                
    Our love is ruled by the calm stars

                 Now we know that many men breathe within us
                 Who came from very far distances, and are one beneath
                our brow

    This is the song of the dreamers
    Who had torn out their hearts
    And carried them in their right hand
    Remember well, dear pride, all of these memories
                 Of the sailors who sang like conquerors     
                
    Of the chasms of Thule, of the gentle skies of Ophir
                 Of the damned sick who flee from their own shadows
                 And of the joyous return of the happy emigrants            
    From this heart blood once ran
    And the dreamer went on thinking
    About his delicate wound
                 You will never shatter the chain of these events
    And painfully and he told us
                 Which are the effects of other causes
    My poor heart my shattered heart
    Just like the hearts of all men
                 Here, here are our hands which life has made slaves of
    Has died of love, or so it seems
    Has died of love and so it goes               
                 This is the way of all things
    So tear your own heart out as well
                 And nothing will ever be free until the end of time
    Let us leave everything to the dead
    And hide our sobs


    Translation by Andrew Stack

  10. Reading | "Starlings in Winter" by Mary Oliver

    Artists
    • Andrew Stack, reader
  11. Hugo Wolf | Lebe wohl

    Text

    Lebe wohl 

    „Lebewohl!“ – Du fühlest nicht,

    Was es heisst, dies Wort der Schmerzen
    Mit getrostem Angesicht

    Sagtest du's und leichtem Herzen.

    Lebe wohl! – Ach! tausendmal
    Hab ich mir es vorgesprochen,
    Und in nimmersatter Qual 

    Mir das Herz damit gebrochen.

    Eduard Mörike

    Farewell

    „Farewell!“ – You don’t feel it,

    What it means, this pain-riddled word;
    With a face full of confidence
    And a light heart you say it

    Farewell! – Oh! A thousand times
    I have recited it to myself,
    And in insatiable torment
    Have broken my own heart with it.


    Translation by Andrew Stack

  12. Arnold Schoenberg | Sommermüd

    Text

    Sommermüd

    Wenn du schon glaubst,

    Es ist ewige Nacht,
    Hat dir plötzlich ein Abend
    Wieder Küsse und Sterne gebracht.

    Wenn du dann denkst
    Es ist alles, alles vorbei,
    Wird auf einmal wieder Christnacht
    Und lieblicher Mai.

    Drum dank Gott und sei still,
    Dass du noch lebst und küßt
    Gar mancher hat ohne Stern

    Sterben gemüsst.

    Jakob Haringer

    Summer Weariness

    If you already believe,

    That it is eternally night,
    Suddenly one evening
    Will bring you kisses and stars again

    If you already think
    That all of it, everything is over,
    Suddenly it is Christmas Eve
    And lovely May once again.

    Then thank God and be still,
    That you are still living and kissing:
    For many have had to die
    With no star at all.


    Translation by Andrew Stack

  13. Hugo Wolf | Der Genesene an die Hoffnung

    Text

    Der Genesene auf die Hoffnung

    Tödlich graute mir der Morgen;

    Doch schon lag mein Haupt, wie süß!
    Hoffnung, dir im Schoß verborgen,
    bis der Sieg gewonnen hieß

    bis der Sieg gewonnen hieß

    Opfer bracht‘ ich allen Göttern,
    Doch vergessen warest du;
    Seitwärts von den ew’gen Rettern
    Sahest du dem Feste zu.

    O, vergib, du Vielgetreue!
    Tritt aus deinem Dämmerlicht,
    Dass ich dir in’s ewig neue,
    Mondenhelle Angesicht

    Einmal schaue, recht von Herzen,
    Wie ein Kind und sonder Harm;
    Ach, nur einmal ohne Schmerzen
    Schließe mich in deinen Arm!

    Eduard Mörike

    The Recovering One on Hope

    The morning dawns like death:

    Yet already my head is laying, so sweetly
    Hope, hidden in your lap,
    Until the victory is won,

    Until the victory is won.


    I have brought offerings to all the other gods,
    Yet I had forgotten you;
    Off to the side from the eternal saviors
    You watched the feast.

    O, forgive me, faithful one!
    Step out of your twilight,
    That I might look upon your eternally new
    Moon-brightened face

    Once more, directly from my heart,
    Like a child and griefless;
    Oh, just once without pain,
    Enclose me in your arms!

    Translation by Andrew Stack

  14. Gabriel Kahane | Underberg, from The Memory Palace

    Text

    Underberg

    Underberg has fallen down.

    They’ve carted the last brick out to a junkyard town.
    She put her head on my shoulder, sighed a sob that said we’re older,
    And Underberg has fallen down.

    Well, brick by brick and stone by stone they razed,
    And ghosts of teenage love and lust escaped.
    Soon it’ll be but a hole off a sidewalk way too wide,
    Well we watched Underberg drown, and it drowned till it died.

    On the day of the demolition, I showed up at her house half-past nine
    With cardboard cups full of coffee and tears, and the foreman began to eulogize:
    “Building’s never so lonesome, as when it hits the ground,
    And Underberg has fallen down.”

    In high school we would steal inside at night,
    And make out by the glow of a traffic light.
    When we tired of touching, she would turn to me and say
    “You know they’ll tear down this building some bitter, some bitter black day.”

    I wanna watch them tear down that building with you
    And watch them watch you tear me down too.
    And Underberg has fallen down
    Underberg has fallen down.

    Last time I saw her was 1993
    In a punk rock shirt and acid-washed jeans.
    Standing under a building with a sign of hand-painted words:

    “Kitchen supplies by Samuel Underberg…”
    And now Underberg has fallen down.

    Gabriel Kahane

  15. Francis Poulenc | Les chemins de l'amour

    Text

    Les chemins de l’amour

    Les chemins qui vont à la mer 
    Ont gardé de notre passage, 
    Des fleurs effeuillées 
    Et l'écho sous leurs arbres 
    De nos deux rires clairs. 
    Hélas! des jours de bonheur, 
    Radieuses joies envolées, 
    Je vais sans retrouver traces 
    Dans mon cœur. 

    Chemins de mon amour, 
    Je vous cherche toujours, 
    Chemins perdus, vous n'êtes plus 
    Et vos échos sont sourds. 
    Chemins du désespoir, 
    Chemins du souvenir, 
    Chemins du premier jour, 
    Divins chemins d'amour. 

    Si je dois l'oublier un jour, 
    La vie effaçant toute chose, 
    Je veut, dans mon cœur, qu'un souvenir repose, 
    Plus fort que l'autre amour. 
    Le souvenir du chemin, 
    Où tremblante et toute éperdue, 
    Un jour j'ai senti sur moi 
    Brûler tes mains.


    Jean Anouilh

    The pathways of love

    The pathways which lead to the sea

    Have kept from our passing by,
    The fallen flower petals
    And the echo from under their trees
    Of our bright laughter.
    Alas! Days of happiness,
    Radiant joys have flown away
    I return, unable to find a trace of them
    In my heart.

    Pathways of my love,
    I will always seek you,
    Lost pathways, you are no more
    And your echoes are hollow.
    Pathways of despair
    Pathways of memory,
    Pathways of the first day,
    Divine pathways of love.

    If one day I must forget her,
    Life erasing all things,
    I wish, in my heart, that one memory remains
    Stronger than that of all other loves.
    The memory of the path,
    Where trembling and utterly lost,
    One day I felt the burning
    Of your hands on me.


    Translation by Andrew Stack

  16. Gabriel Kahane | Merritt Pkwy, from The Memory Palace

    Text

    Merritt Pkwy

    I was on the side of the road,

    shiny traffic beetling by.
    She picked up a box of my clothes,
    offered me a wash and a ride.

    We collected clovers in a park
    Threaded them through our little fingers,
    She pulled up her shirt and showed me the mark,
    Where her father’s snow-white knuckle lingered.

    I say now what I said then, please let me forget you.
    In some hot one-gas-station town please let me forget you.

    We came up with names for our kids
    Though we’d only met an hour before
    Names with an Eastern European fit,
    Frederick Casimir and Isadore.

    At a sea-side town we picked at our lunch
    Talking of family, the books that we’d read.
    Back in the car, too nervous to touch,
    She emptied a bottle of water on my head

    I say now what I said then, please let me forget you.
    In some hot one-gas-station town, please let me forget you

    Please, please, please.

    Gabriel Kahane

  17. Reading | "In Blackwater Woods" by Mary Oliver

    Artists
    • Andrew Stack, reader
  18. Richard Strauss | Morgen!

    Text

    Morgen!

    Und morgen wird die Sonne wiederscheinen
    Und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde

    Wird uns, die Glückliche, sie wieder einen
    In mitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde…

    Und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblauen
    Werden wir still, und langsam niedersteigen
    Stumm werden wir uns in die Augen schauen

    Und auf uns sinkt des Glückes stummes Schweigen

    John Henry Mackay

    Tomorrow!

    And tomorrow the sun will shine again

    And along the path that I will travel,
    We will, the happy ones, be reunited
    In the midst of this sun-breathing Earth…

    And on that shore, among the wide, blue waves,
    We will quietly and slowly float downwards,
    Silently we will gaze into each other’s eyes
    And the hushed silence of joy will fall upon us…

    Translation by Andrew Stack

  19. William Bolcom | Blue

    See text in the opening piece