Recital: Cobi Alain Tadros '22, Tenor
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.
Cobi Tadros '22 studies Voice with Michael Meraw and is the recipient of a scholarship made possible by the Wallace Scholarship Fund.
This performance is open to in-person audiences, and can also be viewed via livestream.
- Cobi Tadros '22, tenor
- Miles Fellenberg, piano
- Michael Meraw, studio teacher
George Frideric Handel | The Death of Bajazet from Tamerlano, HWV 18
Text
The Death of Bajazet
Bajazet:
Oh, per me lieto, avventuroso giorno!
O figlia cara, o Imperator, o amici;
già son nel cor, qual son tranquillo in volto.
e sai perché, mia figlia?
e’l sai, tiran? Da’ lacci tuoi son sciolto.
(Tamerlano: Ma chi di man può trarti al furor mio?)
Chi lo può? Lo poss’io!
Fremi, minaccia; mi rido
del tuo furor, di tue minaccie:
Ho vinto l’orgoglio tuo con mio velen;
né puoi farmi morire,
né far sì ch’io non mora;
e questa morte, in mio trionfo eletta,
già diventa tuo scorno, e mia vendetta.
(Asteria: Ah! Genitor, che parli?)
Sì, figlia, io moro; addio.
Tu resti... ahimé, che dir non posso: in pace.
Tu resti, figlia, negli affanni:
e questo è ‘l solo affanno mio.
Oh sempre avversi Dei!
Dov’è ferro, o veleno?
Sì, figlia; in questi estremi amplessi miei
per pietà del tuo duol t’ucciderei.
Figlia mia, non pianger, no.
Lascia allora uscire il pianto,
Quando morto io nol vedrò
Tu, spietato, il vedrai;
(misera figlia!)
ma non ne andrai lieto gran tempo:
io vado le fur ie a scatenar per tuo tormento;
già miro il dì mancar: morte, ti sento.
Per tuo supplizio è quest’orror.
Su, via, furie e ministre
del gran Re dell’ira:
io vi conosco, eccovi là:
quel crudo percuotete, sbranate, lacerate,
sì, lanciategli al core i serpi, e le ceraste.
Degni di voi que’ colpi son.
Sì, presto, ma non cessate; ahimè, se stanche siete,
la rabbia mia prendete,
o meco lo portate
laggiù nel regno del furor eterno.
Per tormentar, per lacerar quel mostro
io sarò la maggior furia d’averno.
Nicola Francesco Haym
Bajazet:
Oh, fortunate, great day!
My dear daughter, emperor, friends;
I am as serene in my heart as is my countenance.
And do you know why, my daughter?
Do you know, tyrant? I am freed from your chains.
(Tamerlano: And who can save you from my fury?)
Who can? I myself!
Tremble, threaten! I laugh at your fury,
At your threats:
I have vanquished your pride with my poison;
You cannot kill me,
Nor can you prevent me from dying;
And this death, my chosen triumph,
Becomes your humiliation and my vengeance.
(Asteria: Ah! Father, what are you saying?!)
Yes, daughter I am dying; farewell.
You stay . . . alas, I cannot say: in peace.
You stay, daughter, in distress:
And this is my only regret.
Oh ever unfavourable Gods!
Where is a blade, or poison?
Yes, daughter; in these final embraces of mine
Out of pity for your grief I would kill you.
My daughter, do not cry, no.
Let your tears flow,
When I am dead and will not be able to see them.
You, heartless one, you will see;
(Poor daughter!)
You will not enjoy happy days for long:
I will unleash the furies to torment you;
I already see the day fading: death, I feel you
approaching.
This horror will be your punishment.
Come, furies and ministers
Of the great King of Anger:
I recognize you, you are there:
Beat him, slash him, rip apart that cruel man,
Yes, unleash on his heart your snakes and vipers.
These assaults are worthy of you.
Yes, faster, don’t let up; and if your anger tires,
Take some of mine,
Or take him with me
To the kingdom of eternal fury.
To torment, to tear apart that monster
I will be the greatest fury in hell.
Translation by Marcello Simonetta; Chandos
recording V5372Samuel Barber | Despite and Still, op. 41
A Last Song
My Lizard
In the Wilderness
Solitary Hotel
Despite and StillTexts
A Last Song
A last song, and a very last, and yet another
Oh, when can I give over?
Must I drive the pen until blood bursts from my nails
And my breath fails and I shake with fever,
Or sit well wrapped in a many colored cloak
Where the moon shines new through Castle Crystal?
Shall I never hear her whisper softly:
“But this is truth written by you only,
And for me only;
Therefore, love, have done?”
Robert Graves
My Lizard (or Wish for a Young Love)
My lizard, my lively writher,
May your limbs never wither,
May the eyes in your face
Survive the green ice
Of envy’s mean gaze;
May you live out your life
Without hate, without grief,
And your hair ever blaze,
In the sun, in the sun,
When I am undone,
When I am no one.
Theodore Roethke
In the Wilderness
He, of his gentleness,
Thirsting and hungering
Walked in the Wilderness;
Soft words of grace he spoke
Unto lost desert-folk
That listened wondering.
He heard the bittern call
From ruined palace-wall,
Answered him brotherly;
He held communion
With the she-pelican
Of lonely piety.
Basilisk, cockatrice,
Flocked to his homilies,
With mail of dread device,
With monstrous barbed stings,
With eager dragon-eyes;
Great bats on leathern wings
And old, blind, broken things
Mean in their miseries.
Then ever with him went,
Of all his wanderings
Comrade, with ragged coat,
Gaunt ribs — poor innocent —
Bleeding foot, burning throat,
The guileless young scapegoat;
For forty nights and days
Followed in Jesus’ ways,
Sure guard behind him kept,
Tears like a lover wept.
Robert Graves
Solitary Hotel (from Ulysses)
Solitary hotel in mountain pass.
Autumn. Twilight. Fire lit.
In dark corner young man seated.
Young woman enters.
Restless. Solitary. She sits.
She goes to window. She stands.
She sits. Twilight. She thinks.
On solitary hotel paper she writes.
She thinks. She writes. She sighs.
Wheels and hoofs. She hurries out.
He comes from his dark corner.
He seizes solitary paper.
He holds it towards fire. Twilight.
He reads. Solitary.
What?
In sloping, upright and backhands:
Queen’s hotel, Queen’s hotel, Queen’s ho . . .
James JoyceDespite and Still
Have you not read
The words in my head,
And I made part
Of your own heart?
We have been such as draw
The losing straw —
You of your gentleness,
I of my rashness,
Both of despair —
Yet still might share
This happy will:
To love despite and still.
Never let us deny
The thing’s necessity,
But, O, refuse
To choose,
Where chance may seem to give
Love in alternative.
Robert GravesErnest Chausson | Le temps des lilas
from Poème de l’amour et de la mer, op. 19
Text
Le temps des lilas
Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses
Ne reviendra plus à ce printemps-ci;
Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses
Est passé, le temps des œillets aussi.
Le vent a changé, les cieux sont moroses,
Et nous n’irons plus courir, et cueillir
Les lilas en fleur et les belles roses;
Le printemps est triste et ne peut fleurir.
Oh! joyeux et doux printemps de l’année,
Qui vins, l’an passé, nous ensoleiller,
Notre fleur d’amour est si bien fanée,
Las! Que ton baiser ne peut l’éveiller!
Et toi, que fais-tu? pas de fleurs écloses,
Point de gai soleil ni d’ombrages frais;
Le temps des lilas et le temps des roses
Avec notre amour est mort à jamais.
Maurice BouchorThe time for lilacs
The time for lilacs and the time for roses
Will return no more this spring;
The time for lilac and the time for roses
Is past, the time for carnations as well.
The wind has changed, the skies are sullen,
And no longer shall we roam to gather
The flowering lilac and beautiful rose;
The spring is sad and cannot bloom.
Oh sweet and joyous springtime
That came last year to bathe us in sun,
Our flower of love is so far faded,
That your kiss, alas, cannot rouse it!
And what do you do? No blossoming flowers,
No bright sun, and no cool shade;
The time for lilac and the time for roses
With our love has perished forevermore.
Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French
Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)
Provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)Henri Duparc | Le manoir de Rosemonde
Text
Le manoir de Rosemonde
De sa dent soudaine et vorace,
Comme un chien l'Amour m'a mordu;
En suivant mon sang répandu,
Va, tu pourras suivre ma trace.
Prends un cheval de bonne race,
Pars et suis mon chemin ardu,
Fondrière ou sentier perdu,
Si la course ne te harasse.
En passant par où j'ai passé,
Tu verras que, seul et blessé,
J'ai parcouru ce triste monde,
Et qu'ainsi je m'en fus mourir
Bien loin, bien loin, sans découvrir
Le bleu manoir de Rosemonde.
Robert de BonnièresThe Manor of Rosamonde
With sudden and ravenous tooth,
Love like a dog has bitten me.
By following the blood I've shed -
Come, you'll be able to follow my trail.
Take a horse of fine breeding,
Set out, and follow my arduous course
By quagmire or by hidden path,
If the chase does not weary you.
Passing by where I have passed,
You will see that, solitary and wounded,
I have traversed this sorry world,
And that thus I went off to die
Far, far away, without ever finding
The blue manor of Rosamonde.
Translation © Richard Stokes, from
A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)
Provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)Reynaldo Hahn | L’énamourée
Text
L’énamourée
Ils se disent, ma colombe,
Que tu rêves, morte encore,
Sous la pierre d'une tombe:
Mais pour l'âme qui t'adore
Tu t'éveilles ranimée,
Ô pensive bien-aimée!
Par les blanches nuits d'étoiles,
Dans la brise qui murmure,
Je caresse tes longs voiles,
Ta mouvante chevelure,
Et tes ailes demi-closes
Qui voltigent sur les roses.
Ô délices! je respire
Tes divines tresses blondes;
Ta voix pure, cette lyre,
Suit la vague sur les ondes,
Et, suave, les effleure,
Comme un cygne qui se pleure!
Théodore de BanvilleThe Loved One
They say, my dove,
That you dream in death
Under the stone of your tomb.
But for the soul who adores you,
You awaken revived,
Oh my pensive beloved!
In the white, starlit nights,
In the murmuring breeze,
I caress your long veils,
Your moving hair,
And your half-closed wings
Which soar over the roses.
Oh delight! I breathe
Your divine blond tresses
Your pure voice, that lyre,
Follows the wave on the waters,
And sweetly embraces them
Like a swan which mourns for itself.
Francesco Santoliquido | Tre poesie persiane
Quando le domandai
Io mi levai dal centro della Terra
Le domandai
Texts
Quando le domandai
Quando le domandai la causa della nostra
lontananza, essa mi rispose: Te lo dirò.
Io sono il tuo occhio, e sono la tua anima
Perchè ti sorprendi se tu non mi vedi?
Dimmi: chi ha mai potuto vedere l’anima? Dimmi?
Negi di Kamare
Io mi levai dal centro della Terra
Io mi levai dentro della Terra,
A traverso la settima porta, e m’assisi sul trono di
Saturno.
E molti Enigmi divinai nel cammino.
Ma non l’Enigma della morte umana, ne quello del
destino.
Omar Khayam
Le domandai
Le domandai: A chi vuoi legare il tuo destino così bella?
Essa mi rispose: a me stessa, perchè sono l’unica!
Perchè sono l’amore, son l’amante e l’amata!
Perchè sono lo Specchio, la Bellezza e la visione!
Abu-SaidWhen I asked her
When I asked her the reason of our distance,
She answered: I will tell you.
I am your eyes, and I am your soul
Why then are you surprised that you do not see me?
Tell me: Who has ever been able to see the soul? Tell me?
I rose from the center of the Earth
I rose from the center of the Earth,
Traversed the seventh gate, and sat myself on the throne of
Saturn.
And solved many divine Enigma’s along my way.
But never the Enigma of human mortality, nor that of
destiny.
I asked her
I asked her: To whom would you like then to tie your
destiny, oh beautiful one?
She replied: to myself - I am the only one!
I am love itself, lover, and the loved one!
I am the Mirror, the Beauty, and the Vision!
Translations © Abra Kathleen BushRichard Strauss
Das Rosenband from 4 Lieder, op. 36
Heimliche Aufforderung from 4 Lieder, op. 27
Text
Das Rosenband
Im Frühlingsschatten fand ich sie;
Da band ich Sie mit Rosenbändern:
Sie fühlt’ es nicht und schlummerte.
Ich sah sie an; mein Leben hing
Mit diesem Blick an ihrem Leben:
Ich fühlt’ es wohl, und wußt’ es nicht.
Doch lispelt’ ich ihr sprachlos zu,
Und rauschte mit den Rosenbändern:
Da wachte sie vom Schlummer auf.
Sie sah mich an; ihr Leben hing
Mit diesem Blick’ an meinem Leben,
Und um uns ward Elysium.
Friedrich Klopstock
Heimliche Aufforderung
Auf, hebe die funkelnde Schale
empor zum Mund,
Und trinke beim Freudenmahle
dein Herz gesund.
Und wenn du sie hebst, so winke
mir heimlich zu,
Dann lächle ich, und dann trinke
ich still wie du …
Und still gleich mir betrachte
um uns das Heer
Der trunknen Schwätzer—verachte
sie nicht zu sehr.
Nein, hebe die blinkende Schale,
gefüllt mit Wein,
Und laß beim lärmenden Mahle
sie glücklich sein.
Doch hast du das Mahl genossen,
den Durst gestillt,
Dann verlasse der lauten Genossen
festfreudiges Bild,
Und wandle hinaus in den Garten
zum Rosenstrauch,—
Dort will ich dich dann erwarten
nach altem Brauch,
Und will an die Brust dir sinken
eh’ du’s gehofft,
Und deine Küsse trinken,
wie ehmals oft,
Und flechten in deine Haare
der Rose Pracht—
O komm, du wunderbare,
ersehnte Nacht!
John Henry MackayThe Rose Garland
I found her in the spring shade,
And bound her fast with a rose garland:
Oblivious, she slumbered on.
I gazed on her; with that gaze
My life became entwined with hers:
This I sensed, yet did not know.
I murmured wordlessly to her
And rustled the garland of roses:
Then she woke from slumber.
She gazed on me; with that gaze
Her life became entwined with mine,
And Paradise bloomed about us.
Secret Invitation
Come, raise to your lips
the sparkling goblet,
And drink at this joyful feast
your heart to health.
And when you raise it,
give me a secret sign,
Then I shall smile, and drink
as quietly as you …
And quietly like me,
look around at the hordes
Of drunken gossips—do not
despise them too much.
No, raise the glittering goblet,
filled with wine,
And let them be happy
at the noisy feast.
But once you have savoured the meal,
quenched your thirst,
Leave the loud company
of happy revellers,
And come out into the garden
to the rose-bush,—
There I shall wait for you
as I’ve always done.
And I shall sink on your breast,
before you could hope,
And drink your kisses,
as often before,
And twine in your hair
the glorious rose—
Ah! come, O wondrous,
longed-for night!
Translations © Richard Stokes, author of
The Book of Lieder (Faber, 2005)
Provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)
Thank you to my coach and collaborative pianist, Miles Fellenberg,
who helped me through the process of bringing this recital together every step of the way.
Thank you to my voice teacher, Michael Meraw,
for not only teaching me how to sing, but for also going above and beyond
the call of duty in offering his endless support and mentorship.
Thank you to my crazy, incredibly talented friends and classmates
who’ve fearlessly endured through the COVID era -
and even kept their joyful spirits and senses of humor intact.
Lastly, thank you to my wonderful family.
Through thick and thin, you’ve always had my back.
This is all possible only because you loved and believed in me first.