Recital: Jádon Brooks '22, Baritone

NEC: Keller Room | 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.

Jádon Brooks '22 studies Voice with Lorraine Nubar and is the recipient of the Ruth S. Morse Voice Scholarship.

This performance is open to in-person audiences, and can also be viewed via livestream.

Watch livestream from Keller Room

Artists
  • Jádon Brooks '22, baritone
  • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  • Stuart Ryerse, piano
  • Lorraine Nubar, studio teacher
  1. Alessandro Stradella | Pietà, Signore

    Text

    Pietà, Signore

    Pietà, Signore,

    di me dolente!
    Signor, pietà,
    se a te giunge
    il mio pregar;
    non mi punisca
    il tuo rigor,
    meno severi,
    clementi ognora,
    volgi i tuoi sguardi
    sopra di me,
    sopra di me.


    Non fia mai
    che nell'inferno
    sia dannato
    nel fuoco eterno
    dal tuo rigor.

    Gran Dio, giammai
    sia dannato
    nel fuoco eterno
    dal tuo rigor,
    dal tuo rigor.
    Pietà, Signore,
    Signor, pietà

    di me dolente,
    se a te giunge
    il mio pregare,
    il mio pregare.

    Meno severi,
    clementi ognora,

    volgi i tuoi sguardi,
    deh! volgi squardi
    su me, Signor,
    su me, Signor.

    Pietà, Signore…

    Anonymous

     

    Have mercy, Lord

    Have mercy, Lord,

    on me in my remorse!
    Lord, have mercy
    if my prayer
    rises to you;
    do not chastise
    me in your severity,
    less harshly,
    always mercifully,
    look down
    on me.


    Never let me
    be condemned
    to hell
    in the eternal fire
    by your severity.

    Almighty God, never let me
    be condemned to hell
    in the eternal fire
    by your severity.

    Have mercy, Lord,
    Lord, have mercy
    on me in my remorse,
    if my prayer
    rises to you.

    Less harshly,
    always mercifully,

    look down.

    ah! look down
    on me, Lord.

    Have mercy, Lord…

    Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © by Antonio Giuliano,
    reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive, https://www.lieder.net/ 

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  2. Antonio Caldara | Sebben, crudele

    Text

    Sebben, crudele

    Sebben, crudele,
    mi fai languir,

    sempre Fedele
    ti voglio amar.

    Con la lunghezza

    del mio servir
    la tua fierezza
    saprò stancar.


    Anonymous

    Cruel one

    Cruel one, even if
    you make me languish,
    I will always
    love you true.

    With the patience
    of my serving
    your pride,
    I will be able to tire out.


    Wikipedia
     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  3. George Frideric Handel | Sì tra i ceppi from "Berenice", HWV 38

    Text

    Sì, tra i ceppi

    Sì, tra i ceppi e le ritorte

    La mia fe risplenderà.
    Nò, ne pur la stessa morte
    Il mio foco estinguerà.


    Anonymous

    Yes, even in chains

    Yes, even in chains and bonds

    My faith will be resplendent.
    No, not even Death itself

    will put out my fire.

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust, from the LiederNet Archive -- https://www.lieder.net/

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  4. Ernest Chausson

    Nanny
    Les papillons
     

    Text

    Nanny

    Bois chers aux ramiers, pleurez, doux feuillages,

    Et toi, source vive, et vous frais sentiers;
    Pleurez, ô bruyères sauvages,
    Buisson de houx et d’églantiers.

    Printemps, roi fleuri de la verte année,
    Ô jeune Dieu, pleure! Eté mùrissant,
    Coupe ta tresse couronnée

    Et pleure, Automne rougissant.

    L’angoisse d’aimer brise un coeur fidèle.
    Terre et ciel, pleurez! oh! que je l’aimais!
    Cher pays, ne parle plus d’elle;
    Nanny ne reviendra jamais!


    Leconte de Lisle



    Les papillons

    Les papillons couleur de neige
    Volent par essaims sur la mer;
    Beaux papillons blancs, quand pourrai-je
    Prendre le bleu chemin de l’air?

    Savez-vous, ô belle des belles,
    Ma bayadère aux yeux de jais,
    S’ils me voulaient prêter leurs ailes,
    Dites, save-vous, ou j’rais?

    Sans prendre un seul baiser aux roses,
    À travers vallons et forêts.
    J’irais à vos lèvres mi-closes
    Fleur de mon âme, et j’y mourrais.

    Théophile Gautier

    Nanny

    Woods, dear to the doves, weep, soft leaves,
    and you, lively spring, and you, cool paths;
    weep, o wild heathers,
    holly and sweet-briar bushes.

    Spring, king covered in the flowers of the green year,
    o young god, weep! Ripening summer,
    Cut your crowned tress;
    and weep, reddening Autumn.

    The anguish of loving breaks a faithful heart.
    Earth and sky, weep: oh, how I loved her!
    Dear country , do not speak of her again:
    Nanny will never return.

    Translation © by Christopher Goldsack;
    reprinted with permission from Mélodie Treasury

     

    The butterflies

    The butterflies, the colour of snow,
    are flying in swarms over the sea;
    beautiful white butterflies, when can I
    take the blue path of the air?

    Do you know, o fairest of the fair,
    my bayadére with the jet black eyes,
    if they would lend me their wings,
    say, do you know where I would go?

    Without taking a single kiss from the roses,
    through valleys and forests,
    I would go to your half-closed lips,
    flower of my soul, and I would die there.


    Translation © by Christopher Goldsack;
    reprinted with permission from Mélodie Treasury

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  5. Reynaldo Hahn

    L'heure exquise from 7 Chansons Grises
    Quand je fus prise au pavillon
     

    Text

    L’heure exquise

    La lune blanche

    Luit dans les bois;
    De chaque branche
    Part une voix
    Sous la ramée...

    Ô bien aimée.

    L'étang reflète,
    Profond miroir,
    La silhouette
    Du saule noir
    Où le vent pleure...

    Rêvons, c'est l'heure.

    Un vaste et tendre
    Apaisement
    Semble descendre
    Du firmament

    Que l'astre irise...

    C'est l'heure exquise.

    Paul Verlaine




    Quand je fus pris au pavillon

    Quand je fus pris au pavillon
    De ma dame, trèsgente et belle,
    Je me brulai à la chandelle,
    Ainsi que fait le papillon.

    Je rougis comme vermillon,
    Àla clarté d'une étincelle,
    Quand je fus pris au pavillon.

    Si j'eusse été émerillon
    Ou que j'eusse eu aussi bonne aile,
    Je me fusse gardé de celle
    Qui me bailla de l'aiguillon
    Quand je fus pris au pavillon!


    Charles d'Orléans

    Exquisite hour

    The white moon

    Gleams in the woods;
    From every branch
    There comes a voice
    Beneath the boughs...

    O my beloved.

    The pool reflects,
    Deep mirror,
    The silhouette
    Of the black willow
    Where the wind is weeping...

    Let us dream, it is the hour.

    A vast and tender
    Consolation
    Seems to fall
    From the sky
    The moon illumines...


    Exquisite hour.

    Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion
    (Oxford University Press, 2000);
    provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk


    When I was caught at the pavilion

    When I was caught at the pavilion
    of my very gentle and beautiful lady,
    I burnt myself at the candle
    as a butterfly does.

    I blushed like vermilion,
    at the brightness of a spark,
    when I was caught at the pavilion.

    Had I been a merlin
    or had I had as good a wing,
    I would have guarded myself against her
    who struck me with the sting
    when I was caught at the pavilion!


    Translation © by Christopher Goldsack;
    reprinted with permission from Mélodie Treasury

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  6. Johannes Brahms

    Sonntag No. 3 from Aus Uhlands Volksliedern
     

    Text

    Sonntag

    So hab’ ich doch die ganze Woche

    Mein feines Liebchen nicht geseh’n,
    Ich sah es an einem Sonntag
    Wohl vor der Türe steh’n:
    Das tausendschöne Jungfräulein,
    Das tausendschöne Herzelein,
    Wollte Gott, wollte Gott, ich wär’ heute bei ihr!

    So will mir doch die ganze Woche
    Das Lachen nicht vergeh’n,
    Ich sah es an einem Sonntag
    Wohl in die Kirche geh’n:
    Das tausendschöne Jungfräulein,
    Das tausendschöne Herzelein,
    Wollte Gott, wollte Gott, ich wär’ heute bei ihr!

    Johann Ludwig Uhland

    Sunday

    For a whole week now

    I haven’t seen my love;
    I saw her on a Sunday,
    standing at her door:
    my loveliest girl,
    my loveliest sweet,
    would to God I were with her today!

    Yet I’ll still be able
    to laugh all week;
    I saw her on a Sunday,
    as she went to church:
    my loveliest girl,
    my loveliest sweet,
    would to God I were with her today!

    Translation © Richard Stokes, author of 
    The Book of Lieder(Faber); provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  7. Franz Schubert

    Die Krähe from Winterreise, D. 911
    Der Doppelgänger from Schwanengesang, D. 957
     

    Text

    Die Krähe

    Eine Krähe war mit mir

    Aus der Stadt gezogen,
    Ist bis heute für und für
    Um mein Haupt geflogen.

    Krähe, wunderliches Tier,
    Willst mich nicht verlassen?
    Meinst wohl bald als Beute hier
    Meinen Leib zu fassen?

    Nun, es wird nicht weit mehr gehen
    An dem Wanderstabe.
    Krähe, lass mich endlich sehn
    Treue bis zum Grabe!


    Wilhelm Müller





    Der Doppelgänger

    Still ist die Nacht, es ruhen die Gassen,

    In diesem Hause wohnte mein Schatz;
    Sie hat schon längst die Stadt verlassen,
    Doch steht noch das Haus auf demselben Platz.

    Da steht auch ein Mensch und starrt in die Höhe,
    Und ringt die Hände, vor Schmerzens Gewalt;
    Mir graust es, wenn ich sein Antlitz sehe –
    Der Mond zeigt mir meine eigne Gestalt.

    Du Doppelgänger! du bleicher Geselle!
    Was äffst du nach mein Liebesleid,
    Das mich gequält auf dieser Stelle,
    So manche Nacht, in alter Zeit?

    Heinrich Heine

     

    The Crow

    A crow has come with me

    from the town,
    and to this day
    has been flying ceaselessly about my head.

    Crow, you strange creature,
    will you not leave me?
    Do you intend soon
    to seize my body as prey?

    Well, I do not have much further to walk
    with my staff.
    Crow, let me at last see
    faithfulness unto the grave.


    Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of 
    Schubert: The Complete Song Texts (Schirmer Books);
    provided via Oxford Lieder
    (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)


    The Doppelgänger

    The night is still, the streets are at rest;

    in this house lived my sweetheart.
    She has long since left the town,
    but the house still stands on the selfsame spot.

    A man stands there too, staring up,
    and wringing his hands in anguish;
    I shudder when I see his face –
    the moon shows me my own form!

    You wraith, pallid companion,
    why do you ape the pain of my love
    which tormented me on this very spot,
    so many a night, in days long past?

    Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of 
    Schubert: The Complete Song Texts (Schirmer Books);
    provided via Oxford Lieder
    (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  8. Gerald Finzi | Who is Silvia? from "Let Us Garlands Bring", op. 18

    Text

    Who is Silvia?

    Who is Silvia? what is she?
    That all our Swaines commend her?
    Holy, faire, and wise is she.
    The heavens such grace did lend her,
    That she might admired be.

    Is she kinde as she is faire?
    For beauty lives with kindnesse:
    Love doth to her eyes repaire,
    To helpe him of his blindnesse:
    And being help'd, inhabits there.

    Then to Silvia, let us sing,
    That Silvia is excelling;
    She excels each mortall thing
    Upon the dull earth dwelling.
    To her let us Garlands bring.

    William Shakespeare

     

     

    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  9. Ralph Vaughan Williams

    Linden Lea
    The Sky Above the Roof
     

    Text

    Linden Lea

    Within the woodlands, flow’ry gladed,
    By the oak trees’ mossy moot,
    The shining grass blades, timber shaded,
    Now do quiver underfoot;
    And birds do whistle overhead,
    And water’s bubbling in its bed;
    And there for me, the apple tree
    Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

    When leaves, that lately were a-springing,
    Now do fade within the copse,
    And painted birds do hush their singing,
    Up upon the timber tops;
    And brown leaved fruit’s a-turning red,
    In cloudless sunshine overhead,
    With fruit for me, the apple tree
    Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
    Let other folk make money faster

    In the air of dark-room’d towns;
    I don’t dread a peevish master,
    Though no man may heed my frowns.
    I be free to go abroad,
    Or take again my homeward road
    To where, for me, the apple tree
    Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

    William Barnes



    The Sky Above the Roof

    The sky above the roof
    Is calm and sweet
    A tree above the roof
    Bends in the heat

    A bell from out the blue
    Drowsily rings
    A bird from out the blue
    Plaintively sings

    Ah God! A life is here
    Simple and fair
    Murmurs of strife are here
    Lost in the air

    Why dost thou weep
    Oh, heart
    Poured out in tears?
    What hast thou done
    Oh, heart
    With thy spent years?


    Mable Dearmer
    from the French of Paul Verlaine

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  10. Margaret Bonds | Three Dream Portraits (1959)

    Minstrel Man
    Dream Variation
    I, too
     

    Text

    Minstrel Man

    Because my mouth 
    Is wide with laughter
    And my throat
    Is deep with song,
    You do not think 
    I suffer after 
    I have held my pain 
    So long. 

    Because my mouth 
    Is wide with laughter, 
    You do not hear
    My inner cry, 
    Because my feet 
    Are gay with dancing, 
    You do not know 
    I die. 

     

    Dream Variation

    To fling my arms wide
    In some place of the sun,
    To whirl and to dance
    Till the white day is done.
    Then rest at cool evening
    Beneath a tall tree
    While night comes on gently,
    Dark like me—
    That is my dream!

    To fling my arms wide
    In the face of the sun,
    Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
    Till the quick day is done.
    Rest at pale evening . . .
    A tall, slim tree . . .
    Night coming tenderly
    Black like me.

     

    I, too

    I, too, sing America.

    I am the darker brother.
    They send me to eat in the kitchen
    When company comes,
    But I laugh,
    And eat well,
    And grow strong.

    Tomorrow,
    I'll be at the table
    When company comes.
    Nobody'll dare
    Say to me,
    “Eat in the kitchen,”
    Then.

    Besides, 
    They'll see how beautiful I am
    And be ashamed—

    I, too, am America.

    Langston Hughes

     
    Artists
    • Miles Fellenberg, piano
  11. Robert MacGimsey | Sweet Little Jesus Boy

    Text

    Sweet little Jesus Boy

    Sweet little Jesus boy,

    They made you be born in a manger.
    Sweet little Holy child,
    didn’t know who You was.
    Didn’t know You’d come to save us,
    Lord, to take our sins away.
    Our eyes was blind,
    we couldn’t see.
    We didn’t know who You was.

    Long time ago You was born,
    In a manger low,
    Sweet little Jesus Boy.
    The world treat You mean,
    Lord, treat me mean too.
    But please, Sir,
    Forgive us Lord.
    We didn’t know ‘twas You.

    Robert MacGimsey

     
    Artists
    • Stuart Ryerse, piano