Recital: Luke Burrell '20 BM, Classical Guitar

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.

Luke Burrell '20 BM studies Classical Guitar Performance with Eliot Fisk.


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  • Luke Burrell, '20 BM, Classical Guitar
  • Sarah Matsushima, soprano
  • Eliot Fisk, Studio Instructor
  1. Francesco da Milano | Fantasia "La compagna" & Fantasia No. 2

  2. Robert de Visée | from Suite in D Minor

    I. Prelude
    II. Allemande
    III. Courante
    IV. Sarabande
    V. Gigue
    VIII, Menuet I
    X. Menuet II

  3. J. S. Bach | from Suite in E Major, BWV 1006a

    I. Prelude
    III. Gavotte en rondeau
    VI. Bourrée
    VII. Gigue

  4. Ernst Krenek | Suite for Guitar (1957)

    Allegro moderato
    Andante sostenuto

  5. Guillaume de Machaut | Je ne cuit pas qu'oncques à creature

    Je ne cuit pas qu'oncques à creature

    Je ne cuit pas qu'oncques à creature

    Amours partist ses biens si largement
    Come à moy seule et de sa grace pure;
    Non pas qu'aie desservi nullement
    Les douceurs qu'elle me fait,
    Car gari m'a de tous maus et retrait,
    Quant elle m'a donné, sans retollir,
    Mon cuer, m'amour et quanque je desir.

    Et pour ce sui pleinne d'envoiseüre,
    Gaie de cuer et vif tres liement
    Et ren toudis à Amours la droiture
    Que je li doy; c'est amer loyaument
    En foy, de cuer et de la fait.
    Et ceste amour pensée ne me laist
    Qui joieuse ne soit pour conjoïr
    Mon cuer, m'amour et quanque je desir.

    Si qu'il n'est riens où je mette ma cure
    Fors en amer e loer humblement
    Amours qui me norrist de tel pasture
    Com de mercy donnée doucement
    D'amoureus cuer et parfait.
    Mais la merci qui ainsi me refait,
    C'est de veoir seulement et oïr
    Mon cuer, m'amour et quanque je desir.

    Guillaume de Machaut

    I do not believe that to any creature ever

    I do not believe that to any creature ever

    Love shared out her goods so amply
    As to me alone and by her pure graciousness;
    Not that I have deserved in any way
    The sweet things she does for me,
    For she cured me of all ills and solitude
    When she gave me, without  taking back,
    My heart, my love and all that I desire.

    And therefore I am full of cheer,
    Gay at heart and living most joyfully,
    And I give to Love always the rights
    I owe him: that is, to love loyally
    In good faith of heart and of deed.
    And that love leaves me no thought
    Which is not joyous to share its joy with
    My heart, my love and all that I desire.

    So there is nothing in which I put my care
    Except in loving and humbly worshipping
    Love who feeds me with such food
    As with grace is sweetly given
    By a loving and perfect heart.
    But the grace which thus restores me
    Is to see and hear only
    My heart, my love and all that I desire.

    ranslation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2015 by David Wyatt, (re)printed with kind permission.


  6. Anonymous 15th c. | Oublié, oublié, oublié, oublié, oublié

  7. Anonymous 15th c. | En atendant vostre venue

  8. Heitor Villa-Lobos | Bachianas Brasileiras No. 5

    Tarde uma nuvem rósea lenta e transparente.
    Sobre o espaço, sonhadora e bela!

    Surge no infinito a lua docemente,
    Enfeitando a tarde, qual meiga donzela
    Que se apresta e a linda sonhadoramente,
    Em anseios d'alma para ficar bela
    Grita ao céu e a terra toda a Natureza!
    Cala a passarada aos seus tristes queixumes
    E reflete o mar toda a Sua riqueza...
    Suave a luz da lua desperta agora
    A cruel saudade que ri e chora!
    Tarde uma nuvem rósea lenta e transparente
    Sobre o espaço, sonhadora e bela!

    Lo, at midnight clouds are slowly passing, rosy and lustrous,
    o'er the spacious heav'n with lovliness laden.
    From the boundless deep the moon arises wondrous,
    glorifying the evening like a beauteous maiden.
    Now she adorns herself in half unconscious duty, eager,
    anxious that we recognize her beauty,
    while sky and earth, yea, all nature with applause salute her.
    All the birds have ceased their sad and mournful complaining,
    now appears on the sea in a silver reflection moonlight
    softly waking the soul and constraining hearts
    to cruel tears and bitter dejection.
    Lo, at midnight clouds are slowly passing rosy and lustrous
    o'er the spacious heavens dreamily wondrous.

  9. John Dowland | Three Songs

    I saw my Lady weep

    I saw my lady weep,
    And Sorrow proud to be advanced so,
    In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
    Her face was full of woe,
    But such a woe believe me as wins more hearts,
    Than Mirth can do with her enticing charms.

    Sorrow was there made fair,
    And Passion wise, tears a delightful thing,
    Silence beyond all speech a wisdom rare.
    She made her sighs to sing,
    And all things with so sweet a sadness move,
    As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

    O fairer than aught else
    The world can show, leave off in time to grieve.
    Enough, enough, (enough, enough,) your joyful looks excels.
    Tears kill the heart, believe;

    O strive not to be excellent in woe,
    Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.


    Can she excuse my wrongs?

    Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue's cloak?
    Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?
    Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?
    Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?

    No no: where shadows do for bodies stand,
    Thou may'st be abus'd if thy sight be dim.
    Cold love is like to words written on sand,
    Or to bubbles which on the water swim.

    Wilt thou be thus abused still,
    Seeing that she will right thee never?
    If thou canst not o'ercome her will
    The love will be thus fruitless ever.

    Was I so base, that I might not aspire
    Unto those high joys which she holds from me?
    As they are high, so high is my desire:
    If she this deny, what can granted be?

    If she will yeld to that which reason is,
    It is Reason's will that Love should be just.
    Dear make me happy still be granting this,
    Or cut off delays if that die I must.

    Better a thousand times to die,
    Than for to live thus still tormented:
    Dear, but remember it was I
    Who for thy sake did die contended

    Disdain me still

    Disdain me still, that I may ever love
    For who his love enjoys can love, can love no more
    The war once past with ease men cowards prove:
    And ships return'd do rot upon the shore
    And though thou frown, I’ll say thou art most fair, most fair:
    And still I'll love, and still I'll love, I’ll love
    Though still, though still I must despair

    As heat to life, so is desire to love
    And these once quench'd, both life and love are gone, are gone
    Let not my sighs nor tears thy virtue move
    Like baser metals do not melt too soon
    Laugh at my woes although I ever mourn, ever mourn
    Love surfeits, Love surfeits with rewards
    His nurse, is scorn, his nurse is scorn.