Recital: Raji Venkat '21 MM, Soprano
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.
Raji Venkat '21 MM studies Voice with Carole Haber.
- Raji Venkat '21 MM, soprano
- Tanya Blaich, piano
- Shane Dylan, piano
- Carole Haber, studio instructor
George Frideric Handel | from Theodora
With Darkness Deep
Oh, that I on wings could riseTexts
With Darkness Deep
With darkness deep, as is my woe,
Hide me, ye shades of night; Hide me
Your thickest veil around me throw,
Conceal'd from human sight.
Your thickest veil around me throw,
Conceal'd from sight.
Conceal'd from sight.
Conceal'd from human sight.
Or come thou, death, thy victim save,
Kindly embosom'd in the grave.
Kindly embosom'd in the grave.
Oh that I on wings could rise
Oh, that I on wings could rise,
Swiftly sailing through the skies,
As skims the silver dove!
That I might rest,
For ever blest,
With harmony and love.
Thomas Morell, Theodora
Dominick Argento | Six Elizabethan Lyrics
Spring
Sleep
Winter
Dirge
Diaphenia
HymnTexts
Spring
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! The sweet Spring!
Thomas Nash, from his pastoral play Summer’s Last Will and Testament
Sleep
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born
Relieve my anguish and restore thy light
With dark forgetting of my cares, return;
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn
Without the torment of the night’s untruth
Cease, dreams, th' images of day-desires
To model forth the passions of the morrow;
Never let rising sun approve you liars
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;
And never wake to feel the day's disdain
Samuel Daniel, from the Shakespearian sonnet series Delia
Winter
When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt and ways be foul
Then nightly sings the staring owl:
Tu-who!
Tu-whit! Tu-who! -- A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot
When all aloud the wind doth blow
And coughing drowns the parson's saw*
And birds sit brooding in the snow
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
Then nightly sings the staring owl:
Tu-who!
Tu-whit! Tu-who! -- A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
William Shakespeare, Love’s Labour's Lost
Dirge
Come away, come away, death
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew
O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:A thousand thousand lives to save
Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there!
William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
Diaphenia
Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly
White as the sun, fair as the lily
Heigh ho, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as my lambs
Are belovèd of their dams:
How blest were I if thou would'st prove me
Diaphenia, like the spreading roses
That in thy sweets all sweets encloses
Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as each flower
Loves the sun's life-giving power;
For dead, thy breath to life might move me
Diaphenia, like to all things blessèd
When all thy praises are expressèd
Dear joy, how I do love thee!
As the birds do love the spring
Or the bees their careful king, --
Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!
Henry Constable, Damelus’ Song of His Diaphenia
Hymn
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair
Now the sun is laid to sleep
Seated in thy silver chair
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light
Goddess excellently bright
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heav'n to clear when day did close;
Bless us then with wished sight
Goddess excellently bright
Lay thy bow of pearl apart
And thy crystal shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short so-ever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night
Goddess excellently bright
Ben Johnson, Cynthia’s Revels---intermission
Claude Debussy | from Ariettes oubliées
C'est l'extase
Il pleure dans mon coeur
Chevaux de boisTexts
C’est l’extase
C’est l’extase langoureuse,
C’est la fatigue amoureuse,
C’est tous les frissons des bois
Parmi l’étreinte des brises,
C’est, vers les ramures grises,
Le chœur des petites voix.
Ô le frêle et frais murmure!
Cela gazouille et susurre,
Cela ressemble au cri doux
Que l’herbe agitée expire …
Tu dirais, sous l’eau qui vire,
Le roulis sourd des cailloux.
Cette âme qui se lamente
En cette plainte dormante
C’est la nôtre, n’est-ce pas?
La mienne, dis, et la tienne,
Dont s’exhale l’humble antienne
Par ce tiède soir, tout bas?
Paul VerlaineIt is languorous ecstasy
It is languorous ecstasy,
It is amorous fatigue,
it is all the tremors of the forest
in the breeze’s embrace.
It is, around the grey branches,
the choir of tiny voices.
Oh, the delicate, fresh murmuring,
the warbling and the whispering
It is like the soft cry
the ruffled grass gives out...
You might take it for the muffled sound
of pebbles in the swirling stream.
This soul which grieves
In this subdued lament,
It is ours, is it not?
Mine, and yours too
Breathing out a humble hymn
on this warm evening, soft and low?
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion (Oxford 2000), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukIl pleure dans mon cœur
Il pleure dans mon cœur
Comme il pleut sur la ville;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon cœur?
Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un cœur qui s’ennuie
Ô le bruit de la pluie!
Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce cœur qui s’écœure.
Quoi! nulle trahison? …
Ce deuil est sans raison.
C’est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine,
Mon cœur a tant de peine.
Paul VerlaineTears Fall In my Heart
Tears fall in my heart
as rain falls on the town
What is this torpor
Pervading my heart?
Ah, the soft sound of rain
on the ground and roofs!
For a listless heart,
Ah, the sound of the rain!
Tears fall without reason
In this disheartened heart.
What! Was there no treason?
This grief’s without reason.
And the worst pain of all,
Must be not to know why
Without love and without hate
My heart feels such pain.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion (Oxford 2000), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukChevaux de bois
Tournez, tournez, bons chevaux de bois,
Tournez cent tours, tournez mille tours,
Tournez souvent et tournez toujours,
Tournez, tournez au son des hautbois.
L’enfant tout rouge et la mère blanche,
Le gars en noir et la fille en rose,
L’une à la chose et l’autre à la pose,
Chacun se paie un sou de dimanche.
Tournez, tournez, chevaux de leur cœur,
Tandis qu’autour de tous vos tournois
Clignote l’œil du filou sournois,
Tournez au son du piston vainqueur!
C’est étonnant comme ça vous soûle
D’aller ainsi dans ce cirque bête:
Rien dans le ventre et mal dans la tête,
Du mal en masse et du bien en foule.
Tournez, dadas, sans qu’il soit besoin
D’user jamais de nuls éperons
Pour commander à vos galops ronds:
Tournez, tournez, sans espoir de foin.
Et dépêchez, chevaux de leur âme,
Déjà voici que sonne à la soupe
La nuit qui tombe et chasse la troupe
De gais buveurs que leur soif affame.
Tournez, tournez! Le ciel en velours
D’astres en or se vêt lentement.
L’église tinte un glas tristement.
Tournez au son joyeux des tambours!
Paul VerlaineMerry-go-round
Turn, turn, you fine wooden horses,
Turn a hundred, turn a thousand times,
Turn often and turn for evermore
Turn and turn to the oboe’s sound.
The red-faced child and the pale mother,
The lad in black and the girl in pink,
One down-to-earth, the other showing off,
Each buying a treat with his Sunday sou.
Turn, turn, horses of their hearts,
While the furtive pickpocket’s eye is flashing
As you whirl about and whirl around,
Turn to the sound of the conquering cornet!
Astonishing how drunk it makes you,
Riding like this in this foolish fair:
With an empty stomach and an aching head,
Discomfort in plenty and masses of fun!
Gee-gees, turn, you’ll never need
The help of any spur
To make your horses gallop round:
Turn, turn, without hope of hay.
And hurry on, horses of their souls:
Nightfall already calls them to supper
And disperses the crowd of happy revellers,
Ravenous with thirst.
Turn, turn! The velvet sky
Is slowly decked with golden stars.
The church bell tolls a mournful knell—
Turn to the joyful sound of drums!
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion (Oxford 2000), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukJoaquín Rodrigo | Cuatros Madrigales Amatorios
¿Con qué la lavaré?
Vos me matásteis
¿De donde venís, amore?
De los álamos vengo, madreTexts
¿Con qué la lavaré?
¿Con qué la lavaré
la tez de la mi cara?
¿Con qué la lavaré,
Que vivo mal penada?
Lávanse las casadas
con agua de limones:
lávome yo, cuitada,
con penas y dolores.
¿Con qué la lavaré,
que vivo mal penada?
AnonymousWith what shall I wash
With what shall I wash
the skin of my face?
With what shall I wash it?
I live in such sorrow.
Married women wash
in lemon water:
in my grief I wash
in pain and sorrow.
With what shall I wash it?
I live in such sorrow.
Translation by Jacqueline Cockburn and Richard Stokes published in the The Spanish Song Companion (Gollancz, 1992), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukVos me matásteis
Vos me matásteis,
niña en cabello,
vos me habéis muerto.
Riberas de un río
ví moza vírgo,
Niña en cabello,
vos me habéis muerto.
Niña en cabello
vos me matásteis,
vos me habéis muerto.
AnonymousYou Killed me
You killed me,
girl with hair hanging loose,
you have slain me.
By the river bank
I saw a young maiden.
Girl with hair hanging loose,
you have slain me.
Girl with hair hanging loose,
you have killed me,
you have slain me.
Translation by Jacqueline Cockburn and Richard Stokes published in the The Spanish Song Companion (Gollancz, 1992), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.uk¿De dónde venís, amore?
¿De dónde venís, amore?
Bien sé yo de dónde.
¿De dónde venís, amigo?
Fuere yo testigo!
¡Ah! Bien sé yo de dónde
AnonymousWhere hast thou been, my love?
Where hast thou been, my love?
I know well where.
Where hast thou been, my friend?
Were I a witness
ah! I know well where!
Translation by Jacqueline Cockburn and Richard Stokes published in the The Spanish Song Companion (Gollancz, 1992), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukDe los álamos vengo, madre
De los álamos vengo, madre,
de ver cómo los menea el aire.
De los álamos de Sevilla,
de ver a mi linda amiga,
de ver cómo los menea el aire.
De los álamos vengo, madre,
der ver cómo los menea el aire
AnonymousI come from the poplars, mother
I come from the poplars, mother,
from seeing the breezes stir them.
From the poplars of Seville,
from seeing my sweet love,
from seeing the breezes stir them.
I come from the poplars, mother,
from seeing the breezes stir them.
Translation by Jacqueline Cockburn and Richard Stokes published in the The Spanish Song Companion (Gollancz, 1992), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukSubramania Bharatiyar | Indian Carmatic Songs
Asai Mugam Marandhu
Chinnan Chiru KiliyeTexts
Aasai Mugam
Aasai mugam maRandhdhu poachchae-idhai
yaaridam solvaenadi thoazhi?
naesam maRakkavillai nenjam-enil ninaivu
mugam maRakkalaamoa?
kaNNil theriyudhoru thoatRam-
adhil kaNNan azhagu muzhudhillai; naNNu
mugavadivu kaaNil-
andhdha nalla malarchchirippai
kaaNoam
thaenai maRandhdhirukkum vaNdum-
oLich siRappai maRandhdhuvitta poovum vaanai
maRandhdhirukkum payirum-
indhdha vaiya muzhudhumillai thoazhi!
Subramania Bharatiyar (1882–1921)I forgot your lovely face
I do not remember that lovely face anymore! Who shall I grieve to about this! Oh friend (female)! My heart did not forget the affection- But is it fair to forget the memorable face?
My eyes could visualize a person- In that I do not see Lord Kannan’s complete beauty; When I see his face- That bright smile on his face isn’t there.
A bee that refrains from honey – A flower that forgot the importance of light. Crops that refrains from the sky- It doesn’t happen in this world, My friend!Chinnan Chiru Kiliye
Chinnan chirukkiLiyE kaNNammA selvak-kaLanjiyamE
Ennaik-kali theerthey ulagil Etram puriya vandAi
PiLLaik-kaniyamudE kaNNammA pEsum por-chittiramE
ALLi aNaittiDavE en munnE Adi varum tEnE
Odi varugaiyilE kaNNammA uLLam kuLirudaDi
Adi-tiridal kaNDAl unnaip-pOi Avi tazhuvudaDI
Ucchi tanai mughandAl garuvam Ongi vaLarudaDi
Mecchi unnai oorar pugazhndAl mEni shilirkkudaDI
Kannattil muttamittal uLLam thAn kaL veri koLLudaDi
Unnait-tazhuvidilO kaNnammA unnatham, AgudaDI
Un kaNNil neer vazhindAl ennenjil udiram koTTudaDi
En kaNNin pAvaiyanrO kaNNammA ennuyir ninradanrO?
Subramania Bharatiyar (1882–1921)O tiniest of tiny parrot Kannamma
O tiniest of tiny parrot Kannamma, o treasure trove of all wealth!
You have come into this world to rid me of all my sins and elevate me;
You are as sweet as the nectar of a tender fruit Kannama, You are a golden painting that has come alive and speak...
When you come dancing before me, sweetie.
You urge me to pick and cuddle you in delight.
There is such peace in my heart Kannamma when you come running towards me-
My souls engulfs you every time you dance and scamper around me.
When I plant a kiss on your forehead-Oh! I swell with pride
My being shudders when people appreciate and praise you.
Kissing your cheeks accomplishes such great intoxication,
and each embrace grants such ecstasy.
But when a tear drops from your eye, my heart begins to bleed;
Are you not the pupil of my eye Kannamma?
And is my life not entirely yours?Artists- Shane Dylan, piano ("Chinnnan Chiru Kiliye")
I would like to thank my teacher Carole Haber, my recital coach Tanya Blaich,
as well as my parents and any other coaches and professors along the way
who continued to believe in me and have made this possible.
I would also like to thank my limited audience for coming tonight.