Recital: Tyler Bouque '21 BM, Baritone
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.
Tyler Bouque '21 BM studies Voice with MaryAnn McCormick. He is the recipient of the Presidential Distinction Award, the Annie MacColl Scholarship and a scholarship made possible by the Lincoln and Therese Filene Voice Scholarship Fund.
- Tyler Bouque '21 BM, baritone
- Jack Yarbrough, piano
- Marie-Elise Boyer, piano
- Jessica Shand, flute
- Emma Burge, violin
- Robbie Bui, cello
- Parker Olson, percussion
- Riley Vogel, conductor
- MaryAnn McCormick, studio instructor
Michael Finnissy | from Unknown Ground (1989-90)
I don't think of death
A patch of blackened earth
I was afraid
Our lives
I don’t think of death
I know it is going to happen to me –
But I don’t live my life as if I’m going to die.
I can’t remember the pain and suffering I’ve been through.
The tremendous loss of self-esteem brings back certain things
From adolescence – you’ll go through patches when you think:
‘No-one loves me’ or ‘I’m useless. I don’t have any purpose.’
People telling me: ‘You’re dirty. You’ve done something wrong.
You deserve this disease.’ Or ‘You brought it on yourself.’
Or ‘You don’t deserve treatment –
You don’t even deserve being listened to.’
I feel I’ve lost my sexuality.
I feel I can’t go with other men.
I don’t know whether I’m denying myself the opportunity.
If I could have a relationship with someone it would be lovely,
It would be real, positive, constructive –
A good driving-force in my life—
It would create dynamism within me.
I don’t know where to go from here—
Whatever the future is, I don’t know—
‘I hope I know you for a long time’—
That’s a lovely greeting!N.W.
A patch of blackened earth, smelling of sweat—
Can I neither love nor lovingly touch it?
I walk by the bracken-tangled path to the lake,
Past the rough brushwood shelters in the fields,
And the reeds drowsily swaying.
Somewhere in the distance,
Men are singing.
Sergei Esenin
I was afraid of not being able to see the garden grow.
Afraid of having to go to hospital and be pathetic…
Like some people are.
Why the fuck me.
I knew that I wanted to be with guys, but I was never able to manage it…
If you’re repressed or pent-up for twenty-five years,
Then you get to a place like New York, you do cut loose…
I think it’s wrong if people start rejecting everything because of AIDS—
If we do that, they have got us where they want us—
The sort of Establishment and Right Wing people.
I don’t feel guilty for doing things when I didn’t even know
That such a virus was around, or it could happen…
And I don’t see why anyone should.
S.R.
Our lives – like oceans filled with voices –
Flow across each traveler’s path.
Pine trees whispering of darkness and imprisonment,
Of the flickering stars, barely seen through a barred window,
And of the bell tolling on a fateful journey.
Our love began in the summer.
Began with a red-coloured egg—
Meaning desire and blood.
Soon, time will recede into grey mist.
Then give me angel’s wings, that I might
Fly in its wake, unseen…
That I might travel to unknown ground.
Nicolai KluyevArtists- Emma Burge, violin
- Robbie Bui, cello
- Jack Yarbrough, piano
J. S. Bach | "Komm, süßes Kreuz" from Matthäus-Passion, BWV 244
Komm, süßes Kreuz
Christian Friedrich Henrici,
Komm, süßes Kreuz, so will ich sagen,
Mein Jesu, gib es immer her!
Wird mein Leiden einst zu schwer,
So hilfst du mir es selber tragen.
after Matthew 26-27Come sweet cross
Come sweet cross – this is what I will say,
My Jesus, give it always to me!
If my suffering at any time becomes too heavy,
Then you yourself helped me to bear it.
Translation © Francis Browne, 2008, www.bach-cantatas.comArtists- Marie-Elise Boyer, piano
Claude Debussy | Recueillement from Cinq poèmes de Charles Baudelaire
Recueillement
Sois sage, ô ma Douleur, et tiens-toi plus tranquille;
Tu réclamais le Soir: il descend; le voici :
Une atmosphère obscure enveloppe la ville,
Aux uns portant la paix, aux autres le souci.
Pendant que des mortels la multitude vile,
Sous le fouet du Plaisir, ce bourreau sans merci,
Va cueillir des remords dans la fête servile,
Ma Douleur, donne-moi la main ; viens par ici,
Loin d’eux. Vois se pencher les défuntes Années,
Sur les balcons du ciel, en robes surannées;
Surgir du fonds des eaux le Regret souriant;
Le Soleil moribond s’endormir sous une arche,
Et, comme un long linceul traînant à l’Orient,
Entends, ma chère, entends la douce Nuit qui marche.
Charles BaudelaireMeditation
Be good, O my Sorrow, and keep more calm.
You longed for Evening; it is falling; now:
A dusky atmosphere enfolds the town,
Bringing peace to some, to others care.
While the vile multitude of mortals,
Lashed by Pleasure, that pitiless tormentor,
Goes gathering remorse in abject revels,
Give me your hand, my Sorrow; come this way,
Far from them. See the departed Years leaning,
In outmoded dress, from the heavens’ balustrades;
See smiling Regret well up from the waters’ depths;
The dying Sun fall asleep beneath an arch,
And like a long shroud trailing in the East,Listen, my love, listen to the tread of gentle Night.
Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000), provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder www.oxfordlieder.co.ukArtists- Marie-Elise Boyer, piano
Arnold Schoenberg | Schenk mir deinem goldenen Kamm from Vier Lieder, op. 2
Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm
Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm;
Jeder Morgen soll dich mahnen,
Daß du mir die Haare küßtest.
Schenk mir deinen seidenen Schwamm;
Jeden Abend will ich ahnen,
Wem du dich im Bade rüstest,
O Maria!
Schenk mir Alles, was du hast;
Meine Seele ist nicht eitel,
Stolz empfang ich deinen Segen.
Schenk mir deine schwerste Last:
Willst du nicht auf meinen Scheitel
Auch dein Herz, dein Herz noch legen,
Magdalena?
Richard DehmelGive me your golden comb
Give me your golden comb;
every morning shall remind you
that you kissed my hair.
Give me your silken sponge;
every evening I want to sense
for whom you prepared yourself in the bath -
oh, Maria!
Give me everything you have;
my soul is not vain,
proudly I receive your blessing.
Give me your heavy burden:
will you not lay on my head
your heart too, your heart
Magdalena?
Translation © Richard Stokes, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder www.oxfordlieder.co.ukArtists- Marie-Elise Boyer, piano
Claude Debussy | Harmonie du soir from Cinq poèmes de Charles Baudelaire
Harmonie du Soir
Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige
Chaque fleur s’évapore ainsi qu’un encensoir ;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir ;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige !
Chaque fleur s’évapore ainsi qu’un encensoir ;
Le violon frémit comme un cœur qu’on afflige ;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir.
Le violon frémit comme un cœur qu’on afflige
Un cœur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir ;
Le soleil s’est noyé dans son sang qui se fige.
Un cœur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir,
Du passé lumineux recueille tout vestige !
Le soleil s’est noyé dans son sang qui se fige ...
Ton souvenir en moi luit comme un ostensoir!
Charles BaudelaireEvening Harmony
Now comes the time when, quivering on its stem,
Each flower sheds perfume like a censer;
Sounds and scents turn in the evening air;
Melancholy waltz and reeling languor!
Each flower sheds perfume like a censer;
The violin throbs like a wounded heart,
Melancholy waltz and reeling languor!
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar.
The violin throbs like a wounded heart,
A fond heart that loathes the vast black void!
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar.
The sun has drowned in its congealing blood.
A fond heart that loathes the vast black void
And garners in all the luminous past!
The sun has drowned in its congealing blood...
Your memory within me shines like a monstrance!
Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)Artists- Marie-Elise Boyer, piano
INTERMISSION
intermission
Salvatore Sciarrino | Stupori (US Premiere, World Premiere of revised version)
Domande al vento
Stupori
L’ultimo haiku di Bashō
La nostra mente
Graffito
Silenzi leggibili
Domande al vento
- V'è una lingua del silenzio? Un rombo
celato fra parole?
Della città non restava niente. Uno gridava:
- Ma il silenzio è vuoto, o pieno?
È rifiuto della lingua o memoria antica?
E gridava:
- Cosa racconta la parola, se interrompe?
Non sentite?
Il vecchio sbucò dalle macerie:
- V'è una lingua del silenzio?
Stupori
E io Giuseppe stavo camminando
ed ecco non riuscivo a muovermi.
Guardai in su e vidi
che l'aria era attonita
guardai la volta azzurra
e vidi ch’era immobile
gli uccelli nel cielo
sospesi a metà.
Guardai a terra e vidi una scodella
e gli operai intorno
quelli che stavano masticando
non masticavano più
e quelli che stavano prendendo il cibo
non lo prendevano più
e quelli col boccone in mano
non lo ingoiavano più
tutte le facce eran rivolte in alto.
Ed ecco le pecore condotte al pascolo
erano ferme, non andavano
mentre il pastore alzava il bastone
rimaneva col braccio levato.
Guardai la corrente del fiume e vidi i capretti,
il muso sull'acqua ma senza bere.
Tutte le cose per un momento
furon distratte dal loro corso.
(Protovangelo di Giacomo, XVIII, elaborato daSciarrino)
L'ultimo haiku di Bashō
Malato in viaggio
il sogno mio percorre
pianure aride
La nostra mente
Di parole
risuona ogni pensiero
eco di fiato
Graffito
Io non mi
arritrovai
mai più tanto
malenconico.
Io Federi
go
(su un muro della loggia, negli appartamenti ducali, a Urbino)
Silenzi Leggibili
(t)isin/etei/tannin/dedi/rantha/thonkra/kohen/
pritai/mathia/lam-l/liatin/krina/nam/in
(epigrafe messapica di Ugento)
Questions to the wind
- Is there a language of silence? A rumble
hidden between words?
Nothing remained of the city. One shouted:
- But is silence empty, or full?
Is it rejection of the language or ancient memory? And he shouted:
- What does the word say, if it interrupts?
Can't you hear?
The old man emerged from the rubble:
- Is there a language of silence?
Amazements
And I, Joseph, was walking
and found I could not move.
I looked up and saw
that the air was astonished
I looked at that blue vault
and I saw that it was motionless
Birds in the sky
were suspended in half.
I looked down and saw a bowl
and the workers around it
those who were chewing
no longer chewed
and those who were taking food
no longer took it
and those with a morsel in hand
no longer swallowed it
all faces were turned upwards.
And here were the sheep led to pasture
they were still, they did not go
while the shepherd raised his staff
he remained with his arm raised.
I looked at the river current and saw the kids,
face on the water but without drinking.
All things for a moment
they were distracted from their course.
(Protoevangelium of Jacob, XVIII, elaborated by Sciarrino.)
Bashō's last haiku
Sickly traveling
my lucid dreams travel free
through arid lowlands
Our mind
Of words
every thought resounds
echo of breath
Graffiti
I don't
I stopped
never so much
melancholic.
I Federigo
Go
(on a wall of the loggia, in the ducal apartments, in Urbino)
Legible Silences
(t)isin/etei/tannin/dedi/rantha/thonkra/Kohen/
pritai/mathia/lam-l/liatin/krina/nam/in
(Messapian epigraph of Ugento)
Translations by Tyler BouqueArtists- Jessica Shand, flute
- Emma Burge, violin
- Parker Olson, percussion
- Riley Vogel, conductor
To my parents, friends, colleagues, and mentors to whom I owe my music — thank you.
And a special thanks to Professor McCormick, who has given me a voice to sing.