Jacob Avshalomov/24 Songs

Jacob Avshalomov

Twenty-Four Songs

Alyce Rogers

Mezzo-Soprano

with Linda Barker, Piano

Daniel Avshalomov, Viola

Marcy Fetchen, Clarinet & Melody Woolridge, Flute

Alyce Rogers' artistry and versatility have won her high praise across this country and abroad. She has performed extensively in Oratorio with such groups as the Music of the Baroque in Chicago, the Grand Teton Music Festival, the New England Bach Festival, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, the Carmel Bach Festival and eleven seasons with the Oregon Bach Festival conducted by Helmuth Rilling, with whom she has also toured and recorded. She has performed many roles with the Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, B.C. Opera companies and concert tours have taken her to Japan, Germany and Israel. She has been a soloist with Robert Shaw and Roger Wagner, and symphony engagements have included Seattle, St. Louis, Salt Lake City, Portland in both its regular and Pops series, the Boston Pops, the Portland Youth Philharmonic, and the Peter Britt Festival. She has performed nearly every major mezzo and contralto role in the Gilbert & Sullivan canon. She is active in recital work and has collaborated with the Oregon Ballet in Schumann's Frauenliebe und Leben. Ms. Rogers is also active as a vocal teacher and is on the Faculty of Portland State University.

Linda Lorati Barker is one of the most sought-after pianists in the Northwest. She has appeared as soloist with the Oregon Symphony, the West Coast Chamber Orchestra and the Portland Youth Philharmonic. She was also featured in a performance of the Shostakovitch Piano Concerto No. 2 with the Oregon Ballet. She appears frequently in chamber music with some of the finest musicians in the region.

A native of Portland, Oregon, Ms. Barker studied with Carla Vincent and Nellie Tholen. After receiving her B. Music from Oberlin Conservatory she took an M.A. at Indiana University where she studied with Menahem Pressler.

While residing in St. Louis, Missouri she was on the faculty at Webster College and at the St. Louis Conservatory. She now teaches at the University of Portland.

Jacob Avshalomov, (b. 1919, Tsingtao, China) Curriculum Vitae,

STUDIED with Aaron Avshalomov, Ernst Toch, Bernard Rogers, Aaron Copland and at Reed College and Eastman School of Music.

TAUGHT at Columbia University 1946-54; summers at Reed College, Tanglewood, Northwestern University, University of Illinois, Aspen School of Music

CONDUCTED U.S. Premieres of: Bruckner - Mass in D; Tippett - A Child of Our Time; Handel - The Triumph of Time & Truth; Sessions - Divertimento; Bloch Festival, Newport OR; Aaron Avshalomov 90th Anniversary Celebrations, Beijing, Wuhan & Shanghai; Portland Youth Philharmonic 1954-1994; Six International Tours

AWARDS: Ditson Fellowship in Composition; Bloch Award; Guggenheim Fellowship; N.Y. Music Critics-Circle Award; Naumburg Recording Award; Ditson Conductor's Award; Governor's Arts Award; American Symphony Orchestra League Award; Portland First Citizen

COMMISSIONS: Symphony: The Oregon; The Thirteen Clocks; Phases of the Great Land; Up at Timberline; Glorious th'Assembled Fires; Symphony of Songs

SERVICES: Ford Foundation Composers Project; Avshalomov Lecture Series 1958-1971; National Humanities Council, 1968-74; National Arts Endowment, Music Planning Section 1977-79; Pro Musicis Foundation

ENCYCLOPEDIA ENTRIES: Who's Who in America; Who's Who in Music; Bakers' Dictionary of Music and Musicians; International Encyclopedia of Music; Mussiken Hvem, Hvad, Hvor, Copenhagen

Notes & Texts

I'm with William Byrd, when he proclaimed, "Since synging is so good a thynge I wish all men would learne to synge." The human

voice is the ultimate musical instrument. I still believe this even after having reveled for forty years as conductor of the Portland Youth Philharmonic. So it was no surprise to me, when I stepped down from my podium to concentrate on composing, and surveyed a lifetime list of works, to find that more than half of them are vocal and choral. This, of course reflects an abiding interest in poetry and devotional literature of various persuasions.

The Songs presented in this recording were composed over a forty year period which began a decade before I became a conductor. Almost all of them are for mezzo-soprano that being the range of the lovely fellow-student for whom most of the early Songs were written: Doris Felde, my dear wife of over a half-century. During all this time she has been writing poetry, and in recent years I have set 29 of her poems in songs and choral pieces. But that is a story for another place. The present list begins with:

SONGS FOR ALYCE 1976. This set was composed at the MacDowell Colony for one of the leading artists in the Pacific Northwest, Alyce Rogers. Over the years she has performed my Songs in recitals from Oregon to her native Massachusetts. In addition to a fine voice, she has brought a perfect understanding of the music and the poetry.

May Swensonwas one of the most gifted poets of her generation. We met during an earlier residence at the MacDowell Colony (1952). Her shyness made her a reluctant participant in the weekly readings; and I, not wishing to have her new work hidden from view, offered more than once to read in her stead. I became enchanted with many of her poems for their wit, subtlety and poignancy. A composer can hold off only so long before setting them to music. Emily Dickinson, of course, I came to know on the printed page, and like practically every other American composer, have been moved by her perceptive verse to set them often, both in choral works and songs.

Songs for Alyce

The Mountain

The mountain sat upon the Plain

In his tremendous Chair -

His observation omnifold,

His inquest, everywhere -

The Seasons play around his knees

Like Children round a sire -

Grandfather of Days is He

Of Dawn, the Ancestor -

-Emily Dickinson

Answer July

Answer July -

Where is the Bee -

Where is the Blush -

Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July -

Where is the Seed -

Where is the Bud -

Where is the May -

Answer Thee - Me -

Nay - said the May -

Show me the Snow -

Show me the Bells -

Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay -

Where be the Maize -

Where be the Haze -

Where be the Bur? -

Here - said the Year -

-Emily Dickinson

A Day is Laid by

A day is laid by

It came to pass

The wind is drained

from the willow

Dusk interlaces

the grass

Out of the husk

of twilight

emerges the moon

Aftermath

of jaded sunset

of noon

and the sirens of bees

Day and wrath

are faded

Now above the bars

of lonely pastures

loom the sacred stars.

-May Swenson

The Watch

When I took my watch

to the watchfixer I

felt privileged but also pained to

watch the operation. He

had long fingernails

and a voluntary squint. He

fixed a magnifying cup over his

squint eye. He undressed my watch. I

watched him split her

in three layers and lay her

middle a quivering viscera

in a circle on a little plinth. He shoved

shirtsleeves up and leaned

like an ogre over my

naked watch. With critical pincers he

poked and stirred. He

lifted out little private things with a

magnet too tiny for me

to watch almost. "Watch out!" I

almost said. His

eye watched, enlarged, the secrets of

my watch, and I watched anxiously.

Because what if he touched her

ticker too rough, and she

gave up the ghost out of pure fright?

Or put her things back backwards so

she'd run backwards after this? Or he

might lose a minuscule part, connected

to her exquisite heart, and mix her

up, instead of fix her.

And all the time,

all the time-pieces on the walls,

on the shelves, told the time,

told the time in swishes and in ticks,

swishes and ticks, and seemed to be gloat-

ing, as they watched and told. I

felt faint, I was about to lose my

breath my ticker going lickety-split

when watchfixer clipped her

three slices together with a gleam and two

flicks of his tools like chopsticks.

He spat out his eye, lifted her

high, gave her a twist, set her hands right,

and laid her little face, quite

as usual, in its place

on my wrist.

-May Swenson

The Glass Town

A Church tow'r crowned the town

double in air and water, and

over the anchored houses

the round bells rolled at noon.

Bubbles rolled to the surface,

the drowning bells swirled down.

A sun burned in the bay,

a lighthouse towered downward,

moored in the mirroring fathoms.

The seaweed swayed its tree,

a boat beneath me floated

upside down in the sky.

An underwater wind ruffled

the red-roofed shallows where wading stilt legged children

stood in the clouded sand,

and down from the knee deep harbora ladder led to the drowned.

Gulls fell out of the day,

The thrown net met its image

in the window of the water.

A ripple slurred the sky.

My hand swam up to meet me

and I met myself in the sea.

Mirrored I saw my death in the

underworld of the water,

and saw my drowned face sway

in the glass day underneath

till I spoke to my speaking likeness,

and the moment broke with my breath.

-Alastair Reid

Whimsies

Tweedledee & Tweedledoom

Said the Undertaker to the Overtaker,

"Thank you for the butcher and the

candlestick maker,

For the polo player and the pretzel baker,

For the lawyer and the lover and the

wife-forsaker.

Thank you for my bulging, verdant acre."

Said the Undertaker to the Overtaker,

"Move in, move under," said the Overtaker.

-Ogden Nash

Raker

Now all the fall is haze,

bittersweet with smoke

these elegiac days:

the raker leans on rake,

knee-deep in leaves gone bronze

and copper and dry browns;

he leaves a golden wake

on lawn; his curb-side blace

both funeral pyre and fire

of his unspoken praise.

-Philip Booth

Central Park Tourney

Cars in the Park

With long spear lights

Ride at each other

Like armored knights;

Rush,

Miss the mark,

Pierce the dark,

Dash by!

Another two Try.

Staged in the Park

From dusk to dawn,

The tourney goes on;

Rush,

Miss the mark,

Pierce the dark,

Dash by!

Another two Try.

-Mildred Weston

Threnos

I

No more for us the

little sighing.

No more the wind at

twilight trouble us.

Lo the fair dead!

No more do I burn.

No more for us the

fluttering of wings

that whirred in the air above us.

Lo the fair dead!

No more desire flayeth me,

No more for us the trembling

at the meeting of hands.

Lo the fair dead!

No more for us the

wine of the lips,

No more the

knowledge.

Lo the fair dead!

No more the torrent,

No more for us the meeting-place

(Lo the fair dead!)

Tintagoel.

II

What thou lovest well remains,

the rest is dross.

What thou lovest well shall

not be reft of thee,

What thou lovest well is

thy true heritage.

First came the seen, then (thus)

the palpable Elysium;

tho' it were in the halls of Hell

What thou lovest well is

thy true heritage.

What thou lovest well shall

not be reft of thee,

the rest is dross.

What thou lovest well remains.

Ezra Pound

Personae, & Pisan Cantos, LXXXXI

Wonders- 1960. Blake's "The Smile" is complete in itself, but "The Grain of Sand" consists of three widely separated stanzas from his Jerusalem. It was their similarity of structure and existential tone that caught my eye. This pair was composed in Rungsted, Denmark, just north of Copenhagen, at the summer cottage of a daughter of Carl Nielsen - whose enormous grand piano was still there for me to use.

The above three sets of Songs were originally written for unaccompanied chorus and were arranged for Alyce Rogers in 1974.

The Smile

There is a Smile of Love,

There is a Smile of Deceit,

And there is a Smile of Smiles

In which these two Smiles meet.

There is a Frown of Hate,

There is a Frown of Disdain,

And there is a Frown of Frowns

Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the Heart's deep Core

And it sticks in the deep Back bone;

And no Smile that ever was smil'd

But only one Smile alone,

That betwixt the Cradle and Grave

It only once Smil'd can be;

But, when it once is Smil'd,

There's an end to all Misery.

The Grain of Sand

There is a grain of Sand in Lambeth

that Satan cannot find,

Nor can his Watch Fiends find it

'tis translucent and has many Angles,

and within every angle

is a lovely heaven.

There is a Moment in each Day

that Satan cannot find,

Nor can his Watch Fiends find it;

but the Industrious find this Moment

and multiply it, and when it once is

found it renovates every moment

of the Day, if rightly placed.

There is a place where

Contrarieties are equally True;

it is a pleasant Shadow

Where no dispute can come,

Because of those who Sleep.

-William Blake

Lullaby-1941. This vocalise was written for Cosima, the infant daughter of my fellow-student at Eastman School of Music, William Thompson. When I first appeared at Rochester, on a shoestring, I met him in Bernard Rogers' composition class. To live in I found a tiny room above a restaurant and next to an aged cigar-maker in a rambling two-story building just across from the School. My abode needed whitewashing and Thompson promptly offered to help, working with me through the wee hours.

The Lullaby soon found its way into the second movement of my Sonatine for Viola and Piano (see Albany Records TROY216).

Biblical Songs -1944-5. "Ruth's Song" was composed in hours snatched from army basic training (WW II) as a confirmation of my recent marriage troth. Psalm 23 and "How Long O Lord" are from my Cantata of that title, written for my Columbia University Chorus.

Ruth's Song

And Ruth said,

Entreat me not to leave thee,

or to return from following

after thee. For whither thou

goest I will go, and where thou

lodgest will I lodge.

Thy people shall be my people

and thy God my God. Where thou

diest will I die, and there

will I be buried; the Lord

so do unto me, and more also,

if aught but death part

thee and me.

How Long, O Lord

How long, O Lord, shall I cry,

cry unto Thee of violence and

Thou wilt not hear? Look Ye among

the nations and behold, for lo,

I raise up the Chaldeans, that bitter

and impetuous nation that march

through the breadth of the earth to

possess dwelling-places not their own.

Their law and their majesty proceed

from themselves; they come, all of them,

for violence, their faces are set eagerly

as the east wind; and they gather captives

as the sand.

Isaiah

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down

in green pastures;

He leadeth me beside the still waters;

He restoreth my soul.

Yea, though I walk through the valley

of the shadow of death, will I fear no evil,

Thou art with me.

Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me,

Thou hast anointed my head with oil;

my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy

shall follow me

all the days of my life;

and I shall dwell in the

house of the Lord forever.

A Psalm of David

From The Chinese -1937, 1940. "On the T'ung T'ing Lake" was my very first Song, written at my Father's elbow in Shanghai. It was originally for high voice. "Moon in the Yellow River" is Chinese only by courtesy: Denis Johnston in that play refers to Fu Yi and Li Po, and I wrote the Song for a college production.

With the sounds of China still ringing in my ears I wrote the next three Songs to poems by Li Po himself; they were in a volume which my Father had given me as a farewell gift when I left China for the United States.

"Taking Leave of a Friend" was my first essay in chamber music. It was written for Doris, her violist brother Max and a flutist friend, in 1939. Two years later I showed it to David Diamond in Rochester; he gently noted a couple of places where the prosody could be improved, and I did better. But over the decades I let the piece rest in the piano bench, conscious of its other juvenile faults. Then, when my mother-in-law passed away in 1983, this poem came to mind, and I decided to rewrite the Song in her memory since she had liked it despite its failings. Re-writing early pieces late in life is a dangerous practice, but many composers risk it nonetheless. I like this version better, and so does my wife. You'll just have to take our word for it.

On the T'ung T'ing Lake

The autumn night is vaporless on the lake.

The swelling tide could bear us

on to the sky,

Come let us take the moonlight

for our guide

and sail to buy our drink

where the white clouds are.

Li Po

Moon in the Yellow River

Fu-Yi loved the blue hills

and the white clouds,

Alas, he died of drink.

And Li Po also died drunk

He tried to embrace a moon

in the Yellow River.

Denis Johnston

The Ch'ing T'ing Mountain

Flocks of birds have flown

high and away;

A lone drift of cloud, too,

has gone wandering on.

And I sit alone with the peak

towering beyond.

We never tire of each other,

the mountain and I.

Li Po

Taking Leave of a Friend

Blue mountains lie beyond the north wall

Round the city's eastern side

flows the white water.

Here we part, friend, once for ever,

You go ten thousand li, drifting

away, like an uprooted water-grass.

O the floating clouds, and the

thoughts of a wanderer.

O the sunset, and the longing

of an old friend.

We ride away from each other,

waving our hands, while our horses

neigh softly.

I shrug my shoulders

and heave a long sigh,

gazing into the west.

Li Po

Two Old Birds ­-1957. Katherine Hoskins' poem entitled Cote d'Azure simply cried out to be set to music. I found it in the New Yorkermagazine (where I also found the Whimsies). It was clear at once that the woman's voice in the poem needed the partner referred to; the clarinet seemed just right. It was an instrument I had become very familiar with in writing my Evocations (under the benevolent tutelage of Aaron Copland).

Two Old Birds

Since my life's been spent

In a passionate attachment

For someone

From the age of one;

Since my time's been lost

Waiting for the post

Or telephone;

Since I have grown

Up from hand to mouth

On love

And have thoroughly enjoyed the

not altogether to be despised,

If not notorious, glory of my youth;

Since I can or will not change,

Where should I range

When body falters and beauty dies —

When I must meet old age,

I, no sage?

For him I'll cake on rouge and powder

And wear a parrot on my shoulder.

God grant my sight fade with my eyes

When mirrors are not kind.

God send me a foolish wambling man,

Also purblind.

We'll be absurd —

Two old birds —

Treasonous to grandparenthood,

rightly scorned by all the good

Who cackle and play cards,

Gossip, and decry the moderation

Of the younger generation.

When candlelight recalls romance,

He'll make a wobbly amorous advance

(Both of us a little merry

From too much sherry),

But I shall have a fan

And tap his hand

and say “Come, come!”

And send him home —

Both relieved to stop play-acting

When the part gets too exacting.

Katherine Hoskins

Who Is My Shepherd ­-1949. John Malcolm Brinnin's poem was written while we were both in residence at "Yaddo," that artists' haven near Saratoga. He was a wonderful reader and teacher. At one of the periodic showings of work-in-progress Brinnin brought in these brooding verses; his title, incidentally, was Oedipus' Cradle Song. My setting was originally for Tenor.

Who Is My Shepherd

Who is my shepherd

that I shall not want?

Who with earth-roughened hands

will loose the spike that joins

my ankle-bones and bear me home

and have me in his house?

I seek a father who most needs a son,

yet have no voice to call one or

the other, nor wind nor oracle to

publish me, where I am meant to die.

Who is my uncle that shall intervene?

assist the turning wheel,

that like the running tower of the Sun

will smash my king's house,

and my cockle-shell.

Who is my mother that shall

make my bed?

who with gold-beaten rings

will quicken me

that I beget my son

where my cold father

with his lust lay down.

Who is one blind that has already

seen blood where it will fall soon?

He knows my ways and how I

rule this ground,

in his perpetual light will I be found.

The day is in the sea,

the night grows cold.

Is the event long passed?

The suckling beast knows where

I lie alone.

I seek a father

who most need a son.

John Malcolm Brinnin

Fed By My Labors -1940. The California sculptor, Gordon Newell, also wrote poems. I set this one after we met through his sister-in-law, a classmate of mine from Tientsin. When our family visited him at Big Sur, some twenty years later, he gave me another poem; and then were out of touch until a chance meeting in Carmel in 1993, when he was 90. I then told him that I'd used our early Song in my Symphony of Songs, and that I often recalled his remark, long ago, about doing creative work in obscurity: he had said not to worry about that ­- "the life's the thing!"

This Song has undergone a second transformation: after developing it symphonically I revised it in the light of what the Symphony had done to it. Anyone interested in comparing this original with the orchestral version see Albany Records (TROY160).

Fed By My Labors

Fed by my labors

those lines drawn on the ground

have become ribs of rock

and cast shadows

where the clear sun stretched

his long length before.

Some of those stone spines

have raised themselves higher

than my head above their

thrilling start, and now

the warm winds of autumn

must find new ways to pass this hill.

When the first rain comes

it will feel gently for its old

accustomed slope and then strike hard in fury

to take again its threatened realm.

Gordon Newell

O Time -1966. When commissioned to write a work for Boston's second Winterfest I based my Cantata "City Upon A Hill" on J.F. Kennedy's speech and illuminated it with poems by earlier American writers. Anne Bradstreet's is one of the most moving (originally set for chorus).

O Time

O Time

the wrack of mortal things

that draws oblivion's

curtain over kings

their sumptuous monuments

men know them not,

their names without a

record are forgot;

their parts, their ports,

their pomp's all laid

in the dust,

nor wit nor gold nor

buildings escape

time's rust.

But he whose name is

graved in the white stone

shall last and shine when

all of these are gone.

Anne Bradstreet

Postscript: In publishing several books of Songs a few years ago I noted that it might be a futile exercise, since the song recital is almost in full eclipse. However, there are still some singers who prefer the intimacy of the recital-room to the grandeur of the operatic stage; and some of them find an audience which comes to savor the subtleties of poetic utterance invested with music, without the distractions of costumes, scenery or inane librettos. To such artists and their following these Songs are offered.

Jacob Avshalomov

Assisting Artists

Daniel Avshalomov is the violist of the American String Quartet, now in its third decade of world-wide esteem. The Quartet is heard in over eighty concerts each season in North America, Europe and the Orient. Their performances are broadcast widely and have been recorded on five labels. For ten years the ASQ served as Quartet-in-Residence at the Peabody Conservatory, and since 1984 has filled a similar role at the Manhattan School of Music, where Daniel is also on the solo faculty. Before joining the Quartet Daniel was principal violist for the orchestras of the Spoleto, Tanglewood and Aspen Festivals, as well as for the Brooklyn Philharmonia and the American Composers Orchestra. He performed as solo violist with the Bolshoi Ballet on its American tour, and was a founding member of the Orpheus Chamber Ensemble. Outside the ASQ Daniel has appeared with orchestra and in recital on both coasts and in the Midwest. As a featured artist with such groups as the Da Camera Society, Marin Music Fest and La Musica di Asolo, he has shared the stage with Norbert Brainin, Claude Frank, Maureen Forester, Bruno Giuranna, Isaac Stern, and the Guarnieri, Juilliard, and Tokyo Quartets.

Marcy Fetchen, Clarinet, studied in Portland with Stan Stanford and played Principal Clarinet with the Portland Youth Philharmonic in its tour to Germany. After graduating from Portland State University she continues her studies at Michigan State University with Elsa Ludevig-Verdehr.

Melody WoolDridge AVRIL, Flute, studied in Portland with Salvador Brotons. While there she played in the Vancouver, (WA) Symphony and the Portland Youth Philharmonic with which she toured in Japan, Korea and in Germany as Principal Flute. She continues her studies at the University of Alabama and recently won a competition at the Southeast Music Center in Georgia.

Jacob Avshalomov

Twenty-Four Songs

Alyce Rogers, Mezzo-soprano

with Linda Barker, Piano · Daniel Avshalomov, Viola

Marcy Fetchen, Clarinet · Melody Wooldridge Avril, Flute

Songs for Alyce

1 The Mountain Sat Upon the Plain (2:11)

2 Answer July (2:29)

3 A Day is Laid By (2:38)

4 The Watch (3:46)

5 The Glass Town (3:58)

Whimsies

6 Tweedledee & Tweedledoom (:59)

7 The Raker (2:33)

8 Central Park Tourney (1:04)

Threnos

9 No more for us (2:19)

10 What thou lovest well (1:48)

Wonders

11 The Smile (3:24)

12 The Grain of Sand (4:36)

13 Lullaby (2:05)

Biblical Songs

14 Ruth's Song (3:04)

15 How Long O Lord (3:12)

16 Psalm 23 (3:38)

From The Chinese

17 On The T'ung T'ing Lake (1:37)

18 Moon in the Yellow River (:51)

19 The Ch'ing T'ing Mountain (1:38)

20 Taking Leave of a Friend (6:36)

with Flute & Viola

21 Two Old Birds (4:02)

with Clarinet

22 Who is My Shepherd (4:58)

23 Fed by my labors (3:14)

24 O Time (3:17)

Total Time = 70:18