Atticus Rego Senior Recital

Bayashi TV

Bass-Baritone, Atticus Rego is a soon-to-be graduate of Skidmore College. He will be receiving degrees in Economics and Theater. He has been taking voice lessons for three years, and plans on attending graduate school to earn a master’s degree in vocal and operatic performance. His dream operatic role is Mefistofele, from Boito’s Mefistofele.

The Skidmore Music Department Presents

A Senior Voice Recital

Atticus Rego, Bass-Baritone
Richard Cherry, Piano

Saturday, March 27, 2021
Arthur Zankel Music Center
Helen Filene Ladd Concert Hall
7:00 PM

PROGRAM

“Gerne will ich mich bequemen” J.S. Bach (1685-1750)
from St. Matthew Passion

Spirate pur spirate Stefano Donaudy (1879-1925)
Notte Ottorino Respighi (1879-1936)
Nebbie

Ständchen Franz Schubert (1797-1828)
Der Atlas

Aria of Prince Gremin Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)
from Eugene Onegin

 Intermission 

“Non piu andrai” Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)
from Le Nozze di Figaro

Three experiences of “The Exquisite Hour”
L’Heure Exquise Reynaldo Hahn (1874-1947)
L’ Heure Exquise “M. Poldowski” Regine Wieniawski (1879-1932)
La lune blanche Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924)

Three Shakespeare Songs Gerald Finzi (1901-1956)
Come away death
Who is Sylvia?
Fear no more the heat of the sun

Gerne will ich mich bequemen
Composer: Johann Sebastian Bach
Poet: Christian Friedrich Henrici
Translation: Francis Browne

I will gladly submit myself
To take up cross and cup,
Since I drink as my Saviour did. For His mouth,
Which flows with milk and honey, Has made the cause
And the bitter shame of suffering Sweet through his first drink.

Spirate, Pur Spirate
Composer: Stefano Donaudy
Poet: Alberto Donaudy
Translation: Stuart Price

Blow then blow about my beloved

Breezes and ascertain

If she holds me dearly in her heart

Blow, blow then breezes

If she holds me in her heart, ascertain

Breezes blessed, breezes light and blessed

Nebbie
Composer: Ottorino Respighi
Poet: Ada Negri
Translation: Emily Ezust

I suffer. Far, far away
The sleeping mists
Rise from the silent plain
Shrilling cawing, the crows
Thrusting their wings black
Cross the heath plain.

The raw weathering of the air
The sorrowful tree trunks
Offer, praying, their branches bare
How I am cold

I am Alone
Driven through the gray sky

A wail of extinction
Flies

And to me it repeats: come
The valley is dark
Oh sad one, Oh unloved one
Come, come

Notte
Composer: Ottorino Respighi
Poet: Ada Negri
Translation: Emily Ezust

On the fantastic garden
Perfumed by rose
The caress of a shadow –
Rests.
Nevertheless having a thought and a pulse
Supreme quiet,
The air, as if shivering –
Trembles.
Does the mournful darkness
A story of death
Tell to the gardenias –
So pale?
Maybe it’s because a torrent
Of delicate dewdrops
Into half-closed petals –
Falls,
On concealed troubles
And on once intoxicating losses,
On voiceless dreams and anxieties –
Mute.
Over the fleeting joys
That disappointment smashes
Night, her tears –
Weeps…

Ständchen
Composer: Franz Schubert
Poet: Ludwig Rellstab
Translation: Richard Wigmore

Softly my songs plead
through the night to you;
down into the silent grove,
beloved, come to me!
Slender treetops whisper and rustle
in the moonlight;
my darling, do not fear
that the hostile betrayer will overhear us.
Do you not hear the nightingales call?
Ah, they are imploring you;
with their sweet, plaintive songs
they are imploring for me.
They understand the heart’s yearning,
they know the pain of love;
with their silvery notes
they touch every tender heart.
Let your heart, too, be moved,
beloved, hear me!
Trembling, I await you!
Come, make me happy!

Der Atlas
Composer: Franz Schubert
Poet: Heinrich Heine
Translation: Richard Wigmore

I, unhappy Atlas, must bear a world,
the whole world of sorrows.
I bear the unbearable, and my heart
would break within my body.
Proud heart, you wished it so!
You wished to be happy, endlessly happy,
or endlessly wretched, proud heart!
And now you are wretched!

Prince Gremin’s Aria
Composer: Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Poet: Alexander Pushkin
Translation: Decca 1987

Love is no respecter of age,
its transports bliss alike
those in the bloom of youth
yet unacquainted with the world
and the grey-headed warrior
tempered by experience!
Onegin, I shan’t disguise the fact
that I love Tatyana to distraction!
My life was slipping drearily away;
she appeared and brightened it
like a ray of sunlight in a stormy sky,
and brought me life and youth, yes, youth and happiness!
Among these sly, poor-spirited,
foolish, pampered children,
these scoundrels both absurd and boring,
dull, fractious arbiters,
among the pious coquettes
and sycophantic slaves,
amid affable, modish hypocrisy
courteous, affectionate infidelities,
amid the icy censure
of cruel-hearted vanity,
amid the vexing vacuity
of calculation, thought and conversation,
she shines like a star
in the night’s darkest hour, in a pure, clear sky,
and to me she always appears
in the radiant,
radiant nimbus of an angel!

Non Piú Andrai
Composer: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Poet: Lorenzo da Ponte
Translation: Aaron Green

You won’t go any more, amorous butterfly,
Fluttering around inside night and day
Disturbing the sleep of beauties,
A little Narcissus and Adonis of love.

You won’t have those fine feathers any more,
That light and jaunty hat,
That hair, that shining aspect,
That womanish red color [in your face]!

You won’t go any more, amorous butterfly,
Fluttering around inside night and day
Disturbing the sleep of beauties,
A little Narcissus and Adonis of love.

Among soldiers, by Bacchus!
A huge moustache, a little knapsack,
Gun on your back, sword at your side,
Your neck straight, your nose exposed,
A big helmet, or a big turban,
A lot of honour, very little pay.
And in place of the dance
A march through the mud.

A march through the mud.

Over mountains, through valleys,
With snow, and heat-stroke,
To the music of trumpets,
Of bombards, and of cannons,
Which, at every boom,
Will make bullets whistle past your ear.
You won’t have those fine feathers any more,
That light and jaunty hat,
That hair, that shining aspect,
That womanish red color [in your face]!
You won’t go any more, amorous butterfly,
Fluttering around inside night and day
Disturbing the sleep of beauties,
A little Narcissus and Adonis of love.

Cherubino, go to victory!
To military glory!
Cherubino, go to victory!
To military glory!
To military glory!

To military glory!

L’Heure Exquise / La Lune Blanche
Composer: Reynaldo Hahn, Poldowski, Gabriel Fauré
Poet: Paul Verlaine
Translation: Richard Stokes

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.

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