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Seymour Barab, William Bolcom, Libby Larsen, André Previn
Theresa Treadway Lloyd, voice
Seymour Barab (b. 1921, Chicago, Illinois)
Seymour Barab began his professional career as a church organist at the age of 13. He took up the study of the cello in high school in order to join the school orchestra and subsequently toured the United States and Europe as a cello soloist. He subsequently was a member and principal cellist of several major symphony orchestras.
Following his military service in World War II, Barab took advantage of the G.I. Bill to spend a year abroad where he was able to explore his own potential for musical composition. Although he has written for every concert medium, Mr. Barab's proclivity for musical theatre has led to his operas having the most performances of any by an American composer.
Commissioned by the New York City Opera, Charlotte Opera Theatre, Singers Theatre, Detroit Opera, Manhattan School of Music, the New York Pro Arte Chamber Players, and Adelphi Orchestra, among others, Seymour Barab has been a member of the faculties of Rutgers University, Black Mountain College and the New England Conservatory of Music.
William Bolcom (b. 1938, Seattle, Washington)
Composer and pianist William Bolcom entered the University of Washington at age 11, studied with Darius Milhaud at Mills College and the Paris Conservatoire, and completed his doctorate in composition at Stanford University in 1964. Bolcom has nearly 40 albums to his credit, both as performer and composer, as well as 20 made with his wife, mezzo-soprano Joan Morris, with whom he tours worldwide. He has taught composition at the University of Michigan since 1973, where he is the Ross Lee Finney Distinguished Professor of Music. Awards include honorary doctorates from the San Francisco Conservatory of Music and Albion College, and the 1988 Pulitzer Prize in Music for his Twelve New Etudes for Piano. He is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
Libby Larsen (b. 1950, Wilmington, Delaware)
Libby Larsen studied composition with Dominick Argento, Eric Stokes, and Paul Fetler at the University of Minnesota where she received a doctorate in theory and composition in 1978. Together with composer Stephen Paulus, she founded the Minnesota Composers Forum, serving as one of the organization's managing composers. Ms. Larsen was appointed composer-in residence of the Minnesota Orchestra in 1983. Larsen was the recipient of the American Council on the Arts Young Artists Award and the American Express “Women to Watch” Award and fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts.
André Previn (b. 1929, Berlin, Germany)
Conductor, pianist, and composer, André Previn studied as a child at the Berlin Hochschule für Musik but the Nazi regime's antisemitic policies caused his expulsion in 1938. His family moved to Paris where Previn continued his studies at the Conservatoire. In 1939 the family immigrated to the United States, settling in Los Angeles where he studied with Max Rabinowitsch, Joseph Achron, Ernst Toch and Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco. Previn was a professional jazz pianist and an orchestrator for MGM studios before leaving high school and was soon appointed one of MGM's music directors. He composed his first film score in 1948 and his recordings as a jazz pianist were notably successful. Music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the Royal Philharmonic and the London Symphony Orchestra, Previn has enjoyed a prolific recording career.
While driving through Las Vegas last night — I chanced to feel an urge to try my luck at some turns of a roulette wheel. Ordinarily I don't gamble much…maybe once in a while for fun, but last night things got serious and I swear that before I was done I had a small fortune! Yes, I had a small fortune before I was done playing roulette and twenty-one…I had a small fortune before I knew it, and the funny part is that anyone can do it. I had a small fortune before I was through; if you think you'd like that to happen to you, then here is the secret you mustn't forget the next time you're tempted to wager or bet, if you want to end up with a small fortune as I did, start out with a large one as I did.
Johnny is asleep in bed. His Mother says, “Hey, sleepy head!” Gives him a shake. Now he's awake. He claims he's got a tummy ache. She says, “Now son, don't be a fool — get up right now and go to school!” He says, “I'm sick, I gotta rest.” She says, “You get up and get dressed!” He says, “I hate school! I won't go!” She says, “Why do you hate school so?” He says, “It's awful! Golly gee, the kids, they always pick on me! They say I'm just a four eyed nerd. They call me names you never heard. Every time I get up to talk they throw things at me like spitballs and chalk!” She says, “Now son, — you have to go and you know why.” “No I don't,” he says. She says, “You know as well as I.” He says, “Give me one good reason why I have to go to school! Just one!” She looks tenderly at her unhappy son. “You want me to give you one reason you say, why you have to go to school today? All right,” she says with a sigh, “the reason you must go to school is this: because you're the principal, that's why!”
It happened along the Amazon in the deepest darkest part where I was on a safari with Professor and Missus Smart. Professor Smart, a learned man, a man of erudition, the holder of a doctorate, was leading the expedition. One day the Professor's wife and I went down to the river bank seeking respite from the heat of the jungle, so humid and dank. All of a sudden I saw approach an alligator with jaws gaping wide! It was a horrible nightmarish thing! “Run for your life!” I cried. I lept to my feet but poor Missus Smart was shrieking and wailing and screaming because she had been seized by the ravenous beast and was gripped in its vicelike jaws. It dragged her down to the water's edge, then swam away from the bank: still holding her in that fearsome embrace, beneath the surface it sank. Sobbing, I staggered back to camp with tearblinded eyes and heavy heart: I now had to face the depressing task of breaking the news to Professor Smart. I said, “Professor, I bear a tale of woe: misfortune has entered your life: prepare yourself for a brutal blow an alligator has eaten your wife!” “It cannot be!” the Professor moaned and bowed his head for a while then he gave me a sorrowful, pitying look and said, “Don't you mean a crocodile?”
A young man paces up and down the platform of a railroad station. Today he starts a brand new job; he's nervous in anticipation. And as he paces back and forth, he prays his train will not be late. His boss has warned him tardiness he simply will not tolerate. Far down on the platform the young man sees something that's not been seen of late: It is an antique penny scale that tells your fortune and your weight. Amused, he gets up on the scale, his nervousness subsides a bit. He's had his fortune told before and not believed a word of it. He drops a penny in the slot. Bolts click. Wheels turn…springs move…gears churn…and a card pops out. “Your weight is a hundred sixty-eight. Your friends all call you Bob. Right now you're waiting for the train that will take you to your brand new job.” He is astonished…Truly amazed. What on earth could this possibly mean? How could a scale have known all that about him? A scale, after all is a mere machine. To prove that was an accident, he feeds the scale another cent. Bolts click…Wheels turn…Springs move…Gears churn. And a card pops out. “Your weight is a hundred sixty-eight. Your new boss is a very tough guy. He's promised you a terrible fate if you show up for work even one minute late.” He starts to tremble. He's turning pale. He can't suppress an anguished groan. This cannot be reality, he must be in the twilight zone. He's growing increasingly tense. He must prove that this is just coincidence! He rushes to the men's room removes his jacket…loosens his tie…puts on dark glasses to hide his eyes and voila…He's in disguise. Back he goes to the scale. Luckily he's got another penny to put in the slot. Bolts click…Wheels turn…Springs move…Gears churn…And a card pops out…” Your weight is a hundred sixty-eight. This is not your lucky day. Allow me to explain: while you were in the men's room — guess what — You missed your train!”
I love a Latin band, give me a Latin band, a smooth as satin band. Muchachas make maracas shake. Shuck-ashuck-ashuck-aschu ashuck-asshuck-ashuck-a I hear a Latin beat and I have to move my feet: suddenly…I'm swaying so nice and slow…to the syncopated rhythm of a Latin band because I understand the style of Latin land…and when I'm feeling low, oh, give me bars and bars of sweet guitars: guna guna guna guna guna guna guna guna…I'm in a daze when I hear those claves playing meringues: click click click click click click…I love fandangos and tangos and isn't it keen. When they begin the beguine: diga diga diga diga diga diga diga dig Ole! I love a Latin band, I would go hat in hand to hear a Latin band; it bangs and it clangs and it spatters and clatters. I love a Latin Band…chick-achick-achick.
Cabaret Songs (poems by Arnold Weinstein)
He sang songs to her over the piano. Sang long songs to her over the piano. Low slow songs lusty songs of love. Loving songs of long lost lust just to her just to her over the piano. Until at last at half past four Ev'rybody out the door! She asked him please play me one more. Which he did and as he did Slid off the bench and said to her over the piano…Goodbye.
Song of Black Max (As told by the de Kooning Boys)
He was always dressed in black, long black jacket, broad black hat, sometimes a cape, and as thin, and as thin as rubbertape: Black Max. He would raise that big black hat to the bigshots of the town who raised their hats right back, never knew they were bowing to Black Max. I'm talking about night in Rotterdam when the right night people of all the town would find what they cold in the night neighborhood of Black Max. There were women in the windows with bodies for sale dressed in curls like little girls in dollhouse jails. When the women walked the street with the beds upon their backs, who was lifting up his brim to them? Black Max! And there were looks for sale, the art of the smile, only certain people walked that mystery mile: artists, charlatans, vaudevillians, men of mathematics, acrobatics and civilians. There was knitting music from a lady organgrinder with all her songs behind her, Marco, Vito, Benno (Was he strong! Tho he walked like a woman) and Carlo, who was five. He must be still alive! Ah poor Marco had the syph, and if you didn't take the terrible cure those days you went crazy and died and he did. And at the coffin before they closed the lid? Who raised his lid? Black Max. I was climbing on the train one day going far away to the to the good old U.S.A. when I heard some music underneath the tracks. Standing there beneath the bridge, long black jacket, broad black hat, playing the harmonica one hand free to lift that hat to me: Black Max, Black Max, Black Max.
It wasn't the policeman's fault in all the traffic roar. Instead of shouting halt when he saw me he shouted Amor amor Amor Amor. Even the ice cream man (free ice creams by the score) instead of shouting Butter Pecan one look at me he shouted Amor Amor Amor,…All over town it went that way…Everybody took off the day Even philosophers understood how good was the good 'cus I looked so good! The poor stopped taking less…the rich stopped needing more. Instead of shouting no and yes…both looking at me shouted Amor…Da de da Da Da Da My stay in town was cut short. I was dragged to court. The judge said I disturbed the peace and the jury gave him what for! The judge raised his hand and instead of Desist and Cease Judgie came to the stand took my hand and whispered Amor Amor Amor Amor Night was turning into day I walked alone away, Never see that town again, But as I passed the church house door instead of singing Amen the choir was singing Amor Da da Amor Amor Amor Amor.
It's toothbrush time, ten a.m. again and toothbrush time. Last night at halfpast nine, it seemed O.K. But in the light of day…not so fine…at toothbrush time Now he's crashing round my bathroom. Now he's reading my degree, perusing all my pills, reviewing all my ills and he comes out smelling like me. Now he advances on my kitchen, now he raids ev'ry shelf. Till from the pots and pans and puddles and debris emerges three eggs all for himself. Oh, how I'd be ahead if I'd stood out of bed: I wouldn't sit here grieving, waiting for the wonderful moment of his leaving…at toothbrush time, toothbrush time, ten a.m. again and toothbrush time I know it's sad to be alone, it's so bad to be alone, still I should've known that I'd be glad to be alone I should've know, I should've known! Never should've picked up the phone and called him. Hey…uh, listen, uh, I've got to, uh…oh, you gotta go too? So glad you understand. And…by the way, did you say nine tonight again? See you then. Toothbrush time!
Beloved, Thou Hast Brought Me Many Flowers
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
(And winter), and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue
And wait thy weeding: Yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy! Take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Wie soll ich meine Seele halten
dass sie nicht an deine rührt? Wie soll ich sie
hinhalten über dich zu andern Dingen?
Ach gerne möcht ich sie bei irgendetwas
Verlorenem im Dunkel unterbringen
an einer fremden stillen Stelle, die
nicht weiterschwingt, wenn deine Tiefen schwingen.
Doch alles, was uns anrührt, dich und mich,
nimmt uns zusammen wie ein Bogenstrich,
der aus zwei Saiten eine Stimme zieht.
Auf welches Instrument sind wir gespannt?
Und welcher Spieler hat uns in der Hand?
How shall I withhold my soul so that
it does no touch on yours? How shall I
uplift it over you to other things?
Ah willingly would I by some
lost thing in the dark give it harbor
in an unfamiliar silent place
that does not vibrate on when your depths vibrate.
Yet, everything that touches us, you and me,
takes us together as a bow's stroke does,
that out of two strings draws a single voice.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what player has us in his hand?
Weisst du, ich will mich schleichen
wenn ich erst die bleichen
in blassen Abendenwiesen-
und keinen Traum, als diesen:
Do you know, I would quietly
slip from the loud circle,
when first I know the pale
in pale evening meadows —
— Rainer Maria Rilke (tr. MD Herter Norton)
From Translations from the Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by M.D. Herter Norton. Copyright 1938 by W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., renewed ©1966 by M.D. Herter Norton. Used with the permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. New York. All rights reserved.
The whole white world is ours,
and the world, purple with rose-bays,
bays, bush on bush, group, thicket, hedge and tree,
of grey-green olive or wild white-olive,
cut with the sudden cypress shafts,
in clusters, two or three,
or with one slender, single cypress-tree.
as crumbling snow-peaks slide,
waits till our spirits tire
of forest, grove and bush
and purple flower of the laurel-tree.
— Hilda Doolittle (White World)
Copyright ©1982 by the Estate of Hilda Doolittle.
Used by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Music, when soft voices die,
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
are heaped for the beloved's bed:
and so thy thoughts, when thou are gone, —
Love itself shall slumber on.
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore —
They touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I see
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Beloved, Thou Hast Brought Me Many Flowers was commissioned by Hella Mears Hueg of St. Paul, Minnesota in honor of her husband, William Hueg for his 70th birthday.
Four Songs (poems by Toni Morrison)
turn from the traveler's look
hear mute desolation in syllables
to warm toward a touch because
Buttercake and roses smooth
My backbone ain't like his
High-heeled slippers break
Games played at night trick
Here the eyes of the forest
Lace alone is loyal, sacred, royal, in control
by patterns of blood bred to best behavior.
Theresa Treadway Lloyd, mezzo-soprano
By the age of 12 Theresa Treadway Lloyd was an accomplished piano soloist with her own roster of students in southwest Oklahoma. Pursuing her studies at the University of Oklahoma, her vocal coloratura abilities were discovered. Ms. Lloyd won several national voice competitions, resulting in an invitation to join the Metropolitan Opera Studio in New York. Her career expanded to include leading roles with the opera companies of Boston, Miami, Tulsa, Philadelphia, Virginia, Chattanooga and Lake George as well as solo appearances with major orchestras in the United States.
Ms. Lloyd is head of vocal studies at the Luzerne Music Center and performs regularly at the Luzerne Chamber Music Festival. Her vocal and compositional artistry can be heard on Orion, Opus 1 and Atlantic record labels.
Bert Phillips performed for many years with the Philadelphia Orchestra before leaving that ensemble to concentrate on responsibilities as Executive Director of the Luzerne Music Center in Lake Luzerne, New York which he founded in 1980. Currently he performs with the Philadelphia Piano Quartet and is Artistic Director and Founder of Classic Chamber Concerts in Naples, Florida. Mr. Philips is a native of La Crosse, Wisconsin, and is a graduate of Northwestern University School of Music. He held faculty positions at Iowa Northern and Kent State Universities and performed with the Cleveland Orchestra before joining the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy.
Toby Blumenthal has received high acclaim for her numerous chamber music performances with members of the Philadelphia Orchestra, duo recitals with her husband, cellist Bert Phillips, and with other internationally renowned artists. She has appeared as soloist wtih many ensembles including the Chicago and Houston Symphony Orchestras. As Co-Director and Founder of the Luzerne Music Center and Luzerne Chamber Music Festival, she shares her performing and teaching abilities with many talented students during the summer months. A native of Chicago, she is a graduate of Northwestern University and the University of Houston and has studied piano wtih Gui Mombaerts, Leonard Shure and Rudolf Serkin. She is the pianist of the Philadelphia Piano Quartet, and is Artistic Director and Founder of Classic Chamber Concerts in Naples, Florida.
The Luzerne Chamber Music Festival presents eight weekly concerts on Monday evenings during July and August in Lake Luzerne, New York. The concerts are held under the auspices of Luzerne Music Center, a music camp for talented young musicians, founded in 1980 by Philadelphia Orchestra cellist Bert Phillips, and his wife, Toby Blumenthal, concert pianist.
Barab &Bolcom: The Hyde Museum Auditorium, Glens Falls, New York
Larsen &Previn:The Lodge at Luzerne Music Center, Lake Luzerne, New York
Recording Engineer:John Nazarenko
Cover Photo:Lake Luzerne, Toby Blumenthal
Publishers: Seymour Barab's A Little Night Music is published by Seesaw Music Corporation. William Bolcom's Three Cabaret Songs is published by Hal Leonard. Libby Larsen's Beloved, Thou Hast Brought Me Many Flowers is published by Oxford University Press. André Previn's Four Songs of Toni Morrison is published by Chester Music.
Theresa Treadway Lloyd, voice
1 Infallible System [2:40]
2 Why Johnny Hates School [2:25]
Beloved, Thou Hast Brought Me Many Flowers
9 Beloved, Thou Hast Brought Me Many Flowers [3:36]
13 Music When Soft Voices Die [2:02]
Four Songs on Poems of Toni Morrison
17 I Am As You See [4:03]
18 I Don't Need No Man [2:37]
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