William Schuman (1910–1992)
Schuman's Orpheus With His Lute transforms John Fletcher’s Renaissance text into a lyrical and evocative setting. With its sweeping lines and rich harmonies, the piece captures Orpheus' mythical power to charm nature through music.
Orpheus With his Lute made Trees (From Henry VIII)
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Charles Ives (1874–1954)
Ives’ songs reflect his uniquely American voice, blending nostalgia, experimentation, and deep emotion. Old Home Day, A Farewell to Land, and The Things Our Fathers Loved vividly depict small-town life, patriotism, and personal reflection, employing innovative techniques like polytonality and collage to create deeply resonant musical landscapes.
Old Home Day
Go my songs! Draw Daphnis from the city.
A minor tune from Todd’s opera house,
comes to me as I cross the square, there,
We boys used to shout the songs that rouse
the hearts of the brave and fair.
As we march along down Main street, behind the village band,
The dear old trees, with their arch of leaves
seem to grasp us by the hand.
While we step along to the tune of an Irish song,
Glad but wistful sounds the old church bell,
for underneath’s a note of sadness,
“Old home town” farewell.
A corner lot, a white picket fence,
daisies almost everywhere, there,
We boys used to play “One old cat,”
and base hits filled the summer air.
As we march along on Main street,
of that “Down East” Yankee town,
Comes a sign of life,
from the “3rd Corps” fife,
– strains of an old breakdown;
While we step along to the tune of [it’s]* Irish song,
Comes another sound we all know well.
It takes us way back forty years,
that little red schoolhouse bell.
As we march along down Main street, behind the village band,
The dear old trees, with their arch of leaves
seem to grasp us by the hand.
While we step along to the tune of an Irish song,
Glad but wistful sounds the old church bell,
for underneath’s a note of sadness,
“Old home town” farewell.
A Farewell to Land
'Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;
The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land -- Good Night!
The Things our Fathers Loved
I think there must be a place in the soul
all made of tunes, of tunes of long ago;
I hear the organ on the Main Street corner,
Aunt Sarah humming Gospels; Summer evenings,
The village cornet band, playing in the square.
The town’s Red, White and Blue, all Red, White and Blue;
Now! Hear the songs! I know not what are the words
But they sing in my soul of the things our Fathers loved.
Ruth Crawford Seeger (1901–1953)
The Five Songs on Carl Sandburg texts exemplify Crawford Seeger’s fusion of modernist rigor and poetic sensitivity. From the meditative Home Thoughts to the exuberant Joy, the cycle explores themes of memory, nature, and emotional intensity through spare yet strikingly vivid musical textures.
Home Thoughts
The sea rocks have a green moss.
The pine rocks have red berries.
I have memories of you.
Speak to me of how you miss me.
Tell me the hours go long and slow.
Speak to me of the drag on your heart,
The iron drag of the long days.
I know hours empty as a beggar’s tin cup on a rainy day, empty as a soldier’s sleeve with an arm lost.
Speak to me …
White Moon
White Moon comes in on a baby face.
The shafts across her bed are flimmering.
Out on the land White Moon shines,
Shines and glimmers against gnarled shadows,
All silver to slow twisted shadows
Falling across the long road that runs from the house.
Keep a little of your beauty
And some of your flimmering silver
For her by the window tonight
Where you come in, White Moon.
Joy
Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
As the Apache dancer
Clutches his woman.
I have seen them
Live long and laugh loud,
Sent on singing, singing,
Smashed to the heart
Under the ribs
With a terrible love.
Joy always,
Joy everywhere —
Let joy kill you!
Keep away from the little deaths.
Aaron Copland (1900–1990)
The Old American Songs are a cornerstone of the American vocal repertoire, offering artful arrangements of folk tunes. Long Time Ago is wistful and nostalgic, while The Dodger provides playful satire. Copland’s treatment retains the character of the originals while elevating them with elegant harmonic and rhythmic sophistication.
Long Time Ago
On the lake where droop’d the willow
Long time ago,
Where the rock threw back the billow
Brighter than snow.
Dwelt a maid beloved and cherish’d
By high and low,
But with autumn leaf she perished
Long time ago.
Rock and tree and flowing water
Long time ago,
Bird and bee and blossom taught her
Love’s spell to know.
While to my fond words she listen’d
Murmuring low,
Tenderly her blue eyes glisten’d
Long time ago.
The Dodger
Yes the candidate’s a dodger,
Yes a well-known dodger.
Yes the candidate’s a dodger,
Yes and I’m a dodger too.
He’ll meet you and treat you,
And ask you for your vote.
But look out boys,
He’s a-dodgin’ for your note.
Yes we’re all dodgin’
A-dodgin’, dodgin’, dodgin’.
Yes we’re all dodgin’
Out away through the world.
Yes the preacher he’s a dodger,
Yes a well-known dodger.
Yes the preacher he’s a dodger,
Yes and I’m a dodger too.
He’ll preach you a gospel,
And tell you of your crimes.
But look out boys,
He’s a-dodgin’ for your dimes.
Yes we’re all dodgin’ . . . etc.
Yes the lover he’s a dodger,
Yes a well-known dodger.
Yes the lover he’s a dodger,
Yes and I’m a dodger too.
He’ll hug you and kiss you,
And call you his bride,
But look out girls,
He’s a-tellin’ you a lie.
Yes we’re all dodgin’ . . . etc.
George Walker (1922–2018)
Walker’s songs reveal his mastery of text setting and compositional range. So We’ll Go No More a Roving is introspective and lyrical, contrasting with the rhythmic buoyancy of Hey Nonny No and the dramatic urgency of Sweet, Let Me Go, showcasing his ability to move seamlessly between styles.
So, we'll go no more a roving
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
Hey nonny no!
Hey nonny no! Hey nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Is’t not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is’t not fine to swim and wine
And turn upon the toe
And sing hey nonny no
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!
Sweet, let me go
Sweet, let me go
Sweet, let me go! Sweet, let me go!
What do you mean to vex me so?
Cease your pleading force!
Do you think thus to extort remorse?
Now, now! no more! alas, you overbear me;
And I would cry, but some, I fear, might
hear me.
Paul Bowles (1910–1999)
Bowles’ songs are marked by their playful wit and unexpected turns. Once a Lady Was Here is contemplative and dreamlike, while April Fool Baby, set to Gertrude Stein’s text, is delightfully quirky, reflecting Bowles’ interest in surrealism and unconventional storytelling.
Once a lady was here.
Once a lady was here.
A lady sat in this garden,
And she thought of love.
The sun shone the same,
The breeze bent the grasses slowly
As it’s doing now.
So nothing has changed.
Her garden still looks the same,
But it’s a diff’rent year.
Soon the evening comes down,
And paths where she used to wander
Whiten in the moonlight,
And silence is here.
No sound of her footsteps passing
Through the garden gate.
No, nothing has changed.
Her garden still looks the same,
But yesterday is not today.
April Fool Baby
It seems to be a note to she the sweet sweetie
But actually it’s April Fool to tender she
My sweetie
She is all me my sweetie
April full of fool which is me for my sweetie
Dear April which made she to be
All to he
April Fool to his sweetie which is she
Tenderly excessively sweetily
My April Fool baby
Ned Rorem (1923–2022)
Rorem’s settings of Paul Goodman texts, including For Susan, A Terrible Disaster, and The Lordly Hudson, exemplify his seamless integration of music and poetry. His vocal lines, always lyrical and natural, bring out the emotional depth and imagery of Goodman’s words with clarity and nuance.
For Susan
How like a wildflower untended among garden flowers
no fairer are Susan and these kempt children beauties all!
Surely a wild strain of blood and wit, as well we know, is in her:
fitful, fearful, willful, gay, and tearful.
All these: yet persevering like the cornflower, the daisy,
and never will agree to take a fatal loss.
Praise God, somehow in our disastrous homes
the sun and rain and fresh winds blow,
and these nourish our darling.
A Terrible Disaster
A terrible disaster befell me
Long ago, no newsy story
I was in love, my love was not requited
I missed the easy boat of happiness
Since when many a thing is possible
To those who have been fortunate in love
Has been impossible to me who lack
Conviction the world is ordered for the best
A disastrous and terrible simple fate
I share in common with many other folk
And maybe we had all been better off
If we had died then when our hearts were broken
The Lordly Hudson
“Driver, what stream is it?”
I asked, well knowing
it was our Lordly Hudson
hardly flowing.
“It is our lordly Hudson
hardly flowing,”
he said,
“under the green-grown cliffs.”
Be still, heart!
No one needs
your passionate suffrage
to select this glory–
this is our Lordly Hudson
hardly flowing
under the green-grown cliffs.
“Driver has this a peer
in Europe or the East?”
“No, no!” He said.
Home! Home!
Be quiet, heart!
This is our Lordly Hudson
and has no peer
in Europe or the East;
this is our lordly Hudson
hardly flowing
under the green-grown cliffs
and has no peer
in Europe or the East;
be quiet, heart!
Home! Home!
Harold Meltzer (1966- 2024)
The excerpts from Bride of the Island, set to Ted Hughes’ vivid poetry, are rich in texture and imagery. Thistles bristles with sharp rhythms and pointed dissonances, while Hay evokes a pastoral yet ambiguous world, reflecting the contrasting beauty and hardship of rural life.
Thistles
Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.
Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up
From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.
Then they grow grey, like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear,
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground
Hay
The grass is happy
To run like the sea, to be glossed like a mink’s fur
By polishing wind.
Her heart is the weather.
She loves nobody
Least of all the farmer who leans on the gate.
The grass is happy
When the June sun roasts the foxgloves in the hedges.
She comes into her flower.
She lifts her skirts.
It does not concern her
The pondering farmer has begun to hope.
The grass is happy to open her scents, like a dress, through the county,
Drugging light hearts
To heavy betrothals
And next April’s fools,
While pensioners puzzle where life went so airily.
The grass is happy
When the spinner tumbles her, she silvers and she sweetens
Plain as a castle.
The hare looks for home
And the dusty farmer
For a hand-shaped cloud and a yellow evening.
Happy the grass
To be wooed by the farmer, who wins her and brings her to church in her beauty,
Bride of the Island.
Luckless the long-drawn
Aeons of Eden
Before he came to mow.
John Harbison (b. 1938)
Simple Daylight, a cycle of six songs on texts by Michael Fried, explores the emotional and psychological journey through grief, rage, wistful remembrance, and eventual acceptance in the wake of loss. While not cyclic in the traditional sense, the songs are musically unified through recurring pitch sets, melismatic text settings, and intricate piano writing that serves as an equal partner to the voice. Harbison’s Bach-inspired approach imbues the cycle with dramatic intensity, particularly in Somewhere a Seed, with its chorale prelude elements, and Odor, which poignantly concludes the cycle with reflections on memory and permanence.
Your Name
That passionate monosyllable, your name,
Like some wounded animal’s all but inarticulate
Cry, when the familiar hurt returns, on dragging legs,
After an interlude of sleep or natural anesthesia,
Spoken over and over by my own lips, wakes me
Somewhere a seed
Somewhere a seed falls to the ground
That will become a tree
That will some day be felled
From which thin shafts will be extracted
To be made into arrows
To be fitted with warheads
One of which, some day when you least expect it,
While a winter sun is shining
On a river of ice
And you feel farthest from self-pity,
Will pierce your shit-filled heart.
Odor
Your perfume, or odor—
All measure gone I remember it, my body
Remembers it, my body when dead will remember it
In its bones, and when after incineration
The bones themselves are pulverized and dispersed upon
the air
As tiny motes of ash, they too will remember
(Dancing in the sunlight, jostled by larger molecules)
Your odor without a name.
George Gershwin (1898–1937)
Closing the program, Gershwin’s classics Someone to Watch Over Me, They All Laughed, and I Got Rhythm blend his signature jazz-infused melodies with sophisticated harmonies. These enduring standards reflect Gershwin’s ability to bridge popular and classical idioms, offering a joyful celebration of American song.
Someone to Watch Over Me
There's a saying old says that love is blind,
Still we're often told, "Seek and ye shall find."
So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind.
Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet;
He's the big affair I cannot forget.
Only man I ever think of with regret.
I'd like to add his initials to my monogram.
Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?
There's a somebody I'm longing to see,
I hope that he turns out to be
Someone who'll watch over me.
I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood.
I know I could always be good
To one who'll watch over me.
Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome.
To my heart he carries the key.
Won't you tell him please to put on some speed,
Follow my lead, oh, how I need
Someone who'll watch over me.
They All Laughed
The odds were a hundred to one against me
The world thought the heights were too high to climb
But people from Missouri never incensed me
Oh, I wasn't a bit concerned
For from hist'ry I had learned
How many, many times the worm had turned
They all laughed at Christopher Columbus
When he said the world was round
They all laughed when Edison recorded sound
They all laughed at Wilbur and his brother
When they said that man could fly
They told Marconi
Wireless was a phony
It's the same old cry
They laughed at me wanting you
Said I was reaching for the Moon
But oh, you came through
Now they'll have to change their tune
They all said we never could be happy
They laughed at us and how!
But ho, ho, ho!
Who's got the last laugh now?
They all laughed at Rockefeller center
Now they're fighting to get in
They all laughed at Whitney and his cotton gin
They all laughed at Fulton and his steamboat
Hershey and his chocolate bar
Ford and his Lizzie
Kept the laughters busy
That's how people are
They laughed at me wanting you
Said it would be: Hello, goodbye
But oh, you came through
Now they're eating humble pie
They all said we'd never get together
Darling, let's take a bow
For ho, ho, ho!
Who's got the last laugh?
He, hee, hee!
Let's at the past laugh
Ha, ha, ha!
Who's got the last laugh now?
I Got Rhythm
I got rhythm, I got music, I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
I got daises in green pastures, I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
Old man trouble, I don't mind him
You won't find him 'round my door
I got starlight, I got sweet dreams
I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
Who could ask for anything more?
Days can be sunny, with never a sigh
Don't need what money can buy
Birds in the trees sing their day full of song
Why shouldn't we sing along?
I'm chipper all the day, happy with my lot
How do I get that way
Look at what I've got
I got rhythm and I got music, I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
I've got daises in my very green pastures
I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
Old man trouble, I don't mind him
You'll never find him 'round my door
I got starlight and do I have sweet dreams
I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
In fact, who wants anything more?
I got rhythm, I got music, I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
I got daises and in green pastures, I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
Old man trouble, I don't mind him
You won't find him 'round my door
I got starlight, I got sweet dreams
I got my man
Who could ask for anything more?
Who could ask for anything more?
