Amarcord Wolfram Lattke tenor Martin Lattke tenor Frank Ozimek baritone Daniel Knauft bass Holger Krause bass Program 1 (Brisbane, Melbourne 7pm, Newcastle, Sydney 7pm) Approximate duration (including interval but not encore): 97 min Tales of Love and Murder Baldisserra DONATO (c 1530-1603) Chi la Gagliarda Il primo libro di canzon villanesche alla napolitana a quarto voci, Venedig 1551 Chi la Gagliarda, chi la Gagliarda, donne, vo’imparare, Venite a noi, che siamo maestri fini, maestri fini, maerstri fini. Che disera e di matina mai manchiamo, mai manchiamo di sonare: Tan tan tan tarira, tan tan tan tarira, tirarira, Tan tan tan tarira, tirarira. Provenceun poco, provenceun poco, cance vuoi chiamare Apassa dieci volte che salimo, che salimo, che salimo, Tan tan, etc. Se la Gagliarda, se la Gagliarda, donne, voimparare soot el maestroel te bisognona, te bisogna, te bisogna stare, Tan tan, etc. Who the galliard, lady wishes to learn, Come to us who are fine teachers, For at night and in the morning We never fail to play: Tan tan tarira, rirarira. Try and see, you will want to callus After we have been up ten times, For at night … Who the galliard, lady, wishes to learn Has to be under the master, For at night … Translation by Christopher Abbey Juan del ENCINA (1468-1529/30) Cucú, cucú, cucucú Cancionero musical de Palacio (c 1505-1520) ¡Cucú, cucú, cucucú! Guarda no lo seas tu. Compadre, debes saber Que la más Buena mugger

Rabia siempre por joder. Harta bien la tuya tú. ¡Cucú, cucú … Compadre, has de guarder Para nunca encornundar; Si tu mugger sale a mear, Sal junto con ella tú. ¡Cucú, cucú … Cuckoo, cukoo, cu-cuckoo! Watch out it isn’t you. You ought to know, mate, That even the best of women Is raring for a lay. Be sure yours is well satisfied. Cuckoo, cuckoo … You must watch out, mate, That you are never cuckolded; If your wife goes out for a piss, Make sure you go with her. Cuckoo, cuckoo, cu-cuckoo! Watch out it isn’t you. Cuckoo, cuckoo … Translation by Christopher Abbey Fatal la parte Cancionero musical de Palacio (c 1505-1520) Fatal la parte, Tutt’ ogni cal, Qu’es morta la moglie de miçer Cotal. Porque l’hatrobato Con un españolo En su casa solo, Luego l’ha mazzato. Lui se l’ha escapato Por forza y por arte. Fatal la parte … “Guarda si te piglio, Don españoleto, Sopar del mi letto Te faro un martillo Tal que en estrebillo Piangeràn le carte.” Fatal la parte … Fatal news!

Come all and hear! Cotal’s wife is dead. He found her With a Spaniard Alone in his house And so he killed her. The Spaniard escaped By means of his sword and his cunning. Fatal news … “Watch out if I catch you, Mr Spaniard; On my bed I’ll give you such a “weapon” As will become the refrain of a dirge Sung again and again.” Fatal news … Translation by Christopher Abbey Josquin DES PREZ (c 1440/55-1521) Scaramella va alla guerra Scaramella va alla querra colla lancia et la rotella, la zombero boro borombetta, la boro borombo. Scaramella fa la gala cholla scharpa et la stivala, la zombero boro borombetta, la zombero boro borombo. Scaramella is going off to war With lance and buckler La zombero boro borombetta,La boro borombo Scaramella is out on a spree With boot and shoe La zombero boro borombetta,La boro borombo Choral Wiki – no translator attributed Heinrich SCHÜTZ (1585-1672) Così morir debb’io, SWV5 Text by Giovanni Battista Guarini (1538-1612) Così morir debb'io, nè sarà chi m'ascolti o me diffenda, così da tutti abandonata e priva d'ogni speranza, accompagnata solo da un'estrema infelice e funesta pietà, che non m'aita. TRANSLATION REQUIRED

Orlando di LASSO (c 1532-1594) Matona mia cara Matona mia cara, mi follere canzon cantar sotto finestra, Lanze bon compagnon. Don don don diridiridon don don don Ti prego m'ascoltare che mi cantar de bon e mi ti foller bene come greco e capon. Don don don diridiridon don don don Com'andar alle cazze, cazzar con le falcon, mi ti portar beccazze, grasse come rognon Don don don diridiridon don don don Se mi non saper dire tante belle rason Petrarca mi non saper, ne fonte d'Helicon. Don don don diridiridon don don don Se ti mi foller bene mi non esser poltron; mi ficcar tutta notte, urtar come monton Don don don diridiridon don don don

My lovely Lady, I want a song to sing Under your window: this lancer is jolly fellow! Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

Please listen to me, because I'm singing well And I'm as fond of you as a Greek is of a capon! Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

When I go hunting, I hunt with the falcon, And I'll bring you a woodcock, as fat as a kidney Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

I cannot tell you many elegant things, I know nothing of Petrarch, nor the Fountain of Helicon Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

If you'll love me I won't be lazy I will fuck all night long, I will thrust like a ram Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

Choral Wiki – no translator attributed Une puce j’ay dedans l’oreille Text by Jean-Antoine de Baïf (1532-1589) Une puce j'ay dedans l'oreill' helas ! Qui de nuit & de jour me fretille & me mord Et me faict devenir fou, Nul remède n'i puis donner, Je cours, deça, je cours dela, Ote la moy, retire la moy, je t'en pri, O toute belle, secours moy.

Quand mes yeux je pence livrer au someil, Elle vient me piquer, me démange, me poingt Et me garde de dormir. Nul remède . . . D'une vieille charmeresse aidé me suis, Qui guérit tout le monde & de tout guérissant, Ne ma sçeu me guerir moy: Nul remède . . . Bien je sçay que seule peux guérir ce mal, Je te pri de me voir de bon oeil, et vouloir Amolir ta cruauté: Nul remède . . . I have a flea in my ear, alas ! Which by night and day irritates and bites me And makes me become mad, No remedy can I give I run here, I run there Remove it, take it from me, I beg you O my complete beauty, help me! When I think to relax my eyes into sleep, It comes and pricks me, devours me, hits me And keeps me from sleep. No remedy... I was helped by an old sorceress Who cures everyone and from everything But she didn't know how to cure me. No remedy... Well do I know who, alone, can cure this ill I beg you to look kindly on me, and choose To soften your cruelty: No remedy... Translation from French to English copyright © 2007 by David Wyatt, wyattd (AT) globalnet (DOT) co (DOT) uk Carlo GESUALDO (c 1560-1613) Io tacerò – Invan dunque Il Quatro Libro di Madrigali - 1596 Io tacerò, ma nel silenzio mio La lagrime i sospiri diranno i miei martiri. Ma s’avverrà ch’io mora, Griderà poi per me la morte ancora. In van dunque, o crudele, vuoi che'l mio duol e'l tuo rigor si cele, poi che mia cruda sorte dà la voce al silenzio ed a la morte. I will keep quiet, yet in my silence my tears and sighs

shall tell of my pain. And if I should die Death shall cry out for me once again. Thus in vain, oh cruel one, yearn you for my pain and your harshness to be hidden since my cruel fate gives voice to silence and to death. Choral Wiki – no translator attributed ANONYMOUS ITALIAN (c 1500) Alla cazza

Alla cazza, alla cazza, Su, su, su, su, su ognun se spazza. A questa nostra cazza, Venite volontera, Con li bracchi e con levrieri, Chi vuol venir se spazza. Ch'e le tempo d'andar. Suona il corno, o capo di cazza, e spazza, spazza, spazza. Te qui Balzan, te qui, Lion, Te qui Fasan, te qui, Falcon, Te qui Tristan, te qui, Doron, Te qui Alan, te qui, Carbon. Chiama li bracchi dal monte, babbion! Te qui Pezolo, te qui, Spagnolo, Abbi buon occhio al capriolo. A te, Bigeto, a te, Pasalingua. Vide la, vide la, vide la, A collo, a collo, pigliala, Che li cani non la strazza.

TRANSLATION REQUIRED Adrian WILLAERT (c 1490-1562) Madonna mia fa

Madonna mia famme bon offerta, Ch'io porto per presente sto galuccio,

Che sempre canta quand'è di, Alle galine e dice: chi chirchi chi chirchi, chi chirchi chi chirchi. E tanto calca forte la galina, Che li fa nascer l'ov'ogni matina.

Quisto mio galo sempre sta a la lerta, Quando il di dorme sotto la coperta,

Che sempre canta, ...

Presto, madonna, se lo voi vedere, Ca te lo facio mo quisto piacere,

Che sempre canta, ...

TRANSLATION REQUIRED Pierre CERTON (c 1500-1572) La la la, je ne l’ose dire La, la, la, je ne l'ose dire, La, la, la, je le vous dirai! Il est un homme en nos villes Qui de sa femme est jaloux. Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause, Mais il est cocu du tout! Et la, la, la ... Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause, mais il est cocu du tout ; Il l'apprête et s'il la mène Au marché s'en va à tout ! Et la, la, la ... Enfin, las de ce supplice, le pauvre homme se pendit. Mais sa femme par malice Chez Lucifer le suivit! Et la, la, la ... La morale de cette histoire C'est qu'avant de se marier Il faut savoir le jour-même Que c'est pour l'éternité. Et la, la, la ... La, la, la, je ne l'ose dire, La, la, la, je le vous dirai! Il est un homme en nos villes Qui de sa femme est jaloux. Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause, Mais il est cocu du tout! Et la, la, la ... Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause, mais il est cocu du tout ;

Il l'apprête et s'il la mène Au marché s'en va à tout ! Et la, la, la ... Enfin, las de ce supplice, le pauvre homme se pendit. Mais sa femme par malice Chez Lucifer le suivit! Et la, la, la ... La morale de cette histoire C'est qu'avant de se marier Il faut savoir le jour-même Que c'est pour l'éternité. Et la, la, la ... La, la, la, shouldn't tell, Shouldn't tell, shouldn't tell it to you La la la, I'll tell you anyway Oh la, la, la, I'll tell you anyway In our town there is a man, who Of his wife burns with jealousy He's not jealous without cause, She cuckolds him incessantly And la, la, la, shouldn't tell, Shouldn't tell, shouldn't tell it to you La la la, I'll tell you anyway Oh la, la, la, I'll tell you anyway He's not jealous without cause, She cuckolds him incessantly He takes her over to the market When she's there she makes most free And la, la, la, shouldn't tell, Shouldn't tell, shouldn't tell it to you La la la, I'll tell you anyway Oh la, la, la, I'll tell you anyway Choral Wiki – no translator attributed – verses missing?

La, la, la, I dare note say it, La, la, la, I’ll tell you. There is a man in the town Who is jealous of his wife. He is not jealous without reason. But he is still a cuckold. And la, la, la, I dare not, He gets himself ready, Goes off to market. And la, la, la, I dare not. Naxos 8.553865

Nicolas GOMBERT (c 1495 - c 1556) Triste depart Le cinquiesme livre, Tilman Susato, Antwerpen 1544 Triste départ m'avait mis en douleur, Mon corps était plus froid qui n'est le marbre. Transi de deuil et séchant comme un arbre, Ma face avait perdu toute couleur. Our sad parting caused me such grief. My body was older than marble; Numbed by sorrow and unfeeling as a tree, My face was drained of all its colour.

Translation by Christopher Abbey ANONYMOUS Quand je bois du vin clairet – Tourdion Bei Pierre Attaignant, Paris 1530 Quand je bois du vin clairet, Amis, tout tourney, Aussi désormais Je bois Anjou ou Arbois. Chantons et buvons, À ce flacon faisons la guerre, Chantons et buvons, Mes amis, buvons donc. Buvons bien, buvons mes amis, Trinquons, buvons, gaiement chantons. En mangeant d’un gras jambon, À ce flacon faisons la guerre. Le bon vin nous a rendus gais, Chantons, oublions nos peines, chantons. En mangeant d’un gras jambon, À ce flacon faisons la guerre. When I drink a Claret Wine, Friends, my head turns, But that is true now also When I drink Anjou or Arbois. Let’s sing and drink, Let’s make war on this bottle Let’s sing and drink, My friends, drink up then. Drink up my friends, Let’s toast and drink and sing, While eating a fat ham, let’s make war on this bottle. Good wine makes us gay, let’s sing, forget our troubles, let’s sing. While eating a fat ham, let’s make war on this bottle. Translation by Christopher Abbey Clément JANEQUIN (1485-1558) La guerre Première partie Escoutez tous gentils gaulois La victoire du grand Roy des Françoys. Et orrez, si bien escoutez Des coups rués de tous costés.

Phifres souflez, Frapez tambours, Tournez, virez, Faittes vos tours. Phifres soufflez, battez tousjours. Avanturiers, bons compagnons, Ensemble croisez vos bastons, Bandez soudain, gentils Gascons, Haquebusiers faittes vos sons, Nobles, saultez dans les arçons, Armez, bouclez, frisque et mignons, La lance au poing, hardis et prompts, Donnez dedans, grincez les dents Soyez hardis en joye mis. Alarme, alarme, Chascun s'assaisonne La fleur de lys, Fleur de haut pris, Y est en personne. Poulsez faucons et gros canons Pour faire bresche aux compagnons Et mettre à mort ces Bourguignons. Sonnez trompettes et clairons. Deuxième partie Fan fan. Frere le le lan fan fan Boutez selle... A l'estandart Tost avant, gens d'armes à cheval Farirarirariron... Tost à l'estandart. Frere le le lan fan... Bruyez, tonnez, bruyez bombardes et faucons Pour entrer sur ces Bourguignons Teu teu teu pedou pedou... Rendes-vous Bourguignons Sortez du lieu, sortez, vuidez. Ne vous faittes plus canonner, La place fault abandonner Tarirarira... la la la... Pon pon pon... Courage, France, Donnez des horions. Chippe choppe, torche lorgne Zin zin patipatac... A mort à mort... Frappez, batez, ruez, tuez, Serre, France, tarirarira..., Courage. Donnez dedans, grincez les dents Fers esmolus, choquez dessus, France, courage, ils sont en fuyte, Ils montrent les talons, courage compagnons, Donnez des horions, Tuez ces Bourguignons. Ils sont confus, ils sont perdus, Prenez courage, après, après, suyvez de près, Donnez sur le bagaige, ne leur laissez nul gage. Victoire au grand Roy des Françoys. TRANSLATION REQUIRED INTERVAL Camille SAINT-SAËNS (1835-1921) Saltarelle, op 74 (c 1885) Text by Émile Deschamps (1791-1871)

Venez, enfants de la Romagne, Tous chantant de gais refrains, Quittez la plaine et la montagne Pour danser aux tambourins. Rome, la sainte vous les donne, Ces plaisirs que la madonne, De son chêne vous pardonne, Se voilant quand il le faut. Le carnaval avec son masque, Ses paillettes sur la basque, Ses grelots, son cri fantasque, Met les sbires en défaut. Frappons le sol d'un pied sonore! Dans nos mains frappons encore! La nuit vient et puis l'aurore, Rien n'y fait dansons toujours! Plus d'un baiser s'échappe et vole; Se plaint-on? la danse folle, Coupe aux mères la parole, C'est tout gain pour les amours. Le bon curé, qui pour nous suivre, Laisse tout, mais qui sait vivre, Ne voit rien avec son livre, De ce qu'il ne doit pas voir. Mais quoi! Demain les Camadules Sortiront de leurs cellules; Puis, carème, jeûne et bulles, Sur la terre vont pleuvoir. Come, Romany children, all singing your gay refrains, leave the plain and the mountain to dance to the tambourines. Holy Rome gives you these pleasures and the Madonna, high in her oak tree, forgives you for them, veiling her face when she has to. The masked carnival, sequined bodices, bells, fantastic cry, throws the police off the scent. Let us stamp our feet and clap our hands! Night comes, and then the dawn. There is nothing to do but keep dancing! More than one kiss escapes and flies off. Do we complain? The wild dance makes mothers speechless. So much the better for love.

Come, oh children of Romagne, All singing this happy refrain. Leave the mountains and the plain And dance here to the tambourines! From Holy Rome these pleasures come With blessing too of the Madonn’ Who turns a blind eye thereupon Whenever this is necessary. The carnival with all its masks The ladies in their sparkling basques The bells ring out, uncork the casks Only the gendarme has failed to show. Stamp your feet upon the ground And loud upon the table pound. The dawn will soon be coming round When the night is through, so now let’s dance! More than a kiss escapes away The dancing is a mad display The mothers don’t know what to say So love affairs are undisturbed.

The good parish priest, who leaves everything to follow us, but who knows how to live, doesn't see anything with his book that he is not supposed to see. But what! Tomorrow the Camaldolese will leave their cells; and Lent, fasting and bulls will rain onto the earth. Translation from French to English copyright © 2004 by Faith J. Cormier cormierf@nbnet.nb.ca

The priest abandons all with ease To follow us: he lives to please Himself – and so he nothing sees That he is not supposed to see. But soon the monks with keen intent Will call upon us to repent And fasting, papal bulls and Lent Will rain down on the town. Translations by Chris Abbey, Irene Konyndyk

Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Der Geistertanz, D494 (c 1816) Text by Friedrich von Matthisson (1761-1831) Die bretterne Kammer Der Toten erbebt, Wenn zwölfmal den Hammer Die Mitternacht hebt. Rasch tanzen um Gräber Und morsches Gebein Wir luftigen Schweber Den sausenden Reih'n. Was winseln die Hunde Beim schlafenden Herrn? Sie wittern die Runde Der Geister von fern. Die Raben entflattern Der wüsten Abtei, Und flieh'n an den Gattern Des Kirchhofs vorbei. Wir gaukeln und scherzen Hinab und empor Gleich irrenden Kerzen Im dunstigen Moor. O Herz, dessen Zauber Zur Marter uns ward, Du ruhst nun in tauber Verdumpfung erstarrt; Tief bargst du im düstern Gemach unser Weh; Wir Glücklichen flüstern Dir fröhlich: Ade! The wooden chamber Of the dead quakes, When the hammer strikes twelve times At midnight.

Quickly we dance around graves And mouldering bones We the airy hovering creatures; A sprightly dance. Why are the dogs whining Next to their sleeping master? They sense from afar The spirits dancing around. Ravens fly out Of the deserted abbey, And escape past the gates Of the churchyard. We quiver and joke Up and down Like flickering candles In a foggy swamp. O heart, whose enchantment Became our torment, You rest now in deaf, Immobile insensitivity. You hid our pain In the deep, dark chamber; We, the happy ones, Joyously whisper to you: Farewell! Translation from German to English copyright © by Nassim Bedjis Felix MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847) Zigeunerlied, MWVG5 Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) Im Nebelgeriesel, im tiefen Schnee, Im wilden Wald, in der Winternacht, Ich hörte der Wölfe Hungergeheul, Ich hörte der Eulen Geschrei, Wille wau wau wau! Wille wo wo wo! Wito hu! Ich schoß einmal eine Katz' am Zaun, Der Anne, der Hex' ihre schwarze Katz'; Da kamen des Nachts sieben Wehrwölf' zu mir, Es waren sieben Weiber vom Dorf. Wille wau wau wau! Wille wo wo wo! Wito hu! Ich kannte sie all', ich kannte sie wohl Die Anne, die Ursel, die Käth', Die Liese, die Barbe, die Ev', die Beth'; Sie heulten im Kreise mich an. Wille wau wau wau! Wille wo wo wo!

Wito hu! Da nannt' ich sie alle beim Namen laut: Was willst du Anne? was willst du Beth? Sie rüttelten sich, sie schüttelten sich Und liefen heulend davon. Wille wau wau wau! Wille wo wo wo! Wito hu! In the misty drizzle, in the deep snow, In the wild woods on a winter’s night, wau! I heard the hungry howl of wolves, I heard the screech of owls: Wille wau! Wille wau wau wau! Wille wow o wo! Wito hu! I shot a cat once by the fence – Anna the witch’s black cat; Wau! There came by night seven werewolves to me, There were seven women from the village. Wille wau wau wau! Wille wow o wo! Wito hu! I knew them all, I knew them well: Anna, Barby, Ursula, Kathy, Wau wau! Lisa, Barby, Eva, Beth; Forming a circle, they howled at me. Wille wau wau wau! Wille wow o wo! Wito hu! Then I loudly named them all: What do you want, Anna? What do you want, Beth? They shook themselves, they gave a shake And ran howling away. Wille wau wau wau! Wille wo wow o! Wito hu! Wow o wo wito Hu! Translation from German to English copyright © by Emily Ezust emily@lieder.net Heinrich August MARSCHNER (1795-1861) Liebeserklärung eines Schneidergesellen from Sechs Gesänge, op 52 (c 1830) Text by Karl Herloßsohn O süßes Mädchen, sei doch nur lein Klotz! Gestatte, dass ich bugle deinen Trotz. Lass mich in dein Gemüth Ein großes Knopfloch weben, Lass mich an deiner Set’ Als schlanke Elle schweben, Ach meine Liebe ist unendlich Wie ein Bandurm. Für dich, für dich ließ ich mich schmeißen, Scmeißen selbst in den Allertiefsten, tiefsten Schuldthurm. Blickt mich dein Auge an, Sing’ ich wie eine Lerche, Wo nicht: so schreit es auf Wie Schweine in der Pferche!

Du meiner Sehnsuch Schnaps, Du labend Herzensbier, Der Schneiderinnung du, o allerschönste Zier: Hört’ ich dein Zünglein nur Ein einzig’s Wörtlein Läuten, Das Liebe spricht, Das Liebe Spricht, Ich ließ’ mich also gleich abhäuten! O gib doch meiner Brust Den allerschönsten Stoss, O sei mein Winterpelz, Am Fenster sei mein Moos! A declaration of love by a tailor’s apprentice (an entertainment based on set words and closing rhymes) O sweet girl give up your airs of resistance! Let me iron away your defiance. Let me sew a buttonhole large In your feelings, Let me stand at your side As a slender tailor’s rule, My love too is endless As a tapeworm. For you, for you, I had myself sent, Had myself sent, To the very deepest, deepest gaol tower. Should your eye fall on me, I sing like a lark, Should it not: Loud squeals break out Like pigs in a pen! You, my schnaps of yearning, My quenching beloved beer, You, of the tailor’s guild, loveliest ornament: If I heard your tongue Speak but a single word of love But uttered once, But uttered once, I would have myself flayed at once! O give my chest The most beautiful thrust of all, O be my winter coat, The moss upon my window! Translation by Matthew Harris, Emily Ezust, Lynn Thompson, Joseph Massaad, Lawrence Snyder, Charles Timothy Brooks Francis POULENC (1899-1963) Chanson à boire from Chansons gaillardes (1922) Anonymous 17th century text Vive notre Hȏtesse Qui, sans cesse, Le verre à la main Nous met en train Vive notre Hȏtesse Qui, sans cesse, Bannit loin d’ici,

Le noir souci. De mille traits elle assasionne Les mets exquis qu’elle nous donne, Avec elle on est sans façon Rien n’est si bon – la, la, la. Ses beaux yeux pleins de feux Sont de puissantes armes, Tout mortel sous les cieux En éprouve les charmes. Sur les charmes les puissants Elle remporte la victoire, Qu’elle receive notre encens Et que tout parle de sa gloire

- La, la, la. J’ai trop bu Mais ne boirai plus, ah! Vive notre Hȏtesse Qui, sans cesse, Le verre à la main Nous met en train Vive notre Hȏtesse Qui, sans cesse, Bannit loin d’ici, Le noir souci oua ah. Three cheers for our hostess Who continuously, With glass in hand, Keeps us going. Three cheers for our hostess Who continuously Banishes Our darkest sorrows. She seasons in a thousand different ways The exquisite dishes that she brings. We cast off our inhibitions with her. Nothing else is as good – la, la, la. Her beautiful eyes full of fire Are powerful weapons Whose charm is perceived By every mortal under the sun. With her powerful charms She wins every time. May she accept our gushing praise And everyone speak of her glory

- La, la la. I’ve drunk too much But now I shall drink no more! Three cheers for our hostess Who continuously, With glass in hand,

Keeps us going. Three cheers for our hostess Who continuously Banishes Our darkest sorrows – ooh ah. Translations by Chris Abbey & Irene Konyndyk Marcus LUDWIG (born 1960) Sechs Triviallieder von 1916

Mordgeschichte Feldpost Ich liebte einst ein Mädchen Rieke näht auf die Maschine

TEXT & TRANSLATION REQUIRED GERMAN FOLKSONG Ein Jäger längs dem Weiher ging TEXT & TRANSLATION REQUIRED James BARR (1779–1860) / Christina MACPHERSON (1864-1936) Waltzing Matilda Text by Banjo Patterson (1864-1941) (arranged by Naomi Crellan) Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, Under the shade of a Coolibah tree, And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil, You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me, And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee, And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me, And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. Up rode the squatter mounted on his thorough-bred Down came the troopers One Two Three Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda Waltzing Matilda You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker-bag You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Up jumped the swagman sprang in to the billabong You'll never catch me alive said he, And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda Waltzing Matilda You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. TRADITIONAL UPPLAND Smedsvisa En gång i min ungdom älskade jag, en flicka med ljuva och rena behag. Hon lova' mej tro i lust och i nöd, allt intill sin blekaste död. Hej hopp fadderiddlade raddladerej. Hej hopp fadderiddlade raddladerej. Hon lova' mej tro i lust och i nöd, allt intill sin blekaste död. TRANSLATION REQUIRED TRADITIONAL US Dry Bones Arr. Livingston Gearhart Dese ole bones o' mine shall rise together in the morning. Dem bones dem bones dem dry bones shall rise together in the morning. From the toe bone to the foot bone From the foot bone to the ankle bone From the ankle bone to the leg bone From the leg bone to the knee bone From the knee bone to the thigh bone From the thigh bone to the hip bone From the hip bone to the back bone From the back bone to the finger bone From the finger bone to the hand bone From the hand bone to the arm bone From the arm bone to the shoulder bone From the shoulder bone to the neck bone From the neck bone to the head bone, Dem bones dem bones dem dry bones shall rise together in the morning. Program 2 (Adelaide, Canberra, Melbourne 8pm, Perth, Sydney 2pm) Approximate duration (including interval but not encore): 100 min The Singing Club – Four Centuries of Song Hans Leo HASSLER (1564-1612) Tanzen und Springen Text by Anonymous Tanzen und springen, Singen und klingen, fa la la... Lauten und Geigen Soll'n auch nicht schweigen,

Zu musizieren und jubilieren Steht mir all mein Sinn. fa la la... Schöne Jungfrauen In grünen Auen, fa la la... Mit ihn'n spazieren Und konversieren, Freundlich zu scherzen Freut mich im Herzen Für Silber und Gold. fa la la... Dancing and leaping singing and ringing, fa-la-la-la, ... Lutes and violins as well are not expected to be silent; playing my instrument and singing joyfully is all my wish. Fa-la-la-la, ... Pretty maidens on green meads, fa-la-la-la, ... strolling with them and conversing with them, dallying gallantly delights my heart more than siver and gold. Fa-la-la-la, ... Translation from German to English copyright © 2006 by Bertram Kottmann, BKottmann (AT) t-online.de Orlando di LASSO (c 1532-1594) Bon jour: et puis, quelles nouvelles? Text by Clément Marot (1496-1544) Bon jour, et puis, quelles nouvelles? N'en sçauroit on de vous avoir? S'en brief ne m'en faictes sçavoir, J'en feray de toutes nouvelles. Puis que vous estes si rebelles, Bon vespre, bonn nuict, bon soir, Bon jour! Mais si vous cueillez des groyselles, Envoyez m'en; car, pour tout voir, Je suis gros: mais c'est de vous veoir Quelcque matin, mes damoyselles; Bon jour!

To the Damsels that are too Lazy to Write to their Suitors Good day! And may I add, What's new? Is there no way of hearing from you? If you don't inform me soon I'll make up news of you all. Since you are so recalcitrant,

I bid you good afternoon, good night, good day! But if you're picking berries, do send me some, because I'm desperate to see things - and "berry keen" to see you, my ladies, some morning soon. Good day! Translation from French to English copyright © 2001 by Peter Low, Peter.Low (AT) canterbury (DOT) ac (DOT) nz Matona mia cara Text by Anonymous Matona mia cara, mi follere canzon cantar sotto finestra, Lanze bon compagnon. Don don don diridiridon don don don Ti prego m'ascoltare che mi cantar de bon e mi ti foller bene come greco e capon. Don don don diridiridon don don don Com'andar alle cazze, cazzar con le falcon, mi ti portar beccazze, grasse come rognon Don don don diridiridon don don don Se mi non saper dire tante belle rason Petrarca mi non saper, ne fonte d'Helicon. Don don don diridiridon don don don Se ti mi foller bene mi non esser poltron; mi ficcar tutta notte, urtar come monton Don don don diridiridon don don don

My lovely Lady, I want a song to sing Under your window: this lancer is jolly fellow! Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

Please listen to me, because I'm singing well And I'm as fond of you as a Greek is of a capon! Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

When I go hunting, I hunt with the falcon, And I'll bring you a woodcock, as fat as a kidney Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

I cannot tell you many elegant things, I know nothing of Petrarch, nor the Fountain of Helicon Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

If you'll love me I won't be lazy I will fuck all night long, I will thrust like a ram Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.

Choral Wiki – no translator attributed

Carlo GESUALDO (c 1560-1613) Sento che nel partire Text by Alfonso d’Avalos (1502-1546) Sento che nel partire il cor giunge al morire. Ond’io, misero ognor, ogni momento grido “morir mi sento” non sperando di far a voi ritorno. E così, dico mille volte il giorno “partir io non vorrei” se col partir accresco i dolor miei. In taking leave I feel my heart is close to death. As I, always wretched, call out at every moment “I feel myself dying” with no hope of returning to you. And thus I say a thousand times a day “I would rather not leave” if by leaving I increase my suffering. English translations by Susannah Howe ⓟ & © 2010 Naxos Rights International Ltd. 8.570549 Hans Leo HASSLER Mein gmüth ist mir verwirret Lustgarten Neuer Teutscher Gesäng / Balletti, Galliarden und Intraden, Nürnberg 1601 Mein Gmüth ist mir verwirret, das macht ein Jungfrau zart, bin ganz und gar verirret, mein Herz das kränckt sich hart, hab tag und nacht kein Ruh, führ allzeit grosse klag, thu stets seufftzen und weinen, in trauren schier verzag. Ach daß sie mich thet fragen, was doch die uersach sei, warum ich führ solch klagen, ich wolt irs sagen frei, daß sie allein die ist, die mich so sehr verwundt, köndt ich ir Hertz erweichen, würd ich bald wider g'sund. Reichlich ist sie gezieret, mit schön thugend ohn Ziel, höflich wie sie gebüret, ihrs gleichen ist nicht viel, für andern Jungfraun zart führt sie allzeit den Preiß, wann ichs anschau, vermeine, ich sei im Paradeiß. Ich kann nicht ganz erzehlen,

Ihr schon und tugend viel, Fur all'n wollt ich's erwehlen, wär es nur auch ihr will, Dass sie ihr Herz und Lieb geg'n mir wendet allzeit, So wurd mein Schmerz und klagen, verkehrt in grosse Freud. Aber ich muß auffgeben, und allzeit traurig sein, solts mir gleich kosten Leben, das ist mein gröste Pein, dann ich bin ir zu schlecht, darumb sie mein nicht acht, Gott wolts für leid bewahren, durch sein Göttliche macht. I’m all mixed up; This a tender maid has done to me! I’m totally lost; My heart is sick and sore. I get no rest by day or night, My pain is always so great. I’m sighing and crying all the time; I’m almost in despair. If only she would ask me: What’s the matter with you? I would tell her straight Why I carry around such pain. That she alone is the one Who hurts me so; If I could soften her heart I’d soon be well again. Her lovely virtues adorn her Rich and without end. Gracious is her bearing; Before other tender maidens She always takes the prize. When I look at her, I think I am in Paradise. Translation by Christopher Abbey Antonio SCANDELLO (1517-1580) Ein henlein weis Nawe und lustige Weltliche Deudsche Liedlein, Dresden 1570 Ein henlein weis Mit gantzem fleis Sucht seine spies Bey einem han, Und hub zu gacksen an: K aka ney, Das henlein legt ein ey. Backen wire in kuchelein, Mueselein und streubelein,

Und trinken auch den kühlen wein. K aka ney, Das henlein legt ein ey. A little white hen with fluffy feathers Looks for food, for golden grain. O, hear her cackle call! K aka nay, The hen lays us an egg. Baker make us little pies and little cakes, Spicy cakes with frosting sweet. We’ll eat the cakes and drink the wine. K aka nay, The hen lays us an egg. Translation by Christopher Abbey ANONYMOUS Quand je bois du vin clairet – Tourdion Bei Pierre Attaignant, Paris 1530 Quand je bois du vin clairet, Amis, tout tourney, Aussi désormais Je bois Anjou ou Arbois. Chantons et buvons, À ce flacon faisons la guerre, Chantons et buvons, Mes amis, buvons donc. Buvons bien, buvons mes amis, Trinquons, buvons, gaiement chantons. En mangeant d’un gras jambon, À ce flacon faisons la guerre. Le bon vin nous a rendus gais, Chantons, oublions nos peines, chantons. En mangeant d’un gras jambon, À ce flacon faisons la guerre. When I drink a Claret Wine, Friends, my head turns, But that is true now also When I drink Anjou or Arbois. Let’s sing and drink, Let’s make war on this bottle Let’s sing and drink, My friends, drink up then. Drink up my friends, Let’s toast and drink and sing, While eating a fat ham, let’s make war on this bottle. Good wine makes us gay, let’s sing, forget our troubles, let’s sing. While eating a fat ham,

let’s make war on this bottle. Translation by Christopher Abbey European Romantics Robert SCHUMANN (1810-1856) Die Minnesänger, op 33 (c 1840) Text by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856) Zu dem Wettgesange schreiten Minnesänger jetzt herbei; Ei, das gibt ein seltsam Streiten, Ein gar seltsames Turnei! Phantasie, die schäumend wilde, Ist des Minnesängers Pferd, Und die Kunst dient ihm zum Schilde, Und das Wort, das ist sein Schwert. Hübsche Damen schauen munter Vom beteppichten Balkon, Doch die rechte ist nicht drunter Mit der rechten Lorbeerkron'. Andre Leute, wenn sie springen In die Schranken, sind gesund; Doch wir Minnesänger bringen Dort schon mit die Todeswund'. Und wem dort am besten dringet Liederblut aus Herzensgrund, Der ist Sieger, der erringet Bestes Lob aus schönstem Mund. In the lists of songs engaging, Minnesingers are marching by. Strange the fight that they are waging, Strange the tournament where they vie! Fancy, ever wild and fuming Is the minnesinger’s steed, And his art as shield assuming, The word turns to sword at need. Beauteous women, with glances pleasant, From a draped balcony look down. But the right one is not present With the proper laurel crown. Other combatants, when they spring To the lists, are sound and whole, But we minnesingers do bring A deathly wound in our soul. In the lists of songs engaging, Minnesingers are marching by. Strange the fight that they are waging,

Strange the tournament where they vie! Translation by Matthew Harris, Emily Ezust, Lynn Thompson, Joseph Massaad, Lawrence Snyder, Charles Timothy Brooks Heinrich August MARSCHNER (1795-1861) Liebeserklärung eines Schneidergesellen (c 1830) Text by Karl Herloßsohn O süßes Mädchen, sei doch nur lein Klotz! Gestatte, dass ich bugle deinen Trotz. Lass mich in dein Gemüth Ein großes Knopfloch weben, Lass mich an deiner Set’ Als schlanke Elle schweben, Ach meine Liebe ist unendlich Wie ein Bandurm. Für dich, für dich ließ ich mich schmeißen, Scmeißen selbst in den Allertiefsten, tiefsten Schuldthurm. Blickt mich dein Auge an, Sing’ ich wie eine Lerche, Wo nicht: so schreit es auf Wie Schweine in der Pferche! Du meiner Sehnsuch Schnaps, Du labend Herzensbier, Der Schneiderinnung du, o allerschönste Zier: Hört’ ich dein Zünglein nur Ein einzig’s Wörtlein Läuten, Das Liebe spricht, Das Liebe Spricht, Ich ließ’ mich also gleich abhäuten! O gib doch meiner Brust Den allerschönsten Stoss, O sei mein Winterpelz, Am Fenster sei mein Moos! A declaration of love by a tailor’s apprentice (an entertainment based on set words and closing rhymes) O sweet girl give up your airs of resistance! Let me iron away your defiance. Let me sew a buttonhole large In your feelings, Let me stand at your side As a slender tailor’s rule, My love too is endless As a tapeworm. For you, for you, I had myself sent, Had myself sent, To the very deepest, deepest gaol tower. Should your eye fall on me, I sing like a lark, Should it not: Loud squeals break out Like pigs in a pen! You, my schnaps of yearning, My quenching beloved beer, You, of the tailor’s guild, loveliest ornament:

If I heard your tongue Speak but a single word of love But uttered once, But uttered once, I would have myself flayed at once! O give my chest The most beautiful thrust of all, O be my winter coat, The moss upon my window! Translation by Matthew Harris, Emily Ezust, Lynn Thompson, Joseph Massaad, Lawrence Snyder, Charles Timothy Brooks Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Sehnsucht, D656 (c 1819) Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt Weiß, was ich leide! Allein und abgetrennt Von aller Freude, Seh ich [ans]1 Firmament Nach [jener]2 Seite. Ach! der mich liebt und kennt, Ist in der Weite. Es schwindelt mir, es brennt Mein Eingeweide. Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt Weiß, was ich leide! Only one who knows longing Only one who knows longing Knows what I suffer! Alone and cut off From all joy, I look into the firmament In that direction. Ach! he who loves and knows me Is far away. I am reeling, My entrails are burning. Only one who knows longing Knows what I suffer! Translation from German to English copyright © by Lawrence Snyder, ldsnyder (AT) dcn (DOT) davis (DOT) ca (DOT) us Edward ELGAR (1857-1934) After many a dusty mile from From the Greek Anthology, op 45 (c 1902) Translated by Edmund William Gosse (1849-1928) After many a dusty mile, Wanderer, linger here awhile; Stretch your limbs in this long grass;

Through these pines a wind shall pass That shall cool you with its wing. Grasshoppers shall shout and sing, While the shepherd on the hill, Near a fountain warbling still, Modulates, when noon is mute, Summer songs along his flute; Underneath a spreading tree, None so easy-limbed as he, Sheltered from the dog-star's heat. Rest; and then, on freshened feet, You shall pass the forest through. It is Pan that counsels you. Antonín DVOŘÁK (1841-1904) Selections from Five choruses for male voices after Lithuanian folksongs, op 27 (c 1878)

III Liebeslied im Garten (The Love in the Garden) The Pledge (Přípověď lásky)

Přípověď lásky Language: Czech Přijď, má panenko na jaře v máji, kdy divy kvetou v matčině sádku. Kolem záhonků zelená routa, a ve prostředku lilije sněžné. V máji utrhnu pestrou kytičku, tu já odešlu k svému miláčku. Nepodám sama, aniž po družce, severním větrům dám ji převáti. Přijď, můj miláčku, na jaře v máji, kdy divy kvetou v otcově sádku. Kolem zahrádky zelené štípky, a ve prostředku samé jabloňky. Potom utrhnu já dvě jablíčka, ta dvě odešlu k svému děvčátku. Sám nepodám je, ani po jiném, teplými větry dám je převáti.

V Spatz und Eule (Owl and Sparrow) 2 min The Sparrow's Party (Hostina)

Hostina Language: Czech I vařil vrabeček pivičko, vrabec, na hostinu všecky si ptáčky svolal.

Vrabec tu na skočnu sovíčku vyzval, i šlápnul panence sovínce na prst, Sovíčka jde k soudu, do plůtku vrabec, dam dali dam, dali dam. Edvard GRIEG (1843-1907) Bådn Låt from Album for Mandssang, op 30 TEXT AND TRANSLATION REQUIRED INTERVAL Jean CRAS (1878-1935) Dans la montagne (1925) Text by Maurice Boucher I L’appel de la cloche Toit d’église avec deux bras maigres, Seul dans les champs, à mi-sommet, Tient une cloche sur le ciel. Chose, frȇle, petite voix Qui s’egrène dans la lumière : Un signe d’elle, le long des champs et des listères, Sortant des plis de la montagne, Voici des hommes et des femmes, Qui remontent par les sentiers, Un livre lourd entre les doigts, Et le front chargé de prière. Church roof with two narrow wings, Alone in the fields, halfway up the hill, A bell, small and fragile, Silhouetted against the sky. With gentle voice its ring is cast into light. In response to its summons The men and women come streaming Out of the cracks in the mountains Across the fields, Along the footpaths, Each carrying a heavy book in their hands And with a gaze heavy with prayer. II La route De la crȇte, parmi les branches, Une blancheur droite s’élève. Est-ce la route, tout à l’heure ? Portera-t-elle mon poids, mon âme Et mon voyage ? Il me semble pourtant, Ce n’est qu’entre deux peupliers le ciel. Between the branches, on the crest,

A white line appears. Is i tat last the road ? Will it bear my weight, my soul, My journey ? But the nit transpires to be merely the sky Between two poplars. III Un jeune sapin se balance Un jeune sapin se balance En bordure du ciel, Tȇte frȇle qui se penche, Branches souples qui se creusent. Telle une fillete heureuse Qui tient sa jupe et qui danse. A young fir sways Against the sky, Leaning its gentle crown. Branches supple Like the limbs of a little girl Who holds her skirt as she merrily dances. IV Soir Les courbes molles des collines S’apaisent pour les nuits tranquilles. Demain mȗrit dans leur corbeille Tressée à plat au bord du ciel Avec du silence et du gris. Et l’ombre est déjà sur nos mains. The gentle curves of the hills Come to rest for the tranquil night. Their basket harbours the morrow Braided with silence and grey At the edge of the sky Whose shadows are already on our hands. V Nuit Un mur de maison clȏt les assoupis. Amis, oubliez, dormez, votre nuit. Le jour est de l’autre cȏté de la terre. Tired villagers safe behind domestic walls. Friends, forget, sleep the night away. Day is on the other side of the world. Translations by Chris Abbey & Irene Konyndyk