Archives – 2013/2014 Season

Boulder’s own Evanne Browne (Artistic Director, Seicento Baroque Ensemble), and Denver’s Marjorie Bunday (Denver Early Music Consort and a favorite Seicento Soloist), join forces to bring you our opening Happy Hour concert of the new season. Soloists from the Seicento Baroque Ensemble present music of Henry Purcell, Claudio Monteverdi, Luzzasco Luzzaschi, William Lawes and other composers of the 1600s expressing passion, love, desire and the joy of imbibing with Bacchus.

With a twinkle in their eyes, the ensemble of three solo singers, harpsichord and baroque cello, will present and express age-old ways and universal human longing through song. Seicento, Colorado’s only choir to specialize in the historic-performance of 17th and 18th century music and noted for its performances of lesser known baroque music, brings music not often heard: Purcell’s beautiful solo and chamber music, his most inspired drinking songs and his humorous catches (rounds); and Monteverdi’s lush, melodic and passionate Italian chamber duets and trios.

In spite of the concert’s name, the program is perfectly suitable for the family. You’re in for a treat – come, join us for a glass of wine and great musical fun.

 

Program

Parlo miser  – Claudio Monteverdi (1567 –1643)

O come sei gentile  – Monteverdi

Cor mio  – Luzzasco Luzzaschi (c. 1545-1607)

O dolce anima mia – Jacopo Peri (1561-1633)

Dialog on a Kisse  – Mr. William Lawes (1602-1645)

Sweeter than Roses  – Henry Purcell (1659-1695)

Were thou yet Fairer – Giovanni Giacomo Gastoldi (1554-1609)

Tom Kisses the Book – I. King (17th C.)

As Soon as Chaos was Made into Form – Purcell

Catches on Drinking – Purcell

Bacchus is a Pow’r Divine – Purcell

The Bustle  – Thomas Arne (1710-1778)

The Grocer of London Town  – Purcell

Tell Me Fair One – Purcell

I Prethee Send Me Back My Heart – John Lawes

Aria di Passacaglia: Cosi mi disprezzate?  – Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583–1643)

Lamento di tre amanti – Antonio Lotti (ca. 1667 –1740)

 

Texts and Translations

Parlo miser
Should I, poor wretch, speak or be silent? If I keep silent, what good will my death be in easing my pain? If I speak, will my boldness be forgiven? Stay silent, you who understands the burning of a confined flame. Pity speaks in me; beauty speaks in you, and this beautiful face says to the stony heart, “who can look at me and not languish for love?”

O come sei gentile
Oh, how gentle you are, sweet little bird! Oh, how my state of being in love resembles your state. You are a captive, I am a captive; you sing, I sing; you sing for the sake of the one who has bound herself to you, and I sing to her. But there is a difference in my sorrowful fate: it is worth your while to sing; you live singing, and I die singing.

Cor mio 
Dear heart, I prithee do not waste away, for my soul would waste away with you. Hear my urgent signs, they come to you borne by pity. See from my eyes, dimmed by a lover’s tears, how grief consumes me. If my death could bring relief to you I would die that you might live. But you live, alas! For death is culpable when other lives depend upon your own. But you live unjustly in the heart of another.

O dolce anima mia
O my sweet beloved, is it true, then, that, changing your mind, you abandon me for another? If you seek a heart that adores and loves you move, your search is an unjust one; if you seek constancy, see the faith that loves you when you give to another its sweet reward and your gentle, much-desired pity; but if you seek beauty, then do not look upon me, my heart but upon yourself engraved upon this countenance, upon this heart.

Dialog on a Kisse
Among thy fancies tell me this, what is the thing we call a kiss? I shall resolve you what it is: it is a creature born and bred betwixt the lips, all cherry red, but love and warm desires fed. And makes more sweet the bridal bed. It is an active flame that flies first to the babies of the eyes, and charms it there with lullabies. And stills the bride, too, when she cries. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear; it frisks, it flies, now here, now there; ‘tis now far off, and now ‘tis near. ‘Tis here and there and everywhere.

Has it a voicing virtue? Yes. How speaks it then? Do you but this: part your joined lips then speaks the kiss. And this loves sweetest language is. Has it a body? I, and wings, with thousand various colorings, and as it flies is sweetly sings: Love honey yields but never stings!

Sweeter Than Roses
Sweeter than roses or cool evening breeze on a warm flowery shore, was the dear kiss. First trembling made me freeze, then shot like fire all o’er. What magic has victorious love! For all I touch or see since that dear kiss, I hourly prove, all is love to me.

Were Thou yet Fairer 
Were thou yet fairer than thou art, which lies not in the p’wer of art, or hadst thou in thine eyes more darts, then cupid ever shot at hearts, yet if they were not thrown at me, I would not cast a thought on thee.

I’d rather marry a disease than court a thing I cannot please, She that would cherish my desires, must court my flames with equal fires, Would you know then, what that will be, I’ll then love you when you love me.

Tom Kisses the Book when to the Justice he goes to complain of John Surly his neighbour. John’s wife swears her husband took Tom by the nose and his carcass did foundly belabour. Ev’ry night of his life these quarrels are rife good neighbors avoid such contention and strife.

As Soon as Chaos 
As soon as chaos was made into form, and the first race of Men knew a good from a harm; they quickly did joy’n, in acknowledge divine, that the world’s chiefest blessings were women and wine. Since when by example improving delights, wine governs our days, love and beauty our nights. love on them, and drink; ‘tis a folly to think of a mystery out of our reaches, be moral in thought, to be merry’s no fault, tho’ an elder the contrary preaches; for never my friends, was an age of more vice, than when knaves wou’d seem pious, and fools wou’d seem wise.

Bacchus is a Pow’r Divine
Bacchus is pow’r divine, for he no sooner fills my head with mighty wine, but all my cares resign, and droop, then sink down dead. Then the pleasing thoughts begin, and I in riches flow, at least I fancy so. And without thought of want I sing, stretch’d on the earth, my head all around with flowers weav’d into a garland crown’d.

Then I begin to live, and scorn what all the world can show or give. Let the brave fools that fondly think of honour, and delight, to make a noise and fight, go seek out war, whilst I seek peace and drink.

Then fill my glass, fill it high; some perhaps think it fit to fall and die, but when the bottles rang’d to make war with me, the fighting fool shall see, when I am sunk, the diff’rence to lie dead, and lie dead drunk.

The Bustle
Dear Jenny, I love you by this, and by this. No coyness, come kiss me – oh further my bliss! The old woman’s lame, we have nothing to dread; I’m dying, nay, now I am dead!

The Grocer of London Town
A Jolly young Grocer of London Town, fell deeply in love with his maid: and often he courted her to lye down, but she told him she was afraid: sometimes he would struggle, but still she would boggle, and never consent to his wicked will; but said he must tarry, until he would marry, and then he should have his fill.

But when that he found he could not obtain, the blessing he thus pursu’d; for tho’ he had try’d her again and again, she vow’d she would not be leud. At last he submitted, to be so outwitted, as to be catch’d in the nuptial snare; altho’ the young hussie, before had been busie, with one that she lov’d more dear. The morning after they marry’d were, the drums and the fiddles came; then oh what a thumping and scraping was there, to please the new marry’d dame. There was fiddle come fiddle, with hey diddle diddle, and all the time that the musick play’d; there was kissing and loving, and heaving and shoving, for fear she should rise a Maid. But e’er three Months they had marry’d been, a thumping boy popp’d out; says he you confounded queen, why what have you been about? You’re a strumpet cries he, you’re a cuckold cries she, and when he found he was thus betray’d; there was fighting and scratching, and rogueing and bitching, because she had prov’d a jade.

Tell Me Fair One
Why so coming, why so shy. Tell me why, you’ll neither let me flight nor fly; why you’ll neither let me live nor dye.

I Prethee Send Me Back My Heart
since I cannot have thine; for if from yours you will not part, why then should you keep mine? Yet how I think on it, let it lye, to send it me were vain, for th’hast a thief in either eye will steal it back again.

Aria di Passacaglia: Cosi mi disprezzate?
Thus you disdain me? This you make a mockery of me? Time will come, Love will make of your heart what you make of mine. No more words – farewell.” “Inflict more torment on me, mock my sighs, deny me my just dues, outrage my fidelity – soon you’ll see in yourself what you make of me. Beauty does not reign forever, even if it counsels you to disdain my faith. I’m going to laugh, eventually.”

Lamento di tre amanti
Love binds our hearts with three chains. Mine from a lip came out. Mine a bosom. Mine was a face that drew us equally into servitude. I for delightful words, I for a snowy breast, I for two lovely eyes am burning, yes, but how I cannot say, nor do I know the reason for that flame from which I burn. A fair lip, a fair bosom, a dear face. Whence in equal punishments, love tied our hearts with three chains.