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Russian Reflections Disc 8 (2016)

<em>Russian Reflections</em> Disc 8

Disc 8 brings together a collection of souvenirs—musical remembrances of things past, faraway, and dear—all essential characteristics of the Russian musical spirit. Samuel Barber’s Souvenirs are delectable reminiscences of early twentieth-century New York City. Shostakovich’s Spanish Songs take listeners half a world away but cast an equally heartfelt gaze upon the object of their nostalgia. This collection comes to a thrilling close with Tchaikovsky’s exhilarating Souvenir de Florence, written after the composer spent three months in the birthplace of the Renaissance.

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Selections

Selections from Souvenirs for Piano, Four Hands, op. 28 | Samuel Barber (17:06)

  • Wu Han, Piano
  • Wu Qian, Piano

Pohádka (Fairy Tale) for Cello and Piano | Leoš Janáček (11:15)

  • Hyeyeon Park, Piano
  • Keith Robinson, Cello

Ispanskiye pesni (Spanish Songs) for Voice and Piano, op. 100 | Dmitry Shostakovich (13:56)

English translations by Dimitri Atapine

Proshchaj, Grenada!
Proshchaj, Grenada, moja Grenada,
S toboj naveki mne rasstat’sja nado!
Proshchaj, ljubimyj kraj, ochej uslada,
Navek proshchaj! Akh!
Budet pamat’ o tebe moej
Edinstvennoj otradoj
Moj ljubimyj, moj rodimyj kraj!

Navek mne serdce toska pronzila,
Pogiblo vsjo, chto v zhizni bylo milo,
Moja ljubov’ ushla vo mrak mogily,
I zhizn’ ushla! Akh!
I vokrug mne vsjo postylo,
Zhit’ kak prezhde, net uzh sily
Tam gde junost’ tak byla svetla!

Sergey Bolotin, adapted from a text in Spanish by José Rizal (1861–1896)
Farewell, Granada!
Farewell, Granada, my Granada,
Forever must I part with you!
Farewell, beloved land, sweetness of my eyes,
Farewell forever! Ah!
The memory of you shall be
My only joy
My beloved, my native land!

Forever my heart has been pierced by yearning,
All has perished, what was dear to me in life,
My love has gone into the darkness of the grave,
And life has gone! Ah!
And around me everything is tiresome,
To live as before there is no strength,
There where my youth has been so bright!



Zvjozdochki
Pod kiparisami starymi
serebritsja pribrezhnaja glad’.
K miloj idu ja s gitaroju,
chtoby pesnjam jejo obuchat’.

No uchit’ besplatno mne net okhoty:
Ja beru s nejo poceluj za notu.
Stranno, chto ona k utru uznajot,
vsjo krome not!

Zhal’, chto nachat’ snova pozdno!
Zhal’, chto uzhe svetel vozdukh!
Zhal’, chto i dnjom ne drozhat puglivo
Nad zalivom zvjozdy...

V zvjozdochkakh nebo beskrajnee,
imi znojnaja polnoch polna.
Miloj mojej nazyvaju ja
vsekh beschislennykh zvjozd imena.

Ja poznan’jami dorozhu svoimi
I beru s nejo poceluj za imja.
Stranno, chto urok kazhetsja jej prost—
vsjo krome zvjozd!

T. Sikorsky, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
Little Stars
Under the old cypresses
The silvery water near the shore is glistening.
I am walking to visit my sweetheart with my guitar,
So I can teach her some songs.

But to teach for free I am not inclined:
I take from her a kiss for every note.
It is strange that in the morning she recognizes
Everything but the notes!

A pity that it is too late to start again!
A pity that the air is already bright!
A pity that in the daytime the stars
Are no longer shyly twinkling above the bay…

Full of little stars is the limitless sky,
The balmy night is full of them.
I tell my sweetheart
All the names of countless stars.

I do value my knowledge
And take from her a kiss for every name.
How strange that the lesson seems to her so simple—
Everything but the stars!



Pervaja vstrecha
Ty u ruch’ja vody mne dala kogdato,
Svezhej vody, kholodnoj,
kak sneg v ushchel’jakh sinikh gor.
Nochi temnej tvoj vzor,
v kosakh aromat lepestkov dikoj mjaty...
Vidish’, opjat’ kruzhit khorovod,
Buben gremit, zvenit i pojot.
Kazhdyj tancor podruzhku vedjot,
smotrit na nikh, ljubujas’, narod.
Bej, moj buben bej, gremi, budto grom!
S miloju mojej my tancujem vdvojom.
Lenta na tebe nebes golubej.
Bej, moj buben, bej! Buben, bej! Buben bej!
Mne ne zabyt’ vovek etoj pervoj vstrechi,
Laskovykh slov i smugloj ruki,
i bleska chjornykh glaz...
Ponjal ja v etot chas,
chto tebja ljublju i ljubit’ budu vechno!

Sergey Bolotin, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
First meeting
Once near a stream you gave me water,
Fresh water, cold
Like the snow in crevasses of blue mountains.
Your gaze is darker than night,
In your braids the aroma of wild-mint petals…
Look, once again the round dance is turning,
The tambourine thunders, rings, and sings.
Each dancer is leading his partner,
The crowd is looking at them, admiringly.
Beat, my tambourine, beat. Thunder and thunder!
With my sweetheart we are dancing together.
Your ribbon is bluer than the sky.
Beat, my tambourine, beat! Tambourine, beat! Tambourine, beat!
I can never forget this first meeting,
The tender words and tanned hand,
And the brilliance of black eyes…
In that moment I understood,
That I love you and I will love you forever!



Ronda
Shumit khorovod u nashikh dverej,
vesel’ja pora nastala.
Idi tancevat’ so mnoju skorej,
Gvozdki cvetochek alyj!
lunoj tishine slyshen zvon ruch’ja...
daj ruku mne, devochka moja,
Gvozdiki cvetochek alyj!
Ulica slovno jarki sad.
Shutki zvenjat, glaza blestjat.
Ronda kruzhitsja i pojot,
Svetitsja zvjozdnym serebrom nebosvod,
Mchatsja vesjolye pary...
Eto radostnyj prazdnik pervykh cvetov,
Eto prazdnik nashej ljubvi!
Igrajut v luche luny na okne
Derev’ev mindal’nykh teni...
Kogda zhe sjuda ty vyjdesh’ ko mne,
Moj nezhnyj cvetok vesennij?
Vetku mindalja s dereva sorvi,
Ejo mne daj v znak tvojej ljubvi,
Moj nezhnyj cvetok vesennyj!

T. Sikorsky, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
The Round Dance
The round dance is noisy near our doors,
Now is the time of celebration.
Come quickly, dance with me,
Scarlet carnation flower!
In moonlit silence the noise of a stream is heard…
Give me your hand, my little girl,
Scarlet carnation flower!
The street is like a bright garden.
Jokes ring out, eyes sparkle.
The round dance is turning and singing,
The sky is shining with starry silver,
Festival pairs race by…
This is a happy holiday of first flowers,
It is the holiday of our love!
In the moon’s ray on the window are playing
The shadows of almond trees…
When will you come out here near me,
My tender spring flower?
Take a branch from an almond tree,
Give it to me as a sign of your love,
My tender spring flower!



Chernookaja
Mat’ dala tebe ochi zvjozdy,
Nezhnyj cvet tvoikh smuglykh shchjok,
Milaja moja!
S bol’ju v serdce noch’ju pozdnej
Bez tebja ja brozhu, odinok,
Milaja moja!
Akh za chto ja nakazan byl sud’boj?
Akh, zachem povstrechalsja ja s toboj?
Ja umru ot ljubvi bezumnoj,
Esli ty ne poljubish’ menja,
Milaja moja!
Mat’ dala tebe stan vysokij,
Chjornyj blesk nepokornykh kudrej,
Milaja moja!
Proklinaju rok zhestokij,
Bol’ i muki dushi mojej.
Milaja moja!
O, zachem zhe tebe symela mat’
Mne nazlo krasotu takuju dat’?
Ja umru ot ljubvi bezumnoj,
Esli ty ne poljubish’ menja,
Milaja moja!

T. Sikorsky, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
Black-Eyed maiden
Your mother gave you eyes like stars,
The tender color of your dark cheeks,
My darling!
With pain in my heart late at night,
Without you I wander, lonely,
My darling!
Ah, why have I been punished by destiny?
Ah, why have I met you?
I will die from maddening love,
Unless you fall in love with me,
My darling!
Your mother gave you a tall figure,
The black luster of unruly curls,
My darling!
I curse the cruel fate,
The pain and suffering of my soul.
My darling!
Oh, how dared your mother
Give you such beauty to spite me?
I will die from maddening love,
Unless you fall in love with me,
My darling!



Son
Ne znaju, chto eto znachit...
Son chudesnyj prisnilsja mne,
Kak budto v lodke rybach’ej,
Ja plyvu po burnoj volne
Chjoln bez vjosel, ja ikh brosil...
Volny penjatsja, zljatsja i topjat moj chjoln,
No otvazhno mchus’ ja sredi tjomnykh,
Sred’ ogromnykh voln,
Ottogo, chto v rybachej etoj lodke
Po morskoj nepokornoj glubi
Mchish’sja ty, moja gordaja,
mchishsja vmeste so mnoj
I menja ty budto tozhe ljubish’!
O moja golubka! Posmotri zhe,
Kak nesjotsja v svojej lodochke krupkoj po morju
Bednyj paren’, chto tak krepko ljubit tebja!

Anonymous, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
The Dream
I don’t know what this means…
I had a wondrous dream,
As if in a fishing boat,
I cruise on a stormy wave,
The boat has no oars, I threw them away…
The waves foam in anger and try to sink my boat,
But bravely I race among the dark,
Among the giant waves,
Because in this fishing boat,
Through the unruly blue of the sea,
You are racing, my proud one,
You are racing together with me
And it seems as if you also love me!
Oh, my little dove! Look now,
How through the sea in his little fragile boat
Is racing the poor fellow, who loves you so fully!

  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Hyeyeon Park, Piano

Souvenir de Florence for String Sextet, op. 70 | Piotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky (35:27)

  • Nicholas Canellakis, Cello
  • Matthew Lipman, Viola
  • Paul Neubauer, Viola
  • Keith Robinson, Cello
  • Alexander Sitkovetsky, Violin
  • Kyoko Takezawa, Violin

Artists

  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Nicholas Canellakis, Cello
  • Matthew Lipman, Viola
  • Paul Neubauer, Viola
  • Hyeyeon Park, Piano
  • Keith Robinson, Cello
  • Kyoko Takezawa, Violin
  • Wu Han, Piano
  • Wu Qian, Piano

<em>Russian Reflections</em> Disc 8 Total Time: 1:17:53
Discs: 1
Price: $15.00
Year Recorded: 2016