Multi-genre song selections: Folk, classical, acapella, cinematic
Selections from "What Thing Is Love", English lute songs from the 16th and 17th centuries.
Jan Alm's "Martinson Songs" , scored for voice, harp, piano and string quartet, capture the visceral and invariably reflective poems of Nobel...
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Rehearsal sessions. Includes selections from B. Galuppi's Confitebor tibi Domine, trumpet arias by A. Scarlatti, Dialogues by H. Lawes, and cantatas...
The Martinson Project
World - European
Jan Alm's "Martinson Songs" , scored for voice, harp, piano and string quartet, capture the visceral and invariably reflective poems of Nobel laureate Harry Martinson. Sung in Swedish.
Nobel laureate, Harry Martinson is one of Sweden's most important writers and poets. Jan Alm has set his poems to music and has worked in close collaboration with Amy Elizabeth Wheeler to help her learn and convey the nuances of Martinson's poetry to Amer
Quietly the forest settled around the lake to sleep,
and the wind stopped for a moment to rest,
and wood doves waited with their dusky
glowing song - the one that sends a shiver through ones core.
This is a moment of perfect contentment
when senses can rest in illuminated groves,
and one doesn't worry about time or things but rather
allows days and time to be just moments.
GenreWorld - General
The Martinson Project ís a collaborative effort between Swedish composer Jan Alm, American soprano Amy Elizabeth Wheeler and musicians from the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra and the Gothenburg Opera, under the direction of the GSO's Principle Violinist, P
A Nobel laureate, Harry Martinson is one of Sweden's most important writers and poets. Jan Alm has set his poems to music and has worked in close collaboration with Amy Elizabeth Wheeler to help her learn and convey the nuances of Martinson's poetry to Am
A summer day long ago, when the farm hand was off to water the gray horses
He sat down against the trunk of the pasture?s tall linden tree.
Suddenly, there came to the gate a horse with white wings.
And the farm hand knew what was, it was the end of life?s quiver .
He clutched his heart and it became Sunday forever.
There, under the birch and linden, he lay his cheek heavily against the green grass
A gate banged in the wind.
GenresWorld - European, Classical - Contemporary
For a blissful moment we sat quietly
And saw the butterflies dance.
With golden wings they fluttered
in the glittering sunlight.
We thought: it would be good
to remember each of these moments
as time, made up of all the other moments,
collects into a year.
The very moment, when all of the pain there is,
has grown into a wound.
GenreWorld - General
(The goddess of skin)
What shall she be called, the woman there on the beach?
She who is a victim of her own beauty and flattery?s shimmering spider web.
Maybe the Goddess of Skin?
When she has shown herself to her worshipers
She goes home to her mirrored alter to worship herself.
She takes a short cut through the cemetery.
There, as she passes, she can see her own reflection in full figure on the blank tombstones.
GenreClassical - Contemporary
Melancholia picks the marsh's glistening tuv wool
On melancholia's plantation a dreamy slave hums a spiritual.
You ask with a suspicious glance what is growing out there,
The answer you will get is the one you never want to have.
Wistfulness and melancholia don't wear out from happiness
nor do they make sorrow any coarser
Melancholia and wistfulness are valuable senses.
GenreWorld - European
The Martinson Project Ãs a collaborative effort between Swedish composer Jan Alm, American soprano Amy Elizabeth Wheeler and musicians from the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra and the Gothenburg Opera, under the direction of the GSO's Principle Violinist, P
I was like gray granite.
I was born to be a giant swine with armored leather and two nose horns.
In pjonka va banda.
I ate fresh grass, water bamboo shoots and river mussels?
I charged at all of them like a locomotive.
They screamed to embarrass me
?look! the Savanah?s locomotive?
I killed them with a Pansar?s terror
With a Pansar?s dread.
I didn?t know what a locomotive was, but I understood I must be a locomotive.
A locomotive with pjonka va banda.
I charged at them with ptjom banna
There, where flamingos waved away the flies that piercingly visited my little eyes,
I charged at them with djam bva bamu
There, where the skull of an Oryx antelope had bored his cork-screw horn into the earth,
I charged at them with njamkan ganza
There, where mud swells up from the river like a spring.
I charged towards them with my entire leaden body, my solid armored obesity.
I took them by the forehead
Their screams collected like spit in my ears,
I took them by my nose?s root, an itchy-for-death ax,
Divided them with my sharp, shearing, heavy bite
Filled of fear for them, yes, filled of fear for them
In ptjom banna! with djam bvabamu! with njamkan ganza!
GenresClassical - Contemporary, World - European
(The June night)
Now the sun barely goes down
Dimmed only by its own glow
Twilight?s border becomes the hour of dawn
Neither early nor late
The lake holds the evening?s light
Gliding on the water?s reflection
Or teetering on the waves which, long before they have darkened,
Reflect the morning sun?s flames
The June night never happens
It is more like a dewy day
Veil-like the dawn lifts itself
and is carried away on the bright sea.
GenreClassical - Contemporary
GenreClassical - Romantic
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