Katherine Grey Video
attore, attore teatrale
- Stati Uniti d'America
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2024-05-04
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John Dowland Julian Bream Griswold Dahl Ling Stringer Sanger Lawson Abbot Nielsen Scott Thompson Kline Travis 1500 1563 1624
In this episode I discuss the Music of Renaissance Songwriter and Lute virtuoso John Dowland +••.••(...)). Damien Kelly (http•••) Julian Bream - (http•••) Spring Sale: Get all educational products I have ever created in ONE bundle for just $99.99 ⇢ (http•••) To donate to the channel go here: (http•••) THE BEATO CLUB → (http•••) MY HELIX PRESETS →(http•••) SUBSCRIBE HERE → (http•••) For recurring support go here: (http•••) —————————————————————————————————————— My Links to Follow: YouTube - (http•••) Follow my Instagram - (http•••) —————————————————————————————— Special Thanks to My Supporters: Catherine Sundvall Clark Griswold Ryan Twigg LAWRENCE WANG Martin Small Kevin Wu Robert Zapolis Jeremy Kreamer Sean Munding Nat Linville Bobby Alcott Peter Glen Robert Marqusee James Hurster John Nieradka Grey Tarkenton Joe Armstrong Brian Smith Robert Hickerty comboy Peter DeVault Phil Mingin Tal Harber Rick Taylor Bill Miller Gabriel Karaffa Brett Bottomley Frederick Humphrey Nathan Hanna Stephen Dahl Scott McCroskey Dave Ling Rick Walker Jason Lowman Jake Stringer steven crawford Piush Dahal Jim Sanger Brian Lawson Eddie Khoriaty Vinny Piana J.I. Abbot Kyle Dandurand Michael Krugman Vinicius Almeida Lars Nielsen Kyle Duvall Alex Zuzin tom gilberts Paul Noonan Scott Thompson Kaeordic Industries LLC Duane Blake Kai Ellis Zack Kirkorian Joe Ansaldi Pzz Marc Alan Rob Kline Calvin Wells David Trapani Will Elrics Debbie Valle JP Rosato Orion Letizi Mike Voloshen Peter Pillitteri Jeremy Hickerson Travis Ahrenholtz
Franz Schubert Johnston Dietrich Fischer Dieskau Fischer Gerald Moore Moore Shore Robe 1782 1815 1821
"Page after page has been written about Franz Schubert's Erlkönig / it is easily the most familiar single piece from the German song repertory; yet each hearing of the work seems somehow to conjure up the same spark of desperate passion in the listener that it must have conjured from those Viennese music-lovers who first encountered the song when it was published in 1821--six years after being composed--as Schubert's Opus 1. Erlkönig the poem is a dramatic ballad, part of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's 1782 singspiel Der Fischerin. It tells, in strict meter and regular four-line stanzas, the tale of a father riding through the woods late at night with his son. The evil Erl-king (the origin of the words "Erlkönig" and "Erlenkönig," both of which forms appear in Goethe's ballad, is complicated and even confused; some say they are a translation, or mistranslation, into German of the Danish word for "Elf King"), visible to the young boy, but not to his father, calls out to the lad, tempting him with thoughts of games and dances. Many times the boy cries out to his father to help him, but the father cannot see the Erl-king or his minions and writes his son's horror off as one natural phenomenon or another. Only when the boy is physically wounded does the father recognize that desperate measures are called for; though he rides with all his strength and skill, however, his boy expires before he reaches safety. Schubert's setting of Goethe's ballad dates from sometime during Fall of 1815 / a fabulously productive year during which he penned nearly 145 lieder, and countless instrumental works, while still working as a schoolteacher. The song's immense fame during the nineteenth century gave rise to many fanciful stories of its composition; some have claimed that it was composed in just a few minutes, in one fell swoop of passion, while a friend looked on, but such a genesis seems unlikely. Schubert revised his setting three times, mostly tinkering with the piano accompaniment but also altering dynamics in striking ways and inserting/deleting measures to slightly better the pacing. And it is pacing, or motion, in a truly physical sense, that fuels both Goethe's frantic poem and Schubert's lied. There is a continuous background of repeated, triplet octaves in the piano part (very difficult and physically tiring / in one of the revisions Schubert simplified the figuration, asking for duplets instead of triplets), against which the three characters of the ballad sing their simple lines. Each persona is given his own unique tone: the child frantic and impassioned, the father noble and self-assured, Erlkönig himself relaxed and attractive as he seeks to trick the child. The result is an almost demonic fury, and as the drama unfolds and the child becomes more and more terrified and sings in a higher and higher register, the harsh dissonances of his cries, "Mein Vater, mein Vater!" become ever more bone-chilling. The racing triplets cease only at the very end of the song, as the narrator proclaims in a bit of taut recitative that "the child was dead in his [the father's] arms." " - Blair Johnston for All Music Performed by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (Baritone) and Gerald Moore (Piano), transposed from G minor to F minor English translation (by Richard Wigmore for Oxford Lieder): Who rides so late through the night and wind? It is the father with his child. He has the boy in his arms; he holds him safely, he keeps him warm. ‘My son, why do you hide your face in fear?’ ‘Father, can you not see the Erlking? The Erlking with his crown and tail?’ ‘My son, it is a streak of mist.’ ‘Sweet child, come with me. I’ll play wonderful games with you. Many a pretty flower grows on the shore; my mother has many a golden robe.’ ‘Father, father, do you not hear what the Erlking softly promises me?’ ‘Calm, be calm, my child: the wind is rustling in the withered leaves.’ ‘Won’t you come with me, my fine lad? My daughters shall wait upon you; my daughters lead the nightly dance, and will rock you, and dance, and sing you to sleep.’ ‘Father, father, can you not see Erlking’s daughters there in the darkness?’ ‘My son, my son, I can see clearly: it is the old grey willows gleaming.’ ‘I love you, your fair form allures me, and if you don’t come willingly, I’ll use force.’ ‘Father, father, now he’s seizing me! The Erlking has hurt me!’ The father shudders, he rides swiftly, he holds the moaning child in his arms; with one last effort he reaches home; the child lay dead in his arms.
Kathleen Nichols, Consecrated Woman of Regnum Christi, hosted the 8th Annual Women's Encounter at Magdala. Kathleen cooperates with the "Magdala Inspiration", providing programming inspired by the place and spirit of Magdala. She opened the conference on Friday afternoon March 4th, discussing how the vocation of women is beginning to be acknowledged in its fullness, and is acquiring an influence, effect and power never before achieved. In such a moment as this, when the human race is undergoing so deep a transformation, that women imbued with a spirit of the Gospel, can do so much to aid humanity in not falling. To learn more about Regnum Christi and the Consecrated women: (http•••) (http•••) (http•••) Lyrics - Mishaella Who knows what is in her eyes? Grey clouds disperse in the four winds A dry riverbed overflows And the horizon opens wide Up to the heaven she turns her eyes Searching, diving in to the chilly blue Floating in the air Touching the pure golden light That glimmers in her hair Mishaela, what do you see? What is it in your heart That greets the desolate silence with such Laughter? It is one rainbow in the east, she says It is all I need What more could I want? It is all that I need Copyright of New Gate to Peace Foundation 2022
Six Sassoon Songs (2013) Music by Michael Ippolito Text by Siegfried Sassoon Daveda Karanas, mezzo-soprano Michael Ippolito, piano Texas State University Recital Hall November 19, 2020 More information about the music here: (http•••) Texts: I. Aftermath Have you forgotten yet?... For the world’s events have rumbled on since those gagged days, Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways: And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you’re a man reprieved to go, Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare. But the past is just the same—and War’s a bloody game... Have you forgotten yet?... Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you’ll never forget. Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz— The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets? Do you remember the rats; and the stench Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench— And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain? Do you ever stop and ask, ‘Is it all going to happen again?’ Do you remember that hour of din before the attack— And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men? Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back With dying eyes and lolling heads—those ashen-grey Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay? II. I Stood with the Dead I Stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still: When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead. And my slow heart said, 'You must kill, you must kill: 'Soldier, soldier, morning is red'. On the shapes of the slain in their crumpled disgrace I stared for a while through the thin cold rain... 'O lad that I loved, there is rain on your face, 'And your eyes are blurred and sick like the plain.' I stood with the Dead…They were dead; they were dead; My heart and my head beat a march of dismay: And gusts of the wind came dulled by the guns. 'Fall in!' I shouted; 'Fall in for your pay!' III. Suicide in the Trenches I knew a simple soldier boy Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, And whistled early with the lark. In winter trenches, cowed and glum, With crumps and lice and lack of rum, He put a bullet through his brain. No one spoke of him again. You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go. IV. Does It Matter? Does it matter?—losing your legs?... For people will always be kind, And you need not show that you mind When the others come in after hunting To gobble their muffins and eggs. Does it matter?—losing your sight?... There’s such splendid work for the blind; And people will always be kind, As you sit on the terrace remembering And turning your face to the light. Do they matter?—those dreams from the pit?... You can drink and forget and be glad, And people won’t say that you’re mad; For they’ll know you’ve fought for your country And no one will worry a bit. V. Aftermath (reprise) Have you forgotten yet?... Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you’ll never forget. VI. Slumber Song Sleep; and my song shall build about your bed A paradise of dimness. You shall feel The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell Throned in your silence: and one hour shall hold Summer, and midnight, and immensity Lulled to forgetfulness. For, where you dream, The stately gloom of foliage shall embower Your slumbering thought with tapestries of blue. And there shall be no memory of the sky, Nor sunlight with its cruelty of swords. But, to your soul that sinks from deep to deep Through drowned and glimmering colour, Time shall be Only slow rhythmic swaying; and your breath; And roses in the darkness; and my love.
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- cronologia: Compositori (Nord America).
- Indici (per ordine alfabetico): G...