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Discover the magnificence of bass-baritone Eric Owens, a regular at the world's great recital halls and opera houses. The Chicago Sun-Times raves that he "speaks to you even in his silences…and shakes you when he sings." He is joined by pianist Myra Huang in a program of German and French art song.

“Eric Owens, now one of the greatest bass-baritones in the world, was sublime…” —Bloomberg News

“Myra Huang…achieved a colouristic tour de force…” —Opera News

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    Eric Owens

    Bass-baritone Eric Owens has a unique reputation as an esteemed interpreter of classic works and a champion of new music. Equally at home in orchestral, recital, and operatic repertoire, Owens brings his powerful poise, expansive voice, and instinctive acting faculties to stages around the world.

    Eric Owens launches the 2016-17 season with his role debut as Wotan in David Pountney’s new production of Wagner’s Das Rheingold at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. He will sing a trio of operas at the Metropolitan Opera that include the MET premiere of Kaijo Saariaho’s L’amour de Loin, a new production of Rusalka under Sir Mark Elder, and a revival of Idomeneo conducted by James Levine. Other highlights include recitals with Susanna Phillips at Carnegie Hall and Lawrence Brownlee at Lyric Opera of Chicago, a gala celebrating the Metropolitan Opera’s 50th anniversary at Lincoln Center, and for the third time he joins the Chicago Symphony’s Negaunee Music Institute to present an interactive recital for incarcerated youth with Riccardo Muti and Joyce DiDonato. Owens rounds out his season singing Rimsky-Korsakov’s Le Coq d’Or at Santa Fe Opera.

    The 2015-2016 season featured Owens in several collaborations with the New York Philharmonic as the Mary and James G. Wallach Artist-in-Residence, including a tribute to legendary African-American singers and their legacy titled In Their Footsteps, a concert of Strauss selections and excerpts from Act 3 of Wagner’s Die Walküre conducted by Alan Gilbert, and a festive concert celebrating the holiday season. Other orchestral engagements during the season included performances of Bruckner’s Te Deum with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra under Riccardo Muti, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 with the St. Louis Symphony, as well as with Osmo Vänskä and the Minnesota Orchestra, Ravel’s L’enfant et les sortileges with Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Bayerischer Rundfunk, Brahms’ Ein deutsches Requiem with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, and Dvořák’s Stabat Mater with Franz Welser-Möst and the Cleveland Orchestra. He also joined Music of the Baroque as Simon in concert performances of Handel’s Judas Maccabaeus.

    Operatic highlights of his 2015-16 season included his return to the Metropolitan Opera as Orest in a new production of Elektra by legendary director Patrice Chéreau, conducted by Esa-Pekka Salonen, which was broadcast on the Emmy and Peabody Award-winning Live in HD series. He also hosted the Metropolitan Opera’s Live in HD broadcast of Otello. He returned to Washington National Opera as Stephen Kumalo in Kurt Weill’s Lost in the Stars. At the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC, he performed an evening of jazz standards featuring the music of Billy Eckstine and Johnny Hartman, and he will also appear in recital under the auspices of the Oberlin College and Conservatory, Troy Chromatic Concerts, and the Curtis Institute of Music.

    Owens began his 2014-2015 season with the Berlin Philharmonic in Bach’s St. Matthew Passion conducted by Sir Simon Rattle and directed by Peter Sellars, with staged performances at the Lucerne Festival, BBC Proms, and New York’s Park Avenue Armory as part of Lincoln Center’s White Light Festival. He returned to Lyric Opera of Chicago, where he is a Community Ambassador, for performances of Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess. Owens also made his role debuts as the title role in Der fliegende Holländer with Washington National Opera, King Philip II in Don Carlo at Opera Philadelphia, and the title role in Macbeth at the Glimmerglass Festival, where he returned as an Artist-in-Residence.

    Symphonic highlights of Owens’ recent seasons included performances of Verdi’s Requiem with the New York Philharmonic conducted by Alan Gilbert and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra conducted by Sir Andrew Davis, Ravel’s L’enfant et les sortilegeswith the Swedish Radio Symphony and Chicago Symphony Orchestra, both under the baton of Esa-Pekka Salonen, and Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra conducted by Riccardo Muti. He also performed a duo recital with soprano Susanna Phillips under the auspices of the Philadelphia Chamber Music Society.

    Owens has created an uncommon niche for himself in the ever-growing body of contemporary opera works through his determined tackling of new and challenging roles. He received great critical acclaim for portraying the title role in the world premiere of Elliot Goldenthal’s Grendel with the Los Angeles Opera, and again at the Lincoln Center Festival, in a production directed and designed by Julie Taymor. Owens also enjoys a close association with John Adams, for whom he performed the role of General Leslie Groves in the world premiere of Doctor Atomic at the San Francisco Opera, and of the Storyteller in the world premiere of A Flowering Tree at Peter Sellars’ New Crowned Hope Festival in Vienna and later with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Doctor Atomic was later recorded and received the 2012 Grammy for Best Opera Recording. Owens made his Boston Symphony Orchestra debut under the baton of David Robertson in Adam’s El Niño.

    Owens’s career operatic highlights include Alberich in the Metropolitan Opera’s Ring cycle directed by Robert Lepage; his San Francisco Opera debut in Otello conducted by Donald Runnicles; his Royal Opera, Covent Garden, debut in Norma; Vodnik in Rusalka at Lyric Opera of Chicago; the title role in Handel’s Hercules with the Canadian Opera Company; Aida at Houston Grand Opera; Rigoletto, Il Trovatore, and La Bohème at Los Angeles opera; Die Zauberflöte for his Paris Opera (Bastille) debut; andAriodante and L’Incoronazione di Poppea at the English National Opera. He sang Collatinus in a highly-acclaimed Christopher Alden production of Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia at Glimmerglass Opera. A former member of the Houston Grand Opera Studio, Owens has sung Sarastro, Mephistopheles in Faust, Frère Laurent, and Aristotle Onassis in the world premiere of Jackie O (available on the Argo label) with that company. Owens is featured on two Telarc recordings with the Atlanta Symphony: Mozart’s Requiem and scenes from Strauss’ Elektra and Die Frau ohne Schatten, both conducted by Donald Runnicles. He is featured on the Nonesuch Records release of A Flowering Tree.

    Owens has been recognized with multiple honors, including the 2003 Marian Anderson Award, a 1999 ARIA award, second prize in the Plácido Domingo Operalia Competition, the Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions, and the Luciano Pavarotti International Voice Competition.

    A native of Philadelphia, Owens began his musical training as a pianist at the age of six, followed by formal oboe study at age eleven under Lloyd Shorter of the Delaware Symphony and Louis Rosenblatt of the Philadelphia Orchestra. He studied voice while an undergraduate at Temple University, and then as a graduate student at the Curtis Institute of Music. He currently studies with Armen Boyajian. He serves on the Board of Trustees of both the National Foundation for Advancement in the Arts and Astral Artistic Services.

    "[Owens] speaks to you even in his silences…and shakes you when he sings" —Chicago Sun-Times

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    Myra Huang

    Acclaimed by Opera News as being "among the top accompanists of her generation," and "…a colouristic tour de force," by The New York Times, pianist Myra Huang regularly performs in recitals and chamber music concerts around the world.  She has been a guest artist at notable venues around the world, including Carnegie Hall, The U.S. Supreme Court, The Library of Congress, Teatro Alla Scala in Milan, The National Centre for the Performing Arts in Beijing, and The Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions.  In 2014 she performed with bass-baritone Eric Owens and soprano Susanna Phillips at Orchestra Hall in Chicago presented by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra Series.  This season, she was presented by The Mariinsky Theater as part of their tour in South America with bass Dmitry Grigoriev.

    Huang has served on the music staffs of the Washington National Opera and New York City Opera (2004-6).  From 2006 until 2008, she was a member of the music staff at the Palau De Les Arts in Valencia, Spain where she worked closely with the company's artistic director Lorin Maazel and director Zubin Mehta.  She regularly participates as the staff pianist for the Operalia competition, directed by Placido Domingo, performing at opera houses around the world.  Huang served as the full-time Head of Music Staff at New York City Opera from 2011-2013.  She is a visiting artist at programs like the Houston Grand Young Artists Studio, the National YoungArts Foundation, and the Butler Opera Center at University of Texas in Austin to train and teach young opera singers and pianists.  This year she joined the music staff of the Music Academy of the West, and she will be making her Wigmore Hall debut with tenor Nicholas Phan in February 2017. 

    The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Boston Globe, and Time Out NY named her album "Winter Words" with tenor Nicholas Phan among the best classical recordings of 2011.  Their second album "Still Falls The Rain" achieved the same status in 2012.  Her album "Paysages" with soprano Susanna Phillips won The Classical Recording Foundation Young Artist of the Year award in 2011.  

    "Myra Huang…a pianist of remarkable artistry." —San Francisco Chronicle

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)

Metre ti lascio, o figlia, K. 513

View Notes

Mozart wrote “Mentre ti lascio, o figlia” in 1787 as a gift for his friend Gottfried von Jacquin, who reportedly had a good amateur bass voice and whose sister studied piano with him. The text comes from an opera libretto written by Duca Sant’Angioli-Morbilli that had been previously set to music by Giovanni Paisiello and Tommaso Traetta for a Venetian audience. The text, from Sant’Angioli-Morbilli’s work La disfatta di Dario, recounts the defeat of Darius III by Alexander the Great in 331 B.C. In the libretto, Darius is disarmed on the battlefield and afterwards encounters his daughter Statira, who is torn between love for Alexander and love for her father.

Darius then sings this eloquent farewell to her and to life. A long, eloquent introduction seems to mimic the progression from a sudden, brief welling-up of stronger emotion to a return to intimacy, marked by the distinctively Mozartian decoration of a simpler harmonic progression with melodic chromaticism. Several minutes into the aria, the sudden, hushed shift into greater tonal darkness at the words “Provo nel mio dolore,” emphasizing the protagonist’s sorrow and terror, is one of many arresting details in the Larghetto first section. When Dario sees Statira weeping, the sight ushers in the Allegro and Piu allegro sections as the bitterness of parting overwhelms him, and sadness becomes fiery torment.

Franz Schubert (1797-1828)

Prometheus, D. 674

View Notes

In Greek mythology, Prometheus stole fire from Zeus to give to mortals—in punishment he was bound to a rock and an eagle daily plucked out his liver. The German poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was drawn to this myth in 1773 by Prometheus’ championship of humanity against the gods; not for nothing was Goethe called “the great pagan” (a title he liked), celebrating human self-sufficiency in many of his masterpieces.

Schubert set Goethe’s poem in 1819, when the composer was himself challenging patriarchal authorities, and the song’s formal novelties and harmonic boldness match the great German writer’s audacity. The mighty, striding piano introduction is a proclamation of rule-breaking boldness, and quasi-orchestral tremolos and operatic recitative join forces with Goethe’s blank verse damnation of all gods to proclaim a power that is entirely human.

Franz Schubert (1797-1828)

Fahrt zum Hades, D. 526

View Notes

1817 is a year in which songs on classical subjects proliferate in Schubert’s output, due in part to his collaboration with his older friend, Johann Baptist Mayrhofer. A poeta dolorosus, martyred by his pathologically depressive nature, Mayrhofer may not have been the equal of Dante or Goethe, but he wrote a number of powerful, bleak poems in a unique voice. Schubert set 47 of his poems to music, including “Fahrt zum Hades”, in which the poet imagines his journey to a hellish Underworld where the nectar of poetry and the ambrosia of knowledge will be forever taken away from him. When he asks at the end, “When will these torments cease?”, we understand that the “torments” belong both to life and the afterlife.

At the start of Schubert’s music, we hear a march downwards in exorable tones on a traditional lamentation figure; his tormented soul tries to be a true Stoic (Mayrhofer admired the philosophy of the Stoics), but almost succumbs to a thickening fear. Terror transgresses the bounds of song and the lied briefly transforms into an operatic recitativo accompagnato (the most dramatic sort of recitative)—but Schubert brings back the opening lines and the farewell to “the fair earth” in the final measures. In this way, unlike in the poem, he allows his friend to end ascendant over his fears.

Franz Schubert (1797-1828)

Gruppe aus dem Tartarus, D. 583

View Notes

“Gruppe aus dem Tartarus” imagines a nameless, faceless horde of souls forced on the final journey through the lowest realm of the Underworld to Eternity. At the beginning, we are bidden, “Listen!”; the poem’s author, Friedrich Schiller, then delays the revelation of what we hear by means of analogy (like the murmuring of an angry ocean, like a brook weeping through holes in a crag). First, we hear; then we see the souls as they look back in despair at the bridge over the River Cocytus (the “river of wailing,” which flows into the river Acheron, with the underworld across from it). The souls ask each other anxiously whether the end has not yet come—and then Eternity sweeps over them, breaking Saturn’s scythe in two (Saturn being both a god of agriculture and a god of time.)

Schubert, in the marvelous piano figuration at the start, is perhaps “channeling” Mozart’s Don Giovanni, whose damnation scene features rising and falling chromatic scales. We hear Saturn’s scythe swinging in the piano as sorrow distorts the souls’ countenances, we hear the rising drumbeats of doom, and finally, massive, wheeling chords herald the arrival of eternity. The harmonic audacity of this final section is heart-stopping. But it all ends with a diminuendo and descent in which we can almost see the souls vanishing, with a final chill chord high in the treble, like a last sigh.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Liebe und Frühling I, Op. 3, No. 2

View Notes

Brahms’ published songs represent only a portion of his lieder output, and by the time his Op. 3 set was published in 1853, Brahmsian signature traits were already in evidence. With text by Hoffmann von Fallersleben, the speaker in “Liebe und Frühling I” compares thoughts of his beloved by day and night to vine tendrils trembling in the breeze and to bindweed curling around a rose. Brahms begins with a theme we first hear unharmonized, the voice and singer bound together on the same pitches like the rose and the bindweed. The same theme then sounds in two-part counterpoint, beginning in imitation, followed by ever fuller and richer textures that emphasize the contrary motion between the top and bottom voices so characteristic of this Bach-obsessed Romantic composer. With the final invocation of the beloved, we hear the omnipresent musical idea in rhythmic augmentation, while the piano sinks chromatically into the lowest depths of the piano. Somehow we doubt a happy outcome for this love, at least in Brahms’ reading.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Liebe und Frühling II, Op. 3, No. 3

View Notes

Brahms’ published songs represent only a portion of his lieder output, and by the time his Op. 3 set was published in 1853, Brahmsian signature traits were already in evidence. “Liebe und Frühling II” presents us with a lover in manic mode. Having sunk into depression at the end of “Liebe und Frühling I”, he is now animated by a frenzy of trilling, thrumming need, and desire; the descending chromaticism from the postlude of the previous song now becomes something emphatic and dissonance-laden. The tonality becomes truly clear only at the end of the first section—but not for long. As the singer rejects Nature’s beauties one by one in the second sweeter, more lyrical section, Brahms shifts from one harmonic location to another, with shape-shifting enharmony in play; this exemplifies his characteristic tonal richness. In the final section, he brings back the furious energy of the beginning, but the eloquent piano postlude dies away in an unusual cadence. Yet again, we are given cause to doubt the chances for felicity in love.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Alte Liebe, Op. 72, No. 1

View Notes

In “Alte Liebe”, the little-known poet Karl Candidus evokes the returning swallows and storks in spring as the sad speaker remembers past sorrow in love; in the final three stanzas, the “old dream” of love envelopes him. Brahms, in love for much of his life with the great pianist-composer Clara Schumann, incorporates a six-note melodic segment into the song from a solo piano work that he had presented to her five years earlier. He then asked his friend, the great baritone Julius Stockhausen, to sing it to Clara, along with his setting of “Unüberwindlich,” Goethe’s poem about a man who tries—and fails—to drown love’s sorrow in the bottle.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Meine Liebe ist grün, Op. 63, No. 5

View Notes

Looking at the poet’s name and dates for Brahms’ “Junge Lieder I” (Meine Liebe ist grün), one opens the door to this composer’s yearning to be part of the Schumann family and his extraordinary empathy with those in his circle of beloved friends. The poet was Felix Schumann, Brahms’ godson and the youngest child of Robert and Clara Schumann, conceived not long before Schumann had to be committed to a mental institution. Felix, who would die of tuberculosis at 25, turned to poetry when bad health made a musical career impossible; in this poem, an ardent swain proclaims that his love is as green as the lilac bush and as fair as the sun shining upon it. In the letter accompanying his Christmas Eve gift of this song, Brahms told Clara that he had recalled her husband’s “Schöne Fremde” (the 6th song of the Liederkreis, Op. 39) when he read Felix’s verses, and he quotes it at the beginning of his own masterpiece, in which youthful ardor comes to sounding life.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Von ewiger Liebe, Op. 43, No. 1

View Notes

Even the great lieder composer Hugo Wolf—no fan of Brahms—liked “Von ewiger Liebe”, a dialogue between a village lad, who tells his girlfriend that he fears for her reputation and will therefore leave her, and the young woman, who swears that their love is stronger, more enduring, than iron or steel. Brahms borrowed much of the woman’s melody and important aspects of the harmonic structure in this song from his own unpublished Brautgesang (Bridal Song) for women’s voices and orchestra, composed in 1858; only the vocal parts survive. The choral work was conceived during the height of the 25-year-old composer’s infatuation with Agathe von Siebold; when he set “Von ewiger Liebe” eight years later, his friend Joseph Joachim had recently married and fathered a child, while Brahms’ intent to propose to another woman at Christmas 1863 was destroyed by her engagement to someone else. Furthermore, Brahms’ own parents parted in 1864, and all of these events might well have inspired him to ponder love, fidelity, and separation. When Brahms sets the word “fester” (stronger) to a highly dramatic chord from outside the key, he tells both of the maiden’s great resolve and of the dangers threatening her love—dangers he knew well.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)

Così dunque tradisci, K. 432/421a

View Notes

The recitative-aria pair “Così dunque tradisci” was, according to a contemporary of Mozart’s, written in 1783 for the eminent bass Ludwig Fischer, for whom Mozart tailor-made the role of Osmin in Die Entführung aus dem Serail (The Abduction from the Seraglio). The text was taken from a revised opera libretto by the famous 18th century opera reformer Pietro Metastasio entitled Temistocle, an opera about the battles and subsequent exile of the Athenian politician and general, Themistocles. In the libretto, this selection is sung by Sebaste, a prince and confidante of King Serse, upon learning that Princess Rossane has betrayed his designs to overthrow the monarch. Rage, despair, and self-reproach animate both the recitative and the aria; we hear the harshness of remorse in the stabbing repeated-note triplet figures in the accompaniment, the dramatic leaps in the vocal part, and the quiet ending when all that emotion has run its course.

Henri Duparc (1848-1933)

L'invitation au voyage

View Notes

The long-lived Henri Duparc composed only 17 mélodies before falling victim to a mysterious neurasthenic disease that prevented him from composing in the final 48 years of his life. As if in compensation for such a hideous fate, his songs are among the greatest in the French language, their subtlety and gravitas beyond the reach of most of his contemporaries. Under the aegis of those German composers he revered (Schubert, Schumann, Wagner, Beethoven, and Bach), he fashioned songs that are inimitably French, endowing the mélodie with an emotional intensity and a close relationship of poetry and music that would not be equaled until Fauré’s mature songs.

Duparc would be immortal if he had composed nothing other than “L’invitation au voyage”, using the text of one of Charles Baudelaire’s most beautiful poems in the famous anthology Les Fleurs du Mal (The Flowers of Evil). Here, the poet seduces the beloved with his vision of a realm of perfect beauty, steeped in calm and bathed in a Watteau-like amber glow of sensuality. The pair will journey to this exotic realm by boat; Duparc floats this exquisite song on a harmonic waterway infused with “luxe, calme, et volupté” (luxury, calm and sensuous pleasure—the refrain) from the start. Over an elemental-hollow low bass (the ocean bed of this song), watery harmonies shift and change, their colors entrancing.

Henri Duparc (1848-1933)

Le manoir de Rosemonde

View Notes

The long-lived Henri Duparc composed only 17 mélodies before falling victim to a mysterious neurasthenic disease that prevented him from composing in the final 48 years of his life. As if in compensation for such a hideous fate, his songs are among the greatest in the French language, their subtlety and gravitas beyond the reach of most of his contemporaries. Under the aegis of those German composers he revered (Schubert, Schumann, Wagner, Beethoven, and Bach), he fashioned songs that are inimitably French, endowing the mélodie with an emotional intensity and a close relationship of poetry and music that would not be equaled until Fauré’s mature songs.

In Robert de Bonniere’s proto-Symbolist poem “Le manoir de Rosemonde”, love is the “rose of the world,” and its manor house is celestial blue. The progenitors of the music were Schubert’s “Erlkönig”—the steed that charges upwards in Duparc’s bass was sired by the galloping ride through Schubert’s ballad—and “Die Post” from Winterreise, its dotted rhythms a precursor for Duparc’s mad ride.

Henri Duparc (1848-1933)

La vague et la cloche

View Notes

The long-lived Henri Duparc composed only 17 mélodies before falling victim to a mysterious neurasthenic disease that prevented him from composing in the final 48 years of his life. As if in compensation for such a hideous fate, his songs are among the greatest in the French language, their subtlety and gravitas beyond the reach of most of his contemporaries. Under the aegis of those German composers he revered (Schubert, Schumann, Wagner, Beethoven, and Bach), he fashioned songs that are inimitably French, endowing the mélodie with an emotional intensity and a close relationship of poetry and music that would not be equaled until Fauré’s mature songs.

François Coppée, “the poet of the poor,” affiliated himself at the turn-of century with the anti-semitic, anti-Dreyfus Ligue de la patrie française, incurring posterity’s opprobrium, but his plays and poems were popular in their day. In “La vague et la cloche”, his poetic persona quaffs a potion, then has a despairing Romantic dream featuring shipwreck and a frenzied ride atop a giant bell (Victor Hugo’s Quasimodo is clearly his literary ancestor), symbols for the clamorous anguish of the human condition. The song is Duparc on his darkest, stormiest night, conceiving a big work for a big voice that must ride the Wagnerian waves of sound in the piano. But it was Schubert’s “Der Atlas,” I would guess, that inspired the passage in which the vocal line is doubled by the low bass in octaves (“Je voguais sans fanal dans la nuit”).

Maurice Ravel (1875-1937)

Don Quichotte à Dulcinée

View Notes

Born to a mother from the Basque Country north of Spain, Ravel always felt close to his Basque heritage, Spain, and all things Spanish. He acknowledged that the primary influences on his craftsmanship as a composer were his teacher, Gabriel Fauré and the 1889 Paris Exhibition, which exposed him to Javanese gamelan and Russian music. At odds with authority (he repeatedly failed to win the Prix de Rome), Ravel was a member of Les Apaches, an avant-garde literary, artistic, and musical group, in his youth. After Debussy’s death in 1918, he was widely regarded as France’s leading composer.

Ravel did not produce many songs, but he wrote them throughout his active life as a composer. The three songs collectively entitled Don Quichotte à Dulcinée come from his final period, just before he began to be affected by Pick’s disease, a rare and dreadful neurodegenerative disease. The songs—inspired by the Spanish novel and conveying further evidence of his attraction to Spanish sources—are the result of a commission from the Austrian filmmaker Georg Pabst for a film about Miguel de Cervantes’ immortal knight, with the great Russian bass Feodor Chaliapin cast in the title role. (Since Ravel was late in delivering the score, Jacques Ibert was brought in to compose the songs actually used in the movie.)

In this trio of songs, Don Quixote appears in three guises: lover, warrior, and drinker. Each of the three songs exemplifies a different type of Spanish or Basque dance, reflecting Ravel’s lasting preoccupation with the form, which he prized as an important source of rhythmic invention. The lover’s song, “Chanson romanesque,” is a Spanish guajira, a Cuban-derived dance evoking rusticity, alternating measures of 6/8 and 3/4 meter, appropriate for the gaunt knight’s peasant sweetheart Dulcinea. The warrior’s song, “Chanson épique,” is a nod to the Basque zortzico, with modal inflections that appear to be Ravel’s final homage to Fauré. And the drinking song, “Chanson a boire,” calls on the cross-rhythms of the jota, in triple meter, marked by complex rhythms for the castanets and the dancers’ heels.

Program Subject to Change Without Notice

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