The Tucson Winter Chamber Music Festival
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Jennifer Foster, Soprano
, consistently earns critical praise as a vocal artist of great beauty, warmth, security and expressive ability. She made her operatic debut as Fiordiligi in Mozart's Cosi fan tutte with the Los Angeles Music Center Opera, and later toured nationally with the San Francisco Opera as Adele in Die Fledermaus. She has also been invited to appear with major international festivals including Santa Fe, Aspen, Aldeburgh (England), and Verbier (Switzerland). She has been a featured soloist with symphonies and choral groups in Los Angeles, Boston, San Francisco, Florida and San Diego, among others. Jennifer has served as soloist at The First Church of Christ, Scientist, (The Mother Church), since 1997, and she can be heard each week on international shortwave and internet broadcasts, as well as on the CD Jubal-ation, produced by the Christian Science Publishing Society.

Ottorino Respighi (1879-1936)
"Il Tramonto" for String Quartet and Mezzo-Soprano
Jennifer Foster, Mezzo-Soprano
and the
American String Quartet

In 1914 Italian composer Ottorino Respighi created his setting for Shelley's 1816 poem "The Sunset." Based on a translation into the Italian by Rinaldo Ascoli, the work freely illustrates its haunting text through chromatically tinged harmonies and eloquent instrumental recapitulations. Italian translation below by Rinaldo Ascoli.

Il Tramonto
Già vebbe un uomo, nel cui tenue spirto
(Qual luce e vento in delicata nube
Che ardente ciel di mezzogiorno stempri)
La morte e il genio contendeano.
Oh! quanta tenera gioia, che gli fè il respiro
Venir meno (così dellaura estiva lansia talvolta)
Quando la sua dama, che allor solo conobbe
Labbandono pieno e il concorde palpitar di due
creature che samano,
E gli addusse pei sentieri dun campo,
Ad oriente da una foresta biancheggiante ombrato
Ed a ponente discoverto al cielo!
Ora è sommerso il sole; ma linee doro
Pendon sovra le cineree nubi,
Sul verde piano, sui tremanti fiori
Sui grigi globi dellantico smirnio
E i neri boschi avvolgono,
Del vespro mescolandosi alle ombre.
Lenta sorge ad oriente linfocata luna
Tra i folti rami delle piante cupe:
Brillan sul capo languide le stelle.

E il giovine sussurra: Non è strano?
Io mai non vidi il sorgere del sole, o Isabella.
Domani a contemplarlo verremo insieme.
Il giovin e la dama giacquer tral sonno
E il dolce amor congiunti ne la notte:
Al mattin gelido e morto ella trovò lamante.
Oh! nessun creda che, vibrando tal colpo,
fu il Signore misericorde.
Non morì la dama, nè folle diventò:
Anno per anno visse ancora. Ma io penso
Che la queta sua pazienza, e i trepidi sorrisi,
E il non morir ma vivere a custodia
Del veccio padre (se è follia
Dal mondo dissimigliare) fossero follia.
Era, nullaltro che a vederla, come leggere un
Canto da ingegnoso bardo intessuto a piegar
Gelidi cuori in un dolor pensoso.
Neri gli occhi, ma non fulgidi più
Consunte quasi le ciglia dale lagrime;
Le labbra e le gote parevan cose morte tanto eran bianche;
Ed esili le mani e per le erranti vene
E le giunture rossa del giorgno trasparia
La luce. La nuda tomba, che il tuo fral racchiude.
Cui notte e giorno unombra tormentata abita.
È quanto di te resta, o cara creatura perduta!
Ho tal retaggio, che la terra no dà:
Calma e silenzio, senza peccato e senza passione.
Sia che i morti ritrovino (non ma il sonno!)
Ma il riposo, imperturbati quali appaion.
O vivano, o damore nel mar profondo scendano,
Oh! che il mio epitaffio, che il tuo sia Pace.
Questo dalle sue labbra lunico lamento.

The Sunset
There late was One within whose subtle being
As light and wind within some delicate cloud
That fades amid the blue noons burning sky,
Genius and Death contended. None may know
The sweetness of the joy which made his breath
fail, like the trances of the summer air,
When with the Lady of his love, who then
First knew the unreserve of mingled being
He walked along the pathway of a field,
Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed oer
But to the west was open to the sky.
There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold
Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points
Of the far level grass and nodding flowers
And the old dandelions hoary beard,
And, mingled with the shades of twilight lay,
The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose
Between the black trunks of the crowded trees,
While the faint stars were gathering overhead.

Is it not strange, Isabel, said the youth,
I never saw the sun? We will walk here
Tomorrow; thou shalt look on it with me.
That night the youth and the lady mingled lay
in love and sleep but when the morning came
The lady found her lover dead and cold.
Let none believe that God in mercy gave that stroke.
The lady died not, nor grew wild,
But year by year lived on in truth I think
Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles,
And that she did not die, but lived to tend
Her aged father, were a kind of madness,
If madness tis to be unlike the world.
For but to see her were to read the tale
Woven by some subtlest bard, and to make hard hearts
Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;
Her eyes were black and lusterless and wan;
Her eyelashes were worn away with tears,
Her lips and cheeks were like things dead so pale;
Her hands were thin, and thro their wandering veins
And weak articulations might be seen
Days ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self
Which one vext ghost inhabits, night and day,
Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
Inheritor of more than earth can give,
Passionless calm and silence unreproved,
Whether the dead find, oh not sleep! but rest,
And are the uncomplaining things they seem,
Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love;
Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were Peace!
This was the only moan she ever made!

 

 

Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983)
Cantos del Tucuman for Voice, Flute, Violin, Harp and Drums, Opus 4
Jennifer Foster, Soprano
Janice Tipton, Flute
Jennifer Frautschi, Violin
Katerina Englichova, Harp
Gary Cook, Caja

Argentinean composer Alberto Ginastera stands as one of the leading creative personalities in 20th-century Latin American music. From his earliest works Ginastera sought to express a specifically Argentinean musical identity. He drew inspiration from Argentinean literature, especially 19th-century "gauchesco" folk tales eulogizing both the countryside and its wandering gauchos, stubborn horsemen who resisted civilization and progress.
Ginastera wrote his Opus 4 while he was still a student at the Conservatorio Nacional in Buenas Aires. His four "Cantos del Tucuman" (1938) are atmospheric settings of poems by the Argentinean writer Rafael Jijena Sanchez (1904-1977). A native of the colonial city of Tucuman, located in the mountainous northern region of Argentina, Jijena Sanchez conveyed the character of his rugged, remote homeland through his texts. The work was premiered in Buenos Aires by its dedicatee, the soprano Brigida Frias de Lopez Buchardo, and was awarded the Premio Nacional de Musica.
Although Ginastera does not directly quote folksong in the "Cantos," he models his rhythms and melodies on native Argentinean song and dance elements. The sparely accompanied, nostalgic melody of "Yo Naci en el valle" is based on a vernacular scale. The harp accompaniment in the pensive "Solita su Alma" suggests indigenous guitar figuration. Rhythmic patterns in the final song, reinforced by native drums, evoke the malambo, the rapid, foot-stomping dance of the gauchos. Throughout, hints of Falla and Stravinsky are heard in the work's asymmetric rhythms and colorful harmonies.

Yo Naci en el Valle
Yo nací en el valle, agua y arena.
Yo nací en el valle, lo dejé por ella.
Camiñito andando veinticinco leguas
Arribito abajo, por entre las peñas.
Cariñito tuyo, ¡ay, lo que me cuesta!
¡Ojos de la cara, sangre de mis venas!
Dijecito de oro, agua y arena,
Por quererte tuve que olvidar mi tierra.
Yo nací en el valle, agua y arena.
Yo nací en el valle, lo dejé por ella.
I Was Born in the Valley
I was born in the valley, water and sand.
I was born in the valley, I left it for her.walk on a small path, up and down, for 25 leagues between the cliffs.
Your love, oh what effort it costs me!
My eyes, blood of my veins,
Trinkets of gold, water and sand, to love you I had to forget my country.
I was born in the valley, water and sand.
I was born in the valley, I left it for her.
Solita su Alma
Solita su alma la chinitilla
¿Qué pensará que a cada rato mira al camino del Tucumán?
El que se ha ido ¡penca de su alma! ¿si volverá?
¿De su chinita florcitá el aire se acordará?
¡Ay, Catamarca donde hi nacío para mi mal!
La chinitilla pena, penando, se echa a llorar.
La Mama Virgen, Virgen del Valle la hi consolar.
How Lonely
How lonely is the little girl's soul.
What is she thinking when at every turn she looks toward the road to Tucuman?
The one who has gone, her soul's agave! Will he return?
Will he remember his darling?
Oh Catamarca, where to my misfortune I was born,
The little girl grieves, grieving she starts to weep.
The Virgin Mother, Virgin of the Valley, will console her.
Vida, Vidita, Vidala
Vida, vidita, vidala, vidalitá.
Andando me hais de querer si es que no me queris ya.
Vida, vidita, vidala, vidalitá.
¡Un pañuelito de seda y un amor por estrenar!
Vida, vidita, vidala, vidalitá.
Querime con un cariño que no se pueda acabar.
Desde la tierra a los cielos desde los cielos al mar.
Vida, vidita, vidala, vidalitá.
My Life, My Song
My life, my song, you will love me, if you do not already do so.
My life, my song, a silk kerchief and a love still waiting!
My life, my song, love me with a tenderness that can never end:
From the earth to the sky, from the sky to the sea, my life, my song.
Algarroba, Algarrobal
Algarrobo algarrobal, para quererte que lindo.
Echaditos a la sombre y a las orillas del rio.
Decime si me querís, decime pa no morir.
Chinitilla y Santa Cruz, bonitilla y vivaracha.
Ya se nos acerca el tiempo de la aloja y de la añapa.
Decime si me queris, decime pa no morir.
Los coyuyos, los coyuyos ¡cómo cantan el amor!
Un coyuyo que no canta en el pecho tengo yo.
Algarrobo, algarrobal, que ganitas de besar.
Decime si me querís, aunque me muera, decí.
Carob Tree
Carob tree, how sweet to love you, stretched out in the shade and on the river bank.
Tell me if you love me, tell me so I do not die.
Pretty, lively young girl of Santa Cruz, the time of sweet refreshments is drawing close,
Tell me if you love me, tell me so I do not die.
The cicadas, how they sing of love!
But I have a cicada in my heart that doesn't sing.
Carob tree, how I long for a kiss.
Tell me if you love me, although I die, tell me.
© Ricordi Americana SAEC, Buenos Aires (Argentina). Translation by Pawlina Bednarczyk

 

Joaquin Rodrigo (1901-1999)
Cuatro Madrigales Amatorios (Inspirados en musica Española del siglo XVI)
(Four Madrigals of Love - Inspired by Spanish music of the 16th Century)
Jennifer Foster, Soprano
Rick Rowley, Piano


Joaquin Rodrigo was born in Spain and was blind from age 3. He studied composition in Paris and later in Germany during the Spanish Civil War. After his return to Madrid in 1939 he went on to become one of Spain's best-known composers. He wrote the "Cuatro Madrigales Amatorios" as presented here in 1947 and orchestrated them in the following year. Although almost always sung as a group, the four individual songs are not related by either text or mood.

¿Con qué la lavaré?
¿Con qué la lavaré la tez de la mi cara?
¿Con qué la lavaré? que vivo mal penada.
Lávanse las casadas con agua de limones,
Lavome yo cuitada con penas y dolores.
With what shall I wash?
With what shall I wash the complexion of my face?
With what shall I wash, I who live deeply pained.
The married women wash with water of lemons,
I, grieved, wash myself with pain and suffering.
Vos me matásteis
Vos me matásteis, niña en cabello,
Vos me habéis muerto.
Riberas de un río ví moza vírgen,
Niña en cabello.
Vos me matásteis, vos me habéis muerto.
You have killed me
You have killed me, girl with flowing hair,
You have made me die.
On the shore of a river I saw a virgin maid,
A girl with flowing hair.
You have killed me, you have made me die.
¿De dónde venís, amore?
¿De dónde venís, amore?
Bien sé yo de donde.
¿De dónde venís, amigo?
Fuere yo testigo.
Ah ah ah! Bien sé yo de donde!
From where have you come, love?
From where have you come, love?
I know very well from where.
From where have you come, friend?
I was a witness.
Ah ha ha! I know very well from where!
De los álamos vengo, madre
De los álamos vengo, madre,
De ver como los menea el aire.
De los álamos de Sevilla,
De ver a mi linda amiga.

From the poplar grove I've come, mother
From the poplar trees I've come, mother,
To see how the breeze stirs them.
From the poplars in Seville,
To see my pretty girlfriend.

 

Heitor Villa-Lobos (1887-1959)
Suite for Voice and Violin
Jennifer Foster, Soprano
Benny Kim, Violin


A self-taught composer, Villa-Lobos (1887-1959) explored the colorful materials of both his native folk music tradition and Brazilian popular music to create a richly melodic national style. The second and third songs have a syllabic text that evoke the sounds of the peasants of Northern Brazil, representing a gamut of moods, celebrations and festivals to family feuds fought with knives and guns over property rights.

A Menina e a Cançâo
Tra li la ra ra . . . tra ri la, tra ri la . . .
A menina esganiçada, magriça,
com a saia voejando por cima dos joelhos em nó,
Vinha meio dançando, cantando
ao crepúsculo escuro.
Batia compasso coma varinha
na poeira da calcada.
Tra ri la ra ra . . .
De repente voltou-se para a negra velha
que vinha tropeçando atraz,
enorme trouxa de roupa à cabeça:
Qué mi da, vó? Nâo.
Tra ri la ra . . . Nâo . . . tra li la
The Girl and the Song
Tra li la ra ra . . . tra ri la, tra ri la . . .
A shrill, thin girl,
with her skirt flying above her knees
came dancing and singing
in the dark dawn.
She was writing with a stick
in the dirt on the sidewalk.
Tra ri la ra ra . . .
Suddenly, she turned to the old black lady
who was coming stumbling behind her,
a huge bunch of clothes on her head:
Can I carry it, grandma? No.
Tra ri la ra . . . Nâo . . . tra li la
Quéro ser Alégre I want to be happy
The wordless syllables convey the singer's struggle from grief or depression toward a sense of well-being.
Sertaneja
La la la la la ly ah!
La la la la la la! y ô
Páou! Páou! Páou!
Pá rá pá tá rá pá rá tá!
Pa! Espingarda, Pá! Pá! Pá!
Faca de ponta! tá! tá! tá! tá!

Brazilian folk song
La la la la la ly ah!
La la la la la la! y ô
Páou! Páou! Páou!
Pá rá pá tá rá pá rá tá!
Pow! Musket, pow pow pow!
Point of the knife! ta ta ta ta!

 

 

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco (1895-1968)
Three Sephardic Songs
Jennifer Foster, Soprano
Katerina Englichova, Harp

Born in Florence, Italy to Jewish parents, Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco showed musical promise from a very early age. He was a published composer by age of 10 and continued piano and composition studies with some of the finest teachers of the time. In 1939, he fled rising anti-Semitism in Italy by moving with his wife and two sons to the United States. They soon settled in Los Angeles, where he became a sought-after as a composer of film scores and composition teacher to such notables as André Previn, John Williams, and Henry Mancini, among others. He continued to write concert music during his successful Hollywood career.
Probably best known for his long-time collaboration with world-renowned guitarist Andrés Segovia, and the remarkable output of now-standard repertoire for that instrument, Tedesco wrote for a wide variety of instruments including voice. These songs for singer and harp reflect his Jewish heritage, as well as his love of melody-not necessarily a common element in works from other serious composers of this period. The following quote from an interview with Tedesco nicely sums up his musical philosophy: "What I have sought to do, during my artistic evolution, has been to express myself with means always simpler and more direct, in a language always clearer and more precise."

Montañas altas
Montañas altas y marinadas
Llevame donde el mi amor
Llevame donde el mi querido
Que con el tengo l'amor O
Ama me segun yo t'amo,
Mira que me va morir;
Lleva tiempo y viene tiempo,
Mira que por ti me va morir O
Por la calle ja aqui yo paso
Mi solumbre no te veràs
Llorando y sufriendo
Deonde viene el dolor O
High Mountains
High mountains near the seas
Carry me to where my love is
Carry me to where my desired one is
For with him I have love Oh
Love me like I love you
See that I am going to die
Time comes and goes,
See that for you I am going to die Oh
In the street I have already passed by here
You don't see my shadow
Crying and suffering
From where the pain comes Oh
Ven y veràs
Ven y verás, viaremos
Lo amor que tenemos los dos ven lo gustaremos
Arboles lloran por lluvia y montañas por aire
Asi lloran mis ojos por ti querida amante
Lluvia se hizo y se mojo la calle y la corteja,
Onde y diga a mi amore que es de los ojos mios.
Come and See
Come and you will see, we'll see
The love that we two have we will enjoy
Trees cry for rain and mountains for air
So my eyes cry for you, dear beloved
Rain fell and made the street and courtyard wet,
It ripples out and tells my love that it is from my eyes.
Una noche
Una noche yo me armi por ver vuestros recintados
Detame la puerta abierta y candil amatado
Tarala y la y hop tarala layla hoppa!
Tu me quieres, yo te quiero;
Tu madre no nos quiere
Esta noche arogo al dios en la cama rue ruede
Tarala y la . . .
Ni blanca soy ni morena
Ni cosa de la varvos
Por la gerve que a mi me haces
Y en alma mia entrates
Tarala y la . . .
One Night
One night I prepare myself to see your bedroom
Leave the door open and the candle extinguished
You love me, I love you;
Your mother doesn't love us
Tonight I beg God she'll stay in bed and sleep
Neither white nor brown am I
Neither have I anything of value
For you to boast of me
And yet into my soul you have entered

 

Maurice Ravel (1875-1937)
Five Popular Greek Songs
Jennifer Foster, Soprano
Katerina Englichova, Harp

In 1904 Pierre Aubry, a noted French journalist, was invited to lecture on the condition of the oppressed Greeks and Armenians in Turkey. Having decided to illustrate his discussion with authentic songs, he asked Ravel to provide piano accompaniments for them. Together they chose four songs from Hubert Pernot's collection, "Popular Songs from the Isle of Chio," and a fifth song, "Quel galant," from a group published in Constantinople. After a Greek friend had translated the lyrics for Ravel, he completed the harmonizations within a 36-hour period. The brief songs, all charming lyrics of love and courtship, are treated with simplicity and imagination. Ravel himself admired the songs and chose them as the first opus to offer to his lifelong publisher, Durand et Fils.

Le réveil de la Mariée
Réveille-toi, perdrix mignonne,
Ouvre au matin tes ailes,
Trois grains de beauté,
Mon coeur en est brûlé!
Vois le ruban dor que je tapporte
Pour le nouer autour de tes cheveux.
Si tu veux, ma belle, viens nous marier!
Dans nos deux familles tous sont alliés.
Awakening the bride
Wake up, little partridge,
Open your wings to the morning.
Three beauty spots
make my heart burn!
See the gold ribbon that I bring you
to tie around your hair.
If you like, my beauty, well get married!
Within our two families, all are united.
Là-bas, vers l'église
Là-bas, vers l'église,
Vers léglise Ayio Sidero,
Léglise, ô Vierge Sainte,
Léglise Ayio Costanndino
Se sont réunis,
Rassemblés en nombre infini,
Du monde, ô Vierge Sainte,
Du monde tous les plus braves!
Yonder, near the church
Yonder, near the church
Near the church of Aiyo Sidero,
The church, o Holy Virgin,
The church of Ayio Costanndino
Are gathered,
brought together in infinite number
From the world, o Holy Virgin,
All the bravest people!
Quel galant m'est comparable?
Quel galant m'est comparable,
Dentre ceux quon voit passer?
Dis, dame Vassiliki?
Vois, pendus, pendus à ma ceinture,
Pistolets et sabre aigu . . .
Et cest toi que jaime!
What Gallant is comparable to me?
What gallant is comparable to me
among those that one sees passing by?
Tell me, Vassiliki?
See, hanging, hanging on my belt,
pistols and a sharp saber . . .
And it is you whom I love!
Chanson des cuilleuses de lentisques
O joie de mon âme, joie de mon coeur,
Trésor qui mest si cher;
Joie de lâme et du coeur
Toi que jaime ardemment,
Tu est plus beau quun ange.
O lorsque tu parais, ange si doux,
Devant nos yeux,
Comme un bel ange blond,
Sous le clair soleil,
Hélas, tous nos pauvres coeurs soupirent!
Song of the pistachio gatherers
O joy of my soul, joy of my heart,
Treasure that is to me so dear;
Joy of the soul and of the heart
You whom I love ardently,
You are more handsome than an angel.
O when you appear, angel so sweet,
Before our eyes,
Like a handsome blond angel,
Under the luminous sun,
Alas, all our poor hearts sigh!
Tout gai!
Tout gai, Ha tout gai!
Belles jambes, tireli, qui dansent;
Belles jambes, la vaisselle danse,
Tra la la la . . .
Everyone merry!
Everyone merry, Ah everyone merry!
Beautiful legs, tireli, which dance;
Beautiful legs, the dishes dance,
Tra la la la . . .

 

Maurice Delage (1879-1961)
"Quatre Poemes Hindous" for Nonet and Soprano
Jennifer Foster, Soprano
Allan Vogel, Oboe
Ik-Hwan Bae, Violin
Jennifer Frautschi, Viola
Paul Coletti, Viola
Felix Wang, Cello
Katerina Englichova, Harp
Patricia Shands, Clarinet
Janice Tipton, Flute
Patricia Watrous, Flute
John Snavely, Clarinet
Timothy Weiss, Conductor

Afflicted with poor eyesight, French composer Maurice Delage learned to perform the most complex of works by ear. Open to the most innovative musical trends, Delage studied formally with Ravel and shared ideas with Stravinsky, who called him "an artist of the first order." In the spring of 1912 Delage accompanied his parents to India and Japan, where they owned shoe polish factories. Discovering that Hindu music "sent chills up the spine" for him, Delage listened incessantly and transcribed much of what he heard. He sought Western equivalents for these exotic sounds as he composed his Four Hindu Songs during 1912-13. Through subtle ornamentation, colorful glissandi, and alteration of conventional Western tunings, Delage achieved the microtonal shadings similar to those heard in his favorite recordings by Hindu artists Imrad Khan and Coimbatore Thayi, a master of closed-mouth singing.
The first and fourth songs are settings of stanzas by Hindu poet Bhartrihari. The second song, with words taken from a poem by Heine, projects a series of wordless arabesques in its latter half. The third song describes the birth of Buddha.

Madras: Une belle
Une belle à la taille svelte se promène sous les arbres de la forêt.
En se reposant de temps en temps.
Ayant relevé de la main les trois voiles dor qui lui couvrent les seins,
elle renvoie à la lune les rayons dont elle était baignée.
Madras: A Beauty
A slim-waisted beauty walks under the forest treesto rest from time to time.with her hand the three golden veils which cover her breasts,reflects back to the moon the rays which bathed her.
Lahore: Un sapin isolé
Un sapin isolé se dresse sur une montagne aride du Nord.
Il sommeille.
La glace et la neige lenvironnent dun manteau blanc.
Il rêve dun palmier qui làbas dans l'Orient lointain se désole, solitaire et taciturne,
sur la pente de son rocher brûlant.
Lahore: A Solitary Pine
a solitary pine stands on a bare mountain of the North..and snow wrap round it a white cloak.is dreaming of a palm-tree which yonder, in the far-off East, grieves,and silent on its slope of burning rock.
Bénarès: Naissance de Bouddha
En ce temps-là, fut annoncée la venue de Bouddha sur la terre.
Il se fit dans le ciel un grand bruit de nuages.
Les Dieux, agitant leurs éventails et leurs vêtements,
Répandirent dinnombrables fleurs merveilleuses.
Des parfums mystérieux et doux se croisèrent comme des lianes dans le souffle tiède de cette nuit de printemps.
La perle divine de la pleine lune sarrêta sur le Palais de marbre gardé par vingt mille éléphants pareils à des collines grises de la couleur des nuages.
Benares: Birth of Buddha
In that time was announced the coming of Buddha on the earth.sky was filled with a great rumbling of clouds.Gods, by the movements of their fans and robes,innumerable marvelous flowers.sweet perfumes intermingled like creepers in the warm breath of that spring night.holy pearl of the full moon hung above the marble palace guarded by twenty thousand elephants like gray hills the color of clouds.
Jeypur: Si vous pensez à elle
Si vous pensez à elle, vous éprouvez un douloureux tourment.
Si vous la voyez, votre esprit se trouble.
Si vous la touchez, vous perdez la raison.
Comment peut-on lappeler bien-aimée?

Jeypur: If You Think of her
If you think of her, you feel an aching torment.you set eyes on her, your mind falters.you touch her, reason goes.can she be called the well-beloved?

Cover art: Brenda Semanick • Program notes: Nancy Monsman • Design and art direction: GroundZero • Producer and Recording Engineer: Matthew Snyder

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