DCINY Artist Series

presents

DISTINGUISHED CONCERTS INTERNATIONAL NEW YORK Iris Derke, Co-Founder and General Director

Jonathan Griffith, Co-Founder and Artistic Director250 W. 57th St., Suite 1610, New York, NY 10107

(212) 707-8566 | Concerts@DCINY.orgDates, repertoire, and artists subject to change.

Monday, October 10, 2016 at 8:00 pmWeill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall

An EvEning With MElissA WiMbish, soprAno

NATS Winner 2014

Photo Credit: Jeff Goldberg / ESTO

Monday, October 10, 2016 at 8:00 PMWeill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY)

Iris Derke, Co-Founder and General DirectorJonathan Griffith, Co-Founder and Artistic Director

Presents

Melissa WiMbish, soprano Ta - Wei Tsai, Piano

Program

SELECTIONS FROM EVE-SONGText: Philip LittellMusic: Jake Heggie (b. 1961)My Name Even Listen Snake Woe to Man The Farm

THREE DICKINSON SONGS Text: Emily DickinsonMusic: Andre Previn (b. 1923)As imperceptibly as griefWill there really be a morning?Good morning, Midnight

SPACE, IN CHAINS for voice and viola (World Premiere)Text: Laura KasischkeMusic: Jessica Meyer (b. 1974)Space, in chains Rain O elegant giant

Jessica Meyer, Viola

INTERMISSION

SONGS OF TOM CIPULLO Music: Tom Cipullo (b. 1956)Magnolia (text by Lisel Mueller) There are mornings (text by Lisel Mueller) Why I Wear My Hair Long (text by Marilyn Kallet) Saying Goodbye (text by Marilyn Kallet) Fugitive (text by Lisel Mueller) Something About Autumn (text by Robert Cole)

AT THE STATUE OF VENUSText: Terrence McNallyMusic: Jake Heggie

Melissa Wimbish, SopranoMelissa Wimbish was the Winner of the 2014 NATS Artist Awards Competition, also receiving the Franco-American Vocal Academy Award for best interpretation of French repertoire. Praised by The New York Times for her “stylish singing” and by The Boulder Daily Camera as “simply incredible…the highlight of the entire evening,” she is consistently recognized for her artistry and captivating stage presence. Recently appearing as Barbarina in Le Nozze di Figaro with Lyric Opera Baltimore, the young soprano did not go

unnoticed with Opera News noting her “promising soprano” while The Baltimore

Meet The Artists

Sun praised her “bright voice” and “knack for animating phrases.” During the 2015/16 season, Ms. Wimbish performed Ligeti’s Mysteries of the Macabre with Concert Artists of Baltimore followed by her portrayal of Josephine Baker with Urban Arias in the world-premiere of Tom Cipullo’s one-woman opera, Josephine. At the Kennedy Center, she was the soprano soloist in Washington Ballet’s presentation of Carmina Burana. She will sing the role of Cherubino in On Site Opera’s upcoming North American premiere of Marcos Portugal’s The Marriage of Figaro, which was composed just over a decade after Mozart’s version. Melissa Wimbish fronts the indie chamber band Outcalls whose group was awarded a Baker Artist Award at 89.7 FM WTMD’s Baltimore Band Block Party 2016. She lives in Baltimore with her dog and cat. Learn more at mirshakartists.com or www.melissawimbish.com.

Ta-Wei Tsai, AccompanistAward-winning pianist Ta-Wei Tsai enjoys a well-balanced, multifaceted career on the East Coast as a performer and pedagogue. Highlights of his recent seasons include performances at the Kennedy Center, the Smithsonian American Art Museum, and the Baltimore Museum of Art. A fluent collaborator in different genres of music, he recently performed with the U.S. Army Field Band, SONAR New Music Ensemble, and the Single Carrot Theatre of Baltimore, MD. Aside from performing, Mr. Tsai serves on the

faculty of the Levine School of Music, in Washington, D.C., and the Heifetz International Music Institute in Staunton, VA.

Jessica Meyer, ViolaWith playing that is “fierce and lyrical” and works that are “other-worldly” (The Strad) and “evocative” (NY Times), Jessica Meyer is a versatile composer and violist whose passionate musicianship radiates accessibility, generosity, and emotional clarity. Ms. Meyer’s compositions explore the wide palette of emotionally expressive colors available to each instrument while using traditional and extended techniques inspired by her varied experiences as a contemporary and period instrumentalist. Upcoming commissions include works for cellist Amanda Gookin

of the Public String Quartet, pianist Molly Morkoski, and NOVUS NY of Trinity Wall Street under the direction of Julian Wachner.

SELECTIONS FROM EVE-SONG (2000)Text: Philip LittellMusic: Jake Heggie (b. 1961)

Several years ago, my teacher brought a collection of songs back from Italy called Faces of Love. She was raving about this new composer, Jake Heggie, that was “actually capable of writing beautifully for the voice”. (I’m not sure if she said that exactly, I’m paraphrasing.) I remember her pointing out Eve-Song saying that I should have a look at them since I was developing an interest in new music. When I glanced at the first word, which was not an actual word but a “hum”, I decided that his music was probably too weird for me and never thought of him again … until 2013 when I was hired to sing a program of new music featuring, you guessed it, Jake Heggie’s Eve-Song. Since then, I have discovered that hums are not weird, but in fact, a blessing in a sea of vocal curses. – Melissa Wimbish

THREE DICKINSON SONGS (1999)Text: Emily Dickinson Music: André Previn (b. 1929)

Composers cannot get enough of Emily Dickinson; there are over 1500 settings of her poetry. André Previn’s collection puts her words in a snow globe (As imperceptibly as grief), shakes them up (Will there really be a morning?), and allows them to settle again “into the beautiful” (Good morning, Midnight). Written for “The People’s Diva,” Renée Fleming, these compositions allow the soprano to both linger in some of the most naked parts of her high voice and also descend into the darkness of her chest range – a particular skill for which Ms. Fleming is famous and which is a challenge to every soprano who performs these pieces. – Melissa Wimbish

SPACE, IN CHAINS for voice and viola (World Premiere) (2016)Text: Laura KasischkeMusic: Jessica Meyer (b. 1974)

Space, in Chains is a set of songs using the text of acclaimed poet Laura Kasischke. While writing these, I had one question in mind – how can my music serve the emotional subtext of her poetry so the audience can understand its meaning on the first hearing? The first poem, “Space, in Chains,” is a series of emotional snapshots of humanity, while “Rain” delves into the longing of what

Program Notes

is not to be. The set culminates with “O elegant giant” – a passionate depiction of the unraveling of an unexpected relationship. My deepest thanks to Missy for making these come alive. –Jessica Meyer

SONGS OF TOM CIPULLO (1999-2009)Texts by Mueller, Kallet & ColeMusic: Tom Cipullo (b. 1956)

“[Tom Cipullo] excels by pulling off the conjuror’s trick mastered by all the great writers of poem-based song from Schubert forward—the blurring of the demarcation between where the word ends and the music begins.” (Fanfare) There’s nothing quite like picking up a Tom Cipullo song for the first time to start the shaming process of learning it. I can say this because Tom knows I love his music. His songs require the highest level of accuracy from their performers which, if done precisely, results in something that sounds completely improvised and worth every second of the work. –Melissa Wimbish

AT THE STATUE OF VENUS (2005)Text: Terrence McNallyMusic: Jake Heggie At the Statue of Venus, a scene for soprano and piano, was composed in 2005 for the grand opening of the Ellie Caulkins Opera House in Denver. The original libretto by Terrence McNally depicts a woman at a museum, waiting nervously for a blind date by the statue of Venus. To be willing to be judged by another person - does anything make us more vulnerable but human, too? -Jake Heggie

TextsSELECTIONS FROM EVE-SONG (2000)My NameEve, Eve, must be the sound I made as I was being made. Eve. Eve. Eve. Out I came, made up by a couple of men. Old man made me out of Adam’s rib… Oh, did he? God made Adam God made Adam God Adam God Damn it! My children are going to know who their mother is. Eve. Mad bad Eve the amnesiac, Eve, Eve the nymphomaniac, ME! Was young man Adam completely unconscious as I was manufactured? Did he groan and whimper EVE as I slipped out? Did God mutter EVE as he slapped me into shape? Did I scream EVE at the inevitable rape? Or was EVE the last breath shaped into a sound by my mother’s mouth as I came out? I was too little to save her or remember anything about her… Eve. What are they trying to tell me with their stories?

I am allowed no clothing. I am allowed no shame. I have nothing to wear but my beautiful hair, My body, my face, and MY NAME. Eve.

EvenIn the evening I am at peace.In the evening I hear everything more clearly. Everything ... to the hearer all the world does sing .. Ah!With a ringing and a quickening.Overhead the birds wheel and turn.Overhead the setting sun, reddening no longer burns.At the water’s edge a wind brushes by me with a susurration.Grass and leaves, flowers glow agains the darkening trees.Eyesight and the light both go.Every evening the forest darkens.In the evening my senses sharpen!I have no peace at night. I have no peace at night.

ListenIt’s entire body ripples back and forth like a sentence, fascinating. Do you want to be like God? Do you want to be like God? How do you mean? Be old and have a penis? I don’t think so. Do you want to be like God? Do you want to be like God? You know what I mean. Yes. I do.

My entire body ripples up and down like a story. I am listening.

SnakeSnake, is it true About the fruit? My intuition tells me what you say about this fruit is true. I’d like to find out, snake. I’d love to know. Go ahead in front of me Where I can see you. I will follow you. Oh! The snake is in the tree. Where I cannot see him. He is now the color of Shadows. Very few things are As visible as I am When I’m clean. When a thing is visible, It always mean that the thing, The tree frog, or that fruit, means to be seen. Visibility’s A warning or An invitation And it never tells you Which. What’s visible will either Feed you, Mate with you, Or kill you. Either way you gain Experience. Here goes. Sweet. Sour. Salty.

Bitter. And the taste of air, Of rottenness, Earth, And water. Now I know.

Woe to ManWoe to man Woe to man What can a man expect? What can a man expect? Think of all the riches, gifts, Woman brings in her train, Oh, Besides her obvious diff’rences (Inside out below the waist, Bigger breasts, smaller brain)… Can you think of any? Anything? Anything? She is nothing But trouble Oh nothing but trouble. Nothing. Nothing. She is no thing. Ah! You haven’t lived until A man has said that to you. Woman Because she was born of man. Woe to man Because he is born of woman. La da dee da dum. La da dee da da dum. La la da deed um da. Ah.

The FarmAs I recollect, it was more like a

farm than a garden. We all worked. It was a nice farm.Trees -- everything grew.Good soil and plenty of water.No, it didn’t rain. We lived by the rivers. The Tigris and the Euphrates.You might say, that’s where it all started.

THREE DICKINSON SONGS (1999)As Imperceptibly as GriefAs imperceptibly as griefThe Summer lapsed away --Too imperceptible, at last,To seem like Perfidy -- A Quietness distilledAs Twilight long begun,Or Nature spending with herselfSequestered Afternoon --The Dusk drew earlier in --The morning foreign shone --A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,As Guest, [that]1 would be gone --And thus, without a WingOr service of a KeelOur Summer made her light escape

Into the Beautiful.

Will there really be a morning?Will there really be a morning?Is there such a thing as day?Could I see it from the mountainsIf I were as tall as they?Has it feet like water-lilies?Has it feathers like a bird?Is it brought from famous countriesOf which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!Oh, some wise man from the skies!Please to tell a little pilgrimWhere the place called morning lies!

Good Morning, MidnightGood Morning—Midnight—I’m coming Home—Day—got tired of Me—How could I—of Him?Sunshine was a sweet place—I liked to stay—But Morn—didn’t want me—now—So—Goodnight—Day!I can look—can’t I—When the East is Red?The Hills—have a way—then—That puts the Heart—abroad—You—are not so fair—Midnight—I chose—Day—But—please take a little Girl—He turned away!

SPACE IN CHAINS (WORLD PREMIERE, 2016) Things that are beautiful, and die. Things that fall asleep in the afternoon, in sun. Things that laugh, then cover their mouths, ashamed of their teeth. A strong man pouring coffee into a cup. His hands shake, it spills. His wife falls to her knees when the telephone rings. Hello? Goddammit, hello?Where is their child?Hamster, tulips, love, gigantic squid. To live. I’m not endorsing it.Any single, transcriptional event. The chromosomes of the roses. Flagella, cilia, all the filaments of touching, of feeling, of running your little hand

hopelessly along the bricks.Sky, stamped into flesh, bending over the sink to drink the tour de force of water.It’s all space, in chains—the chaos of birdsong after a rainstorm, the steam rising off the asphalt, a small boy in boots opening the back door, stepping out, and someone calling him from the kitchen,Sweetie, don’t be gone too long.

RainThe sun, made of water, like allthe secrets made of tongues—it falls all night, and in the morningthe flames have been put outand the stones, bewitched, can see:The lost hours, and into the past.The memories of infants, of cats, of other stones—that they have souls.That they are souls.And the terror of foxes. And the children’s hospital.And the hangman’s alarm clock.And the official on the doorstep.And all the embezzledcents and dollarsof the last time I saw you.

O elegant giantThese difficult matters of grace and scale:The way music, our savior, is the marriage of math and antisocial behavior.Like this woman with a bucket in the morning gathering gorgeous oxymora on the shore…And my wildly troubled love for you, which labored gently in the garden all

through June, then tore the flowers up with its fists in July.Which set a place for you next to mine—the fork beside the spoon beside the knife (the linen napkin, and the centerpiece: a blue beheaded blossom floating in a bowl)—and even the red weight of my best efforts poured into your glass as a dark wine before I tossed the table onto its side.Just another perfect night. Beyond destruction, and utterly unlikely, how someone might have managed, blindly, to stumble on such a love in the middle of her life.O elegant giant.While, outside, the woods are silent.And overhead, not a single intelligent star in the sky.

SONGS OF TOM CIPULLO (1999-2009) MagnoliaThis year spring and summer decided to make it quick,Roll themselves into one season of three days and steam right out of winter.In the front yard the reluctant magnolia buds lost control and suddenly stood wide open.Two days later their pale pink silks heaped around the trunk like cast-off petticoats. Remember how long spring used to take?And how long from the first locking of fingers to the first real kiss?And after that, that other eternity, endless motion toward the undoing of a button.

There Are MorningsEven now, when the plotcalls for me to turn to stone,the sun intervenes. Some morningsin summer I step outsideand the sky opensand pours itself into meas if I were a saintabout to die. But the plotcalls for me to live,be ordinary, say nothingto anyone. Inside the housethe mirrors burn when I pass.

Why I Wear My Hair LongI want to wrap it around you like a silk shirtbutton it slowly, carefully, facing youlet the fringes tickle your hipsuntil we ridestrong silken horses glued onand my flag unfurls.

Saying GoodbyeWe embraced, there in the parking lot of the ordinary.How could I know your arms were arguing last things?Your cheek in my hair.For a moment I pressed against you.Goodbyes can be vast.In a breath, we traded lives.I didn’t know you were a cliff I had reached the edge of.Your touch echoed.I simply followed it like song.Goodbyes can be vast.In a breath, we traded lives.I didn’t know you were a cliff I had reached the edge of.Your touch echoed.

I simply followed it like song.

FugitiveMy life is running away with me;the two of us are in cahoots.I hold still while it paintsDark circles under my eyes,Streaks my hair gray, stuffs pillows Under my dress. In each new roomThe mirror reassures meI’ll not be recognized.I’m learning to travel light,like the juice in the power line.My baggage, swallowed by memory,weighs almost nothing. No one suspectsits value. When they knock on my door,badges flashing, I open up:I don’t match their description.“Wrong room,” they say, and apologize.My life in the corner winksand wipes off my fingerprints.

Something About AutumnSomething about autumn, the brass-burnished son leans from a slanted sky and shows in a distant filtered light the season incomplete;made ghostly by the strain of whispering tradition.Something about autumn means to say to us:You have no choice.The summer rolls over on the earth,expends a final breath.The leaves turn.In us, something turns too, reluctantly, not quite ready to cedebursting ripe noons, half-afraid of

burdening white.We stand between no choice.Something about autumn.The crumbling cornfields break silence and in dry words speak in their breathless, rustling voice:We stand between. No choice.No choice.Something about autumn.

for all the wrong reasons. What on earth possessed me to wear slacks?

It was a sexy voice: “I’ll meet you at the statue of Venus. Let’s say five-ish, shall we?”

Liked the “shall we?” The “five-ish” not so much. Don’t gay men say “five-ish”? My friends would never do that to me. “You two should meet. You’re really perfect for each other. He’s a Pisces. You’re a Scorpio. You both love the ballet.” Another warning sign? No. Lots of straight men like the ballet. Name one, Rose. Name one. If he’s gay it won’t matter I wore the slacks.

Look at all those women. Out with friends. Looking at art. Look at all those women. Happy. Able to be who they are, not meeting a stranger at the statue of Venus.

Was a real woman this artist’s inspiration? Or was she imagined? Look at the way he expressed her beauty. How must it feel to be idealized and treasured? A woman beyond measure. I love the way he saw into her heart. Look at all these women!

There’s a woman as seen by Titian. There, another woman as painted by Matisse. Manet, Monet, Degas,Warhol, DeKooning, Chagall. All so beautiful. All inspired. Who wouldn’t want to be loved like that? A source of inspiration, and knowing someone once saw in you a masterpiece. A masterpiece. What will he see in me?

Look at all those women. Any other day there I’d be, one of all those women passing by, hardly glancing at Venus. But not today, I’m trying to see myself as he’ll see me: a woman. Just a woman in slacks hoping for love.

It’s him. It’s him! No, it’s not. I wish I were dead. No, invisible, so I could be looking at him the way he’ll be looking at me.

(Looking at “the man”) There’s a bald spot. You know, a few hours at the gym wouldn’t exactly kill you, either. You say you voted for who? I just can’t imagine why our friends thought I might like you.

It’s him. Coming straight toward me. Oh God, please let it be him. This is the moment. He’s beyond my wildest dreams. This is the one. There he is, even more handsome than I pictured he’d be. A face to match the voice on the phone: sexy and gentle. He’s here, though not on time. Not on the minute. But now there’s no waiting, no more fear, he’s finally here. And now I can breathe again. This is the-

AT THE STATUE OF VENUS (2005)

At the Statue of VenusROSE: The slacks were a mistake. Too late now. Brazen it out. Look him in the eye, make him see what you want him to see. It’s not about how you’re dressed, it’s about who you are, and who I am right now is a woman who wishes she wasn’t wearing slacks. Weren’t wearing slacks. Wasn’t wearing slacks. Weren’t. Wasn’t. Whatever!

God, I hate that expression. What if he uses it all the time? I’ll kill myself.

Meeting a blind date at the statue of Venus, wearing black slacks. Way to go, Rose.

What were my options? The yellow dress? Too cheerful. Black is so severe. The blue Chanel was perfect. But it looks expensive. It was expensive. Why am I suddenly so embarrassed I can afford my own clothes?

I’m too old for this. I haven’t felt this way since high school. I’m being judged

This is a man greeting another woman in slacks. Not me. Life is not fair. But wait, here’s another one.

Oh God don’t let it be him, this is a nightmare. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Run for your life! Here he comes. Nowhere to hide and I’m stuck by this stupid Greek statue. Maybe it’s not. Too late, it’s him!

The what? The men’s room? I wouldn’t know. I don’t work here. The slacks just make me look like it. Life is not fair.

What if he’s been here and gone? Seen me and changed his mind? I’ve been judged and found lacking without a defense. Well maybe you’re not to my liking either, whoever-you-are-thinking-your-Godalmighty, judging and leaving and making me wonder if it’s me or the slacks as I stand here and wait for a date I don’t want at the statue of Venus. At the statue of Venus! I have a judgment for you: not so terrific yourself. I’m leaving.

If I leave now, I’ll never know. And where am I going?

At night we dream of love, of loving and being loved, like when we were children, if we were lucky, as I was. I knew my parents loved me, and I loved them. I felt safe and protected. I knew that morning would always come. And I knew I was loved. Oh God, I was a lucky, lucky child.

Sunday night dinners over at Grandma’s, we’d all be together. Playing piano, singing along, not in tune or too much in measure. Wrestling with cousins. The stories we’d share. The night Randall kissed me. Then pretending to sleep in the car riding home with my father and mother. Wanting to hear the secrets they’d share, but mostly just wanting to be carried upstairs in my father’s arms, then he’d kiss me and say:

“Good night, my little pumpkin. Sleep soundly, my little love. Angel from heaven. Star from above.” And I’d sleep. That love is what I’m seeking; to feel again I am safe and protected. To wake each morning filled with hope. And to know I am loved. Oh God, I was a lucky, lucky child.

Will I know him? Of course I will. He’ll be a man I can laugh with and be myself with. He’ll be handsome which only means when I look at him my heart will smile, and I’ll feel happy to the tips of my fingers. That’s all “handsome” is: happiness.

How will he know me? That’s easy. He will listen for my laughter and be happy

to know he’s the reason I laugh. He will know the vastness and fullness of my heart. Together we’ll know beauty and drink of it deeply, over and over. We will keep each other hopeful and brave. Together. We will brave this world together, the rest of our days.

I’ll meet you at the statue of Venus.

THE MAN: Rose?

DISTINGUISHED CONCERTS INTERNATIONAL NEW YORK (DCINY)

Founded by Iris Derke and Jonathan Griffith, DCINY is the leading producer of dynamically charged musical excellence. With its unforgettable concert experiences in renowned venues, empowering educational programs, and its global community of artists and audiences, DCINY changes lives through the power of performance.

DCINY ARTIST SERIES: DCINY offers performance opportunities for soloists and chamber ensembles of excellence at venues throughout New York City. For more information, contact Concerts@DCINY.org or (212) 707-8566.

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Sunday, November 20, 2016 at 8:30 PM

Stern Auditorium/Perelman Stage, Carnegie Hall

Eternal LightHoward Goodall: Eternal LightJonathan Griffith, DCINY Artistic DirectorHoward Goodall, DCINY Composer-in-Residence

Morten Lauridsen: Lux AeternaBradley Ellingboe, Guest Conductor Featuring Distinguished Concerts Orchestra and Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Sunday, November 27, 2016 at 2:00 PM

Stern Auditorium/Perelman Stage, Carnegie Hall

Messiah…Refreshed! (6th Annual Presentation)

Thomas Beecham/Eugene Goossens’ 1959 Re-Orchestration of Handel’s Messiah

Jonathan Griffith, DCINY Artistic Director and Principal Conductor

Featuring Distinguished Concerts Orchestra and Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Dates, repertoire, and artists subject to change.

2016 DCINY Concerts – Please join us at our other upcoming events:

DCINY Administrative Staff

For a full 2016-17 listing and ticket details, please visit www.DCINY.org

Danuta Gross, Director of Finance & Administration

Kevin Taylor, Director of Program Development

James M. Meaders, Associate Artistic Director and Conductor; Development

Jason Mlynek, Associate Director of Program Development

Jim Joustra, Program Development

Mark Riddles, Program Development

Katie Sims, Program Development

Julia Falkenburg, Program Development

Maria Braginsky, Program Development Assistant

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Kimberly Preiss, Program Development Assistant

Edmundo Montoya, Director of Production

Andrea Macy, Associate Director of Marketing, Box Office & Promotions

DeAnna Choi, Office Operations Manager, Accounting and Billing

Samm Vella, Concert Operations / Production

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Gary Crowley, Graphic Design & Website

Hannah Demron, Intern

Iris Derke, Co-Founder and General Director

Jonathan Griffith, Co-Founder, Artistic Director and Principal Conductor