Dmitri shostakovich

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CC72654

DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH

Symphony no. 14

Gal James & Thomas Oliemans

Netherlands Chamber Orchestra

Gordan Nikolic´

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Executive producers: Anne de Jong & Marcel van den Broek

Recorded at: Muziekgebouw aan ’t IJ, Amsterdam

Recording dates: 18 and 19 January 2013

Recording producer: Jean-Pierre Gabriël, Omroep MAX

A&R Challenge Records International: Anne de Jong

Liner notes: Heinz Köhnen

Libretto: provided by Kees Wisse & Salvador Pila

Booklet editing: Hedy Muehleck

Cover photo: Simone van Es

Product coordination: Boudewijn Hagemans

Graphic Design: Natasja Wallenburg & Juan Carlos Villarroel

Art direction: Marcel van den Broek

www.challengerecords.com

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DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH

Symphony no. 14

Gal James & Thomas Oliemans

Netherlands Chamber Orchestra

Gordan Nikolic´

Gordan Nikolic´ Leader / Violin

Gal James Soprano

Thomas Oliemans Baritone

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DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH (1906-1975)

Symphony no. 14

[1]

De profundis. Adagio

5:37

[2]

Malagen’ya. Allegretto

2:42

[3]

Loreleya. Allegro molto. Presto. Adagio

9:08

[4]

Samoubi’ytsa (The Suicide). Adagio

7:49

[5]

Nacheku (On the Alert). Allegretto. Adagio. Allegretto

3:06

[6]

Madam, posmotrite (Look here, Madam). Adagio

1:46

[7]

V tyur’me Sante (At the Santé Jail). Adagio

10:23

[8]

Otvet zaporozjckikh kazakov konstantinopelskomu sultanu

2:20

(Reply to the Sultan of Konstantinopel). Allegro

[9]

O Delvig, Delvig! Andante

5:12

[10] Smert’ poeta (The Poet’s Death). Largo

5:33

[11]

Zaklyucheniye (Conclusion). Moderato

1:31

total time 55:13

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11 Schlußstück / Zaklyucheniye

(Rainer Maria Rilke / T. Silman)

Vsevlastna smert’.

Ona na strazhe

I v schast’ya chas.

V mig vïsshey zhizhni ona v nas strazhdet,

Zhdyot nas i zhazhdet

11. Conclusion

Death is great.

We belong to her

with laughing mouths.

When we believe ourselves to be in the midst of

our lives, she dares to cry inside us.

Death and resistance

‘I become more and more convinced that words are more effective than music.

When I combine music with words, it is more difﬁ cult to misunderstand my

intentions’, said Dmitri Shostakovich in reference to his Symphonies No. 13 and

No. 14, both of which make use of texts.

For No. 13, Shostakovich used ﬁ ve poems of the then young avant-garde

poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko. The title he gave to his poetic monument for the

Russian Jews who had been killed by the German occupying forces at Babi Yar

became the name of Symphony No. 13: Babi Yar. Following its premiere, further

performances were prohibited.

Symphony No. 14 is in fact part of a pair with No. 13, but No. 14, which is

untitled, was not found to be subversive on its premiere. In both symphonies,

Shostakovich chose the form of a song cycle, yet they exhibit great differences.

No. 13 was written for a large orchestra, a large all-male choir and a bass

soloist. In No. 14 he returned to the heart of the symphonic ensemble, the

string orchestra. Supplemented with percussion, it accompanies and frames a

soprano and a bass. In its expressiveness, this symphony comes close to the

poignancy and rarefaction of the thirteen string quartets Shostakovich gave us.

He drew his texts from world literature. Two poems by the Spaniard Federico

Garcia Lorca, six by the Frenchman Guillaume Apollinaire, two from the German

Rainer Maria Rilke and one poem of Russian origin by Wilhelm Küchelbecker.

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At ﬁ rst sight, a black thread of Death runs through the entire cycle; in other

words, human mortality. The work starts with a ‘De profundis’ (Out of the

depths I cry unto thee, O God), as if this symphony comprises a requiem.

Injustice

But quite a few texts are also about resistance to many forms of injustice. ‘I

do not wish to oppose death; I oppose the violent death that people bring

to themselves and to each other’, said Shostakovich. His choice of a text by

Küchelbecker is characteristic: he was one of the participants in a 1825 rebellion

against the absolutist regime of the tsar. His punishment was lifelong exile in

Siberia, where Küchelbecker died in 1846.

The poet addresses a friend called Delvig, another rebel; he was executed.

The third verse is interesting: ‘Oh Delvig, my friend! What is persecution?

Immortality is the reward both of valiant, inspired deeds and of sweet singing.’

Shostakovich set the ﬁ nal line of the verse to very melodic music for cello. He

seems to identify with the poet. In the fourth verse Küchelbecker speaks of ‘the

bond joining those who have been chosen by the Muses’. These lines too are

underscored by cellists. Did Shostakovich wish to express his solidarity with his

friend, the cellist Rostropovich, a sharp critic of the Soviet regime?

Although it is a song cycle, the symphony is not a series of individual songs.

Shostakovich endowed it with suspenseful transitions from one text to the next.

Note, for example, the transition from the second poem by Lorca (‘Malagueña’)

with castanets, immediately followed by two sharp blows, introducing the

10. Der Tod des Dichters / Smert’ poeta

(Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) /

T. Silman)

Poet bïl myortv. Litso yego, khranya

vsyo tu zhe blednost’, chto-to otvergalo,

ono kogda-to vsyo o mire znalo,

no eto znan’ye ugasalo.

i vozvrashchalos’ v ravnodush’ye dnya.

Gde im ponyat’, kak dolog etot put’;

o, mir i on—vsyo bïlo tak yedino:

ozyora i ushchel’ya, i ravnina

yego litsa i sostavlyali sut’.

Litso yego i bïlo tem prostorom,

chto tyanetsya k nemu i tshchetno

l’nyot,

a eta maska robkaya umryot,

otkrïto predostavlennaya vzoram,

na tlen’ye obrechyonnïy nezhnïy plod.

10. Death of a poet

ere towards him,

to court him,

and his mask, that now anxiously expires,

is tender and open like thee he lay. His face resting

on the inclined pillow was pale and defi ant

since the world and this, of it, know-it-all,

devoid of his senses

redounded upon the indiff erent year.

ose who saw him living, did not know

how much he was one with all this,

for, these valleys, these meadows,

and this water were his face.

Oh, his face was this entire vastness

that, even now, wants to move inner core

of a fruit that rots in the air.

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9. O Del’vig, Delvig!

(Wilhelm Kuchelbecker)

O Del’vig, Del’vig! Chto nagrada

I del vïsokikh i stikhov?

Talantu chto i gde otrada

Sredi zlodeyev i gluptsov?

V ruke surovoy Yuvenala

Zlodeyam groznïy bich svistit

I krasku gonit s ikh lanit,

I vlast’ tiranov zadrozhala.

O Del’vig, Del’vig! Chto gonen’ya?

Bessmertiye ravno udel

I smelïkh vdokhnovennïkh del

I sladostnogo pesnopen’ya.

Tak ne umryot i nash soyuz,

Svobodnïy, radostnïy i gordïy!

I v schast’i i v neschast’i tvyordïy,

Soyuz lyubimtsev vechnïkh muz!

9. Oh Delvig, Delvig

Oh Delvig, Delvig! Where is the reward

for good deeds and for the poetry?

What place is there for talent

amongst rascals and fools?

In Juvenal’s rigorous hand

the frightful scourge menaces the villains

and robs the colour of their cheeks.

e power of tyrants trembled.

Oh Delvig, Delvig! What is the pay for persecution?

Immortality is yet the reward

for valiant and courageous deeds

or for delightful poetic singing.

us, our alliance will never be lost,

proud, joyful and free!

And, for better or for worse, will remain unshaken

the alliance of friends of the immortal muse!

romantic tale of Loreley. The hot-blooded style of the string accompaniment to

both texts offers another continuous and rising line of tension.

Heinz Köhnen

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Gal James

After completing the opera studio of the Staatsoper Berlin, Israeli soprano Gal

James joined the ensemble at the Oper Graz.

Recent opera-engagements are Mimi in La Bohème at the Palau de la Música

in Valencia and the title role in Rusalka at the Semperoper Dresden. Highlights

on the concert-platform have included the Vier Letzte Lieder with the Oslo

Philharmonic and the Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra, and Shostakovich’s

Fourteenth Symphony with the Sinfonieorchester St Gallen.

Gal James already had the pleasure to work with renowned conductors such as

Daniel Barenboim, Seiji Ozawa, Neeme Järvi, Julien Salemkour, Vasily Petrenko,

Riccardo Chailly, Ion Marin, Dan Ettinger and Jukka-Pekka Saraste.

8. Réponse des Cosaques Zaporogues

au Sultan de Constantinople

/ Otvet zaporozhskikh kazakov

konstantinopol’skomu sultanu

(Guillaume Apollinaire / Mikhail Kudinov)

Tï prestupney Varravï v sto raz.

S Vel’zevulom zhivya po sosedstvu,

V samïkh merzkikh grekhakh tï pogryaz.

Nechistotami vskormlennïy s detstva,

Znay: svoy shabash tï spravish’ bez nas.

Rak protukhshiy, Salonik otbrosï,

Skvernïy son, chto nel’zya rasskazat’,

Okrivevshiy, gniloy i beznosïy,

Tï rodilsya, kogda tvoya mat’

Izvivalas’ v korchakh ponosa.

Zloy palach Podol’ya, vzglyani:

Ves’ tï v ranakh, yazvakh i strup’yakh.

Zad kobïlï, rïlo svin’i,

Pust’ tebe vse snadob’ya skupyat,

Chtob lechil tï bolyachki svoi!

8. Reply of the Zaporoje Cossacks to the

Sultan of Constantinople

More villain than Barabbas,

horned like the angels of evil,

what Beelzebub are you down there,

nourished with fi lth and mire?

We shall not attend your Sabbaths.

Rotten fi sh of Salonika,

long necklace of horrible dreams,

of eyes pulled out by dint of a pike.

Your mother farted wet,

and you were born of her colic.

Executioner of Podolia, lover

of wounds, of ulcers, of scabs.

Pig’s snout, mare’s arse.

Keep all your riches

to pay for your medicines.

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Khozhu vperyod, nazad,

A nebo! Luchshe ne smotret’.

Ya nebu zdes’ ne rad.

V kakoy-to yame, kak medved’,

Khozhu vperyod, nazad.

Za chto Tï pechal’ mne etu prinyos?

Skazhi, vsemogushchiy Bozhe.

O szhal’sya, szhal’sya! V glazakh moikh netu slyoz,

Na masku litso pokhozhe.

Tï vidish’, skol’ko neschastnïkh serdets

Pod svodom tyuremnïm b’yotsya!

Sorvi zhe s menya ternovïy venets,

Ne to on mne v mozg vop’yotsya.

Den’ konchilsya. Lampa nad golovoyu

Gorit, okruzhonnaya t’moy.

Vsyo tikho. Nas v kamere tolko dvoye:

Ya i rassudok moy.

around a pit, like a bear.

We go round and round and round again.

e sky is blue like a chain.

Every morning I pace

around a pit, like a bear.

What will become of me, o God,

you who know my pain,

you who gave it to me?

Take pity on my dry eyes, my pallor...

And on all those poor hearts beating in prison.

Love, my companion,

take pity above all on my feeble wits

and this despair that’s overpowering them.

e day is dying, see how a lamp

is burning in the prison.

We are alone in my cell,

fair light, beloved reason.

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Thomas Oliemans

Born in Amsterdam in 1977, the Dutch baritone Thomas Oliemans graduated

from the Amsterdam Conservatory. Most recent opera appearances include

the role of Papageno in Die Zauberﬂ öte at the Festival in Aix-en-Provence and

the Dutch National Opera, his debut at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden

as Schaunard in La Bohème and Lescaut in Manon at the Théâtre du Capitole

in Toulouse.

Oliemans has worked with conductors such as Semyon Bychkov, Ivor Bolton,

Hartmut Haenchen, Edo de Waart, Jaap van Zweden, Pablo Heras-Casado,

Marc Albrecht and with orchestras such as the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra,

Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra, Dresdner Philharmonie, Norwegian Radio

Orchestra and the Orchestre National de Lille.

Zakhochu—otdam. Zakhochu—

Zaberu yego snova, pover’te.

I ya khokhochu, khokhochu, khokhochu,

khokhochu,

Kha, kha, kha, kha, kha, kha, kha, kha, kha, kha,

kha.

I ya khokhochu, khokhochu

Nad lyubov’yu, chto skoshena smert’yu.

7. A la Santé / V tyur’me Sante

(Guillaume Apollinaire / Mikhail Kudinov)

Menya razdeli dogola,

Kogda vveli v tyur’mu;

Sud’boy srazhyon iz-za ugla,

Nizvergnut ya vo t’mu.

Proshchay, vesyolïy khorovod,

Proshchay, devichiy smekh.

Zdes’ nado mnoy mogil’nïy svod,

Zdes’ umer ya dlya vsekh.

Net, ya ne tot,

Sovsem ne tot, chto prezhde.

Teper’ ya arestant,

I vot konets nadezhde.

V kakoy-to yame, kak medved’,

I have given it, and I have taken it back.

It was down there in the trenches.

It’s here, and I laugh and laugh and laugh

and laugh,

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

It’s here, and I laugh and laugh

at the beautiful loves scythed down by death.

7. At the Santé Prison

Before going into my cell

I had to strip naked

and that sinister voice howled,

Guillaume, what’s become of you?

Farewell, farewell, songs and dances,

o my youth, o young girls.

Lazarus going into his tomb

instead of rising from it as he did.

No, here I no longer

feel I’m myself.

I’m number fi ft een

in block eleven.

Every morning I pace

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Iz-za ukrïtiya sledil vse dni podryad

Za Slavoy, chto vzletet’ uzhe ne khochet.

V transheye on umryot do nastuplen’ya nochi,

Moy malen’kiy soldat, lyubovnik moy i brat.

I vot poetomu khochu ya stat’ krasivoy.

Pust’ yarkim fakelom grud’ u menya gorit,

Pust’ opalit moy vzglyad zasnezhennïye nivï,

Pust’ poyasom mogil moy budet stan obvit.

V krovosmeshenii i v smerti stat’ krasivoy

Khochu ya dlya togo, kto dolzhen bït’ ubit.

Zakat korovoyu revyot, pïlayut rozï,

I siney ptitseyu moy zacharovan vzglyad.

To probil chas lyubvi, i chas likhoradki groznoy.

To probil smerti chas, i net puti nazad.

Segodnya on umryot, kak umirayut rozï,

Moy malen’kiy soldat, lyubovnik moy i brat.

6. Les attentives II / Madam, posmotrite!

(Guillaume Apollinaire / Mikhail Kudinov)

Madam, posmotrite!

Poteryali vï chto-to…

- Akh! Pustyaki! Eto serdtse moyo,

Skoreye yego podberite.

at the concrete battlements

where the night’s glories were hung.

e one that must die this evening in the trenches

is a young soldier, my brother and my lover.

And since he must die I want to make myself

beautiful; I want my naked breasts to light the

torches, I want my big eyes to melt the pond that

freezes. And I want my hips to be tombs for,

since he must die, I want to be beautiful in both

incest and death, these two magnifi cent deeds.

e cows at sunset low all their roses,

the bluebird’s wing fans me soft ly.

It is the hour of Love, of ardent neuroses.

It is the hour of Death and of the fi nal promise.

e one that must perish, just as the roses die,

is a young soldier, my brother and my lover.

6. Madame, look!

Madame, look!

You have lost something.

It’s my heart -- not much of a thing!

So pick it up.

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Gordan Nikolic´

Gordan Nikolic´ has been the musical director, the concertmaster and the face

of the Netherlands Chamber Orchestra since 2004. Nikolic´ is an energetic mas-

ter violinist; as the musical director, he puts across what moves him in the music

he plays. He studied at the Academy of Music in Basle with the well-known

French violinist and conductor Jean-Jacques Kantorow. He has steeped himself

in Baroque music, but also works with contemporary composers such as Luto-

slawski and Kurtág. He has performed with numerous orchestras in Europe, and

the posts he has held include concertmaster of the London Symphony Orches-

tra, professor at the Royal College of Music and the Guildhall School of Music

as well as lecturer at the Rotterdam Conservatorium. Gordan Nikolic´ plays a

Petrus Guarnerius violin built in 1735.

sduvayut,

I chyornoye nebo, prolivshis’ dozhdyom, ikh

poroy omïvayet, I slovno u skipetrov groznïkh,

torzhestvenna ikh krasota.

Rastyot iz ranï odna, i kak tol’ko zakat zapïlayet,

Okravavlennoy kazhetsya skorbnaya liliya ta.

Tri lilii, tri lilii… Lilii tri na mogile moyey bez

kresta, Tri lilii, ch’yu pozolotu kholodnïye vetrï

sduvayut.

Drugaya iz serdsa rastyot moyego, chto tak sil’no

stradayet, Na lozhe chervivom. A tret’ya kornyami

mne rot razrïvayet.

Oni na mogile moyey odinoko rastut, i pusta

Vokrug nikh zemlya, i kak zhizn’ moya, proklyata

ikh krasota.

Tri lilii, tri lilii… Lilii tri na mogile moyey bez

kresta.

5. Les attentives I / Nacheku

(Guillaume Apollinaire / Mikhail Kudinov)

V transheye on umryot do nastuplen’ya nochi,

Moy malen’kiy soldat, chey utomlyonnïy vzglyad

gold, daunted by the wind.

Watered only when a murky sky pours upon them,

majestic and beautiful like kings’ scepters.

One emerges from my wound and, when a ray of

sunlight brushes it, moves up bleeding. It is the

lily of terror. Th

ree large lilies, three large lilies on

my grave without a cross, three large lilies dusted

with gold, daunted by the wind.

Another emerges from my heart, which lies

suff ering on this resting place, gnawed by worms.

e third emerges from my mouth.

All three stand on my lonely grave

All alone, all alone and condemned as I deem

myself.

ree large lilies, three large lilies on my grave

without a cross.

5. On guard

e one that must die this evening in the trenches

is a young soldier who, all day long, stares idly

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Proch’, bezumnaya Lor, volookaya Lor!

Tï monakhiney stanesh’, i potyomknet tvoy vzor.’

Troye rïtsarey s devoy idut po doroge.

Govorit ona strazhnikam khmurïm i strogim:

‘Na skale toy vïsokoy dayte mne postoyat’,

Chtob uvidet’ moy zamok mogla ya opyat’,

Chtob svoyo otrazhen’ye ya uvidela snova,

Pered tem, kak voyti v monastïr’ vash surovïy.’

Veter lokonï sputal, i gorit yeyo vzglyad,

Tshchetno strazha krichit: ‘Loreleya, nazad!

Nazad!’

‘Na izluchinu Reyna lad’ya vïplïvayet,

V ney sidit moy lyubimïy, on menya prizïvayet.

Tak legko na dushe, tak prozrachna volna…’

I s vïsokoy skalï v Reyn upala ona,

Uvidav otrazhyonnïye v gladi potoka

Svoi reynskiye ochi, svoy solnechnïy lokon.

4. Le suicidé / Samoubi’ytsa

(Guillaume Apollinaire / Mikhail Kudinov)

Tri lilii, tri lilii… Lilii tri na mogile moyey bez

kresta, Tri lilii, ch’yu pozolotu kholodnïye vetrï

lances’: take this demented woman to the

convent. Go away Lore in madness, away Lore

with tremulous eyes, you shall become a nun

dressed in black and white.’ So the four left

down the road, the Loreley implored them and

her eyes glowed bright like stars. ‘Knights, please

let me climb onto that rock so high for I may

see my beautiful castle one last time. To see once

more my refl ection in the river and then I shall

go to the convent of virgins and widows.’

Up there, the wind blew her untied hair,

the knights cried’: Loreley, Loreley’. ‘Down there,

on the Rhine, comes a boat and, on board, there

is my lover, he has seen me and calls. My heart

becomes so tender, it is my lover returning’.

She leans over and falls into the Rhine.

To see her in the water, the beautiful Loreley,

her Rhine-coloured eyes, her sun-like hair.

4. Th

e suicide

ree large lilies, three large lilies on my grave

without a cross, three large lilies dusted with

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Netherlands Chamber Orchestra

The Netherlands Chamber Orchestra, with its pendant the Netherlands

Philharmonic Orchestra, is one of the most versatile cultural undertakings in

the Netherlands. The Royal Concertgebouw is the artistic home to its varied

concert programme; as the regular orchestral partner of the Dutch National

Opera, the orchestra stands out among European opera orchestras.

The orchestra is also welcomed by other Dutch concert halls, concert stages

and at festivals in other countries. Since 2004, master violinist Gordan Nikolic´

has been its artistic director.

The Netherlands Chamber Orchestra was established in 1955. The orchestra

exhibits artistic excellence and plays to a wide audience while taking forward-

looking responsibility with its large-scale educational programmes, thus making

classical music available to one and all. Together, the Netherlands Philharmonic

Orchestra and the Netherlands Chamber Orchestra reach 200,000 visitors each

year. In collaboration with the Dutch National Opera, the Netherlands Chamber

Orchestra performs classical and chamber opera as well as contemporary opera.

3. Loreley / Loreleya

(Guillaume Apollinaire / Mikhail Kudinov)

K belokuroy koldun’ye iz prireynskogo kraya

Shli muzhchinï tolpoy, ot lyubvi umiraya.

I velel yeyo vïzvat’ yepiskop na sud, Vsyo v dushe

yey proshchaya za yeyo krasotu.

‘O skazhi, Loreleya, ch’i glaza tak prekrasnï,

Kto tebya nauchil etim charam opasnïm?’

‘Zhizn’ mne v tyagost’, yepiskop, i proklyat

moy vzor.

Kto vzglyanul na menya, svoy prochyol prigovor.

O yepiskop, v glazakh moikh plamya pozhara,

Tak predayte zh ognyu eti strashnïye charï!’

‘Loreleya, pozhar tvoy vsesilen: ved’ ya

Sam toboy okoldovan i tebe ne sud’ya.’

‘Zamolchite, yepiskop! Pomolites’ i ver’te:

Eto volya Gospodnya predat’ menya smerti.

Moy lyubimïy uyekhal, on v dalyokoy strane.

Vsyo teper’ mne ne milo, vsyo teper’ ne po mne.

Serdtse tak isstradalos’, chto dolzhna umeret’ ya.

Dazhe vid moy vnushayet mne mïsli o smerti.

Moy lyubimïy uyekhal, i s etogo dnya

Svet mne belïy ne mil, noch’ v dushe u menya.’

I tryokh rïtsarey kliknul yepiskop: ‘Skoreye

Uvedite v glukhoy monastïr’ Loreleyu.

3. Loreley

In Bacharach lived a witch with fair hair

who let all the men around die of love.

e bishop summoned her to his court

and acquitted her on account of her beauty.

‘Oh lovely Loreley, your eyes are made of precious

stones, which magician gave you the power of

sorcery?’ ‘I am weary of life and my eyes are

accursed; oh bishop, those who have looked at me

have perished.

My eyes are not precious stones but fl ames,

throw this sorcery to the fi re.’

‘Th

at fi re is consuming me, oh lovely Loreley,

somebody else has to condemn you, for you have

enchanted me.’ ‘Bishop you laugh. Pray rather to

the Virgin for me,

let me die and may God protect you.

My lover has left for a distant land, let me die for

there is nothing I love.’

My heart is so heavy that I must necessarily die,

I would die if I would dare look at myself.

My heart is so heavy since he is no longer there,

my heart has been so heavy since the day he left .

e bishop summoned three knights armed with

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1. De profundis

(Federico García Lorca / I. Tynyanova)

Sto goryacho vlyublyonnïkh

Snom vekovïm usnuli

Gluboko pod sukhoy zemlyoyu.

Krasnïm peskom pokrïtï

Dorogi Andalusii.

Vetvi oliv zelyonïkh

Kordovu zaslonili.

Zdes’ im krestï postavyat,

Chtob ikh ne zabïli lyudi.

Sto goryacho vlyublyonnïkh

Snom vekovïm usnuli.

2. Malagueña / Malagen’ya

(Federico García Lorca / Anatoli Geleskul)

Smert’ voshla i ushla iz tavernï.

Chyornïye koni i tyomnïye dushi

V ushchel’yakh gitarï, brodyat.

Zapakhli sol’yu i zharkoy krov’yu

Sotsvet’ya zïbi nervnoy.

A smert’ vsyo ukhodit

I vsyo ne uydyot iz tavernï.

1.De profundis

e hundred lovers

sleep for ever

beneath the dry earth.

Andalusia has

long red roads.

Córdoba, green olive trees

where to place

a hundred crosses,

in their memory.

e hundred lovers

sleep for ever.

2. Malagueña

Death enters and leaves the tavern.

Black horses and sinister people

pass through the deep pathways of the guitar.

And there is a smell of salt and of female blood

in the fevered tuberoses of the seaside.

Death is about to leave the tavern,

He is going but not gone

conductor

Christian Jost

soloists

Gordan Nikolic´ - violin

Lisanne Soeterbroek - violin

Gal James - soprano

Thomas Oliemans - baritone

1st violin

Gordan Nikolic´

Heinz Oberdorfer

Philip Dingenen

Dimitir Tchernookov

Melissa Ussery

Pedja Milosavljev

Tomoko Katsura

Michiel Commandeur

2nd violin

Lisanne Soeterbroek

Laura Oomens

Maaike Aarts

Inge Jongerman

Zheng Hu

Marjolein van Dingstee

viola

Richard Wolfe

Leonid Rusanovksy

Berdien Vrijland

David Marks*

cello

Floris Mijnders

Jan Bastiaan Neven

Guillaume Grosbard

Wijnand Hulst

double bass

Annette Zahn

Walther van Domburg

percussion

Hans Zonderop

Martin Baai

celesta

Kim Huigens

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