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Konsert
22. og 23. juni spiller Christian IV Consort konserter i Tangen kirke (Drammen) og Kampen kirke (Oslo) med et spennende program med musikk av kvinnelige barokkomponister.
Kvinner som trosset forventninger og tradisjoner for å skrive musikk som vi kan ha glede av 400 år senere!
Konserter:
22. juni kl 19: Tangen kirke, Drammen
23. juni kl 19: Kampen kirke, Oslo
Medvirkende:
Caroline Eidsten Dahl, blokkfløyte
Daniel Sæther, kontratenor
Ingrid Økland, barokkfiolin
Henrikke G. Rynning, gambe
Jadran Duncumb, teorbe
Konsert
Torsdag 9. juni kl 19: Drøbak kirke
Fredag 10. juni kl 19: Strømsø kirke, Drammen
Lørdag 11. juni kl 13: St. Edmund’s Church, Oslo
Konsertene er støttet av Norsk Kulturfond, Viken fylkeskommune og Oslo Kommune.
Daniel Sæther, kontratenor
Caroline Eidsten Dahl, blokkfløyte
Ingrid Økland, barokkfiolin
Henrikke G. Rynning, viola da gamba
Miguel Bellas, lutt
Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625)
In Nomine a 4
John Dowland (1563–1626)
Flow my tears
A Fancy
Lasso vita mia
John Bull (1562/63-1628)
Fantasia for 3 viols
Elway Bevin (1554-1638)
Browning
John Dowland
Time stands still
Tobias Hume (ca 1579-1645)
Loves Farewell
A Pollish Vilanell
John Dowland
Go nightly cares
William Byrd (ca 1540-1623)
Lulla lullaby
John Dowland
Can she excuse /
The Earle of Essex Galliard
Flow my tears
Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled for ever, let me mourn;
Where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.
Down vain lights, shine you no more!
No nights are dark enough for those
That in despair their last fortunes deplore.
Light doth but shame disclose.
Never may my woes be relieved,
Since pity is fled;
And tears and sighs and groans my weary days, my weary days
Of all joys have deprived.
From the highest spire of contentment
My fortune is thrown;
And fear and grief and pain for my deserts, for my deserts
Are my hopes, since hope is gone.
Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,
Learn to contemn light
Happy, happy they that in hell
Feel not the world’s despite.
Lasso vita mia
O my unhappy Life, you are making me die.
Cruel love consumes my heart
Inflicts a thousand wounds, which kill me.
Woe, alas, do not let me die,
Cruel Love makes me suffer a thousand martyrdoms.
Time stands still
Time stands still with gazing on her face,
stand still and gaze for minutes, houres and yeares, to her give place:
All other things shall change, but shee remaines the same,
till heavens changed have their course & time hath lost his name.
Cupid doth hover up and downe blinded with her fairy eyes,
and fortune captive at her feet contem’d and conquerd lies
When fortune, love, and time attend on
Her with my fortunes, love, and time, I honour will alone,
If bloudlesse envie say, dutie hath no desert,
Dutie replies that envie knowes her selfe his faithfull heart,
My setled vowes and spotlesse faith no fortune can remove,
Courage shall shew my inward faith, and faith shall trie my love
Go nightly cares
Goe nightly cares, the enemy to rest,
Forbeare a while to vexe my grieved sprite,
So long your weight hath lyne upon my breast,
that loe I live of life bereaved quite,
O give me time to draw my weary breath,
Or let me dye, as I desire the death.
Welcome sweete death, oh life, no life, a hell,
Then thus, and thus I bid the world farewell.
False world farewell, the enemy to rest,
now dye thy worst, I doe not weigh thy spight:
Free from thy cares I live for ever blest,
Enjoying peace and heavenly true delight.
Delight, whom woes nor sorrows shall amate,
nor feares or teares disturbe her happy state.
And thus I leave thy hopes, thy joyes untrue,
and thus, and thus vaine world againe adue.
Lulla Lullaby
Lulla la lulla lullaby,
My sweet little Babie, what meanest thou to cry
Bee still my blessed babe, though cause thou has to mourne:
whose bloud most innocent to shed, the cruell king hath sworne.
And lo, alas, behold, what a slaughter hee doth make:
shedding the blod of infunts all, sweet saviour for thy sake.
A king is borne, they say, which king this king would kill:
oh woe, & woefull heavy day, when wretched have their will.
But thou shalt live and raigne, as Sibilles have foresayd,
As all the Prophets prophesie, whose mother yet a maide,
And perfect Virgin pure, with her brestes shall upbreede,
Both God and man that all hath made, the Sonne of heavenly Seede:
Whome caytives none can traye, whome tyrants none can kill,
Oh joy, and joyful happie day, when wretches want their will.
Can she excuse
Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue’s cloak?
shall I call her good when she proves unkind?
Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?
must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?
No, no: where shadows do for bodies stand,
thou may’st be abused if thy sight be dim.
Cold love is like to words written on sand,
or to bubbles which on the water swim.
Wilt thou be thus abused still,
seeing that she will right thee never?
if thou canst not overcome her will,
thy love will be thus fruitless ever.
Was I so base, that I might not aspire
Unto those high joys which she holds from me?
As they are high, so high is my desire:
If she this deny what can granted be?
If she will yield to that which reason is,
It is reasons will that love should be just.
Dear make me happy still by granting this,
Or cut off delays if that I die must.
Better a thousand times to die,
then for to live thus still tormented:
Dear but remember it was I
Who for thy sake did die contented.
