Song picture
"Candente esta la atmosfera..." Rosalia de Castro
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Composition for Mezzo-Soprano (Soprano) and orchestra, in Spanish
jazz classical instrumental vocal opera orchestra chamber ballet
Artist picture
Composer for large-scale performance work, ballet and opera. Have written music for classical theatrical productions of Shakespeare, ("The Tempest," "The Twelft
Loren Lieberman is a native of Denver, Colorado, now living on the West Coast in California, where he is best known for his work as an actor in Classical and Shakespearean Theatre. He has a degree from Sonoma State University in Theatre Arts, and has been an Honor's Music Composition Student at the College of Marin, Santa Rosa Junior College, and at Sonoma State University. He has won an award for composition from the Redwood Empire Music Association. He has recently completed an opera in Russian, based on the novel by Alexander Solzhenitsyn, "Cancer Ward", (and of the same name), and is currently working on his fourth opera, based on the Classical Tragedy by Sophocles, "Oedipus the King," with a libretto in Ancient Greek. His interest in languages has shaped much of his artistic temperment, and he is self taught in Russian and Sanskrit, and has hopes to begin his next opera, Shakespeare's, "Romeo and Juliet," in Hindi.
Song Info
Genre
Classical Opera
Charts
Peak #124
Peak in subgenre #7
Author
Rosalia de Castro/Masaru Yonemitsu
Rights
adhikapokoya 2011
Uploaded
January 13, 2011
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.4 MB 128 kbps 3:43
Story behind the song
The composition is for orchestra, but only solo horn. It is in Spanish. A translation follows:
Lyrics
The atmosphere is incandescent; The fox explores an empty road; Sick grow the waters That sparkled in the clear arroya, Unfluttered stands the pine Waiting for fickle winds to blow. A majesty of silence Overpowers the meadow; Only the hum of an insect troubles The spreading, dripping forest shadow, Relentless and monotonous As muffled rattle in a dying throat. In such a summer the hour of midday Could as well go By the name of night, to struggle-weary Man who has never known Greater vexation from the vast cares Of the soul, or from matter;s majestic force. Would it were winter again! The nights! The cold! O those old loves of ours so long ago! Come back to make this fevered blood run fresh, Bring back your sharp severities and snows To these intolerable summer sorrows… Sorrows!...While vine and corn stand thick and gold! The cold, the heat; the autumn or the spring; Where, where has delight set up its home? Beautiful are all seasons to the man Who shelters happiness within his soul; But the deserted, orphaned spirit feels No season smile upon its luckless door.
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