April 3 marked 125 years since the death of Johannes Brahms, the first name. It wasn't of those anniversaries that are officially commemorated, but Brahms is a highly regarded composer, and he was fondly remembered on the social networks. We often heard Brahms on Liederabend, with or without an anniversary, and that day I thought I hadn't shared any of his songs since September. But, as I had planned one of them in short-term, I didn't change my schedule.
Mezzo-soprano Catriona Morison is the second name; we listened to her a few months ago singing a Lied by Josephine Lang, Scheideblick. Over the last few days, I have heard many times her CD (along with Malcolm Martineau), that, I think, is a great debut album; I went backward and forward, and stopped especially in Brahms's Lieder. He is not an easy composer to sing, nor every voice suits his songs, and I would say that Catriona Morison fulfils both things: he sings Brahms beautifully and her voice is perfect for these songs.
Now that we have both names together, Brahms and Morison, I'll tell you that the Lied I heard more times is Alte Liebe, which I propose to listen today. The Old Love in the title is a memory recalled by the poet in a spring day, a presence that accompanies him. Composed in May 1876 with a poem by Alsatian poet Carl Candidus, I would say it's one of the composer's finest Lieder, capable of conveying the sadness softened by the years and the passion of that time with elegance. Listen to Alte Liebe, and let me know me what you think.
As I explained to you when the Schubertíada was presented, Catriona Morison will sing in Vilabertran this summer, but she will also sing soon in Barcelona, on 26 May. Her beautiful programmes include... yes, Brahms. So, may I recommend you both concerts? And, in case you're in London on 23 May, she will sing the same programme as in Barcelona at the Wigmore Hall. She's young, she's little known yet, but we will soon have the pleasure of saying: "Catriona Morison? Of course, she's great, I heard her some time ago!"
Es kehrt die dunkle Schwalbe
Aus fernem Land zurück,
Die frommen Störche kehren
Und bringen neues Glück.
An diesem Frühlingsmorgen,
So trüb verhängt und warm,
Ist mir, als fänd ich wieder
Den alten Liebesharm.
Es ist, als ob mich leise
Wer auf die Schulter schlug,
Als ob ich säuseln hörte,
Wie einer Taube Flug.
Es klopft an meine Türe,
Und ist doch niemand draus;
Ich atme Jasmindüfte,
Und habe keinen Strauß.
Es ruft mir aus der Ferne,
Ein Auge sieht mich an,
Ein alter Traum erfaßt mich
Und führt mich seine Bahn.
Dark swallows are returning
From a distant land;
The docile storks are returning
And delivering new happiness.
On this spring morning,
So darkly dull and warm,
It seems to me I've found again
The grief of old love.
It is as if somebody
Tapped me gently on the shoulder,
As if I heard a rustling sound,
Like the flight of a dove.
At my door comes a knocking sound,
And yet no one is out there;
I'm breathing in the scent of jasmine
And have no bouquet.
Someone calls to me from far away,
An eye watches me,
An old dream catches me
And drives me down its path.
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