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Catacoustic Consort | Ai Sospiri

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Classical: Early Music Classical: Baroque Moods: Type: Vocal
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Ai Sospiri

by Catacoustic Consort

Passionate Italian Baroque songs with the lush accompaniment of lirone, theorbo, and harp.
Genre: Classical: Early Music
Release Date: 

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  Song Share Time Download
1. Ai sospiri, al dolore
3:17 $0.99
2. Mentre che'l cor
2:33 $0.99
3. Kapsberger
3:48 $0.99
4. Stabat Mater, Pianto della Madonna
8:29 $0.99
5. Ardo ma non ardisco
7:11 $0.99
6. Spera mi disse amore
5:16 $0.99
7. Toccata seconda
1:45 $0.99
8. Torna, deh torna
3:20 $0.99
9. Occhi belli
3:00 $0.99
10. Lamento d'Olimpia
8:58 $0.99
11. Piangete, occhi miei lassi
2:25 $0.99
12. Passa Galli per pa lettera E
1:42 $0.99
13. Langue al vostro languir
4:11 $0.99
Downloads are available as MP3-320 files.


Album Notes
Melissa Harvey, soprano
Virginia Warnken Kelsey, mezzo-soprano
Annalisa Pappano, Artistic Director, lira da gamba by Henner Harders (2012) after Antonius Brensius, bass viola da gamba by John Pringle (1982) after John Rose
Elizabeth Motter, triple harp by Simon Capp (2010) after Barberini
David Walker, 14 course theorbo by Klaus Jacobson (2005) after Italian models

About The Catacoustic Consort

Catacoustic Consort was founded in 2001 by Annalisa Pappano as a way for her to explore her interest in her unusual instruments, including the lirone and its repertory in her hometown of Cincinnati, Ohio. After winning a national competition of Early Music America and Naxos, Catacoustic was catapulted in the forefront of American early music ensembles, especially as an interpreter of 17th-century Italian music. In addition to its subscription series, Catacoustic (a 501c 3 nonprofit) has a young artist program, a rental instrument program, offers outreach concerts, and tours throughout the US and internationally. Catacoustic has also released two CD recordings of French Baroque music for the pardessus de viole and is a partner organization with Cincinnati Opera.

Special thanks to the following donors for their help funding this recording:
Michele and Kevin Cain
J. Turner Carson, in memory of Dr. Judy Schwartz
Dr. Randall and Bedouin Dennison
Harvey C. Hubbell Trust
Marilyn Ott
Margaret Straub
Dr. John and Susan Tew

Ai sospiri, al dolore
To sighs, to grief, to torments, to lingering distress,
oh my heart, return to loving.
One who lives entangled in snares cannot be free for long.
Therefore, my heart, why resist any more?
Long live servitude!

To joy, to delight, to contentment, to rejoicing,
oh my heart, return, return to servitude.
For cherishing Love is not bitterness, but it is sweetness.
Therefore, my heart, why resist any more?
Long live servitude!

Mentre che’l cor
While my heart was being consumed by amorous worms and glowed with passionate fire, I sought the scattered tracks of wandering wild beasts over solitary hills. I ventured, singing, complaining of Love – of her who seemed to me as hard as stone; but ingenuity and rhymes were scarce in that state to a new, ill imagination.
That fire is dead and covered with marble. Though, if it had with time gone on advancing to old age as others have, armed with verse which today disarms me with seasoned skill, then by my words it would have broken rocks and drawn forth tears of deliciousness.

Pianto della Madonna/Stabat Mater
The Mother stood sorrowful by the cross, weeping while her son hung there;
whose soul, lamenting, sorrowing, and grieving has been pierced by the sword.
O how sad and afflicted was that blessed mother of her only-begotten son,
who wept, grieved, and trembled to behold the torment of her glorious child.
Who is the man that would not weep, if he saw the mother of Christ in such torment?
Who could not be sorrowful to behold the pious mother grieving with her son?
For the sins of his people, she saw Jesus in torment and subjected to the whip.
She saw her sweet son dying forsaken, as he gave up the spirit.
Ah Mother, fount of love, let me feel the force of grief, that I may grieve with you.
Make my heart burn with the love of Christ, the God, that I may be pleasing unto Him.
Holy Mother, bring this to pass,
transfix the wounds of Him who is crucified firmly onto my heart.
Of your wounded Son, who deigns to suffer for my sake, let me share in your anguish.
Make me truly weep with you, grieving with Him who is crucified so that I may live.

Ardo ma non ardisco
I burn, but I do not dare to open the pent-up passion of my soul, since the silent, burning, somewhat-invisible falling thunderbolt consumes me from within, and does not appear outwardly.

Well, in glances and in sighs Love often seeks to reveal burning fever. But conquered by fear, the burning flame escapes the face and focuses itself on the heart.

Thus I tremble and freeze where my torch blazes the most. Now who, wretch, do I expect to give a remedy for an unseen illness?

You suffer and stay silent, oh my heart, made of such a beautiful fire. You burn to ashes. May my breast be the sepulcher of your ashes.

“Spera,” mi disse Amore
“Hope,” Love said to me, but how can I hope?
For in the midst of pain, hope is torment to an unhappy person.
If, in my pain, my joy, my love, denies sweet assistance to my martyrdom,
I will hope, yes, but to die.

Hope, my heart, fate will slay you.
O false desire!
In vain one who lacks fortune hopes to die.
My idol, my life, wants me, deprived of help, to live in hope; I am content,
And I will hope, yes, but for my torment.

Torna, deh torna
Return, oh return, my pretty little one!
Return, for without you I am without my heart!
Where do you hide, alas? What have I done that I do not see or hear you, Love?
Run to me now in my arms; disperse this bitter pain, which consumes my heart.
Hear the plaintive sound of my voice, begging forgiveness with tears and sighs.

Occhi belli
Fair, precious eyes of mine, refrain from your glance out of pity for the fire that burns me from your gaze. Be to me more miserly, I beg of you. My eyes, you wound my heart too deeply when I think that you take in others. But, alas, what do I say? I am a fool! The eyes that I called mine belong to another.

Lamento d’Olimpia
Miserable me! Is it true? Alas, Bireno, you are leaving me. Can it be true? You have untied the anchors. The sails are unfolded! My cruel idol, I can see and say all this and yet do not die. Where are you fleeing? Where are you going? Stop your path, wicked Bireno! Come back again! Here is Love’s port, between these arms. Why do you take to the cruel and faithless sea, leaving all your happiness on this shore?

Oh my Bireno! But if you are taken from me, how do I say “mine?” Once mine, alas no longer so. Oh my betrayed faith, oh vain desire! Surrounded by water and my own bitter tears, I will not have a ship to carry me to shore. Oh how do I speak? How am I alive? Where will I go? What will I do, alone and lost? Who will rescue me? Help!

Oh Bireno, if only I had been blind or at least asleep before I saw you, as in this cruel, wicked night in which I lost my soul to you. Alas, I am dying! Oh who can revive me? Who will rescue me? Help!

I am she who, made prisoner of your love, gave you her fatherland and kingdom; she who saw her dear father and brothers extinguished and dead for you, and you, ungrateful one, leave me – and I do not die? The more I break into pieces, the more I adore you. Here in the deserted horror of this shore, I will be torn apart as a spoil by monsters, cruel one. Where shall I go; what shall I do, alone and lost? Who will rescue me? Help!

If my Bireno does not offer help, whom shall I ask, wretch? Oh, come back and look at your betrayed Olimpia, still breathing! Return and see her! Here is the lifeless woman who, wounded with grief, languishes, dying. Ah, you fled and disappeared. But even if you flee, I will follow you, cruel one; I will follow you, tumbling down, flying after you through the inconstant waves and hard rocks! A vengeful fury on a mad course!

But alas, what do I feel? What frozen horror creeps like a snake through the veins of my heart? Oh living pain, oh death of my hopes! Alas, I am becoming deathly pale! My blood is freezing! I tremble, I faint, I am dying! Oh, I am falling apart bit by bit! My foot wavers; oh how weary I am! My heart is failing. Alas, I am becoming faint – oh, my heart is dying in my breast.

Piangete, occhi miei lassi
Cry, my tired eyes, and move the heart of the one who hardens herself to my pain.
And if the water of tears cannot move her somewhat of my soul which languishes, then eyes spill forth, weep with tears of blood.

Langue al vostro languir
My soul languishes at your languishing
and I say, ah, perhaps she is guided to such scalding pain by her wound.
Oh spirit of Love who rebels too much.
How much better it would be for you to prove that dear ardor that makes you beautiful than that which makes you grow pale.
Why is it not my fate that I should burn in your fire?
You, and you in mine?



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