This week I'm working on...

After my first solo performance last weekend of the alto part in the Charpentier Messe de Minuit in Henley, I'm now working towards a performance workshop with Paul Arden-Griffiths at the end of March and desperately trying to select and learn two pieces for it. I have settled (I think) on the beautiful "Ah! Not a Drop!" which is a setting by Victorian composer Liza Lehmann of verses from the Rubaiyat of Omar Kayyam, and "Don't Tell Mama" from Cabaret (Kander & Ebb). 

The first piece is really interesting as the first page of music is a capella (unaccompanied) and will be a real test of my tuning when the piano comes in! The words are about the link between what grows or falls onto the earth, and what lies beneath:

 And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
 For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
 To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
 There hidden—far beneath, and long ago.

 I sometimes think that never blows so red
 The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
 That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
 Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

 And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
 Fledges the River’s Lip on which we lean--
 Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
 From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

The Rubaiyat is utterly lovely and if you haven't read it, you should. Apart from the fact that you will recognise many of the lines from it ("The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, moves on"), Khayyam was a true wine lover and his joy in the grape is evident throughout.

The second piece is of course a Sally Bowles classic. I never got to do as much musical theatre as I'd have liked when I was younger and if there are two roles I yearned to do they were Eliza Dolittle and Sally Bowles. Both have some of the best songs ever written (a female lead with a character song?? You jest, surely!). Don't Tell Mama is a song Sally performs in the Kit Kat Klub, the words are self-evident:

Mama,
Thinks I'm living in a convent,
A secluded little convent
In the southern part of France.

Mama
Doesn't even have an inkling
That I'm working in a Nightclub
In a pair of Lacy pants.
So please, sir.
If you run into my Mama,
Don't reveal my indiscretion,
Give a working girl a chance.

Hush up,
Don't tell Mama,
Shush up,
Don't tell Mama...
Don't tell Mama,
Whatever you do.
If you had a secret,
You bet I would keep it.
I would never tell on you.
I'm breaking every promise
That I gave her,
So won't you kindly do a girl
A great big favour?
And please, my sweet patater,
Keep this from the Mater,
Though my dance
Is not against the law.

You can tell my Papa, that's all right,
'Cause he comes in here every night,
But don't tell Mama what you saw!

Mama
Thinks I'm on a tour of Europe,
With a couple of my school chums
And a lady chaperone.

Mama
Doesn't even have an inkling
That I left them all in Antwerp
And I'm touring on my own.

So please, Sir
If you run into my Mama
Don't reveal my indiscretion.
Just leave well enough alone.

Hush up,
Don't tell Mama.
Shush up,
Don't tell Mama;
Don't tell Mama
Whatever you do.
If you had a secret,
You bet I would keep it.
I would never tell on you.
You wouldn't want to get me in a pickle,
And have her go and cut me off without a nickle.

So let's trust one another,
Keep this from my mother,
Though I'm still as pure as mountain snow.


You can tell my Uncle
Here and now
'Cause he's my agent anyhow,
But don't tell Mama what you know.


You can tell my brother,
That ain't grim
'Cause if her squeals on me
I'll squeal on him,

But don't tell Mama, bitte
Don't tell Mama, please, Sir.
Don't tell Mama, what you know.

If you see my, Mummy,
Mum's the word!