Hanna Golodinskii, soprano, sings works by Vladimir N. Drozdoff

Ukrainian-American Soprano Hanna Golodinskii premiered the vocal compositions of Russian-American pianist-composer Vladimir Drozdoff in May of 2015 in a series of public and private recitals. Stevensoniana (A song cycle of 6 pieces based on Robert Louis Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses) 1. Time to Rise A birdie with a yellow bill Hopped upon my window sill, Cocked his shining eye and said: "Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head!" 2. Rain The rain is falling all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea. 3. Auntie's Skirts Whenever Auntie moves around, Her dresses make a curious sound, They trail behind her up the floor, And trundle after through the door. 4. Singing Of speckled eggs the birdie sings And nests among the trees; The sailor sings of ropes and things In ships upon the seas. The children sing in far Japan, The children sing in Spain; The organ with the organ man Is singing in the rain. 5. Windy Nights Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about? Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again. 6. Marching Song Bring the comb and play upon it! Marching, here we come! Willie cocks his highland bonnet, Johnnie beats the drum. Mary Jane commands the party, Peter leads the rear; Feet in time, alert and hearty, Each a Grenadier! All in the most martial manner Marching double-quick; While the napkin, like a banner, Waves upon the stick! Here's enough of fame and pillage, Great commander Jane! Now that we've been round the village, Let's go home again. Cape Cod, based on a poem by Ethel Caulfield Salty marshes, stretching dim, To the grey horizon's rim; Winding roads--like ribbons--run Out to where the day's begun. Penciled cedars, slim and tall, Standing guard o'er old stone-walls; Scrub-pines growing everywhere, Fill, with pungent scent, the air. Tiny houses thrill you, too. Just as would a dream come true; Nestled close against a hill, Bidding one to rest at will. Hearths, where boiling kettles croon, Seemingly a homely tune; Rockers, placed before the glow, Bring back dreams of long ago. From Goethe, based on poem by Mikhail Lermontov 1840 Tops of dreaming highlands Darken in a night; Valleys lull, in silence, A fresh dim inside; Dust sleeps on a road, Leafage does not shake. Wait a little more, You'll too have a break. Sometime, on a poem by Eugene Field Last night, my darling, as you slept, I thought I heard you sigh, And to your little crib I crept, And watched a space thereby; And bending down I kissed your brow, For oh! I love you so-- You are too young to know it now, But some time you shall know! Some time when, in a darkened place Where others come to weep, Your eyes shall see a weary face Calm in eternal sleep, The speechless lips, the wrinkled brow, The patient smile may show-- You are too young to know it now, But some time you shall know! Look backward, then, into the years, And see me here to-night-- See, O my darling! how my tears Are falling as I write; And feel once more upon your brow The kiss of long ago-- You are too young to know it now, But some time you shall know. Uzhnik (Prisoner) on a poem by Aleksandr Pushkin I'm sitting by bars in the damp blackened cell -- The juvenile eagle, who's bred by the jail, My mournful friend, with his wings stretching wide, Is picking at bloody food right by my side. He’s picking and looking at me through the bars, Like having a thought that is common to us, Like calling to me with a glance and a sight, And wanting to say, "Let us fly outside! We're free proud birds; it is time for the friends To fly to the white of the rock in a haze, To fly to the blue of the sea and the sky, Where evenly dwell only tempests ... and I!" Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, November, 1999 Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt, February, 2000 Louisiana Lullaby, on a poem by James Stewart Douglass WILL BE TYPED FROM THE SCORE SOON.