University of Florida Performing Arts

Presents

Australian Chamber Orchestra

with Dawn Upshaw, Soprano

Friday, April 20, 2012, 7:30 p.m.

Phillips Center

Sponsored by

A part of

www.primaverafestival.us

Australian Chamber OrchestraRichard Tognetti, artistic director

Dawn Upshaw, soprano

ProgramElegy and Polka Dmitri Shostakovich

Elegy. AdagioPolka. Allegretto

Winter Morning Walks Maria Schneider Perfectly Still This Solstice MorningWhen I Switched On a LightWalking by FlashlightI Saw a Dust Devil This MorningMy Wife and I Walk the Cold RoadAll Night, in Gusty WindsOur Finch FeederSpring, the Sky Rippled with GeeseHow Important It Must Be

Dawn Upshaw, soprano

INTERMISSION

Mondnacht, Op. 39, No. 5 Robert Schumann arr. Jordan

Dawn Upshaw, soprano

Geheimes (Secret), D.719 Franz Schubert arr. Brahms

Dawn Upshaw, soprano

Der Tod und das Mädchen (Death and the Maiden), D.531 Schubert arr. Tognetti

Dawn Upshaw, soprano

String Quartet in G Minor, Op. 27 Edvard GriegUn poco andante -- Allegro molto ed agitatoRomanze: Andantino -- Allegro agitatoIntermezzo: Allegro molto marcato -- Allegro agitatoFinale: Lento -- Presto al saltarello

Australian Chamber Orchestra and Dawn Upshaw appear by arrangement with IMG Artists LLC152 West 57th Street, New York, NY 10019

arr. Tognetti

Texts and TranslationsWinter Morning Walks;100 Postcards to Jim HarrisonBy Ted Kooser

PrefaceIn the autumn of 1998, during my recovery from surgery and radiation for cancer, I began taking a two-mile walk each morning. I’d been told by my radiation oncologist to stay out of the sun for a year because of skin sensitivity, so I exercised before dawn, hiking the isolated country roads near where I live, sometimes with my wife but most often alone.During the previous summer, depressed by my illness, preoccupied by the routines of my treatment, and feeling miserably sorry for myself, I’d all but given up on reading and writing. Then, as autumn began to fade and winter came on, my health began to improve. One morning in November, following my walk, I surprised myself by trying my hand at a poem. Soon I was writing every day.Several years before, my friend Jim Harrison and I had carried on a correspondence in haiku. As a variation of this, I began pasting my morning poems on postcards and sending them to Jim, whose generosity, patience and good humor are here acknowledged. What follows is a selection of 100 of those postcards.

Ted KooserGarland, NebraskaSpring, 1999

Perfectly Still This Solstice Morning; When I Switched On a Light; Walking by Flashlight; I Saw a Dust Devil This Morning; My Wife and I Walk the Cold Road; All Night, in Gusty Winds; Our Finch Feeder; Spring, the Sky Rippled with Geese and How Important It Must Be are used by permission of their author, Ted Kooser, and are from his book, Winter Morning Walks; 100 Postcards to Jim Harrison, published by Carnegie Mellon University Press.

Perfectly Still This Solstice MorningPerfectly still this solstice morning,in bone-cracking cold. Nothing moving,or so one might think, but as I walk the road,the wind held in the heart of every treeflows to the end of each twig and forms a bud.

When I Switched On a LightWhen I switched on a light in the barn loft late last night, I frightened four flickers hanging inside, peering out through their holes.Confused by the light, they began to flywildly from one end to the other,their yellow wings slapping the tin sheets of the roof, striking the walls, scrabbling and falling. I cut the lightand stumbled down and out the door and stoodin the silent dominion of starlight till all five of our hearts settled down.

Walking by FlashlightWalking by flashlightat six in the morning,my circle of light on the gravelswinging side to side,coyote, raccoon, field mouse, sparrow,each watching from darknessthis man with the moon on a leash.

I Saw a Dust Devil This MorningI saw a dust devil this morning,doing a dance with veils of cornshucksin front of an empty farmhouse,a magical thing, and I rememberedwalking the beans in hot midsummer,how we’d see one swirling toward usover the field, a spiral of flying leavesforty or fifty feet high, clear as a glassof cold water just out of reach,and we’d drop our hoes and run to catch it,shouting and laughing, hurdling the beans,and if one of us was fast enough,and lucky, he’d run along inside the funnel,where the air was strangely cool and still,the soul and center of the thing,the genie whose swirls out of the bottle,eager to grant one wish to each of us.I had a hundred thousand wishes then.

My Wife and I Walk the Cold RoadMy wife and I walk the cold roadin silence, asking for thirty more years.

There’s a pink and blue sunrisewith an accent of red:a hunger’s cap burns like a coalin the yellow-gray eye of the woods.

All Night, in Gusty WindsAll night, in gusty winds, the house has cupped its hands aroundthe steady candle of our marriage, the two of us braided together in sleep,and burning, yes, but slowly,giving off just enough light so that one of us,awakening frightened in darkness,can see.

Our Finch FeederOur finch feeder, full of thistle seedoily and black as ammunition, swings wildly in the wind, and the finchesin olive drab like little commandoscling to the perches, six birds at a time,ignoring the difficult ride.

Spring, the Sky Rippled with GeeseSpring, the sky rippled with geese,but the green comes on slowly, timed to the ticking of downspouts.The pond, still numb from monthsof ice, reflects just one enthusiastthis morning, a budding maplewhose every twig is strung with beadsof carved cinnabar, bittersweet red.

How Important It Must BeHow important it must beto someonethat I am alive, and walking,and that I have written these poems.This morning the sun stoodright at the end of the roadand waited for me.

Mondnacht/Moonlit night from Liederkreis, Op. 39, No. 5Music by Robert Alexander Schumann Text by Joseph von Eichendorff (1788–1857)5 MondnachtEs war, als hätt’ der Himmeldie Erde still geküßt,daß sie im Blütenschimmervon ihm nur träumen müßt.Die Luft ging durch die Felder,die Ähren wogten sacht,es rauschten leis die Wälder,so sternklar war die Nacht.Und meine Seele spannteweit ihre Flügel aus,flog durch die stillen Lande,als flöge sie nach Haus.

Geheimes, D. 719 (1821)/SecretMusic by Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828)Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goeth (1749-1832)Über meines Liebchens ÄugelnStehn verwundert alle LeuteIch, der Wissende, dagegen,Weiß recht gut, was das bedeute.

Denn es heißt: ich liebe diesenUnd nicht etwa den und jenen.Lasset nur, ihr guten Leute,Euer Wundern, euer Sehnen!Ja, mit ungeheuren MächtenBlicket sie wohl in die Runde;Doch sie sucht nur zu verkündenIhm die nächste süße Stunde.

Moonlit nightIt was as if the skyhad silently kissed the earth,leaving her to dream of himin the shimmering light of the flowers.The breeze blew over the fields,the ears of corn waved gently,and the forest murmured softlyon a night clear and starry.And my soul spread its wingsand stretched them wideand flew through the quiet landas if flying home.

My love has a look That makes men wonder;But I aloneWell know its meaning.

It is: him I love,Not him or him.So quit, good men,Admiring and desiring!

Great, yes, the powerOf her glances;But meant only to tellHim of their next sweet hour.

Der Tod und das Mädchen, D.810/Death and the Maiden Text by Matthias Claudius (1740-1815) Set by Franz Schubert (1797-1828), D. 531 (1817), published 1821 as Op. 7, No. 3

“Vorüber! ach, vorüber! geh, wilder Knochenmann! Ich bin noch jung, geh, Lieber! Und rühre mich nicht an.”

“Gib deine Hand, du schön und zart Gebild, bin Freund und komme nicht zu strafen. Sei gutes Muts! Ich bin nicht wild, sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen.”

Program NotesElegy and Polka (Composed 1931)Dmitri Shostakovich (1906–1975)These two short movements for string quartet by Shostakovich – which predate his famous string quartet repertoire – are adaptations of earlier works by the same composer. The Elegy is derived from Katerina’s aria in Act I, Scene 3 of the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, while the Polka first appeared in his ballet score for The Age of Gold. They were arranged by Shostakovich over the course of a single evening in 1931 as a gift to the Vuillaume Quartet. (Confusingly, the two pieces are sometimes also referred to as “Adagio and Allegretto”.)The Elegy, which must surely stand as one of the composer’s most beautiful utterances, originally accompanied a lament sung by the principal character of the opera as she contemplates a life of oppressive misery and life-denying boredom trapped inside a loveless marriage. The Age of Gold, on the other hand, tells the story of the adventures of a Soviet football team as it visits the West and contrasts the vigour of communist youth with the decadence of the West. The Polka’s grotesque character, a dark parody of works such as Josef Strauss’s Pizzicato Polka, reflects its original setting as an accompaniment to a scene satirizing the appearance of politicians from the League of Nations. It was later to become famous, being further transcribed by Shostakovich for solo piano, orchestra, chamber orchestra, jazz band, and even turned into a popular song!Although he was to develop into one of the greatest string quartet composers, these two early movements predate Shostakovich’s first full string quartet by some seven years. The string orchestra transcription of these works is by the violinist Christian Sikorski.— Program note by Peter Tregear © 2010

Winter Morning Walks (Co-commission by Ojai Music Festival, Cal Performances and Australian Chamber Orchestra)Maria Schneider (born 1960)

Dawn Upshaw, sopranoScott Robinson, alto clarinet and bass clarinet

Frank Kimbrough, pianoJay Anderson, bass

Maria Schneider’s new work began with an idea about the company Dawn Upshaw keeps:“After premiering my first work with Dawn Upshaw I had the feeling that if I ever wrote for her again, I might like to place her in a setting where she would have improvisation around her. I wanted her to feel the excitement I feel when my music is approached differently every night, where each performance is truly a creative collaboration.”

“Pass by! Ah pass by,go, you savage skeleton! I am still young, go, my dear,and do not touch me.”

“Give me your hand, you fair and tender creature; I am a friend and I do not come to punish. Be of good cheer! I am not savage. you shall sleep gently in my arms.”

Toward this end Schneider has called on three long-time collaborators – Frank Kimbrough, Scott Robinson and Jay Anderson – whose improvisational abilities extend far beyond the language of jazz. They join the Australian Chamber Orchestra, whose members play without a conductor and are thus, like jazz musicians, deeply attuned to listening and responding to each other. Together they provide a special setting for the soloist:

“In this piece Dawn is able to vary the rhythms from performance to performance, to move or to wait in accordance with what she is hearing and feeling around her. In the end, it becomes unclear who is really leading or following – they all just relate to one another in the environment created by the poetry and the collective experience.”

The texts for Winter Morning Walks are by Ted Kooser, a poet for whom the composer has a special affinity:

“His metaphors bring such powerful feeling to this ‘seemingly basic’ Midwest landscape and illuminate the depth of feeling I’ve always felt for the prairie country we share. Perhaps I am continually putting something similar into my music without knowing or trying. In any event these poems, set in Midwest winter landscapes, moving from the winter solstice to the vernal equinox, feel like home to me and became a natural inspiration for my own musical voice.”

Mondnacht, Op. 39, No. 5Robert Schumann (1810–1856)“What can I write about this day?” begins an entry in Clara Schumann’s diary for September 12, 1840, the day before her 21st birthday, and the day of her long-awaited marriage to composer Robert Schumann. “My whole soul was grateful to the One who had brought us safely over the many rocks and precipices.”Those rocks had been formidable. She herself was the daughter of one of Leipzig’s finest piano teachers, Friedrich Wieck, and he had taught her so well that at age 18 she was already considered one of Europe’s finest keyboard players, with a marvelous career in front of her. Wieck was also the teacher of an ardent young man namd Robert Schumann who was a talented pianist and an even more talented composer, one whom Clara’s father had likened to “a young Beethoven.” But the two young people had fallen in love, and Father Friedrich grew frantic in his efforts to prevent their marriage. It was even more difficult because Robert was living under the same roof with Clara and her parents, practicing on the same pianos, eating at the same table, sitting on the same sofa. And he was almost a decade older than Clara.Herr Wieck went to imaginative lengths to part the two. He had the young suitor arrested for public drunkenness; he accused him of probable insolvency without a hint of proof; once he spat in Robert’s face when they met in the town square. Probably worst of all, he went so far as to write letters to piano manufacturers urging them not to let Clara use their instruments – as “she might ruin the action.” It became apparent that Wieck had crossed the border into semi-lunacy and would have reacted similarly to any young man who might dare to find Clara attractive.Nothing worked, though. Clara was as adamant as her father, just as determined.Robert’s own energy was apparently not scotched but rather buoyed up by Professor Wieck’s savage opposition and also by the marriage, when it finally took place. Always prolific, he now composed new works as fast as he could write the notes down on paper. Heretofore he had written mostly piano works, splendid ones (which Clara delighted to program every chance she could). Now marriage exalted him to wings of song. The year 1840 is often called his Liederjahr (“year of song”). “Oh, Clara! What bliss to write songs! I have been composing at such a rate that it seems uncanny. I simply can’t help it. Perhaps I shall sing myself to death like some demented nightingale,” he wrote to her. In 1840 alone he produced 140 songs, more than half his entire output, among them most of his vocal masterpieces, including cycles like Frauenlieben und-leben, Myrthen, Dichterliebe, and two volumes of Liederkreis, the first to poems of Heinrich Heine, the second, Opus 39, composed in

early May, to poems of Joseph, Baron von Eichendorff, scion of a wealthy aristocratic family who grew up speaking Polish and German and rather grandly enjoying the “countrified music” of Upper Silesia which at that time was part of Austria. In Eichendorff Schumann had recognized a poet who was “the soul of the world,” as Robert put it, and who sought to encapsulate in his poetry the very meaning of life. Mondnacht, fifth of the 12 songs in Schumann’s cycle, is almost universally considered one of the composer’s finest achievements, a summons to Night in all its mystery and magic. First the piano shimmers in its delicate descending phrase,”as if heaven itself were reaching down to kiss the earth” – at least that was the idea of biographer Robert Haven Schauffler. This opening is echoed by the hushed tones of the voice’s rising phrase that once again reaches towards the empyrean. Interestingly, it is very possible that the renowned Felix Mendelssohn – composer, conductor, violinist, organist, bon vivant, family man and lifelong friend to Clara and Robert – was among the first to sing this music. “I wish you could meet Mendelssohn personally and hear him,” Schumann wrote to his old friend the physician and music-lover Eduard Krüger. “Among real artists, I know none who can compare to him. We spent several hours together recently, he singing a number of my songs in that light baritone of his and my little bride accompanying him.”Perhaps Mondnacht was among them.—Program note by Clair W. Van Ausdall

Geheimes (Secret), D.719Franz Peter Schubert (1797–1828)In the course of his woefully brief career, Schubert managed to make settings of somewhat more than 600 songs. Nowhere did he find a poet more to his liking than Johann Wolfgang Goethe, the great man of German letters. In all, Schubert set more than 60 of them, in the years between 1814 and 1826. Geheimes was a product of 1821, one of the composer’s happiest years, though he did not compose nearly as much music as usual. Still, there was no disease nipping at is heels, he wasn’t actually starving, he had finished a symphony or two, a few songs, a string quartet or two, and he had made some significant friends, among them the rich young barrister Leopold von Sonnenleithner. Leopold had had excellent musical training, was a very capable pianist and cellist and had tried his own hand at composing. (Someone suggested to him that he should chuck the law and cast his lot in with the humble musicians but he retorted that he was smart enough to see that he would rather be a decent attorney than a very average composer.) It was he who opened the palatial apartments of his wealthy father Ignaz von Sonnleithner there in Vienna for social evenings which would feature performances of chamber music and such important singers as Michael Vogl, say, or August von Gymnich, the latter of whom had at one of these lavish soirées introduced Schubert’s masterly Erlkönig with pianist Anna Fröhlich, among Vienna’s loveliest artists, on December 1, 1820, to great applause.Both Anna and Leopold were always enthusiastic about Schubert and his music, even after one time when Anna tried to arrange a special surprise for him by decorating her garden with lanterns, moving a piano into it and persuading a singer friend of hers to perform a new song of his for a few guests on a warm summer evening; poor, shy Schubert, who frequently suffered from forgetful inattention, had inadvertently tossed Anna’s invitation away, and he never arrived at all. Geheimes was finished in 1821, but we have no way of telling whether it too was heard at the Sonnleithner mansion, though Leopold is known on many occasions to have praised Schubert’s settings of Goethe in particular, so it might well have been. On the other hand there are dozens of equally glorious songs that were never published in his lifetime, so that while he undoubtedly “heard” exquisite performances of them in his head, he may never have had the chance to revel in an actual public performance. The song was finally published by the Berlin firm of Breitkopf & Härtel in 1897, three-quarters of a century after his death, and has been popular ever since.To the reasonably sophisticated ear, Goethe’s three-stanza poem does not convey much of a

“secret,” really, but its sweetly unassuming accompaniment in a pattern of two-note phrases, conveys a welcome freshness, and seasons the rather sly archness of the lines with a gossamer dusting of reality.—Program note by Clair W. Van Ausdall

Der Tod und das Mädchen (Death and the Maiden), D.531Franz Peter SchubertWhen it came to choosing lyrics for a song that has proved to be one of his most effective and stunningly successful – Der Tod und das Mädchen – Schubert sought out the work of Matthias Claudius (1740-1815), a poet known to him only by reputation. Matthias was the son of a Protestant clergyman who tried his hand at theology but left university without a degree and turned to journalism, eventually assuming the editorship of a neighborhood periodical, Der Wandsbecker Bothe (roughly, “What’s Going On in Wandsbecker?”), specifically the small village of Wandsbeck, near Hamburg. He wrote much of the copy, under the pseudonym of Asmus, so charmingly that citizens of the little burg began affectionately calling him by the name of his periodical. After a time he collected his writings, both prose and poetry, and published them, with such success that his great talent was finally apparent to the literary world at large.Apparently Schubert liked his poems because in the two-year span of 1816 and 1817 he set a dozen of them, many with deeply religious subsets, including the one we hear on this program.Seldom has Schubert written anything more somber. Claudius’ two very brief stanzas are of course performed in deliberate manner; each of them indicating one of two very different speakers (sung of course by a single voice): the first, a young, fearful maiden and the other, her tenderly reassuring male colloquant.The theme of Death pursuing a young woman has been a powerful one in Western culture since medieval times, inspiring plays, novels, poetry, paintings and psychological tomes. Schubert even inspired himself, using this poem. In 1824, when everything in his life had turned black, disease had overtaken his body, poverty had ransacked his purse, musical success had turned its back on him yet again, he went painstakingly to work on a new string quartet, whose second movement, Andante con moto, was based on the already familiar song he had composed in earlier, easier times. This movement took the form of a theme and five variations, and gives the quartet its never-to-be-forgotten nickname, “Death and the Maiden.” The String Quartet in D Minor, D.531 – never played publicly while the composer lived – was finally published three years after he died. No vision of Death has ever succeeded in luring either the song or the string quartet away from its ultimate triumph – a vibrant and triumphant life.—Program note by Clair W. Van Ausdall

String Quartet in G Minor, Op. 27 (composed 1877–78)Edvard Grieg (1843–1907)Grieg lived at an important time in his country’s history. Norway’s 400-year union with Denmark had ceased in 1814, just 30 years before Grieg was born. An urban, middle-class Norwegian family, such as the one in which Edvard Grieg grew up, still looked to Denmark for its cultural and linguistic anchors. When he was 15, the budding composer met the charismatic virtuoso violinist Ole Bull, who insisted that Grieg be sent to the Leipzig Conservatory for his musical education, although Grieg complained bitterly about his early instruction for the rest of his life. Grieg’s attitude to his formative professional training was, frankly, churlish. Certainly the teenager did not see eye to eye with his first piano teacher at the Leipzig Conservatory, but after a year the opinionated prodigy was allowed to transfer to the class of Ernst Wenzel (who had known Schumann as a close personal friend), thence to the class of the legendary Moscheles, and latterly to study composition with Carl Reinecke, who steered Grieg’s tortuous path through the writing of his earliest string quartet (now, perhaps fortunately, lost). Scathing though Grieg may have been about the allegedly pedantic and reactionary teaching that he received in Germany,

this early sojourn in continental Europe forced the immature composer to acquire a solid, Austro-German technique on which to graft his individual voice.Grieg returned to his home town of Bergen shortly before his 19th birthday; there he started seriously to seek out specifically Norwegian culture, rather than that of Denmark with which he had been brought up. In the summer of 1864, Grieg renewed his acquaintance with Ole Bull.He played for me the trollish Norwegian melodies that so strongly fascinated me, and awakened the desire to have them as the basis for my own melodies. He opened my eyes to the beauty and originality in Norwegian music. Through him I became acquainted with many forgotten folk songs, and above all, with my own nature.Having discovered his roots, the 1870s were a musical melting-pot for Grieg. In 1873, he attempted to write a fully Norwegian opera, and a year later he was invited by Ibsen to provide the music for the epic Peer Gynt. In 1876, Grieg visited Bayreuth and witnessed the première of Wagner’s Ring cycle. In the following winter, Grieg added a second piano part to four of Mozart’s piano sonatas, an act which might now be considered both tasteless and arrogant, but which became an important landmark for Grieg’s self-discipline as a composer. In the summer of 1877, when Grieg was in his mid-30s, he rented a house in Lofthus on the Hardanger Fjord. There he erected a ‘composing hut’, and the breathtaking scenery of Western Norway was the backdrop against which the G-minor String Quartet was sketched.There is something that I must do for the sake of my art. Day by day I am becoming more dissatisfied with myself. It is enough to make one lose one’s mind – but I know well enough what the problem is. It’s lack of practice, because I have never got beyond composing by fits and starts. But that is going to end. I am going to fight my way through the large musical forms, cost what it may. If I go mad in the process, now you know why.Far from driving Grieg mad, the composition of the G-minor String Quartet announced the arrival of the composer’s artistic maturity. There is an autobiographical element that runs throughout Grieg’s only surviving complete string quartet. Grieg had in mind a poem by Ibsen, which describes the lovelorn musings of a musician as he walks beside a stream on a summer evening. The theme that represents the musician of the poem is heard at the very start of the quartet, first slowly and with great portent, and thereafter as the quartet’s dreamier second subject.Right from the start of the first movement, the G-minor String Quartet startles the listener with its Nordic boldness. Grieg was determined to prove that he could write a convincing large-scale sonata-form movement – although the second subject, for instance, is preceded by one of the most self-conscious general pauses in the history of the form. There is little in the rest of the quartet that is any less self-absorbed. The mood of the serene, waltz-like second movement is rocked by the appearance of the musician’s theme, and the third movement opens with the theme stated in capital letters. The middle section of the third movement features a repeated fugato passage, every bit as pedantic as one imagines Grieg’s fugue lessons to have been when he was a student in Leipzig. The musician’s theme, again, opens the fourth movement, this time in reflective mode; this mood quickly gives way to music that is heavily infused with ‘trollish’ cavorting. This last movement is assured and idiosyncratic; one of Grieg’s most impressive musical constructions. I have recently written a string quartet, which I still haven’t heard. It is in G minor and is not intended to bring trivialities to market. It strives towards breadth, soaring flight and, above all, resonance for the instruments.Certainly the quartet is in no way trivial. And certainly it has breadth: its gestures soar, and it is instrumentally resonant. These full textures proved problematic, in that Grieg’s normally supportive publisher regarded the piece as too orchestral and initially refused to publish the work. This concert’s solution is to make a virtue out of that supposed defect by scoring the work for string orchestra, in which version the rich textures become more credibly part of a larger ensemble.— Jeremy Summerly, © ACO 2009Jeremy Summerly is the Sterndale Bennett Lecturer in Music at the Royal Academy of Music, London.

BiographiesAustralian Chamber Orchestra Richard Tognetti, artistic directorInternationally renowned for inspired programming and the rapturous response of audiences and critics, the Australian Chamber Orchestra is a product of our country’s vibrant, adventurous and enquiring spirit. In performances around Australia, around the world and on many recordings, the ACO moves hearts and stimulates minds with repertoire spanning six centuries and a vitality and virtuosity unmatched by other ensembles.The Australian Chamber Orchestra was founded in 1975 and Richard Tognetti was appointed artistic director and lead violin in 1989. Every year, this ensemble presents performances of the highest standard to audiences around the world, including 10,000 subscribers across Australia. The ACO’s unique artistic style encompasses not only the masterworks of the classical repertoire, but innovative cross-artform projects and a vigorous commissioning program.Fifty-one international tours across Asia, Europe and the U.S. have drawn outstanding reviews for the ACO’s performances at many of the world’s prestigious concert halls, including Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw, London’s Wigmore Hall, New York’s Carnegie Hall and Vienna’s Musikverein.The ACO has made acclaimed recordings for labels including ABC Classics, BIS, Sony, Channel Classics, Hyperion, EMI and Chandos. In 2005, the ACO inaugurated an ambitious national education program, which includes outreach activities and mentoring of outstanding young musicians, including the formation of ACO2, an elite training orchestra which tours regional centres.

Dawn Upshaw, sopranoJoining a rare natural warmth with a fierce commitment to the transforming communicative power of music, four-time Grammy® Award-winning soprano Dawn Upshaw has achieved worldwide celebrity as a singer of opera and concert repertoire ranging from the sacred works of Bach to the freshest sounds of today. Ms. Upshaw’s 2011-12 season features an array of performances in many areas of the repertoire that she has championed. With the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, where she is an Artistic Partner, Ms. Upshaw sings Debussy, Ravel and the world premiere of a new work written for her by Irish composer Donnacha Dennehy. A dedicated recitalist, she embarks on a tour with longtime collaborator Gilbert Kalish. She performs with the Cleveland Orchestra and with the Winnipeg Symphony in music ranging from Canteloube to Golijov and Schubert. With the Australian Chamber Orchestra, she concludes the season with an eight-city tour featuring jazz composer Maria Schneider’s new work Winter Morning Walks, written for her in 2011 and scheduled for recording in May, 2012 following the tour’s final performance at Carnegie Hall.In 2007, she was named a Fellow of the MacArthur Foundation, the first vocal artist to be awarded the five-year “genius” prize, and in 2008 she was named a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts & Sciences. She is artistic director of the Vocal Arts Program at the Bard College Conservatory of Music, and a faculty member of the Tanglewood Music Center.

Australian Chamber Orchestra Roster

ViolinsRichard Tognetti – Artistic Director and Lead ViolinSatu Vänskä – Assistant LeaderEriikka Maalismaa – Guest Principal 2ndMadeleine BoudRebecca ChanAlice EvansAiko GotoMark IngwersenIlya IsakovichVeronique SerretViolasChristopher Moore – PrincipalNicole DivallAlissa SmithCellosTimo-Veikko Valve – PrincipalJulian ThompsonEve SilverDouble BassMaxime Bibeau – Principal

Guest musicians for Schneider’s Winter Morning WalksClarinetsScott RobinsonBassJay AndersonPianoFrank Kimbrough

Tour ManagerErin McNamaraGeneral ManagerTimothy Calnin