baritone and piano
(performed by Evan T. Jones, baritone, and Timothy Hoekman, piano).
“Your Devoted Hugo” is a cycle of ten songs for baritone and piano written in 2020. The texts are English translations of letters from composer Hugo Wolf to various people in his life. The song cycle provides ten snapshots of Wolf’s life, starting with his first extant letter as a 13-year-old boy and ending in an insane asylum 26 years later.
1. Trouble at School (to his parents, 1873)
My dearest parents,
I guess you got a letter today from the prefect, telling you about my behavior and how I am doing at school. Some things are true, but many are shameful lies! For example, he writes that I’m barely acceptable in all subjects. It’s true that I failed Latin, but I will keep my promise to do better. I did so well on a history test that the school inspector praised me. Please keep this in mind. He writes that I am proud, stubborn, and defiant; I cannot understand how this came into his mind, and he lies infamously when he writes that when he threatened to throw me out of school, I answered: “Then I will go to Marburg!” He also writes that I never asked his forgiveness, but I went to him in the very first term to beg his pardon. But he repulsed me, saying: “This is all hypocrisy.” Please send me a summer jacket of Russian linen, and my bathers, and your pictures. And when is Modesta’s name day and birthday? I kiss your hands many times and remain your most thankful son, Hugo.
Written in secret. Please do not answer, because he is writing to ask why you did not come on Tuesday. Tell him that the gray horse was sick and not that I told you not to come. In great haste.
2. Richard Wagner (to his parents, 1875)
Dearest parents,
Already I’ve got a foretaste of how difficult it is to get one’s compositions heard. Because I am not in the composition class, they do not want to allow my pieces to be played, even when I try my very best to get them performed. Now to the main point. I was actually—can you guess with whom?—Maestro Richard Wagner at the Imperial Hotel. I was waiting for him on the stairs. Finally he came down from the second floor, and I greeted him very devotedly. He thanked me most kindly, and when he came near the door, I quickly jumped there and opened it for him. He stared at me several seconds, then left for the final rehearsal of Lohengrin. I ran as fast as I could, and I got to the opera house before his carriage arrived. I greeted him again and wanted to open the door for him, but the coachman jumped and opened it instead. Maestro Wagner asked him something then; I think it was about me! A few weeks later I was waiting again at the hotel, when Wagner arrived with his wife, Cosima, daughter of the great Liszt. I greeted her very respectfully. She did not find me worthy of a single glance; she is known all over the world as a proud, conceited woman. Wagner went into his room without looking at me. But the maid said: “Oh, Herr Wagner, a young artist who has often waited to meet you wishes to speak with you.” He came out and said: I think I’ve seen you before. You are…” (Perhaps he was about to say: “you are a fool.”) But then he opened the door for me. There was a really royal splendor. In the center was a bed completely of silk and velvet. Wagner was wrapped in a long, velvet coat trimmed in fur. Then he asked me: “What do you desire?” To be continued in my next letter; my thoughts go far too fast, and the quill cannot keep up. That’s why the handwriting is so bad. Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a beautiful, richly decorated Christmas tree, with heartfelt greetings and kisses, I remain your most thankful son, Hugo Wolf.
3. Mood Swings (to his brother Max, 1881)
A thousand thanks, dear brother, for your friendly letter. Just today, the third of May, I got your congratulations. But never mind; every good wish arrives right on time. April turned out to be disastrous for me. Whether it will be good or bad in the end, I do not know yet. I am blind, blind, because I see only blackness, and I fear that I may never find my way out of this labyrinth of pain. Wally is staying in Paris with her family, who are urging her to marry. She is weak and will give in to their pressure. Now do you understand? In my current mood, it is impossible to create arrangements for such a wretched orchestra. As for products from me, I can serve up a string quartet: very juicy, lots of pepper, and richly garnished with cello passages, but rather heavy to digest, only recommended for pigs’ stomachs. Beware the nasty prospect of everything coming up again—if you know what I mean. Good Lord, it’s almost twelve o’clock, and the Philharmonic concert begins at twelve-thirty. Farewell, dear Max. Everything is pretty good with me, except when it’s bad. Next year I will move to Germany; no more Vienna. Ciao, dear brother; I am yours with all my heart.
4. Mörike Madness (to Edmund Lang, 1888)
My dear Edmond,
I just wrote a new song, a divine song, I tell you. Very heavenly, wonderful, O God, soon it will be over with me since my cleverness is growing day by day. How far will I be able to reach? I shudder to think about it. I lack the courage to compose an opera, for fear of so many ideas. Ideas, my friend, are frightful. I feel it. My cheeks are glowing with excitement like molten iron, and this state of inspiration for me is not pure joy, but exquisite torture. I improvised almost a whole comic opera today at the piano. I think I could create something good in this style. What does the future hold for me? Am I destined? Maybe even chosen? God forbid the latter! That would be horrible! I must be crazy to tell you such silly things. No offense meant! Your old Fluchu.
Dear Edmondo,
Today I produced my masterpiece. “Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchens” is by far my best accomplishment. In comparison with this song, everything before is merely child’s play. The music has such a striking characteristic, with an intensity that could tear apart the nervous system of a block of marble. The poem is crazy, the music no less so, as is your Fluchu.
I revoke that “Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchens” is my best, because what I wrote this morning, “Fussreise,” is a million times better. When you hear this latest song, you will have just one more wish: to die. But, in the meantime, live well. Your overjoyed Wölfing.
5. Music Publisher Schott (to Gustav Schur, 1890)
Schott can kiss my—
I would rather muddle along than bargain with this nitpicker. I’m fed up with all that haggling. Write to Schott that I insist on sharing the net profits, and I insist on a complete edition of the Spanish songs. If he does not like it, he shall send them back immediately. This is my carefully considered decision and my final word. Liliencron wrote me an eight-page letter, barely legible, telling me, along with much flattery, that he does not dare to venture near Shakespeare. He is offering a tragedy set in North America. But, despite my enthusiasm for Buffalo Bill and his unwashed companions, I prefer the domestic soil and its people, who appreciate the benefits of soap. Grohe disagrees with The Tempest as an opera—too operatic. He wants to steer me toward a Buddha by Carl Heckel. But thank you for that, too. The weather lately has had something of the melancholy of a Brahms masterpiece. I’ve become quite dumb because of it. Addio for now. Please write more often to your rain-swept and rusted Hugo Wolf.
Add to your answer to Schott that it is at my discretion, not the publisher’s, to decide which poems are suitable. All I need is for some stupid cattle to tell me what I should set to music and what not. “A bunch of uncomposable poems!!!” Oh, you Caliban! While I was composing them, they became composable.
6. No Dancing (to Melanie Köchert, 1893)
The gracious lady is not much taken with complaining but rather with dancing. Eh bien! Let’s try to dance. Indeed, dancing is now easier for me because you dislike my gloomy face so much. I am not in the right mood for dancing, but you wish it, and so I am polite enough to accept your wish as my command. Shall I play a dance for you? For instance as a swashbuckler, or—oh irony—as a soldier of fortune, or as a desperate lover? What the hell! I cannot dance, I do not want to dance, any more than I am able to compose or do anything when there is no strong inner need. Now Satan holds me in his crow-black claws, and there is nothing to do but wait, wait, and wait some more. So no dancing, dear madam, not even the shortest dance. What for? The world makes a fool of one enough; should I then make a fool of myself, too? But you should not jump to the conclusion that I am already crazy. Until then there is still time left for your truly admiring Hugo Wolf.
7. Madly in Love (to Frieda Zerny, 1894)
My dear, beloved Friedl,
“Ich sitze und sinne und sinne und träume, und denk’ an die Liebste mein.” These words of Heine which Schumann immortalized will not leave my mind today. I’m sitting in the garden in the shade of a gorgeous chestnut tree, in front of me on the little garden table, your dear lines which the postman just gave me. Oh, Frieda, this separation is too dreary and sad. Since you left, spring has made very good progress. In my garden the loveliest lilac is smelling sweet, and the grass has grown double. But what has developed in our hearts is sweeter than the most fragrant lilac and is shooting up more exuberantly than all the intoxicating splendor of this new spring. Oh, Friedl, how long it is until the tenth of June! If you only knew how I count the days, the hours, the minutes, longing for days and nights luxuriating with you in the sweetest blissful indulgence. Will the blissfulness kill us? Oh, Frieda, I love you so madly! I think only of Munich and those days when you will be completely mine again. A thousand thousand kisses from your Hugo Wolf.
8. After the Affair (to Melanie Köchert, 1894)
Just this moment I got your letter and, at the same time, a certified letter from Fräulein Zerny with her picture, which the unfortunate one believes will perform miracles. Even now she writes ten or twelve pages. I wrote to her concisely to leave me alone and basta. I kept her letters to show them to you. I’m sure this person is crazy. She got me in a real fix. God grant that all may end well. Many regards to you and all from your totally devoted Hugo Wolf.
9. Delusions (to Baroness Maria von Loën, 1897)
Highly esteemed Baroness,
Certainly you will have expected anything but a letter from me, but things always seem to happen when you least expect them. I intend to leave Vienna and to move completely to Weimar. I have big plans for the future. First, I want to rehearse and conduct four of my operas at the Weimar Court Theater by myself. Then I want to perform two big orchestra concerts using exclusively my own compositions: some purely orchestral, some purely vocal, some for chorus and orchestra. But my plans roam even further. You should kindly arrange an audience for me with the Grand Duke. I could offer such a splendid program to his Royal Highness. My idea is to go on a world tour with the Weimar Theater. My plans would have the power to attract an audience, since I will perform only works by me, which will never be printed, so that they will be communicated only through myself. This surely would create a huge sensation. Of course, the chorus and orchestra would have to be increased monumentally. What do you say to this idea? Do you think that it could be realized? Wouldn’t you like to beat the bushes on the sly? Women are able to do so much. With the request for the soonest answer to these lines, taking his leave from you with all best hopes is the cordially greeting Hugo Wolf.
Ask the Grand Duke to keep in mind that I am now the first and most important of living composers.
10. The Asylum (to his sister Modesta, 1899)
What are you up to, dear Modesta? Couldn’t you write a few lines to the head physician that you would like to take me in? It seems that you have forgotten me. I have to bring myself back into your memory. Visit me as soon as possible. Maybe you can still set me free. Tell them that you will supervise me. I have to get out of this asylum. We will get along very well. Just make sure that I’ll be free again. Have mercy on me. Perhaps you can get Gilbert to come with you. In short, save me if I can still be saved. Greetings to all.
There are over 2,200 published letters from Austrian composer Hugo Wolf to various people in his life. These letters provide an extraordinary window into the personality of this talented, troubled, egocentric, witty, caustic, bipolar composer. The ten songs in the song cycle Your Devoted Hugo use an English translation created especially for this cycle by German linguist and language coach Nina Radtke.
In addition to Hugo’s words, there is also a bit of Hugo’s music in each song of the cycle. Sometimes a rhythmic or melodic motive from a Wolf song serves as a point of departure; other times there are direct quotes from a Wolf song written at about the same time as the letter being set to music. There are also references to other composers who were important to Wolf, including Robert Schumann, Johannes Brahms, and, of course, Richard Wagner.
The song cycle provides ten snapshots of Wolf’s life, starting with his first extant letter as a 13-year-old boy trying to explain away his boarding school troubles to his parents.
The next song comes from another letter to his parents, two years later. Now Hugo is a student at the Vienna Conservatory, and he has had a chance to meet his idol, Richard Wagner. He is so excited to tell his parents all about it that his pen can’t keep up with his thoughts. Wishes for a Merry Christmas, with just a hint of a famous Austrian Christmas carol, conclude the letter.
The third letter is to Hugo’s brother Max, from whom he had just received birthday congratulations—two months late. In this letter we can see some of Hugo’s bipolar nature: he swings quickly from the depths of despair at having lost his girlfriend, Vally Franck, to the fun of making jokes about his own music. Hugo sums this up succinctly when he writes, “Everything is pretty good with me—except when it’s bad.”
The fourth song, “Mörike Madness,” finds Wolf in the midst of a feverish, manic period of composition in 1888. When he was in the grip of inspiration, he would sometimes write two or three songs in a day and then write to a friend about how great these songs were. The text for this song is taken from three letters to Hugo’s friend Edmund Lang. In them, he mentions three of his recent songs: “Der Knabe und das Immlein,” “Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchens,” and “Fussreise.” Another interesting thing in these letters to his friend is that Hugo signs them with a couple of his nicknames: Fluchu (undoubtedly a nod to his cursing ability) and Wölfing (meaning “little wolf”).
In the fifth song, Hugo complains to a friend about the music publisher Schott, then veers off into the difficulties of finding a good opera libretto.
The text for the next song, “No Dancing,” comes from a letter to his dear friend and longtime mistress, Melanie Köchert. Hugo has been experiencing a very long bout of writer’s block and depression. The end of the letter is, perhaps, prescient, as he writes: “But you should not jump to the conclusion that I am already crazy. Until then there is still time left for your truly admiring Hugo Wolf.”
In 1894 Wolf had a passionate—but brief—love affair with the singer Frieda Zerny. The song “Madly in Love” draws on several of his love letters to her, especially those talking about an upcoming secret rendezvous in Munich. A few months later, “After the Affair,” Hugo wrote to Melanie Köchert that the fling with Frieda was over and that he is still Melanie’s totally devoted Hugo Wolf.
In the late 1870s, Wolf contracted syphilis, probably in a Viennese brothel. By the late 1890s, the disease had reached its tertiary stage. In some patients, including Wolf, symptoms include dementia, personality changes, delusions, and depression. Song number nine, “Delusions,” shows Wolf at this stage. His letter is written to a baroness who was a lady-in-waiting to the Grand Duchess of Weimar. Both the words and the music tell us that Hugo’s mind is confused.
Our song cycle, like Wolf’s life, ends in an insane asylum. This 1899 letter—very nearly his last letter ever—was written to his sister Modesta. In it he begs for her to get him out of the asylum. But all of his family and friends know that that will never happen.
- Timothy Hoekman
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1: (Easy) No divisi in voice parts, accompaniment doubles or supports vocal parts, diatonic, symmetrical phrases, textures mostly homophonic, simple rhythms, stepwise voice leading (conjunct), moderate ranges, no extended techniques, and limited sustained singing.
2: (Medium Easy) Limited divisi, voices somewhat independent from accompaniment, some chromatics, phrases may be longer or more fragmented, mostly homophonic, moderate rhythmic complexity, some difficult intervals (disjunct motion), moderate ranges, extended techniques are simple, limited sustained singing.
3. (Medium) Limited divisi, unaccompanied, or with independent accompaniment (voice parts not doubled), many chromatics, phrases of varying lengths, more contrapuntal textures, moderately complex rhythms, some difficult intervals (disjunct motion), moderately difficult/challenging ranges, extended techniques are potentially challenging, and some sustained singing.
4. (Medium Difficult) Abundant divisi, unaccompanied, or accompanying instruments are fully independent from voice parts, many chromatics and/or key changes, long and/or broken phrases, potentially little homophony, complex rhythms, many difficult intervals (disjunct motion), difficult/challenging ranges, potentially difficult extended techniques, and a demand for sustained singing.
5. (Difficult) Adundant divis, unaccompanied, or accompanying instruments are fully independent from voice parts, many chromatics and/or key changes, long and/or broken phrases, potentially little homophony, complex rhythms, extreme ranges, use of challenging or unusual extended vocal techniques, abundant sustained singing.
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