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Vissi D'arte 03:28
Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore, non feci mai male ad anima viva! Con man furtiva quante miserie conobbi aiutai. Sempre con fè sincera la mia preghiera ai santi tabernacoli salì. Sempre con fè sincera diedi fiori agl’altar. Nell’ora del dolore perchè, perchè, Signore, perchè me ne rimuneri così? Diedi gioielli della Madonna al manto, e diedi il canto agli astri, al ciel, che ne ridean più belli. Nell’ora del dolor perchè, perchè, Signor, ah, perchè me ne rimuneri così? I lived for my art, I lived for love, I never did harm to a living soul! With a secret hand I relieved as many misfortunes as I knew of. Always with true faith my prayer rose to the holy shrines. Always with true faith I gave flowers to the altar. In the hour of grief why, why, o Lord, why do you reward me thus? I gave jewels for the Madonna’s mantle, and I gave my song to the stars, to heaven, which smiled with more beauty. In the hour of grief why, why, o Lord, ah, why do you reward me thus?
Mandoline 01:53
Les donneurs de sérénades Et les belles écouteuses Échangent des propos fades Sous les ramures chanteuses. C'est Tircis et c'est Aminte, Et c'est l'éternel Clitandre, Et c'est Damis qui pour mainte Cruelle fait maint vers tendre. Leurs courtes vestes de soie, Leurs longues robes à queues, Leur élégance, leur joie Et leurs molles ombres bleues, Tourbillonnent dans l'extase D'une lune rose et grise, Et la mandoline jase Parmi les frissons de brise. The serenading swains And the lovely women who listen Exchange insipid words Under the singing branches. There is Thyrsis and Amyntas And there's the eternal Clytander, And there's Damis who, for many a Heartless woman, wrote many tender verses. Their short silk coats, Their long dresses with trains, Their elegance, their joy And their soft blue shadows, Whirl madly in the ecstasy Of a rose and grey moon, And the mandolin chatters Among the trembling of the breeze.
Museum Song 01:39
Quite a lotta Roman terra cotta Livin' lava from the flanks of Etna Statuary, ride a dromedary See the Temple tumble and the Red Sea part. McNamara's band, the fattest lady in the land A pickled prehistoric hand, a strand of Pocahontas' hair Crow and Sioux who're going to be showing you Some rowing through a model of the rapids on the Delaware. Armadillas, lever caterpillas Reproductions of the Cyclops' ret'na Crystal blowing, automatic sewing Venus on a shell and other works of art. Educated fleas, a tribe of Aborigines Two ladies joined across the knees, a Mona Lisa made of ice Hottentots we've gotten in forgotten spots A cotton gin, a night with Lot in Sodom Better see that twice! One iguana, snakes and other fauna Got no bearded lady but we're get'na When you duck out, take another buck out Run around the block And see a new show start.
The colors of your life Are bountiful and bold, The purple glow of indigo, The gleam of green and gold. The splendor of the sunrise, The dazzle of a flame, The glory of a rainbow, You put 'em all to shame. No quiet browns and grays, You take your days instead And fill them till they overflow With rose and cherry red! And if this sunlit world Grows dark one day, The colors of your life Will leave a shining light To show the way... The colors of my life Are softer than a breeze. The silver gray of eiderdown, The dappled green of trees. The amber of a wheat field, The hazel of a seed, The crystal of a raindrop, Are all I'll ever need. Your reds are much too bold, In gold I find no worth. I'll fill my days with sage and brown The colors of the earth, And if from by my side My love should roam, The colors of my life Will shine a quiet light To lead him home.
It's an Art 04:23
There's some as don't care when they put down a plate there's a sound. Not with me. When they move a chair it will scrape with a grate on the ground. Not with me. I will have my hand right when I place a glass. Notice how I stand right as customers pass. Serve a demitasse with a gesture so gentle Or do it again 'til It's near oriental. Da da da da dum dum It's an art! It's an art to be a fine waitress. To see that you pleasure each guest. There's a twist to my wrist when I bring your steak in. Or watch how I take in your liver and bacon. It all needs be stylish and smart. That's what makes it an art. I remember one day, as I do now and then. I had shakes. Down I went! There with my tray full of coffees and cordials and cakes. Down I went! But I kept my poise. Not one guest heard me fall. Never made a noise. Not one noise food and all. If you have to crawl, you give 'em what they like. You carry your tray like...it's almost ballet-like. La la la la la la la la la la la la la la It's an art! It's an art to be a fine waitress Each evening I treasure the test. Like tonight was a fight, cause they hired this bus boy, This hair-all-a-muss boy and folks heard him cuss. Boy, did we have a quick heart to heart. Even that was an art. Tips? HA! Tips are important for people like captains and barmen For them it's a tips, see? For me, I'm a gypsy! Just toss me a coin and I suddenly feel like I'm Carmen So on through the ulcer, he backache, the hot, sweaty feet. On you go! Through, "Is your knife dull, sir?" And, "Madam wants WHAT with her meat?" On you go! Two AM approaches, the curtains descend There among the roaches my act's at an end Every night I tend to find myself crying There's no work so trying tr so satisfying It's an art! It’s an art to be a great waitress. So I zoom through the room, with a flair no one else has. An air no one else has. I swear no one else has my lilt when I say "A la carte" You can see it gives me a glow, ev'rytime I prove I'm a pro Maybe I'm not quite Michelangelo. But I'm not just a waitress,I'm a one woman show!
Vincent 04:49
Starry, starry night, Paint your palette blue and gray. Look out on a summer's day, With eyes that know the darkness in my soul. Shadows on the hills. Sketch the trees and the daffodils. Catch the breeze and the winter chills, In colors on the snowy linen land. Now, I understand, what you tried to say to me. And how you suffered for your sanity. And how you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now. Starry, starry night, Flaming flowers that brightly blaze. Swirling clouds in violet haze, Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue Colors changing hue. Morning fields of amber grain. Weathered faces lined in pain. Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand. Now, I understand, what you tried to say to me, And how you suffered for your sanity. And how you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now. For they could not love you, But still your love was true. And when no hope was left inside, On that starry, starry night, You took your life as lovers often do. But I could have told you, Vincent, This world was never meant for one As beautiful as you Like the strangers that you've met. The ragged men in ragged clothes. The silver thorn of bloody rose. Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow. Now, I think I know what you tried to say to me. And how you suffered for your sanity. And how you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they're not listening still. Perhaps they never will.
Mona Lisa 03:36
In a villa in a little old Italian town, Lives a girl whose beauty shames the rose. Many yearn to love her, but their hopes all tumble down. What does she want? No one knows. Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa, men have named you. You're so like the lady with the mystic smile. Is it only 'cause you're lonely they have blamed you? For that Mona Lisa strangeness in your smile? Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa? Or is this your way to hide a broken heart? Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep. They just lie there and they die there. Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa? Or just a cold and lonely, lovely work of art?
Mama is a queen and Papa is a king. So I am a princess and I know it. But court etiquette is a dull dreary thing. I just hate it all and I show it. To sing on the stage that's the one life for me. My figure's just like Tetrazzini. I know I'd win fame if I sang in Bohéme, That opera by Signor Puccini. I’ve roulades and the trills That would send the cold chills Down the backs of all hearers of my vocal frills. I long to be a prima donna, donna, donna. I long to shine upon the stage. I have the embonpoint To become a queen of song. And my figure would look pretty as a page. I want to be a screechy peachy cantatrice Like other plump girls that I see. I hate society. I hate propriety. Art is calling for me! I'm in the elite and men sigh at my feet. Still I do not fancy my position. I have not much use for the men that I meet. I just burn with lyric ambition. Those tenors so sweet. If they made love to me I'd be a success, that I do know. And Melba I’d oust if I once sang in Faust, That opera so charming by Gounod. Girls would be on the brink Of hysterics, I think. Even strong men would have to go out for a drink. I long to be a prima donna, donna, donna. I long to shine upon the stage. With my avoirdupois, And my tra la la la la, I would be the chief sensation of the age. I long to hear them shouting: "Viva" to the Diva. Oh, very lovely that must be. That's what I'm dying for, That's what I'm sighing for. Art is calling for me!


released December 15, 2015

Jacqueline Novikov, soprano
Yelena Beriyeva, piano




Jacqueline Novikov Boston, Massachusetts

Soprano Jacqueline Novikov, founder of Forma Music, is dedicated to entertaining and educating audiences through classical vocal music. She uses music's powerful language to express life's humorous, serious, mundane and sacred truths. Jacqueline holds a B.M. from the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, NY and a M.M. from Manhattan School of Music in New York City. ... more

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