Salerni, For Love or Money at Red Rock

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• published: 09 Nov 2015
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For Love or Money is a song cycle on poems by Dana Gioia that crosses the boundaries between classical art song and popular music. The titles of the songs are: Pity the Beautiful, Cold San Francisco, Alley Cat Love Song, and Money. The video was shot during a recording session at Red Rock Studio. There is also an arrangement of this cycle for soprano/tenor, violin, and pianoforte. If you are interested in finding out more about Paul Salerni’s music please visit his website: www.paulsalerni.com . If you’re interested in materials for the performance of the cycle, please email Domilo Music at paul.salerni@gmail.com. This video was made possible in part by a Lehigh University Faculty Research Grant. Sophia Burgos, soprano Peter Paulsen, contrabass Domenic Salerni, violin Miles Salerni, percussion Paul Salerni, pianoforte Recording Engineer: William Holmes Recording assistant: Casey Rule Recording conductor: David Diggs Filmed and edited by: Allen Kingsbury and Lidiya Grushetska Recorded at Red Rock Studio, Saylorsburg, PA (special thanks to Kent Heckman) Pity the Beautiful Pity the beautiful, the dolls, and the dishes, the babes with big daddies granting their wishes. Pity the pretty boys, the hunks, and Apollos, the golden lads whom success always follows. The hotties, the knock-outs, the tens out of ten, the drop-dead gorgeous, the great leading men. Pity the faded, the bloated, the blowsy, the paunchy Adonis whose luck’s gone lousy. Pity the gods, no longer divine. Pity the night The stars lose their shine. Cold San Francisco I shall meet you again in cold San Francisco On the hillside street overlooking the bay. We shall go to the house where we buried the years, Where the door is locked, and we haven’t a key. We’ll pause on the steps as the fog burns away, And the chill waves shimmer in the sun’s dim glow, And we’ll gaze down the hill at the bustling piers Where the gulls shout their hymns to being alive, And the high-masted boats that we never sailed Stand poised to explore the innocent blue. I shall speak your name like a foreign word, Uncertain what it means, and you— What will you say in the salt-heavy air On that bright afternoon that will never arrive? Alley Cat Love Song Come into the garden, Fred, For the neighborhood tabby is gone. Come into the garden, Fred. I have nothing but my flea collar on, And the scent of catnip has gone to my head. I'll wait by the screen door till dawn. The fireflies court in the sweetgum tree. The nightjar calls from the pine, And she seems to say in her rhapsody, "Oh, mustard-brown Fred, be mine!" The full moon lights my whiskers afire, And the fur goes erect on my spine. I hear the frogs in the muddy lake Croaking from shore to shore. They've one swift season to soothe their ache. In autumn they sing no more. So ignore me now, and you'll hear my meow As I scratch all night at the door. Money Money is a kind of poetry. --WALLACE STEVENS Money, the long green, cash, stash, rhino, jack or just plain dough. Chock it up, fork it over, shell it out. Watch it burn holes through pockets. To be made of it! To have it to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles, megabucks and Ginnie Maes. It greases the palm, feathers a nest, holds heads above water, makes both ends meet. Money breeds money. Gathering interest, compounding daily. Always in circulation. Money. You don’t know where it’s been, But you put it where your mouth is. And it talks.