FRANK STEMPER, COMPOSER
My Breakfast with Ronald (1985)
for soprano, Bb clarinet and piano on the text of Kevin Lynch [6 min.]
Commissioned by The Klarion Trio
World Premiere 10 March 1985 by The Klarion Trio at the North Carolina School of the Arts
many subsequent performances
Opus 14 —A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 430390820
SCORE
World Premiere 10 March 1985 by The Klarion Trio at the North Carolina School of the Arts
many subsequent performances
Opus 14 —A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 430390820
SCORE
NOTES
My Breakfast With Ronald was written in 1985 at the request of the Klarion Trio, who gave the premiere performances of it on the East Coast. The piece is scored for high soprano, clarinet, and piano, with poetry by Kevin Lynch, the former Music Critic for the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, a regular contributor to Downbeat Magazine, and the founder of www.kevernacular.com. Lynch’s scattered poem alludes to the apprehension at that time in regard to Ronald Reagan, the former MGM STUDIOS contract player, who was appearing in his final role for USA STUDIOS, as “President of The Free World.” President Reagan, among other things——
(not the least of which was jacking up our national debt more than any other president in our history before or since, something that the supposedly frugal, fiscally conservative, Republicans have been doing since 1974, when Dick Nixon gave the VICTORY sign and stepped on board his helicopter bound for San Clementi, California.), ——regularly fell asleep during cabinet meetings, setting a precedent for the – at the time – brand new, Post- Watergate, Republican Party.
My Breakfast With Ronald was written in 1985 at the request of the Klarion Trio, who gave the premiere performances of it on the East Coast. The piece is scored for high soprano, clarinet, and piano, with poetry by Kevin Lynch, the former Music Critic for the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, a regular contributor to Downbeat Magazine, and the founder of www.kevernacular.com. Lynch’s scattered poem alludes to the apprehension at that time in regard to Ronald Reagan, the former MGM STUDIOS contract player, who was appearing in his final role for USA STUDIOS, as “President of The Free World.” President Reagan, among other things——
(not the least of which was jacking up our national debt more than any other president in our history before or since, something that the supposedly frugal, fiscally conservative, Republicans have been doing since 1974, when Dick Nixon gave the VICTORY sign and stepped on board his helicopter bound for San Clementi, California.), ——regularly fell asleep during cabinet meetings, setting a precedent for the – at the time – brand new, Post- Watergate, Republican Party.
MY BREAKFAST WITH RONALD
By Kevin Lynch
The day I woke to brew,
cupboards bare but toe jam,
was like the old same day.
Or was it? Yes, my hair still stood
at six angles that never add up
to a hole lined with fur
from which they stole my egg.
Can’t fry wit no brains (sung with blues phrasing) To what wit is it?
A package from Saskatoon arrives,
I plunked it on the settee.
My nose has been crooked lately,
Jules and the elevator operator
stared and stared.
I'm a bit unhinged in the closet,
knew I'd stay in too long –
the shoes I never wearever I go
have stepped already. I stumble,
grab a coat that grabs
my snout in a cuff.
Ah, best to stay in the closet today.
To chilly to walk the cat.
My sister has a baby
While the hound pouts and
the president naps in the cabinet.
My doorbell rings.
It's a singing telegram,
for the deaf man next door,
I find off-key and needlessly gay. I'll sing it to him at three.
I opened the package and
“There’s my egg.” T’was quite good
though the griddle spat “so-so.”
November 19, 1984
By Kevin Lynch
The day I woke to brew,
cupboards bare but toe jam,
was like the old same day.
Or was it? Yes, my hair still stood
at six angles that never add up
to a hole lined with fur
from which they stole my egg.
Can’t fry wit no brains (sung with blues phrasing) To what wit is it?
A package from Saskatoon arrives,
I plunked it on the settee.
My nose has been crooked lately,
Jules and the elevator operator
stared and stared.
I'm a bit unhinged in the closet,
knew I'd stay in too long –
the shoes I never wearever I go
have stepped already. I stumble,
grab a coat that grabs
my snout in a cuff.
Ah, best to stay in the closet today.
To chilly to walk the cat.
My sister has a baby
While the hound pouts and
the president naps in the cabinet.
My doorbell rings.
It's a singing telegram,
for the deaf man next door,
I find off-key and needlessly gay. I'll sing it to him at three.
I opened the package and
“There’s my egg.” T’was quite good
though the griddle spat “so-so.”
November 19, 1984