The arts possess the sublime power to inspire, engage, and transform. Just as a solitary note holds the ability to captivate, a single voice, gesture, or melody possesses the ineffable power to carry us away.
We invite you to embark upon a new journey with us this season at The Noorda Center—home
to inspiring events and an exciting hub for the arts in Utah County. Our mission is
to produce and present artistic excellence, which would not be possible without the
generous support of our donors and sponsors. We thank them and express our deep gratitude
to all patrons, supporters, and friends of
The Noorda Center.
Thank you for journeying with us this season to experience the profound and transformative power of the arts!
Courtney R. Davis, J.D., M.A.
Dean, School of the Arts
Leslie Walker, conductor
Lisy Stevens, assistant conductor
Heidi Rodeback, piano
Randall Thompson
He that ruleth over men, must be just, ruling in the fear of God.
And he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without clouds; as the tender grass springeth out of the earth by clear shining after rain. Alleluia!
from The Sacred Harp
B.F. White, arr. Wilberg
O when shall I see Jesus and reign with him above,
And shall hear the trumpet sound in that morning;
And from the flowing fountain drink everlasting love,
And shall hear the trumpet sound in that morning.
But now I am a soldier, my captain’s gone before,
And I hear the trumpet sound in that morning.
He’s given me my orders and he bids me ne’er give o’er
Til I hear the trumpet sound in that morning.
When shall I be delivered from this vain world of sin,
And shall hear the trumpet sound in that morning.
And with my blessed Jesus drink endless pleasures in.
And shall hear the trumpet sound in that morning.
Z. Randall Stroope
Softly falls the rain, bare feet dance me home.
My boots were made to stay, but my feet were made to roam.
The silver maple sings with rhythm of my heart,
And forms an ancient song some sage did me impart.
The cannons are silent, no drum o’er the hedgerow,
Just the sound of rain on summer wheat.
I dance to beauty, I dance to laughter,
Beyond the pinewood, through furrow’d field– I dance for love.
Gone, I’ve three long years, mired in martyrs’ fields,
But now my steps turn ever homeward,
Dance me past the old gray mill and the meadow’s brow,
Homeward! Dance, dance.
Softly falls the rain, bare feet dance me home,
My boots were made to stay, but my feet were made to roam.
Sarah waits for me with eyes of summer sky,
Her voice a dulcimer that plays a lullaby.
Behind the clouds the sun is still shining,
Dance!
William Straub, 1865
Estonian Men’s Song, arr. Veljo Tormis
Let our Mari come,
I shall get her on her feet.
Ait-tali-rali-raa, ali ramp-tamp-taa,
Utireetu, utireetu, trallallaa
My sock heels have holes
like an old mare’s blaze
My ears are singing
as if Juri from next door
was playing the pipes.
Dr. Cherilyn Worthen, conductor
Vanessa Melena, assistant conductor
Ashley Vazquez, piano
by Peter Anglea (b. 1988)
O, let the earth resound with joy, all ye lands
Serve the Lord with gladness
Come before him with a song.
Allister MacGillivray/arr. Diane Loomer (b. 1940)
Vanessa Melena, assistant conductor
Small craft in a harbour that’s still and serene,
Give no indication what their ways have been;
They rock at their moorings all nestled in dreams,
Away from the roll of the sea.
Their stern lines are groaning a lullaby air,
A ghost in the cuddy, a gull on the spar;
But never they whisper of journeys afar,
Away from the roll of the sea.
Oh, had they the tongues for to speak,
What tales of adventure they’d weave;
But now they are anchored to sleep,
And slumber alee.
Come fair winds to wake them tomorrow, we pray,
Come harvest a-plenty to them ev’ry day;
Till guided by harbour lights they’re home to stay,
Away from the roll of the sea.
arr. Jesse Hampsch (b.1992)
You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged, oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
The darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small
Show me a smile then
Don't be unhappy
Can't remember when
I last saw you laughing
This world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
Just call me up
Because you know I’ll be there
And I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful
Like a rainbow
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
“When I was just as far as I could walk
From here to-day,
There was an hour
All still
When leaning with my head against a flower
I heard you talk.
Don’t say I didn’t, for I heard you say—
You spoke from that flower on the window sill—
Do you remember what it was you said?”
“First tell me what it was you thought you heard.”
“Having found the flower and driven a bee away,
I leaned my head,
And holding by the stalk,
I listened and I thought I caught the word—
What was it? Did you call me by my name?
Or did you say—
Someone said ‘Come’—I heard it as I bowed.”
“I may have thought as much, but not aloud.”
“Well, so I came.”
A neighbor of mine in the village
Likes to tell how one spring
When she was a girl on the farm, she did
A childlike thing.
One day she asked her father
To give her a garden plot
To plant and tend and reap herself,
And he said, “Why not?”
In casting about for a corner
He thought of an idle bit
Of walled-off ground where a shop had stood,
And he said, “Just it.”
And he said, “That ought to make you
An ideal one-girl farm,
And give you a chance to put some strength
On your slim-jim arm.”
It was not enough of a garden,
Her father said, to plough;
So she had to work it all by hand,
But she don’t mind now.
She wheeled the dung in the wheelbarrow
Along a stretch of road;
But she always ran away and left
Her not-nice load.
And hid from anyone passing.
And then she begged the seed.
She says she thinks she planted one
Of all things but weed.
A hill each of potatoes,
Radishes, lettuce, peas,
Tomatoes, beets, beans, pumpkins, corn,
And even fruit trees
And yes, she has long mistrusted
That a cider apple tree
In bearing there to-day is hers,
Or at least may be.
Her crop was a miscellany
When all was said and done,
A little bit of everything,
A great deal of none.
Now when she sees in the village
How village things go,
Just when it seems to come in right,
She says, “I know!
It’s as when I was a farmer——”
Oh, never by way of advice!
And she never sins by telling the tale
To the same person twice.
O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud –
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,*
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.
As we prepare to welcome the community to experience the wonder at The Noorda Center, I’d like to thank you for making it all possible.
The performing arts inspire us to engage with others, discover new ways of thinking and feeling, and provides us with hope—in short, we believe the arts transform you. As an exciting hub for the arts in Utah County, we produce hundreds of performances by talented students, faculty, and world-renowned visiting artists. We invite everyone to join in connecting through the arts.
As part of UVU’s inaugural EverGREEN fundraising campaign, I Invite you to make a gift to UVU's Department of Music today.
Your gift impacts not only students, but everyone who comes to The Noorda by ensuring programming and exciting artistic creation continues.
Please make a gift today by clicking below. Thank you!
Department Chair
JEFFREY O'FLYNN
Associate Chair
MELISSA HEATH
Administrative Assistant
CHRIS GINES
Choirs
REED CRIDDLE
CHERILYN WORTHEN
Orchestra/Cello
CHEUNG CHAU
Violin
DONNA FAIRBANKS
Clarinet
JEFFREY O’FLYNN
Trumpet/Music Theory
RYAN NIELSEN
Percussion
SHANE JONES
Piano
HILARY DEMSKE
Jazz/Commercial
DAVID BAKER
Voice
MELISSA HEATH
ISAAC HURTADO
Commercial Music
CHARLIE HAN
TODD SORENSEN
Theory
BRYCE RYTTING
Musicology
ROSS HAGEN
Director of Bands
CHRIS RAMOS
