So exquisite is the adaptation of Bass to Treble, of Tenor to Contralto, that oftentimes the Loved Ones, though twenty thousand leagues away, recognize at once the responsive note of their destined Lover; and, penetrating the paltry obstacles of distance, Love unites the three.
The Wooer's voices may perhaps accord with one of the future wives, but not with both; or not, at first, with either; or the Soprano and Contralto may not quite harmonize.
When she made remarks to this edifying effect, she had a firm little frown on her brow, which yet did not hinder her face from looking benevolent, and her words which came forth like a procession were uttered in a fervid agreeable
contralto. Certainly, the exemplary Mrs.
In spite of the chorus in the other room, she was singing some servants' hall song in a rather husky
contralto, to the accompaniment of the organ.
She laughed in
contralto; but her laugh was never very long; and when it had ceased, the silence of the room with the light dying in all its many windows seemed to lie about me warmed by its vibration.
Concert organiser George Barber, who is the organist and choirmaster at the church, said: "It's unusual that someone so young can develop the rich tone required for
contralto singing.
Contralto Karen Esquivel will join the five members of the group.
While many accomplished
contraltos maintain diverse concert careers and record frequently, few manage to develop an equally busy stage career, a disparity that even Canada's other best-known
contralto, Maureen Forrester, experienced.
It brims with soulful riches and consummate musicality while the songs are sensuous platforms for her honeyed
contralto, jazzy elegance and effortless flair.
The award, which honours the best-loved British
contralto singers, was set up to provide young singers of any nationality studying in the UK the support for further study.
In traffic, changing stations, sick of the news where a woman with a rich European
contralto commemorates her friends, their great hearts and their souls at this moment departing.
I had forgotten her nasal
contralto, its feathery edges, and the smell of old honey and almonds whenever she moved through the kitchen-- as she does now, suddenly, to hug then hold me at arm's length, like a wooden nutcracker, her pale eyes searching mine, ardent for anything I could spare, a little piece of me, a soul-scrap tossed like bad meat to the yapping dogs in the street