Beethoven & Beer, August 25, 2026 Program
Updated: Aug 19
Sandhills Brewing, 7-8:30 PM (Hutch)
Featuring:
Meredith Hopkins, violin/fiddle
Hannah Cutter, voice and Alex Johnson, bassoon
Honey Bee Brass Quintet:
Parker Holuska, Matthew Lehenbauer, Alex Young, Ben Anderson
PROGRAM
Meredith Hopkins, violin/fiddle
A range of different Scottish fiddle tunes. You'll hear some beautiful slow tunes, jigs, reels and strathspeys!
Hannah Cutter, voice and Alex Johnson, bassoon
I Never Saw Another Butterfly by Lori Laitman
Honey Bee Brass Quintet
Variations on LBIFD (Reed)
Chorale
Fly Love
Mini Suite (Plog)
Pirates Medley
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Lyrics for "I Never Saw Another Butterfly"
The Butterfly (Pavel Friedmann, 1942)
The last, the very last
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing
Against a white stone…
Such, such a yellow
Is carried lightly ‘way up high.
It went away I’m sure because it wished to
Kiss the world good-bye.
For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,
Penned up inside this ghetto.
But I have found what I love here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut branches in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don’t live in here,
In the ghetto.
Yes, That’s the Way Things Are (Koleba) (M. Kosek, H. Löwy, Bachner)
In Terezin in the so-called park
A queer old granddad sits
Somewhere there in the so-called park.
He wears a beard down to his lap
And on his head, a little cap.
Hard crusts he crumbles in his gums,
He’s only got one single tooth.
My poor old man with working gums,
Instead of soft rolls, lentil soup.
My poor old greybeard!
Birdsong (1941 Anonymous)
He doesn’t know the world at all
Who stays in his nest and doesn’t go out.
He doesn’t know what birds know best
Nor what I want to sing about,
That the world is full of loveliness.
When dewdrops sparkle in the grass
And earth’s aflood with morning light,
A blackbird sings upon a bust
To greet the dawning after night.
Then I know how fine it is to live
Hey, true to open up your heart
To beauty; go to the woods someday
And weave a wreath of memory there.
Then if the tears obscure your way
You’ll know how wonderful it is
To be alive.
The Garden (Franta Bass)
A little garden
Fragrant and full of roses.
The path is narrow
And a little boy walks along it.
A little boy, a sweet boy,
Like that growing blossom.
When the blossom comes to bloom,
The little boy will be no more.
Man Proposes, God Disposes (Koleba, 1944) (M. Kosek, H. Löwy, Bachner)
Who was helpless back in Prague,
And who was rich before,
He’s a poor soul here in Terezin,
His body’s bruised and sore.
Who was toughened up before,
He’ll survive these days.
But who was used to servants
Will sink into his grave.
The Old House (Franta Bass)
Deserted here, the old house
Stands in silence, asleep.
The old house used to be so nice,
Before, standing there,
It was so nice.
Now it is deserted,
Rotting in silence. –
What a waste of houses,
A waste of hours.
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