Il compositore Rosario Scalero torna italiano

Rosario Scalero ebbe una vita che sembra un film. Figlio dei servitori della famiglia reale, viveva nel castello di Moncalieri. Violinista, scoprì precocemente il suo talento per la musica, debuttò a Torino col Concerto di Beethoven al mitico Teatro Scribe (poi Teatro di Torino).

Prese il treno, andò da Camillo Sivori (unico allievo di Paganini) a Genova, si fece ascoltare.

Sivori gli disse: “Viaggia, per lo meno in Europa”. Scalero debuttò quindi a Londra, poi si stabilì a Lione, e sotto consiglio di Leone Sinigaglia poi a Vienna.

Una bella rivincita se la prese con i castelli: nel 1929 Scalero acquistò quello di Montestrutto (a Settimo Vittone, nel Canavese settentrionale, provincia di Torino), un edificio ricostruito agli inizi del secolo in stile gotico.

Ma questo fu solo l’inizio di una lunga carriera che lo vide collaborare con, tra gli altri, Alfredo Casella e Toscanini, per andarsene infine in America. Tra i suoi allievi più celebri si contano Menotti, Samuel Barber e Nino Rota.

Oggi l’Archivio Scalero è stato acquisito interamente dall’Istituto per i Beni Musicali in Piemonte di Torino, il cui Centro di ricerca e documentazione ha sede a Saluzzo. Un processo avviato nel 2005 con il deposito presso la Biblioteca dell’Istituto del materiale prima conservato al castello di Montestrutto e conclusosi con la donazione del fondo “Monique Arnoldi de Ruette”, precedentemente conservato in Quebec.

Un archivio di centinaia di lettere, fotografie, partiture autografe appartenute al compositore nato a Moncalieri.

Un archivio, finalmente riunito, ricco di storie: del tempo in cui, tra i boschi del Canavese, si davano appuntamento i compositori che avrebbero fatto ricco il Novecento o, ancora, quando sul piroscafo dei migranti italiani diretti in America ci si poteva imbattere nel leggendario tenore Enrico Caruso.

Tra i prossimi appuntamenti: il Convegno in collaborazione con il Conservatorio “G.Verdi” di Torino l’11 e 12 giugno 2020 e con un concerto del Trio Il Furibondo su musiche di Rosario Scalero e dei suoi allievi Clermont Pépin e Riccardo Luciani.

From Library of Congress: https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2014709493/

Legato all’anniversario del 150esimo della nascita è il Concerto di Natale dedicato a Scalero e ai compositori canavesani, a cura di Antonio e Lee Mosca, in programma domenica 22 dicembre 2019 a Montestrutto.

Il violino di Scalero risuonerà ancora nelle sale del castello neogotico: lo strumento fu lasciato ai suoi eredi e da questi ai coniugi Mosca, vicini all’ultima discendente Monique de Ruette Arnoldi. In occasione dell’anniversario il prezioso strumento sarà donato al Conservatorio Verdi di Torino.

L’amore – non ricambiato – per l’Italia rimase però sempre vivo in Scalero che nel 1932 propose a Torino, con il concorso dell’Orchestra Sinfonica dell’E.I.A.R. (ora RAI), il suo poema sinfonico La Divina Foresta. Ebbe purtroppo una tiepida accoglienza, ben lontana da quello straordinario successo che la stessa composizione avrà a Philadelphia nel 1940. Nemo propheta in patria!

Solo quando i suoi allievi cominciarono a farsi strada nel mondo, Scalero iniziò a essere celebrato: più come maestro che come compositore.

Una prima riscoperta della sua figura si deve a Chiara Marola, violinista eporediese che scoprì per caso l’archivio del castello di Montestrutto, stringendo amicizia con l’allora proprietaria. Grazie al suo impegno oggi l’intero patrimonio documentario del compositore è finalmente consultabile a Saluzzo.

Advice to a Graduation

by Glenn Gould

Delivered at the Royal Conservatory of Music, University of Toronto, November 1964.

I know that in accepting the role of advice giver to a graduation, I am acceding to a venerable tradition. However, it’s a role that rather frightens me, partly because it’s new to me, and partly because I’m firmly persuaded that much more harm than good accrues to gratuitous advice. I know that on these occasions it is customary for the advice giver to tell you something of the world that you will face – based, of course, upon his experience – one that necessarily could not duplicate that which may be your own. I know also that it is customary to recommend to you the solutions that have proved themselves valid within the speaker’s experience, sometimes to dish them up anecdotally in the “When I was your age” – or, even more mischievously, in the “If I were your age” – tradition. But I have had to reject this approach, because I am compelled to realize that the separateness of our experience limits the usefulness of any practical advice that I could offer you. Indeed, if I could find one phrase that would sum up my wishes for you on this occasion, I think it would be devoted to convincing you of the futility of living too much by the advice of others.

What can I say to you that will not contravene this conviction? There is, perhaps, one thing which does not contradict my feeling about the futility of advice in such a circumstance as this, because it is not based upon calling to your observation something demonstrable – that is to say, something that need be demonstrated and hence will most likely be rejected – but is simply a suggestion about the perspective in which you view those facts that you possess already and those which you shall subsequently choose to acquire.

It is this: that you should never cease to be aware that all aspects of the learning you have acquired, and will acquire, are possible because of their relationship with negation – with that which is not, or which appears not to be. The most impressive thing about man, perhaps the one thing that excuses him of all his idiocy and brutality, is the fact that he has invented the concept of that which does not exist. “Invented” is perhaps not quite the right word – perhaps “acquired” or “assumed” would be more acceptable – but “invented,” to return to it, somehow expresses more forcefully, if not quite accurately, the achievement that is involved in providing for an explanation for mankind, an antithesis involved with that which mankind is not. The ability to portray ourselves in terms of those things which are antithetical to our own experience is what allows us not just a mathematical measure of the world in which we live (though without the negative we would not go far in mathematics) but also a philosophical measure of ourselves; it allows us a frame within which to define those things which we regard as positive acts. That frame can represent many things. It can represent restraint. It can represent a shelter from all of those antithetical directions pursued by the world outside ourselves – directions which may have consistency and validity elsewhere but from which our experience seeks protection. That frame can represent a most arbitrary tariff against those purely artificial but totally necessary systems which we construct in order to govern ourselves – our social selves, our moral selves, our artistic selves, if you will. The implication of the negative in our lives reduces by comparison every other concept that man has toyed with in the history of thought. It is the concept which seeks to make us better – to provide us with structures within which our thought can function – while at the same time it concedes our frailty, the need that we have for this barricade behind which the uncertainty, the fragility, the tentativeness of our systems can look for logic.

You are about to enter – as they say on these fearsome occasions – the world of music. And music, as you know, is a most unscientific science, a most unsubstantial substance. No one has ever really fully explained to us many of the primevally obvious things about music. No one has really explained to us why we call high “high” and low “low.” Anyone can manage to explain to us what we call high and what we call low; but to articulate the reasons why this most unscientific, unsubstantial thing that we call music moves us as it does, and affects us as deeply as it can, is something that no one has ever achieved. And the more one thinks about the perfectly astonishing phenomenon that music is, the more one realizes how much of its operation is the product of the purely artificial construction of systematic thought. Don’t misunderstand me: when I say “artificial” I don’t mean something that is bad. I mean simply something that is not necessarily natural, and “necessarily” takes care of the provision that in infinity it might turn out to have been natural after all. But so far as we can know, the artificiality of system is the only thing that provides for music a measure of our reaction to it.

Is it possible, then, that this reaction is also simulated? Perhaps it, too, is artificial. Perhaps this is what the whole complicated lexicon of music education is meant to do – just to cultivate reaction to a certain set of symbolic events in sound. And not real events producing real reactions, but simulated events and simulated reactions. Perhaps, like Pavlov’s dogs, we get chills when we recognize a suspended thirteenth, we grow cozy with the resolving dominant seventh, precisely because we know that’s what is expected of us, precisely because we’ve been educated to these reactions. Perhaps it’s because we’ve grown impressed with our own ability to react. Perhaps there’s nothing more to it than that we’ve found favour with ourselves – that the whole exercise of music is a demonstration of reflex operation.

The problem begins when one forgets the artificiality of it all, when one neglects to pay homage to those designations that to our minds – to our reflex senses, perhaps – make of music an analyzable commodity. The trouble begins when we start to be so impressed by the strategies of our systematized thought that we forget that it does relate to an obverse, that it is hewn from negation, that it is but very small security against the void of negation which surrounds it. And when that happens, when we forget these things, all sorts of mechanical failures begin to disrupt the function of human personality. When people who practice an art like music become captives of those positive assumptions of system, when they forget to credit that happening against negation which system is, and when they become disrespectful of the immensity of negation compared to system – then they put themselves out of reach of that replenishment of invention upon which creative ideas depend, because invention is, in fact, a cautious dipping into the negation that lies outside system from a position firmly ensconced in system.

Most of you at some time or other will engage in teaching some aspect of music, I should imagine, and it is in that role that you are most liable, I think, to what I might call the dangers of positive thinking.

I am, perhaps, in no position to talk about teaching. It is something that I have never done and do not imagine that I shall ever have the courage to do. It strikes me as involving a most awesome responsibility which I should prefer to avoid. Nevertheless, most of you will probably face that responsibility at some time; and from the sidelines, then, it would seem to me that your success as teachers would very much depend upon the degree to which the singularity, the uniqueness, of the confrontation between yourselves and each one of your students is permitted to determine your approach to them. The moment that boredom, or fatigue, the ennui of the passing years, overcomes the specific ingenuity with which you apply yourself to every problem, then you will be menaced by that over-reliance upon the susceptible positive attributes of system.

You may remember the introduction that George Bernard Shaw supplied to his collected writings as music critic, and in which he describes an early ambition to develop the native resonance of his baritone and grace the stages of the world’s opera houses. He was encouraged in this, apparently, by a lively charlatan, one of those walking fossils of music theory, who already had ensnared Shaw’s mother as student and who proclaimed himself in possession of something called “the Method.” It seems that after several months’ exposure to the Method, Bernard Shaw took to his typewriter and was never able to carry a tune again.

I do not, for one moment, suggest that you minimize the importance of dogmatic theory. I do not suggest, either, that you extend your investigative powers to such purpose that you compromise your own comforting faith in the systems by which you have been taught and to which you remain responsive. But I do suggest that you take care to recall often that the systems by which we organize our thinking, and in which we attempt to pass on that thinking to the generations that follow, represent what you might think of as a foreground of activity – of positive, convinced, self-reliant action – and that this foreground can have validity only insofar as it attempts to impose credibility on that vast background acreage of human possibility that has not yet been organized.

Those of you who will become performers and composers will not perhaps be quite so vulnerable, if only because the market in which you will have to operate is insatiably demanding of new ideas, or, at any rate, of new variations upon old ideas. Furthermore, as performer or composer you will in all likelihood exist – or, at any rate, should try to exist – more for yourself and of yourself than is possible for your colleagues in musical pedagogy. You will not be as constantly exposed to the sort of questions which tempt ready answers from you. You will not have quite so great an opportunity to allow your concepts of music to become inflexible. But this solitude that you can acquire and should cultivate, this opportunity for contemplation of which you should take advantage, will be useful to you only insofar as you can substitute for those questions posed by the student for the teacher, questions posed by yourself for yourself. You must try to discover how high your tolerance is for the questions you ask of yourself. You must try to recognize that point beyond which the creative exploration – questions that extend your vision of your world – extends beyond the point of tolerance and paralyses the imagination by confronting it with too much possibility, too much speculative opportunity. To keep the practical issues of systematized thought and the speculative opportunities of the creative instinct in balance will be the most difficult and most important undertaking of your lives in music.

Somehow, I cannot help thinking of something that happened to me when I was thirteen or fourteen. I haven’t forgotten that I prohibited myself anecdotes for tonight. But this one does seem to me to bear on what we’ve been discussing, and since I have always felt it to have been a determining moment in my own reaction to music, and since anyway I am growing old and nostalgic, you will have to hear me out. I happened to be practising at the piano one day – I clearly recall, not that it matters, that it was a fugue by Mozart, K. 394, for those of you who play it too – and suddenly a vacuum cleaner started up just beside the instrument. Well, the result was that in the louder passages, this luminously diatonic music in which Mozart deliberately imitates the technique of Sebastian Bach became surrounded with a halo of vibrato, rather the effect that you might get if you sang in the bathtub with both ears full of water and shook your head from side to side all at once. And in the softer passages I couldn’t hear any sound that I was making at all. I could feel, of course – I could sense the tactile relation with the keyboard, which is replete with its own kind of acoustical associations, and I could imagine what I was doing, but I couldn’t actually hear it. But the strange thing was that all of it suddenly sounded better than it had without the vacuum cleaner, and those parts which I couldn’t actually hear sounded best of all. Well, for years thereafter, and still today, if I am in a great hurry to acquire an imprint of some new score on my mind, I simulate the effect of the vacuum cleaner by placing some totally contrary noises as close to the instrument as I can. It doesn’t matter what noise, really – TV Westerns, Beatles records; anything loud will suffice – because what I managed to learn through the accidental coming together of Mozart and the vacuum cleaner was that the inner ear of the imagination is very much more powerful a stimulant than is any amount of outward observation.

You don’t have to duplicate the eccentricity of my experiment to prove this true. You will find it to be true, I think, so long as you remain deeply involved with the processes of your own imagination – not as alternative to what seems to be the reality of outward observation, not even as supplement to positive action and acquisition, because that’s not the way in which the imagination can serve you best. What it can do is to serve as a sort of no man’s land between that foreground of system and dogma, of positive action, for which you have been trained, and that vast background of immense possibility, of negation, which you must constantly examine, and to which you must never forget to pay homage as the source from which all creative ideas come.

Source: The Glenn Gould Archive

Terribile ed awful è la potenza del riso

Ridete franco e forte,
sopra qualunque cosa,
anche innocentissima,
con una o due persone, in un caffè,
in una conversazione, in via: tutti quelli
che vi sentiranno o vedranno rider così,
vi rivolgeranno gli occhi, vi guarderanno
con rispetto, se parlavano, taceranno,
resteranno come mortificati,
non ardiranno mai rider di voi,
se prima vi guardavano baldanzosi
o superbi, perderanno tutta la loro
baldanza e superbia verso di voi.
In fine il semplice rider alto vi dà
una decisa superiorità sopra tutti
gli astanti o circostanti, senza eccezione.
Terribile ed awful è la potenza del riso:
chi ha il coraggio di ridere,
è padrone degli altri,
come chi ha il coraggio di morire.

Giacomo Leopardi – Pensieri di varia filosofia e di bella letteratura 

23 settembre 1828

(via Laura Gargano, che ringrazio).

Fail Better: Sharing Challenges and Learning in Classical Music Innovation.

Call for Projects, Workshops and Papers:
Fail Better: Sharing Challenges and Learning in Classical Music Innovation.

Maastricht Centre for the Innovation of Classical Music Dates: 27–28 March 2020

Main venue: Conservatory Maastricht, the Netherlands.

Innovation in classical music is happening everywhere, driven by musicians and orchestras around the globe. Although we tend to share our successes, there are few spaces to reflect on the challenges, obstacles and potential risks that we encounter in innovative practices. Through sharing these we believe that valuable learning opportunities can be created.

Following from the success of the first international symposium of the Maastricht Centre for the Innovation of Classical Music in March 2019, which was attended by 103 delegates, we would again like to invite practitioners; music educators and students; orchestral musicians, directors and administrators; as well as academic and artistic researchers to present innovative projects. Presentation of work in progress, as well as completed projects, is encouraged. In particular we seek to reflect on how obstacles and setbacks can trigger learning processes. The symposium aims to stimulate a supportive and fruitful dialogue in order to better understand what ingredients lead to successful innovation in classical music.

Participants are encouraged to present in a manner that best reflects or expresses their practice, rather than simply describing it. Therefore, nontraditional and interactive learning-appropriate modes of presentation are encouraged, such as lecture-recitals, workshops, performances, project presentations or combinations of these, using, for example, video, audio, posters, or panel discussions.
We invite submissions relating to the following themes, though this is not an exhaustive selection. All presentations should be in English:

– Learning how to collaborate
– Engaging audiences, e.g. children, young people, or older people
– Learning as an institution and institutionalizing innovation
– Making music matter
– Exploring new musical contexts and spaces.

These themes can be explored with reference to any aspect of work in classical music, whether it be audience development, participatory projects, outreach and community work, new educational formats, empowerment of musicians, spatial/venue innovation, digital mediations, institutional learning, or cultural policy. Again, this list is not exhaustive.

Abstracts (max. 250 words) should be submitted to mcicm-fasos@maastrichtuniversity.nl by 8 December 2019. Please include the name of presenter(s)/author(s), a short biography and organizational or institutional affiliation. Also add presentation requirements: spatial setup, stage, technical equipment, etc. The committee will review and select projects based on their relevance, clarity of the project’s main learning opportunity, and originality. Moreover, the committee seeks to construct a program bringing together learning opportunities from all levels of experience and expertise. Students thus are particularly encouraged to attend.

For queries, please contact mcicm-fasos@maastrichtuniversity.nl

Programme Committee:

Prof Peter Peters, Director Maastricht Centre for the Innovation of Classical Music, Maastricht University.
Dr Stefan Rosu, Intendant philharmonie zuidnederland.
Dr Ruth Benschop, Professor at Zuyd University of Applied Sciences, Research Centre Autonomy of the Arts and the Public Sphere.
Dr Joachim Junghanss, Director Conservatorium Maastricht.
Dr Neil T. Smith, Postdoctoral researcher, Maastricht University. Karoly Galindo Molina, MA, Research assistant, Maastricht University.

The Maastricht Centre for the Innovation of Classical Music (MCICM) aims to study the dynamics of changing classical music practices and their societal contexts, and to actively shape classical music futures. The centre is a collaboration between philharmonie zuidnederland, Zuyd University of Applied Sciences, and Maastricht University. We combine academic research on innovation of performance practices with artistic research to renew classical music practices and music education in artistically relevant ways.

Oggetti e rappresentazioni musicali nei musei pubblici e privati (CFP, Lisbona, Alpiarça), ottobre 2020

Objects and Images of Music in Public and Private Art Museums (CFP originale, in inglese)

ICTM Study Group on Iconography of the Performing Arts & 

Centre for the Study of the Sociology and Aesthetics of Music (CESEM) – NOVA Università di Lisbona

In collaborazione con Casa dos Patudos – Museu de Alpiarça

Lisbon – Alpiarça (Portugal) | 15-17 ottobre 2020

Esistono musei privati e pubblici. I musei privati, spesso, sono collezioni artistiche di un singolo individuo che sceglie i criteri espositivi e come gestire il suo museo. I musei privati sono oggi in decisa crescita e stanno cambiando radicalmente il paesaggio culturale. Opere in precedenza inaccessibili diventano visibili al pubblico. In assenza di adeguati finanziamenti, la generosità individuale può in effetti colmare una mancanza nella vita culturale di una nazione. Di conseguenza i gusti personali dei collezionisti influenzano sempre più il tipo di arte che viene commissionata, esposta, descritta, studiata. Liberi dalle necessità di rappresentare una comunità ampia, i collezionisti privati sono in grado di perseguire i propri interessi, esponendo lavori che li rappresentino.

Un museo pubblico segue invece standard legali ed etici, oltre a dover onorare la sua missione. Molti musei pubblici sono membri di organizzazioni museali professionali e sono anche tenuti a seguire i loro standard. La storia ha dimostrato che il mondo dell’arte trae beneficio da una variegata serie di voci e prospettive.

Oggi vanno emergendo alcuni modelli di partenariato tra pubblico e privato che promuovono la condivisione della conoscenza, e consentono ai musei, sia quelli di recente fondazione sia già affermati, di imparare gli uni dagli altri e dalle esperienze passate.

Ci si può quindi chiedere: in che modo la musica rientra nel gusto e nelle scelte museali di collezioni pubbliche e private? Quali opere d’arte legate alla musica esistono nei musei pubblici e privati di tutto il mondo? Come vengono studiati e catalogati questi oggetti? Come vengono organizzati per l’esposizione pubblica? Il pubblico dovrebbe essere reso consapevole dei cambiamenti nella gestione del patrimonio musicale di tutti. Solo attraverso lo scambio e la collaborazione tra artisti, istituzioni e il loro pubblico che possiamo tutelare l’ecosistema artistico per il XXI secolo e per il nostro futuro.

Il 2020 è un anno importante per Beethoven. Il suo 250esimo compleanno sarà celebrato dal 16 dicembre 2019 fino al 17 dicembre 2020, non solo a Bonn, ma in tutto il mondo. Questo simposio prende attivamente parte alle celebrazioni rendendo omaggio al compositore organizzando una sessione apposita, su temi beethoveniani, curata da Benedetta Saglietti.

Il Call for paper riguarda i seguenti temi:

  • Iconografia musicale (dipinti, ceramiche, sculture, arazzi, poster, disegni e incisioni, fotografia, media digitali, etc.) in collezioni d’arte
  • Strumenti musicali in collezioni private e pubbliche
  • Fonti sonore / Archivi sonori
  • Immagini musicali in cataloghi d’arte o pubblicità (posters, video, spot televisivi, etc.)
  • Oggetti e immagini relativi alla musica in collezioni private e pubbliche
  • L’orientalismo e la musica nelle collezioni artistiche
  • Museologia e musica
  • Curatele di mostre d’arte inerenti la musica: passate, presenti e prospettive d’innovazione futura (tavola rotonda)
  • Beethoven (iconografia, organologia, museologia, 250esimo anniversario della nascita, e sessioni libere)
  • Temi liberi sull’iconografia musicale

CALL FOR PAPERS – Si accettano proposte a partire dal 3 novembre 2019.

Il CFP si chiude il 28 febbraio 2020. Il comitato notificherà l’accettazione del paper entro l’aprile 2020.

Calendario: Il simposio si terrà dal 15 al 17 ottobre 2020.

Linee guida:

si accettano

  • relazioni di 20 minuti (10 minuti per la discussione)
  • poster
  • presentazioni brevi di 10 minuti

Lingua ufficiale del simposio: Inglese

Inviare le proposte all’indirizzo: 

ictmsymposiumportugal@gmail.com  includendo:

  • titolo
  • scelta della proposta (20′, 10′, poster)
  • nome del proponente e affiliazione
  • email
  • richieste tecniche
  • breve biografia (15 righe)
  • abstract

Comitato:

  • Zdravko BLAŽEKOVIC, City University of New York, The Graduate Center
  • Cristina SANTARELLI, Istituto per i Beni Musicali in Piemonte, Torino
  • Luzia Aurora ROCHA, Universidade NOVA de Lisboa
  • Luísa CYMBRON , Universidade NOVA de Lisboa
  • Antonio BALDASSARRE, Hochschule Luzern: Musik
  • Cristina BORDAS IBAÑEZ, Universidad Complutense, Madrid

Comitato organizzatoreLuís Correia de Sousa (coord.), Nuno Prates, Maria Fernandes, Rui Araújo, Beatriz Carvalho, Edward d’Abreu, Luísa Gomes

Come si ascolta la musica classica: all’Unione musicale di Torino

Al via la serie “Young”

Le nuove stelle della musica classica si ascoltano nella serie YOUNG: distribuita nel corso di tutta la Stagione 2019/2020 in sei concerti serali che hanno luogo al Teatro Vittoria introdotti dalle guide all’ascolto di Benedetta Saglietti.

Il menù completo

Le date:

Sabato 19 ottobre 2019: Stephen Waarts (violino) e Gabriele Carcano (pianoforte)

Sabato 16 novembre spazio al recital di Maddalena Giacopuzzi, pianoforte

Martedì 4 febbraio 2020 sarà la volta del Quartetto Indaco

Martedì 17 marzo 2020 Anastasia Kobekina (violoncello) con Jean-Sélim Abdelmoula (pianoforte)

Sabato 18 aprile 2020 il violinista tedesco Albrecht Menzel, accosterà il suo Stradivari del 1709 al pianoforte di Ran Jia

Infine, martedì 5 maggio 2020 chiusura con l’atteso ritorno del Trio Chagall.

Il Festival di musica antica riapre la chiesa di San Secondo a Magnano con la musica barocca

Il concerto finale del Festival di Musica antica, che si svolge da trentaquattro anni a Magnano (Biella), apre le porte della splendida Chiesa di San Secondo, una pieve romanica d’inaudito splendore che dal XI secolo si trova poco oltre il crinale della Serra Morenica di Ivrea.

Il pubblico affolla la piccola chiesa a tre navate in una sera di fine estate per ascoltare musica da camera in un allestimento tanto semplice, quanto scenografico: un concerto a lume di candela. Cosa rende così speciale questo sabato 31 agosto 2019?

Il primo è un motivo storico: questa chiesetta in mezzo ai boschi è testarda e resistente (mi pare che in questo sia simile alla caparbietà del padre del festival Willy Brauchli che rende un meritorio servizio musicale alla sua terra d’adozione). In origine, nel XII secolo, la pieve era attorniata dall’antico borgo di Magnano. Quando due secoli più tardi la popolazione si trasferì a vivere sul cucuzzolo (dov’è oggi l’attuale Magnano) perse la sua centralità. Non essendoci motivo di conservare l’antica chiesa romanica (la nuova parrocchia era diventata Santa Marta), nel 1606 si decise per la sua demolizione al fine di recuperare il materiale edilizio per la nuova chiesa. I fedeli si opposero, ottenendo che la pieve rimanesse attiva: e così fu. Nel diciannovesimo secolo la storia ricominciò da capo e nel 1968 un cantiere la restituì finalmente alla sua maestosità (che speriamo ora duri in eterno).

Il secondo è un motivo di ordine pratico: la chiesa è praticamente sempre chiusa ed è grazie a questo Festival se la si può visitare e se le sue mura possono rallegrarsi e riprendere un po’ di vita con questi suoni.

Il terzo, infine, è un motivo prettamente musicale: non solo perché l’Aglàia Ensemble (Cinzia Barbagelata, violino, Jorge Alberto Guerrero, violoncello, Enrico Barbagli, clavicembalo) è una compagine di ottimo livello, ma anche perché impagina un concerto di musica barocca (dal titolo Il canto del contrappunto, il violino italiano nella musica di Bach) in modo originale e assai raffinato anche per chi ha consuetudine con il barocco.

Affianco al più noto Bach delle Sonate BWV 1023 in mi minore e BWV 1021 in sol maggiore, l’Aglàia fa ascoltare l’Invenzione “La Pace” di Francesco Antonio Bonporti (che hanno inciso per Stradivarius e si ascoltano anche su Spotify) Op. 10 n. 4 in sol minore; un italiano quindi che nasce a Trento, studia a Roma, forse con Corelli, e finisce la sua vita a Padova (e del quale Bach trascrisse per clavicembalo i suoi brani per violino op. X, 1712).  Segue la Sonata IV Op. 1 in la minore di Evaristo Felice Dall’Abaco che nasce a Verona, si sposta a Modena e finisce la sua carriera a Monaco di Baviera: è un esponente del violinismo italiano tardobarocco, meno celebre di Corelli e di più raro ascolto. Chiude la prima parte la Sonata XI Op. 2 in re maggiore di Vivaldi mostrando così alle orecchie del pubblico quali trasformazioni ha fatto la letteratura violinistica nel breve arco di sessant’anni (Bonporti, Dall’Abaco e Vivaldi nacquero tutti negli anni ’70 del Seicento e morirono negli anni ’40 del Settecento). Un programma eseguito con virtuosismo, ma anche “da manuale”: la storia del violino barocco che si snoda di fronte ai nostri occhi passando attraverso l’Italia e arriva alla Germania di Bach in modo consequenziale, quasi come un passaggio di consegne (sono note le innumerevoli trascrizioni che Bach fece di Vivaldi).

Chiudono con un bis cembalo e violino, in do minore, Bach, Sonata BWV 1017 n. 4.

Arrivederci al prossimo anno!