SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Niccolò Castiglioni, Esa Pekka-Salonen, Silvia Milstein:  Sarah Nicolls  (piano), London Sinfonietta, Oliver Knussen (conductor), Queen Elizabeth Hall, South Bank, London, 8. 6.2008 (AO)


Niccolò Castiglioni (1932-1996) was a contemporary of Berio (1925-2003) and Nono (1924-1990). They moved in similar circles and were at Darmstadt with Maderna, Cage and Boulez. The London Sinfonietta has had him in their repertoire for a some time.  Castiglioni was a virtuoso pianist, so his work particularly appeals to specialists in modern repertoire like Sarah Nicolls who record his piano works in 2005.  It was reviewed for Musicweb by Evan Dickerson in 2005.

Castiglioni’s whimsical sense of humour animates the miniature Inizio di movimento (1958).  It’s a three minute explosion of fun, where Sarah Nicolls’s hands slide all the way from one end of the keyboard to the other with a dramatic flourish. Quick, flitting figures leap about and change direction and  immediately, Messiaen springs to mind. Messaien’s birds weren’t merely there for ornithological colour. They herald a lively approach to rhythm and form which comes straight from nature. These days we’re used to thinking of Darmstadt as if it were some rigid Cold War monolith but  in fact it was a hotbed of ideas and debate. Messiaen, the least doctrinaire of men, was a regular there for several year and Castiglioni’s quirky, lively music could be minimalist Messiaen, if such a thing were possible.

Inizio di movimento means “start of a movement” so it was quickly followed by Movimento continuato, “a movement continued”. They are effectively a matching pair, for the larger piece continues the ideas of the first, but with orchestra. There are more spectacular games. At one point Nicolls forsakes the keys for the body of the piano and plays from the inside. At another she bangs keyboard, hands flat. It’s quirky and inventive, and fortunately these effects  are not just gimmicks but serve a purpose. The orchestral parts are equally whimsical and rather beautiful too. The flute solo is hauntingly lovely.

No funny showman-like turns in Tropi however.  Instead, the inventiveness of the writing itself shone through.  Again, the piece is  minimalist, but shimmers with delicately tracery, beautifully executed.  As both composer and conductor Oliver Knussen has an ear for the magic of childhood.  Castiglioni is perfect material for the man who wrote Higglety Pigglety Pop ! and Where the wild things are. With  a mad clatter, Nicolls rushes at maximum speed towards the sudden, raucous end. As I listened to this, I thought of the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland checking his watch and running down the rabbit hole. ”I’m late! I’m late! for a very important date !”  Later, on reading the programme I discovered that Castiglioni loved Lewis Carroll, so maybe it was in his mind, too. Why shouldn’t classical music be fun ? People who think they don’t like modern music should listen to this. They too might be intrigued enough to follow Alice and find a whole new world they never dreamed of  before.

Esa-Pekka Salonen was Castiglioni’s student, though his Catch and Release was written only recently in 2006.  It bears all the hallmarks of something written to commission for a specific event, in this case a Finnish music festival, but it’s pure Los Angeles.  It’s jazzy in a sort of laid back Turnage way. At first it seemed strangely out of context, then  I realised just how slyly tongue-in-cheek it really is. Salonen’s humour is very dry but this piece is whimsy, too.

There was much pre -publicity for Silvina Milstein’s surrounded by distance.  Before the concert, she spoke eloquently about the ambiguous nature of the work and its constantly shifting time signatures.  Perhaps the piece is supposed to be difficult to grasp, but I could not find my bearings in it at all.

Then, Castiglioni’s Risorgananze (Re-dreaming, 1989). There are 15 aphoristic movements here, yet the whole piece lasts 11 minutes: each miniature is fully formed and distinctive, like an aphorism. Again, the music has the spirit of nature and of birds, dancing and twittering and  like birds, the movements are fragile and delicate, yet they’re  also vivacious and full of energy.  Castiglioni describes the sections as fragments of dreams. Each image is vividly defined, yet before you can listen too carefully, it flies off elusively.  The silences that punctuate the movements are tantalising, pulling you forward. It’s a very interesting way of experiencing music; each vignette has a life of its own, but the impact of them all together invites in another dimension -   Messiaen’s dawn choruses  perhaps, with ideas instead of birds. This is a wonderful piece, so it was good to know that it was being recorded. Perhaps one day it will be released on the Sinfonietta’s own label.

Sarah Nicolls joined the orchestra again for Castiglioni’s Quodlibet  (1976). In the first section, the piano works with the orchestra in fairly conventional concerto form. There are even moments of lyrical melody. Then the piano takes off on its own, in a sequence of short figures that evoke the other instruments.  Visually it’s amusing to see a pianist as pretty as Nicolls produce loud, angular chunks of dissonance, but that too serves the music, as it captures its sense of humour. Then melody surges again. This could almost be core Romantic, but it’s not, it’s joyfully irreverent.  Nicolls then hammers one key violently for several measures, while flute and double bass, an unusual combination take on the melody.  The London Sinfonietta have a mission to bring music to wider audiences and do lots of work with schools.  So did Castiglioni, who believed that young people still have a sense of wonder and can open their minds to new music.  So one hopes they’ll programme more Castiglioni, to confound those who think there’s nothing in new music.

Anne Ozorio