First Edition Music
continues their valuable series of re-issues
from the famous Louisville twentieth
century music archive. Throughout the
latter half of the last century, the
Louisville Orchestra made it their mission
to promote and commission the music
of living composers. The results are
varied, but they did manage in their
ambitious recording projects to capture
a portrait of musical life during the
period.
Perhaps the main reason
that the music composed before 1900
is so continually popular with audiences
is that, unlike much of the work that
followed it, it had the continuity of
structure and melodic content that made
it more or less immediately memorable.
Compositions had a clearly discernable
form, a theme followed by development
of that theme, followed by a distinct
conclusion. The themes themselves were
also notable for their tunefulness,
or for a distinct rhythmic gesture that
could be remembered, that had some sort
of emotional impact. The best known
of course is the ta-ta-ta tahhhhh of
Beethoven’s fifth symphony.
It seems to me, however,
that many composers of the early modern
era went wheels-off when it came to
form and structure. The advent of atonality
also brought with it a neglect of formal
structure, leaving composers to meander
in the thematic desert, making gestures
that did not connect to each other,
and did not have any inherent meaning
of their own.
Such is the case with
these three works by Gian Francesco
Malipiero, whose long life allowed him
to create a great deal of music, most
of which is today rather forgotten.
From the sound of these works, it is
no wonder. A rebel against the verismo
style of his Italian classmates (he
was born into the world of Mascagni,
Puccini and Verdi), Malipiero struck
out on his own, embraced certain elements
of atonal music, but on the whole, kept
his works at least listenable if not
memorable.
The Fantasie di
Ogni Giorno, can be seen as a brief
summary of the composer’s daily life.
It displays the energy of the morning,
a mid-day repose, and a renewed strength
after rest. It contains some interesting
sounds, but even after repeated listening,
I cannot find a tune from it in my head.
I remember that the sounds were colorful,
that there was a certain skill in the
orchestration, and that the various
families of instruments were exploited,
but what of it? I remember also that
the orchestra played well in tune and
with a good sense of rhythmic drive
and motion, but I cannot remember much
about the music, which tells me that
there was not much there to remember
in the first place.
The piano concerto
is a work of what I found to be rather
empty virtuosity. It desperately wants
to be Prokofiev, but fails as there
is little to hold it together other
than a bunch of keyboard flourishes
followed by some requisite softer passages,
followed again by more flash. It is
a rhythmic work to be sure, but again,
even after a second and third listening,
my only real impression of the work
is that it must have been difficult
for the soloist to memorize, as there
was so little to hang on to.
The Notturno
is slightly more interesting in that
it seems to be designed as more of a
work of impressions. Again, colorful
orchestration and interesting soundscapes
make it worth a hearing perhaps.
It is distressing to
be so negative about another musician’s
work, but it seems to me that the large
group of prolific and forgotten composers
from the last century did the damage
to themselves. They painted musical
pictures with an abstract mindset, when
formality and structure is what truly
keeps music alive.
For specialist listeners
only.
Kevin Sutton
Benjamin Owen, piano 
