‘No other country has had a greater impact on the development and innovation of Western music than Italy,’ writes Nir Kabaretti introducing this intriguing Hyperion release. It’s a bold claim, which the conductor justifies with particular reference to Cristofori’s invention of the piano at the end of the 17th century. It could equally be added that few countries have been as unfairly neglected on record when it comes to orchestral music of the post-Puccini generation (Respighi excepted). This enterprising collection, spanning over a century from 1900 to 2015, helps right that imbalance.
The album runs chronologically, opening with the Andante e Allegro con fuoco by Guido Alberto Fano (1875-1961). Fano was a member of the so-called ‘Generazione dell’Ottanta’, or the Generation of the Eighties, a group who aimed to revivify an Italian repertoire dominated for centuries by opera. Casella, Malipiero, Pizzetti and Respighi are perhaps better known, but Fano, who was later persecuted by the Fascist regime, is well worth exploring. The lyrical Andante, with Wagnerian horn calls and bucolic birdsong in the woodwind, is shapely and calm. The vigorous Allegro con fuoco similarly reflects the influence of Germany on fin-de-siècle Italian composers. It’s pretty and effective, though an early work and perhaps the least distinctive music on the disc.
Of greater originality is the Piccolo Concerto per Muriel Couvreux by Luigi Dallapiccola (1904-1975), premiered amid the dark days of Fascism and yet full of light and joie de vivre. A work in two halves with each half subdivided into three, it was dedicated to the daughter of the composer’s Parisian friend Lucienne Couvreux. Dallapiccola was to go 12-tone later in his career, but this delightfully tonal concerto opens with a Pastorale that feels two parts Ravel and one part Stravinsky. It’s followed by a perky Girotondo (a kind of round dance) and a dreamy Ripresa. The second part opens with a pealing Cadenza followed by a reflective Notturno and a determined syncopated dance to finish. Charming and imaginative, it deserves to be heard far more regularly.
Another find is the 1969 concerto by Silvio Omizzolo (1905-1991) whose chief crime would appear to be writing harmonically recognisable music at a time when Europe was dominated by the Darmstadt school. Tautly argued and occasionally gnarly in the manner of middle-period Prokofiev, it’s full of inventive flourishes. The opening Allegro is propelled along by brittle fanfares, the Andante maestoso is dark and pensive, while the concluding Allegro mixes gloomy storm clouds with a propulsive, almost jazzy beat.
The disc concludes with War Silence by Cristian Carrara (b. 1977). A reflection on conflict that ends with a message of hope, its three movements are headed ‘Trenches’, ‘Solitudes’ and ‘Fruts’ (or children in the Friulian language of North-east Italy from where the composer hails). Carrara’s writing is tonal, yet rewardingly complex with sprung rhythms and plenty of dramatics, especially in the turbulent ‘Trenches’ movement with its eerie oases and the glittering optimism of ‘Fruts’.
This stimulating program is the brainchild of Italian pianist Roberto Prosseda who proves himself master of all four works, his playing thoroughly idiomatic whether embracing 1900s late-Romanticism, mid-century impressionism or more contemporary fare. With sparkling technique and deploying an appealingly light touch, he’s aided throughout by Kabaretti who ensures each piece has plenty of room to breathe while drawing out a wide range of colours from the splendid London Philharmonic Orchestra. The Dallapiccola in particular is most magically done, but all of these works repay repeated listening and the engineered balance between piano and orchestra is spot on.