Epub Riccardo Staglian

Born in Forlì (Italy) in 1951, Riccardo Zappa is widely recognized as the greatest Italian acoustic guitarist. For five consecutive years he was voted the best in the poll promoted by the famous monthly magazine "Guitar Club". After that, he was declared to be no longer eligible for nomination. His music is in fact quite unique in the whole Italian prog scene; not can many other comparisons be found outside Italy, except perhaps Mike Oldfield, for his long, acoustic-based instrumental compositions.
His unmistakable trademark is the "Ovation" guitar, an instrument with a striking nasal sound, very suited to being handled with special effects. His first work, "Auhlela & Zappa" was recorded in 1974 as a duo, with lyrics and vocals by Klaus Auhlela and music by Riccardo Zappa himself…

Zemlinsky's Die Seejungfrau ("The mermaid") is a three-movement symphonic fantasy based on the Hans Andersen story. It was first performed (under the composer's direction) in 1905, and is thus a good deal earlier than the works that have recently excited renewed interest in him—the oneact operas Eine florentinische TragOdie (1916) and Der Zwerg (1921), and the exquisite Lyric Symphony of 1922. In its masterly handling of a large orchestra, however, and of an episodic but firm structure, it is a far from immature piece. Zemlinsky was 34 when he wrote it, after all. If his list of works were not in such a terrible mess—many are unpublished; several, including the present work, were until recently thought to be lost—Die Seejungfrau would count as his Op. 30 or thereabouts.

Along with Wit's Naxos recording, this is one of the best versions of Messiaen's phantasmagoric Turangalîla-Symphonie available, and it's very different: swifter, more obviously virtuosic in concept, perhaps a touch less warm in consequence, and engineered with greater “in your face” immediacy. The playing of the Concertgebouw, always a wonderful Messiaen orchestra, is stunning throughout. Chailly revels in the music's weirdness. The Ondes Martinot, for example, is particularly well captured. It's interesting how earlier performances tended to minimize its presence, perhaps for fear that is would sound silly, which of course it does, redeemed by the composer's utter seriousness and obliviousness to anything that smacks of humor. In any case, it's not all noise and bluster. The Garden of Love's Sleep is gorgeous, hypnotic, but happily still flowing, while the three Turangalîla rhythmic studies have remarkable clarity. Jean-Yves Thibaudet plays the solo piano part magnificently, really as well as anyone else ever has.

Riccardo Chailly is a dynamic and sometimes controversial conductor known for his devotion to contemporary music and for his attempts to modernize approaches to the traditional symphonic repertory. His many recordings for the Decca label include modern masterworks by Zemlinsky, Hindemith, and Schnittke, the symphonies of Gustav Mahler, and a number of operas.

Puccini’s reputation rests on a mighty handful of operas whose popularity shows no sign of diminishing. It would be tempting to suppose that because of this a wealth of scintillating orchestral music has been unjustly ignored. Not so – the music so fervently performed here is lyrical and charming, but ultimately weak-willed. The very beginning of La bohème crops up in the middle of E the Capriccio sinfonico, but the energy soon peters out. It shows just how much Puccini needed the external impetus of a libretto to create drama and excitement in his music. For all that, these soft-centred sweeties make enjoyably soothing listening.

Set in Paris immediately before and during the French Revolution, Andrea Chenier is Giordano's passionate and most successful opera. Jose Carreras stars in the title role as the idealistic poet of the French Revolution, and Maddalena, the object of Chenier's adoration, is portrayed by Hungarian soprano Eva Marton.

Bernard Haitink’s 1980 Manfred was the prize of his Concertgebouw/Tchaikovsky symphony cycle. Riccardo Chailly’s 1987 effort with the same orchestra, while very good, doesn’t quite live up to that standard. In both recordings you get the sense that Tchaikovsky composed Manfred expressly for the Concertgebouw Orchestra. The very sound of the ensemble in its own hall conjures the dark, fantasy world described in the music. To this add lively and colorful playing, rich sonority, and utterly impeccable musicianship and you’ve got a uniquely compelling aural experience. Where the performances part company is in Haitink’s embrace of Tchaikovsky’s passionate dramatic ethos, a quality that Chailly, by contrast, tends to shy away from. (Of course, for a truly passionate reading you have to hear Muti’s rendition on EMI.) In his favor Chailly does have Decca’s vivid, high-impact digital recording, which, though having less warmth than the analog Philips production, better conveys the massiveness of the Concertgebouw Hall’s acoustics.