Alfredo Casella was supposed to be the subject of my bachelor's thesis; I have always been fascinated by the Italian early twentieth century and wanted to understand a bit more about it. Alas, I embarked on a project too large for me, the analysis of his Orfeo, and after a while, I was forced to wave the white flag. I was left with some interesting listens, an Orfeo by Poliziano in the BUR edition, and the idea that the rediscovery of that repertoire should have started from the musical world, not the academic one.
This is a first listen, "Italia", a sort of symphonic poem; here are the notes from Flaminio online http://www.flaminioonline.it/Guide/Casella/Casella-Italia11.html
There would be many things to say; it is a pleasant piece, very easy to listen to; Viola brought up, when speaking of some of Respighi's compositions, the idea of "commercial pieces". It is a complicated discussion to approach in these terms, because no piece by Respighi or Casella can ever be fully commercial, but if we listen to the early 1900s, we cannot expect only Webern and Bartók; we must also expect Mahler and Mascagni. Regarding what is said in the notes I linked, I would add that the first part is very Wagnerian, of the "modal" Wagner of Parsifal, which is often overlooked. From about 0:20, for example, there is this kind of brass chorale, with stepwise motion (that is, for those who don't catch it immediately, there are sustained notes in the high register and scales in the low register) that form continuous dissonances waiting for resolution, the famous defunctionalized sevenths.
Like
da 5:30 these chorale-like fanfares begin, in which you really seem to hear small polyphonic themes that, in fact, are re-proposed and varied throughout the Overture. Well, this is a typical Wagnerian element, typical especially of this latter Wagner, whom I like very much. Also listen at 11:10 to this way of building chromatic tensions with the bass descending by step, in which the tension is much more important than the resolution. And there isn't much that is revolutionary; it's not Tristan; it is a movement of parts that Josquin could have done this way, that Bach could have done in an even more complicated manner. I could build a discourse around it that would perhaps have a beginning but no end. So it remains here as a stream of consciousness, not as an argument :-) just know that I love the Wagnerisms in this piece.
However, I don't want to let the theme of being "commercial" slip away, because I think it is a deeper subject than it seems. Now, in this piece, Casella does what EVERYONE was doing during that period. It is well written, it is pleasant, it credits him almost as part of a national school, but while being aware of the harmonic and orchestral revolutions of the period. This piece is not revolutionary.
So, is it a masterpiece or not?
History with a capital "H" seems to have its own mechanisms. Music history, with a lowercase "h" of unknown magnitude, has its own, and musical historiography has its own still others. If in history there are 100 composers, in music history 20 of them have great success (whether with the public or critics) that makes them "notable," and musical historiography—both contemporary and, above all, subsequent—chooses 5 to name and analyze. By what mechanisms? Well, who knows... generally, the most common mechanism for historiographical success is originality. Public success doesn't work like that; more often it is "similar" things that please the public, which prefers to confirm its own taste rather than change or alter it. Aware of these basic mechanisms, many musicologists and music historians are fascinated in their youth (I was with Casella) by what I call compensatory historiography. Compensatory historiography is, in its own way, a very ethical thing, driven by the idea that scholars should take revenge on mainstream historiography and bring to light forgotten works and authors (thus compensating for injustices). Compensatory historiography always succeeds; it is also one of the reasons why I am not pessimistic about the fates of past and forgotten art, because there will always be a scholar from nowhere eager to make the discovery of the century.
As a matter of fact, and based on my meager personal experience, finding an unpublished composition and deriving something scientific from its analysis is a very complex activity that very few are truly capable of doing. Claudiano De Grassis, a composer from 1780 operating in Frattocchie, probably wrote banal compositions. Claudio Grasso, who finds the Missa Insolemnis by Claudiano De Grassis, if he cannot give true historical weight to his discovery, will probably end up teaching flute in middle schools. To end up teaching Music History at the Conservatory of Cosenza, Claudio Grasso will have to, perhaps, discover that Claudiano De Grassis had, at the very least, a
Musical Cappella in Frattocchie, where he taught music to people better than him and much more famous. When Claudio Grasso manages to get funding for an international conference on Claudiano De Grassis and the musical environment of Frattocchie—that is, when historiography has considered that discovery part of a historical landscape worthy of note—then Claudio Grasso might perhaps have a place as a contract researcher in the History of Music at the free telematics university Nicolò Cusano.
Tutto questo per dire che, ahimé, il valore intrinseco di alcune composizioni del primo '900 italiano non basta per renderle "notevoli" agli occhi della storiografia musicale.
Nonostante questo, tutti i nomi che stiamo facendo, e altri che non abbiamo fatto, sono presenti non solo sui libri di storia della musica ma sui programmi di sala dei teatri italiani ed esteri. Questa è una cosa ottima, migliore di quanto pensiate. Il novecento italiano è suonato, studiato e apprezzato, ovviamente ci sono pezzi più di successo e pezzi meno di successo, e paradossalmente spesso vengono preferiti pezzi più conformi a uno "stile del '900 italiano", a dispetto di altri, e questo a parziale spiegazione del come mai di Respighi si suonino solo e sempre i Pini di Roma (non era solo Mila a dirlo, eh).
Chi avrebbe mai detto, ad esempio, che Casella avesse "scritto" tre pezzi per pianola, ovvero per pianoforte a rullo?