Arte e Fede, Year XXIII - Nr 42
(INFORMAZIONI UCAI - 4Mon.magazine of Art and Culture)
September - December 2011 (page 51):

INTERVIEW TO THE RENOWNED COMPOSER SERGIO CALLIGARIS
That's not true.
Classical music
is not for a few privileged
by Alessandra Pompili

Among contemporary composers, Sergio Calligaris is one whose works feature prominently in concert-halls. Pieces such as the Quaderno Pianistico di Renzo op. 7 for piano solo or the Due Danze Concertanti op. 22 and the Scene Coreografiche op. 30 (for four-hand piano or two pianos) have been part of the musicians’ standard repertoire for years, and carry on being proposed by broadcasters across the world. The encounter between Calligaris’ music and his interpreters has always been a fruitful and happy one; however, is it perhaps worthier of notice that his music meets with equal success with audiences. Perhaps a reason could be sought in the fact that, although being atonal, Calligaris’ compositions are alien to experimental solutions (instruments are never prepared, the chamber ensembles are traditional without being obvious, structure is always respected).
Since the aim of this interview is to offer an overview of four compositions (Ave Maria op. 8, Requiem op. 17, Ave Verum op. 42, Panis Angelicus op. 47) that have punctuated, in different ways, Calligaris’ crucial relationship with the Catholic faith, we will leave to the Maestro the task of highlighting both his compositional process and the relevance that sacred music has for him. What is important to underline, at the very beginning, is that the tight link between inspiration as a response to life’s events and compositional structure is perhaps the most fascinating aspect to be found in Calligaris’ sacred works.

Maestro, would you like to outline the most important characteristics of your sacred works?

I would single out, as a pre-compositional feature, the relation with patronage and liturgical service. Both aspects are alien to my sacred works: the former, because all four compositions stem from a definite inspiration, the latter since they are not conceived to support a religious service.
Some events had, in my life, such a resonance to urge me to express my feelings through music - this is so true that some structural details in my compositions are highlighted by those particular events. Two examples will suffice to explain this. The inspiration for the Requiem op. 17 came from my mother’s departure, which was an heartbreaking event. Thus the Requiem is a work of powerful dramatic contrasts requiring, from the musicians, a complete and almost virtuosic mastery of their instrument. Amidst such turmoil, however, we witness the rising of the peaceful and translucent final movement “In Paradisum”: a closing that may appear unusual to many a listener but is of a striking meaning to me. Similarly to the Requiem written by Gabriel Fauré, which was also composed in memory of his mother and features a consoling end, “In Paradisum” conveys the desire for my mother’s peace and tranquillity. The same principle is to be found in the Ave Verum op. 42, written in memory of the untimely departure of a couple of friends’ son: the final stanza, with the Benedictus, is a mystic adagio wishing for the serenity of the eternal rest. The incorporeal atmosphere of the finale of the Ave Verum is recalled, but with a different slant, in that of the Panis Angelicus. The latter is dedicated to “His Holiness Benedict the XVI with devoted esteem in the year of the Eucharist 2005” and here, for the first time in the history of the genre, the second stanza of the hymn (“Te trina Deitas / unaque poscimus....” ) is also set in music. The stanza closes with a prayer to the Holy Trinity to lead us ad lucem quam inhabitas, i.e. to the light that has no end. I felt the power of such invocation so intensely that I wrote the finale before everything else! Finally, the Ave Maria op. 8 was initially conceived at the same time as the Quaderno Pianistico di Renzo but then I decided to publish it separately. This is inspired to the image of Mary as found in the church of Santa Maria delle Fratte in Rome. The writing here wishes to recall the translucent purity of that painting and is build upon a melody inserted in the middle register and surrounded by dainty harmonies. This is also the only example in my catalogue (comprising religious and non-religious compositions) where the superimposition between melody and harmony is not present: the Ave Maria is developed on alternate notes. To sum up, the structure and texture of my sacred works have a profound relationship with my inspiration and, conversely, with the events underpinning it.
As for their relation with worship, my works are not strictly complementary to it. Of course they can be used within a ritual, but they have not been thought of as functional. A more complicated aspect relates to the complexity of my compositions, which requires excellent professional musicians. I must also confess, though I will touch upon the subject later, that my own relationship with contemporary liturgical music is not particularly easy.

After outlining some structural features, could you introduce us to details relating to the harmonic design?

Whilst my inspiration has to do with an inner response, the compositional structure is the result of a highly intellectual process. As for me, the harmonic succession always precedes the formulation of the melody, so that the former is never a mere support of the latter but lives in an autonomous relationship. Chord progressions are characterised by their unique phrasing and unique genesis: we can almost say that chords are like bridges or planets around which satellites orbit. They are not born in isolation but spring one from another according to a rigorous succession.
In relation to harmony, I have a fondness for forms hinging on sequences of chords of fourths (almost a development of Aleksandr Skrjabin’s mystic chord), for their capability to produce the feeling of an almost iridescent tonality. The polyphonic sections of my compositions are thus decidedly atonal, but the counterpoint hinges on a structure of quartal harmony - and this helps listeners avoiding the feeling of being lost in a chaos without landmarks. The audience also appears to appreciate the sense of security deriving from the logic of progression. In this sense, structures are not an ornament but the conditions of possibility for a fruitful and sympathetic communication between composer and listeners.

All your works have been for various ensembles. Why are there so many versions of the same composition?

This is logical outcome of the compositional process. Since the instrumental parts are the depository of the harmonies and as such are complete in themselves, they can live autonomously from the vocal part. I never deal with the instruments as if they were mere accompaniments to the voice, instead as independent entities; this is why all my sacred works can be performed without the vocal part. On the other hand, this does not mean that the voice performs a subordinate role: it remains, of course, of paramount importance but is conceived a sort of continuous counter-subject within the independent harmonic structure. We could compare it to a recitar cantando suggestive to Richard Wagner’s counter-point treatment.
This should make clear why there is an Ave Maria op. 8 for voice and piano and a version 8a for piano solo; of the Requiem op. 17 (for soloists, choir, two pianos and four timpani) there exist a version published as Suite da Requiem no. 1 op. 17a for violin, horn and piano and a third one published as Suite op. 43 for two pianos and four timpani ad libitum (so much so that the duo Gioiosa-Ossipova performed it without timpani). Of the Ave Verum op. 42 I wrote a version for mixed choir (or vocal quartet ad libitum) and piano and a version op. 42a for piano solo. Finally between 2005 and 2008 I developed four different versions of the Panis Angelicus. Listening to any such versions reveals that there is no impoverishment of one compared to the others: the example of the Ave Maria should suffice to prove it. The three versions available are for tenor (Ennio Buoso) and piano (Giorgio Favaretto) as published by Classico Records; for three sopranos (Doriana Giuliodoro, Silvia Marcellini e Cristiana Cecchi) and piano (Marco Sollini) and for piano solo (my own interpretation) - the latter two are found in the CD Armonie della Sera.

At the end of our conversation, could I ask for your opinion about the future of sacred music?

Sacred music would enjoy a bright future if audiences were provided with the necessary tools to appreciate it fully. I think first and foremost to the the education of musicians; an education that should be solid and well-grounded. Whereas we cannot have Ludwig van Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis performed at every liturgy, so it is unconceivable that the musical side of a service has to be left to a couple of shabby guitars as sometimes still happens. This is a usage that does not add anything to the depth of the liturgy but impoverishes it. The composer too has a crucial responsibility: his role is to propose models characterised by both rigorous structure and adherence to the sacred texts.
Let me say then, at the end, that it is simply not true that the destiny of classical music is to be a niche for a few privileged ones. When Maestro Gianluigi Gelmetti performed Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde (a work lasting almost six hours) in front of an audience made by high-school students only, someone might have foreseen the en-mass evacuation of the hall. I was present to that wonderful event and can testify not only that nobody moved from his seat, but most of all that the acclamation at the end of the opera was as rapturous as that of a stadium. The music is overwhelming, the performing was passionate and the students responded with corresponding enthusiasm. Perhaps this would be necessary to ensure a bright future to sacred music: overwhelming music and passionate musicians. The response of the audience would then certainly meet all expectations.

(English text entirely written by the Author)

Alessandra Pompili
Concert pianist interested both in the little-known classical and the contemporary repertoire, with special attention to sacred compositions for piano solo. Since 2006 Alessandra co-operates with Vatican Radio as a soloist and freelance producer of music programmes for Studio A (for example, the seven episodes about Franz Liszt broadcast between 2009 and 2010). Alessandra lives between Rome, her native city, and Manchester (England), where she teaches at the School of Art Histories and Cultures of the University.