Italian before I take them to the consulate and that I should act in a convincing manner. Ugo must have noticed my lack of confidence. I go home in a complete daze.
*
It is almost 6.30 pm and I am sitting in the Italian Institute in Belgrave Square. I am here to listen to a concert given by an Italian orchestra. The programme is to include a mandolin concerto by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, with Ugo as the soloist. I have not seen Ugo since yesterday lunchtime.
Outside it is twilight and I look at the silhouettes of the autumnal trees. The windows are bare but harmoniously framed by painted wooden shutters. The large expanse of room with its stucco ceiling is decorated in minimalist white. It is on the first floor at the front of the building looking out onto the square. I love the atmosphere of this room and I imagine it full of people dancing.
This is to be an intimate concert. Half the room is arranged with rows of chairs for the audience and the other half contains a group of chairs forming an arc, from which music stands periodically mushroom.
The orchestra members take their places. The men wear the traditional uniform of formal evening suits with tailed jackets. The ladies wear long black clothes of their own choice. They follow the same dress code as female orchestral players in England, but I am struck by how stunningly different and glamorous they look. Some of them wear trousers instead of long skirts. The trousers are beautifully cut garments in soft draping fabrics, which move elegantly with the wearer. I also admire the abundance of exquisite lace and see-through material used so seductively in the blouses that accompany the trousers. One of the violinists has sleeves like mantillas. I see several outfits that I would love to wear and I consider the problem of trying to find shops that sell suitable clothing for concerts.
Ugo appears and begins to introduce the concert.
It is quite an extensive talk, given entirely in Italian. I listen to the sound of the words as if they themselves were notes of music. Sometimes, the words are fast and bubbling with intensity. Other times, they are enunciated slowly with elegiac precision. It is difficult for me to understand the intricate detail of the speech. I am distracted by the beautiful sounds of the words and often forget to connect their meanings. Also, the odd word, usually a conjugation of a verb, throws me and I miss the nuance of meaning. Overall, I have a general impression of the sense of what has been said, but I fear I may have missed some important detail.
The programme consists of unknown works written by Neapolitan Baroque composers. Two of the works are in four movements following a contrasting pattern âslow, fast, slow, fast. Two other works follow a tertiary plan â fast, slow, and fast. Our attention is drawn to the slow movements, in which seventeenth and eighteenth century Neapolitan composers were influenced by the close proximity of the sea. In these slow and reflective movements, we will experience a gentle, hypnotic, lilting rhythm, reminding us of the sea lapping against the boats.
The theme of the sea might be a wildly romantic notion, but is nonetheless a clever connection with the title of the orchestra,
I Musici dellâAquarium
, The Musicians of the Aquarium. The use of the English word aquarium is correct, if perhaps a little ironic, since so many English ensembles choose to Italianise their names in order to add romantic charm. This ensemble is an association for culture and education, which is connected to an International Marine Biological Laboratory. It is a puzzling collaboration.
The first work is a concerto for oboe and orchestra by Francesco Mancini. This is followed by a violin concerto by a composer I have never heard of called Angelo Ragazzi.
Next is the moment I have been waiting for: the mandolin concerto. First, there is a bit of retuning. The orchestra is a small chamber orchestra consisting of six
*
It is almost 6.30 pm and I am sitting in the Italian Institute in Belgrave Square. I am here to listen to a concert given by an Italian orchestra. The programme is to include a mandolin concerto by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, with Ugo as the soloist. I have not seen Ugo since yesterday lunchtime.
Outside it is twilight and I look at the silhouettes of the autumnal trees. The windows are bare but harmoniously framed by painted wooden shutters. The large expanse of room with its stucco ceiling is decorated in minimalist white. It is on the first floor at the front of the building looking out onto the square. I love the atmosphere of this room and I imagine it full of people dancing.
This is to be an intimate concert. Half the room is arranged with rows of chairs for the audience and the other half contains a group of chairs forming an arc, from which music stands periodically mushroom.
The orchestra members take their places. The men wear the traditional uniform of formal evening suits with tailed jackets. The ladies wear long black clothes of their own choice. They follow the same dress code as female orchestral players in England, but I am struck by how stunningly different and glamorous they look. Some of them wear trousers instead of long skirts. The trousers are beautifully cut garments in soft draping fabrics, which move elegantly with the wearer. I also admire the abundance of exquisite lace and see-through material used so seductively in the blouses that accompany the trousers. One of the violinists has sleeves like mantillas. I see several outfits that I would love to wear and I consider the problem of trying to find shops that sell suitable clothing for concerts.
Ugo appears and begins to introduce the concert.
It is quite an extensive talk, given entirely in Italian. I listen to the sound of the words as if they themselves were notes of music. Sometimes, the words are fast and bubbling with intensity. Other times, they are enunciated slowly with elegiac precision. It is difficult for me to understand the intricate detail of the speech. I am distracted by the beautiful sounds of the words and often forget to connect their meanings. Also, the odd word, usually a conjugation of a verb, throws me and I miss the nuance of meaning. Overall, I have a general impression of the sense of what has been said, but I fear I may have missed some important detail.
The programme consists of unknown works written by Neapolitan Baroque composers. Two of the works are in four movements following a contrasting pattern âslow, fast, slow, fast. Two other works follow a tertiary plan â fast, slow, and fast. Our attention is drawn to the slow movements, in which seventeenth and eighteenth century Neapolitan composers were influenced by the close proximity of the sea. In these slow and reflective movements, we will experience a gentle, hypnotic, lilting rhythm, reminding us of the sea lapping against the boats.
The theme of the sea might be a wildly romantic notion, but is nonetheless a clever connection with the title of the orchestra,
I Musici dellâAquarium
, The Musicians of the Aquarium. The use of the English word aquarium is correct, if perhaps a little ironic, since so many English ensembles choose to Italianise their names in order to add romantic charm. This ensemble is an association for culture and education, which is connected to an International Marine Biological Laboratory. It is a puzzling collaboration.
The first work is a concerto for oboe and orchestra by Francesco Mancini. This is followed by a violin concerto by a composer I have never heard of called Angelo Ragazzi.
Next is the moment I have been waiting for: the mandolin concerto. First, there is a bit of retuning. The orchestra is a small chamber orchestra consisting of six
Similar Books
