There are CDs that show landscapes, and there are CDs that let you hear how landscapes nestle into a person. Isle of Sky: Landscapes of Memory for Cello and Guitar, the fourth album by Duo Mateaux – cellist Giovanna Buccarella and guitarist Francesco Diodovich – clearly belongs to that second category. Four contemporary Italian composers, four different ways of letting two instruments speak with each other, and yet a remarkably coherent red thread: each time it is about memory, about places that are not so much described as re-experienced.
When beauty does not reveal itself immediately
The album opens with Canti in Penombra by Angelo Gilardino (1941–2022), one of the great guitar composers of the twentieth century and not coincidentally also the teacher of two of the other three composers on this CD. It is a remarkable work within his oeuvre – Gilardino rarely wrote for cello and guitar, and the reason for this ultimately proves biographical: cello was the only instrument he ever studied systematically alongside guitar. That immediately explains the intimacy, but also the tension of the piece: the guitar remains shadowy and suggestive, while the cello is constantly searching for a song that – in Gilardino's own words – must remain in the half-light.
The first movement is a difficult introduction: the music grates, deliberately seeks discomfort and does not immediately endear itself to the listener. Only in the subsequent parts does the work gradually open up and does the dialogue between cello and guitar gain more warmth and conviction. Although Canti in Penombra as a composition did not fully convince me, it becomes clear how successful this unusual instrumental combination can be: the cello brings human depth and breath, while the guitar provides shadow, space and transparency. Buccarella and Diodovich play that tension with admirable restraint – not once is the temptation to let the cello sing out rewarded too quickly, making the ultimate serenity of the fourth part all the more powerful.
Rome as sound and memory
Kevin Swierkosz-Lenart (°1988), a psychiatrist by profession and devoted to Rome by temperament, builds in Chiese romane a musical portrait of the city with which he is deeply connected, through three churches. Where Canti in Penombra by Gilardino still demands a certain restraint and adjustment, Swierkosz-Lenart's music takes the listener along almost immediately.
In the first movement, dedicated to Santa Maria in Trastevere, it is the guitar that opens the musical story and, as it were, leads the listener into the space. The cello responds as a thoughtful commentator: not as a solistic counter-voice, but as a voice that shapes architecture, history and atmosphere. The solemn character of the music is particularly striking here; the movement unfolds slowly and ultimately fades away as if the sound itself dissolves into the silence of the church.
The second part, inspired by the Greek-Catholic liturgy of Sant'Athanasius, is without doubt one of the most beautiful moments of this CD. The cello is given full scope here for a melody in Byzantine mode that sounds both ancient and timeless. Buccarella plays this long singing line with exceptional sensitivity: warm and intense, but always with admirable restraint. The guitar remains in the background as a withdrawn partner who reacts subtly, adds colors and surrounds the cello without ever demanding attention. It is precisely that refined balance that makes this part so moving.
The third part, dedicated to Sant'Ivo alla Sapienza, also convinces immediately through the equality between both instruments. Here cello and guitar each get their own voice and develop together a musical dialogue in which neither dominates. The clarity of the structure, the melodic strength and the natural cooperation between Buccarella and Diodovich make Chiese romane one of the most convincing works on this recording. It is music that not only evokes a place, but also the experience of that place: the silence, the history and the human presence enclosed within it.
A landscape without observer
The title work, Isle of Skye, forms the heart of this CD and is at the same time the most evocative part of it. Oscar Bellomo (°1980) composes landscape music without ever resorting to literal imitation – no imitation of bagpipes or waves, but what the composer himself, following Angelo Gilardino, calls "observation without observer". It is not about depicting a place, but about evoking the experience of a landscape: the silence, the movement and the memory enclosed within it.
That becomes immediately clear in Prologue. Bellomo does not open with a pronounced melodic gesture, but with a cautious, almost mysterious movement in which cello and guitar feel each other out. Something seems to be waiting for the listener, as if the journey to the island has yet to begin. The two instruments complement each other beautifully here: the guitar lays down the first sound landscape, while the cello responds with a voice that sometimes grates and thereby adds tension. That slight ruggedness fits the image of a landscape that does not reveal itself immediately.
Of the subsequent parts, especially Lighthouse and Fairy Pools stand out. In Lighthouse the guitar draws a fine tapestry of arpeggios above which the cello makes short light signals flash like the rotating light beam of a lighthouse. The strength of this part lies in the natural interaction between both instruments: no soloist versus accompanist, but two voices that continually complement and strengthen each other.
In Fairy Pools Bellomo reveals a lighter and more playful side of his musical imagination. A sparkling, almost theatrical dance unfolds, which Buccarella and Diodovich play with audible pleasure. Rhythmic impulses, subtle color shifts and a continuous dialogue between cello and guitar give the part an irresistible liveliness. The recording quality also comes into its own here: the clear, natural sound without excessive reverberation lets every nuance and every shift between both instruments speak perfectly.
Portree Harbour, on the other hand, convinced me less. The part remains primarily an atmospheric sketch and lacks, for me, the inner development that makes the stronger moments of the suite so fascinating. Neist Point then restores the balance and forms a convincing conclusion: Bellomo does not let the landscape become silent here, but rather come to life. The music moves more freely and lightly, so that the island appears not only as a memory but also as a living, almost tangible experience.
Isle of Skye thus leaves a double feeling. The suite contains moments of great beauty and convincingly shows how rich the combination of cello and guitar can be, but not every atmospheric sketch possesses the same significance. It is in the strongest parts that Bellomo proves his special talent: he does not paint a landscape, but lets it move and breathe.
Syracuse, between memory and hope
Stefano Vivaldini (°1997) concludes with the Suite Siracusana, a series of miniatures in which Syracuse is not presented as a tourist destination, but as a landscape where history, myth and personal memory converge. From the first sounds of Introduction, a musical walk unfolds through a city where different eras exist side by side.
The energetic movement of Danza Iblea, the more pronounced character of Vuci di Sciarriata and the hushed atmosphere of Ortigia each reveal a different face of Syracuse: not as a literally depicted place, but as a memory that is brought back to life through sound. Particularly striking is Un Duomo nel tempo, in which Vivaldini makes the historical layering of Syracuse tangible. The music seems less to describe a building than to trace the marks of centuries contained within it. Stone becomes sound, architecture becomes memory.
The Suite Siracusana furthermore demonstrates how rich the combination of cello and guitar can be. Both instruments receive a full voice: the cello brings warmth, breath and lyrical depth, while the guitar, with its transparent colours and rhythmic refinement, provides lightness and perspective. Buccarella and Diodovich find precisely the right balance between individual expression and ensemble playing.
The final section, Il mare ha il colore della mia speranza, ultimately forms a radiant endpoint of this cd. With an intelligent allusion to Homer's "wine-dark sea," Vivaldini opens, after the shadow of Gilardino and the sacred stillness of Swierkosz-Lenart, a world of light and hope.
When memory becomes sound
What ultimately drives this cd is not so much virtuosity – although Duo Mateaux certainly do not lack it – but rather a shared musical ethic: listening to one another, allowing space and never persuading through force. Giovanna Buccarella and Francesco Diodovich play as if they understand precisely that these four composers do not ask for outward display, but for attention, nuance and a refined sense of tone colour.
Therein lies the strength of this unusual combination of cello and guitar. What on paper seems a fragile instrumentation proves in practice to open a particularly rich sound landscape: the warm, human resonance of the cello and the transparent refinement of the guitar continually complement each other. The contemporary language of these four composers sometimes requires time and patience – particularly Canti in Penombra by Gilardino does not yield itself easily – but those who cross that initial threshold discover a surprisingly accessible and colourful world.
Not all works moved me equally, but especially the music of Kevin Swierkosz-Lenart and Stefano Vivaldini brought me great listening pleasure and made me curious to explore more of their work. Isle of Sky is therefore not a cd one puts on casually, but an album for which one makes time and into which one slowly enters. When the final note has faded away, ultimately not one melody lingers, but an atmosphere: the impression of having been somewhere without ever actually having travelled. Therein lies the greatest strength of this publication: it transforms landscapes into memories, and memories into music.