Fragile

Through the Night In the contemporary world, the flute transforms from an instrument into a sonic portal, a space where breath and silence, matter and light meet and dissolve. With deep sensitivity and uncompromising precision, Alessia Scilipoti takes us on a musical journey that transcends the boundaries of technique and explores the realm of gesture as a poetic and meditative act. Her flute produces not only sound – it tells stories of vulnerability, tension, mystery and revelation. In this vast and complex landscape, Alessia Scilipoti emerges as a figure with rare balance, capable of combining interpretative sensitivity with technical precision in a project that becomes a profound exploration of the multifaceted expressive possibilities of the flute. Through a repertoire encompassing composers with diverse geographical and generational backgrounds, this work takes you on a journey that unfolds between landscapes of intense introspection and moments of pulsating energy, between floating silences and rich timbral colors. The artistic vision behind this album engages with contemporary flute repertoire by following a subtle thread that weaves music, word and literature into a dialogue that transcends epochs and cultures. This is not merely a technical exercise or a simple collection of pieces – it is an intimate and rigorous journey into the expressive power of the instrument as a medium capable of translating the depth of poetic language, the silences of memory and the tensions of the human soul into sound. The repertoire selection reflects this vision and presents works that establish a deep connection with literary texts or with poetic and philosophical suggestions, often on the boundary between presence and absence, speech and silence. The journey begins with Voice by Toru Takemitsu (1930-1996), a key figure in Japanese music of the 20th century, whose poetry is nourished by the Eastern concept of ma, the empty space that gives meaning and value to sound. Takemitsu uses here a fragment from a poem by Shuzo Takiguchi ("Handmade proverbs"), presented fragmentarily in a remarkable bilingual mix of French and English: "Qui va là? Qui que tu sois, parle, transparence! Who goes there? Speak, transparency." Beyond the literary source, the music is based on a poetic idea of absence and presence, a silent yet deeply expressive dialogue reminiscent of Zen meditation. The tension between silence and sound becomes an invitation to perceive the invisible and to be imbued with what remains unspoken – an opening gesture that sets the tone for the entire album. An elegy of contrasting emotions unfolds in Dolce tormento by Kaija Saariaho (1952–2023), shaped by the rhetorical figure of the oxymoron, so dear to Petrarch and eternally relevant. Inspired by sonnet 132 from Petrarch's Canzoniere (1304–1374), the music embodies the complexity of a love that is both sweet and painful, expressed in a musical language that exchanges poetic linearity for emotional tension and nuanced timbral expression. Perhaps the choice of the piccolo – a bright and lively instrument par excellence – to sketch a delicate, loving, introverted line reflects the Petrarchan oxymoron? Or is the choice of this poet, a cornerstone of the European lyric tradition, perhaps a reminder of how contemporary music remains rooted in a fertile and living literary heritage, continually renewed by sound? The sense of dissolution and the fragility of language are expressed in Dying Words II by Richard Barrett (b. 1959), a meditation on the end of language and the transience of meaning. In this constellation of sounds interwoven with words, Barrett goes quite far already in the title: "Dying Words – Solo singer with flute", suggesting the flute as a kind of extension – perhaps not even essential – of the vocal performance by the flutist (who may in fact not be one...). Here, music becomes a liminal space where words unfold and are transformed into pure sonic matter, thus evoking the boundary between speech and silence, between what can be said and what remains unspeakable. As a central figure in contemporary English music, Barrett explores the poetry of loss and suggests a path that becomes a metaphor for existence itself. In the performance notes of the piece, Barrett gives instructions that are so precise that it is worth citing them here in full, as an introduction to listening: The Japanese text (from the Heike-monogatari, ed.) is presented in transliteration and should be performed with the greatest possible attention to the pronunciation of the Japanese language, (…) by giving each phoneme (…) an individual 'color'. Plosives at the beginning of sentences should generally be articulated very forcefully, to the point that they produce an exaggerated transition in the flute sound, depending on the dynamics (…). The performer of Dying Words (II) will be primarily a singer, with an alto range and some proficiency in flute playing (…) In the ambivalent character of the "reluctant fantasy for flute" Incauto incanto, Mario Garuti (b. 1957) brings forward a dimension in which enchantment is permeated with uncertainty, and sketches an emotional landscape that hovers between beauty and discomfort. Based on a poem by Jean Cocteau (Foudroyer, 1954 – to be translated as "strike" or "explode"), the piece evokes a poetic imagination, nourished by internal contrasts and tensions. It plays with transparency and shadow, and invites a careful reading of subtle timbral colors, enriched by the vocalization of the text, which becomes an added and enriching element of the timbral palette. Garuti himself states that the text "should seem to be shaped by the sounds, just as it shapes them." The relationship with memory and with a kind of acoustic technology is expressed in Tape Machine for alto flute from 1972 by Vincenzo Parisi (b. 1984), a composer who bridges classical and rock traditions. A verse from a ritual song from the Moroccan village of Oulmès ("Issur Rabbi Attiahthr Awa!" — "We need not worry, God will solve everything!") serves, as in Garuti's work, merely as a pretext to enhance the timbral potential of the instrument. The deliberate choice of the alto flute strengthens the resonance of the text fragments, which are used here extremely sparingly. The piece becomes a reflection on the materiality of sound and its persistence in time. Even without literary text in the composition, the music tells a past that reveals itself in the present – an invitation to reflect on the traces that memory leaves, on the layering of experiences rooted in sound, without dictating a definitive conclusion, but left to the judgment of the listener – and perhaps to the divine: Inch'Allah. Central to the album is the intensity of Der Umriss, composed in 1984 by Antonio Giacometti (b. 1957) for the Darmstadt Ferienkurse. In this piece, the poetic text by Nelly Sachs (1891-1970) is inseparably linked to the musical material. As an important voice in German literature of the 20th century, Sachs' work addresses exile, the memory of the Holocaust and the search for redemption. Her key words appear powerfully in a lush vocabulary of extended techniques, typical of the 1980s: "Komet des Todes", "Der Schatten kalligraphie als Nachlass". The title, difficult to translate exactly into English, could be translated as "outline" or "contour", referring to the painful attempt to give form to an inexpressible grief – to what remains afterward, to a past that eludes definition. The music thus becomes a profound interpretation of this moving poetry, which sketches with the flute the contours of a poignant experience of loss. The reflection on the boundary between mind and body, between consciousness and letting go, returns in Alpha Waves by Malin Bång (b. 1974), inspired by alpha brain waves, which mark a state of inner balance. Although the piece lacks literary texts, it offers explicit instructions on the muscular, respiratory and ocular states associated with the alpha wave state. The performer is prompted to use his voice as an extension of the instrumental body. The music becomes a meditative or even entrancing experience – a search for inner harmony, translated into fluid and enveloping sounds that can evoke a state of silence and suspension, until the final exhalation. The journey concludes with Dia Nykta by Fausto Romitelli (1963-2004), which immerses the listener in a nocturnal and visionary world, populated by archetypal images and mythical imagination. Based on a fragment from the Greek lyric poet Ibycus (quoted in the score as: "Flegéton, ài per dià nykta makràn/séiria pamfanòonta", translated by Quasimodo as "They blow through the night, endlessly/the most radiant stars"), the piece evokes an ancestral and mysterious dimension and transforms music into a wordless narrative that draws from the deepest roots of the collective unconscious. Dia Nykta, composed at a very young age, remained Romitelli's only solo work for flute, as his life was tragically cut short by illness. A brilliant example of his crystalline musical imagination – like the stars evoked in Ibycus' verse – the piece reveals a maturity and craftsmanship that far exceeds his age. In this interweaving of music and literature, of word and silence, Alessia Scilipoti creates a coherent and profound project that invites us to reconsider the flute, not only as a musical voice, but also as a poetic and narrative voice. Her repertoire choices and her sensitivity in approaching each composition give the musical gesture a new density, a density capable of stimulating listening and transforming our perception of the present through the resonance of both ancient and contemporary memories and words. In this way, music becomes an act of living presence and an unceasing dialogue between epochs, cultures and languages. Mario Caroli © 2025