My Story
I was born in 1956, the son of a blacksmith and shipyard worker and grew up in the city of Castellammare di Stabia on the outskirts of Napoli. Like many southern Italians at the time, my family was poor and we understood our first responsibility was to find food, maintain a shelter, and survive. As a young boy, I often slept on the street, stealing an apple from a stall or food from a garden when we had no food.
My father, Giovanni, had a deep love of music and had studied violin, become quite accomplished at a young age. He dreamt of having a music career but war and poverty were barriers he could not overcome. At an early age, I met my father’s violin teacher, Gennaro Calafati, and years later would study trumpet under his son Pietro Calafati. In spite of the hardships we faced at that time, my father passed his love for the beauty and transcendent power of music on to me and prayed I could have a better life.
My father, Giovanni, had a deep love of music and had studied violin, become quite accomplished at a young age. He dreamt of having a music career but war and poverty were barriers he could not overcome. At an early age, I met my father’s violin teacher, Gennaro Calafati, and years later would study trumpet under his son Pietro Calafati. In spite of the hardships we faced at that time, my father passed his love for the beauty and transcendent power of music on to me and prayed I could have a better life.
my first piano
My father was my first music teacher and he gave to me the most precious and only gift that my parents could offer. When I was six years old, my father bought a piano on credit, literally mortgaging the family’s financial future to bring music into my life. By any rational standard, the purchase was outrageous as the piano payments were more than the rent on our home. It was an act of love and faith and at times drove my family to near starvation. I still have that beautiful instrument and it represents to me the love sacrifice of my family.
I studied music with my father very intently until I met my first great teacher, the pianist Tita Parisi. She decided to take me under her guidance, and from that moment the most incredible chapter of my life started. With her preparation, I entered the Conservatorio di Musica San Pietro a Majella in Napoli ay the age of seven. Over the next 17 years, I studied piano, the organ, Gregorian music, violin, composition, choral music, choral conducting, history of theatre, opera and conducting.
I studied music with my father very intently until I met my first great teacher, the pianist Tita Parisi. She decided to take me under her guidance, and from that moment the most incredible chapter of my life started. With her preparation, I entered the Conservatorio di Musica San Pietro a Majella in Napoli ay the age of seven. Over the next 17 years, I studied piano, the organ, Gregorian music, violin, composition, choral music, choral conducting, history of theatre, opera and conducting.
Immersed in the Conservatorio and the deep music tradition of Naples, I was guided by magnificent teachers: the violinist Alberico Valente, first chair of the San Carlo Opera; the writer and poet Vittorio Viviani, the son of the great Raffaele Viviani; the composer and conductor Aladino Di Martino, who was the Director of the Conservatorio and ultimately, Ugo Rápalo, Director at the San Carlo Opera.
During my studies, I was first exposed to the most amazing and now largely overlooked chapter of music history: the Neapolitan School of Music of the 18th Century.
Mº Ugo Rápalo was the teacher who brought me closest to this fantastically rich musical tradition. His first teacher was the famous composer Francesco Cilea, who held the position of Director of the Conservatorio San Pietro a Majella until his death in 1950.
During my studies, I was first exposed to the most amazing and now largely overlooked chapter of music history: the Neapolitan School of Music of the 18th Century.
Mº Ugo Rápalo was the teacher who brought me closest to this fantastically rich musical tradition. His first teacher was the famous composer Francesco Cilea, who held the position of Director of the Conservatorio San Pietro a Majella until his death in 1950.
Maestro Ugo Rapálo
Mº Rápalo was himself a disciple and continuation of this unique Neapolitan School.
Among the works he revised and published are La Gazzetta of Rossini and symphonies of Cimarosa and Piccinni and the concertos of Leonardo Leo.
I was his student for many years and followed him everywhere, especially during his rehearsal at the San Carlo Opera House. He taught me the secrets and the methods of the Neapolitan Masters. The expectations were very high for all the students and it shaped my life and career as a musician. I can remember my first transcription of few measures of a Leonardo Leo cello concerto found among the thousands archived in the Conservatorio library.
As Mº Rápalo looked at it, I can still hear him saying: “Gioacchino, it is a fair transcription, but you missed the heart of the music.” I have been seeking that heart every since.
After years of intense work, Mº Rápalo lead me to understand the complex difference between a “truthful” transcription – one that captures the “heart” of the piece -- and what he called a literal translation or revisione critica. As my Master explained to me, a critical revision is a limited or literal account of musical prediction, resulting in an especially problematic, incomplete or dysfunctional polyphonic structure.
Among the works he revised and published are La Gazzetta of Rossini and symphonies of Cimarosa and Piccinni and the concertos of Leonardo Leo.
I was his student for many years and followed him everywhere, especially during his rehearsal at the San Carlo Opera House. He taught me the secrets and the methods of the Neapolitan Masters. The expectations were very high for all the students and it shaped my life and career as a musician. I can remember my first transcription of few measures of a Leonardo Leo cello concerto found among the thousands archived in the Conservatorio library.
As Mº Rápalo looked at it, I can still hear him saying: “Gioacchino, it is a fair transcription, but you missed the heart of the music.” I have been seeking that heart every since.
After years of intense work, Mº Rápalo lead me to understand the complex difference between a “truthful” transcription – one that captures the “heart” of the piece -- and what he called a literal translation or revisione critica. As my Master explained to me, a critical revision is a limited or literal account of musical prediction, resulting in an especially problematic, incomplete or dysfunctional polyphonic structure.
Pergolesi Manuscript
In my exploration of the rich Conservatorio archives, we were taught that the complete understanding of the music could not be found within the four corners of a manuscript or score. The exploration of the “Italian School of Music” brings to light one of the secrets of Neapolitan Masters: the Partimenti. Given just the bass part to an imaginary ensemble of voices or instrumentalists, the Conservatorio students would sit at a keyboard and play all the parts as if they were written out before him. To accomplish this magic, the young musicians needed to train their memories and imaginations.
They practiced a non-verbal form of mental discipline that, when mastered, allowed them to compose sonatas or symphonies with an incredible facility. What the composers did not put in the score required us to essentially improvise missing elements but within a structure, a pre-organized understanding of harmony, melody and form that existed beyond the manuscript. A truthful transcription today is one that captures these missing elements in a manner that reveals the heart of the composition.
Unfortunately, a distorted understating of the Neapolitan School has taken root in modern times, a misunderstanding that misses the heart of the great Neapolitan Masters. There are hundreds of great treasures still undiscovered in the Conservatorio archive but to unlock them one must look deeper than the scores. That is my work today. (Learn more about the Neapolitan Masters at neapolitanmusicsociety.org. You can listen to my transcriptions of Neapolitan Masters in my audio and video sections.)
I left the Conservatorio in 1980 but I took with me a great love of the Neapolitan Masters and my father’s hope for a better life. After being accepted at the Hochschule Mozarteum in Salzburg, where I studied conducting, becoming one the last students of Herbert von Karajan. I spent about two years in that beautiful city before for I departed for Germany in 1983.
I was fortunate to spend several years traveling around Europe, performing in Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, Hungary, Bulgaria, Spain and many other great places. As I grew as musician, my vision changed as well as my expectations.
They practiced a non-verbal form of mental discipline that, when mastered, allowed them to compose sonatas or symphonies with an incredible facility. What the composers did not put in the score required us to essentially improvise missing elements but within a structure, a pre-organized understanding of harmony, melody and form that existed beyond the manuscript. A truthful transcription today is one that captures these missing elements in a manner that reveals the heart of the composition.
Unfortunately, a distorted understating of the Neapolitan School has taken root in modern times, a misunderstanding that misses the heart of the great Neapolitan Masters. There are hundreds of great treasures still undiscovered in the Conservatorio archive but to unlock them one must look deeper than the scores. That is my work today. (Learn more about the Neapolitan Masters at neapolitanmusicsociety.org. You can listen to my transcriptions of Neapolitan Masters in my audio and video sections.)
I left the Conservatorio in 1980 but I took with me a great love of the Neapolitan Masters and my father’s hope for a better life. After being accepted at the Hochschule Mozarteum in Salzburg, where I studied conducting, becoming one the last students of Herbert von Karajan. I spent about two years in that beautiful city before for I departed for Germany in 1983.
I was fortunate to spend several years traveling around Europe, performing in Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, Hungary, Bulgaria, Spain and many other great places. As I grew as musician, my vision changed as well as my expectations.
Maestro Alipi Naydenov and Me
I became very aware, as I am still today, that an attachment to a literal style limits true musical expression, constraining the “heart.” In the end, such limited efforts reduce musical expression to mere routine, a standardized and inferior version of musical imagination.
At this stage of my life, I do not want necessarily define myself a pianist or a conductor. These are descriptions of a mechanical act but have nothing to do with music, with its heart.
I rather think of myself as a musician expressing ideas through a piano or in collaboration with an orchestra. My father passed his love of music to me from his heart; a commitment to love and the transcendent power of art I still strive to honor in whatever forms that expression may take.
At this stage of my life, I do not want necessarily define myself a pianist or a conductor. These are descriptions of a mechanical act but have nothing to do with music, with its heart.
I rather think of myself as a musician expressing ideas through a piano or in collaboration with an orchestra. My father passed his love of music to me from his heart; a commitment to love and the transcendent power of art I still strive to honor in whatever forms that expression may take.
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