Luigi Nono has long been recognised as a crucial figure of post-war European modernism; yet, outside isolated events such as the 1995 retrospective at Huddersfield, his work remains little heard in the UK. European avant-garderie that doesn’t travel? Polemic that hasn’t lasted? The present discs, featuring major works from each of Nono’s three main phases, allow a fair assessment of his merits.
Variazioni canoniche (1950), his first acknowledged work, takes its aesthetic stance from Schoenberg (Nono’s posthumous father-in-law). Indeed, the recourse to canonic principles, the spare but elegant instrumental writing and the emotionally heightened sound world, result in music far removed from the abstraction of his contemporaries.
The spirit of protest breaks through in the Vietnam-inspired A floresta e jovem e cheja de vida (1965-66). Here, the urge to create music ‘as it happens’ led Nono to a collaborative approach, integrating the layers of activity – vocalists, clarinet and tape – in a process of ‘illuminating’ events and their consequences. In addition to using the published score, Voxnova have evolved their recording from source material and a descriptive outline of the work. The result is a gripping aural odyssey through vocal incantation, instrumental monologue and taped reportage: less a historical document than a timeless, passionate call for action. The previous (cut) studio recording (DG, 6/79 – nla), is quite superseded by this powerful realisation.
The music of Nono’s last decade reflects an inner compulsion to channel the essence of sound in ever more intuitive ways. In No hay caminos, hay que caminar … (1987), the often near-intangible range of dynamics and texture makes even the loudest sounds feel muted in the context of a piercing silence. ‘Traveller, there is no path, but you must travel’ would be a loose translation of the title: a directive to live one’s inner life on the edge that Nono adhered to to the point of no return.
Michael Gielen secures powerful performances, his No hay caminos … far more detailed than Abbado’s strangely blurred account. A Carlo Scarpa (1984), whose microtonal layers are redolent of Scelsi in sound if not in spirit, makes an ideal transition. Mode includes two short arrangements by the composer from major works, on what promises to be the first in a Nono retrospective. Music of substance that demands and rewards your attention.'