Marcello Fera: The String Theory

I have a predilection for the elements of colour and technique of string instruments in the making of music which, with the support of my colleagues in the ensemble, I have learned to conjugate in my own way: a  paradigm of sonorities to which to devote the act of composition but also to which to return much loved musical pieces, which although born in different contexts and subject to other imprints, rediscover in this dimension the possibility of a renewed being.  And this is why here, alongside my own compositions, are also present pieces such as Mazurka d’Doro [Doro’s Mazurka]  (by Isidore),  derived from the musical tradition of the Apennine mountain region between Genoa and the Po River, or Flor Formosa [Beautiful Rose], originating from the archipelago of the Cape Verde Islands.
The title, The String Theory, smiles in the direction of the celebrated theory in physics, which retraces the origin of everything to ‘vibrating physical entities’. From such cosmic strings then to the string ensemble itself by an elective affinity.
Marcello Fera

Listening to The String Theory

Spring is in the music of Marcello Fera. Such musical pieces resemble the initial phase of life, an ideal tension of increase. Advancing growth akin to the agglomeration in a meadow, the migration of swallows towards warm elsewheres in an azure sky. And in the music of Marcello Fera there is a kind of recall, an act of reclaiming a time of grace, of noble sentiments, uplifting as if inclined towards a smile. Yet these images, wondrous not easily told tales of non-visible life, tinge expressions, marking them with authenticity. Any narrative that awakens beauty in one’s awareness carries always with it a combination of complex parts, sophisticated grain and delicate register. The same applies for all those who like to express themselves through literature, visual arts and music. Such is the case for those who choose to follow one of these paths, the narrative of self, the allusion to one’s interiority. A depth of inwardness that we are accustomed to calling spirit and conscience. These entail relations that are convulsive and febrile, but perhaps also, more than this, that are wonderfully intimate. To those like us who from the outside are presented with a narrative that has been composed to be heard, therein lie a summation of an entire expanse imparted by a voice that knows all there is to know about how a story should be told. In my hand I hold a musical arrangement, the composition of a friend written for violin, cello and for me, its most fortunate recipient. I slowly scan over each page of this score that I can’t manage to hear in thought as a unity of sound. They lie open one by one scattered on my desk, I look at them, not knowing what else to do given that I can’t read musical notation. And yet the images that reach me, I internalize and there is disorientation in this writing that I don’t know how to decipher. And it appears to me, although devoid of expert understanding, to be able to glimpse in every note a glance, a sigh, the parting of lips before faint laughter, bodily gestures, finally a smile, an inclination towards sadness and silences. And so the sequence of notes and pauses and of signs unknown to me becomes the sum of a narrative of contrasts between a violin and a cello marked by the hand that composed it. Then this music ends, because sooner or later it must conclude to allow the instruments and player to rest, but within me the highs and lows do not cease, the shrill phrasings and harmonious reflections given to the luminous voice of these instruments. To me it seems possible that it all commences with breath; like a bellows it tempers its intensity, regulates its amplitude and determines its timbre. All this is intensified further when I hear Marcello’s music every time feeling the intimate satisfaction of sensing the breath of who is playing. Air that escapes from lungs in the act of exhaling, exhalation that induces a prolongation of sounds, that even when emitted in a sustained metre announces an expanded duration of air contained within pulmonary sacs. As if written for them, this music, I am prompted to think. Given duration. That interval of time in which unfolds, from start to finish, a composition, that does not wish to delay and is eager to pass from breath to execution. So it seems to my understanding that breath ultimately longs to be per- formed, to be activated. It also happens that when one writes breath begins to shape utterance. It releases air and an imperceptible noise with the voice, which is wordless, although it is expressing the significant discourse of consciousness itself. And so, while these qualities lend vocality to listening, a resonance is created within the mind. In mine and I believe in the person who listens alongside me, for each of us different in kind probably, but undoubtedly a singular resonance is involved. An invocation emerges from the inarticulate sound, with force or a slight sibilance. The resonance of my listening to these musical pieces reverberates with the sound of Spring. It helps me to envisage an expectant ground, ready to be cultivated and to be brought to fruition by a masterful hand.

Roberta Dapunt. English translation by Erica Segre and Emily Harris.