Legnani: The Indomitable Guitar (Rediscovered Works)

Luigi Legnani was one of the most long-lived guitarists of the nineteenth century (born in Ferrara on 7 November 1790, he passed away in Ravenna on 5 August 1877), yet he enjoyed a relatively brief compositional career spanning from 1819 to 1847, which mark the years respectively of his earliest known and his latest known publications. During that period, travel was a defining feature of his life: from Ravenna, where he had moved as a youth and where he made his concert debut in 1811, he set out to make a name for himself in the most prestigious musical centres of the day, from Milan (where he gave his first performance in 1819 in the Ridotto of the Teatro alla Scala) to Vienna (from 1822 onwards), a city in which he was lavishly applauded and hailed as the “heir to Mauro Giuliani.” He gave performances in various parts of Italy and throughout Europe (Switzerland, France, Germany, Spain, Austria), yet he consistently returned to Ravenna—where he also appeared as a tenor, chiefly in the local Teatro Comunitativo—and there he died at the age of eighty-seven. We do not currently know the reasons that led him, in the late 1840s, to abruptly terminate not only his compositional work but also his illustrious career as a performer (and, shortly thereafter, his continuing engagements as a tenor and orchestral violinist). This decisive withdrawal from the major concert venues, and from musical life at large, caused his reputation to fade swiftly into a collective oblivion that persisted well beyond his death. Nevertheless, in recent years, renewed interest among scholars and performers has deservedly brought the Maestro’s work back into the limelight.
Legnani’s published corpus reaches as high as opus number 250 (his Method and the six Capriccetti appended to it), plus thirteen compositions without opus number (WoO – Werk ohne Opuszahl). In reality, however, only sixty-one published works are currently known with certainty. The various gaps in numbering (especially those between Opp. 40 and 60, 64 and 87, and 87 and 201) still lack a definitive explanation and allow only for various hypothetical scenarios. Smaller gaps could conceivably be closed through fresh research and acquisitions. Such is the case with the Grande Ouverture Op. 14 and the Gran Pot-Pourri Op. 15, which survive solely as manuscript copies (the latter is an autograph dated 8 August 1821). Although the copy of the Grande Ouverture does not appear to be in Legnani’s own hand but rather that of a copyist, its authorship is not in doubt: the compositional style is unmistakably his, invariably rich in novel technical devices and displaying the melodic inventiveness typical of Italian bel canto, with which the composer was thoroughly familiar. These same hallmarks also distinguish the vigorous Op. 15, confirming—just as in the vast majority of Legnani’s works—that he required considerable freedom (not to be confused with simplicity) to give full expression to his artistry. Indeed, he almost invariably resorted to forms that were less academically orthodox yet especially congenial to him, such as caprices, theme and variations, fantasias, rondos, and overtures. A particularly striking example is the Gran Capriccio o Studio Op. 60 (first edition 1827–28, Richault), a fascinating illustration of how Legnani delighted in exploring, with admirable skill, tonalities often neglected by his contemporaries. It is said that the Hungarian Johann Kaspar Mertz regarded him as the finest harmoniser for the six-string guitar. This should come as no surprise, since Legnani’s personal style, though indeed rooted in Classicism, reveals a clear openness to instrumental Romanticism, not least in his employment of a demanding technical virtuosity—considered astonishing in its day—which he extended far beyond the previously known limits of the guitar. Nonetheless, one must guard against the simplistic assumption that his output merely serves to display technical facility, to the detriment of its abundant poetic qualities. In Op. 60, as well as in the Gran Capriccio Op. 34 (first edition published by Probst between 1823 and 1827), the technical dimension never overshadows the limpid directness of certain melodies, which are expertly juxtaposed with more lyrical and suggestive moods. Indeed, more so than in those effect-driven pieces conceived primarily to parade one’s technical prowess (he was, after all, nicknamed the “Aiace Telamonio dei chitarristi”), it is in works of this kind that Legnani truly merits our keenest appreciation. Their light-hearted themes often alternate with more serious, at times surprising, episodes, creating a perpetual swirl of colours and musical ideas, never predictable, all supported by a well-crafted polyphonic interplay of voices. In a different vein, one finds pages founded more explicitly upon the melodic brilliance typical of the early nineteenth century, though they remain consistently buttressed by Legnani’s virtuosity—occasionally daring but never ostentatious. Two such examples are the Variazioni sopra un tema originale di Schuster Op. 25 (first edition by Cappi and Diabelli in 1823) and the Introduzione e Rondò Op. 62 (first edition by Diabelli in 1834). Motivic elaboration was especially dear to Legnani’s heart: he printed no fewer than twenty-two sets of theme and variations, making this the most prevalent form in his catalogue. In keeping with the period’s custom, such compositions were often tested out by composer-performers in their concerts—at times in the form of genuine improvisations—to gauge the audience’s reaction; any variations that proved less effective would be discarded, thus finalising the piece. Although it is performed less often today (perhaps because it remains underappreciated) than some of his more popular variations—such as those on “Nel cor più non mi sento” Op. 16, Terremoto con variazioni Op. 1, and the Variazioni su un motivo de La Norma Op. 201—Op. 25 is certainly among the most captivating. While the sequence of ornamentations follows a conventional pattern, the variety of solutions it deploys ranks among the broadest in his work. By contrast, the sparkling Rondo Op. 62 offers a splendid example of how even within briefer and seemingly more straightforward pieces, Legnani was able to exercise a fertile thematic imagination, whose characteristic Italian melodic verve is underscored by technical devices that never become domineering yet remain entirely fit for purpose.
The rediscovery and proper appreciation of pieces such as those featured in this recording project—especially if performed on instruments of the period or, indeed, with historically informed approaches on modern guitars—ensures that Luigi Legnani’s name may regain the recognition it warrants. He must undoubtedly be reinstated among the foremost figures of nineteenth-century guitar music and regarded as a persuasive link between the Classical and Romantic generations: fama ius suum persequerit.
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