Physical Release: 26 September 2025
Digital Release: 3 October 2025
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| Composer(s) | Arthur Benjamin, Bernard Herrmann, Charles Gounod, Francis Poulenc, Franz Waxman, Jay Livingston, John Williams, Miklos Rozsa |
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Although I normally avoid personal reminiscences when writing CD booklets, in this case the temptation was too strong to resist, and therefore I will unapologetically pepper up what follows with memories – fully knowing that they will tell the reader nothing important, but that they still retain a value in my own eyes.
A musician since the tenderest age, for many years of my childhood and adolescence movies represented the one outlet from musical practice I could have. “Mommy, can we watch a movie?” was our daily plea, and “No movies for one month” was the most dreaded punishment. My father was – and still is – a great movie fan, and somebody who knew and remembered dozens of films which he had seen in his youth. The typical Christmas, birthday, and Santa Claus present was, therefore, a videocassette of a great classic of cinema. We began, as all children, with the Walt Disney classics, but moved rather soon to very different fields. An anecdote which is endlessly recounted in our family has my (younger) brother as a protagonist. He must have been about seven years old. I had played a piano recital, and, in the audience (as well as among the guests in the dinner which followed it) there was a man who was probably the most important Italian cinema critic, the author of the foremost Italian histories and encyclopedias of cinema. This much-revered professor condescendingly asked my little brother: “Dear child, what is your favourite movie?”. The face he made when the boy answered “Aleksander Nevsky” was something to write home about.
I must have been about eleven when Dad decided it was time for us to begin watching thrillers, and the first one was The Man Who Knew Too Much (in the version with Doris Day). It was an epiphany. For one thing, the impressive and crucial role played by music performances in that movie conquered the heart of my younger self: it is, indeed, one of the most beautiful films about music I ever saw. But there were also the story, the romance, the theme of family love, the espionage plot, the rhythm of the movie… I will never forget the thrill I literally experienced on that occasion, and I immediately fell in love with Hitchcock and with ì crime movies. Later on, with my brother and father, we watched most of the films by Hitchcock (Mum would occasionally join us, but she was usually so tired that she managed to fall asleep while watching Vertigo, which is no ordinary feat). And, of course, we also enjoyed the series Alfred Hitchcock Presents, which was broadcast many years ago in Italy, and which represented a moment of relax in our busy days. Hitchcock’s unmistakable silhouette and his mischievous smile, accompanied by the grotesque music by Charles Gounod, became another iconic element of my youthful years. Appropriately, the score of Alfred Hitchcock Presents is a piece originally titled Funeral March for a Marionette: it is difficult to say whether it appealed to the great director for its sound or for its title of for both. Indeed, even the title itself could be taken as summarizing Hitchcock’s landmark style: a mixture of black humour, of playing with the human beings’ worst fear – death – , irony, and the protagonism of the director himself. It is well known that “Hitch” had the habit of portraying himself in a cameo within each film, and Hitchcock enthusiasts – as we were – are always hunting for these flash appearances – until the plot’s gripping action becomes so powerful that one cannot think of anything else.
And if music is not a protagonist itself in many movies by Hitchcock, it remains a fundamental element of his filmography and of his cinematic genius. I mentioned already The Man Who Knew Too Much, and I cannot avoid consecrating a few lines to it. However, since it is quite impossible to discuss the role of music in it without citing some crucial moments of the plot, readers are kindly advised to skip to the asterisks below in case they have not yet watched the movie. And to watch it soon, since it is an absolute masterpiece.
In The Man Who Knew Too Much, singer Doris Day is on holiday in Morocco with her husband and young son, when they witness a murder; the victim, with his last breaths, entrusts a vital secret to Day’s husband. In order to prevent him from revealing what he knows – and therefore saving the life of an important statesman – the “bad guys” kidnap their son. The two most important scenes of the movie are then linked to music (although I would also add the tragicomic singing of the church anthems in the “Ambrose Chapel” and the couple’s impromptu paraphrase of the lyrics). Day recovers her son, who is held captive in the Embassy, by singing to the top of her lungs the tune of Que sera sera, to which the boy responds by whistling it loudly. He will be rescued by his dad, led by the music made by his wife and son. And she also saves the statesman by uttering a sharp cry just before an iconic clash of cymbals within a symphonic piece for orchestra and chorus, in a performance taking place in a packed Albert Hall. The perfect timing of her shout, in a musical rest preceding the musical climax of the piece, crucially destroys the killer’s concentration, and the shot misses its intended target. These two unique moments are represented by the two pieces recorded in this album, corresponding to tracks no. 7 and 8.
* * * *
Another quintessential thriller is doubtlessly Rear Window, a genius’ movie whose protagonist is a photo reporter confined within the walls of his flat until he recovers from a broken leg. He is the fiancé of a splendid Grace Kelly, who plays the role of a lady as refined, fashion-addicted, and well-behaved, as he is an action man, used to adventure and enjoying it. The only fun he can afford, during his forced immobility, is watching his neighbours’ life – and he does this very professionally, zooming in and out their apartments with his photographic lenses. Here, too, music plays a fundamental role. It is the element which fosters the birth of a new couple, saving a character from committing suicide; but it is also the element which creates such a suspension of time that the protagonist loses control of the situation at a crucial moment. Music thus is a fundamental element of the plot, while also punctuating it ironically, touchingly, “ordinarily”, mirroring the pattern of musical consumption proper to the society portrayed by Hitchcock. Just as happens in daily life, in Rear Window different kinds of music intertwine creating the interplay of genres and styles which makes the counterpoint of our life.
Indeed, Hitchcock knew very well how to characterize scenes through music of all genres, and was fully open to the resources offered by music of all times and styles. There are occurrences which are particularly striking, and which also demonstrate that even a strong personality as Hitchcock’s could be open to suggestions coming from the composer. One of the most celebrated scenes in the history of cinema is the shower scene in Psycho – I gathered the courage needed to watch it only in my twenties, but I am proud to inform the reader that I was able to sleep the following night. Here, Hitchcock had imagined a scene without music, but Herrmann, the composer, compelled him to listen to the screeching violin sounds he had created. The result was a masterpiece of a scene.
Indeed, the cooperation between Hitchcock and Herrmann has been defined as one of the most important in the history of cinema. Unfortunately, their relationship ended abruptly, but their mutual esteem remained, and Herrmann would keep speaking of Hitchcock in the best possible terms to the end.
Their cooperation is represented here by some films whose atmosphere – and consequently whose music – could not be more different. Hitchcock’s mastery in orchestrating psychological suspense finds a compelling counterpart in the musical dimension of North by Northwest. In one of the film’s most emblematic scenes—a suggestive dialogue unfolding in the refined setting of a dining car—the score abandons overt dramatic gestures in favour of a supple, almost dance-like phrasing, whose refined contours evoke the expressive world of 19th-century ballet, filtered through a distinctly cinematic lens.
Vertigo draws some of its extraordinary tension from its unusual setting. Here, both composer and director play on a fascinating paradox, i.e. that of a kind of “homely exoticism”. Due to America’s history, there are zones of the States which appear as enclaves from places far away, miraculously transported within miles from a great modern metropolis. The enigmatic, fascinating, and also unsettling character of Carlotta is matched by the music associated to her, while the main scene of the film – with its extraordinary visual effects, obtained with a unique camera movement – is further empowered in its emotional content by the associated music.
A completely different situation is that of The Trouble with Harry, one of the funniest dark comedies ever created. Hitchcock’s sense of humour is at its best here, with the portraits of the bizarre characters and of their interactions, leading a whole community of “good fellows” to become complicit in an apparent murder, while poor Harry enters and exits his improvised grave with the utmost nonchalance.
Rather than offering a mere anthology of well-known film cues, this project maps a continuum that stretches from the classic soundscapes of mid-century cinema to more contemporary idioms. The selection does not adhere to chronological order, but to an underlying aesthetic logic, in which the expressive modes of past masters—Rózsa, Waxman, Herrmann—are refracted and extended into newer languages, as in the inclusion of a Poulenc miniature (from Rope), recontextualised within a suspense-driven narrative framework.
Spellbound combines gestures evocative of Romantic-era concert traditions with sound textures that reflect the technological experimentation of the mid-20th century, exemplified by the distinctive presence of the theremin.
Together, these sounds will bring back memories of unforgettable moments of one’s experience of cinema, but, even in abstraction from the images, the music played in this album is certainly worth listening, enjoying, and experiencing again and again.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2025
Matteo Monico studied piano at the Guido Cantelli Conservatory in Novara and the Giuseppe Verdi Conservatory in Milan, graduating with top marks under the guidance of Maestro Alessandro Commellato. He has held masterclasses with internationally renowned pianists including: Jefrey Swann, Piotr Szychowsky, Roberto Prosseda, Jose’ Maria Curbelo Gonzalez, Edoardo Torbianelli, Simone Pedroni, Cristiano Burato, Stefano Battaglia, Davide Cabassi, and with the French composer Benoit Menut. He has played at the Auditorium of the “Guido Cantelli” Conservatory in Novara, at the Piano City Milano Festival, in the Sala Puccini and at the Museo del Novecento for the SIMC “Società Italiana Musica Contemporanea”. He performed the world premiere in Italy of Andrea Mannucci’s opera “Kiki de Montparnasse”, libretto by Marco Longaro. He has played at the Cineteca in Milan, at the Cinema Astra in Como, in collaboration with the Accademia delle Belle Arti di Brera, at the Cinema Arsenale in Pisa in collaboration with the “Scuola Normale Superiore”, at the PianoLab Festival and for the San Raffaele University in Milan. He has collaborated with the “Società Dante Alighieri” in Rome and has a predilection for film music.
Arthur Benjamin (b Sydney, 18 Sept 1893; d London, 10 April 1960). Australian-English composer and pianist. After general education at Brisbane Grammar School he entered the RCM at 18, studying composition there with Stanford; a common admiration for Brahms eased his path with that teacher. Benjamin remained at the RCM until the outbreak of war in 1914, when he joined the infantry, later transferring to the air force. After the war he was for a short time a piano teacher at the Sydney Conservatorium, but his need for European musical life brought him back to London in 1921. His first published work, a string quartet, appeared in 1924 and won a Carnegie Award, and in 1926 Benjamin joined the staff of the RCM. An early enthusiasm for the music of Gershwin stimulated his Piano Concertino (1926), which he declared to have been influenced by the Rhapsody in Blue, although it is difficult to find this influence in the innocent sounds of Benjamin's Concertino, which bears a greater resemblance to salon music or to the music of the French music halls before the introduction of jazz. The composer himself played the solo part at the first performance in England, conducted by Wood. Benjamin was a very good pianist, although not perhaps a virtuoso, and his playing affected both his style of composition and his musical career. He also gave the first performances of Howells's Piano Concerto no.1 (1913) and Lambert's Piano Concerto (1931).
More long-lasting and fruitful than the influence of Gershwin was that of Latin American music, which Benjamin heard during his travels as an adjudicator and examiner for the Associated Board. He wrote works in Latin-American dance rhythms throughout his life, and indeed one of his best known pieces is the Jamaican Rumba (1938), originally for two pianos and later orchestrated. It made his name known throughout the world, and many would have been astonished to learn that he was a ‘serious’ composer and a professor at the RCM. The ‘light’ element remained an important feature in his music until his last years. With the exception of several works his music is jovial in mood and uncomplicated in technique; a touch of neo-classicism in the Violin Concerto (1932) merely reflects the compatibility of the manner with Benjamin's essential cheerfulness. His first opera, The Devil Take Her, displays his light touch and sense of humour. The longest and most serious of his completed operas is The Tale of Two Cities. This was revived (1995) in excerpts for a BBC radio broadcast. None of his dramatic pieces has held the stage. Benjamin's orchestral music has fared better: the two concertante piano works have a certain life, and the second (1949) ends with a rugged and dramatic Passacaglia, an indication of the more profound direction that his music was taking in his last years. The Romantic Fantasy for violin, viola and orchestra is an ardent and wholly successful work, indebted to both Delius and Bax. His only symphony (1944–5) was performed at the 1948 Cheltenham Festival. It is dark and powerful, tragic in expression, and its mood seems in keeping with the time at which it was written. Much the same mood is shared by the Viola Sonata and the Ballade for strings. There were two further operas: Mañana, the first opera commissioned for BBC television, and Tartuffe, of which Benjamin completed the short score but orchestrated only a few pages.
His piano pupils included Britten. As a teacher, pianist and composer Benjamin was an accomplished professional, as was recognized by the Worshipful Company of Musicians which awarded him the Cobbett Medal in 1956. Film music was eminently fitted to his talents, and he contributed some successful examples, including scores for An Ideal Husband and for a documentary about the ascent of Everest.
Herrmann, Bernard
(b New York, 29 June 1911; d Los Angeles, 24 Dec 1975). American composer and conductor. In 1929, while still a student at DeWitt Clinton High School, he enrolled for classes in composition and conducting at New York University. The subsequent year he followed his conducting teacher Albert Stoessel to the Juilliard School of Music, where he was taught composition by the Dutch émigré Bernard Wagenaar. He left the Juilliard School after less than two years, apparently because he found the institution too conservative, and returned informally to New York University during the academic year 1932–3 to attend a course in composition and orchestration given by Percy Grainger. Grainger's eclectic approach revealed to Herrmann the range and diversity of the musical materials available to the contemporary composer. Early in 1933, he formed the New Chamber Orchestra from a group of unemployed musicians as a vehicle for his talents as both conductor and composer. The orchestra's repertory brought together contemporary compositions (including those of Ives, with whom Herrmann formed a lasting friendship) and works by English composers such as Purcell and Elgar, symptomatic of his anglophile tendencies.
Francis Poulenc: (b Paris, 7 Jan 1899; d Paris, 30 Jan 1963). French composer and pianist. During the first half of his career the simplicity and directness of his writing led many critics away from thinking of him as a serious composer. Gradually, since World War II, it has become clear that the absence from his music of linguistic complexity in no way argues a corresponding absence of feeling or technique; and that while, in the field of French religious music, he disputes supremacy with Messiaen, in that of the mélodie he is the most distinguished composer since the death of Fauré.
Waxman [Wachsmann], Franz
(b Königshütte, 24 Dec 1906; d Los Angeles, 24 Feb 1967). American composer of German birth. After pursuing a career in banking for two years, he completed his musical studies in Dresden and Berlin. While a student, he supported himself by playing the piano in nightclubs, especially with the Weintraub Syncopators. It was this employment that led him, in 1929, to UFA, Germany’s leading film studio, where he was hired to arrange and conduct Frederick Holländer's score for The Blue Angel. The success of that film produced additional film work, ultimately leading to his emigration to Los Angeles in 1934.
Jay Livingston (born Jacob Harold Levison; March 28, 1915 – October 17, 2001) was an American composer best known as half of a composing-songwriting duo with Ray Evans, with whom he specialized in composing film scores and original soundtrack songs. Livingston composed the music while Evans wrote the lyrics.
John Williams
(b New York, 8 Feb 1932). American composer, arranger, conductor and pianist. He learnt the piano from the age of eight and, after moving to Los Angeles with his family in 1948, studied with the pianist-arranger Bobby Van Eps. He served in the US Air Force (1951–4), orchestrating for and conducting service bands, then moved back to New York, where he studied for a year with Rosina Lhévinne at the Juilliard School, and played in jazz clubs and recording studios. Returning to the West Coast he enrolled at UCLA and took up private composition studies with Arthur Olaf Andersen and Castelnuovo-Tedesco, among others. From 1956 Williams was a studio pianist in Hollywood, and two years later began arranging and composing music for television, contributing the main title to Checkmate (1960; see Thomas and Burlingame). Through the mid-1960s he composed for several series, and worked for Columbia Records as a pianist, arranger and conductor; he also made a number of albums with André Previn. During this period Williams began scoring feature films, with many of his earliest scores for comedies, such as John Goldfarb, Please Come Home (1964) and How to Steal a Million (1966). He also worked on more serious projects with major directors, including Robert Altman (Images, 1972, and The Long Goodbye, 1973). Williams briefly became typecast as a disaster-film specialist, owing to his successful score for The Poseidon Adventure (1972); it contained one of his few popular song hits, ‘The Morning After’, with lyrics by Marilyn and Alan Bergman. Indicative of his talent at this time are the Americana of The Reivers (1969), the heartfelt English lyricism of Jane Eyre (1971) and the rousing Western style of The Cowboys (1972). Williams later arranged music from each of these three films into popular concert works.
Miklós Rózsa
(b Budapest, 18 April 1907; d Los Angeles, 27 July 1995). American composer of Hungarian birth. Raised in Budapest and on his father’s rural estate in nearby Tomasi, he was exposed to Hungarian peasant music and folk traditions from an early age. He studied the piano with his mother, a classmate of Bartók at the Budapest Academy, and the violin and viola with his uncle, Lajos Berkovits, a musician with the Royal Hungarian Opera. By the age of seven, Rózsa was composing his own works. Later, as a student at the Realgymnasium, he championed the work of Bartók and Kodály, keeping his own notebook of collected folktunes.
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