by Maria Musti
This is how Roberto Molinelli, born in Ancona in 1963, describes himself. He is called an “academic” because of his solid conservatory education, where he studied viola, graduating with top honors. He is also called a “rebel” because of his desire to transcend the traditional boundaries of classical music, blending genres, languages, and expressive forms in a personal balance of rock and symphony. Molinelli is a viola professor at the “Martini” Conservatory in Bologna, a concert pianist, conductor, composer, arranger, and orchestrator. He has collaborated with internationally renowned artists, including Andrea Bocelli, for whom he orchestrated the worldwide hit
José Carreras, Cecilia Gasdia, Giovanni Sollima, and Domenico Nordio.
We met him at the Cremona Musica International Exhibitions & Festival, where he was present as an author for Edizioni Curci with “Lady Walton’s Garden,” the first volume in a series dedicated to William Walton.
Tell us about the project that led to Cremona Musica.
Curci Editions is publishing my works dedicated to William Walton, commissioned by the foundation named after him for the fortieth anniversary of his passing in 2023. The inspiration comes from La Mortella, the garden-house that Walton and his wife Susana created on Ischia. The first time I visited, I was struck by the composer’s piano, the rocks where he loved to retreat to write, the flowers, and the spaces that breathe art and nature. From these inspirations, three works were born: Lady Walton’s Garden, a concerto for viola and orchestra dedicated to the villa’s gardens designed and tended by Susana; The Missing E; and
Where does the second song come from, instead?
From the engraving on the Nymphaeum commissioned by Lady Walton, which features a curious spelling error: in the sentence “This green arbor is dedicated to Susana, who loved tenderly, worked with passion, and believed in immortality,” an E is missing from the word believed. She noticed the error but decided not to have it corrected, interpreting it as an element that gave further meaning to the message. This gave rise to the idea of writing a piece in which, throughout, the note E—“E” in Anglo-Saxon notation—is never played until the finale, where it finally appears, performed by… a hoopoe. To emphasize the couple’s cosmopolitan ancestry—he is English, she is Argentinian, both in love with the island of Ischia—I used Mediterranean and South American timbres, blending Latin American percussion with traditional Italian instruments.
What is Williams Rock’s inspiration, instead?
It is dedicated to Walton, whose ashes rest in the pyramid-shaped rock in the villa’s gardens, a place he loved. I played on the double meaning of the English word rock (“rock” and the musical genre). The composition is a rock passacaglia for viola, viola d’amore, electric guitar, and orchestra. The bass ostinato is played by the electric guitar, while the cadenza, in rock style, is performed by the viola d’amore. The viola is expressive, less brilliant than the violin but more intimate, capable of communicating profound emotions. Puccini used viola solos during his characters’ moments of introspection, and I seek that same intensity.
An unusual and intriguing combination of classical and “light” music, his.
I grew up listening to classical music and progressive rock: Emerson Lake & Palmer, PFM, Area. These were artists who incorporated classical harmonies and structures into their compositions, creating veritable miniature symphonies that occupied entire sides of a LP. Even in pop music, there are masterpieces. Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody features classical harmonies and is a rock ballad that parodies opera, because Freddie Mercury wanted to transcend traditional rock. He also recorded “Barcelona” with soprano Montserrat Caballé, demonstrating his interest in crossover. Gianfranco Mariotti, founder and director of the Rossini Opera Festival, wanted to invite him to participate, but Mercury died before that was possible.
How can we renew classical music and appeal to a young audience?
We need to lower the stage and raise the audience, bringing the music closer to the audience without demeaning it. We need to write clearly and pleasantly, avoiding it becoming a stylistic exercise. I start from the melody and what can inspire the listener, because I dislike conceptual music as an end in itself, which alienates. I use tonal language: the twentieth-century avant-gardes explored new territories, but many later retreated because they were too conceptual. Music should entice listening, not repel. My goal is to make it accessible without trivializing it, communicating beauty, hope, and positivity—universal values that can bring anyone closer to music.
