Meeting Enrico Pieranunzi in Rome
"Having an interest for other peoples is not always easy, but I think
it's the only way out. Otherwise, the perspectives are really dark for
humanity, even darker for artists. In this state of perpetual war, the
meaning of what it is to be an artist can be lost, and it becomes very
difficult for a painting or piece of music to find its place anymore.
All this can become depressing, but as artists we must react. Jazz is
one of the best ways to do this, because it is so connected to basic
human features: creativity, freedom, the body, sensitivity, no matter
the color of one's skin, or one's language", sagt Enrico Pieranunzi am Schluss dieses Artikels, der im Vorfeld seines Auftritts am Jazzfestival Montréal 2006 erschien.
ROME - Meeting Enrico Pieranunzi, the dean of Italian jazz piano, as he gives me a busman's tour of his beloved Roma, it's clear why he is often called il professore. It's not just the serious mein (the furled brow, the glimmering glare), or that he taught for years at the conservatory near his birth place in Rome. Forget the fact that he put in many hours as Ennio Morricone's favoured soundtrack pianist, that he encompasses modern Italian jazz history from the anarchic 1970s through playing with Chet Baker to his search for poetry at his "island of 88 keys." Or that he occasionally dons the role of jazz critic, his study of Bill Evans (The Pianist As Artist) being one of the little gems of jazz literature.
Pieranunzi's near aristocratic dreaminess – the patented satin touch – is tempered by steely sense of determination. Above all, his music has a romantic you-must-believe-in-spring air.
Now 56, in recent years Pieranunzi has claimed the mantle of great jazz improvisors (witness his trio's recent acclaimed double-album Live in Paris), but it's his classical side that he brings to Montreal. His two different solo piano recitals tonight, Perugia Suite and Canto Nascosto, are based on recording for the small Egea label that records his recital-inclined material (and put together the Suono Italia series).
"Canto Nascosto means 'hidden song,' reflecting something deep within myself," says Pieranunzi. "It's a simple, almost crab-like melody, very connected to the sounds and atmospheres I heard as a child. Egea allowed me to discover an area of my composition that would've been hidden. Listening to Pieranunzi is hearing a man tinkering with emotion, reflecting, refining, all towards appreciating emotions as part of experiencing them.
"Egea is like my little corner of the sky, where I feel completely free to look for beauty. It found an audience for this story-telling music that nobody thought was there. It existed at the borders – people who aren't necessarily jazz fans, or jazz fans who aren't fond of post-bop styles, as well as those who feel a deep resonance with folk roots, and classical music. It's kind of mild, like speech that talks sweetly to you, but also rigorous."
That tenor fits Pieranunzi perfectly, who says playing with 50s cool icon Chet Baker – considered washed-up in America in the 80s but idolized in Italy – taught him about melody.
"I had been under the sway of bebop, Charlie Parker then Bud Powell, but things changed radically when I met Chet. He was a master of giving melody its highest value. A song in his lips became a story. Playing with him was a shock for me: He opened me up to a new perspective, mostly in the sensuality of his music."
He grew up with music at its source: his father was a folk music composer. "Italy has so many strong cultures, such as Naples or Sardinia, that Rome's folk culture is somewhat overlooked because it's such a cosmopolitan capital. My father was also a guitar player, and that's how I started playing jazz when I was 5. There were only jazz records in our house: Charlie Parker, Gerry Mulligan, Chet Baker, Lee Konitz, Django Reinhardt. My father was unbelievably fond of Django, so I grew up with this gypsy sound around. He bought me a piano and was my first teacher, and – this is an interesting cultural process – he taught me the (American) blues that he learned from (Gypsy Belge) Django. I started improvising with my father, but he also encouraged me to take classical lessons. I kept on this double track until my mid-20s, when jazz virtually consumed me. Yet even when I played with visiting bop musicians like Johnny Griffin, Art Farmer, Kenny Clarke, I gave classical recitals once in a while. There's never really been a separation between the two expressions in my life."
Il professore has since expanded on the idea of song and story-telling in his collaboration with passionately sensual singer Ada Montellanico in bringing the tragic lovelorn songs of the late Luigi Tenco to life in Danza di Una Ninfa.
"Music is inspired by life, and in Europe the taste of life is different. If American ears can make an effort to gravitate towards that, the music becomes clearer."
That's a big if, in the midst of American culture's post-9/11 war drumbeat. "The problem we see in Europe is that not everything is black and white," says Pieranunzi.
He pauses, sighs. "Perhaps I'll accused of being anti-American, but that's not at all true. I became a jazz player almost solely because of the cultural penetration here by American musicians and records. Yet the deep spirit of this music sometimes seems lost on Americans themselves. The amazing possibility that you can play the blues in Tokyo, or with an Arab together with an Italian and a Russian. Some American intellectuals are lazy in understanding the universality in this music. Even if I play 'Italian' or 'European,' and Joe Lovano plays very 'American,' there's a point at which jazz is art and the differences between cultural backgrounds fade from view.
"It's ironic that the more corporate globalization there is, the more there seems to be a need for human groups to stress their own identities. Globalization does not mean only one culture dominating the planet. Many people believe it means having a better way of life without canceling their own identity. It's a difficult issue that requires dialogue.
"Having an interest for other peoples is not always easy, but I think it's the only way out. Otherwise, the perspectives are really dark for humanity, even darker for artists. In this state of perpetual war, the meaning of what it is to be an artist can be lost, and it becomes very difficult for a painting or piece of music to find its place anymore. All this can become depressing, but as artists we must react. Jazz is one of the best ways to do this, because it is so connected to basic human features: creativity, freedom, the body, sensitivity, no matter the color of one's skin, or one's language."
2006