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"I find it interesting and provocative," says Durazzi, assistant
professor in the Department of Music. "When Nono
wrote it, a book had recently been published
with the last letters home of victims of
Fascism, and Nono set fragments of these
letters to music. I am fascinated by the
idea that, in writing this piece, Nono
was putting a progressive political
message in the foreground."
Nono was not only a musical
modernist -- part of a movement that
was just beginning to wane by the time
this piece was written -- but he was also a
lifelong Communist. Born in Venice, he
came of age during World War II but, despising
Mussolini, managed to avoid military service.
A lawyer by training, he turned full-time to music,
giving aesthetic expression to his political sympathies.
Even in his private life, Nono melded music and politics.
In 1950, he wrote
Variazioni Canoniche
, a variation on a piece
by his musical predecessor, Austrian composer Arnold
Schoenberg, whose modernist work -- using a novel 12-tone
technique -- was condemned by the Nazis. In 1955, Nono mar-
ried Schoenberg's daughter Nuria; the couple had two daughters.
Although Nono died in 1990, Nuria Schoenberg Nono
still directs a small archive of Luigi Nono's materials in Venice.
Durazzi has been there, talked to her and done extensive
research; he has also pored over the letters and writings of
Nono, which have recently been published. What has emerged
from all of this is the portrait of a man who was passionately
committed to two things.
"He came of age believing in the Communist Party, partly
because they were among the few who actually took up arms
against the Germans," says Durazzi. "He also was fiercely loyal
to the legacy of composers of the previous generation whose
music he believed in."
Around 1960, Nono had a watershed moment. Suddenly,
he tired of the 12-note serialist pieces that he and his
contemporaries were composing and moved
toward less abstract expression. He also
realized that styling himself as a Communist
was not enough; he should be actively
engaged in workers' struggles. At that
point, he began attending meetings of
labor unions and supporting their causes.
Nearly 20 years later, another
political event shook his life. The Red
Brigades, a radical fringe element of
the Italian Communist Party, kidnapped
and ultimately murdered former Christian
Democratic Prime Minister Aldo Moro and
members of his entourage. While Nono never
commented publicly on the murder, he was likely aghast.
"He entered a mood of deep introspection and really never
came out of it," says Durazzi. "Although he never recanted, he
started talking about having to find one's own way. His musical
style changed, too: Now it became very quiet and contemplative,
with a great deal of silence and open space."
One of Nono's final pieces was played in San Francisco this
spring, and Durazzi gave the pre-concert lecture. Interest in
Nono and his work is growing, particularly in England and the
United States, where he was long overlooked. Last year, a London
festival featured his work, and recently Durazzi attended a
conference devoted entirely to Nono's music.
Durazzi, who also writes about Beethoven and other more
mainstream composers, teaches first-year music theory and an
upper-level course in 20th-century music; last fall, he taught a
graduate course related to his current research. But his research
on Nono allows him to explore both the life and music of a man
who wrote in the context of an important political struggle.
"It's a fascinating challenge that he posed," says Durazzi,
"and I don't think it is well enough understood."
Why do academics study
subjects that are complex,
obscure or challenging?
For example, why did
music theorist Bruce
Durazzi make Luigi Nono,
a 20th-century Italian
avant-garde composer, the
subject of his dissertation
and forthcoming book?
Nono's work is dissonant,
with clashing sounds;
for some people it is
"moderately hard to
listen to," admits Durazzi.
Take Nono's best-known work, Il canto sospeso (1955-56),
written for chorus and orchestra. He begins his process of
composition with a simple melody, and then ruptures it,
shattering the continuity and increasing the music's complexity.
The voices fracture, too, into free-floating syllables.
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