For his debut CD, pianist Adriano Murgia turns to works from Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s Florentine years. His selections illuminate the composer’s distinctive musical voice and the sources of inspiration that nourished it in that period: nature (Alghe, I stagioni); beloved works of art (I naviganti, inspired by Andrea Pisano’s bas-reliefs) and places close to Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s heart — his family’s home in the hills above Florence (Calma a Giramonte); the Tuscan seaside resort of Castiglioncello (Terrazze); and the lively city of Naples, where he spent his honeymoon (Piedigrotta 1924). The recording concludes with the Fantasia e Fuga sul nome di Ildebrando Pizzetti, an expansive and virtuosic work, recently republished and heard here in its world premiere recording.
Castelnuovo-Tedesco composed the Fantasia e Fuga sul nome di Ildebrando Pizzetti [Fantasia and Fugue on the name of Ildebrando Pizzetti] in 1931 to celebrate the fiftieth birthday of his maestro, Ildebrando Pizzetti, as part of an ambitious tribute that included contributions by Mario Pilati, Virgilio Mortari, Antonio Veretti and Nino Rota. The piece is noteworthy for more than its author’s mastery of counterpoint and fugue: it also marks the first time Castelnuovo-Tedesco employed an ingenious musical cipher, assigning each letter of the name of the piece’s dedicatee to a corresponding pitch on the chromatic scale across two octaves — 24 notes for the 24 letters of the Italian alphabet. More than two decades later, Castelnuovo-Tedesco would revisit this technique in his series of 52 musical Greeting Cards.
Adriano, who has performed Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s music in many countries, kindly agreed to talk with us about his experience recording these works.
Interview with Adriano Murgia by Diana Castelnuovo-Tedesco – February 2026
What inspired you to devote your first recording project to Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s music? How does this music speak to you?
My first recording project, which I entirely dedicated to Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s works, didn’t result from some sort of strategic, deliberate choice on my part: rather, it was a slow, seemingly inexorable, process of falling in love with this music. I encountered it during the final years of my academic journey, and it was a discovery that I found surprisingly compatible with my artistic personality and the way I approach the piano. It’s not that Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s music “speaks” to me in a direct, narrative fashion; rather, it allows me space to inhabit it. This music enables me to immerse myself in an imaginary world, in a dimension suspended outside of daily reality. His often- evocative titles are not mere descriptions, but true thresholds where the music brings the image to life, leading both performer and listener to a place that seems to exist outside time and space.
I often feel that Castelnuovo-Tedesco manages to sublimate the original emotion that gave him the impulse to write the piece. His music can be inspired by an event, a memory, or a specific emotion, but from the moment it becomes music it transcends this point of departure. He doesn’t impose a single meaning; he allows space. He recounts what he himself has lived, but at the same time he leaves the performer the freedom to use his own imagination. It’s this ability to evoke without restrictions that I consider one of his most admirable qualities. I feel a deep connection between my musical taste and the language Castelnuovo-Tedesco uses, and my love for this music transformed itself into a desire to share it with others. I believe that when one encounters an authentic and little known musical voice, it’s natural for a performer to feel a responsibility to give it the light it deserves.
You chose to feature exclusively pieces from the composer’s Italian period, before his emigration to America. In your view, how do these works reflect what his life was like in those years?
I decided to focus on pieces from Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s Italian years for a reason that is both project-specific and poetic. My journey with this music began with the idea of recording all of Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s works for piano, so it made sense to start from the beginning, from his roots: with op. 1, Cielo di Settembre [September Sky]. But it wasn’t intended to be only a chronological choice. I wanted this first chapter to be coherent and to focus on Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s life while he was still immersed in “his” Florence, in “his” Italy and among his loved ones. His early works clearly reflect a time of serenity and growth. Before the Second World War and the Racial Laws, his life was in a state of constant ascent and of artistic consolidation. To leave Italy was not simply a move for him: it was a painful exodus. He had such a deep connection to Florence, to his cultural identity and to his relationships there, built over many years. To have to start again elsewhere meant destroying an equilibrium. And it is this balance that we hear in his Italian works. Cielo di Settembre, written when he was very young, is for me an extraordinary example of how he successfully created an atmosphere that is nostalgic, but also luminous. It’s a piece that always transports me to a sunset over the sea. It always surprises me that such an early work can continue to evoke such deep emotions, even today. It’s the sign of an authentic sensibility. In Terrazze [Terraces], one can imagine a wide, panoramic view: the hills of Tuscany, the light, the depth of the space. It’s music that looks into the distance, but from a rooted, stable place. Piedigrotta 1924, written during the composer’s honeymoon, recounts a moment of personal happiness.
And then there is Alghe [Seaweed], a work that is particularly special to me. For Castelnuovo-Tedesco, this piece grew out of walks along the shore—the salty air and vivid sensory memories. For me, though, that scent feels like home. I come from Alghero, and for me the smell of seaweed is part of my childhood. Every time I play this piece I feel a double connection: with him and with myself. It’s rare to find a composer who, almost by chance, gives you a gift that feels so personal. I think that the works of the Italian period reflect a luminous evolution: from instinctive youthful creativity to full stylistic maturity, always rooted in a precise cultural landscape. They are pages that came to be within a world that was still intact, before he had to reinvent himself in a new country.
Tell us about the Fantasia e Fuga sul nome di Ildebrando Pizzetti. When you played this piece through for the first time, what struck you most? What do you think that Mario wanted to communicate with this work?
The recording closes with the Fantasia e Fuga sul nome di Ildebrando Pizzetti, a monumental tribute to his maestro. Here Castelnuovo-Tedesco takes up a technique dear to the contrapuntal tradition: deriving the subject from the dedicatee’s name. Even before the music itself begins, he presents the system of correspondences between letters and notes from which the theme is generated. It is both an intellectual exercise and an affectionate gesture to his teacher, Ildebrando Pizzetti. From my very first encounter with the Fantasia, I was captivated by its soaring, airy momentum infused with a vital energy that also reaches back to the great Romantic pianistic tradition. The four-voice Fugue, by contrast, shifts the perspective, revealing a sense of austerity and intense concentration. I believe that Castelnuovo-Tedesco sought to convey a very specific message: an encounter between two dimensions. On the one hand, respect and gratitude toward his teacher; on the other, the confident affirmation of his own musical voice. Through the discipline of form and the thematic tribute, he seems to fuse Pizzetti’s influence with his own now fully mature compositional style.
How did you approach the challenge of recording a work that had never been recorded before?
Recording a work that had never been recorded before was an enormous responsibility, even more than a technical challenge. This is far from a neutral act: it amounts to giving a first enduring sonic shape to music that, until that moment, had lived only on paper or in the occasional live performance. Fortunately, during the recording sessions I had guidance from Maestro Roberto Prosseda, whose experience and insights were essential. The main challenge—but also the great opportunity—was precisely the absence of other recordings. When one records a great masterwork of the established repertory, inevitably a dialogue emerges with the tradition of past performances. Here that did not exist. There were no models, no “famous performances” with which to compare. This was both unsettling and extraordinarily energizing. I realized that in such a situation the only true reference point is the score: remaining as faithful as possible to the indications left by Castelnuovo-Tedesco, carefully studying every detail, and seeking to understand the composer’s intentions before imposing one’s own personality on the music. With great humility, but also with conviction. There’s also a strong emotional aspect: to listen to oneself and to realize that, without this recording, this piece of music would not otherwise be available to the public in a stable form. It’s a unique feeling that makes you realize how making a recording is not only an artistic endeavor, but also an act of cultural responsibility.
In the works you recorded, what suggests that Mario was not only a composer of piano music but also a pianist himself?
Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco was undoubtedly an outstanding pianist, trained at the highest level, and recognized during his life as a refined performer who was in great demand, particularly as a vocal accompanist. He was known for his extraordinary memory and for his refined interpretive tastes, qualities that testify not only to technical mastery, but to a deeply cultivated musical intelligence. All this is evident in his piano compositions. The musical material feels natural at the keyboard and makes deliberate, imaginative use of the instrument’s timbral resources. It’s not a question of simplicity, but of natural ease. Even in the most dense and contrapuntal passages, it’s clear that the construction originates from a physical understanding of the keyboard. Furthermore, many of the sound effects fully reflect the technical evolution of the twentieth century piano. As a performer who engages with his works, I sense that each choice is shaped by a deeply conscious pianistic instinct.
You have performed these pieces in concerts in many countries, often to audiences that don’t know Mario’s music at all. How were they received?
I have brought this music to many concert halls, often in the context of mixed programs, combining it with better known works. I can sincerely say that the reaction of the audience was, for the most part, extremely positive. The music of Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco communicates deeply. It doesn’t require any specialized knowledge to understand it, and it engages the listener directly. I have often thought that if it were more well-known, it would today be a staple of many pianists’ repertoire. Pieces such as Alghe create a very intimate atmosphere in the concert hall. There is a different, deeper silence in the room: one senses that the audience is immersing itself in the contemplative dimension that Castelnuovo-Tedesco builds with great finesse. It creates a very strong connection between the pianist and listeners, as if they were sharing some sort of inner space. On the other hand, pieces such as Piedigrotta 1924 have a more immediate and theatrical impact. The liveliness of [the first movement]”Tarantella scura,” the rhythmic contrasts, and the final “fireworks” of “Lariulà!” engage the audience with irresistible energy and exuberance.
In academic settings, the experience has been equally meaningful. I have had the opportunity to perform these pieces in institutions such as The Central Conservatory of Music in Beijing and the University of Vienna, for audiences of teachers and students who were often unfamiliar with this repertoire. I encountered sincere interest and curiosity. The same occurred in masterclasses I have had with internationally known musicians: many of them were hearing this music for the first time, and they were very taken with what they heard, even to the point of demonstrating interest in further exploring Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s catalogue. This has been the most encouraging sign: when music can captivate from the very first hearing, it means it possesses a strong inner truth. For this reason I will continue to include it confidently in my concert programs: not as a rarity to rediscover, but as living repertoire, capable of speaking to today’s audiences with authenticity and elegance.