Roberto Cacciapaglia (born 1953 in Milan) is an Italian pianist and composer. His compositions blend electronic experimental music with the classical tradition.
Cacciapaglia is a well-known, influential and imposing artist from Milan, Italy, his full legacy extending not only over the field of electronic music, but also into avant-gardism, into a (decidedly) different language of rock, into computer-based music or natural experimenting, into classical opuses and into concept-filled fresh, generic art-leaning language.
Cacciapaglia first studied composition at the Giuseppe Verdi Conservatory, in his hometown. From there, he moved towards defining his studies in orchestral art and computer/electronic music. Collaborations with several TV stations or such networks were at the base of his approfoundation into the electronic field of music. In his music, Cacciapaglia generally blurs (or melds, better said) he line between classical and electronic, between orchestral and soloistic designated playing, between fully-researched and improvised music, between tradition(al) and emotion-driven ingenuity. Much of what he offers is down with avant-garde impulses and with an artistic superior code.
Email is not how I envisioned connecting with a celebrated modern composer. Frankly I cannot now recall what provoked me to unearth and read his web site. Normally I am stolidly content to enjoy the music as I most certainly do when listening to Maestro Cacciapaglia. His style is in a class by itself though reminiscent of Ludovico Einaudi (as so too are their biographies reflective one of the another). I have Apple Music to thank for my musical introduction to them both. Silly little algorithm! Which by the way – algorithm – derives from an ancient Arab the man from Kwarizm (now Khiva) “al-Kwārizmi“. The name was given to the 9th-century mathematician Abū Ja‘far Muhammad ibn Mūsa, author of widely translated works on algebra including not insignificantly the assertion that infinity is a mathematical impossibility. We’ll leave that one for another day!
Before exhausting the etymological bent I thought I should report as well on my investigation of “enervate” and “energy”. The first – enervate: “early 17th century: from Latin enervat- ‘weakened (by extraction of the sinews)’, from the verb enervare, from e- (variant of ex-) ‘out of’ + nervus ‘sinew’”. I mention this in particular because for me the word always imported enthusiasm not fatigue. The other – energy: “mid 16th century (denoting force or vigor of expression): from French énergie, or via late Latin from Greek energeia, from en- ‘in, within’ + ergon ‘work’”. So close and yet so far! Both similar but very different!
Now let’s get back to the email for a moment at least:
Re: General
Date: March 26, 2020 at 5:34 AM
To: L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B. lgwilliamchapman@me.com
Dear Mr. L. G. William Chapman,
thank you very much for your e-mail and for your advice, which I really appreciated. in my studio they have already corrected the word.
Many warm greetings from Milan.
Roberto Cacciapaglia
Inviato da iPhone
Il giorno 24 mar 2020, alle ore 21:05, L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B. <lgwilliamchapman@me.com> ha scritto:
Dear Sir/Madam:
I am currently listening to Mr. Cacciapaglia’s music – and I adore it! Thoroughly relieving and uplifting!
Recognizing the attention to detail you must naturally appreciate I felt obliged to advise you of a small error on your website:
Italian composed and pianist, is a leading innovator
Obviously that should be composer
Keep up the terrific work and thanks for contributing to my well-being!
Bill (Chapman)
L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B.
Apparently the nostalgia in me is coming out. Upon receiving this succinct but obviously calculated and balanced email I was instantly driven to save it in my scrapbook. I have often reflected upon the safety of committing my venerable relics to the internet – that mystical, indescribable bookcase in the sky! I suppose in this instance at least there is no overt or covert allusion to anything as disqualifying as “literary licence” (now a punitive adage taken to represent distortion of fact generally – maybe not exactly a lie but let us say a “stretch” – a reference which sadly has lately arisen within my personal sphere more often than I care to recollect).
Anyway none of this matters! Fie on it, I say! What I care about is that I now had a scintillating subject upon which to expatiate. It was sometime in the early hours this morning – not long after midnight – that I received the email. In addition to prompting my autobiographical instinct, I noted immediately it gave me something about which to write. Or what I can faithfully call “my daily blog” because it certainly has become an imperative notwithstanding I relish the therapeutic cathartic element as well! That inescapable dichotomy of mind and body (reason and passion; earth and air; visceral and cerebral). Who doesn’t love philosophy!
Here though lies the blunt competition. Do I dwell upon the subject; or, spend my time searching for one? To those of you not acute enough to recognize the cryptic but vital subliminal message, it is this:
“Is it now too late to discover anything new? Should I instead dig up whatever came before – including what I had for breakfast?
In a nutshell, “Does happiness lie herein or thereout?” This is a stirring and some would say a disturbing quandary. And one from which I can readily evaporate. Its accommodation is inconvenient. Another collateral of agèd indolence is a shameless absorption in matters of the spirit, those harmless preferences which for whatever reason were once sheltered from publicity or demonstration. Things like complicated watches or bespoke jewellery (including the extraordinary broaches from Holt Renfrew); domestic luxury cars; and photographs of the world’s finest drawing rooms bathed in mahogany, sterling silver, Lalique crystal and Persian rugs. Oh, the magic of the stuff! Who can resist the toxic allure!
This putatively glib amusement is both innocuous and inconsequential. The difference between beauty and art is appetite. Art is so vicariously consumable, so delicately munched upon, so consistently pure, clean and fresh. So decidedly sociable! And – not unimportantly – so eludible! What greater privilege than to escape the evidence of paltry passion. Thus have I attempted to bridge the gap of discovery and recovery! Alternatively – I’m back where I started! Thus without consequence one way or the other have I stirred the dust within me! Excuse me while it settles!
