Luis Gianneo: Piano Music, Volume 2 Dora Di Marinis, Elena Dabul, Pervez Mody, Fernando Viani, piano Recorded August 2000, Schloss Gottesauer, Velte Saal, Karlsruhe Marco Polo 8.225206,; 62:58 —– It’s a curious pleasure — uncovering a composer like Luis Gianneo, not quite a household name but unmistakably a vibrant voice from Argentina’s rich musical tapestry. This second volume of his piano works, spanning 1931 to 1947, offers a kaleidoscopic glimpse into his neoclassical idiom, pared down yet subtly infused with folk undercurrents. The Marco Polo recording here assembles a quartet of pianists—Di Marinis, Dabul, Mody, and Viani—each bringing varied temperaments to the table.
This patchwork of interpretations somehow suits Gianneo’s eclecticism, lending the disc a mosaic quality that keeps one alert. The opening “Bailecito” (1931) immediately sets a tone of restrained vitality. Its folk-inspired motifs dance lightly, though never veering into the rustic caricature one might fear.
The articulation is crisp, yet the pianists resist the temptation to over-sweeten these melodies. One can almost feel the dry, sun-baked air of the Argentine pampas in the subtly uneven rhythms, the gentle rubato suggesting a native gait unwilling to be rushed or forced. It’s not all pastoral charm though; there’s underlying complexity in the shifting meters that demands attentive fingers.
Moving to the “Dos Estudios” (1933), Gianneo’s neoclassical leanings become more apparent. These studies avoid mere technical showmanship—there’s a clarity here, an architectural precision. The performers navigate these with an assured touch, highlighting the contrapuntal interplay without sacrificing warmth.
One notes a refined balance between the staccato bursts and the sustained melodic lines, each voice carefully etched into relief. Such details might be lost on a casual listener but are a treasure trove for the connoisseur of early 20th-century South American piano literature. Then there is the substantial “En el Altiplano” (1932), the longest and most ambitious piece here.
It’s a study in atmospheric tension, evoking the high plateau’s stark vastness through sustained pedal tones and sparse melodic fragments that rise and fall like wind across barren plains. The work’s structural coherence is its triumph—Gianneo eschews overt dramatics for subtle gradations of texture and harmony. Here, the pianist’s control over sonority is crucial, and the disc captures the resonance in the hall with admirable fidelity, allowing the subtle overtones to shimmer.
The occasional hesitations or uneven phrasing—while minor—remind us that this music demands not just precision but an intimate dialogue with silence. Between these weightier pieces, Gianneo’s lighter miniatures—like the 1946 “Música para Niños” and “Siete Piezas Infantiles”—offer a welcome reprieve. Their charm lies in deceptively simple melodic shapes and deft rhythmic playfulness.
There are moments, for instance, in “Cinco Pequeñas Piezas” where the music flirts with the whimsical without ever descending into the trivial. These pieces tap into a childlike innocence, yet the harmonic language remains firmly modern, a balancing act that Gianneo manages with aplomb. The “Tres Danzas Argentinas” (1938) rekindle the folk spirit, at times recalling a young Ginastera—though here Gianneo’s voice is more introspective, less brash.
The dances pulse with an earthy vitality, the rhythmic drive occasionally veering into syncopations that hint at indigenous influences. The ensemble of pianists here deliver these movements with a range of coloristic nuance, from percussive attacks to lyricism. But at times, the brisk tempi slightly undercut the music’s natural ebb, a minor quibble in an otherwise engaging reading.
Rounding off with “Villancico” and “Caminito de Belén” (both 1946–47), the disc closes on a note of melodic warmth and straightforward beauty. These miniatures are less complex but no less affecting, their melodies lingering like a remembered carol. One can almost hear the echo of communal singing, the shared human thread beneath Gianneo’s refined language.
For those less familiar with Gianneo, this second volume is a more accessible entry point than the first—with its daunting Piano Sonatas Nos. 2 and 3—which, while rewarding, require a more seasoned ear. Here, the music’s charm is immediate, its craftsmanship evident without being forbiddingly austere.
In sum, this Marco Polo release captures a composer balancing tradition and innovation with grace. The performances, though uneven at moments, are thoughtful, and the recording’s clarity lets Gianneo’s subtle nuances breathe. This isn’t music to conquer in a single sitting; it invites repeated listening, each time revealing fresh facets—from the folk-inflected rhythms to the austerely luminous textures of the Altiplano.
A welcome addition, then, to the South American piano repertoire—long overdue for the attention it richly deserves. Begin here, if you’re new to Gianneo, and — well — prepare to be drawn into a world both familiar and intriguingly foreign.
