The title Istanpitta is a play on the word Istampita (or Estampie, since the earliest examples derive from French sources), a term of indeterminate origin that refers to collections of rare, late-medieval instrumental settings (in this case from the Visconti court). Though implying standing and stomping (musicologists have yet to find a precise etymological equivalent for the word), Istampita never were intended to be used for dancing. Instead they were conceived–somewhat akin to Mendelssohn’s idea of “songs without words”–simply as musical references to poetry or other literary works without text. The four examples offered here, titled Isabella, Tre Fontaine, Principio di Virtu, and In Pro, more or less allude to their extra-musical subjects primarily by means of subtle melodic variations and minimal narrative instrumentation.
For instance, in Tre Fontaine Pierre Hamon and Benoit Toigo offer highly animated recorder dialogues that occasionally (and strangely!) break into Celtic-sounding steps set against a backdrop of driven percussion. The longest Istampita, Principio di Virtu, fascinates even more with its rarely heard “double flute” performance (two recorders held in the mouth next to one another and played simultaneously).
The program also includes upbeat works clearly meant to inspire dancing. Of the four examples of Saltarello (“little hop”–or dances with jumping movement) the second is the most exotic with its sultry Andalusian-infused rhythms, bizarre viele (early violin) solos, and numerous, often-abrupt momentum changes. By way of contrast, we’re treated to Saltarello traditionnel–a contemporary setting of a central Italian folksong, “Gli pecoraru revota revota E nun sa do’ s’ha da pija la refiancata” (The shepherd looks all around him, but his flock is still incomplete). Here Carlo Rizzo’s solo tambourine and vocal performance couldn’t be more excitingly convincing–especially the finale, with our shepherds’ crazed pronouncements bordering on lunacy.
Opus 111’s sound is audiophile quality (those who delighted in Gregorio Paniagua’s magnificent recordings for BIS and Harmonia Mundi are strongly encouraged to give this one a listen). In the notes, Francis Biggi delivers thoughtful historical analysis and Hamon offers his personably keen insights that guided the project. In sum, this is a magnificent achievement and very highly recommended.
