Gualtiero Bertelli: Tradition in a new era

“The Italian and Venetian forms are equal in literary dignity.” Thus began an editorial note in “Venezia e una fisarmonica” (Venice and an Accordion), the autobiography published in 2014 in which Gualtiero Bertelli wove together almost fifty short snapshots of his life, anchored to the Giudecca, accompanied by the accordion his parents gave him when he was in first grade. After school, to go to Maestro Grossato to study the instrument, “my mother would put me on the boat at Zitelle, with the 24-bass Galanti accordion on my shoulder, entrusting me to some passenger she knew, and so I would arrive at my destination.” Musical landings that, step by step, took him across the rest of Venice, Veneto, Italy, and the directionless capitalism of the second half of the twentieth century. A monotonous capitalism: in 1965, his first recording for I Dischi del Sole was “Sta bruta guera che no xe finia” (This brutal war that never ends); sixty years later, the war machine is more devastating and threatening than ever, and so here we are with the new album “Ninna nanna del fabbricante d’armi” (Lullaby of the arms manufacturer), (lyrics by Michele Serra), responding to the urgent need to confront “tradition” as if it were an hourglass (as Edoardo Pittalis aptly summarizes), learning to turn it upside down, make it resonate, and put it back into play “in a new era,” calling on electric instruments and drums, previously involved only twenty years ago in the show “Il maestro magro” (The Skinny Teacher) dedicated by Gian Antonio Stella to Italian internal emigration in the 1950s. We asked Gualtiero Bertelli to tell us about his musical world, the contexts in which it was born, and how he managed to translate them into words and music.

Your discography spans 60 years: what are the main changes you have observed in “making” an album over this period of time?

“In giorni come questi” came about because I started writing songs again. I had a few in my “pocket” for some time that, in my opinion, deserved to be published in some way. The arrival of the pandemic delayed things a bit, when there was very little touring, as is still the case now. Knowing my poor sales ability and that there are no longer any record stores here in Venice, this caused me to delay. Then I got to work and I think something interesting came out of it, because there has been a change in me that is reflected in the songs, with some surprises for those who only remember “Nina ti te ricordi.” There is also the fact that I really enjoyed working with the musicians and doing something musically richer in ideas. Our songs from the golden years were for guitar, vocals, and accordion, or guitar and double bass. In this new album, there is a flourishing of different sounds, including contemporary sounds with the use of synthesizers and electric guitars. Of course, I tried not to suddenly make the beat my profession, but to use these sounds to reinforce the message of the song.

In the text accompanying the CD, Edoardo Pittalis says that you are ‘the Venetian song’ and a ‘modern-day storyteller’ who ‘denounces and explains’. Which songs best exemplify these definitions? What is your relationship with Venice and the Venetian territory today?
Storytelling is not just a way of writing songs. A storyteller is someone who tends to tell stories in the lyrics of their songs, and this is a characteristic of mine, from “Vedrai com’è bello” to “Nina ti te ricordi,” passing through “Stucky,” which are all stories. This album includes stories such as “È un amore impossibile” (It’s an impossible love), the lyrics of which are not mine but by the Roman poet Sesto Aurelio Properzio, who wrote them twenty or thirty years before Christ, and I set them to music. “Posso esserle utile?” (Can I be of service?) tells the story of a young man who goes to work in a call center. In short, the album features several songs based on true stories, pieces of history.

What is your relationship with Venice and the Venetian area?
The area is where I live because Mira is on the Brenta, the river where the Grand Canal was born in the lagoon. I am twenty kilometers from Venice, from Piazzale Roma. I go there often, I have contacts with people and organizations that operate in this city, and every now and then they involve me in wonderful things. I’m not in the city as often as I used to be, but when they need me, I go. On the album, I say what I think about the city: that it presents itself with a face that has remained unchanged for centuries, but in reality it is burning itself out like a candle. Today, the historic center has 40,000 inhabitants, which is the same as Mira, whereas when I was a boy there were 500,000 people. There has been a huge decline because work has moved to Marghera, and tourists are a cataclysm when they arrive in droves in the summer. If you work in the summer, you work harder in the winter, when many activities stop, such as the gondolas, although I have seen some people taking rides in their coats. Venice is supported by tourism, which is the city’s primary, and perhaps only, industry, but if the Venetians could, they would kick the tourists out because for those who live there in the summe it’s practically madness, but they can’t live without them.

What role did field research play in your musical, cultural, and political education, for example with the songs of Anguillara Veneta, at the mouth of the Adige River?
It was quite interesting research because it was well constructed. We spent several days there, met people, experienced the village where the rice weeders lived, and found many stories, such as those of the workers or the street vendors who go to the markets to sell cups, glasses… We were very well received and were able to talk to a lot of people. The most interesting thing was spending a day out in the fields with about forty former rice weeders, all from Anguillara Veneta, who no longer did this work because they had been replaced, for the most part, by machines. They told us that they used to go to work with their boss first in Piedmont and then they had moved to the province of Modena. At half past five in the morning, we traveled with them by bus and spent the whole day with them.we ate a sandwich and returned around seven or eight in the evening. We talked, we recorded, and we collected a lot of material because they started singing while they worked, just like when they were rice weeders. They sang their repertoire, even though they were picking tomatoes. The album contains a small part of the work we did and what we collected. That was an intense experience, the first one, then we made other recordings, but always for half a day, an hour or two.

What relationship do you have today with the instruments you play and where does your music come from, from keyboards or strings?
Basically, I compose with the accordion, guitar, and keyboard, depending on what I need to do. I have a good relationship with these instruments, and this album is proof of that. I find it very interesting to use instruments for their specific characteristics, which are timbre and dynamics, i.e., the volumes you can keep out, and of course the scale. It seems to me that the keyboard has this kind of dynamics and openness. In the 1960s in America, but then it also came to us, there was a big debate about how to perform folk music. How do you reproduce the sound of a farmer, a street vendor, or a miner? The way they sing? If I sing a folk song with an electric rock guitar, I impoverish it, I cancel it out. During that period, singer-songwriters who came from the folk world, such as Bob Dylan and many others, also emerged. There were folk singers who aimed to perform this music with acoustic instruments, while those who came from the cities pushed to play it as they pleased with the sounds they wanted. This problem also arose for us, with the Nuovo Canzoniere Italiano, and it was Roberto Leydi with Giovanna Marini who raised it. We were taken aback, but we were interested in this type of reasoning; so much so that the first records were very poor from a musical point of view and everything was focused on the lyrics with arrangements that were as simple and immediate as possible. Gradually, things changed, Paolo Ciarchi arrived and made a significant contribution. Giovanna Marini, on the other hand, introduced classical styles into her repertoire. I myself began to favor and desire this type of more modern sound and added instruments, researched, studied, and thought about the use of timbres and what I could use. It may not seem like much, but using a synthesizer with twenty different types of sounds allows for a wide variety of colors. “In giorni come questi” is a point of arrival in this sense. When I did the concerts where I presented it, there were eight of us playing.

How did you select the previously recorded songs for this album and how did you tailor these new (musical) clothes for them?
I re-recorded only a few, and I did so for two reasons. Partly because I was interested in revisiting the theme, but especially because they had been produced on records that were not widely distributed. How could I make a record about the city and not include “De ‘sta cità,” where I sing about Venetians who live elsewhere? How could I not include “’Sta vita”? I arranged them to be consistent with the others. There are some crazy things in there. Some might say, “He’s gone mad!” The big change is the drums, which I had never used before. I had used percussion in the past, but not drums. Among other things, the drummer is very good and did a great job. Then there’s the use of electric instruments, such as the guitar, which I may have used a few times before, but very rarely; and then there’s the synthesizer and keyboards. I used these instruments in a radical way to create different timbres. If you listen, starting with the song “Tutto come se…” in which I sing about Venice disappearing, these sounds

Of course, it’s a very cinematic song…
Yes, that’s my aim, to tell what will be.

How did you choose the twelve musicians involved in the recordings? What contributions do you feel are most significant, and which ones will you continue to collaborate with in concerts?
In the first concert to present the album, which I did in Mira, there were eight of us on stage, and they are the ones I will continue to play with whenever possible, because there are costs involved. There is the pianist who has always played with me, the double bass player and the guitarist too, as well as the saxophonist who has worked with me a lot. The other musicians were introduced to me, I met them and called them in to record. I recorded a song for guitar and voice or a little more, and after each instrument gave its contribution according to what was needed to give a particular colour or atmosphere. I gave them a few pointers on how to play, and then they added their instrument. If we needed to add the violin, it was easier; it was more complex when we had to use a synthesiser, and we had to think more about that, but we did everything in a completely symmetrical way and without any relationship issues. I went there with some general ideas for each song, and then everyone contributed what they felt they could.

You have worked in education for a long time: which of these songs do you hope will make its way into that field and how do you think music education in Italian schools could be transformed?

That’s a good question. I left the world of education several years ago. I used to teach in a primary school and I don’t think any of these songs could be sung by a child, unless someone finds a piece like those dedicated to Venice that could be adapted. My guitarist and journalist Edoardo Pittalis and I are often called to schools to sing historical songs related, for example, to the Second World War or Italy’s rebirth after the war, or the problems of childhood or immigration, which we have worked on extensively. There, I perform songs that refer to that theme, we project images and tell these stories. In these educational, pedagogical and cultural meetings, if there is a song of mine that is relevant, I sing it. Of course, if I had to talk about the industrial development of Porto Marghera and its demise, I would definitely include it.

How do you think music education in Italian schools could be transformed?
That’s a good question too! In order to transform it beyond simple education, we would need sound education. We would need to have clear objectives and understand what is expected of a third-grade class in this regard. Few teachers work on this level because they are musicians, but there should be clear guidelines. There are exercises and experiences, but there is no way to help a teacher create a precise programme for fourth, fifth, first or second grade. I wrote more than a few things when I was involved with schools. The point to consider is that often music education is either not done at all, like civic education, or it is done by singing a little song together, like those by Rodari, provided that the teacher is in tune and can play reasonably well. Children sing these songs, which is delightful; I have done so myself with my own children. I have written songs for them, or written them with them. Another aspect to consider is that we live in a world surrounded by sounds that have particular characteristics for our lives. If you hear a noise while waiting for the bus, you select from the various sounds of cars… We need to make sure that children know how to decipher and describe sounds. Making a map of sounds is not something I invented, but there is a study from many years ago by a French school. Children need to be able to distinguish the sounds that mark the day, the ones that give you emotions. By listening to the soundscape, you recognise it and describe it again. This is the approach: this is what sound education is all about. Music is connected to this. What makes music? It is particular sounds. This is interesting work, and I did it for a couple of years when I had full-time groups of fifteen children, and I immediately had interesting results. I remember them saying to me, “Listen to the beautiful music this motorbike is making”. The sound changes, grows, fades… it is also important to understand the transformation of a mechanical sound. In everyday life, there are sounds that are permanent traces, such as the sound of factories or church bells, which are sounds with a cultural, historical or memory trace, such as during a funeral. Those bells tell a story to the whole community and involve it. Sound organises social life because it marks time. In short, it is important that from childhood we realise that, in everyday life, sound has a very strong presence that is rarely noticed.

What new activities do you have in the pipeline?
I am eighty-one years old and I think that for another seven or eight years I will be able to do sensible things; if they are not sensible, it is better not to do them. I would like to revisit some popular material and, after making an album like “Addio Venezia Addio”, which I recorded live, I was thinking of making another one in the same way, using popular songs, treated with the utmost delicacy and respect, but also with an openness. It’s difficult, because you risk simply repeating the same thing… and this brings us back to what we were saying earlier.

Alessio Surian and Salvatore Esposito

Gualtiero Bertelli – In giorni come questi (Nota, 2024)

The long-standing collaboration between Gualtiero Bertelli and Nota editions is renewed: the eighth album in which the lyrics remain substantial (42 pages) and useful for “reading” the songs collected on the CD, with an extensive introduction by Edoardo Pittalis. There has been time for these songs to germinate, mature and settle. The result is a work with different narrative registers and soundscapes, linked by Bertelli’s unmistakable vocals and humanity and by the dialogue with the lyricism of his travelling companions, from the counterpoint of Davide Boato’s flugelhorn (“In ‘sta cità”) to the five touching contributions of Michele Gazich on violin and viola. The group is completed by Stefano Olivan on violin (who previously played with Bertelli in “Il custode della miniera”), Luca Pulignano on keyboards and bass, and musicians with whom he has collaborated for more than twenty years: the voices of the “Streghe” Giuseppina Casarin and Cecilia Bertelli, Rachele Colombo on percussion, Maurizio Camardi on wind instruments, Simone Nogarin on guitars, Paolo Favorido on piano and Domenico Santaniello on double bass (and cello), in the rhythm section together with Marco Carlesso on drums. Twelve musicians for twelve songs with an unprecedented and variable sound geometry (from septet to duo) with which Gualtiero Bertelli refines and expands the coordinates of his musical cartography. The heart is always in Venice, in the Venetian language, in the profound changes undergone by the city.

Halfway through the album, among the final folds of a song that takes the form of a question mark, a verse emerges that becomes a needle and sews a thread to embrace the entire work: ‘tra un mar che gera e un sielo che no xe’ (between a sea that was and a sky that is not), the photograph of a poetic and musical quest that mirrors personal maturity, capable of finding the right distance without distancing itself, but rather forging closer ties with important places and people. It is no coincidence that this dimension of depth accompanies the verses that recount the last glances of a friend and his decision to choose when to interrupt the passing of days, before that passing becomes “denatured”. The risk (or observation) of losing one’s nature offers a second interpretation of the sung verses, especially when they question the present days, “time to understand that we have not understood”. This work also consolidates the relationship with Michele Gazich: Bertelli had accepted the invitation to sing “Ho incontrato Michele Straniero” on the album produced by Gazich with Federico Sirianni, “Domani si vive e si muore”. Now Gazich intersects the voice of the violin with that of Bertelli already in the opening track, “Vusto meter!”; together with Domenico Santaniello’s cello, he makes the sense of “Assenza” palpable; he offers a timely counterpoint in “Reoplani”, the necessary tension in “Streghe”, the right support in “Ma chi te ga roba”’ to the anguish of the voice and accordion, before it remains alone and sorrowful to sing the story of “Teresina”. The album closes with verses (translated into Italian) written in Latin over two thousand years ago by Sextus Aurelius Propertius: “Better happy or better aligned? (…) This love is possible”, with the accordion chiselling out the melody, accompanied softly by the arpeggios of the classical guitar.

Alessio Surian