That niceness is an American virtue

A young man performs at the Institut Franco-Portugues on accoustic guitar. He plays Domenico Scarlatti (K. 1 and K. 491) whom he has the temerity to call, before a Portuguese audience, an Italian composer. Bad idea.

He then plays a piece ('Koyunbaba') by a modern Italian composer, a fellow named Carlo Domeniconi. The piece is titled after a Turkish air on which it is based (read about it here). The last movement of it (Presto) has a rich texture which suggests that in better hands this could be an exciting piece.

(As it turns out, it is. Hear it played presto here, very presto here, unbelievably presto here, and what seems like prestissimo -- and beautifully too, though too bad about the technical quality of the recording -- here).

Or on a better instrument. For though it is possible to play Scarlatti (not too well, apparently) on an accoustic guitar, it is also possible, I am sure, to play him on a beer bottle, bottle caps, or the Turkish grill. There is a reason, however, why the composer had meant his sonatas for the harpsichord.

(Sonority, of course: compare the first two koyunbaba recordings linked to above: the second is technically better, and has all the magical effortlessness of a perfected skill, yet, at this speed the instrument loses all it's resonance and sounds like... a plucked toothpick).

At the end, the audience stands up. I feel like I am in Kalisz (my grandfather sponsored an opera house there between the wars). No one stands up in Berlin, or Paris, or Milan.

(They do stand up in New York, but that's because they are nice. Niceness is an American virtue).