The third boschereccia resembles the first in its wildness, but it is a well-lit room, where we have not lost our bearings. We contemplate quietly a pair of horns and harps in a display case. The sounds of these instruments mingle in our mind with the opening phrases of Josquin’s “Ave maria . . . virgo serena,” a copy of which is in the Odhecaton A (also found in the museum). After a final horn call and a measure of silence, the melody from the first boschereccia returns and finds resolution.
This boschereccia is a more civilized room, with symmetrical, framed frescoes and a much less reverberant acoustic. Perhaps a social gathering is underway, the music blending with the small-group conversations scattered around the room. The homophonic texture continues from the first movement’s conclusion; repeated notes evoke the play of water in the fountains painted on the walls. At the end, we turn away from the hubbub to observe the stillness of a statue in the room’s center.
For at least the third year in a row, I am not in my home country for the Fourth of July. Both this year and last the plan was to be in Granville, Ohio, for the carnival downtown and for the fireworks and flag waving. But fate finds us stuck in Bologna for another few weeks, and we’ll have to try again next year. Distance does not, however, preclude a small contribution to the festivities on my part. So, enjoy this rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” on ocarina (Do3, by Claudio Colombo).
The first boschereccia is a dim, echoy room whose frescoes spill unframed from wall to wall and up onto the ceiling. We seem to be in a real forest, the wind carrying hints of horn calls from the distance. A melody emerges from and subsides into the waves of sixteenth notes. The twittering of birds accompanies the melody’s return. The rhythm slows down; the dream fades; the texture becomes more clearly stratified. We realize we have been all along in an indoor space, protected from the elements.
