Photo by Martin Chiang Photography
FRANCESCO SPENDOLINI, clarinetist
Why did you decide to come to Basel?
Almost fifteen years ago, a particular chain of events led my life to a crossroads. The main characters of that moment in time were a great love, a volcano, and a strong desire to spread my own wings and fly. I wanted to focus on one of my passions and do everything I could to turn it into my job. In short, “long story short,” within a few months, I decided to leave Italy without a penny, along with my partner at the time, and we both moved, quite naively, to Basel, with no money.
At that moment, Basel was the place to start over and to focus on understanding who I really wanted to be, though I didn’t even know that myself yet.
After these years, do you want to stay living here in Basel or do you see yourself returning to Italy or another country?
Basel is a rare gem in the world. It has culture, a passion for the arts, opportunities for study and work, and above all, it is a cultural center extremely open to all of Europe. For me, Basel remains an important foundation to which I owe so much. Italy has given me the sensitivity to feel fortunate to be Italian and to have seen, tasted, and touched the beauty of a culture rich in history. Contemporary Italy is a difficult place for people in our profession—there’s no denying that. I return whenever I can, to give hope to those who are still studying and living there, who want to continue working in our field. I go to Italy to share, to inspire, and to be inspired by those who still fight day after day to nurture their curiosity.
For several years, I’ve learned to live in every city I find myself in, even if only for a few days, as if I were a local, with the curiosity of a tourist. As a dear friend once told me, “Be a citizen of the world wherever you are, but always with the eyes of a tourist.” However, being someone from a small town and, above all, from the sea, I always try to find “the village” even in big cities like Barcelona, where I love to spend as much time as possible in my free time.
What do you like most about Basel?
In Basel, I learned to trust in culture. What I love about this city is how opposites can coexist, how the richness of diversity is often seen as something to be sought after. I both fear and respect the rules, so different from the Italian mindset, and I am constantly surprised by the amount of “diversity” present in such a small place—a city geographically limited, but culturally limitless. I love being part, in my own way, of a uniquely conceived reality, where you can sit down for dinner, speak in your own language, and yet still manage to understand and be understood.
What do you think is missing in the world of early music and what would you like to change?
As a clarinetist, I belong to the “early music world” in a rather unique way. The "birthdate" of our instrument places clarinetists in a state of limbo, where our music isn’t as ancient as that of voices, Renaissance instruments, or instruments like violins, oboes, and bassoons, which, although they have evolved, have existed for over five hundred years. For those instruments, the rediscovery of a repertoire, the reconstruction of instruments, and the development of performance practice have roots that go back long before the "invention" or development of the clarinet and its gentle predecessor, the Chalumeau.
My job is to look into the texts for the key to interpreting a repertoire that is often already well-known, performed, and recorded by hundreds of excellent musicians, but with the desire to remove the layers of dust and interpretative traditions shaped by centuries and changing musical tastes. This is done without losing the personal touch that every performer needs and must imprint as their own signature on an interpretation.
So, I don’t presume to know or suggest what might be missing in this ever-evolving world, but the desire to see more people approach it with honesty and without self-interest is growing stronger. I would love to see the passion for seeking meaningful communication, rediscovery, and a message that serves the music and its audience become more central in this world, rather than focusing on "the personality," "the show," or "the commercial project." Yet perhaps, nowadays, one needs the other to truly thrive.
Photo by Martin Chiang Photography
We would like to know more about Francesco. What was Francesco like as a child?
I started playing at the age of eleven, without knowing what music was, without being the child of musicians, and without knowing what a clarinet was. The conservatory in Pesaro, my hometown, had an excellent attached music school, and so, thanks to my family's guidance, I found myself admitted to the clarinet class of a young teacher, even though I couldn’t produce a single note. That teacher, Guido, was fundamental to my development. He made me laugh, cry, insulted me, showered me with compliments, hugged me, yelled at me—but most importantly, he put me on stage, right away. Guido taught me that this was the job of a musician: to communicate. He managed to do this even with contemporary music, even when the audience was small, even as he won some of the most prestigious competitions in the world. He always pursued his dream, and that, along with curiosity, was the greatest lesson he gave me.
Then I had another teacher, Luca, who taught me humility and real hard work, the grind. He gave me the tools to enter the professional world, and above all, he taught me the pleasure of stepping back, of letting go of my ego to do something meaningful. It was with Luca that I discovered historical instruments.
Both of these teachers are like fathers to me—two people to whom I owe respect and an affection that will always remain. The last part of my studies was with Pierre Andre. He gave me the freedom to be what I feel, to be an individual, a musician free to use my knowledge to create something different and unique.
Alongside them were all my fellow students, who taught me how to listen.
I still consider myself a student, whether I'm listening to a conductor I admire, learning to listen to someone I don't, engaging in discussions with a student, or realizing that there are no limits to learning something new.
The modern clarinet is an instrument that many people play in Europe, why do you think it seems not many people play historical clarinet? What would you like to change so more people study your instrument?
I am still amazed by how many people play the clarinet worldwide, especially in this particular historical moment where the digital realm dominates everything. Knowing that so many people, especially young people, and many others in general, approach the clarinet with curiosity never ceases to surprise me.
However, in truth, historical clarinet playing has been growing significantly in recent years. More and more young musicians are drawn to this instrument and its repertoire. The opportunity to tackle classical and late Baroque music on period instruments, exploring the sounds and colors unique to them, is sparking increasing curiosity. After all, it’s an alternative way of making contemporary music. Even the job opportunities have multiplied compared to just a few years ago. So, I am confident that, in due proportion, the historical clarinet will become an increasingly studied and played instrument. What’s important is to approach it with honesty and respect. But I’m also sure that the more people take up this instrument, the more any potential "snake oil salesmen" will be revealed.
At what moment did you decide to specialize in historical music and why? What triggered this decision?
The historical clarinet entered my life thanks to my modern clarinet teacher, Luca Lucchetta, who himself was a student of Anthony Pay, a pioneer of historical instruments. Luca introduced me to this world. Shortly after I began studying, he suggested that I play Mozart's Requiem on historical basset horns. To prepare, I went to buy a recording—my first on historical instruments—Mozart's famous Requiem conducted by Jordi Savall. I fell in love with those sounds, that language, those tempos that were so different and yet so wonderfully natural.
I would never have expected back then that I would be able to tell the same story to Jordi Savall in person 15 years later, at the conclusion of his second recording of Mozart's Requiem, in which I participated a couple of years ago. It was a unique emotion.
Who or what would you say have been your biggest influences?
Aside from the teachers I’ve been fortunate to meet along my journey, there are so many people who have helped lay the foundation upon which I've built my musical ideas. When I was just nineteen, I found myself spending an incredibly intense period in Buenos Aires, playing and studying the music of the great Astor Piazzolla on site. Under the guidance of Maestro Aisemberg, a close friend of the Piazzolla family, I found myself on the other side of the world, listening to music and colors that felt both familiar and distant at the same time. I analyzed the manuscripts of the “Quinteto Nuevo,” made transcriptions, adaptations, and deciphered the handwriting of Bragato, the official arranger of much of Piazzolla’s material. I transcribed simple lines which, in the hands of musicians like Piazzolla and Suárez, became pure poetry.
At the same time, I was fortunate to hear the street musicians, the amateur singers in the Buliches, capable of conveying emotions through their playing and singing that I had rarely felt so deeply. Through popular music, street music, and the sincerity of music inspired by folk traditions, I found much of the interpretative inspiration that I feel is shared with the “classical” music I perform today: freedom, sincerity of expression, respect for the origins, and respect for those who listen to us.
Photo by Martin Chiang Photography
What is your next project?
I have many "upcoming projects" in mind and already underway. We are developing an early music academy in Italy, which will see its first edition come to life this October in Cremona. The academy will be focused on performance practice and ensemble playing, in collaboration with a team of internationally renowned musicians. At the same time, my collaborations with Les Musiciens du Prince in Monte Carlo under the musical direction of Gianluca Capuano and the majestic artistic leadership of Cecilia Bartoli continue to bring opera into my life, along with the wonderful opportunity to work with the greatest Diva, Madame Bartoli.
From a “symphonic” point of view, my collaboration with Jordi Savall has enriched my artistic journey with unforgettable experiences and an increasingly fascinating symphonic repertoire alongside my colleagues from "Le Concert des Nations." These are intense weeks that do not, however, overlook the students, who are often great teachers of life and never fail to make me curious to learn without the fear of making mistakes.
Outside of the musical world, could you tell us something surprising about yourself that nobody knows?
First of all, I must admit that I'm not a very sociable or easy-going person. My dyslexia, combined with my hypercritical personality, doesn't always allow me to be at peace with myself. But I can share one of the most gratifying and memorable moments of my life. After the Covid period, the role of a musician, particularly that of a live instrumentalist, entered a deep crisis in my mind, leading me, along with other difficult personal circumstances, to face a painful situation. At that moment, I decided to confront one of my fears: the depths of the sea.
I went to take a diving course in Sardinia, where I was giving some masterclasses. When they invited me, I asked to have the mornings free so I could get my diving license. No problem. During the deep-sea training sessions, I found myself observing this wonderful world in silence, only hearing my own breathing, submerged in transparent water, breathing in an alien world—at peace, truly at peace after so many months of oblivion. That place is still my happy refuge, my safe memory that brings me serenity when I need it most.