Postcard from Italy: Morricone and a Multicultural Weekend

I recently spent a pleasant weekend in Ancona, the capital of our region of Marche in east-central Italy, where I enjoyed a concert of music by the Italian composer Ennio Morricone, who gained international fame in the 1960s with scores for spaghetti westerns such as A Fistful of Dollars and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

An Adriatic port city with a population of 100,000, Ancona is a small, albeit much older, version of Seattle. It is perched on hillsides overlooking a bay. Its expansive port includes piles of cargo containers and giant cranes. Multiple-decked ships take tourists and trucks with semi-trailers to destinations on the eastern side of the Adriatic. Like Seattle, Ancona has served as a center of trade between cultures of the West and East.

However, Ancona’s history is distinctly different, as it was founded by the Greeks of Syracuse in 387 BC. Several massive, triumphal archways attest to the varied empires that have ruled the city over the centuries. It has also received millions of immigrants in that time, arriving from the Balkans, the Middle East, North Africa, and even the Nordics. Of the foreign population living in Italy, more than a million are Romanians. More recent immigrants have come from China, India, Bangladesh, and Pakistan. A growing number are displaced women and children from war-torn Ukraine.

I mused about this history as I sat listening to a string quartet give a splendid rendition of Morricone music in an extraordinary venue. Morricone, who died in 2020, could be considered the John Williams of Italy. His evocative and romantic scores for films from The Untouchables to Once Upon a Time in the West to Life is Beautiful brought tears to my eyes as I recalled the cinematic scenes they were set to. Like William’s movie themes, they grab you by the collar and rivet you to the unfolding story. They embed themselves in your memory with moments of visual/musical impact.

The setting for the concert added to the drama. The concert hall was carved out of a three-story pentagon-shaped structure that resembles a fortress but has never served that purpose. Known variably as the “Lazzaretto” or the “Mole Vanvitelliana,” the unusual edifice is perched on an island separated from the mainland by a narrow strip of water resembling a moat. It was built in the 18^th century as a quarantine station for the waves of immigrants arriving in Italy from other countries during that period. (Fun fact: The word quarantine comes from the Italian term for the 40 days of isolation required of newcomers during the Plague, aka the Black Death, in which the skin of the diseased would eventually turn black. OK, maybe not so fun.)

This five-sided former point of entry essentially served a purpose similar to Ellis Island, allowing officials to sort out immigrants for public-health reasons. For centuries, people arrived from scores of countries. Before Italy was unified in 1861, the peninsula was divided into more than 20 different nation-states, each reflecting a different culture.

In some ways, Italy — with its blend of numerous traditions, languages, foods, and customs — is more of a melting pot than America. It has managed to accommodate these waves of newcomers with relatively little strife.

The concert hall’s atmosphere felt like an intimate club but in fact it accommodated an audience of several hundred, which caused me to recall a bit of personal history. In the early 1990s, encouraged by David Brewster, I was for a year the head of the board of directors for Seattle Camerata— an organization that sponsored unique musical performers from around the globe. Unfortunately, the organization’s business model couldn’t sustain itself, as the limited seating at small venues meant revenues from ticket sales did not match costs. It disappeared, sadly, under my watch.

Yet, here in Ancona is a venue that found the right formula. The evening I was there the place was packed with a smartly dressed audience eager to experience music in an intimate setting. Before the concert, I enjoyed a slice of chocolate torte and a caffe macchiato, while others dined on small plates of antipasto in the spartanly furnished café. I watched the growing queue of people waiting for the doors to the hall to open, some engaged in discussions punctuated with the animated gesticulations that Italians are famous for. I am always amused when I see Italians making those gestures while talking on their cellphones. Who sees their hand movements?

Before the performance, the announcer politely but firmly asked that no one use their phones to take videos of the performance, so as not to disturb others’ enjoyment and sightlines. But two pieces would be played at the end during which people could record. And that they did, as arms elevated camera-phones — not unlike at a dance club. The venue felt almost like a stylish club, though with ancient tapestries on the wall and a wood-beamed ceiling overhead.

The “Candlelight Concerts” that have grown popular in several countries around the world in recent years have also hit Italy. Stages are filled with hundreds of “candles” – actually battery-powered, flickering lights in white translucent cylinders. The resulting ambiance is simple but dramatic.

After the concert, I strolled through the courtyard inside the pentagonal structure which was likely the yard where quarantined people could get some exercise. Now it is a sculpture garden wrapped around a columned pavilion atop a set of steps. I followed a couple who seemed to be regulars out of the complex via a narrow tunnel. Outside, I found myself facing one of the giant carved stone archways, fully lighted and gleaming — a nice way to end an evening filled with musical pleasure and pathos.

Across the street was a splendid Indian restaurant. At the table next to me was a crew from a Finnish ship in the harbor, frequently alternating their conversation between English, Italian, and their own native longue. Another dinner on my weekend trip was at an authentic Mexican establishment. The family that runs the restaurant served delicate dishes well-removed from the Tex-Mex fare commonly found in the U.S. Both types of restaurants are rarely found in Italy outside major cities.

My culturally diverse weekend was complete.