Enzo Muccetti
Bassoonists the world over will feel the sad loss in the early death of Enzo Muccetti--at his home in Parma--on March 24th this year.
Muccetti was something of a phenomenon in that in spite of the lack of solo recordings he should be so well known (there does exist a privately recorded Vivaldi A minor concerto--a real collector's find). No bassoon section of a visiting orchestra to Italy would miss the chance to meet him, and would leave with unforgettable memories of a strong character, dedicated with his whole soul to the love of his life: il fagotto. For him, the bassoon was an almost human extension of himself, through which he could express his innermost feelings. Above all, it was a singing instrument, and one of his favorite exhortations to his students was, "Fa contare il fagotto!"
I had the good fortune to know Enzo over a period of some 20 years. For some time I was playing in the radio orchestra of Italian Switzerland in Lugano, within easy distance of La Scala, and was able to hear much of the great Italian operatic repertoire with Muccetti as solo fagotto. This period in the late 50's and early 60's was shortly after Muccetti at the age of 38 had changed over from the Buffet-Crampon to the Heckel (one of the first to do so in Italy). And because of his love of the French bassoon's sonority, he found a way to really unite the tone qualities of the two instruments and produce a sound clear, but completely without hardness (so well described in Italian as pastosa), capable of singing over the whole orchestra without effort. For a notable example of this, I would cite the excellent recording with Maria Callas of "La Medea."
Sadly, in 1961, for reasons of health and after 14 years at La Scala, Muccetti was persuaded (probably mistakenly) to leave the orchestra, and then it was that he removed to Parma to dedicate himself completely to teaching at the Conservatorio di Boito. His qualities as a teacher were exceptional--all the fund of knowledge and know-how he had gathered through the years (for he never ceased to search out new ways to overcome the innate difficulties of the bassoon), he passed on to all who wished to benefit. With his young students he was severe and exigent, but the results were formidable. Three of these students came last year to the summer bassoon course in Canterbury and amazed all of us with, above all, the beauty of their sound, this special quality I remember so well from those Scala visits.
He was an exceptionally generous man, and would go to infinite trouble to help others. I remember well that when I first went to Lugano I took the first opportunity to visit the Maestro at his home in Milan. Naturally, I had taken my bassoon along, and before long he got around to trying it. A few notes, and then complete consternation: "But what do you think this is?? Don't you realize that it leaks all over and none of the keys are properly adjusted?" Intensely embarrassed, I explained that I had always played on that instrument (an old Kohlert which I rejected soon after) and had not realized that it could be improved. Without hesitation the kitchen table was cleared and my bassoon reduced to penny pieces. The time for the evening performance approached and no sign of the work ending. "But Maestro," I timidly ventured, "I have a radio recording in the morning!? !" "Non ti preoccupare ! We'll finish after Tosca," was his reply. At 4 o'clock the next morning I wearily worked my way through the inevitable Milan fog and back to Lugano. Muccetti had refused all my efforts to persuade him to curtail or postpone the work. His parting words had been, "Now you'll see what you have been missing!" He was right of course: the Kohlert was transformed.
He was something of a perfectionist, and if he gave a lesson, there was no time limit governed by the clock. In fact, it was more of a bassoonistic experience than a lesson and could easily last the day long. Reeds were works of art, and always beautifully finished to the last detail of the binding. One had the impression that he would take more care in adjusting a reed for a pupil than for himself. It was this generosity that endeared him to all.
But to those of us who had the good fortune to enjoy the warm friendship of this exceptional man, received his colorful poetic letters--it seems almost as if the very soul of the mondo fagottistico has been depleted. To his wife, Fede, and son, Marco go our deepest sympathy in their loss.