When you imagine the music of a western film, you’re likely hearing the string arrangements of Ennio Morricone in your head. But you might not know that Morricone was part of an entire supergroup of Italian avant-garde composers called Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza (Il Gruppo), whose collective experimentation only found its way into the mainstream vis-a-vis their work in film and documentaries. Their work together spanned musique-concrete, serialism, and free jazz improvisation. One of the lesser-known members of the group, at least in the States, was Egisto Macchi, who like Morricone scored numerous films and documentaries in Europe. Biologia Animale E Vegetale collects the best of Macchi’s work for documentaries. Available for the first time since 1978, this collection of more than two hours of “library music” gives shape to a legacy that’s only being now rediscovered.
Biologia Animale E Vegetale is composed of 24 tracks, and thematically it’s supposed to explore the biological undertones of Macchi’s composition strategy. Macchi believed that that in the span of a composition something like a biome could be created, a small self-enclosed world that nurtured a symbiotic connection between composer and listener. The titles are all related to biology in one way or another, and the pieces themselves attempt to capture the essence of some biological subject (plankton, heart beats, frogs and toads). Macchi accomplishes this by attempting to mimic the movement of an animal in the pace of piece, or by creating a musical narrative about the process he is attempting to soundtrack. For example in “Cuore” (Heart) he starts with a pulsating drum beat that perfectly pantomimes the sound of an uncertain heartbeat. In “Stadi embrionali” (Embryonic stages), he attempts to mimic the sounds of growth and gestation. It starts off with the barest of minimal piano repetitions, and then as the actual organism of the song gets larger and larger, strings, horns and percussion crash into each other, leading the song down pockets and tangents.
He also touches upon early electronic music with two-part compositions like “Cellule Animali 1” and “2.” The main motif of a vibrating ambient echo is painted in with pattering percussions that sound like raindrops. He carries this same tone into a composition called “Microorganismi,” which is essentially an exercise in anxiety and restraint. The ambient echo reappears, and is only accompanied by a slithering percussive sound, like spiders were let loose on a set of microphones and drum kits.
There is more whimsical music available in Biologia, and strangely some of these compositions would fit well in a latter day Wes Anderson film. “Millepiedi” (Centipede), which is delicate and pastel hued, or “Cani e cuccioli 1-3” sound like they were composed on a toy piano. Other tracks, like “Nascita di un fiore,” are irrepressibly romantic, recalling walks in the park. But for the most part, a lot of these songs resemble each other, even with minor variations in progression and instrumentations. Even when the pieces grow slightly indistinguishable, there's something interesting at work, a suggestion that there is something unifying in the pace of all biological life, a certain sense of speed and tension in all things that walk or move or breath.
