Time Capsule

Details

Nicola Caminiti full profile / Saxophone, Piano and String Quartet / 6 musicians

Full program notes

PART 1
1. Genesis of the Time Capsule
2. Forgotten Memories
3. Memory of Lone Afternoons
(a beam of light in black and white)
4. Memory of a Rebel
(freedom brings restriction)

PART 2
5. Interlude at the Eunoè River...
(...sweet waters of the good mind)
6. Memory of a Wooden Door at 8:20pm
(the power of siblinghood)
7. Memory of a Warm Winter Day
(high line and street lights)
8. Unlived Memories of a Storyteller
(wisdom)

Since I was a little kid living back home in Sicily, I’ve always loved listening to other people sharing their memories. The idea that each human being possessed so many different stories, different experiences, and different points of view, which carved their hearts and minds through their life, and made them who they are, has been very fascinating to me and kept me curious while growing up. I found this process highly enlightening and a huge learning source, as if what these people went through could also serve as an opportunity for me to investigate my own life and ideas.
I was fortunate enough to grow up in an environment where kids were encouraged to ask questions and, at the same time, elders were very welcoming and keen on passing down their knowledge and their experiences. It was common, especially in very small towns—like my grandparents’—to have one or two older individuals having many younger ones listening to them narrating about many different topics—the experience of them as kids living during WW2, the story of when they built their own house, when they got their first color television, and so many more. The older generation of Sicilians, and Italians in general, was strongly based on oral tradition, hence, these activities were very normal.
One of the first memories I recall is a very brief memory of my grandfather Vanni (my mom’s dad) spending time with a 4-year-old Nicola sitting on his house’s balcony eating cheese and telling stories. I wish I could remember at least some of them, but unfortunately this happened too long ago. In more recent years, I’ve started recording voice memos of my other grandparents telling stories about their lives, not only because I find those stories fascinating but also because, year after year, I’ve come to the realization that, if not shared or preserved, all those anecdotes will end up disappearing. In order to avoid that, I’ve decided to start collecting tapes so that these stories would live forever, like if they’re stored inside a Time Capsule.
Storing memories inside this Time Capsule is the fil rouge behind this music. I want to use this opportunity to pay tribute to all those people who inspired me through their stories narrating some of my own ones. These memories are very personal and they fluctuate between very happy moments to very dark ones, always in the spirit of honesty. I will take time to briefly address each one of them, so feel free to read while the music is happening and, in the meantime, I hope our notes can inspire you and thank you so much for being part of this journey.

1. Genesis of the Time Capsule
   I’ve pictured the creation of this Time Capsule as a whirlwind of light placed in the center of a room of empty dark space that slowly takes the form of a vintage lantern shaped capsule. The whole movement develops around the piano arpeggios that simulate light’s circular motion while strings and saxophone act as soundtrack to the creation itself.

2. Forgotten Memories
   This second movement represents all those moments, more or less important, we have experienced—especially early on in our lives—but that we cannot fully remember or that we have completely forgotten. They have helped shape our character as much as those memories we remember, but, for a reason or another, they partially or completely left us.
   The atmosphere, especially at the beginning, is very disjointed with many themes being presented by the various string instruments without any connection one another. Those are the memories that we barely remember trying to emerge from the oblivion. However, the deeper we get into the movement, the clearer and more coherent the ideas become, which brings us to the next movements.

3. Memory of Lone Afternoons (a beam of light in black and white)
   This is the first true memory of the whole composition. It brings me back to my pre-teen years and, more specifically, to those afternoons I would spend at home after getting off middle school. Both my parents worked so I was spending most of my time alone either doing homework or practicing saxophone. Even though people consider me an extroverted, I’ve always been shy and suffered solitude. Hence, growing up as an aspiring saxophonist who liked jazz - a VERY uncommon passion - and who lived in a city with barely no musicians didn’t really help the cause. This situation, instead of pushing me to find other interests, had the opposite result, made me withdraw into myself like a hedgehog. So those afternoons at home had a very bitter flavor. I felt very lonely.
   The image I have stuck in my mind is a portrait of my living room in black and white with a weak beam of light coming in from a half-closed door.

4. Memory of a Rebel (freedom brings restriction)
   Through High School, I’ve started to experience the “being different” thing way more. Even though middle school kids often want to act like grown ups, they are still kids after all. High School, especially during the last 3 years (Italy has 5 years of high school), is the very first time when students start dealing with true adulthood. I know, I’m aware considering high school students adults can be a stretch but you know what I mean. High School years mean teenage years with all the consequent trials and tribulations. However, it wasn’t just loneliness. These were the years when I actually started to develop true school friendships with a handful of classmates who went beyond the appearance. And I’m grateful for them.
   Anyway, this movement is about rebellion and about a specific event. I vividly remember when the student union president, usually an empty minded student from the last year, would call school meetings to discuss various matters - in reality just to skip classes - and I would refuse to attend trying to hide inside my classroom. They always used to bring one of their counselors to check each one of the classrooms and, seeing me, they would drag me by force into the courtyard to attend. That brute force was something I couldn’t really understand. I just wanted to live my life but being the “rebel”, according to them, would just bring more restrictions on my plate. Fortunately, these episodes didn’t happen too often but each time was a hard one to accept.

5. Interlude at the Eunoè River...(...sweet waters of the good mind)
   The Eunoè River is a made-up river created by Dante as a place of transition, in his Divine Comedy, from Purgatory to Heaven. The souls who have completed their sentences in Purgatory, find themselves at the top of Mount Purgatory where they are first washed in the waters of the Lethe river in order to forget their sins and then pass through the Eunoè river to strengthen their good memories to prepare for Heaven.
   In my imaginary journey through the world of memories, I decided to skip the Lethe river because I consider sins part of our development as human beings - Dante was dealing with souls ready to go to Heaven, we’re still alive. Instead I focused on the Eunoè river because it serves as a springboard to get to the next two movements that cover two essential topics: friendship and love.

6. Memory of a Wooden Door at 8:20pm (the power of siblinghood)
   As I’ve mentioned before, solitude has been a constant for most of my life, at least until I’ve moved to New York. Here’s where I found my community, my family, folks who inspire me to be a better person. This movement is about celebrating friendship, with all its ups and downs.
   The wooden door represents the door of my first dorm room at Manhattan School of Music in 2015. Room 820 to be exact. My roommate was violist Ramon Carrero from Venezuela. My neighbors (room 819) were guitarist James Zito and trombonist Armando Vergara. Both Americans. They were the first ones and after them many more came along to make my life the happiest I’ve ever been. This movement 6 is for all of them.

7. Memory of a Warm Winter Day (high line and street lights)
   A cold day of February that radiates warmth. A picturesque sunset seen from the south side of the High Line in New York. White coat and smiles. Walks, street lights and smiles again... this is about love. The most genuine one, the most unselfish one. The one that brings you at the highest peaks and drags you down to the lowest valleys. The one is worth living for.

8. Unlived Memories of a Storyteller (wisdom)
   These are all the memories that we haven’t experienced yet. These are all the memories that storytellers speak about when they look into the future. Almost like oracles but less certain because we know, the future is unpredictable. But that’s the beauty of it.
   This movement is not about me anymore. This is about all those people who contribute to keep the figure of the storyteller alive. People who are in search of wisdom. People who find joy in inspiring the next generation. People who don’t stop adding new memories into their own Time Capsule.

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