Germana Porcu Morano

The album

A Solo Voice
There comes a moment when the violin stands alone. No orchestra to support it, piano to complement it: just four strings, and a voice to be invented anew each
time. This album brings together five such moments, separated by centuries and musical languages, yet united by a single question: what does a violin say when
it has no one to lean on? Bach turns it into a work of architecture. Paganini, a theatre. Kreisler, a memory. Ysaÿe, a novel written in the language of an ancient master. Prokofiev, in the end, a homecoming.
Johann Sebastian Bach — Partita in D minor, BWV 1004
It all begins here. Bach demonstrates that a single voice can contain an entire world: melodies that weave themselves together, a bass line that sings beneath
his own hand. The final Chaconne is a dance transformed into a cathedral —fifteen minutes that never cease to breathe. From this point on, every solo violin that follows carries, without realising it, a legacy.

Niccolò Paganini — Capriccios Nos. 13 and 16

Whilst Bach explores solitude, Paganini brings it to life. The thirteenth Capriccio laughs — a mocking, almost diabolical laugh; the sixteenth races along, feverishly, breathlessly. The violin is no longer architecture: it is a character, it is theatre, it is a demiurge who seems to bend the instrument to his
own whim.
Fritz Kreisler — Recitative and Scherzo-Caprice, Op. 6
A tribute, dedicated to Ysaÿe: a bridge stretching back in time, towards Bach. The Recitative speaks even before it sings, like a voice clearing its throat in the
silence. Then the Scherzo, capricious, concludes with a smile. Just a few pages,
yet a complete statement.
Eugène Ysaÿe — Sonata No. 3 ‘Ballade’, Op. 27 No. 3
Six sonatas, six dedications, a single recurring theme: Bach. The Third —dedicated to Enescu — is a single, uninterrupted phrase, a ballad that never pauses to catch its breath. The same idea of continuous flow, but viewed through the distorting mirror of a new century: chromaticism, tension, an almost feverish melody.
Sergei Prokofiev — Sonata for Solo Violin, Op. 115
The most stripped-back gesture, at the end of the journey. After the virtuosity, after the rhetoric, after modernity — a bare, almost folk-like melody. As if the
violin, having reached the end, were finally to stop trying to prove anything, and simply sing.