Few in music history have come quite as close to Piero Piccioni, who has explored the intersection of classical and contemporary music in his own, unique style. His music from his golden years contain some of the recognizable melodies of all time, and his scoring techniques have become ingrained in modern cinematography, whilst still working their way into modern music through the work of various artists. His story of tragedy, music, and new future as a revered leader of modern contemporary music gives new light to an otherwise glossed-over figure in music history.
Born in Turin, Piedmont, a small town on the southern edge of the Italian peninsula, Piccioni spent much of his childhood with his mother, from whom he adopted the pseudonym Piero Morgan, which he kept until 1957. At home, he often was said to be an imaginative and visionary figure, but his mother always resented the music scene and wanted her son to go into politics like his father, Attilio Piccioni. A former leader of the Italian Christian Democratic Party (ICDP) with substantial money and power, Attilio often took the young Piccioni to various concerts at the EIAR Radio Studio in Florence, Italy. It was here that Piccioni fell in love with music, and after attending a course at the Luigi Cherubini Conservatory and performing a short stint as a lawyer, he dedicated his life to becoming a musician.
It was a rough time to start. Tensions in Europe had been building since the start of the 1920s, when fascism spread across Germany’s border to Italy. Mussolini ordered the dissolution of the ICDP in 1926, an action that forced Piccioni’s father out of the government. He moved from the city to Pistoia, a small town on the outskirts of the country, out of fear of arrest or imprisonment. He left everything behind, without telling Piccioni or his wife, and began to practice as a lawyer. Torn between his parents, Piccioni chose to stay with his mother, as he feared being affiliated with his father in the ever growing tensions between the new government and the former ICDP. The gap between his parents forged Piccioni into an outspoken young man with a growing hatred for fascism and its effects on the Italian people. Influenced by legendaries such as Alfred Hitchcock and John Ford, he drew much inspiration from 20th century classical composers and American films, as he developed his own style from the grassroots laid down before him. His 013 Big Band played for the first time in 1938, one year before the start of World War Two. He often wished to use his music as a sort of freedom for the general populace in a time of censorship and suppression, and desperately wanted to connect the Piccioni name to anything but an enemy of the government, but chances grew slim as the gripes of the war shook greater Europe, and he was forced to delay his plans. Shows were canceled, venues were closed, and Piccioni feared the worst for his country, and his career. He desperately wished to get his name out into the public, but had no way to express his thoughts or ideals at the hands of the Italian government.
In 1944, he got his wish. Europe listened via radios as Italy was liberated, Mussolini was toppled from power, and a new government was put in charge. Piccioni’s 013 Big Band played afterwards, as the first Italian band to be broadcast in Italy in over 6 years. With his newfound fame and freedom to do as he wished, he began writing his own songs, and was soon recognized by Carisch editions, who published a considerable amount of his works as the Piccioni name finally began to take on a new meaning.
On a fateful day in 1952, Piccioni came into contact with the movie world in Rome for the first time, an industry he would never leave. He received an invitation to compose his first score for a feature film that year from Gianni Franciolini, who had been impressed by Piccioni’s previous works. It was here that Piccioni first met one of his closest friends, Alida Valli, an aspiring young actress from Italy, who would later save Piccioni from arguably the largest scandal of the twentieth century. Although the film did not do especially well at the Italian box office, critics praised Piccioni’s outstanding score and stunning range of style. Piccioni was different from anything the cinematic world had seen before: instead of working gradually from the beginning of a film to the end, he often liked to start at the climax and resolution, to develop the more intimate and melodic sections first. Combined with his large spectrum of genres and his own take on many traditional scoring techniques, Piccioni was bombarded with endless requests to compose, and transitioned away from his own personal music, to the music of the film industry. Over the course of his career, he scored over three hundred movies for various directors, and gained fame for his works with Franciolini, along with many others, as he became a common household name and widely discussed figure in classical and film circles. He often intermingled with the Italian elite; among them, a musician named Oscar De Mayo, whom by chance in 1944 had married none other than Alida Valli. The group would show up to various parties and ceremonies together, and would celebrate late into the night, an experience for Piccioni that would have felt alien just ten years before. Life in the elite was easy and stable, and Piccioni was able to achieve what he had dreamed of for so long: a life without rules and rigid institutions holding him back, and no one else to please except himself.
Several factors contributed to the rise of the Italian elite following World War Two, the most prominent of which were the large power vacuum left by the dissolvement of the former Fascist government, and the subsequent period of economic boom. The new government struggled to take over many of the duties that were once held, and had nowhere near the required resources or manpower to run Italy in the aftermath of the war. Even worse, Mussolini had centralized many aspects of government, including the police, which made it harder for the new government to control and regulate policies and law, as the influx of money from agrarian and fiscal reformation left power to eventually fall to the elite. A sense of distrust began to grow amongst the Italian people as rumors began to spread about corruption in the government, and the questionable dealings between the elite and those in power.
Police discovered the partially clothed body of Wilma Montesi, a young woman, on the edge of a beach near Rome in 1953. Local police concluded extremely quickly that the cause of death was suicide, and tensions exploded as many pointed to the case as proof of the Italian elite’s corruption and abuse of power, spurred on by an article questioning why police had done so little to determine the sudden cause of death of the young woman, who had no previous history of depression, and was due to be married in a month. High profile figures, Piccioni included, were thrown into one accusation after another, as police arrested and searched his home. Through his connections with Valli, who gave Piccioni an alibi for the night of murder, he seemed to dodge certain conviction. The public was still not convinced. It was confirmed that pressure from the elite made it seem as if, instead of a murder, it was more “probable” that Montesi had drowned walking along the beach where her body was later found. Even worse, Piccioni was seen giving police missing clothing that belonged to Montesi, and his involvement was exacerbated through various magazines and newspapers, from The New York Times in the United States, to endless gutter press magazines in Rome. Piccioni was depicted as a “Piccione” (Pigeon in Italian), clearly poking fun at the case and serving as a nonverbal insult for Piccioni’s father, who now had to deal with the backlash whilst also preparing for the 1953 general election. Deliberation continued for three years. It is hard to determine how the still-young Piccioni must have felt, his world being turned upside-down. Despite the circumstances, he still scored two major pieces during this time, The Beach and Guendalina, both of which were directed by Alberto Lattuada. The first day of the trial finally took place on January 1st, 1957, in the Palace of Justice. Piccioni and several other influential Italians were put on trial for culpable manslaughter as investigations revealed dark insight into the elite’s history of corruption, drugs, and prostitution. After several months, Piccioni was ultimately absolved of all charges, to the media’s shock. The case still remains as one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of Italian history, and it is unknown to this day if Piccioni was truly involved. Ironically, Piccioni’s father, whom he had wanted to avoid connection to, now found his position in politics threatened due to the newfound accusations against his son. He found himself the laughingstock of the Italian political left, as the case gained incredible notoriety with publishers and journalists alike. He was forced to quit politics, and spent his last years in Rome, where he silently passed away in 1976. It is unknown if Piccioni ever attended his funeral.
Following the trial and conviction, Piccioni, instead of taking a break from public life, went right back to producing his haunting scores. Among his more famous works of the decade are Monica Vitti’s 1969 Drama Amore Mio Aiutami (Help Me, My Love), and Alexandre Duma’s Camille 2000, who all feature scores exclusively written by Piccioni. His works during this time are usually considered as his magnum opi, as he took on a more melodic and thought out approach to his music, possibly as a result of having survived the hardship and controversy of the 50s that offered him much time to self-reflect and adapt. During this time, he also developed a close relationship with Francesco Rosi, a director who invited Piccioni to score many of his films as a result of their friendship.
Along with his influence on modern music, Piccioni’s work has left a lasting impression on the Italian Theatre, and the wider cinematographic industry. The Italian Theatre enjoyed a rush to stardom from Hollywood and its corresponding western audience through the innovation of Italian composers using Piccioni’s scoring techniques, which were unlike anything that was ever previously produced. Bored with orthodox scoring styles of the time, he hardly used the streamlined sound structure so many others did, instead opting for a modernized take on western classics. His outstanding scoring has not only influenced the state of modern music today, but have also paved the way for new composers to continue what Piccioni started. Amongst them is Ennio Morricone, regarded in the 21st century as one of the most prolific and prominent composers of all time, who collaborated with Piccioni in 1967’s Le Streghe, and was so impressed with his work that many of his future scores have followed closely with Piccioni’s style. As he experimented over the course of three decades, composers like Piccioni set a new expectation for the film industry, and his techniques were gradually introduced to the western world. As the decades progressed, Piccioni continued to score a staggering amount of films, from Swept Away in 1975, which won him the David di Donatello Award, equivalent to an American Academy Award, to Dio Sotto La Pelle, a film so monumental that its tracks have been extensively sampled by big names all over the modern music scene. It cannot be overstated as to the amount of scores Piccioni was able to deliver over his life. From 1970 to 1992 alone, the last year of which he scored a major film before retiring, 32 films and shows were scored by Piccioni, for an average of 1.45 per year.
Piccioni continued to score films, but more often that not only for his two lifelong friends, Francesco Rosi and Alberto Sordi. Piccioni scored his last film, Assolto per aver commesso il fatto, directed by and starring Sordi in 1992. He retired to his home in Rome, where he spent his last years. Piero Piccioni passed away on July 23rd, 2004. He was 82 years old. Such relevance in the contemporary music scene proves Piccioni’s success as not only a legendary composer for his time, but also for our own. Starting his career in an unchanging and static industry, Piccioni’s music and techniques have changed the way music is composed, and have become the mainstay for which modern theater cinematography is based upon, inspiring a new generation of both professional and conventional listeners alike. Strangely, there is little information regarding his death, and no information can be found besides a single sentence on his website. Always reaching for freedom, separating himself from the norms of his time and ours alike, perhaps it is best that the modern world never received an official resolution, a certified ending to his reign of greatness to mourn upon. He will not be forgotten soon.
