Word: palazzos
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...These boys," said the visiting professor, "are hot. They are brilliant. They are right on top of the heap." The oddly unpedantic judgment was prompted by a concert last week in Rome's isth century Palazzo Pio. Performing were four young men who make up the American Jazz Ensemble-a group that has set avant-garde beards to wagging the length of Italy...
...left leg swinging, Pianist Eaton may toy with harmonies and tempi, bounce themes to the fluid clarinet, trade solos with the limpid trumpet. Underneath it all is a rock-solid bass. Last week the boys wound up with Long Ago and Far Away and a driving Summertime. The palazzo shivered, and the audience applauded. "An intellectual Newport," said a delighted U.S. composer as he made his way from the hall...
Hate Duets. A tiny man (5 ft. 3 in.), grey-maned Composer Dallapiccola is affectionately known in Italian musical circles as "Il Bruttino"-The Ugly One. He now lives in Florence in a musty, 17th century palazzo. There he is hard at work on a gigantic, twelve-tone grand opera to be based on Joyce's Ulysses. The trouble with modern opera, says Dallapiccola, is that composers "seem to have come to a mutual agreement to eliminate the love element which has delighted audiences for a century. The love duet was axed, and it would now be appropriate...
Into Rome's grandiose Palazzo dei Congressi one day last week poured 1,400 purposeful women from 41 nations. Blonde-tressed Norwegians in embroidered blue skirts mingled with black-haired Ghanaians in flowing brown and gold robes. Swiss Frauen sported delicate lace caps, and Icelanders regally balanced gold diadems with trailing white veils. Here and there through the colorful throng could be seen the somber black habit of a nun. Remarkably little feminine chatter disturbed the solemnity of the occasion: the twelfth International Congress of Midwives...
...eyes are an ageless blue, but the ancient Signora Partibon is dying. Life flickers in her like needlepoints of sunlight refracted on a palazzo ceiling from the Grand Canal. She grips the hand of her grandson Giorgio and thanks him for his visit ("Now the whole family has come"). But Giorgio, incorrigibly honest, utters a long-banished name: "One of your sons, Marco, is not here." In a paroxysm of coughing, the old lady dies...