Tartini Three Violin Concertos by Franco Gulli: A Hidden Gem from 1975
If you’re into classical music—or even if you just kinda stumble across it on lazy Sunday afternoons—this album is one of those finds that sneaks up on you. Released in '75 under the Musical Heritage Society label, Tartini Three Violin Concertos feels like an old friend who shows up unannounced but leaves you smiling for days. With Claudio Abbado conducting and Franco Gulli absolutely owning the violin solos, this record has a vibe that’s hard to shake off.
Let me tell ya, I’ve listened to this thing more times than I care to admit, and two tracks really stick with me: "Allegro Deciso" and "Concerto In D Major."
First off, “Allegro Deciso.” Man, oh man. It starts off sharp, like someone flicked a switch in your brain and suddenly everything clicks into place. The tempo? Perfectly restless. You can almost picture Tartini scribbling notes late at night, fueled by coffee (or maybe wine). Franco Gulli plays with such fire here—it’s not flashy, but there’s this raw energy that grabs hold of you. Like, you don’t just hear the notes; you feel them buzzing through your chest. And then, when the Angelicum Orchestra comes crashing in behind him... wow. Feels like standing too close to fireworks. Dangerous yet beautiful.
Then there’s “Concerto In D Major,” which hits different. This one’s slower, moodier, almost dreamlike. If “Allegro Deciso” is a sprint, this track is more like wandering barefoot through dewy grass at dawn. There’s something about how Gulli handles the melody—it’s tender without being sappy, confident without showing off. It makes you want to sit still and breathe deeply, like life slows down just long enough for you to catch up. Honestly, it’s the kind of piece that could make even non-classical fans stop what they’re doing and go, “Wait… what was THAT?”
One thing I gotta mention—the liner notes by Paolo Castaldi are gold. They give you context without sounding all stuffy or academic. Plus, props to Sheila Maizus for the photography because, let’s be real, album art matters. Even though this came out before Spotify playlists were a thing, it’s got that timeless quality that makes you wanna grab the vinyl version just so you can stare at the cover while listening.
Here’s the kicker, though: as much as I love these performances, part of me wonders what Giuseppe Tartini himself would think of all this. Would he nod approvingly at Gulli’s interpretation? Or would he furrow his brow and mutter something in Italian about missed nuances? Who knows. But honestly, that’s what keeps me coming back to albums like this—they leave room for questions, for imagination, for little moments of wonder.
So yeah, if you ever find yourself craving some soul-soothing classical tunes, throw this baby on. Just don’t blame me if you end up zoning out mid-conversation because you’re lost in the strings. Trust me, it happens.
