In Pain, The Magnificence of God

Giovanni Allevi | Music: The philosopher-composer brings his new concert, MM22, to Caracalla in Rome. “I translated the word ‘myeloma’ into notes, and a musical diary was born about my experience from darkness to light.”

“I have always wanted to avoid the spectacle of pain. I have tried to make the joy of living spectacular,” Giovanni Allevi says, bursting into his irresistible laughter. That’s how he is: he can paint even the darkest picture with a bright brushstroke, bringing out a brilliant note in a sorrowful symphony. He has managed to transform multiple myeloma, which he has been battling since 2022, into a new musical composition, created by translating the word myeloma into notes using a mathematical method inspired by Johann Sebastian Bach.

The composer-philosopher himself will conduct the world premiere of the composition on June 20 at the Baths of Caracalla in Rome. The piece, Concerto MM22 for Cello and String Orchestra, was written by Allevi during his hospital stay, which he also recounts in his latest book, I Nove Doni: Sulla Via della Felicità (Solferino). The composition will be presented in four special concert events with piano and orchestra, titled Musica dall’Anima - Special Events: after Rome, on July 5 at the Teatro Antico in Taormina, on July 8 at La Fenice in Venice, and on July 19 at the Parco Mediceo in Pratolino, Florence. Giovanni Allevi shares his new challenge with Avvenire. By Angela Calvini.

Maestro Allevi, how are you feeling?
“I can finally breathe. During these years of illness, I have realized that breathing is fundamental to me: the ability to open my lungs, to look at the world with confidence, to enjoy the brightness of a landscape. This breath is an achievement for me, partly because my back pain prevents me from doing so and partly because fear has kept me tense.”

Would you like to tell us about your journey from the beginning?
“On June 2, 2022, during a solo piano concert in Vienna, I felt a sharp pain in my back and couldn’t get up from the stool when the final applause began. Two weeks later, I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. It felt as if the ground were shaking beneath my feet. Despair at the diagnosis is the first step toward recovery. Facing the transition from normality to a completely different condition is the moment of darkness, when everything collapses. In the Christian message, it is the ‘moment of the desert.’ The uncertainty about the pain, the worry about losing my job, and the fear in people’s eyes were overwhelming. The tough experience in the hospital began, which, in my imagination, was associated with terrible places, chemotherapy, hair loss, and everything else. But unexpectedly, a second phase began—a poetic phase for me. As everything that was once certain and habitual collapsed, my heart began to expand. I felt my soul grow, recovering immense spaces even as my body suffered. It was a very strange experience.”

And so you came into contact with the hospital experience shared by so many people.
“The first day I walked into the waiting room of the Hematology Department at the Cancer Institute in Milan, some people recognized me, and there was a buzz. But an elderly patient gave me a very important piece of advice. He raised his arm and said, ‘We are all the same here.’ There was no judgment; it was a loving welcome to this world where authenticity reigns, where we love one another and welcome you, whoever you are. I felt all my masks fall away, all the definitions I had tried to defend in my artistic life, because my artistic strength was divisive. I did not experience nothingness and emptiness but an inner fullness. At that moment, I began to breathe.”

In your book, you say that you received nine gifts from your illness.
“My soul raised its antennae and tried to pick up everything beautiful that was possible, even in such a condition. These are the gifts I described. Of course, the idea that an illness can bring gifts is problematic, but the alternative is despair. So, I explored this second path. The two most important gifts were freedom from the judgment that had always obsessed me and the discovery of the poetry hidden in the folds of everyday existence. To be happy and fill my heart with gratitude, I don’t need exceptional experiences. It’s enough for me to contemplate a tree or a sunset.”

Has your relationship with God also changed?
“When you face the real possibility of your own end, the question of the immortality of the soul and the transcendent becomes central again. Even when I was in the hospital bed, I asked myself, ‘Does the soul exist?’ And, reflecting on the ideas of Plato and Kant, I felt I had to give an absolutely affirmative answer: there is an infinite principle within us, prior to our pain, which cannot be touched by anything. When I perceive this greatness within me—which, paradoxically, the pain helps me see—the magnificence of God opens up.”

Yet giving meaning to pain is difficult. How did you manage to do it?
“Pain is a scandal; it is difficult to accept. I don’t have a definitive answer, just as theology and the history of thought cannot provide a single answer. Experiencing pain is hard, but it is the core of being human; it is authenticity. The divine opens up in reflection, as it does in the contemplation of a sunset or in the smile of a little warrior I met at the Cancer Institute, without hair. You find yourself in the presence of something greater, waves of greatness and depth.”

How did the composition MM22, dedicated to myeloma, come about?
“After the diagnosis, as I was overcoming my despair, I contemplated the unusual beauty of the word ‘myeloma.’ Its sweetness struck me, perhaps because it contains the word ‘honey.’ As a boy, I was fascinated by how Bach transformed his own name into music using a mathematical method in his work The Art of Fugue. After developing that melody, he died, leaving the work unfinished. So, I thought, ‘What notes correspond to the letters of myeloma?’ I applied the same method and created a surprising melody: C, A-flat, E, B, D, C, C—a sweet, romantic melody. I decided to write a work based on that melody, a musical diary recounting the emotions of my journey.”

What is this work about?
“MM22 (the title comes from myeloma and the year of composition) is a musical diary in which I recount my experience: the anguish, the fear, the darkness, the waiting, but also the nostalgia for my family, the sense of infinity when contemplating a sunset, the gratitude for the people who are treating me, and the deep affection for the other patients. It is not for piano, because of the tremor in my fingers that made me fear I would never play again, but a concerto for viola, cello, and orchestra. The composition took a year of work during the hardest periods of the illness.”

So, Giovanni Allevi is returning to conducting?
“I wrote this work with the dream of conducting it, if I survived, perhaps to convince myself that I had overcome the disease—a disease that I know is chronic and from which one never emerges victorious. If I survived, I would retrace my journey from Hell to Paradise.

On June 20, in Caracalla, the first performance for the concert series Musica dall’Anima (Music from the Soul) will take place. Music that comes from deep within was a beautiful moment. But this concert has already had its first audience: I was in the hospital at 3:30 in the morning, and despite the pain, the IV, and the powerful effects of opioid painkillers, I slowly got out of bed and conducted with my hands. The nurses, Giovanna and Giovanni, rushed into the room, worried. I played them the composition on the computer while conducting it: it was my first ‘premiere,’ a beautiful moment.”

How will your concert events be structured?
“The concert will begin with my performance of pieces for solo piano; then the Italian Symphony Orchestra will take the stage with other pieces of mine that are very popular with the public. During each event, a guest of exceptional cultural stature will discuss a theme with me before the performance of the MM22 concerto.

The themes will be: ‘heresy’ with historian Alessandro Barbero in Rome, ‘the sacred’ with theologian Vito Mancuso in Taormina, ‘madness’ with philosopher Luciano Floridi in Venice, and ‘beauty’ with aerospace engineer Amalia Ercoli Finzi in Florence. Each of the four events will explore a specific theme that has touched me deeply, to stimulate reflection.”

What would you like the audience to take away from this experience?
“These concerts will be a pure expression, without the need to prove anything. They will be pure joy. I want to share these notes with people who may be going through a difficult time, because from darkness, one can be drawn toward the light. This is what I ask of my music: I want to be carried away, and I can’t wait to perform it. In those moments, music will have power over me. In the fall, the recording of the new work will be released.”

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