Some years ago, I had the privilege of hearing my colleague at Portland State University, cellist Hamilton Cheifetz, perform a piece that instantly struck a chord with me. Despite being unfamiliar with it at the time, the Argentinean folkloric music felt like a nostalgic echo of home. I later discovered it was Serenata del Gaucho by Ennio Bolognini—an artist I hadn’t yet encountered. After listening to a few versions, including Bolognini’s own and one by his student Christine Walevska, I found no transcriptions for cello, let alone for violin. I made it a goal to learn this piece one day.
During a recent sabbatical in Spain, thanks to a Fulbright award, I reconnected with an old friend, Luciano Di Renzo. I had known him as a talented young violinist in Argentina. Over the years, we crossed paths around the world as we pursued our respective careers, and now he was teaching in Madrid. I mentioned Serenata del Gaucho, and he kindly offered to transcribe it for violin. Within days, he presented me with the transcription—a remarkable gift, which I eagerly learned and recorded upon returning home to Portland.
This piece fascinates me for its vivid evocation of my childhood and home. The music brings me back to a place I left nearly 30 years ago, and it may even have some Flamenco influences, adding to my cherished memories of my sabbatical year in Spain.
In Argentina, a ‘gaucho’ refers to a skilled horseman or cowboy known for cattle herding and life in the Pampas, the vast plains of Argentina. Historically, gauchos emerged in the late 17th and 18th centuries, often as nomadic figures symbolizing a rugged, self-sufficient lifestyle. Today, they are seen as national icons, embodying traits such as bravery, loyalty, and freedom. Their culture includes distinctive dress, music, and dance, playing a significant role in Argentine folklore and literature. The term ‘gaucho’ also metaphorically signifies nobility, bravery, and generosity.
The title Serenata del Gaucho captures this spirit of resilience and pride, making it a fitting tribute to the gaucho. The association between gauchos and the guitar is deeply embedded in Argentine folklore, where the guitar often accompanies folk songs and traditional dances like the Milonga and Zamba. The Payada, a form of musical dueling with improvised lyrics, is also a part of the gaucho tradition.
Playing this piece on violin presents a unique challenge as it mimics the guitar, demanding intricate pizzicato techniques unlike anything else in the violin repertoire. I employ nearly all my right-hand fingers in various combinations to create different pizzicato effects. Sometimes, I use my thumb for a bold yet soft sound, or my index finger for a crisp attack. The middle finger, I find, provides a warmer, more resonant tone.
I also use ‘rasgueado’, a back-and-forth strumming motion across the strings, with the index or middle finger. This technique is often done with a controlled movement: down with the fingertip, up with the nail. Depending on the speed and emphasis, I vary the motion—sometimes doing two downs and one up or mixing other combinations to create different effects.
In some instances, I keep the finger loose or tighten it, depending on the sound I want to achieve. For hand stability, I sometimes anchor my thumb on the fingerboard when plucking with the index or middle fingers. At other times, I let the hand float above the strings, engaging the arm for a smoother motion.
A few times, I employ left-hand pizzicato for fast descending scales. Other times, I execute a roll, rapidly strumming downward with my pinky, ring, middle, and index fingers in sequence—perfect for fast figures like a triplet followed by a quaver note. When I need to execute fast two-note appoggiaturas, I begin with the ring finger to land on the beat with the index.
Towards the beginning of the piece, I use a sophisticated pizzicato technique—tremolo pizzicato—often associated with Hungarian violinist Roby Lakatos. This involves alternately moving the middle and index fingers down and up in a rapid succession, creating a distinctive sound unlike anything else in violin playing.
Figuring out the right pizzicato for each section was an exciting journey. The challenges come from swiftly transitioning between various pizzicato techniques, ensuring precision in plucking the right strings, and maintaining the bold motions required. The transitions between arco and pizzicato also require extra attention.
At the start of the piece, I leave my bow on the music stand nearby, giving my right hand more freedom. Later, I quickly grab the bow to play the arco sections, while balancing the pizzicato passages with the bow in hand. This setup restricts movement slightly and alters the weight and sound of the playing.
Pizzicatos don’t project as well in the hall, so I must ensure they are clear and audible, keeping in mind how the microphones will capture them if recording. Unlike the cello for which Bolognini originally wrote the piece, the violin’s higher tension and shorter strings make pizzicatos less resonant. Nonetheless, it’s worth the challenge—recreating the sound and colours typical of Argentine guitar music on the violin is deeply rewarding. Serenata del Gaucho is a gem, crafted by a man who was, like his music, equally unique and intriguing.
Born in Buenos Aires in 1893, Bolognini was a virtuoso cellist admired by legends like Pablo Casals, who hailed him as ‘the greatest cello talent I ever heard.’ Gregor Piatigorsky even stated, ‘No, I am not the greatest cellist in the world; neither is Feuermann. The greatest is the Argentine Bolognini.’ Even Feuermann himself proclaimed, ‘For my money, the world’s greatest cellist is not Casals, Piatigorsky, or myself, but Bolognini!’
Bolognini defied categorization. In addition to his exceptional talents as a cellist, composer, and musician proficient in piano and guitar, he was also a professional boxer, fluent in several languages, an expert cook, a pilot, and an instructor. He helped pioneer aviation in Argentina, making a free-floating balloon flight and even building a plane with a friend. Later, he trained cadets during World War II and co-founded the Civil Air Patrol.
After studying at the St. Cecilia Conservatory in Buenos Aires (under Jose Garcia Jacot, Casals’ teacher) and winning an international cello competition at age 15, Bolognini performed with composers like Saint-Saëns and Strauss. His career brought him to the US in 1923, where he served as a sparring partner for Luis Firpo in preparation for Firpo’s legendary heavyweight championship fight against Jack Dempsey. He also played polo, golf, soccer, and even tried bronco-busting.
After the fight, Bolognini remained in the US, joining the Philadelphia Orchestra and later the Chicago Symphony. Known for his charisma, he was also eccentric, often bringing his dog to rehearsals and even playing flamenco on the cello.
In Las Vegas, Bolognini established a symphony orchestra and continued to avoid recording, preferring the immediacy and spontaneity of live performances—an aversion that may explain why his legacy is less known among newer generations.
Ennio Bolognini’s few compositions, limited recordings, and his cello—covered in 51 ballpoint signatures from legends like Toscanini, Casals, and Kreisler—stand as curious testaments to his extraordinary and multifaceted life.
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