Stefano Di Battista, Morricone, and Bucatini all’Amatriciana
Nov 15, 2024
7 min read
Updated: Aug 10
An interview by Martina Knecht
»When I told him I came from San Basilio, on the outskirts of Rome, he immediately became more open. Then I mentioned that my mother was a cook. That changed everything.«
Few composers have shaped the emotional language of cinema as profoundly as Ennio Morricone. His name has long been woven into the history of the Locarno Film Festival, where he received the first Leopard of Honour in 1989. More than three decades later, his music continues to inspire musicians far beyond the world of cinema.
At JazzAscona 2023, acclaimed Roman saxophonist Stefano Di Battista returned to Morricone's extraordinary repertoire with Morricone Stories—a deeply personal tribute that moves effortlessly between iconic film themes and lesser-known compositions.
Morricone's legacy spans more than 500 film scores, from Once Upon a Time in the West, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and Love Circle to more intimate works such as Veruschka and What Have You Done to Solange? Di Battista approaches this repertoire with both reverence and freedom, allowing his own unmistakable musical voice to emerge without ever overshadowing the original. Among the most personal moments of the project is Flora, a composition Morricone wrote especially for him—a rare gift that speaks to the artistic dialogue and mutual respect between the two musicians.
Born and raised in Rome, Di Battista grew up listening to Art Pepper and Cannonball Adderley before moving to Paris in the 1990s. There he quickly established himself on the European jazz scene, collaborating with artists including Michel Petrucciani, Aldo Romano, Laurent Cugny and Flavio Boltro, while developing a style that effortlessly bridges jazz improvisation, lyrical Mediterranean melodies and the cinematic imagination.
On 27 June 2023, he brought Morricone Stories to the lakeside stage of JazzAscona, joined by Daniele Sorrentino on double bass, André Ceccarelli on drums and pianist Fred Nardin, who also co-created the arrangements and served as the project's artistic director.
In this exclusive interview for JazzAscona, Stefano Di Battista reflects on his friendship with Ennio Morricone, the challenge of reimagining the Maestro's music for a jazz quartet, and the cities, memories and encounters that have shaped his artistic journey. Along the way, the conversation takes an unexpectedly Roman turn—with a memorable story involving Morricone, a plate of bucatini all'amatriciana and the birth of a lasting friendship.
Stefano Di Battista, how did Morricone Stories come to life?
I was fortunate enough to meet the Maestro in 2007 at a party organised by a mutual friend to celebrate his Academy Award for Lifetime Achievement.
We spent the evening talking and joking, and at one point I said, "Maestro, I'd love to record an album of your music."
He smiled and replied, "Oh no, Stefano, don't even think about it. Who would help you pull that off?"
To this day, I'm not entirely sure whether he was genuinely sceptical or simply teasing me. But from that moment on, it became a running joke between us. Every time we met, I'd bring it up again.
"Maestro, I'd really like to do it."
And he'd answer, "Forget about it."
Eventually, though, he gave me his blessing. His only condition was that I should approach his music with the greatest respect and care.
That's how the project began. Together with Fred Nardin, André Ceccarelli and Daniele Sorrentino, we set out to find our own way into Morricone's extraordinary musical world.
What was the greatest challenge in adapting Morricone's music for a jazz quartet?
The biggest challenge was scale.
Morricone wrote for orchestras of ninety or even a hundred musicians. We were just four: piano, double bass, drums and saxophone.
The question was whether we could preserve the emotional power of those scores with such a small ensemble.
So we stopped thinking in terms of size and started thinking in terms of sound. We focused on dynamics, balance and the dialogue between the instruments, trying to capture the essence of each piece rather than reproduce it.
In the end, we realised something remarkable: the music retained all of its emotional force, even without the orchestra.
To me, there's only one explanation for that.
It was written by a genius.
So, in a way, you've captured the essence of Morricone's music through the voice of your own instruments.
I actually think it's the other way around.
It's the music that has brought out something beautiful in us—if I may say so.
Pieces like What Have You Done to Solange? (Cosa avete fatto a Solange?) or Antonio in Love (La cosa buffa), which I hardly knew before this project, move me just as deeply as Coltrane's My Favorite Things. That's saying a lot.
We've been performing this repertoire for more than a year and a half now, and it still feels as fresh as it did the first time. We never tire of it.
There's something almost magical about Morricone's music.
Every concert feels like discovering it all over again. Every performance rekindles the same sense of wonder.
»He turned to me and said, “Alright, now we’re going to play it—me on the piano, you on the sax.” “Okay, Maestro,” I replied, feeling like I was about to have a heart attack.«
Had the album already been completed while the Maestro was still alive?
Yes, we had just finished it.
But I was too nervous to let him hear it.
After some time, I played it to his son, Andrea, who gave us his blessing. That meant a great deal to me.
The album came out two years ago, and since then we've performed it all over the world. What's been most moving is discovering that Morricone's music belongs to everyone. Whether we're playing in Turkey, China or anywhere else, audiences know these melodies. They recognise them instantly. It's a universal language.
Do you have a favourite memory of Ennio Morricone?
There are so many.
It all goes back to that evening in 2007. Morricone was surrounded by friends, among them the double bassist Giorgio Rosciglione, who had apparently spent the whole evening talking me up—probably a little too enthusiastically.
When I arrived, the Maestro looked at me, smiled and said, "Ah... so you're Stefano Di Battista." Then he raised his hands with a look that seemed to say, "I've heard quite enough about you already."
It was ironic, but also incredibly warm.
Later we found ourselves talking on our own. He asked about my family, where I had grown up, what my parents did for a living. When I told him I came from San Basilio, on the outskirts of Rome, he immediately became more open.
Then I mentioned that my mother was a cook.
That changed everything.
Suddenly he wanted to know everything about bucatini all'amatriciana. We started talking about Roman cooking, laughing together, and from that moment the conversation took on a life of its own.
At one point he asked me, "Did you bring your saxophone?"
I said yes.
"Good," he replied. "Take it out. I'm going to write something for you."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
The party practically stopped. People gathered around the piano as he took a sheet of manuscript paper and began composing. I'd never seen anything like it. That piece eventually became Flora, which I later dedicated to my daughter and included on the album.
Then came the real challenge. As he wrote, I noticed the notes climbing higher and higher—up to high F and beyond. I remember thinking, "This is impossible. I'm going to embarrass myself in front of everyone." When he finished, he looked at me and said, "Now we'll play it. I'll be at the piano, you on the saxophone."
I thought I was going to have a heart attack.
So I came up with what I thought was a clever solution: I'd simply play everything an octave lower. Surely no one would notice.
Of course, he stopped me immediately.
Years later he admitted that he'd written those high notes on purpose. He wanted to see whether I would follow him. That was the beginning of a friendship that stayed with us until the end of his life.
How would you describe your relationship with the saxophone today?
It's a very close relationship, although there are moments when I feel strangely distant from it—and I'm not entirely sure why.
Over the years I've become less interested in the purely technical side of playing and more interested in what the instrument allows me to express. At times it almost feels like another presence beside me, something that gives me strength and helps me say things I couldn't otherwise put into words.
Lately, though, I've gone back to practising more seriously. I've rediscovered the pleasure of working on technique again.
You spent many years living in Paris...
I did, but I've recently moved back to Rome.
The main reason is my daughter, Flora. She's fifteen now, and these are years I don't want to miss.
To be honest, fatherhood takes up much more of my life these days than my career as a saxophonist.
So today, do you feel more Roman or more Parisian?
I'd say I'm having a bit of an identity crisis.
I'm no longer entirely sure.
What I do know is that I'm fifty-four years old and, in many ways, I still live with one foot in Rome and the other in Paris.
I've been incredibly fortunate to absorb both cultures—especially their musical traditions. They've both shaped who I am, as a musician and as a person.
Martina Knecht
Text and images © Martina Knecht
Martina Knecht's interview with Stefano di Battista, transcribed and edited by Luca Martinelli, was published on June 23 2023 in the Ticino press.
Recorded during JazzAscona 2023, this conversation explores music, memory, and artistic identity through the perspective of one of Italy's leading jazz musicians.
Interview: Martina Knecht
Production: CISA Film Academy Locarno
Commissioned by: JazzAscona
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