I was born in South America, and it was therefore natural that I should turn to Latin American music. However, being in Europe, far from the relevant sources, I had to ask for a year’s sabbatical leave from the Geneva Conservatory where I teach, in order to carry out some deeper research in the place of origin of this music which had been studied so little. I was sure of discovering hidden treasure, but initially the work was very difficult. The Indians would not speak, and the priests would not collaborate much. I had to make the people accept me, and little by little my enthusiasm convinced them. That was in Bolivia in 1992, among the Chiquitos and Mojos. I said that their music was so extraordinary it deserved to be played all over the world—in Paris, at the Invalides!—but at the same time I felt rather silly because of the obvious Eurocentricity of my arguments.

In the work of the Argentinian conductor Gabriel Garrido, early music is revealed like an unknown continent, a divine Atlantis whose treasures he uncovers for us little by little. He is currently working on the repertory of the Jesuit Missions of South America and the operas of Monteverdi. His recent reading of L’Orfeo, released in 1996 on K617 and internationally acclaimed by the critics, has completely changed the way we hear the work. Alexandre Pham met the artist in Palermo.

How would you define the notion of influence between South American and Western music?

Actually, one should not speak of influences of one over the other. The European West has great presence but only relative weight in Latin American music. At the heart of indigenous civilization there is a privileged relationship with the sacred. What one today calls the “sacred” belongs to them. For them, Zipoli was not brought from the Catholic West; it is their music. The individual is inspired by the cosmos. I wanted to restore their history, their true identity. For a long time I asked myself how to do this, realizing that if I helped them, I ran the risk of contaminating them. I therefore limited my role to ensuring the diffusion of this exceptional music once I arrived in Paris. I wanted to avoid any colonial approach. Since our post-romantic aesthetic, the discovery of the Indian has continued to be misrepresented. Here in Palermo, from our terrace, we can gaze upon the highest domes, which inspires in me the idea that history passes but faith remains; it spans the centuries and is permanent. There is continuity. Between Europe and America, between the West and the East, there is a continuous link, a free exchange between boundaries.