The Second World War shattered Martinelli’s trajectory. As a woman with documented anti-fascist sympathies and a Jewish maternal grandmother, she fled Italy in 1942, eventually settling in a small coastal town in Bahia, Brazil. It is here that her work took its most poignant turn. Abandoning electricity, she returned to the raw wood of the theorbo, composing a series of pieces for solo strings titled Mágoas do Atlântico (Sorrows of the Atlantic). These works, never performed in her lifetime, are extraordinary for their use of scordatura (alternate tunings) that mimic the rhythms of waves and the interval of the tritone to represent the dissonance of exile. Where her European work was aggressive and futuristic, her Brazilian period was melancholic and deeply introspective.
So why is Zelica Martinelli not a household name? The answer lies in a confluence of bad luck and gender politics. In 1951, she sent a recording of Mágoas do Atlântico to the Darmstadt Summer Courses, hoping to connect with the new avant-garde. According to a letter discovered in the Stockhausen archive, the piece was rejected by the selection committee as "too sentimental" and "technically naïve"—criticisms rarely leveled at her male contemporaries writing in similar modes. Humiliated, Martinelli withdrew from public correspondence. When a fire destroyed her Rio de Janeiro studio in 1962, she reportedly burned the remaining scores herself, declaring that "music that cannot be heard in a room without prejudice does not deserve to survive." zelica martinelli
The centerpiece of Martinelli’s oeuvre, and the primary reason for her historical obscurity, was her radical modification of the theorbo. Once a stately continuo instrument of the Baroque, Martinelli’s “Teorbo Elettroacustico” (1938) replaced six of its gut strings with steel wires of varying tensions, attached to small electromagnetic pickups scavenged from damaged radios. The resulting work, Metamorfosi di un’Arianna (1940), was a thirty-minute lament that shifted between crystalline Baroque pastiche and grinding, industrial feedback. Contemporary reports from a private salon in Milan describe the effect as "disturbing" and "cannibalistic"—as if Monteverdi’s ghost had been forced to possess a factory press. The Second World War shattered Martinelli’s trajectory
