BIZZI Historical Keyboard Instruments

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BIZZI Historical Keyboard Instruments

BIZZI Historical Keyboard Instruments of China, Romania, Russia, Rep. S. This is the result of a Ruckers-type manufacturing system. Why BIZZI?

BIZZI - Historical Keyboard Instruments in Italy and Worldwide

BIZZI is a manufacturer of historical keyboard instruments operating in 48 Countries:
Albania, Austria, Australia, Azerbaijan, Belgium, Byelorussia, Canada, Chile, Croatia, Columbia, Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Holland, Hungary, Indonesia, Iran, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Japan, Lettonia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Mexico, Monaco, New

Zealand, Norway, Paraguay, Peru, Poland, Portugal, Rep. Marino, Serbia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Syngapore, Ukraine, United Kingdom, U.S.A, Vietnam. Our company, founded in 1975, has specialized from the very beginning in the production and restoration of historical musical instruments. After many years of rich experiences and considerable investments BIZZI became leader in this market. BIZZI is a modern company based on the same manufacturing principles of the greatest harpsichord makers of the past, and particularly the Ruckers dynasty, which is a unique example of high quality combined with great efficiency and incredible productivity. From 2008 BIZZI has settled in the prestigious historical Villa Bossi, and has founded the ACCADEMIA EUROPEA VILLA BOSSI (www.accademiavillabossi.com) where some of the most important names in the world of historical music teach. Among our professors are: Pierre Hantai, Christine Schornsheim, Ottavio Dantone, Bart van Oort, Wolfgang Brunner, Alexei Lubimov, William Grant Naboré, Lorenzo Ghielmi, Sigiswald Kuijken, Amandine Beyer, Stefano Montanari, Christophe Coin, Vittorio Ghielmi, Giuseppe Lo Sardo, Lorenzo Coppola, Alfredo Bernardini, Marcello Gatti. Construction principles
Italy is a Country with extraordinary traditions in Art and Handicraft represented today by thousands of small firms highly specialised in their own fields. From among this intriguing milieu we have selected more than 30 handicraft firms and in many years of exciting work together, they have understood all our technical and artistic needs. Therefore, from sand casting of bronze to hand carved legs or all various styles of decoration, we have managed to obtain extraordinary quality from people who are still handing down traditional techniques from one generation to another. By working according to these principles we can always acquire materials with the best natural seasoning and the highest possible quality workmanship. Of course, the very manufacture of the harpsichord is always done in our workshop where we follow the principle of expertise: everyone of our harpsichord-makers works almost exclusively with the type of instrument he knows best. This principle of expertise enhances the highest professional abilities of each person, representing also one of the pillars on which our future development prospects are based. Quality / Price ratio
The ratio of quality to price undoubtedly accounts for our achievements and explains in part why more and more customers are choosing our instruments. Indeed, we can offer a quality suitable for the most demanding professionals at prices considerably less than those of the most qualified harpsichord makers. To all of those who are suspicious of prices which are apparently “too low”, we would ask to investigate the matter in detail. For example, by making a simple visit to us and to other makers, in order to understand what the manufacture of a harpsichord involves and thus discover the various advantages a firm like ours can offer in terms of quality, good prices and delivery times. Because Bizzi has re-introduced in harpsichord handcraft manufacturing the same historical construction principles which were used by the great masters of the past, and especially by the Ruckers family which, in the XVII century, was making more than one harpsichord per week
For the important contribution to our studies and researches given by the great musicians of our Accademia Europea Villa Bossi
Because this system combines high craftsmanship and modern management
For the style and good taste of many Italian artisans of great tradition that we have formed in many years of patient work
Because more and more often good harpsichordists and important institutions decide to purchase BIZZI instruments or use them in concert
For the best quality/price ratio in this market. For the good delivery times, the technical service and for all the attentions we are proud to offer to our clientelle. Because the size of our craftsmen enterprise allows us to do the necessary investments for studies and research on sound and structure stability and all the other aspects of musical craftsmanship
Because we are the only maker who owns the technology for producing its own strings, the most sensitive part, the heart of the harpsichord and the fortepiano
Because our harpsichords are the result of a high technical and management background, combined with an interesting artistic career and a deep experience in restoration of museums. And, why not, because our customers very often become also good friends...

03/09/2026

𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗜 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁.

I have spent the last few days stringing this clavichord after Johann Heinrich Silbermann, 1775, and fitting and adjusting the tangents.

It is one of those phases of the work that I particularly love.

For quite a long time, when you are building an instrument, you have to imagine almost everything.

You work on dimensions, wood, geometry, mechanics and dozens of small decisions, knowing what they should eventually produce but without yet being able to hear the result.

Then you arrive here.

You put on the strings.
You begin working on the tangents.
You press a key.

And suddenly there is a note.

It may still need adjustment. The instrument is certainly not finished. But for the first time, everything that existed until that moment mainly in your head and in your hands begins to answer back.

I think this is particularly fascinating with a clavichord.

Its mechanism is almost disarmingly simple, yet that simplicity leaves very little margin for error. The finger, the key, the tangent and the string are connected in an extraordinarily direct way.

There is nowhere for unnecessary mechanical noise or an imprecise adjustment to disappear.

And perhaps that is one of the reasons I find these instruments so absorbing to build.

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗻, 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

There is still work ahead before this one is finished.

But today it has begun to sound.

And after all these years, that still gives me an enormous sense of satisfaction.

After Johann Heinrich Silbermann, 1775.

02/09/2026

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗽𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗼 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.

This Pleyel was made in Paris in 1843.

When I work on an instrument like this, what interests me is not simply making an old piano function again.

The real reason to preserve and restore it is that it can still make us reconsider the music written around it.

Listening to Alessandro Commellato play Chopin’s Nocturne in D-flat major, Op. 27 No. 2, that becomes very clear.

A Pleyel of this period does not simply offer another colour.

Its attack, the way the sound releases, the transparency of the bass and the distinction between registers change the relationship between the pianist and the phrase.

The cantabile has to be built differently. The pedal acquires another meaning. The accompaniment leaves more space around the melody. Even silence begins to carry a different weight.

For me, this is one of the deepest reasons why instruments like this deserve to be recovered.

If they become only beautiful objects from the past, we preserve part of their history but lose much of their meaning.

𝗔 𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗽𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗼 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗮 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝗶𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻, 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆.

Not because the Pleyel gives us the correct way to play Chopin.

But because it reminds us that some of the interpretative habits we consider obvious may also belong to the instruments on which we learned them.

And after all the hours spent restoring an instrument like this, that is still the most rewarding moment for me: hearing a musician begin to discover what the instrument can teach.

For those of you who have played Romantic pianos, was there one aspect of your interpretation that changed more than you expected?

🎥 Watch the full performance on YouTube:
https://tinyurl.com/362t2j66

Frédéric Chopin, Nocturne in D-flat major, Op. 27 No. 2
Alessandro Commellato
Pleyel, Paris, 1843

01/09/2026

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗮 𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀?

Today I finally put this harpsichord after Ruckers 1644 on the stand chosen by its owner.

It may seem like one of the last and simplest decisions in the whole process, but I have always found these choices rather revealing.

The instrument previously stood on a different base. When the time came to decide on the final one, the owner preferred this design.

Much simpler. More restrained.

And now that I see everything together, I think it was exactly the right choice for him.

The instrument already has a strong visual character: the colours, the papers, the decoration around the keyboard, the soundboard, all the different lines and proportions.

The stand does not try to add another voice. It simply supports the whole composition.

This is something I enjoy very much about building an instrument for an individual person.

Of course there are aspects that belong to the historical model and that I do not treat as matters of fashion or personal whim. But there are also decisions through which an owner can gradually recognise himself in the instrument.

Over many years, it will become part of a room, daily practice, rehearsals, perhaps concerts, and inevitably part of that person’s visual and musical world.

So these apparently small conversations about colours, finishes or the shape of a stand are not entirely superficial to me.

They are part of the moment when an instrument stops being simply a Ruckers and starts becoming someone’s Ruckers.

Now it is complete, and ready to leave me for its new home.

For those of you who own an instrument made especially for you: which personal choice eventually became the detail you loved most?

27/08/2026

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝗺𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗺 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗶𝗱𝗲.

I am working at the moment on my clavichord after Johann Heinrich Silbermann’s 1775 instrument in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum.

I have always found the clavichord particularly fascinating to build.

Seen from the outside, its mechanism can appear almost elementary compared with a fortepiano or even a harpsichord.

But that apparent simplicity is exactly what makes it difficult.

There are fewer elements, fewer layers and fewer opportunities for one part of the mechanism to compensate for another.

Everything has to be right.

The geometry.
The balance.
The alignment.
The movement of the keys.
The relationship between tangent and string.

And then there is something that matters enormously on a clavichord: silence.

The mechanism has to disappear as much as possible.

On an instrument whose voice is naturally intimate, every unwanted mechanical sound becomes part of what the player hears. There is nowhere for it to hide.

That is why this kind of work often reminds me of a small mechanical watch. Not because it is complicated through the number of parts, but because every relationship between those parts has to be exact.

I also think this is what makes the clavichord such an extraordinary instrument for the musician.

It does not flatter the gesture.

It reveals it.

The same directness that demands precision from me while I build it will later ask for precision, listening and control from the person who plays it.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons such a quiet instrument can teach us so much.

For those of you who play the clavichord, what did it teach you that another keyboard did not?

24/08/2026

𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗳𝗮𝗿 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗻?

These photographs show a new harpsichord after Ioannes Ruckers 1638 that I am currently building for a professional pianist in Hong Kong.

It will be her first harpsichord.

Before arriving at this model, there was quite a lot to think about.

She was looking for an instrument with real timbral versatility, one that could allow her to discover a broad musical world without losing a strong personality of its own.

Gradually, the Flemish direction began to make sense.

But the 1638 Ruckers presents an interesting problem.

The original instrument has two manuals conceived as transposing keyboards, sounding at different pitches. It is an extraordinary historical concept, but not necessarily the most useful solution for a musician approaching her first harpsichord today.

So I aligned the two manuals and approached the instrument through a grand ravalement, extending the compass to 58 notes, G–e³.

The interesting decision was actually where to stop.

I could have extended it further.

That would have made the instrument still more accommodating on paper, but in my view it would also have begun to move its musical personality progressively towards a later French conception.

And that was not what she was looking for.

So the discussion became less about “how many notes can we add?” and more about “how much can we open the instrument while still allowing it to remain unmistakably Flemish?”

I find this part of my work particularly interesting.

Historical models give me an extraordinary amount of information, but building for a living musician still requires choices.

These pictures show the instrument at a beautiful intermediate stage. The case is complete and has received its ground in preparation for painting; much of the structure that will eventually disappear beneath keyboards, action and decoration is still completely visible.

It is one of those moments when the finished instrument is not there yet, but its musical identity already is.

For those of you who play historical instruments: how important is historical fidelity to you when it comes into tension with versatility?

21/08/2026

𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝘇𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁.

Some time ago Norma came to Villa Bossi to work on her repertoire and prepare for an important next step in her studies.

At one point she played the opening of Mozart’s Sonata in C minor, K.457, on my Walter 1789 fortepiano replica.

And I remember thinking how effectively these first seconds challenge one of the most persistent images we have of Mozart.

We so easily associate him with elegance, proportion, grace and perfect balance.

Then this music begins.

There is tension in it. Urgency. Drama. A kind of nervous energy that feels extraordinarily modern.

And on a fortepiano, some of those contrasts become even more evident.

The attack is immediate, the registers speak with very different personalities, and the instrument seems to react almost physically to the gestures of the player.

This is one of the reasons I still find historical instruments so fascinating after spending my life around them.

They do not exist simply to give us a different timbre.

At their best, they can make us question the interpretation we have already built in our minds.

The instrument Norma is playing here is my replica of a Walter fortepiano from 1789, built by Guido and Lorenzo Bizzi.

Sometimes changing the instrument is enough to change the question we ask of the music.

Have you ever played a familiar piece on a historical instrument and suddenly heard something in it that you had never noticed before?

18/08/2026

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲?

I think this is one of the most important questions behind the choice of an instrument.

These are some recent photographs of a new harpsichord after Giusti 1681 that I am building for a young musician in Switzerland.

He comes from a pianistic background and discovered the harpsichord later.

Before deciding what to build, we spoke for quite a long time.

Not only about models and specifications, but about what he actually wanted to do with the instrument.

Basso continuo.
Ensemble playing.
Solo repertoire.
And, perhaps most importantly, the possibility of continuing to discover things he does not yet know he will want to play.

This is where I think experience matters.

After two generations spent around historical keyboard instruments, meeting musicians, seeing how different instruments behave and watching how players’ needs change over time, I have come to feel that part of my work is not simply to build an instrument.

It is also to help someone understand which instrument really makes sense for their musical path.

In this case, the Giusti became the natural choice.

It can be extremely convincing in continuo, while still offering enough personality and musical depth to encourage a much wider exploration of solo repertoire.

Now all those conversations are beginning to take physical form.

The soundboard is there.
The internal structure is taking shape.
The blue case is finding its character.
The stand and gilded details are beginning to complete the visual language of the instrument.

I always enjoy this stage because the instrument is already becoming recognisable, even though much of what will finally define it is still to come.

For those of you who chose an instrument of your own: did you choose it for the musician you already were, or for the musician you hoped to become?

12/08/2026

𝗕𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀.

Music was not simply something people sat down to hear. It organised movement, ceremony, encounters and shared social life.

William Byrd’s La Volta retains that physical energy. Its rhythm seems to turn the musical phrase into gesture, reminding us that much historical keyboard music was connected to bodies long before it became concert repertoire.

Jane Chapman performs here on our French harpsichord after Goermans–Taskin at the 50th Anniversary of the London International Festival of Early Music.

This is one of the things I find most compelling about these instruments. They do not only reconnect us with sounds from the past. At their best, they restore movement, character and human immediacy to music that can otherwise appear distant.

Which old dance still feels most alive to you today?

08/08/2026

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗽𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻.

This new Giusti 1681 is taking shape in our workshop for a musician whose musical background began with the piano and who later discovered the harpsichord.

I find this kind of journey particularly interesting because, at the beginning, you rarely know exactly where a new instrument will lead you.

Perhaps the immediate need is basso continuo: rehearsals, ensembles, singers, chamber music.

But then the instrument is at home.

You begin exploring.

A piece becomes a suite, a composer leads to another composer, and suddenly the instrument that was initially chosen for continuo becomes the place where a whole solo repertoire begins to reveal itself.

That was one of the reasons this model felt particularly appropriate.

The Giusti has a remarkable ability to inhabit both worlds. It can be a practical and convincing continuo instrument, but it also has the personality and range to reward a musician who gradually wants to go much further into the solo repertoire.

These photographs show that instrument before much of what people normally recognise as a harpsichord is even present.

And yet much of its future character is already being determined here: in the proportions, the internal structure, the soundboard and all those decisions that will eventually disappear from view.

For me, that is perhaps the most exciting part of building an instrument for someone at the beginning of this journey:

you are not building for what the musician can already do. You are also building for what they may want to discover next.

If you remember choosing your first serious instrument, did you know then where it would eventually take you?

07/08/2026

𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘂𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗱.

Sometimes the greater challenge is to play slowly enough that every sound carries meaning.

In this Sarabande by Élisabeth-Claude Jacquet de La Guerre, nothing can be hidden behind movement. Each note must arrive with intention, each silence must retain tension, and each harmony must be allowed enough time to change the atmosphere around it.

Jane Chapman performs on our French harpsichord after Goermans–Taskin during the 50th Anniversary of the London International Festival of Early Music.

A passage like this asks something particular of an instrument. It must offer clarity without hardness, presence without excess, and enough sensitivity for the performer to shape the spaces between the notes.

In a world that often rewards acceleration, music can remind us that slowing down is not the absence of action. It is another form of attention.

Is there a piece of music that has ever changed your perception of time?

Indirizzo

Via Carlo Bossi 33
Varese
21020

Telefono

+393480946781

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http://www.bizzi.com/

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