Chapter 213 Prokfiev's Concert Under the Mask [Part 2]
Sergey.
Prokofiev, a Russian composer who was completely incapable of playing politics.
Rather, it is a misunderstood man.
He did not belong to any school of thought and never followed any popular trend.
But his music can never be categorized. Whenever people try to simplify it into an easy-to-understand blueprint, they will continue to encounter various 'accidents' and 'surprises'.
To this day in the 21st century, more than fifty years after his death, various interpretations about him are still talked about by many pianists.
Is he an active modernist or a classical music reactionary?
There are different opinions.
Due to the solid classical structural design and traditional tonality of his works, his music is still classified as a conservative old platoon style by some avant-garde composers.
To a neutral audience, his dissonant modernist style is so obvious.
In He Jing's view.
Prokofiev was just a man who used music and drums to express his views in silence.
His work, instant art, is also a commentary on art.
It's like a person who is watching this complicated world with cold eyes and yet living in it.
Regarding this, He Jing can always find something between the lines in his music, and these traceable things have some kind of resonance with her thoughts.
then.
The first time she heard the Second Piano Concerto, she knew that this piece would definitely be in her repertoire.
There is no particular reason, just the moment when the lyrical piano lines of the first movement come out.
She decided.
The stage lighting of Nanyin Concert Hall did not have that golden glow, it was a little darker.
However, the warm yellow halo also softened He Jing's three-dimensional facial features a little.
The Andante slowly brings out the sound of the piano in the two-measure overture of the string pizzicato clarinet.
He Jing leaned over and gently pushed her arms, her hands seemed to have adjusted their posture countless times before chanting the soft melody in her mind.
A simple voice, but with a rich sound.
The musical development of just three measures reveals Prokofiev's motives hidden in the complex musical texture.
At the door of the backstage, Qin Jian stood upright in a daze, listening to the music full of Russian national customs in his ears, and thought of Rachmaninov again.
The music of the two sounds like they are connected by a special bond.
But in fact they are very different.
If Rachmaninoff is a purple lilac blooming under the eaves.
That Prokofiev is more like a silent wilderness nurturing wild flowers.
The former is dark and emotional, haunted by dreams.
The latter sobbed secretly, igniting the black spring.
However, what he did not know was that Rachmaninov went to a foreign country and never returned.
And Prokofiev, under much controversy, decided to return to his hometown in order to escape the unfamiliar life circle in Paris.
What Prokfiev never thought about was that this move did not improve his loneliness.
Just like even when all the orchestra musicians stopped their hands, the magnificent piano solo still sounded out of place in the entire hall.
After removing the difficult skills of both hands on the keys, what is left is just a simple line.
During the final theme of the first movement, He Jing's fingers became slower and slower.
Getting slower and slower.
Finally, in despair, he fell silent.
"call."
As the first movement ended, Qin Jian wiped the sweat from his forehead.
The backstage of this May day shouldn't be hot.
...
From a certain perspective, Prokofiev's Second Piano Concerto indeed inherits the unique style of Russian music works, with its majestic peaks and melancholy sighing.
It has the style of Rachmaninov's piano concerto, novel chord orchestration and a strong personal style.
But the deep roar, panic and depression hidden in the keyboard warrior cannot be concealed at all costs.
Second movement, Scherzo.
The entire music hall was filled with the frenzied sound of the string section.
Like a swarm of bees coming.
A swarm of scurrying modern noise chimneys suddenly appeared, causing chaos on the entire stage.
It is almost impossible to hear any melody line inside the piano.
However, in this sudden sharpness, He Jing once again demonstrated her powerful finger functions.
Wherever her fingers passed, there was no pause, like a dragonfly touching water.
The sound effect of the endlessly moving strings brought an extremely shocking visual and auditory experience to everyone in the audience.
Strong finger skills are another dream of every piano student.
But at this moment, no one would think about the things behind such speed.
Just as the storm was progressing, the orchestra and musicians suddenly stopped.
quiet.
Xia Dong picked up a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then breathed a sigh of relief.
Last night's ending couldn't be neatly wrapped up, but today was perfect.
Xia Dong raised the baton again and looked at Er Quan.
Erquan took a deep breath, tightened the timpani hammer in his hand again, and then nodded to Xia Dong.
The next second.
Xia Dong's baton fell instantly.
"Boom——————"
"Boom————"
"Boom——————"
"Boom————"
Among the thick strings, the long and short sounds of the timpani slowly came.
Like a giant, he walked up from the back of the stage with heavy steps, one step at a time, and with a destructive momentum.
All the audience's eyes were focused on the drumstick in Erquan's hand.
The chaotic orchestra that followed was more like decorating the stage into an abandoned steel factory.
The clarinet's grin is like a rusty machine tool, and the viola's bitterness is like the thick black smoke coming out of a chimney.
And just then.
But a passionate and ambitious scream sounded in front of the piano.
Suddenly I heard it.
It's like a nursery rhyme full of jokes.
But when the camera focused on He Jing's facial features, her complicated expression seemed to tell that everything was not like that.
Strong scraping and grainy scales can be seen everywhere.
Finally, the noisy woodwinds and the overtones of the first violin that went crazy were in a cohesive atmosphere.
He Jing's expression once again returned to indifference.
She made a light stroke with her left hand.
This is the third movement full of "humor and absurdity".
Prokofiev never denied his absurdity, and his humor was always full of coldness and vitriol.
Sometimes it's like a farce, sometimes it's very sad and touching.
He gives the performers maximum space for expression and never tells the same joke twice.
After taking off the mask of rhythm and surging energy, it is not difficult to find that his outline of traditional melodies has never disappointed.
The source of thoughts buried under this melody is the distant wind, the winter in the northern country that is farther than the wind.