560. The meaning of Boss Shen's lavish core performance
Returning to the dormitory in the evening, Qin Jian called He Jing and asked about the results of today's semi-finals. He Jing told him not yet and would wait until tomorrow, and said that he would be notified as soon as they came out.
After that, the siblings talked about other things, including Cf7, Nobuyuki Jushii, and their visit to Mr. Fu tonight.
Finally, Qin Jian told He Jing that he was going to Norway, and told the other party about the conversation with Shen Qingci. He Jing gave Qin Jian a few words about this matter. With Liao Linjun there, she
Don't worry either.
Qin Jian had just hung up the phone when Wang Xiaoliang came out from under the bed curtain and looked at him, "Are you ready to leave?"
Wang Xiaoliang's question also represented the other two people, and the three of them looked at him together.
"Yes." Qin Jian looked at the three of them, "I guess we will have to meet again next semester."
The three of them were accustomed to this. Chen Tangjie said: "Don't worry, we are here."
Qin Jian smiled and said, "I don't have to worry about you being here. Let's practice our majors this semester. The club still has a heavy task this year."
"When are you leaving?" Zheng Feng asked.
"The flight tickets haven't been decided yet," Qin Jian thought for a while, "but it should be before June 5th."
Zheng Feng: “Have a meal on the weekend.”
Chen Tangjie added, "We have to eat. We haven't been together in the dormitory for a long time."
We agreed on a meal for the weekend, and after chatting for a while, they all took a break.
There is less than a month left for the orchestral music competition, and the orchestra members in the dormitory are also busy practicing their majors every day. Wang Xiaoliang joined the school's folk orchestra not long after the start of this semester and became the Pipa Sheng.
A member of the vocal unit.
...
The night passes and the sun rises again.
The graceful figure of Miss June is getting closer and closer to the world.
Early in the morning, he could feel the stuffy heat in the room. Qin Jian got up, washed his hair, hung up his beard, changed into dry clothes and set off.
He thought that the early mornings for old people and the early mornings for modern young people should still be different.
Following Shen Qingci's suggestion last night, Qin Jian went to the first meal and bought a bowl of bean juice, and then went to the second meal and bought a basket of meat buns.
This was brought to Mr. Fu, who drank a bowl of millet porridge himself.
Carrying the bean paste buns, he arrived at Mr. Fu's house.
Qin Jian discovered while eating chicken last night that the old man had good teeth and looked really good during the day. It was not like Shen Qingci said the old man was not in good health at all.
"Don't just sit there with me." The old man took half a bun in his mouth, "Go ahead and play with me."
Qin Jian was ordered to go to the bathroom and wash his hands, then came back and sat in front of the piano under the wall.
Who can believe it if I tell you that the personal piano of the chairman of the Chinese Musicians Association is just an old Xinghai.
To be honest, Qin Jian has never touched such an antique.
When I opened the piano cover, an old woody aroma came out.
Qin Jian felt a vague sense of expectation as he raised his hand, but his reason told him that it was impossible. This was just an old piano.
"Dang."
When the first tone of No. 56 Mazurka in B major sounded, Qin Jian put away all his thoughts. This was just a well-preserved antique.
With a smooth and charming performance, Qin Jian is like practicing alone in the piano room every morning.
From the first to the third song, play the three songs in one go until the end.
After closing his hand, Qin Jian paused briefly, then raised his hand again.
The first performance of Mazurka No. 41 began.
Four songs in a row, completed again.
About twenty minutes passed.
Qin Jian stopped his hand again, and at this time the old man had already come behind him.
"The emotions are well grasped, the line processing is delicate, and the technology is in place."
After Mr. Fu gave his first evaluation, Qin Jian remained silent. He knew that Mr. Fu only spoke half of his words.
moment.
"Qin Jian, what is a mazurka?"
Qin Jian then replied: "Mazurka is the most authentic Polish folk music."
Mr. Fu is satisfied with this simple answer: "What is folk music?"
Qin Jian hesitated for a moment and continued to answer: "Music that reflects the living conditions of the people and their emotional wishes."
Qin Jian's two answers can be said to be a high-level summary of the textbook.
"That's right," Mr. Fu asked again, "your performance is basically consistent with your answer."
After receiving this affirmation, Qin Jian felt a lot more at ease, but he always felt that there was something in the old man's words.
"I can see that you spent a lot of time trying to imitate Polish folk music."
What Mr. Fu continued was nothing less than another affirmation, but Qin Jian did do a lot of homework on this. Basically, he studied in depth every kind of national music in Poland.
Regardless of the overall rhythmic feel or speed, the two sets of mazurkas he finally formed fully absorbed the characteristics of Polish folk music.
Mr. Fu: "What kind of music do you think Chopin placed in the mazurka?"
The four words "feelings of family and country" stuck in Qin Jian's throat. He thought about it again. For a moment, he was unsure again. He didn't want to answer the question just for the sake of answering the question.
The four words "feelings for home and country" are too general. There is anger against the invaders, helplessness over the fall of the motherland, and the sadness and pain of not being able to return home.
Recalling this trip to Warsaw, the scenes about Chopin turned over page by page with his thoughts, and finally the scene was fixed on the tombstone in the Holy Cross Church, the one who lived in exile for 96 years.
long heart.
a long time.
"It's sad to be away from home."
Qin Jian felt that this was his answer.
Mr. Fu appreciated this answer, or it was the answer he wanted to hear. No matter what answer Qin Jian gave, he felt it was correct, because everyone had their own understanding.
He has discussed this question with countless people and has heard various answers.
So he naturally has his own answer.
"Come and sit."
Mr. Fu turned around and made a cup for Qin Jian, added some boiling water to his own teacup, and invited Qin Jian to sit across from him.
In the living room, the grandfather and grandson felt as if they were about to play chess.
Mr. Fu: "Qin Jian, do you like Chinese poetry culture?"
Qin Jian told the truth: "I like it, but I don't read much."
Mr. Fu: "You just mentioned Chopin's pain of leaving his hometown. The old man also agrees with this. In my opinion, hometown, old friends, and missing the homeland are the eternal themes in our Chinese poetry."
Qin Jian thought for a while, and it seemed that this was indeed the case.
For a moment, he thought of the Dongpo layman who stopped thinking about his old country and tried new tea with new fires, poetry and wine while enjoying his prime. He also thought of Wang Youcheng who persuaded people to drink one more glass of wine and had nothing to do with the sunshine in the west, and the small building.
The east wind blew again last night, and the motherland could not bear to look back at the empress of the Southern Tang Dynasty in the bright moon...
Underneath these gorgeous words is an emotion that has been felt by Chinese people for thousands of years.