musicians of old

Chapter 970 Song of the Earth (5)

Disappointment, loss, and regret lingered in everyone's hearts.

Fanning then raised his right hand to chest height.

Suddenly, a burst of noise erupted from the woodwind section, a cacophony of ornaments—vibrato, grace notes, echoes, and all sorts of small notes huddled together, vying to burst forth.

The extremely unstable tempo and tonality shattered the silence that followed the end of the previous movement.

If life is merely a court of dreams

Why kneel to accept such a bitter verdict?
I drank heavily all day long until my body collapsed.

Until the soul overflows the rim of the cup!

Fan Ning began to narrate a charming melody full of spring, switching between unrestrained and dreamlike, as if intoxicated, as if in a dream.

The fifth movement, "Der Trunkene im Fruhling" (The Drunkard of Spring), in A major, is described by expression terms as joyful, exuberant, and staggering.

This fifth cup of wine is a toast to all those in the world who still cherish idealism.

Li Bai's "On a Drunken Spring Day, Expressing My Aspirations".

"Life is like a grand dream; why toil away one's life?"

So he spent his days drunk, and lay slumped against the pillar in front of him.

This movement is extremely short, quickly reaching the development phrase with simple variations and repetitions, yet the material is still fully developed. The strings pluck a series of irregular rhythms, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes loud, sometimes soft, making it completely unpredictable when the next note will come.

When plucking the double bass, some players even "pick too hard," causing the strings to bounce back and hit the fingerboard, making a crisp "snap" sound.

The band suddenly fell silent, and in the extended rest, a clarinet played a solitary long note that pierced straight into the emptiness.

"I woke up and looked out at the courtyard. A bird was singing among the flowers."

"May I ask what time it is? The spring breeze whispers to the warbling orioles."

Fan Ning stretched out his arms to the sky, his tone suddenly taking on a gentle clarity.

As Walter's gestures flew, the orchestra frequently employed polyphonic techniques such as octave counterpoint, extended counterpoint, reflection, and close harmonies, yet the melodies remained antique, pure, and elegant, transitioning from the Shang pentatonic scale to the Gong pentatonic scale, and then to the altered Yu scale with a clear and refreshing air. Everything was perfectly natural!
In a mysterious realm of revelation of "noon," the audience fully comprehended the Eastern imagery in this enigmatic and exotic poem. At this moment, even without the aid of their familiar language, they could grasp its essence.

They felt the chilly spring breeze, smelled the refreshing fragrance of flowers, and even heard the melodious songs of swallows and sparrows from time to time.

The band started to speed up.

All the parts entered a frantic race, the conductor's gestures drew increasingly larger arcs in the air, so large that his sleeves rustled in the wind, and the timpani struck out continuous rolls, the frequency becoming increasingly dense, so dense that individual drumbeats were indistinguishable.

"Feeling moved, I want to sigh, and I pour myself a cup of wine."

Singing aloud, awaiting the bright moon; the melody ends, and all emotions have faded!

The music ended amidst the revelry, and I was completely lost in a dream.

At this point, the wine in the cup was finished.

Listening all the way to this point, although the light and shadow emanating from the empty space of the stage were so vast, complex, grand, and all-encompassing, everyone belatedly realized that not much time had actually passed.

The program list lists six movements, but all five movements are extremely concise short pieces.

They seem to constitute only the first part of the music.

So, this is the final movement?
A more somber scene unfolds slowly, like a boulder being rolled away.

The final chapter of "Das Lied von der Er" (Farewell)!
"Bang!" "Bang!"

The deep, suppressed sound of gongs came from the back of the stage, one after another.

It wasn't striking, but more like friction; the mallet rolled along the edge of the gong, producing a deep hum that entered the listener's feet, their skulls, and traveled all the way to their heart and spine. The low-pitched string instruments drew out a long note in the lowest register, like muffled thunder from deep underground.

"do/re/do/xi/do!————"

"do/re/do/xi/do!————"

Against this heavy background, the oboe begins to play a repetitive, extremely fast echoing tone.

The drawn-out trailing tone and trembling sound brought out sounds from other times and spaces, creating a sense of "martial arts chivalry" and "desolation" amidst the turmoil, like the mournful and fluttering sounds of panpipes, harps, or Qiang flutes in the frontier.

"The setting sun passes over the western ridge, and the valleys are suddenly shrouded in darkness."

The moon shines through the pines, bringing a cool night; the wind and spring water fill the air with a clear, pleasant sound!

Fanning's voice drifted in from all corners of time and space.

The first part of the final chapter, the lyrics of Meng Haoran's "Staying Overnight at Master Ye's Mountain Lodge, Waiting for Ding Da Who Did Not Arrive," are not even presented as vocal music in the score. Rather, they are an orchestration, an echo, a kind of revelation.

The wine has been drunk to the last drop. This is the final song in this mortal world. Let us first pay tribute to all that has passed away, to all the countless sacrifices made.

The first violin played a long note.

Two beats later, the second violin enters.

Two more beats later, viola; two more beats later, cello.

Each voice brings a new pitch when it enters, and those pitches overlap to form a slowly unfolding chord. The chord changes constantly, so slowly that you need to concentrate all your attention to notice it moving. In this way, it gradually renders a profound and evocative ink painting.

"The setting sun sinks beyond the mountains, and night falls low among the valleys."

The night was cool and still, with a gentle breeze blowing.
The moon, like a small silver boat, drifts leisurely in the deep blue sea of ​​stars.

The theme of the exposition began, with Miss Nightingale's low voice.

It was extremely cold at first, but then it warmed up a little, and when singing the syllable "small boat", there was a slight undulation.

Ripples spread across the water's surface, and the clear, transparent arpeggios of the harp rose from low to high, like stars twinkling one by one. The desolate wooden pipes occasionally drifted across the surface, adding to the melancholy.

The world has fallen into a deep sleep, and all things breathe in their slumber.
All the fervent hopes and expectations have faded into dreams.

In the first part of the development section, the flute and clarinet begin their dialogue, with the flute playing a short phrase and the clarinet responding with an extended counterpoint.
One sentence: "Waiting a long time," another sentence.

It was the perfect tune for a time when it's impossible to fall asleep.

All things breathe in slumber, but the singer does not. The entire orchestra enters a very soft cadence, the sound as thin as a veil, with more veil behind it. In that extremely soft sound, Miss Nightingale's voice becomes clearer, only the boundaries between syllables become blurred.

The cool night breeze lingered among the pine trees.

I stand alone in the night, the pine forest hanging low in the air.

Waiting for an old friend
Waiting to say my final goodbye to him.

The second part of the development section is an instrumental passage with a wide range of emotional changes. Although the basic tone remains the same, it seems to have a lot of vitality for development, and there are also some warm arcs jumping in Walter's gestures.

After all, waiting means there is hope.

But then, with a sudden key change, the entire orchestra shifted without warning to a distant realm, where a cool, mysterious atmosphere made all the sounds sink. Even the mezzo-soprano's voice turned cold, stiff with coldness.

The strings began to play tremolo, and the tips of all the violin bows vibrated rapidly on the strings, producing a desolate and regretful hum.

I hope my old friends will see this moonlight.
Just like witnessing the eternally lonely path of glory,
I strummed the strings of my harp on the path covered with vines.

But where is that person now?

BOOM!!! —————— The eerie sound of a large gong suddenly arrived, and the band's music went from high to low, pushing everyone into an abyss of disillusionment.

Some people in the audience began to tremble violently.

The double bass plays a continuous low note, which remains unchanged and unchanging, like the heartbeat of the earth.

One after another, with long intervals.

"The woodcutters have almost all gone home, and the birds have just settled down to roost."

"My beloved son awaits my arrival, I wait by the ivy-covered path with my solitary zither!"

Amidst the myriad and illusory waves of the stage, Fan Ning's figure can be vaguely seen standing under the moon, holding a folding fan, wearing a long robe, whispering and chanting in the darkness, accompanied only by a guqin.

"Zheng!"

The disillusioning sound of the gong striking echoed the plucking of the strings of a guqin in the scene.

"salute!!--"

At the same time, in different places, alarming and solemn signals resounded throughout the sky.

At 360 Pussault Council Street, the Uvrancel branch of the Special Patrol, a heavily guarded courtyard adorned with the police department's insignia; and at 1050 Paspiel North Street, the Santa Rambow Special Patrol headquarters, twin grey-black buildings, groups of men in black police uniforms stood motionless in the darkness, their arms tracing identical arcs, making the salute gestures belonging to their respective organizations.

Beneath the black brim of their hats, pairs of eyes peered out, gazing intently at the flag.

The color scheme is blue, gray, and white. The background features simple lines of windows and bookshelves, revealing a huge round table with about a quarter of its arc, and a small knife on the table.

The flag of that discussion group began to slowly descend.

(End of this chapter)