Chicago 1990

"APLUS! It's the tenth symphony!"

The staff of the concert hall walked in to report.

"I know."

Song Ya, who was helping each other to organize the tuxedo with the South African concert, nodded and smoothed the folds of the shirt on her chest slightly.

Because it is generally considered that the work style and artistic achievements are not inferior to Beethoven’s nine monumental masterpieces, Symphony No. 1 in C minor is also commonly known as the Tenth Symphony. The German composer Brahms completed this from the beginning of the creation to the end. It took a total of 21 years for the grand production, divided into four movements, and it took about fifty minutes to perform the entire book.

The tome has just begun, and there is still plenty of time.

Guying felt sorry for the mirror for a few seconds, and he moved his eyes back to the command score and baton on the table. These two things must be kept with him, especially the command score, otherwise he might get embarrassed on stage.

"Let's take a look?" the South African singer asked.

"Ok."

The two took good things and went to the large rehearsal room. The children of the choir had changed their costumes. The Nancheng Public High School was mostly black, wearing colorful African styles. About two-thirds of the private one they went to later. Are they white, and their costumes are Greek robes? The renderings produced by the stylist at the time were very good, but when they were made, they felt a bit nondescript when they were actually worn. It didn't matter, as long as they were meant to be. In order not to appear too distinct, the children from the two schools would be placed in staggered rows.

The other two choirs, whether semi-professional or amateur, are all in black dresses and black skirts.

Even if there are teachers maintaining order, the children are still arguing, and the old men and old men get together to socialize.

"Don't worry about APLUS, I promise to be foolproof." The choir conductor saw him with a smile and asked, "Do you want to make a speech?"

"No, just don't lose this."

As soon as the stage was on stage, there was no pressure anymore. Song Ya put on the conductor score and ordered that each of them had their own black-skinned scores in their hands, and they would sing with their hands in their hands.

For more than three minutes of sketches, BabaYetu's rehearsal time is completely enough. There are few words in the main prayer text. If it is in English, everyone will definitely recite it, but now people who do not understand Swahili are required to sing come out.

He went to the place where the musicians stayed. They were all sitting around a piano, keeping their instrument case and sheet music at every step. There was a small TV in the room. PBS was broadcasting the New Year's concert live. The footage was taken from time to time. In the front row, the governor, the mayor’s family, the South African ambassador, and other political and business celebrities that I don’t know.

They watched silently, and the young musicians' eyes showed longing.

Barenboi is not as passionate as some conductors, but he is not of the elegant group. His movements are fast, concise, and full of power. Song Ya has already experienced it. When rehearsing the Game of Thrones, he felt like the other party was quiet. The lion, unassuming but unquestionable in control, is the only king in the audience.

In fact, at a certain time in the middle of rehearsal, when I was directing, I would start shaking my head unconsciously. This was not out of expressive desire, but really enjoyment. When every note of the whole band was in accordance with my previous thoughts, like an arm When the fingers and the ground flowed out one by one, the feeling of satisfaction and pride caused...

"No way, no, I still have to be more elegant and restrained." He secretly said: "I'm also Barenboy..."

The first movement, the second movement, when the Symphony No. 1 in C minor was halfway through, the children's clear conversation came from the corridor outside.

"There are still twenty minutes." After a while, someone came to remind me again.

"OK, tidy up everything, ready."

Song Ya slapped his hands and ordered, the musicians started to move, took out their instruments, asked the piano for a B-flat pitch, and then concentrated on tuning.

"No one lost the score, right?"

With ten minutes left, Song Ya checked for the last time, and then had someone call Lia Salonga out and led the team to wait in the corridor.

The backstage space is not ample, the chorus of more than 100 people is crowded in front, and half of the aisle has to be cleared.

"Don't be nervous." Lia Salonga, who was used to the big scene, smiled.

Damn, I wasn't nervous at first, but I was a little nervous when you said that, "Small, 80,000 people came to my concert in Mexico City." Song Ya bragged with shaking legs.

But in fact, I don’t know why, it’s more fearful than when I went to the nightclub opposite to Lao Qiao Records for the first time. Hey, why is it difficult for the first time? Looking down at the short Asian girl next to her, maybe because of her long-term relationship with Schoenberg, she doesn’t catch a cold with her sketch, and she even feels that she regrets taking over BabaYetu, with little lyrics. And it's not difficult, you have to travel between New York and Chicago.

"Hmph, I paid generously for the performance!" He comforted himself in his heart.

‘Wow! ’

The music on the front stage stopped abruptly, and even the thunderous applause continued for a long time. He knew it meant that it was over there, and swallowed subconsciously.

"Go to your daddy to play."

The lights in the auditorium in the hall were on, and Xue Linfen awakened Robb who was already asleep, "Come, stand up, and applaud together." Barenboi was leading the Orchestra's curtain call, and she taught her son to stand and applaud. .

"not bad."

The old Barn in the hall below rarely praised him.

"The Christmas concert will be followed by the New Year's concert. Barenboi has worked very hard this year." The old friend applauded warmly.

"Take a break."

After Barenboi left, the stage lights dimmed, and the audience who listened to the symphony for more than an hour took the opportunity to relax and go to the bathroom. Old Barn took out a cigar from his arms and brightened it, and went out with his old friends to find a place. Smoked.

In North Carolina, Jesse Helms, who is resting at home, is also watching the PBS station, but just put down the cigar in his hand, "Go get my checkbook!" He called his wife.

"Don't you like this Jew?" His wife handed him the checkbook and asked, "Say he sympathizes with our enemy."

"But the old theater really needs to be refurbished."

He filled in a number on the checkbook and signed it. Before he could tear it off, he saw the subtitles on the PBS station on the TV screen, the next track BabaYetu, and the conductor: APLUS.

"What the hell..."

He just finished enjoying the good mood of Brahms, and immediately tore off the check that had just been signed and threw it into the trash can. Then he picked up the remote control and planned to change the channel, and saw the next subtitle'BabaYetu' , Which means our heavenly father, was composed by the young musician APLUS based on the Lord’s Prayer in Swahili. ’

Can I change it? Forget it, let's keep watching, anyway, the other stations are all messy cultural garbage.

In the corridor, Song Ya heard footsteps and suppressed conversations getting closer and closer. Playing a large tome for dozens of minutes is exhausting for both musicians and conductors. Barenboi, who took the lead and stepped down, was full of energy. It's sweat, I kept wiping it with a handkerchief, "APLUS, I'll see you later."

"no problem."

"Ok……"

Barenboi was not interested in talking, waved back and took the time to rest.

The queue on my own side began to move forward slowly. The children and old ladies in front should stand up on the stepped chorus stage first, and then the musicians and singers will be in their respective positions. You have to wait until the stage lights are on and the last one will appear. anxious.

"WTF?"

When Old Barn came back from the wind, he also saw the happy text'BabaYetu Conducting APLUS' on the electronic display on the side of the concert hall. He angrily cursed: "How much does the Symphony Center charge for the sponsorship of the black nouveau riche? Do not want to renovate the project. Up?"

"Shhh!" His wife immediately stopped her husband from yelling.

"Let's go outside and wait." He didn't want to see or listen, he called his old friend.

"Wait, who is that?" The old friend recognized Dow's vice president who was looking for his position from the crowd on the dim stage. "Why is he here?"

"how could I know!"

"Is this the one that APLUS asked our church to sing last time?"

The old friend recognized more familiar faces in the group of old men and old ladies, and instantly became calm, "That is to say, we should have stood on the top and they were looking down? Is that the way it is? Shxt!"

The audience in the neighborhood looked sideways, and the little Mayor Daly in the front row also looked back. This time it was the old friend's wife to stop her husband from continuing to speak bad words.

The people in the hallway were almost gone, and the ears became quieter, Song Ya's heart became more and more nervous, and he kept touching the conductor score under his arm. The South African singer saw this, but it was too late to say anything. I'm afraid that his arm will also be on the stage.

Song Ya fainted and walked to the edge of the stage. Fortunately, a staff member came and raised his hand to block him, preventing him from going on stage in advance and making jokes.

He looked at it from the side and saw Alicia in the first row, with Peter and two children beside him, and the South African ambassador who just appeared on the TV screen. Xue Linfen and them should be on the second floor. I can't see it, and the previous broadcast footage will not stare at the box audience who needs more privacy.

The noise in the concert hall gradually dissipated, and the audience had returned to their seats. Then the stage lights came on again, and the staff's hands were also released.

Unable to avoid it, he felt cruel in his heart, bit the bullet and squeezed out a smile, and walked out.

"Walk to a third, bow to the audience first, then beckon and continue walking..."

In my heart, I meditated on the things I had learned so well in the past month, and acted in turn.

But there was no such warm applause to Barenboi from the audience, and there were scattered whistles in the back row, and a certain audience in the front row coughed loudly (old Barn did it).

The faces in the audience became more and more blurred in his eyes, his mind gradually became blank, and the world was chaotic.

Before I started, I felt sweaty on my back.

With one last bow, he turned around and put the conductor score on the podium. Damn, forgot to hug the singer. He went to hug the South African singer and Lia Salonga. The audience gave Lia Salonga a hug. The applause was greater than his own.

What else? Oh, he balances his body with one leg, enough to shake hands with the chief violinist.

The route was messed up, but I finally finished everything that should be done.

"He was a little nervous."

David Geffen, a big funder in the art field, saw it through, and he was already sitting on the stand outside the box.

Charis, who was by his side, had a lack of tone and had almost no experience of watching symphonies live. She didn't understand at all, but she was worried about men, so she looked at Mira, who was beside Doug Morris on the other side.

Milla also heard David Geffen's evaluation, poked her head out, and stared at her ex-boyfriend on the stage with great concentration. The hand holding the railing was unknowingly hard, and the knuckles were a little white.

The lights in the auditorium dimmed.

There is no ear reverberation, no pads, no post-remediation. Fortunately, Song Ya took a deep breath, raised his hands, and made eye contact with each voice, then silently counted the beats, and the baton jumped in the air again. .

The bowstrings of the fiddlers rose slowly like a forest of spears, ‘ohhhhhhhhhhhh...’ Leah Salonga chanted.

All rely on rehearsal, all rely on rehearsal! Song Ya didn't know if he had made any mistakes, but the music was undoubtedly displayed strictly according to the rehearsal effect. The sand hammer tasted right, the fat cellist did not make any mistakes, and the Huaguo drummer did not.

Okay! Okay! He slowly raised his left hand to the South African singer.

Babayetu, yetuuliye

Our father

Mbinguniyetu, yetu

You are in heaven

Amina!

Amen!

Babayetu, yetu, uliye

Our father

May people honor your name as holy

The unique voice of the South African singer is as rough as the African wilderness.

"Very interesting." Doug Morris, president of Universal Records, immediately beamed his eyes.

The short skit, the professionals just got the taste, and the choirs joined in the next paragraph.

Dow’s vice president faced the music score, shook his head and sang in a language he didn’t understand, using the lyrics marked by his favorite foley memory. It was very enjoyable.

The children opened their arms, sang and raised their heads to look reverently to the ceiling, as if looking up at God.

The atmosphere became sacred unconsciously.

Song Ya's tension gradually disappeared.

Old conservatives are very familiar with the Lord's Prayer. Both PBS and the concert hall have simultaneous translation subtitles. The faces of Jesse Helms and Old Barn have quietly become softer.

"It's Daddy who is in charge."

Xue Linfen and Mariah Carey, who was far away in Bedford Hills, New York, also showed off to their son almost simultaneously.

"African Lord's Prayer, and so many ethnic groups to play the politically correct gospel chorus? Emmm..."

Of course, David Geffen, who is also Jewish and a big brother of the same-sex brotherhood, didn't catch a cold, but he quickly understood what Song Ya wanted to express beyond music.

Relieved Mila turned her head and occasionally looked at each other with Charisy, and the eyes of the two were touched.

Alicia, who is closest to Song Ya, looked up at his back, unknowingly the corners of her mouth turned up, her eyes dimmed.

The South African ambassador and Pastor William in front of the TV sang loudly with tears.

"Twenty years from now, twenty years from now..." Linda murmured like she was frustrated with tears.

"What in twenty years?" asked Halle, who was at the same level as Charis, but Linda only shook her head and refused to say anything.

Our daily food is given to us today

Tunachohitaji

Please forgive me

Makosayetu, hey!

Our sin debt!

Kamanasi

As if we were free...

Debts of others

In the end, the harpist who sat for more than three minutes fiddled with the end~www.ltnovel.com~ Song Ya put down the baton and gently pressed it down with his left hand. The music gradually became low until it was silent.

The audience was silent for a few seconds, and then there was applause, this time extremely warm.

Really, it feels like the first time I was with Ellie in the recording studio of Old Qiao Records that year. Although the result was satisfactory, the process ended in a hurry at the beginning. Song Ya was about to turn around and thank you, but Apocalypse came so untimely and still It's the movie about jazz drummers. Fortunately, it hasn't been collected seven times...

Give me a little time, just go slowly, it's good soon.

He held the command post with his hand, and resisted the dizziness and the slight tremor of his body. Because of the pain of fighting with the apocalypse, a teardrop slipped from the corner of his eye and stayed on his face.

‘Puff...’ Barenboi, who was moisturizing his throat, sprayed water on the TV.

"It's contrived." In the office of the mayor of Wasilla, Alaska, the staff complained.

"Hey! You are not allowed to say that!"

Mayor Sara Palin drew out the tissues and gave one to Cassidy. "His music itself is still very touching."

"I know it, I know it, I blame you, I blame you for Bath!"

The old friend stood up and applauded, clapping his hands red, and staring enviously at the cheerful Dow Vice President on stage, constantly nagging, "This song is not difficult to sing, it is not difficult to sing... definitely not difficult to sing! "

Old Barn dared not say a word aggrieved.

"This kid... at least has always been strong in faith, right?"

Jesse Helms’ wife watched this scene on the TV screen, covering her mouth moved, tears in her eyes.

Jesse Helms sighed silently and noncommitantly, and silently picked up the checkbook and pen again.

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