Chapter 29 talk about music

I don't like music much.For some reason, colors and smells often make me happy, while all music is sad.Even if it is so-called light music, the jump seems to be superficial, a bit fake.For example, the color: curtains are drawn in the room in summer, a pile of old pajamas are neatly folded on the long-beard straw mat, emerald blue linen shirt, green silk trousers, the emerald blue and green together have a dense and delicate feeling. Beauty does not necessarily evoke any associations in people, but just hollows out a piece in the darkness of the room, quietly leaving this place for joy.I sat on the side, saw it by accident, and was happy for a long time.

Another time, a new anti-air shield was added to the lights in the room, and the blue and black light shone on the bathtub basin, everything was cold, blue and black in the white, coated with a new layer of lubrication, and became simple , Looking in from the door, it is completely like a modernist picture, with a new three-dimensional.I think it is absolutely impossible to walk in, but I really walked in.As if he had achieved the impossible, he was happy yet frightened, numb slightly as if he had been electrocuted, and he would come out immediately. In short, such a thing as color is miserable only when it is dull; but when it is noticed, it is always gratifying and makes the world appear more real.

So is the smell.I like many smells that other people don't like, the mild musty smell of the fog, the dust wet by the rain, onion and garlic, and cheap perfume.Like gasoline, some people feel dizzy when they smell it, but I purposely sit next to the driver, or go behind the car, and wait for it to blow off the gas when it starts.Every year I use gasoline to scrub the clothes, and the room is full of fresh and bright air; my mother never asks me to help, because I deliberately slow down my hands and feet, and let the gasoline evaporate a lot. The milk was burnt, the match was burnt black, and I felt hungry when I smelled the burnt aroma.The smell of paint, because it is brand new, is positive and vigorous, as if celebrating the New Year in a new house, cool, clean and prosperous.The ham, bacon, and peanut oil have been kept for a long time, and the taste has changed. There is a kind of oily smell, which I also like, which makes the oil more oily, overripe, and plump, just like the rotten rice in ancient times.During the war in Hong Kong, the dishes we ate were all cooked with coconut oil, which had a strong soapy smell. At first, we were unaccustomed to eating it and felt sick, but later we found that the soap also had a cold smell.There was no toothpaste during the war, and I didn't mind rubbing my teeth with coarse laundry soap.

The smell is always temporary and occasional; if you smell it for a long time, you can't stand it even if you can.So the smell is a trifle after all.As for the color, if there is a color, it will be there, which makes people feel at ease.The pleasantness of colors and smells may have something to do with this.Unlike music, music always leaves itself and goes somewhere else. No one seems to be sure where it goes, and it has already passed as soon as it arrives, and then it is searched and searched again, deserted. What I am most afraid of is Fan Yalin, which flows like water, and everything that is tightly grasped and attached to in life will flow away.Hu Qin is much better, although it is also desolate.When it comes, it always seems like the words of the northerners have been said again, and they have traveled far and wide, and they still return to the world.

Fan Yalin's music is always a perfect tune, with nine twists and turns, too obvious to make people cry, and it is the sad song among musical instruments.I think that there can only be Zhengdan and Xiaodan in the play, and there should be no sad, coquettish, and old-fashioned remarks. (In the civilized dramas in the early years of the Republic of China, there were veterans who made political speeches.) Fan Yalin and piano ensemble, or a small band of three or four people, mainly piano and Fan Yalin, I also hate, scattered, restless, difficult to get together, the result is like a Chinese painting, Painting a beauty, another person fills in the flowers, and another person fills in the background pavilions, there is often no emotion at all.

The large-scale symphony is naturally different. It rushed like the May 4th Movement, changing everyone's voice into its own voice. The voices whizzing forward, backward, left, and right were all their own voices. Shocked by the depth and grandeur of your own voice; it's like hearing someone talking to you when you wake up for the first time, and you don't quite know whether it's yourself or someone else, and you feel vague and terrifying. However, because the symphony is too complicated to compile, the composer must undergo arduous training, and then he is often addicted to the training and cannot extricate himself.So symphonies often have this problem: there are too many rhythmic elements.Why do you have to come up with such a set every once in a while?The band suddenly became tense, buried their heads and gritted their teeth, and entered the final stage of the decisive battle. They drummed up their strength and drummed three more times, determined to wipe out the entire audience, but the audience just resisted silently. , have sat at countless concerts; from past experience, they know that this music will end.

I am Chinese, and I like noise and noise. Chinese gongs and drums are played head-on without asking why. Small trumpet, piano, Fan Yalin arranged arrangements one by one, and ambushed all around, responding one after another. I am afraid of such a planned conspiracy. The second time I came into contact with music was when I was eight or nine years old. My mother and aunt had just returned to China. My aunt practiced the piano every day. She stretched out her very small hands, and her wrists were tightly wrapped around the narrow sleeves of the sweater. silver wire.There are often flowers blooming in the glass bottle on the piano.From the piano, there is another world, but it's not another world. It's just a big mirror hanging on the wall, which makes the room look bigger, but it's still the same refined and elegant, filled with hot water. one room.

Sometimes my mother would also stand behind my aunt, put her hands on her shoulders, and talk loudly.My mother learned to sing simply because her lungs were weak, and the doctor told her singing was good for her lungs.No matter what the tune is, she sings it a bit like reciting poems, (she often recites Tang poems in a protracted Hunan accent.) And her pronunciation is half a step lower than the piano, but she always laughs apologetically , with many flirtatious interpretations.Her clothes are the light ocher of autumn leaves, and there are light ocher flower balls hanging on her shoulders, always in a falling posture.

I always stand by and listen. In fact, what I like is not the piano but the air.I was very moved and said: I'm so envious!I wish I could play this well!So the grown-ups thought I was a rare child who knew how to play music and couldn't let my talent be buried, so they immediately sent me to learn piano.Mother said: Since it is a matter of a lifetime, the first thing to do is to know how to cherish your piano.The keys of the piano are all white and cannot be touched without washing hands. Every day, I personally wipe off the dust on them with a parrot green velvet cloth. I was taken to the concert, and my mother warned me repeatedly in advance: You must never speak loudly, and don't let people scold the Chinese for not obeying the order.Sure enough, I remained silent the entire time, sitting in my seat without moving, nor did I fall asleep.During the ten-minute break, my mother and aunt whispered about a woman with red hair: red hair is really embarrassing!Wearing clothes is very restricted, all red and yellow are offensive, only green, red hair wears green, it is indeed in the hall with yellow and dim lights, I searched and couldn't see the red-haired woman, and later Thinking all the way in the car, is there really red hair?very confused.

I have never voluntarily gone to a concert since then, not even sitting far away in the park on summer nights without buying a ticket to enjoy the symphony in the open-air concert hall. The teacher who taught me the violin was a Russian woman, with fluffy golden hair growing on her broad cheeks, she often praised me, her big blue eyes were full of excitable tears, she hugged my head and kissed me.I smiled politely, remembering where she kissed.After a while, I wiped it with a handkerchief.When I go to her house, my old maid always leads me. I don't speak English yet, but I somehow talk to her a lot, and even the old maid often joins in the conversation.At the end of a week, she came back from a swim in Takahashi, and proudly and happily untied her collar to show us. Her pink back was sunburnt, and even though it had been a day, she still smelled like sweat and the sun.The walls of the living room are covered with old dull brown carpets, and there is a green-painted screen door. Every time we come in and out, her husband opens the door very politely for us. For many years, I have never known what he looks like. He seems to have a pale face that has never seen the sun. His wife teaches piano to support the family, and he doesn't do anything.

Later when I went to school, Mr. Qin in the school was often angry, and he would throw the music score on the ground, hit the back of his hand, and sweep my hand to the piano cover, causing pain in my joints.The more I played, the more lazy I became, and I completely lost interest in the piano. When I should practice the piano, I sat on the floor behind the piano and read novels.After Mr. Qin got married, his temper improved a lot.The powder she puts on doesn't float on her face and is always an inch away from her face.It was loosely covered with a layer of white powder, but she actually smiled at me and said: Good morning!But I was still afraid. Every time before class, I stood at the door of the piano room and waited for the bell to ring. I always shivered and wanted to go to the bathroom. Because I have worked hard for several years, it seems to be an investment to open a shop, and it is a pity to throw it away if I can't get it out.So I kept learning, but then I had to stop.But on the one hand, I continued to live and study in the school, and I often had to walk through the music hall, many small rooms, many people playing the qin, and the qin characters shook and fell, and it felt like it was dawn and it was raining , The sky will never light up, and the empty raindrops hit the iron shed, which is so empty that people feel uncomfortable.The piano player occasionally steps on the pedal below, and the characters of the piano are connected together to form one piece. It is nothing but the strong wind that blows the rain into smoke. Playing the piano, it feels like you are in a building with dozens of floors, and hurried up the back stairs used by the servants and coolie salesmen, the gray concrete stairs, the black iron railings, the gray concrete walls on both sides, and the red foreign iron stacked at the corner Buckets and winter's odorless gray cold garbage, I walked all the way up, but I didn't meet a person; in that high, windy house, I just walked up. Later, I gradually distanced myself from the suffering of the piano, and I also listened to some symphonies (mostly on gramophones, because they were relatively short). I always felt that the impassioned speeches in them were too heavy.I prefer the court music of the 18th century. Those exquisite Minuets, with sharp hands and feet, seemed to be afraid of breaking something. Indeed, Europeans at that time were fascinated by Chinese porcelain, and even the furniture in the room was made of porcelain, painted with gold on white ground. , a very slim chair.My favorite classical musician is not Beethoven or Chopin of the romantic school, but the earlier Bahei. Bahei's music is not official, delicate, temple-like or heroic, and the world in it is clumsy In the small wooden house, the wall clock on the wall ticks and sways; drinks goat milk from a wooden bowl; Joy rings like golden wedding bells.As Browning puts it in his poem: God is in his heavenly courts, Everything is fine in the world. This opera thing is precious, and it is precious.Most opera stories are naive, such as the primitive feeling of jealousy, which is the simplest kind of jealousy in opera, but on the one hand, it is magnified a thousand times with the most complicated and civilized music to express it luxuriously, because it is not Reconcile, even more difficult.Big is not necessarily great.And such solemn enthusiasm, such breast-beating and gesticulating heroes, I also hate it.But there are also moments of greatness when the singer's golden voice rises calmly under the high-pressure music, and all kinds of musical instruments are frightened one by one; when a person suddenly stands upright in the storm of life, it turns out that he is very tall Yes, the winks and singing voices also shine in the stars.If you don't see him stand up, you don't know that he usually crawls on the ground. Foreign popular music, I don't like the half-new and old ones the least, such as One Hundred and One Best Songs, which has the atmosphere of a nineteenth-century parlor, dark, elegant, and breathless, probably because it was fashionable at that time. The waist is tied, and everyone eats too much, so there is a feeling of fullness.The sorrow there is not sorrow but misery.At dusk is a love song: In the twilight, when you think of me, don't hold grudges, darling Sounds like a decent woman who rejected a man many years ago, for his own good and hers.She thought nothing happened, she lived alone, and she was getting old alone.Although he is still confident and confident, he is also sorry at the same time.It was gentle and lovely, but the years of slow death and decay made us resent her outdated logic. Scottish folk songs don't have that logic. For example, Loch Loman, this ancient song was jazzed by American pop bands two years ago, and it became popular for a while: Take the high road, i go the low way I and my true love will never meet again, On the beautiful, beautiful lakeside of Loch Lomond. One can imagine the mountainous and foggy Scotland, the heather all over the hillside, long like basil, and the small lavender flowers floating on it like a layer of purple mist.The air was clear and cold.That kind of cleanliness can only be found in our poetry. Ordinary jazz, if you listen to too much, you will feel groggy, as if you got up too late, the sun is yellow, and you don’t know what time it is, you have no strength, no appetite, and no brain.The obvious swaying beat, like someone's leg beating, is very comfortable.My favorite song is the girl in the local news, which is not very popular in China, probably because the idea is a little more novel, there is no usual June, the moon, the blue sky, you because i miss her, miss that girl on local news thinking of that pink paper in local news Young beautiful dark-haired woman. Totally petty bourgeois in a big city. The music of South America is in full swing, and it is the noise of the brilliant spring.Hawaiian music is very monotonous, and it will always be the guitar.It seems that in the late summer and early autumn, the mats are about to be put away and hung on the bamboo poles to dry. The checkered Taiwanese mats, the yellow straw mats, have a strip of golden sun on the edge rolled by the wind.The man sat on the ground, dozing off with his straw hat closed on his face.The breath of a lover who is not alone leaning on his shoulder is like a hair dryer in a barber shop.If you are not very, very in love with the very simple indulging, I am afraid it will be annoying, because the feeling of wasting time is too obvious, which makes people anxious.Above the head is the deep blue sky that knows no fatigue, and the wind and sun have been blowing and shining for thousands of years, and life is short, so I am annoyed by everything that is eternal. In Chinese popular music, I think Dagushu is too much like anger. A famous player runs through strangely long sentences in one breath.Daxixiang spends a lot of effort to describe Yingying's longing for spring, but I always feel that it is Jing Youzi's sarcasm. I only heard Tanci once. A young man with a thin face sang Jinfeng. Every two sentences, he added a very positive um, um, um at the end of each sentence, shaking his head every time, as if biting someone. It's like not letting go of the meat.For some listeners this is about soft stimulation. In comparison, Shen Qu is the most honest and sincere.In Shenqu, it is expressed in a hurry and rushing forward. There is a special kind of music, which really seems to be flustered, with feet not touching the ground, and wind blowing in the ears.The strangest thing is that the expression of death also uses a similar tone, but the atmosphere is different.The song is: The three souls are dim, the three souls are dim, the seven souls are long, the seven souls are long; the king of Hades ordered people to die at the third watch, and did not keep them, and did not keep them until the fifth watch!Leng Leng rain-like, flat, repeated and repeated, hasty, noisy.As if a major event is imminent, people around are very nervous, but I don't know how I feel in my heart. The death of such a small family is still human until death. Chinese pop songs, in the past, because everyone had little sisters, the singers forced their throats to be sharp and flat. The Taohua River on the radio amplifier sounded like price, price, price, price, price, price, price, price. Foreigners often ask China in amazement How can a woman's voice be like this.I'm feeling better now.However, Chinese pop songs still have no foundation after all, as if it was determined that there should be new songs in the new era, and they were forced to come out.So when I heard one or two melodious tunes like roses blooming everywhere, I couldn't help but suspect that they were copied from the West or Japan.One night late at night, the music from the dance hall floated in the distance, and the woman's thin throat sang: roses bloom everywhere! In the vast Shanghai, there are not many houses with lights on, making the night even more empty.The lights in my room hadn't been turned off yet, and a long row of windows had been drawn with dark blue old velvet curtains, like a dark night in a cliché.The faded edges of the velvet were sprayed with dusty pale gold by the light, the curtains fluttered in the strong wind, and a strange car drove past on the street, not sure if it was catching robbers, wow!Wow!Shouting sharply, like a ship's siren, mournfully, wow!Hush!Wow, the sea is right outside the window, and the parting on the ship, the fateful rupture, is so cold in people's hearts.Wow!Wow!gradually far away.In such a ferocious, big and broken night, it is unimaginable for it to bloom everywhere with roses, but the woman still whispered and optimistically said that it was blooming.Even if it's just silk roses, adorned on tent tops, lampshades, hat brims, cuffs, shoe tips, and parasols, the small perfection is also cute and amiable. (End of the book)