Chapter 32 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 the so-called "light music", the jump seems to be superficial, a bit fake.For example, the color: in summer, the curtain is drawn in the room, and a pile of old pajamas are piled up on the long-beard straw mat. They are neatly folded, the emerald blue cloth shirt, and the green silk trousers. 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 Yes, looking in from the outside, it looks exactly like a modernist picture, with a new three-dimensional.I think it is absolutely impossible to go in, but I really went in, as if I had achieved the impossible, happy and scared, slightly numb as if I had been electrocuted, and I had to 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 deliberately sit next to the driver, or go behind the car, and wait for it to "boo boo boo" to let it go.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 stored for a long time, and the taste has changed. There is a kind of "oil ha" 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.Huqin is much better. Although it is desolate, it always resembles the northerner's saying, "I said it again, and I will return to the world after traveling far and wide."

What Fan Yalin pulls out is always the "absolute tune", with nine twists and turns, which is 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 Dan", "coquettish Dan", and "old-fashioned speech". (In civilized dramas in the early years of the Republic of China, there were "speech 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 mighty May Fourth Movement, changing everyone's voice into its own voice. The voices whizzing back and forth, left and right are all their own voices. I was shocked by the depth and grandeur of my own voice; it was like hearing someone talking to you when you woke up for the first time, and you didn't know whether it was you or someone else who said it, and you felt 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 to head without asking why. The trumpet, the piano, and the small trumpet Fan Yalin arranged arrangements one by one, and ambushed all around, responding one after another. I am afraid of such a planned conspiracy. The first 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 tiny hands and wrapped her wrists tightly 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 is not another world. It is just that a large mirror is hung on the wall to make the room look bigger, but it is still the same refined and elegant, filled with hot water. one room.

Sometimes my mother would stand behind my aunt, put her hands on her shoulders, and hang her voice "la la la la".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 so well!" So the adults thought I was a rare child who knew music and couldn't let my talent be buried, so they immediately sent me to learn piano.My mother said: "Since it is a matter of a lifetime, the first thing is to know how to cherish your piano." The keys of the piano are all white, and you can't touch them without washing your hands.Wipe off the dust yourself with a piece of parrot green velvet every day.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." sleep.During the ten-minute break, the mother and aunt whispered about the red-haired woman: "Red hair is really embarrassing! Wearing clothes is very restricted, all red and yellow are offensive, only green and red hair can wear red hair." Green, that's true..." In the dimly lit hall, I searched and couldn't see the red-haired person, and then I thought all the way in the car, is there really a red-haired person?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, and wiped it off with a handkerchief after a while.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 one week, she came back from swimming in Takahashi, and proudly and happily untied her collar to show us. Her pink back was sunburnt, and although 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—it's always an inch away.It was loosely covered with a layer of white powder, and she actually smiled at me and said, "Morning!" But I was still afraid. Every time before class, I would stand at the door of the piano room and wait for the bell to ring. I would always tremble and want to go to the bathroom. a trip.

Because I have been working hard for several years, it seems to be an investment to open a shop, and it is a pity to discard it if I can’t get it out, so I kept learning, but I had to stop in the end.But on the one hand, I continued to live and study in school, and I often had to walk past the music hall and many small rooms.Many people played the piano tinkling, ding-dong-dong, and the characters of the piano were shaking and scattered, as if it was dawn, it was raining, and the sky would never light up, and the empty raindrops hit the iron shed, which made people feel uncomfortable.Occasionally, the player who plays the piano steps on the pedal below, and the characters of the piano are connected together to form one piece, but it is just that the strong wind 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, gray concrete stairs, black iron railings, gray concrete walls on both sides, and red iron piled at the corner Bucket of unscented gray cold garbage with winter.All the way up, I didn't meet a person; in the high house where the wind was miserable, 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 Minuet, with sharp hands and feet, as if they were afraid of breaking something-it is true that Europeans at that time were fascinated by Chinese porcelain, and even the furniture in the room was made of porcelain. , white ground painted gold, very delicate chair.My favorite classical musician is not Beethoven or Chopin of the romantic school, but Bach earlier. In the small wooden house, the wall clock on the wall ticks and swings; drinks goat milk from a wooden bowl; Moves like a golden wedding bell.As Browning puts it in his poem: "God is in his heaven, and all is well in the world." Something like an opera is precious, and it doesn't stop at being 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" doesn't have to mean great.And such solemn enthusiasm, such breast-beating and gesticulating heroes, I also hate it.But there are also moments of its greatness—the singer’s golden voice rises calmly under the high-pressure music, and all kinds of musical instruments are frightened one by one; a person suddenly stands upright in the storm of life, and it turns out that he is very If you are tall, your eyes and singing will 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, bleak, elegant, and breathless-probably because it was at that time The waist is usually worn, and everyone eats too much, so there is a feeling of fullness.The sorrow there is not sorrow but misery. "At Dusk" a love song: "At dusk, when you think of me, don't hold grudges, dear..." Sounds like a decent woman who rejected a man many years ago, for his own good and hers.Assuming nothing happened, she lived alone and was 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 do not have that logic, such as "Loch Lomon", this ancient song was jazzed by American pop bands two years ago, and it became popular for a while: "You take the high road, I take the low road... Me and my true love will never meet again, by the beautiful, beautiful lake of Loch Lomen. 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 fog.The air was clear and cold.That kind of cleanliness is only found in ours. 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 swinging beat, like someone's leg beating, is very comfortable.My favorite song is "The Girl in Local News", which is not very popular in China, probably because the idea is a little more novel, without the usual "June", "Moon", "Blue Sky", and "You"—— "Because I miss her, Miss that girl on the 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 "guitar".It seems that in the late summer and early autumn, the mats have 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 wind-blown edges.The man sat on the ground, dozing off with his straw hat closed on his face.Not alone—the breath of the lover leaning on the 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. "The Great Western Chamber" spends a lot of effort to describe Yingying's longing for spring, but I always feel that it is Jing Youzi's sarcasm. I have only heard Tanci once. A young man with a thin face sang "Painting the Golden Phoenix". Every two sentences, he added a very definite "um, um, um" at the end of the sentence, and shook his head every time he said "um". , as if biting a person's flesh and not letting go.For some listeners this is about soft stimulation. In comparison, Shen Qu is the most honest and sincere.Shenqu shows "running forward in a hurry", there is a special kind of music, it really seems to be flustered, the feet do not touch the ground, and the ears are blown.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 faint, the three souls are faint, 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!" Plain, repetitive, hasty, noisy, as if a big event is imminent, the people around are very nervous, but I don't know how I feel in my heart - the death of such a small family will still have a human touch until death. Chinese pop songs, in the past, because everyone had a "little sister", singers forced their throats to be sharp and flat, and "Peach Blossom River" on the radio amplifier sounded like "price, price, price, price, price... "Foreigners often ask in amazement why Chinese women's voices are like this.It's much better now, but Chinese pop songs still have no foundation after all. It seems that new songs that determine the new era should be produced by force.So when I heard one or two melodious tunes like "Rose Blooms Everywhere", I couldn't help but suspect that it was copied from the West or Japan.One late night, the music from the dance hall floated from a distance, and the woman sang in a thin throat: "Rose roses are blooming everywhere!" In the huge Shanghai, few houses were lit, making the night even more empty.The lights in my room have not been turned off yet. A long row of windows has drawn dark blue old velvet curtains, like the "heavy night" in the literary cliché. , the curtains fluttered in the strong wind, and a strange car hurriedly passed by on the street. I wonder if it was catching robbers. Wow! Wow!" The sea is right outside the window, the parting on the ship, the fateful rupture, chills people's hearts. "Wow! Wow!" Gradually far away.It is unimaginable for it to bloom roses everywhere in such a cruel, big and broken night, but the woman still whispered optimistically 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.