Chapter 14 fourteen

"What happened?" All the people gathered around the door of the department office and looked in.Ma Li's mother sat at the desk and kept wiping tears, and Ma Ma's father put his hands flat on his knees, fidgeting and coughing.The little man with his eyes swollen like rotten peaches squeezed out of the office from the crowd.He went straight to the classroom, climbed onto the podium, and wiped and wiped the functional circle.In the dormitory, Ma Li's bedding has been tied up and is waiting for someone to carry it away.Li Ming nailed Ma Li's bookcase to death with a hammer, he was relieved when he hammered in the last nail, and suddenly realized that Ma Ma was indeed gone.

Dong Ke opened the door and came in: "Am I bothering you?" "No." Li Ming asked him to sit down, "I don't understand, what tricks are you doing?" "What do you mean?" "The piece you're going to enter the competition." "Fate fate." "how?" "What I am going to give to Professor Jia is a classical work, and the purpose of asking Professor Jin to read is sequence music. The chairman of the jury likes impressionism. I have already prepared it. I have given full play to the great lyricism of the whole band in a romantic work. gone."

"Which one is your personal characteristic?" "Personal traits are worthless." "What do you want?" "Awarded." "It's not here who decides to award the prize." "But it's here that decides who goes to the game." "You want to give away all your style work?" "Possibly. Why don't you write?" "I'm not interested. Let's see how big the horsepower bookcase is." "When you win an award, you get everything, even if life is full of pressure..." "Stop it, I'm not interested."

"Actually, that's not everything, it's only half." Dong Ke was a little embarrassed. Li Ming ignored him and continued to paint Ma Li's name on the box. Dong Ke's works of various styles are rehearsed everywhere in the whole courtyard, filling every corner, and have become the target of public criticism in the composition department.Because the backbone of the orchestral department was taken away by him, he signed a "contract" privately, and he had to ensure that his works could only be rehearsed by others after rehearsal time.People don't understand what trick he used to convince the band to him.He also taught the band leader a set of words: "The aesthetics of Plato in ancient Greece is rarely reflected in today's works, and we are pursuing perfection in all forms."

This set of words is specially used when someone comes to stop them from rehearsing Dong Ke's works endlessly.For example, once Shi Bai held his score and parts in his arms, just stepped into the rehearsal hall, before he could open his mouth, the head of the band had said these words out loud three times.Shi Bai didn't know whether he should throw away his score or it would be more appropriate for Dong Ke to act as a violinist. But once when "Time" brought his score to the band, the chief was about to say that, but was suppressed by "Time" with a sneer: "Isn't it too vulgar to do so? Let's talk about these works... tsk tsk tsk."

Dong Ke stayed up all night and wrote a new novel overnight.This is a work of mixed styles, allowing all people to experience various emotions across several eras in just fifteen minutes.As soon as this work was presented to the band, the band's nose and eyes were all crawling. "Don't you realize that you're entering an international competition and not a hodgepodge? Why don't you see how other people write? Why are you kidding about band auditions?" Time asked. "Others? They are too stubborn to understand. It's an international competition I know. But you don't know who will buy these works who will be the masters of these works and who will have more power than you to control the fate of these works I don't I know you don't even know you know?"

"You are hopelessly vulgar." "Time" didn't even look at him. Dong Ke suddenly became restless.The weather was sweltering that day, and he kept wiping off the sweat on his face, panting heavily.Eyes quickly filled with tears, which soon turned into dripping sweat.He stared at the "time": "Look, look, look at them!" He threw stacks of scores on the ground, "How much painstaking efforts and nights I have spent, I am Are they playing? Are they worthless? All rags? All petty bourgeois, businessmen's stuff? Not worth playing? Here, it's all art and art! It's all noble souls! It's all otherworldly and infinite Acoustics! No one has ever played, appreciated, or even criticized them. Even I don’t know what they are. You don’t know their value, and I don’t even know their value. I don’t know, I’m not sure, this Can you blame me?"

The score piled on the floor is surprising.But no one knows them, indeed no one knows them. "I also have a lot of scores I don't know about the sound." "Time" knelt down to pick them up. "Who asked you to write such difficult works? You deserve it!" said the French horn while eating.At that time, everyone gathered in the cafeteria. "It's thankless to play," a bandmate interjected. "My hand is about to cramp, but the audience is sitting like a papaya." Lily said. "Eighty percent of the people in the audience are idiots. Don't pay attention to them. They are the kind of people who don't realize it until the announcer finishes explaining it." Nie Feng waved his hand.

"But don't you think that playing composition works is not as good as playing Beethoven? Beethoven has records for reference, but you can't figure out their works at all. You don't know what they are thinking. When you finally figure it out, the audience People who live in it will never understand it for the rest of their lives." Said the leader of the band. "I am willing to play new works. In fact, it is not easy to be a world famous conductor. However, it is really uncomfortable to see the faces of idiots sitting in the audience." At this time, Rahmani was played on the stereo speakers in the cafeteria. Nove's Piano Concerto No. 2, Nie Fengfeng couldn't help moving: "It's so easy to come up with something so easy to understand." His arm moved lightly.

To this end, Dong Ke adopted the most scientific method, which is to not let the band stop rehearsing his works for even a minute.He asked for a sum of money from his family, and treated the band to a big meal at every meal. He also sent baskets of fresh fruit by train, and bought orange juice, candies, and pastries to refresh the band during rehearsals.In this way, the band had to put other people's works aside to rehearse for Dong Ke. "You are really crazy, why bother spending so much money?" Dong Ke ignored the persuasion of others, and finally sold all his tape recorders and watches.

"You are too wicked, so others have to learn from you." Dong Ke didn't understand.The band members frantically rehearsed for him. The various styles of works made them dizzy. After finishing the rehearsal with great difficulty, everyone just wanted to stop and catch their breath, when Dong Ke said: "No, do it all over again." "Do it all over again? ""You didn't pull out the essence of music at all." The chief raised his bow helplessly: "What is the essence?" "Essence, essence. For example, this sequence of works that runs through reason is the root of philosophical thinking. What is philosophy? The earth What is it? What is a human being?" The chief was terrified when asked.Never dare to ask any more questions. Since Dong Ke pioneered this self-funded rehearsal method, everyone in the composition department followed suit.As a result, a consignment store closest to the school began to prosper. Li Ming asked Dong Ke to carry the horsepower box to the table with him, and then he got under the covers with only his head exposed. "Why do you keep thinking in the quilt? Are you pursuing loneliness?" Dong Ke asked smartly. "I don't want to go to the piano room." "Detachment?" "I'm tired." Li Ming arched his body under the quilt again. "What would you think if I wrote another symphonic poem on the theme of death and eternity?" "why?" "Give horsepower." "No need for horsepower." "why?" "Horsepower really doesn't need a symphonic poem on the theme of death and eternity." "He was really crushed to death by the landslide in the cave dwelling?" Li Ming didn't speak, and shrank into the quilt again. "Why not write a symphonic poem in memory of him?" "Leave him alone, he doesn't need it." "you do not trust me?" "It's not that I don't trust you. What's death and eternity to horsepower? If it does, why don't you write a symphonic poem about how all-encompassing, how supreme your own music is, and let the world know?" "I tried to write, but it didn't work, it didn't work." "But don't be discouraged, it can still be useful." "Is it true that horsepower does not need a symphonic poem on the theme of death and eternity?"