Featured above: a recording of my favorite classical piece 🙂
.
“Do you think we can receive consolation through music?”
The pianist’s gaze settles on the instrument’s gleaming keys, the pristine black and white surface, but his eyes are distant. In his mind, the piano is just a dust-lined memory, a cold hollow space that had consumed him whole and had not let go of him since. But the violinist by his side, optimistic, passionate, and naive as she was, sees something else entirely.
She sees waves, a spray of mist gently caressing skin with the ebb and flow of the tide. She sees leaves, a twirl of scarlet and gold swirling in the autumn winds. She sees fireworks, bright bursts of light phasing in and out of existence through an unseeable night. She sees nothing, and then she sees everything.
“Yes,” she answers. Because she also sees this: a lonely, wounded boy forgot how to listen.
In a cascade of notes, he is deaf, paralyzed by the strict expectations of the sheet music, the metronome, the world. And there, lost in the melody, is a boy whose voice can no longer be heard.
.
This is a scene that I have witnessed unfold twice before. The first time was in middle school when I watched the animated show Your Lie in April, and the second was when I watched the drama Do You Like Brahms this past year. While both feature a pianist who has lost interest in music and a violinist who appears to be the opposite, the two shows resonated with me in different ways.
Your Lie in April, which placed a heavier emphasis on classical music (and which was better written overall), made me realize how music could weave together such vivid narratives, painting a beautiful picture of the emotions behind each note of a piece. On the other hand, although Do You Like Brahms felt as though it was plagued by unfulfilled potential, it was this same lackluster story development that made me question one of the drama’s central themes in more detail: Can we receive consolation through music? With so much grief and regret tied into certain aspects of our lives, is it possible for us to begin anew in them?
The pianist in the aforementioned scene would say no. What is music but a collection of notes played just at the right time, speed, dynamic, and technique? To him, music is a mirage that we project our emotions onto — emotions that, over time, become more and more cumbersome with the experiences that taint our memories.
But what about the phrasing, what about the color? Even if that is just the audience’s imagination, a conjured feeling around a piece that is falsely credited to the performer, I don’t care whether or not I would be experiencing delusion or reality. Strange, how my views on literature and music are so different. While I believe that literature requires the reader to listen to the author before they can listen to themselves, it is not so for music. After all, the music itself already requires listening: the next step is for the audience to feel.
Once, the night after a day that left me burnt out, overwhelmed, and hopeless, I started my homework, dreading the task before even opening the assignment. However, as I opened my classical music playlist on Spotify, a strange and wondrous change took place: Piano concerto no. 2, op. 18, composed by Sergei Rachmaninoff, began playing. And though I’ve listened to this piece countless times already, the sweeping arpeggios of the piano solo and the swelling strings of the orchestra reached into the hysteria inside my mind and touched it, soothed it, if only for a moment.
Perhaps someone more proficient in music theory could step back from this piano concerto, break it down to its parts and then analyze it by fragments, but that could not erase the emotions I associate with the piece. In fact, it would only augment it. Because like with any other aspect of living, we cannot begin “anew” — not truly. But unlike with many other aspects of living, if we removed our calculative, objective lens, then we can hear something other than the weight of expectations or the wounds of time.
There, intertwined in the melody, we will hear ourselves.
.
Featured below: a recording of me playing Consolation no. 3 by Liszt, though it should be noted that my performance of this piece is very, very flawed :’)
Jennnifer! Thanks for including the YouTube link–this piece is beautifully written and I listened to your recording! I would NEVER know it was “flawed,” as you say. Musicians are amazing.
Hi Jennifer, I really enjoyed the vivid imagery you used in your blog. It really allowed me to immerse myself in the two works of art. The descriptions of the boy and girl were extremely detailed and it was almost as if I was viewing them with my own eyes.I especially liked the line “She sees nothing, and then she sees everything”, where it beautifully serves as both a transition and a contradiction.
Your analysis of classical music and music as a whole was also beautifully written. Music is such an integral part of our lives yet often barely understood in terms of its artistic meaning and expression. To answer your question of whether we can find consolation through music I would solidly say the answer would be yes. Everyone has different coping processes but the underlying factor everyone has is the fact that it eventually comes to acceptance. If music can provide that medium to people, then yes, we can receive consolation through our music. However, this yes is not applicable to all people, and others may find other more helpful coping strategies. The one thing we can all agree on however is the universality of music and how it transcends beyond any language, gender, and even cultural boundaries. Great work on your blog and hope to see furthered analysis of music! By the way, your recording sounds great. Give yourself some credit 🙂