YM778.TV Chapter 36
Having found out Boswell’s favorite song through Min Chen, was that not a back door?
《The Boy’s Miraculous Horn》was one of Gustav Mahler’s masterpieces. He was a famous German composer in the 19th century, and the song was composed for a poem with the same name by a German poet named Clemens Bretano. Generally speaking, few violinists would choose this song for a recital. Since Qi Mu had selected this song, naturally he was prepared.
A musician knew, that no matter how talented someone was, it was impossible to master every single song. Qi Mu had practiced this song for a few weeks after he entered Geneva College but never had the chance to play it.
The handsome youth laid the bow on the strings and let out a gentle exhale. The next moment, a soft sound emerged from the violin. It was as though the melody came from the distant horizon, passed over the rippling Rhine River, and echoed from afar.
This song was a short piece called 《Rheinlegenchen (Little Rhine Legend)》 which was fourth in the 《Des Knaben Wunderhorn》 collection. In the original arrangement, the song was sung by a sweet but loud soprano, and for this section, Qi Mu used the violin to play the role of harmony, depicting the legend of Rhine River in all its touching aesthetic.
The whole thing was only three minutes long, and the difficulty wasn’t high. However, for this seemingly simple piece, it had different effects when played by different people.
Among Mahler’s works, Allen Boswell preferred 《The Boy’s Miraculous Horn》and several other well-known songs. As a world-class conductor, Boswell thought that he had heard every rendition of this piece, but very few people could play 《Little Rhine Legend》.
“Few” did not mean that he had never heard of it.
The Berlin Philharmonic concertmaster once played this song. Boswell had to admit, regarding technical aspect alone, Christi’s* performance, coupled with a world-class soprano singer, was better than the current performance.
*Previously translated directly as Kedori
However, for some reason, Boswell thought that the young man currently performing. . . was no inferior.
If Christi’s 《Little Rhine Legend》 was atmospheric, then this youth’s was melodious and intimate.
This was understandable, as Qi Mu did not have an orchestra to cooperate with, and without a large stage, it was impossible for him to showcase his rendition thoroughly. While practicing last night, Qi Mu did, in fact, think of a way to play this song in the absence of accompaniment.
He had thought about it for a long time and eventually came to a solution that could barely be called as such, and it left him very unsatisfied. But this morning, on the way to the venue while he was still contemplating this matter, he heard that low, aristocratic voice at his side.
“Do you like listening to opera?”
Qi Mu was in a daze, so he turned to look at the man beside him in surprise. Min Chen was holding a magazine, and he casually flipped a page. There was no particular expression on his face, and it looked like he had asked the question in passing.
Thinking it over for a bit, Qi Mu replied, “The opera is good, but. . . I don’t listen to them much.”
Qi Mu wasn’t lying. Although his adoptive parents were not poor, they were not exactly well off either. After he started learning to play the violin, he did some odd jobs to earn money for concert tickets, so he did not listen to opera much.
After they passed away and Qi Mu entered Geneva College, he had to squeeze out time to even see an orchestra, let along finding the time for opera. So, while he was not averse to opera, he also had no particular feelings for it either.
Min Chen nodded when he heard him. He then closed the music magazine and turned to look at Qi Mu. The sun shone in through the taxi’s window, and Qi Mu saw a small reflection on Min Chen’s left index finger but did not think much of it.
“There are a few differences between opera and symphony. Opera is mostly composed of singing while the orchestra serves as an accompaniment. In that way, opera and symphonic poetry intersect.” Min Chen suddenly paused and gazed deeply at Qi Mu, then asked, “What do you think those differences are?”
Qi Mu frowned, startled a bit, then thought about it. He tentatively asked, “The main arrangement?”
“What about their similarities?”
As soon as the words were spoken, it was as if the clouds parted and Qi Mu immediately understood, “The narrative.”
His three-minute performance had just ended, but the sound seemed to linger in the spacious concert hall. Allen Boswell sat in the middle of the judging panel with a rare, unsmiling expression, and it was unknown what he thought.
Qi Mu was not in a rush and stood patiently, watching the conductor with a smile.
After a long while, Boswell sighed and said, “I listened closely, and I think your intonation is good. Your grasp on the melody and rhythm, I can say with a somewhat thick face. . . that you have a mastery over them. However, the changes you made were subtle but created a big difference.”
Boswell’s blue eyes held a smile. “I just realized. While playing this song. . . did you modify it to better suit a symphonic poem?”
Naturally, Qi Mu knew that the small changes he made could not escape Allen Boswell’s ears. Although this maestro was not one of the four great conductors of the world, he was infinitely close to that level.
Qi Mu nodded gently and said, “Yes, Mr. Boswell.”
After this affirmative answer, Boswell nodded and smiled, “These changes make this song more suitable to play, it’s a wonderful idea. Did you think of it yourself?”
Qi Mu answered, “The specific changes were made by me while waiting for my turn. As for the idea, it was. . . a friend of mine who mentioned it to me.” Qi Mu automatically concealed Min Chen’s identity. He remembered that Min Chen had said before that he wanted to remain lowkey.
Hearing his explanation, Boswell continued to smile. “Your friend is very talented. Okay, your result has been decided. That is, you’re staying. Please wait until all the participants have auditioned, the final results will be announced by the staff then.”
Qi Mu bowed politely and left the stage.
What he didn’t know was that behind him, Boswell’s smile gradually faded away. He watched the youth’s tall, handsome figure walking away with a profound gaze. Then he whispered to himself, “Changing an opera to a symphonic poem. . . this idea. . . why does it feel familiar. . .”
Qi Mu stepped out of the square and saw a figure standing in the midst of the crowd.
Min Chen was reading the text on a celebrity column. Wearing a custom made tuxedo and the wide brim of his hat obscuring half of his face. He was so focused that he did not notice Qi Mu approaching.
Qi Mu turned to look at the celebrity column, but when he saw the words on it, he suddenly froze.
Qi Mu: ". . ."
It turns out the thing you’re looking at so intently is your own achievements. . .
Every square looked similar, and he was not in the mood to look around while he was waiting for his audition. He was, thus, unaware that this was the square they visited on the first day of the festival. The one with the celebrity column for one Mr. Auston Bertram, the conductor of Bai Ai.
In fact, Min Chen had noticed Qi Mu walking over earlier but refused to turn his gaze away and was still reading each word carefully.
After a while, Min Chen suddenly lifted his head and said solemnly, “The person who selected this song wasn’t careful enough. My performance at the Sydney Opera House was on October 30th last year, not the 29th.”
“. . .”
After a long silence, Qi Mu couldn’t help but pose the question, “Perhaps the person who selected this song and the person who wrote the column text. . . are not the same person?”
Min Chen: “. . .”
The atmosphere dropped several degrees, and Qi Mu walked to the edge of the square with Min Chen in tears. But, before long, almost all the participants finished their auditions, and there were no more than ten musicians to get a “stay,” but the number of people in the square hadn’t decreased in the slightest.
Because all of them wanted to know who would win the first place and have the opportunity to work with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.
Qi Mu lifted his violin case and stood up to wait for the results to be announced. This time, it was not the judges who came out of the concert hall but, instead, it was the festival’s official that returned with a microphone. The good looking staff stood beside the celebrity column in the center of the square and cleared their throat.
“The Hong Kong Sea Music Festival welcomes all guests! Today, the recruitment for the New York Philharmonic Orchestra’s interim concertmaster has been finalized. There were many strong participants, and the judges had a lot to say, but I will now announce the final results.”
The beautiful woman knew that leaving people hanging was bad, so without preamble, she said in fluent English, “Today, the person who will have the opportunity to work with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra is Mr. Qi Mu who performed 《Little Rhine Legend》.”
“Qi Mu. . .? That sounds Chinese.”
“I’ve never heard of him. Is he a dark horse?”
. . .
The people searched the square for the lucky person. Meanwhile, Qi Mu let out a sigh of relief, and the tension in his body relaxed.
Qi Mu could easily have guessed the results. There were a pitiful number of professionals here, and most were amateurs. Even if there were professional musicians here, Qi Mu didn’t see any familiar faces, so they weren’t of any challenge.
Qi Mu’s only concern was on how to do his best.
“Mr. Qi Mu, if you are still present, please register your contact information with us. The orchestra will contact you later.”
Without any fluctuation in his expression, Qi Mu took his case and walked straight toward the staff member, wanting to submit his information. When the people saw Qi Mu walking forward, they pinned their eyes on him, but Qi mu continued to walk forward calmly.
Just as he was about to hand over the card containing his contact information, a voice suddenly rang out, “How is this possible? I am a substitute for the Myrtle Symphony Orchestra. How could some Chinese person possibly beat me?”
There was silence, and the people were surprised to see an angry, white man standing in the crowd.
His face was flushed with anger, and he walked toward Qi Mu and the staff. He spoke as he walked, “I will be in a regular position starting next year. How can this Chinese beat me? I refuse to accept this. Did he cheat because this is Hong Kong?” He deliberately emphasized the word “Chinese.”
His remark was so drastic that the staff’s face turned cold.
Qi Mu remained calm. He looked this impulsive white man up and down and said, “Why. . . do you think that the Chinese cannot beat you, sir?”
The man grunted in disgust, and Qi Mu just calmly looked at him.
The man sneered and said, “Is there any decent classical musician in Huaxia? The members of the Huaxia Philharmonic Orchestra are worse than us at the Myrtle Symphony Orchestra. How can you compare to me? You Chinese people have no musical genes in your blood.”
These words finally made Qi Mu’s expression change.
But he restrained his anger with great effort and let out a huff. He said with an aggravated tone, and a terrible expression, “This gentleman, do you even know what you’re talking about?”
The racism that was engraved in his bones was unaffected by Qi Mu’s words. The main disdainfully said, “Are there any masters amongst you Chinese? I’ve never heard of any. You Chinese people don\'t have such elegant musical genetics. You Chinese people. . .”
“It seems. . . that I am not a great master?”
That low, magnetic voice suddenly echoed from the crown, mellow as a cello. It was not loud, but the people automatically turned in its direction.
At the point where the crowd met, a tall man removed the sunglasses on his nose. He calmly walked toward the prejudice white man, each step imbued with innate nobility.
During his journey forward, the handsome but indifferent man removed the wide velvet hat from his head with one hand and rested it against his chest, the greeting courteous and befitting of a gentleman.
His cold, sharp expression did not fluctuate, and he indifferently stared at the white man who now donned a stupid expression and said in a flat voice:
“I’m Chinese. Maybe I am. . . not truly a master.”
Translator(s): Kuro
Editor(s): Bet