1900: Take piano: keys begin, keys end. You know there are 88 of them. Nobody can tell you any different. They are not infinite. You're infinite... And on those keys, the music that you can make... is infinite. I like that. That I can live by...
1900: You rolled out in front of me a keyboard of millions of keys, millions and billions of keys that never end. And that's the truth Max, that they never end. That keyboard is infinite... and if that keyboard is infinite, then on that keyboard there is no music you can play. You're sitting on the wrong bench... That is God's piano.
..............................................
The story began in the musical instrument shop, a devastate man with a little scruff walked in, put his case on the table, asking for selling his trumpet.
"A musician who had to exchange his beloved instrument in order to feed himself...." I was drowning myself into this scene right away, how painful that must be.
Later I found out that there is perhaps another meaning for the trumpeter, the end of old times, an extremely respectful way in memory of his most intimate friend in music, the pianist 1900.
沒有留言:
張貼留言