Author: Kutoutuo

If I were old, looking back on the past few years in Doucheng, the conclusion would be three words - mixed life. But there were a few little things that left some impressions, at least far deeper than the crimson or the Celtic marks left in my memory. Crimson faded into fame and was just a place to hang out with a mentor, and the Celts were nothing more than a place to pee on beer. Only Harvard Square, and the shoebox, no, we usually call it the Great Hall, is where the story takes place.

Autumn is the performance season, and October is a rare opportunity for newcomers in the Great Hall - Beans are notoriously conservative and cautious, and composers who have not been tested by time, or even composers who are not dead, are hard to get a chance here. However, Berkeley's brother Mozi had already inquired about the performance time, and he was forced to take me to a concert to hear the work of Yang Jingxing, the greatest composer in his mind. I'm skewed up about that—Berkeley isn't a place known for serious music, so why pretend to be in front of me. And I've basically heard the music of this benevolent brother, how to say it, it's good, but it's a little too much to the audience, or it's kitsch, so I had a good argument with Sueko. And it's a hassle to go to the Great Hall to listen to music, not to mention crossing the entire lower town, and you have to wear formal attire, and the Bostonians are as rigid as the claws of a lobster. Lobsters, well, of course, it doesn't hurt to have someone treat you to go, not for lobsters, and for the record, I'm all for friendship, for music.

After a long stay in the café in the front hall, I began to enter the venue, and after three or two sips, I walked into the hall with the last child and found our seats - this chair is always so worn, it can't be compared with the good movie theaters in China, and it's awkward. The opening song is a night rain sonata, and the following songs are all the same, strong @ rape ears but still have pleasure. There is not a single piece in Chinese key - I don't know if it is the stubbornness of the Bostonians or the indulgence of Yang Jingxing, and the only repertoire is sonatas, concertos and symphonies.

What I'm looking forward to more is the Second Symphony, which is the only piece I haven't listened to closely. Sueko's eyes were so good, and I found out at his prompting that among the middle-aged and elderly white men and women in Yishui, there was an Asian lady who looked very young and beautiful and looked like a Chinese - it was all because Suezi was too poor, and the place where we sat was a little far away from the stage and couldn't see the details clearly. But looking at the guy in her hand, it seems to be a three-string. The two of us were relatively speechless, what is the situation?

As the first movement begins, we don't have any more communication and movement, because we forget. The theme of this piece is not prominent, there is no usual routine of symphonies, and it feels very vocal. I found that I didn't seem to remember the specific melodic notes, and I didn't want to confirm it, but it was a piece that made the two of us forget about talking. When I was shocked by this, I thought that I seemed to be a little prejudiced against Yang Jingxing before.

It wasn't until the third movement that the three strings began to join the playing. Surprisingly, it is not surprising, and it is surprisingly balanced and harmonious. In Yishui's Western musical instruments, the three strings are strong, stable, and persistent, neither bitter nor flattering, not arrogant or self-suffering, and they are played so calmly with the theme. The beautiful Chinese female performer, playing well and fitting the instrument, there was no superfluous or passionate movements, only the long hair undulating and swaying with the tune of the three strings, and the hair color looked black and bright under the bright yellow spotlights of the stage lamp recital hall.

At the end, the applause in the concert hall was enthusiastic, even more enthusiastic than the First Symphony. In the front row, no, it should be said that the audience gave a standing ovation driven by most people, and there were many ghosts shouting bravo, which didn't seem to be so conservative and stubborn. For Bostony to give a standing ovation to a Chinese composer like that, I think it's not just an exploratory act like adding the three strings to the symphony.

Knowing the Bostonian routine, Sueko and I went back to the window on the south side of the café early, because it was spacious and quiet, and music magazine interviews often took place here, which we had never paid attention to before, and Sueko had been praying that the lady would be interviewed so that he could take a few more glances at the goddess - I don't think God could stand his words.

It didn't take long for the beautiful shamisen player to come this way along with another small Chinese lady, who was probably an interpreter, surrounded by the media. As I passed by, I clearly heard the Chinese conversation and the key words "Huntington, lobster".

Sipping unpalatable coffee, I used the newspaper as a cover to peek at the shamisen. This is a lady with very delicate facial features, the eyebrow peak is relatively hard, and the eyes and nose are particularly linear, which is very attractive. Is it because it's the first time here? She moved very little, spoke quietly, frowned a little, and felt a little restrained. Interestingly, the beautiful lady seemed to be a little distracted, or was she not very good at English? Several questions were answered by the translator's whispered reminders.

The Boston media is always on top, and they never spend too much time with non-white women. After a brief polite visit, she and the interpreter whispered over coffee. The three-string player tilts his head, his shoulder-length hair falls behind his ears, and there is a slightly younger hairpin on his head. The interpreter was whispering something, but the focus of her gaze was outside the window, and there seemed to be nothing special in kind. Are you still reminiscing about the applause at the concert? Shouldn't it be such a calm expression to get such a high praise, shouldn't the ladies be cheering and talking loudly and excitedly when they encounter such a situation? At least they should make a phone call to report the good news to China?

Oh phone, the phone is ringing.

The weather in Boston was already cool in October. In the shoebox café, the sun shines through the pale green curtain on the right side of her face, and her cell phone on the table rings, but she just glances at the screen and doesn't pick it up. The ringtone of the mobile phone is a song, the sound is not loud but very clear, and the sound quality is particularly good, just like the three strings that cannot be covered by Western musical instruments just now.

I memorized the lyrics: "Tomorrow is unknown, but it's just around the corner." ”

There are also two lines of tears.