Chapter 46
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Even Now, Calling It Basis (2)
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“The rhythm was so unique that you recognized it the moment you saw the score, but you’ve never analyzed it separately, right?”
“Yes.”
“And for the performance, you just referenced a few recordings you often listen to.”
The teacher was shooting me a suspicious look.
“Yes. Don’t you think Lipatti or Malkuszynski play Chopin a bit more like that?”
“What high schooler goes digging up pianists like that? And I released a Chopin sonata album three years ago myself.”
“Haha……”
“You think this is funny?”
“I’ll listen to it back at the dorm later.”
“You’d better. I’m your teacher now, after all.”
After grilling me for a good while with all sorts of questions, the teacher finally sat down and crossed his legs.
“Well…… it’s not that strange for someone who’s listened a few times to recognize it. Especially the coda.”
He flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth with a loud smack and handed me another score.
It had the title and composer kindly written out, but I’d never heard of it. It felt fully classical, not new age…… maybe an amateur work?
“This one I’m seeing for real the first time.”
“Of course you are. Play it. It’s under two minutes. Short.”
The difficulty was much simpler than the coda I’d just played.
A main melody that whispered teasingly, on the verge of bursting. Ghostly brass parts that popped out suddenly and faded faintly, reminiscent of those Nordic composers’ symphonies.
Who nailed that Nordic vibe again? Ashkenazy, Pletnev, Richter……
Mixing up recordings from pianists etched in my memory gave me a direction.
I launched into it with bold momentum.
‘Oh, this is pretty good.’
Feeling the melody pulse through the keys with my own hands, I found myself liking it, my mood lifting along with it.
The performance ended quickly. No major mistakes this time—it felt solid—so I turned to the teacher, hoping for at least a word of praise.
“……What are you?”
But an utterly random reaction came flying out.
Far from praise, the teacher was furrowing his brows, looking utterly baffled.
“Pardon?”
“Jeez. I’m just…… speechless.”
His eyes on me seemed oddly unsteady.
“You said you referenced your favorite recordings for the Chopin sonata.”
“Yes.”
“So what were you thinking for that one? What reference did you use? Did you even have one?”
“It had a bit of a Nielsen symphony vibe, so I figured it drew motifs from Nordic……”
“You’re not right in the head.”
I couldn’t tell if I was getting praised or just chewed out.
The teacher snatched the score from the stand with a scoff and held it up for me to see.
“Before coming here, I did a short training stint in Austria. One of the students I worked with was a composition major.”
“Yes.”
“One of the assignments was composing something based on Nordic national folk styles.”
“And this is that piece?”
“Yeah, kid. You’re deflating me here.”
Nordic national school mainly means Nielsen, Sibelius, Grieg. The one I’d just played showed some of Nielsen’s traits.
‘No wonder it felt like a Nordic symphony. Not just my imagination.’
I’d simply caught that flavor and shaped the performance around it……
The teacher slumped into his chair and jabbed a finger at me with the score still in hand.
“Next time something like this comes up, just say you played it that way because it felt right. Got it?”
“……You’d believe me if I said that?”
“Don’t talk to me. Headache.”
He seemed to gather his thoughts, closing his eyes tight and going still for a moment before opening them again.
“It only got a C+ grade, too. Reason? The motifs weren’t clear enough. And you picked up on it?”
“It just kinda floated up while I was playing.”
“Sure, I believe you. Gotta believe my own student.”
The teacher pressed his temples with both index fingers, straightened up, then gathered all the scores and filed them away with a smirk.
“Brings back memories.”
“How far back?”
“Don’t treat me like an old fogey.”
“Yes, sir.”
And so began the old man’s tale from days gone by.
“Three years ago, Ye-rim had its festival. You came from a regular middle school, so you wouldn’t know, but usually, the four art high schools around here team up for it. They rotate hosting each year.”
All four schools at once? That’s huge. I hadn’t realized there were that many art high schools nearby.
Myeong-seong Arts High School, the one Lee Seong-hyuk sometimes mentioned, was probably in on it too.
“The composition majors from all four schools had an impromptu composing contest. Just a fun event, but Ye-rim sent a third-year named Kim Ji-yu.”
Kim Ji-yu…… I’d heard the name somewhere. Went big in film or game music directing, I think.
“You know how artsy types have egos through the roof. Even at a festival, no one wants to lose—they grit their teeth and go all out. Rivalries between schools don’t help.”
The rivalry wasn’t just among students; even the teachers knew the score. I nodded, intrigued.
“Must’ve been intense.”
“But get this—Kim Ji-yu whipped up a full 10-minute epic in two hours. Heavy Wagner influence, but quality you could drop straight into a movie soundtrack.”
Yeah, the elite are different from the jump……
Film music as a genre lives under Wagner’s shadow anyway, so nitpicking would’ve been tough.
“She’s studying in the US now. Hearing about motifs just brought that back.”
“The festival must be a big deal.”
“Duh. Even the city public broadcaster shows up with cameras blazing.”
“Wait, really?”
I hadn’t known that.
“They had a special show for top second- and third-years only. Broadcasters eat that up.”
“What about first-years?”
“Eat more lunch and come back stronger.”
“Eh, but it all boils down to competition anyway.”
“So they started scoring it and ranking them outright. More fun that way, apparently.”
From this, the festival sounded less like carefree fun and more like a straight-up battleground.
Great for spectators, though.
“Straightforward, at least.”
“Professors and pro pianists flock there too. Pretty much everyone our age went through Ye-rim or Ye-won to make it big.”
So it’s like reps from each school duking it out. A blatant showcase for rivals, so schools probably groom their stars carefully.
Nerve-wracking mind games all around. No wonder school pride was on the line.
“Clubs give smaller performance chances too. Even first-years can play in club shows. Schools are huge, so tons of options.”
“Clubs, huh……”
“You in one?”
“No, practice comes first.”
“Smart kid.”
Speaking of clubs, Lee Chang-yong popping by this morning flashed in my mind.
Jazz club probably preps desperately for shows. With only one third-year pianist, how do they gear up for festival?
“But festivals sound pricey. Where’s the funding?”
“Alumni sponsors mostly, plus industry folks show up. Great networking. You should check it out.”
Prestige makes a difference.
Suddenly feeling all patriotic, I wanted to kiss the Ye-rim Arts High School badge on my chest.
“How do you get on the festival stage? Grades?”
“Probably. I’ve only guest-taught at Ye-won and Ye-rim, so not sure on details. Look into it—festivals are every fall.”
“Fall, second semester.”
So I nail a killer performance at festival later, do interviews, hit TV? Dad’d love that.
“Heh heh.”
“Don’t laugh like a creep.”
The teacher cleared his throat loudly, wrapping up the tangent. Then he fixed me with a straight gaze.
“Anyway, back on track. You’re saying you grasped the motif on that last piece and channeled those pianists’ recordings too?”
“Yes.”
“Might sound distant, but to reach higher levels, you need your own basis eventually. Borrowing others’ forever shows eventually.”
“Basis……”
I mulled over his words briefly.
Did my playing really scream ‘borrowed’? Analyzing sounds as I go, it didn’t feel that way.
I wasn’t copying one pianist outright—more like blending strengths from several for harmony.
“Not saying your piano lacks personality. Your tone’s brilliant—unique yet pleasing.”
“Thank you.”
“Still, building your own standards for scores and pieces pays off long-term. A personal lens applicable to any work.”
Is it about viewing my current style as original or not……
Hard to say. Practicing exam pieces left little time to deeply ponder my core playing.
‘Yeah, claiming I have a personal analytical basis for scores and performance feels shaky.’
To aim for the top, every performer needs their signature weapon.
Come to think of it, Baek Ji-ho never felt like he was playing someone else’s music.
I recalled going to his homecoming recital just before regressing. Piano lines from various voices intertwined in my head.
‘Ah, exactly.’
Not just tone or flair.
Baek Ji-ho’s playing, his music, was unmistakably his. Impossible to imitate, inimitable by others.
Suddenly craving his albums.
“So I’m assigning homework.”
“Yes, I love homework.”
“Chopin Ballade No.4, coda.”
“Ah……”
A groan slipped out naturally. That thing’s brutally tough.
Even just the one-minute coda outdid Sonata No.3’s in difficulty. Pros dread Ballade No.4’s coda.
“Test around midterms. Not perfect—build your own basis. Analyze the score, study Chopin, whatever.”
“Teacher, didn’t I explain my theory’s weak earlier?”
“Come on, do your best at that level. That’s what I mean. Kid hears music fine but twists every word.”
“Ah, yes.”
“At least two personal bases. Play it and explain to me.”
He wagged his head side to side and continued.
“You know practical exams are one assigned piece and one free choice, right?”
“No, didn’t know.”
“Tradition—won’t change. Probably same this year.”
“End-of-term practicals?”
“Yeah, the big one.”
Way heavier than nth evaluations. Sometimes called major practicals.
Midterms looming…… proactive kids might already prep in lessons. Two months left—better start early.
“Free choice needs perfect selection. Maximize your strengths as a student, as a performer, to wow the judges.”
My strengths.
If today’s lesson showed them off, sure.
Innumerable works, albums, concerts etched in my brain. Invaluable edge no peer could match.
How to leverage in selection? TBD.
“Your instinct to seize a piece’s essence in moments, sharp ears. Pair that with technical analysis. Lessons’ll follow that vibe; rest as we go.”
“Yes, got it.”
Signaling lesson’s end, he spoke up.
“Oh, if you nail a few interpretations, play for someone.”
“Show you directly?”
“Yeah. Music rots if hoarded.”
“Feels true. Rafal holed up philosophizing and lost chops big time.”
Rafal Blechacz…… Saw him in Tokyo, big letdown. Never expanded past Chopin.
Recalling that, I answered flatly. Teacher’s face froze.
“……Kid, how do you even know that? Trying to creep me out more?”
Rafal’s famous, no? Maybe fewer concerts then.
I dodged with an awkward grin.
“Heh heh.”
“Ugh, I need serious time to ponder if I can keep lessons with you without getting goosebumps.”
“Why? Rafal won Chopin Competition.”
“Can’t get used to it. You really high school? Peel the face, bet there’s an uncle underneath.”
“No way.”
Stung a bit, my voice shrank.
He grimaced, shuddered, and packed his bags.
“Fine…… Knowledge is power. That’s your strength too.”
“Right?”
“Overall, great ears, intuitive, I like it. Solid basics too—relief. Practice way harder than peers ahead.”
“Yes, teacher.”
“Wait, didn’t you score high on ear training?”
“Top tier, yeah.”
“Good ears, huh……”
Slinging his crossbag, stroking his chin, he scanned me top to bottom.
“Grab a broom.”
“Broom?”
Brooms in the cleaning closet—what’s this now?
“……Never mind. Tidy up and go. Do homework right.”
With a “you didn’t” mutter, Han Yong-seong left the practice room.
I sat there dazed, alone.
“Haa……”
Leaning against the wall, I slid down and let out a long sigh. Couldn’t move for a bit.
A wave of awe hit late.
‘Lessons…… this is what a real lesson’s like.’
Others rush off weekends for lessons, griping about staying at school. I’d wondered what the big deal was.
Learning like this? Skills skyrocket. Weird confidence surged.
‘Not just dry ‘play it this way’ stuff either.’
Deep musical talks thrilled me. A mentor dissecting me as a performer, charting my path—overwhelming.
His attitude clicked too.
Respected my style while pondering how to evolve it seriously.
‘Pros are pros, alright.’
Han Yong-seong himself. Sharing this tiny space with a pianist like him felt dreamlike.
When’s next lesson? Gotta nail homework.
“Festival and practicals. Practicals closer.”
Pumped for the schedule. High school festivals that epic? Fresh shock.
‘But third eval first.’
What’s the test this time? First two were wild already.
Midterms? No sweat. Worry for my three idiots on allowance leashes.