Tag: Music

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Wohin? (Where to?)

Ich hört’ ein Bächlein rauschen
wohl aus dem Felsenquell,
hinab zum Tale rauschen
so frisch und wunderhell.

Ich weiss nicht, wie mir wurde,
nicht, wer den Rat mir gab,
ich musste auch hinunter
mit meinem Wanderstab. . .

Ist das denn meine Strasse?
O Bächlein, sprich, wohin?
Du hast mit deinem Rauschen
mir ganz berauscht den Sinn. . .

Poem by Wilhalm Müller

I heard a little brook murmuring
right from its rocky source,
down to the valley, it rustles
so fresh and wondrously clear.

I knew not what came over me,
nor who gave me the guidance.
Still I must go down there
with my wanderer’s staff. . .

Is this then my path?
O little brook, speak! Where to?
You have, with your murmur,
totally intoxicated my soul. . .

 “Wohin?”: Fischer-Dieskau, baritone;
Gerald Moore, piano

Studying operatic repertoire is the main focus of most upcoming singers in New York. Art songs, which require deeper understanding of the languages and subtle stage presence, are largely ignored. As must as I enjoy being a one-person orchestra at the piano, I truly miss playing works written for voices and piano. So, when a young baritone asked to work on some songs together, I gladly agreed.

Sitting at my piano playing “Am Feierabend” from Die schöne Müllerin I was reminded of my first encounter with this song cycle by Schubert: Spring of 1984, weeks into my first semester at Kent State University, a tenor asked me to play for his graduate recital. Included in the program was the first half of the cycle.

I grew up knowing the tunes and translations of several Schubert songs because of dad’s work. It was always my dream to learn these songs in their original forms. Unfortunately, my previous teachers were very against the idea of their students “accompanying” anyone in any ways and forms. My new teacher, on the other hand, was teaching a course on accompanying and encouraging us to play with singers and instrumentalists. I worked as hard and as fast as I could to prepare for the performance. However, inexperienced and limited by time, I didn’t fully understand the pieces.

Since Die schöne Müllerin is one of the most popular song cycles, I have had the opportunities to revisit the entire set multiple times. Each time, I would find more nuances that I did not notice before. And, it never failed to move me.

Throughout the cycle, the singer, in the character of a young wanderer, narrates his experiences and feelings. The piano keeps him company through the journey. Sometimes, it describes the image and sounds in the surroundings; sometimes, it creates the moods, supporting the narrations.

Almost as soon as the young man embarked on his journey, he came upon a brook. Its murmuring sound drew him near. Unsure of his direction, he asked: “Wohin?” Unable to resist the incantation of the brook, he followed its path. It became his confidant and, eventually, the cradle of his body and soul.

My entire life, I always feel that there’s an irresistible power carrying me on my journey. I don’t know where the journey ends. But, moment by moment, I take the next step as life propels me. I knew at a young age that music and words would be my entire world. I didn’t always see my path forward. Yet, at certain moments, gates opened, and scenery became clear.

Fatalism has its roots in Chinese culture. Dad used to say that every child came with his/her book already written. This, on the one hand, allows one to be free of worries. It, on the other hand, can make one live passively. I will always follow the call of life. I will also make good use of my time in this journey.

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Guardo sui tetti

I went a little too heavy on vinegar and salt when making a simple salad. It reminded me of the food at the mensa, the cafeteria for the two universities in Perugia, Italy. I went there with friends only a few times. However, I remember the salad well. The Romaine lettuce was always fresh. But, somehow, the dressing was always salty, oily and very acidy. The lady behind the counter serve the food swiftly. Their utensils, hitting on the mixing bowl, created a chaotic atmosphere.

I lived in Perugia for a little over six months, attending language classes at Università per stranieri. Between late September, when I first arrived, and early November, I moved three times. Although the school brochure indicated that students could be placed with Italian families, the only thing available upon my landing was a sublease, one room in an apartment over ten-minute walk from school. With winter months fast approaching, when I heard that a spot in an old building near school opened up, I quickly took it.

I shared a big room with two young girls from Taiwan. The land lady would not allow any visitors. Day and night, she looked out from her window overlooking the stone path, making sure no strangers passing through her gate. I was her darling until I told her that I found a better place and would move out by the end of the month. She rampaged through all my drawers and suitcases when I was at school, just to make sure that I was not stealing from her.

I couldn’t be happier moving into a two-bedroom apartment on the top floor of a family-orientated building. A fresh coat of white paint was applied to brighten up the entire apartment. With high ceiling and sparsely furnished, my room was spacious and echoey. My roommate was a fifteen-year-old girl from Central Taiwan, extremely homesick and very quiet. I was home a lot, preparing for my dissertation. Often, the only sounds in the apartment were news broadcasts or music coming from my radio.

In comparison to my room, the galley kitchen seemed unusually small. Even the white appliances and brand-new cabinets couldn’t make it appear bigger. In those days, my budget was very tight. The living costs seemed impossibly high. Other than cabbages, carrots, onions, tomatoes, pasta and flours, I could afford very few things. To make life more tolerable, I would invite a few newly-met friends over. We would find the most creative ways to cook with limited ingredients. The fire and the boiling water would quickly warm up the space. The results of our experimental recipes would often make us laugh. Those were the happy moments of that long winter.

On sunny days, I loved to open the windows in the kitchen, looking over terracotta rooftops to find a little piece of blue sky. The view always reminded me of Mimì’s descriptions of her little place:

Vivo sola, soletta,
là in una bianca cameretta:
guardo sui tetti e in cielo;
ma quando vien lo sgelo
il primo sole è mio*

I live alone, all alone,
there in a white little room:
I look over the roofs and in the sky;
but when the snow-melt arrives,
the first sunshine is mine.

By the end of my six-months sojourn in Italy, I only began to understand the langue, the people and the beautiful country. Yet, I learned from those months how a beam of sunshine could warm up one’s heart and drive away one’s wearies. I miss the cerulean sky of Italy.

*La Bohème,  Act I, Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa.