The Music Man
The man was in rags. And in ecstacy.
His fingers seemed to catch every note wafting out of my house window, and I, for a moment thought, he was not conducting the music from my music system. He was pulling each note from it, slowly coaxing it out.
I moved closer to the window. The man's closed eyes widened.
I did not know what music was playing. It was some vague opera, I guess. Hit the wrong button and zoom I fell into the wrong century in World Space.
But by the time I could change the radio channel, I noticed this man nearing my window, and well, he started doing what he has been doing now for the past few minutes.
His fingers were greasy, light though in movement. His lips quivered with recognition.
I watched on.
The singer shrieked. God, how shrill! Surely glass breaks.
The man's face cringed - he raised his hand, his fist closed.
He opened his right fist, and his fingers slowly floated down - the other arm still raised.
The singer's voice softened. It floated.
The man's eyes relaxed, still closed.
Silence.
The singer started in a whisper, some bass instrument caressed.
The man smiled, his fingers floating.
The violin joined in.
The man opened his eyes.
The singer fell silent. The violin played the last note.
Then, the bang on the drum.
In precise synch with the man bringing both arms up and crashing them down.
The man smiled.
World Space fell silent.
I coughed at the window.
The man walked on.
My eyes followed him.
He disappeared down the bend.
So, what could be the end of this story?
I am still waiting for the man to come to my window again.
Today is the twenty-seventh day.
I have religiously sat at the window, ever since.
I walk up to World Space, turn on to the Opera station, plonk down by the window. And wait.
Well, I am still waiting.
Richard Strauss to Pavarotti; the bass-baritone and the counter-tenor have come and gone; be it the homophonic texture, or the polyphonic arrangement - no, the Music Man has not to this day answered their call.
And what a beautiful piece by Gluck! How could the Music Man resist the beautiful syllabic text-setting, the ripping apart of the de capo aria!
What divine music!
Damn it!
Where is the Music Man?
His fingers seemed to catch every note wafting out of my house window, and I, for a moment thought, he was not conducting the music from my music system. He was pulling each note from it, slowly coaxing it out.
I moved closer to the window. The man's closed eyes widened.
I did not know what music was playing. It was some vague opera, I guess. Hit the wrong button and zoom I fell into the wrong century in World Space.
But by the time I could change the radio channel, I noticed this man nearing my window, and well, he started doing what he has been doing now for the past few minutes.
His fingers were greasy, light though in movement. His lips quivered with recognition.
I watched on.
The singer shrieked. God, how shrill! Surely glass breaks.
The man's face cringed - he raised his hand, his fist closed.
He opened his right fist, and his fingers slowly floated down - the other arm still raised.
The singer's voice softened. It floated.
The man's eyes relaxed, still closed.
Silence.
The singer started in a whisper, some bass instrument caressed.
The man smiled, his fingers floating.
The violin joined in.
The man opened his eyes.
The singer fell silent. The violin played the last note.
Then, the bang on the drum.
In precise synch with the man bringing both arms up and crashing them down.
The man smiled.
World Space fell silent.
I coughed at the window.
The man walked on.
My eyes followed him.
He disappeared down the bend.
So, what could be the end of this story?
I am still waiting for the man to come to my window again.
Today is the twenty-seventh day.
I have religiously sat at the window, ever since.
I walk up to World Space, turn on to the Opera station, plonk down by the window. And wait.
Well, I am still waiting.
Richard Strauss to Pavarotti; the bass-baritone and the counter-tenor have come and gone; be it the homophonic texture, or the polyphonic arrangement - no, the Music Man has not to this day answered their call.
And what a beautiful piece by Gluck! How could the Music Man resist the beautiful syllabic text-setting, the ripping apart of the de capo aria!
What divine music!
Damn it!
Where is the Music Man?
posted by R S Prasanna | 2:02 PM
1 Comments:
prasanna has done an excellent work rite here....exhibiting the knowledge about music..'de capo'..keep it up prasanna...but one small doubt...was it john struss u were trying to mention about...i doubt,was there a richard or a john....?might be a richard also....
really a gud shortieee...
all the best
regards
shamanth
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