Friedrich Zindanksi was the most brilliant concert pianist of his time and played for all the Kings and Queens of Europe and elsewhere in the world. Everywhere he was loved for his ribald sense of humor followed by his angelic magnificence in his play. The music he performed was the most difficult classical music from any era. People loved him and at the same time marveled.
A composer friend of his, Luigi Domitelli challenged him, "Friedrich, mein Freund. Shall I write for you a piece of music so difficult that even you, the pianist I respect more than any I have ever heard, may not be able to play it?"
Delighted, Friedrich, clapped Luigi on the back and said, "Wunderschön! This is a challenge I shall love to accept as everything I play before today is to prepare for what I play tomorrow. If I can do it then perhaps I can start to believe the things people say about me."
Luigi laughed and said, "No, you won't but you make me happy you will try this. It is my challenge to make for you music which is necessarily difficult because of the content of the work rather than arbitrarily difficult for the sake of an exercise. Anything less would insult you, my friend, and this can never happen."
Friedrich excused himself as he had to find a carriage to get to the concert hall to prepare for the evening's performance. They shook hands and laughed again with each other before parting.
The performance that evening was incandescent and so much inspiring of such delicate passions that women fainted in their seats. There was an organicity to the natural oneness of people listening to music together and all of them had tears in their eyes as the last note decayed to silence.
The silence prevailed for a time no-one knew until, one by one, they started slowly clapping their hands. The applause swelled and swelled, with everyone rising to their feet. The roar seemed it would lift the dome from the hall. It was a moment of singular magnificence and Friedrich could think only to bow to the audience in a humility he truly felt.
But there was one in the audience who was clapping his gloved hands but they made no sound. Albert Dornmeyer was also a concert pianist and he flew into a rage any time someone referred to him as the second-best pianist in the world. It became his solemn vow to himself and his Lord, someday I will be the best.
Some time passed but Luigi Domitelli was true to his word and he completed the piece he believed was a worthy challenge for his friend. It was difficult yet dynamic, powerful yet passionate, and almost certainly impossible to play.
Friedrich had to see the charts as soon as his friend told him they were ready. In reading the music, he can hear it and feel it in his fingers. His eyes grow brighter and brighter but a perplexed look comes as he proceeds as seriously questions his ability to do it.
Luigi knew Friedrich well enough to see his questioning and said, "Mein Freud, while I believe this piece is probably impossible to play, I also believe if there is anyone who will ever live then you are the one."
Friedrich confirmed solemnly, "Our pact is that I may read this music between now and its debut but I may not play it until the opening. How long do you propose we should allow for this preparation?"
Luigi replied, equally solemnly, "May I suggest one month from today. Would that be suitable?"
Friedrich relaxed suddenly and said, "Fair enough, my friend. One month from today I will accept your challenge."
The study of the music was like no other experience in Friedrich's life. He could hear it and he could feel it. Every note sang to him and screamed to him to bring it to full life. Bring me to life and I will bring you to life, all sang together in the most intricate and inspiring composition Friedrich had ever read.
The thirty days passed as they will and the night of the performance saw the concert hall filled with the most discerning listeners who could manage to obtain a ticket. In some cases, even royalty was turned away because there simply were no more seats. A hum grew over the audience as everyone talked discreetly with each other, all dressed in their formal best, as the excitement built toward the performance.
The curtain swung suddenly open and a young man walked to the front of the stage, tears streaming down his face, and he pulled himself back to say, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am terribly sorry to deliver the most awful news. Our beloved friend and inspiration, Herr Friedrich Zandinski, is no longer with us. Brigands set upon him and killed him, simply to rob him, but then these heinous villains even took away his body."
"It is my terrible duty to bring you this news but I can also tell you Herr Albert Dornmeyer is the understudy to Herr Zandinski. He said he feels an obligation to the spirit of Herr Zandinski, our beloved Friedrich, to attempt this performance. He will play for us tonight."
The young man walked slowly off the stage but the audience remained almost silent. How can this possibly be. Such things set the mind to running in circles and none could break free of the thought this cannot possibly be happening.
The curtains parted, more slowly this time, and Herr Albert Dornmeyer walked very slowly to the piano. He wore a black tuxedo with a top hat and a cape with a red satin liner. When he reached the piano, he took off his hat and put it on the table waiting for it. He then put his cane next to it and removed his cape with what he hoped did not look like too much of a flourish. He hung the cape on the stand for it and then faced the audience but said nothing.
There was nothing he could say as there was only the moment so he walked to the piano and sat before it. He shuffled the pages of the chart a little bit as he collected himself to begin as it was such a formidable challenge but it was his solemn oath to succeed.
Then he played and as he played he grew into the music. He gave it life as it asked and just as it promised it gave life to him and together this music, this composition like no other ever, spread through him into everyone in the audience. Everyone knew without a word what every part of the composition meant but it created within all of them different images of beauty, tragedy, and resolution in the imagery meaning the most to them.
People were openly crying but were filled so much with the love of this music it didn't matter who saw their tears. It grew to its final magnificent climax and then slowly and gently descended until, almost as if a surprise, once again there was silence.
It was as before in which people were so stunned and moved by the music they could do nothing. Again as before, the applause grew slowly at first but became thunderous. Just as Zandinski would have done, Dornmeyer bowed to the crowd with his arms crossed behind his back. As he stood in this position, the stage-hand watching from between the curtains could see Dornmeyer's hands and he couldn't tell what was unusual at first but then as he looked closer he realized there were stitches on each of Dornmeyer's wrists, all the way around.
From that vision the stage-hand knew, Zandinski really did play the performance.
Fade to black
Disclaimer: my apology if these names match anyone as that was not intentional.
Note: this is an extreme paraphrase of a horror show in early TV called "Thriller" and I'm sorry I don't recall the title, only the general concept. The reason for writing it was the thought came to me while I was listening to Voodoo Shilton tonight. The cat has magic fingers.
A composer friend of his, Luigi Domitelli challenged him, "Friedrich, mein Freund. Shall I write for you a piece of music so difficult that even you, the pianist I respect more than any I have ever heard, may not be able to play it?"
Delighted, Friedrich, clapped Luigi on the back and said, "Wunderschön! This is a challenge I shall love to accept as everything I play before today is to prepare for what I play tomorrow. If I can do it then perhaps I can start to believe the things people say about me."
Luigi laughed and said, "No, you won't but you make me happy you will try this. It is my challenge to make for you music which is necessarily difficult because of the content of the work rather than arbitrarily difficult for the sake of an exercise. Anything less would insult you, my friend, and this can never happen."
Friedrich excused himself as he had to find a carriage to get to the concert hall to prepare for the evening's performance. They shook hands and laughed again with each other before parting.
The performance that evening was incandescent and so much inspiring of such delicate passions that women fainted in their seats. There was an organicity to the natural oneness of people listening to music together and all of them had tears in their eyes as the last note decayed to silence.
The silence prevailed for a time no-one knew until, one by one, they started slowly clapping their hands. The applause swelled and swelled, with everyone rising to their feet. The roar seemed it would lift the dome from the hall. It was a moment of singular magnificence and Friedrich could think only to bow to the audience in a humility he truly felt.
But there was one in the audience who was clapping his gloved hands but they made no sound. Albert Dornmeyer was also a concert pianist and he flew into a rage any time someone referred to him as the second-best pianist in the world. It became his solemn vow to himself and his Lord, someday I will be the best.
Some time passed but Luigi Domitelli was true to his word and he completed the piece he believed was a worthy challenge for his friend. It was difficult yet dynamic, powerful yet passionate, and almost certainly impossible to play.
Friedrich had to see the charts as soon as his friend told him they were ready. In reading the music, he can hear it and feel it in his fingers. His eyes grow brighter and brighter but a perplexed look comes as he proceeds as seriously questions his ability to do it.
Luigi knew Friedrich well enough to see his questioning and said, "Mein Freud, while I believe this piece is probably impossible to play, I also believe if there is anyone who will ever live then you are the one."
Friedrich confirmed solemnly, "Our pact is that I may read this music between now and its debut but I may not play it until the opening. How long do you propose we should allow for this preparation?"
Luigi replied, equally solemnly, "May I suggest one month from today. Would that be suitable?"
Friedrich relaxed suddenly and said, "Fair enough, my friend. One month from today I will accept your challenge."
The study of the music was like no other experience in Friedrich's life. He could hear it and he could feel it. Every note sang to him and screamed to him to bring it to full life. Bring me to life and I will bring you to life, all sang together in the most intricate and inspiring composition Friedrich had ever read.
The thirty days passed as they will and the night of the performance saw the concert hall filled with the most discerning listeners who could manage to obtain a ticket. In some cases, even royalty was turned away because there simply were no more seats. A hum grew over the audience as everyone talked discreetly with each other, all dressed in their formal best, as the excitement built toward the performance.
The curtain swung suddenly open and a young man walked to the front of the stage, tears streaming down his face, and he pulled himself back to say, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am terribly sorry to deliver the most awful news. Our beloved friend and inspiration, Herr Friedrich Zandinski, is no longer with us. Brigands set upon him and killed him, simply to rob him, but then these heinous villains even took away his body."
"It is my terrible duty to bring you this news but I can also tell you Herr Albert Dornmeyer is the understudy to Herr Zandinski. He said he feels an obligation to the spirit of Herr Zandinski, our beloved Friedrich, to attempt this performance. He will play for us tonight."
The young man walked slowly off the stage but the audience remained almost silent. How can this possibly be. Such things set the mind to running in circles and none could break free of the thought this cannot possibly be happening.
The curtains parted, more slowly this time, and Herr Albert Dornmeyer walked very slowly to the piano. He wore a black tuxedo with a top hat and a cape with a red satin liner. When he reached the piano, he took off his hat and put it on the table waiting for it. He then put his cane next to it and removed his cape with what he hoped did not look like too much of a flourish. He hung the cape on the stand for it and then faced the audience but said nothing.
There was nothing he could say as there was only the moment so he walked to the piano and sat before it. He shuffled the pages of the chart a little bit as he collected himself to begin as it was such a formidable challenge but it was his solemn oath to succeed.
Then he played and as he played he grew into the music. He gave it life as it asked and just as it promised it gave life to him and together this music, this composition like no other ever, spread through him into everyone in the audience. Everyone knew without a word what every part of the composition meant but it created within all of them different images of beauty, tragedy, and resolution in the imagery meaning the most to them.
People were openly crying but were filled so much with the love of this music it didn't matter who saw their tears. It grew to its final magnificent climax and then slowly and gently descended until, almost as if a surprise, once again there was silence.
It was as before in which people were so stunned and moved by the music they could do nothing. Again as before, the applause grew slowly at first but became thunderous. Just as Zandinski would have done, Dornmeyer bowed to the crowd with his arms crossed behind his back. As he stood in this position, the stage-hand watching from between the curtains could see Dornmeyer's hands and he couldn't tell what was unusual at first but then as he looked closer he realized there were stitches on each of Dornmeyer's wrists, all the way around.
From that vision the stage-hand knew, Zandinski really did play the performance.
Fade to black
Disclaimer: my apology if these names match anyone as that was not intentional.
Note: this is an extreme paraphrase of a horror show in early TV called "Thriller" and I'm sorry I don't recall the title, only the general concept. The reason for writing it was the thought came to me while I was listening to Voodoo Shilton tonight. The cat has magic fingers.
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