Chopin's noise

 

One of the first victims of my music passion was my father, in spite of the fact that our relations were quite good.

 

The only problem we had was not the Beetoven's,  fortissimi or the frantic rhythms of Stravinsky, but the quite, tender music of Chopin. 

 

One night, when the whole family was asleep, I began to hear the twenty Nocturnes for piano by my beloved Polish composer. I was 15 years old and was a prey to the romanticism. 

 

The environment had to be propitious: I turned off the prosaic electricity to light a candle, synthesis of poetry instead. I closed the eyes, and entered in ecstasy. But as soon as the notes vibrated in the air, my father woke, and turned to my bedroom.

                              

                                                                                                   

                                                             (Sebastian Zurawski)         

"Turn the volume down!  What a nois!e," shouted my father.

I felt as if I had been given a slap in the face. "He has blasphemed,"  I thought. "Calling noise the music of the finest composer in history is the worst irreverence."

 

So I answered full of pride, "Dad, I am willing to turn the volume down, but I want you to understand that this is not noise; it is... music of Chopin, mi hero, my beloved musician. Dad, I beg you, do not say that! How can you say that the exquisite music oh Chopin is noise?"

 

He insisted, "It is noise!"

 

But as I did not turned the volume down, he choose another not too pacific orders.