勃拉姆斯

Set my home here. Let me start by talking about one of my favorite composers, Brahms.

I restart my love with classic music last year. Among those geniuses who dominates the trends of classic musics, in the respect of the names of Mosart, Bethoveen, Bach, Schubert…… Brahms draw a conclusion page of the history of what and how essentially music could ever be classic.

His music, when first testified by the audience's ears, is stubbornly hiding in a thick brushy shell. No surprises, stuffy and depressed. You won't get impressed by the up and downs. You won't be moved by the melodious chapters. The shell is just too perseverant to be punctured and crushed. You give up on understanding him, move on to others, soaked up in the noble world of classic musics and the name Brahms could barely ring a bell.

When suddenly, in a starry night under the roof of your grandmother's house, by the side of a fireplace from a brutally cold winter, Brahms's music begins to tell you how truely sorry it is for your ignorance. It is a time of serenity and ease. The music comes in a mystical halo that captured all your attention. You are concentrated. Nothing else resides in this world.

And at a time like this, the music is but yours, it's performed only for the sake of your existence. You come through the shell, for the first time glimpsed what's presiding inside.

They are surging emotions. Easthetic love and beautiful hatred. Damed indicision and cursed pride. Opposites are merging together to form a stream that flows to something bigger. You are amazed, stunned, helplessly manipulated at the mercy of it's power.

And this is why I so much love Brahms.