Pianists From Russia

"Leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die When they're about to fall from trees When they're about to dry"

"Try it again, breathing's just a rhythm"

"Two birds on a wire One tries to fly away And the other watches him close from that wire He says he wants to as well But he is a liar"

"Living in your pre-war apartment Soon to be your post-war apartment"

"No one's laughing at God — We're all laughing with God."

"No one laughs at God when the cops knock on their door And they say "We've got some bad news, sir." No one's laughing at God when there's a famine, fire or flood But God can be funny At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke Or when the crazies say He hates us And they get so red in the head you think they're 'bout to choke God can be funny When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus God can be so hilarious..."

"No one laughs at God in a hospital, No one laughs at God in a war, No one's laughing at God when they're starving or freezing or so very poor..."

"I've got a perfect body But sometimes I forget I've got a perfect body, because my eyelashes catch my sweat Yes they do, they do."

"It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song You can't believe it; you were always singing along It was so easy and the words so sweet You can't remember; you try to move your feet."

"Power to the people We don't want it We want pleasure And the TVs try to rape us And I guess that they're succeeding And we're going to these meetings But we're not doing any meeting And we're trying to be faithful, but we're Cheating, cheating, cheating"

"No, this is how it works — You peer inside yourself You take the things you like And try to love the things you took And then you take that love you made And stick it into some Someone else's heart Pumping someone else's blood And walking arm in arm You hope it don't get harmed But even if it does You'll just do it all again."

"This is how it works — You're young until you're not You love until you don't You try until you can't You laugh until you cry You cry until you laugh And everyone must breathe Until their dying breath."

"On the radio We heard November Rain That solo's awful long But it's a good refrain"

"I never loved nobody fully Always one foot on the ground And by protecting my heart truly I got lost in the sounds I hear in my mind All these voices I hear in my mind all these words I hear in my mind all this music And it breaks my heart It breaks my heart..."

"People are just people They shouldn't make you nervous The world is everlasting, it's coming and it's going If you don't toss your plastic The streets won't be so plastic And if you kiss somebody then both of you get practice"

"Imagine you go away On a business trip one day And when you come back home Your children have grown And you never made your wife moan"

"They'll name a city after us And later say it's all our fault…"

"The flowers you gave me are rotting And still I refuse to throw them away"

"A man destined to fry Can never ever ever die... In any other way but frying. Lucky that I'm dying By hanging and not drowning."

"A man destined to hang Can never drown, A man destined to hang Can never ever drown. A man destined to drown Can never burn..."

"How could it go on when I don't exist? I don't exist... So now that we've got that straight Doesn't mean that I can fly Doesn't mean I that I can go do whatever I want."

"On the day that Daniel Cowman stopped existing The world should have ended right then and there At precisely four-fifteen when he stopped existing The world should have ended How could it go on?"

"He was perfect except for the fact that he was an engineer And mothers prefer doctors And lawyers Yet despite this imperfection He was clean-looking and respectable-looking And you'll never find a mother Who doesn't appreciate a natural man"

"The world's got a nosebleed, it said And we're flooding, but we keep on cutting the trees and the forests! And we keep on paying those freaks on the TV Who claim they will save us, but want to enslave us, and Sweating like demons, they scream through our speakers But we leave the sound on 'cause silence is harder, and No one's the killer and no one's the martyr The world that has made us can no longer contain us And prophets are silent and rotting away."

"Love is the answer to a question I have forgotten, but I know I've been asked. And the answer has got to be love."

"Pickling spices"

"Water, salt, cucumbers, garlic and"

"Ingredients:"

"Pickle jars are just pickle jars, and pickles are just pickles."

"Thirty-two's still a goddamn number Thirty-two's still counts Gonna make it count"

"I'm the king's thirty-second son There's thirty-one others just like me There's thirty-one others on the way There's thirty-one others after that..."

"I have no use whatever for Mussorgsky. His views may tally with mine, but I have never heard him express an intelligent idea. All in him is flabby and dull. He is, it seems to me, a thorough idiot."

"My music must be an artistic reproduction of human speech in all its finest shades. That is, the sounds of human speech, as the external manifestations of thought and feeling must, without exaggeration or violence, become true, accurate music."

"In poetry there are two giants, rough Homer and fine Shakespere. In music likewise we have two giants, Beethoven, the thinker, and the superthinker Berlioz."

"I regard the people as a great being, inspired by a single idea. This is my problem. I strove to solve it in this opera."

"Mussorgsky, in his vocal efforts, appears wilfully eccentric. His style impresses the Western ear as barbarously ugly."

"Yes, Mussorgsky is little short of an idiot."

"Mussorgsky you very rightly call a hopeless case. In talent he is perhaps superior to all the [other members of The Five], but his nature is narrow-minded, devoid of any urge towards self-perfection, blindly believing in the ridiculous theories of his circle and in his own genius. In addition, he has a certain base side to his nature which likes coarseness, uncouthness, roughness. He flaunts his illiteracy, takes pride in his ignorance, mucks along anyhow, blindly believing in the infallibility of his genius. Yet he has flashes of talent which are, moreover, not devoid of originality."

"Formalism is music that people don’t understand at first hearing."

"I remember being struck by his way of playing virtually without any pedal. And his manner was so polished."

"Many pianists got interested in his music only after they heard the composer’s performance—such as Borovsky, Horowitz, Gieseking, Rubinstein and many others."

"What struck me about Prokofiev’s playing was its remarkable simplicity. Not a single superfluous gesture, not a single exaggerated expression of emotion, no striving for effect. The composer seemed to be saying, “I refuse to embellish my music in any way. Here it is. You may take it or leave it.” There was a sort of inner purity of purpose behind the whole performance that made an unforgettable impression. He played his Toccata with great inner force (while outwardly appearing perfectly calm and unmoved).... The tempestuous, defiant Prokofiev at [lyrical] moments became as touching as a child. The fact that Prokofiev could be poetic and moving came as a surprise to many."

"Energy, confidence, indomitable will, steel rhythm, powerful tone (some times even hard to bear in a small room), a peculiar “epic quality” that scrupulously avoided any suggestion of over-refinement or intimacy (there is none in his music either), yet withal a remarkable ability to convey true lyricism, poetry, sadness, reflection, an extraordinary human warmth, and feeling for nature... were... the principal traits of his pianism. His technique was truly phenomenal, impeccable.... He played quite differently at home than on the concert stage; it was as though he stepped on to the stage clothed not only physically but emotionally in formal dress.... Notwithstanding his outspoken contempt for what is known as “temperamental” performances, he had enough temperament to prevent his playing from sounding dry or emasculated. True, at times he played with such reserve that his performance amounted to a mere exposition; here is my material, he seemed to be saying, understand it and feel it as you please.... The ease (the result of confidence!) with which he tackled some of the most breathtaking passages was truly amazing; he did indeed seem to be “playing” in the literal, almost “sporty” sense of the word (no wonder his enemies called him the “football pianist”). The remarkable clarity and preciseness of the entire musical texture was based on supreme mastery of all the necessary technical media...."

"We encountered a pianist who played not only with the incredible will and rhythmic energy, but also with warmth, poetical finesse, and the ability to carry a melodic line flexibly and gently.... Those who think, according to an obscure tradition, that Prokofiev played in an angular, dry way, with incessant accents thrown around here and there, are mistaken. No! His playing was poetic, childishly innocent, astonishingly pure and modest."

"[Prokofiev] played the piano with great ease and confidence, although his technique left much to be desired. He played carelessly and he did not hold his hands properly on the keyboard. His long fingers seemed very clumsy. Sometimes he managed rather diªcult passages with... facility but at other times he could not play a simple scale or an ordinary arpeggio.... Seryozha’s chief trouble was the incorrect hand position. Technically his playing was careless and inaccurate, his phrasing was poor and he paid little attention to detail.... I must say that he was rather obstinate."

"Melodic line is an important structural element. It determines the direction and character of the musical motion and gives... musical shape to the rhythmically organized texture. Because of this, Prokofiev’s playing has a beautiful singing quality, without ever being sweet. Because of this, each piece in his performance has an uncommon finish and complete ness. From the beginning till the end, it is perceived as a purposeful un folding of the material and as a dynamically intensive development of musical ideas."

"Prokofiev plays simply, clearly, and sensibly. Calmly, but without coldness of an over-confident virtuoso, brilliantly, but without showing off his marvelous technique...."

"What is striking in Prokofiev’s playing is the outstandingly convincing expression and uncommon rhythmic plasticity.... One should especially note a very original use of accents. There is an endless range of them: from hardly audible and scarcely noticeable pushes to pricks and passing by stresses to temperamental and powerful strokes. The accent in Prokof iev’s performance becomes the most valuable shaping element, bringing sharpness, capriciousness, and a special dry spark to his playing. Regular metric stresses disappear behind rhythmically refined and dynamically rich accents. This makes the phrasing especially clear and intensely vital. . . . [Prokofiev’s] reserve does not imply dryness or indifference: Prokofiev knows how to control his emotions, but does not shy away from the touch ing, gentle lyricism. He is not interested in pompous pathos. He found something better: simplicity and naturalness...."

"Within the vast, virtually limitless piano repertoire, the piano sonatas of Sergei Prokofiev occupy a special place. Apart from Alexander Scriabin early in the century, Prokofiev was the only major twentieth-century composer to pay such consistent attention to the form, … They are a constant presence in concert programs and are considered an indispensable part of the repertoire by almost every serious concert pianist."

"Mr. Prokofiev's pieces have been contributions not to the art of music, but to national pathology and pharmacopoeia. We do not refer particularly to the pianoforte solos composed and played by Mr. Prokofiev, for they, we are sure, invite their own damnation, because there is nothing in them to hold attention.They pursue no aesthetic purpose, strive for no recognizable ideal, proclaim no means for increasing the expressive potency of music. They are simply perverse. They die the death of abortions."