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Igor Stravinsky, Paris, France, 1913
Debuted his new ballet The Rite of Spring
Tapping into the primal essence, telling a tale of virgin sacrifice
The violins shrieked, the trumpets roared, the theatre shook
Though the bohemians on the floor were intrigued
It was a bit much for the bourgeois in the balcony
Murmurs of discontent turned to cries of outrage as the show went on
“We paid good money for these tickets!” the aristocrats whined
Igor stood up and yelled “Go to hell!” as the clamor grew to drown out the orchestra competently
Stravinsky didn’t kill no one, didn’t steal nothing, didn’t tell a lie
He just created something that some traditionalists didn’t like
Dmitri Shostakovich, Moscow, Russia, 1936
Showcasing his latest opera when Stalin strutted in
Low and behold, two days later the newspaper read:
“Coarse, primitive, and vulgar”
“Muddle instead of music”
“Petty-bourgeois 'innovation’”
One by one every critic rescinded the appreciation they had initially bestowed
Funny how they all saw the error in their ways at the same time
This was not music for the common man, they said
He must make amends on his next symphony or else
And so he stuffed his 4th in the drawer and began to work on his 5th
Within a year the Great Purge had begun
Dmitri saw friends and relatives alike sent off to the Gulag and put on the firing line
The 4th collected dust and faded into the back of his mind
Shostakovich didn’t kill no one, didn’t steal nothing, didn’t tell a lie
He just created something that some bureaucrats didn’t like
Ornette Coleman, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1949
Playing saxophone in a local rhythm and blues band
He just got fired from the traveling minstrel show for bringing too much bebop to the stage
But the kid didn’t learn his lesson or even think to change his ways
No, that night he ripped into a solo that caught the audience off-guard
He probably played a few notes outside the key, made his horn scream like a banshee
And so afterwards they met him outside and beat him to a pulp
They teared his instrument from his hands and slammed it on the ground so hard that it could never be played again
And what did Ornette do?
Knowing that he would likely provoke hostility again he bought a plastic saxophone
Much cheaper to replace
Yeah, that’s the kind of ingenuity that molds the shape of jazz to come
Ornette didn’t kill no one, didn't steal nothing, didn’t tell a lie
He just created something that some ruffians didn’t like
Paradise has been described in a thousand books
As vivid as the mortal mind can picture
Still they never tire to hear of its magnificence
Why would you deprive them an encounter with salvation?
In their eyes you have betrayed your mission
A waste of a messiah
Prometheus taking fire back from man
Returning it to the gods
Feeding them back to the vicious night just when they thought you would bring them the sun
Didn’t kill no one, didn't steal nothing, didn’t tell a lie
(Didn't tell no lie)
Just created something that some people didn’t like
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2. |
Insolent Mockery of the Divine Under Centrist Rule
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3. |
Burn, Paris! Burn!
05:39
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Have I studied beauty to exhaustion?
Does the pursuit of knowledge strip it of its magic?
Will I ever comprehend the layman’s ears again
Now that I can speak this cryptic language?
Love and joy are so effortless to arouse
Because we’ve prescribed symmetry as their symbol
To conjure the grotesque, though a thankless enterprise
Is the one true final challenge of the master
And in this final challenge he rejects his teaching
And scorns all shallow favor with the crowd
I would be appalled by your applause, by your approval
It would only serve to indicate my failure
I could’ve given you fools the show that you wanted to see
I could’ve made you weep like a widow standing over the casket
I could’ve given you the thrill of soldiers on the cusp of triumph
I could’ve made you certain that, certain that there is a god
But certainty is dull and only ever a symptom of a lacking curiosity
After all, you would only come to wonder more about your own salvation
Perhaps I will return you to heaven for one sweet moment of the ecstasy you crave
But only just to show you, just to show you what it's like for an angel, for an angel to fall
Burn, Paris! Burn!
Burn!
Burn, Paris! Burn!
Come on you bastards, throw whatever you’ve got upon my stage
Jeer and scoff and scream until your voice gives out
That is the latent beauty of this mayhem, of this dissonance
You can only magnify its power with every disruption
I want you to be furious
I want you to be scared
I want you to be shaken
Disgusted and disturbed
Nothing would please me more than to see you embody the spirit of my opus and spread its glorious havoc out into the city streets
Burn, Paris! Burn!
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4. |
A Soviet Artist’s Response to Unjust Criticism
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5. |
The Shape of Chaos to Come
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6. |
The Clutching of the Pearls
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7. |
fff
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