by B. J. Hardy
I called on the first boy who had raised his hand, named Jerry.
“I don’t get why this is even considered in this discussion of pertinent works.”
“If you don’t feel it, then your emotions are not attuned to the composer’s. I wouldn’t worry about that except perhaps to second guess that you even have a soul, son.” I winked at him.
He was a poser, it was clear.
The boy just looked shocked as I called on another girl for her question.
“I read that Rimsky was the teacher of Stravinsky. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Then several more tears streamed from Cassie’s eyes.
I called on yet another student, Lara was her name.
“It made me feel hope for my desires, and yet that I couldn’t reach such a lofty goal.”
“Ahhh, then you have indeed felt what the composer was attempting. It is a mind transmission of the most enlightening kind. Yes, when you feel it, you will know!” I smiled at her and nodded.
Then one other lad had his hand raised.
“I feel that this is geometry of the wildest kind.” He said.
“What is the function then, and please prove it.” I responded.
He could only shake his feeble head.
Finally, Cassie raised her hand.
“Yes.” I motioned to her.
“This is sadness, and happiness in the same measures! Why?”
“Excellent! Yes, happiness and sadness are quite close cousins it seems. Very astute, Cassie!” I smiled at her, and she merely cocked her pretty head.
I knew that would make them think and feel, if they had it in them to do so, and then I had to educate them on the piece.
“The promise of hope is a brilliant propaganda. The wish of plentiful times is what the starving dream about. With you all, here and now… equate it to plentiful and ultimately fulfilling sex. At least the promise of such, but then it is always just out of reach. This is so you might begin to understand. Until you are actually starving, forget about it.”
No one could say a word. Yup, that blew their minds alright.
Then after a few moments, the boy with no soul asked, “What does propaganda have to do with happiness and sadness?”
“Everything. However, in an ideal world it should have nothing to do with it. Oh, there I go propagandizing again.” I laughed.
I could see that didn’t help him understand at all.
“Just the concept of an ideal world is propaganda. Music is also a form of propaganda. Purposeful manipulation of emotions can be considered nothing less. That being said; the purposeful lack of music can also be such a manipulator.”
The soulless boy, Jerry, could only shake his head, thoroughly confused.
“For example;” I went on, “The Coen Brothers film ‘No Country for Old Men’ is completely and purposefully devoid of music. This has the effect of imbuing an inhuman quality, a coldness which penetrates you.”
I saw several eyes light up at that.
“The lack of music is just as much a manipulator of emotions as is music itself?” Lara questioned.
“Indeed, it can be.”
“What isn’t propaganda in your eyes then, Professor?” Soulless Jerry pressed.
“The better question would be ‘What cannot be utilized as propaganda?’ That would be absolutely nothing.” I went to the board and drew a big zero and crossed a line through it. “Zip, nada, nothing! The fact is that everything can be utilized to manipulate emotions, and hence thoughts. Now I have bandied the term propaganda enough for today. Let’s learn how certain sonic resonances influence your emotions. Then we may learn to code this into a mathematical formula. Once we understand this language of manipulation, perhaps we can better understand when we are being manipulated, and how.”
They all had wide eyes again, and I was glad that I was getting through to them.
After the lecture was over and class adjourned, Cassie and Lara had come up to see me.
“Professor Riachuelo, are you saying that you can plot out exactly how to control emotions with music?” Lara wanted to know.
“Much of human emotions are still a great mystery, so there is no exact plotting of how to control them. There are tried and true methods however.”
She nodded and seemed relieved.
“Does that ease your mind?” I asked.
“Yes. For a minute there I thought that this was an advanced psychology class.”
Cassie broke in. “I was thinking the same thing, but along the lines of political science.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Though we touch on subjects that each of those fields does, please trust me when I say that this class is Musical Theory.”
“The whole thing about propaganda really threw me.” Lara sighed.
“I mainly use that word to get your attention, but it is the most correct term to use for willful manipulation of people’s emotions. It all comes down to what purpose these emotions are being imbued for or steered towards. Most music is created merely for enjoyment, entertainment, or to share one’s own emotions. There is some which has been blatantly crafted as pure propaganda however.”
“Like what? I want to stay away from that!” Cassie grew a grimace.
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have any problem in that respect. Unless you dig Gunkas, Reichsmusikkammer, revolutionary Chinese operas, or Narcocorridos. If you surf Youtube you may run into some of the blatant hate music of the likes of The Westboro Baptist Church, but I would bet that you would quickly change the channel.”
“I’ve heard of them. Those people are psycho crazy!” Lara became animated.
Cassie asked, “Aren’t they the ones who protest soldiers’ funerals?”
“Yup. Those are some hating mother fuckers!” Lara caught herself right as she said it. “Sorry, Professor. My mouth gets ahead of me sometimes.”
“It’s quite alright. I agree with you.”
“So they put out hate music too, huh?” Cassie surmised.
I nodded.
Lara saw the crux of it, “Where the hell do they get their money from?”
“Now that is the million-dollar question.” I raised my brows.
“Well, I’m just glad that this class isn’t going to be a psych class or political science.” Cassie grinned.
“Understanding music and how it operates on our emotions is the objective.”
“Good because I need to learn that.”
“Are you harboring aspirations to become a composer?” I teased.
She shook her head. “No, I want to become a recording producer.”
“Those two ventures are not so far apart.”
Lara cocked her head at me with apparent confusion.
“In both instances, you have to understand the beast fully.”
“The beast?”
“Music.” I smiled.
Chapter 3
-Cassie-
I started hanging out with Lara that second week of classes. We both had similar tastes in music and in guys it turned out. We had both joked that Professor Riachuelo would probably be a good lay, and then we both laughed as we said simultaneously; “If he didn’t have a stick up his ass!” That got us busting up for far too long.
“He is kind of hot, right? I mean if you like tight-ass prudes anyhow.” She giggled.
“I don’t know. He might be a tiger in bed, for all we know.”
“Oooww, what if he is a secret Dom?”
“A Dom?” I asked as I’d never heard the term before.
“Oh my god! You’ve got to be kidding me, Cassie!”
“What?”
“You really haven’t heard of a Dom before?”
I shook my head.
She chuckled as she raised her brows. “Damn, girl!”
“So! Tell me what it fucking means!” I insisted, slapping her shoulder playfully.
“Okay, okay! A Dom is short for a dominant… a male dominant. Dominatrix is the term for a
female dominant.”
“Holy shit! I have heard about those dominatrixies. Don’t they like to piss all over fat slobby old men?”
Lara started laughing, and hard. I knew it was at me, certainly not with me.
“Hey, give me a damn break! I don’t know these things.”
“I’m sorry, Cass. It was just you calling them dominatrix-ies. The plural is dominatrices. And yes, they sometimes do piss all over their subs.”
“That’s gross! Not sexy at all.”
“It isn’t about sex on most levels. The sex is just a bonus.”
“I don’t get it. Hey, wait a minute! Just how the hell do you know so much about this stuff. Don’t tell me that you’re one of them dominasties.”
“Now that’s fucked up!”
“Oh my god… you are!”
Lara slapped my shoulder back and just about died laughing.
When she could calm down and breathe again, she admitted, “I’m not a dominatrix. I am a sub. I just don’t have a Dom.”
“A sub? Does that mean you are the one who likes to drink piss?”
“NO! What the fuck! Oh geez! Look, from a sub’s point of view having a Dom is having a man who is focused solely on you. Where his sub becomes everything to him. And the Dom is the absolute control and driving force for a sub. The level of trust between the two is phenomenal.”
“Have you ever had a Dom before?”
She shook her head.
“Then how do you know all this?”
“A good friend of mine had a Dom and taught me all about it.”
“Then how do you know you’re a sub?”
“I fit the bill perfectly, plus I know I want a man to dominate me.”
“Absolute control sounds kind of fucked up to be honest with you.”
“It’s certainly not the lifestyle for everyone. If you are into vanilla, then that’s just the way it is.”
“Vanilla?”
“Vanilla sex. Like plain style, no sprinkles.”
I cocked my head, “I thought you said it wasn’t about sex?”
“I said on most levels. The sex certainly is a level though.”
“This sounds confusing to me.” Was all I could say in response.
“I promise you that once you have a collar put on you, you’d never be confused again.”
“Now that sounds like some kinky shit!”
Lara giggled and nodded.
Soon enough in our Musical Theory class, Professor Riachuelo started teaching us how to count and assign numerical, mathematical values to the changes in notes of a simple piece of music.
He did seem to gloss over this very quickly though, and when asked he merely stated, “We have much bigger fish to fry… Plus you should already know this material, so learn this base translation to arithmetic function quickly if you don’t already know it.”
Sure enough, he moved on to other decidedly more interesting topics even the next class.
“For today I wish to discuss the creative mind and how it is attuned to compose music. Having asked many talented people what it is that enables them to create brilliant music, and from personal experience as well, I can say that ninety-nine percent say they have no Earthly idea where their ability comes from. Mix with this the fact that not very many people have this ability, and we have an enigma. I know some say that it requires a finely disciplined mind to start with. However, if we look at certain examples of musical brilliance, we can easily see that this doesn’t always hold true. Can anyone give an example of a seemingly undisciplined mind crafting amazing music?”
“Ozzy Osborne.” One boy named Elan spoke up.
Professor Riachuelo chuckled and nodded.
Another young man named Coby offered, “Keith Richards.”
“I suppose that snorting your father’s ashes mixed with some coke does qualify as undisciplined.”
“Oh my god!” I gasped. That blew my mind.
“They are some of the more fortunate of the undisciplined.”
“You mean the unfortunate are like the ones who overdosed or killed themselves?”
“Yes.”
“Kurt Cobain.” Elan added.
The Professor nodded.
“Rick Brookes.” I stated as my eyes got watery.
“The instant loser list is indeed long.” He said.
That pissed me right the fuck off. “Rick was NOT a fucking loser!”
“You are right. He was a winner… until he threw it all away.” Professor Riachuelo sighed.
That calmed me down. “I feel sorry for all of them. The wonderful gifts they gave to the world, which drove them mad.” I sighed.
Lara chimed in, “Mozart.”
“Ahh!” The Professor became animated. “I was waiting for someone to mention him. Now I am quite aware that many say Herr Mozart was thoroughly undisciplined, but I beg to differ. He was forced to extreme discipline from a quite early age, and as such he missed out on a normal childhood. His more famous antics were quite possibly a need to make up for his lack of childhood play and release. There is plenty of documentation to show that he was quite disciplined in his composition. In fact, just the finished products of his efforts can be said to be proof of this alone.”
“Like Michael Jackson!” Lara exclaimed.
“Exactly!”
“Just imagine if they had a normal childhood.” Coby said.
Professor Riachuelo raised his brows, “They would probably have been much happier, but then we all would not be blessed with their music.”
I said, “I guess it is for the best then... Their suffering.”
“Easy for you to say.” He glared at me.
“I just mean… well, I couldn’t imagine life without their music.”
“I agree. Their suffering isn’t for naught, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Professor, you sound like you can relate.” I saw it clearly. The pain was written in his eyes.
“We are getting sidetracked. My point with this discussion was to elucidate that what we call musical genius is mostly from hard earned effort. Some efforts bring more fruit than others, yet it still requires hard work, pure plain and simple. Never doubt that.”
I’d seen something about the Professor, something personal. I needed to know about his musical ability. Was he just all talk, or did he walk the walk? So I stayed after class to ask him a question or two. Call me insatiably curious, or just nosey, but I had to know.
“I was wondering about something, Professor.”
“Yes?”
“What instruments do you play?”
“Woodwinds, strings and keyboard.”
“What? Like all of them?”
“Yes.”
I raised my brows. “That’s pretty impressive… to say the least.”
He shrugged.
I saw the smugness on his face. “So, are you any good at any of them?” I challenged. “You know what they say about the Jack-of-all-trades.”
“That is a matter of opinion. And what do you play?”
“Reeds and some piano.”
“Care to demonstrate?” He waved his hand at the upright piano against the wall.
I qualified my acceptance, “Only if you do too.”
He smiled and nodded.
I took a seat at the bench, yet he stayed seated at his desk. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by playing anything but what I had practiced the most. It was the third movement of Claude Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque, more popularly known as Clair de Lune. Everyone knows this piece, but it is one of my favorites and I knew it by heart.
As I finished, I looked over to him to see his reaction. I knew that I had nailed it. He yawned. It infuriated me!
“Your turn!” Was I could utter as I then bit my lip to keep from cussing out the arrogant bastard.
He simply strode over and took the bench I had just vacated. With absolutely no warm-up he began to play Liszt’s etude for solo piano, derived from Paganini’s solo violin caprice
named La Campanella. This is pretty much the most difficult classical piano piece that there is to play. I had watched videos of some of the world’s greatest pianists play this beast, and here was Professor Riachuelo performing just as magnificently, if not more so, than any I had seen. He had the speed of Lang Lang, the passion and precision of Evgeny Kissin, and the subtle nuances that Valentina Lisitsa is famous for. It was like the best of the world’s best combined for one perfect performance! I was in absolute awe, and all my anger at his arrogant smugness disappeared. Here was a fucking world class master performing for me alone. My head became a bit dizzy watching and hearing this virtuoso play. I found myself searching for a seat as my knees didn’t seem to want to hold me up.
When he finished, I was out of breath.
He got up and went back to his desk, and merely said, “Keep practicing.”
That lit my anger again. The smug fucking bastard! I stormed out of the classroom.
I was determined to find out why I hadn’t heard of him before, so I started looking for him online. There had to be something about him, as brilliant of a pianist as he was. There was nothing though! The only thing I could find was that he was a professor of music theory at the University. No shit Google! I fucking knew that already! Next time I saw Lara I shared what I had witnessed with her.
“You wouldn’t have fucking believed it, girl! He is holy shit, goddamn amazing!”
“What did he play?”
“La Campanella!”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, and he gave a better performance than any of the world-class masters I’ve ever seen!”
“No shit?”
“The weird thing is that then I tried to look him up online and found almost nothing.”
She cocked her head, “Well, what did you find?”
“Just that he works here.”
“Shit, I could’ve told you that.”
“Thanks.”
“So maybe he hasn’t performed before.” She offered.
“That doesn’t make any sense! Why would he not perform? I mean you should have heard him play, Lara! He is goddamn fucking brilliant!”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s shy.”
“No. He’s far too arrogant to have a shy bone in his body. I tell, you something is up with him.”