The Coma Patient Was a Musical Genius

Coma Patient Was a Music Genius

Episode 008

I just put the board down on the floor.

The score was still displayed as ’08’.

“… 8 points?”

“Wow… .”

“If this happens, what will happen?”

“Huh, this isn’t the flow we expected.”

I stood up from my seat, enjoying the many hot stares.

‘hmm.’

Pianist Ji Jae-won, whose technical skills and technique were so good that one would nod in agreement.

However, pianist Ji Jae-won left us with regrets in his interpretation of the song and his expression of emotions.

I passed him by and sat down in front of the piano.

Then, I adjusted the height of the chair so that the keys were positioned near my navel.

‘ah.’

As I sat here, my eyes felt strangely dazzled.

He raised his head.

The studio has bright lighting.

I was staring at it intently.

The light began to spread gradually.

Then, as the scene at the time when this song was composed seeped into my mind, the dazzling lights soon became the dawn of Budapest.

The birth of Hungary.

This is the scenery I saw and the impression I had while composing this song.

My homeland, Hungary.

But at the same time, it was a bundle of complicated emotions for me.

I was born in Hungary, but my native language was not Hungarian.

Because I have not been living in Hungary for very long due to a long tour.

Maybe that’s why.

I’ve been struggling with identity confusion for a while.

I was more attached to Vienna and Paris than I was to Hungarian, but I couldn’t forget Hungary, so I couldn’t consider myself Austrian or French.

One winter evening in Budapest, I took a walk along the Danube.

Sitting by the river, I gazed at the rippling night waves and fell into deep thought.

On his lap was a musical staff to record his current feelings.

What is my identity?

I was a stranger.

A wanderer born in a country where even his native language is unfamiliar.

Identity confusion may have been an unavoidable fate.

In fact, it is still the same now.

I still sometimes get confused as to whether I, Franz Liszt, became Yoo Hye-seong, or whether I, Yoo Hye-seong, was Franz Liszt.

That fate continues to this day.

However, it was simple.

I play.

I become complete in music.

―Franz Liszt, Hungarian Rhapsody No.2.

Hungarian Rhapsody, No. 2.

As long as the music flows, I am just me.

Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.

It was a symphonic poem containing the soul of a nation, as well as a self-portrait containing my identity.

Maybe that’s why.

As if reunited with an old lover, the fingers naturally find their place.

With each note I strung together, the drawers of memories began to pour out.

A modern studio slowly transforms into a 19th century winter night in Budapest.

The introduction begins lonely but weighty.

Lassan.

The left hand creates waves with heavy chords, and the right hand draws a melody as if swimming over them.

Gently press the sustain pedal.

Then, the sound creates ripples as if a single drop of water falls onto the surface of the water.

The spreading sounds soon disappear into the water and disappear. Losing identity.

This is how I felt at the time, sitting alone on the banks of the Danube.

He is confessing his complicated emotions with his fingers.

The tone that contains sorrow gradually becomes more varied and deeper.

The low notes are covered in thick mist, and the right-hand melody draws a curve above them.

Pedal again.

The volume increases, a cadenza is drawn that seems to pour out emotions, and the modulation begins.

Friska.

The mournful minor key gradually shifts to a brilliant major key.

A tempo that gradually gets faster.

The volume is getting more and more aggressive.

A staggering change.

A pitch that changes rapidly.

There is a heated debate going on inside.

Confusion and doubt about my identity permeate every note.

The sounds are chaotic, pushing and shoving each other, as if trying to assert their positions.

Finally, a feast of splendid techniques unfolds.

My homeland is Hungary.

It is an undeniable fact.

But why am I not there?

Where are my roots?

The right hand gradually leaps into higher registers, playing the scales of traditional Hungarian music.

The left hand, as if opposing him, squeezes in and rings out an octave.

The two soon meet in one place.

The center of the keyboard.

At that moment.

Trills bloom, tremolos rain down, and glissandos swirl as if to represent my confused thoughts.

Fortissimo of fury (fff).

A frantic crescendo.

Questions explode out, and cries for answers resonate.

I desperately move my fingers amidst the ceaseless shower of notes.

I swam across the keyboard as if I was swimming towards the truth.

Pedal with all your might and create a torrential downpour of sound.

Finally, the music reaches its climax.

Rather than finding the answers, it seems like I’ve decided to accept all the questions.

If fate has given me a riddle, I will just embrace it.

Wherever I come from, wherever I go, that is the path I must walk.

Only then do the chords begin to harmonize.

The chords of both hands become wet and fade away.

The waves that had been surging with anxiety and doubt calm down.

The thick fog clears and the view becomes clear.

The red sun rises over the Danube plains.

Dawn passed and morning came.

I walked along the river again.

The fingers on the keyboard are now calmly going their own way.

The mad dash becomes a grave, leaving a hazy aftertaste.

The sounds have a lonely and calm appearance.

I’m not sad anymore.

It has been accepted.

The vague boundaries of identity have become meaningless.

I am just me.

That’s how I make peace with myself.

There was wandering, but there was no loss.

Music is my whole being and the source of my existence.

No more hesitation or wandering.

I just play the music, pouring all my agony and worries into the notes.

“Phew.”

With a thud, beads of sweat fall.

It soon seeped through the keyboard.

I took my hands off the keyboard, feeling strangely overwhelmed.

I got up from my seat.

I turned around.

Well, that’s probably obvious.

“… … .”

“… … .”

Everyone was looking at him with astonishment.

‘……crazy.’

Ji Jae-won was confused.

I didn’t think of anything.

My hair turned white.

Just, just… .

I was like, what is this?

‘ah.’

It was so bad that I even had this thought.

‘…Is this a hidden camera?’

A YouTube link I received from my manager a while ago flashed through my mind.

I don’t know the details because I didn’t see it, but when I saw the thumbnail, I thought it was a hidden camera.

So, maybe this ridiculous situation is…

‘… That doesn’t make sense either.’

I heard them playing right behind me.

I saw the sound coming out of that hand.

The piano was a Steinway grand piano with no remote control whatsoever.

I just played it myself a little while ago, so I couldn’t even doubt it.

No, yeah.

Let’s say, for the record, that Steinway manufactured a piano with a remote control just for this broadcast.

…whoever?

Here I am, unrivaled by anyone in terms of Liszt’s music, so who on earth played it?

While Ji Jae-won’s thoughts were going haywire, Hye-seong sat down across from him.

Their eyes met, and Ji Jae-won flinched and looked down.

I don’t know. Why did I avert my eyes just now?

“… … .”

No. I thought I knew.

It was because I was embarrassed. It was because I was ashamed. It was because I felt even more pathetic than I had ever felt because I had been so proud.

The back of my neck felt hot. It was so hot, like a steam towel had been placed on it.

Then suddenly, I saw a pure white board placed on my lap.

‘Ah, score.’

You have to measure it. Now it’s your turn.

With that mindset, Ji Jae-won held the board marker tightly, but… .

Sweet, thump, trembling.

The embarrassment spread to my fingers and I couldn’t control myself at all.

‘Wake up, Ji Jae-won.’

To be honest, my pride was really hurt.

When I discovered the 80 points that Hyeseong had written down.

Even the master judges gave ‘Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2’ a score in the 90s? You? How dare you?

And when Hyeseong flipped the board over and showed 08 points.

I was just convinced. Oh, this kid is crazy.

I wasn’t even angry. I just laughed in absurd ways.

So, I decided to give him a good scolding next time it was his turn.

To bring back the spirit that left home.

In addition to the spicy feedback, for the fun of the broadcast, and also to restore my damaged pride as an active pianist, I was even considering giving it a score of 0.

Sure, it was like that… .

My hands were still shaking uncontrollably.

I hated giving myself a score lower than 8 out of pride because it made me feel like I was making myself look bad.

But I couldn’t accept the reality that the young boy had performed at a higher level than me, and that I was giving him a score higher than 80.

My ears understood, but my head didn’t seem to understand yet. Here I am, the winner of the Liszt Competition…

It was at that time that the board marker was hovering in the air.

Something flashed out of the corner of my eye.

When I looked, I saw that the production team was delivering a message through a prompter.

[Mr. Jaewon! It’s not your turn to grade now!]

… Ah, that’s right.

The method was for Hyeseong to grade ‘Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2’ of his own choosing, and for Hyeseong to grade ‘The Hunt’ of his own choosing.

Even though the production team emphasized this before we started filming, I was so shocked that I got confused.

‘Yeah, hunting.’

Ji Jae-won, who remembered the song title, was barely able to come to his senses.

Wasn’t this the piece that received rave reviews from authoritative critics, saying, “This is how Franz Liszt would have played it when he was alive.”

‘Here, absolutely.’

If this goes on air, … in common parlance, it will be X.

All the reputation you’ve built up so far will crumble.

With that determination, Ji Jae-won looked across at the other side. Soon, he showed a leisurely smile, and his aegyo flesh folded up.

“This time, it’s Hyeseong’s turn to play first.”

The boy also smiled.

It’s an unfailingly clear smile.

Originally, we were supposed to have a brief conversation before the next performance began.

Unfortunately, Ji Jae-won didn’t have time for that right now.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Well, okay.”

“… … .”

What’s the answer? Does it mean I can look forward to it?

Ji Jae-won blankly looked at the back of Yoo Hye-seong as she approached the piano.

Take a seat.

There was no need to adjust the chair height.

Because right after that, Hyeseong plays again.

Turn your neck once.

Raise your shoulders, then tap-drop them, repeat.

As if that wasn’t enough, they start turning their shoulders one by one.

Like a hunter warming up before a hunt.

Suddenly, Hyeseong turns his head.

His eyes met mine.

Why? What is it?

“… … ?”

Then, after smiling faintly, he put his head back where it was… .

“… … !”

Before my eyes even reached the keyboard.

As if the score was engraved in his hand, all ten fingers landed precisely on the correct positions on the keyboard.

―Franz Liszt, Transcendental Etude No. 8 “Wilde Jagd (Hunting)”.

Franz Liszt, The Hunt.

The moment when a heavy horn sound from the low register of the keyboard resonated throughout the studio.

Everyone in the room became a target being chased by hunters.

The hunt has begun.

The hunter’s calloused fingers slowly pull back the bowstring.

The protests are getting tense. The hunter’s breathing is getting shallower. The surrounding forest is quiet, almost silent.

The performer takes a breath of air in his mouth and stops moving his hands. The performance suddenly stops.

The performer swept his front hair back during the performance, as if enjoying the silence.

It was an extremely relaxed look.

Dozens of staff members watched the scene with bated breath.

However, it was only the right hand that was released.

It was then that the tremolo from the left hand began to rise strongly.

Swoosh-

The arrow that left the protest cut through the forest, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.

The subtle sound of the wind rustling through the tree branches.

Before I knew it, my right hand had joined in.

Pudadak-

At the moment of impact, the surrounding birds fly up in surprise, and the silence of the forest is broken.

The curvature that had been moving statically began to inflate its body again.

The hunter who confirmed the hit is delighted.

The performance becomes brighter accordingly.

We have reached the middle part of the score, molto appassionato.

But for some reason, as the performance progressed, worry began to appear on Producer Kim Ki-sik’s face.

While exchanging small words with conductor Choi Kook-hwan.

The assistant director approached quietly and asked.

“…Why are you like that?”

The answer comes from conductor Choi Kook-hwan.

“Because Franz Liszt composed such difficult pieces, the Transcendental Technique was revised in modern times. He is the only one who can play it, and other performers simply cannot do it.”

Producer Kim Ki-sik nodded, and conductor Choi Kook-hwan continued speaking.

“The ‘Hunting’ that Jaewon Lee played at the Liszt International Competition is also a revised version that has removed all the overly difficult or unnecessary notes. No, in fact, all modern pianists play that revised version.”

“Well, what about that?”

The assistant director’s face turned pale as he sensed something was amiss.

Lastly, PD Kim Ki-sik nodded toward the piano and explained the reason for his concern.

“… … But he’s playing the original song by himself. What should I do about this? How should I express this on air?”