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Lang Lang free pdf I have many early childhood memories. Like strands in a tapestry, they weave a mixed impression--joy, hardship, hope, sadness, struggle, and success. Some strands stand out in vivid detail.

When I was two years old, a simple barracks apartment on the Shenyang air force base was our home. My father, a thin man of average height, was the silent type. In fact, he was stern and I have no memory of him smiling. He played professionally in the air force orchestra. We had very few luxuries, but they included an upright piano purchased by my parents when my father grew convinced I had a special gift for music. My mother later told me I could read musical notes before I learned the alphabet, and with my unusually large hands and long fingers, I loved gliding my fingertips on the keys. Of course, I couldn't touch the pedals. In fact, I could only touch the keys by placing pillows on my piano bench. But my father said I was creating music, that I knew intuitively when the notes harmonized. Most important to me, I was filling my ear with beautiful sounds that in turn filled my imagination with incredible stories I made up as I played for hours at a time.

In the air force orchestra my father played the erhu--a popular folk instrument with two strings, a cross between a violin and a small bass--but he told my mother from the beginning that I should be taught the piano.

"The piano is the most beloved instrument in the world," he declared, and she agreed. My father, whose name is Lang Guoren, was my first teacher.


Zhou Xiulan also loved music. My mother had grown up listening to Peking opera on the radio with her parents, and when she was a teenager, she developed a lyrical voice. She dreamed of singing in a concert. But as it did to my father, the Cultural Revolution started in the 1960s. My parents' families were either property owners or intellectuals, and middle-class. My parents and their families moved from their homes in the city to distant rice farms, where they worked long hours. My parents lived in the countryside for five years. They did not know each other at that time.
When he was twenty-five years old, before he was married to my mother, my father applied for admission to the Shenyang Conservatory of Music. He was now back home and determined to forge a career for himself. His talent and dedication to the erhu were extraordinary, and among all the applicants that year he placed first on two entrance exams. But at the last moment, on a trumped-up technicality, he was denied admission.

I don't think his soul ever quite healed. I didn't understand any of this until I was older, but almost from the beginning, I felt his frustration and his high expectations for me.

"Practice, Lang Lang. Practice day and night. Do not dream of anything but being the best pianist you can be," he would say to me over and over.

My mother told him he was too strict, and sometimes he was, but his will almost always prevailed. "Don't pamper our son," he declared if he caught my mother reading me a story with my head against her shoulder. "He should be playing the piano, not listening to silly tales. He has a gift, but it means nothing without hard work. You're only spoiling him."

"He's just a little boy," she countered. "All boys need time to play and dream."
"He has his dream. Now go, Lang Lang, and play your lessons

About Lang Lang

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Details Book

Author : Lang Lang
Publisher : Random House Children's Books
Data Published : 08 July 2008
ISBN : 5551848124
EAN : 9785551848127
Format Book : PDF, Epub, DOCx, TXT
Number of Pages : pages
Age + : 0-1 years
Language : English
Rating :

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