Lyrics The First Symphony - Preludes Original Cast

It was dark that night
There was a sickening black fog
That covered the church towers
And reeked of stale incense

Tonight, Rach
Tonight, Rach
Tonight, you shake your fist at the sky!

Everyone was there
And Glazunov

Glazunov is drunk

Glazunov was drunk

Glazunov is drunk

I can hear the brass, like a screaming falcon

When you think of that night,
What do you see?

Perspiration
Perspiration
Perspiration
On my forehead

Perspiration
Perspiration
Perspiration
Perspiration
On my forehead

And César Cui is here

César Cui?

César Cui of the five

There are five composers in Russia
The Mighty Handful Romantic Nationalists
Vanguards of the new Russian music
Borodin, Balakirev
Mussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Cui

Borodin, Balakirev
Borodin, Balakirev
Mussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Cui

Not court composers
Not elites like Tchaikovsky
They were the real deal
They had dirt under their fingernails

And Cui is a critic
A critic with a sharp pen

If there were a conservatory in hell
And if one of its most talented students
Were to compose a program symphony
Based on the story of the Ten Plagues of Egypt
And if he were to compose
A symphony like Rachmaninoff's
Then he would have fulfilled his task brilliantly
And would delight the inhabitants of hell
Oh dear, Serge!

He writes terrible things (This music leaves an evil impression)
About good people
(With its broken rhythms)
Untrue things (Obscurity and vagueness of form)
Unintelligent things (Meaningless repetition of the same short tricks)

Glazunov is drunk

Untrue things

The nasal sound of the orchestra
The strained crash of the brass
And above all
Its sickly perverse harmonization
And quasi-melodic outlines
The complete absence of simplicity and naturalness
The complete absence of themes

And you are not pretty enough
You're not smart enough
You're not funny enough
You're not deep enough
The best years of your life are behind you
It's all downhill now
So sad so sad
This is all you came to
So sad so sad so sad

Do you like the piece?

Uh I-
I don't know

And you are not pretty enough
You're not smart enough
You're not funny enough
You're not deep enough
The best years of your life are behind you
It's all downhill now
So sad so sad
This is all you came to
So sad so sad so sad

And Glazunov is drunk

Who is Glazunov?

The conductor

My dear young boy
I am Alexander Konstantinovich Glazinov

I know—

This will be wonderful
Thank you!
Do not worry about the woodwinds
I will squash their squeaks like grapes!

Oh my dear God—

And the brass will crash!
Have some wine, boy, have some wine
Let me relax
Where are my cuffs?

Serge, please have some wine
It will be alright
The players, they know you

The heater is broken

It was cold?

No, too hot, too hot, too hot
They couldn't turn it down
And the curtains were melting
And the lilacs were wilting
Perspiration on my forehead

Glazunov lifts his baton like a spoon in syrup
And the audience sucks in one great breath
And the strings and timpani begin
A midnight march to hell

I left after a few minutes
I spent most of the concert on the stairs
I could still hear it though
Muffled through the walls

What does this music mean to you?

I don't know!
It's supposed to be epic drama
Sublime terror
Great tolling bells, wind and rain
Thunder, lightning, screams
Moons, planets, comets!
Asteroids hurtling through space, estatic

Do you ever try to write happy music?

I don't try anything
This is just what happens

Scowled faces, pained faces
And the worst—Blank faces
This one reads her program
And this one checks his phone
And are you so small and stupid
That you can't hear anything new
That your little mind won't accept it
Won't shut the static out
And let the music just
Let the music just

And this one unwraps a candy
And this one takes her coat off
And it takes her ten minutes to take her coat off
And the rustling and the noise
And the noise
And the noise
And the noise
And the noise
And the noise
And Glazunov...

Glazunov is drunk

My God strings!
Will someone please tell me what measure we are in please
What just happened?
Were we in seven?
Tell me how do you conduct in seven?
What is this nonsense?

What is this?
Oh my god is this a fugue?
Fugues are hard
Fugues are hard
Fugues are hard
More wine please
More wine!

He feels nothing when he conducts
These sounds torture me!
How could so great a musician as Glazunov conduct so badly?

I see Cui with his pen and his little pad of paper
Writing down his little thoughts on his little pad of paper
As though what he hears is even real
That what his tiny ears hear is
Actually all that's happening in this room

Dies irae
Dies illa
Very good, Serge!

Artificial tunes, sentimental and monotonous
Cliché and excessive, shallow virtuoso populist
Okay, okay, okay, I'm a B-list hack!
You got me!

Sergei?

Why are you talking during my performance!
This is not your place
This is not for you
I don't want to hear your mind right now
What can you possibly have to say?
Huh?!
What is so fucking important about your opinion?!

Someone in this room is trying to feel something
Someone in this room is trying to have a beautiful moment
Why won't you let them?
Why the fuck are you talking to me?
You have no right
To inflict your mind on mine

Get out of here!
Get out!
You are murdering souls!
You are stepping on butterflies!
You are burning flowers with kerosene!
You are shitting on diamonds!