Even before I stepped out of the wings, I knew that the hall was already filled from the front row to the rafters. The mummers and last-minute talks from the audience not only gave me an idea what size of a crowd that I’d like playing to, but also the acoustics as well. In my ears, I could hear everything at once from the orchestra tuning up to the backstage ponies right across from me. What I could see in this clean white hall was my piano that stood in the very center, waiting.
Before it was time, I reviewed every note in my head of all the concertos, sonata, symphony and the carol at the very end. My hooves were tapping in anticipation, my mane was washed, dried and powdered, and my red overcoat was still stunning as ever. I was more than ready by the time the lights over the audience went down.
“Mares and Gentlecolts,” the announcer over the speakers said. “Carneighie Hall is proud to present our special Hearth’s Warming Eve concert, featuring the Manehattan Philharmonic Orchestra and your host, Wolfgang Amadeus Moztrot.”
I walked out onto the simple stage to the applause of a full house. The music hall was already trimmed in the garlands and red bows of the season from its walls to the towering balconies. On the second balcony in the very center was a reserved red box in which had the draping tapestry of the Royal Family crest, and a projector aimed at the white wall behind me. The latter would come in use once the concert began.
“Presenting the two royal sisters, Princess Celestia and Luna, along with Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship,” The three royals had a spotlight as they entered and took their seats, much to the delight of the audience. I on stage bowed to them.
“Welcome your Highnesses,” I began. “And welcome to you all, Mares and Gentlecolts to this Hearth’s Warming Eve concert. First of all, I want to thank all of you for paying extra for coming out here to hear some music.” They laughed a little, “I do hope that all of you are feeling good tonight, are you all? Well, tonight is going to be both fun and nostalgic for me.
“And why wouldn’t it be? I have many good memories around this time of year. In fact, most of the music that you’ll be hearing tonight holds special meaning to me because of those who wrote them. Sadly, most of the pieces and the composers who wrote them have been forgotten by time. However, I for one want to do something for them, especially during a holiday in which we celebrate the relationships of friends and families. So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do!
“To start this off, I’m going to tell you all a story. A long time ago, in a valley that is crowded by mountains on all sides, there was a bustling town. And within this town, lived a family who each of them loved music. So much so, that the month before Hearth’s Warming, three of them would take the time to compose something for each other to present it to them on that glorious morning.”
The projector turned on, casting a beam of colorful light across the theater and towards the wall behind me. I knew instantly that the light painted the portrait of Papa (if not in his later years).
“What you’ll be hearing, is one of those gifts that was composed by Leopold Moztrot, my father, for his children. A short little piece called, ‘The Toy Symphony.’” After I hopped onto the lid of the piano, the strings raised their instruments and readied their bows. Over by the percussion, rattles, whistles and bird callers waited for me to begin. For a brief moment, as I raised my hooves, I pretended to be Papa when he gathered a whole orchestra for us. Almost instantly at the first beat, I mentally sent myself back in time to that Hearth’s Warming morning in Prance.
The violins and violas opened the first movement with a warm, lively theme like how children feel on that wonderful morning. A rattle clicked as if a toy was being wound up, thus bringing the toy cuckoo (along with the other birds) to life. From the violins, wings opened sending them into the air to fly around the room in a sort of gravity-defying ballet. Even the adults, as I heard, were amused by this foal-like fantasy. It was rather amazing to me that even all these years later that Papa’s music was still able to make anyone smile at its playfulness.
Even the younger members of the audience were giggling at the bells and whistles of the first movement that, while silly, was still in harmony with the humorous strings. This painting in sound brought as much delight to my ears as it no doubt did to my listeners. If anything, listening to that first movement alone made me feel like a colt again.
The second movement was what I imagined to be the minuet of the cuckoos. While the strings brought about the rhythm of this elegant dance with the xylophone, the whistle and kazoos added that playfulness in this slow movement that brought a smile to even my performers’ faces. If anything, even my hind hooves that I stood on couldn’t help but fall under the spell of the minuet as I slowly but cautiously danced on the lid of the piano while still facing the musicians. Hearing it again was like having a dance with an old friend that I hadn’t seen in years.
I confessed that during this slow minuet, I did move in a full circle, getting a good look at the audience, in particular towards the young. While many of them tried to remain quiet, their expressions were like that of watching a clown. I even caught a glimpse at the Royal box, while Twilight and Luna (like the adults) watched with fascination; Celestia looked on with a smile. By the final bars at its soft decrescendo, I scraped with one hind hoof and bowed like one would with an invisible dancing partner, to which I got applause for at last.
Jumping back towards the orchestra, we hopped right into the third and final movement of the symphony. A quickly paced flight as the bird calls were weaving through the air like a flock. In this finale, the tempo slowly starts going faster after the main theme was established. Yes, it did repeat but as it did, the toys too charged with controlled chaos right up to the end, and the applause.
As I leaped off the piano, the projector then changed portraits to that of a young, teenage mare in a dark pink dress with lace all over it. Beside her was a keyboard with sheet music, a column with a green curtain behind her. “In our family,” I spoke to the audience. “Whenever we opened presents on Hearth’s Warming morning, we tended to take turns in sharing our gifts, from eldest to youngest. After Papa gave us his gift, for example, what you’ve just heard, it then went down the family hierarchy — next to Mama, and then to my sister.” There was a confusion of mutterings that perked up my tall ears. “Yes, you all heard that right. I had a sister. Her name,” I looked up at the projected portrait, “was Nannerl Moztrot.
“Tragically, since my return from my literal near-death experience, as much as I searched the libraries and asked musical scholars, her music is lost to time. Her music has been completely forgotten… almost. While her music has gone missing, anything with my name on it has survived. This is a good thing because as it so happens, she and I, when we were younger, had composed together. I’m relieved to say, there was indeed something from our collaboration that did in fact survive.”
Out from the wings, one of the backstage ponies brought out my clavichord and sat it on top of the piano before setting up a microphone right over the soundboard. As this was happening, I explained. “You’re probably wondering why this is being brought out and having a microphone hovering over it. Thank you, sir,” that last remark was to the stage pony who instantly left. “That’s because this was the instrument we composed this sonata for. Oh! I nearly forgot,” I didn’t. “I nearly neglected to introduce you to my hoof-picked violinist for tonight, haven’t I? Well, here for his warm up, is the brilliant musician and insane pony, Paganeighni.”
(Now I already know what some of my readers would be inquiring. How come I didn’t play the violin parts for either the Sonata or the concerto that night? Even back in the eighth century, I was always on the lookout for whatever talented musicians I could find and composed music that was tailored to their skills. Running into Paganeighni at that music festival in the Crystal Empire was a happy accident that naturally I thought about inviting him to perform. To my relief, he accepted the invitation.)
The stallion with the untamed mane strode on stage, violin, and bow in his hoof as he went up to the center stage, bowing to the audience that welcomed him. I took my place before the keys of the clavichord while the lanky fellow stood on his hind legs, flipping the instrument ‘til it rested under his chin. “As I recall, everything from the violin was written by me, while the keyboard is from my sister. So performing for the first time in Celestia-knows-when, is Sonata number one in C Major for violin and keyboard, by me and Nannerl Moztrot.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was an expression,” Celestia called out, “a rather accurate one at that.”
While the whole theater burst out laughing (with me along with them), I went over to rear myself up to the keyboard. Stretching my hooves over the keys, I began with a trilling of notes. Followed by the violin climbing up the snowy mountains while my hooves unleashed a flurry of snow. In a strange way, I had envisioned this as two explorers trekking up the steep, slippery side of a giant mountain. Up in front, an older keyboard marking the path while behind her the playful violin is in awe at everything around him. Truth be told, this piece too cast a spell of nostalgia on me, only this time, from a new perspective.
The violin passage (while simplistic now to my mind) no doubt still had that childlike curiosity for exploring the trail. Not to say that it didn’t slip and fall in the snow, but with good humor, he was able to get back up to resume his lively attitude. The key, surprisingly to my review of it, was playing two parts: being the chilly, swirling wind while at the same time looking after the violin. The key signature alone suggested to me that the keys weren’t an old sound. Quite the contrary, it was young but experienced in this journey.
About four minutes later, we moved onto the second movement: the Andante opens up with the keyboard trying to get the violin to sleep. The little string instrument seems restless as if it had more energy in its tiny body than for its own good. As for the other instrument, it took up the role of the parent in trying to soothe the child while setting up their camp next to a warm, crackling fire. Eventually, the clavichord starts telling the violin a bedtime story. One that had tales of knights, performing heroic deeds to win the heart of a maiden. This was able to get the string instrument to sleep.
The third, double Minuets were in my mind like the two dreams intertwining. Their visions longed for the comforts of home. Of the glow of the fireplace and the savory foods in which they were familiar with – and of books that the elder wished to read and the bouncing toys for the younger. It would seem that both of them missed the candlelit home where the cold is kept outside of its walls and frosted windows.
Finally, the Allegro Molto, where the sun is out, and the two of them were awake and sliding down the mountain. There was joy in this last movement as the violin glided not too far away from the clavichord. Slipping past the white and even jumping over one another downwards towards the base, both keys and strings laughing all the way as they neared their destination. Gladly, with the theme reaching its home chord, both instruments were able to return to the place they missed in the recapitulation.
As the audience applauded, I went over to the violinist to shake his hoof, “Thank you for doing this for me.” I told him.
“This was easy,” he told me, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be practicing the concerto backstage.”
Once the audience calmed down with their approval and Paganeighni walked off stage, the projector changed once again. “Fortunately, this sort of tradition of giving the family musical compositions, as it turns out, went on after me. For example,” I turned to the wall in which the light showed a black-and-white photograph of aging, nearly bald stallion, sitting on a chair while his foreleg was propped up on a table. “This here, as you all can see, is the only surviving portrait of a forgotten composer: Franz Xavier Wolfgang Moztrot. In other words, this is one of my two sons.”
There was a surprised muttering in the audience, “I can tell by your reactions that you didn’t know that I had children. But no matter, this really is my son who, for a short while, wrote some compositions of his own. Take for example,” a backstage pony grabbed the clavichord off the piano while I popped open the latter’s lid. “The second piano concerto, which he wrote for my wife as a gift on Hearth’s Warming. Tonight, I’ll be playing my son’s music for the first time since its creation.”
By the time I faced the keyboard, the orchestra was more than prepared to start the first concerto of the evening. Walking up on the stool, I raised my hooves up, taking a last glance around the strings, horns, winds, and percussion that waited on me. Before I signaled to begin, I took one more look up at my son, of the old stallion that he had become so many years ago. ‘This is for you Franz,’ I thought to myself before guiding them to the open bars.
Horns and strings drew open the curtain in sunlight. In a way, this two-minute theme from the orchestra was, to my mind, like looking at a vast, painted landscape. My ears followed through the pastoral brushstrokes of hills, dotting trees and a mighty river – a natural land untouched in all its bright, uncluttered beauty. I confessed that before I plopped myself down on the stool, I did in fact sigh in satisfaction, like how one would when breathing in the early morning air.
Now being my turn at my piano, playing it all out from memory was, in my mind’s eye, like a younger me being on a nature walk through this landscape that my son had created. To be honest, I’m actually rather shocked that nopony remembers these themes centuries later. Of course, accuse me of nepotism all you wish for being the father of this particular composer, but in my frank opinion, this (not just the opening movement, but the whole concerto) is masterful. Even by my standards. To my ears, it is fresh, expressive, natural but not untamed – virtuosic but not unclear – fun but never unchallenging to both the audience and the performers. This opening theme, though is it about fourteen minutes long, is an epic journey of a fantasy that rewards its listeners’ patience. Fortunately, the audience agreed with me.
The second movement, the Andante Espressivo… the only way I could describe it, was as if I was reading out of a very personal page in my son’s diary. On the one hoof, I heard the orchestra that was, without doubt, my own sounds. But his on the piano… even the notes were too self-aware of how inadequate they feel towards what the father had pioneered. It’s a lonely sound, one that might be enough to break your heart over from the sheer isolation. If anything, I wanted my own hooves to reach out to that phantom, to comfort him in telling how proud I already was. He has earned the family name of Moztrot. But alas, I did want to stay faithful to what he had written.
But at least Franz managed to end the concerto on a happier note in his Rondo, Allegretto. Out of the whole thing, the ending is my favorite for its carnival atmosphere in which the keyboard plays a game in rhythm for the orchestra. I had so much fun with this finale because of its playful narrative and for its mischievous undertones. For my hooves, it was like watching fireworks on a fairground, watching how the colors and sparks interacted with one another to varying degrees of intensity.
As the final chords faded, the audience applauded with a roar. Standing back up on my four hooves, I bowed to them before encouraging the orchestra to do the same. The theater lights brightened; near the front rows, I saw Wilfred, Fan and Sauté stomping their hooves on the ground like everypony else.
As soon as it became calm, I announced. “We shall be taking a fifteen-minute intermission, and as soon as we come back, I’m going to introduce you to a few friends of mine.” With that, I walked off the stage, in need of a drink.