Lang Lang’s fingers came to a rest as the last notes of Mozart’s C minor No. 24, K491 bounced off the walls of the sumptuous concert hall. For a brief instant there was only silence, followed by loud applause as the concertgoers emerged to their feet. Lang’s performance was stunning technically; the agility of his seemingly bewitched fingers was truly something to behold.
As the enchanted crowd dissipated, I used my journalist credentials to access the backstage. I walked past the violinists, cellists, flutists and the rest of the ensemble as they loosened strings, scrubbed their exhausted brass instruments to a shine, and packed their various sundries for the night. I reached a door at the back and rapped it musically with my knuckles. “Come in,” a slightly accented voice answered.
There I was, alone at last with the great Lang Lang. He was beaming. The performance, as the next day’s newspapers would attest, had been out of this world, one of his greatest. After brief exchanges of pleasantries and business cards (yes, the great pianist has one), I went straight down to business.
My article, published today on Thinking Taiwan, continues here. (Photo by the author)
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