Chapter 59: Musical Synesthesia

—Is it really that simple? Is songwriting not hard? Hao Qiang’s understanding of musical composition made Huang Guolun chuckle in disbelief.

Sun Yanzhen retorted, “Hao Qiang, what sort of friend do you have? Is he a musician? He actually claims songwriting isn’t difficult? If it really were easy, anyone could be a musician.”

Hao Qiang replied, “Well, you’d be surprised, my buddy said exactly that. Anyone can be a musician—as long as they’ve learned music, they can write songs.”

Lu Rou scoffed with a smile, “Your friend certainly has a high opinion of himself.”

Everyone laughed. Anyone with a bit of common sense knows songwriting isn’t easy.

Huang Guolun took a sip of wine, his mood rising as he began a spontaneous music lesson, “If you want to know whether songwriting is hard, you first need to understand what musical creation actually entails. Let’s leave lyrics aside for now. In pop music composition, Hao Qiang’s friend isn’t entirely wrong; the main melody is indeed a combination of a few modes. Anyone with a foundation in music can write a song. It’s like someone who’s spent a few days learning to paint can create a picture, or someone who’s learned to write for a few days can try their hand at prose. But whether those works are any good is another matter. After a few days of studying music, once you grasp the basics of creation, you’ll find it feels simple. At that stage, you’re just getting started—the real depth is yet to come. To truly master all the techniques of musical creation is anything but easy.”

Lu Rou teased Hao Qiang, “Hao Qiang, your friend sounds like what Teacher Huang described—a rookie, right?”

“A rookie? Not at all! My buddy has studied music since childhood, a top student at the Central Conservatory! He works at a cultural group now, specializes in arranging music, he’s really impressive. Maybe songwriting is hard for Teacher Huang, but for my friend, it’s effortless. He can take any of our usual songs, tweak them a bit, and instantly turn them into a whole new song—catchier than before! He’s definitely in the genius category.”

Sun Yanzhen pressed, “Has your genius friend ever created any famous works?”

“He mainly writes music for stage plays, so I don’t really understand what he does. Pop music, to him, isn’t even worth considering. He says pop music is just a handful of modes repeated again and again—too easy.”

“Easy?”

Huang Guolun couldn’t help but laugh again. “If that’s really what your friend said, then I think all his years of music study have gone to waste. No matter what kind of music you’re creating, ‘easy’ is never the right word. If it truly were easy, the world of pop music would be overflowing with masters.”

He went further, “Producing a master in pop music is, in some ways, harder than in other genres. Just as your friend said, pop music composition is mainly about transforming and combining a few modes—it never strays far from its essence. To thoroughly learn everything within that framework, and then innovate on top of the countless classic melodies devised by predecessors, breaking new ground, that’s extremely difficult.”

Seeing everyone listening intently, Huang Guolun unconsciously adopted the manner of a teacher, continuing to explain the principles of music, “Composing music is similar to painting or writing prose. A composer combines basic modes to craft melodies, just as a painter uses fundamental colors to depict the world, and a novelist builds stories with basic words and paragraphs.

Modes are the colors in a musician’s palette, the words in a writer’s lexicon. Anyone with a trace of artistic sensibility knows that red evokes warmth and passion, while gray brings a sense of oppression. Composers express emotion through melody in much the same way. When tension and urgency are needed, they use high-frequency mode combinations; to convey lingering, gentle moods, they employ slower modes.

You can imagine songwriting as painting. Even someone with only a bit of painting experience—or none at all—could create a picture if given paints. But those works can never compare to a professional artist’s. Of course, there are rare prodigies who, given a pen, can produce masterpieces without instruction. But such people are few—perhaps only a handful throughout human history.

Music creation is no different. With some musical foundation and knowledge of modes, you can write a song. Even someone who doesn’t know music, humming a few lines, could invent a tune that satisfies themselves. But, barring the exceptional genius, these works can’t compare to those of professional musicians.

Musical creation is a highly systematic undertaking, far from something that can be summed up as ‘simple.’ If you think it’s simple, it’s probably because you’ve only just stepped through the door.”

Without giving Hao Qiang a chance to respond, Huang Guolun continued, “I don’t know if you’ve heard the term ‘synesthesia’—it’s the interconnectedness of sensory arts, a kind of cross-modal perception. We all have a bit of synesthetic potential. For example, seeing orange feels warm, seeing blue seems cool.

In music, those with peak musical synesthesia, upon seeing any color, have related melodies flowing in their minds. Hearing a lively rhythm, they might even sense the lights flashing to the beat. Musical synesthesia is the highest aspiration of musicians.

Musicians with synesthesia create music with vivid imagery—every flower, every blade of grass, every leaf, every boat, in their eyes, becomes melody, becomes song. If such a person also has a solid background in musical study, then they are truly qualified to say: creating music is simple.”

Huang Guolun looked at Hao Qiang and asked, “If your friend is that kind of genius, then I’d accept his words. Not just me, I think anyone in music would. But the number of people worldwide recognized as possessing top-tier musical synesthesia can be counted on one hand. I doubt your friend is among them. Of course, as they say, hidden talents abound among the folk, so maybe he really is a potential world-shaking musician with musical synesthesia. Who knows?”

His final chuckle made everyone laugh. It was clear to all that Huang Guolun’s words carried a hint of sarcasm.

If not for the wine, he wouldn’t be so blunt, nor so loquacious. But having drunk quite a bit, his emotions took over and he no longer cared. Whenever someone put on airs in front of him, he’d gently puncture their pretense.

Hao Qiang was left embarrassed by Huang Guolun’s professional argument; he didn’t know how to keep boasting in front of such an expert.

Sun Yanzhen, intrigued by Huang Guolun’s remarks, asked, “Are there really people like that in the world? They can see something and melodies just pour out? That’s amazing—almost like a superpower!”

Huang Guolun replied, “It’s not that they see just anything and a melody appears. Those with musical synesthesia must see something that moves them, inspires thoughts and feelings, then the resonance brings forth melody.”

Sun Yanzhen sighed, “That’s incredible. I can understand feeling warmth when seeing warm colors, but to have a warm melody appear in your mind—that’s truly wondrous.”

Huang Guolun laughed, “Such talents are extremely rare.”

Ju Xiaohui asked, “Teacher Huang, do you have synesthesia?”

“How could I possibly have that? Only the very top musical geniuses in the world possess such abilities.”

Huang Guolun went on, “Of course, synesthesia is only one aspect. Some may have excellent musical synesthesia but never enter the field or study music systematically. Then their talent goes to waste. Only those who possess top-level synesthesia and have undergone years of professional musical education and practice can reach the pinnacle of the industry.”

He gave an example, “The hottest American drama now is Game of Thrones—many of you must be following it. Its composer, Djawadi, is the world’s most sought-after musical genius. I won’t list all his works, but just a few: World of Warcraft, Iron Man, Pacific Rim, and Zhang Yimou’s The Great Wall—all scored by him. Even the earlier hit Prison Break, with its heart-pounding soundtrack, was Djawadi’s work. He’s mastered every musical genre, and most instruments. Even those he hasn’t played, he can pick up and play well after a bit of practice.”

Huang paused, then emphasized, “The reason Djawadi is so extraordinary is because he has top-tier musical synesthesia, and an exceptionally solid background in music. He graduated from Berklee, the best music school in the world, then apprenticed under Hans Zimmer, the top master in film scoring, and assisted another Hollywood giant, Klaus Badelt. He studied music rigorously for years; combined with his innate talent, he achieved his current greatness. If he says composing is easy, I doubt anyone would disagree. But for most musicians, musical creation really isn’t so simple.”

Hao Qiang, unconvinced, asked Huang Guolun, “Teacher Huang, you sound impressive. Did you graduate from a famous music school?”

“Not at all. I attended nothing prestigious. I doubt any of you have heard of it—a third-rate music academy.”

“No wonder. Your theoretical knowledge is solid, but in the creative field, I think my buddy has more authority than you. He’s been composing on the frontlines for years; his output far exceeds yours. If he says creation is simple, that’s more convincing than you claiming it’s not, isn’t it?”

Huang Guolun shook his head, smiling at Hao Qiang’s stubbornness. “Why can’t I get through to you? In fact, not just music—all things in life, whether work or relationships, seem simple, but once you actually do them, they’re rarely so. Is falling in love simple?”

Lu Rou jumped in, “Of course it’s simple—just do it if you want to.”

Sun Yanzhen, wounded by past love, disagreed, “I don’t think it’s simple.”

Huang Guolun agreed, “Anyone who’s been in a long relationship, and tries to move on to another, will find it’s anything but easy. Composing is similar. Once you’re locked into a certain pattern and always create in that way, you may find it simple. But to find a new ‘partner’ that matches you—that’s not so easy.”

Before Huang finished speaking, the folk band performing on stage ended their song. Having sung for a while, they were ready for a break and asked Sun Yanzhen’s group if anyone wanted to come up and sing.

Lu Rou, always lively, seized the moment, “Teacher Huang, enough with the theory, go sing for us! Yanzhen says your singing is wonderful—we’ve been waiting all night, don’t let us down!”

Sun Yanzhen eagerly echoed, “Yes, yes, Teacher Huang, sing a song you wrote yourself, so Hao Qiang can see how amazing our Experimental High School music teacher is! I bet you’re better than Hao Qiang’s friend!”

Hao Qiang, dismissive, joined the others in cheering, “Boo~~~~~”

All the women were excited to hear Huang Guolun sing.

The men, especially those who liked Sun Yanzhen, hoped to see Huang Guolun embarrass himself.

Huang Guolun, tipsy and in high spirits, drained his glass and stood up confidently, “Alright! I’ll sing a song I wrote myself, right in line with our topic tonight—the title is ‘Not So Simple.’”