Beethoven's Ninth 3

-BA BA BA BOOM! 

-BA BA BA BOOM!

-Father, it's 2 o clock in the morning. Even the moon is sleeping. Please let me sleep.

-You will not sleep until your music is perfect.

-Father, you're drunk!

-You're damned right I am drunk. Play, Play Beethoven! I want to hear your music. I'm always drunk!

-I don't want to play. My fingers are tired and numb. I hate, hate music. I'm sick of playing the same thing thousands of times.

-You'll never become anything!

-Fraulein ---- thinks I am talented.

-If you want to become anything, you must stop listening to people.

-Why?

-People want their everyday lives validated through music. Don't listen to them. Listen to the Universe, listen to the Stars, listen to the Moon, listen to the Trees, and the movements of the Shadows, but don't listen to people. You'll go mad listening to people.

-Fraulein ---- is actually very kind to me. She's a good Christian.

-Her husband also owes a huge debt to the town mayor.

-What do you mean by that?

-What do you think I mean, boy? Do you think that the world is what it appears to be? Thousands of years after Christ's death and his blood and words have done but very little. You think me a drunkard boy, but believe me BOY, Drunk people Know and Drunk people Talk!

-Father, I don't want to play anymore.

-You will play BOY or I'll knock the sconce out of you!

-So, your Father's pounding on your door late at night, THAT POUNDING became the basis of your FIfth Symphony?

-It did, BA BA BA BOOM! ON mad stormy nights, I would hear the sound of thunder, THEN I would hear the sound of my father pounding on the door THEN the sound of thunder THEN the sound of the door shutting again and again THEN my father's sharp and grating voice, BA BA BA BOOM!

Later, it turned into a musical motif. Later still, it became a signature of my personality.

-Early in life, all that cruel spanking and repetitious playing must have made you pretty numb to your environment.

-Baroness, that was not the worst of it. My father told me the worst things about my neighbors. He filled me with stories of his drunken fights, and poisoned my ears to such a degree that I could not believe one good thing I heard about another person.

-So music became a form of escapism.