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发布时间:2024-01-23 23:03:05

[简答题]Music to My Ears
As a boy growing up in Shenyang, China, I practiced the piano six hours a day. I loved the instrument. My mother, Xiulan Zhou, taught me to read notes, and my father, Guoren Lang, concertmaster of a local folk orchestra, showed me how to control the keys. At first I played on Chinese keyboards-cheap, but the best we could afford. Later my parents bought me a Swedish piano, but I broke half the strings on it Playing Tchaikovsky (柴科夫斯基). That’s when my parents and my teacher decided I was too much for such an instrument—and for our hometown. To be a serious musician, I would have to move to Beijing, one of our cultural capitals. I was just eight years old then.
My father, who played the erhu, a two-stringed instrument, knew that life wouldn’t be easy. Millions of pianists in China were competing for fame. "You need fortune," my father said. "If you don’t work, no fortune comes." "But music is still music," he added, "and it exists to make us happy."<

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[单项选择]Music to My Ears
As a boy growing up in Shenyang, China, I practiced the piano six hours a day. I loved the instrument. My mother, Xiulan Zhou, taught me to read notes, and my father, Guoren Lang, concertmaster of a local folk orchestra, showed me how to control the keys. At first I played on Chinese keyboards-cheap, but the best we could afford. Later my parents bought me a Swedish piano, but I broke half the strings on it Playing Tchaikovsky (柴科夫斯基). That’s when my parents and my teacher decided I was too much for such an instrument—and for our hometown. To be a serious musician, I would have to move to Beijing, one of our cultural capitals. I was just eight years old then.
My father, who played the erhu, a two-stringed instrument, knew that life wouldn’t be easy. Millions of pianists in China were competing for fame. "You need fortune," my father said. "If you don’t work, no fortune comes." "But music is still music," he added, "and it exists to make us happy."<
A. His mother.
B. His father.
C. His uncle.
D. His kindergarten teacher.
[单项选择]Music to My Ears
When other shad doubts, my father believed in me. As a boy growing up in Shenyang, China, I practiced the piano six hours a day. I loved the instrument. My mother, Xiulan Zhou, taught me to read notes, and my father, Guoren Lang, concertmaster of a local folk orchestra, showed mc how to control the keys. At first I played on Chinese keyboards-cheap, but the best we could afford. Later my parents bought me a Swedish piano, but I broke half the strings on it playing Tchaikovsky (柴可夫斯基). That’s when my parents and my teacher decided I was too much for such an instrument—and for our hometown. To be a serious musician, I would have to move to Beijing, one of our cultural capitals. I was just eight years old then.
My father, who played the erhu, a two-stringed instrument, knew that life wouldn’t be easy. Millions of pianists in China were competing for fame. "You need fortune," my father said. "If you don’t work, no fortune comes." "But music is still mu
A. His mother.
B. His father.
C. His uncle.
D. His kindergarten teacher.

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