Don’t talk of love, But I’ve heard the words before / It’s sleeping in my memory / I won’t disturb the slumber of feelings that have died / If I never loved I never would have cried.
What They Say:
“The Scenery I Shared With You”
During the Maihou Music Competition, Kousei has trouble hearing the notes. He tries drawing on dear memories to help him through his performance.
The Review:
Content: (please note that content portions of a review may contain spoilers)
Kousei loves music. He doesn’t love it in the same was as Kaori, and arguably not as much, but he loves it. He can’t confide his longing for music with Tsubaki, they’ve known each other for too long. He can’t tell Kaori either, he loves her and it’s a subtle show of weakness that a boy of that age can’t fess up to. But to Watari—the kid that he’s only just met but is getting ever closer to, the kid who’s going through something similar in his loss in soccer—he can confide in. He can talk about how he’s scared about never being able to hear the notes again. He’s scared about losing the thing he loves before he truly knew what the instrument could do.
It transitions straight out of the opening to him playing at the competition. The pace, never full of emotion, is suddenly hurried. He’s in his sea, lost again, unable to hear the sound of the piano playing. Emi says it outloud, “This is the sound of someone writhing in pain.” “This is your punishment,” his mother says in his own subconscious or guilt, offering a much crueler alternative.
He stops, and starts anew.
Takashi’s playing is very aggressive and very forceful, Emi’s playing is complimentary and caressing, Kousei’s playing was robotic. Finally…Finally, Kousei’s playing has transformed. Thrice during this piece his playing changed. Beginning as robotic, turning to combative, and finally a soothing. Takashi and Emi’s performances ultimately lead to great applause from the audience. They knew exactly how to feel after something played that well. After Kousei’s, they’re unable to move. It was transcendent. Kousei painted a picture with his playing that perhaps only Emi, with her playing so in touch with her emotions, and Kaori were able to tap into. A clubroom with a broken window, the soft sounds of sports playing in the background, and a girl curled up under his jacket quietly sleeping. The exact scene he’s trying to paint is the how he practiced every day. It’s his message to Kaori that he’s awakened. Even his mother smiles, still faceless, at the end.
Perhaps the greatest thing about this episode was the violin accompaniment that eased its way into the piece after he stopped playing. Clearly Kaori—this time not combative or trying to get Kousei to play the correct tempo—playing alongside him in her own head. This is the Kouse that she wanted during her competition. This is the Kousei that is not only sending a love letter in piano music, but an apology for not being there the first time.
I wish so hard that Emi wasn’t giving her own inner monologue throughout the second half of Kousei’s performance. Almost nothing could ruin that moment for me, but this certainly intruded. I wanted to make my own inferences about what was happening, but Emi laid everything out. Shots like the flashback to the music room and the little kid struggling to hold back tears (clearly a callback to Emi watching Kousei’s first performance) told more than Emi’s lines ever could.
In Summary:
After episode nine, I didn’t know how to feel about Your lie in April. The abuse was always there, but it was never so prescient. Episode 10 dispelled any doubts I may have about the series. His relationship with his mother seems to be cured in his own head and it’s all thanks to Kaori. The plotline will, hopefully, come up again only sparsely, if ever. This is now the show about Kousei and Kaori’s music and I couldn’t be happier.
Grade: A+
Streamed By: Crunchyroll
Equipment: PS3, LG 47LB5800 47” 1080p LED TV, LG NB3530A Sound Bar
