22 TRANSCRIPTIONS & PARAPHRASES At his desk, Florian tries to make his piano sound different, to have it constantly take on a new life, to transform it into a big band by imitating drums and chords that rub together voluptuously, to transform it into a full symphony orchestra by adding spices from all the worlds that spin through his head. Transcription is an illusion; it reminds you of one moment in music, but it is another moment in itself. It’s an act of translation that carries within it its original expressive flow, but now sprinkled with millions of cultural stimuli from its new breeding ground: Florian Noack’s piano. Florian doesn’t imitate one instrument or another, he doesn’t copy someone else’s music, he wants to hear his piano differently. In his frenzied joy of writing, Florian nestles into the grey area between composer and performer, rebalancing the duality that pits the creative genius against the musical intermediary. Florian Noack transcribes again and again, watching time pass, the end of life approaching inexorably, even for a young man, and a hunger for life takes hold of him. He devours the miracles, the encounters, the values that cross his mind, and sets them down on paper before playing them, because they might may never come back.
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