More than 5 years ago, there was a famous "international musical mystery" in the history of music: people committed suicide to listen to a piece of music one after another.
One day, in a bar in Belgium, people were drinking wine and listening to music. When the band had just finished playing the orchestral piece Black Sunday composed by French composer rezs seress, they heard a hysterical shout: "I can't stand it!" I saw a young Hungarian who lifted his neck and drank all the wine in his glass, pulled out his pistol and pulled the trigger at his temple, and fell in a pool of blood with a bang.
A policewoman investigated the case, but she tried her best to find out why the young man committed suicide. Finally, she bought a record of "Black Sunday" played by the band that day, thinking that maybe we can find some clues to solve the case from here. After playing the record once, she also committed suicide. People found her last words to the police chief on her desk: "Your Excellency, I don't need to continue investigating the case I accepted. The murderer is the music" Black Sunday ". When I was listening to this piece of music, I couldn't stand the stimulation of its sad melody, so I had to decline the world. "
coincidentally. When chatting with people, a cheerful and lively female typist in new york, USA, heard how "Black Sunday" made people sad, so she curiously borrowed the record of this music to listen to at home. The next day, she didn't go to work. People found that she had committed suicide in her room. The record of Black Sunday was playing on the record player. She said in her suicide note: "I can't stand its melody. This song is my funeral repertoire."
In Washington, a newly famous pianist was invited to attend a salon party and play for the guests. During the dinner, a guest suddenly received a long-distance call from her mother who died in a car accident. Because it happened to be Sunday, she asked the pianist to play Black Sunday for her mother to express her condolences. The pianist played this piece reluctantly, and just after playing it, he threw himself on the piano because of excessive sadness and never got up again.
In Milan, Italy, a musician was puzzled after hearing these anecdotes. He didn't believe that Black Sunday would cause such serious consequences, so he tried to play it on the piano in his living room and died beside the piano, and wrote the following words on the score of Black Sunday: "The melody of this music is too cruel, which is beyond human tolerance. Destroy it, otherwise.
At that time, Black Sunday was called "the invitation of the devil", and at least 1 people committed suicide because of listening to it, so it was banned for 13 years. Even psychoanalysts and psychologists can't give a satisfactory explanation about the composer's own motivation to create music.
As more and more people commit suicide, radio stations in many countries, such as the United States, Britain, France and the West, held a special meeting, calling on European and American countries to boycott Black Sunday.
This killing music was finally destroyed, and the author repented before he died because of guilt: "I didn't expect this music to bring so many disasters to mankind. Let God punish my soul in another world!"
Lyrics ~
Sunday is glory,
My hours are slumberness,
Dearest,
the shadows i live with are numberless
little white flowers will never awaken you
not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
angels hav e no thought of ever returning you
would they be angry if i thought of joining you
gloomy sunday
sunday is gloomy
with shadows i spend it all
my heart and i have decided to end it all
soon there''ll be flowers and prayers that are sad,
i know, let them not weep,
let them know that i''m glad to go
death is no dream,
for in death i''m caressing you
with the last breath of my soul i''ll be blessing you
gloomy sunday
dreaming
i was only dreaming
i wake an d i find you
asleep in the deep of
my heart
dear
darling i hope that my dream never haunted you
my heart is telling you how much i wanted you
gloomy sunday
Desperate Sunday
My time is sleeping
Dear, I live in countless shadows
White flowers will no longer wake you up
Black sad car (hearse! ) The angels carrying you
will not look back on you
Are they angry, because I want to join you (you? )
Desperate Sunday
Sunday is desperate
I will end it with the shadow
My heart and I both believe this is its end
Soon the flowers and prayers here will be sad
I know, Let them not cry
Let them know that I am glad to leave
Death is not a dream
Because I caressed you in death
In the last breath of my soul, I blessed you
Desperate Sunday
Dream
I didn't just dream
I woke up and looked for you
My heart fell into a deep sleep.