Variations on the Goldberg Variations
Posted Tuesday, Feb. 6, 2001, at 3:00 AM ET
It's been said that Bach's Goldberg Variations put Glenn Gould on the map. In 1955, this Canadian pianist, 22 years old and all but unknown, chose the piece for his debut recording, and the sheer brilliance of his performance made it an immediate best seller and himself an immediate sensation. But it could be said with almost equal validity that Glenn Gould put the Goldbergs on the map. Not that the piece previously lacked prestige; musicians have always regarded its compositional intricacies with awe. But public performances were relatively rare, and it was generally more admired than loved.
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StumbleUponFor one thing, the piece's wizardry is daunting. Consisting of 30 variations on an original theme, the music also explores a wide variety of contrapuntal devices, most rigorously the canon (a form of strict imitation resembling, at its most basic, a round like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat"). In the Goldbergs, canons put in regularly scheduled appearances at every third variation—Ralph Kirkpatrick likened its structure to a string of rosary beads—with each canon beginning on a successively higher pitch. To add to the complication, some of these canons are inverted (the imitation is upside down rather than literal). All this, especially when in harness to strict variation form, represents an extraordinary, indeed an almost superhuman, display of technical mastery.
Until Gould, the piece, when played in public at all, was largely performed by Baroque specialists, usually on the harpsichord, and often presented in a "now you must take your medicine, it's good for you" spirit. Listening seemed a character-building chore rather than a pleasure. Gould's great achievement was to demonstrate that the piece is also fun. He played with verve and swagger as well as intellectual rectitude, showing that the Goldberg Variations isn't merely a scholarly investigation of contrapuntal devices, it's a joyous piece of music. Listen to his insouciant finger work in the second variation. (Click to hear Gould play Variation 2 - track 3.) His recording is rightly considered one of the landmarks of the LP era. In its wake, and thanks in no small degree to its example, the piece decisively entered the repertoire. Amazon currently lists 134 recordings!
No performance can justly be said to replace Gould's, but two subsequent ones have deservedly taken their place alongside it: András Schiff's, recorded in 1982, and now Murray Perahia's. And wonderful as the earlier two are, this most recent one strikes me as, just possibly, the greatest solo piano recording of all time.
Consider how the three pianists handle the penultimate variation, No. 29. The variation consists of approximately a minute of music (ignoring repeats). But that single minute belies the traditional notion of Bach as a composer whose interest in actual performance, in virtuoso display, in the tactilia of instrumental realization, is minimal or nonexistent.
Gould, with his famously ascetic approach, mistrusted flamboyant showmanship and actively scorned music that called for it. He seems inclined to hurry over this variation. (Click to hear Gould play Variation 29 - track 30.) He takes it quickly all right—his fingers are, of course, equal to any technical challenge—but there's something uncomfortable and almost perfunctory about his playing, as if he wants to get past it as quickly as possible and move on to the magisterially buoyant final variation, the Quodlibet.
Schiff, a pianist of almost supernal delicacy, plays this variation, as always, with extraordinary elegance and beauty of tone, but does so in a way that turns it into something it is not, or rather, that masks some of what it actually is. (Click to hear Schiff play Variation 29.) He gives us Bach the intellectual, Bach the mystic, but barely a whiff of the earthy peasant or the cocky virtuoso. It's like Percy Dovetonsils reciting "There Once Was a Man From Nantucket."
Perahia, uniquely, plays it with meaty, muscular panache, with a strutting bravura that exults in the sheer physicality of music-making. And in so doing, he transforms and illuminates this variation in an entirely fresh way, as he does the set as a whole. (Click to hear Parahia play Variation 29.) He introduces us to the Bach who was widely acclaimed in his own time as the world's greatest clavier player, a performer who engaged in keyboard competitions with other musicians and who reveled in his own powers. That the Goldberg Variations showcases this aspect of the composer—an aspect usually buried under layers of disincarnating idolatry—is the surprise bonus provided by this wonderful record. It triumphantly reunites Bach's soul with his body.
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Reader Comments From the Fray:
This is a wonderful article, and a splendid introduction to the joys of close and repeated listening. I agree that the recordings by Gould, Schiff, and Perahia are marvelous. (People who love this music should also look for Glenn Gould's second--and longer--version of the Goldberg Variations. I find its expression of the ultimate variation more powerful, emotional, and satisfying than Gould's youthful effort.)
Unlike Mr. Tarloff, though, I no longer try to decide which is the "best" recording of this music. It seems to me that each of the three is exciting and highly accomplished in a very particular and personal way. (I even enjoy listening to many recordings that do not rise to the dazzling technical standards set by Gould, Schiff, and Perahia.) As soon as a music lover decides he does not have to decide whether a particular performance is the "best" one, I think he gains greater respect--and even awe--for the characteristics of a performance that help him hear why the music is so great. (After 30 years of close listenting, I still cannot claim to understand why the music is great, but a great performance can help make me hear its greatness.)
Thanks for exuberant--and accurate--survey of these recordings.
--Gary
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[Erik Tarloff replied to this post here.]
Erik Tarloff's article makes a number of very good points about music, recordings, and music history. He is right that Gould "made" the Goldberg Variations, or at least brought them out of obscurity, and that the Variations "made" Gould. It's interesting how a virtual industry has developed around Gould's landmark performances. He affected not only the classical repertoire but also performance practice. This story sort of encapsulates how fascinating music history can be and how a single recording can affect the recording inudstry as well as the entire classical music world.
There are indeed far too many recordings of the Goldberg Variations, just as there are far too many recordings of the "standard" classical works, such as Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Speaking of seasons, Tarloff's article also suggests just how seasonal the recording industry can be; what is considered "great" for one generation is considered weak by another, and vice versa. Opera buffs for a long time did not take bel canto opera seriously until Maria Callas came along.
Gould helped to make Bach accessible to modern tastes. Purists will say that Bach should never be played on a piano since the instrument did not exist in his day, but this would be like reading classical texts on papyrus. Gould showed just how good Bach can sound on a piano, and most of the celebrated recordings of the Goldberg Variations have been piano recordings. The instrument simply suits our 20th century ears better, and I think this is a good thing.
One suggestion: one the finest interpreters of Bach to emerge in recent years is Angela Hewitt, whose own recording of the Variations deserves a place on the same shelf as Perahia and Schiff. Her Bach is deeply scholarly and emotionally valid, poised and reflective. In many ways, her recording has more to offer than the other two, and is a different take on Bach than Gould's--a perfect complement for the collector who wants more than one way of listening to Bach.
--Dr Smith
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