The Goldberg Obsession: Lars and Jean

 

I have had a lifelong obsession with Bach's Goldberg Variations. I first learned them through Wanda Landowska's recording quickly followed by Glenn Gould's first recording, sped through and shorn of the repeats.  It became my favorite way to hear them through much of my youth, much, as I expect, Gould felt they should be played and heard during his.  Many years have passed and countless (literally) recordings and performances came and went on both harpsichord and piano.  Having studied both instruments and played much Bach (and Telemann and Handel and Boyce and . . . ) on both, I really can't say I have a preference for one over the other, since both inhabit entirely different sound worlds and thus, to my way of thinking at least, are neither comparative nor competitive.  (Typical of me not being able to make up my mind: I want it all!) 

I've reached a point, however, having listened to so many recordings that I DO have a favorite "version" for each.  Almost a hands-down, if you will.  For the harpsichord, no one has spoken to me like the Frenchman Jean Rondeau.  Rondeau approaches the entirety of the work as if unlocking a mystery that is not really a mystery at all, taking us on an amazing journey of discovery that goes beyond mere virtuosity digging deeply, soulfully into the beautiful grit of Bach.  I'm simply blown away by his performance.

Rondeau inserts what sometimes feel like great or exaggerated luftpause between the variations, and at first my anxiety caused me to opine:  "oh, just get on with the next one already!"  I was, at first, embarrassed to admit this, because what Rondeau does in exposing the breadth and depth of every variation and repeat is worthy of considered reflection, even if only for a moment, before moving us along to the next discovery, which he opens up like an oyster revealing its pearl, much to my amazement.  Then, tying it all together Rondeau soulfully returns us to what I feel Bach would have us see; the sky almost imperceptibly lightening in that moment before the sun rises on another day. 

For the piano, it's not surprising that I've chosen Lars Vogt who, much like Rondeau, has divided opinions of those who love this work as much as I.  It's amazing to me how just how divided, with people seemingly having entirely different sets of ears describing it one on hand as "over ornamented and too personal" to "bland and impersonal."  I can, like them, only respond to how I HEAR it and how it makes me FEEL.  I know of no other recording that quite captures all of the moods Bach invested into this piece, and, like Rondeau, Vogt takes all of the repeats and plays with them alternating between the often wistful nature first heard in the aria, on to the playfulness in so many of the variations.  The only pianist I think I can compare his performance to is the Hungarian, András Schiff, which is about as high praise as it gets in my book.  

Vogt has always had a unique style that speaks to me on a deeply personal level, and has since first hearing him some 30 years ago.  There is a "clean" precision to his playing that makes the virtuosity sound . . . for lack of better term "easy and natural." It has often been said that his fingers "dance" on the keyboard, a quality I think one can hear in all he plays, and it absolutely shines in the Bach. Using almost no pedal at all, that clarity allows us to hear ALL of the inner voices that can sometimes get muddy or even a bit lost in other hands.  Not so here.  GIven that rare lightness and strength, Vogt is able to use the piano in ways that are more difficult for the harpsichord to make clear, and, of course, there is the matter of dynamics. In that regard, Vogt is not afraid to make the piano whisper some of its phrases, making one lean into the sound as if it might just float away.  It does. Not many do that.  Not many can.  It isn't quite the journey that Rondeau and others makes of it from darkness to light, and it doesn't need to be. Vogt's return to the aria, after the beautiful Quadlibet, is not so much a journey's end as it is a return home.    

I still want my other recordings, but if I had to pick only two:  it's Lars and Jean, all the way.

Bach/Rondeau: The Goldbergs Live

 

I am enormous fan of Jean Rondeau and have been mesmerized for days listening to, and deciding whether or not I'm in love with his recent live recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations recorded in connection with the Netherlands Bach Society in the intimate Concertgebouw Brugge.  

So, do I like it?  Absolutely.  I'm in love with it, in fact. The recording has caused a stir, some of it by Rondeau's wildman, unkempt hair and casual rockstar aloof air, but that would be among the stupidest of reasons to be turned off by what turns out to be some of the most fascinating interpretations in modern times of Bach's beloved masterpiece for the keyboard. 

Rondeau approaches the entirety of the work as if unlocking a mystery that is not really a mystery and taking us on an amazing journey of discovery that goes beyond mere virtuosity and digs into the beautiful grit of Bach.  I'm blown away by his performance.  

There are sometimes what seem like great or exaggerated luftpausen between the variations, and at first my anxiety caused me to opine:  "oh, just get on with the next one already!"  I'm embarrassed to admit this, now most of all because what Rondeau does in exposing the breath and depth of Bach's work in EVERY SINGLE VARIATION is worthy of considered reflection, even if only for a moment, before moving on to the next discovery, which he opens up like an oyster revealing its pearl to our (or at least my) amazement.  Then, tying it all together Rondeau soulfully returns us to what I feel Bach would have us see; the sky almost imperceptibly lightening in that moment before the sun rises on another day.

It's a chunk of time - over 1.5 hours - but at its end, I felt my love for Bach - which is never waning anyway - to be even more invigorated and refreshed, as if having spent the night with this music in something as valuable and beautiful as dreams.  I also came away for a deeper respect for Monsieur Rondeau's gifts, his commitment to the composer, and the depth of his passion in Bach's landmark work.  Merci, Jean! 

Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould

I just returned from a showing at the Portland Museum of Art of Michele Hozer and Peter Raymont's film: "GENIUS WITHIN: THE INNER LIFE OF GLENN GOULD."

Though I've been obsessed with Mr. Gould since childhood (he was one of my earliest inspirations for attempting a career in music), the film opens up areas I had not previously known about him. Through numerous interviews with his first girlfriend, his best friend, Vladimir Ashkenazy, Lukas and Cornelia Foss (and both their children), clips of Leonard Bernstein (including his now rather hilarious pre-performance speech before they performed the Brahms D minor Concerto - about their enormous differences on the work), the film is rich in both talk and music.

The biggest revelation to me was the affair between Gould and Mrs. Foss which lasted several years, and for which she left her husband, moving herself and the children to Montreal, and the slow disintegration of that relationship as Gould's eccentricities became more and more pronounced. It was touching and poignant in a way that almost seemed invasive.

I'd almost forgotten how devastatingly handsome was Gould in his youth, like a 50's movie star, really. There is, naturally, a good deal centered around his early years and the beginning of his performing career, with some wonderful clips of his tour of the Soviet Union.

There are also some generous clips of Gould's own movies, including one particularly hilarious short with Gould appearing on the beach, coat, gloves, the works, sitting in a director's chair, then having some gorgeous black woman in a bikini doing an exotic combination that recalled the Watusi and the Girl from Imponema, the last shot of which finds Gould pants legs rolled up and sort of half "directing" her and dancing a bit in the ocean himself. (The audience went into hysterics - and it was truly funny stuff!)

The film deals openly (and fairly in depth) about Gould's departure from the concert stage at only 31 years of age, and his drug addictions, hypocondria, and difficulties in his relationships, never in a gossipy manner, but with a rather matter-of-fact honesty that does not in the least diminish one's respect for Gould's genius.

At just under two hours, this is one of the most satisfying documentary portraits of a 20th century classical musician I believe I've ever seen - and yet, upon the closing credits, I found I wanted even more. The audience reacted loudly throughout (several people even clapping along with Petula Clark during her rendition of "Downtown."

If this is showing anywhere near you, I urge you to see this. It's a beautiful peaen to one of the most iconic performers of the last century, done with extraordinary care, and not just a little love for its subject. Highly
recommended.