Bach Goldberg Variations

Transcription

Bach Goldberg Variations
127 versions surveyed, March 2013
With this survey I’ve changed the format somewhat by foregoing the review of what other critics have said and the
section-by-section interpretative analysis (with illustrative samples of the score), and I’ve simplified the table of
recordings. Instead, I’ve focused on the really nitty-gritty issue of differing philosophical approaches and why the
same recording would illicit rave reviews from one listener while proving to be utter anathema to another listener.
I’ll also disclose my own listening biases which may or may not align with the reader’s own point of view.
Historical Overview
Reviewer’s Disclaimer
Identifying Listener Preferences
Interpretive Decisions
Recommended Recordings
Reviewer’s Discography
© Graham Reid 2014. All Rights Reserved
www.PianoEnthusiast.com
Historical Overview
In the last few decades the Goldbergs have become a veritable icon for what Western
musical culture is. Glen Gould’s rendering was sent to the stars aboard Voyager. Popular
movies use it as background music whenever there’s a need to represent the positive and
optimistic aspects of humanity. The work has been realized by virtually every type of
keyboard instrument—piano, harpsichord, organ, synthesizer, accordion—as well as
versions for various chamber ensembles. And numerous new releases and re-imaginings
continue to sell well across all age groups.
Prominent musicologists have cited the Goldbergs along with Beethoven’s Diabelli
Variations as the finest exemplar of this form. I would also have to add Brahms as a master
of the variation form (on themes by Haydn, Handel, and Paganini), and Reger’s underappreciated contributions to the form (on themes by Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, and
Telemann). Strictly speaking, the Goldbergs aren’t really in variation form but based more
on chaconne form flowing from the bass line and harmonic progression outlined in the
aria.
There is some evidence that Bach’s keyboard and harmony pupil, Johann Goldberg, wrote
the basic outline of the aria as part of his studies and Bach subsequently showed him the
‟through composition” and ornamental process.
By now the amusing story of Bach hastily throwing together the variations for his student
Johann Goldberg to perform has been disproved. The legend goes that the young Goldberg
used to play the harpsichord in the evenings for an insomniac diplomat Herman von
Keyserlingk (ambassador to the Czar). It is said that Bach took the simple Aria and in a
flight of fancy whipped off 30 variations on the theme. Firstly, his 15-year old student,
while showing some improvisatory talent, was a novice performer at best and could in no
way have attempted to perform a work as difficult as this. Secondly, the work was neither
commissioned nor hastily thrown together on a lark, but carefully composed over some
period of time and was included in an important oeuvre published along with the Six
Partitas and Italian Concerto.
Unlike the intellectual idealizations demonstrated in The Art of The Fugue, the Goldbergs
always have an eye toward effectiveness in performance. Bach utilizes every compositional
‟trick of the trade” for striking virtuosic display. In this regard it goes well beyond
anything Scarlatti ever penned, himself a noted virtuoso. Despite the peaceful nature of
the aria, and few pensive moments within, the work as a whole is decidedly extroverted
and virtuosic, with many striking textural effects.
Reviewer’s Disclaimer
Often one can divine the hidden subjective biases of the reviewer by carefully reading
between the lines. Other times their craft as writers is so professionally polished and
subjectively neutered that it is impossible to tell anything beyond the most objectively
observable facts. So I’ll come clean up front and share my own biases which I’ve had to
guard against as I looked for a more balanced perspective from which to present this
survey.
First off, as a pianist (at one time on the fringes of what you’d call a professional concert
pianist), I’ve never been tempted to learn or even dabble with the Goldbergs. That should
tell you something right away, because pianists like to play music that they identify with. I
do play a lot of Bach, the Partitas most active in my repertoire, but as a listener I’m very
fussy about how Bach is performed. I go through countless recordings just to find a few
that I can listen to. Generally, I prefer to hear Bach on the harpsichord, and not because
I’m in love with the jingly-jangly sound of a harpsichord up close and personal. It’s
because the musicians who perform on period instruments generally have a better
understanding of how Baroque keyboard music works—its tempos, its articulations and its
ornamentation. In short, most pianists seemed to have flunked the class on Baroque music
at school. [After completing this survey and hearing many new performances I have a
degree of optimism about the current generation of pianists and Baroque practice on the
modern piano, but “breathing phrases” remains an issue – see below.]
Here are some of my pet-peeves regarding the Goldbergs on the piano: the beloved aria
taken at such a slow tempo, milked for all of its poignant expression and made too
“precious” for mere mortals to even comprehend (we are not worthy). True, it’s not much
of a real aria, but the tempo should at least mimic the natural arch of a singer’s breath. Of
course, a few have pushed the tempo too far in the other direction, Bacchetti, for example,
who really fails to convey any sense of the aria’s innate serenity. Another dislike: startling
and jarring juxtapositions just for the shock and awe effect. I don’t know how many times
I’ve had to endure a Saturnian slow aria followed by a presto furioso wake-up call in the
first variation. I’d much rather hear how Gustav Leonhard gently works us from one mood
to another with an organic progression of textures and registrations (changes in voicing on
the harpsichord).
Then there is the issue of motoric monotony. Very few pianists understand the importance
of letting phrases breathe. Too many sound like frantic little rodents on an exercise
treadmill. You’d never hear a solo violinist playing any of the great partitas at a fixed and
inflexible tempo. Even so-called dance-imitative movements should draw down a bit at
the end of major sections just as is evidenced by period dance performance where the rows
of dancers are gracefully reconfigured or partners exchanged. As much as there is that is
fascinating with Glenn Gould’s rendering I’d have to fault him on this very unnatural
tendency for breathless (non-breathing) phrase groupings. Elastic phrasing is especially
crucial in the more expressive minor-key variations. In Variation 15, a canon in the minor
key, I marked down many performers on two accounts: Not recognizing the classic twonote slurs as representing the Christ figure staggering under the burden of the cross (an
allegorical technique used by composers from Palestrina and Bach through to Messiean),
and in general having inflexible phrase groups when this is clearly indicative of Bach’s most
poignant Passionsmusik. Just listen to the expressivity Leonhardt achieves on the
harpsichord (’64 version); with proper phrasing one doesn’t need the dynamic gradations
of the piano to achieve such expression (as Hewitt insists in her lectures).
Consider the matter of “implied counterpoint” in Baroque music. This is where a single
line pivoting over a range of a perfect fifth is usually meant to imply two separate
instruments, and hence a concomitant variation in articulation, dynamics and phrasing.
Just listen to Bach’s Partitas for solo flute or violin and you hear single-line counterpoint
almost naturally: in the case of the flute the change in embouchure gives more overtones
to the upper part of the line and a greater ratio of fundamental in the lower notes; on the
violin it has to do with changes in strings, the thicker string at the crest of the bridge will
have a different harmonic character than the thinner string. I can count on one hand the
pianists who seem to grasp that concept. (As soon as I figure an easy way to incorporate
sound samples in these surveys I’ll play some passages with different inflections to
demonstrate these principles.)
As for ornamentation, pianists seem to have become more informed in the last couple
decades, but there are some high-profile recordings out there which still don’t seem to get
it. And I’ve never once heard a pianist add a cadential flourish (okay, once: Bruno Fontaine
in the Sixth Partita) but this is common practice with harpsichords and organists.
However, while some non-specialist pianists still play with little understanding of the
concept of embellishment (Perahia), a few have pushed the use of ornamentation to the
very limits of structural cohesion (Chen and Bacchetti). Even so, while some of Bacchetti’s
repeats are so abuzz with non-stop trills and mordents (especially irksome in the aria or
the minor key variations where such busy work threatens to disrupt the underlying
spiritual thread), I’d still take that over a performer who plays a repeat as an exact copy of
the same sober, bare bones presentation we already heard.
Another issue concerns repeats. Probably not the best idea in concert, but for a recording
repeats allow the listener to sink into the experience more deeply. However, if the pianist
is going to gives us the repeats they should demonstrate their ability to give us more than
just one flavor. Change the articulation, dynamics, registration (octave displacement on
the piano) or ornamentation! As I alluded to before, and it bears hearing again (with some
variation), to actually hear the same passages played as an exact repeat is a rather tiring
chore for the listener.
Finally, I’ll confess to compositional matter that has perplexed me over the years.
Variations 28 and 29 are texturally unique among any keyboard works from the Baroque
era. I know others praise them for their astonishing inventiveness, and maybe I’m
speaking only to my own personal limitations, but in many performances I find them an
unwelcome incursion into my enjoyment of the work. Elsewhere there is brilliance aplenty
to contrast with the more reflectively poignant moments, but always with an underlying
sense of spiritual euphoria. I suppose rather than fault Herr Bach, I should focus on those
few instances where performers have won me over, rather than decry those recordings that
I simply must endure. It’s the rare mood I’d be in to appreciate the electric telephone bell
of Variation 28 or the jolly romp of Variation 29. I’m especially put off by an overly
emphatic and pompous 29, with its interlocking triads rendered con bravura on the piano
with heavy bass octaves on the Steinway (though Tipo’s bass octaves are not bombastic).
I’ve even heard a version on the pipe organ which used massive 32-foot pipes for this
variation. I just don’t hear it that way at all. Prima face, the bass octaves cannot be
sustained on a harpsichord (unless one is playing on a pedal harpsichord like E.Power
Biggs did), so I look for a more rhetorically implied articulation on the those left-hand
octaves, which define the harmonic progression measure to measure: firm, resolute,
possibly not even slurred, but separated in articulation, then a clean break before starting
the interlocking chords. Newman uses the growling 16-foot stop and holds the octaves
together with a fermata as he plays the first right hand chord with an agogic (an effective
“trick” which sets the harmony in our ear so we sort of hear it sustain in our mind’s ear).
However it is done, I always look for pianists who emphasize articulation over blustery
noise. Once again, with the harpsichordists (because of the imposed limitations of the
instrument’s disposition) I don’t seem to have any problem accepting these variations
within the overall arch of the work.
So there you have it. Those are my issues regarding the Goldbergs on piano. Happily, after
undertaking this survey I was able to add two new piano versions to my list of recordings
that “bring joy and don’t annoy!”
Identifying Listener Preferences
When I was a freshman who pronounced admiration for Glenn Gould, my teacher made a
horrified expression and exclaimed “that guy’s a nut, don’t be listening to that stuff!” Ever
since that very passionate and emphatic negation of an artist I admired, I’ve pondered the
very real issue of how different musicians respond to different interpretive perspectives.
With the advent of the internet and the ability to expose oneself to a much greater range of
experiences, I find that listeners seem to be more informed and open-minded. But well up
through the 80’s and 90’s I often encountered musicians with very adamant opinions, and
in their minds the jury was out and the book was closed – they knew what was right from
wrong, and that was that. I had one teacher extol the virtues of Arthur Loesser as the best
Bach player ever, another said that hearing Landowska was a truly transformative
experience, another reviewer for a prominent music magazine thanked God almighty for
Carlos Martins, while yet another confided a secret that only the insiders knew: Nikolayeva
was the true spokesperson for Bach’s immortal spirit, that she seemed tapped into Bach’s
spiritual essence more than any other pianist. What accounts for these very dearly held
opinions?
As I’ve discussed in some of the other surveys, there will always be a divergence of opinions
because listeners all have different psychological dispositions. In the survey on the Brahms
D-minor Concerto I address the issue of classical vs. romantic interpretation in Brahms.
Because there will always be listeners uncomfortable with overt emotional drama in music,
I therefore made allowance for this point of view in making suggested recommendations
for recordings. On the other hand, because I outlined in the interpretive analysis section a
great deal of evidence for a romantic interpretation, I was absolutely confident in
recommending a romantic interpretation for the singular performance that has the honor
of being The Piano Enthusiast Reference Recording. With Bach, such a definitive and
defensible proclamation simply cannot be made. Aside from some historical
documentation made by Bach’s son, Carl Philip Emmanuel Bach, there is scant evidence for
exact tempos, phrasing, articulation, registrational (or registral, if you’re British)
preferences, etc. in any of Bach’s keyboard works. Experts have had to extrapolate
performance practice based on a comprehensive body of musicological study of the
Baroque era. This knowledge is derived from written indications and contemporaneous
observations and on physical clues from the historical instruments themselves. Some
performers are obviously more informed of these issues than others who blithely ignore all
historical evidence and simply play the music as they see fit.
Therefore, with the music of Bach I’ve given extra latitude for interpretive perspectives.
I’ve divided performances into different categories and developed some simple bar graphs
which may help readers find performances that might align with their own listening
preferences. Of course, creating categories of listeners is a helpful way of identifying
different groups of listeners, but it can also be self-limiting. Allow me to retrace my
thinking on this matter to see if you agree with the conclusions I arrived at.
At the most absurd point of reduction I would say that some listeners want a good deal of
input from the performer while others would just as soon eliminate the performer and tap
directly into Bach’s creative consciousness. The listener who seeks performer input is
energized by the human connection and derives added enthusiasm through a vicarious
experience shared with the performer. The listener who wants just the straight facts,
eschews any “fiddling” or “highlighting” of the text; they don’t want to experience the
performer’s joys or sorrows, but hear the music rendered as neutral as possible so that they
may then derive whatever implied intellectual, spiritual or emotional meanings Bach may
have intended. In a sense, you might conclude that this is the classic left-brain vs. rightbrain thinking, but if you’ve read Daniel Levitin’s book, This is Your Brain on Music, you
know that the enjoyment of music is not so clear cut as that.
Now, within each of those two basic philosophical modes, there is a further range of
preferences which may then account for so many different opinions. The vicarious listener
seeks to be at one with the music through the energetic input of the performer.
Highlighting textural details, differentiation of dynamic layers and guiding the forward
flow through voice leading – these are all desirable elements which enhance the listening
experience. You might make the psychological observation that the type of clothes, jewelry
or hair style reflect certain innate personality traits of the person. The absolutist listener
prefers the music pure and simple, unadorned, almost monastic in its rejection of external
identifiers. The monk’s frock versus the emperor’s clothes, or more to the point, Bach at
bedtime, without his powdered and perfumed wig.
Okay, enough with the analogies, how about some specific examples of performance
styles? Sticking with just piano renderings for the moment, as I was preparing for this
survey and buying up CDs with good reviews (I now subscribe to ClassicalArchives.com
which is a kind of Netflix for classical music buffs, and only buy the CDs of performances
that I actually enjoy) I sat through a performance by Nicholas Angelich which I did not
enjoy at all. I later noticed that the reviewer who gave it such glowing raves also likes the
Perahia which is another one I’m not especially wild about. Rather than simply put these
discs at the bottom of my pile, I began to think about this whole concept of listener
preferences and tried to divine exactly how this reviewer was listening and why there
might be others who would agree with his assessments. To do this it will be helpful to
compare the Angelich with a recording that I do enjoy, the one by Andras Schiff, and look
at how the two approaches differ.
With the Angelich I found a uniformity of touch and tone that produced for me one of the
all-time most boring renditions. Specifically, and I’m painting with negative adjectives, the
articulation had no spring, the arch of phrases had no lift, the two hands were weighted
equally (and in Variation 11 the two hands should suggest one chasing the other, yet with
Angelich they just sound like a rather unimaginative string of thirds), no lilt or joy in the
exuberant variations, no sense of deep pathos in the Passionmusik (just slow tempos with
excessive ritardandos at the end), and in summary, just plain old stodgy.
With the Schiff I hear multiple layers of textures, not only each hand differentiated (as
would be the case with a two manual harpsichord) but also within each hand (the implied
counterpoint that I talked about before). Ornamentation is moderate in use, but always
completely organic to the textures. A full range of articulation is employed to give
distinctive characterization to each episode. The only negative with the Schiff recording is
the high level of ambient reverberation, which tends to rob some of Schiff’s wonderful
micro-dynamic energy of impact. Listening on headphones, Schiff is clearly my favorite,
but over either of my audio systems I might opt for the Lifschitz recording on Denon.
To put the differences between the two most succinctly I’d say the Angelich is onedimensional, the Schiff multi-dimensional, the Angelich more mono-dynamic (like a
harpsichord or organ) the Schiff full of micro-dynamic inflection (small variations in
dynamic emphasis imitative of the non-keyboard instruments of Bach’s day), the Angelich
unadorned, the Schiff with a little bit of make-up (ornaments), the Angelich avoiding
tempo extremes, the Schiff more willing to explore tempo extremes, the Angelich with a
persistent unchanging touch, the Schiff with a full range of phrasing and articulation.
The listener that would prefer the Angelich would also like Perahia (or possibly
Dinnerstein) for many of the same reasons. But I like the Perahia a bit better because,
firstly, while the tone is also very uniform throughout, it is at least a pleasing and
cultivated tone (Angelich’s is just heavy and lifeless to my ears), that and Perahia is an
artist I respect and have heard many times in concert, so perhaps unconsciously I’m
cutting him more slack, whereas Angelich is a newbie to me, and I’ve never heard him live.
But such are the limitations we live with.
Trying to really understand a completely different, almost alien, way of thinking and
perceiving is like trying to imagine changing one’s gender. But I imagine the Angelich fans
also liking Ansel Adams prints because they appeal to the left brain’s appreciation of zenlike equanimity of elements (balance), while the Schiff fans (me) are more likely to prefer
the vivid colors of a David Munch print which saturates and amazes the ocular senses. So
what would I call these two types of listeners?
Wait! It’s not yet time for name calling. We must further explore and define all the various
elements which may potentially separate the perceptive inclinations of each listener. I’ve
come up with ten criterion by which interpretative differences may be divided: two overarching categories—energy and complexity—each with sub-categories.
Energy:
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Micro, Meso or Macro inflection
Articulation (varied or homogenous)
Tempi (relaxed or pushed)
Metric Contour (relaxed or pushed)
Tonal Gestalt (brightly lit or softly lit)
Complexity:

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Two Manual Differentiation
Implied Counterpoint
Ornamentation
Repeats (exact repeats or with varied inflection)
Spatial Orientation (intimate studio or ambient concert hall)
Obviously, some of the sub-categories may be applicable to both the Energy or Complexity
categories, but I’ve put the defining character in whichever category that is most likely to
effect an impassioned response from the listener. For example, articulation with vigorous
accents or staccatos most directly affects the perception of energetic performance, but it
also contributes to a sense of differentiation and complexity. This entire discussion really
needs a separate essay, and I plan to revisit these ideas and make a separate link sometime
in the future.
Now here’s where you may or may not agree with my conclusion. By reducing all these
different aspects down to their most basic level of impact I believe the single most defining
element—the one that seems to engender the most impassioned response—is micro vs.
macro dynamic inflection.
Dynamic inflection conveys a lot about the psychology of the performer. More inflection
means more energy, less inflection conveys a more relaxed approach. Just as we feel more
comfortable talking with people who mimic our own body language and energy level in
speech, the same also applies in musical preferences. If Glenn Gould and Otto Klemperer
ever met and spoke to one another I can imagine that Klemperer would have “shut down
internally” after about a minute of Gould’s rapid fire volleys of speech. I’ve spoken with a
lot of concert goers and found that many listeners have no tolerance for nervous energy in
performance, whereas others are attracted like magnets to this source of energy.
As I use the terms, micro means small details, macro means the larger overview, and meso
is somewhere in middle without going to either extreme. Micro-dynamic inflection refers
to a style of playing which brings forth many small accents or points of emphasis which
give a sharper profile to the contour of each phrase. To use an analogy in photography,
micro-dynamics would be like the fine textural details one sees in a print taken with a large
format camera, while macro-dynamic would be like the softer textured print taken with a
35mm camera at some distance or with the use of a filter. To return to musical examples, if
a single line rises and falls every six beats, a performer with a micro-dynamic tendency will
emphasize the top or bottom of each arch, possibly both. This for me characterizes a key
aspect of the playing styles of both Andras Schiff and Andreas Bacchetti. Players such as
Nicholas Angelich or Murray Perahia are much more macro-dynamic in approach, which is
to say that once a dynamic level has been established for a particular variation, be it soft or
loud, the same dynamic level is very closely maintained throughout. Meso players such as
Angela Hewitt are those who find a happy middle ground, and tend to be performers
whom listeners of both micro or macro persuasion generally find to be an enjoyable
“compromise.”
Before I go on, it is important to understand the underlying psychological implications of
each of these styles. Micro dynamic inflection, whether realized by the listener at a
conscious level or not, immediately signals more direct input from the performer. More
input means purposeful interjections upon the music, more personal interaction with the
music, more energy, more vigor. Macro dynamic players signal a more relaxed and flowing
rendition of the line which can create a Zen-like submersion into the music (without all
the needling heard from micro-dynamic players). To me, Zen-like submersion is also a
style that requires less focus from the listener, less following of individual details, less
attention to the bark on the trees and the ferns in the undergrowth, and more a general
appreciation for the size, color and scent of the forest. And that distinction is a very
important realization about our own sense of interaction in the world in which we live. I’m
less of a man to be seduced to “oohs and aahs” by the broad expanse of Vermont’s rolling
hills in Autumn, and more to be transported to a magical state when I’m down walking
among the trees, looking up or down, and awed by the array of infinitesimal nuance of
shades and textures. Another way of putting it would be that I tend to be a person that
enjoys an immersive environment, walking in the forest, rather than observing from a
distant (non-immersive) perspective. One way of perceiving the world cannot be
considered better than the other, they are just different.
I fully believe Bach explored both the micro and macro view of music, the micro being his
moments alone with the clavichord, the macro being at the Thomaskirche organ in Leipzig
with the distant echoes of reverberation playing off of centuries old stone walls. As for the
Goldbergs, well they were written specifically for a two-manual harpsichord. Unless one
hears a harpsichord at a distance coming from a faraway window, the music is hardly
macro or with the likelihood of creating a sense of relaxation in the listener. Up close, the
harpsichord can really be jarring to the unprepared ear. Remember, the Goldbergs were
not written to put somebody to sleep, but to keep them thoroughly entertained during
bouts of sleeplessness. Even though the harpsichord is limited to whatever the registration
is selected (so-called “tiered dynamics”) the actual sound envelope is very micro in nature,
with a sharp viscerally textured transient (the quill plucking the metal string) and a
tapered decay that resonates within the wood structure of the instrument. This is why in
terms of tonal gestalt, the luscious legatos that Martins produces from the smooth felt
hammers of his Steinway is at quite a remove from the sound one hears on a harpsichord.
Although Bach could have never even imagined a modern Steinway, he did transcribe
many of his own works from one instrument to others with quite different tonal
characteristics. Therefore, I come back to the idea of listener preference.
At some point I’ll probably have to re-visit this discussion and create a separate link to a
more in-depth discussion of all these elements. But, for now, to try and wrap this up as
painlessly as possible, articulation falls mostly into the energy category because a staccato
tone or vigorous accent conveys more input of energy from the player than if he/she simply
put their fingers on the keys and sounded a note. Sharper articulations also mimic the
kind of transient energy of a harpsichord, but, there is an important difference! On the
piano an individual note may be accented to give it a singular metric emphasis amidst a
string of notes, whereas on the harpsichord every note has this innate energy, so the
harpsichordist will often rely on non-dynamic tricks like agogic stress.
One final point about listener preference might be to discuss why some listeners prefer the
more intimate perspective of a dry studio recording with the microphones close to the
instruments in contrast to listeners who prefer more breathing room and a sense of
ambiance. The period of time I spent as manager of a classical section of a large HMV
record store (remember those?) was also an interesting time to observe the behavior of and
opinions of different groups of customers. I remember selling dozens and dozens of
“Gouldbergs” to young college students who didn’t care in the slightest about any other
classical piano recordings, or Bach played by anybody but Gould. Always one to try and
build a rapport with my customers, I enquired about their tastes in music and their general
listening habits and came to a sort of hazy realization about the importance that both
sound and energy played. Obviously, they related to Gould’s manic energy, and the state
of ecstasy that he conveys. But I doubt very much they’d be as keen on the new Zenph recreation. The reason being is that the kind of recordings of pop and rock music they
listened to were recorded in dry studios, with very close microphones, and often with
individual instruments each in their own separate recording booths. To my ears most pop
music has a very disembodied sound, as if coming out of a void. I grew up hearing organ
music in stone churches and have attended classical concert for more than four decades, so
to me, that is what live acoustic music should sound like. But they liked the sound of
Gould’s dry recordings (remember, he was very active in the production phase of his own
recordings). These young listeners, used to pop and rock recordings, were actively turnedoff by classical recordings which gave any hint of a concert hall or church acoustic.
Finally, whether professional reviewer or listener at home, the type of sound reproduction
one employs will greatly influence one’s opinions on the perceived sound quality (or
character) of one recording versus another. Without wandering too far afield into the
realm of audiophile esoterica, in a very real sense the type of speakers the recording team
uses to monitor the recording session will greatly influence the outcome of what you hear
in the finished recording. It’s not that they will employ various methods of external
equalization or other tricks to get a desired sound, but the very placement of the
microphones, the distance of the piano from any reflective surfaces, etc. are considered
from microphone feeds as reproduced over the studio monitors. For years, most of Philips
classical productions were monitored over Audiostatic electrostatic speakers, a very
detailed and revealing speaker, which is why on most other systems the Philips recordings
can sound warm and soft in detail (but they were not so when heard over the
electrostatics!). Most British studios, such as EMI use B&W speakers, and to get the most
ideal reproduction from those recordings one would probably want to hear the recordings
over B & W speakers, or something very similar. I can say for certain, that as objective as I
try to be, if I’m not enjoying the basic sound of the recording, or have to struggle to hear
through fuzzy microphone placement or obfuscatory reverberation, well, that seriously
impacts my overall level of enthusiasm. For that reason, for this survey anyway, I’m making
my final verdicts about performances over headphones (Beyer-Dynamic 990’s), as they
tend to mitigate most of the negative impacts of obfuscatory bass or ambient smear.
Interpretive Decisions
There are many decisions facing the pianist who attempts to master and perform the
Goldbergs. Let’s look a few of the relevant topics.
Tempi. The performer’s temperament will determine the base energy level that is
conveyed: faster tempi demonstrate energy and technique to burn, slower tempi a more
relaxed and less showy disposition. On the one hand, we know that the Goldbergs are
possibly the most virtuosic and “showy” work Bach ever wrote and would seem to invite an
overt display of technical brilliance. On the other hand, some of the tempi we hear
nowadays are in all likelihood beyond speeds Bach could have conceived. Just from the
evidence we have from the era of recordings, we see ever increasing speeds and virtuosity
such that now it is common to label certain performers as “super virtuosos.” We see the
same thing in sports: faster miles, quadruple spins in ice skating, more and faster in nearly
every parameter of physical performance. But in music speed in itself can demonstrate the
law of diminishing returns. Some of the recordings I surveyed have passages that are so
fast that the ear can hardly register what is going on, and frankly I’m amazed there are
pianos with actions fast enough to respond to such playing. In that regard, Daniel-Ben
Pienaar must surely hold some speed records. His Variation 5 is over in 32 seconds! I’m not
sure that kind of thing really serves the music best. I seriously question whether the
craftsman and technicians of Bach’s day could have had the harpsichords regulated with
such precise tolerances as to allow these speeds. And let’s not forget, they didn’t have the
temperature and humidity control that today’s concert instruments enjoy. Winter cold
and summer humidity would have adversely affected the mechanical responsiveness of
even the best made instruments in Bach’s day.
The main issue with tempi is to judge to what degree extremes of tempo affect the musical
message. The very first decision is for the tempo of the opening aria. Too fast, such as
Bacchetti at 3:19, and the mood will seem flippant and insensitive. Too slow, such as
Lifschitz at 4:57, and it seems like the pianist is milking the music for all it’s worth.
Extremely slow, such as Tureck at 6:08, and there is a sense of a kind of “imposed”
transcendence that is not natural. In my view, the simple aria, while tender and eloquent
should not be turned into a Dido’s Lament or sentimentalized Stokowskian syrup. In the
case of the Tureck I would also add that a falsely conscribed meditative trance is not
befitting to the natural flow of the music, but I know that many listeners actually respond
to this kind of extreme “quasi-religious” experience. I always maintain that the aria should
proceed at a natural singing pace, with breaths taken every two measures. These natural
breathing points should be demarcated in the playing by observance of phrasing and/or
relaxing of the tempo such as an accompanist would allow when playing for a vocalist.
The usual culprits for excessive speed are Variations 5, 14, and 23. There are other brisk
variations but these are the ones where excessive speed actually threatens the musical
integrity of the piece. In Variation 23, for example, measures 9-12 the activity of the lefthand mordents overlaps with and confuses the textural clarity of the right-hand
figurations. By slowing down just a fraction, the interplay of the two hands becomes so
much more effective than just blazing forth helter skelter. In Variation 14, measures 15-16,
nd
the close proximity of the 32 note figurations challenges textural clarity and the result is
that pianists find their fingers knotting up and the crisp rhythms are smudged. Many
times, even if the speedsters execute their feats with perfection, the result to the ear is just
an overload of buzzing activity (the same result can happen when ornamentation is laid on
too thick).
Ornamentation. As late as 1988 I heard a master class given by a pianist who insisted that
Bach didn’t need ornamentation, that while various kinds of embellishments were known
to have been practiced in extemporaneous performances, they are to be frowned upon in
the more serious works. The point was also made that the actual written notes are the only
thing we know for sure, that anything else is just a performer’s fantasy. I’m glad to see
we’ve progressed beyond such limited thinking. In fact, I would aver that any unadorned
rendition—just the facts, ma’am—is in blatant violation of all known historical practices.
Bach himself most likely changed ornamentation slightly each time he played a work.
But, as with speed for the sake of virtuosic excitement, I believe there is a point of
diminishing returns when considering just how freely one embellishes the line. When I
first heard Blandine Verlet’s Grand Prix du Disque recording for Astree back in the early
90’s I thought that surely this was a performance which represented the outer limits of
effective Baroque ornamentation. The richly adorned lines reminded me of a Louis Seize
parlour, the opulence at times almost decadent. Now, such playing is par for the course,
and we’ve moved onto even more lavish indulgences. If done properly, the heavy makeup
can be worn to great effect, as witness Ton Koopman’s tour de force lesson in
ornamentation, or Anthony Newman’s ever inventive use of flourish and textural variants.
But on the piano, the effects can quickly become over-used and tiring. Bacchetti and Chen
(the Philharmonie recording, not the earlier recording for Naxos) are fascinating studies in
Baroque ornamentation, and taken in small doses they can be very engaging. But over the
long haul I find myself increasingly irritated by the excessive busy-ness of the line. Some
passages sound like a swarm of twittering and buzzing bees and butterflies. My single most
emphatic recommendation to pianists is this: don’t overuse the same type of ornament in
every variation. Variety is key. Chen uses the same turning figuration time and again,
lingering on the upper auxiliary and then scooping down and back for the mordent, and
though I’ve never heard anyone else use such an embellishment it would nonetheless be a
welcome and inventive idea if taken in moderation, but as I said, she uses the same trick
over and over again. She has since gone on to win the 2010 International Bach Competition
in Washington, D.C. (which I didn’t hear), so perhaps she has re-thought some of these
quibbling (yet adversely distracting) details.
Repeats. If all repeats are taken the work can easily run 78-82 minutes. That’s an entire
recital length just for one work. For the listener at home it demands a significant
commitment of time and focus, and I’m not talking about putting them on as background
music or to play in the nursery as a sort of brain food (as the CD ‟Baby’s First Bach” touts).
Without the repeats the work moves along with continued interest, and clocks in at only
38 minutes. But something of the spiritual communion is lost, or what is often referred to
by devoted followers as the ‟Goldberg Experience.”
A few performers repeat only the first section and not the second, thereby cutting the time
down by 25%. From a musicological point of view this seems indefensible but from a
practical point of view in terms of performance before a concert audience it works; the first
repeat allows the ear to really grasp what’s going on and the second section shows how the
music may be subtly varied. That’s a good option for a live performance, but for the
purposes of considering a definitive recording I consider all repeats a necessity. This allows
the dedicated listener at home to really immerse themselves in the music, to witness the
supreme mastery and creative spirit of Bach as these variations unfold one after the other.
But, to ask such a commitment upon the listener also makes it incumbent upon the
performer to offer something new in terms of subtle nuances, registration, articulation or
ornamentation that make the repeats musically edifying. In this regard, I consider
Barenboim’s approach most effective, as not only are repeats subtly differentiated but the
final repeat changes somewhat in character to transition to the next variation. This makes
for a powerfully cogent continuity.
Color at the Keyboard. Speaking of Barenboim, I also like what he has to say about
performing Bach on the piano. He talks about how a woodwind or string player can imbue
the tonal character of the instrument with a wide range of color based on breath, vibrato,
harmonic overtones, etc. The piano on the other hand is by nature a much more neutral
medium. By virtue of its neutrality it is also capable—in the right hands—of creating the
illusion of other instruments. As Barenboim says, ‟There are two instruments in the piano:
a primary instrument without interest, and a falsely neutral one which gives the greatest
artistic possibilities.” Pianists who treat the piano as a merely neutral conduit for the
written page, or who see it in terms of the limited scope of Baroque style or imitative
harpsichord sounds are not the seeing the bigger picture. ‟To be content to imitate the
harpsichord, or to play what might be called pure piano, is of no interest. If one wishes to
play Bach on the piano the piano must be used like an orchestra.”
What Barenboim is talking about is finding color and richness to transcend the black and
white and gray limitations at the piano. It is not that the listener will sit up and exclaim,
“Oh, that sounds like a trumpet!” That’s not it at all. When you sit through as many
performances as I have to do this survey you recognize immediately the pianists who only
hear in terms of a one-dimensional keyboard sound, and those who finds ways to add color
and depth to their playing.
To Barenboim’s orchestral palette I would also add the vocal element and sounds of Bach’s
beloved pipe organ. I see the aria as essentially vocal, if the tempo is not deathly slow, and
you take out the keyboard ornamentation, it is easy to see how this might be a soft and
tender vocal interlude within an oratorio. I can also see it effectively rendered as a chorale
prelude on the organ with soft, gentle stops. For this reason I’m not especially won over by
pianists who render the aria in a detached Gouldian non-legato manner when the phrasing
in the Urtext edition is clearly indicated for legato, singing phrasing.
Color at the keyboard is another of those highly divisive issues that goes right back to the
musical psychology of the listener. I’ve see a few postings on YouTube which decry
Barenboim’s performances as using the piano to turn the Goldbergs into a Wagnerian
opera. I don’t hear that at all. I’m assuming that tonal color and sonority are the principle
offense rather than any expressive rubato. In terms of rubato, Gould stretched and bent
phrases beyond anything known in Baroque practice and would be far more guilty than
Barenboim in straying from rigid metronomic enslavement. It’s true, Barenboim is one of
the most expressive pianists in the minor key variations. Like the Baroque period masters
such as Leonhardt and Koopman, Barenboim understands their true nature as exemplars of
Passionsmusik. But, as regards color, I can absolutely see that if one is looking for a more
pianistic, uncolored, black and white rendering, then Barenboim will probably be one of
the least appealing. Luckily, we have so many versions to choose from; literally something
for everyone.
Registration at the piano. We all know that any two-manual instrument, organ or
harpsichord, provides the player with the possibility of at least two different tonal
characteristics, sometimes more if there are manual shifters on the harpsichord, and
certainly more choices of stops on even the simplest of portatif (continuo) organs.
Therefore, some pianists—Schiff, MacGregor, Feltsman, and Lifschitz, come to mind—
have made an attempt to replicate this condition by changing registers on the piano, or
even inverting lines so that the soprano line sounds lower than the left hand line. Frankly,
to not do this is really to seem indifferent to a very vital aspect of Baroque keyboard
practice. But… this is a very hot topic in music forums with the majority of listeners
weighing in on their dislike for such tinkering on the piano. Personally, I’m not crazy about
taking passages up to the higher register of the piano as it often sounds like a tinkly music
box, coming off as somewhat of a gimmick. Inverting lines occasionally on a repeat I don’t
mind if not overdone. Taking lines down an octave is less bothersome to me (unless the
voicing of the Steinway is too bloated and without sufficient pitch definition). Many
harpsichordists use the growling 16-foot stop, Landowska had it on most of the time, and
today Newman, Kipnis, Galling, and others use it. I think Schiff shows how effective this
th
can be—when done with a light touch and no pedal—in the 18 Variation, for example. But
organists who pull out all the stops, plenum and 32-foot pedals –well that’s all a bit much.
The thing is, I would never argue on musical grounds against any of these techniques as
they are all entirely appropriate for Baroque practice. I would only point out whether or
not I find something convincing and in good taste (appropriate to the mood of the
variation), but even such comments would more than likely be influenced by my own
listening preferences.
Recommended Recordings
A few favorites from the survey
Listener Preference Profiles Explained
Piano Enthusiast Reference Recording
Recommended Piano Recordings
Recommended Harpsichord Recordings
Versions of Interest for Study Purposes
Forays to the Fringe (Unorthodox Interpretations)
Alternative (non-keyboard) Versions of Interest
Sundry Observations
Listener Preference Profiles Explained
Rather than simply profile the recordings that I enjoy the most, I’ve made
recommendations based on recordings that best exemplify each of the distinctive Listener
Preference Profiles as discussed in the previous section. The graphs that accompany each
review grade five defining aspects of the recording, each on a scale of 1-5, one being
minimal and five being maximum. By necessity of choice I’ve had to decide which
characteristics appear up and which down, but a graph with all fives may be the opposite of
what you prefer; you may prefer a graph with all ones, or you may be a middle-of-the road
kind of person that will be happiest with performances that center around the three mark.
Here are the five characteristics defined, with examples of performers who represent the
two extremes that have provided me a range which I have then divided into a five-point
scale.
Energy Level. Micro or Macro. This considers whether a performer plays with a lot a small
dynamic inflections (micro dynamic), or whether they play with broader, more
homogenous dynamic levels (macro dynamic). The degree of emphasis on metric contour
(rhythmic drive) also affects the perception of overall energy level.


Example of micro dynamic: Schiff or Lifschitz = 5
Example of macro dynamic: Perahia or Angelich = 1
Articulation. Homogenous or Layered. Basically, articulation means whether the notes
are played legato or staccato, in smooth arcs, or with etched contours. The grading on the
graph considers the variety of articulation the pianist plays with, and/or how many levels
(or layers) of distinct voicing are utilized to distinguish (or individuate) each of the
contrapuntal lines. Some listeners prefer a smoothly homogenous sound and find
excessive contrasts of texture too “fussy” and distracting. Other listeners would find a
homogenous playing style rather dull and prefer that the pianist highlight contrasts
through various means of dynamic voicing and/or variation in articulation. The concept of
complexity also comes into play here: homogenous being more simple and direct
(unaffected) and layered being more differentiated and complex.


Example of complex layers: Schiff or Lifschitz
Example of homogenous touch: Perahia or Angelich
Embellishment. Conservative or liberal use of historical practice ornamentation and
added figurations. This considers the overall use of ornamentation (the frequency of use
and the complexity and/or inventiveness of such) as well as textural variance (inversions,
octave displacements, dotted rhythms, etc.), use of passing tones (or diatonic filler), and
cadential flourishes. Some listeners prefer a straightforward unadorned Bach (without the
powdered wig) while others enjoy the textural variation that embellishments provide.


Example of liberal embellishment: Chen or Bacchetti
Example of conservative embellishment: Perahia or Angelich
Expression. Liberal or Conservative. This does not mean use of romantic-era rubato, but
is concerned more with whether or not the lines breathe naturally, or if they proceed with
inflexibility. Pianists are notorious for dispatching Bach with motoric inflexibility, but
listen to any great vocalist or instrumental soloist (violin, cello, flute, lute…) and you hear
that phrases are contoured with a natural arc, and the overall tempo is relaxed enough at
cadences to convey a natural sense of breathing. This is not the same as rubato, which at
its most extreme lurches forward and then pulls back. The primary techniques for
conveying expression in Baroque practice is the aforementioned breathing points, use of
agogic stress, staggered (or broken) chords, and the manner of phrasing and articulation to
help characterize the music. By default, I’ve included Barenboim’s unique concept of repeat
variation in this category because it more directly affects the expressive mood of the music
than it does any of the other categories (see review on Barenboim further discussion).


Example of liberal expression: Martins or Barenboim
Example of conservative expression: Perahia or Angelich
Ambience. Dry (intimate) or reverberant (expansive) acoustic. This is not directly a
parameter of performance, though how the pianist chooses to project and articulate in a
given acoustic is pertinent to the overall effectiveness of the performance. However, I’ve
included this category because many listeners are surprisingly very emphatic about their
preferences one way or the other. In theory, a recording made in a small studio or living
room might convey a more personal sense of communion with the music, while a
recording made in a large concert hall will convey a more amorphous (some would say
ethereal) and larger-than-life sense of immersion. My preference is somewhere in
between, or perhaps slightly more weighted to the expansive as long as textural
obfuscation doesn’t become an issue. The reason being that different nuances of
articulation have more complexity and “play” in a larger, more interactive acoustic, such
that a staccato is not just a staccato but also has a decay cycle which will vary in harmonic
color depending on the touch and dynamic emphasis of the pianist. Microphone
placement is also an issue whether in a dry or reverberant acoustic because too close in and
the microphones pick up all the unpleasant and distracting noises of the mechanical
apparatus, and that tends to detract from the desirable transcendent Goldberg experience.


Example of reverberant acoustic: Vladar or MacGregor
Example of dry acoustic: Tureck or Norton.
Piano Enthusiast Reference Recording
Andras Schiff 1982 Decca
No single performance can encompass the vast range of possibilities latent in the Goldberg
Variations, but this performance has more positives and fewer negatives than any other version. The
very first notes put at us ease: the piano tone is clear in the melody and sustaining in the bass, gentle
but not dull, with enough ambience to lend a dreamy and transporting air. The aria proceeds at a
natural singing pace, falling in the sweet spot of 3:50 it is more relaxed than Bacchetti’s impatient
3;17, less precious and “loved-to-death” than Lifschitz’ 4:57. Schiff also observes the singing legato
phrasing in the melody while others give a dainty detaché, and the V-I cadences are also legato, as
you would hear played by any string or woodwind instrument. Others (even Hewitt) still favor the
stylistically inappropriate post-Gouldian separation of cadential tones.
The variations are imbued with buoyant inflection, characterful bowing “digs” in the phrasing, and
plenty of micro-dynamic energy. This rendering favors the exuberant over the solemn, and while
minor-key variations may lack the gravitas of Tureck or Barenboim, they are hardly irreverently
impatient as is often the case.
The key decision really is which Schiff recording to have, the first 1982 version for Decca, or the later
2001 version for ECM. They are both so very similar that really one is all you need. The aria is almost
identical in pacing and phrasing in either version. After going back and forth variation by variation,
listening over headphones, over speakers, and listening to the overall arc of each performance in its
entirety, I rated the two performances as virtually equal in eighteen of the thirty variations. In two of
the variations I found details better delineated in the newer version, while in ten variations I
preferred the more energetic micro-dynamic inflection of the earlier version. But these preferences
are based on details so subtle that many casual listeners might not even hear any differences at all.
The key difference between them is the character of the recorded sound.
I prefer the voicing of the piano in the 1982 version. There is an overall liquidity to the sound, and
there is good clarity in the tenor and bass register in combination with wonderful sustaining quality.
The Decca recording has one drawback: there is an ever-present and annoying rumble and whoosh in
the background that sounds like the mics were right near an air vent. I had to turn down my
subwoofer 4 decibels to even tolerate listening. It seems something as problematic as that should
have been filtered out. Once the bass is adjusted, the engineers have got a good balance of focus and
ambient color, and the sound is most enjoyable. The newer ECM recording does not have such
drawbacks, but the piano itself is more problematic. On the positive side, the upper soprano region
has a nice bell-like tone, and the tenor region has more focus and less harmonic “spread” than the
earlier piano. On the negative side, the tenor and bass do not have the wonderful sustaining quality
of the earlier piano (that’s important in the aria and slower variations) and beyond a certain dynamic
level the upper half of the keyboard becomes rather harsh. Schiff also tends to play more
emphatically in the later recording, almost banging in the more raucous final variations, and that
combined with the piano voicing gives me ear fatigue. I’ve never been able to get all the way through
the ECM recording without pausing to give my ears a break. Neither recording has what I’d call
state-of-the-art sound, for that honor I’d probably cite the Daniel-Ben Pienaar recording on Avie.
But that’s about the only good I can say about that recording unless you are interested in pianists
who break all speed records. Schiff has plenty of speed where required, but nothing, fast or slow, is
taken to silly extremes.
For all these reasons I feel the Decca Schiff recording is the one version I could live with if I had to
get rid of all my other recordings.
Recommended Piano Recordings
By Listener Preference Profile
Daniel Barenboim.
Erato (1989). This was recorded live in Buenos Aires; there is
another live televised concert from 1992 available from Mezzo
which is very similar in conception. I’ve only heard the Mezzo
version on a relatively poor sounding YouTube posting, so
until I get ahold of a better source I’ll restrict my comments to
only the Erato CD version.
If I could add just one additional recording besides the Piano
Enthusiast Reference Recording this would be it. Sometimes
I’m more receptive to the joy and elan of Schiff, other times I
want the deeper, more soulful rendering of Barenboim. But there’s a caveat emptor here: one must
be in a completely focused mood to be receptive to Barenboim’s approach. This is not the version to
put on while toodling around the house doing chores. Just as one must be in an appropriate mood to
watch a “tear-jerker” film, I find the same true of this very special and emotionally poignant live
performance. There has been some negative commentary on discussion forums and on YouTube,
where one person even went so far as to say that Barenboim has turned the Goldbergs into a
Wagnerian opera. Such commentary is obviously too extreme, but it is important to address the
underlying perception of Barenboim’s approach as being in stark contrast to the more pianistic
versions that are popular. For more detailed discussion of this topic read “Color at the Keyboard” in
the Interpretive Decisions section.
For a balanced review I must discuss the good and the bad of the recording. The bad is twofold: first
the recorded quality is dismal. Although the most recent re-master on Teldec Warner (conveniently
coupled with the Diabelli Variations at a budget price) is less grainy (more smooth and liquid) it is
difficult to make up for the microphones being placed too far back to begin with. The sound
perspective emphasizes obfuscatory congestion in the mid-bass and clangorous resonance in the
upper melodic range. The frequent coughing from the audience (though well recessed into the
background) is often enough to disrupt the flow and immersive bond with the music. None of this
has to do with Barenboim. The second negative (which does concern Barenboim) is that his
conception is so unusual and unexpected that the listener can quickly become dismayed and
dismissive. Frankly, this was very much my own reaction the first time I heard this performance. But
once I heard it when I was in a more receptive mood I was able to key into its message such that I can
now put it on and very quickly adjust myself to Barenboim’s unique vision.
So what’s so unique about it? The first thing most listeners notice is that the tone and articulation is
less pianistic sounding than most. To my ear, among piano versions, Barenboim gets the opening aria
just right. I believe it should sound like a devotional aria or meditative chorale prelude. While other
pianists employ a delicate non-legato detaché (supposedly to imitate the sound of a soft 8-foot
register on a harpsichord), the Urtext score is clearly and unambiguously marked for legato phrasing.
With Barenboim there are no precious pizzicatos or delicate jeu perle passages. In this sense,
Barenboim’s finger technique is similar to Perahia’s, with its emphasis on macro dynamic arch rather
on micro-dynamic detail. But Barenboim voices and sculpts the lines much more than Perahia, and
really thinks more like a conductor than a pianist. Also, there are no gleeful joy rides where speed
itself becomes the primary attraction. Like Leonhardt, tempi are always judged more for musical
substance than on wowing with digital dexterity.
All of that is interesting in itself, but for me the most vital and distinguishing aspect of Barenboim’s
interpretation concerns his philosophy on repeats. I say philosophy, because he talks about this in
master classes, and has aptly demonstrated the concepts in his recordings of the Bach Goldbergs,
Brahms Händel Variations, and Beethoven Diabelli Variations. It is his belief that it has been a
historical performance practice to vary repeats such that the last part of one variation begins to segue
(transition) to the mood of the next variation. Most historians acknowledge this practice but argue
about just how much latitude should be allowed for these changes. At its simplest, imagine a presto
variation being followed by an adagio variation. With this transitional concept, the last four measures
of the presto variation may undergo an emphatic rallentando. If the next variation were also presto,
then no rallentando would be called for. If a soulful legato variation is followed by a perky, crisply
articulated variation, then the last repeat of the legato variation might increasingly become lighter in
touch, and possibly end with a staccato cadence. Another way to look at it is that each variation will
embody two potential expressive states, the one that is unique, and the one that leads to the next
variation, much as when one walks in a museum, contemplating all the pictures at an exhibition,
some of the mood of the previous picture lingers briefly before the full effect of the next is realized. I
believe this is an important and completely overlooked topic (I certainly didn’t learn about this at the
music school I went to) and interested pianists should seek out Barenboim’s recordings of anything
in variation form to see how much sense this concept makes.
In summary, Barenboim provides both vigor and delicacy when called for (but neither in extreme),
and the transitions from variation to variation provide for a fascinating journey. Barenboim is at his
greatest strength in the soulful minor key episodes, and he alone among piano versions conveys the
proper spirit of Variation 15 with Bach’s usage of the step-like progression representing the Christ
figure bearing the burden of the cross. To me, Barenboim’s rendering brings to mind the anguished
prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane where Christ knelt at the Rock of Agony and sweat blood as he
had premonitions of the crucifixion to come. Of course, one may have a more secular interpretation,
or no interpretation at all, but in any case, Barenboim’s Goldbergs are not going to be like a popcorn
movie experience. Give this one some time to sink in, when it does, it rewards the listener with a
depth of experience that none of the other versions can quite match.
Andrei Gavrilov.
Deutsche Grammophon (1993). Those of you who have read
some of the surveys on this site know that my top picks
often run counter to recommendations espoused by other
critics. So I am always careful to fully explain how I arrive at
my decisions. The choice of Gavrilov among my top picks
both surprised me and also gave me pause to second guess
my own judgment. It surprised me because in general I’m
not a fan of Gavrilov, and often find his renderings
indulgent and/or bludgeoning to musical sensibilities. But,
I have to say this is without doubt the finest recording
Gavrilov has made, and it really justifies the man having such a phenomenal talent (that has
henceforth, in my opinion, gone largely to waste). It gave me pause when I looked around and
noticed that most of the positive feedback for this recording on discussion forums was coming from
Gavrilov fans and mostly from pianists with Russian-sounding names. Obviously, I do not fit such a
profile. So I listened again and again, and put off writing my final review to nearly the end.
With the exception of Jeremy Nicholas (writing for the BBC Music Magazine) who was very
enthusiastic about this recording, most serious reviewers have been rather lukewarm to this
recording, or have just outright ignored it. I can fully understand the underlying bias that may be at
play here. It’s like if Gould had recorded the Liszt Sonata, or Horowitz had undertaken the Art of the
Fugue – the music and the performer’s temperament don’t seem to be a natural fit. When we think
of Gavrilov we think of the big Russian blockbusters, and Bach is pretty much at the opposite
extreme. In any case, I find this a superlative recording, and am convinced sufficiently to put my
name behind recommending it to all lovers of the Goldbergs. Here’s why…
First off, the sound is absolutely gorgeous, perhaps one of the most beautifully captured piano
recordings in my collection. The sound is so clear and liquid, the singing sustain so meltingly
beautiful, I just wonder why I’ve never heard Gavrilov play like that before. We don’t normally think
of beauty when we listen to harpsichord or pipe organ renderings, but all of the great instrumental
soloists, be they violinists, cellists, flautists, or guitarists, take great care to showcase the expressive
beauty of their special instruments. When we speak of beauty it doesn’t automatically have to mean
romantic indulgence. For example, I often listen to Uto Ughi’s recording of the solo Partitas just
because the sound of his 1744 Guarneri del Gesu violin is so utterly captivating. And this despite the
fact that interpretively I prefer a few other versions, notably Nathan Milstein (the Stokholm 1986
concert) for the famous Ciaccona. So why indeed, shouldn’t beauty be part of the equation?
Secondly, Gavrilov takes great care to delineate textures without force or sleight of hand. Take
Variation 2, hardly a flashy virtuosic number on the surface, but to play it as Gavrilov does takes
tremendous control of each individual finger. The singing sustain of the soprano line in measures 1724 is simply breathtaking. The tenuto quarter note stems in measures 25-30 are as pure and unforced
as a perfectly attuned A Cappella group. After hearing Gavrilov, all of the other top versions—Schiff,
Hewitt, Lifschitz—seem mere “approximations.”
Yes, Gavrilov has the chops to render some of the brisk variations with a really thrilling degree of
brilliance. But he is never as extreme as some of the more recent speedsters, and he never once
“chews the scenery.” It may seem to say odd at first, but given that his approach is about as opposite
on the spectrum as one can get from Schiff’s micro-dynamic inflection, Gavrilov really belongs in the
same tonal and conceptual camp as Perahia and Nicholas Angelich. Only he pulls it all off even
better. If you have identified yourself as a listener who prefers macro over micro inflection in Bach,
this then becomes my top recommendation for your enjoyment, followed then by Perahia, Hewitt,
and Angelich in that order. For the rest of us, and myself (as I tend to prefer more micro inflection) I
am completely won over by the sheer beauty of this rendering. Incidentally, the recording is now
available on DG’s budget virtuoso series, though I prefer the somewhat humorous cover photo on the
original CD release.
Glenn Gould. (Zenph)
Sony Zenph. There is a lot of controversy surrounding this
recording and the Zenph “re-performance” philosophy in
general. Some have compared this production to a
colorized version of a classic black and white film.
Basically, what we have here is the classic 1955 version that
has been encoded into a computer and played back via a
sophisticated playing mechanism on a modern Yamaha
concert grand at the Glenn Gould Studios in Toronto,
Canada. You can immerse yourself in all the technical
details on Zenph’s website at Zenph.com. Many listeners,
who actually respond to the caustically dry sound of the
original will find the sound here too much like any other
top-quality modern piano recording. There’s no question the transient envelope of Gould’s attack
has been softened somewhat by the more spacious acoustic and the tone of the Yamaha, which more
closely resembles the kind of piano sound he preferred for his later re-make in 1981. But for those
very same reasons, I prefer the re-performance over the thin and airless original. As for controversy, I
think Gould is laughing in his grave. He once spoke about having multiple takes of each piece
recorded with various microphone placements and tonal characteristics, and that with some future
technology the listener would be able to decide for themselves the ultimate composite version that
they preferred. He also talked about mixing up movements from various suites and transposing
them to the appropriate tonal center so that listeners could create their own favorite Bach suites. He
was extremely open-minded about musical matters, and about technology as means to deliver art to
the comfort and intimacy of the listener’s home. I have a feeling he would have gone more extreme
with the Zenph re-performance, perhaps offering versions on a brighter voiced piano, or alternate
takes with different tempos or with different lines emphasized. As for colorizing, I think he would
paint it in neon colors!
Whether you prefer the original 1955, the modern re-performance or the 1981 version, one, if not all,
of these versions belong in every Goldberg lover’s library. At various times I’ve preferred one or the
other but in general I’d say that in the 1981 version he finds more musical characterization and better
sense of proportion between variations, but that he has also clearly succumbed to more eccentricity
and extremity of phrasing, and that this, in all honesty, has moved away from anything remotely
authentic as we understand Baroque practice. In any case, whether more Gould than Bach, this is
still potent musical art, so if you’ve never taken to all the humming and squeaking chair thing of the
original recordings (I don’t), this Zenph performance may be just the ticket.
Angela Hewitt.
I
include
this
recording
among
my
top
recommendations because it is one of the few piano
versions that seems to avoid extremes in any direction.
Personally, I don’t find it as distinctive as the other top
picks—Barenboim, Gavrilov, Gould, Lifschitz or Schiff—
but those very aspects which make those other versions
more “distinctive” may very well be sources of irritation
for other listeners. So, in a way, yes, Hewitt becomes
the middle-of-the-road safe bet, a bit lukewarm on the
enthusiasm scale, but when one really listens with
attention one will find that she plays with great love and
attention, and provides a sense of contentment that makes everything seem right in the universe. In
my view, while the rendering doesn’t have any single moments that stand out as revelatory, there are
a few variations where I feel she surpasses Schiff (my overall reference). Those episodes would be
Variations 7, 13, 15, and 28. Variation 14 is also very well done, with strong metric propulsion and
good contrast of the two registrations (delicate and concertante). There was really only one episode
of disruption with the ponderously heavy bass octaves in Variation 29. Elsewhere there are no real
gaffes or glitches to detract from the overall smooth sailing.
The one thing that bothers me most is that she doesn’t vary the repeats at all. This stems from the
fact that she never plays the repeats in concert and has therefore never had to address this issue.
Perhaps my mind is too restless and analytical, but “instant replays” just drive me nuts! On the
positive side, I do find that she has better voice leading and variation in articulation than either
Perahia or Dinnerstein, yet she will appeal to listeners who like those pianists, because her tone is
similarly smooth and legato and without any rough edges . The recorded sound is good, with just
enough air to let the piano breathe, and the voicing on the Steinway (provided by Gerd Finkenstein)
is well-balanced.
Konstantin Lifschitz.
Denon (1994). Before I even talk about the performance I
want to emphasize that the recorded sound here is
exceptional. The quality of the sound is very important, as
any obfuscation or engineering problems can be very
disruptive of a work that requires a spiritual connectivity
and immersive flow. Too often I’ve heard excellent
performances marred by less than satisfactory recorded
sound:
Barenboim, Bacchetti, Schiff, Vladar, and
MacGregor, especially come to mind. Recorded in the
Small Hall of the Moscow Conservatory, the recording
engineers have achieved a near ideal piano sound that is
quieter and less reverberant than Schiff’s Decca recording,
more focused than Hewitt or Dinnerstein, and without any
disruptive mechanical noises that detract from Bacchetti’s
performance. The piano sound itself is not as gorgeous as
Gavrilov’s, but the important thing is that we have clarity of textures without the harsh overtones
that come from hammers that have been voiced for too much brilliance.
With half the battle already won Lifschitz then delivers the decisive blow. Well, there is a bit of a
false start with the aria which begins much too delicately and tentatively, as if cradling, and not
wanting to wake, a sleeping baby. There is a sense of “preciousness” about the aria which doesn’t
seem natural to me, not to mention the irksome detaché in measures 4 and 26 when the Urtext
clearly indicates a legato phrase. But after that, the rest of the performance is simply stunning.
Please do give this a serious listen, with your full attention, because with just a casual listen much of
the brilliant passagework can come off sounding merely technical. With a closer listen, one can hear
the amazing layers of voicing that Lifschitz obtains from each hand. And as for the deeper pathos of
the work, listen to Variations 15 or 25. In Variation 15 he draws forth a poignant expression of intense
prayer-like supplication. Only Barenboim is more convincing of the innate, agonizing Passionsmusik,
and Gould also conveys a touching sense of world-weary pathos. None of the other piano versions
come close to these three. As for Variation 25, Lifschitz may not quite serve up the bleakly depressed
abyss of Gould or the soulful espiranto of Barenboim, but he is suitably contemplative, with a mood
of world-weary resignation.
I would also cite Variations 13, 19, and 23 as being exceptional, and possibly reference standard
renderings in this survey. Variation 7 is also very nicely done: where others make it into a frantic
gigue, Lifschitz makes it into a more elegantly and graceful sarabande. You can almost picture the
powdered wigs , frilly dresses and courtly grace! Var. 8 demonstrates excellent metric contour, with
the three note pickups in sixteenth notes at the start of each phrase receiving a delightful little kick
start. Variation 11 sees more subtle, yet masterly, use of dynamic gradation so that the perpetual
motion doesn’t fatigue the ear. Variation 12 is another example of how Lifschitz keeps bustling
activity from fatiguing the listener with over emphatic playing. He masterfully employs three distinct
tiers of touch and dynamics, weaving back and forth in a natural flowing discourse. At a certain
point listeners kind of go in defensive mode when the stimulation and vitality veer into aural assault.
Lifschitz understands this and always maintains a judicious balance.
I could go on and on, but suffice it to say, delightful felicities abound at every turn in this
performance. Even in places where I prefer Schiff, or Hewitt, or somebody else, Lifschitz is always
among the top contenders.
This performance is in many ways similar to Schiff’s, so I recommend this recording especially if you
are bothered by the noise and reverberation of Schiff’s Decca recording. This is virtuosity put to
good use, and a perfect example of playing with micro-dynamic inflection. Incidentally, noted critic
and music writer, Bryce Morrison, was also very enthusiastic about this recording, making it his
Editor’s Choice, in the British Grammophone magazine - so I’m in good company in finding special
merit with this performance.
Recommended Harpsichord Recordings
With Listener Preference Profiles
None of these is without some artistic merit or interest, but how many Goldbergs does one really need? I recommend
at least one piano version and one harpsichord version, my favorites being front and center: Schiff and Leonhardt but the choice will have to be yours.
Ton Koopman.
Erato 75472 (1987). Koopman may look like PDQ Bach’s
lost brother, but the insightful and creative mind of this
artist is no joke. Having completely immersed his talents
into the world of Baroque practice, Koopman’s
realizations, whether on harpsichord, organ, or as
conductor, are always of the highest technical skill and
historical accuracy. This 1987 recording is relatively early
Koopman, and it finds him in a rather buoyant and
ebullient mood. There are a few instances where his
enthusiasm for lavish ornamentation makes the underlying
line unrecognizable, perhaps most indulgent being the
Overture (Variation 16) which is too frilly with its florid
embellishments to convey the proper pomp and stateliness
that seems a desirable change of pace at this crucial mid-way point. Nevertheless, this remains an
indispensable recording for anyone desiring a top harpsichord performance. Koopman scores on all
accounts: technical aplomb, creativity guided by historical accuracy, and a true sense of
transcendent spirit. The only quibble that I have is that the Willem Kroesbergen instrument is rather
lightweight in tone and internal resonance, and doesn’t have a great range of color. In that regard I
much prefer the sound of Leonhardt’s harpsichord (a Dulcken copy by Martin Skowroneck), or even
the monster 10-foot instrument that Newman uses. But considering the inherent limitations,
Koopman conveys an astounding range of moods and textural differentiation. Although Koopman
studied with Leonhardt and picked up many of the performance characteristics of his teacher
(staggered attacks, and delayed melodic entry to suggest a natural breathing line) the temperaments
of the two great musicians are vastly different. Those who find Leonhardt too austere will surely
enjoy the joyful sense of discovery that Koopman imparts to the Goldbergs.
Gustav Leonhardt.
Teldec Das Alte Werk 69853 (1964). Although I derive
great enjoyment from the other recommended versions
listed here, I consider this recording as my reference
version for harpsichord. But, as with the Barenboim
version for piano, this is a serious viewpoint of the
Goldbergs that doesn’t serve well for casual listening
(while one is occupied with some other activity). This
performance really requires an immersive listening
environment where one gives focused attention to the
music. Given such allowance Leonhardt gives us a
Goldberg experience that takes us to a level beyond what
the other versions deliver.
Just as important, though difficult to quantify and
explain, is that I really feel this is the closest to how Bach would have played the Goldbergs himself.
From everything I’ve read about Bach, and even considering the insightful glimpse into Bach’s
everyday life as described in Will and Ariel Durant’s The Age of Voltaire, I believe that music was a
source of solace for Bach, a necessary spiritual balm that eased the difficulties of his financial and
career difficulties. Sure, as Schiff points out, Bach would gather the family together on Saturday
nights for a few brews and some good-natured fun, so he was hardly the ascetic task master who was
serious all the time. And in certain situations he doubtless used his virtuosic technique to impress
and wow the listeners. But day-to-day, sitting in his work study with his harpsichord, I believe he
cherished these moments of alone time to nurture his soul and fortify himself with supplication and
humility for the creative gifts he enjoyed. It is this “core belief” of Bach, this sense of duty to God,
which I find missing in the other performances. The hyper exuberance of Newman, or the frilly
Fabergé Egg of Koopman, or the numerous generic renderings which see the Goldbergs in terms of
their mere utility for dexterous display – I find all these notions at odds with Bach’s character and
core beliefs.
Leonhardt made three recordings of the Goldbergs, and all are of interest to the student or collector,
but the earliest recording from the mid-fifties has a very thin and nasaly sounding instrument with
quite dated recording technology, and Leonhardt hadn’t yet found that perfect sense of timing that
allows phrases to breathe naturally. The last recording for Deutsche Harmonia Mundi in 1978, has
some moments of added maturity and insight that are commendable, but there are also a few
moments that lack energy, and a few of the old ideas which have now become somewhat mannered.
The middle version, from 1964, seems conceptually well-proportioned, and the sound of the
instrument and recording is very good. Leonhardt finds the perfect balance of tempos such as there
are no really jarring juxtapositions. The faster movements are not nearly as brisk as some of the
more recent versions, but they make more sense musically. If one were to imaging transcribing (as
Bach often did) some of these faster movements, extreme speeds just do not work. More
importantly, Leonhardt plumbs the depths of musical expression in the minor key variations: his
version of Variation 15 stands alone in conveying the “staggering cross” motive that Bach used in his
sacred choral works (B-minor Mass and Passions). Above all I get a sense of humility and at times a
sense of longing (think of the chorale Nun komm der süsser Tod) that is just not in evidence in any
other (harpsichord) version I’ve heard. Some listeners are sure to disagree, but to me this is the true
sound of Bach.
Anthony Newman.
Newport Classics (1987). This performance is no longer
available on Newport Classics but can now be found on
Sony’s super-budget label Infinity 62582. At such a bargain
price there is no excuse not to get this CD. There is also an
earlier performance recorded for Columbia back in 1969
which remains un-issued on CD (as far as I know). Both
performances are fascinating for study purposes and
display incredible imagination and insight, but the first
version is really too brash and high-strung to convey the
transcendence of the music. I prefer the later recording for
its added musical maturity, and more reasonable execution
of tempi. Both versions make use of the added sonority of a 16-foot stop, and added brilliance of a 4foot stop, both make use of dotted French rhythms on repeats, and both employ a full arsenal of
ornamentation. Leaving aside all the intriguing details of embellishments, virtuosity and colorful
sonorities, the musical progression carries one along with the utmost anticipation and engagement.
This performance provides the perfect counterpoint for the more serious Leonhardt, and if one were
to settle on just two versions for harpsichord, I would suggest these two.
Takae Ohnishi.
Bridge (2011). Previous to undertaking this massive survey
Ohnishi was unknown to me, but what a delightful discovery
he has been!
In many ways, this will be the safest
recommendation of all, for I know a few listeners will find
Leonhardt a bit austere, Koopman a bit “frilly”, and Newman a
bit too “caffeinated.” Ohnishi has none of these caveats, and
most of the positive attributes of these other top performers.
Additionally, the sound of the recording is one of the finest
I’ve heard to capture the intimate nuances of the harpsichord’s
color and resonance but without also capturing the unpleasant
and disruptive noises of the mechanical functions when the
microphones are placed improperly. The sound is full and sonorous without being ear fatiguing in
the least. This is the version I would recommend to listeners who are not typically taken with the
“jangly” sound of the harpsichord. The instrument itself seems to have a quiet and responsive
mechanism. To summarize the performance I would say the conception is more congenial and
amiable than dramatic or concertante, tempos are almost always spot-on, and embellishments are
sensible and organic to the flow of the line. The only nit-picks I could find would be that to my taste,
Variation 15 lacks the kind of Passionsmusik gravitas that I prefer in Leonhardt’s rendering, and in
Variations 3 and 27 he uses the heavier stop for the left hand where I would prefer to hear the lighter
registration. Other than that my notes are full of positive comments and exclamation points for
excellence in nearly every variation. In my opinion both performer and recording engineer deserve
awards for this outstanding effort.
Versions of Interest for Study Purposes
Andrea Bacchetti.
Dynamic 659 (2010). Bacchetti seems to have made a specialty
of performing and recording Bach, and has developed a good
base of fans who support his particular style of playing. At the
very least we can say that he is assuredly not just another
“cookie-cutter” pianist in desperate need of a specialty niche
by which to find distinction. He does have a very specific
vision of Bach, one that is neither as overtly concertante as
Schiff, nor as inward and full of gravitas as Barenboim. His is
a very personal style of communion that is comfortable in
small settings and the recording studio. In that regard one
may consider him a sort of post-Gouldian voice for the
Goldbergs. My notes are full of comments about unusual
ideas, some of which are so awkward to execute they must have surely been worked through by sheer
determination of seeing a very specific and unique result. One example would be in Variation 1
where in measures 9-12 he holds the downbeat of each measure with the fifth finger of the left hand
while the thumb then hops around the stretch of a tenth with non-legato articulation.
Oftentimes Bacchetti’s fascination with embellishment seems to override common sense when it
comes to the natural flow of the music. Variation 7 is such an example, where others have found a
graceful lilt that works as a perfect textural contrast to the surrounding variations, Bacchetti heaps
on so many layers of mordents that all the charm is dissipated to ornamental hyper activity. And of
course, there are many instances where tempi seem much too brisk and insensitive to the innate
character of the work. None more egregious than the very opening aria, which is dispatched in just
3:19 (as opposed to 3:50 for Schiff or 4:12 for Hewitt).
Besides the busy-ness of non-stop ornamentation and some instances of excessive speed, the other
consideration which comes into play is the bothersome thumping sounds in the recording. I don’t
really hear any spot pedaling so perhaps it is just Bacchetti thumping his feet on the stage, but
suspended microphones would have ameliorated the problem at the source rather than being
amplified through the microphone stand. This is clearly a fault of the recording engineer. The other
(less serious) issue is the inconsistency of the voicing in the piano. There is a half octave range in the
mid-bass (from the first G on the bass clef up a fifth to the D) that has an irritating harmonic halo
that at certain dynamic levels creates a buzzing sound (I hear this on all my systems and also on
headphones, so it’s not a room resonance on my end).
In summary: a fascinating study version for students who may find some interesting ideas about
ornamentation.
Pi-hsien Chen.
Philharmonie 06006 (2001). Soundwise this recording fares
much better than the Bacchetti. Professionally recorded at the
Teldec Studios in Berlin the acoustics and placement of the
microphones are just right. The piano, too, has a nice purity
and balance. Chen’s use of ornamentation is much more
organic to the character of each variation than was the case
with Bacchetti. Unfortunately, there is also a sameness and
homogeneity of sound that stays within a very polite middle
ground. And as mentioned in the discussion on interpretive
decisions, she favors the use of the upper-auxiliary mordent
(something I didn’t hear in any of the other 120+ version
surveyed) which would give us something relatively unique to enjoy of it weren’t for the fact she
overuses this figuration too often. Incidentally, her earlier recording for Naxos is very sparsely
ornamented and comes off very dull and “flat footed.” The new recording in fact sounds nothing like
the same pianist. What a transformation. Don’t expect gravitas here, but this is enjoyable in a
graceful and amiable kind of way.
Rosalyn Tureck.
Philips Great Pianists (1957). Tureck’s fans are going to hate
me for not placing the High Priestess of Bach at the top of the
list, so for the rest of us I might as well be as forthright as my
conscience dictates. There can be no question that what is
evident in this earliest recording is true art. It may not be
what I (or any historically informed listener) consider to be
authentic Baroque practice, but it is mesmerizing in its
concentration and sense of rapt communion. You’ll know
right away whether you are fan or not: the opening aria
sounds like a meditative chorale and clocks in at an
astoundingly slow 6:08! Many of the ideas presented here
become increasingly mannered to the point of absurdity in
her later recording. The 1995 St. Petersburg recording has got to be one of the ten worst recordings
of anything I’ve ever heard, and the studio version for DG in 1998, while much better sounding, is
musically just as bone-headed. My belief is that having lived a rather insular life, lost in her own
reveries, she lost touch with reality. Much the same can be said about Cherkassky, although his
personality was such that his wit and impish humor often produced pleasant results. With Tureck,
the mood is dour and the religious rite is beyond dogmatic to the point of self-flagellation. But wait,
that may actually be what her fans like! I know a fellow music lover who is deeply immersed into
religious ritual, the chanting and incense and fasting and all that. I would make fun of such antics
except that he is deeply serious about it all. Who am I to decry the beliefs and experiences of others?
In the final assessment this particular recording should be heard at least once by all who love the
Goldbergs. You may hate it, or you may find the light of Damascus shining down upon your head.
Segments of the recording are often posted on YouTube along with rather heated debates between
fans and detractors. Incidentally, l personally enjoy her harpsichord version of 1989 much more; it
has many of her best ideas (incl. the characteristic finger legato phrasing) but without the
pontificating attitude.
Forays to the Fringe
Unorthodox Interpretations
These two are for the intrepid explorer who simply must experience the fullest range of possibilities with the
Goldbergs. They are both so far removed from mainstream performance practice as to require a category of their
own. One I honestly enjoyed, the other I find absurd, but maybe you’ll have the opposite reaction!
Joanna MacGregor.
Warner Classics (2007).
The first thing that requires a
significant adjustment of expectations is the sound quality of
this recording. Recorded in the Mozarteum in Salzburg with
the microphones really too far away from the piano, the result is
a sound that is awash in ambience, to the point of making it
difficult to sometimes tell what is going on (I recommend
headphone listening in order to get the most direct, least
diffuse,
least-room
influenced
presentation
of
this
performance). I’ve attended piano recitals in this hall and know
that it really emphasizes the ripe mid-bass richness of a
Steinway, an innate characteristic that works fine for Romantic
period music, or orchestral transcriptions, such as when I heard
Katsaris perform a Beethoven-Liszt Symphony. The better
choice of piano, in this hall, for any kind of Baroque or Classical music, would have been either the
new Bösendorfer 280 or the new Bechstein 282 (well, the Bechstein wasn’t available yet in 2007, but
the Bosey was). I guess my first question is why even record this work in this hall, when there are
smaller, more tonally neutral venues all around London to choose from. This recording ties with
Schiff’s Decca recording as having the most reverberation, but the Decca engineers manage far better
clarity, and they don’t have the mid-bass exaggeration to contend with. Actually, I’m kind of irritated
that no other reviewer has talked about this, because it plays a considerable role in the level of
enjoyment one derives from this recording (my wife finds the sound unlistenable).
Well, even considering my misgivings about the sound, I’m still very happy I purchased this CD. I
very rarely purchase without at least a small sound sample to evaluate, even if it be a low quality
YouTube posting. But alas, I could find no samples anywhere for this recording, so I purchased it
solely on some reviewer’s rave. One thing I’ll admit to right off, this was the most fun CD of the
entire survey. It’s not often I’ll say such a thing, but really, MacGregor often plays like a jazz pianist
on a Red Bull rush, all the while my toes a tappin’ and a smile on my face! Some of the
characterizations are simply delightful, such as the rhythmic thrust of Var. 4, or in Var. 8 with the
sense of going down a playground slide for the first time, or the toe-tapping jamboree of Variation 10,
and then the exaggerated slurring effect of Var. 18 which actually made me laugh out loud. Those are
not the kind of reactions that the Goldbergs typically engender.
So, that is the nature of my enjoyment of this performance, not for any deep musicological insights.
However, I would be remiss to not point out a few of the more unorthodox ideas that will surely
make the scholars blow a gasket: The repeat of Var. 6 which is rendered murmurando and with a
good amount of pedal, or the final statement of the aria quietly emerging out of the loud sonority of
the quodlibet’s final chord, barely discernible at first, with a haze of pedal as if now in dreamy
slumber. But for the all-time craziest idea just listen to Var. 22. Actually, there is something of a
trend for performers to play Var. 22 very slowly, pedaled, and with subdued dynamics, and I’m not
sure who started the idea, but MacGregor takes the idea to another dimension. According to her
liner notes she sees this as an homage to Thomas Tallis, and plays it like a motet as heard in a large
stone cathedral. Of course this idea is completely indefensible as the time signature is Alle breve
(half time) which means it should really be played rather quickly. While MacGregor clocks in at a
glacial 2:56, others are about half that amount. But it’s not just the tempo, it’s the fact that she uses a
continual haze of pedal to evoke the reverberant acoustics of a cathedral, and the dynamic level is
rendered as a hushed and other-worldly pianissimo. In fact, she considers this variations as
something of a “gateway to another world.” Now, as a piece of music, played in such a manner, I
actually think it does successfully convey exactly what she is seeking to portray. But, in terms of
anything Bach actually conceived, it’s a decidedly eccentric twist of musical manipulation.
Even so, sound issues aside—and the few unorthodox twist—this is such a unique and engaging
rendering that I foresee playing it often for the sheer, unmitigated enjoyment it brings. Please make
an effort to hear this unique performance!
Anthony Newman.
903 Records (2012). Newman has always been one to push
the envelope. His earliest recordings from the 60’s and 70’s
demonstrate in equal measure astounding technical fluency
and creative insight with brash and high-strung antics. His
harpsichord version of the Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue is
so ferociously fast that it sounds like a horror film parody of
terrorizing diminished chords (perhaps demented chords
would be more apt). In any case, this recording takes things
to a new level of absurdity. As such, it must surely be the
ultimate party record to amuse your musician friends. I
originally had a review written up on Carlos Martins to fill
this spot, when at the last minute I discovered this MP3
download. Newman’s rendering far, far eclipses anything
Martins ever dreamed of. It’s almost as if somebody dared the famous Baroque specialist, professor,
and virtuoso harpsichordist to play on the piano, and on a lark Newman decides to parody the worst
of the editorialized concert versions of Ferruccio Busoni and August Stradl. It’s hard to believe this
could be anything but a joke—and with the MP3 download I don’t have the liner notes that come
with the physical CD—but the cover art says “Greatest Keyboard Works of the Baroque” and there
are no disclaimers given on the website for 903 Records.
So what makes this such a, ah-hem, memorable performance? Imagine the aria as sung by a lyric
soprano, and with subtle string and woodwind support. In the background, but trying very much to
steal the show, is Newman playing continuo - on a piano. This is what we hear, as a parody of
Kempff’s continuo attempts, where the written score gives way to improvisatory rolled chords,
diatonic filler passages, walking bass lines and some added harmonies (sixths and thirds) just for
good measure. And that’s just the simple aria. Variation 1 sees some passages rendered with clarity,
and the identical passage later blurred with pedal just to prove to pianists what a no-no use of the
pedal is for playing Bach. Elsewhere he plays lines up or down an octave--thoroughly defensible
stylistically—but with no attempt to balance the different registers of the piano. Remember, on a
harpsichord, or organ, the lowest, middle, and highest registers of the keyboard are all very carefully
balanced from the builder’s design. On the piano, the different registers are not innately balanced (a
Steinway, for example, has an elevated or “augmented” mid-bass scale design, a Fazioli has a more
ringing upper duplex, a Bösendorfer has longer sustain in the bass than in the treble, etc.). Still more
irritating are passages that are bumpy and fumble-fingered, perhaps as a parody of the numerous
postings by young students on YouTube. Variation 8 is played two octaves higher, right up to the
tinkly-winkly hi B (one note from the highest on the piano). Variation 9 uses the soft pedal which has
been rigged to give a sort of faux-lute sound. Variation 25 is a parody of Carlos Martins Carnegie Hall
program where he played Bach interspersed with Arturo Lima playing Chopin. But Newman rolls the
experience all into one, and sounds like Chopin sight reading Bach with great emotion and expressive
rubato. Variation employs full-on Busoni chords for a massive sonority. It’s hard to decide which of
these is the funniest or most egregious.
To me this all sounds like he was just fooling around at a party while somebody had a microphone
on. After the initial shock and WTF reaction, I was left dazed and in a surrealistic stupor for some
time. So I guess the joke’s on me to have listened seriously enough to take notes and write a review.
Shame on me.
Alternative Versions of Interest
In all honesty, none of the alternative versions I’ve heard are really worth one’s time when compared to
rewards of listening to one of the fine piano or harpsichord performances recommended. In theory, a
Positif organ of modest disposition (between 2 and 4 stops) would provide the kind of immediacy and
textural clarity required, along with the advantages of the sustaining tones, but thus far all the organ
versions I’ve heard are vastly overblown in conception. I just don’t hear the Goldbergs in the same way I
would want to hear the Toccata and Fugue in D-minor, or Jean Guillou’s transcription of Mussorgsky’s
Pictures at an Exhibition: with screaming plenum, Gabriel’s apocalyptic trompettes from on high, and
foundation shaking 32-foot pedal notes.
The organists in general proved the most frustratingly disappointing, and I love listening to Bach on the
organ. But I heard so many strange ideas and combinations of sound, like the aria played with a
tremulant, or a combination of a growling 16-foot bassoon with a smooth, hollowed-toned Gemshorn
stop. I think what’s at play is that the organists feel that if they are going to play on the organ, they
want to make full use of the organ’s potential. But that would be like all the pianists as group deciding
that using the Busoni edition and liberal use of pedal is just fine, because that’s all part of the piano’s
unique potential. Forget the big cathedral organs! They don’t fit the character of this work. Somebody
sensible please make a recording on a Positiv organ in a more intimate acoustic. A Positiv organ is a
small, portable two-manual chamber organ without pedals that is the size of a large piece of furniture
that can be moved to various concert locations as needed. Anthony Newman used a nice one for some
selections on his recording of the Well-Tempered Clavier. Among fixed organs with pedals, the old
Flentrop at Harvard would sound much better than what we’ve heard so far.
As for ensemble versions, I hear an ideal version in my head which has yet to be realized. First off, I
hear the work primarily with woodwind tones rather than weepy, vibrato-laden violins, though many of
the variations would clearly benefit from the plucked pizzicato notes of a cello to imitate the lute stop
on the harpsichord. Thus my ideal group would consist of a wooden flute, an oboe d’amore (or possibly
an English horn), and a viola da gamba (or possibly a cello using a period bow) – all played with
appropriate tuning and Baroque practice. The one woodwind version I heard did not convince me, and
as for the numerous string versions available, some of them are simply too “romantical” in inflection for
my taste, and even in the best circumstances I, frankly, grow tired of hearing just the string family for
the entire duration.
Some of the other alternative versions – accordion, keyboard lute, marimba, brass ensemble – are best
described as oddities (erstwhile as they may be) that certainly do not convey to me the transcendent
spirit of the Goldbergs. The only alternative version I occasionally play (for long road trips) is the string
version below.
Sitkovetsky String Trio (Sitkovetsky, violin; Caussé, viola; Maisky, cello). Orfeo (1985).
The one thing that this performance has that other more recent recordings seem to lack is
respectfulness and self-restraint. This was the first ground-breaking venture and there is still a sense
of wonderment and humility about it, without overt virtuosic abandon or cute salon tricks.
Occasionally one will hear Maisky dig in a little too enthusiastically, but he has yet to develop the
over-the-top scenery-chewing style he later gives into. The overall balance and clarity of lines is very
good. Sitkovetsky’s later version, enlarged for chamber orchestra lacks the incisive cohesion of the
more intimate trio setting. I would suggest searching around on YouTube to get a feel for some of
the versions available, but this earlier version isn’t often found on YouTube, so if you are keen on
having an alternative version you’ll have to take my recommendation for this version as the most
successful alternative realization I’ve yet heard.
Sundry Observations
After listening to all these interpretations and finding so many unique and compelling
perspectives I was taken again by how really impossible it would be to live with just one
recording of a masterpiece such as this. Yet I know first-hand that many enthusiasts,
students and even professional musicians will have just one Goldberg in their library, one
version of the Liszt Sonata and so on, and it is therefore important that they have a
recording that is at least representative of the music. Just because somebody makes a
recording doesn’t mean the performance is really that noteworthy. There are cases where a
recording company will ask an artist to do this or that simply because they don’t have that
work in their catalog. Probably the worst instance of this I ever encountered was the old
Vox box set of Schubert Sonatas with Walter Klein. Those were so dull and dreadful I
didn’t dare explore Schubert again until some years later after I heard Alfred Brendel in
concert. Now I love Schubert. But what a turnoff those performances were. So, I say
again, it is important to get it right, and to have qualified critics who can cull the good
from the bad.
When I taught piano I remember some parents would buy their budding music student
bargain basement collections such as the 10-CD box set of greatest classical masterpieces
played by unknown musicians in unremarkable performances with mediocre recording
quality. And I hate to say, because Naxos provides a valuable option in many instances,
but in mainstream repertoire many of their releases are quite borderline when one can now
find budget releases of major artists on EMI, Virgin, Decca and others. I’d rather those
parents had bought just three or four really exciting CDs to inspire and bring the music
alive to the impressionable youngsters.
Nowadays with the internet and YouTube, interested parties can cruise around and find
out a lot for free, so, on the surface it would seem that reviews and surveys such as this are
a pointless anachronism. Why read about it when you can just cruise around and hear for
yourself?
As I’ve been conducting this survey I’ve checked in on YouTube and ClassicalArchives.com
to see what was being offered and at least in the last two-month period there have been no
postings of the Goldbergs played by Angela Hewitt, Joanna MacGregor, Pi-Hsien Chen, or
Konstantin Lifschitz, all distinctive renderings which were considered when I drew up my
list of final recommendations. There were also only partial postings (not complete
performances) of versions by Perahia and Tureck. So, if for no other reason, I consider that
the recommendations I put forth in these surveys will serve to alert interested parties
about potential performances which they may have overlooked. I know for a fact that if I
hadn’t been conducting an extensive comparative survey I would have never purchased the
MacGregor recording, which has brought me tremendous delight.
The recordings by Chen were also new to me, and while the earlier recording for Naxos is
about as dull and generic as they come, the newer recording on the Philharmonie has
many interesting felicities. She was winner of the 2010 International Bach Competition and
has a very gentle and congenial approach to the Goldbergs - something of a counterbalance
to Tureck’s Holy Ritual. In the final assessment I didn’t include it among my top
recommendations because her manner of ornamentation hits upon two of my pet peeves:
never playing simple mordents but always making them turn figurations, and rarely
playing through-ornaments (they almost always stop before the pick-ups, and I find this
halting quality very disruptive). But for the compulsive Goldberg collector, it might be
worth a listen.
Now for a moment of grumbling about false marketing hype. Three in particular irked me,
because my own reaction was far from the promised nirvana of the marketing hype. The
first was Richard Egarr’s rambling 98:54 transversal which requires two CDs to
accommodate his indulgences (Harmonia Mundi, 2006). The reviewer extolled its many
unique virtues and summarized by saying that it was “Indescribably ethereal.” First off, I
had to quickly reset my volume to one-third of my normal listening level because the
special sea-gull quills used had come back to life and were squawking with a vengeance.
Even with the volume set at a listenable level, the resonant instrument set in an overly
resonant bathroom acoustic was both clangorous and hollow-toned at the same time. As
for the performance, the timings really do tell you all you need to know: tempi are s l o w,
rests and pauses are indulgent, and the overall disposition is decidedly lacking in energy.
Okay, now that I’ve got my rant out of the way, the next two thankfully, didn’t illicit such
an extreme reaction.
Ramin Bahrami on Decca (2005) was touted as being unique and even audacious. My own
take was that there were a few mildly unique ideas mixed in between some serious
pianistic shortcomings (brisk passages were sometimes a jumbled mess), and the awkward
transitions don’t allow the listener to settle in and enjoy the music. It was more a
collection of unconnected tableauxs. As for being unique or audacious, you’ll want to listen
to MacGregor for that.
Dong Hyek Lim’s Bach (EMI, 2008) has been described as “unabashedly romantic” and his
playing of the Bach-Busoni Chaconne which “rivals Michelangeli’s sublime performance.” I
really hope that I don’t fall victim to making such extreme and unfounded proclamations.
First off, I’m bothered when people use the term “romantic” to describe unusual or
eccentric characteristics. None of the great Golden Age pianists would have played Bach
like this. I suppose Variation 7 does sort of hint at romantic expressivity, but by and large
this sounds very much of the post-Gouldian moan and groan school of eccentricity, with
cute detaché phrasing, spastic surges, and sudden diminuendos that act as “false lulls.”
That’s not romantic. For romantic, try Martins (the earlier version). As for the comparison
with Michelangeli, I’m sure that attracted a lot of attention and made a lot of people take a
listen, but sadly, this has neither the technical command nor the magisterial bearing of
Michelangeli.
A final brief note about Eunice Norton. She must hold the record for the most times to
have recorded the Goldbergs: five times in all, spanning from 1942 to 1985. Now, I
wouldn’t exactly recommend everybody race to YouTube and check out these different
performances. It was a significant investment of my time to sit through all five
performances when, in fact, they are not really of the level of merit to be considered with
my top recommendations. But they are there on YouTube and free for anybody who has
the inclination. I found them interesting to document the changing style of playing over
the years, and how an older and less responsive technique finds ways to compensate for
decreased fluency. But beyond that, the whole playing style seems to almost suggest three
different pianists, such that if heard blind I would not have immediately recognized the
connection. Musically, the tempi, phrasing and dynamic levels are very consistent in
conception from the earliest to the final recording. What changes is the actual tonal
mechanism of the pianist (and I don’t mean the changing sound of recording quality
through the years). This is what I mean:
The 1942 version is my favorite of the bunch. Though she was already an established
concert artist, there were still vestiges of influence from her studies with Schnabel in the
early 30’s. I hear a firm keybed technique, lots of finger legato, and balance of voices. Then
of course, she is also younger and has more energy than is evidenced in the later
recordings. If Zenph Studios technology ever becomes a more feasible option (now it
requires a lot of financial investment in man-hours and expensive proprietary technology)
I’d love to hear a re-performance of these Goldbergs. As it stands, the recording quality is
quite dismal, with a lot of distracting noise.
The 1954 version sounds like an entirely different pianist. It sounds as though she was
experimenting with a higher wrist position and less arm weight in her playing technique,
the result being that lines are more fluid and graceful—almost feline in some instances—
and the voicing is balanced much more to the right-hand melodic line; a far cry from the
firm keybed bottom technique of her Schnabel training. Though the tonal quality is
perhaps more elegant, I hear more focus on surface details (and some fine lyricism) and
less on structural connectivity.
The 1957 version sounds like yet another pianist, and how utterly different from the
previous version in just a span of three years. Here she sounds as though she had a flash
back to the Tobias Matthay school of tonal production: firm, but relaxed, and not to pivot
point (not the keybed bottom). This is my second favorite of the five versions. I still prefer
the ’42 for its vigor and concentration. This version does have a few momentary lapses of
continuity.
The 1978 version is my least favorite. Besides the terribly tuned piano, her technique,
similar to the ’57 version but now with a more vertical conception of the counterpoint only
emphasizes the incessant chicka-chicka-chicka of extended sixteenth note passages.
The 1985 version again sees a return to the influence of Schnabel, with its keybed playing
and firm finger legato. Unfortunately, at a technical level, this kind of playing requires
more energy because it is not entirely natural or intuitive for the pianist, and by now she is
quite elderly. Nevertheless, the balances are good, the overall arch of the work is cohesive,
and most importantly, the more lyric episodes convey a wonderful spirit.
It’s is indeed sad that all of the later recordings were of amateur home-spun quality, with a
cheap microphone, a decidedly poor piano, and cramped living room acoustics. Rosalyn
Tureck also once made a recording out of her living room, and that sounds dreadful as
well. Are there no recordings of Eunice Norton in University archives taken from
performances in a concert acoustic on a decent piano? I know now that I’ll be looking
around for recordings from the 30’s and 40’s to further investigate this pianist.
Goldberg Variations: Discography
Artist
Date
Label
Source
PIANO VERSIONS
1
Aldwell
Edward
1994
Biddulph
CD
2
Angelich
Nicholas
2010
Virgin
CD
3
Arrau
Claudio
1942
RCA
CD
4
Bacchetti
Andreas
5
Bahrami
Ramin
2005
Decca
CD
6
Barenboim
Daniel
1989
Erato
CD
7
Barenboim
Daniel
1992
YouTube
8
Bartos
Samuel
1990
Mezzo
Connoisseur
Society
9
Becker
Markus
2002
cpo
MP3
10
Chen
Pi-hsien
2001
Naxos
CD
11
Chen
Pi-hsien
2001
Pilharmonie
CD
12
Dershavina
Ekaterina
1996
Arte Nova
CD
2005
Telarc
CD
CD
CD
13
Dinnerstein
Simone
14
Feltsman
Vladimir
1991
MusicMasters
CD
15
Gabuniya
Nodar
1998
HD Classics
MP3
16
Gavrilov
Andrei
1993
Deutsche Gramophon
CD
17
Gould
Glenn
1955
Sony
CD
18
Gould
Glenn
1959
Sony
CD
19
Gould
Glenn
1964
CBC
YouTube
20
Gould
Glenn
1981
Sony
CD
21
Gould
Glenn
55/06
Sony-Zenph
SACD
22
Gurning
Alexander
2011
Avanti
MP3
23
Hewitt
Angela
Hyperion
CD
24
Issakadze
Irma
2008
Oehms
SACD
25
Jalberg
David
2011
Atma
CD
26
Johannesen
Grant
70's
Golden Crest
LP
27
Kempf
Freddy
BBC
CD
28
Kempff
Wilhelm
DG
CD
29
Korevaar
David
Ivory Classics
MP3
30
Koroliov
Evgeni
Piano Classics
CD
31
Lifschitz
Konstantin
1994
Denon
CD
32
Lim
Dong Hyek
2008
EMI
CD
33
MacGregor
Joanna
2007
Warner Classics
CD
34
Martins
Joao Carlos
Connoisseur Society
LP
2006
35
Martins
Joao Carlos
1981
Arabesque
LP
36
Newman
Anthony
2012
903 Records
MP3
37
Nikolayeva
Tatiana
1992
Hyperion
CD
38
Noble
Colin
2011
Centaur
MP3
39
Norton
Eunice
1942
Norton Archives
YouTube
40
Norton
Eunice
1954
Norton Archives
YouTube
41
Norton
Eunice
1957
Norton Archives
YouTube
42
Norton
Eunice
1978
Norton Archives
YouTube
43
Norton
Eunice
1985
Norton Archives
YouTube
44
Ohlsson
Garrick
1999
Bridge
MP3
45
Paley
Alexander
2005
Bluthner
CD
46
Perahia
Murray
2000
Sony
CD
47
Pescia
Cédric
2005
Claves
CD
48
Pienaar
Daniel-Ben
2010
Avie
CD
49
Rangell
Andrew
1993
Dorian
CD
50
Rosen
Charles
1967
Sony
CD
51
Schepkin
Sergey
1995
Ongaku
CD
52
Schiff
Andras
1982
Decca
CD
53
Schiff
Andras
2001
ECM
CD
54
Schirmer
Ragna
Berlin Classics
CD
55
Schliessmann
Burkard
Bayer
SACD
56
Serkin
Peter
Pro-Arte
CD
57
Serkin
Peter
1994
RCA
CD
58
Sohn
Minsoo
2010
Honens
MP3
59
Sokolov
Grigori
1982
Melodiya
YouTube
60
Steuerman
Jean Louis
2002
Actes Sud
CD
61
Sutherland
Robin
1996
d'Note
CD
62
Tipo
Maria
1986
EMI
CD
63
Tureck
Rosalyn
1957
Philips
CD
64
Tureck
Rosalyn
1981
VAI
CD
65
Tureck
Rosalyn
1995
YouTube
66
Tureck
Rosalyn
1998
VAI
Deutsche
Gramophon
67
Vladar
Stefan
1996
Preiser
CD
68
Weissenberg
Alexis
1981
EMI
CD
2006
CD
HARPSICHORD VERSIONS
1
Bonizzoni
Fabio
2005
Glossa
CD
2
Cole
Maggie
1991
Virgin
CD
3
Crawford
Lisa Goode
2008
4
Devine
Steven
5
Egarr
Richard
2006
Centaur
MP3
Chandos
CD
Harmonia Mundi
CD
6
Galling
Martin
7
Gilbert
Kenneth
8
Halls
Matthew
9
Hantaï
Pierre
10
Hasselmeier
Christiane
11
Haugsand
12
Vox
LP
1986
Harmonia Mundi
CD
2009
Linn
CD
Opus 111
CD
1999
Discover
CD
Ketil
2002
Simax
CD
Hayden
Seymour
1976
Boston Skyline
CD
13
Hill
Robert
1993
Music & Arts
MP3
14
Jaccottet
Christiane
1996
Point Classics
CD
15
Jarrett
Keith
1989
ECM
CD
16
Kipnis
Igor
Angel
LP
17
Kirkpatrick
Ralph
Deutsche Gramophon
LP
18
Koopman
Ton
1989
Erato
CD
19
Landowska
Wanda
1933
20
Landowska
Wanda
1945
RCA
CD
21
Leonhardt
Gustav
1953
Vanguard
LP
22
Leonhardt
Gustav
1965
Telefunken/Warner
LP, CD
23
Leonhardt
Gustav
1978
Deutsche Harmonia
CD
24
Metz
John
1999
Soundset
CD
25
Newman
Anthony
Columbia
LP
26
Newman
Anthony
1987
Newport Classics
CD
27
Ohnishi
Takae
2011
Bridge
CD
28
Payne
Joseph
1990
BIS
CD
29
Pinnock
Trevor
Archiv
CD
30
Ross
Scott
Erato
CD
31
Rousset
Christophe
Decca
CD
32
Schornsheim
Christine
1997
Capriccio
MP3
33
Schrader
David
2004
Virtue
MP3
34
Staier
Andreas
2009
Harmonia Mundi
CD
35
Tureck
Rosalyn
1989
Columbia
LP
36
van Asperen
Bob
EMI
CD
37
Verlet
Blandine
Astree
LP,CD
38
Vinikour
Jory
Delos
SACD
39
Wilson
Glen
2010
Naxos
CD
1992
YouTube
ORGAN VERSIONS
1
Albrecht
Hansjorg
2006
Oehms
SACD
2
Barshai
Helena
2008
Brilliant
CD
3
Guillou
Jean
1988
Dorian
CD
4
Rost
Gunther
2010
Oehms
SACD
5
Sullivan
Daniel
2008
Raven
CD
ALTERNATIVE INSTRUMENTAL
1
Cheung
Pius
2
Finch
Catrin
3
Marimba
Cheung
MP3
Harp
Deutsche Gramophon
CD
Lechler-Eisenlohr
Two-Piano
RBM
CD
4
Patkovic
Denis
Accordian
Hanssler
MP3
5
Rodarmer
Kurt
Guitar
Sony
MP3
6
Spiegelmann
Joel
Synthesizer
East-West
CD
7
Steens
Benjamin J.
Clavichord
EPR
MP3
8
Toth
Gwendolyn
Lautenwerk
Zefiro
CD
Brass
RCA
CD
Quartz
MP3
ENSEMBLE VERSIONS
1
Canadian Brass
2
Homecoming Wind Ensemble
3
Leopold String Trio
Strings
Hyperion
CD
4
NES Chamber Orch.
Orch.
Nonesuch
CD
5
Rachlin/Maisky/Imai
Strings
DG
CD
6
Sitkovetsky
Strings
Orfeo
CD
7
Violins du Roy
Strings
Dorian
CD
Dmitri

Bach Goldberg Variations

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