Mozart: Complete Piano Sonatas, v.
1. Odyssey MB2K 45612 (2 CDs)
Mozart: Complete Piano Sonatas, v.
2. Odyssey MB2K 45613 (2 CDs)
Beethoven: Piano Sonatas, v. 1.
Odyssey MB3K 45821 (3 CDs)
Beethoven: Piano Sonatas, v. 2.
Odyssey MB3K 45822 (3 CDs)
Glenn Gould, piano.
This is not a review of Sony's new
Glenn Gould Edition, although it started out to be. Rather, it is a tale of deceit and
treachery, of promises broken and faith destroyed.
The seeds of all crimes are sown in the
past, and so here. In 1992, with the mammoth 100-volume Leonard Bernstein reissue under
way, Sony turned for its next project to the second most popular past classical artist in
the Columbia catalogue.
Glenn Gould had electrified the world of
classical music and catapulted to fame in 1955 at the age of 22 with his phonographic
debut of Bach's Goldberg Variations (on ML-5060). In lieu of performing the work
with traditional refined grace on the authentic harpsichord, Gould regarded it as
"pregnant with promise and capacity for exhaustive exploitation," and proceeded
to unleash his radical reconception on a piano using extreme tempos, huge dynamics and a
phenomenal technique. Lest any listener doubt that the flamboyance was anchored in
intellect, the album was accompanied by Gould's own baffling notes which explained, among
other things, that "the fundamental variative ambition of this work is not to be
found in organic fabrication but in a community of sentiment."
Gould followed his Bach with an only
slightly less quirky album of the last three Beethoven Piano Sonatas (on ML-5130).
He then proceeded to cement his fame by effectively withdrawing from the concert stage.
Over the next 25 years, he focussed his efforts in the studio and issued dozens of albums
of all sorts of piano music, both famous and obscure. His probing writing continued, but
became leavened with an eccentric sort of humor; the album notes for his amazing reading
of the Liszt piano transcription of Beethoven's Symphony # 5 (on MS-7095) featured
a blisteringly negative British review of his performance.
Gould's records were unified by his unique
sound, a bizarre blend of perfection and indifference. More than any other pianist, Gould
used the resources of the studio to craft performances that simply couldn't have occurred
in a concert setting. He embraced editing to create note-perfect performances of nearly
super-human speed and dexterity. He enhanced the emotional atmosphere of his records by
mixing unprecedented numbers of microphones to obtain ambience effects.
And yet, Gould made no effort to disguise
his eccentricities, which are all too often audible. He refused to give up his treasured
piano stool, despite its loud creaking every time he shifted his weight. Much of his solo
work veered toward aleatory duets with his loud, off-key groaning. But perhaps the most
striking combination of care and fluke arose from his favorite piano, an abandoned
Steinway upon which he constantly performed "major surgery" to refine its
responsiveness and clarity; in the process, though, the instrument developed peculiar
buzzes and resonances which Gould claimed to find charming and refused to fix, consistent
with, as he put it, his "sober conviction that no piano need feel duty-bound to
always sound like a piano."
Gould died in 1982 at the age of 50. One
of his last projects was a digital remake of the Goldberg Variations, thus bringing
his art and recording career full circle. Since then, his legend has been stoked by
sporadic CD reissues, both of his studio work on CBS and of his rare concerts and
broadcasts on Music & Arts and other labels. So when Sony announced that its Glenn
Gould Edition would include all material for which rights could be obtained, Gould's
legions of fans had reason to rejoice.
At first, their expectations were largely
fulfilled. The first 15 volumes, issued in late 1992, covered a broad range of music, from
Bach to Hindemith. The discs were attractive, well-annotated and affordable, since
the series was all mid-priced. Throughout most of 1993, further volumes appeared. But
then, once fans were hooked, had cleared off shelf space and had sworn off pirate CDs, all
in anticipation of collecting the complete official edition, Sony sprung the trap.
Without the slightest reason or warning,
Sony raised the Glenn Gould Edition to full price. They did this covertly by simply
raising the wholesale price (but not even bothering to change the prefix from the
mid-price "SMK" designation), thus forcing retailers to follow suit. And as a
further insult to consumers, several of the discs were barely half full, thus eroding
their value even further. To begin a comprehensive project on one basis but then to
complete it on a far less attractive one is unethical, pure and simple.
It would be unconscionable, of course, to
suggest that any Goldmine reader retaliate by stooping to the degenerate act of
buying the Glenn Gould Edition used (even though this would restore the effective price to
the original level). But there is another suggestion that falls short of such
near-criminal activity and will still line CBS/Sony's coffers with royalties, ill-deserved
though they be.
As part of its scattershot earlier
treatment of the Gould catalogue, CBS issued complete sets of his Mozart and Beethoven
solo work on its budget Odyssey label. Either is a fine introduction to Gould's uniquely
personal art. Grab them while they remain available.
Neither set is the type of idiomatic
reading in which the performer's primary goal is to modestly convey the intentions of the
composer. For that, it's hard to beat the superb mid-priced sets of the Mozart by Mitsuko
Uchida (on Philips 422 517-2, 5 CDs) and of the Beethoven by Artur Schnabel (on EMI CHS 7
63765 2, 8 CDs). Gould is strikingly different: the composer is filtered through the
strong, and occasionally overwhelming, personality of the performer.
Gould's magic is easily heard in two of
the most popular Beethoven sonatas. The first movement of the "Moonlight"
Sonata (# 14) is normally played as contemplation, with subtly changing tempo and
dynamics; Gould, though, speeds the music up and drains it of inflection in order to
convey an impression of diffident grace and wistfulness rather than the usual melancholy
despair. On the other hand, Gould slows down the first movement of the "Appassionata"
Sonata (# 23) to barely half its standard pace, exaggerating its pauses and bass-heavy
sonority to turn its drama into very heavy melodrama. Neither performance would serve to
introduce a novice to Beethoven. But for those who already know these works, Gould is a
revelation.
So strike a blow for decency. Show Sony's
greedy bean-counters that classical consumers are not sheep. Buy the Odyssey sets and
leave the Glenn Gould Edition alone!
Copyright 1993 by Peter
Gutmann
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