When Glenn Gould died in 1982 at the age of fifty, he left behind an astonishing in twenty-six years he had proved himself to be not only an extraordinary pianist but a gifted filmmaker and broadcaster and a brilliant (and mercurial) critic. His writing-which appeared primarily in music journals and on record album covers-was often as provocative as his demanding, compelling, occasionally infuriating, but always stimulating, and always the product of a singular artistic vision. Now, for the first time, nearly everything that Gould wrote or spoke for publication-from the liner notes for his first "Goldberg" Variations recording in 1956 to a poignant and revealing interview with Tim Page shortly before his death-has been gathered together. And, perhaps for the first time as well, we can begin to comprehend fully the scope of the intellect behind the musical artistry. Gould wrote about from Byrd, Bach, and Mozart ("For me, the G-minor Symphony consists of eight remarkable measures surrounded by a half-hour of banality") to Schoenberg (he "does not write against the piano, but neither can he be accused of writing/or it"), Berg, and Terry Riley ("And you thought Carl Orff had found an easy way to make a living?"); from Beethoven (the "one composer whose reputation is based entirely on gossip") to Richard Strauss ("the greatest musical figure who has lived in this century"). Gould wrote about music competitions ("the competition leaves its eager, ill-advised suppliants forever stunted, victims of a spiritual lobotomy"), about applause (he proposed the "Gould Plan for the Abolition of Applause and Demonstrations of All Kinds"), and about his own reasons for refusing to give concerts - reasons he discusses in a fascinating, delightful interview with Arthur Rubinstein. There are articles on recording ("If we were to take an inventory of those musical predilections most characteristic of our generation, we would discover that almost every item on such a list could be attributed directly to the influence of the recording"), on the purpose of art ("not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but rather the gradual, life-long construction of a state of wonder and serenity"), and on technology and art, which begins with a chronicle of his own "love affair with the microphone." We read him on Leopold Stokowski and on Barbra Streisand ("With the possible exception of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, no vocalist has brought me greater pleasure or more insight into the interpreter's art"), on Petula Clark and Ernst Krenek, on radio as music and P.D.Q. Bach as both fact and fancy, on the state of music in Russia and in Canada, and on an extraordinary range of matters dealing with the creation and appreciation of music. THE GLENN GouLD READER is that rare phenomenon, a book that gives us the critical vision of someone who was not only an observer but a practicing artist. It is crucial to our understanding of one of the most influential musicians of our day. Tim Page writes on music and cultural affairs for the New York Times, and his articles have also appeared in Vanity Fair, Horizon, Harper's Bazaar, the Wall Street journal, and other publications. In 1983 he was the recipient of the Deems Taylor Award for music criticism. He was born in San Diego and studied at the Mannes College of Music, the Berkshire Music Center at Tanglewood, and Columbia College, from which he received his B.A. He lives with his wife in New York City, where he is the host of a daily radio program on WNYC-FM devoted to new and unusual music.
Glenn Herbert Gould was a Canadian pianist who became one of the best-known and most celebrated classical pianists of the 20th century. He was particularly renowned as an interpreter of the keyboard music of Johann Sebastian Bach. His playing was distinguished by remarkable technical proficiency and capacity to articulate the polyphonic texture of Bach's music.
After his adolescence, Gould rejected most of the standard Romantic piano literature including Liszt, Schumann, and Chopin. Although his recordings were dominated by Bach, Gould's repertoire was diverse, including works by Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, Brahms, pre-Baroque composers such as Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck, and such 20th-century composers as Paul Hindemith, Arnold Schoenberg and Richard Strauss. Gould was well known for various eccentricities, from his unorthodox musical interpretations and mannerisms at the keyboard to aspects of his lifestyle and personal behaviour. He stopped giving concerts at the age of 31 to concentrate on studio recording and other projects. Gould was the first pianist to record any of Liszt's piano transcriptions of Beethoven's symphonies (beginning with the Fifth Symphony, in 1967).
Gould was also known as a writer, composer, conductor, and broadcaster. He was a prolific contributor to musical journals, in which he discussed music theory and outlined his musical philosophy. His career as a composer was less distinguished. His output was minimal and many projects were left unfinished. There is evidence that, had he lived beyond 50, he intended to abandon the piano and devote the remainder of his career to conducting and other projects. As a broadcaster, Gould was prolific. His output ranged from television and radio broadcasts of studio performances to musique concrète radio documentaries about life in the Canadian wilderness.
His writing is an intriguing mix of cautious flamboyance with a fluidity that coincides awkwardly with his nitpicky compulsiveness. Like Wittgenstein, he probingly uses multiple voices to aim at a general systematic clarification of the rules of music and his many, many opinions.
Here's an example of a typical sentence from Gould, to show you how his mind works:
"Viewed from a slightly different perspective, however, the conformity of the architecture frequently serves to emphasize imaginative key relationships....Again, from this perspective, the sequential non sequiturs of the 'development' which appears to rush with unseemly haste towards the recapitulation (the development sections in each of the sonatines are treated with Mozartine dispatch; the central episode from the first movement of the second of these works is but nine bars long), and the de facto dominant=tonic transfers of the recapitulation contribute to the plot in direct relation to the expositions ambiguity."
The recap contributes to the plot in relation to the expositions ambiguity? Whaa? Can't he just say the expo felt ambiguous to him emotionally but that the recap contrasted that? Why does he always insist on making everything so dreadfully elaborate? He was talking about Strauss here. Gould is always on the lookout for clarity, but tragically he's always confusing the reader, leading them this way and that way without a sense of his current destination, always lingering about on possible previous and future destinations, and wading through these sentences is a bit like swimming through air. It's hard to find a sense of balance or gravity. His word choices are fraught with idiosyncratic decisions, like here:
"But in Enoch Strauss only wishes to extemporize and has no desire to disguise thereby a more intense structure." The word thereby was an odd choice. So many elusive and odd choices in his writing and I feel like he was essentially very whimsical in how he went about deciding what topics to include. He probably didn't think of himself as whimsical, but that's how it comes across, deep yet whimsical.
But I would recommend this for those who want to know more about the workings of Goulds mind, or are simply looking for wacky and entertaining essays that go from music composers, the soviet union, art, all the way to detours into sore throat lozenges, of all things.
("Let me suggest to you that the strongest motivation for the invention of a lozenge would be a sore throat. Of course, having patented the lozenge, one would then be free to speculate that the invention represented the future and the sore throat the past, but I doubt that one would be inclines to think in those terms while the irritation was present. Needless to say, in the case of my tracheitis at Slazburg, medications of that sort was---")
The interviewer then asks Gould if he stopped performing on stage because of a sore throat. And Gould's response is to ask if that's objectionable or not. The interviewer then tells Gould that he clearly never "savored the joys of a one-to-one relationship with a listener" and that it's narcissistic. And, of course, the nutcase interviewing Glenn Gould is- you guessed it- Glenn Gould.
You think you're on a spaceship one moment, then Gould shows you he actually anticipated a camel ride in the desert and there was never a spaceship at all but a special effects expert and arranger in the background doing a strange jig while weaving this illusion Gould doesn't consider an illusion but a quest. Then there's all the internal squabbles about subjective stuff to consider.
In his heart, Gould is a juggler, and cannot, for the life of him, manage a single sentence without juggling another sentence in it, being elaborate at all costs.
Per me Mozart non è morto troppo presto, ma troppo tardi. Questa frase di Glenn Gould, letta su un articolo in occasione di un anniversario sulla sua morte, mi fece venir voglia di saperne di più su quello che già definivo un presuntuoso stronzetto. Come diavolo si permetteva questo tizio, di criticare Mozart, mica laqualunque? Pronta a difendere il mio idolo, compro questo libro e, come spesso capita con i grandi odi, mi innamoro perdutamente. Scopro un genio. O perlomeno un grande artista, un interprete fuori scala, un critico iconoclasta e amante del paradosso ma sempre onestissimo nell'integrità delle sue scelte. E poi un uomo che amava più di tutto stare da solo, ma tutt'altro che misantropo. Un virtuoso che aveva il mondo musicale ai suoi piedi, e che si è ritirato giovanissimo senza ripensamenti. Uno sperimentatore amante delle nuove tecnologie, ma non per questo freddo e distante, anzi. E' facile essere passionali con Chopin, ma Glenn Gould ha suonato Bach come nessuno prima e dopo di lui. Sono ancora convinta che su Mozart abbia detto una cazzata, ma ora lo penso con l'indulgenza divertita che avrei se fossi innamorata di un milanista, per dire.
Among so many other captivating thoughts, Gould, in the final interview, describes his favorite Strauss piece as “asexual.” What is his problem???? Freak.
finito terminato ascoltato e da rileggere e riascoltare a capitoli sparsi L'ala del turbine intelligente, scritti sulla musica - Glenn Gould, Toronto, 1932-1982
In ordine di apparizione i miei pensieri capitolo dopo capitolo:
mmhhh sarà paccosissimo, raccolta di scritti di uno spocchioso asociale su temi di musica classica, con predilezione per il barocco antico. Ma è da un po' che lo voglio affrontare: pronti via, si parte con la lettura
ah ah un'autointervista! ma parla serio o si sta a divertire? e non capisco di chi si prende gioco, di sè, dei suoi contemporanei...di me?
altro che ombroso e noioso musicista, questo è una rock star del pianoforte, e quanto mai pungente, intelligente, erudito. Incredibile
ora mi ci impegno e imparo un po di musica. Spotify per ascoltare i brani citati e dizionario di musica per i termini che non conosco. Ci metterò una vita
dai che qualcosa ci capisco, o intuisco, o interpreto, che ne so. Mi ci sto divertendo
ah ah l'orario ferroviario di Santa Fè in musica non me l'aspettavo proprio
che dire poi della fuga di Gould? So you want to write a fugue?
insomma, una idea della storia della musica me la sono fatta, da Scarlatti ad Alban Berg, partendo da una lettura difficile, e divertendomi molto. Continuerò sul tema andando a ritroso adesso: cercherò qualcosa di più semplice, da leggere e da ascoltare.
Bello bello, sono contenta.
Buone letture e buon ascolto a tutti!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
This would have been better for me if I had at least SOME knowledge of music theory. It's still fun though, when I can understand it. Glenn made me feel bad for liking the emperor concerto though
How could I even think to give less than five stars to a book that begins with the most intelligent and honest (okay, the *only* intelligent and honest) commencement address in human history?
There are times when I wonder whether Gould will one day be remembered more for his prose than for his performances (with the possible exception of his first recording of the Goldbergs, that is). What musically works, if at all, as an act of deconstruction* is more palatable as prose, the advantage to prose being, of course, is that, the point having been made, one doesn't have to wait several minutes for the double bar; one can instead read as quickly or as slowly as one chooses.
My first encounter with Gould's writing was his liner notes to his Hindemith recordings. For the piano sonatas, the notes were revelatory, the recordings annoying; for the Marienleben ditto, except here most of the annoyance subsists in Gould's apparent assumption that his vocalist could actually sing. Of course the literary Gould was not devoid of his own perversities: Barbra Streisand? seriously? There's a usually thick line between self-indulgence and artistry, and Gould misses it. This applies to a couple of other artists he lionizes; readers should have no trouble guessing which ones. But then, whenever there seems to be intelligence behind the perversity, shouldn't we give it a listen to at least once? or, in the case of the present work, a read-through?
(And I mean "deconstruction" in the strict sense: reading a piece against the grain, taking advantage of its ambiguities in order to uncover meanings not contemplated by or even contrary to the creator's apparent intentions. Playing Mozart's legatos as staccatos, for instance. But then, performers who aren't merely "reciting" have always been doing this, right? I'm reminded of Eugene Ormandy in rehearsal: "That's the way Stravinsky was: bup bup bup bup. The poor guy's dead now. Play it legato.")
He is absolutely right that we use chronological categories as a crutch to do all of our aesthetic evaluations in music. Bach and R. Strauss are his principal case studies in the absurdity of using temporal progression as our main criteria for excellence. This is the main reason why music history and even theory classes have a pernicious side effect.
An important collection of essays and writings that allow for continued glimpsing back into the thoughts and ideas of a fascinating mind. Glenn Gould showed so much excitement in his work and life's practice. It is always a joy to refer back to his essay in particular regarding his fascination with the idea of "north" and his journeys through Northerly Canada.
Gould, Glenn (editor Tim Page) - The Glenn Gould Reader
Culled from an untold amount of essays, interviews, liner notes, this collection ranges from insightful, to controversial, to funny. Many of the musical explorations in the first section were beyond me. Pages of staves and notes support explanations, but those are best for sight-readers. Gould’s essays on Schoenberg are passionate and persuasive, even though I still have limited appreciation and understanding of this composer. His position towards Beethoven is far more dismissive, which I gather is genuine and not merely provocative posturing. Recollections of Stokowski and Rubinstein make for highly entertaining reading. Other essays are completely off the track. Praising the combo of Petula Clark and Tony Hatch while pooh-poohing the flash-in-the-pan group, The Beatles. Thing is, for me, Pet evokes Swinging London better than any other artist. The stray interviews with himself prove laugh out loud funny. Gould also crafted radio plays of which I was unaware. Owing to his articles on “The Idea Of North” and “The Latecomers” I now intend to track these down and give a listen. Altogether an engaging book and certainly not just for Gould fans or Classical enthusiasts. Gould’s predictions of recording and editing techniques are downright uncanny in their accuracy.
Glenn Gould was not only one of the most celebrated pianists of our time and a participant in the radio fidelity revolution, but he also was an interviewer, composer, and writer who occasionally employed a pseudonym. if you liked "32 short films about Glenn Gould", you will love this book. if you read nothing else, peruse his interviewing series on Stokowski.
"History, thank God, should not and does not work that way. The process of historical selection is notoriously insensitive to who got where first, but deeply involved with who did what with most sensitivity."
è una musica, in breve, che non conosce né inizio né fine, una musica senza un vero punto culminante e senza una vera risoluzione: una musica che è come gli amanti di baudelaire, "mollement balancés sur l'aile / du tourbillon intelligent". glenn gould sulle goldberg
The brilliance and breadth of criticism in this book of essays on an interesting variety of musical topics is breathtaking. Whether it is comments on a particular composer or issues like the audience for classical music performances, this is a continually enlightening and entertaining book.