Maurizio Pollini suona Bach - Il clavicembalo ben temperato, libro I

Non mi sembrano vere due cose: che io mi sia praticamente dimenticato di questo blog per 4 mesi e mezzo, e che sia finalmente uscito il disco che noi molti ammiratori di Maurizio Pollini stavamo aspettando praticamente da sempre. E’ il Clavicembalo ben temperato di Johann Sebastian Bach, libro I. Già, perché Pollini oltre ad essersela presa molto comoda, ha pensato di registrare solo il primo volume dell’opera, e c’era da aspettarselo, visto che in passato ha proposto solo questa prima parte in pubblico. Poco importa, comunque, data la bellezza di questa musica e data la portata di questo disco. Certamente non vi sarà sfuggito il curioso titolo… beh, mi pare dica tutto. Come spesso accade quando ci si trova davanti all’ennesima registrazione di un lavoro noto, notissimo, e molto registrato, ci si chiede: ma davvero ce n’era bisogno? Davvero un altro pianista doveva registrare il Clavicembalo ben temperato? La domanda, effettivamente, ha più senso se posta in questo modo: davvero un altro pianista doveva registrare un altro Clavicembalo ben temperato?
Ebbene, mi pare che questa volta la risposta possa essere affermativa. Intendiamoci: la razza umana non si sarebbe estinta improvvisamente senza questo disco, ma nulla è tanto necessario quanto si potrebbe credere. Perché dunque questo curioso titolo, “il pianoforte ben temperato”? E’ presto detto: come è noto, la traduzione Clavicembalo ben temperato è poco corretta. La corretta traduzione di “Wohltemperierte Klavier” (originale tedesco) è a tutti gli effetti “La tastiera ben temperata“. Bach presumibilmente scrisse questi 24 Preludi e fughe in tutte le tonalità (mi limito a parlare del primo libro) pensando soprattutto al clavicembalo, ma è evidente che quel “Klavier” (“tastiera”) apra le porte ad esecuzioni su ogni strumento a tastiera. Normalmente l’opera viene eseguita e registrata sul clavicembalo o sul pianoforte e gli appassionati si dividono con passione su quale dei duei strumenti sia più consono all’esecuzione.
Pollini si è interrogato a lungo sulla possibilità di un’esecuzione pianistica che rendesse giustizia all’originale idea bachiana. Evidentemente il grande pianista milanese ha infine deciso che il pianoforte può ben adattarsi al testo scritto dal grande compositore tedesco, ed ha optato per un’esecuzione completamente pianistica, che sfruttasse appieno le possibilità di questo meraviglioso strumento. Molte esecuzioni pianistiche del passato, infatti, tentavano comunque di restare fedeli ad una certa idea clavicembalistica o comunque strizzavano l’occhio a sonorità non totalmente pianistiche. E’ il caso della grande esecuzione di Glenn Gould, straordinaria per purezza ed originalità, ma poco unitaria, almeno nell’opinione di chi scrive. Nell’ascolto del primo libro del Clavicembalo ben temperato suonato da Gould si ha l’impressione di essere davanti a coppie di preludi e fughe sensazionali, ma distanti l’un l’altro, totalmente slegati. Diversa è l’impressione che si ha all’ascolto dell’incisione (pessima da un punto di vista di qualità del suono) di Sviatoslav Richter: si sente il respirò dell’unitarietà dell’opera, si respira l’aria polifonica di ogni pagina. Eppure forse Richter in alcuni casi non trova i picchi di assoluta brillantezza che solo Gould ha saputo individuare. Altre esecuzioni pianistiche hanno fatto scuola: le due (ma soprattutto la prima, mono) di Rosalyn Tureck, dipinte, più che suonate, tanto sono ammirevoli i colori che la pianista (e clavicembalista) statunitense ha saputo tracciare, pur con scelte discutibili soprattutto nei tempi. E che dire della strabiliante perfezione tecnica di Friedrich Gulda? Davvero la sua incisione è preziosa per rigore tecnico e candore sonoro, la polifonia risalta naturalmente, grazie all’evidenziazione delle varie voci con la dinamica pianistica. Niente concessioni al pedale, invece, probabilmente per restare ancora un po’ ancorati alla visione tradizionale clavicembalistica. Prima di passare a Pollini, voglio ricordare ancora brevemente la prima incisione assoluta dell’opera, quella di Edwin Fischer, pienamente pianistica. Siamo negli anni ‘30, e tutti questi anni non si sentono proprio. Neanche dal punto di vista sonoro, l’incisione è degna di dischi di metà anni ‘40 almeno, in quanto a qualità. Forse anche a causa dell’allora nascente moda delle registrazioni, Fischer ci dona un Clavicembalo ben temperato spontaneo e molto autentico, sincero. Come dicevo poco fa, è pienamente pianistico, sorprendentemente moderno. Non voglio comunque tralasciare almeno una menzione per Gustav Leonhardt, autore di una meravigliosa incisione al clavicembalo.

Infine eccoci arrivare a Pollini. Una piccola premessa: Maurizio Pollini è universalmente noto per la sua rigida fedeltà al testo, che per alcuni è finanche troppo esagerata. Altri lo vedono come un pianista sostanzialmente freddo e monocorde. Anche la musica di Bach, pensate voi, è da alcuni tacciata di freddezza. Dunque un Clavicembalo ben temperato suonato da Pollini potrebbe senz’altro spaventare i più schierati. Già me li vedo, con la sciarpa ben stretta attorno al collo, che si proteggono come possono da quest’ondata di gelo particolarmente pesante. Però poi aprono la porta, escono sull’uscio e vengono sorpresi da un’ondata di calore intensa ed inaspettata. Splende il sole, c’è l’arcobaleno, e sembra la più calda, colorata ed appassionata estate.
Ed è questo ciò che si prova all’ascolto di questo Bach di Pollini, fin dal celeberrimo Preludio in Do maggiore. Pollini suona il primo preludio di getto, con un bellissimo suono legato. Il ritmo è incalzante, la dinamica è varia e raffinata, pur nella apparente semplicità di questa prima pagina. Il pianoforte ben temperato, si diceva: qui non ci sono rimandi, ammiccamenti, Pollini sfrutta il pianoforte e le sue possibilità espressive, abbonda nell’uso del pedale (forse anche troppo, come gli capita ultimamente, ma chi sono per sindacare questo?) e nei contrasti dinamici. Niente filologia, è questo probabilmente il Clavicembalo ben temperato più appassionato che si possa ascoltare. Ed il bello è che non si può comunque dire che Pollini non rispetti le indicazioni del compositore: infatti non esegue alcun abbellimento, si limita solo a leggere la musica scritta da Johann Sebastian Bach di suo pugno. I tempi sono spesso veloci, a volte tiratissimi, ma mai si ha l’impressione di tempi troppo spinti, tutto è davvero naturale in questa incisione, tutto sembra così inevitabile che al terzo o quarto ascolto, provando a tornare a qualche altra registrazione, sembra di ascoltare qualcosa di troppo diverso. C’è un’altra novità: Pollini canta, letteralmente. Già nel suo più recente Chopin e nelle Sonate op.2 di Beethoven le registrazioni erano “disturbate” dai profondi respiri del pianista, ma in questo caso si sente proprio il canto. Non ci credete? Ascoltate la Fuga in Lab maggiore! Se non ci fosse un abisso stilistico, sembrerebbe quasi di ascoltare Glenn Gould. Veniamo ad un altro punto a favore di questa incisione: gli straordinari colori che Pollini riesce a trovare in alcuni brani. E’ ad esempio il caso del Preludio e Fuga in Fa# maggiore o del Preludio in Sol minore. Una rivelazione.
Ma un’idea si fa largo nella mia mente quando ho appena iniziato l’ascolto del secondo disco, precisamente durante l’ascolto delle battute finali della Fuga in Sol maggiore: questo è il Clavicembalo ben temperato tanto amato e ammirato da Beethoven. E’ ormai una certezza, e per convincermene ancor di più mi basta tornare col pensiero ai meravigliosi momenti di tensione della già citata Fuga in Sol maggiore (la risoluzione sul trillo ad 1:57 secondi è qualcosa di straordinario), oppure la grandiosa Fuga in Si minore che chiude il primo libro. Durante l’intera esecuzione dell’opera si respira la maestosità che normalmente viene subito alla mente quando si ascolta Beethoven.
Mi rendo conto di aver scritto davvero molto, probabilmente anche in toni troppo agiografici. E dunque voglio anche muovere alcune piccole critiche a questo disco, che pure scalza l’incisione di Gould dalla vetta della mia personalissima classifica (cosa odiosa, lo so). Prima critica: la qualità dell’incisione non è all’altezza di quella interpretativa, e purtroppo accade ultimamente con i dischi di Pollini. Forse è colpa dell’eccessivo uso del pedale di risonanza, oppure dello studio di registrazione, non saprei, ma mi pare un dato di fatto: c’è troppo riverbero, anche se meno di quanto ce n’era nei Notturni di Chopin. Comunque ci si fa presto l’orecchio. Anche a causa di questo eccessivo riverbero a volte risulta meno chiaro che in altre incisioni l’intreccio polifonico, soprattutto se non lo si conosce già molto bene; questa è una colpa che alcuni imputano a Pollini, e sicuramente è una critica degna di nota se si parla di un’opera che si fonda sulla polifonia come il Clavicembalo ben temperato. Altri inoltre hanno affermato che l’eccessivo impeto di alcune interpretazioni contenute nel disco possa a volte creare oscillazioni nel tempo troppo marcate. Francamente quest’ultima critica mi pare un po’ campata in aria.
Quello che secondo me resta alla fine di questo lungo discorso è la grande lettura di un grande pianista, da alcuni reputato troppo freddo o razionale, che riesce invece a registrare quello che probabilmente è il Clavicembalo ben temperato più vivo ed emozionante che io abbia mai ascoltato. Il “vecchio” e romantico Pollini, mi verrebbe da dire, che davvero era difficile aspettarsi ad inizio carriera.
Tempo fa leggevo una frase del genere sul pianista milanese: quando si va ad ascoltare un grande pianista si va ad ascoltare il suo Mozart, il suo Beethoven, quando si va ad ascoltare Pollini si va ad ascoltare Mozart, Beethoven. Molti non saranno d’accordo con un’estensione di questa frase a Bach: effettivamente il Bach di Pollini è diverso dal Bach tradizionalmente eseguito; come dicevo più sopra, potrebbe probabilmente essere vicino al Bach immaginato da Beethoven. Però mi piace pensare, viste le emozioni che questo disco mi ha regalato, che il Bach di Pollini, così profondamente moderno, suonato su uno strumento che Bach non conosceva in quanto tale, sarebbe stato il Bach voluto da Bach in persona.

Ringraziandovi per l’attenzione e la pazienza, vi lascio con l’ascolto dei brani che aprono il primo e il secondo disco, rispettivamente: Preludio e Fuga in Do maggiore e Preludio e Fuga in Fa# maggiore.

Buon ascolto!

I watched a great film – Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould – the other day and since I’ve been listening to Gould non-stop (I think my brains twist into a weird knot after several hours of things like French and English Suites). In any case, I found these clips of him playing Goldberg Variations (mannerisms are of course the best part) and I must share some of them:

I was sitting in a restaurant alone with a bowl of clam chowder soup while waiting for winter tires to be put on my car. The widescreen TV in front of me had the sound off, but the heads were obviously talking about Michael Jackson’s glove being up for sale.

And I was stuck again by something that I thought about when he died, and that’s the similarities between Michael Jackson and another musical iconoclast; Glenn Gould.

I did a paper on Gould years ago, not long after he died, so I have some knowledge and some background interest in him. For anyone who’s not familiar with the name, Gould was a pianist noted for his interpretations of the work of J. S. Bach, amongst other things. He died in 1982 at the age of 50 years, like Michael Jackson. But there were a lot of other similarities, such as:

• Music: performer, composer (even singer if you include Gould’s humming while he performed)
• Musical prodigy
• Embracing new technology: Jackson is known for his stamp on the world of music video, Gould was much earlier but was an early adopter of recording technology developments, like re-recording single notes to replace single notes that he had recorded that he felt weren’t ideal, and trying things like recording a 4 part fugue by recording only one line at a time.
• Going beyond music as a performer: Jackson as a dancer, choreographer; Gould as a radio and television broadcaster.
• Physical oddities: Jackson with his dance ability, his changing physical appearance; Gould with his adversity to being touched, his adversity to cold, his unusual seating at the piano which was very low and close to the floor
• A reclusive and odd relationship with the rest of the world: Jackson’s relations are well documented; Gould stopped performing and moved to studio recording only, living a solitary life but known for calling up friends at odd hours when the need struck him.
• Perfectionists; one of the things I always liked about Michael Jackson’s music is the precision with which every note was placed. Gould was the same, even in live performances. He is noted for “over-articulating”; playing each note with such precision in relation to every other note that critics felt the music to be soul-less and merely an intellectual exercise.

But overall, the element of musical genius, combined with oddities of a both physical and psychological nature and a strange relationship with the rest of the world, plus the fact that they both died at the age of 50, is what makes me connect the two of them together. And in both cases, the world is poorer for having lost them, but much richer for having had them for 50 years.

I wonder what Kevin Bazzana thinks of Michael Jackson?

Glenn Gould is rather like Marmite. You either love him or you hate him.

Le temps est plus pourri que jamais aujourd’hui et en plus j’ai mal pas dormi. Des sirènes de pompiers m’ont réveillé sans cesse, sans doute pour aller dégager les arbres des routes ou secourir des gens paniqués privés d’électricité. Vraiment on pouvait dire qu’il y avait là des petites allures de fin du monde. Pour essayer de me tenir au courant et passer le temps j’ai téléchargé une playlist de novembre que j’ai trouvée vraiment en accord avec le temps : pourrie. Rien à en tirer. Alors je me suis rabattu sur La vie secrète des Stormtroopers et sur le blog de noreille tout en écoutant un disque de Glenn Gould. En relisant des posts de Decadanses et ce post de Just be wise, je me suis dit que nous, hommes trentenaires du début du XXIème sicèle, semblont tous avoir le même problème.
Mais comment l’identifier clairement et le résoudre ? (Est-ce que les femmes nous sauveront ?)
Kate est venue me réveiller vers les 5h du mat’, j’avais une clope consumée entre les doigts et j’aurais pu foutre le feu à la baraque. Si j’avais pas eu de bol.

Doug Chaplin has tagged me on this one. It’s a bloggers (though I’m still not so sure I am one) chain-letter. The meme asks us to share eight memorable musical moments, not favourite pieces, but the moments in which music combined to create memory. The rules are

Think of eight memorable musical moments, not necessarily all time favourites, but those when, for example, you felt compelled to wait in the car when listening to this amazing song on the radio because you just had to know who it was by. Or the piece you heard on the tv in a drama that drove you straight onto iTunes to download… (remember once we spent the princely sum of 6s 8d on a vinyl single?!). Optional details for each song give where, why and Spotify or youtube links …

At least I can say that I’m still too young to ever spent 6/8 (that’s 33⅓ p) on anything. Here are my eight, in no particular order

1. A Love Supreme by John Coltrane. When I was twenty, I bought a couple of editions of a jazz magazine. Each copy came with a cassette, and an excerpt from A Love Supreme was on one of them. I was rapt by its troubled passion, its prayer is total humanity communing with the divine. I love it, but jazz is musical marmite.

2. Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards by Billy Bragg. I remember buying a cassette of his album Workers Playtime as a teenager. This track is the last on the album, and I remember playing it over and over. The mixture of protest song, poetry and humour was an inspiring first to me, and turned me into a complete Bragg fan. Below is an updated version rather than the one I know. It’s still good, but I miss the lines “Doctor Robert Oppenheimer’s optimism fell at the first hurdle” and “The revolution is just a t-shirt away”.

3. Cantique de Jean Racine by Gabriel Fauré. This was sung by friends of the bride and groom at a wedding I took. The wedding was moving for pastoral reasons, and the gentle, thoughtful beauty of this song has remained with me. Last year, I sang this with the Wolfson(g)ians and loved singing its soaring, melodic tenor line.

4. Prelude, Adagio et Choral varie sur le theme du ‘Veni Creator’, Op. 4 by Maurice Duruflé. This magnificent organ piece came on the radio one dark and stormy evening. It’s a musical history of the Holy Spirit, and leads into the ancient hymn Veni Creator Spiritus.

5. I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For by U2. Just as U2 were getting big, before they got messianic, there was the Joshua Tree album. The live recording with New Voices of Freedom on Rattle & Hum is still my favourite.

6. Deus in adjutorium by Claudio Monteverdi. I sang this in a choir in Durham Cathedral as a young undergrad. It was my introduction to early music. Its monotonous opening is almost shocking, punctuated by outbursts of brass, before opening out like an estuary in the alleluia.

7. Nothing Compares 2 U by Sinéad O’Connor. I remember when this was all over the radio, and then I saw this video.

8. Goldberg Variations by JS Bach. I’ve got a Glenn Gould recording. This is perfect for sunny mornings at home.

I now tag cycads.

The piece of Pamela Z’s that I know best—Geekspeak—is something that may be loosely called a radio documentary, but actually turns into something more like musique concrete and then back to documentary again, with a moment of crazy glitch in the middle that I still wonder about.  It’s a work that documents tech “geeks” during the 90s, but there are moments that challenge an easy picture;  part William Burroughs, part Glenn Gould, her techniques get at the deeper issues and paradoxes of telling a story of technology with technology.  I’ve also seen her do live performance once in some warehouse in NYC’s Chinatown, using her own voice to instigate a variety of complex effects, gauging minute changes and responding in kind.  Her work tends to defy categories . . . in fact one Seattle blog has her Film Forum appearance tagged as an “opera” event, perhaps because she has some classically trained pipes, or maybe because opera itself is just an older word for “intermedia.”  Much of her work emerges from an extended exploration of the voice and language—which is why she also fits into the curation of Writing for Their Lives, the series where you’ll more likely find contemporary poets.  Because she integrates midi controlled devices that help her extend voice into image, gesture into effect, her media work has close affiliations to that of Seattlite Gary Hill, whose work has explored the way in which language becomes concretized in the image by way of new devices.

Pamela Z will give a FREE talk and demo at the Seattle Campus of the University of Washington for the Writing for their Lives Series on Monday, November 23 at 6:30 in Communications 120.  (Other upcoming Writing for their Lives events of interest include language poet Charles Bernstein in January, and performance-writer and media artist Cris Cheek in February.)

Pamela Z’s performance at the Film Forum will be on Tues., November 24 at 8 PM.  This program will combine short, stand-alone pieces with excerpts from many of Ms. Z’s full-evening intermedia performance works – including segments from her latest work-in-progress “Baggage Allowance” –providing a representative survey of an extensive body of work.

Si hay un nombre en mayusculas dentro de la interpretación de los grandes clasicos de la música; Bach, Bethoven, Mozart, ese es el canadiense Glenn Gould (1932-1982). Gran virtuoso del piano, excentrico donde los haya, realizó excelentes grabaciones que no dejan indiferente a nadie. A destacar de Bach; preludios y fugas, variaciones Golberg. De Beethoven Piano Sonatas No.24, Op.78 “A Therese” No.29, Op.106 “Hammerklavier” y de Mozart las Sonatas para piano.

En casa de sus padres donde vivio siempre

A little beauty inspiration for today

Yesterday I had the opportunity to attend a free concert at the Rogers’ Centre, as part of a week-long celebration of this year’s Glenn Gould prize winners. I was so impressed that I wrote a piece on it. I focused a lot on an issue that I, and a lot of my friends care a lot about: access to arts funding in Canada. Musicians, artists, dancers and performers across the country are being victimized by budget cuts. Seeing this orchestra, who is entirely funded by the Venezuelan government, broke my heart. How can we say that there is no value in the arts, when these children are traveling the world showcasing their talents, proving that it is a worthwhile investment?

Last year I did a video on the subject of arts funding, check it out here.

Glenn Gould Prize Recepients 1-Up Stephen Harper

Já estão começando a aparecer as decorações de Natal, e esse ano elas estão atrasadas, pois geralmente começam a partir do dia 15 de outubro! O ano está sendo complicado, com muitas variações sobre mesmas discussões e muitos conflitos causados por causa das mesmas. Por isso, para relaxar um pouco e fazer um paralelo com a atualidade (como já fiz antes aqui), as Variações de Goldberg, de J. S. Bach, interpretadas pelo saudoso Glenn Gould (1932-1982):

Nota: Gostaria de por o áudio aqui, mas como não consegui, aí estão os vídeos.

Nota nº2: O bom é ouvir todas sem interrupções.

1ª à 7ª:

8ª à 14ª:

15ª à 19ª:

20ª à 24ª:

25ª:

26ª à 30ª e Ária:

Glenn Gould Plays Contrapunct XIV

Thus unfolding
This unfurled
Insignium of strange device
Revealed.
Transubstantiation
Resurrection of the body
Assumption into heaven
Dragged by angels laughing
At the corporal weight of what they would
Take from the dying
To give to the unborn.
The flight of the unknown
The leap of understanding
Your eyes.

See him now who died at fifty from new France
Circling like a bird of prey
Over a lake in the mountains
Breaking the bread,
Lifting it high. Hic est enim corpus meum.

B A C H
Beth Aleph Ghimel Heth
This is my body this is my breath
This is my life and this is my death.

Take, eat.

Edward G. Nilges 26 Oct 2009

I choose films to watch at the Vancouver International Film Festival the same way I choose books to buy at a bookstore: I go straight to the music section! Call me one-dimensional (and yes, I know I am), but the only way I can deal with the wealth of fine cinema at VIFF is to just see music documentaries. Gone are the carefree days when I could see a gazillion movies at the festival. So if I have to prioritize, it may as well be with music docs, a genre I adore. Now that VIFF is over for another year, here’s a look back at three films I caught.

The Man Who Bottled Clouds

At the risk of sounding simplistic, one way I assess a documentary’s effectiveness is how much I learn from watching it. By that measure, The Man Who Bottled Clouds unequivocally succeeds. It tells the story of Humberto Teixeira, a Brazilian renaissance man who was a great composer, lawyer, politician and bon vivant. Teixeira and singer/accordionist Luis Gonzaga – both from Northeastern Brazil – did more than anyone to develop and popularize the influential baião style of Brazilian music. They wrote more than 400 songs, including the classic “Asa Branca”. I was engrossed with the film, which adroitly weaves together interviews and performances from the likes of Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Gal Costa and David Byrne. You can still catch the flick, as one of the VIFF Repeats, on Oct. 20, 6:30 pm at the Vancity Theatre.

Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould

I know next to nothing about classical music. But I do know that Glenn Gould was a genius on the piano. Most of my classical collection consists of his recordings. I’ve always found it soothing to listen to his amazing technique and lyricism. I’ve also been fascinated with Gould’s persona as as eccentric artist. The film thoroughly covers all of these aspects of his life. Some points the film effectively conveyed:

• Gould played piano like a machine – his contrapuntal lines seemed impossible. But he was a machine with soul.
• As a young man, he was handsome and charming. Scenes of a young Gould reminded me of the images of a dashing young Chet Baker in Let’s Get Lost. They didn’t look alike at all, but they both had a raw beauty.
• Gould’s eccentricities got extreme. Not going to the hospital to see his dying mother, because of a fear of germs, was over-the-top.
• He was way ahead of his time with his CBC radio documentaries, which were painstakingly constructed.
• Gould’s death from a massive stroke at 50 was a tragic loss – there was a lot of profound music still to come from him.

Ashes of American Flags: Wilco Live

The other two films completely absorbed me with their rare archival footage and intriguing minutiae of their subjects. The Wilco documentary didn’t captivate me like that, but it was still satisfying as a live concert film. Shot at legendary American venues like the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville and Tipitina’s in New Orleans, the film documents Wilco’s powerful chemistry. Ashes of American Flags provides insights about the musicality of the band members, just by zooming in on each of them, but it especially affirms guitarist Nels Cline’s virtuosity. As for frontman Jeff Tweedy, the too-short doc captures his essence as an unlikely, sharp-witted and vocally engaging alt rock star.

Last night I spent some time with my friend David, great Vibraphone player, we watched Youtubes’s video of artists we like and inspire us.

So we decided to make a new band with some of them…. in this band is featuring Janis Joplin, John Bonham, Charles Mingus, Glenn Gould, Igor Stravinski, ray Baretto, anonymous (gong).

Well I think we will organise some more new band like this one, we had lot of fun doing this…

Enjoy

is what Tim Page the music critic called Glenn Gould. Privately they were close friends. When Gould had finished his legendary 1981 re-recording of the Goldberg variations he asked Tim Page, who was then a host of a music show at WNYC, to do an interview with him. Only, Gould would script it all! Casting his friend Tim Page in the role of music critic Tim Page and himself in the role as Glenn Gould and a fictitious actor “Sir John”. The whole thing is so bizarre and interesting that we decided to post the entire interview here:

This might also be the last interview Glenn Gould did, he died of a stroke 6 weeks after the recording.

- Pejk Malinovski

The great Glenn Gould practicing Bach Partita #2, from the “Art of the Piano” documentary. So much to note: he’s playing in his bathrobe, he has his legs crossed while he’s using the pedal,  his dog, his “singing”, the  coffee cup and saucer and what looks like a big old 60’s ashtray on the piano, the very low bench, and that terrific moment at 1:24 where he uses his LH.  Gould died too early He would have been 77 this past Friday.

Disclaimer: Do not tell me you suffer from insomnia if you only mean you stay up late, but regularly sleep into the day late to make up for it. I sometimes wonder how I would get anything done, particularly writing, without my nocturnal awakenings.

A thinking man’s Mogadon, or cute?
—

Glenn Gould, a pianist like no other, and a personality whose talent exceeded the narrow arena of the performing artist: Sep. 25, 1932 – Oct. 4, 1982

Photo by Gordon Parks, NYC, March 1956 – LIFE

Caption: Brilliant young Canadian pianist Glenn Gould laughing as engineers let him hear how his singing spoiled his recording of the Bach Goldberg Variations after which he offered to wear a gas mask to muffle his songs, at a Columbia recordling studio.

—

“And it came to him then, as clearly and as certainly as if he had been watching it on the big screen at the Odeon, Leicester Square: the rest of his life. He would go home tonight with the girl from Computer Services, and they would make gentle love, and tomorrow, it being Saturday, they would spend the morning in bed. And then they would get up, and together they would remove his possessions from the packing cases, and put them away. In a year, or a little less, he would marry the girl from Computer Services, and get another promotion, and they would have two children, a boy and a girl, and they would move out to the suburbs, to Harrow or Croydon or Hampstead or even as far away as distant Reading,

And it would not be a bad life. He knew that, too. Sometimes there is nothing you can do.”

-Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere