The Goldberg Variations

At the end of Sir Andras Schiff’s performance of Bach’s Goldberg Variations Thursday evening, I felt that applause would almost have been an intrusion, a rude awakening from the magical reverie of the past hour, almost like King Marke bursting in upon the dazed lovers at the end of Act II of Tristan und Isolde.

 

What an incredible evening of Bach, brought to us by one of today’s great artists and musicians. As with Schiff’s recital on Tuesday, it was a generous evening of music – the Italian Concerto, BWV 971, the Overture in the French Style, BWV 831, and then the Goldberg Variations, BWV 988. Before each piece, Schiff would enlighten us with brief works about the piece in question, in the process also revealing a little of his thoughts of our present human and societal condition.

 

As a prelude to the evening, Schiff played a beautifully shaded performance of Bach’s Sinfonia in F minor, BWV 795, probably one of his most profound keyboard works – certainly one of his most difficult and complex - saying so much, as Schiff said, in so little time. 

 

In the 1^st movement of the Italian Concerto, Schiff brought about the contrast between the ripieno and concertino not so much with different volume, but with different qualities of sound. In the Andante, the right-hand passage of the “solo” was beautifully shaped by the artist, making it truly sounding like a solo instrument in a concerto, like an oboe, for which Bach wrote such incredible music, and the left hand provided a subtle but beautifully shaped accompaniment by the “strings”. Schiff’s tempo choice for the Presto was a shade slower than some other pianists who literally takes on a breathless quality with this music, but the absolute steadiness at which he played made the experience just as stunning. As in the first movement, he effectively brought out the contrast between the ripieno and concertino, in this case almost like a shift between light and darkness.

 

I would have to say that Schiff’s performance of the Overture in the French Style was the epitome of elegance and style. He did not fall prey to ponderousness in the French overture, by giving the music a palpable forward motion. The B section of the overture betrayed a deftness and lightness of fingerwork, and again an almost concerto grosso-like contrast between piano and forte. The artist observed all of Bach’s repeats, allowing him to explore and highlight the well-thought out and beautifully executed ornaments in the repeats. The rhythmically tricky Gigue was, I thought, particularly brilliantly handled, and his playing of the Echo was truly humourous.

 

I had heard Sir Andras Schiff play the miraculous Goldberg Variations many years ago, in Seattle. After a lifetime of performing and thinking about the piece, I think it has now really become a part of him. Last night’s performance was so focused and so intimate, that I had the impression that we were eavesdropping upon him playing for himself. The hour went by very quickly indeed.

 

Schiff managed to bring out the unique character of each variation. Tempi were judiciously chosen. I think he now takes time to let the music breathe, even some of the variations that are usually played in a much quicker tempo. Variation 7 (al tempo di Giga), for instance, has a very nice “swing” to it – as did Variation 24. Variation 13 was played with absolute grace and beautiful shaping of the long phrases. I liked the sense of motion he imparted on Variation 15, a good reminder that Andante is really only a walking tempo. Likewise, in the French Overture of Variation 16, he played the music with a palpable sense of forward motion, as well as an appropriate lightness. In Variation 25 (adagio), the emotional centerpiece of the entire work, he did not “milk” the tragedy of the music, but kept the pace of the movement of the music. In the B section of the variation, he truly highlighted the absolute “weirdness” of the melodic contour, giving the music a sense of utter bleakness and desolation. In Variation 29, from mm. 10 – 14, and again in mm. 27 to 30, he created a kind of “clattering” sound that one usually finds in the harpsichord, a most intriguing sound effect on the Steinway. The Quodlibet(Variation 30) was played with high good humour, Schiff himself obviously relishing every moment of it, a very appropriate interlude before the return of the Aria. 

 

When Schiff reached the return of the Aria, I truly felt that he had taken us on an incredible sonic, musical, emotional and spiritual journey, and that there was a sense of returning home, of resolution, or of a closing benediction.

 

How fortunate it is for Vancouver audience to have experienced this otherworldly musical experience. As Schiff said at the beginning, we do have Leila Getz to thank for bringing a young Andras Schiff to our city some forty years ago. I feel truly thankful to have been a part of this shared musical communion.

 

 

 

 

Ending on a High Note

It is always sad every year to realize that the concert season is winding down. The Vancouver Recital Society’s season ended a couple of weeks ago, and the Vancouver Chopin Society presented its final concert of the 2016-2017 season this past Sunday with a recital by the Armenian-born, Russian-trained, American pianist (and famed pedagogue) Sergei Babayan. I had never before heard him in concert, and so it was certainly a treat to have experienced the artistry, musicianship and pianism of this wonderful pianist.

Babayan began his performance with, I am guessing, the Vancouver premiere of Russian composer Vladimir Ryabov’s Fantasia in C minor, in memory of Maria Yudina, Op. 21. This is an incredibly intense and challenging work inspired by the repertoire and life of the great Soviet pianist Maria Yudina. I doubt that many people in North America had heard of Maria Yudina, since she didn’t – or couldn’t – play outside of her native Russia. But she was a pianist in the same order of a Richter or a Gilels. In the piece, there were allusions, or quotes, of themes from pieces that Yudina frequently played, as well as references to Orthodox Chants, because of the pianist’s Christian faith. Babayan’s performance of this demanding work was stunning, capturing the rapidly shifting moods and colours of the work. The work ended, as indicated in the programme notes, with “a dream-like perpetual motion punctuated by bell tones that seems to disintegrate into shattered silence.” The silence and attentiveness of the audience indicated to me that Babayan was successful in conveying the essence of this music.

The pianist continued with the rest of the first half with music by Chopin and Rachmaninoff, playing the pieces without a break. Indeed, Babayan created such a mood of intimacy, especially in the Chopin works, that I felt that he was playing for himself, and that the audience was almost eavesdropping upon this incredible performance. In the Polonaise in C-sharp minor, Op. 26, No. 1, Babayan captured the contrast between the drama and heroism of the outer sections with the lyricism and longing in the middle section. In the great Waltz in C-sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2, I thought his playing of especially the descending scale at mm. 13 to 16 to be meltingly beautiful. The challenging B section of this waltz sounded as effortless and light as it could possibly be.

The pianist’s playing of the Barcarolle in F-sharp major, Op. 60, was very different from the performance given by Georgijs Osokins last season. Osokins brought out all the colours of this great masterpiece, while Babayan’s interpretation was more inward looking, more intimate. He did not try to make the Waltz in B minor, Op. 69, No. 2, bigger than it is, but played it with just the right degree of melancholy and an intense musicality. The Impromptu No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29 was stunning in its gossamer lightness and breathlessness.

Instead of the Ballade No. 3 that was originally programmed, the artist decided on a last minute programme change, playing instead three short works by Sergei Rachmaninoff – the Etude Tableaux in E-flat minor, Op. 39, No. 5, the Moment Musicaux in E-flat minor, Op. 16, No. 2, and the Moment Musicaux in C major, Op. 16, No. 3. The programme change showcased Babayan’s affinity for the music of the Russian composer. His performance of these works highlighted not only his awesome pianistic abilities, but also the beautiful sound – especially in the lower register of the piano – that he evoked from the instrument (this was also evident in his performance of the Ryabov), a sound that is so well suited to Rachmaninoff’s music.

Ever since hearing Glenn Gould’s stunning first recording of Bach’s monumental work, I have always had a personal bias that the Goldberg Variations as something that Canada owns. An artist like Babayan would obviously have its own interpretation of the work, one that really can lend itself to so many different views. Rather than, to paraphrase Gould’s words, looking for some kind of mathematical correspondence between the theme and the 30 variations, I believe Babayan was trying to convey the character of each individual variation. That said, I thought that his playing of the variations had a logical and natural flow from one to the next, as well as a palpable sense of totality that eludes many artists. In the 25^th variation, he did not fall into the trap of wearing the tragedy of the music on his sleeve, but infused it with just the right degree of pathos. Babayan told me afterwards that he was inspired by the attentiveness of the afternoon’s audience.

After hearing Sergei Babayan, I understood why artists like Martha Argerich, Danil Trifonov, and Valery Gergiev regularly sought him out as collaborator. I am already looking forward to his next appearance in Vancouver.

Schiff in Seattle

In an age where the arts celebrate the personality of the performer and the idea of performer-as-hero, rather than the music, it is reassuring to have someone like Andras Schiff who, in spite of his enormous talent, remains true to his art, and refuses to be seduced by the currents of commercialism so rampant in music today.

Last evening, Mr. Schiff graced the stage of Seattle’s Benaroya Hall at the invitation of the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, and performed J. S. Bach’s monumental Goldberg Variations for a packed house and a very attentive audience (including one incredibly attentive seeing-eye dog in front of us.)

Like many others, I first encountered the Goldberg’s through Glenn Gould’s stunning debut recording on Columbia Records. For me, the impression that record made was so staggering that for a couple of decades, I find myself unable to listen to anyone else play the piece. But after hearing Mr. Schiff performing Book One of Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier in Vancouver last year, I decided that I had to make the trek to Seattle to attend this performance.

Schiff plays the Goldberg Variations observing all the repeats. On top of the technical and musical challenges of which there are many, any artist playing the Goldberg must capture the attention of the audience for an unbroken 75 minute. From the first note of the Aria to the final notes of the reprise of the same Aria at the end, his playing certain captivated my attention. Mr. Schiff creates a beautiful sound at the piano, and he certainly employs all the resources of the modern instrument, while being faithful to Baroque performance practices, to create a colourful performance of this incredible work. As I remarked in my piece on Schiff’s performance of the Well Tempered Clavier last year, his playing is certainly markedly different from Gould’s more (deliberately) monochromatic interpretation – I cannot help associate the way Gould played with his fondness for black and white movies. Both approaches are equally valid, of course, and the contrast between the two artists – much like two equally great painters painting the same subject – is what makes Bach’s great work continually valid and moving centuries after they were written. Most importantly, Schiff, like Gould, was and is able to touch upon the spiritual dimension of these variations that is, of course, the core of the music.

At the end of Schiff’s performance, the audience (bless their hearts) remained silent until the very last sound died away and then, as one, stood up, cheering Bach, and the wonderful man who brought this great work alive for us.

After repeated curtain calls, Schiff returned and rewarded us generously, playing (“With the pedal,” he added) the entire Sonata in E Major, Op. 109 by Ludwig van Beethoven. He indicated that it is difficult to really play anything after the Goldberg’s, but thought this would be an appropriate work to play. I think I understood his thinking, that he wanted to play a work that is just as exalted and spiritually uplifting as the Goldberg Variations.

Schiff has, in recent years, been devoting his efforts to performing and recording the Beethoven sonatas. I have not heard his Beethoven interpretation before, but if last night’s performance of the Op. 109 was any indication, I believe his other Beethoven performance would be well worth our attention. It is perhaps no mere coincidence that Op. 109 ends with a set of theme and variations, with the theme returning at the end.

During the long drive home to Vancouver, I was filled with a sense of gratitude, for Bach, and for this humble and soft-spoken artist for bringing us Bach’s work that, in Glenn Gould’s words, “observes neither end nor beginning, music with neither real climax nor real resolution, music which, like Baudelaire’s lovers, ‘rests lightly on the wings of the unchecked wind.’ It has, then unity through intuitive perception, unity born of craft and scrutiny, mellowed by mastery achieved, and revealed to us here, as so rarely in art, in the vision of subconscious design exulting upon a pinnacle of potency.”

After a performance such as last evening’s, the world, with all its problems, does not seem like such a gloomy place after all.

The Agony and Ecstasy of Glenn Gould

I received a recording of J. S. Bach’s Goldberg Variations that had attracted a lot of favourable critical attention a few years back. While I enjoyed the recording and find that it deserves much praise, I gradually find myself yearning to return to Glenn Gould’s final (1981) recording of Bach’s monumental masterpiece.

When Gould recorded the Goldberg Variations, the piece was considered to be quite a rarity, an obscure work more to be admired for its craftsmanship than enjoyed, and one that was only attempted by iconic figures such as Wanda Landowska. Since the release of the Gould recording, many pianists, amateur as well as professional, have wanted to scale the heights of Bach’s thirty variations on the simple Aria. The impact of Gould’s debut album cannot be overestimated. Many people, me included, have compared listening to that recording to a religious, life-changing experience. There are now dozens of recordings of the Goldberg, and sometimes the pianist’s concept can be almost as interesting as Bach’s design. None, however, even approached the emotional and musical heights achieved by Gould.

Gould’s 1981 recording of the Goldberg exists in two forms, a sound recording and a video of the performance. The takes for some of the variations are actually different in the recording and the film. Because there were limits to the quality of video technology in 1981, Gould was a little less picky about the sound for the film than for the recording. According to Kevin Bazzana in his wonderful biography of Gould, Wondrous Strange, he had fun “faking in sequences where he had to pantomime at the keyboard in order to synchronize visual with an existing soundtrack” - an extension of Gould’s idea of “creative cheating.”

I find the filmed version of the Goldberg even more compelling than the recording. Although the visual aspect of a performance probably does not add to its musical impact, there is a synergistic emotional effect in watching and listening to Gould’s playing. In his January 1956 recording of the Goldberg, the playing was effortless, and had a sense of fun, of exhilaration, almost like a kid showing off what he could do on a new bicycle. It was a performance of a young man in a hurry. In comparing the later recording with the earlier, the playing in the 1956 recording now sounds almost skittish and rushed.

In the 1981 performance of the Goldberg, there seems to be a great deal of suffering in the playing – not suffering in the physical sense, but spiritual suffering. When I think of that performance, I could not help but remember the words of Blessed John Paul II in his Apostolic Letter, Salvifici Doloris, where the then Pontiff commented on the meaning of human suffering, that, “suffering seems to belong to man’s transcendence: it is one of those points in which man is in a certain sense ‘destined’ to go beyond himself.”

Gould’s performances on the piano almost always possess an intensely spiritual quality. It is, for me, this very quality that makes his music making a moving experience. Nowhere is this more apparent than in this 1981 performance of the Goldberg. I believe that Gould, in the performance of his life, really did suffer for his art, and the result is a performance that achieves transcendence, and one that borders on the divine. This single performance of the Goldberg, in my view, towers above any musical performance of any work, and makes it one of the most important recordings in the history of the gramophone. In the film, when you watch Gould’s returning to the theme at the end, his face is that of a person that no longer belongs to the physical world. Bach was speaking to us using Gould as the medium. This performance of Bach’s Goldberg was and is Gould’s own agony and ecstasy.

Blessed John Paul II once said, “They try to understand me from outside. But I can only be understood from inside.” Even two decades after Gould’s death, writings on Gould, even from highly intelligent individuals, still allude to his supposed idiosyncrasies. I believe that those people who dwelled upon such external traits of Gould’s are missing the essence of the man and the artist. Perhaps we should focus less on the external and focus on the internal, on Gould’s heart and soul, which he gave every time he touched the keys of the piano. And our world is richer because of it.