Bach Goldberg Variations - Piano · PDF file Bach Goldberg Variations 127 versions surveyed, March 2013 With this survey I’ve changed the format somewhat by foregoing the

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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


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 under-

appreciated 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 two-

note 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. right-

brain 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 one-

dimensional, 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 zen-

like 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 over-

arching categories—energy and complexity—each with sub-categories.

Energy:

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:

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 re-

creation. 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 turned-

off 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 left-

hand 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,

the close proximity of the 32nd

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

can be—when done with a light touch and no pedal—in the 18th

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 17-

24 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 4-

foot 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

CD

5 Bahrami Ramin 2005 Decca CD

6 Barenboim Daniel 1989 Erato CD

7 Barenboim Daniel 1992 Mezzo YouTube

8 Bartos Samuel 1990 Connoisseur

Society CD

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

13 Dinnerstein Simone 2005 Telarc CD

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


19 Gould Glenn 1964 CBC YouTube


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 2006 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


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





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 2006 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 VAI YouTube

66 Tureck Rosalyn 1998 Deutsche

Gramophon CD

67 Vladar Stefan 1996 Preiser CD

68 Weissenberg Alexis 1981 EMI CD

HARPSICHORD VERSIONS

1 Bonizzoni Fabio 2005 Glossa CD

2 Cole Maggie 1991 Virgin CD

3 Crawford Lisa Goode 2008 Centaur MP3

4 Devine Steven

Chandos CD

5 Egarr Richard 2006 Harmonia Mundi CD


6 Galling Martin

Vox LP

7 Gilbert Kenneth 1986 Harmonia Mundi CD

8 Halls Matthew 2009 Linn CD

9 Hantaï Pierre

Opus 111 CD

10 Hasselmeier Christiane 1999 Discover CD

11 Haugsand Ketil 2002 Simax CD

12 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

YouTube

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 1992 Astree LP,CD

38 Vinikour Jory

Delos SACD

39 Wilson Glen 2010 Naxos CD

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 Marimba Cheung MP3

2 Finch Catrin Harp Deutsche Gramophon CD

3 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

ENSEMBLE VERSIONS

1 Canadian Brass Brass RCA CD

2 Homecoming Wind Ensemble Quartz MP3

3 Leopold String Trio Strings Hyperion CD

4 NES Chamber Orch. Orch. Nonesuch CD

5 Rachlin/Maisky/Imai Strings DG CD

6 Sitkovetsky Dmitri Strings Orfeo CD

7 Violins du Roy Strings Dorian CD

Documents

Bach Goldberg Variations - Piano · PDF file Bach Goldberg Variations 127 versions surveyed, March 2013 With this survey I’ve changed the format somewhat by foregoing the