Gouldberg Variations

Bach's Goldberg Variations invite comparison by their very existence—they are literally a small army of tight-knit siblings, 32 Minions who share a color and similar outerwear but diverging personalities. That their unavoidable 20th-century champion, keyboard icon Glenn Gould, set up another opportunity for comparison by recording them in their entirety twice seems only natural somehow: This is an inherently iterative and associative piece, whose meaning and substance are bound up in its multiplicity. Why shouldn't it be a kind of musical Hydra, with every affirmative choice sprouting new alternatives? The work of the Goldbergs is never done.

And yet the key to both Gould recordings—the brash but breezy speed-freak version from 1955 and his more circumspect, confidently ambivalent 1981 rendition—is that they are not math theorems enacted on a keyboard but that they tap into what might be called the soul of the music, albeit from drastically different angles. Much, probably too much, has been made of Gould's pronounced eccentricities, as if his mad-genius approach were a necessary prerequisite of interpretive greatness, or as if Bach's prim Baroque impassivity needed a wildhaired Romantic to liven it up. (Forget that Gould's unique take involved as much precision as superstition, as much sweating-the-details as woo-woo intuition.) While there may be a grain of truth in the notion that a musty classic often requires an iconoclast to make it seem fresh, not least because that impolitic spirit may rhyme with the work's original impulse, the proof is all in the hearing, not the liner notes. And by this measure there is no contest or question of inviolable greatness; the fusion of performer and work between the Goldbergs and Gould is as complete as Maria Callas's Tosca, k.d. lang's "Crying," or Falconetti's Joan of Arc, and the fact that there are two Gould takes, cracked-mirror images of each other, only seals the deal.

While I've spent years reading about the Goldbergs (this backhanded encomium by Jeremy Denk is particularly fun), and more recently enjoyed a Sticky Notes podcast about same, until this past week I had never sat down and given my full attention to them. I listened first to Gould's 1981 recording, then to his 1955 original; I then listened to a playlist I made that stacked the two versions up against each other, blow by blow; you can sample it yourself here. I also found a copy of the scores online and tried my hand at a few. (I should also add that I don't consider Gould's ownership of the Goldbergs to be exclusive; I've also enjoyed Kimiko Ishizaka's popular and very clear-eared recording, as well as the harpsichord renditions of David Ponsford and Wanda Landowski.)

Having heard and considered both Gould renditions, I have to give a slight edge to the 1981 revisit, though there are a handful of movements in the 1955 that I prefer. By 1981, at the age of not quite 50, Gould had lived with the piece's contradictions and challenges for decades; though his youthful technical wizardry in 1955 showed that he could climb the heights of the piece with maddening ease, it wasn't until 1981 that he seemed to burrow into the work's interior. Both performances are distinguished by a sense of totality, that this is one long piece (or rather, a two-parter with a flashy scene change in the middle, at movement 16), but where the first one achieves this unity chiefly by means of speed, the second seems able to hold a more far-ranging vision of the whole in its grip throughout, and us with it. Those who feel that some of the piece's effervescent youthful joy is leached out in the process have a point, but then I don't share the impression of the Goldbergs as unceasingly ebullient gladhanding; it's not just the famous dark variations, 15 and 25, that counter that stereotype but tentative shape shifters like variation 13 or stormy affairs like variation 21.

Indeed the progression of the piece, if I can be permitted some narritivizing, seems to be a journey from relatively straightforward consonance into increasingly tangled thickets of dissonance and elaboration, especially after the equivocal halfway point—a tide of encroaching complication against which it mounts a defense, alternately trying to face the onslaught or change the subject, and from which it finally wrenches back control by the bittersweet end. Needless to say, I think this "story" emerges more clearly in the 1981 rendition, even if the telling properly began in 1955.

In a spirit of abundance engendered by these listens, and as my tribute to what Denk memorably called "a fool's errand attempted by the greatest genius of all time," I offer my notes, lightly edited and extrapolated, on my three listens to the Gould Goldbergs, helpfully color-coded so they can be read in various ways. (You'll see I didn't always have notes about the comparative listen; I trust that the stack-up of the two versions side by side may be comparison enough.)

Aria
1955: Almost casual, tossed off, not quite imprecise but definitely relaxed, unworried about occasional clusters of notes, breezing past aches of dissonance.
1981: Notes hanging in the air, highlighting the movement of middle voices, which seem to haunt every step. And oh, the infamous humming—a sort ambient, “Am I really hearing that?” Like an absent-minded ghost. The struggle of forward motion vs. disintegration, with parts independent of each other, always threatening to separate totally.
Comparison: The 1981 rendition is more than a minute longer than 1955 (3:07 vs. 1:54).

Variation 1
1955: Fast, a bit mechanistic, top and bottom notes popping, phrasing impeccable, those interlocking voices.
1981: Bang! All sharp edges, dynamic contrasts. Phrasing above all.
Comparison: In both, melodic phrasing is paramount, though 1955 feels a little heedless.

Variation 2
1955: A hard edge all around, yet still somehow kindly, bright but not quite glaring.
1981: Ornamented, frilly, sly; a bright, flashing dance.

Variation 3
1955: Folding and unfolding, a little relentless.
1981: Reconsidering, half tempo but not quite, suddenly quite obsessive. A note of petulance surfaces, as the left hand squirms.

Variation 4
1955: Big, stomping steps, stretching out, a little gawky and insistent.
1981: Assertive, indignant, preening, stately, smiling, though a bit stiffly; thicker chords with jutting tops.

Variation 5
1955: So fast yet also smooth, swimming forward at an inhuman speed but still somehow tossed off.
1981: It's a chase! A rapid, tinkling waterfall of dizzying 16th notes but there's still an internal logic to the phrasing.

Variation 6
1955: Chastened somehow, a sense of layering, of deliberate stacking; a warmer tone creeps in.
1981: Churning, deliberate, singing over the turning gears. 
Comparison: 1981 is far more assertive.

Variation 7
1955: As if awakening, delicate, a little fussy, bringing out the call and response between the two voices, as if posing in a mirror.
1981: Like shaking water off feathers, gestures of self-calming, prim little trills followed by pauses, a certain poise regained.

Variation 8
1955: Bam! A real edge—a clean edge, but an edge nonetheless. A few big notes spill out from the top; otherwise tightly contained. Perfectly inevitable ending.
1981: Fast but foreshortened phrases, climbing through the chords, unfolding harmonies, prickly edges, ending in a flurry.
Comparison: See next entry.

Variation 9
1955: Weaving, braiding, tinny, chiming.
1981: Poking along determinedly, not quite resting, left hand emerging strongly near the end.
Comparison: Both XIII and IX are much more musical in 1981, with a greater dynamic range and an emotional maturity characteristic of that rendition overall.

Variation 10
1955: Frowning, stately, chords coming in clusters.
1981: A trilling solo line uncoiling itself. Counterpoint like a duel, then a steely dance.
Comparison: 1981 is stiffer, less supple than 1955.

Variation 11
1955: Tumbling quietly, inexorably, rolling over and standing, real dynamics. The shape of all these pieces is so clearly drawn.
1981: Tumbling down, falling over itself, gracefully but perturbedly, nervously, rising up into minor.
Comparison: 1981 has more of an edge, also more sense of shape.

Variation 12
1955: Bang, bang—the pulse is relentless. There's a stark equality among the voices, hammering home the counterpoint.
1981: A real sense of arrival, with heavy ornamentation clinging like jingling jewels from strong limbs; some knotty dissonance in the final cadence.
Comparison: Both have similar tone but 1981 is more deliberate.

Variation 13
1955: Hesitant, courtly, gently irresolute, not quite settling on cadences, tentative—beautiful cadence halfway through. Worrying high notes prickling out a bit but the overall poise, calm isn’t broken. That final cadence!
1981: Slow, chastened, droplets of notes, a kind of inverted counterpoint folding in on itself. The longest piece so far, it builds a head of steam but very gradually, as harmony gets stranger and stranger.

Comparison: 1981 just more confident overall than 1955.

Variation 14
1955: Slam bang into chase of left and right, awkward clusters rattling in all registers, but forward movement is strong.
1981: Flurries of agitation rippling from left to right, splashing back and forth, arrows fired.
Comparison: 1981 has a stronger handle on this than 1955; there's still chaos but it's sorted.

Variation 15
1955: Mournful, obsessive repetition, gnarled chords, chiming open dissonances, notes at odd angles, exceedingly slow ritardando to hanging note.
1981: Longest one yet. It's somber, minor key, distended, unresolved, delicate, like it's tiptoeing in on some bad news with a furrowed brow.
Comparison: 1981 feels anguished, almost a moan.

Variation 16
1955: Reset! But like the dog that caught the car, you have our attention...now what? A little this, a little that, fuss and flutter, push this button, try this lever. Okay, let’s just dive into another runny machine-music thing.
1981: A palate cleanser: Wham! We’re in a whole new world, heavily ornamented, ambivalent, halting, elaborated, with an outburst of steady churn near the end.
Comparison: 1981 has this under better control than 1955; it's still odd, but there's a very firm conclusion.

Variation 17
1955: Head down, back to business, a quiet churn giving way to flashes of showy brilliance.
1981: Artful, tricky, brisk, some harmonic sleight of hand. Taking the new complicated normal and making sense of it, despite some querulous shimmying.
Comparison: 1981's lightness feels more nimble, more contained, brilliant without being brittle.

Variation 18
1955: A minuet of prim politesse, tit for tat, bass notes like a bassoon, toot toot toot.
1981: Back to deliberate pacing, shedding some frills, a few singing notes, peeved but poised.
Comparison: 1981 just has a stronger conception of this music than 1955.

Variation 19
1955: Like plucking flowers, patterns of give and take, open and close.
1981: Clipped, stately, curtsying, melody emerges as an overlay.
 Comparison: 1981 is almost perversely deliberate in pacing, but very sweet; slower tempo shines light on top melody.

Variation 20
1955: All sound—not quite losing the plot so much as breezing past it, exposing the gears, too fast to see outline. Ends with nary a ritard.
1981: Fireworks arching into dazzling runs that almost elide their dissonant underpinnings.
Comparison: Pyrotechnic feat of 1955 is all the more impressive for bringing out phrasing nevertheless; 1981 is stiffer and colder, with brilliance intact but pushing a bit.

Variation 21
1955: Brooding, suspended, chordy, stormy, irresolute; a real tune emerges but bubbles back under the surface. A non-ending.
1981: Downbeat minor key, descending progression, dissonant edges, rubato, dynamics, shadows and strain, shaking it off but still damp with tears.
Comparison: 1981 just sings out more, with stronger low voices, than 1955.

Variation 22
1955: Change of subject, what was I saying again? Shake off that dust—here’s a trill. Can’t seem to stay in major no matter how it tries, but sticks the landing.
1981: The left turn to major feels a little willful, dubious, a bit hesitant, but we're unmistakably warming up.
Comparison: 1981 downplays the joy, feels a bit heavy-spirited compared to 1955.

Variation 23
1955: Pop pop, fizz fizz, the dance of an upward fountain, a perfect mix of delicacy and assertion, with fast runs tumbling out matter-of-factly; there's a bit of double-stop clodhopper dance, then an abrupt end.
1981: Bright somersaults, splashes, strange beats, striving back toward simplicity, half successfully, but accumulating extra notes and unable to shed them.
Comparison: 23: The delicacy of 1981 takes some of the spine out of it, though it still has some kick.

Variation 24
1955: Formality returns, but decorations resume, harmonies start to tear and strain—bam, shut that down.
1981: Dashing heel turn, again shaking off some of the accretion, harnessing its power into forward momentum, trills everywhere you turn.
Comparison: 1981 evinces total confidence.

Variation 25
1955: A wistful look out the window. Jarring dissonances, counterpoint giving way to strophic chords with no way out of dissonant thickets; tempo seems free, inconstant; sounds more like Scriabin than Bach, a real dark night of the soul; stuck in molasses or quicksand, willing itself out by the end but oh, that dissonant finale.
1981: Slow minor tune, dissonant, chromatic, strange; single notes groping forward, struggling for resolution but not very hard, mostly content to twist and crawl; full stops, as piece is pulled ahead but so unsteadily it’s unsettling; it just hangs fire halfway through its six-minute form, then repeats, finding no home on shifting sands.
Comparison: Uncharacteristically, 1955 is longer than 1981 (6:29 vs. 6:03), and I think this bespeaks the later rendition's relative comfort with ambiguity, where the earlier one is prone to wallow and flail.

Variation 26
1955: Heedlessly fast, as if in denial of what came before, a door-slam on doubt. But wait—what are we doing again? Did melody get lost? Keep running, maybe we’ll catch up. A stampede with a hard cut off.
1981: The most insane blizzard of notes yet, like DNA strands twirling, but with a spine. Logic is returning, albeit a bit tortured. Splutters after less than a minute, out of breath. 
Comparison: The manic take of both is similar, but some clarity of phrasing is gained by 1981.

Variation 27
1955: Stern stuff, keep those stragglers in line, finger-flicking trills of pique.
1981: A bit slower, still intense, pushing through, suddenly going a bit quiet, holding back; curls of trills like music is cramping up.
Comparison: 1981 is more clear-eyed, again with a firmer rein on complication and speed, also dynamics.

Variation 28
1955: Chiming bells above and clusters below, clock gears made of jewels—then alarm goes off. Music aiming outward somehow.
1981: A bright, constant trill, turning a tic into a deliberate ornament. Tamping back down under control, then ramping back up to a little bank-shot ending.

Variation 29
1955: Really a bit much, those clusters in both hands—bouquets in fists. Phrasing gives way to sheer rushes of feeling.
1981: Clusters of notes, owning the crowded frills, dancing in a frilly dress, ending with a wave.
Comparison: 1981 is a triumph of clarity, both stormy and bright, both clouds and rain.

Variation 30
1955: Here’s a tune for ya, a little drunken in its insistence, with a galumphing stomp. Pulls back for moment, comes on strong, ends sweetly.
1981: Remember this tune? No? It's new but it sounds familiar. We’re doing tunes again! Though dream of earlier simplicity has mostly gone, a force of will binds it together to final strong cadence.

Aria da capo
1955: A sense of arrival, so satisfying, magisterial, the confidence of quiet.
1981: A quiet survey of the battlefield, the fallen soldiers. It's a majestic callback, and everything falls away. Suspensions and small ripples, trillls smoothed out into notes that ring out. More minor, more appoggiaturas, coming home a bit worse for wear, winding down to repose.
Comparison: Like the first Aria, 1981 is much slower, as if savoring the moment (though Gould apparently disliked the word "savor" in this context). It's a full 90 seconds longer than the 1955 version! And yet, amazingly, only in 1955 did he ring out the final appoggiatura (a tiny F# grace note before the final G), opting in 1981 to skip the grace note and land squarely on the G. Maybe when your whole approach to this movement—indeed the whole piece—feels like a masterful suspension you don't need to actually perform this final suspension? After all the thorny complication and blessed variety of Gould's lifelong Goldberg saga, this valedictory resolution feels richly earned.