GG: San Fran Symposium

[Mary Jo Watts <mwatts@rci.rutgers.edu>]

The Sunday, May 25 1997 edition of the _San Frasncisco Examiner_ carried
an article by Allan Ulrich about Gould inspired by the recent Gould
symposium there.

You can access the article by pointing your browser to:
http://www.examiner.com/ and searching on the date, byline and keyword
"Gould" but since it's short I'm reproducing it here-- no copyright
infringement intended.
Good as Gould 

_Classical pianist's legacy continues to inspire outpouring of
recordings and
literature_

Allan Ulrich
EXAMINER MUSIC CRITIC

        Canadian pianist Glenn Gould has been dead for nearly 15 years
and he haunts us
        still. 

        Indeed, it is impossible to cite another serious classical
performer of this era whose
        demise prompted so much passionate interest among scholars and
listeners.
        Gould's record company, Sony Classical (formerly Columbia
Masterworks),
        continues to release videos and reissue sound recordings,
including several of
        non-commercial origin. Three more compact discs in Sony's "Glenn
Gould Edition"
        have appeared this spring; included among them is a lot of Bach,
as well as Gould's
        bizarre, Straussian String Quartet No. 1 and his antic vocal
composition, "So You
        Want to Write a Fugue?" 

        The Gould literature continues to grow, too. This week, Norton
publishes the late
        Peter F. Ostwald's absorbing psychobiographical study, "Glenn
Gould: The
        Ecstasy and Tragedy of Genius," and it will join a bookshelf
already swelling with
        Gouldiana, some of it from the pianist's own pen. The
Toronto-based Glenn Gould
        Foundation (through the Friends of Glenn Gould Society) issues a
semiannual
        journal brimming with intensely serious and frequently
illuminating articles about the
        pianist - not exactly your average fanzine. 

        And scholars, old associates and music lovers periodically
convene to consider the
        Gould legacy and the meaning of it all. Last weekend, San
Francisco Performances
        and the Peter F. Ostwald Health Program for Performing Artists
at UCSF
        co-presented a one-day symposium that drew participants from two
continents.
        Led by Lise Deschamps Ostwald, they reminisced, they analyzed,
and they
        screened several of the programs Gould made for the Canadian
Broadcasting
        Corp. Previous Gould film festivals sponsored by S.F.
Performances have sold out
        and this latest was well attended, too. 

        Part of the Gould mystique is easy to explain. At a time when
concert life seemed a
        starched ritual, he emerged a rebellious romantic figure, whose
first 1955 recording
        of Bach's "Goldberg Variations" (which sells heartily even
today), seemed to herald
        a James Dean of the keyboard. Gould's eccentricities - the
wearing of scarves and
        gloves in summer, the bathing of the hands in scalding water
before playing, the
        low, creaking chair he never forsook, the monastic personal
routine, the
        hypochondria - made compelling copy. 

        Yet, eccentrics come (these days, principally from Australia)
and they go. But few
        possess Gould's searing and playful, if sometimes misapplied
intellect, or his brilliant
        technique. And fewer still decide to abandon the concert hall
forever, as Gould did
        at 32 in 1964, and to concentrate solely on recording. 

        Gould, who often predicted he would be dead by 50 (he was
correct), still exerts
        fascination partially because there's so much of him around to
fascinate. He was a
        genuine cultural hero in a country starved for one; and the CBC,
in an astonishing
        burst of enlightenment, gave him virtual carte blanche both on
radio and television.
        In these productions, episodes of sophomoric humor yield to
provocative
        lecture-demonstrations about music and to a series of absorbing
sound
        documentaries, "The Solitude Trilogy," which exemplifies Gould's
notion of
        contrapuntal radio, voices overdubbed, fading into each other, a
mosaic of sounds
        much imitated since. 

        Gould to a great extent lingers in our consciousness because he
was the first great
        musician of the electronic age to rethink the purposes of
recording. "There's no
        reason to record anything, unless you record it differently,"
was a favorite motto.
        For Gould, recordings were not there to provide souvenirs of a
live concert, like
        audio doggie bags. They were a legitimate medium for artistic
exploration. The
        absence of an audience eliminated the impediments between
musician and
        composer, and intense tape editing and multiple miking were not
devices of
        deception but true artistic tools. 

        The public factor was deleterious to interpretive integrity. In
an interview played
        during the symposium, Gould deemed his recording of Bach's
Partita No. 5 his
        worst; it was made while he was still giving concerts and all
the egregious
        expressive effects calculated to wow the folks in the balcony
found their way onto
        the tape. 

        A younger generation of scholars, born in an age of electronic
media, finds much to
        ponder in this philosophy. Nothing was more interesting during
the symposium than
        Kevin Bazzana's paper, "Glenn Gould in the Studio: Recording
Technology as
        Performance Practice," which will be the subject of a
forthcoming book from
        Oxford University Press. 

        Concert hall realism - the goal of most classical recording
until Gould came along -
        was a chimera. It's not accidental that one of the pianist's
more enthralling radio
        documentaries concerned conductor Leopold Stokowski, who, a
generation
        earlier, had embraced technology and turned it to his own
purposes. 

        What might have happened had Gould lived on? How might he have
greeted the
        opportunities afforded by interactive CD-ROM technology? The
notion of Gould
        clarifying Bachian counterpoint hunched over in cyberspace is
downright intriguing.
        I suspect he would have relished the possibilities, too. 


Comments?
-Mary Jo