I simply can’t resist
a recording of the Goldberg Variations,
no matter how many I have and have
heard, and reviewed, no matter whether
on the harpsichord, transcribed or
on the piano. Which, technically,
is a transcription, too – but so accepted
by now, that we don’t think of it
as such.
Like probably everyone
who is familiar with this work, I
have certain favorites or have been
shaped, in my expectations, from recordings
that left an emotional footprint –
usually because they were the first
with which one was exposed to the
work. Glenn Gould’s recordings are
so fêted, rank so high, because
his was one of the first, certainly
the most iconic, recording that brought
the Goldberg Variations to our attention.
For listeners and performers alike
it remains the most important recording
in the catalogue, but in more than
part because of its landmark status,
not because of the playing or interpretation.
Gould’s
1955 recording might be the first
(important) word on the Goldberg Variations
on piano, but it isn’t the last. Evidently,
because among the 300+ recordings
that have since been made, there must
be well over 100 that also use the
piano, and all – hopefully – by pianists
that thought they, too, had something
to say about the aria and its 30 variations.
Among those to follow
Gould, I cherish Murray Perahia (2000,
Sony) for a suave, romantic approach
and fine tone – the nervously idiosyncratic,
Gouldesque, at times, Konstantin Lifschitz
(1994,
Denon), and Evgeni
Koroliov’s 1999 recording (on
Hänssler Classics) who, after
a boring aria, plays the variations
with that inevitable, compelling,
clockwork-like momentum that seems
so indelibly Bach’s.
Issued now, on Nimbus,
is Vladimir Feltsman’s recording of
the Goldberg Variations which was
once available on MusicMasters/BMG
and through the Musical Heritage Society.
That was in the early 1990s, shortly
after they were recorded at a recital
Feltsman gave on 26 October 1991,
at the Moscow Conservatory. In more
than one regard, there are parallels
to his younger Russian colleague Lifschitz,
whose recording is also live, also
recorded at the Conservatory (it was
the 16 year old Lifschitz’s graduate
recital, if I recall correctly), also
observes all the repeats, and also
employs mock register changes.
Feltsman’s touch
is very deliberate, delicate, and
of weightless elegance in the aria,
though never ‘precious’. Very early
on it becomes clear that Feltsman
plays Bach more as if he were on a
harpsichord than any pianist I have
heard, but he doesn’t do it in the
Gould way of trying to make the piano
sound like the harpsichord it isn’t.
No repeat is exactly as the first
– there are always changes in registration,
ornamentation, or voicing – sometimes
all of them together. That can sound
idiosyncratic, even here, but sufficient
musical sensibility and taste prevent
the playing from ever becoming a display
of wayward vulgarity.
The arpeggiated four
note chord in the 11th
bar of the aria, a calling card for
every interpreter, is first taken
from the top down (g2-e2-b-g)
as does Gould (and various pianists,
but usually only in the repeat) –
to marvelous effect. Feltsman doesn’t
invert it in the repeat – which he
starts out an octave higher, he makes
it a coy bracketed step (g2-
b- e2-g). The faux-register
shifts, like Feltsman’s in the aria
repeat, shifts can drive harpsichord
players up the wall when done in
place of actually changing nuances,
because it seems to suggest that the
pianist thinks that a harpsichord
played really only changes octaves,
rather than further vary his or her
playing. Thankfully, Feltsman does
them in a far less self-conscious
manner than Martin Stadtfeld, who
burst onto the scene with a self-recorded,
idiosyncratic version of the Goldberg
Variations that was picked up by Sony
Europe. Nor does he leave it at playing
higher or lower or switching voices
from the right to the left hand and
back, which is what Lifschitz could
be said to be guilty of. Feltsman
varies his touch even when he is already
doing something more obviously ‘different’
with a repeat.
As far as piano interpretations
are concerned, his is as far away
as can be from the overt and, dare
I say: schmaltzy, emoting of Simone
Dinnerstein. (Not that her approach
is per se bad, or her recording
– if you like the style – anything
but fine and worth listening to.)
His ‘stubbed out’ fourth variation
doesn’t glide by, it happily, haltingly
bops along. Variation 14 is particularly
colorful as notes twitter at the listener
from all registers.
Bringing the Goldberg
Variations – with all repeats – in
under 80 minutes speaks of the nimble
fingers that Feltsman employs often,
but not throughout nor indiscriminately.
He is very audibly unconcerned about
getting things ‘done in time’ whenever
he lingers, as for example in variation
15.
There isn’t the focus
on forward propulsion that makes Koroliov’s
recording (85 minutes) special, but
everything is ever-vigilant and entertaining.
Because you are always expecting something
new, it makes for very alert ears.
Undoubtedly a happy surprise – and
one of the most charming piano accounts
I have heard in a long time. If repeat
listening will prove to be as enjoyable
as the first impression was good I
can’t tell, but I know that I will
listen to it repeatedly – and gladly
– until I know.
Jens F. Laurson
Vladimir Feltsman (piano)
[79.32]
