Glenn Gould Quotes (1932-1982)

“I believe you can divide musical performance into two categories: those who seek to exploit the instrument they use and those who do not. In the first category, if we believe history, is a place for such legendary characters as Liszt and Paganini as well as many allegedly demanding virtuosi of more recent vintages. That category belongs essentially to musicians determined to make us aware of their relationship with their instrument. They allow that relationship to become the focus of attention. The second category includes musicians who try to bypass the whole question of the performing mechanism, to create the illusion of a direct link between themselves and a particular musical score. And, therefore, help the listener to achieve a sense of involvement, not with the performance per se but rather with the music itself. And in our time, there's no better example of that second musician than Sviatoslav Richter. What Richter does is insert between the listener and the composer his own enormously powerful personality as a kind of conduit. And we gain the impression that we're discovering the work anew and, often, from a quite different perspective than we're accustomed to.”

“Don't be frightened, Mr. Gould is here. (audience laughter) He will appear in a moment. I am not — as you know — in the habit of speaking on any concert except the Thursday night previews, but a curious situation has arisen, which merits, I think, a word or two. You are about to hear a rather, shall we say, unorthodox performance of the Brahms D Minor Concerto, a performance distinctly different from any I've ever heard, or even dreamt of for that matter, in its remarkably broad tempi and its frequent departures from Brahms' dynamic indications. I cannot say I am in total agreement with Mr. Gould's conception. And this raises the interesting question: "What am I doing conducting it?" (mild laughter from the audience) I'm conducting it because Mr. Gould is so valid and serious an artist, that I must take seriously anything he conceives in good faith, and his conception is interesting enough so that I feel you should hear it, too. But the age-old question still remains: "In a concerto, who is the boss (audience laughter) — the soloist or the conductor?" (Audience laughter grows louder) The answer is, of course, sometimes one and sometimes the other depending on the people involved. But almost always, the two manage to get together, by persuasion or charm or even threats (audience laughs) to achieve a unified performance. I have only once before in my life had to submit to a soloist's wholly new and incompatible concept, and that was the last time I accompanied Mr. Gould. (audience laughs loudly) But this time, the discrepancies between our views are so great that I feel I must make this small disclaimer. Then why, to repeat the question, am I conducting it? Why do I not make a minor scandal — get a substitute soloist, or let an assistant conduct? Because I am fascinated, glad to have the chance for a new look at this much-played work; because, what's more, there are moments in Mr. Gould's performance that emerge with astonishing freshness and conviction. Thirdly, because we can all learn something from this extraordinary artist who is a thinking performer; and finally because there is in music what Dimitri Mitropoulos used to call "the sportive element" (mild audience laughter) — that factor of curiosity, adventure, experiment, and I can assure you that it has been an adventure this week (audience laughter) collaborating with Mr. Gould on this Brahms concerto; and it's in this spirit of adventure that we now present it to you.”

“Among pianists, Glenn Gould was the ultimate line guy. He didn’t view the piano as a homophonic instrument, but as a veritable counterpoint machine, from which he coaxed Bach fugues and de-orchestrated Strauss tone poems with remarkable clarity: x-ray vision, some might say. When it came to less polyphonically inclined compositions, like early Mozart sonatas, Gould simply spruced up the left hand accompaniments to give the music a more “Baroque” contrapuntal flavor. And if the results sounded more like Brecht than Gould’s beloved Bach, well, that’s another article!”

“Glenn brought an extraordinary awareness and imagination – he had a very plastic mind - and he was capable of growing, of changing too. Bach offers a very rich field for differentiation of approaches because he was so unspecific about what he did, in terms of performance. But every time one plays a piece, it’s an opportunity not so much to go where the composer didn’t, but to come closer to what one conceives of as being the experience of the composer or the intention of the composer.”

“Glenn Gould, 'the greatest interpreter of Bach'. Glenn Gould has found his own approach to Bach and, from this point of view, he deserves his reputation. It seems to me that his principal merit lies on the level of sonority, a sonority that is exactly what suits Bach best. But, in my own view, Bach's music demands more depth and austerity, whereas with Gould everything is just a little too brilliant and superficial. Above all, however, he doesn't play all the repeat, and that's something for which I really can't forgive him. It suggests that he doesn't actually love Bach sufficiently.”

“It is as a Bach player that he will live and his recordings constitute his permanent legacy. Sometimes, as in the Partitas, he forced professionals, music lovers and critics to reconsider the music, throwing overboard all preconceived notions. It was not only that he had wonderful fingers and an ability to clarify the linear elements of the music. Other pianists — admittedly, not many — could do that too. But none had his particular kind of firmly centered sonority; a sonority that Piero Rattalino, the Italian specialist on pianists, compares to the sound evoked by the great colorists — Horowitz, Richter and Michelangeli. Above all, Gould's Bach interpretations made the music sound different — different in tempo, in phrase, in dynamics, in conception. Elements nobody previously had paid much attention to suddenly sprang into high relief. But there was nothing eccentric or mannered about the performances. The music was passing through a mind that took nothing for granted. It was an original mind that worked on a different set of premises and principles from other pianists. One could not describe it as traditional Bach playing, or romantic Bach playing, or neoclassic Bach playing, or modern Bach playing, or musicological Bach playing. Whatever it was, it breathed a life and spirit unique in the history of Bach performance.”