The greatest set of
variations ever composed is not something
that the CD listener should have in
only a single performance. The Goldberg
Variations is one of those works that
stands not only repeated and concentrated
listening, but can tolerate repeated
recording – something that most works
do not justify. There has, of course,
long been discussion over whether this
consummate work of pure keyboard music
is best played on the harpsichord or
the piano. While it is an interesting
musicological discussion point, bringing
with it an encapsulation of all the
arguments about supposed authenticity
and "what the composer would have
heard", all of which can be countered
with the famous "Bach’s plumbing"
argument (if he had had the modern version
he would have used it and enjoyed it).
However, the argument is, at the same
time, somewhat moot as the music itself
is of such incomprehensible greatness
that it withstands performance of almost
any kind. Thus, one repeats the point
that there is sense in owning multiple
versions of this work. There is much
to be said for Joanna McGregor’s thoughtful
piano interpretation, and many would
not be without Sviatoslav Richter, or
even Glenn Gould. Fine performers all,
and several well worth hearing. When
considering the performances on the
harpsichord there is a similar range
of options available. But however many
of these the listener might want to
hear there is an almost obligatory requirement
to compare harpsichordists, and even
pianists, when playing Bach, to Gustav
Leonhardt.
Leonhardt and Bach
is one of those pairings that defies
description, so intimately are the two
connected. The 1978 Goldberg recording
on Deutsche Harmonia Mundi is certainly
less flash than many later performances
and Leonhardt avoids drawing too much
attention to the virtuosity inherent
in Bach’s keyboard writing. Tempi are
on the broad side. Indeed the first
variation, with its leaping left hand,
is quite sedate. This is not a performance
that will set the listener on fire.
Instead Leonhardt is able to find the
depths of the music without recourse
to highly polished surface detail. The
reason for the sedate tempo at the beginning
is less to do with virtuosity (being
employed or ignored) and more to do
with architectural integrity. It is
this indefinable sense of the progression
of architectural structure that sets
Leonhardt apart from the rest. One is
aware from the opening chord of the
Aria that Leonhardt can already see
the opening chord of its reprise thirty
variations later and knows the position
and proportion of all the intervening
variations from that opening chord.
This gives the whole performance a tremendous
sense of authority and dignity –features
characteristic of Leonhardt’s playing.
Having mentioned above
that depth is exploited in place of
polish on the surface detail, this is
not to imply that the surface detail
is in any way flawed. While Leonhardt
does not emphasise the virtuosity inherent
in the writing, he has such command
of his technical facility that there
is plenty of drama when he wants it.
Variation four, with manuals coupled,
gives a strongly rhythmic, masculine
effect, contrasted immediately with
the delicate flowing movement of variation
five in constant semiquavers. Once again
the tempo is not especially high, but
the clarity of the detail is remarkable,
as is the slight variations in articulation
of the figures. This keeps the music
moving just as much as increased speed,
but at the same time provides a level
of surface detail that cannot be achieved
by tempo alone. In this one must appreciate
the distinction between surface detail
and surface polish. This detail
is again observable in the short fughetta
of variation 10, a sure display of Leonhardt’s
mastery of contrapuntal performance.
When the need for virtuoso display really
is there, in the Ouverture at variation
16, Leonhardt produces plenty of it.
The bold French overture style of the
opening juxtaposes big chords with ornamental
runs. Every note of these runs is perfectly
articulated – once again it is all about
proportion, here on a minute scale,
but producing a whole that is perfectly
balanced, without ever appearing obvious.
In variations 26and 29, outright speed
is adopted, and is all the more impressive
for being held in reserve until approaching
the peroration.
Interestingly, in this
recording Leonhardt was employing a
reproduction harpsichord; a copy from
1975 by William Dowd, of an instrument
of 1730 by the Parisian Blanchet. Perhaps
the choice of a French style harpsichord
could be viewed as odd, in comparison
to a more ‘northern’ sounding Ruckers
or Zell instrument. Clearly it is a
large instrument – two manuals being
almost essential in the Goldbergs –
and the richness of sound is a constant
pleasure. There is maybe a small regret
that Leonhardt choose not to record
on an original 18th century
harpsichord, as he did frequently at
other times, but the Dowd/Blanchet sound
must be viewed simply as beautiful,
and with plenty of appropriate gravity
in the bass and powerfully balanced
treble. There is certainly never an
unattractive note. However much any
listener might appreciate their personal
favourite recording of the Goldberg
Variations there should always be room
on the shelf, and time made for careful,
repeated listening, to the 20th
century’s closest equivalent to hearing
Bach himself playing. Gustav Leonhardt
will always remain separate from mere
‘other’ harpsichordists. This really
is sitting at the feet of the master.
Peter Wells
Gustav Leonhardt - harpsichord
