[First I wanted to call this series of posts The Naive Listener but friends told me that I am in no regard a naive person, exactly the counterpart: someone who reads and thinks too much (I'm a 35 year old German teacher of English and German, by the way). So I called this The Subjective Listener. Well, all listening is subjective, of course, but what I want to stress is that I am not a musician, have no musical training and, up to this post, have been, as a child of my time, a very impatient listener to classical music - and classical music demands patience. Now I have started to listen intensely, with eyes closed. And I begin to have the feeling that I hear all the famous pieces for the first time (some I do indeed). Now, I cannot compare myself with the tremendously well informed likes of Messrs Lampson and Satz (keep up the good work!) but maybe my posts are nevertheless interesting for some of you: when someone listens to a wellknown piece or recording for the first time (or the first time with concentration) you might get the feeling that you do this again for the first time - and that's maybe worth your while.] I went and bought Glenn Gould's 1955 recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations because I read it was the winner of a poll asking for the best classical recording ever. I like the combination of voice, words and music very much and expected to grow impatient being left alone with only a piano (and Gould's voice, of course). But soon the music got me in its grip. They say Gould hums while playing. I would say he whistles. Well, he TRIES to whistle. A gifted piano player, a poor whistler. But then it didn't disturb me too much. The very idea of the Variations strikes me as being lovely and poetic. The same piece at beginning and end, in between thirty variations of it, some bright, some sombre, some meditative, some gay. A symbol of life, of creation? "I am no man, I am a Kosmos." (Walt Whitman) I did not like all the Variations, I have to admit. Some bored me, some were hectic but maybe that's Gould. He plays sometimes as if he was on an overdose of coffeine or as if he had to catch the last train home and was already late for it. I have always found sheer virtuosity a very boring thing. Hey, you think, this guy can play piano at a neckbreaking pace. Wow! Then you think: So what? Wheres the beef? That is: what is the message lying behind the virtuosity, behind the speed? I learned from Don Satz's post on the Goldberg Variations that Gould himself played the pieces slower some decades later. I am longing to listen to that recording. I also learned from Don that Gould cut most of the repeats. Sometimes I thought: what a pity! Some pieces are only 0'35 or 0'29 long! And the lovely Aria (I like this piece most of the whole cycle) is over in 1'53. Good that I can repeat it on my player as often as I like. This Aria is so tender, so profound, it really touched me, I felt like being in the companion of a good friend who knows what human life is about: loss and pain and fragile happiness. (Yes, The Subjective Listener WAS the right title for this post.) I especially liked the following Variations: 3, 6, 7, 13, 15, 24, 25 and 30. No 3 is gay and light-hearted but not thoughtless, elegant, bordering both on the serious and the amused. It is music that gives me a good feeling without letting me forget about humanity and its limits. No 6 is more sombre but has the same charm as No 3 has. The piece (alas, without repeats, only 35 seconds!) makes me wanna dance! And then it provokes such a comfortable melancholy in me, it is magic. No 7 I love! It has such an air of spring about it, of little girls dancing in a green meadow, of a strong, very elegant and even capricious belief in life. This piece will stay with me. No 13 is more thoughtful. I imagine a self-forgotten ballerina dancing to it on a rehearsal. The music is so satisfied just to be there, to be beautiful, to play with the notes, to become more and more light-hearted. It is comforting, that's the word for me. No 15 Don Satz thinks is depressing. It hasn't that quality for me but, yes, there is something merciless about it. The dancing grace is gone, the piece talks about loss and resignation and it does this without protest, it gives in. No depression for me, but sadness, loneliness, not expressionistic, but very subtle. No 24: There is the dance again! I would hum to this myself. The music goes off, robust and happy-go-lucky, never losing confidence, telling all of us how good life is. No 25 is the famous Black Pearl. I have to say: I do not really like the piece but then it didn't let me go uninterested. The moment when you think the piece ends but goes on instead is tremendous. The whole thing sure is deep and profound, but I felt like someone who is invited to read a secret diary and feels strange about it. But, well, I would read it, of course. - The piece is like a prayer in the night, that is the right picture for me, and, you see, I do not like to witness people praying. No 26 is life again, is the glass half full for sure. Here Gould's speed is okay for me for all the energy arrested in No 25 here bouncing and jumping back now. I would give this music to elementary school children: how they would understand it immediately and start to dance and laugh. No 30 is stately and proud. The piece says: Here I am! Look at me! And you look and see pride in one self, a good pride. A good piece to start Mondays with or to listen to before you go to your boss. And then there is the Aria again ending the play with the profound and tender words of the beginning. All comes to rest, all the changes, all the speed, all laughter and all sadness. A calm feeling comes over me, a quiet but strong Yes is said in my soul to life. Robert Peters [log in to unmask]