BEETHOVEN:
Piano Sonata No. 30 in E Major, Op. 109; Piano Sonata No. 31 in A-flat
Major, Op. 110; Piano Sonata No. 32 in C Minor, Op. 111 - Glenn Gould,
piano
Naxos Great Pianists 8.111299, 55:55 [Not Distrib. In USA] ****:
Glenn Gould (1932-1982) recorded the last three Beethoven sonatas 20-29
June 1956 as a “reward” for his first CBS inscription, the famed Goldberg Variations
of 1955; the CBS LP--here remastered in stunning, penetrating sound by
Mark Obert-Thorn--was released as ML 5130. Gould, while not respecting
Beethoven’s repeats, does provide a rhythmically secure and digitally
clear conception to each of the sonatas. He catches the upbeat effect
of the Op. 109 first movement, and he delivers a fierce Prestissimo
for the second movement. Gould takes the ensuing variations of the
third movement quite rapidly, the fugal variant both quick and
risoluto. Idiosyncratic and sometimes painfully intruded upon by
Gould’s vocal sounds, the performance still takes our collective breath
away, the flutters, arpeggios and trills all pouring out a seamless
cornucopia of sound. The return of the main theme in movement three has
the stately, composed earmarks of the Bach Goldbergs all over again, as though Op. 109 were an extended improvisation on Bach’s original.
Sparkling clarity marks the Op. 110 Moderato cantabile molto espressivo,
with an accent on the music’s vocal power. Again, Gould’s warbling and
guttural strummings do not help us, but the even flow of the figures,
their cumulative syncopes and clarion shifts of registration, never
cease to beguile. The bass progressions descend forcefully but not
harshly, the dynamics gracefully balanced and controlled by Apollinian
restraint. The second movement might be construed as “too British,” too
staid in the joints. Its middle section delights in mixed, staccato
colors; but it all passes away quickly, and the pensive march opens
again. The Adagio, with its marking “Arioso dolente,” brings out the intellectual refinement Gould could project, a sensitivity that never becomes maudlin. The Fuga
evolves as a plastic, colorist, even whimsical series of exercises in
strict tempo. Gould’s unwarranted singing often takes on an irritating
buzz that reminds us the bumblebee is aerodynamically unsuited for
flight.
The Op. 111, while clearly the most Dionysiac of the Gould triptych,
remains the most bizarre, opting for brutally fast tempos that throw
much of the drama out of proportion and reduce the ritenuto passages to
tatters. That Beethoven’s stormy passions can be played as demonic
etudes comes as a mixed blessing at best. The Arietta proceeds soberly enough, followed by a tender arioso;
but Gould’s natural willfulness vents itself compulsively with mounting
force, and the effects tumble into one another. Kinetic, frenetic,
hectic, but not particularly aesthetic, the last movement wants to lose
itself in the Abyss; and all the while Gould intones his own siren’s
song, a hymn to divine eccentricity. Brilliant, but caveat emptor.
