On Glen Gould

I rented Michele Hozer's and Peter Raymont's documentary  Genius Within: the Inner Life of Glen Gould.


I'd been skeptical about it, fearing either pure hagiography or lurid expose.  It appears to be a balanced and clear eyed view of major musical talent.  Gould was loquacious, talking, engagingly and with great warmth, insight and humor.   


There seems to be endless footage of him walking: on the beach, in the snow, at night on the sidewalks of Toronto.


Also included are extensive interviews with Cornelia Foss, who left her husband, the composer Lucas Foss for Gould in 1967, and the two Foss children, who have warm memories of him.  Jamie Lorado makes frequent appearances along with Fred Sherry.  In addition, childhood friends and producers and engineers from  Columbia and the CBC.  Of special interest to me were the comments of a classmate of his from the Toronto Conservatory on his piano technique.


As with most music documentaries, there is not one piece played in its entirety:  a few bars and then voice-over.  But Gould's playing, at it's best, was so transcendent that what we do hear completely overshadows the movie.  Who would want to listen to talk when one could witness such playing?


The famous conflict with Leonard Bernstein over Gould's approach to the Brahms D-minor is recounted and we get to hear a bit of the first movement.  I must say, it's dreadful.  Gould's playing was all in his fingers and his detached attack and crystalline fleetness were unsuited to Brahms.   Later we hear him playing one of the early Brahms ballades (as an accompaniment to moody pacing around in supposed response to Cornelia's having returned to her husband).  The playing is fussy and unconvincing.

There is considerable fascinating footage of Gould at work in the recording studio.  He quite famously gave up public performance for recording early in his career.  It's strange to remember a point in time when a classical pianist would be treated as a recording star by a major conglomerate. 

There's also see tour of Russia and a still photo of him with Richter (who thought Gould could be absolutely brilliant, but correctly criticized his failure to take the repeats in Bach).  There's quite a bit about the Cold War era.   A lost world, one that I remember.


Cornelia Foss left Gould over his drug use - apparently all pharmaceuticals.  The only drugs mentioned are anti-depressants and drugs for anxiety.  I'd like to know more.  I've always felt that there's a certain speed vibe in his sense of time with it's elasticity and incredible control.   He had certain sonic similarities with Dylan, the high clear amphetamine sound in Blonde on Blonde especially.


Most of the footage used in the movie is from the earlier part of this life.  According to Foss, he became increasingly paranoid and controlling.   Details are not provided. 

He died of a stroke shortly after his 50th birthday, in 1982, seven years before the fall of the Berlin wall.  With the collapse of the Soviet Union, support for the arts in the U.S. began to decline: we no longer had to prove to the world that we could compete with the Communists in all areas of culture.


Gould lived in to the early days of the digital revolution that would destroy the recording industry that sustained his career and his retreat from the stage.


His hypochondria is discussed: like Duke Ellington, he was afraid to shake hands.  

Why Nature Has Reasons

Lui Chi: The Terror

I worry that my ink well 
    may run dry,
that right words 
    cannot be found.
I want to respond to each 
   moment's inspiration.
Work with what is given;
    that which passes cannot be detained.
Things move into shadows and vanish;
    memory returns in an echo.
When Spring arrives,
    we understand why Nature has reasons.
Thoughts rise form the heart on breezes
    and language finds its speaker.
Yesterday's buds are this morning's blossoms
    we draw with a brush on silk.
Every eye knows a pattern;
    every hear hears distant music.

Lui Chi's Wen Fu

Translated by Sam Hamill

The Wen Fu, from the 3rd century, is the earliest work on the poetic arts in Chinese.  However, no distinction seems be be made between poetry and music, or at least, poetry and song, so it is a guide for musicians as well.  It's published by Milkweed Editions under the name The Art of Writing.

If you're interested what tradition might mean, where it comes from and how it abides, read this little book.  It is from a world and time almost inconceivably remote.  It is ironic that classical Chinese poetry became the touchstone for so much of modernism in American letters, with it's own rejection of the 19th century poetic canon.   

This encounter can be explored in detail in the Eliot Weinberger edited New Directions Anthology of Classical Chinese Poetry, which includes translations by Ezra Pound, Kenneth Rexroth, Gary Snyder and David Hinton.  It also includes what appears to be a fantastical translation of the Wen Fu by Achilles Fang and essays and reviews of each others' work by Williams and Snyder.