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When
the Russian envoy to the court of Saxony in Dresden, Count Hermann
Carl von Keyserlingk, commissioned a small harpsichord piece from
his good friend Johann Sebastian Bach, with which to while away
his sleepless nights, the good nobleman could not have known that
the resulting set of variations, in Bach's mathematical and artistic
fashion, would become one of the most important variations in the
early history of music. (It was not, however, to help cure the count's
insomnia, as so often recounted in musical anecdotes.)
Posterity
now remembers this work, which Bach called Clavierübung part
IV, as the Goldberg Variations after Keyserlingk's harpsichordist,
a certain young man named Johann Gottlieb Goldberg who had been
a student of both Bach the senior as well as the son Wilhelm Friedmann.
In view of this, we can assume that Bach's variations were intended
not just as a testimonial of his own compositional skills but to
Goldberg's musical talent as well.
The
basis on which the Goldberg Variations is constructed is
not the melody, as might be expected, but the harmonic architecture
(or chord sequences) of the theme. Each variation comes in two halves,
both of which are repeated. The first half travels from G major
to D major, the second back through E minor to G major. The only
exceptions to this plan are three variations (nos.15, 21 and 25)
in G minor, which return home from D major through E-flat major.
As with so much of Bach's music, there are no tempo markings (except
in no.15), leaving the pacing of the variations up to the individual
performer.
What
makes this new recording interesting, in the face of competition
largely dominated by several other "big" names, is the approachability
of this music. You can listen to this for hours on end and not get
sick of it - or what in some classical circles has been blithely
called the "Desert Island Disc" syndrome.
Indeed,
one can see why no less an advocate than György Ligeti once said
of a Koroliov recording of The Art of the Fugue: "Were I
allowed to take only one work with me to a desert island, I would
choose Koroliov's Bach, since even if I were alone, starving and
dying of thirst, I could happily listen to this record over and
over again until I took my last breath."
Koroliov
is not inflexible in his thoughtful selection and adherence of tempi;
there is a rhythmic elasticity coupled with a very apposite use
of rubato in his playing. The Aria begins with a sense of
flow that immediately establishes his approach to the music. As
might be expected, he also adds ornamental improvisations in the
repeats - he plays all of the repeats, including the Aria da
capo - to make it just that much more interesting.
Variation
No.4 does sound a little rushed, especially with the added embellishments
in the repeat, but the transition to the next variation is pulled
off very nicely. Variation 5, at the same speed, is pure keyboard
virtuosity from Koroliov, and why not - he has flair aplenty to
burn. There is a rhythmic lilt to the Gigue of Variation
7 that is contagiously pleasing to the ear.
Variation
13 is, one sense, deliberately slow, almost like a Romantic melancholy,
which contrasts dramatically with the fireworks display of Variation
14, which in turn plays off the change of tempo and key in
Variation 15: it evokes an eyebrow-raising effect on listeners,
who aren't concerned with the minutiae of performance technicalities,
best described as "something's very different here and I don't know
what it is, but I like it".
The
dotted quavers (eighth-notes) in Variation 16 are played effervescently
with a lot of rubato and pedal, although the descending intervals
of Variation 17 appear rather volatile. There is an interesting
change which Koroliov makes in the repeat of the first part of Variation
18: he plays the treble part one octave higher.
Variation
19, taken at an autumnal pace, is especially beautiful; this makes
the change to the presto of the next variation drastic. The
triple-crochets in Variation 29 are wonderfully done, albeit Koroliov's
ornaments in the second half are unconvincingly wilful. The Quodlibet
is simply lovely. The return to the Aria da capo è fine,
played with much ritenuto, is unaffected and makes a fitting conclusion
to the cycle.
| Fractured
Time: In The Studio
The sound on this disc is spectacularly vivid; these recordings
were made over five days in April 1999 at the Festeburgkirche
of Frankfurt-am-Main. For a musician of Koroliov's ability
to give a performance of the Goldberg Variations as
a whole in recital (about an hour and twenty minutes, give
or take) would already take a remarkable amount of concentration.
But this feat is even more astounding under recording circumstances:
tackling a few variations at a time, possibly out of sequence,
over a period of five days, and yet making it all sound like
a reading from a single sitting when it all comes together
at the end.
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The
documentation, even by Hänssler's usual high standards, is superlative.
In four languages, there is extensive history of the work, an scholarly
analysis which is not belaboured with too many technical terms beyond
the reach of the layperson (which happens too often) as well as
an expository interview with Koroliov himself about his approach
to the Goldbergs, in addition to the usual recording info,
musician bio and facsimile reproduction of the title page.
The
outstanding quality of Koroliov's reading is the overall sense of
continuity from one variation to the next, while at the same time
detailing the individual temperment of each. There are times when
he offers outright bravura, but these are thoughtfully balanced
by moments of poetry and charisma.
Where
other musicians have stamped their own idiosyncracies and left their
interpretative fingerprints on the Goldbergs, Koroliov does
not leave too dire an "impression". Instead, he has given
it an eloquently attractive treatment that should have listeners
- composers or otherwise - returning to it again and again.
BENJAMIN CHEE remembers the fifth
variation from Civilization.
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646:
2.2.2000 ©Benjamin Chee
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