Early Inspiration

I first saw Glenn Gould playing piano on Channel 6, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Living in the hinterlands of Vermont, near the Canadian border, had its perks. I was about 13. I was immediately swept up in the intensity and emotionality of his playing. I had never seen anyone so completely at one with what he was doing. It was as if the piano was an extension of his body. There was no trying, no straining, just absolute confidence; it seemed effortless.

Of course, it wasn't effortless. But Gould had risen to such an advanced level technically that all that was left for him was expression, and this expression happened spontaneously. As he swayed his body, sometimes lifting one arm to conduct the playing hand, he seemed to be in a state of, well, ecstasy.

I was literally rapt with attention throughout the entire performance of Beethoven's Cello Sonata in A major, with Leonard Rose on the cello. What I had always found odd and vaguely unmanly was now fascinating to me. I had watched bits of the Sunday arts show that the recordings were played on, but had always been bored with the classical music, especially the piano styles and flamboyance of the wankerish virtuosos who I would see from time to time. But with Gould I was swept up into it; the beautiful melodies of the mid-period Beethoven didn't hurt.

Before long, I had purchased Gould's recording of The Goldberg Variations. Hearing him play Bach was a revelation. His speed and clarity of tone were perfect for this piece. I could hear each line of the piece with total balance and symmetry. And yet, it wasn't all about the technic. Once again, I found his playing to be almost unbearably beautiful. As restrained as his style with Bach could be, there was always the same emotional intensity that you heard in all his playing. It sounded like someone who was restraining very powerful emotions and only letting them seep out in the slowest, smallest way possible.

Though I would go on to buy many of his records, it was always these first encounters on CBC television that inspired me the most. I think it was the visual aspect. Here I was not only hearing gorgeous sounds, but was seeing their expression by a beautiful young man, who, it seemed, was caught up in his work like, well, a young saint of the piano. His spirit I could only compare to mystics I have read about like Francis of Assisi. It was as if Gould was seeing God. And I, watching him see God, was sharing in that experience.