I grew up with Glenn Gould’s Goldberg Variations. My father had his 1956 debut recording on Columbia Masterworks (ML 5060) that established the then-24-year-old pianist as a virtuoso of note, and he had it on our Sony Music System all the time. (Gould had recorded a 10-inch collection featuring the music of Dmitry Shostakovich, Sergei Prokofiev, and Alban Berg on the Canadian Hallmark label two years earlier that did not make much of an impression on the record market.)

My very first work of music journalism was a review of Gould’s 1982 recording (CBS Masterworks IM 37779) for my CEGEP newspaper, Bandersnatch, at John Abbott College. I remember taking it home and listening deeply to the performance of one of the great icons of the piano, now 26 years older, more thoughtful, and in much less of a hurry. I received the news that Gould had died from my father, literally as I was listening to side two of that record, about a week after I received it.

And maybe that is why it is my favourite of the two records; there was something haunting in Gould’s more deliberate, introspective performance, as if he knew he was saying goodbye. I have played the two performances, which I now have as part of the three CD set A State of Wonder: The Complete Goldberg Variations 1955 & 1981 (Sony Classical S3K 87703), one after the other many times, to try to divine the effect of life, loss, and maturity in music. I think that I have learned something from all of this and, while Gould’s Goldbergs will always be definitive for me, I have opened myself to many performances, and the possibility that perfection is not a single thing.

I probably have more recordings of the Goldberg Variations in my record and CD library than almost any other work. I listen to it often, as interpreted by Rosalyn Tureck (Deutsche Grammophon 289 459 599-2), Keith Jarett (ECM New Series 422 839 622-2), Andras Schiff (Decca 417 116-2 and ECM New Series 1825), Ekaterina Dershavina (Arte Nova Classics 74321 34011 2), and many, many others. (Dershavina is a particular favourite.) And I have always been struck at how each interpretation is always so fresh and different. Each performer finds something new in this work, and I never get tired of listening.

A new favourite is this 2023 recording by Icelandic pianist Víkingur Ólafsson. My officemate is an Icelander, and we spend a great deal of time talking about music when we should be preparing our lectures and grading papers, and he mentioned Ólafsson as a great talent who I really had to check out. Music streaming was still in its infancy then (or, at least, my luddite predilections had kept me ignorant), and I had to wait for Ólafsson to come to town to form an opinion.

My spouse and I finally heard Ólafsson perform the Goldbergs at Richardson Hall in Princeton, the night after his Carnegie Hall recital. The very next day, I bought the record at Princeton Record Exchange. His recital was that good. Ólafsson’s voicings are brilliant – reminiscent of Angela Hewitt, but without her sometimes diffident meticulousness; he’s all in. And he displays marvelous insights and an emotional engagement reminiscent of the latter Gould. Like the great Canadian pianist, Ólafsson inhabits the score in a way that really makes it his own.

The bottom line is that this is a brilliant, soulful performance of Bach's great keyboard work; it is, at times, a little idiosyncratic, but what performance of the Goldbergs isn't?

This is the only recording that I have on vinyl, but it reminds me of how much I love the sound of the needle in the groove, with all the subtle sideband harmonics and warmth. And it also reminds me that I have to add Gould’s performances to my record library.