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Glenn Gould (1932–1982) was a giant of twentieth-century classical music, but one whose eccentricities have sometimes obscured the moral seriousness of his approach to art. Countering this common misperception, Partita for Glenn Gould is an eloquent tribute to the artist that illuminates his versatile genius, his thinking, and our reasons for loving his art.

Long after his death, Glenn Gould still lures new listeners to his piano, connecting with them on a haunting, personal level. “He feels and you feel,” says young New York writer Nicole Spectre. “I can feel his pain and joy – it touches me. He speaks directly to me.” But when he was known as the world’s greatest pianist in the 1950s and 1960s, just who was Gould playing for? His audience? Himself? His demanding mother? All are likely true, but he was also richly inspired by – and bared his soul at the keyboard to – a secret society of women, the girlfriends who stirred his hard-to-fetch emotions: Franny Batchen, Verna Sandercock, Cornelia Foss, Roxolana Roslak, and Monica Gaylord. Of the eighteen books and nineteen documentaries by or about the most compelling virtuoso of the twentieth century, none have contained details about Gould’s many love affairs and how they affected his life, his music, and his filmmaking. Until now, biographers have tried to explain what came out of the music box, not the engine that drove it. The vault to his private life has remained locked since his untimely death in 1982 because of his obsessions with privacy and controlling his image, the loyalty of his carefully chosen friends and lovers, and the choice that biographers made to focus safely on his music and eccentricities. The Secret Life of Glenn Gould will be the first true exposé of Gould, who until now has been assumed to be asexual, lonely, and egocentric, by examining his love and soul-mate relationships. His music was twelve-tonal and his documentaries “contrapuntal” – both were filled with overlapping voices – and so was his private life.

The Pianist Glenn Gould has often been portrayed as a musical idealist who embraced mundane recording media as a way of escaping the anxiety of the concert hall. In pursuing his musical ideals, however, Gould obsessed over material objects—the qualities of a chair, the action of piano keys, the placement of splices in magnetic tape. This paper argues that for him, the detailed properties of machines and electronic media were crucial, not just as tools for pursuing disembodied aesthetic aims, but as instruments and material sites for a moral project. Locating Gould's concerns among the techniques and technologies that inspired him, the concert hall he despised, and the jazz and chance music he tolerated, the paper explores how Gould's famed philosophy of technology was rooted in a \"technological self\" that tied morality and aesthetics, and intimacy and isolation, to concrete ideals for the kinds of people we ought to be.

Recordings are now the primary way we hear classical music, especially the more abstract styles of “absolute” instrumental music. In this original, provocative book, Arved Ashby argues that recording technology has transformed our understanding of art music. Contesting the laments of nostalgic critics, Ashby sees recordings as socially progressive and instruments of a musical vernacular, but also finds that recording and absolute music actually involve similar notions of removing sound from context. He takes stock of technology's impact on classical music, addressing the questions at the heart of the issue. This erudite yet concise study reveals how mechanical reproduction has transformed classical musical culture and the very act of listening, breaking down aesthetic and generational barriers and mixing classical music into the soundtrack of everyday life.

The nature of the score – whether a printed publication prior to the first performance or a handwritten autograph – may also factor in resistance to change. [...]we may consider the impact of twentieth-century copyright law on published materials; one need only consider the reworking (and borrowing) of pre-existing material by Handel to highlight how much attitudes towards revision have changed over time.2 Many works from the Western canon have been subjected to post-première revisions. Handel revised his Messiah several times during the mid-eighteenth century to suit different performance contexts;3 revised productions of Italian opera proliferated, particularly through the nineteenth century, as epitomized by the Aufführungspraxis of Rossini; on the concert platform, symphonies by Berlioz and Tchaikovsky were heard in modified versions after their initial première performance; and the majority of Bruckner’s symphonies were subjected to successive reworking. Maw explores what he coins the ‘Machaldian dilemma’ (the challenge of simultaneously available work versions), which is echoed in Wilson’s discussion of the posthumous legacy of Henze’s revisions in the internet age, where the ongoing circulation of withdrawn titles invokes wider issues concerning an individual subject’s right to control information, including the much-debated ‘right to be forgotten’.

The audible creaking of Glenn Gould’s loose-jointed piano chair has historically been the subject of apologetic liner notes and recording studio memoirs. These chair creaks are here recognized as “sounded movements” of Gould’s body. This article triangulates the score of Schoenberg’s Sechs kleine Klavierstücke , op. 19, no. 1, published analyses of its unique rhythmic unfolding, and new micro-temporal measurements of Gould’s September 1965 recording of the work. Quantifying Sanden’s concept of “corporeal liveness,” spectrographic tools are used to generate a proper census of all the sounds captured by the microphone in order to map their rhythmic interaction. A notable “creak gap” in Gould’s recording is linked to published observations regarding the work’s process of emerging metric clarity, and one of Gould’s vocal elaborations is recognized for its augmentation of Schoenberg’s pitch material. Overlaying analytical literature with microtiming data reveals a correlation between the composition’s trajectory of metric clarification and the decrease in Gould’s physical motion. The findings are used to question the pervasive and disturbing suppression of non-notated sounds that accompany the recording of notated music. Recognizing sounds that are normally marginalized, this study fuses theoretical observations about Schoenberg’s composition with the audio artifacts of Gould’s corporeality.