Hűűűűű, Biti, ezt köszönöm. Elsőre azt hittem, középre lő a darab Greenaway és Pasolini közé, és beüt Leibniz... de végül is egyelőre nem tudom. Ez egy polgári színtársulat, ez a Monteverdi Birkózókör.
Since he deserted the concert stage during the 60's the Canadian pianist Glenn Gould has confined his work to records, television, and radio. There is some disagreement amongst critics as to whether Gould is always, or only sometimes, a convincing interpreter of one or another piano piece, but there is scarcely a doubt that each of his performances now is at least special. One example of how Gould has been operating recently seems rather suited for discussion here. A few years back, Gould issued a record of his performance of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in the Liszt piano transcription. Quite aside from the surprise one felt because the piece was so eccentric a choice even for the arch-eccentric Gould, who had always been associated with classical music, there were a number of other oddities about this particular release. The piece was not only of the nineteenth century, but of its most discredited aspect, pianistically speaking: the aspect that did not content itself with transforming the concert experience into a feast for the virtuoso's self-exhibition, but also raided the literature of other instruments, making of their music a flamboyant occasion for the pianist's skill. Most transcriptions tend on the whole to sound thick or muddy, since frequently the piano is attempting to copy the texture of an orchestral or organ sound. Liszt's Fifth Symphony was less offensive than most transcriptions, mainly because it was brilliantly reduced for the piano, but even at its most clear the sound was an unusual one for Gould to be producing. His sound previously had been the clearest and most unadorned of all pianists', which was why he had the uncanny ability to turn Bach's counterpoint into almost a visual experience. The Liszt transcription, in short, was an entirely different idiom, yet Gould was very successful in it. He sounded as Lisztian now as he had sounded Bachian in the past.
Nor was this all. Accompanying the main disc was another one, a longish, informal interview between Gould, and as I recall, a record company executive. During the interview Gould told his interlocutor that one reason for his escape from "live" performance was the development of a badhabit in his pianism. On his tours of the Soviet Union, for example, he would notice that the large halls in which he was performing caused him perforce to distort the phrases in a Bach Partita-here he demonstrated by playing the distorted phrases-so that he could more effectively "catch" and address his listeners in the eighth balcony. He then played the same phrases to illustrate how much more correctly, and less seductively, he was performing music, now that there was no audience actually present.
De miért akkor kell leb@szni, amikor tényleg nyomom, hogy HiRes, meg digital booklet, és nem azért, hogy melyik a jobb... erre még letöltőkódom is volt...
Úgy látom nagyon beragadt neked ez a felsőbbrendűség-érzés a “streamelősök”-kel szemben.
, de Neked már nem ujdonság, mert írtál róla a blogodban is (mellesleg Monteverdi: Vespro... dupla SACD, AliaVox) Chord írta ezeket a szavakat...elhagyta volna a topikot?
laikusként azért) kompetensebbnek tartott K.Z. így méltatott:
