Bach: Goldberg Variations (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Yunchan Lim, pianist. Decca 487 1517

Yunchan Lim earns his adulation. He’s one of the best things to happen to classical music recently. What a gift to have someone who’s at once so serious about his art, so flawless in his technique, and so imaginative in his interpretations without compromising musical integrity. His previous release of the Chopin Études (Decca 487 0122) was a revelation – a disc I now delightedly place with the best performances. And while I do not agree with certain rubato decisions in his 2025 Tchaikovsky Seasons release (Decca 487 1022), I’ll pay that price for the most heart-rending realizations of some of them I’ve ever heard. These live Goldberg Variations are a worthy follow-up, an encouraging indication that Mr. Lim is a performer of enduring sensitivity rather than any flash in the pan. And speaking of flash, it’s nice not to be gimmicked by hamster-wheel virtuosity, performance-practice stuntsmanship, or skimpy concert attire that *covers* only a lack of substance

But Lim certainly has his detractors, and it is against their more unfair criticisms that I find it advantageous to begin evaluating this Bach. The first thing we need to get straight is that the “historically informed performance” people, contrary to their posturing, wouldn’t know how Bach actually played his variations from a hole in the wall. Joseph Kerman (Contemplating Music, HUP, 1985) and Richard Taruskin (Text and Act, OUP, 1995) have already exposed the stubborn HIP movement’s fallacies, and I won’t fully replicate their arguments here. I’ll just first point out that the manuscript score to the Goldbergs is sparse indeed. Mostly missing are dynamics (understandably), articulation marks, and tempo indications. If anything, Bach seems to be saying, “here are the notes: decide how to play them.” Second, even if we did have more evidence of Bach's personal preferences, he’s long dead and we have instruments he never imagined. I think we can let go of the gatekeeping. Wanda Landowska reportedly said, “you play Bach your way, and I’ll play him his way.” Talented musician, terrible music scholar. Let’s not pretend to be in the know when all we’re doing is being pompous. (This seems a good place to remind certain performers that sneering at musicology as a discipline may scratch an itch, but in the end the joke’s on them.)

Critics of Lim’s Goldbergs say he plays some ornaments a little funny, or that he disrupts certain polyphonic lines while unusually bringing out some inner voices. Maybe he does. I also don’t negatively care. These detractors seem to think that the highest aim of all new Goldberg Variation recordings is to recreate the sound of the harpsichord on the piano, or to satisfy some stale formalist paradigm. I for one believe we have enough recordings of this work on the harpsichord. If that’s what you want, you’ll always have these performers to satisfy you. But do we otherwise need to be so pedantic? An unorthodox elongation of a trill’s upper auxiliary note (or some comparably innocuous thing) is still miles away from Glenn Gould’s humming and howling. There’s contrapuntal style, and then there’s artificially adding lines of counterpoint that Bach never wrote, even in a manuscript mostly restricted to notes!

But the complaint that Lim achieves a Romantic sound is for me one of this recording’s selling points. When I listen to some of these variations, I hear colors and atmospheres that the heretofore best performances on piano (Perahia, Hewitt, etc.) only began to explore. This is easily experienced in the slower, dreamier numbers (particularly 15, 21, and 25). But somehow even more impressive is the “velvety virtuosity” that Lim achieves in many of the quick pieces, fully exploiting the timbral possibilities of the modern instrument. Variations 9, 22, and 24 are emblematic of the entire performance in this respect, and bespeak extraordinary pianistic command.

If this weren’t enough, Lim also brings refreshing spontaneity with varied repeats. Sometimes his daring is breathtaking, as when he plays the right hand part an octave higher on repeat in Variation 7, or alters rhythms in a quasi-improvisatory manner the second time through No. 20. I can imagine some purists raging at these liberties, but just as easily can I imagine Bach grinning appreciatively if he could somehow listen from beyond the grave. My favorite of all is Variation 17, which in Lim’s hands is a virtuosic tour de force of piano dynamics and technical control.

The truth is that I listen to too many new recordings of familiar repertoire that are no better than highly competent (and sometimes considerably worse). “Why did we need yet another of these?” I often wearily ask myself. But then someone like Lim comes along, threads the needle of personal vs. tasteful, and revives my flagging faith in the whole industry. There really are new things that can be said with this old music. Lim certainly says some; his Goldbergs burst with flavor and are all the more astounding for having been performed live. I understand that he’s tackling the Mozart sonatas next: more well-trodden ground that risks exposing him ruthlessly. Like others, I’d love for him to champion some newer works in need of high-profile advocacy. But until then I’m more than happy to see if he can maintain his stellar showing within the canon. 

In Memoriam: Sonny Rollins

by Karl Nehring

On May 25, we lost a giant in the world of jazz, Sonny Rollins, the “Saxophone Colossus,” who was widely regarded as the greatest improviser on his instrument; moreover, he was widely regarded as a wise, kind, generous human being. Even those not generally familiar with jazz history may recall the famous story of Sonny Rollins and “the bridge.” In the summer of 1959, Rollins, who was already recognized as a great young talent and had released two widely acclaimed LPs. Saxophone Colossus and Way Out West, abruptly stopped touring in 1959 and instead began a daily routine of practicing his horn on the Williamsburg Bridge over New York City’s East River, often playing as much as 14-15 hours, refining his craft for two years until finally going back on tour in the fall of 1961. Then in early 1962, he stepped into the studio to record an album titled The Bridge, which featured guitar virtuoso Jim Hall. Sonny was finally forced to hang up his horn in 2014 because of respiratory illness, but he remained a beloved elder statesman in the jazz community. 

In the wake of his passing, many tributes to Sonny Rollins have been posted, two of which I have included here. The first is by bassist Christian McBride (you can read Christian's tribute here), while the second is by the Detroit based jazz critic Mark Stryker, kindly made available courtesy of pianist and author Ethan Iverson (which can be found here). Stryker offers recommendations about Rollins’s recordings; ideally, late one evening soon you will look over his list, find an album that sounds promising, and give Sonny a listen.

Schubert: Hoffnung (Lieder from c. 1826). Schubert 200, Volume 3 (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Samuel Hasselhorn, baritone; Ammiel Bushakevitz, pianist. Harmonia Mundi HMM 902779 

While I’m usually lukewarm about thematic recording projects, this release belongs to an uncommonly compelling series. In the lead-up to the 200th anniversary of Franz Schubert’s death in 2028, Harmonia Mundi has planned five albums devoted to the productive last five years of his life. Each presents a curated selection of lieder from an approximate year, performed by baritone Samuel Hasselhorn and pianist Ammiel Bushakevitz, with a subtitle reflecting some commonality of its selections. The first release was Die schöne Müllerin (HMM 902720), featuring the 1823 cycle. Last year came Licht und Schatten (“Light and Shadow,” HMM 902747), covering songs from 1824–25. Now we have Volume 3, Hoffnung (“Hope”), my favorite installment so far.

 

Familiar Schubert songs feel fresher when imaginative programming reshapes their complexion. Many of the inclusions here speak to longing—particularly for a person or future not yet arrived, hence the subtitle. Tropes of wind, dreams, and the seasons thread through the choices almost like leitmotifs. Taken together, these songs somehow project their own poignant atmosphere. With repeated listens it’s clear that they effectively play off of each other. Curation is very much part of the experience here. 

 

But inspired curation won’t save uninspired performances. What really makes this album (and series) work are Hasselhorn’s and Bushakevitz’s deft musicianship. Hasselhorn has a rich voice with a better-than-average vocal timbre. He brings versatility of range and expression, along with especially strong diction. You can hear these texts very well, not just the concordant pitches and dynamics. Words are not slurred. Such attributes are rarer than they should be; even big names like Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau sometimes underwhelm in these respects. Moreover, I can scarcely convey how refreshing it is that vibrato here does not obscure intelligibility. Bushakevitz proves himself a responsive partner. While some might accuse him of yielding too much interpretive ground, that impression probably stems from his resolute orientation toward the singer. This is a pairing sharply suited to the task at hand. 

 

Every song here receives at least a very good performance, but some accounts are outstanding. Foremost in my affections is Alinde (D. 904). Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz never lose the thread, and bring out each stanza’s own special emotions. The point of reuniting with the song’s namesake is gorgeously colored, differentiating it from prior searching exclamations. I’d say these musicians shine most in such modified strophic territory. Das Zügenglöcklein (D. 871, No. 2) is another instance where they fully exploit the savory changes of mode and melody (although I think Bushakevitz could ping the eponymous A-Flat bell perhaps a tad more prominently). 

 

However, a chief challenge with Schubert lieder is in the simple strophic numbers: what wiggle room can performers find to provide variety as words change but scoring does not? Despite his occasional text-slurring, Fischer-Dieskau threaded that needle better than almost anyone else. Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz bring off songs like Im Jänner 1817 (“Tiefes Leid”) and the D. 867 Wiegenlied with great sensitivity. I’d put their renditions ahead of most others’. But their very polish perhaps inhibits them in that last inch for such settings.  

 

If this release were purely a question of musicianship, I’d rate it north of 4.5/5. Unfortunately, I must mention something that’s easy to overlook: sound quality. A reverberant, even boomy acoustic unfairly hampers the proceedings. It’s particularly noticeable in the music’s lower registers. Since Hasselhorn is a baritone, that drags him down disproportionately. Compare this recording to others with the same repertoire, and you’ll see what I mean. That said, it’s a slight annoyance that should not dissuade you. This is still a strong conceptual series with excellent performances for the most part. I’m excited for 1827!