by Donald Manildi
curator of the International
Piano Archives at the University of Maryland
Between April 1913 and June 1930 Leopold Godowsky recorded nearly 100 piano works on 78-rpm discs, first in New York for the Columbia Gramophone Company (later to be known as Columbia Records, now Sony Classical), then for the Brunswick-Balke-Collender Company, and finally for British Columbia. There is a single, private recording from around 1935 that completes the inventory. The accompanying discography provides full information on the existing recordings, arranged alphabetically by composer and composition. A major portion of Godowsky’s recorded legacy has been reissued on vinyl LP discs and on compact discs. However, a truly comprehensive CD edition — embracing the totality of his recorded output, sonically remastered to the highest standards and with thorough written documentation — is being prepared for release on the Marston label. The first volume (Marston 52046, two CDs) is now available. It contains Godowsky's earliest recordings from 1913 to mid-1922, including some previously unissued material. Two additional volumes will appear during 2005 to complete the series. The CDs are only available directly from Marston: www.marstonrecords.com.
The Godowsky recordings are roughly contemporaneous with those made by most of his colleagues from the Golden Age of Pianism, such as Hofmann, Rachmaninoff, Paderewski, Cortot, Rosenthal, Grainger and others. Yet they have generated considerable discussion concerning just how accurately they represent the artistry of one of the great geniuses in the history of piano playing. Overwhelming evidence suggests that Godowsky was at his best when playing for friends and colleagues in the relaxed surroundings of his own home. His public performances, while always well received by critics and audiences, seemed by comparison to seldom approach the same level of color and spontaneity. Similarly, the tense atmosphere of the recording studio, and the relatively primitive conditions under which his discs were made, did little or nothing to summon forth Godowsky’s best efforts. He himself was emphatic about his dislike of the recording process: "Do not judge me by my recordings!" he wrote to an ardent admirer in the 1930s. Curiously, Godowsky much preferred to make reproducing piano rolls and did so assiduously for several companies, recording many of his own compositions and other repertoire that does not exist on his 78-rpm discs. While an attempt is now underway to gather and properly reproduce Godowsky’s roll recordings, the undertaking is fraught with many obstacles and it will take considerable time and effort before a proper assessment of these rolls can be made.
Godowsky was not alone in his antipathy toward recordings. Ferruccio Busoni, for instance, wrote equally strongly about the "torture chamber" atmosphere of the studio when he made his few flat disc recordings in 1919 and 1922; many other pianists made similar comments. Nonetheless, it would be wrong to dismiss — or to fail to thoroughly and objectively investigate — Godowsky’s recordings as a group. For one thing, we are now able to reproduce these discs with far greater fidelity than was possible during Godowsky’s lifetime. In addition, many of Godowsky’s records indeed contain playing of remarkable pianistic refinement, tonal luster, and interpretative conviction. In general, the later recordings (from about 1926 on) seem to offer a more complete picture of his true qualities, as well as a more realistic projection of nuances and dynamics. (Most of these recordings are discussed in more detail below.) This suggests that while Godowsky was never truly comfortable in the recording studio, he may have been slowly but surely coming to terms with the limitations of the process.
Before identifying the stronger components of Godowsky’s discographic legacy, it may be useful to describe the trials and tribulations facing any pianist making 78 rpm discs in the late acoustic and early electric (post-1925) periods. Recordings were made in segments of about three minutes (for a 10-inch disc side) or about four and one-half minutes (for a 12-inch disc side). Consequently, shorter works that could be accommodated on a single side were preferred, and longer compositions had to be broken into two or more segments (thus disrupting the flow and continuity that are part of any performer’s approach). It was not possible to correct wrong notes or errors of musical judgment; if a take for one side was deemed unsatisfactory, further attempts at the entire side would be made. This, of course, offered a chance to avoid previous mistakes, but also carried the risk of committing new ones. Certain players, such as Cortot, were relatively unconcerned about perpetuating pianistic errors on their approved recordings. Others, however, with Godowsky definitely among them, fervently believed that nothing short of perfection was acceptable. Unfortunately the pursuit of perfection sometimes sacrifices those elements of spontaneity and risk-taking that characterize the highest artistic results. In light of all this, it is easy to understand how a player of Godowsky’s temperament would encounter problems in capturing a peak level of inspiration.
In 1929 Godowsky recorded the Ballade, Opus 24, by Grieg. By general consensus this four-sided British Columbia set represents Godowsky in top form. Harold C. Schonberg, for instance, calls it "one of the all-time great performances. It is an example of pellucid, sensitive, perfectly integrated piano playing." A year later Godowsky recorded the Chopin B-Flat Minor (Funeral March) Sonata. Edward Blickstein, commenting on this recording, points to the "beauty and finesse" of Godowsky’s tone—qualities "simply not to be heard from any living pianist." A group of twelve Chopin Nocturnes, recorded in 1928, capture a cool, austere, haunting atmosphere—a kind of chaste perfection which, together with a total absence of eccentricities, elevates the writing to an exalted level. Two other major works date from the same period: Schumann’s Carnaval and Beethoven’s Farewell Sonata, Opus 81a. Bryan Crimp aptly describes the latter as "radiant and serene" and the Schumann performance as "an elegant blend of understatement and vigour."
One of the most remarkable of the Godowsky recordings is the Chopin Scherzo No. 4 from his final session (at which he suffered a debilitating stroke). Not issued until 1967, this performance is distinguished by an element of fire and sweep not always encountered in his other recordings, and it provides a good idea of Godowsky’s playing at its least inhibited. Among the earlier Godowsky discs, the Liszt Liebestraum No.3 and the Verdi-Liszt Rigoletto Paraphrase (both on Brunswick) each contain various subtle textual adjustments — all deliberately contrived — that reveal the thinking of a pianist who was, after all, one of the greatest transcribers, delighting in changes that cast new light on the original creations. Also decidedly worth mentioning are his superlative accounts of Chopin’s Fantasy-Impromptu and the Debussy Reflets dans l’eau (both Brunswick, 1925). And his ability to take a work of less-than-profound substance and turn it into a miniature masterpiece is evident in his Brunswick account of Rustles of Spring by Sinding.
Still, while fully acknowledging the extraordinary pianism contained on these recordings, there is one further Godowsky disc that belongs in a class by itself. We are not speaking here of transcendental virtuosity in the usual sense (although Godowsky was clearly capable of it). What we have is a truly rarefied example of tonal, pianistic and interpretative communication that is unique in the annals of pianism. This is the 1926 Brunswick recording — his last for that company — containing his transcriptions of Schubert’s Morgengruss and Gute Nacht. Sadly, these are the only recordings Godowsky made of any of his own transcriptions or paraphrases. "Never has his tone sounded more incorporeal, ethereal, ineffable, and not of this world," writes Edward Blickstein. This, together with the other performances mentioned here, reveals why Godowsky was held in such awe by his colleagues and why his pianistic reputation still endures more than sixty years after his death.
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