Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier: Book I

‘Let The Well-Tempered Clavier be your daily bread,’ wrote Robert Schumann. Hans von Bülow referred to the ‘48’ ‘the pianist’s Old Testament.’ Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt and just about every other significant piano composer studied and was influenced by it. Originally composed ‘for the profit and use of musical youth desirous of learning and especially for the pastime of those already skilled in this study,’ Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier has become an indispensable part of the keyboard repertoire. It has played a role in almost every keyboard player’s life, from professionals who play in the world’s largest concert halls to young students taking weekly lessons.

The origins of the WTC can be traced back to at least 1720. It was then that Bach presented to his son, Wilhelm Friedemann, a notebook containing drafts of what later became eleven of the Preludes in Book I. In 1722, the 24 Preludes and Fugues comprising Book I were assembled under the title The Well-Tempered Clavier, or Preludes and Fugues in all tones and semitones, in major as well as minor. Like the majority of Bach’s keyboard works, it circulated only in manuscript form during his lifetime, and remained unpublished until 1800.

The recorded history of the Well-Tempered Clavier goes back to 1909 when Wilhelm Backhaus made a 78rpm disc of the C sharp major Prelude and Fugue from Book I for HMV. The next recording, Busoni’s C major from Book I for Columbia, did not take place until 1922. ¹ Wilhelm Kempff’s recording of the C-sharp-major and D-major Preludes and Fugues is now thought to have taken place a few months after Busoni’s recording, and not in 1920 as often stated. Busoni expressed an interest in setting down the remaining 47, but tragically his offer was turned down. Instead, the first attempt at a complete WTC occurred in 1928. The plan was for Columbia to divide the ‘48’ among several of their pianists, but the project was abandoned three years later with only 17 Preludes and Fugues completed — the first nine played by Harriet Cohen and the following eight by Evelyn Howard-Jones (The recordings by Howard-Jones are extremely fine, and can be heard on Biddulph LHW 023 along with the items recorded by Cohen). Finally, in 1933, Edwin Fischer began work on what was to be the first complete recording of The Well-Tempered Clavier.

It is hard to believe that there have been around 50 additional piano recordings of Book I since Edwin Fischer’s pioneering effort. For the purposes of this survey, only complete recordings were considered, and then only if performed on a piano. Exhaustive efforts were made to track down and audition all 51 versions listed in the accompanying discography, but in the end only 48 could be located (the recordings by Detlef Kraus, Takahiro Sonoda on Evica and Herbert Henck proved elusive). As in my previous survey of Brahms’s Paganini Variations, the recordings were auditioned blindly whenever possible so as to remove any potential bias or preconceptions about the performer in question, and once again the results proved quite surprising.

More than 65 years have passed since Fischer’s recording of Book I was released, yet it remains one of the finest versions. Some selections are played better than others, but when Fischer is at his finest, his phrasing is poetic and free, his touch entirely non-percussive, and his sensitivity to melodic and harmonic detail touching. There are so many highlights: the tranquil joy of the C sharp major Prelude, the haunting radiance of the C sharp minor Prelude and Fugue, and the quasi-religious serenity of the F minor and F sharp minor Fugues, to name but a few. Not many pianists can equal the beauty of Fischer’s pianissimos and chordal playing — one completely forgets there are hammers involved in the creation of these sounds. At times (mostly early in the cycle) his playing is perhaps not at the same exalted level, but almost every item from the G minor Prelude and Fugue onwards in a treasure. More conservative listeners may not care for his frequent octave doubling of bass notes, but for the most part this is done tastefully. His doubling of the entire left-hand part in the B minor Prelude is the only extreme example.

Walter Gieseking

The recording by Fischer’s contemporary, Walter Gieseking, is a huge disappointment, although in its defence it was never meant for commercial release. Between 1949 and 1950 Gieseking recorded an astounding amount of repertoire for Saarbrücken Radio, including the complete Beethoven sonatas, many important works by Schumann, and most of Bach’s major keyboard pieces. This was a difficult time in Gieseking’s life, and he was not always able to prepare properly for these broadcasts, instead relying on his legendary sight-reading ability. Book I of the Well-Tempered Clavier is a case in point. Gieseking sounds extremely uncomfortable, stumbling through thorny passages numerous times and playing with little subtlety or nuance. Tempos are uniformly fast and often get faster during the course of the piece. When plans were first made for the commercial release of this recording, the Gieseking family tried to prevent it. Gieseking was a superb Bach player, as some of his other Bach recordings demonstrate (outstanding readings of the Three-Part Inventions and French Suite No. 2 come to mind), but this recording does his memory a disservice.

Jörg Demus

A much more successful recording from the 1950s — in fact one of the finest ever made — is that by Jörg Demus. This is the playing of a first-rate musician: lines are always shaped and phrased beautifully, the sense of interplay and dialogue between voices is enrapturing, and the different characters and moods of the various pieces are brought to life. Certain selections could hardly be better played: the E flat major Fugue (so delightful and joyous), the peaceful E major Prelude, or the deeply sorrowful B flat minor Prelude. Fine as this traversal is, Demus’s remake of more than a decade later is the greater accomplishment. This is even more refined and features a higher degree of poetry. While the earlier version had a few weak spots, the later cycle maintains an astonishingly consistent level of superb artistry. This is not to imply that every selection in this second recording surpasses its earlier incarnation: the C sharp minor Fugue in this version does not quite match the intensity of the earlier one, for example. Yet it is the later version that provides the most consistenly compelling experience. In both cycles he eschews extreme tempos (the unusually slow E minor Prelude being the sole exception) and eccentricities, relying instead on the elegance and musicality of his playing to win listeners over. In some circles Demus’s name rarely comes up during discussions of great pianists, but the playing as demonstrated on these recordings demands a reassessment.

Romantics

No description has been more abused with regard to Bach interpretation than the term ‘Romantic’. Nowadays, it seems that any pianist who dares to depress the pedal or creates pianistically beautiful sonorities is instantly labelled a ‘Romantic’. The actual purpose of this term is to describe those interpretations that apply 19-century ideals. Neither of the above conditions is enough to qualify for such a description, nor are they necessary for it. Romantic interpretation is a far more complex subject that must take tempo, rubato, texture, sonority, dynamics and many other factors into account, and even then one is treading on dangerous ground since nobody really knows how these works were interpreted in their day.

Samuil Feinberg

One pianist whose interpretations are ‘Romantic’ in the best sense of the term is Samuil Feinberg. He had lived with the WTC since his conservatory days, even offering all 48 Preludes and Fugues in 1911 at the age of 20 as part of his graduation examination. It was not until 1959, just a few years before his death, that he recorded the whole cycle for Melodiya. The resulting performances are full of individuality and romanticism. There are large-scale ritards (and not just at the ends of pieces) and wide-ranging dynamics (listen to the C-major Prelude build to a solid forte before dying away) throughout. Unfortunately, his Book I is more uneven in quality than his Book II, and he does not achieve the majestic level of, say, his C minor Prelude and Fugue from Book II often enough, but there are still some spectacular readings. The G minor and A flat major Fugues are played with a breathtaking legato. The F sharp minor Fugue unfolds magnificently, holding one’s attention to the very end, and the B major Prelude and Fugue are both deeply moving.

Tatiana Nikolaeva

Another Russian, Tatiana Nikolaeva, serves up two highly Romantic readings, although her approach is completely different from Feinberg’s. Nikolaeva hardly touches the pedal at all, yet manages to create intoxicating sonorities and an amazing legato with her fingers alone. Her playing is among the most sensitive and detailed of any, and her shaping of melodic lines is extraordinary. Although her earlier recording has its moments, it is her second traversal that stands out as a great artistic achievement. One realises that a master musician is at work right from the opening C major Prelude, as captivating as any performance on record, yet played without pedal. The E flat minor Prelude is as sensitive and delicately nuanced as one could wish, and the F minor Prelude goes like a dream: the sonority gorgeous, the harmonic changes expressively rendered, and the phrasing sheer poetry (some might find her huge rallentando at the end a shade overdone, however). The one drawback with this set is that loud, thick passages — since they are played without pedal – have a hard, percussive edge to them. This creates some unpleasant sounds in the C minor Fugue and at climactic moments in the C sharp minor Fugue, but taken as a whole this set has so many extraordinary moments that it must be warmly recommended. Her earlier recording is hardly less fine, but unfortunately suffers far more from those hard-edged tones. The C major Fugue subject is practically punched out at times and the E flat major Fugue also has some decidedly ugly moments

András Schiff

One recording that is not usually referred to as ‘Romantic’, but ought to be, is Andras Schiff’s. In this case, however, the approach is more problematic. His sound is quite pleasant, and the tone he produces has a singing quality, but there is also a certain sense of whimsy or lightheartedness throughout. The clearest examples are the C sharp minor and the B minor Preludes and Fugues, both of which lack any sense of sorrow or pathos; one can almost imagine the pianist smiling as he plays them. The most serious drawback with Schiff’s playing, though, is his tendency to emphasize individual lines or motives at the expense of the surrounding counterpoint. In other words, he frequently plays in a non-contrapuntal manner more suitable for Chopin or Schumann. The thicker the writing, the more distracting this effect becomes. In the climactic stretto of the C sharp minor Fugue, for example, one can hardly hear what is going on because the pianist has instead fixated on an ascending fourth motive, and that is all one hears for several measures. Even when there are only two voices, such as six bars into the E flat major Prelude, the top part is treated as melody whereas the lower part is barely audible, as if it were the most insignificant accompaniment.

Sviatoslav Richter

There are three different recordings of Book 1 by Sviatoslav Richter. The versions on Revelation and Japanese Victor are taken from ‘live’ performances; the BMG release is a studio recording. Richter’s pianism is perhaps the most commanding of all surveyed. One senses that his hands can produce any desired sonority, voicing, or effect without undue strain. Richter tends to delineate fugue subjects whenever they occur, but because his playing is so remarkably clear (despite the poor sound quality of all three releases) one can always hear all of the surrounding counterpoint. His tempos in several of the fugues are expansive, but one never senses a loss of tension; the C sharp minor and B minor Fugues take on epic proportions at Richter’s leisurely pace. The F minor and F sharp minor fugues are also taken quite slowly, but this time it is serenity rather than tension that is maintained throughout. There are a few pieces in which his approach does not work well (the C minor Prelude and Fugue is far too aggressive on all three releases), but overall Richter’s WTC is one of the most convincing readings available. Of the three recordings, I find the studio version the most consistently satisfying. The Revelation release has a drier, more percussive feel whereas the Japanese Victor set often features faster tempos that partly counter the serenity Richer is trying to achieve. Naturally, there are performances in each set that surpass the other versions – the C sharp minor Fugue is best on Revelation, for example, and the E flat major Prelude receives its finest rendition on the Japanese release – but the BMG set is the overall winner.

Specialists

Bach is an unusual case in that there is not even one performer whose interpretations are sanctioned by a compelling majority of knowledgeable listeners. Some may put forth the names Glenn Gould or Rosalyn Tureck, but both of these pianists have a great many detractors. Despite this lack of consensus, there are still several pianists who have focused on and are associated mostly with Bach.

Glenn Gould has always been a controversial figure, and his interpretations elicit strong reactions from listeners. His recording of Book 1 strikes me as hopelessly misguided. Gould unleashes his entire bag of tricks: the relentless detaché touch, bizarre slurs and articulations, extreme tempos, and all manner of other eccentricities. Certain selections are made practically unlistenable by his treatment: the jovial romps through the C sharp minor and B minor Preludes and Fugues, the machine-like sixteenth notes in the E flat major Prelude – and what can one say about the articulation of the F sharp major Fugue’s subject? The ability to play long strings of rapid semiquavers in such a sharp, staccato manner may be quite a digital accomplishment, but in musical terms this could hardly be more insensitive. Things reach a peak in the A major Fugue, where Gould’s relentless stream of pecked out semiquavers transforms the work into mind-numbing cacophony.

Rosalyn Tureck’s playing is hardly less controversial. Sentiments range from Virgil Fox’s wicked quip – “There is more than one way to wreck Bach” – to those who believe her to be Bach’s greatest interpreter. An informal survey of several of my colleagues about her WTC resulted in opinions ranging from “desert island recording” to “insufferably dull.” In general, Tureck prefers slow, solemn tempos. This works very well in some selections, such as the B minor Prelude and Fugue or the F sharp minor Fugue, but it is far less effective in others. Tureck also tends to accentuate fugue subjects whenever they appear, as does Richter, but in Tureck’s case one can no longer hear the surrounding counterpoint. There are telling moments along the way (the echo effect in the C major Prelude, for example), but for this listener the overall impression was that of attending a religious service at a church to which one does not belong.

A newcomer on the scene who is making a name for himself through his lively and energetic Bach interpretations is Sergey Shepkin. He adopts several Baroque practices such as melodic embellishment, double dotting, rolled chords, and the free treatment of cadences and recitatives. In fact, his WTC is by far the most ornate of any surveyed, although the decorations are generally applied with considerable judgement and taste; only in a few instances do they seem excessive. His articulation can be unusual at times, but there is such conviction behind it that one rarely quibbles. As long as one enjoys a high level of Baroque embellishment this set has plenty going for it.

Two specialists not yet mentioned are Edward Aldwell and Angela Hewitt. Aldwell’s set starts out with a sensitive and well-paced C major Prelude, qualities that characterise the next few tracks. However, there is a strange decline in quality the further one advances, culminating in a B minor Fugue that drags on interminably. Angela Hewitt’s Book 1 is unfortunately something of a letdown when compared to her other Bach recordings. Her sound is as ravishing as ever, and her control is unquestionable, but there is a distressing lack of intensity and tension throughout the cycle.

Eccentrics

There is little positive to be said about Joao Carlos Martins’ second recording of the WTC. There is hardly a note that isn’t twisted or pulled apart. Throughout the set one encounters harsh, ugly, forceful sonorities and bizarre tempos. Whereas Gould’s mannerisms often seem calculated to annoy the listener, Martins’ are simply tiresome. His earlier version of the ’48’ is not so much eccentric as dull and shapeless.

Friedrich Gulda proves a major disappointment. His account features the most painfully percussive playing I have ever encountered. In the midst of the hailstorm, however, there are a couple of preludes and fugues that are rendered quite lyrically. Sadly, this only serves to amplify the gruelling effect once the percussive onslaught begins anew.

Last among the eccentrics we have Valery Afanassiev, whose goal is apparently to play in as literal a manner as possible, quite without direction, shaping, colour, or dynamic shading.

Pleasant Surprises

There are a few recordings by lesser-known pianists that are remarkably fine. Topping the list is the version by Robert-Alexander Bohnke. The beauty of his sound is immediately apparent. He phrases poetically and creates wonderful colours. His performance of the A major Fugue, played with a light, airy touch is ideal, and the G minor Prelude features some exquisite imitative dialogue. Though few may be familiar with Bohnke’s playing, his Book 1 is the equal of any pianist here.

Three other recordings from Takahiro Sonoda, Maurice Cole, and Alexander Borovsky also deserve consideration. Sonoda plays like an old master at times. He can turn a simple cadence into an event of unparalleled beauty or apply just the right inflection within a phrase. Maurice Cole’s readings lean towards the introspective, but always demonstrate exemplary musicianship and keen attention to tone production. Borovsky’s recording was made late in his life, and although the technique is not always perfect, his playing is consistently lyrical and enjoyable.

Disappointments

The recordings by Bernard Roberts and Jenő Jandó never really take flight. Roberts plays completely without pedal and takes great care to prevent his personality from interfering with the music. The resulting interpretations have little to hold one’s attention. Jandó’s recording is much more fluent. He clearly has no technical problems whatsoever and plays these works with great ease, but he also imparts very little personality; the results are efficient but sterile.

Mieczyslaw Horszowski recorded Book 1 of the WTC at the ripe old age of 87. It is not surprising, therefore, that he often sounds technically strained. There are occasional moments of illumination, but much of it is played measure by measure with little sense of the longer line.

Vladimir Feltsman also delivers a disappointing run-through. His playing has a tired, heavy feel to it, and, at its worst, a monotonous, percussive quality. There are also some eccentricities: in the repeats of the B minor Prelude, for example, one encounters register changes, inverted intervals, and even some rewriting of the score.

Non-Well-Tempered Claviers

Two recordings are played on pianos that are not equally tempered. In practive, this means that the instruments are tuned in a manner that results in certain keys sounding perfectly in tune whilst those with many accidentals become increasingly painful to listen to. The point of these recordings is to make “the individual character of the different keys audibly distinguishable, as in Bach’s time,” but the only effect these ears were able to perceive was that of a badly tuned instrument. As for the performers, Tomoko Ohmori’s interpretations are full of personality and would stand up well on an instrument tuned to modern standards, whereas Hans Georg Schaefer’s technique is barely adequate for the task at hand.

There are two recordings listed where the WTC is divided among several different pianists, indeed the Yugoslavian set was planned this way from the start. In theory this is an excellent idea since the pianists could apply themselves to the works they felt closest to, but in practice this set is not particularly noteworthy. The Russian set, on the other hand, was assembled using existing recordings of legendary pianists and is ironically far more successful.

Others

The recordings by Detlef Eisinger and Istvan Nadas are rather perplexing in that both contain some extraordinary playing as well as much that is utterly pedantic. In Nadas’s set, the opening two preludes and fugues are machine-like, but then, without warning, the following prelude is handled most sensitively. This Jekyll-and-Hyde act continues throughout Book I. With Eisinger, the contrasts are even more extreme. He plays the E major Prelude with an near-ideal poetry, but attacks the F sharp minor Prelude with such force that one is reminded of Friedrich Gulda.

Keith Jarrett offers a surprisingly straightforward rendition. He is at his best in some of the smaller Preludes and Fugues, but seems out of his element in the large-scale works: the Preludes and Fugues in C sharp minor and B minor are particularly disappointing.

Evgeni Koroliov has attained some reknown as a Bach interpreter, but his recording of Book I is too inconsistent to be considered a real success. Lines often do not flow easily from one voice to another, and the lack of colour and tonal variety occasionally results in monotony.

Top Choices

After blindly auditioning 48 piano recordings of Book I, the biggest surprise for me was the number of extremely fine versions. Finding it impossible to select just one or two favourites, I have chosen no fewer than eight recordings: Edwin Fischer’s for its serene poetry; Sergey Shepkin’s for its vibrancy and creativity; Sviatoslav Richter’s studio recording for its grand-scale and immaculate pianism; Tatiana Nikolaeva’s second recording for its beauty and sensitivity; Samuil Feinberg’s for its individuality and Romantic impulse; Robert-Alexander Bohnke’s for its commanding musicianship and communicativeness, and, finally, both of Jörg Demus’s recordings (particularly the second one) for being the most consistently satisfying of all.