Gieseking
A tall, hulking man walked on to the stage at Carnegie Hall last week, bent himself into an awkward bow at the piano, and played superbly Bach's Partita No. 2 in C Minor, three Scarlatti sonatas, Schumann's C Major Fantasia and the first book of Debussy preludes. He was Walter Gieseking, come from Germany for another extended tour,* and he played, as he has always played, music that he himself has tried truly and found good.
Three seasons have passed since Gieseking made an inconspicuous de in AEolian Hall, Manhattan (TIME, Feb. 22, 1926). "His European notices were so superlative," said Manager Charles L. Wagner afterward, "I knew no one would believe them so I decided to let his music speak for itself."
His music spoke so eloquently that Sunday afternoon that members of the small audience told their friends. No one, according to some, had ever played Bach like Gieseking, and they rhapsodized over an amazing technic, a style that was as fluent and easy as it was immaculate. But his Bach, others said, could not compare with his Debussy which surely was the essence of poetry. The controversy, as over most artistic matters, might have been endless, for Gieseking is not a specialist.
He is, critics say unanimously, a great musician. To appraise him seems almost impertinent and so they write of his playing in awkward, halting sentences which struggle with big words like "pellucid" and "perfection."
Many a first name has been dropped with fame. Kreisler needs no Fritz for identification, no Mister for his dignity. Neither does Paderewski need his Ignaze Jan, nor Gieseking now his Walter. But ten years ago Kreisler was a celebrated violinist and Paderewski was the Premier of Poland as well as pianist, while Giese king was just a young German whose money had gone in the War and whose profession was music. Swiftly, however, his reputation was made, first with modern music, because in Germany there was a demand for all music that had been made during Wartime, music particularly of France and Spain. Then Gieseking played Bach, Schumann, Schubert, Scarlatti. . . .
Today there are no favorites, save that he never plays in public any music which he does not feel sure he understands. Feeling it all and having it sure within him has been his great ideal. He practices little be cause once after a long tramp through the Alps he found he played just as well with out having touched a piano for six weeks. Now he memorizes much of his music away from the piano, riding on trains, climbing mountains, studying birds, flowers, butter flies. He does not smoke, play cards nor eat butter. He is 33, quite bald, and father of a 17 months-old daughter named Jutta.