In 2007, author Evan Eisenberg wrote in Slate Magazine
"The year was 1955. Three things happened: Albert Einstein died, and Glenn Gould recorded the Goldberg Variations. It is difficult to describe the impact of the second event, in part because I was a fetus at the time. (The third event, of course, was my birth.) But I will try. For those of us—beatniks, philistines, fetuses—who thought of classical music as something powdered and periwigged, that slab of vinyl struck with the force of a meteor. The stegosaurs who played Bach as if he were Lawrence Welk sniffed the heady, pomade-purged air and keeled, metaphorically, over. The Cretaceous Age of Music had ended. The Age of Gould had begun."
I was fortunate to speak with Tim Page (himself the owner of a restless, flexible and fascinating mind) about Glenn Gould the man and the musician, about his artistic interests and his challenges feared and faced, about the critical re-evaluation of his body of work since his death, about his two iconic recordings of the Goldbergs, and about the lasting footprint of that magical, marvelous elephant.