![88. Glenn Gould (1932-1982)
[guest post by Alex]
Intense focus on a rarified practice leaves many professional musicians refreshingly out of touch with social niceties. Their combination of vulnerability and indifference in this regard is sexy.
During a period in my life when I was always cold, I remember reading that, even if it was 80 degrees outside, Gould always wore a tweed cap, heavy coat, and wool gloves. He required blasting heat in the recording studio, and would soak his hands in hot water before playing. He did what he needed to be comfortable, and never gave a shit what anyone thought. I was inspired, and have never forgotten this fact.
One time, Gould’s garb once got him mistaken for a “vagrant” (Wikipedia’s word) and arrested for loitering, while sitting on a park bench in Sarasota, Florida. Kinda hot, right?
Gould’s life did have a sort of rock star trajectory — a smash debut record that became a badge of sophistication for young boomers, abrupt retirement from the concert stage, and a premature death (albeit from stroke, not drug overdose). But for me, his appeal lies in his flagrant idiosyncrasies and rejection of the supreme currencies of our age — convention and publicity.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lymisatGcp1qzw38zo1_500.jpg)
88. Glenn Gould (1932-1982)
[guest post by Alex]
Intense focus on a rarified practice leaves many professional musicians refreshingly out of touch with social niceties. Their combination of vulnerability and indifference in this regard is sexy.
During a period in my life when I was always cold, I remember reading that, even if it was 80 degrees outside, Gould always wore a tweed cap, heavy coat, and wool gloves. He required blasting heat in the recording studio, and would soak his hands in hot water before playing. He did what he needed to be comfortable, and never gave a shit what anyone thought. I was inspired, and have never forgotten this fact.
One time, Gould’s garb once got him mistaken for a “vagrant” (Wikipedia’s word) and arrested for loitering, while sitting on a park bench in Sarasota, Florida. Kinda hot, right?
Gould’s life did have a sort of rock star trajectory — a smash debut record that became a badge of sophistication for young boomers, abrupt retirement from the concert stage, and a premature death (albeit from stroke, not drug overdose). But for me, his appeal lies in his flagrant idiosyncrasies and rejection of the supreme currencies of our age — convention and publicity.
