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Friedrich Gulda

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Friedrich Gulda
Born(1930-05-16)16 May 1930
Vienna, Austria
Died27 January 2000(2000-01-27) (aged 69)
  • Pianist
  • Composer
AwardsAustrian Cross of Honour for Science and Art

Friedrich Gulda (16 May 1930 – 27 January 2000) was an Austrian pianist and composer who worked in both the classical and jazz fields.

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  • ✪ Friedrich Gulda - So What, A Portrait (2002) with English subtitles
  • ✪ Friedrich Gulda im Gespräch mit Joachim Kaiser, 1986


Many people consider my very existence a scandal. It’s scandalous when someone constantly does things that ordinarily shouldn’t be done. You don’t play Mozart or Beethoven and got to a jazz club two hours later. I don’t lead a normal life. There are some things I just don’t do although everyone else does. Anyone who thinks and lives as I do is a constant scandal. And when certain events make that obvious then it’s obvious, that’s all. Basically, my whole life is a scandal. Shortly before our 5 o’clock newscast the Austrian Press Agency learned of the sudden death of the Austrian pianist Friedrich Gulda. The news arrived by fax from Zurich Airport and has not yet been confirmed. Since then, the APA has retracted it. To be somebody important in Austria you first have to be dead. So I thought to myself, OK, let them have it. Basically it was a piece of action art: “Gulda’s Death and Resurrection” I sent the fax with my “death” from Zurich Airport at 4:40 p.m. Shortly after 5 o’clock my death was already in the news. I’ve thought a lot about death and resurrection. After all, I’m no spring chicken. So Easter gave me an opportunity to stage my own death. People were scandalized. All that has remained is: “Gulda put on a death show, a PR gag.” My “background” is highly conservative. My father – to begin at the very beginning – was a convinced and hard-hitting Social Democrat. In his day, the 20’s and 30’s, that was a serious business, not what it is today. My father and mother were teachers. My sister became a teacher as well. A bourgeois family – not grand, more petit bourgeois, with an intellectual slant. My father was a headmaster in Vienna. In 1934, when Austria turned fascist, four years before Hitler marched in, he was fired for his leftist leanings. Many broke under the strain, but not my father. He played the cello and gave me my first taste of chamber music. My mother played piano, like everyone else in Vienna. She was quite good. Those are my roots. The important thing about them is the advice my father gave me: character, spine, steadfastness are almost more important than talent. - Do you have a different relation to Mozart today? Your Mozart is very much alive. - Mozart’s music has accompanied me through every decade of my long life and will do so to the very end. That relation has deepened, of course. When I hear how I used to play, the latest is always best. One can spend an entire life at it. It should be alive, brave, tender, in other words, simply Mozart. No composer is closer to the centre, of my musical thought. Hence my saying, to me, Mozart comes right after Jesus. He was unquestionably one of humanity’s greatest benefactors. In 1950 I made my first visit to New York for my successful Carnegie Hall début: a Vienna-trained classical pianist, with my path laid out before me. My international breakthrough came with breathtaking speed. So the question arose, from music lovers and jealous colleagues. “Where will Gulda go from here?” “He’s reached the pinnacle at twenty, the world lies at his feet, he can earn as much as he wants, give 365 concerts a year wherever he wants. He’s already achieved everything that costs other a lifetime of struggle! And those fabulous reviews!" I enjoyed it to the hilt. Besides my international concert career, my main experience was buying jazz records and hanging out in jazz clubs. It was wartime, the Nazis were in power, and listening to jazz or news from “enemy broadcasters” – meaning British radio – could cost you your life. You had to reckon with the Gestapo at any moment. so you stayed quiet and cautious. My father always listened to enemy broadcasts so I got to hear jazz on the British and American military channels. It was all pretty dangerous. But the music left me fascinated, even back then when it was prohibited by Hitler. We all breathed a sigh of relief when the nightmare was over. In 1946, 1947, just after the war, talented young people got together in the legendary Artclub were we could officially play this music. Zawinul was sixteen, I was eighteen, Hans Koller may already have been twenty-five. These really young people met there and played jazz, legally, and before then illegally… Deep down inside me there’s something that’s beyond my control. I don’t know what it is. I first felt it in 1946 at the Geneva Competition as a sixteen-year-old-boy. At one spot in the concert the feeling came over me that I wasn’t doing the playing; “it” was playing through me. Music gives me a feeling of security, like a mother, a feeling of reliability, trust, a constant presence – something like a perfect wife. Besides, in its exciting novelty, its capriciousness, its unpredictability, its marvelous abandon, it gives me a feeling like a perfect lover: a woman every man dreams of and who in reality doesn’t exist. One is married to music for life. Sadly, no woman can even remotely hope to compete with music. The ladies notice it, of course, and get jealous. They don’t show it but it creates problems, not only for me, but for my colleagues too. Even at an early age I was accused of exploiting women and using them for my own purposes. There may be some truth to that. It’s no accident that I view each decade of my life in connection with my various women. We see women all the time but eventually we stick with the one that “fits the bill” at the time. I doubt that’s what people mean by “exploitation”. The first and most important woman in a man’s life is his mother. It was no different with me; it's completely normal and natural. What does a mother want? “Fritzi, be successful, get rich and famous.” So I got rich, successful and famous for her sake. I got that way in the course of my long musical career, especially through my encounter with jazz in the 50’s. things went on from here. That’s when I first crossed a boundary that was thought uncrossable – and I did so deliberately. It’s still considered uncrossable today, and probably will be in the foreseeable future. You’re either a classical musician or a jazzman, a chanson singer or a pop singer, an opera conductor or… There are always certain boxes, certain pigeonholes, and crossing the boundaries between them is still considered an absolute taboo, not only musically but socially. I couldn’t do a thing in jazz. Technically I could play anything, but as a jazz musician I was nil. I worked long and hard at it until I could finally play it. Slogging through that and failing short of my expectations, year after year, was incredibly hard. Then I learned to play a jazz instrument, the baritone saxophone. I practiced like an idiot and played everywhere. I even developed a certain skill at it. I can be satisfied with my jazzoid compositions from this period, the ones I recorded. I played with all the good people in the jazz scene. I may not know them all but I know most of them, especially the important ones. They say, “Gulda’s not a front-rank player.” “He’s not a specialist like us, but he’s worth taking seriously.” - Particularly with Gulda it’s my really great opportunity to learn more about classical music. I’ve wanted to do this for years. And we have a good exchange. - He’s got more jazz experience than I have; I’ve got more classical experience than he has. In this way we profited from each other at rehearsals. I know from my own experience that the boundaries between jazz and classical music – that was my first crossover – are not only artistic but above all societal. It’s the music of two distinct classes of society. One is the music of rich whites, the other the music of poor blacks. When I crossed these boundaries I often heard some idiots saying, “Now he’s slumming it,” just because they have a particular class structure hard-wired in their brains. But oddly enough, the same applies to the other side. Jazz musicians think the same way. Musical class-consciousness – to say nothing about the societal – is stuck in our brains, and anyone who ignores it is either a revolutionary or a fool. I hear that all the time but the older I get the less it bothers me. Basically I have a positive frame of mind but sometimes I’m overwhelmed by those “Viennese blues”. It’s only in moribund Vienna that “Golowin” is conceivable, my pseudonym as a singer. Golowin is a close relative of that black Viennese mentality of Qualtinger and Kreisler. But he also descends from “O du lieber Augustin” and the Plague Column, from Vienna’s deep melancholy and suicidal moods. We need only think of Schubert or the fractured cheerfulness of Johann Strauss. Golowin follows in the footsteps of this deeply negative mind-set. I invented this figure and turned myself into it to give this mentality artistic shape and thus to overcome and get rid of it. - Herr Golowin, how did you actually meet up with Gulda? - Well, I heard him play and I sort of liked it. - Did he hear you sing? - Yeah, I did a bit of… - And did he like it? - I suppose he did… - Do you like to sing his songs? - Sure, why not… - And what about his music? - Yeah, it’s all great because I don’t have to learn English… - You mean otherwise you’d have to sing everything in English? - Well, I have this opinion of Anton Berger. - And are you happy with the words you have to sing? - I guess so. I could write them myself but… - But what? - Well, I’m too lazy actually… - Herr Golowin, what will you sing now? - Well, it’s a song by Gulda, Called “Wann i geh”. Hit it, Gulda! For three years I managed to keep the real identity of “Golowin” secret. And some idiot of a critic wrote: “Golowin is a great discovery. Unfortunately Gulda doesn’t give him the support he deserves!” Music resounds in the landscape of a magnificent but almost unpopulated region: Friedrich Gulda is practicing Beethoven’s Op. 111 in a tavern garden, far away from dinner jackets, bow ties and mandatory credos… Ossiach is – or rather was – a tiny spot in Carinthia where a few privy counsellors lit on the brilliant idea of succumbing to the general plague of festivities. The result was a festival that sort of matched my own ideas. It presented the whole shebang: classical, exotic, folk, pop, jazz, electronic music – and all for the same audience, accompanied by seminars and panel discussions. After all, it’s very nice When a Frenchman talks to an Indian about music rather than tourism or something similar. There were the usual scuffles, but things got critical in 1971 when this village of 500 was invaded by 4,000 shaggy hippies who wanted to see the festival without any money to speak of. It was fairly unpleasant. I once entered a pub, I won’t say which one, and some drunken local yelled, “Gulda, you arse!” So we scrapped Ossiach and moved to another village named Viktring, near Klagenfurt, where we carried on as before. Of the three greatest composers – Beethoven, Bach and Mozart, to speak plainly – the most accessible and even the easiest, strange as it may sound, is Beethoven. So I thought: That’s where I’ll start. And it worked. I specialized in Beethoven for years and you know the results. Then I thought: Now I’ll tackle the middle one. He may be more difficult because he’s so very special, a mountain peak, or rather on ocean. You know Max Reger’s famous quip: “He shouldn’t be called ‘Bach’ (brook), but ‘Meer’ (ocean).” And in recent years I’ve discovered yet another boundary that I had to cross. It may be the biggest and most important That’s ever come my way: the boundary between so-called normality and so-called madness. In the years when I busied myself with the Fuchses and later with Anders, it was often said and written that I’d flipped my lid: “Now he’s finally gone crazy.” That made me think: Why? What’s crazy about it? The world says it’s crazy. But what right does the world have to call itself normal? When I started doing that, everyone said. “It’s not music!” And most people say the same thing today. I replied, “So, what?!” So what if it’s not music? It was a huge experience for me. When I first heard sounds, pitches and musical elements without the artists claiming that it’s music in the strict sense. Obviously many people had problems with our “free music”. But I played it from conviction with no regard for losses. There were lots of empty halls and huge financial setbacks. For the first time I’d drastically cut back my classical activities. The general issues and my provisional responses to them led me to the “Anima” music. The striking thing about it is its latent parallels to the evolution of society. People are slowly realizing – musicians, too, only a bit faster – that we no longer need a system for making music or living together. The concepts of good and bad, of good and bad musical expression, are of course almost suspended in ”free music”. The reigning principle is lawlessness. There’s only one rule: to refuse to acknowledge any rules at all. I think I was the first and perhaps the only person to say: “I don’t care a whit. If it’s not music, so be it!” Those are very exciting, novel and interesting musical experiences. Whether the masses call it music is all the same to me, my friends, and I even have to partly agree with their line of argument: when I play this music it’s all the same to me whether people consider it music. It has no form, no rhythm, no harmony, no shape. It lacks every criterion normally subsumed under the heading of music. For many people that’s all they need to know but for me it may be where things begin in earnest! I’m crazy! I’m crazy, too. Are we both crazy together?! If I come to you, naked as it were, and say: “I’m crazy too.” “Are we both crazy together?!” then it means: "Don’t despair just because you’ve flipped your lid. You’re probably crazy but you’re not alone, there’s someone else just as crazy as you. " - What caused the rift with the classical concert audience? - Actually it was its own inflated and irresponsible conservatism. The ordinary concert audience wants to see an artist in a DJ, always playing the same five sonatas – to exaggerate the point. There’s no point playing anything new to this sort of audience because it doesn’t want to hear it. Having butted my head against this wall in vain for years I finally told myself: The only thing left to do is to chuck them all out since there’s no talking to them. I gradually, and very successfully, turned to a young audience that’s more open-minded towards new efforts in music. I don’t even think the things I’m doing are particularly original. Anyone who does something different or new will have problems with people who won’t put up with it. That’s all there is to it. The collaboration, as you call it, sometimes lasts more than a couple of years. It can last a lifetime. I knew Zawinul when he was a boy. We grew up together. He’s two years younger, but from my generation. It’s a lifelong artistic bond, an artistic friendship pervaded by a strong spirit or rivalry. But the rivalry has always been the lesser part of it. We never really crossed swords by being in competition. The bonds were always stronger than the odd twinges of rivalry. He knows I’m the only one he needs to take seriously and I know the same about him. Today the town of Weissenbach is honouring Friedrich Gulda, its most famous resident, by naming a street after him. For decades the composer-pianist spent his summer months in Weissenbach. Since then the town has become his main place of residence. I have a deep and intimate relation to the local folk music. Sometimes critics accuse me of having an ironic detachment towards this kind of music. I’d like to distance myself from this malicious slander. Schiff is a fabulous cellist – I described that in my book; should I regurgitate it now? – but there was something wrong about it from the very outset because he approached me dishonestly. He said, “Gulda will play Beethoven sonatas with me" only if I pander to his ambitions as a composer. So I’ll play the junk he writes and then we’ll play Beethoven. His plan flopped completely because the Cello Concerto I wrote for Schiff was a huge success. The more often and successfully he played it the further away he got from his actual goal. The misunderstandings about the Cello Concerto arose because the audience thinks I’m a prankster. They superficially confuse the humour of this music with jokes, with a much lower form of humour. They think I’m pulling jokes. But I don’t do that. I’ve got a good sense of musical humour, especially in the Concerto, but I’m not a prankster. Haydn has a good sense of humour, too, but he’s not a prankster, either. This distinction gets blurred and people say: “Right, Gulda’s a clown. He drops his trousers and his underwear, too.” That’s a misunderstanding. I’m not looking for that sort of success! For my entire career I’ve said time and again: Friends, there’s no such thing as this and that kind of music. There are all sorts of music and we have to find some kind of modus vivendi… What is “Paradise Island”? An allegory, a parable for our modern world? An adventure story, the old tale of a woman caught between two men? The conflict between old and new, good and bad, love and power? Is it a pop show, an opera, a musical? A fairy tale or a theatrum mundi? Is it serious or a game? Didactic or entertaining? It’s all of that and yet none of it. It’s simply a fantasy show. This piece lets me stage the conflict that has made up my entire life, Using a rock-solid crash-boom story: the conflict between the conservative society where I grew up as a musician and the disturbance caused by a different kind of music. My entire life consists in trying to come to terms with this disturbance. There are three components that the two kinds of music have in common, for all their differences. The first is a fundamentally positive attitude present in disco music no less than in Mozart, a positive stance that makes people cheerful and happy. The second is the element of dance. It’s more pronounced in disco music, if you want to see it that way, but it’s very pronounced in Mozart, too. Third, and very important, both kinds of music have a very erotic aura. We need only recall that Mozart’s most important operas, “Figaro”, “Don Giovanni”, “Così fan tutte”, all deal with this number-one topic. - What criteria did you use to choose the girls? - My own obviously very good taste. - Where do they come from? - I hand-picked the lot of them on the island of Ibiza: What’s your name, where do you come from? Tralala, I like you, let’s do it, etc. It was a fairly lengthy process. I combined the pleasant with the practical. - You once said you’ll always be young. How do you manage that? - Actually, I’ll die at some point but I’ll never become old. - How do you manage that? - I just do it, that’s all. The things I do are, of course, very different, not only musically, but qualitatively. Perhaps you could say that in every kind of music I play, I can radiate that “specific kind of magic”. There’s something deep down inside, a sort of indestructible core. No matter what I play I always play Gulda. This wonderful lyric movement is associated with the idea – at any rate I associate it with the idea – that the composer descends from his heaven as the music progresses and floats down to us to this slightly unfamiliar spot. And we think he is now with us. But he’d never left – thank God! My dear young friends, as you know, I’ve expressly forbidden any sort of obituary. It is my wish and final disposition, as regards the public, press and media, that there shall be no commentary or obituary at my death. The reason for my decision, which I command you to respect, is that I don’t want the filth that certain people and their circles have thrown at me all my life to be chucked into my grave by the same people. So once again, to the utmost of my abilities, I forbid any commentary or obituary.



Born in Vienna the son of a teacher, Gulda began learning to play the piano from Felix Pazofsky at the Wiener Volkskonservatorium, aged 7. In 1942, he entered the Vienna Music Academy, where he studied piano and musical theory under Bruno Seidlhofer and Joseph Marx.

During World War II as teenagers, Gulda and his friend Joe Zawinul would go out and perform forbidden musics – like jazz, in violation of the government's prohibition on the playing of such music (this is mentioned in the documentary film "Friedrich Gulda: So What – A Portrait").

Gulda won first prize at the Geneva International Music Competition in 1946. Initially, the jury preferred the Belgian pianist Lode Backx, but when the final vote was taken, Gulda was the winner. One of the jurors, Eileen Joyce, who favoured Backx, stormed out and claimed the other jurors were unfairly influenced by Gulda's supporters.[1] Gulda began to play concerts worldwide. He made his Carnegie Hall debut in 1950.[2] Together with Jörg Demus and Paul Badura-Skoda, Gulda formed what became known as the "Viennese troika".

Although most renowned for his Mozart and Beethoven interpretations, Gulda also performed the music of J. S. Bach (often on clavichord), Schubert, Chopin, Schumann, Debussy and Ravel. His recordings of Bach's Well Tempered Clavier are well regarded.[3] Apart from the Well Tempered Clavier, Gulda performed very few other pieces by Bach and recorded even fewer. Gulda's later reliance on co-operating with companies whose recording techniques were primitive in comparison to those espoused by more sophisticated rivals stood him in very poor stead with regard to posterity. The rescued Mozart sonata tapes issued on DG are bad in terms of recorded technical quality;[citation needed] likewise the Debussy Preludes and Bach recordings of the late 60s and early 70s.[citation needed]

From the 1950s on Gulda cultivated a professional interest in jazz, and in free improvisation or open music improvisations, writing songs. He also recorded as a vocalist under the pseudonym "Albert Golowin", fooling music critics for years until it was realized that Gulda and Golowin were the same person. He played instrumental pieces, at times combining jazz, free music, and classical music in his concerts. In the late 1960s Gulda recorded the complete Beethoven sonatas.

In 1956, Gulda performed and recorded at Birdland in New York City[4] and at the Newport Jazz Festival.[2] He organized the International Competition for Modern Jazz in 1966,[5] and he established the International Musikforum, a school for students who wanted to learn improvisation, in Ossiach, Austria, in 1968.[6] He once said:[7]

There can be no guarantee that I will become a great jazz musician, but at least I shall know that I am doing the right thing. I don't want to fall into the routine of the modern concert pianist's life, nor do I want to ride the cheap triumphs of the Baroque bandwagon.

In jazz, he found "the rhythmic drive, the risk, the absolute contrast to the pale, academic approach I had been taught."[7] He also took up playing the baritone saxophone.[5]

In the 1960s, Gulda wrote a Prelude and Fugue with a theme suggesting swing. Keith Emerson liked Gulda's Fugue so much, that he often performed it in Emerson, Lake & Palmer concerts in the 1970s, and a studio version was also issued on Emerson, Lake & Palmer's The Return of the Manticore.[citation needed]

In addition, Gulda composed "Variations on The Doors' 'Light My Fire'" (aka 'Variationen über "Light My Fire" (von Jim Morrison)') for solo piano, and released it in 1971 on Track 11 (LP disc 1, side 2, track 1) of "The Long Road To Freedom (Ein musikalisches Selbstportrat in Form eines Lehrgangs)". An earlier instrumental rock-style piano/bass/drums trio version (sans any of the complex Gulda composed and improvised variations...) of Light My Fire can also be found on Gulda's album As You Like It (1970), an album that also includes standards such as "'Round Midnight" and "What Is This Thing Called Love?", as well as Gulda's classic "Blues For H.G. (dedicated to Hans Georg Brunner-Schwer)."

In the late 1960s through the 1980s – while continuing his straight ahead swing and bop-based jazz (often in European Jazz big bands, that he often organized yearly) performances and recordings, and his classical performances and recordings, he also performed and/or recorded (often using a custom electrically amplified clavichord, percussion instruments, and a bass recorder wooden flute) with a wide range of musicians involved in Free improvisation, including: Cecil Taylor, Barre Phillips, Ursula Anders, John Surman, Albert Mangelsdorff, Stu Martin, Gunther Rabl, Limpe Fuchs, Paul Fuchs, Mounir Bashir, Gerhard Herrmann, Leszek Zadlo, and Fritz Pauer.

In the late 1970s and 1980s, Gulda was involved in yearly music festivals, such as the Münchner Klaviersommer – where musical guests coming to perform over the years with him, included Herbie Hancock, Joe Zawinul, and Chick Corea.[citation needed]

In 1980, he wrote his Concerto for Cello and Wind Orchestra, which has been called "as moving as it is lighthearted", in five movements "involving jazz, a minuet, rock, a smidgen of polka, a march and a cadenza with two spots where a star cellist must improvise."[8]

In 1982, Gulda teamed up with jazz pianist Chick Corea, who was between the breakup of Return to Forever and the formation of his Elektric Band. Issued on The Meeting (Philips, 1984), Gulda and Corea communicate in lengthy improvisations mixing jazz ("Some Day My Prince Will Come" and the lesser known, adapted by Miles Davis song "Put Your Foot Out") and classical music (Brahms' "Wiegenlied" ["Cradle song"]).

Gulda and Corea continued their musical relationship and recorded Mozart's Double Piano Concerto with the Concertgebouw Orchestra with Nikolaus Harnoncourt (conductor). They also played jazz piano duets of Gulda's "Fantasy For Two Pianos" and Corea's "Ping Pong For Two Pianos".

In the late 1980s and 1990s, organist/MIDI keyboardist Barbara Dennerlein also studied with and performed with Gulda.[9]

These unorthodox practices along with his refusal to sometimes follow clothing conventions (he was notoriously described as resembling, in one South German concert, "a Serbian pimp"[citation needed]) or announce the program of his concerts in advance earned him the nickname "terrorist pianist".[2] In 1988, he cancelled a performance after officials of the Salzburg Festival objected to his including jazz musician Joe Zawinul on the program.[2] When the Vienna Music Academy awarded him its Beethoven Ring in recognition of his performances, he accepted it but then later reconsidered and returned it.[6] To promote a concert in 1999, he announced his own death in a press release so that the concert at the Vienna Konzerthaus could serve as a resurrection party.[6]

Friedrich Gulda's grave in Steinbach am Attersee
Friedrich Gulda's grave in Steinbach am Attersee

Phillips Records included Gulda in its Great Pianists of the 20th Century CD box set, which came out in 1999.[10] His piano students included Martha Argerich, who called Gulda "my most important influence,"[11] and the conductor Claudio Abbado.[12]

Gulda died of heart failure at the age of 69 on 27 January 2000 at his home in Weissenbach, Austria.[6] Gulda is buried in the cemetery of Steinbach am Attersee, Austria.

Personal life

Gulda was married twice, firstly to actress Paola Loew (1956–1966) with whom he had two sons, David Wolfgang and Paul, and secondly to Yuko Wakiyama (1967–1973) with whom he had another son, Rico. Both Paul and Rico became accomplished pianists. In 1975 Gulda began a relationship with the oratorio singer Ursula Anders which lasted until his death.[13]

In 2007 a documentary film for television was made about his life, So what?! – Friedrich Gulda.[14]

Decorations and awards


  1. ^ Richard Davis, Eileen Joyce: A Portrait, 126-7
  2. ^ a b c d Chris Woodstra, Gerald Brennan, Allen Schrott, eds., All Music Guide to Classical Music: The Definitive Guide to Classical Music (San Francisco: Backbeat Books, 2005), 538
  3. ^ "Friedrich Gulda, 69, Classical-Music Rebel," New York Times, 29 January 2000
  4. ^ New York Times: "Gulda has Debut as Jazz Pianist," 22 June 1956, accessed 17 September 2011
  5. ^ a b New York Times: "Brooklyn Sax Man Wins the Big One in Vienna," 17 July 1966, accessed 17 September 2011
  6. ^ a b c d New York Times: Allan Kozinn, "Friedrich Gulda, 69, Classical-Music Rebel," 29 January 2000, accessed 17 September 2011
  7. ^ a b New York Times: K. Robert Schwarz , "Gulda Reasserts his Claim to Fame," 25 September 1989, accessed 17 September 2011
  8. ^ Seattle Times: Tom Keogh, "Cellist Joshua Roman returns to Seattle Symphony for opening night," 15 September 2011, accessed 17 September 2011
  9. ^ [1]
  10. ^ Peter Gutmann, "Great Pianists of the Twentieth Century,"
  11. ^ New York Times: Anthony Tommasini, "An Enigmatic Pianist Reclaims Her Stardom," 25 March 2000, accessed 17 September 2011
  12. ^ Chris Woodstra, Gerald Brennan, Allen Schrott, eds., All Music Guide to Classical Music: The Definitive Guide to Classical Music (San Francisco: Backbeat Books, 2005), 1
  13. ^ Friedrich Gulda 1930–2000
  14. ^ Internet Movie Database: "So what?! – Friedrich Gulda (TV 2007)", accessed 17 September 2011; New York Times: "Friedrich Gulda: So What – A Portrait", accessed 17 September 2011
  15. ^ "Reply to a parliamentary question" (pdf) (in German). p. 67. Retrieved 4 March 2013.

External links

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