Probably no other recorded performance so dramatically polarised critical opinion than Glenn Gould's 1955 account of Bach's Goldberg Variations. The Canadian pianist was 23 at the time and had become besotted with the composer's genius in structuring music and his manipulation of contrapuntal lines that had perfect mathematical rectitude. That was to create the rhythmic exactness that places the performance as an unadorned representation of the printed page shorn of any personal involvement. Tempos were often quick, all repeats - which Gould deemed unnecessary - were omitted, the score truncated to just over 38 minutes in length. If that appears cool and calculating, no one could deny that he believed that this was the view the composer would have wanted. He sang along with his performance, obviously totally immersed in the music he was creating, moments of exquisite beauty sitting alongside technical brilliance. Twenty-six years later he made another version where spaciousness replaced flashing mercurial fingers, and at the same time he disowned this recording. Yet there are many who have remained deeply impressed and still regard it as a wonderful and meaningful statement, the clarity of the playing so crisp that it was a pianist's recreation of the staccato sound produced by keyboards in Bach's time. The coupling here is an equally stylised treatment of the Partita, both works recorded with rather more reverberation than you would have expected Gould to approve.