Here we have the first American-born virtuoso pianist to achieve worldwide fame, as well as one of music's great free-spirited vagabonds.
Born into opulence in New Orleans, Gottschalk was schooled at the Paris Conservatory and studied privately with Hector Berlioz. In 1844 he made his concert debut in Paris and was lauded by no less than the great Chopin himself. This launched a successful, if not somewhat notorious, career in the concert halls and salons of Europe. He brought with him to Europe the Creole and black influences absorbed during his youth, and as he began to compose pieces for his own considerable pianistic skills these "New World" colors emerged, much to the delight of audiences in France, Switzerland and Spain.
Gottschalk was the complete romantic artist, forever indulging in the excesses of life, always with ample female companionship (he was said to have devastatingly good looks) but insatiably restless and uninterested in marriage. He sought the exotic wherever it was to be found, revered nature and allied himself with kindred artistic souls like Byron and Gautier, both of whom he admired greatly.
Finally, in 1853 he returned to the United States and soon secured a place of great celebrity. In 1855, he performed no less than 80 concerts in New York City alone. And now his concerts were composed mostly of his own showy and demanding compositions. Everywhere he went he was wined, dined and applauded. At one point he was offered a generous contract by that master showman, P.T. Barnum, an offer Gottschalk refused. His fame allowed him to indulge in one of his new found pleasures, garish musical arrangements of famous compositions scored for multiple pianos -- an orchestra of pianos, if you will.
After a few years (as was now becoming his habit) wanderlust overcame him and Gottschalk quite unexpectedly fled from the limelight, traveling to the West Indies where he would spend 5 years the vagabond, in his own words "years foolishly spent, thrown to the wind, as if life were infinite and youth eternal." When even the simple company of peasants was too much to endure he spent some time in utter solitude by an extinguished volcano, communing with nature and thinking those great thoughts reserved for only the most enlightened romantic. But time and an empty purse eventually conspired to return Louis Moreau to the U.S. in the early '60s.
Whatever Gottschalk did he did with true panache and in grand style. His now popular arrangements, scored these days for 6, 8 or even 14 grand pianos, were all the rage. When war erupted between North and South, Gottschalk composed virtuoso renditions of every stirring patriotic song in sight and was tireless in his willingness to stir the morale of the Union with these epic creations. President Lincoln himself was known to have been a great admirer of the fiery musician.
In 1865 he accepted a contract to concertize in California. His popular status by that time is perhaps best illustrated in the events of one gala banquet offered in his honor on August 25, 1865. At this event he was presented with a gold medal nine inches in circumference. On one side of the medal his initials were displayed in diamonds and framed by a laurel wreath of diamonds and rubies. On the other side was inscribed the official Arms of California, itself encircled by diamonds. Local papers remarked that this tribute was of the sort reserved for monarchs and so who better to receive it than the first musician of America!
Gottschalk's flame, however bright, burnt quickly. His concert pace, lavish lifestyle, celebrity and ever-growing dissatisfaction with the routine (even if the routine was that of extravagance) was forever a burden on the man's romantic yearnings. Eventually his unsettled spirit was undeniable and he once again sought a change of venue, this time, in part, to avoid probable tar and feathering as punishment for a scandalous episode with a young woman from the Oakland Female Seminary. With the help of the French consul he fled California for South America.
Brazil was to be both a refuge and a delight for Gottschalk. The exotic rhythms and vivacious culture invigorated him, and his performance skills reached new levels. Concert halls were always sold out weeks in advance and royalty would vie for the opportunity to lavish decoration and praise upon him. Contemporary reports are that his music was so moving and overpowering that ladies in attendance would be in constant fear of fainting.
Finally the life of excess resulted in susceptibility to Yellow Fever, and he died in a suburb of Rio de Janeiro in 1869.
It is difficult to know exactly which of Gottschalk's works best communicate the man. For this issue of NautilusCD we have chosen what some consider to be his "signature" piece, The Banjo, Op. 15 (c. 1851).
Written for his friend and fellow musician Richard Hoffman, Gottschalk masterfully captures not only the flavor of the banjo (a weird Cajun instrument in the eyes of Europe) but the American Negro spiritual, "Roll, Jordan, Roll." If you think you're hearing bits of Stephen Foster's "Da Camptown Races," it is likely not because of any mutual respect between the two artists. Historians seem to feel that, while contemporaries, Foster and Gottschalk never met and it was plainly known that Gottschalk considered the minstrel show (a prime market for Foster's outputs) to be boorish at best. A better hypothesis would be that Foster also looked to "Roll, Jordan, Roll" for inspiration.
