Bruhns’s “Little” E-minor: A Guide Towards Performance

Jan-Piet Knijff teaches organ, historical keyboard instruments, and chamber music and is organist-in-residence at the Aaron Copland School of Music at Queens College/CUNY. He holds the DMA from The City University of New York as well as the Artist Diploma from the Conservatory of Amsterdam and is an Associate of the AGO. He won second prize at the Hindemith-Micheelsen Organ Competition (Rotterdam, The Netherlands, 1996) and has performed the three organ sonatas and the Concerto for Organ and Chamber Orchestra on both sides of the Atlantic. His organ teachers have included Piet Kee, Ewald Kooiman, and Christoph Wolff. Visit JP’s website at or contact him at [email protected].

This is the second in a series of “organ lessons” by Jan-Piet Knijff. The first, “Bruhns’s ‘Little’ E-minor,” appeared in the January 2006 issue of The Diapason, pp. 22–24.

Introduction

Like it or not, almost all organ music of any significance (and a lot that has no significance at all) was written by composers who were also organists. One of the major exceptions (along with Brahms, who was no organist either) is Paul Hindemith (1895–1963), arguably one of the giants of twentieth-century music. Hindemith wrote a handful of excellent works for organ: three sonatas (1937–40), the Kammermusik No. 7 (Concerto for Organ and Chamber Orchestra, 1927), and finally the Organ Concerto (1962). The three sonatas have long been an essential part of the organ repertoire, although probably more so in some cultures than in others.1 The Kammermusik, a very appealing work, has been recorded by a number of organists, but is not often heard in concert, undoubtedly for practical reasons. The 1962 Organ Concerto is very rarely heard.
An outstanding violinist, Hindemith became concertmaster in Frankfurt at age 20, working with conductors such as Mengelberg, Furtwängler, and Scherchen. He soon had enough of orchestra life and, as a performer, concentrated on the viola and the viola d’amore, making a career both in chamber music and as a soloist. His real vocation, however, was composition. Hindemith wrote in every conceivable genre: opera, oratorio, choral (both sacred and secular), solo vocal (including the cycle Das Marienleben [The Life of Mary]), orchestral, concerto, chamber music—often for instruments that had previously been treated in a stepmotherly fashion—and piano solo. Hindemith taught composition in Berlin and, after his emigration to the United States in 1940, theory at Yale University. He retired from the concert stage as a violist in 1939 upon hearing some of his own recordings; after World War II, he was increasingly active as a conductor, not only of his own works. The subject of this article is the second movement of Sonata No. 2 for organ, probably the most accessible of all of Hindemith’s organ music, both to the performer and to the listener. The work is available from Schott (ED 2559), Hindemith’s publisher; the second movement is found on pp. 10–12.

Overview

The movement has a very clear and simple structure, which, however, may not be terribly obvious at first sight. And once they get “stuck” in “learning the notes,” many musicians have a tendency to overlook the large structure of the work: they can’t see the forest for the trees, so to speak. In this particular movement, Hindemith’s manual indications (Oberwerk and Hauptwerk—Swell and Great, if you like) are the key. Why not take a look (don’t start playing right away) at the beginnings of each section where the hands are playing on a new manual: mm. 1, 10–11, 20–21, 38–39 (page turns don’t help in getting an overview of a piece!), 57, 60, 63, 64–65. The first thing that may catch your eye is that the pedals don’t play when your hands are on the Oberwerk; this, of course, is handy, because it saves you from having to adjust the pedal registration in performance. Next—and perhaps you want to play the first four to six notes of the soprano of each section—you will notice that the soprano in each Hauptwerk section simply repeats that of the Oberwerk section preceding it. In other words:

mm. 1–10 Oberwerk A
10–20 Hauptwerk A'
20–38 Oberwerk B
38–56 Hauptwerk B'
57–60 Oberwerk C
60–63 Hauptwerk C'
63–64 Oberwerk D
64–66 Hauptwerk D'

The Hauptwerk sections can be considered varied repeats of the preceding Oberwerk sections. But, though the harmonization and inner voices may be quite different, you’ll find that—with the exception of a pick-up note or two and an octave transposition once—the soprano of the Hauptwerk section is exactly identical with that of the preceding Oberwerk section. In fact, it may not be a bad idea to play through the soprano only of the piece (just the top notes in the right hand) to realize this for yourself and find out where those little changes are made: two pick-up notes are added in m. 10; the last three notes of the first section (mm. 9–10) are transposed up an octave at the repeat in mm. 19–20; and the pick-up notes are changed from b - g# in m. 20 to f# - g# in m. 38. Finally, Hindemith wrote out a rallentando at the end: the dotted-quarter ending in m. 64 is stretched out to dotted-half notes in m. 65–66.
Of course, the end of the B section above (mm. 32–38) is a shortened and varied reprise of section A, this time finishing on the tonic E. The overall form of the movement, then, is something that’s often referred to as a “rounded binary,” in this case followed by a little coda, and could be summarized as follows:

||: X :|||: Y X' :|| Coda.

Tempo and Character

Hindemith wrote another short keyboard piece very similar to the second movement of Sonata No. 2: the second “Interludium” from Ludus Tonalis (Hindemith’s equivalent of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier).2 The time signature here is also 6/8 with the characteristic dotted-eighth rhythm appearing frequently, particularly in the first half of a measure. The metronome mark is the same (50 to the dotted quarter); the tempo indication is “Pastorale, moderate.” I think we can safely consider the sonata movement as a little “pastoral” (literally: “shepherd’s song”) as well.
The German tempo indication ruhig bewegt means “quietly moving” (literally “quietly moved”); if you wanted an Italian equivalent, it would probably be andante. The character of both the “Interludium” from Ludus Tonalis and the organ sonata movement is very reminiscent of the siciliano, the slow dance in 6/8 (or 12/8) with the dotted-eighth-note pattern in the first half of the measure, found in so many Baroque pieces. A good example from the organ repertoire is the first movement from John Stanley’s Voluntary in D minor, op. 6 no. 1. It’s almost impossible to miss the right tempo for the Stanley movement; and approximately the same speed will work well for either Hindemith piece. (The indications langsamer and noch langsamer, found towards the end of the organ movement, mean “slower” and “even slower” respectively.)
The metronome mark for the sonata movement tells you to play 50 dotted quarters per minute; and when you think about it, that means that the dotted quarter is something like a very slow second. But of course, this does not mean that Hindemith expected you to take out your metronome, put it on 50, and play the whole piece with the blessed machine ticking away. Use the metronome to get an idea of what the tempo is like; hum the tune along for a measure or two, get the feeling, and put the machine away. If you want to make sure that you know “how the piece goes,” listen to a recording (perhaps one of those listed below). To make sure that you play the whole piece in (approximately) the same tempo, jump from fragment-here to fragment-there maintaining the same “flow.” But nobody’s heartbeat is perfectly regular, and no musical performance should be either: “The metronome mark is only valid for the first measure of a piece.”3

Registration

Hindemith did not indicate any registration beyond the manual indications and a simple piano and mezzoforte. If one stays with the manual indications (playing with hands on the same keyboard, alternating between Swell and Great), I think one would in all likelihood want to avoid reeds. Often a registration with flutes 8 and 4 on the Swell and foundation stops 8 and 4 on the Great works well. In an ideal world it may be nice not to couple the manuals; in practice, coupling often works well on organs with electric action. On a tracker, you will probably want to avoid the coupler, as it may make the action heavier than you might like for this movement. In the pedal, use a registration with 16 and 8, strong enough to make the “theme” in mm. 54–56 clearly heard; but not so loud that the pedalpoints in mm. 39–53 become overpowering.
Although the manual indications Oberwerk and Hauptwerk seem to refer to a Baroque or “Baroque-ish” type of organ, the movement works well on pretty much any organ with at least two manuals. As long as you have pedals, it can also be played effectively on a one-manual organ by simply adding a stop for the mezzoforte sections.

Beginning to Play

Whether I am learning a keyboard piece or teaching a new piece to my choir, I often like to begin with getting an idea of the end of the piece (or movement): this is the goal of the journey, and it’s usually a good thing to bear that in mind from the start. In this case, take the last four measures. Take the time for the grace notes (with the beautiful g-natural!); they are best played before the beat, which means that, in the penultimate measure, the c#' in the alto still sounds during both grace notes! In the same measure, notice Hindemith’s written-out rallentando (a dotted half note instead of a dotted quarter). Also, notice how the left hand on the Great brings the first three notes of the little melody in augmentation (in this case, three times as slow); something you would like to point out in a paper for your music theory class, I think!
I see two possibilities for fingering in the last two measures [Example 1]. If you choose the second option, pay attention that the tied-over b in the left hand does not stick around after playing the c# in the right; and make sure that the thumb moves as smoothly as possible from the c#¢' to the d . As for the pedal in this measure, the important thing is to get your right foot on the A; to me, the easiest way to do that is by alternating toes, starting with your right foot on the e.
Now that you have an idea of where the piece is going, take a look at the beginning, mm. 1–5. I love how the right hand begins on its own, then is joined by the left hand in a little duet; Hindemith adds an alto and tenor only for the “cadence” in mm. 4–5. Make sure to play nicely legato in both hands; but of course, the b¢ in the middle of m. 2 (not the grace note) must be clearly separated from the note before (by shortening that note) and from the grace note following (by shortening the note itself) at the same time. Think of it this way [Example 2]. But don’t allow the left hand to go along with the articulation of the right! Here is my fingering for the chords in mm. 4–5 [Example 3]. Of course, frequent finger substitution helps to obtain a nice legato; but if an index finger on the b in the left hand produces too much tension in your hand, use your thumb instead. In that case, you try to make the thumb’s “journey” from c#' to b (quite a trip!) as smooth and short as possible; try to avoid “hurried” movements, however.
Now that you have learned both the end and the beginning of the movement, why not put the two together to create a kind of “summary” of the piece: glue the beginning of m. 5 to the middle of m. 63; or, even more concisely, glue the beginning of m. 2 to the end of m. 64. During your work on the piece, you want to come back to your little summary from time to time; it helps you to avoid “getting lost” in the notes.

Section A

After the long opening phrase discussed above, the movement continues with a number of shorter gestures: the beautiful unison passage in mm. 5–7 (a nice contrast with the four-part harmony in mm. 4–5) is followed by the motif with the repeated c#¢¢ in the soprano, and the sentence concludes with the Phrygian cadence on f# in m. 10. It is important to bring out Hindemith’s phrasing well; in practice, that means shortening the last note under a slur. Effective fingering can also help; here’s my suggestion for the unison passage [Example 4]. In m. 7, omit the c#¢ in the left hand, as you’re playing it with the right hand anyway. In the right hand, you want to nicely separate the soprano c#’s while playing legato in the alto [Example 5]. In the left hand, a “natural” way to get the right phrasing can be to use the same little pinky on the e and the A in m. 8 (the left hand starts with a thumb on the b in m. 7).

Section A'

The beautiful varied repeat of section A starts with five-part harmony; make sure to keep track of the sustained e in the left hand (mm. 11–12) and the sustained a¢ in the right (mm. 13–14). A few crucial fingers in the left hand: a middle finger on the last a in m. 12; silent substitution (2–1) on the a in m. 14, followed by a middle finger on the d; and index finger and ring finger on the chord in m. 18. Think of the pedal part as the double basses in your orchestra; isn’t that a beautiful line in mm. 11–15? The easier and smoother your feet move on the pedals, the better. Here are my suggestions for pedaling this and the next pedal passage [Example 6]. For smooth crossing-over of the feet, it’s usually best to put one foot further back when you’re crossing over in front, and vice versa. (In the music examples, this is indicated with a line underneath or over the toe-symbol.)
Very beautiful is the end of this section with the soprano transposed up an octave: take the opportunity to let those notes really sing. Notice, by the way, the only six-part chord in the movement, supporting the high a'' in m. 19; I recommend shortening the low a¢ in the right hand in order to move your thumb up to the c''.

Section B

As in section A, the right hand begins on its own, but is soon joined by the left hand in a little duet which seems to begin as a canon (twice: compare mm. 21 and 23–24). By sustaining the tenor note f in m. 25, Hindemith allows the texture to expand to three-part harmony, leading to the four-part “unison” A in m. 27. The right-hand descent that follows needs careful finger substitution [Example 7]. Mm. 32–38 can be considered a kind of recapitulation of the opening theme (in the “home key” E). After the “attempts” at a canon in mm. 21 and 24, Hindemith now brings the opening melody in canon, first in the alto (m. 34), then in the tenor (m. 36). Try singing along with the canon when working on this fragment! A fingering suggestion in the left hand: put your index finger on the e in mm. 32 and 34.
Here’s what I recommend for the right hand in mm. 36–38 [Example 8]. Linger on the pick-up for m. 36 as long as you can, as if you have glue on your fingers; and—using the same glue perhaps—glue the f#'-e'-f#' (all played with your right thumb) together as much as you can (in other words, make the journey as short and smooth as possible).

Section B'

This section is a very nice example of the use of pedalpoint: sustained bass notes, creating a kind of “envelope” of sound. Notice that the pedal F is released and then played again in m. 41 (in order to help clarify the phrasing in the right hand). Although the basic ideas from section B are all present in section B¢, the attempts at canon are now a tone lower: see mm. 39 and 42–43. In addition to the pedal part, Hindemith adds extra voices in the hands as well, creating a four-to-five-part texture in mm. 39–49; again, be careful with the sustained notes in the inner voices (the b' in m. 43–44 and the d in mm. 45–48); it’s easy to lose sight of them. Very beautiful is the open fifth d–a in m. 45 as opposed to the unison a in m. 27! The canons at the end of the section are given to different voices from before: first the tenor (m. 52), then the pedal (m. 54). I think there’s really only one option for the pedaling [Example 9]. It is a possibility to play legato from the pedalpoint D in m. 49 to the E in m. 50 while “taking a breath” in the hands; or, you can lift both in the hands and in the pedal—this to me is a matter of taste. Whatever you do, make a clear comma in the pedal before the entry of the canon in m. 54—this probably means inserting an eighth rest at the end of the long E in m. 53.

Discography

If you enjoy listening to CDs and you are interested in hearing some real-life approaches to Hindemith’s organ music, here are some recordings you might like to consider:
• Piet Kee Plays Hindemith and Reger. All three sonatas; Grote of St. Bavokerk, Haarlem (Netherlands); Chandos.
• The Art of Peter Hurford. Includes Sonata No. 2; Dom, Ratzeburg (Germany); Decca Argo.
• Hindemith: Organ Concerto, 3 Organ Sonatas. Anton Heiller, Elisabeth Ullmann; Brucknerhaus, Linz (Austria); Warner Classics.

Conclusion

The second movement from Organ Sonata No. 2 is probably the most accessible organ piece of Paul Hindemith. Though not exactly easy, it is not terribly hard to learn and though mildly spiced with the usual Hindemithian dissonances, the piece sounds friendly enough to appeal to an “average” audience, either in church or in the concert hall. On Sunday mornings, the piece could serve as prelude or as (part of) the music during the offering or communion. For young organists preparing for college auditions, the movement could be an excellent choice from the twentieth-century repertoire (provided that you have some more upbeat pieces from other style periods). Finally, for those whom I got “Hooked on Hindemith,” I would recommend the last movement (also Ruhig bewegt) from Sonata No. 1 as your next piece to consider. Perhaps we’ll talk about that one another time.

Jan-Piet Knijff teaches organ, historical keyboard instruments, and chamber music and is organist-in-residence at the Aaron Copland School of Music at Queens College/CUNY. He holds the DMA from The City University of New York as well as the Artist Diploma from the Conservatory of Amsterdam and is an Associate of the AGO. He won both the Grand Prix Bach de Lausanne and the Audience Prize at the Concours Bach de Lausanne 1997. His organ teachers have included Piet Kee, Ewald Kooiman, and Christoph Wolff. Visit JP’s website at or contact him at .

The crayfish in his brook

Like so many musicians—including organists—old Sebastian Bach liked jokes and puns. And it was, presumably, the Thomas Cantor himself who came up with the famous one-liner stating his student Johann Ludwig Krebs (1713–1780) was “the only crayfish (Krebs) caught in this great brook (Bach).” Strictly speaking, this was actually not true: Johann Ludwig’s father, Johann Tobias Krebs, had been a Bach student in Weimar in the 1710s, and, having married into an affluent family in 1723, he was able to send not only Johann Ludwig but also his two other sons to school in Leipzig. One of them, Tobias Jr., had, at age 13, “a good strong voice” according to the Thomas Cantor. The other, Johann Carl, was at St. Thomas in the 1740s and eventually succeeded Tobias Sr. as organist at Buttstädt. Johann Ludwig studied with Bach for no fewer than nine years, from 1726 till 1735. The reference letter that Bach wrote for him in August of that year is very good indeed: We learn that Krebs was not only an able organist and harpsichord player, but also excelled as a violinist, lute player, and composer. Earlier, Krebs had applied (along with his father and C.P.E. Bach) for the position of organist at St. Wenzel’s Church in Naumburg. Krebs Sr. withdrew, but neither Jr. nor Carl Philipp got the job. Johann Ludwig stayed in Leipzig for a few more years, completing his education by attending lectures in philosophy and law at Leipzig University until he got his first position as organist in Zwickau in 1737. In 1742, Krebs applied successfully for the position at the Silbermann organ in the Frauenkirche in Dresden, but apparently didn’t accept the post, perhaps because the compensation package left something to be desired. Instead, he took a position at the castle in Zeitz in 1744. From there, he twice applied—unsuccessfully—for the Leipzig Thomas cantorate: first after Bach’s death in 1750 and again five years later when Bach’s successor Harrer had died. Finally, in 1756, Krebs became organist at the Altenburg castle, where he played the fine, large two-manual Trost organ still extant today. Although Krebs had been an avowed admirer of Silbermann organs, he loved the Trost organ very much and looked after it “like a father” (as one organ builder Schramm complained after being denied access to the instrument by the organist). Krebs stayed in Altenburg till his death, though—like his father—he had to pass on his responsibilities to his son Christian Traugott in 1776 due to health trouble.

Krebs’s music

Krebs’s impressive corpus of organ music is so high in quality that it has long been uncertain whether, for example, the famous Wir glauben all’ an einen Gott with double pedal was actually written by him or his venerable teacher. (I think Krebs is the more likely candidate.) But he was also a fine composer of other instrumental music, including concertos for the lute and a “duo for two keyboards” that received such high acclaim in Dresden that it evoked the envy of all the court musicians. Eighteenth-century writers describe Krebs as a virtuoso organist and his organ music as the best of his œuvre. Though Krebs was never really forgotten (a first “complete” edition of the organ works appeared in 1847–49), it seems to me that both the “free works” and chorale preludes are performed less than they deserve to be these days. One reason may be that the works are available in a fine though fairly expensive complete edition: the four volumes edited by German organist Gerhard Weinberger and published as Sämtliche Orgelwerke by Breitkopf. But the nice thing with Krebs is that there are quite a few small-scale pieces that are ideally suited for students but are equally attractive to seasoned professionals. (In fact, both Johann Ludwig and his dad have been considered candidates for the authorship of the Eight Little Preludes and Fugues, though this seems somewhat unlikely for stylistic reasons.) One of those little gems, a Prelude in F Major, is the subject of this article.

Prelude in F Major

This piece is found in Vol. 2 of the Sämtliche Orgelwerke on pp. 16–17. In addition, I have prepared an edition of this and a few other short preludes, which will be available from me (e-mail me at ). The piece opens with a simple chord progression over a repeated bass notes in the pedal (mm. 1–4). The broken chords in the right hand are essentially the same as the “solid” chords in the left. In mm. 5–8, the two hands are inverted (note how mm. 3 and 7 differ in detail). Mm. 1–4 return as a kind of recapitulation at the end of the piece (mm. 22–25), followed by a dramatic coda. In mm. 9–15, both hands move in eighths and sixteenths. Mm. 11–14 look a bit boring on paper, but they’re actually not so bad: the thing is to recognize the inner voices hidden among all these sixteenths. Krebs hints at this in m. 9: the eighth notes in the right hand are “accompanied” in lower sixths and thirds in the left hand; in turn, the left hand is accompanied in thirds by the pedal in the second half of the measure (Example 1). What you hear is really a soprano/alto duet followed by a tenor/bass duet, as is so common in choral music. The bass now drops out of the game; but soprano and tenor continue to move in thirds in m. 10–14 (Example 2). The two hands get more and more excited in m. 15 (it helps that the harmonies move per beat instead of per measure!). This culminates in the free imitation in mm. 16–17 (with the very brief “modulation” to C major) and in the quasi-canonic mm. 18–21 (over a “circle of fifths” and a characteristic pedalpoint on the subdominant in the pedal), leading back to the above-mentioned mini-recapitulation.

Beginning to play

The opening measures (mm. 1–4) will pose no problem to beginning organists with a reasonable keyboard background, yet there is one little trick that will make these measures sound much better right away: the quarter-note chords (pedal and left hand) are best played a little bit shorter—something like dotted eighths or even generous eighth notes, depending on the acoustics. In any event, avoid full-length quarter notes. The broken chords in the right hand are best played slightly non-legato. Before embarking on the slightly trickier middle section, try playing the beginning and the end: mm. 1–4 and 26–28 (or, in fact, mm. 22–28!). It is important to get the hand division right; in my edition, I have done this for you, but if you use the Breitkopf edition, make sure to mark the Cs in m. 1/22 and the Ds in m. 2/23 in the left hand; it will make life much easier. In the middle of m. 4/25, play the first f’ light and relatively short to allow for the left hand to take over; you may even want to take a bit of extra time here to make things clearer (and easier). The shape of the figure in m. 4 is happily different from the broken chords in mm. 1–3; I think it sounds nice if you underline that by playing the sixteenths f’’-e’’-f’’ (and later f’-e’-f’) a little more legato. You could also consider lingering a little on the downbeat a’ (just be careful not to do this always in the same way). The dramatic chords in the last few measures can be divided between the hands in different ways; my suggestion is to add a nice cadential trill on the e’’ in m. 27 (Example 3).

A few fingerings

Nothing in this piece will create major problems for the beginning organist with a decent keyboard background. Yet there is one fingering, in m. 15, that people seem to miss out on, but which, I believe, will make life easier for you (and, as a bonus, it will sound better too). Every student with whom I worked on this piece chose the fingering in Example 4a; Example 4b offers my own suggestion. First, the two pinkies on a’’–g’’ ensure that these two notes are nicely articulated (after all, the g’’ is part of a new chord, and that relatively fast harmonic rhythm is one of the exciting things in this measure). My fingering avoids the slight turn of the hand necessary to put your thumb on the b-flat’ (and then turning back to put the thumb on the a’ again) and the awkward and unnecessary silent substitution on the b-flat’. Using the 5-2 option on the eighth notes means that the two consecutive sixths c’’–a’’ (“hidden” in the group of sixteenths) and b-flat’–g’’ are played with the same fingering, which somehow feels natural. Finally, putting a little finger on the g’’ fits nicely with the left hand, which undoubtedly uses a little finger at the same moment (the index finger on b-flat’ also coincides with the index in the left hand). Not that this is a “proof” of any kind for my suggested fingering; I just find it nice how these fingerings seem to “rhyme,” particularly in a piece that is obviously meant for beginning organists. Even a beginner on the pedals should be able to deal with the pedal part in our piece: the repeated F constitutes the pedal part for almost half the piece, and for what is left, you don’t need much wizardry either. While some teachers may recommend a heel in m. 9, it sounds just as good (and is just as easy to play) with toes only, as shown in Example 5. In mm. 11–14, make sure that your left foot is guided by your (left) knee; as in walking, the knee moves out, as it were, over the foot. (I know this is the complete opposite of the “knees-together doctrine” that so many of us have grown up with; I will deal with this in a separate article.) In m. 15, some teachers might recommend silent substitution on the cs, but in the overall non-legato style of playing this is hardly necessary. Leap with whatever foot you like; it doesn’t really matter. Example 6 offers my pedaling suggestion for mm. 16–17. I personally like putting a left foot on the strong, long B-flat in mm. 20–21, but this may be a matter of taste.

The tricky part

Mm. 16–19 are undoubtedly the trickiest part of the piece. Here’s how I would deal with them. First, get comfortable with the pedals. The best thing is to sing along as you’re playing. (If this embarrasses you too much, you can always “sing in your head,” but I do find that singing aloud works better.) Then, add one hand; perhaps the left and keep singing (it doesn’t really matter whether you still sing the pedal part or the left hand, as long as you’re singing). Next, pedal and the other hand (keep singing!). Finally, try both hands and pedals together and keep singing. Very important: Try not to stop for mistakes. Play the fragment at a speed that sounds reasonable to you (or a little slower) and simply get as many as the notes as you get—don’t worry if half of them are wrong. Try another time, and you’ll probably do better already. As you get to know the music better (and singing helps a lot with that), you’ll make fewer and fewer mistakes. If there’s a spot that keeps bothering you, consider different fingering options. Even when playing slowly, try to find a tempo that makes musical sense. Avoid losing track of the music and getting lost in learning “just notes.”

Ornaments

To my mind, there are basically three ways to perform the trill in m. 21, as I have shown in Example 7. I don’t see too many opportunities in the piece for adding extra ornaments, except perhaps at the very end: The rests between those dramatic chords over the chromatically descending bass could be filled out a bit. I’m not sure that I would do this or necessarily recommend it to students, but many people seem to like this kind of thing, and it’s always good to have as many arrows on your bow as possible. So Example 8 shows what I might do in a concert after a good glass of German wine (or after a service with lots of incense).

Tempo and Registration

The piece is intended for organo pleno, as indicated in the title. A big pleno registration—Principals 16’, 8’, 4’, 22⁄3’, 2’, Mixtures and optional Sesquialtera on all manuals, reinforced in the Pedal by Posaune 16’ and Trompete 8’—will work very well, but a smaller registration—say, Principals 8’, 4’, 2’, with a 16’ in the Pedal—can be equally fitting, depending on the situation. One may be inclined to take the tempo a little slower with the big pleno sound and a touch faster with a smaller registration; likewise, one will probably take a bit more time in a big church with cathedral acoustics than in a small hall with little reverberation. Try to find a tempo that works well for all “sections” of the piece: the broken chords in the beginning, the “canonic” section in the middle, and the dramatic chords of the coda.

Gavin Black is the Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached at [email protected].

Some thoughts on ornaments I
The playing of ornaments is one of those areas that many—maybe most—students find intimidating. This is only partly because it can be genuinely difficult. It certainly can be difficult, although, like most physical tasks, it can be made much less so through the right kind of technical preparation and through an adequate amount of well-targeted practice. The intimidation factor with ornamentation comes, I believe, mostly from a fear of getting it wrong. There seems to be so much data about how this kind of trill was played in Italy in 1620 or how that kind of appoggiatura was played in Austria in the early nineteenth century that it can seem impossible to keep up with it all. One well-known book on ornamentation is nearly 600 pages long, and that is just one book of very many. Also, impeccably credentialed experts on the subject can disagree. It is easy, looking at a piece of music, to know what the “regular” notes are, though of course it may not be easy to play them. But it is not necessarily easy, or even possible, to know for sure what the notes of ornaments are or what the exact rhythmic shape of a given ornament should be. It is also a common experience for even very talented and “advanced” students to feel that they have learned to play certain ornaments, but that those ornaments just don’t sound very good. This is always frustrating, and extraordinarily so when it happens more or less all the time.
I believe that part of this frustration comes from, or is made worse by, a confusion among some of these issues. That is, students often assume that their ornaments sound bad because they don’t know what the notes of those ornaments should be, or they have gotten something else wrong in the realm of the historical or the musicological, when in fact they sound bad because the execution is awkward or the preparation before the ornament itself is wrong. It may be important to know whether a given trill should start on the main note or the upper note, or how long or how fast it should be, or whether a certain appoggiatura should be long or short. However, any of the above should be able to sound good—natural, fluid, graceful—whether or not it is the correct interpretation of the composer’s intent. It is important to sort these different aspects of playing ornaments out from one another in order to be able to work effectively on learning to play ornaments well.

So, let us consider several issues.
First of all, what is an ornament? On one level an ornament is a note pattern indicated by a sign, rather than by notes as such. If, for example, the three notes c–b–c are indicated by ordinary notes, they amount to an ordinary bit of music, a phrase or perhaps part of one. If those same notes are indicated—as they could be—by a mordent sign on the note c, then that entity is an ornament. Likewise, the three notes c–d–e could be indicated by three ordinary notes or by the note e with the sign for a slide, or the notes d–c–d–c–d–c by six notes or by a trill sign over the note c. This is basic and well known. So, what is the difference between notes indicated by an ornament sign and the same notes written out? Sometimes there might be little or no difference. In fact, there are plenty of pieces in the repertoire with parallel passages in which the same notes are one time written out and another time marked by ornament signs, with no reason to believe that they should be different one time from the other. (This may make it appear that our distinction between ornaments and other notes is at least sometimes arbitrary. This is true, and actually can be helpful in teaching students to play ornaments well and to be comfortable playing them. A significant part of the fear of ornaments comes specifically from identifying them as ornaments, as something other than just some notes to play.) However, when there is a difference, it is likely to be that notes indicated by ornament signs are meant to be quick and light or to deviate subtly from any rhythm that could be spelled out by notes in our rather simple system of rhythmic notation, or both of these.
In fact, from the point of view of execution or performance, ornaments are simply “quick, light notes” or perhaps the greatest exemplar of that kind of passage. This means that playing ornaments well can be achieved by applying the same kind of light, fluid touch that is in fact best for playing any note patterns on the organ. It also means that working on playing ornaments effectively can be one of the best ways of improving lightness of touch and freedom from tension in all playing.
There is an exercise that I use with students that I refer to as a trill exercise. It is extraordinarily effective at helping a player to develop the right kind of touch for playing trills. However, it is equally useful for teaching a light touch for any kind of fast playing, including both non-trill ornaments and any other kind of rapid passage. (It is in fact the only actual exercise that I normally suggest to students, given that in general I believe that it is best to practice pieces or note patterns drawn from pieces.)

A trill exercise
This exercise is not written in music notation, and, although it involves playing notes at the keyboard, it is really a kind of relaxation/breathing/meditation exercise. It can be carried out at the organ or at the harpsichord. It can also work on the piano, as long as the player remembers not to care about producing a robust or loud sound. It goes like this:
1) Sit at the keyboard, and identify the place on the keyboard where each hand can meet the keys with the arm, wrist, hand, and fingers more or less in a straight line. This is usually at the notes written near the top of the treble clef for the right hand and at the notes near the bottom of the bass clef for the left hand, though it varies a bit from one person to another. It is fine to let the elbows float away from the sides. If you are sitting at an instrument with more than one keyboard, choose the keyboard that it is most natural and comfortable to reach.
2) Pick two adjacent (natural) notes and two fingers. Initially it is a good idea to use adjacent and “good” fingers, perhaps 2–3 or 3–4. Later it is fine to do the exercise with any pair of fingers with which you might ever want to play a trill. The two notes should feel as similar to each other as possible. On many organs this is not an issue, though it is on some. It certainly is an issue on many harpsichords. Choose a quiet registration: a Gedeckt or Dulciana, perhaps, or, on a harpsichord, one 8-foot stop by itself.
3) Play one of the notes lightly and comfortably with the finger assigned to it, and hold the note. While holding this note, let your hand relax as much—as thoroughly—as you possibly can. This can be aided by moving the arm around a bit in the air—still holding the note—or by flexing the wrist a little bit, up and down, or by taking calm deep breaths. When you feel that your hand is fully relaxed:
4) Play the other note and then the first note again, as quickly and as lightly as you can. As you do this, you should have as little as possible of a feeling that your hand is bearing down into the keys. Instead, it should feel as if the hand is almost floating up and away—just failing to do so enough to allow the fingers to play the notes that they are trying to play.
5) After you have played these two rapid notes, you will notice that your hand has lost at least a little bit of its relaxation, that it has picked up a bit of tension or at least a bit more muscle tone than it had just before playing those two notes. So, the next step is, while continuing to hold the note that you are holding, again wait for your hand to become fully relaxed. You should then repeat the process described above, that is, the rapid playing of two notes. It can be repeated several times—four or five, maybe up to a dozen. It should never happen according to a beat or a schedule. Each time, while holding the note chosen as the first note, you must wait until your hand is perfectly relaxed before executing the rapid two-note gesture for the next time.
6) After doing this several times in a row, do the same thing but start with the other note and the other finger.
This exercise should be done with each hand, with various combinations of fingers. It is not a good idea to segue directly from doing this exercise to practicing or playing a trill or any other note pattern. Rather, it should simply be done by itself, perhaps for ten minutes or so at some point—or at two different points—during each practice session. Then, when actually practicing or trying to play a given trill (or other rapid ornament or other rapid passage), the idea is to remember and recapture the feeling in the hand, wrist, arm, shoulders, and body that you experienced during this exercise.
I have never known this exercise to fail to help a student, or any player, beginner or advanced, who spent some time with it. It can be used not just to develop a better feeling for the touch of trills, but also to train recalcitrant fingers to play trills and to play rapidly with control. In particular, it is very fruitful to do this exercise with 4–5, after having first done it with more “normal” trill fingers. Almost everyone I know believes that he or she “can’t” play trills with those fingers. In fact, almost everyone can after having applied this exercise to the task.
(I should mention that the original idea behind this exercise was suggested to me by my friend the late David Margeson in the early 1980s when he was a graduate student in organ at Yale. I have refined the idea and adapted it somewhat to the specifics of organ and harpsichord.)

Fingerings
A real necessity in playing ornaments well is planning good fingerings. This has several elements to it. First, of course, is choosing fingers for the notes of the ornament itself. In spite of the claim I made just above, it is a good idea to use the “best” fingers whenever possible. For most people, these are the middle three fingers, or indeed specifically 2 and 3. It is a good idea to use whatever fingers the player is most comfortable with—why compound difficulty by not doing so?—but it is also important not to be so tied to those fingers that passages before and after an ornament end up suffering from convoluted and unnecessarily difficult fingerings. For example, a player who can only play trills or rapid mordents with 2–3 will frequently get into trouble of this sort. A player who is also comfortable using 3–4 will get into much less trouble. Fingerings such as 4–5, 1–2, 1–3 are also useful, though the actual need for them arises less often. A consideration in choosing fingering for an ornament should always be the effect of that fingering on hand position and, in particular, the ability of the player to keep the fingers from migrating too deeply into the keyboard. So, for example, if one note of an ornament is a raised key and the other a natural, then it is wonderful to end up playing the raised note with 3 and the natural with 2 or 4 as appropriate. Reversing this leads to some kind of awkward hand position, and thus makes it harder to maintain a light, comfortable touch. The logistics of this vary at different points along the compass of the keyboard and also from one player to another depending on the relative lengths of the different fingers. The important thing is to remember to pay attention to the hand position that results from a fingering choice with an ornament.
If the note immediately before an ornament is the same note that actually begins the ornament, it is very important indeed to play the two successive iterations of that note with different fingers. This is an approach that I always prefer with repeated notes (see The Diapason, January 2009), but for preparing ornaments it is especially crucial. This is because, again, a light touch and a relaxed hand are absolutely essential to playing ornaments in a way that feels and sounds good. It is very common for a trill that should begin with the upper note to be preceded by that same note. The best way to work out this fingering is to decide first on the best fingering for the trill, based on the player/student’s preferences and on the logistics of the particular notes, then select a finger to play the preceding (same) note from among the fingers not designated to play the first note of the trill. This choice should be made based on the shape of the passage leading into the trill. If it is impossible to make that passage work without using the same finger for the final note before the trill and for the note that starts the trill itself, then the trill fingering should be changed if at all possible. I have very rarely indeed been unable to devise a good solution in this very common situation—perhaps never. The point for the teacher to make to the student is that it is both fairly easy to work this out and abundantly worth doing so. Awkward starts to trills are usually the result of simply not having thought out the fingering both of the trill itself and (especially) of the notes leading into the trill.
It is also very common for the note before an appoggiatura to be the same as the note of the appoggiatura itself. In this situation, using different fingers for the two iterations of that note will not only make the whole pattern of notes sound more natural and give greater control over timing and articulation, but it will specifically create the right accent relationship amongst the three notes: the note before the appoggiatura, the appoggiatura itself, and the note following it (the “main” note). Trying this example with each of the indicated fingerings (both for the right hand) can make this difference seem clear.
One of my frequent chamber music colleagues recently made the following comment to me about a (non-keyboard) musician with whom we both play a lot: “I’ve figured out why so-and-so’s ornaments always sound so good. He plays them quietly.” The above discussion about fingering and the suggested exercise are essentially aimed at helping students to develop an organ and harpsichord equivalent of playing ornaments quietly. Next month I will deal with the sometimes vexing questions about what the notes and rhythms of ornaments should be—on the beat or before, starting on main or auxiliary notes, and so on. I will also address how to use that information to help students feel freer in their playing of ornaments rather than more constrained, and how to help them approach the subject creatively. 

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Boëllmann Suite Gothique, Part 5: Toccata
In this month’s column we look at some aspects of the fourth and last movement of Boëllmann’s Suite Gothique, the Toccata. This is the last column in this series to deal in detail with a specific movement. Next month’s column will wrap up the yearlong series with a discussion of some general points.
The Toccata is probably the best-known and most popular movement of the Suite Gothique. (One singularly modern measure of popularity suggests that it is: it has far more entries on
YouTube than any of the other movements.) It is a true perpetuum mobile, in that there is one note value (in this case the sixteenth note) that is both always present and never superseded by a quicker note value—that is, until the last several measures, where the intensity is ramped up for a dramatic ending. The relentlessness of those sixteenth notes, along with a sense that the piece at least comes across as being difficult to play—virtuosic—is part of what makes it fit the genre of “toccata” as that genre was understood in the late nineteenth century. There are, of course, other organ toccatas from about the same time as the Boëllmann that are constructed similarly, in particular the work by Boëllmann’s mentor Eugène Gigout—the Toccata in B Minor from 1890—and the famous Widor Toccata from 1879.
It is interesting to remember that in the Baroque period, the word “toccata” was understood entirely differently. A toccata was a piece in several sections, with contrast between the sections. The Buxtehude Praeludium that is the other subject of these columns is in toccata form, though under a different name. Whereas we sometimes think of a toccata as a piece that is meant to show off virtuosity, in the sense of speed, dexterity and general flashiness, originally the word denoted a piece that was meant to show off the variety of possibilities inherent in a keyboard instrument. Of course in this Boëllmann Suite, the work as a whole, amongst all of its movements, shows off a generous subset of what the organ of the composer’s time could do, with different textures being assigned to different movements rather than to different sections of a continuous piece.

Textures
The sixteenth-note perpetuum mobile of this movement manifests itself in three different specific textures, with slight variants. The first texture, found initially in the opening, occupies about 55 measures out of the total of 111 (Example 1). The second texture involves the sixteenth notes’ moving to the left hand and the introduction of syncopation (Example 2). This texture is present in 32 measures. In both of these textures, the sixteenth notes are in chord patterns and remain within one hand-span. That is, the hand does not have to turn over to reach the notes of each chord shape. This is a crucial factor in the technical learning of the movement. The third texture displays more variety within itself. It first shows up in measure 26 (Example 3). With its variants, it accounts for 18 measures, only three of which occur before measure 67. It more or less takes over the ending of the piece.
Each of these three textures is first introduced in a manuals-only passage. The pedal, whenever it comes in, is providing slower-moving motifs, starting with what most listeners familiar with the piece would probably identify as the principal theme (Example 4). This theme returns several times, sometimes as is, sometimes in octaves. Other than this, the pedal provides quarter-note or slower harmonic foundation.

Hand placement
What from amongst these initial observations about texture might have interesting implications for learning the piece? Several things stand out.
Although the two hands are never meant to be played on separate manuals (all of the several manual changes, at m. 20, 28, 35, 53, 61, etc., involve moving the whole texture to a new keyboard), there is never any ambiguity about which hand should play which notes. I have scarcely ever seen a piece about which I would so confidently predict that every player would make the same hand choice decisions. The hand choice that makes sense is that represented by the placement of notes on staves in the Durand edition (and for that matter every other edition that I have seen). There are a very few spots where it would not be actually impossible to take an isolated left hand note in the right hand—the first note of m. 10, a few notes in m. 20 and similar passages—but it would always be awkward. This is interesting, since working out hand choices has been a focus of our discussion of several of the previous movements of the Boëllmann and also of the Buxtehude. It is a step that is just not relevant here.
For the majority of the quarter-note beats of this piece, each hand is playing a chord shape that fits under the hand without a change of hand position. Each of the manual examples above illustrates this. (In two beats of Example 3, the right hand’s notes are not chord shapes: this is the exception. In any case, the notes fit under the hand without a shift in hand position.) This means that fingering choices are also subject to less variation than usual, though not as little variation as the hand choices.
Most of these quarter-note-long chord-shaped note patterns succeed one another without the need for any planning. That is, the transition from one to the next is self-evident or, at least, straightforward. This manifests itself in different ways. For the long stretches of the left hand that resemble Example 1—eighth-note chords separated by eighth-note rests, or, looking at it another way, detached quarter-note chords—it is obvious that the rests give the hand an opportunity to regroup between chords and to play each chord with whatever fingering is simply the most comfortable. Furthermore, the chords are never very distant from one another on the keyboard. There are no scary leaps.
When the right hand has the pattern of the beginning measures, the transition from the last note of one (spread out) chord shape to the next is also easy. This is because the new beat begins in the direction in which the hand is already deployed, and the first note of the new beat is never too far away. After the thumb has played the fourth right-hand note of the piece, for example, the hand could easily play any note from c#′ to, say, e′′′. The actual next note, g′′, is extremely easy to find. It lies right under a finger, the fourth or fifth, most likely. This situation is repeated throughout the piece. If the fifth right-hand note of the piece were a middle C, for example, then the fingering and execution of that spot would go from being natural and easy to being extremely difficult. It would require careful planning and a lot of practice, and would indeed set a lower ceiling on tempo. If that note were a very high note, say a′′′ or even c′′′′, then the logistics and planning would still be straightforward but the execution would be much more difficult.
When the left hand has spread-out chords, as in Example 2, those chords are also arranged in a way that lends itself to simple and predictable fingering, much like the opening right-hand motif, though the specific chord shapes are different. In many of these measures—mm. 20, 22, 24, 28 and several similar spots—the right hand has mostly scale-wise quarter-note or slower melodies for which fingering is again straightforward. However, in a few places—mm. 26, 34, 59, and quite a few measures near the end of the piece—there is a new element. The right hand has to play a legato melody in the top part of the compass while playing sixteenth notes below that melody. This is seen in Example 3. These are the spots in the piece where the fingering becomes somewhat involved. The solution, assuming that the legato of the upper line is to be preserved, is to use substitution in those upper notes, so that each note can be played by the most available finger and then held by the fifth finger. This leaves the rest of the hand free to carry out the sixteenth-note patterns (Example 5).
(Of course this is just one way of doing it, based, as usual, on my particular hand. Others might want to use 2/5 on the first beat of the new measure, for example.)
So, this piece—at least the manual part of it—is constructed out of surprisingly simple elements, easy to plan out as to fingering and also easy to execute. That does not mean that a student can play it well without working hard on it. For one thing, the coordination with the pedal is potentially quite challenging; for another, it is all meant to go quite fast—fast enough that it ceases to be easy, even though it is made up of easy elements. In fact, any student should be over-conscientious about mapping out the fingering for all of these simple elements, and also should practice all of the parts amply: short sections, one hand at a time, until each hand for each section has become second nature. Only then should the hands be put together. This is in principle exactly the same as with any other piece.

Pedal part
The pedal part, unlike the hands, does provide the opportunity to make choices that will vary among different players. The opening pedal theme (Example 4) can be played with alternate toes and come out as legato as the player might wish. This way of playing it feels quite natural. Furthermore, there are no indications for use of the swell pedal or other non-note-playing uses of the feet during the passages in which the pedal plays this theme. However, there are also a number of different heel-and-toe-based pedalings that could also make sense. Given the time and place of the creation of this piece, any of the above could represent the composer’s assumptions about how it might be played. Since it is important that this theme be played easily with spontaneity, it is key that the student feel comfortable with the chosen pedaling.
During the middle measures of the piece, the pedal line is often a harmonically based quarter-note bass line. Again, the pedaling can be worked out a number of different ways, none of them particularly complicated. For example, in mm. 29 and 31 the third-beat quarter note can be played with right heel or left toe, consistent with its being legato. Or the choice could be made to play the quarter notes detached, in which case all of the quarter notes could be played with the right toe.
Measures 73–75 are a particularly interesting case. Clearly, the higher notes will all be played with the right foot and the lower notes with the left. The choice as to whether to get the heels involved will be based on personal preference and also on the intended articulation. These notes have no articulation marked. The overall sound and texture at this point in the piece is loud and energetic. Are these notes an energetic driving bass, or a kind of quasi misterioso chromatic near-trill? Or something else? Choices about articulation here will possibly depend in part on acoustics. This is a good place for a student to try different things and listen carefully to different effects.
Near the end of the piece, the opening pedal theme comes back in octaves. (This starts in m. 85.) Needless to say, by physical necessity, the left foot will play the lower octave and the right foot will play the upper. And again, choices about toe and heel will be made based on both personal preference about technique and decisions about articulation. If the student has conceived the theme as legato from the beginning, then it perhaps makes sense to play it legato here. However, the fact that the texture here is very loud and emphatic might suggest a somewhat more emphatic articulation. On the other hand, the composer has altered the upper line, changing it from sixteenth notes to quarter notes (Example 6). What does this suggest about the pedal articulation? This is another place where it would be interesting for a student to try different things and listen carefully.

Pedals in octaves
There are two things to mention about practicing a pedal part that is in octaves. The first is that, all else being equal, it is easier both to learn the part and to execute it in performance if the toe and heel choices are the same for both feet. This is certainly not absolutely necessary, but it will happen naturally here, since the black note/white note patterns largely determine the heel placement. The second thing—more crucial—is that practicing the feet separately is useful and important. Doing enough of that will make everything about putting all of the parts together easier and more secure. The protocol for practicing a passage like this should include practicing each foot separately with each (separate) hand, as well as the feet as a unit with each hand. Probably practicing each foot separately with the left hand is the most important component of practicing the passage.

Crescendo marking
The composer has, rather considerately, limited crescendo marking (mostly, see m. 76) to places where the pedal line is both low and slow. That makes it as easy as it can be to choreograph the use of the swell pedal or, on a modern organ, of the toe studs or the crescendo pedal. This should be incorporated into the separate pedal practicing from the beginning, not left to the step of putting parts together.

Practice strategies
It is always important to practice parts and combinations of parts thoroughly enough so at each step of the way the material being practiced becomes easy and natural. A specific reason that it is important to do so with this piece is that it is meant to go fast. Of course, no one must play it at the given metronome marking. It can be very effective slower than that, and also faster if it is executed well. However, at any tempo, it is important that the feeling of the piece not be at all deliberate, that it trip along lightly but—as it goes on—powerfully. In particular, it is important that the quick upbeat notes in the pedal part slip into the stream of sixteenth notes in the right hand in a way that has energy and momentum, and doesn’t interrupt the flow of those notes. This can be achieved only if everything is very solidly—extra solidly—prepared.
This ends our trek through some aspects of the study and practicing of two very different important works of the organ repertoire. Next month I will give an overview of what we have learned and observed, and try to draw some general conclusions.

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Buxtehude BuxWV 141—Part 4:
Free writing and trillo longo—mm. 51–59
This month’s column is about just a little bit of music—the third overall section of the Praeludium, nine measures long, mm. 51–59. I will provide some analysis of the passage, and offer some thoughts and suggestions about fingering and pedaling.

The Praeludium that we are studying is, as I discussed in the column from June 2010, a one-movement work in several sections. There is both contrast and continuity amongst the sections. Sources of contrast are clear. Some sections are contrapuntal, some are not; some are regular in pulse and rhythm, some are free or essentially unmeasured; some use striking dissonance, some avoid it. Sources of continuity can be more elusive, but can include the use of similar motivic material, or recurring rhythms or harmonies. This is the classic form of the toccata or praeludium as practiced by Frescobaldi and Froberger, among others, and adopted and adapted by Buxtehude as the form of his organ praeludia. It was also used by Bach for organ and harpsichord pieces that we know or believe to come from early in his career: most of the harpsichord toccatas, the famous D-minor organ toccata, BWV 565, and some of the preludes and fugues such as BWV 551.
The section that we are looking at here is essentially non-contrapuntal, in that the writing is not in a set number of voices, although, as we will see, there are recurrent motives. There are fairly quick changes of texture, from one voice in m. 51 and elsewhere to four and five later. Chords are built up out of passagework. There are abrupt changes in the prevailing note values, as in m. 52, which starts with 32nd notes and then somewhat surprisingly sits on the third quarter-note beat with no motion. The lowest notes make up a true pedal part (always a question with Buxtehude, since the sources don’t make it clear, and also since the relationship between the sources and Buxtehude’s original intentions is not always known), since there are stretches that cannot be executed by two hands alone.

Four-note motive
In the following example, some of the notes have been highlighted with either rectangular or oval outlines (see Example 1). The rectangular outlines indicate either an exact form—nine instances, including inversions—or a plausible variant—six instances—of the four-note motive that begins the entire praeludium (see Example 2). This motive is found in crucial spots throughout the praeludium, sometimes as a marker of transitions or important moments, sometimes as part of “officially” motivic material, such as the second half of the fugue subject of the final section of the piece. The section that we are looking at here is clearly chock full of this short motive—it is present almost exactly half the time. This is one of the sources of continuity between this section and the rest of the praeludium.
It could well be argued that this motive is too simple, too ordinary, to count as a real, identifiable motive, or to serve as a source of continuity or unity within a piece. After all, every piece has plenty of short scale passages, and this one in particular is introduced in the most casual possible way. However, it seems to me that if the composer had not intended it to be heard, perhaps subliminally, as a significant motive, then we would not be able to find it quite so consistently through the whole piece. In any case, we do find it, and each teacher and each student—having initially noticed it—can muse about how significant it really is, and decide for him- or herself.

Connections
The second element of this short section that ties it to the rest of the piece is the cluster of notes in the first half of m. 57, highlighted with an oval box. This is a foreshadowing of the fugue subject of the last section of the praeludium (see Example 3), especially as that subject appears when it is in parallel with itself. This happens in several places, such as m. 104, for example (see Example 4).
This section is also clearly related to the rest of the piece by its similarities to the transitional passage that constitutes the end of the second overall section of the piece and that therefore comes just before this section. This transition occupies mm. 47–50. It arises out of the fugue that precedes it without break or interruption. The fugal texture just gives way to non-contrapuntal writing with passagework and built-up quasi-arpeggio chords. This texture resembles that of mm. 51–59, although it has the feeling of both a cadence and coda to the long fugue that has preceded it. The flourish that ends the transitional passage and the pedal solo that begins the third section are more or less versions of each other (see Examples 5 and 6).
(A similar way of linking the end of one section to the beginning of the next was employed by Bach in, for example, the Toccata in C Major, at the transition between the opening manual solo and the ensuing pedal solo, where the first four pedal notes seem to answer the last four manual notes [see Example 7], and in the F-major Toccata and Fugue, where the very last notes of the toccata are echoed in the mordent that begins the fugue subject.)

Trillo longo
One interesting feature of this passage is the use of the term trillo longo, placed over two spots in the pedal part, as seen in Example 1. Of course it seems obvious, on one level, what this term means: long trill. And in both instances it is written above notes that are in the shape of a trill, one that begins on the lower of its two notes. One surprising discovery about this term—trillo longo—is that there is no evidence that it was ever in common use as a technical musical term or as a piece of accepted musical jargon. A bit of research reveals that it is not listed as a musical term in any music dictionary or encyclopedia, and there are no papers or articles that discuss it as a term or that mention any piece in the entire history of music that uses it as a term, other than this piece. (A Google search on the term “trillo longo” returns seven results, one of them about a piece that does not in fact use the term, and all of the other six about this passage. Included in these search results is one prior column in this series.)
So if this term was not in particularly common use—even if its basic meaning is clear—why did Buxtehude (or his copyist: we can’t be sure) use it here? Was he simply observing that the printed notes constitute a “long trill”? Or was he instructing the player to execute a long trill beyond what the notes indicate? If so, is this to be accomplished by adding notes and time, or by adding notes and making them faster? Does the designation of a group of 32nd notes as a “long trill” suggest that they can or should be played freely, or given some particular grouping or shape? (For example, the 16th-note B that falls on “the ‘and’ of three” in m. 51 could be thought of as the beginning of a trill, and the 16th-note/32nd-note rhythm rendered freely, as the gradual beginning of the trill.) Or was he just reminding the player to resist the temptation to shorten or omit or simplify the trill due to its being in the pedal, and therefore tricky to execute? Here’s another possibility: perhaps Buxtehude wanted to employ some Italian language at this point to signify that the trills in question were Italian-style trills, that is, trills beginning on the main note.
I don’t know the answers to these questions, or whether any of these thoughts really apply. I throw them out there for the student—or teacher—to muse about. Meanwhile, the “long trill” continues to be important as the section goes along, especially as manifested by the (very long) trill in one of the inner voices in m. 56. In this spot, unlike in mm. 51, 53, 55, and 57, the trill is accompanied throughout by motion in other voices. This is also the measure in this passage that is in five voices—and five notes are actually sounding throughout the measure—therefore it is literally the loudest measure within this section. It has the largest number of total notes played of any measure at 32. (The following measure is second at 29.) All of this suggests that this measure might be the rhetorical climax or high point of the section. The major interpretive or performance issue in this measure concerns the trill. Should the notes that follow the pattern of a trill on E and D-sharp be played “as written,” that is, as more or less measured 32nd notes, or should they be untethered from that timing and played as a fairly free trill? The latter is, to put it plainly, harder. It requires that the trill pattern be learned and practiced so well that the fingers can execute it while the mind of the player is, in a sense, ignoring it. The player must let those notes go their own way rhythmically and concentrate on playing the other—right hand—notes in the desired rhythm, regardless of how those notes do or don’t line up with the notes of the trill. In any case, the student or player should initially practice the notes of this trill in the “as written” rhythm, learning them more and more securely while thinking about whether to try to set them free from the printed rhythm.

Pedaling
Pedalings in this passage are mostly straightforward. That is, there are easy pedaling solutions involving toes—mostly alternate toes—as would have been the norm in Buxtehude’s time. A possible pedaling—along with some fingering—is suggested in Example 8. The pedal notes marked with asterisks are (some of?) those that could very easily be played with heel if a player is so inclined, either because that happens to be more comfortable for the particular player or to avoid a disjunct articulation at those spots. (Just for the record, I believe that I have usually used the left heel on the asterisked note in m. 51, where my particular posture makes it extremely comfortable and natural to do so, but not on the one in m. 53.) The transaction that takes place between the second and third pedal notes of m. 51 (G# and F#) is interesting. The articulation created by simply using the right toe for both notes, as I have indicated it, is natural and “musical” in that it precedes a note that is on a beat, and confers a slight accent on that note.
However, if in a particular player’s conception of the passage that articulation seems jarring, then it is difficult (but probably not impossible) to figure out a way to avoid it that works. Players with very wide feet can play the G# with the extreme outside of the right toe and rotate the foot in order to play the F# with the inside of the foot—the big toe. Some players might be comfortable initially catching the F# with the left toe and quickly substituting the right toe, in order to free the left toe up to aim for the following note. It is hard to picture getting the heel involved since we are dealing with black notes. It is very possible to turn the logic of this around and say that since it is so much more natural to use a pedaling here that creates an articulation, perhaps that is how the passage was meant to be played.

Fingering
As always, the first step in creating a fingering is to figure out, where there is any possible doubt, which notes belong in which hand. I have indicated some “handing” choices in the example above, using curved lines. There are several other options. For example, it would be possible to take the 16th notes on the second beat of m. 52 in the left hand, or the B# and C# in the second beat of m. 54 in the right hand. In the third beat of m. 57, I have suggested taking the G# in the left hand. This is because I would find it extremely awkward to play the remaining upper-voice notes of that measure while holding the G#, all in the right hand. However, reaching the E/G# dyad with the left hand is indeed also tricky. It certainly involves a break immediately before those notes, and must be practiced carefully to avoid making that break sound jarring or abrupt.
I have included only a few fingerings as examples. Any of them can also be done a number of other ways. For example, changing the numerals printed above the upper staff in m. 52 from 2-3-4-5-4 to 2-3-1-4-5 would result in an also very good fingering (leaving the other fingers the same). In the right hand in m. 53 the fingering could be (instead of 4-3-1-2-1-4-3) 5-4-3-2-3-4-3 or 4-3-1-3-4-5-2 or a number of other possibilities. For that matter either or both D#’s could be taken in the left hand. Comfortable hand position is the main guiding principle, and this is something that varies from player to player, based on posture and the size and shape of the hands.
Notice, however, that in all of these (m. 53) examples I am carefully preserving the use of a different finger to repeat the D# from the one that is already holding it. The suggested fingering for the right hand in m. 56 is also designed to use different fingers on repeated notes. By and large, it is a good idea to keep the thumb off of black keys. In fact, the most physiologically comfortable use of the thumb at the keyboard is for playing white notes just before or just after another finger has played a black note. Much of my approach to fingering a passage like this—in a heavily “black note” key—is derived from this concept of the use of the thumb. This can be seen in essentially all of the fingerings that I have written in here.
The student and teacher can try some of my fingerings, but should primarily work fingerings out from scratch, bearing in mind the ideas discussed above. Then, of course, the next step is what it always is: careful and patient practice, starting with separate hands and feet—doing as much of that as turns out to be needed, better too much then too little—then putting things together at a comfortably slow tempo, speeding up gradually, keeping the hands and feet relaxed.
Next month we will return to Boëllmann, looking at the charismatic and popular Menuet Gothique.

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Buxtehude BuxWV 141 – Part 3: Practicing the first fugal section
This month we return to the Buxtehude Praeludium in E Major, BuxWV 141, looking at the second section of the piece, which begins at m. 13 and goes through about m. 50. This—except for its last three measures or so, which are a transitional passage, cadential in nature, and which we will in the main discuss next month—is a contrapuntal, essentially fugal, section, a fact which has implications for studying, practicing, and learning the music. Much of what I will suggest here will involve revisiting the ideas that I discussed in the series of columns about counterpoint that began in September 2008, applying those ideas to this specific passage.
The fugal section that begins in m. 13 is in four voices. The musical text could by and large be written out on four staves, accounting for all of the notes, with each staff presenting a coherently “melodic” melody. (It departs from this briefly in mm. 32–33 with the addition of a few “extra” notes, and again in the transitional passage.) The voices behave like the voices of a contrapuntal piece: each of the four voices has a different compass, each of the voices is present most of the time but not all of the time, and, melodically, the voices do the same things at different times and different things at the same time. The section is “fugal” in that the voices enter one at a time, each with a version of the same theme, and that theme recurs a lot during the section.

Theme
This theme is as follows, in its first iteration:

It enters first in the top voice, and then in the other voices in descending order. It is present in 24 of the measures of the section, and a motive identical to the second half of this fugue subject is present in another 3½ or 4 measures. The longest stretch without any of this theme present—prior to the transitional/cadential section at the end—is about one measure.
(There is an interesting side note about this theme, one that in a sense is irrelevant to the piece on its own terms because of the chronology, but which should be intriguing to organists nonetheless. The first half of the theme is the same as the fugue subject of Bach’s Fugue in E-flat Major, BWV 552, and the second half of the Buxtehude theme is essentially the same as a recurrent pedal motive in the Prelude, BWV 552. This Buxtehude work seems like a more likely source of Bach’s inspiration for the so-called “St. Anne” Prelude and Fugue than is William Croft’s hymn tune, which Bach most likely never heard.)

Bass voice in pedal?
The first practical question about working on this section is whether or not the bass voice belongs in the pedal. This is often a question with Buxtehude, since the sources for his music do not often indicate pedal explicitly, and in any case are rather far removed in origin from the composer. In this section, there are several reasons to believe that the bass voice was indeed intended as a pedal part. First, it works on the pedal keyboard, and, in order to make it work, the composer has shaped it a little bit differently from any of the three other voices. That is, there is no scale-wise writing in the bass voice that is any faster than the eighth-note, whereas there is such writing in each of the other voices. Second, there are many places in this passage where it is awkward to play all four of the voices in the hands and where the fingering is much more natural without the lowest voice. (This is true, for example, in m. 33 or mm. 42–43.)
There is, as far as I can see, only one spot prior to the transitional/cadential section where it is actually impossible to play all four voices in the hands, namely the second eighth note of m. 44. Someone else might be able to find a clever way to make it work, and it is certainly possible to do so by fudging the duration of some of the longer notes. (Someone with larger hands than mine would have no trouble with it, but the stretch of a tenth is beyond what is normally found in music of this time.) Furthermore, the transitional section ending in m. 50 certainly requires pedal—really physically requires it—and there is no particularly good place to shift the bass line to the pedal if that line has been played in the hands from m. 20 on. So on balance this seems to me to be a section to be played with pedal.
(The closing fugue of the Praeludium in E Minor, BuxWV 142, presents an interestingly different picture. There the fingering is made dramatically easier, more natural, and more idiomatic to the organ playing of the time by not including the bass voice in what the hands are expected to play. However, at the same time the bass line itself is, if not unplayable in the pedal, still extraordinarily difficult and well outside what would have been the norm at the time.)

Learning protocol
The protocol for learning this fugal section starts with the approach that I outlined in the columns on counterpoint mentioned above; that is, playing through each voice separately and then playing pairs of voices. Here are some specific points about applying that approach to this passage:
1) The section that we are looking at is about 34 measures long—long enough that it should be broken up into smaller sections for this kind of practicing. It doesn’t really matter how it is broken up. It is fine to practice separate voices and pairs of voices in chunks of just a few measures, or in significantly larger chunks. One average way to do it would be to have breaks at around m. 23 and at around m. 36. Each voice will naturally break at a slightly different place. So, for example, it would make sense to play the soprano voice from m. 13 to m. 20, the alto from m. 15 to the middle of m. 23, the tenor from m. 17 through the first beat of m. 25, and the bass from m. 20 through m. 24. Then these sections of these voices can be combined in pairs.
2) When playing individual voices, it is fine to finger those voices in ways that will not be used when later putting the voices together. This is especially necessary and important with inner voices—typically the alto voice in a piece or passage that has three voices in the hands. Such an inner voice will almost certainly end up migrating from one hand to the other. However, at this stage it is important to play each voice in a way that is comfortable and natural, and that makes it as easy as possible to hear that voice as a coherent melody. It is also necessary to be flexible about playing inner voices in either hand. So, of course, when putting soprano and alto together it will be necessary to play the alto in the left hand, but when putting alto together with tenor it will be necessary to play the alto in the right hand.
3) At this stage, it is also not necessary to play the pedal part in the pedals. Practicing the pedal line as a pedal line (see below) can come later or can start in parallel with this process of getting to know the voices. However, for carrying out this approach to learning the voices, just as it doesn’t matter what fingering is used, it also doesn’t matter whether the feet play the bass voice or the left hand does. The important thing is that the student be able to listen carefully and hear the voices well while playing them.
4) In putting voices together in pairs it is a good idea some of the time to play the two voices on two manuals, in order to hear them with extra clarity. This is especially useful when voices cross or, as for example with the soprano and alto voices at mm. 38–39, come very close. The two sounds should be similar in volume and different in character.

Pedaling
While studying individual voices and pairs of voices, it is emphatically not a good idea also to finger and practice the manual part of the texture. That will come a little bit later. It is perfectly fine to practice the pedal part, however. It is interesting that in this piece the pedaling choices are more straightforward, and in fact the pedal part is probably easier overall, in the more active fugue subject and subject fragments, than in the measures in which the pedal is playing long-held notes.
The fugue subject can easily be played with alternate toes, starting with the right foot; the subject fragment that occurs in m. 33 and elsewhere can also be played with alternate toes, starting with the left foot. These pedalings are natural enough that I would expect essentially every student or player to use them. (There are other possibilities: for example, using the same foot to play some of the successive quarter notes, or occasionally using heel to play some of the sixteenth notes that are on white keys when the immediately prior note was on an adjacent black key. On the whole, I doubt that many players would find these variants easier or better, but perhaps some would. They could certainly be OK.) This consistent alternate toe pedaling implies nothing in particular about articulation, phrasing, timing, or other interpretive/performance matters.
However, when the pedal part moves more slowly, particularly from m. 43 on, pedaling choices both affect and depend on choices about articulation. To the extent that the player prefers or can accept spaces between these long notes, he or she can apply the principal of playing each note with whatever foot happens to lie most comfortably above that note. As an example that would lead me to the following succession of toes for the eleven pedal notes beginning with the first note of m. 44 and going to the end of m. 50:
l-r-r-l-l-r-l-l-r-r-l
For someone else it might be a little bit different. Creating more legato in this passage would involve different pedaling choices—for example, crossing the left foot under to play the E in m. 44, and then playing the C# in m. 45 with the right foot.
Of course, practicing the pedal line once pedaling choices have been made involves the usual things: keep it slow and accurate; look at the feet as little as possible—ideally not at all; repeat small-enough passages that the memory of the feeling of the passage does not fade before you get back to it. When the pedal part has become secure, join it first to the tenor voice, then to the left hand part as such—once that has also been practiced as outlined below—then to the hands together. (Of course, it is fine also to practice pedal with right hand alone. However, as always, left hand and pedal is most important. Usually if left hand and pedal has been practiced enough, then adding the right hand is something that feels natural and almost easy.)
And do not forget what might be the cardinal rule of practicing: if you hear yourself make a wrong note while practicing, do not stop or hesitate or go back and correct it. By the time that your ears have heard the wrong note, your mind should already have moved on to playing the next note. Next time through the passage you can make sure to adjust what needs to be adjusted to correct what was wrong.

Fingering choices
Once you have played through all of the voices and all of the pairs of voices, it is time to work out a fingering for the three voices that will be in the hands. And, as I discussed in the column from last July, the first task is to decide which notes belong in which hand. This must come before making specific fingering choices, and it must be done in such a way as to make those fingering choices as easy and natural as possible. As I wrote before: I have seen students waste a lot of time or even make a passage that could be fairly easy almost unplayable by assigning notes to hands in a way that was awkward. However, there is not always only one good answer, and the answer is not the same, necessarily, for any two players.
In any situation in which three voices are present and the notes of the alto voice can be reached by either hand—that is, generally, in which neither the soprano notes nor the tenor notes are more than an octave away from the alto notes—the player can, in a pinch, try it both ways. Generally it is nice to put “extra” notes with whichever other voice is less active. So, in m. 19, for example, I would play the first three notes of the alto voice in the right hand since the tenor voice has sixteenth notes, but then play the half note E in the left hand, since the soprano voice then has sixteenth notes. In m. 24 I would play the one alto voice (whole) note in the right hand, even though the soprano voice notes are a bit farther away, since the tenor voice is more active; in m. 25, however, I would shift the alto voice to the left hand since the soprano voice become much more active. Again, these choices are not right and other choices wrong. It is simply very important that each player—each student perhaps with the help of a teacher—work this out carefully and patiently, in a way that feels right.
After the “handing” and fingering have been worked out, it is possible to try an interesting challenge, namely to play the alto voice alone with the correct fingering. This involves letting that voice move from one hand to the other according to the plan that has been worked out. The goal is to play it in such a way that it sounds as natural and cantabile as it would sound played in one hand. It is simultaneously harder to do this outside the cushion of the other voices and good practice for playing that voice well when it is partly obscured by the other voices.

Practice procedures
Practicing the three-voice manual texture of course follows the usual pattern for any practicing. Each hand should be practiced separately, slowly, until it seems easy. The tempo should be allowed to rise only according to a pace that is comfortable: once a passage is learned well at one tempo, it can be played a little bit faster; playing it much faster will often lead to its falling apart. Once each hand is solid at a given tempo, the two hands can be put together at a slower tempo. This can then also be allowed to speed up gradually. The rule about not stopping or hesitating when you hear yourself make a wrong note is always utterly important.
After a player or student has carried out all of the above—individual voices, pairs of voices, pedal part, individual hands, left hand with pedal, and all the rest—there is an interesting exercise to try. Play the section—well learned, all parts together—and consciously listen only to one voice at a time. This is easiest with the soprano voice, next easiest with whichever voice is the lowest at a given time, quite hard with a real inner voice. The ability to do this and also keep the whole thing going accurately and with a feeling of ease will help to reveal the fruits of studying the voices thoroughly and also test the solidity of the overall practicing of the notes.
Next month I will discuss both the transition measures 47–50 and the free section that follows, beginning in m. 51. ■