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Drawings of 18th-century organ façades by Vilnius organ builders, Part 1

Girenas Povilionis

Dr. Girenas Povilionis is associate professor at the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theater. He is a senior specialist at the Center for Culture Heritage, an organ historian, researcher and restorer, and gives lectures at the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theater and Grigalius Center for Church Music Studies. Since 2012 he has been a member of the Commission for the Certification of Movable Cultural Property Restorers. A more complete biography will appear with the part 2 of this series. For more information: www.vargonai.com.

Figure 1: drawing of organ façade number 18, 1763 (Old and Rare Books Department, Vilnius Academy of Arts Library, Inventory No. 3344)
Figure 1: drawing of organ façade number 18, 1763 (Old and Rare Books Department, Vilnius Academy of Arts Library, Inventory No. 3344)

Historical background

The Old and Rare Books Department at the library of Vilnius Academy of Arts, Lithuania, stores a unique collection of drawings and prints depicting works of art (e.g., altars) dating from the latter part of the eighteenth-century Ruzne rysunki.1 This leather-bound album of drawings is believed to have belonged to the altar maker Jonas Danauskas, as one of the pages contains his name and surname as well as the date 1878; there is a date inscription (1879 roku 24 lipca /July 24, 1879) on the inside back cover. Next to the date the drawings and prints are listed by the artistic style they represent, and a separate list of ten organ façade designs (numbers 6, 7, 9, 11, 13, 16, 18, 21, 23, and 25) is provided.

Judging from the different kinds of paper used to glue authentic drawings and prints as well as from the consistent and methodical style of list making and handwriting, similar to that of Danauskas, which the lists reveal, it can be assumed that the album was his. However, the altar maker most probably was not the first compiler of the collection; he just added his own altar drawings and other images to the old album of prints and drawings. Stamps on the front pages point to subsequent owners of the collection including Kaunas School of Arts (hardly legible), Kaunas Institute of Applied Arts, and from 1953, Vilnius Academy of Arts Library (the album has been part of the Old and Rare Books collection since 1992).

The album also includes some pages featuring ten authentic organ façade drawings dating from the latter part of the eighteenth century, and two organ façade prints cut from a French or German book, which are of inestimable value to the history of Lithuanian pipe organs. In fact, this manuscript is also significant to the European history of pipe organs at large. The Polish art historian Marcin Zglinski began study of these drawings as far back as 1999,2 yet he did not manage to read and fully decode some of the authentic inscriptions. Therefore, there are certain inaccuracies in the published works by Zglinski including inaccurate attribution of several organ designs to specific authors and erroneous or imprecise indication of some locations.

With light blue shading in some places, the organ designs were drawn in ink on paper with different watermarks, heraldic images on some pages, and regular illuminated lines on the other. The authorship of the drawings has not been fully determined, since the collection had several owners before it ended up in its current storage place. Yet, as we know, the architectural structure of an organ façade was inseparable from the instrument in the eighteenth century and was most often designed by the organ builder. Therefore, it is likely that the drawings were made by the same organ builders or were commissioned by them to be made after their own sketches. The authors’ professional excellence is witnessed by an extremely detailed and masterful execution of even the finest lines. Based on the drawing techniques, handwriting, style, and factual circumstances, the designs can be separated into five groups that will be discussed further in the article.

Drawing numbers 18 and 21

Featuring the same architectural structure, drawing numbers 18 and 21 (Figures 1 and 2) date from 1763. The two-tower Baroque and Rococo façade composition is particularly common among works by Vilnius organ builders. It consists of two tall semicircular towers at the sides of the façade, a lower triangular tower in the center, and two intermediate flats, curving upwards (a similar façade composition, albeit from a later period, can be seen in drawing numbers 16 and 25).

A symmetrical decorative façade design distinguishes drawing numbers 18 and 21 from the other eight designs, in which façades exhibit a lack of symmetry, with the left side being slightly different from the right one. Stylistically, these drawings are identical; undulating plant motifs, typical of late Baroque, are combined with dynamic and pliable lines characteristic of the Regency style. (It is important to note that in Lithuania Regency forms remained popular even for a few decades later than in Western Europe.) These drawings differ from each other in terms of decoration. Drawing number 21 features a group of music-making angel statues: an angelic baby in the middle is playing the flute while the other two on the sides are trumpeting. Bands of ornaments run over the base and the top of the pipes while the sides of the big towers are decorated with hollow garlands. A little angel atop the central tower is flanked by elegant vases dotted with tiny flowers, and imposing lacy wings sit on each side of the façade. Instead of music-making cherubs, the three towers of the façade are topped with wavy crowns featuring oblong cartouches in drawing number 18.

When it comes to the layout of the façade pipes, we can see that each of the three towers has seven metal pipes, even though in reality, in similar Baroque and Rococo façades of Lithuanian organs, groupings of five pipes were more common. Furthermore, both drawings display pipes in incorrect proportions. This suggests that the drawings were made by an artist rather than by an organ builder. The authors of the two designs or organ makers who built organs from these drawings have not been identified. However, the surviving authentic inscriptions on the drawings provide us with some useful information, which allows attributing the designs to the duo of Vilnius organ builders, Joachim Friedrich Scheel and Ludwik Klimowicz.

At the bottom of drawing number 18 there are two authentic eighteenth-century records, made in the Polish language around the same time. They suggest that around 1763 a ten-voice organ for Ratnycia (?) Church might have been built using the design. A record in the left-hand corner reads:

X. A. Dominik Grzybowski

P. M. Ten abrys do ko

scioła Rotnieckiego (?)

. . . nołu3

while one in the right-hand corner reads:

Ru. P. 1763

D. 27 Maia

Wedlug tego

abrysu ma

byc' Organ

stoiący od

glosow 10

zrobiony tą

strukturą X. P. S . . . [illegible].4

At the bottom of drawing number 21 there are three eighteenth-century inscriptions. Judging from the first inscription (on the left), the drawing might have been part of an organ building contract:

Według tego abrysu Pozytyw

zgodzisłem się

w Kościełę Janowski Xß

stawiony X. Ignacy La[chow]ski Xß. [P.] J.

B. X. Radwil[owicz] [hardly legible signature].5

The second inscription is very worn and hardly legible:

Ten abrys [. . . się] y według onego

. . . Duniłowickich

Jak sko . . . Żeholowski.6

The third inscription also refers to a contract:

[Terz] sko[nt]rakta przy J. P. Organmistrow, abrys obrałem, Di 25 Aprilis 17[?? . . .] X. Dominik Kochanski Przr Nieswiski

. . . Zakonu Kaznodzienskiemmn [. . .].7

The analysis of the three pieces of text in drawing number 21 makes it possible to assume that around 1763 (based on the confirmed date of a similar drawing number 18, drawing number 21 may date from circa 1763, too), organbuilders entered into an agreement to build an organ in the Dominican Church of Saint John, Nesvizh, and that the contract was signed by Reverend Ignacy Lia[chov]ski and the Prior of the Dominican Monastery, Dominik Kochanski. This drawing might have also been used for building an organ in the Dominican Church of the Holy Trinity in Dunilowicze (the contract was signed by [Reverend?] Žeholiowski).

The façade of the organ in the Dominican Church of Saints Philip and Jacob, the Apostles, Vilnius (Figure 3), is almost identical to design numbers 18 and 21. The church research report says that an eleven-voice organ was made between 1763 and 1765 by Friedrich Cheel8 (most likely, Joachim Friedrich Scheel), which makes it possible to link drawing numbers 18 and 21 to Scheel. Moreover, association of drawings numbers 18 and 21 with Scheel denies Zglin´ski’s hypothesis attributing the four organs in the Dominican Church of Saints Philip and Jacob, the Apostles, Vilnius, Ratnycia Church, Saint John’s Church in Nesvizh, and the Church of Dunilowicze to Gerhardt Arendt Zelle. (This is because Zelle died in 1761, whereas drawing numbers 18 and 21 date from 1763.) Zglin´ski provided one more misunderstanding regarding the location mentioned in drawing number 18. According to the analysis of inscription, I have to clarify that it is Ratnycia, not Krincinas as stated in the work by Zglin´ski.9

Drawing number 11

Drawing number 11 depicts a highly distinctive façade design (Figure 4). Pyramid-shaped, the structure displays asymmetrical ornamentation: a figure of a winged angel with a trumpet on the left-hand side, a cherub playing the flute on a carved wing slightly lower, and one more little angel with a curved horn above the rocaille-decorated cartouche at the very top of the façade. Instead of a statue, there is a vertical carved element on the right-hand side. The drawing may date from around 1761, as it resembles the façades of the organs in Saint Catherine’s Church and Saint Theresa’s Church in Vilnius (the only authentic part of the Saint Theresa’s Church organ façade is its centerpiece consisting of five elements, Figures 4a and 4b). The architectural structure of the organs is almost identical, with the only difference noticeable in the cornice profiles and the volute scrolls. The organ of Saint Theresa’s Church (Figure 4b) conveys the plasticity of intricate carvings that the design number 11 exhibits. Apart from the trumpeting cherubs, the façade of the organ in Saint Catherine’s Church features a statue of King David playing a harp. (The photo of the organ façade in Saint Catherine’s Church shows damaged angel figures with no trumpets in their hands anymore, Figure 4a.)

Written records attribute the organ of Saint Catherine’s Church (1761)10 to Vilnius organ builders Scheel and Klimowicz, whereas similarities shared between the organ façade in Saint Catherine’s Church and that in Saint Theresa’s Church make it possible to attribute both instruments to the same organ building duo. Correspondingly, drawing number 11 can be linked to these organs and their makers. Precision in the drawing of the cornice profiles and the keydesk suggests that the author was competent in architectural drafting and knew the specifics of the organ; therefore, the drawing was most probably custom made and served as a basis for building the above-mentioned organs.

Drawing numbers 7, 13, 16, 23, and 25

Five drawings, numbers 7, 13, 16, 23, and 25 (Figures 5–9), were presumably made by or with the participation of the same person, since they were carried out in the same manner with the only difference noticeable in the geometric outline. In drawing numbers 13 and 25, cornices of the convex towers form a single straight line, in numbers 16 and 23 they appear bent,11 and design number 7 displays a combination of both features. These drafts were completed a few decades later than drawing number 11 depicting a pyramidal façade. It is noteworthy that design numbers 13, 16, and 25 represent small façades of the Vilnius organ building school suitable for instruments with seven to ten voices. (An addition of flats at the sides of the façades would make them suitable for bigger instruments with ten to fifteen voices.)

On the reverse side of these drawings there are some fragmentary inscriptions pointing to the location of organs built following the drawings. For instance, an inscription in Polish on drawing number 13 reads:

. . . Kos'cioła Bohdanowskiego

[. . .e] przyięty abrys 1794 Lą (?) 22 grudnia

J. Lachowicz [Hachowicz?].

Here the date of December 22, 1794, the priest J. Lachowicz (Hachovicz?), and the Church of Bogdanovo are mentioned.12 The same church is referred to in drawing number 25:

Abrys . . . kos’cioła Bohdanowskiego . . .

Pon . . . Roku Tysiącu Siedemset Dziewiędzies . . .

. . . Przys . . . [Xs.] Gechowicz . . .

and another text reads:

Abrysu . . . [further handwriting is badly faded and illegible]

These records show that in the last decade of the eighteenth century this drawing might have served for building an organ in the Church of Bogdanovo; the name of a priest Gechowicz is mentioned. It is likely that design numbers 13 and 25 were offered for the same church in Bogdanovo.

Combining Rococo and Classical forms, design number 7 stands out among the five drawings. Nothing is known about the realization of this project, yet the façades of organs in Krincinas Church (Figure 5a, 1782–the indication of the year is based on an inscription on a façade pipe, RP 1782), Butkiške˙s Church (Figure 5b, 1814?), and Paluše˙ Church (Figure 5c, beginning of nineteenth century) all have a similar structure. Individual elements of the structure depicted in drawing number 7 can be seen in the organ of Trakai Church (Figure 5d, 1800). However, none of these organs has the authentic ornaments shown in drawing number 7 (Figure 5).

By the type of the façade they depict, the drawings can be paired. Design numbers 13 and 23 are distinguished by the elevated central tower, which is a rare case among Lithuanian organ façades. The façade featured in drawing number 13 bears some resemblance to that of the organ in Vilnius Calvary Church (Figure 6a, c.1780) as well as organ façades in Hieraniony Church (Figure 6b) and in the Parish Church of All Saints in Navahrudak (Figure 6). If we added outer flats to the façade depicted in drawing number 13, the structure would resemble that of the organ in the Bernardine Church of Druya. Drawing number 23 is thought to have served for building the organ in Vilnius University Aula Parva (Figure 7a, end of eighteenth century); the organ in Skaruliai Church (end of eighteenth century) also has a façade of a similar structure (Figure 7b).

Concave, polygonal, protruding towers on both sides of the façade and a triangular tower in the center (the towers are joined together by flat planes, slightly curving at the top) are the key components of the façade structure depicted in drawing numbers 16 and 25 (Figures 8 and 9). The lateral wings, central cartouche, and cartouche shields of the façade featured in drawing number 16 are decorated with stylized Rococo ornaments and plant motifs, which were widely used at the end of the eighteenth and at the beginning of the nineteenth century. With graceful consoles at their foot, the façade towers in drawing number 25 are crowned with vases on massive pedestals.

The surviving organs as well as authentic records prove that these two-tower façade designs were implemented. For instance, an inscription on the reverse side of drawing number 16 witnesses that the design might have served for building an organ for Nemunaitis Church (neither the church nor the organ have survived):

abrys Organu do Kos'cioła Niemonoyckiego.

The adjacent hardly legible inscription points to another church:

temz˙e dory ... do Kos'cioł[a] Z˙ad[z...] (unidentified location).

The façade structure featured in drawing numbers 16 and 25 is typical of the Vilnius organbuilding tradition; therefore, quite a few organs that have survived bear resemblance to it. Yet none of the organs displays the exact likeness of architectural and decorative elements to those depicted in the drawings. Notable examples include organs built at the end of the eighteenth and at the beginning of the nineteenth centuries in Note˙nai Church (Figure 10a), the Roman Catholic Church of Saint Nicholas, Vilnius (Figure 10b), Vidsodis Church (Figure 10c), Suvainiškis Church (Figure 10d), Kantaucˇiai Church (Figure 10e), Semeliške˙s Church (Figure 10f), Saint George’s Church (Figure 10g), and Saint Joseph’s Church in Kedainiai (Figure 10h), as well as in the churches of Joniške˙lis (Figure 10i), Gaure˙,13 Medininkai (Figure 10j), Pivašiunai, Rozalimas, and Skaudvile. Larger and wider versions of the designs can be found in Saint George’s Church and the Church of All Saints in Vilnius as well as in the churches of Jieznas, Joniškis (Mole˙tai District), Južintai, Siesikai, Seda, Šeduva, Tverai, and elsewhere.

To be continued.

RELATED: Part 2

Notes

1. Old and Rare Books Department, Vilnius Academy of Arts Library, Inventory No. 3344.

2. Marcin Zglin´ski, “Organmistrz, snycerz, stolarz, inwestor – z działalnos'ci osiemnastowiecznego wilen´skiego warsztatu organmistrzowskiego. uwagi na bazie nowo odkrytych archiwaliów.” Przegląd Wschodni, Vol. 6, z. 2 (22), 1999, 289–303; “Budownictwo organowe na terenie dawnego Wielkiego Księstwa litewskiego do około 1850 roku w s'wietle najnowszych badan´. Materiały.” Muzyka, Warszawa, 2003, No. 3, 65–98; Nowoz˙ytny prospekt organowy i jego twórcy, Warszawa: instytut sztuki Pan, 2012, 320–23, 331–35.

3. “Rev. Dominik Grzybowski. It is designed for Ratnycˇia (?) Church [. . .] .”

4. “Following the structure depicted in this drawing, a stationary ten-voice organ should be [completed] on May 27 in the year of Our Lord 1763 [. . .]”

5. “Based on this outline [design] a contract is made to build [an organ] in Saint John’s Church, Rev. Ignacy Lia[chov]ski [. . .]
Radwilowicz (?).”

6. “This drawing [. . .] and following it [. . .] Dunilowicze like [. . .] Żeholowski.”

7. “The current organ building contract sets the date of April 25, 17[??]. Rev. Dominik Kochanski, Prior of the Dominican Order, Nesvizh.”

8. Šv. Jokubo bažnycia, 1975; Lietuvos TSR istorijos ir kulturos paminklų sąvadas, 1988, p. 331.

9. Zglinski, 1999, p. 293.

10. Mindaugas Paknys, “Vargonų meistrai Lietuvos Didžiojoje Kunigaikštysteje.” Menotyra, No. 2 (23), Vilnius, 2001, p. 57.

11. The lower part of drawing number 25 is not visible as it has been cut off and moved to the reverse side of the drawing.

12. Bogdanovo is in the surroundings of Ashmyany, Belarus. A 1772 record mentions that Saint Michael’s Church of Bogdanovo belonged to the Alše˙nai Parish.

13. The organ was destroyed by fire together with the church in 1970.

Related Content

Drawings of 18th-century organ façades by Vilnius organ builders Part 2

Girenas Povilionis

Dr. Girenas Povilionis (born 1976), PhD in humanities/art criticism (2006), is associate professor at the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theater. He is a senior specialist at the Center for Culture Heritage, an organ historian, researcher and restorer, and gives lectures at the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theater and Grigalius Center for Church Music Studies. Since 2021 he has been a member of the Commission for the Certification of Movable Cultural Property Restorers; in 2009–2018 he was a member of the Restoration Council of the Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Lithuania.

Between 2009 and 2011 he was a postdoctoral fellow funded by the European Union Structural Funds project “Postdoctoral Fellowship Implementation in Lithuania” at the Lithuanian Culture Research Institute. In 2000, he completed his studies for a Master of Arts degree in organ at the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theater. He advanced his skills in organ building and restoration in France in 1999 and 2000, supervised by Michel Chapuis and Dominique Lalmand, at Gotland University in Sweden in 2001 and 2006, and at the Center for Organ Art (GoArt) at Gothenburg University in 2001 and 2002.

In 2007, Povilionis established the Center for Organ Heritage in Lithuania. Currently he implements the restoration of large historical pipe organs in the main churches in Lithuania, e.g., Adam
Gottlob Casparini’s 1775–1776 grand organ in the Dominican Church of the Holy Spirit in Vilnius (organ replica built for Christ Church, Rochester, New York); an organ in the chapel of The Gates of Dawn (Aušros Vartai), Vilnius; a 25-stop Romantic organ by Juozapas Radavicius at the church in Žemaic€ių Kalvarija; a Baroque organ with a Romantic-era addition by Wacław Biernacki in Pivašiunai, an important sanctuary in Lithuania. Among his recently restored projects are a 1938 instrument by Otto Kratokvil with a Baroque façade in Telšiai Cathedral and the late-Baroque two-manual organ in the Žemale church, as well as other organs in Lithuania.

Povilionis’s scientific activities encompass research into historic organs and the issues of the preservation and restoration of this heritage. He has presented his research at international conferences and congresses in Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, France, Sweden, the United Kingdom, the United States, Denmark, Poland, and Portugal; delivered workshops in various towns in Lithuania and given lectures at the Latvian J. Vitols Academy of Music. He has published over forty scientific articles and two monographs (The Late Baroque Organ Building Art in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, 2013; and The Lithuanian Organ Art: from Baroque to Classicism. Organ Catalogue. 17th c.–1st half of the 19th c., 2009), and is currently writing his third monograph on peculiarities for Vox humana pipe ranks that have survived in authentic Lithuanian Baroque organs, funded by the Research Council of Lithuania. He has managed the three-CD project Lithuanian Historical Organs and the 2008 Days of Cultural Heritage in Lithuania. For more information: www.vargonai.com.

Figure 11
Figure 11: drawing of organ façade number 9, second half of eighteenth century (Old and Rare Books Department, Vilnius Academy of Arts Library, Inventory No. 3344)

Editor’s note: the first part of this series appeared in the September 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 14–21.

RELATED: Part 1

This article illuminates a unique collection of drawings depicting ten organ façade designs dating from the latter part of the eighteenth century. The collection titled Ruzne rysunki is stored in the Old and Rare Books Department at the Library of Vilnius Academy of Arts, Lithuania. The drawings are of inestimable value to the history of Lithuanian pipe organs; as well, this manuscript is also significant to the European history of pipe organs at large.

The first part of this series presented the historical background of the leather-bound album of drawings and analyzed eight drawings (numbers 7, 11, 13, 16, 18, 21, 23, and 25) out of 10, commenting on the old inscriptions and identifying the possible locations of projected Baroque organs as well as raising the hypothesis of authorship. The attribution of old drawings to the area of the so-called Vilnius organ building school is based on the comparison to the extant examples of Baroque pipe organs in Lithuanian territories. Some of the drawings represent the two-tower Baroque and Rococo façade compositions (consisting of two tall towers at the sides of the façade, a lower triangular tower in the center, and two intermediate flats, curving upwards, as in drawing numbers 16, 18, 21, and 25), which is particularly common among works by Vilnius organ builders.

This second part of the series continues the analysis of the drawing numbers 9 and 6, the first showing the typical two-tower architecture with Rococo ornamentation and resembling that discussed last month, and the second in a Doric style and appearing as a precise copy of the organ façade designs from a 1780 French textbook.

Drawing number 9

The façade in drawing number 9 is marked by a unique structure with two lateral towers (Figure 11), which suggests that the organ design might have been made for a church with a window in the rear wall, since the entire structure is arranged around the central axis to enclose the window. The façade design in this drawing has structural similarities to those in drawing numbers 18 and 21; its centerpiece resembles that of the façade in drawing number 7 (Figure 5). Nevertheless, drawing number 9 is analyzed individually because with regard to style, it dates from a later period and displays a different drawing manner.

Rococo ornamentation in this drawing is manifest in the plasticity of the wings and the lattice grille in front of the pipes and keydesk, all decorated with rocaille and plant-inspired ornaments; the towers are crowned with statues of angels. It is not known whether the design was implemented, yet its centerpiece bears some similarity to that of the organ built at the beginning of the nineteenth century in Paluše Church (Figure 5c).

Drawing number 6

The façade structure in drawing number 6 (Figure 12) dates from the latest period, possibly from the beginning of the nineteenth century. It is a Classical type characterized by the architectural composition found in buildings and interior structures. Presumably the compiler of the album, Jonas Danauskas, named the façade as Doric (a Polish inscription says Dorycki).

It might be assumed that the façade of the 1819 organ of Raseiniai Dominican Church,14 which has not survived, and the old façade of the Vilnius Cathedral organ, which in the 1833 record was described to be of “Doric style,” resembled the design featured in drawing number 6. It was initially believed that the drawing had been used to build the organ in Anciškis Church at the beginning of the nineteenth century (Figure 12a). However, after examining the organ in 2012, it was discovered that upon transferring the instrument to this location,15 the upper part of the façade, the second storey, was simply cut off.

It is interesting to note that the Classical organ façade in drawing number 6 seems to be a precise copy of some drawings in the organ façades catalogue found in a 1780 French textbook of architecture by Jean-François de Neufforge, Recueil elementaire d’architecture (Paris, 1780) (French examples of Classical organ façade presented in Figure 13a, b, c, and c).16 This book on architecture includes some authentic drawings in classical style—we may see a close resemblance between the discussed Lithuanian drawing number 6 and French drawing on page CCXII (Figure 13c).

§

The ten authentic organ façade drawings presented here reflect in general the features typical for the period of organ building that flourished into the Vilnius school of the late Baroque. Dating from approximately 1740 through 1850, Vilnius organ building played a significant role in the panorama of European organ building tradition, representing a unique and independent style of organs in Lithuania and neighboring territories (Belarus, Latvia, and Poland) that were formerly attributed to the Grand Duchy of Lithuania (GDL).

Notes

14. Raseiniai Dominican Church Inspection Act of 1820 (LVIA, f. 669, ap. 2, b. 224, l. 13v).

15. The church from which the organ was transferred to Anciškis has not been identified.

16. In his study (Nowozytny prospekt organowy i jego twórcy. Warszawa: instytut sztuki Pan, 2012, pp. 216, 335) Polish researcher Marcin Zglin´ski provides some examples with authentic sketches from the mentioned French catalogue, referring to the original source: Jean-François de Neufforge, Recueil elementaire d’architecture, Paris, 1780, vols. 5–6, p. 211. In fact, the organ façades were printed not in vols. 5–6, but as a supplement to the whole study, Supplément au Recueil élémentaire d’architecture contenant plusieurs études des ordres d’architecture d’après l’opinion des Anciens et le sentiment des Modernes, divers entrecolonnements propres à l’ordonnance des façades, divers exemples de décorations extérieures et intérieures, etc., à l’usage des monuments sacrés, publics et particuliers, composé par le sieur Neufforge, architecte, Volume 2, 1775–1780. The digitized collection may be accessed via Gallica database (gallica.bnf.fr), at https://bibliotheque-numerique.inha.fr/collection/item/15732-redirection [last accessed April 12, 2021].

Archival Sources

Butkiške Church Inspection Act of 1806. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 2, b. 221, l. 308v.

Butkiške Church Inspection Act of 1896. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 3, b. 2573, l. 53.

Joniškelis Church Inspection Act of 1804. LVIA , f. 1671, ap. 4, b. 3, l. 6.

Joniškelis Church Inspection Act of 1806. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 2, b. 221, l. 480.

Joniškelis Church Inspection Act of 1819. LVIA , f. 1671, ap. 4, b. 3, l. 1.

Joniškelis Church Inspection Act of 1845. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 2, b. 267, l. 144.

Kedainiai St. Joseph (Carmelite) Church Inspection Act of 1806. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 2, b. 221, l. 596.

Kedainiai St. Joseph (Carmelite) Church Inspection Act of 1820. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 2, b. 224, l. 147.

Krincinas Church Inspection Act of 1820. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 2, b. 222, l. 16.

Notenai Church Inspection Act of 1873. LVIA, f. 1671, ap. 4, b. 4, l. 708.

Raseiniai Dominican Church Inspection Act of 1820. LVIA, f. 669, ap. 2, b. 224, l. 13v.

Semeliškes Church Inspection Act of 1782. LVIA , f. 694, ap. 1, b. 3941.

Skaruliai Church Inspection Act of 1901. LVIA , f. 669, ap. 3, b. 2762, l. 122.

Suvainiškis Church Inspection Act of 1820. LVIA , f. 696, ap. 2, b. 29, l. 308.

Bibliography

[Lietuvos sąvadas] Lietuvos TSR istorijos ir kulturos paminklų sąvadas [Collection of History and Cultural Monuments in Lithuanian Soviet Republic]. Part 1, Vilnius, 1988.

Paknys, Mindaugas. “Vargonų meistrai Lietuvos Didžiojoje Kunigaikštysteъje” [Organ Builders in Lithuanian Grand Duchy]. Menotyra, No. 2 (23), Vilnius, 2001, pp. 52–61.

Povilionis, Girenas. Velyvojo baroko vargondirbystes menas Lietuvos Didžiojoje Kunigaikštysteje [The Late Baroque Organ Building Art in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania]. Vilnius: Vargonų paveldo centras, 2013.

Povilionis, Girenas. Vargondirbystes menas Lietuvoje: nuo baroko iki klasicizmo. Vargonų katalogas. xvii a.–xix a. pirmoji puse [The Lithuanian Organ Art: from Baroque to Classicism. Organ catalogue. 17th c.–1st half of the 19th c.]. Vilnius: Savastis, 2009.

Šv. Jokubo bažnycia [St Jacob Church in Vilnius]. Vilnius: LTSR Kulturos Ministerija, Paminklų restauravimo institutas, 1975.

Zglinski, Marcin. “Budownictwo organowe na terenie dawnego Wielkiego Księstwa litewskiego do około 1850 roku w s'wietle najnowszych badan´. Materiały.” Muzyka, Warszawa, 2003, No. 3, pp. 65–98.

Zglinski, Marcin. “Organmistrz, snycerz, stolarz, inwestor – z działalnosci osiemnastowiecznego wilenskiego warsztatu organmistrzowskiego. uwagi na bazie nowo odkrytych archiwaliów.” Przegląd Wschodni, Vol. 6, z. 2 (22), 1999, pp. 289–303.

Zglin´ski, Marcin. Nowozytny prospekt organowy i jego twórcy. Warszawa: instytut sztuki Pan, 2012.

This article is part of the project “Genesis and Comparative Study of Vilnius Baroque Organbuilding School Stops Vox Humana & Unda Maris: Adaptation of Caspari(ni) and Italian Traditions,” funded by the Research Council of Lithuania (LMTLT), agreement No. S-LIP-18-40.

Exploring the unknown of BWV 565, Part 5

Michael Gailit

Michael Gailit graduated from the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna with both performance and pedagogy diplomas in organ as well as in piano. Teaching piano at this institute since 1980, he has also conducted the organ studio at the Musik und Kunst Universität in Vienna since 1995. As church organist he served at Saint Augustine’s Church, 1979–2008; in 2011 he was appointed organist at the Jesuit Church (Old University Church).

Both in his performance and teaching repertoire, Gailit includes all style areas on the basis of their individual performance practices. He toured with solo recitals on both instruments in Europe as well as in North America and appeared with leading orchestras and renowned conductors. Recordings, masterclasses, invitations to juries, musicological publications, editing sheet music, compositions, arrangements, supporting the piano-organ duo repertoire, commissioned works, first performances, and finally occasional trips into the theatre and silent movie repertoire should be noted.

Particular attention was received in 1989 for the first performance of the complete piano and organ works of Julius Reubke (1834–1858), the performance of the complete organ works of Franz Schmidt (1874–1939) the same year, as well as in September 2005 a series of six recitals with the trio sonatas of Johann Sebastian Bach, the organ sonatas of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, and the organ symphonies of Louis Vierne. Currently Gailit is working on a book, The Enigma BWV 565, a study elucidating new answers and new questions.

Author’s website: gailit.at/english/index_e.htm

J. S. Bach's signature

Editor’s note: Part 1 of this series appeared in the June 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 18–19; part 2 appeared in the July 2021 issue, pages 12–14; part 3 appeared in the December 2021 issue, pages 16–18; part 4 appeared in the August 2022 issue, pages 12–14.

The post-Baroque revolution

The thorough analysis of the preceding four parts of this essay showed that BWV 565 was entirely composed on the basis of motivic-thematic work, a compositional technique developed only after the time of Johann Sebastian Bach in the second half of the eighteenth century.1 There is no widely accepted descriptor for this time period between the Baroque and the Viennese Classical eras, approximately the forty years between 1740 and 1780. Compositions of similar content have been grouped and labeled, with such descriptors as empfindsamer Stil (sensitive style), galanter Stil (gallant style), Rococo, Sturm und Drang (storm and stress), Age of Enlightenment, Early Classical, or Pre-Classical. Quite inaccurate the latter, since composers of that time did not exist solely to prepare for others yet to be born.

The truth is that fundamental stylistic changes took place during those forty years. The author recently proposed the term post-Baroque revolution to describe this time period. Although composers developed in different ways, they had something in common: a comprehensive, revolutionary break with the past. No stone was left unturned.

Basso continuo: The bass line as the fundamental of music had had its day; the top voice took precedence. The Baroque figured bass became obsolete, allowing single-voice textures to blossom in keyboard music.

Harmonic tempo: Whereas harmonic tempo had once moved quickly, the post-Baroque revolution went in the opposite direction. Harmonic changes happened at a slower pace and stayed within simple chord progressions, making a bass line less important. As harmonic tempo slowed, allowing more elaborate figuration, actual tempos became faster and faster.

Fortspinnungstypus: Omnipresent since Gregorian chant, Fortspinnungstypus had its day as well. This German term describes music that continuously gives birth to itself. The seemingly endless lines of the Baroque were replaced with their opposite; small melodic cells of a few notes, sometimes as small as a single note, were put together to create as much contrast as possible. Cinematically speaking, the Baroque documentary of rolling out a theme in long scenes was replaced by the post-Baroque action thriller with rapid scene changes. As if small music cells were not enough, rests were introduced to separate the cells even more.

Contrasts did not just happen between themes, sections, or movements, but were packed into short phrases. Rests frequently served as a means to enhance contrasts.

Perception time: Hardly anyone is aware of a phenomenon that the author calls “perception time,” defined as the time interval necessary to perceive a musical idea (Example 64).

Mozart’s phrase gives you a perception time of eight quarter notes. With the same harmonic background, Bach’s theme allows only four quarter notes of perception time. The small melodic cells of post-Baroque music require an unusually short perception time. In Wagenseil’s theme, the character changes on each eighth note, and the perception time is as short as a single eighth note! If the performer or the listener is unprepared for such a short perception time, the true nature of the music will remain hidden.

Motivic-thematic work: Instead of ongoing lines separated occasionally by cadences, small, contrasting melody cells were placed within regular bar structures. In order to achieve cohesion, pieces were based on a Hauptsatz, a main musical idea, from which other essential ideas were derived and developed. The themes did not keep their shape, but morphed and took many forms.

The term thematisch gearbeitet (thematically worked), explained as a musical term, appeared for the first time 1802 in the Musikalisches Lexikon2 by Christoph Koch (1749–1816), where it is described as an alternative compositional style to polyphonic writing.

Thematisch. Man sagt, ein Tonstück sey thematisch gearbeitet, wenn die Ausführung desselben hauptsächlich in den mannigfaltigen Wendungen und Zergliederungen des Hauptsatzes, ohne Beymischung vieler Nebengedanken, besteht.

(Thematic. A piece of music is said to be thematically worked if its execution consists mainly of the manifold changes and dissections of the main idea, without mixing in many secondary ideas.)

Revolutionary etude BWV 565

BWV 565 perfectly fits in the post-Baroque revolution:

• Basso continuo style only in about 50% of the fugue.

• No bass for long sections.

• The harmonic tempo is generally slow, and in the fugue slightly faster in a few sections.

• The Hauptsatz juxtaposes two contrasting elements; the opening phrase of a single note is answered by a downward run.

• Frequent texture changes.

• Frequent rests.

• Significant contrasts.

• A model example of a Hauptsatz, ready for motivic work.

• Motivic-thematic work throughout, with hardly any note unrelated to the Hauptsatz.

• Motivic work even within the Hauptsatz.

At first glance, the post-Baroque, motivic-thematic style of BWV 565 is not immediately obvious; in fact it is well-disguised. It is therefore not surprising that the text was misunderstood and criticized. Elements that contradicted the polyphonic tradition were perceived as deficiencies. Especially puzzling is the missing beat in measure 72, where a careful comparison of the theme entries proves that the theme is missing a beat. Even the scribe noticed it, and marked the omission with an x above beat 1. Instead, it became a tradition to fill beats 3 and 4 with an invention composed by a later scribe.

In view of the sparse sources and the unusual compositional style for an organ work of the time, it can be assumed that BWV 565 was rather a private study, not intended for publication. It might have been conceived as an experiment in applying new compositional techniques to the organ and to the traditional forms of the toccata and fugue.

Bach as author

Can BWV 565 pass as a composition by Johann Sebastian from his youthful years, when he was relatively inexperienced? Surely not! If the presumed year of composition is shifted to his youth, it does not explain why he would compose a motivic-thematic work that invented and anticipated a style of composition decades before its time. Furthermore, had he ingeniously anticipated the post-Baroque revolution, why are there no traces of additional compositions in this style, and why did he return to the polyphonic style of the Baroque?

Ringk as scribe

Bach’s cantata BWV 202 occupies a unique place among musical manuscripts, due to the underlined date entry “Anno 1730” placed on the front page below the name entry “Johannes Ringk.” Dates on manuscripts of this period are rare (Example 65).

Ringk (1717–1778) is said to have copied the cantata manuscript at the age of thirteen:

Geboren am 25. Juni 1717 zu Frankenhain in Thüringen, war [Ringk] nachweislich Schüler von Johann Peter Kellner (1705–1772) in Gräfenroda, wo er—seiner eigenen Datierung zufolge 1730—im Alter von 13 Jahren die einzige heute erhaltene Kopie der Kantate BWV 202 anfertigte.3

(Born on June 25, 1717, at Frankenhain in Thuringia, [Ringk]4 was verifiably a pupil of Johann Peter Kellner (1705–1772) in Gräfenroda, where—according to his own dating of 1730 at the age of 13—he made the only copy of the cantata BWV 202 that has survived until today.)

A closer look at the handwriting, however, reveals something else.

Writing styles

In German-speaking countries, it was customary to use two different fonts for print and handwriting. In print media, the broken Fraktur font was set for regular German text, whereas the round Antiqua font was used for foreign-language terms. For handwriting, the corresponding fonts Kurrent and Latin were used, but also an ornamental broken font, called Kanzlei (a German word for office). Local Schreibmeister (master scribes) took care of the dissemination of literature and general education through their teaching and publications. Sample tables served as templates to practice writing (Examples 66, 67, and 68).

Among the features of calligraphy are the prescribed letter proportions of ascender : x-length : descender, as well as the slant of the letters, i.e., their inclination in degrees, where 90° stands for straight vertical, 0° for horizontal (Example 69).

The title on the front page of BWV 202 shows remarkably inexperienced copy and handwriting skills (Example 70).

Zeiget nur, betrübte Schatten (Show only, sorrowful shadows) is not only meaningless in itself, but does not correspond to the cantata text. It should read Weichet nur, betrübte Schatten (Move away, sorrowful shadows).

• The ornamentation of an initial should embrace the letter, not stand in front of it.

• The letters are a mixture of Kurrent, Latin, and Kanzlei.

• The slant of the letters is inconsistent throughout.

• The length proportions of the letters change inconsistently between 1:1:1 and 2:1:2.

• The letter “Z” sits on the base line without a descender.

• The words Zeiget and Betrübt begin with an upper case Kurrent letter and continue in Latin letters.

• The word Schatten shows insecure Kanzlei letters throughout.

• The single character at the end resembling a lower case “g” is superfluous.

We see here an inexperienced handwriting that might be attributed to a thirteen-year-old boy. The flaws are many and in different categories such as the wording of the title, steady handwriting, inconsistency in the choice of fonts, slant, proportion, misplacement, and orthography.

On the other hand, the signature at the foot of the page is securely written in Kurrent throughout, with the required proportion 3:1:3 of ascender : x-height : descender (Example 71).

In fact the signature shows an experienced hand. The initial “R” is a perfect Kanzlei letter. The cantata texts in the score show a similar experienced Kurrent handwriting. The evidence overwhelmingly suggests that Johannes Ringk may perhaps have scribbled the title, but was not the scribe who made the copy of BWV 202.

And there is another significant piece of evidence to consider: Ringk had a completely different signature. He did not sign with Kurrent letters, but with Kanzlei letters. Among the eighteen manuscripts available online bearing the name Johannes Ringk, eight copies show matching signatures, among them three organ and three harpsichord works by Bach as well as two Telemann cantatas. These sources also contain other matching letters of characteristic forms, such as the uppercase “B” with an underscore, or the lowercase “t” with an arched top.

The overview in Example 72 lists in the left column the full signatures of these eight sources. The headings give the text as it is written on the front page with slashes indicating the line breaks. The two center columns show the letters uppercase “B” and lowercase “t” in the sources. To facilitate comparison, the right columns isolate from each signature the initials “J” and “R” as well as the last letter “k.” As much as all of the letters in the list look alike, they differ from the writing on the front page of the cantata BWV 202. The signature in Kurrent style cannot be assigned to Johannes Ringk, but only to another person. Unfortunately we have no evidence as to who that person was.

The signature on the title page of BWV 565 resembles strongly the one on the title page of BWV 202 (Example 73). Of all the signatures or name entries, only these two have an upper case “R” with two pointed tips on top. The inevitable conclusion is that Johannes Ringk was not the scribe of the BWV 565 copy as well! Both BWV 202 and BWV 565 show Ringk’s name on their front page, but not his signature.

The assertion that the thirteen-year-old Ringk was the copyist of BWV 202 and BWV 565 has been repeated so many times that it is now necessary to prove the opposite step by step. Although he cannot be credited with the title page, he might have copied the music. Evidence is required to match features in the copy of BWV 565 with other manuscripts that can be attributed safely to Ringk.

A copy. In theory BWV 565 could be an autograph. A number of markings in BWV 565, however, suggest that the scribe was dissatisfied and wished to check with an original source. Therefore the manuscript must be a copy.

A copy of a copy. The missing beat in measure 72 supports the conclusion that the scribe copied a copy, and not the original. It is highly unlikely that the composer would have forgotten a full beat of four sixteenth notes in the fugue theme. The scribe in turn noticed the missing beat and marked exactly the spot with an x.

Abbreviated notation. In measures 4 through 10, most of the octave doubling is replaced by indications such as all unison. There are also three repeats abbreviated by repetition markings. Ringk never used such abbreviations in his copies of other pieces; it is fair to mention, however, that their settings did not permit such abbreviations. So perhaps this point does not count.

Time signature. In all six Ringk copies of music by Bach we find an elaborate form of the time signature (Example 74). BWV 565 and other copies show only a simple form (Example 75). This is still another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.

Clef. In all six of Ringk’s Bach copies the clefs appear in about 60% of all accolades. As Examples 74 and 75 show as well, the soprano clef never has a break in its lines, and the bass clef is more ornamented, as is the curved bracket for the accolade. The clefs in BWV 565, to the contrary, appear only once on top of every page, that is in about only 11% of all accolades. The parallel lines of the soprano clef have a lower position throughout. The bass clefs show a simpler form. Another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.

Adagio. No matter if it is “Adagio,” “Adag.,” “adag.,” or “Adagissimo,” the scribe of BWV 565 used the two-story “g” with its loop under the base line. This “g” belongs to the Antiqua font, usually reserved for print. No such “g” or any other letter in Antiqua font from Ringk’s hand appears in the other sources. Still another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.

Quarter-note rests in BWV 565 have the form of a reverse “S” with slant and ornamented ends. Ringk’s quarter-note rests have a distinctly different shape throughout. Another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565 (Example 76 left side BWV 565, center and right side Ringk).

Sixteenth- and thirty-second-note flags. In BWV 565, single notes with more than one flag appear in an old form with both stems up and down. Ringk’s Bach copies (if there are such single notes) show this old form only for stems down/flags up, whereas for stems up/flags down the modern form is used (Example 77, left side BWV 565, right side Ringk). This is another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.

Custodes. Last, but not least, BWV 565 shows custodes at the end of an accolade whenever some room is left (Example 78). Custodes, resembling in BWV 565 a trill, are special characters that are placed at the end of the page taking the position of the very first note on the next page. We can only speculate if the scribe added the custodes, or if the scribe kept the line breaks and copied the custodes as well. At any rate, no other copy bearing the name or signature of Ringk shows such custodes.

The prime suspect

So far our investigations have focused on the available musical text and on the relations and developments of motives. Our conclusion is that BWV 565 could not be attributed to Johann Sebastian Bach, due to the motivic-thematic nature of the work. This style of composition emerged only decades later, after Bach—and after the Baroque style—had been left behind.

Then our investigations extended to the writing style of the related manuscript sources. The different features of the preserved handwritings also revealed sufficient evidence suggesting that Johannes Ringk was not the scribe of the earliest manuscript.

Did we arrive at a dead end, without knowing both the composer and the scribe? Who created such an innovative composition? The next and last episode has evidence for a prime suspect.

To be continued.

Notes

1. Pianist-musicologist Dr. John Strauss of Luther College, Decorah, Iowa, was of invaluable help in providing dedicated advice and assistance to the author in the completion of this text.

2. “Thematisch,” in Heinrich Christoph Koch, Musikalisches Lexikon, welches die theoretische und praktische Tonkunst, encyclopädisch bearbeitet, alle alten und neuen Kunstwörter erklärt, und die alten und neuen Instrumente beschrieben, enthält [Musical encyclopedia, which contains the theoretical and practical art of sound, encyclopedically edited, all old and new art words explained, and the old and new instruments described] (Frankfurt am Main: August Hermann, 1802). 1533.

3. Rolf Dietrich Claus, Zur Echtheit von Toccata und Fuge d-Moll, BWV 565, 2nd ed. (Köln-Rheinkassel, Dohr, 1998), 51.

4. For clarification, “er” (he) has been replaced by “Ringk.”

5. Johann Friedrich Stäps. Calligraphia in usum Iuventutis accommodata, das ist: Nützliche Schul-Vorschriften. (Leipzig: Bierlig, c.1750) SLUB Dresden, http://digital.slub-dresden.de/id339649291, accessed September 15, 2021.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

Reevaluating Andrea Antico’s Frottole of 1517

Alexander Meszler

Alexander Meszler’s performances and research aim to inspire new perspectives on the organ. He spent 2018–2019 in Versailles, France, on a Fulbright grant to study secularism and the organ. In 2020, he completed his Doctor of Musical Arts degree in organ at Arizona State University with Kimberly Marshall. He is a member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2019.

Woodcut of instrumentalists

In December 1516, Pope Leo X revoked Ottaviano Petrucci’s exclusive 1513 privilege to print keyboard intabulations. A lesser-known publisher, Andrea Antico, was awarded rights to the genre. Just one month later, January 1517, Antico delivered Italy its first collection of printed keyboard music, Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo (henceforth, Frottole intabulate). This collection is the first known publication of keyboard music in Italy, the second known keyboard publication anywhere (after Arnolt Schlick’s Tabulatur etlicher Lobesang of 1512), and the second extant collection—manuscript or published—of keyboard music in Italy (after the fifteenth-century Codex Faenza, Biblioteca Comunale 117).1 No other collection is single-genre, and no other similar collection is almost entirely secular in content. Though future Italian keyboard collections continued to include song intabulations, no other publication represents the late-fifteenth, early-sixteenth century frottola genre.

Clearly, Frottole intabulate is special if only based on the merits of its innovative, first-of-its-kind, and in some respects, one-of-a-kind status. Yet in histories and critiques of early keyboard literature, the collection is consistently received coldly. In a textbook on historical performance, Jon Laukvik, without abridgment, writes only,

Frottole intabulate da sonare organi libro primo, published in 1517 by Andrea Antico, are the first Italian keyboard works to appear in print. These frottole, intabulations of simple songs, are in four parts throughout and contain ornamental flourishes (groppi) already familiar to us.2

Even more apathetically, Willi Apel writes: “as the title indicates, it [Frottole intabulate] contains only intabulations of frottole, and is thus of little interest for the history of keyboard music.”3 If Frottole intabulate is so unique, why has it been received unenthusiastically?

While “reevaluate” in the title of this essay might on the surface seem disingenuous given Frottole intabulate’s obscurity to today’s keyboardists, the reality remains that there is a substantial body of writing related to this collection. Reevaluate, then, is to reexamine and perhaps “re-present” the body of scholarship related to the collection, but also to reconsider its value as keyboard music for listeners and performers of today. I begin by presenting a brief overview of Antico’s life and the contents of Frottole intabulate. Next, I contextualize the keyboard collection within the framework of early print culture by considering aspects of economics, reception, genre, authorship, instrumentation, and Frottole intabulate’s famous frontispiece. Finally, I analyze the intabulation technique in Antico’s collection, proving that the difficulty and artistic merit are well-situated with other contemporaneous compositions and arrangements.

Andrea Antico

The most comprehensive secondary source on Andrea Antico, both for his life and music, is Catherine Weeks Chapman’s more than four-hundred-page Harvard University dissertation from 1964.4 Though not impossible to obtain a copy, her document is not widely available. Chapman’s work, though significantly dated, is thorough and is still the baseline source for the Grove Music Online encyclopedia entry on Antico by Martin Picker. Figure 1 is compiled from these sources and may serve as a reference point and visual guide to Antico’s life; this chart and the following sketch of Antico’s life and publications serve as an outline, not a comprehensive biography.

It is not uncommon that the lives of sixteenth-century figures be shrouded in a degree of ambiguity, and Antico is no exception. However, since publishers were held in high regard and typically claimed ownership of their work, the level of uncertainty related to Antico’s biography is unusual. Antico began his life sometime around 1480 in Montona, present day Croatia, then governed by Venice. Some editors and authors have confused Montona with Mantua. It is not known why or when he moved, but Antico’s first work surfaced in Rome around 1510. During this early part of his career, Antico was exceptionally prolific. Chapman states,

From 1510 through 1521, Antico actually produced more music books than Petrucci—a great many more if reprints are included. But it is less the volume of Antico’s output than his use of a printing method fundamentally different from Petrucci’s that makes him an important figure in the early history of music printing.5

Not only was Antico a prolific printer, but he also worked by using woodcuts instead of movable type, the method used by Petrucci. Antico was Petrucci’s first significant competitor. Although Petrucci produced the first prints of polyphonic music, Antico was the first to do so in Rome in 1510 with Canzoni nove con alcune scelte de varii libri di canto (henceforth, Canzoni nove). It was during his years in Rome that Antico produced Frottole intabulate, his only collection for the keyboard.

Between 1518 and 1520 Antico was in partnership with the Giunta family of printers in Venice. Nothing is known about why he moved north or the circumstances around why he partnered with another printer, but Antico’s name continued to be featured prominently in his work. After this, for more than ten years between 1522 and 1533, references to Antico disappear. It is likely that he continued his work in Venice with the Giunta family or some other publisher. Still in Venice, Antico resurfaces in 1533 working with the Scotto family of publishers. During this time period, he produced what might be considered his magnum opus, Mottetti di Adrian Willaert, libro secondo a Quattro voci (1539). After this publication, little more is known about Antico’s life.

Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo (1517)

The frottola (frottole, plural) is a genre of secular Italian song that was popular during the late-fifteenth and early-sixteenth centuries. It is widely considered to be a predecessor to the emerging, more complex, and now more well-known madrigal.6 The frottola generally contains a text with lighthearted themes and elements of humor. Frequently strophic, any discernible text painting quickly dissolves. Thus, at least in theory, the frottola can be easily accommodated by textless versions like keyboard intabulations. Intabulations are arrangements of vocal pieces for an instrument, particularly keyboard or lute.

Frottole intabulate is a collection of twenty-six frottola intabulations for keyboard. As is the case with most early music, certain aspects of performance practice are and will probably always remain unknown. Maria Luisa Baldassari suggests that there are numerous possible ways to perform the music in Antico’s collection including as an accompaniment for a solo voice or as works for keyboard alone.7 Until recently there were two original surviving copies of Frottole intabulate, one in Prague (National Museum, Nostitz Library) and another in Milan (Private Library Polesini), but the Milan copy (originally missing a single folio) has been lost. All but two vocal models survive in other Antico publications that predate Frottole intabulate.8 One of the remaining two intabulations exists in a Petrucci publication that also predates Frottole intabulate, and the other has no known vocal model.9

Frottole intabulate does not include the original texts other than what is provided in the title, but many of the songs would have been very well known. Even though frottola texts are generally lighthearted, the lyrics are important to a successful interpretation of the pieces because their themes still vary significantly from song to song. Despite access to almost all the texts from the original vocal models, translations are unavailable in all the modern editions of Frottole intabulate; this is most likely due to the problematic nature of translating fifteenth- and sixteenth-century poetic Italian into modern English. I have included tentative translations of the titles in Figure 2 in an effort to increase the accessibility of this music to performers and listeners.

By including partial translations in the liner notes to his Antico recording, Glen Wilson also recognized the importance of these texts. Because he only translated lyrics that he felt particularly influenced his interpretations, some of his translations only include the title while others include significant portions of text. Some of the extended texts significantly change the meaning of the title. For instance, “Fiamma amorosa e bella” (number 13) alone translates to “Flame loving and beautiful,” but with more context from the rest of the poetry, Wilson translates, “Beautiful flame of love, why have you turned to ice?”10 Still other pieces introduce elements of humor only after the initial title like in “Che farala che dirala” (number 21), which alone becomes “What will she do when she hears?” With additional context, however, it becomes something akin to “what will she do when she hears I have become a monk?”11 Though the translations I provide in Figure 2 are a starting point, a future resource might work with an expert on literature of the Italian renaissance to complete full translations.

Figure 2 is a complete list of the contents of Frottole intabulate. It contains the number, title, tentative English translation of the title, a potential source for the intabulation, and possible original composers.

Contextualizing Antico’s frottole in the print culture of the early-sixteenth century

Very little is known about the culture of early-sixteenth-century music printing, and it is easy to imply inaccurate generalities. Stanley Boorman states,

We can hardly begin to say anything about the general acceptance of music, beyond the assumption that printed editions reached many more readers than did manuscripts.12

Boorman suggests that scholars have often arbitrarily considered smaller, less productive companies to be more important than others based on predetermined ideas about value and quality.13 Evaluating a print’s significance consists of studying, among numerous other factors, the success or lack of success of individual prints, how they were received, interrelationships of printers and patrons, and profitability. Because of the passing of time, trying to comprehend the cultural background of these prints can seem futile, but not doing so can make the music itself seem distant and irrelevant. Newer research into the early decades of music printing has unlocked many previously inaccessible aspects of the culture and music.

Economics

The printing process was expensive and time consuming; having a print in the early decades of the existence of printing technology brought the owner pride and prestige. Thus, just like the origins of the music that was composed and played in the first place, what was printed was largely controlled by patronage. As machinery and materials later became less expensive, demand for more publications also increased, and publishers needed to compete to stay in business. It is tempting to posit that this caused printing businesses to function within a framework similar to free-market capitalism, but Kate Van Orden maintains this competitiveness comes only from complexifying relationships of patronage.14 Even late in Antico’s life, but certainly for the publication of Frottole intabulate, privileges that limited the legal printing rights of different publishers were controlled by persons of authority, local governments, and even the pope. These privileges regulated the majority of competition among publishers. Disobeying a papal privilege for exclusive printing rights, for instance, could result in “excommunication, a fine, and confiscation of the offending copies.”15 The exclusivity of these privileges affected the publication of Frottole intabulate. Not only did Antico obtain a papal privilege in order to print his keyboard intabulations, but doing so also resulted in the inability of other publishers to print something similar, including Petrucci, his rival.

Aside from the complexities and cost of getting permission to print, the cost of carrying out the printing was astronomical; the cost of printing was so high, in fact, that it is difficult to ascertain why someone would venture to do it at all. For Boorman, financial gain could not have been a primary motive. Given these high costs, a print that was successful enough to result in subsequent prints would be one of the only conceivable ways to make a profit.16 In reprints, materials could be reused, saving the printer the time and money associated with making the materials for the initial print run. Thus, the existence of multiple editions or reprints could be evidence for profit of these early sources.

There are no extant copies from a second printing of Frottole intabulate, and it is unlikely that one ever existed. If nothing else can be said about the economics of Antico’s keyboard collection, it could not have been too successful since its subtitle, Libro primo, implies a future second volume which never came to fruition. While it is likely that economics was a factor in Antico’s failure to produce a second volume, this is far from verifiable and was certainly not the only factor.

Reception

Very little can be said about the reception of Frottole intabulate. As discussed above, multiple reprints can be considered a sign of positive reception and continued appreciation of musical repertoires, but it is unlikely that this occurred for Frottole intabulate. Almost nothing is known about the logistical dissemination of this collection, but there must have been some reason to print an edition of secular song intabulations: an audience, a patron, a desire to do something innovative? Since there was never a second volume, likely no reprints, no similar frottola or other single-genre keyboard publications in sixteenth-century Italy, the print was probably not a wide-ranging success.

Antico’s frontispiece

The publishing rivalry between Petrucci and Antico is apparent in Frottole intabulate. Not only did Antico’s papal privilege to print keyboard intabulations result in the revocation of Petrucci’s ability to do so, Antico flaunted it in the frontispiece to Frottole intabulate (Figure 3). This frontispiece, probably by Antico’s regular collaborator, Giovanni Battista Columba, has been interpreted in numerous ways in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It is likely that the monkey holding a lute represents Petrucci because he previously published two sets of frottola arrangements for voice and lute. The woman dismisses the monkey and his lute intabulations in favor of Antico’s superior arrangements for keyboard. Antico’s decision to later publish frottola arrangements for voice and lute, a style he derided in this frontispiece can be interpreted in two chief ways: first, Antico’s Frottole intabulate was unsuccessful since lute was still the primary domestic instrument, which would be further supported by the fact that there was never a second volume of keyboard intabulations. Second, his attack on lute intabulations depicted in the title page was trivial and was of no consequence to the later publication of his own collection for lute and voice. It is probably some combination of the two of these. The important element to consider from this frontispiece is not the debatable specifics of the meaning of each of its characters and features, but rather that the very concept of intabulation for keyboard might have been controversial as a starting point at all. The frontispiece demonstrates that Frottole intabulate’s publisher was self-aware; indeed, it was the first of its kind.

Genre

The frottola was a popular genre in the late-fifteenth, early-sixteenth century. Ottaviano Petrucci, for instance, produced more than ten books of frottole. In addition to the multi-voice original frottola compositions, a tradition of single voice versions accompanied by lute developed, both improvised and in print. The fewer resources needed to execute a performance with just one or two musicians instead of an ensemble of singers allowed for greater versatility and improvisation. Anthony Cummings has examined this performance practice and found evidence that the practice of playing solo versions with self-accompanied improvised lute parts was widespread.17 Unwritten music (most music in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries) influenced publishers. Both Petrucci and Antico produced volumes of frottole for single voice accompanied by lute: Antico’s Frottole de Misser Bortolomio Tromboncino & Misser Marcheto Carra from around 1520 and Petrucci’s two books from 1509 and 1511, Tenori e contrabass intabulate col sopran in canto figurato per cantar e sonar col lauto, arranged by Franciscus Bossinensis.

There is severely limited evidence for a similar improvised tradition of performing frottole on the keyboard. If there was a significant unwritten precedent for Antico’s intabulations, it is difficult to understand why Petrucci would not have printed for the medium while he had held the papal privilege to do so. It is unlikely that there was a significant precedent for Antico’s collection. Nevertheless, as I have already stated, the frottola, which often contains texts deemed “frivolous”18 and disconnected from the music, lends itself nicely to textless versions.

Authorship

Understanding authorship in the Renaissance is obscured by modern notions of intellectual property and copyright. Van Orden states,

Though the notion clashes with modern definitions of authorship, one could say that it was not composers who authored printed books, but printers, printer-booksellers, and editors.19

Composers were not able to title their own music in anthology publications and their music was “rebranded” to suit the needs of the publisher. The frontispiece of a different Antico publication, Liber quindecim missarum (1516), visually demonstrates the prominence of the publisher over the composer. While Antico provides the names of the composers in its table of contents (Figure 4), the more prominent title page shows only Antico and his audience with Pope Leo X (Figure 5).20 Given the beauty of the entirety of this Antico anthology (see Figure 6), one can begin to understand the printer’s prominence.

The elevated importance of publisher over composer in the Renaissance can be seen in Frottole intabulate. Van Orden states, “once again, Antico visually claims authorship of the volume, even though it is devoted almost entirely to the Frottole of Bartolomeo Tromboncino.”21 In the case of Frottole intabulate, unlike Liber quindecim missarum, there is an added layer: arrangement. Many past scholars have attempted to attribute or unattribute the arrangement of the frottole in this publication to Antico himself. There is not adequate evidence for or against such an attribution. This lack of information regarding who arranged the songs for keyboard can serve as yet more evidence that musical factors were less important than the publications themselves.

Conflicting attributions among different publications with the same content are pervasive in the early decades of music printing. This further illustrates the indifference publishers had for original authorship since correct attributions were clearly a lower priority than the overall quality of the publication. For example, “Fiamma Amorosa e bella,” number 13 in Frottole intabulate, first appears as number 6 in Canzoni sonetti strambotti et frottole, Libro tertio (henceforth, Libro tertio) and is ascribed to Marco Cara (Marchetto Cara).22 In the 1520 reprint in Venice with Giunta it is anonymous and in Frottole intabulate it is attributed to Bartolomeo Tromboncino. Both Christopher Hogwood and Peter Sterzinger, editors of two modern editions of Frottole intabulate, seem to ignore this issue. Sterzinger simply keeps the attributions from Frottole intabulate, while Hogwood does not include attributions, yet provides references to all the vocal sources. Hogwood’s preface seems as though he is aware of the issue but is unsure how to approach it. Maria Luisa Baldassari, the editor of another modern edition, does not dwell on the issue of attribution, but she denotes possibilities above each individual piece.

Another type of borrowing in early print culture involves using the previously printed content of other publishers. It is common to see repeated pieces among competing publishers without noting who published it first. For example, Antico’s Canzoni nove borrowed nearly half of its contents from Petrucci, his direct competitor. A publication like Frottole Intabulate is embedded in the notion of borrowing given the nature of arrangements.

Separately, composers worked to gain their own independent identity in print. Significantly later, in 1554, for instance, Palestrina paid for the publication of a high-quality volume of his own music.23 Similarly, one can look as far back as Petrucci’s Josquin publication, the first publication dedicated to a single composer. While it is possible that this is a humanistic turn (the rising importance of the singular creative mind associated with the Renaissance), this is likely not the case. Boorman maintains that the publication of single-composer volumes like those by Petrucci (inclusive of Josquin, Obrecht, and Brumel) are probably an attempt to gain the favor of composers or flatter them into taking a position somewhere.24 When composers did finally accomplish the publication of their own oeuvre, the line of authorship remained blurred: another publisher, Valerio Dorico, took inspiration from Antico’s frontispiece to Liber quindecim missarum for the publication of Cristóbal de Morales’s Missarum liber secundus in 1544. Dorico later modified this woodcut yet again to serve as the famous title page of Palestrina’s Missarum liber primus of 1554 (Figure 7). Although Dorico modified the woodcut from the version he used from the Morales publication, the changes were minimal; the music that Palestrina is holding actually belongs to Morales.25 Despite almost forty years of separation, Palestrina’s frontispiece remains strikingly similar to Antico’s (see Figure 5).

The overall lack of information is not the only reason that making an attribution to Antico himself as the arranger of Frottole intabulate is not possible: publishers were not commonly musicians. Van Orden states,

Though many [publishers] had or acquired some musical literacy, none were composers. Rather, they were inventors, printers, engravers, woodcutters, type founders, and booksellers, developers of a new technology.26

Though not frequently musicians themselves, there is no doubt that publishers possessed remarkable talent. Nevertheless, Antico’s musical literacy and abilities remain ambiguous at best. There is not enough biographical evidence to draw any conclusions regarding his abilities as a musician. On the other hand, given that he signed them, it is possible that two of his own frottole appear in Libro tertio.27 Kimberly Marshall summarizes,

Who actually arranged the pieces for keyboard is not known, but in the absence of precise attributions, it has been assumed that the publisher Antico was himself the transcriber.28

While Marshall questions the assumption that Antico arranged the frottole, Glen Wilson, going a step further, categorically denies such an attribution:

[Antico] was also clever in his choice of arranger (it was not Antico himself, as is often thought, any more than the printer/publisher Attaingnant arranged the first lute publications in France around the same time, or than Bennett Cerf wrote Ulysses). This anonymous master, doubtless one of the countless Italian organists whose works have been lost, produced a very early example of a fully-balanced polyphonic keyboard style. In 1517 Josquin still had four years to live, and voice crossings and gothicisms still frequently appear even in frottole. In Antico’s book there is a radical change: generally keeping the all-important melody and bass lines free and intact (except for modest amounts of added ornamentation), the arranger substituted supple, idiomatic inner voices for the spiky originals, which are often mere filler. Once the notational fog is dispersed, his work turns out to deserve a place of high honour in the annals of music history.29

Wilson’s ideas about the need for a skilled and creative arranger to set the idiomatic inner voices in Frottole intabulate are further supported in my analysis below. However, Wilson provides no concrete evidence for his categorical rejection of Antico as arranger. Ultimately though, the focus of who arranged the frottole is probably a misguided question in the first place—one raised by a modern perspective. If anything is to be learned from this discussion of authorship in early print culture, who arranged the frottole was inconsequential.

Instrumentation

Intended instrumentation of early keyboard music is frequently a source of mystery. The frontispiece of Frottole intabulate (Figure 3) shows the collection being performed on a stringed keyboard instrument. However, as is usually the case for early music, the pieces can certainly be performed on other keyboard instruments. In the preface to his edition of Frottole intabulate, Christopher Hogwood states,

Nothing in the style of the intabulations suggests a preference for one type of keyboard instrument over another, and the title-page illustration itself reinforces the interpretation of “organo” as meaning any keyboard instrument—a usage that was normal in Italian for several centuries.30

The shorter compass of sixteenth-century organs (starting on F) that is evidenced by existing organs and treatises not only suits most of the ranges of the frottole, it accounts for the transposition of several of them; numbers 5, 11, 12, 21, 22, and 23 are all transposed up a fourth or fifth.31 Modern recordings have generally favored the harpsichord over the organ, but Baldassari’s recording persuasively makes the musical case for using many different instruments. While they are playable on many instruments, there are characteristics of each keyboard that favor different styles. For instance, I find that “Me lasserà tu mo” (number 24), if played slowly, is enhanced by performance on the organ to accommodate the sustained tones. A testament to the instrumentation’s flexibility, Baldassari successfully uses the spinetta for the same piece. If approached creatively and openly, there are a great many possibilities for instrumentation, including the addition of text with a singer.

Intabulation technique: an analysis

An analysis of characteristics in Antico’s keyboard intabulations and the intabulation technique itself reveals that the simplicity of this collection has been overstated. Comparing Antico’s frottole with Marcantonio Cavazzoni’s Recerchari, motetti, canzoni . . . libro primo from 1523 reveals many similarities, both in terms of intabulation technique and performance difficulty. Though the textures are different due to the frottola’s less complex contrapuntal starting structure, the technical difficulty and aesthetic results are comparable.

Through pointing out shared characteristics of Cavazzoni’s “Plus ne regres” and Antico’s “Dolce ire dolci sdegni” (number 18) and “Che farala che dirala” (number 21), Figures 8 and 9 demonstrate similarities between the Antico and Cavazzoni intabulations. In Figure 8, both examples have surface-level ornamentation in the cantus part (circled in yellow). This ornamentation is generally stepwise with few leaps, almost always in the opposite direction than the way the line was previously moving. Both examples also have non-cantus ornamentation and elements of moving counterpoint (circled in blue). While moving inner voices might seem like a given, the reception of the Antico pieces as somehow simpler or completely homophonic is not demonstrated in these excerpts. From a technical perspective, both examples include challenging left-hand position changes (circled in green). While these hand position changes hardly constitute “difficult,” they are markedly active and noticeably similar.

A comparison of different excerpts reveals another similarity. Both Antico’s “Che farala che dirala” (number 21) and Cavazzoni’s “Plus ne regres” demonstrate a consistent use of parallel thirds in one hand (Figure 9, circled in red). In addition to considering the thirds as a musical element, they also present a technical challenge of comparable difficulty.

One significant difference not evidenced by these examples is that these musical elements are almost always present in the Cavazzoni and not always in the Antico (entire Antico pieces not presented here lack these elements). Figure 9, for instance, involved using a different Antico intabulation than Figure 8, while the same Cavazzoni piece could be retained. Antico’s pieces generally mix fewer elements than Cavazzoni’s. While it is possible to attribute this difference to less artistic merit of the Antico, these differences are better explained by the type of pieces they are arranging for keyboard in the first place. The motet is a longer, more complex, and freer form than the frottola. The simplicity of some of Antico’s intabulations is symptomatic of the straightforwardness of the frottola genre as well as specific elements of single pieces. Nevertheless, in isolated examples like those provided in Figures 8 and 9, it is difficult to distinguish between the two genres.

Since there is an extant copy of almost all the original vocal models for the arrangements in Frottole intabulate, it is possible to place the intabulations side-by-side with the vocal originals to illustrate the degree of difference between the two. Using a prototype comparative graphing system, I demonstrate that the intabulations of the original vocal models are less exact than has often been assumed. This approach removes the complexities of musical notation allowing for measure-by-measure comparison between the vocal original and the intabulation. The system is temporally oriented, meaning that each column represents one voice for one measure. Measure numbers are indicated along the x-axis, and the voices from the vocal model as they relate to the intabulation are along the y-axis. Thus, there is one “cell” for each voice per measure. The shading within these “cells” represents differences between the vocal model and the intabulation. There are three degrees of shading: (1) no shading if the voice in the intabulation is identical to the vocal original; (2) light grey if a voice is embellished in an easy-to-categorize manner; and (3) dark grey if the voice is altered in a hard-to-categorize manner or does not resemble the original model. This macro level analysis leaves many details undescribed, and because of this, there is a significant degree of subjectivity. If the analysis system was refined to be more precise, this subjectivity would all but disappear, but the distillation would also necessarily be more complex.

My goal is not to design a complex analysis system, but rather to uncover general characteristics about the Antico intabulations, I have opted to keep the system simpler, sacrificing specificity that would reduce subjectivity. Since there is currently no systematic way to do an analysis of intabulation technique, a refinement of this graphing system could be useful for analyzing intabulation technique across the repertoire. However, in its current state, it gleans only the most basic information about differences between vocal originals and their intabulations.

This system is put into practice to analyze the differences between “Amor Quando fioriva mia speme,” number 1 in Frottole intabulate, with the vocal model from Antico’s second book of frottole (Figure 10).32 The comparative graphic model of “Amor Quando fioriva mia speme” reveals that it is far from a simple note-for-note intabulation of the vocal original. It seems to indicate the opposite: Antico’s setting is as complex and irregular as it is categorical. By calculating the average number of “cells” that contain alterations from the vocal original, this comparative graphic model reveals that slightly over 58% of the piece’s measures include at least one alteration from the vocal original. Because of the system’s need to define temporal units (here, one measure), this percentage indicates the number of measures that contain alterations. In other words, the 58% does not indicate the exact percentage difference between the original and the intabulation because the measure unit does not account for every note. A percentage difference that accounted for every note would result in a significantly lower number.

Out of all of the “cells” that include a difference, only 34% contain easily categorizable alterations. This seems like a very low number, but it is important to note than many of the embellishments that modern ears associate with “easy to categorize” were less common in the renaissance. Some ornamentation and embellishment in the Antico intabulations may be more categorical than this system assumed. Thus, 58% of the overall number of cells is a more useful and accurate number.

As Glen Wilson identifies in his liner notes, the inner voices of the intabulations in Antico’s collection are significantly altered: “the arranger substituted supple, idiomatic inner voices for the spiky originals.”33 Figure 10 supports Wilson’s claim because around 75% of the interior “cells” in the comparative graphic model contain alterations, and well more than half of these are substantial.

An analysis of only the outer voices, the cantus and bassus, indicates that a much lower percentage of “cells” contain alterations. 42% of the two outer voices include changes, but this time, 63% of that 42% are easily categorizable differences. This indicates two things: (1) keeping the outer voices recognizable, either by having a lower total amount of alterations or using far fewer uncategorizable alterations, is a priority, probably to retain the essential characteristics of the original song; and (2) large amounts of voice crossing in the vocal original make it impossible to set the inner voices with a high degree of accuracy while the outer voices are easier to retain. Another noticeable but predictable element is that the bassus contains significantly fewer alterations than does the more adventurous cantus. This aligns with what was likely the performance practice of embellishing the melody.

Another piece in the collection, “Per Mio Ben te Vederei” (number 2), further demonstrates the high rate at which the cantus is altered while the bassus remains virtually unchanged (Figure 11). Around 71% of the measures in “Per Mio te Vederei” contain alterations in the cantus voice, and 63% of that 71% are not easily categorizable. Meanwhile, only around 10% of the measures contain alterations in the bassus voice.

Based on these prototype analyses, it seems safe to conclude that an experienced musician, beyond someone who has basic musical literacy, would be required to arrange a polyphonic song as skillfully as has been done in Antico’s collection. Significantly more conclusive data could be drawn if this kind of note-for-note comparative analysis was done for the entire collection of intabulations as well as if the system was further refined. However, even in its present state, these analyses demonstrate that Antico’s collection is well situated and comparable in difficulty with other contemporaneous keyboard music.

Editions, recordings, and conclusions

Given the obscurity of this collection, it is surprising that there are several modern editions of Frottole intabulate. The most extensive preface is in Christopher Hogwood’s edition published by Zen-On Music in 1984.34 Although still worthwhile, its editorial practices are less consistent and some of the ideas in its preface are dated. Another modern edition by Peter Sterzinger published by Doblinger is widely available.35 I highly recommend the most recent edition, which is edited by Maria Luisa Baldassari and published by Ut Orpheus.36

There are also several complete recordings of the collection. Fabio Antonio Falcone performs the entire keyboard oeuvre of Marcantonio Cavazzoni and Andrea Antico in The Renaissance Keyboard produced by Brilliant Classics in 2015.37 He uses the organ for the Cavazzoni and the harpsichord for the Antico. As previously mentioned, Glen Wilson has also recorded the complete collection. To affect, his recording, Animoso mio desire: 16th-Century Italian Keyboard Favourites, produced by Naxos in 2015,38 is mixed with dances from manuscript sources. All his performances are on harpsichord or spinetta. My own complete recording is the only to use exclusively the organ. Experimental in nature, my unproduced recording was made in conjunction with a related research project on early secular keyboard music across Europe.39 I most highly recommend Maria Luisa Baldassari’s complete recording, Andrea Antico: Frottole Intabulate, Libro Primo, 1517, produced by Tactus in 2017.40 Her recording embraces, to great success, the instrumentation possibilities of the collection. Her performance includes the spinetta, clavichord, clavisimbalum, harpsichord, and organ. Her choices are effective, but there is no reason performers should feel obliged to adhere to her instrumentation decisions. While I generally prefer Baldassari’s interpretations, much can be learned from the varied tempi and stylistic choices of many of the other performances.

There are innumerable recordings that only include several pieces. In many ways these recordings are more successful since listening to twenty-six intabulations in the same style is not particularly captivating. While I do not intend to provide a complete list, two notable recordings of this type are Kimberly Marshall’s Sienese Splendor, produced by Loft in 200241 and, though it only includes one of Antico’s frottole, Francesco Cera’s The Organ at European Courts produced by Brilliant Classics in 2016.42

Antico’s frottole, now more than five hundred years old, still sound fresh if given the energy of a thoughtful performer. This short essay revisits two areas, cultural context and musical analysis, to inspire new interpretations of this collection. Though frequently acknowledged, Antico’s collection has been largely ignored for its contents. The only factor that seems to attract attention to Frottole intabulate is that it was innovative, but this was relatively unimportant during its time. If given the chance, the music transcends simple innovation. The song intabulations in Antico’s collection can be charming, fun, serious, emotional, and intensely beautiful. The short duration of almost all its pieces (some can be less than one minute!) make them easily programmable in a variety of modern contexts. With a little creativity and musical imagination, these pieces can come to life.

The research for this project was completed in part thanks to funding from The Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies.

Notes

1. The intended instrumentation of the Faenza collection has been debated. See Timothy J. McGee, “Once again, the Faenza Codex: A reply to Roland Eberlein,” Early Music 20:3 (August 1992): 466–68; Roland Eberlein, “The Faenza Codex: music for organ or for lute duet?” Early Music 20:3 (August 1992): 460–66; and Timothy J. McGee, “Instruments and the Faenza Codex,” Early Music 14:4 (November 1986): 480–90.

2. Jon Laukvik, Historical Performance Practice in Organ Playing: An Introduction based on selected Organ Works of the 16th–18th Centuries, trans. Brigitte and Michael Harris (Stuttgart: Carus, 1996), 113.

3. Willi Apel, The History of Keyboard Music to 1700, trans. Hans Tischler (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1997), 109.

4. Catherine Weeks Chapman, “Andrea Antico,” microfilm (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1964).

5. Ibid., 1.

6. Grove Music Online, s.v. “Frottola,” accessed January 14, 2019, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/10313.

7. Baldassari, v.

8. Antico’s second book of frottole is of questionable origins. What seems like an existing copy is missing its title page in the Biblioteca Marucelliana in Florence. This particular copy is probably a reprint from around 1520.

9. Giuseppe Radole cited a manuscript in the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze as containing the bass part to number 3. However, Baldassari has determined that this was initially incorrect and, despite being an error, has been repeated by editors who had not seen the Florence manuscript. Maria Luisa Baldassari, ed., Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo, Andrea Antico, 1517 (Bologna: Ut Orpheus Edizioni, 2016), v. In addition to existing in Petrucci’s eleventh book of frottole, Christopher Hogwood has suggested that number 19 may have been in Antico’s lost fifth book of frottole. This would make number 19 the only intabulation that was published before its vocal model, and there is no reason beyond wild speculation to assume this would be the case. Christopher Hogwood, ed., Frottole da sonare organi, Libro primo, Andrea Antico, 1517 (Tokyo: Zen-On Music, 1984), 6.

10. Glen Wilson, Animoso mio desire: 16th-Century Italian Keyboard Favourites, liner notes, Naxos 8.572983, 2015, 5.

11. Ibid., 6.

12. Ibid., 131.

13. Stanley Boorman, “Thoughts on the Popularity of Printed Music in 16th-Century Italy,” Fontes artis musicae 48:2 (April 2001): 130.

14. Kate Van Orden, “Music Books and Their Authors,” in Music, Authorship, and the Book in the First Century of Print (Berkley, California: University of California Press, 2013), 36.

15. Ibid.

16. Boorman, 132–134.

17. Anthony M. Cummings, “The ‘Great Italian Songbook’ of the early cinquecento: Arrangements of frottole for voice and lute,” Studi musicali 2:1 (2011): 25-48.

18. Grove Music Online, s.v. “Frottola.”

19. Van Orden, 30.

20. Ibid., 31.

21. Ibid., 34.

22. William F. Prizer, “Local Repertories and the Printed Book: Antico’s Third Book of Frottole (1513),” in Music in Renaissance Cities and Courts: Studies in Honor of Lewis Lockwood, 347–372, eds. Jessie Ann Owens and Anthony M. Cummings (Michigan: Harmonie Park Press, 1997), 352.

23. Van Orden, 42.

24. Ibid., 44.

25. Ibid., 58–59.

26. Ibid., 38–39. She says that Gardano (Gardane) is an exception since he was a professional musician first.

27. Grove Music Online, s.v. “Andrea Antico,” accessed January 14, 2019, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/01015. Some have posited that Andrea Antico is the same person as the composer of frottole featured in Petrucci’s publications called A. de Antiquis. Martin Picker, however, posits that Antico never signed his name this way and that it is unlikely that they are the same person.

28. Kimberly Marshall, ed., Historical Organ Techniques and Repertoire: An Historical Survey of Organ Performance Practices and Repertoire, vol. 9, Renaissance 1500–1550 (Colfax, South Carolina: Wayne Leupold Editions, 2004), 9.

29. Wilson, 3.

30. Hogwood, 8.

31. Ibid.

32. These analyses were completed using modern editions except the first book of frottole, which is readily accessible online. Baldassari.; Francesco Luisi, ed. Il Secondo Libro Di Frottole. Andrea Antico (Rome: Pro Musica Studium, 1976).

33. Wilson, 3.

34. Hogwood. See complete citation above.

35. Peter Sterzinger, ed., Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo, Andrea Antico, 1517 (Vienna: Doblinger, 1984).

36. Baldassari. See complete citation above.

37. Fabio Antonio Falcone, Andrea Antico & Marc Antonio Cavazzoni: Complete Keyboard Music, Brilliant Classics BC95007, 2015, compact disc.

38. Glen Wilson, Animoso mio desire: 16th-Century Italian Keyboard Favourites, Naxos 8.572983, 2015, compact disc.

39. Alexander Meszler, “Andrea Antico: Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro Primo (1517) (Complete Collection),” accessed January 14, 2019, https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLc8LXDy2nGngm1hmp2tNfcS2jYswvHbcT.

40. Maria Luisa Baldassari, Andrea Antico: Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Book 1, Tactus TC480101, 2015, compact disc.

41. Kimberly Marshall, Sienese Splendor, Loft LRCD-1046, 2002, compact disc.

42. Francesco Cera, The Organ at European Courts, Brilliant Classics BC95240, 2016, compact disc.

Twelfth International Organ and Early Music Festival, Oaxaca, Mexico, February 14–21, 2018

Cicely Winter

Cicely Winter grew up in Michigan and studied piano and harpsichord at Smith College and the University of Michigan, where she obtained a Bachelor of Arts in music and a Master of Arts in European history; she later studied piano performance at Indiana University. Her principal teachers were Fritz Steinegger and Leonard Hokanson (piano), and Lory Wallfisch and Elisabeth Wright (harpsichord). Winter has lived in Oaxaca since 1972 and has presented numerous piano, harpsichord, and organ concerts over the years, many of which have benefitted community service projects in Oaxaca. In 2000, with the support of philanthropist Alfredo Harp Helú, she and organist Edward Pepe co-founded the Instituto de Órganos Históricos de Oaxaca A.C. (IOHIO), for which she serves as its director. Her professional performances have increasingly focused on historic organs, presenting a broad repertoire of classical, sacred, and folkloric music.

Festival participants

Each IOHIO (Instituto de Órganos Históricos de Oaxaca, A.C.) Festival builds on the success of its predecessors, making this one the best ever. It was also the most extensive, since the restored organ in Jalatlaco could be included in the concert programming.

• More than 120 people from eight countries and seven Mexican states participated in all or part of the scheduled activities. Of these, nearly a third were returnees.

• Eighteen Oaxacan, Mexican, and foreign musicians collaborated in nine concerts on nine restored organs over the course of six days.

• Six young Mexican organ students and one organbuilder received scholarships to participate in the festival, and our own five organists and students were delighted to be their guides.

• The churches were always full for the concerts and hundreds of local people were able to hear the Oaxacan organs in all their glory.

February 14 (Wednesday)

Around twenty organists and organ students met in the San Matías Jalatlaco church for the first event of the festival, a talk by Andres Cea Galán, president of the “Instituto del Órgano Hispano,” entitled “Spanish music: Organs and organists during the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries.”

That evening Cicely Winter and Valentín Hernandez presented the first concert of the Festival of Oaxacan Folk Music with music transcribed for organ and percussion in the Basilica de la Soledad. This program always serves as an introduction for the events to come, and people sang along exuberantly to some of the best-known Oaxacan regional songs. Videos of this and all succeeding concerts were projected onto a screen in the church, so that the audience could have a better view of the artists and see the action in the choir loft, particularly how pulling the stops changed the organ’s sound. The magnificent decorated case of this monumental 8′ organ bears the earliest date of any Oaxacan organ: 1686. It was restored in 2000 and is played regularly at Mass.

February 15 (Thursday)

Registration took place throughout the day in the Oaxaca Philatelic Museum (MUFI), giving us a chance to finally meet the people we had been corresponding with and greet old friends from past festivals. The inauguration of the festival that afternoon began with a presentation by Cicely Winter, director of the IOHIO, about the activities and goals of the festival. Joel Vásquez, project coordinator of the IOHIO, spoke about our teaching project and our success in having organs played at Mass every Sunday in five Oaxacan churches by our students or by him. In addition, it is most gratifying that people increasingly request that their private Masses for baptisms, Quinceañeras, weddings, etc., be accompanied by the pipe organs rather than an electronic organ or keyboard. We were honored by the presence of Ignacio Toscano, Secretary of Culture for the State of Oaxaca, and Omar Vásquez, director of the Oaxaca Regional Center of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH), who commented on the shared goals of their respective institutions and the IOHIO and offered their congratulations for the festival. Winter also expressed special appreciation to Alfredo Harp Helú for his indispensable support of seven organ restoration projects in Oaxaca over the past twenty years, including most recently the organs in Tlacolula and Jalatlaco.

After the welcoming reception, we walked a few blocks to the church of San Matías Jalatlaco. The second concert of the festival was presented by the Dutch organist Jan Willem Jansen. His program had a theme, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” and included father and son pairs: Alessandro and Domenico Scarlatti, and Johann Sebastian Bach and three of his sons. The last piece “Ah, vous dirai-je Maman,” familiar to everyone as the theme of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” elicited a chuckle of recognition from the audience. The mainly eighteenth-century repertoire was perfect for this organ built in 1866.

This year marked the festival debut of the Jalatlaco organ as a playable instrument. One of our regular attendees commented on the evolution of this organ during his last three visits: first as an unrestored instrument (2002–2014) when we discussed our hopes for its restoration, then as a restoration in process by the Gerhard Grenzing firm (2016), and finally as a concert instrument (2018). This elegantly proportioned 8′ organ was built by the Oaxacan organbuilder Pedro Nibra and has a 56-note chromatic keyboard and “almost equal” temperament, unlike the other organs heard during the festival with their 45-note keyboards, short octaves, and meantone tuning. It was painted blue around 1880 when Nibra oversaw various modifications to the organ.

Afterwards in the atrium of the church under a clear night sky, we enjoyed bread and chocolate offered by Chocolate Mayordomo and tamales de frijol prepared by Jalatlaco’s favorite tamalera.

February 16 (Friday)

The day started with a bilingual presentation by Cicely Winter in the Francisco de Burgoa Library within the Santo Domingo Cultural Center titled “The Historic Organs of Oaxaca and the Work of the IOHIO.” Although the title of the talk has not changed over the years, the content is updated every year to publicize the advances of our various projects: protection, conservation, restoration, concerts, archive and manuscript discoveries, recordings, teaching, and publications. This was followed by a tour of the splendid church of Santo Domingo de Guzmán, seat of the Dominican order in the Valley of Oaxaca since the sixteenth century, and the Museum of the Cultures of Oaxaca in the former convent, led by guides Pablo Gonzalez and Gabriel Sanchez.

Our next stop has always been San Andrés Huayapam, located on the outskirts of Oaxaca City. This year the plan was complicated by the closing of the church after the tragic earthquakes in September 2017. Luckily it was not severely affected, but religious activities have been celebrated under a temporary roof beside the church until the roof can be repaired. We did not know if the INAH would grant us access, but fortunately the provisional permission came through just days before the visit.

We were received with a customary drink of tejate, traditionally served in colorful painted half gourds. A local specialty of pre-Hispanic origin, this delicious foamy drink is made with ground cacao, corn meal, the seed of the mamey fruit, and the flower of a tree (rosita de cacao), which grows only in or near Huayapam.

This charming church has one of the most beautiful Baroque altarpieces in Oaxaca, whose intricately carved golden columns are referred to as “gilded lace.” Also famous is the collection of antique ex-votos, petitions usually to the Virgin Mary that are painted on small tin plaques. The 4′ organ (1772), large for a table organ, is nearly intact with its original keyboard and pipes. It is simply carved, a style we refer to as a “country organ,” and was probably originally unpainted, then painted bright red, still seen backing the keyboard, and eventually repainted sober maroon in the twentieth century. In Huayapam we savored the first of many local meals, this time mole amarillo, in the atrium of the church.

During free time between the Huayapam comida and the evening concert, some went to see the famous tree in Santa María del Tule, while visiting organists and students had a chance to play a meantone tracker organ with divided registers in the Oaxaca Cathedral.

That night we proceeded to the Oaxaca Cathedral for the third concert of the festival, offered by the eminent Spanish organist and musicologist Andrés Cea Galán with the participation of the Mexican baritone Felipe Espinosa. This is our only concert with a modest admission fee, and the proceeds helped cover the expenses of the Mexican organ students. This monumental instrument was built in 1712 and reconstructed in 1996, having suffered alterations over the centuries that had completely erased its eighteenth-century character. It retains its opulently carved and gilded upper case, although its lower case has been rebuilt several times. Unfortunately no evidence remains of its original appearance, but we know from the contract for its construction that it was once one of the most lavishly decorated organs in Oaxaca.

February 17 (Saturday)

This year more than a hundred people participated in the all-day excursion to the Mixteca Alta. We crossed a river to arrive at the little stone church in Santa María Tinú, and it seemed as though the entire adult population of the town, now reduced to 152 people, was there to greet us. The authorities welcomed us with great ceremony at the entrance of the church, their canes (bastones) of office in hand. During our reconnaissance visit some weeks before, we had suggested that the local women display their handicrafts, which in the Mixteca region means palm weaving (hats, baskets, sleeping mats). But palm has given way to colorful raffia, and what a sight greeted us! Multi-colored woven baskets hung from the trees and lined up atop the walls of the atrium, while the stone cross in the atrium was decorated cucharillas, the white base of maguey leaves. Nearly everyone bought something from the women as we sipped sweet atole.

The Tinú church houses a disproportionately large organ. The date of construction, 1828, and the name of the organbuilder are written inside the case—such luck! Perhaps the organ was originally commissioned for a larger church, then sold to Tinú, or the community simply wanted something grand. The organ, which has not been fully playable in fifty years, is completely intact and still grunts and wheezes when one of the bellows located in the loft above is pumped. Unfortunately because of the reduced population and remote location of the town, a restoration would not be practical.

Our next stop was in the lovely Baroque church of San Andrés Sinaxtla. The case of the organ built in 1791 combines both Baroque and neo-Classic case design elements. The construction is idiosyncratic, since it is the only instrument of this size with direct suspended mechanical action, i.e., no rollerboard. Of particular interest is the inscription across the façade including the name of the donor, the date of construction, and the cost of the organ, but, as is typical, omitting the name of the organbuilder.

Just down the road from Sinaxtla sitting on a promontory overlooking the Yanhuitlán Valley is the church of San Mateo Yucucuí (population 142). This organ built in 1743 is the least altered of all the 8′ eighteenth-century Oaxacan organs and when last played (1930s?), it is said that its sound could be heard for miles around. The organ was never painted or gilded like its counterpart in Teotongo, probably not by choice during that opulent Baroque era, but rather because of the cost. It is richly carved and largely intact, and it is tempting to imagine the pipes and mechanism of the Yucucuí organ inserted into the stunning Teotongo case to make one amazing organ! The floor of the high balcony on which the organ sits is much deteriorated and access to the façade is dangerous, so our efforts to clean and document the organ have been restricted.

The fourth concert of the festival took place in Santo Domingo Yanhuitlán, the sixteenth-century Dominican stronghold in the Mixteca Alta region. With its soaring stone vault supported by lateral flying buttresses and its magnificent altarpieces, it is one of Mexico’s most majestic complexes of Baroque art. Organist David Soteno and clarinetist Lorenzo Meza, both from near Mexico City, thrilled the audience with a program that reverberated throughout the immense nave. This organ, located on a side balcony, was built around 1690–1700 and restored/rebuilt in France in 1998. Its case is one of the most elaborately decorated of all Mexican organs, with Dominican symbols and fantastic swirling imagery, similar to the Soledad organ case, and fierce faces on the façade pipes. Because of earthquake damage to the main altarpiece (retablo), we could sit only in the front half of the church.

The day culminated with the traditional pre-concert festivities in San Andrés Zautla. We were received in the atrium of the church by the local band with fireworks, plenty of mezcal, necklaces of bugambilia, dancing, and finally a delicious meal of estofado de pollo (chicken stewed in almond sauce) served in the municipal library across the street from the church. After dinner, we crowded into the church where many people from the community were already waiting for the fifth concert of the festival. This was the first of three collective concerts, whose goal has been to offer the opportunity to play the organs to as many organists and students as possible. Roberto Ramirez, André Lash, Andres Cea, Willem Jansen, Laura Carrasco, and Christoph Hammer presented wonderfully contrasting pieces to top off such a busy and exciting day. We were honored to have with us José Miguel Quintana from Mexico City whose association “Órganos Históricos de México” financed the restoration of the Zautla organ in 1996.

The case of this 4′ table organ (1726) is exquisitely carved, gilded, and painted with images of saints and angels. A blower was installed in 2017 by Oaxacan organbuilder David Antonio Reyes, and the organ was moved to the other side of the loft away from the stairway. No longer do we have to worry about those startling moments of silence when the bellows pumpers were distracted and lost their rhythm. The registers of table organs are controlled by tabs protruding from the sides of the case, and thanks to the screen projection the audience could appreciate the teamwork involved. Joel Vasquez and David Reyes had to make a detachable music rack to prevent the pages resting against the façade pipes from being blown away. Clearly the organists of past centuries played by memory or improvised, and the position of the keyboard indicates that they stood to play. Thanks to the ongoing support of the Federal Road and Bridge Commission (CAPUFE), a special entrance was opened from the superhighway, allowing us direct access to and from Zautla.

February 18 (Sunday)

In San Jerónimo, Tlacochahuaya, Jan Willem Jansen presented the sixth concert of the festival, “Four European Countries,” featuring repertoire from Italy, Holland, Germany, and Spain. In February 2017 the organ was cleaned, tuned, and voiced by the Grenzing firm and was in perfect condition until the September 7 earthquake jiggled the pipes. Luckily organbuilder Hal Gober was on hand to make the necessary adjustments. The church is one of the loveliest in Mexico with its exuberant interior floral decoration and splendid Baroque altarpieces, all restored in the past twenty years. The 4′ organ was built sometime before 1735 and restored in 1991. The case and pipes are decorated with floral motifs, and the organ harmonizes beautifully, both visually and acoustically, with the architecture of the church.

After a buffet lunch of Oaxacan specialties in the “Donají” Restaurant in Mitla, we ventured on to the small Baroque church with painted ceramic bowls embedded into the bell towers in San Miguel del Valle at the foothills of the Sierra Juarez. The 4′ table organ is unfortunately in poor condition, more typical than not of the unrestored instruments and not such a bad thing for our participants to see. The case is painted blue with neo-Classic decoration; it has only four registers and no accessory (toy) stops. It seems to date from around 1800, making it the last of the Oaxacan table organs. An added attraction of this Zapotec-speaking community is the elaborately embroidered aprons, and once again we were able to support women’s handicrafts with our purchases.

Our friends from “Chocolate Mayordomo” received us with bread and chocolate upon arrival in Santa María de la Asunción Tlacolula. We admired the little 2′ organ, which appears to date from around 1700 as indicated by the style of its remaining painted decoration. Originally located in the choir loft of the Baroque side chapel, it is the smallest Oaxacan organ and has only two registers. Those who needed a break from churches could roam around one of the most famous indigenous markets in Oaxaca and admire the women’s costumes and the stalls piled high with local produce.

The seventh concert of the festival was presented by Andrés Cea Galán featuring sixteenth- and seventeenth-century repertoire that highlighted the beautiful sound of this organ. It was built in Oaxaca in 1792 by Manuel Neri y Carmona, restored by the Gerhard Grenzing firm, and inaugurated during the Tenth IOHIO Festival in 2014. The visual impression of the Baroque-style case, painted red and black and opulently gilded, is striking, and it has the most elaborately painted façade pipes in all of Mexico. Local people began to arrive for Mass following the concert, so by the end the church was packed. It is likely that many were hearing and viewing the organ (on the screen) for the first time, and they must have been amazed by the rich, full sound of the organ.

February 19 (Monday)

Our two-day excursion to the Mixteca Alta began with a stop in Santa María de la Natividad Tamazulapan where we heard the eighth concert of the festival. This second collective event was presented by organ students Greta Baltazar, Alejandro Lemus, Mario Moya, and Zeltzin Perez, who study in university programs in Mexico City, along with Joel Vasquez from the IOHIO. Arnoldo Perez, a young organbuilder apprentice, pumped the bellows. This church had been closed after the second September earthquake, which particularly affected the Mixteca region. Ongoing negotiations with the priest and the INAH allowed us access to the first half of the church and the organ balcony where fortunately no plaster had fallen from the ceiling.

The 2′ table organ dating from approximately 1720–1730 is situated in a high balcony overlooking the soaring nave of the church and is exquisitely decorated with images of saints and angel musicians. The case and bellows are original, but the pipes, keyboard, and interior components were reconstructed in 1996. The church has one of the most magnificent Baroque altarpieces in all Mexico and includes paintings by the renowned sixteenth-century Spanish painter Andrés de Concha. The second organ in this church, an imposing 8′ instrument, faces the small organ from the left balcony. Built in Oaxaca in 1840 by a member of the renowned Martinez Bonavides organbuilding family, it was once a magnificent instrument and is largely intact except for the loss of nearly all its pipes; only the five largest remain in the façade.

We then proceeded to the neighboring church of Santiago Teotongo, rich enough in eighteenth-century Baroque art to stand as a museum in its own right. The magnificent case of this 8′ organ, though empty, is integrated stylistically with the opulent altarpieces, and statues of angels once stood atop its towers, singing through their O-shaped mouths via pipes passing through their bodies. The organ was stripped of its pipes, keyboard, and more during the Mexican Revolution, and its date is unknown, but the organ’s profile closely resembles that of San Mateo Yucucuí (1743). An added attraction was the eighteenth-century painted armoire in the sacristy, decorated with period figures engaged in their daily activities.

The tour continued with a visit to the sixteenth-century church of Santiago Tejupan, which could also stand as a museum of colonial religious art in this culturally rich area of the Mixteca Alta. The luxuriously painted organ case (1776) was the last Oaxacan organ with religious imagery. Portraits of the donor and his wife being blessed by his patron saint, Saint Nicholas, are depicted on one side and Santiago on horseback on the other, both unfortunately obscured by layers of grime. Another special feature is the information painted on two decorative medallions on the façade, which include the name of the donor, the cost of the organ, and the date of construction, although as in Sinaxtla, omitting the name of the organbuilder. Afterward we were treated to a talk about the Mixtec ball game (pelota mixteca).

After lunch in our favorite restaurant “Eunice,” we walked over to the Dominican architectural complex of San Pedro y San Pablo Teposcolula with its church dwarfed by the enormous sixteenth-century open chapel and atrium. The 8′ organ (ca. 1730–1740) has a similar profile to that of Yanhuitlán. The case was painted white with light green touches sometime after the original construction and, with its delicate carvings, had a graceful look. However, now we refer to it as the King Midas organ, because in 2010 a well-connected architect took the liberty of gilding at great cost all the decorative carvings and moldings, even though it had only been minimally gilded historically, and, in fact, the organ’s overall manufacture is not of the highest quality.

We drove up through the pine forest to Santa María Tlaxiaco. The imposing “fortress church” was the Dominican outpost for this strategic area of the high sierra in the sixteenth century. For the final ninth concert of the festival, Ricardo Ramírez, Laura Carrasco Curintzita, Andrés Cea Galán, Michael Barone, Jan Willem Jansen, and David Furniss offered an eclectic program to close the concert cycle. This monumental 8′ instrument, built around 1800 and restored in 2000, is decorated with typical neo-Classic design elements, painted white and richly gilded; it synchronizes with the altarpieces of the church, all in homogeneous neo-Classic style. We spent the night in the Hotel del Portal on the main plaza and had a chance to wander around the market.

February 20 (Tuesday)

Participants divided into two groups. Many chose to visit the late pre-Classic and Classic (400 BC–800 AD) Mixtec archeological site and the community museum of San Martín Huamelulpan with Marcus Winter of the INAH. Most of the organists and students opted to stay behind to play the Tlaxiaco organ and had great fun trying out their pieces and helping each other with the registers.

Both groups met up in Huamelulpan, then proceeded to the village of San Pedro Mártir Yucuxaco where we were once again formally received by the municipal authorities. The organ here (1740) is complete and in excellent condition, missing only its bellows. It is the least altered of the Oaxacan 4′ table organs, parallel to Yucucui for the 8′ stationary group, and closely resembles the organ in Zautla, although without the painted decoration. The carved pipeshades show two faces in profile, a unique decorative detail, and the keyboard is exquisite.

Our final church and organ visit was in Santa María Tiltepec, for some the crowning visual experience of the field trips. Located in the Dominican sphere of Yanhuitlan and built atop a pre-Hispanic temple, this sixteenth-century church has long been appreciated by art historians for its richly carved asymmetrical façade and stone interior arches. The unrestored 4′ organ, situated on a side balcony, is one of Oaxaca’s oldest (1703) and often elicits a gasp of astonishment when seen for the first time. Unfortunately nothing is known about its history to explain its idiosyncrasies of construction and decoration, and if it did not have the characteristic Oaxacan hips on the sides of the case, we might wonder if it were imported.

We proceeded to the Hacienda Santa Marta in San Sebastian Etla on the outskirts of Oaxaca City for our farewell dinner. A scrumptious buffet awaited us with plenty of mezcal, and a guitar duo serenaded us with numerous Oaxacan folk songs. Toasts and sentimental reminiscences created a special connection with old and new friends who had shared this unique Oaxaca organ adventure.

February 21 (Wednesday)

Around thirty people made the trek up to the archeological site of Monte Albán to enjoy an optional guided three-hour tour with Marcus Winter from the Oaxaca Regional Office of the INAH.

Exploring the unknown of BWV 565, Part 6

Michael Gailit

Michael Gailit graduated from the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna with both performance and pedagogy diplomas in organ as well as in piano. Teaching piano at this institute since 1980, he has also conducted the organ studio at the Musik und Kunst Universität in Vienna since 1995. As church organist he served at Saint Augustine’s Church, 1979–2008; in 2011 he was appointed organist at the Jesuit Church (Old University Church).

Both in his performance and teaching repertoire, Gailit includes all style areas on the basis of their individual performance practices. He has toured with solo recitals on both instruments in Europe as well as in North America and appeared with leading orchestras and renowned conductors. Recordings, masterclasses, invitations to juries, musicological publications, editing sheet music, compositions, arrangements, supporting the piano-organ duo repertoire, commissioned works, first performances, and finally occasional trips into the theatre and silent movie repertoire should be noted.

Particular attention was received in 1989 for the first performance of the complete piano and organ works of Julius Reubke (1834–1858), the performance of the complete organ works of Franz Schmidt (1874–1939) the same year, as well as in September 2005 a series of six recitals with the trio sonatas of Johann Sebastian Bach, the organ sonatas of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, and the organ symphonies of Louis Vierne. Currently Gailit is working on a book, The Enigma BWV 565, a study elucidating new answers and new questions.

Johann Sebastian Bach

Editor’s note: Part 1 of this series appeared in the June 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 18–19; part 2 appeared in the July 2021 issue, pages 12–14; part 3 appeared in the December 2021 issue, pages 16–18; part 4 appeared in the August 2022 issue, pages 15–17; part 5 appeared in the September 2022 issue, pages 19–21.

Before we introduce the most promising candidate for the vacant position of the composer of BWV 565, the author would like to mention two of his recent discoveries.1 We have observed that the ending of the toccata section contains the second phrase of the opening in the pedal.2 It was a surprise to find that the section also contains the first phrase! Pitch notation reveals that, from the second half of measure 27 onward, the nine notes of the top voice are the nucleus, just in a different order and with larger note values (Example 79).

The second discovery concerns the upper voice of measure 98. After a chain of eighth notes with ties, not only is the E-flat repeated, but also its accidental (Example 80). Until now, this has always been interpreted as a missing tie, and editors customarily replaced the two eighth notes by a quarter note. However, it does not seem conclusive that the copyist both forgot the tie and, against custom, repeated the accidental. Changing the first E-flat to E-natural results in a complete chromatic fourth moving parallel with the lower voice (Example 81). In addition, the natural of the preceding note F in the manuscript shows how easily a clumsy natural can be misread as a flat.

Leaving aside these two recent motivic discoveries and returning now to our quest for the “Unknown of BWV 565,” let us consider a statement by Rolf Dietrich Claus:

We owe the only reference to Johann Sebastian Bach as the author of BWV 565 to [the manuscript copy of] Johannes Ringk. The only other evidence for Bach’s authorship is the “authentication by tradition” and the argument: “who else could it have been?” Since the latter two do not contribute to a factual assessment of the question of authenticity, they remain undiscussed here.3

This statement of Rolf Dietrich Claus has been the author’s primary motivation to investigate the case of BWV 565. There are only two possibilities regarding the creator. Either we already know or we do not know the composer. The latter is hardly imaginable although there are composers who sadly died early and left only one major piece to posterity. Looking for a known composer, a candidate takes the stage, whose keyboard works show an inventive approach in general and convincing similarities to BWV 565 in particular.

The candidate

The Unknown now becomes a person. Our suspect surpassed his father in fame beyond his lifetime as a keyboard virtuoso, a renowned teacher, a prolific composer, an avid publisher of his own works, and an esteemed chamber musician to Frederick II. He had a tremendous influence on Joseph Haydn (1732–1809), who was to become the father of the Viennese Classical style. We are talking of course about Johann Sebastian Bach’s second oldest son, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (1714–1788). Hardly any information has survived about the relationship between C. P. E. Bach and Haydn other than this telling story:

In a happy hour, in which his cash register allowed him a small extra expenditure, he visited one of those booksellers whose treasures he had so often only been able to admire in the display windows. We will not deny ourselves the assumption that he remembered his former neighbor Binz and directed his steps to his vault at the Stephan Cemetery. At his request to present him with the best known piano works of the moment, the bookseller took out a booklet of sonatas by C. Ph. Emanuel Bach and praised them so forcefully that Haydn paid without further ado, packed up the booklet, and hurried towards his attic. “I could not get away from my piano until I had played through the sonatas.”4

At the internet website cpebach.org, the Packard Humanities Institute of Los Altos, California, recently published all of the compositions of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach in an excellent urtext edition accompanied by a critical report. Since we know the year of completion or publication of all of the more than 150 keyboard sonatas, we are able to observe and follow the compositional development of the composer.

Placed among Johann Sebastian’s keyboard works, the visual impression of BWV 565 alone is jarringly different. The opposite is true with Carl Philipp’s late keyboard works. Among them, BWV 565 gives the impression of ready-made merchandise rather than provocative haute couture. The esteemed reader is invited to browse through the nearly 800 pages of keyboard solo sonatas. It is a truly unique experience. For this article, only the most relevant examples were selected. Apart from textures similar to those in BWV 565, the guideline for the search was to look for opening themes fulfilling these three conditions:

• beginning on the dominant note;

• descent of five scale steps to the tonic note;

• ending on the mordent motive with the leading tone as the lower neighbor note.

Selected examples

Carl Philipp’s first keyboard sonata provides an appropriate example to get started. Indebted to the Baroque style with its imitation work in general and to his father’s Invention in F Major, BWV 779, this piece contains quite a few motives also present in BWV 565. The descending tetrachord and its circolo mezzo5 variant is reworked with genuine keyboard figurations. In measures 10 and 11, the sequences twice cite all nine notes of the nucleus of BWV 565, which also provides the substance for the opening of the second movement (Example 82).

On the other hand, in Johann Sebastian’s keyboard music, organ or harpsichord, a theme of five descending scale steps plus a closing mordent motive simply does not exist at all, with the single exception of a theme in the Pastorale in F Major, BWV 590 (Example 83).

The step-wise descending fifth can be encountered in Carl Philipp’s keyboard music numerous times and in many variations, just as we also encounter many unison passages, figurations with arpeggio chords, and sections with alternately played hands. From the very first one, all sonata movements bear tempo designations, and some movements several. The Sonata in B Minor, Wq 49/6,6 third movement, reworks a theme very similar to the BWV 565 theme. An ornamented version of its first movement resembles the beginning of BWV 565 as well, as does the first movement of the Sonata in C Minor, Wq 50/6, of 1759. The Fantasia in D Minor, Wq 114/7, shares four beats with the identical figuration in BWV 565 (Example 84).

The Sonata in A Minor, Wq 57/2, first movement, places the main idea in three different octave positions. The third movement, “Allegro di molto,” varies the motive in three descending phrases (Example 85).

Carl Philipp’s Rondo in C Major, Wq 56/1, fills sections with triad figurations in unison, strongly resembling those in measures 8 through 10 of BWV 565. The given dynamics in the Rondo passage inspires one to vary registrations and manual changes in the toccata (Example 86).

The closing of the Fantasy in F Major, Wq 59/5, resembles the beginning of BWV 565 in more than one section. The main motive appears in three different octave positions,7 followed by ascending broken chords, a unison passage, and a chord phrase in figured-bass style. The dominant-seventh chord on E-flat jumps out of the composer’s surprise box. Serving as a subdominant and pivot, it sits in the exact midpoint of the chord phrase (Example 87).

The arpeggios from the Rondo in A Minor, Wq 56/5, show the practice of repeating each harmony twice (Example 88).

In his late sonata movements Carl Philipp Emanuel also developed a certain predilection for chord tremolos, such as in the left hand of the passage from Sonata in B-flat Major, Wq 59/3, a playing style similar to the trill cadenza in BWV 565 on the diminished-seventh chord in measures 22 through 27 (Example 89).

We have no proof as to how Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach was connected with Toccata and Fugue ex d, BWV 565. The examples show, however, that there must have been some connection. At any rate, BWV 565 is still a Bach’s toccata, but the question “Who else could it have been?” strongly suggests the answer is Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Certainly, without further evidence, the field remains open for speculation. Do the similarities between BWV 565 and Carl Philipp’s keyboard pieces prove him as the innovative composer of the post-Baroque revolutionary organ piece? Or do they prove him as an avid plagiarizer? Carl Philipp burned his own works, which he did not want distributed, on a large scale in 1786.8 Did one of his students secretly copy the piece before?

BWV 565 requires a bottom C-sharp in measure 2, rarely found in organs of Johann Sebastian Bach’s time. This fact has caused some speculation about instruments possibly connected to BWV 565. Related to this question, two organs remain unnoticed thus far. They were commissioned in 1755 and 1776 by the youngest sister of Frederick II, princess Anna Amalia of Prussia (1723–1787). Both were built with full compasses on all manuals and pedal. The first one still exists and is now located in the Kirche Zur frohen Botschaft (Church of the Good News) in Berlin-Karlshorst. Kristian Wegscheider and his team completed a careful restoration of this sonorous instrument in 2010. It is hard to describe how thrilling BWV 565 sounds on this organ. The missing bottom C-sharp, however, did not stop organists from playing the piece in concert. According to reviews in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, BWV 565 was played on the organ at Saint Mary’s Church in Berlin in 18179 and 1829,10 the very first evidence of public performances—and on an instrument without a bottom C-sharp.

The new status

The quest needs to continue. The efforts of libraries and other institutions are most helpful to make sources digitally available worldwide.

• Motivic-thematic work. Far more significant than both questions of authorship and date of composition is the undeniable fact that BWV 565 is a motivic-thematic work. Until now, the development of this technique had been attributed to Joseph Haydn (1732–1809). BWV 565 is lifted now to the unique status of being the very first significant composition in music history using this technique.

• Post-Baroque revolution. The author introduced this term to compensate for a lacking general designation of the time period between the Baroque and the Viennese Classical periods. BWV 565 shows a significant number of essential features of this style.

• Cantata BWV 202. Due to divergent handwriting in comparable sources, the date of 1730, shown on the title page of the cantata, cannot be used conclusively.

• Johannes Ringk. From eighteen manuscript sources marked with the name of Ringk as the scribe, a total of eight manuscripts show conformity with the signature font and other features. This body truly represents the scribe Johannes Ringk. The remaining ten manuscripts, including that of BWV 565, have a number of congruences among themselves as well, but none of them in use by Ringk. It can be said securely that the scribe of the earliest source of BWV 565 was definitely not Johannes Ringk.

• Johann Sebastian Bach. Internal evidence suggests that the question “Who else?” turns naturally to Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Adolf Berhard Marx (1795–1866), the leading music theorist of his time, published BWV 565 under Johann Sebastian Bach’s name with Breitkopf & Härtel in 1833. He mentioned his doubts about authenticity, however, in the Berlin music journal Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung several times. Subsequently, Friedrich Griepenkerl (1782–1849) opened a wordy battle in this journal. His edition of Bach’s organ works with Edition Peters in 1845 claimed to be based on authentic sources. Regardless of this vivid dispute, both Marx and Griepenkerl had the same goal—to save a great piece for posterity that would have otherwise been lost forever. It was Griepenkerl who said:

In addition, I do not a have a bad conscience about including an inauthentic piece. One stroke through it, and the matter is settled. The buyer loses nothing, but gains another good piece.11

Marx had obviously discovered the true nature of BWV 565:

My doubt is not based on documents or their lack, but on the content of the work, which from the first to the last note does not seem to me to be written in the spirit, according to Bach’s artistic principle or system, but rather to bear the marks of the attenuated post-Bach’s period. I would not be at a loss to defend this view at length if the patience of the readers and the space of a newspaper did not impose considerations. Whoever is familiar with the many discussions of Bach in my works . . . will in any case not need any further proof. Or, if it is desired, I will give it occasionally.12

Marx was never asked for proof. Nothing stopped BWV 565 from starting its world career under the name of Johann Sebastian Bach. Unraveling the true nature of the composition indeed required an undue amount of time and space. The author is grateful to The Diapason and its editors for patience and enthusiasm in publishing this survey.

Notes

1. Pianist-musicologist Dr. John Strauss of Luther College, Decorah, Iowa, was of invaluable help in providing dedicated advice and assistance to the author in the completion of this text.

2. Michael Gailit, “Exploring the unknown of BWV 565, Part 2” The Diapason, July 2021, pages 12–14, Example 26.

3. Rolf Dietrich Claus, Zur Echtheit von Toccata und Fuge d-Moll BWV 565, second edition (Köln-Rheinkassel: Dohr, 1998), 11.

4. Carl Ferdinand Pohl, Joseph Haydn (Berlin, A. Sacco Nachfolger 1875), 131.

5. Half circle in Italian; term for a four-note figuration following the form of a half circle in stepwise motion.

6. The code Wq refers to the catalogue of works of C. P. E. Bach by the Belgian music bibliographer Afred Wotquenne (1867–1939), which was largely based on the work of the organist Johann Jacob Heinrich Westphal (1756–1825), a friend and contemporary of Carl Philipp.

7. Notated as seven 32nd notes on a quarter beat, the correct notation would be septuplets of 16th notes.

8. Siegbert Rampe, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach und seine Zeit (Laaber: Laaber 2014), 465.

9. Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, vol. 19, September 17, 1817 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel), 655.

10. Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, vol. 6, May 23, 1829, 456.

11. Quoted from Claus, p. 11.

12. Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, vol. 50, March 8, 1848, 159–160.

Programmatic considerations in Julius Reubke’s Organ Sonata on Psalm 94

David Lim

David Lim is a doctoral organ student at the University of Oklahoma, Norman, studying under Damin Spritzer and Adam Pajan, and previously studied at Gustavus Adolphus College, Saint Peter, Minnesota, and the University of Iowa, Iowa City. He is also director of music at Saint Philip’s Episcopal Church in Ardmore, Oklahoma, and a shop technician with Red River Pipe Organ Company, Norman, Oklahoma.

Julius Reubke
Julius Reubke

The Organ Sonata on Psalm 94 of Julius Reubke (1834–1858) is perhaps the best example of programmatic music in the organ repertoire—wholly unusual for a mid-nineteenth-century composition in multiple regards. Firstly, composers and performers exploited the expressive and virtuosic capabilities afforded by the piano. The use of the piano in solo and collaborative works was undoubtedly a hallmark of nineteenth-century composition. In contrast, relatively few major compositions for the organ were produced during this period. The Romantic perspective noted the “organ’s expressive and dynamic possibilities were deficient, falling far short of those of the piano . . . .”1 Just as the organ was the tenor2 of north-German keyboard literature of the eighteenth century, the piano was likewise in nineteenth-century composition. Secondly, period composers frequently used contemporary literary works as programmatic, extra-musical bases for their compositions.3 Ecclesiastical associations and the archaic nature of the organ were certainly not aligned with the growing secularization of the enlightenment and emphasis on innovation and modernity at the beginning of the industrial revolution.

Reubke’s substantial contribution of an organ composition based on a religious program was somewhat countercultural for the mid-1800s. This novelty provides a landmark, revolutionary composition in organ literature, demonstrating great sensitivity towards the program and virtuosity previously unseen. The piece reflects several important characteristics of Psalm 94, namely the personal and human perspectives of the psalmist and the literary structure of the psalm.

Several influences in Julius’s short life make his unusual organ sonata appear to be a natural outgrowth of his experience. His childhood was undoubtedly formative. Born in Hausneindorf, he was baptized and educated in the village’s Evangelical (Lutheran) Church and received instruction from the parish cantor. One can presume that education in religious matters was taught, though no sources cited mention curriculum. The village was insulated from the effects of the 1848 revolution.4

Julius was exposed to the cutting edge of music throughout his life. He was a child prodigy, having studied with many notable teachers, and quickly gained a reputation as a regarded pupil, performer, and composer. As the son of an organ builder, Julius was undoubtedly exposed to the organ world in his youth5 as his father, Adolf, was completing notable projects in the style of organ building prevalent at that time.

Reubke’s later studies with Franz Liszt (1811–1886) in Weimar coincided with Liszt’s development of the symphonic poem. His influence on the young Reubke was profound.6 Liszt began to realize, explore, and exploit the possibilities that modern German Romantic organs afforded in compositions such as his Fantasie and Fugue on the Chorale “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam” (written 1850, premiered 1852) and the Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H (premiered 1855).7 Organs built during this time reflected larger trends in music. Large instruments were constructed in Germany and France, facilitated by technological innovations. Greater emphasis on unison (8′) color stops and increasing tonal resources allowed new and rebuilt organs to accommodate the gamut of dynamic and color possibilities previously unavailable to organists. The organs of Friedrich Ladegast and Adolf Reubke defined this modern style in north Germany.8 Julius’s musical experiences from early youth to developing composer culminate in his Organ Sonata.

Liszt and Reubke “strove to emancipate the organ, to raise it to the level of the piano,”9 by exploring and exploiting the new avenues of modern organs. “Liszt set new standards for handling the instrument,”10 and Reubke followed Liszt’s orchestral approach to the organ.11 Such efforts solved one problem and created another. Their organ works were revolutionary, but the technical demands exceeded the abilities of most organists of the time. Any progressive traits in their organ compositions were negated by the relative unavailability of suitable organists to perform and promote such innovations.

Discrepancies surround the initial relationship and presentation of the program and music at the sonata’s premiere performance at the Merseburg Cathedral on June 17, 1857,12 with Reubke performing. Franz Brendel notes in a review: “The work is not titled as a sonata, quite the contrary, the 94th Psalm was printed as the program, a procedure of which I completely approve.”13 Daniel Chorzempa interprets this to mean the entire text of Psalm 94 was included in the program.14 However, only select verses were included in Otto Reubke’s (Julius’s brother) 1877 edition of the sonata (Figures 1 and 2). Michael Gailit comments that Brendel likely would not have realized if the full psalm text was actually present in the program, considering its “rather long and very rarely used” nature.15 In contrast, Choonhae Kim Lee understands that “The 94th Psalm” was printed as the title, not the program.16 Programs from the premiere performance are not known to exist. No sources determine whether the work was based on the psalm text from its inception or if it was added as a program after the sonata was completed.

Existing discussions focus on direct text-music relationships and sectional comparisons. All have used the verses appearing in Otto’s edition of the sonata, despite the ambiguity surrounding Reubke’s use of the psalm text. The writings of Chorzempa (1971), Lee (1989), Manwarren (1994), Nieuwkoop (1995), and Gailit (1992) emphasize different aspects of the sonata. References to its programmatic and formal analysis are included to varying degrees in all papers. Chorzempa’s interpretation in part revolves around the Baroque idea of Affektenlehre, whereby specific musical characteristics elicit emotional responses. He extends this into a Romantic notion that the inclusion of programmatic music, according to Wilhelm Wackenroder, allows the written word to take on fuller meaning, as music is the “completion of philosophy.”17 He also mentions the general “atmosphere” in particular sections. Lee’s dissertation approaches the sonata from the perspective of the psalmist in the first two movements and later God’s presence in the final. She conjectures specific text-music relationships, “double function” formal structure, and includes an analysis of rhythmic treatments of the principal theme (Figure 3A). Manwarren offers the most objective analysis of the sonata, relating the organ sonata to the piano sonatas of Liszt and Reubke. Psalm 94 itself is mentioned only briefly, aside from his formal and harmonic analysis. In contrast, the analysis offered by Nieuwkoop distinctly relates text and music, describing Reubke as a “master of musical depiction.”18 His commentary on the music’s textual representation is undergirded by specific musical features. Gailit’s journal article (which later evolved into a book) is dominated by detailed motivic analysis with the occasional comment referencing programmatic meaning. Lee, Manwarren, and Gailit all cite Chorzempa’s dissertation and draw upon his interpretation.

Direct correlations are commonly made when discussing program and sonata. Nieuwkoop describes measures 16–21 as

. . . an impressive musical rendering of another key word from verse 1: “. . . erscheine (. . . shew thyself).” It is an imperative exclamation, which Reubke represents by means of the following musical techniques: 1. dotted rhythms, 2. a sequential treatment, 3. an increased number of voices (from 3 to 10), 4. a large ambitus.

Similarly, Lee describes, “The second verse ‘Rise up’ is portrayed immediately after the repetition of the opening phrase in the full organ. The music builds with the sequence of rising phrases.”20 Numerous similar descriptions are routine in existing literature. These descriptions portray Reubke’s treatment of the psalm text as “Mickey Mousing” (to borrow a phrase from film music scholars), wherein musical gestures intend to describe, reinforce, and clarify specific on-screen actions; or, in our case, a specific word, phrase, or mood from the psalm text. Nonetheless, each interpretation offered is informative and provides different perspectives.21 Curiously, while the importance of the program has been highlighted to varying degrees in the sources detailed below, none cite any scholarly resources pertaining directly to the psalm text itself.

Psalm 94 features a distinct three-part construction, as reflected in the commentaries of Clifford, Howard, Kraus, and Limburg. Clifford’s analysis is more microscopic but is consistent with the larger sectional division of the others (Figure 2). The opening and closing sections are laments for the community and individual respectively. The middle introduces wisdom literature. This “wisdom interlude” is one of the defining features of Psalm 94, as it interrupts the psalm’s otherwise lament form. In verses 1–7, the psalmist writes of the injustice and violence occurring in the world. Frustrated with God’s inactivity, he invokes God to action in hopes that the numerous atrocities cited will end and the oppressors see justice. Verses 1–2 directly invoke God to be present and act in the world. Concern for the larger community is expressed. The middle section (verses 8–15) employs wisdom poetry, which is often used to describe human nature22 and the education of humankind. The teachings of an all-knowing God are “supremely strange,” as God is better known as a creator and judge in Old Testament Judaic thinking.23 The resulting advantages are described in verses 12–15, where those who accept such teachings are happy24 and assured of God’s faithfulness to humanity.25 The lament returns in the concluding section; however, focus shifts now towards the psalmist’s relationship with and reliance on God. Clifford notes several statements of trust and confidence: God is referred to as “rock” and “refuge.” Howard mentions Kraus’s interpretations of the last section as “a prayer of an individual.”26 Thoughts expressed about God’s interaction with the world are constantly developing in the psalm, as the psalmist is quick to find comfort in God despite the terrible circumstances of his present condition.

The human, earthly, and personal perspective of the psalmist is readily noticed in Psalm 94. Personal pronouns are found throughout. Questions and petitions are offered to God. The general affect of Reubke’s Organ Sonata is one of bewilderment and chaos. Such a setting is most appropriate as the psalmist is likewise perplexed and angered by the world’s “wicked” state. The very nature of God is questioned. This confused and seemingly illogical state of both the psalmist and the world are musically portrayed. Harmonic stability is rare and definitive cadences are lacking throughout much of the sonata. The introduction establishes this confused state with the first thematic entrance (measures 1–7) cadencing in D-flat major and the second (measures 8–15) cadencing in C major—neither establishes nor alludes to the work’s tonic of C minor (Figure 4).27 This “veiled” and “amorphous” tonality28 in conjunction with the rapid shifts in both dynamics and tempo preclude predictability, anticipation, and order. Just as the psalmist is left to the mercy of God for a response to his dire situation, so, too, must the listener wait for musical answers and conclusions. The laws of God and of conventional western music theory seem to be abandoned to some extent.

Monothematicism offers the only possibility of reliable predictability as the entire work revolves around a single, two-part theme. Gailit’s analysis and nomenclature refers to the “falling melody line” as the main theme. This theme consists of two-halves: a head motive consisting of a “semitone + third” (measures1–2) and a descending chromatic scale (measures 3–4) (Figure 3A).29, 30 Principal and secondary themes first appear in the Grave and Larghetto sections of the first movement, respectively (P1, S1). The themes of the second movement (Adagio) are derived from those of the first. Although different, these two themes are simply in altered guise (P2, S2). The fugue of the third movement is a distinct but not exact return of the principal theme from the first movement (Figure 3).

Thematic variation of both main theme, especially the head motive, and descending scale is present throughout and comprises repetition and fragmentation.31 The distinctive rhythmic and melodic qualities of the head motive, in particular, permeate virtually every section of the piece.32 This incessant use of the head motive represents the psalmist’s similarly frequent address and reference to God. Titles such as “Lord,” “God,” and “He” appear in several verses of Psalm 94. Divine names are distributed equally in all the three parts of the psalm.33 Hence, the head motive is a musical address of God, just as the titles mentioned are verbal addresses. The psalmist is constantly invoking God in both text and music. This may be a simple side effect of the sonata’s cyclic, monothematic construction; however, it is an undeniable commonality between text and sonata.

Moreover, thematic variation further reinforces the personal view exhibited by the psalmist. Each address of God is framed differently—petition, questioning, trust, confidence. The principal themes of each movement demonstrate this. The precise rhythmic (as examined and described by Lee) and melodic characteristics of each iteration are different, yet each retains the essence of the original. Respective iterations are likewise harmonized differently and presented in the context of different textures, all in addition to motivic alterations themselves. The head motive’s distinctive nature readily identifies it in various textures. Voices throughout the sonata resemble the theme’s scalar portion making distinctive identification thereof challenging—the temptation of over-identifying such sections is very possible.

The third movement’s fugue subject (Figure 3E) is clearly derived from the principal theme (P1), and the descending scale of P1 is now inverted. Gailit offers that this scalar ascent “could be taken to symbolically represent the portion of the text which speaks of hope and trust in the Lord.”34 Indeed, this programmatic correlation bears more significance as this literal change in direction reflects the psalmist’s changed attitude towards and opinion of God. Compared to the damning accusations of the psalm’s opening, he reverses his position by placing trust and confidence in God. The programmatic function of the scale seems to represent the psalmist’s general attitude towards the Divine.

The juxtaposition between sections of Psalm 94 bears elements of plot archetype. For the psalmist, confusion and question leads to trust and understanding. A musical trajectory of chaos to order can be found in harmonic and phrase structures, paralleling the psalmist evolving understanding of God’s nature. Chorzempa comments on the first movement’s Larghetto that “a measure for measure analysis reveals no governing system or imposed order. Harmonic color is exploited for its own sake.”35 Manwarren undergirds this statement, mentioning a “shifting chromatic nature” and later states that Reubke “avoids tonicizing the key outright.”36 Harmonic chaos continues in the second movement (Adagio) as three keys are established in a five-measure section (measures 237–242).37 Phrase structure seems to have little regularity, though some can be found. Unlike the sonata’s first two movements, the final movement is harmonically and structurally stable. The fugue is stricter as a tonal center and phrase structures are overtly present. Manwarren notes a “traditional tonic-dominant relationship” between subject and answer, mentioning a “firm grounding” in the tonic.38 Lee identifies a constancy of the C-minor tonality (Figure 5).39 Gailit observes regular four- and eight-bar phrases in episodic and developmental sections of the fugue; subject statements are consistently seven bars.40 The fugue is unambiguous and goal-orientated. The sonata and program establish clear musical and textual dichotomies respectively that are placed in parallel. Such transformations, however, do not extend to the sonata’s mode. One expects or desires a “happy,” triumphant ending with minor giving way to major. Curiously, the sonata’s conclusion is not consistent with aspects of a plot archetype model, as Reubke defies any such expectations and concludes the sonata with a dramatic, defiant conclusion in C minor using the fullest resources of the organ. This inconsistency is justified when considering items absent from the music and its program.

Parallels between music and program support and reflect each other. Likewise, these may be extended to elements that are not present. Gailit states,

It is of great importance to understand that the second theme does not show the regular contrast to the first theme. It does not use another (major) key, it stays in C minor. Those contrasting, “friendly” themes are very often used for the triumphant ending of the composition. The lyric themes are, so to speak, the germ of redemption. . . . In his organ sonata, Reubke does not “program” the redemption. When listening to the second theme one can already guess that the piece will not have a happy ending!41

Reubke’s compositional style is understandably influenced by the works and teachings of Liszt. Manwarren’s analysis of Liszt’s and Reubke’s piano sonatas finds similar treatment of the second theme, describing them as “lyrical” and mentions their “even phrase structures.”42 The second theme from Reubke’s
Organ Sonata does not conform to this description. Gailit notes that Reubke seems to purposefully “avoid regular bar numbers,”43 consistent with the initial presentation of the primary theme. This supposed intention of developing a clear, non-contrasting second theme is supported by Reubke’s exposure to Liszt’s lyrical second theme of and creation of his own in the Piano Sonata, as Manwarren’s dissertation demonstrates.

The closest thing to a “redemptive” theme is a soloed melody in measures 81–86, beat 1, intended to be played on an 8′ Trompete (Figure 6). Reubke specifies several other instances where lines are to be soloed on different registrations. For example, Reubke prescribes “Man. I Viola da Gamba 8′” for the second statement of first movement’s secondary theme (S1) (measure 64) with the melody to be “very prominent.”44 Several other similar prescriptions for soloing are found in both first and second movements and always solo thematic material. This solo Trompete line is curious as it bears little, if any, resemblance to any of the primary or secondary themes, with the exception of the ubiquitous head motive (measure 82). Reubke makes clear that it should be understood as a thematic statement, considering its soloed distinction, yet it is intrinsically athematic. The listener is intended to hear this as important and substantive (especially when played using the prominent, distinct Trompete color), despite its content being contextually unrelated. This contradiction is confusing. Such an oddity is explained if labeled as the sonata’s “redemptive theme.” Such a label is further justified as it aligns with the typical “lyrical” and “evenly phrased” qualities previously mentioned, in particular the slur markings within each bar, routine use of eighth notes, and stepwise and tertian motion. However, its singular appearance in the whole sonata disqualifies it as thematic material. Rather, it seems Reubke intends this to be a fake theme, presented as authentic but without credentials. Any true redemptive theme is simply not present in the organ sonata—an imposter offers false hope. The lack of a true contrasting second theme appears to have basis in the program’s own lack.

It is precisely the wisdom interlude of Psalm 94 (verses 8–15) that is excluded from the sonata’s program as listed in Otto Reubke’s edition. The program thus unites the two lament sections of Psalm 94 into a more unified whole. The single-movement and monothematic structure of the sonata reflect this. The absence of text focusing on education and human behavior precludes any chance for a musical depiction of redemption in the world. Without accepting and understanding the wisdom, teaching, and guidance through God’s presence in the world, humankind has little chance of achieving a just world. The psalmist does not desire the wicked to return to a righteous lifestyle, nor does he intercede on their behalf. Rather, the psalmist concludes by expressing desire for God’s justice and retribution in the form of eradication of the unjust. Redemption is denied to this demographic in the psalm, just as a redemptive theme is denied in the sonata. Gailit’s comment about the lack of a “redemptive” secondary theme foreshadowing and fulfilling a “bad ending” therefore stems from the program itself. This is yet more sinister when realizing the intentionality inherent in both text and music.

Reubke demonstrates a more profound understanding and realization of Psalm 94’s text, extending beyond the straightforward “depiction” as described by others’ analysis identifying, relating, and explaining the sonata’s affect with specific musical features. He seems to offer the listener something more akin to a critical reading, one that helps us understand, sympathize with, and participate in the emotions and thoughts of the psalmist. Reubke’s Organ Sonata on Psalm 94 offers a visceral musical experience, whether one is performer or listener. His virtuosic and highly technical writing in combination with a religious program places the sonata in a unique position as it engages performer and audience sonically and theologically as found in few other compositions in the organ repertoire.

Notes

1. Hans van Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” in Proceedings of the Göteborg International Organ Academy 1994, trans. Rechard van der Hart, ed. Hans Davidsson and Sverker Jullander, 383–402 (Göteborg: Novum Grafiska AB, 1995): 383.

2. In the Latin sense of “holder.”

3. J. Peter Burkholder, Donald J. Grout, and Claude V. Palisca, A History of Western Music, 8th ed. (New York: W. W. Morton, 2010), 606.

4. Daniel W. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke: Life and Works” (Ph.D. diss., University of Minnesota, 1971), 14–15.

5. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 384.

6. Michael Gailit, “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part I,” The Diapason, 83, no. 1 (Jan. 1992), 12–14.

7. Ibid., 13.

8. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 384.

9. Ibid., 384.

10. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part I,” 13.

11. Matthew C. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor on Julius Reubke: A Study of Reubke’s Sonata in B-flat Minor for Piano and the Sonata on the Ninety-fourth Psalm for Organ” (DMA diss., University of Cincinnati, 1994), 91.

12. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 101.

13. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 102.

14. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 252.

15. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part II,” 10.

16. Choonhae Kim Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm: Synthesis of conservative and progressive styles, A lecture recital, Together with three Recitals of Selected works of J. S. Bach, C. Franck, A. Heillerds, M. Reger, L. Sowerby, M. Widor, and Others” (DMA diss., University of North Texas-Denton, 1989), 24.

17. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 250.

18. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 394.

19. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 388.

20. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 26.

21. Music scholarship prior to 1971 was not examined as research presented by Chorzempa corrects previous errors and misunderstandings.

22. Richard J. Clifford, Psalms 73–150, Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003), 113–114.

23. Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 60–150: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1989), 241.

24. Clifford, Psalms 73–150, 114.

25. Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 241.

26. David M. Howard, Jr., The Structure of Psalms 93–100 (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 49.

27. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 41.

28. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 224.

29. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part II,” 10.

30. Gailit includes the rising chords in mm. 4–7 in addition to the head motive, creating a “Main Idea.” I do not find this useful in my analysis.

31. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 312.

32. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 206.

33. Howard, The Structure of Psalms 93–100, 50.

34. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part IV,” 13.

35. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 232.

36. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt,” 47.

37. Ibid., 67.

38. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt,” 80.

39. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 42.

40. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part IV,” 14

41. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part III,” 12.

42. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt,” 37.

43. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part III,” 12.

44. “Melodie sehr hervortretend.”

Bibliography

Extra-musical:

Clifford, Richard J. Psalms 73–150: Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003.

Gillingham, Susan. Psalms through the Centuries. Singapore: Blackwell, 2008.

Howard, David M., Jr. “Psalm 94 amongst the Kingship-of Yhwh Psalms.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 61, no. 4 (Oct. 1999): 667–685.

______ . The Structure of Psalms 93–100. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997.

Kraus, Hans-Joachim. Psalms 60–150: A commentary. Translated by Hilton C. Oswald. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1989.

Limburg, James. Psalms. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000.

Musical:

Chorzempa, Daniel W. “Julius Reubke: Life and Works.” Ph.D. diss., University of Minnesota, 1971.

Gailit, Michael. “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part I.” The Diapason, 83, no. 1 (Jan. 1992): 12–14.

______ . “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part II.” The Diapason, 83, no. 2 (Feb. 1992): 10–11.

______ . “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part III.” The Diapason, 83, no. 3 (March 1992): 12–13.

______ . “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part IV.” The Diapason, 83, no. 4 (April 1992): 12–14.

Klotz, Hans, and Daniel Chorzempa. “Reubke.” Grove Music Online, accessed March 7, 2016, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.

Lee, Choonhae Kim. “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm: Synthesis of conservative and progressive styles, A lecture recital, Together with three Recitals of Selected works of J. S. Bach, C. Franck, A Heillerds, M. Reger, L. Sowerby, M. Widor, and Others.” DMA diss., University of North Texas-Denton, 1989.

Manwarren, Matthew C. “The influence of Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor on Julius Reubke: A study of Reubke’s Sonata in B-flat Minor for Piano and the Sonata on the Ninety-fourth Psalm for Organ.” DMA diss., University of Cincinnati, 1994.

Nieuwkoop, Hans van. “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm.’” In Proceedings of the Göteborg International Organ Academy 1994, translated by Rechard van der Hart, edited by Hans Davidsson and Sverker Jullander, 383–402. Göteborg: Novum Grafiska AB, 1995.

Reubke, Julius. Orgelwerke. Edited by Günther Kaunzinger. Vienna: Wiener Urtext Edition, 2004.

Reubke, Julius. Der 94ste Psalm für die Orgel. Edited by Otto Reubke. Leipzig: J. Schuberth & Co., 1871.

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