Reevaluating Andrea Antico’s Frottole of 1517

Robert Bates performs

Robert Parkins is university organist and professor of the practice of music at Duke University, Durham, North Carolina. He has specialized in early Iberian keyboard literature, and his publications include articles on performance practices in this music as well as the chapter on “Spain and Portugal” in Keyboard Music Before 1700 (Routledge, 2004). His organ and harpsichord recordings have appeared on the Calcante, Gothic, Musical Heritage Society, and Naxos labels. Parkins received his academic degrees from the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music and the Yale University School of Music. In 1973 he was awarded a Fulbright grant to study in Vienna with Anton Heiller. Other teachers have included Gerre Hancock, Ralph Kirkpatrick, Charles Krigbaum, and Michael Schneider.

The Complete Organ Works of Francisco Correa de Arauxo: Correa in the New World, Robert Bates, organist. Loft Recordings, LRCD 1141–45 (5 CDs), $49.98. Available from www.gothic–catalog.com.

Francisco Correa de Arauxo (1584–1654) was the middle figure among “the three C’s” of early Spanish organ music, between Antonio de Cabezón (1510–1566) and Juan Cabanilles (1644–1712). Like the venerable Cabezón, Correa de Arauxo received his first major appointment in his mid-teens, serving as organist in the Collegiate Church of San Salvador in Seville (1599–1636) for most of his professional life. Later, after a four-year stint at the cathedral of Jaén (also in the southern region of Andalusia), he finished his career at the cathedral in Segovia (northwest of Madrid) from 1640 to 1653.

In 1626, while still employed in Seville, Correa de Arauxo published his Facultad orgánica (Art of the Organ), the only extant volume of Spanish keyboard music to be printed in the seventeenth century. Following an extended preface by the composer, this Book of Tientos and Discursos of Practical and Theoretical Organ Music, consisting of 67 solo organ pieces (plus two intabulated vocal settings), constitutes the whole of his known musical oeuvre. Since Correa’s purpose was partly didactic, he provided a special index that groups the pieces in ascending order of difficulty from 1 to 5.

Robert Bates has completed the daunting project of recording The Complete Organ Works of Francisco Correa de Arauxo on five different organs over a span of seventeen years (in 1997, 2001, and 2014). Three of these are eighteenth-century instruments in the state of Oaxaca in southern Mexico, and two more are late twentieth-century organs in northern California. Subtitled “Correa in the New World,” the five-CD set purports to be the first recording of the complete organ music of Correa de Arauxo in the Americas.

The music of Correa has been said to bridge the Renaissance and Baroque eras in Spain. That assessment could also be applied to the predominant genre of early Spanish keyboard music: the tiento, which evolved from little more than an intabulation of four-voice imitative vocal polyphony in the sixteenth century to a variety of idiomatic subgenres by the early seventeenth century. Of the sixty-nine compositions in Correa’s magnum opus, sixty-two are labeled tiento or discurso, the latter term reserved for more advanced works, although he sometimes uses the two words interchangeably. Notated in Spanish number tablature, each piece is preceded by a few introductory remarks, including occasional nuggets of information on pertinent performance practice issues, such as tempo, ornamentation, rhythmic alteration, and registration. The composer’s valuable comments sometimes offer additional insights on topics already addressed in his detailed foreword.

If nearly every tiento on this recording seems to begin in an eerily similar fashion, it is not only the resemblance of the opening measures to a stile antico motet but also Correa’s directive that the organist should adorn the first note with a short, accentual ornament called a quiebro. The simpler of its two forms is equivalent to a mordent (for shorter pieces like versets), while the slightly more complex one is identical to a turn beginning with the upper neighbor. Less clear is the precise location of the ornament, although beginning the turn-like quiebro before the beat seems more consistent with the prevailing practice at the time to play the consonant main note on the beat. Bates dutifully follows the composer’s recommendation to embellish the initial note with a quiebro, but he elects to follow a more flexible approach to rhythmic placement.

A longer ornament mentioned in Correa’s preface, called a redoble, is in the form of a trill with prefix. Redobles are often indicated in the score by an “R,” sometimes with a prefix actually written out before the consonant main note on the beat. Correa admits that many other types of embellishments are possible, and a number of different redoble variants appear throughout the Facultad orgánica. Bates is not shy about adding some of his own redobles as well as other ornaments described in earlier sources (e.g., Tomás de Santa María’s Arte de tañer fantasía, 1565) in a judicious and stylistically appropriate manner.

The track list for this superb recording is organized according to venue and instrument, yielding a more randomized order rather than the original succession of pieces. Each work is identified by the number assigned when Santiago Kastner edited the first modern publication of the Facultad orgánica (Barcelona: Instituto Español de Musicología; 1948, 1952). Bates, a careful scholar as well as a first-rate performer, relied on Kastner’s edition for this project from the outset—but not without comparing it scrupulously to a copy of the original 1626 publication, now available in facsimile (Geneva: Minkoff, 1981). Two more complete editions have been published since the inception of Bates’s project, edited by Guy Bovet (Bologna: Ut Orpheus Edizioni, 2007) and Miguel Bernal Ripoll (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Musicología; 2nd ed., 2013).

The organizational scheme for the recording focuses special attention on the organs as well as the music. All five instruments share characteristics in common with most seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Castilian organs. Each possesses only a single manual keyboard, all registers are divided between bass and treble stops at c1/c#1, and the tuning system is meantone temperament (either strict 1/4 comma or the more versatile 1/6 comma). Pedals are minimal or nonexistent, serving only to pull down the low bass notes of the manual when needed. Each stoplist also includes at least one horizontal reed, although Bates is sparing in his use of them since exterior trumpets were not in evidence until after the Facultad orgánica was published.

The first two CDs in this set were recorded in Oaxaca City and nearby Tlacolula, beginning with the organ in Oaxaca Cathedral. Constructed in 1712 by Matías de Chávez (with later additions in the eighteenth century, followed by a number of twentieth-century changes), it was reconstructed by Susan Tattershall in 1997. The current specification lists eight (half) stops in the bass and ten in the treble.

More than half of the compositions in the Facultad orgánica were written for divided stops (a new development in the latter sixteenth century), and CD 1 includes one of Correa de Arauxo’s most alluring works in this subgenre. As the composer indicates in the title, the Tiento de medio registro de tiple de décimo tono (No. 36) is a divided-register piece (in mode 10) requiring a solo registration in the treble (with a more subdued accompaniment in the bass). The imitative contrapuntal opening in “motet style,” a hallmark of the Spanish tiento, is played here on Principals 8′ and 4′. Robert Bates introduces the fourth entry, a solo for the right hand, on the brilliant Corneta, expertly guiding the serpentine melisma of sixteenth notes that emerge from the subject’s initial long notes. The third and last of the five solo entries include diminutions in triplet figures, to be played (as described by Correa elsewhere) unequally for the most “graceful” effect, “almost” like making the first note twice as long as each of the two that follow. Bates’s tempo is on the brisk side, and the rhythmic nuance becomes so subtle that the inequality is just barely noticeable until the tempo relaxes (e.g., at cadences).

The organ in the church of Santa María de la Asunción in Tlacolula was completed by Manuel Neri in 1792 (including pipework from as early as 1666). Subjected to alterations in the nineteenth century, it was restored in 2014 by Gerhard Grenzing. The result is a simple disposition (eight registers in the bass and seven in the treble) with separate ranks for the upperwork, as in contemporary Italian organs, rather than mixtures.

Tiento 55, a Discurso de dos baxones (with two solo lines in the bass), is notable for its chromaticism in the main subject, strikingly atypical for Correa. Choosing a registration for a tiento de medio registro in five voices can be problematic, but the mixtureless chorus in the bass yields a penetrating clarity without overwhelming the treble Principal 8′, or Flautado (Correa’s “default” registration for accompanying voices). Sufficiently challenging to play on an organ with a split keyboard (although apparently no problem for Bates), this discurso serves as a useful example of how complicated some divided-register pieces can become when an organist must employ two manuals and pedal to achieve the desired effect. If the two hands (mainly the thumbs) are not allowed to assist each other in managing five parts on the same keyboard, the coupled pedal must supply one of the two bass voices when needed.

Among a handful of compositions not classified as tientos in Correa’s collection is No. 65, a set of sixteen continuous variations on Guárdame las vacas (“Watch the Cows for Me”). The familiar folk tune (and chord progression) had been popular among composers of variations (diferencias) since the early sixteenth century, including Cabezón. Bates skillfully interweaves the threads of migrating diminutions (glosas) among the long notes of the harmonized cantus firmus.

CD 3 takes us to the church of San Jerónimo, Tlacochahuaya, also not far from Oaxaca City. An anonymous builder constructed the organ around 1729 (modified in 1735), and in 1991 its restoration was completed under the direction of Susan Tattershall. With seven bass stops and an equal number in the treble, this modest but beautiful instrument has a Bourdon (Bardón) at 8′ pitch rather than the usual Flautado.

No. 18, a “first level” piece intended for an undivided registration (registro entero), resembles an older style of tiento with only a moderate degree of figuration. Bates’s principal chorus is not precisely the same in the bass and treble, demonstrating that the ingredients can be tweaked a bit to produce a more satisfactory balance in the whole recipe. The organ’s unmodified meantone temperament heightens the contrast between consonance and dissonance, spotlighting in particular several prominent occurrences of an augmented triad (composed of two pure major thirds), a distinctive harmonic feature in seventeenth-century Iberian organ music. The tuning also renders simultaneous cross relations, discussed by Correa in his preface, particularly salient (as in m. 119).

No. 34, a tiento de medio registro de baxón, features a sprightly bass solo. Heeding the composer’s advice to omit the 8′ level in the bass registration occasionally for clarity’s sake, Bates assigns the left-hand solo to the Bajoncillo, a 4′ reed. Musically engaging but fairly predictable, this tiento surprises the listener near the end with a shift to septuple time, one of several instances where Correa experiments with irregular meters or rhythmic subdivisions. At one point in the 1626 print, the bass line actually crosses the “Great Divide” between c1 and c#1, one of myriad errors in the score that Bates had to confront, especially in Kastner’s modern edition.

The last three tracks on the third disc and all of CD 4 were recorded at Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary in Berkeley, California, where Greg Harrold installed a Spanish-style organ in 1989. Modeled after Aragonese instruments (specifically in the area around Zaragoza, ca. 1700), it has since been relocated to Oberlin College in Ohio. With fourteen bass and sixteen treble stops, it is considerably larger than the other organs on the recording.

The fourth disc begins with Tiento 16, described by the composer as being “in the style of a chanson” (a modo de canción). After the typical opening, it becomes a mélange of contrasting textures, rhythms, and meters in the tradition of batallas (including Correa’s own Tiento 23, based “on the first part of the Batalla of Morales”) and other Spanish keyboard pastiches. Bates takes advantage of the sectional structure to make judicious stop changes, ordinarily not feasible in most of these tientos. Particularly noteworthy is a segment of eight measures in a jazzy 3+3+2 rhythm—common among other Spanish composers of the time, but rare and more fleeting in the music of Correa de Arauxo.

On the fifth and final CD, the listener arrives at the last stop on this organ tour, also in the San Francisco Bay Area. The instrument in the Mission San José in Fremont, California, was built by Manuel Rosales in 1989. Although strongly influenced by early Castilian (and Mexican) organs, it adheres somewhat less strictly to earlier historical precepts than the preceding four on this recording. Nonetheless, a fully chromatic bass (rather than a short octave) and a seventeen-note pedalboard do not violate the essential ethos of this instrument as an appropriate vehicle for the performance of Correa’s music. The manual’s twenty half stops are divided evenly between bass and treble, and the pedal enjoys the luxury of a Bardón at 16′ pitch.

Tiento 59, a medio registro de tiple, is one of eight works assigned a difficulty level of 5 and one of only four with diminutions in thirty-second notes. Bates follows Correa’s advice to use a principal chorus (lleno) for the treble coloratura above the quietly moving lower voices. The solo in the right hand exploits a number of irregular rhythmic subdivisions; in addition to the more common triplets, Correa includes groups of five, seven, and nine notes as well. The performer’s goal is to maintain a steady pulse for the long notes while controlling the improvisatory rhythmic shifts as well as the almost frenetic streams of thirty-second notes in the right hand. Bates is more than equal to the task in executing this fascinating tiento, among the longer and more complex pieces in the Facultad orgánica.

Accompanying the CD set is a sumptuous 120-page booklet (25% of which is devoted to a Spanish translation of the English text) that includes a rich selection of full-color photos. A handy “Index of Tientos,” numbered according to the original published order, matches each one with the corresponding CD track and Correa’s suggested level of difficulty. Although providing liner notes on sixty-seven individual pieces would have been prohibitive, Robert Bates offers a succinct overview on the composer and his music in historical context, as well as a brief synopsis of the Facultad orgánica.

In addition to a biography of the performer (who holds a Ph.D. in musicology from Stanford University and retired not long ago as professor of organ at the University of Houston), there are descriptions (including specifications) of the five instruments, as well as a brief essay on historical Spanish and Mexican organs in general. Following a short introduction by Bates on his “considerations” for choices of stops is a detailed list of the registrations used. Last but not least, a contribution by producer Roger Sherman on the “adventures” of recording in Mexican churches lends a lighter tone to the production notes.

Kudos to Robert Bates for this splendid contribution to the culture of early Iberian keyboard music. Although organists are now appreciably more aware of this marginalized repertoire than a few decades ago, it remains unfamiliar territory for many. Congratulations are due also to Loft Recordings for another significant addition to its continuing series of “complete works.” Beyond their sheer musical interest, these integral collections possess an undeniable documentary and instructional value.

Every music library should own this five-disc package comprising Francisco Correa de Arauxo’s Facultad orgánica, a bargain at $49.98 (when ordered directly from Loft). For individual fans of organ music, it is also available for download from the Gothic website as a complete album or as single tracks.

In 2019 there are several composers whose anniversaries can be commemorated, albeit some of the precise birth and death dates are not known for certain. Several names below need no introduction, but there are also quite a few lesser-known names listed here whose compositions are well worth exploring. No claim is made for completeness, and there is no guarantee that every edition is readily available and in print­—there may well also be editions by other publishers. Publishers’ websites have been given where known. Details of a few composers whose preserved output consists of only one or two pieces have been omitted.

An increasing number of pieces, ranging from complete, original publications or manuscripts (which present the usual problems of multiple clefs as well as original printer’s errors) to modern versions of complete or individual works, are to be found on various free download sites, most noticeably IMSLP/Petrucci Music Library (http://imslp.org); however, the accuracy of some modern typesetting is highly questionable, and all should be treated with caution before use.

Aurelio Bonelli (1569–ca.1620) was born in Bologna. He succeeded Adriano Banchieri as organist of Boscom and was listed as organist in Bologna in 1620. His collection Il primo Libro di Ricercari, et canzoni a quattro voci con die Toccate e doi dialoghi a otto was published in Venice in 1602. The ricercars have been edited by Candida Felice for Armelin, Padua, as Fiori Musicali (FM 002). This edition also includes the intabulated versions found in the Torino Fiori Musicalimanuscripts. The canzoni, toccate, and dialoghi have been edited by Federico del Sordo, also for Armelin (AMM 299). Eight canzonas, the final two of which are also set at a fifth and a fourth lower respectively, are for solo keyboard instrument. A toccata in eight parts is arranged for two keyboards, as is a Dialoghi. A further piece in eight parts is for two choirs.

Jakob Hassler (1569–1622), a brother of Hans Leo Hassler, was organist to the Fuggers in Augsburg, and later organist to the imperial court of Rudolf II in Prague. In addition to some madrigals and choral music, seven pieces for keyboard including three ricercars, a canzona, a fantasia, a fuga, and a toccata have survived in the Torino manuscripts. These have been edited by Hartmut Krones for Verlag Doblinger as DM570 in the Diletto Musicale series.

Anthoni van Noordt (ca. 1619–1675) lived in Amsterdam where he became organist of Nieuwezijdskapel in 1652 and of the Nieuwe Kerk in 1664. His Tablatuur-Boeck van Psalmen en Fantasyen of 1659 contains ten psalm settings with from one to eight verses and six fugal fantasias. The notation shows the pedal part in German organ tablature. The complete book has been edited by Jan van Biezen for Vereniging voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis, Amsterdam as MMN11.

André Raison (ca. 1648–1719) became organist of the abbey of Sainte-Genevieve, Paris, in 1665. His Livre d’Orgue of 1688 contains five Masses in the first, second, third, sixth, and eighth Tones with five versets for Kyrie, nine for Gloria, three for Sanctus, one Elevation, two Agnus Dei versets, and a Deo Gratias, along with an Offertoire in the 5th Tone. Edited by Alexandre Guilmant and André Pirro in Archives des Maîtres de l’Orgue des XVIe, XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles, volume II for B. Schotts Söhne and by Norbert Dufourq for Éditions Musicales de la Schola Cantorum et de la Procure Générale de musique (SCOL105). It has also been edited by Nicolas Gorenstein in three volumes for Editions Chanvrelin. A facsimile from Fuzeau is out of print but may be available from second hand sites.

The second Livre d’orgue sur les Acclamations de la Paix tant désirée (1714) commemorates the Treaty of Utrecht and contains preludes and fugues, an offertoire, ouverture, allemande grave, and some eighteen noëls. It has been edited by Jean Bonfils for Éditions Musicales de la Schola Cantorum et de la Procure Générale de musique (SCOLQ109). It has also been edited by Nicolas Gorenstein in one volume for Editions Chanvrelin. Further pieces are in the Livre d’Orgue de Limoges, which also contains pieces by G. Julien and G. Corrette; this has been edited by Jolando Scarpa for Musica Restituta, Music Reprints, and also by Nicolas Gorenstein in two volumes for Editions Chanvrelin. A facsimile is available from Fuzeau (Ref 2632).

Giovanni Maria Casini (1652–1719), organist of the cathedral in Florence and to Grand Duke Cosimo III in Tuscany, published a set of twelve Pensieri per l’organo in Partitura in two volumes in 1714. Most of these elaborately contrapuntal pieces are in two or three movements, these being variations in a different rhythm, frequently dance based, of the opening movement. The complete set has been edited in one volume by Milton Sutter for Ricordi (133218) and in two volumes by Jörg Jacobi for Edition Baroque, Bremen (eba 4013 and 4014).

Miguel López (1669–1723), a Benedictine friar who studied theology, was also maestro de capella and organist in Marid, Valladolid, and Montserrat. He composed sacred and secular vocal music, orchestral music, and organ music, of which three Llenos, an Exercici d’ecos i contraecos, a Partit de mà dreta (i.e., a piece for divided keyboard with the solo in right hand), three sets of Versos on the eight Tones, and a set of eight Versos on the first Tone have been edited by David Pujol in Mestres de L’Escolania de Monserrat, Vol. IV, which also contains sixteen Pasos for keyboard by Narciso Casanoves. A further six settings of Pange Lingua and two settings of Sacris Solemnis have been edited by Gregorio Estrada in pages 181–198 in volume VI of the same series, the great majority of the volume containing vocal settings of the Mass.

Louis Marchand (1669–1732) was organist of several churches in Paris and also to the French King. Twelve of his organ works were published posthumously, and some forty-two survive in manuscript, which have been edited by Alexandre Guilmant in Archives des Maîtres de l’Orgue des XVIe, XVIIe, et XVIIIe siècles, volumes III (the print) and V (manuscript pieces) for B. Schotts Söhne. Jean Bonfils has edited the organ works in three volumes for Alphonse Leduc (ALHE32989-91); volume 1 contains the twelve pieces, volumes 2 and 3 contain manuscript works. A facsimile of Pièces choisies pour l’orgue 1740 has been published by Fuzeau (Ref 2665). Also available in facsimile from Fuzeau is Pièces d’orgues manuscrites (Ref 3172), which includes autograph manuscripts with the composer’s corrections, now in the Municipal Library of Versailles.

Marianus Königsperger (1708–1769) was organist and choirmaster of Prüfening Abbey. He published a large amount of church music in Latin as well as chamber music and keyboard pieces. Modern editions of the latter include Praeambulum cum fuga primi toni facili methodi elaboratum (prelude and fugue on each of the eight Tones) originally published in three volumes between 1752 and 1756, edited by Laura Cerutti for Armelin (AMM151)—the fugue on the eighth Tone is missing—Der wohl-unterwiesene Clavier-schüler . . . VIII Praeambula, XXIV Versette, und VIII Arien (i.e., eight sets of preludes, 24 versets, and 8 arias on each of the eight Tones) of 1755 edited by Laura Cerutti for Armelin (AMM030). A Praeambulum in C minor and a Fuga in C major from Fingerstreit oder Klavierübung of 1760, together with three of the preludes and fugues and two arias, has been edited by Eberhard Kraus for Otto Heinrich Noetzel Verlag, Wilhemshaven, in Cantantibus Organis, volume 5 (ref 3465). This volume also contains three preludes and fugues by Placidus Metsch along with three fugues and two sets of Versetten by Georg Pasterwitz.

William Felton (1715–1769) was vicar choral at the cathedral of Hereford and an amateur composer. He left thirty-two concerti for organ or harpsichord based on Handel’s, in five sets of six, opp. 1, 2, 4, 5, and 7 (the latter set was reissued with eight concerti), and two sets of Eight Lessons for the harpsichord, opp. 3 and 6. The keyboard part for the six concerti in opus 1 has been edited by Greg Lewin and is self-published (OM131).

William Walond (1719–1768), assistant organist of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, left two sets of works. Organ Voluntaries, opus 1, is a set of six two-movement voluntaries (ca. 1752)—three are for Cornet, one is for Cornet and Flute, one is without registration indication, but clearly for Cornet or Flute, and the final one is a prelude and fugue—and has been edited by Greg Lewin and self-published (OM102; a facsimile is available as OM102A). Also there is Ten Voluntaries, opus 2, printed in 1758, with a much wider range of pieces comprising three single-movement fugues, a single-movement piece alternating between Sesquialtera in the left hand and the Swell, and six two-movement pieces including one prelude and fugue, one Voluntary for Cornet and Flute, one for Trumpet, its Echo and Flute, one Voluntary for the two Diapasons, Principal, and Fifteenth, one for the full swell and Vox Humana or Bassoon, and one for Flute, edited by Greg Lewin (OM110).

Friedrich Christian Mohrheim (1719–1780) attended the Thomasschule in Leipzig from 1733 to 1736 and acted as J. S. Bach’s copyist, later becoming Kapellmeister in Danzig. He left seven trios for organ, three of which are on chorale melodies, and six chorale preludes. The complete pieces have been edited by Maciej Babnis for Organon in three volumes (ORG0007–9), and the trios have been edited by Maurizio Machella for Armelin (AMM 223).

Joaquín de Ojinaga (1719–1789), born in Bilbao, became organist of the Chapel Royal, Madrid, and then of the cathedral of Toledo. Eleven pieces comprising five Fugas, a Paso, an Intento, two sonatas, and two minuetos have been edited José López-Calo for Eusko Ikaskuntza Sociedad de Estudios Vascos as Cuadernos de música 2. It can be downloaded free of charge from http://hedatuz.euskomedia.org/8679/1/obras_musicales.pdf.

Nicolas Séjan (1745–1819), an organist in Paris, left a set of six sonatas for harpsichord with violin accompaniment as his opus 1, and a Recueil de pièces (13) for the harpsichord as his opus 2, as well as a posthumously published print, Trois Fugues et plusieurs Noëls pour l’Orgue, which has been edited by Nicolas Gorenstein for Editions Chanvrelin.

Pierre Nicolas Verheyen (ca. 1750–1819) was an organist in Gent. Seven pieces in a manuscript (two andantes, four one-movement sonatas, and a Nouvelle Marche) have been edited by Armando Carideo for Ut Orpheus (ES14).

Carlo Gervasoni (1762–1819), born in Milan, became maestro di cappella at Borotaro in 1789. His three-part treatise La Scuola della Musica of 1800 contains much useful information about organs and performance practice as well as some Lezioni d’organo, which have been edited by Maurizio Machella for Armelin (OIO 109).

Giulio Maria Delfrate-Alvazzi (1772–1819), organist in Varzo and Cattagna, left a handful of pieces in manuscripts, of which three single-movement sonatas, an Elevazione Bellissima, a Presto, an Andante, and seven versetti have been edited by Luca Lovisolo as volume II of the Flores Organi Cisalpini series, Edizione Carrara (4158).

Alexander Meszler is a doctoral student of Kimberly Marshall at Arizona State University. He currently lives in Versailles, France, on a Fulbright award where he is investigating secularism and the organ as well as continuing organ studies with Jean-Baptiste Robin. A strong advocate of music by living composers, he serves as a member of the American Guild of Organists’ Committee on New Music. He is a member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2019.

Elements of old and new make for fertile ground in organ composition; Klaus Huber (1924–2017) built his organ works on this ground. Although even the most recent organ works can hardly be considered new, they still stand outside of the standard canon of repertoire, and thus, sound refreshing.

Music historians have already begun to specialize in classical music of the last decades of the twentieth century. Varying interpretations of historical periods and styles among musicologists have emerged, but the lasting impact of post-war music is still up for debate. In writing about Huber, I intend to introduce a composer who I believe deserves a place in the organ repertoire.

Apart from his work as a composer, Huber is best known as a teacher. Two of his most significant teaching positions were as professor of composition at the Académie de Musique (1964–1973) in Basel, Switzerland, and later, at the Fribourg Musikhochschule (1973–1990). He won numerous awards and prizes for his work in orchestral and chamber genres. The depth of Huber’s influence as a composition teacher cannot be overstated; his name is found prominently in the biographies of composers such as Brian Ferneyhough, Toshio Hosokawa, Michael Jarrell, Younghi Pagh-Paan, Wolfgang Rihm, André Richard, Hans Wüthrich, and Hans-Ola Ericsson. Many of his students went on to write their own organ works.

I became interested in the music of Klaus Huber for three reasons: (1) a desire to explore music of the twentieth century that is underrepresented; (2) Huber’s historically influenced approach to composition for the organ; and (3) the fact that most of his works are relatively short and can be performed on a wide variety of instruments, making them easily programmable. Currently, the only article related directly to Huber’s organ works is a similar introduction from 2010 in La Tribune de l’Orgue, in French, by Guy Bovet.¹ This article combines my observations with Bovet’s and explores aspects of the difficulty, style, and programmability of each of Huber’s organ works. As a supplement, interested readers should consult Bovet’s article, Huber’s Oxford Music Online entry,² the composer’s thorough website (www.klaushuber.com),³ and finally, the Institute for Research and Coordination in Acoustics/Music (IRCAM) contemporary music database, “B.R.A.H.M.S.” (Base de documentation sur la musique contemporaine, http://brahms.ircam.fr).⁴

Huber’s style

Huber’s early compositions exhibit a combination of influences that is paradoxically both conservative and progressive—for instance, Franco-Flemish polyphony, harmony and counterpoint of the Baroque and Classical eras, serialism, and non-Western music.⁵ On the one hand, his initial resistance to the progressive (but standardized) serial developments of the Darmstadt School made him seem unadventurous and attached to the past. On the other hand, the application of his unique voice to the music of the past is remarkably postmodern. In many ways, he anticipates some later styles that, early in his life, were yet to emerge.

Des Engels Anredung an die Seele, his 1959 chamber cantata, unified serial structures with consonant intervals that launched him onto the world stage and won him first prize in the International Society for Contemporary Music (ISCM) competition. Huber loved texts, especially old ones, even medieval. Though opera is not a significant genre in his compositional output, the oratorio and other vocal genres are. Later in life, Huber wrote experimental compositions that use unusual techniques such as having multiple temporal planes that differ in tempo. Finally, perhaps an influence from his students, he eventually turned drastically away from traditional Western styles toward non-Western musics where he used non-Western pitch constructions, instruments, and styles.

Organ works

In general, Huber’s organ works date from his early professional decades (after his student years) and are representative of a more conservative aesthetic, not necessarily typical of all his compositions. Metanoia, however, was not composed until 1995. Though he has written only five solo pieces for organ, a significant number of chamber and choir pieces use organ. I will not discuss these, except one, Sonata da chiesa (1953), for which the organ part is particularly prominent and marks his first exploration of the instrument’s capabilities. Since Huber was a proficient violinist, a composition that combines the unfamiliar territory of the organ with the expressive potential of the violin, an instrument Huber was intimately conversant with, seems an appropriate starting point. Guy Bovet has compared it to a better-known piece by the same name and similar instrumentation, Sonata da chiesa (1938) of Frank Martin (1890–1974). Huber’s piece comprises three movements: Poco Allegro, Allegro, and Largo. Until 2004, this piece remained in manuscript, but now that it is available in print, it will hopefully find its way into the repertoire.

It is a strange coincidence (and, to my knowledge, only a coincidence) that the first organ work of György Ligeti (1923–2006), Ricercar (1953), was conceived only one year before Huber’s first solo work, Ciacona per organo (1954). Both works have thin textures and are in relatively antiquated forms. It is notable that despite vast political separation, two significant postwar compositions, for an instrument virtually forgotten to the Second Viennese School, share much in common. Huber’s chaconne is influenced by a repeated figure that is difficult to identify since it appears in so many modified forms. Ciacona’s form is, in loose terms, ABA. The first large section marked Allegro molto starts with an alternation of chromatic passages (Example 1) with sections marked subito tranquillo (Example 2). The same section culminates in a passage marked agitato with a thicker chordal texture (Example 3). The B section is scored as a trio with the first entry in the pedal. Huber’s fascination with the organ’s capability to play trios continues and develops throughout his other compositions. Following this rhythmically challenging trio section, the composer requests a twenty-second pause (Example 4) before returning to the material of the A section presented in quasi-imitation. Registration suggestions are generally limited to pitch levels, but dynamic markings are supplied liberally. Thus, the piece should transfer easily to organs of many styles.

In memoriam Willy Burkhard (1955), Huber’s second piece for the organ, is dedicated to the passing of his former teacher at the Zürich Conservatory. Burkhard, like Huber, had written solo works for the organ and featured it in his other chamber works. The structure of the piece is in two movements, Molto sostenuto and Adagietto. The harmonic content is strongly tertian but includes hints of quartal harmonies. Unfamiliar harmonies in Huber’s early works can usually be accounted for as expressive, dissonant, but resolving, albeit unconventionally, non-chord tones. Bovet compares the singing quality of the first movement (Example 5) to Hindemith’s Trauermusik, but I am inclined to go a step further and argue that this singing quality even extends to parts of Hindemith’s organ sonatas, particularly the slow movements. The second movement is again written as a trio. In the decades surrounding 1950, Huber is not alone in his fascination with the trio texture—Vincent Persichetti’s sonata of 1960 (and his first harpsichord sonata from 1951), or earlier, Distler’s Organ Sonata of 1938/9. Huber’s second movement is technically a chorale trio since it features Vater unser im Himmelreich on a 4′ reed in the pedal. The composer achieves a great deal of harmonic and rhythmic interest though having only two free voices over the chorale (Example 6). It is important that performers, despite the rhythmic complexity, not lose sight of the compound triple meter that is crucial to the gentle, lilting character. Bovet has argued that this piece is suitable for liturgical use as well as concert use. In total, both movements are only around seven minutes long.

After about a ten-year hiatus from writing for solo organ, Huber returned to the instrument with In te Domine speravi (1964). It was around this same time that he composed Des Engels Anredung an die Seele, which, among other pieces, confirmed his fame and solidified his compositional identity. In te Domine speravi was composed for a three-manual Merklin organ in Basel and was awarded first prize in the Kulturwerk Nordhessen composition competition for organ. It is a short fantasy followed by a quieter section in compound meter. Though the piece seems intimidating since it includes irregular and challenging rhythms, prominent double pedal, and four staves, the piece is significantly easier than it appears (Example 7). Bovet humorously writes, “Despite the complicated appearance of the score upon first look, the piece is not difficult (One does not even need to know how to count since the composer indicates ‘senza misura’!).”⁶ The dense beginning may mark a definite change in style from his earlier organ works, but in the second section, Huber returns to a tranquil trio texture in compound meter. The piece concludes with a rapid crescendo returning to the opening material. This work is around six minutes long, making it even shorter than the previous works.

Cantus cancricans (1965) was composed the following year. Though the title seems to indicate the presence of a crab canon, Huber does not provide a strict one. However, the opening is mirrored at the end. Cantus cancricans, unsurprisingly, is scored as a trio. It was composed for “Schweizerischen Arbeitskreises für Evangelische Kirchenmusick,” a church group in Zurich. Originally, it was to be played after the reading of John 3:30 on the feast of Saint John the Baptist. The piece also includes a short congregational song that should be sung at the fermata on page five before continuing. By this point, Huber’s writing style had become much more complex, both harmonically, but especially rhythmically (Example 8). Logistically, to follow Huber’s dynamic markings, it is necessary to either utilize two expression boxes or frequently change registrations. The former is probably preferable since it would allow the colors to remain intact even though operating two boxes can often be cumbersome. Cantus cancricans is only about four minutes in length, yet is likely the hardest of his works, excepting Metanoia.

Following Cantus cancricans, Huber took an even longer hiatus from solo organ but returned in 1995 to write his longest and by far most complex work for the instrument, Metanoia (1995). The work is a meditation that lasts slightly under thirty minutes. The score consistently has five staves that, though difficult to read, accurately and helpfully portrays the intended colors by manual and register. The work has been published only in manuscript facsimile that, although adequately clear, still makes it more challenging to learn. Metanoia I, from the same year, is the same composition reworked for organ, alto trombone, two boy sopranos, and some simple percussion. It received its first performance, despite being written later, earlier than the original score. The Greek title literally means repentance or penitence and is a reference to the fundamentally Christian admittance of sin. The score calls for an organ in a non-equal temperament.

Metanoia begins by alternating stacked harmonies broken up by various colors and rhythms and frequently changing densities (Example 9) with sections of fast polyrhythmic passagework (Example 10). When these passages include a pedal part, they can be dauntingly challenging. At other times, similar passagework is presented over pedal tones. After the third fast passage, the texture returns to broken harmonies as expected (as in Example 9), but the dynamic suddenly changes to fortissimo and it introduces double pedal. Following this, Huber returns to quieter dynamics and presents a new texture. The work then returns to the newly introduced fortissimo section of broken chords with double pedal. At the end of this section, only about halfway through the piece, Huber changes again and does not return to any of the opening material. From here to the end of the piece (around fifteen minutes), Huber presents alternating chords on different manuals. He calls for alterations of pitch by various degrees of a semitone that are not possible when restricted by equal temperament.

Bovet describes the overall aesthetic of Metanoia: From the listeners’ perspective the experience is not truly musical: it is more like a musical-theatrical happening, or a long meditation; in short, the experience is total. Time is abolished; the sonorities inspire dreams. In the end, Metanoia is a large dream: a moment when the listener gives himself or herself the time, where life stops in a sort of parenthetical reflection on eternity. In our time when no one has time for anything, this can be pure happiness.⁷

A harpsichord work

Though not an organ work, readers may be interested in La Chace (1963) for solo harpsichord. The Diapason has enough harpsichord readers that I believe interest in this work is probably self evident. The piece was written for and dedicated to Antoinette Vischer, though she did not premiere it. It is scored in four staves, two for each manual, which, though complicating the notation, displays his specific intentions related to the use of each keyboard. His registration markings are clear and useful. Interested harpsichordists will find this a technically challenging and musically satisfying piece of music.

Conclusion

Huber’s organ works are rarely recorded or performed. Given his influence on the world of twentieth-century composition, it is curious that he seems to have almost no place in the organ literature. Several of his pieces, as Bovet has pointed out, could be used in more exploratory church music programs. Concert organists should take note of the relatively short duration of most of Huber’s pieces, making them programmable. If nothing else, I hope that organists will take note of Huber, not only for his works, but also for the extent of his influence elsewhere. Having passed only recently in 2017, we should take stock and remember the significance and beauty of the music of Klaus Huber.

Notes

1. Guy Bovet, “L’œvre pour et avec orgue de Klaus Huber (né en 1924),” La Tribune de l’Orgue – Revue Suisse romande, 62/3 (2010): 3–11.

2. Max Nyffeler, “Huber, Klaus,” Grove Music Online, Oxford University Press, 2001, accessed June 6, 2017, www.oxfordmusiconline.com.

3. “Klaus Huber,” accessed June 6, 2017, www.klaushuber.com.

4. “Klaus Huber: Compositeur Suisse né le 30 novembre 1924 à Berne,” Ircam-Centre Pompidou, accessed June 6, 2017, http://brahms.ircam.fr/klaus-huber.

5. Nyffeler.

6. Bovet, 8.

7. Ibid., 11.

Scores by Klaus Huber

Cantus Cancricans. Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Kassel (5486), 1968.

Ciacona. Kilchberg: Sinus-Verlag (10016), 1954.

In memoriam Willy Burkhard. Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Kassel (4462), 1965.

In te Domine speravi. Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Kassel (4463), 1966.

La Chace. Mainz: Edition Schott (5429), 1965.

Metanoia. München: G. Ricordi & Co., 1995.

Sonata da chiesa. München: G. Ricordi & Co., 2004.

Photo credit: Harald Rehling

The Art of the Fugue, II

For discussion in this the next two columns, I offer the program notes I wrote for my first performance of The Art of the Fugue in May 1985. This performance, on the Fisk organ at Westminster Choir College, was one of my two graduate recitals. I prepared these notes over more or less an entire semester and had some input and help from my teacher Eugene Roan and from William Hays, who was the advisor for degree recital program notes. I have been pleased with this essay, and I have used it as partial program notes for subsequent performances. It has an integrity to its overall structure—thanks in significant part to Dr. Hays’s assistance—such that I have not changed it or excerpted it. Despite that, if I were to write these notes today, there are a number of things I would phrase differently.

It could be fruitful to use some of those theoretical revisions to frame future columns about the learning process, the evolution of my relationship with this work, and the relationship between my own work on this piece and teaching. Some of what I wrote about the order of the movements was too cut-and-dried, rather too simple, failing to reflect some of the complexities of what we do and do not know about the piece. In later columns, I will discuss that, including some new ideas.

History and form

J. S. Bach wrote The Art of the Fugue during the last years of his life, probably beginning work on what turned out to be his longest and most complex instrumental composition in 1743, leaving the opus incomplete at his death in July 1750. It was published in 1751 in Leipzig in a poorly engraved edition, the preparation of only part of which had been supervised by Bach himself. The publication was not a commercial success, and the project was soon abandoned by Bach’s heirs.

Copies of The Art of the Fugue circulated among musicians, however, from that time on. In 1799 a scholar referred in print to the work as “celebrated,” and both Mozart and Beethoven owned copies. The Art of the Fugue was studied extensively by musicians throughout the nineteenth century, and nearly twenty editions or arrangements were published during those years. The first known public performance of the whole work took place in 1927 in Leipzig under the direction of Karl Straube, one of Bach’s successors as Kantor of Saint Thomas School in that city.

The Art of the Fugue is a work of well over an hour in length, consisting of eighteen movements all based in one way or another on the same musical theme. This theme occurs in something like one hundred different forms throughout the piece. The first and simplest form of the theme is shown in Example 1.

The theme is closely based on the tonic triad of the key of D minor, or, looking at it another way, on the interval of a fifth, and on the idea of filling that interval in. The first gesture creates a perfect fifth; the next gesture fills in that fifth, in the simplest possible way. The rest of the theme provides the remaining notes needed to fill in the perfect fifth, D–A, by step, and outlines a diminished fifth, C-sharp–G. In the tonal world of Bach the perfect fifth is the source of security and repose, while the diminished fifth is a source of tension, unrest, and striving. The two are antithetical to one another. This antithesis, with the one side represented not only by the perfect fifth as such but also by all diatonicism, and the other side mainly represented by the chromaticism implicit in the diminished fifth, is a major source of direction, growth, and meaning throughout The Art of the Fugue.

The opening theme also contains, in significant contexts, all the intervals from the semitone to the perfect fifth. This is in spite of the brevity, compactness, and apparent simplicity of the theme. The use of such a theme creates a situation in which any interval, either open or filled in by step, can be used by the composer as a motive significantly related to the main theme of the work. This possibility for motivic interrelation is an important source of unity and coherence in The Art of the Fugue in spite of considerable variety and diversity.

Most of the movements of The Art of the Fugue are fugues or are largely constructed through fugal procedures. Four movements are strict two-voice canons. Bach did not designate any of the movements as fugues, but rather as contrapuncti. (He may well also not have been responsible for the title under which the work is known, since the title page was engraved after his death.) He seems to have been concerned in his use of nomenclature to suggest that the movements were not autonomous fugues such as the organ fugues or the fugues of the Well-Tempered Clavier (all of which are paired with non-fugal preludes), but rather stages in the working out of a musical idea, or a set of musical ideas, through a variety of contrapuntal techniques. Several of the movements, even apart from the canons, would probably not have satisfied Bach’s own definition of a fugue as such, because of serious irregularities in the construction of their opening sections. These irregularities, however, make perfect sense as stages in the contrapuntal development of the work as a whole. They serve invariably as responses to what has come before and as preparations for what will follow. These relationships are described in detail below in the comments on the individual contrapuncti.

The four two-voice canons (numbers 12–15) are lighter in texture and mood than any of the other movements and are simpler in construction. Coming after the most complex of all the contrapuncti, and before the movements in which contrapuntal ingenuity is carried to its farthest extremes, they provide for performer and listeners a moment of repose. This makes possible a renewal of energy and of momentum towards the climax of the final movement. Many individual Bach organ fugues contain within their structure a similar “relaxed” passage, which serves a similar function of providing a breathing space before the final climactic musical gesture. (Measures 121–139 of the Fugue in C minor, BWV 546ii, and measures 141–155 of the Fugue in E minor, BWV 548ii, are particularly good examples of this.) This suggests that The Art of the Fugue should be thought of not as a collection of fugues, but as one structure analogous to a single giant fugue. Further facts bear this analogy out (assuming it is not pressed into too detailed a form). The first movements of the work introduce the main musical ideas in a straightforward way, as does the exposition of a fugue.

The middle movements of The Art of the Fugue develop those musical ideas and others, with increasing complexity, contrapuntal and harmonic, and with increasing variety of texture. This is similar to the middle section (sometimes called “development”) of many fugues, especially, longer ones. The four canons fulfill the purpose described above. In the final three movements harmonic complexity is reduced, and anything even approaching the almost impenetrable density of Contrapunctus 11 is abandoned. In Contrapunctus 17, the original theme is reintroduced in a form closer to the opening of Contrapunctus 1 than anything that has been heard since Contrapunctus 4. This is analogous to the return of the initial subject that characterizes the final section of many fugues. The extraordinary contrapuntal ingenuity of Contrapuncti 16 and 17 (see below) is analogous to the increase in contrapuntal complexity that is found at the end of many Bach fugues, usually in the form of stretto.

Neither the first edition of The Art of the Fugue nor any of the eighteenth-century manuscript copies say on what instrument or instruments the work was meant to be performed. Over the years many different performing forces have been used, including piano, chamber ensembles of various composition, symphony orchestra, jazz combo, harpsichord, and organ. Many scholars believe that Bach actually meant the work for organ, some that he meant it for harpsichord, even though the posthumous title page says neither. The first edition was published in open score, that is, with a separate line for each voice. This was an old Italian and German way of presenting keyboard music used, for example, by Samuel Scheidt in his Tabulatura Nova (1624). It was certainly not the standard keyboard notation in 1750, but Bach had used it shortly before, in his Canonic Variations, BWV 769. The contrapuncti all fit very well under two hands and two feet, and with some difficulty under two hands alone. The pedal parts work as pedal parts: that is, they can be learned using the kinds of pedal technique known to Bach and his students, and when so learned they are comfortable (though occasionally challenging) to play. This would not be true of the bass lines of Bach chamber works or harpsichord works, by and large. The editors of the first edition chose to include a short additional piece by Bach, to compensate the purchaser for the incomplete state of the last movement. The piece they selected was an organ chorale, which they also presented in open score. It is thus likely that they assumed that the users of the work would be organists, even though they did not say so on the title page. It is also quite possible that Bach himself wanted musicians to use their own judgment as to how the piece can be realized in sound.

B-A-C-H

The third subject of the last movement of The Art of the Fugue is made up of notes that, in the standard German musical nomenclature, spell the name “Bach” (Example 2). In the German system, B-flat is called B, and B-natural is called H. Bach was aware throughout his life that the letters of his name made a plausible musical theme—it was certainly known to his musical ancestors as well—but he used it sparingly in his music. The only extensive use he made of it was in The Art of the Fugue. The final appearance of the B-A-C-H theme as the subject of a powerfully climactic fugue in Contrapunctus 18 is prepared by a chain of musical developments running through the whole work. This chain is best followed retrospectively. Before Contrapunctus 18, the B-A-C-H theme appears in Contrapunctus 11. Here, the four relevant notes form part of a lively and insistent eighth-note motive (Example 3). They do not stand on their own, but they are clearly present. This eighth-note motive, however, is an inversion of one of the main themes of Contrapunctus 8. That movement is thus revealed to have contained the B-A-C-H theme in a highly disguised form. The motive also occurs in once in Contrapunctus 8, casually, without repetition or development, in the bass voice at measure 143, transposed up a whole step. The first appearance of the B-A-C-H theme in the work occurs at the end of Contrapunctus 4, where the four notes form part of an otherwise meandering free chromatic countersubject to the main theme. This serves to underline the essential chromaticism of the B-A-C-H theme, and to tie that theme to the other chromaticism in The Art of the Fugue. The seeds of the chromaticism in the work, and thus the seeds of the B-A-C-H motive itself, are found, as explained above, in the initial statement of the main theme. The four contrapuncti in which the B-A-C-H theme is found (4, 8, 11, and 18) are by a considerable margin the four longest movements in the work, and each of the four is longer than the last.

To be continued.

Scott Elsholz is director of music for Saint Brigid Catholic Church, Memphis, Tennessee. He received his Doctor of Music degree in organ performance/literature from the Jacobs School of Music, Indiana University, Bloomington, where he was an associate instructor in church music, and he received his Bachelor of Music and Master of Arts degrees in organ performance from Eastern Michigan University, Ypsilanti, where he later served as an adjunct instructor of organ. He previously served as music director at the Church of the Nativity, Bartlett, Tennessee; Saint Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral, Memphis; and Saint John’s Episcopal Church, Plymouth, Michigan.

The city of Erfurt was, by the middle of the seventeenth century, the most important city in the central German heartland of Thuringia (Figure 1). With nearly 18,000 residents, Erfurt was the largest city in Thuringia and was the commercial and cultural capital of the region.¹ Following the Thirty Years War and under the electoral archbishopric of Mainz, Erfurt became a uniquely ecumenical (i.e., bi-confessional) city, with nearly twenty percent of its residents worshipping as Roman Catholics. With such cultural and economic prominence and diversity, Erfurt drew some of the best musicians of the day to its churches and streets: members of the Bach family (including Johann Ambrosius, father of Johann Sebastian) were well-regarded as town musicians; Johann Pachelbel worked, taught, and composed the majority of his organ music here for over twelve years; and, of course, in the previous century, Martin Luther studied for six years at the University of Erfurt and became a monk in the Augustinian monastery. It was in this context that Johann Heinrich Buttstett spent nearly his entire life studying and practicing his art.

Members of the Buttstett family had lived for some time in the Erfurt region, as the name was quite common in city records at least a century prior to the birth of Johann Heinrich. Primarily toolmakers and furriers, the Buttstett clan belonged to the respectable craftsmen class, though the musician Buttstett’s father (also named Johann Heinrich) deviated from such trades to become a Protestant clergyman.

Beginning in 1664, the pastor Buttstett became a prominent clergyman in Bindersleben, a small village just outside Erfurt. He apparently also had a fair amount of knowledge of and love for pipe organs, as the Bindersleben community thanked him for his assistance in procuring an instrument for the parish.² The musician Buttstett was born on April 25, 1666, and was the eldest of at least three sons and one daughter. The second son Georg Christophorus also joined the clergy (succeeding his father upon the latter’s death), while little is known of the third son Johann Jakob and daughter Anna Sabina. It is interesting to note that all of the sons would have attended the Ratsgymnasium in Bindersleben under the tutelage of David Adlung, whose son Jakob Adlung would eventually succeed the musician Buttstett after the latter’s death and who would become an influential music scholar and theorist.

It should be noted that there exist three possible spellings of Johann Heinrich’s family name. “Buttstedt” is quite common, as it is found in contemporaneous documents, most notably the composer’s contract at the Erfurt Predigerkirche, and was the spelling used by Ernst Ludwig Gerber in his Lexicon der Tonkünstler of 1790. “Buttstädt” was used by the musician’s father and also apparently by the composer himself in business correspondence bearing his signature (though no handwritten musical manuscripts are extant). This is the spelling preferred by the composer’s biographer Ernst Ziller. “Buttstett” is the most common variation found in academic literature, beginning with Johann Gottfried Walther’s
Musikalisches Lexicon (1732), and it is the spelling that was used on the title pages of Johann Heinrich’s publications.³

Little is known of the early years of Johann Heinrich Buttstett, but we do know that he studied for many years under Johann Pachelbel, most likely beginning around 1684 (though possibly as early as 1678), after successive outbreaks of the plague in Erfurt had subsided. Pachelbel was organist at the Erfurt Predigerkirche (Figure 2), considered to be the most prominent Protestant church in the entire city (i.e., the Ratskirche), and he gathered around him a large circle of students. In addition to Buttstett, Pachelbel taught Johann Christoph Bach (Johann Sebastian’s brother), Nikolaus Vetter, and Johann Valentin Eckelt, among many others. Pachelbel was considered one of the greatest composers and teachers of his generation, and a letter written by the Erfurt authorities in response to Pachelbel’s request to take his leave in 1690 attests to the level of great respect and appreciation the city had for this famous musician.⁴

Upon Pachelbel’s appointment as court organist in Stuttgart, he was succeeded for one year by Nikolaus Vetter. Following Vetter’s departure in 1691, Johann Heinrich Buttstett became the organist of the Predigerkirche on July 19 of that same year (Figure 3). Prior to his appointment at the Predigerkirche, Buttstett had served as organist at the smaller Reglerkirche from 1684 until 1687, and then as organist and teacher of Latin at the Kaufmannskirche and Kaufmannsschule. The former position was most likely part of an apprenticeship, while the larger Kaufmannskirche position can be considered his first full-time employment. Interestingly, beginning May 19, 1690, during his tenure at the Kaufmannskirche, Buttstett was already appointed to the Predigerkirche as a sort of Werkmeister.⁵ Similar to Dieterich Buxtehude’s dual roles as organist and Werkmeister at the Marienkirche in Lübeck, Buttstett was charged with collecting duties and maintaining the church’s financial books. Upon his appointment as organist of the Predigerkirche, Buttstett remained administrator and continued in both roles until his death.

The prestigious position at the Predigerkirche was multifaceted. The details of the position were remarkably prescribed in Pachelbel’s extant contract, dated June 19, 1678, and were restated in the Fundbuch of 1693, beginning with the title “Instruction for Mr. Joh. Heinr. Buttstedt as organist of the Predigerkirche.”

He [Pachelbel] was to precede the singing of a chorale by the congregation with a thematic prelude based on its melody, and he was to accompany the singing throughout the stanzas. The wording makes it clear that he was not to improvise the prelude but should diligently prepare it beforehand. It was also specified that every year on St. John the Baptist’s Day, 24 June, he was . . . obliged not only to submit to a re-examination, but also to demonstrate his vocational progress during the past year in a half-hour recital at the end of the afternoon service, using the entire resources of the organ ‘in delightful and euphonious harmony.’⁶

Further, like most of his contemporaries, Buttstett was required to maintain all organs and regals. He was responsible for playing two Sunday services at 9 a.m. and 2 p.m., in addition to Saturday vespers and high feast days. However, it is clear that Buttstett did not serve as Kantor for the Predigerkirche. This role was filled by at least four different musicians during Buttstett’s long tenure in Erfurt. Thus, it is unlikely that Buttstett was actively involved in the musical education of choristers at the Predigerkirche, which is perhaps the reason so few choral works by Buttstett are extant. Finally, in his preface to “Ut, mi, sol . . .” Buttstett makes reference to his work for both Protestant and Catholic churches in Erfurt, but unfortunately, other than four extant Latin Masses, no other details of this ecumenical service are forthcoming.

Of Buttstett’s personal life, we know relatively little, but the few facts that are known are indeed interesting. As he held arguably the most prestigious position for a church musician in Erfurt, Buttstett was quickly and easily granted official citizenship to the city in 1693 and was named Ratsorganist. With citizenship came the right of beer ownership and admission to a prestigious shooting club, both of which surely must have brought the composer some measure of personal satisfaction. Still, in his published works, Buttstett often referred to the large Hauskreutz⁷ he had to bear and endure, perhaps referring to a home life frequented by death. He married Martha Lämmerhirt (second cousin to Elisabeth Lämmerhirt, the mother of Johann Sebastian Bach) on July 12, 1687, at the Erfurt Reglerkirche. Their oldest son Johann Laurentius was born in 1688, and they had at least six more boys and three girls, though it is assumed that many died quite young as there is no mention of four of the children beyond their birth records.⁸ Of his children, his eldest son applied for the Predigerkirche position upon his father’s death, though he was clearly outranked by Jakob Adlung. Johann Heinrich’s son Johann Samuel would eventually be the father of Franz Vollrath Buttstett, who would become a fairly successful organist and composer in the pre-Classical style of the mid-eighteenth century.⁹ Martha Lämmerhirt Buttstett died in 1711, and there is no record of Johann Heinrich Buttstett marrying again.

Like his teacher Johann Pachelbel, Buttstett gathered around himself a large group of students, the most famous of whom were Johann Gottfried Walther and Georg Friedrich Kauffmann. Walther includes a fascinating anecdote of Buttstett’s teaching methods in one of his letters to Heinrich Bokemeyer. Apparently, Buttstett was known for hoarding knowledge of musical invention and contrapuntal techniques and required his students to pay him twelve Thalers to have access to a treatise on double counterpoint in Buttstett’s library. Upon a down payment of six Thalers, Buttstett would only allow Walther to copy small portions of the treatise at a time. Not unlike the tale of J. S. Bach’s moonlight manuscript copying, Walther eventually bribed one of Buttstett’s sons to steal the treatise for one night, during which time Walther was able to copy it in its entirety.¹⁰ Walther and Kauffmann only studied with Buttstett for a short time, and this episode perhaps elucidates the reason for such an abbreviated period of study.

In his preface to the Musicalische Clavier=Kunst und Vorraths=Kammer,¹¹ Buttstett stated that he had over one thousand compositions in manuscript that would someday be ready for publication. But, perhaps due to circumstances discussed below, after the Clavier=Kunst of 1713, he would not publish a single keyboard work, and most of his manuscript copies are certainly lost. Nevertheless, likely due to the number of students who may have copied his works and disseminated them throughout central Germany, many other compositions still exist and deserve some mention. Two free works, the Praeludium in G Major from the Clavier=Kunst and the remarkable “Tremolo”¹² Fugue in E Minor, are included in the Andreas Bach Buch and were likely copied by Johann Christoph Bach.¹³ Of the free works, there also exist five additional fugues attributed to Buttstett (two of which are spurious) and one Prelude and Fugue. Also, as would be expected given the contractual requirements of his position at the Predigerkirche, a far greater number of chorale-based works have been preserved. Styles represented included cantus firmus chorales, chorale partitas (including verses reminiscent of J. S. Bach’s famous written-out accompaniment to In dulci jubilo, BWV 729), chorale fughettas, ornamented chorales, and figured chorales. Buttstett’s chorale-based works feature some of his finest and most concise writing, and he was undeniably influenced in his compositional forms and techniques by his teacher Pachelbel.

Buttstett’s fame, however, largely rests on a very public and protracted dispute with the great theorist and writer Johann Mattheson (Figure 4). In 1713, Mattheson published the first of a series of writings on music theory, aesthetics, rhetoric, history, and other varied topics, namely Das neu-eröffnete Orchestre. This three-part treatise, respectively dealing with musical nomenclature, compositional rules, and musical criticism, was one of the first to present the twenty-four major and minor keys as the basis for all contemporary musical composition. He derided previous authors, in particular Athanasius Kircher and his Musurgia universalis (1650), for their adherence to the ancient church modes in their writings, arguing that they often ignored actual compositional practice in their analyses. For instance, about Kircher’s apparent omission of C minor, he states:

It would be no idle curiosity to investigate whether it was by crass error or by a most profound ignorance that this most attractive key merited a place neither in the authentic, plagal, or transposed modes, nor even in the ecclesiastic or Gregorian tones. The stupidity of the ancients is hardly to be believed, much less excused.¹⁴

Throughout his discussion of the keys versus the modes, Mattheson continued to use such vitriol. Although Mattheson saw a place for the retention of the church modes, namely in sacred music, he considered them to be completely inappropriate for contemporary composition.

Mattheson’s work inspired much derision among conservative musicians, with the greatest critic being Johann Heinrich Buttstett. In ca. 1715, Buttstett published his complete repudiation of Mattheson’s theories in Ut, mi, sol, re, fa, la, tota musica et harmonia aeterna (Figure 5). On his ornately decorated frontispiece (ironically with symbolic representations of major and minor triads15), Buttstett states,

Ut, mi, sol, re, fa, la, the totality of music and eternal harmony, or newly published, old, true, sole, and eternal Foundation of Music, opposed to the Neu-eröffnete Orchestre, and divided into two parts, in which, and to be sure in the first part, the erroneous opinions of the author of the Orchestre with respect to tones or modes in music are refuted. In the second part, however, the true foundation of music is shown; Guidonian solmization is not only defended, but also shown to be of special use in the introduction of a fugal answer; lastly, it will also be maintained that someday everyone will make music in heaven with the same [solmization] syllables that are used here on earth.¹⁶

Essentially, Buttstett called for the return of compositional practices of the fifteenth century. He accepted the modes as the true basis of music composition and defended the use of hexachordal mutation using Guido d’Arezzo’s system of solmization. Further, he argued that Mattheson’s so-called keys were merely transpositions of only two modes, and that the sole differentiation of modes was based on the placement of the semitone mi-fa.17 Buttstett also argues against Mattheson’s tri-partite classification of musical style (e.g., Stylo Ecclesiastico, Stylo Theatrali, and Stylo Camerae), favoring Kircher’s rather cumbersome nine-part classification,¹⁸ and he derides composers who favor profitable “popular and accessible music” over the more intellectually demanding counterpoint.¹⁹ As George Buelow succinctly states, “In sum, he [Buttstett] believed that Mattheson was leading musicians to chaos by abandoning the rules of music which had been valid for more than 100 years.”²⁰

Mattheson responded to Buttstett in 1717 with Das beschützte Orchestre, a “merciless satire of Buttstett’s opus.”²¹ The frontispiece depicts a tombstone for Guido d’Arezzo and the subtitle is a play on Buttstett’s own title: “Ut, Mi, Sol, Re, Fa, La—Todte [i.e., dead] (nicht Tota) Musica.” Citing Buttstett’s insistence on only one true semitone, Mattheson points out that Buttstett also mentions that there are simultaneously two and twelve semitones per octave, thus leading Mattheson to ask how there can all at once be one, two, and twelve of something. He goes on to accuse Buttstett of taking previous authors out of context and finally solicits the opinions of other leading musicians and scholars on the matter, most of whom take Mattheson’s side of the debate (the most notable exception being Johann Joseph Fux).

While Buttstett responded yet again in 1718, he was no match for the witty and intellectually superior Mattheson. Buttstett’s arguments were the last gasp of conservative German music theory, prominent especially among organists, in a battle that had been clearly won by a new theoretical and more cosmopolitan approach toward music composition.²²

Following this debate, it is plausible that, in defeat, Buttstett had given up on his dream of publishing a multi-volume series of keyboard compositions. The only publication that remained to come from his pen was his Opera prima sacra of 1720, the aforementioned four Latin Masses. Thus, the ambitious project that had begun with the Musicalische Clavier=Kunst und Vorraths=Kammer was abandoned, and the vast majority of Buttstett’s keyboard music is likely forever lost.

One can only imagine what life was like for the aging Buttstett in his twilight years. Perhaps he was contented to continue his work as the Erfurt Ratsorganist. After all, Erfurt remained an important Thuringian city, and there is no indication that Buttstett was unable to perform his duties until his death on December 1, 1727. At least two of his sons outlived him, and it is likely he continued to teach and serve as a mentor to the next generation of organists. Still, after his death, Buttstett was largely forgotten. But even so, it is clear that, as his biographer Ernst Ziller states, “Buttstädt was a true Thuringian musician, very closely connected to his home town and its musical traditions, a deeply religious personality, a human being who lived for his music until the end of his days. Music was his life’s purpose and his calling from God.”²³

To be continued.

Notes

1. Christoph Wolff, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician (New York:
W. W. Norton & Co., Inc., 2000), 15.

2. Ernst Ziller, Der Erfurter Organist Johann Heinrich Buttstädt (Berlin: Buchandlung des Waisenhauses G.m.b.H, 1935). Reprint, Beiträge zur Musikforschung, ed. Max Schneider, no. 3. (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 1971), 5.

3. Further, his grandson, the composer Franz Vollrath, used this spelling.

4. Suzy Schwenkedel, La tablature de Weimar: Johann Pachelbel et son école (Arras: Association Nationale de formation des organists liturgiques, 1993), 13.

5. A Werkmeister was responsible for managing the church’s financial accounts and is roughly equivalent to a modern-day bookkeeper.

6. Ewald V. Nolte and John Butt, “Pachelbel, Johann,” The New Grove Dictionary of Music Online, ed. Laura Macy, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com (accessed February 18, 2012).

7. Literally translated “House cross.” Exact meaning unclear but the speculation by Ziller is plausible.

8. Ziller, 12.

9. George J. Buelow, “Buttstett, Franz Vollrath,” The New Grove Dictionary of Music Online, ed. Laura Macy, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com (accessed February 24, 2012).

10. David Yearsley, “Alchemy and Counterpoint in an Age of Reason,” Journal of the American Musicological Society, 51:2 (Summer 1998), 214.

11. The “=” in the title was a convention of the German Fraktur typeface (the typographic style used for the title page and preface of the Clavierkunst) for compound words in titles, common from the sixteenth to early twentieth centuries.

12. Dietrich Bartel, Musica Poetica: Musical-Rhetorical Figures in German Baroque Music (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997), 427.

13. Christoph Bach and Buttstett both likely studied with Pachelbel concurrently.

14. Johann Mattheson, Das neu-eröffnete Orchestre (Hamburg: Schiller, 1713), 245, quoted in Joel Lester, Between Modes and Keys: German Theory, 1592–1802, Harmonologia, 3 (Stuyvesant: Pendragon, 1989), 116–7.

15. Walter Blackenburg, “Zum Titelbild von Johann Heinrich Buttstedts Schrift UT-MI-SOL-RE-FA-LA, tota Musica et Harmonia Aeterna (1716).” In Heinrich Sievers zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Günter Katzenberger (Tutzing: Hans Schneider, 1978), 23.

16. Lester, 119.

17. Lester, 120.

18. Paul Collins, The Stylus Phantasticus and Free Keyboard Music of the North German Baroque (London: Ashgate, 2005), 24.

19. Yearsley, 215.

20. George J. Buelow, “Buttstett, Johann Heinrich,” The New Grove Dictionary of Music Online, ed. Laura Macy, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com (accessed February 24, 2012).

21. Lester, 121.

22. Buelow, “Buttstett, Johann Heinrich.”

23. Ziller, trans. Elke Kramer, adapt. Scott Elsholz, 22.

Photo caption: Erfurt in 1650.

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

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.