Ten Organ Chorales in the Schübler Tradition

Marilyn Biery

Marilyn Biery is keyboard acquisitions editor at Augsburg Fortress. She is Bridge Director of Music Ministry at Kirk in the Hills in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. She holds bachelor and master of music degrees in organ performance from Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois, and the Doctor of Musical Arts degree in organ performance from the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis.

One of my great delights as a church musician is getting to work with instrumentalists—amateurs, professionals, and students. Therefore, I am always on the lookout for music for them. When I have someone coming to play an obbligato for a work with the choir, I search for repertoire for them to play for preludes or postludes. I discovered that there is a wealth of material available for violin and flute, but not as much for the oboe, particularly for oboe and organ.

Six years ago, I made the acquaintance of Stephanie Shapiro of Ann Arbor, Michigan, who is currently on the faculty at Wayne State University in Detroit as well as the principal oboist for the Lansing Symphony. Since then, Stephanie and I have become devoted friends as well as musical collaborators—we have played numerous concerts and worship services together, and we have found a wealth of repertoire for oboe and organ as well as some pieces for English horn and organ.

During the pandemic, when we were isolated, it occurred to me that there might be music on the International Music Score Library Project (IMSLP) site (imslp.org) that we could transcribe for publication. A year later we had so much music compiled that we decided to split it into separate volumes. We are currently finishing our second volume, and the third has been sketched out. In 2021 GIA Publications published our first collection: Melodies for Two: Music for Oboe, Violin, or Flute, and Organ or Piano, Book One, Composers of Scandinavia, edited by Stephanie Shapiro and Marilyn Biery.

This article will list and briefly discuss the repertoire that we found that was already available and then list and discuss the repertoire in Melodies for Two. For purposes of brevity, I will limit the list to pieces we have either played or rehearsed enough to be able to speak about effectively.

Jacques Berthier (1923–1994): Pastorale, GIA Publications (1987). This lovely pastorale was written for Sherri Batastini, the daughter of Robert Batastini, retired vice president and senior editor at GIA Publications. Sherri was fifteen at the time and already proficient enough to play this piece. Jacques Berthier (1923–1994) was a French composer who wrote most of the liturgical music used at Taizé. Pastorale is in ABA form—two pages of score with a repeat for the A section. The language is modern but very listenable. Of moderate difficulty, it is not hard, but there are numerous accidentals, and the B (“animato”) section has sixteenth-note patterns and wide skips for the oboe. (Examples 1a and 1b.)

Marguerite Roesgen-Champion (1894–1976): Berceuse pour l’enfant Jésus pour Hautbois et Orgue (1956), befoco music; Deux Nocturnes pour hautbois et piano (or orgue), Alphonse Leduc (1950). Berceuse is a perfect lullaby for Christmas Eve or Day, another ABA form with repeat using gentle chromaticism. The first of the Deux Nocturnes is our absolute favorite of all the pieces we discovered, due to the composer’s rich sonorities—fabulous on the 8′ foundations, especially if you add 16′ ad lib pedal. Each piece is about four minutes long, and they make wonderful choices for concert or worship. Roesgen-Champion was a Swiss-born composer who spent much of her life in Paris. These works are of moderate difficulty.

Max Reger (1873–1916): Canzone für Oboe und Orgel, opus 65, number 9, befoco music. Compared to other Reger pieces, this one is not too difficult, but unfortunately our score is missing the last page. Efforts to obtain a score without the defect were not successful. We read it through, and I liked what I saw, but we decided not to pursue it. Canzone is a transcription of a solo organ work, with the oboe taking the top voice; sections with thicker (typical Reger) texture are played by the organ alone. The transcription was done for befoco by Markus Ewald and is of medium difficulty.

Josef Rheinberger (1839–1901): Andante Pastorale und Rhapsodie für Oboe und Orgel, edited by Klaus Hofmann for Carus. “Andante Pastorale” is from “Intermezzo” of the Sonata in A Minor for organ; “Rhapsodie” is from “Andante” of the Sonata in F Minor for organ. This is typical Rheinberger writing. “Andante Pastorale” is another of our favorites; “Rhapsodie” is more challenging. The two make a good set for concert programming and are medium to difficult.

Jan Koetsier (1911–2006): Partita pour Corno Inglese e Organo Manualiter, opus 41, number 1, was published in 1954 by Muziekgroep Nederland, Donemus, Amsterdam. This piece is in five short movements, and some of these could be used individually. The fourth movement is a two-page organ solo that is followed by the last movement, in which the oboe plays Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern. Koetsier was a Dutch composer and conductor. This music is of moderate to medium difficulty.

Henk Badings (1907–1987): Canzona per Oboe ed Organo was published in 1938 by Donemus, Amsterdam. The score is in manuscript form but is clear and readable—about five minutes long. We loved it, but the ending is a bit inconclusive, and we programmed it as the ending of the first half of our recent concert, which left the audience a bit puzzled as to whether it had ended (we were not visible). Badings was an Indo-Dutch composer, and his harmonic language evokes shades of Paul Hindemith. This is medium to difficult.

Piotr Grinholc (b. 1966): Toccata na obój I organy (2010) is available on IMSLP. This piece is great for ending a concert of oboe and organ works. It has brilliant toccata-like passages for the organ, with a lyrical middle section. My efforts to contact him were unsuccessful—we wanted to let him know how much we enjoyed this piece. Grinholc is a Polish organist and sound engineer from Warsaw, Poland. This work is difficult.

Philip Orem (b. 1959): After Reading Mary Oliver—A Suite for Oboe and Organ (2016) and Lullaby for a Bull Moose for English Horn and Organ (2016) are available from the composer: https://po4musik.wixsite.com/website. Lullaby is a delightful little ode to my favorite animal, the moose, a nod to fun and silliness (Example 2). Orem is a graduate of Northwestern University with degrees in piano performance. These works are easy to medium in difficulty.

Daniel Pinkham (1923–2006): The Seven Days, Divertimento for Oboe and Organ, 2002, is published by ECS Publishing: “Flowing,” “Serene,” “Quick,” “Pensive,” “Questions and Answers,” and “Playful Quickstep.” Playing time for this set is about twelve minutes—we have performed it several times, sometimes excerpting some of the movements for a shorter set. The movements are of medium difficulty.

David Evan Thomas: Psalm and Dance (2007) for flute and organ is found in The Minnesota Organ Book: New Music for Organ and Solo Instruments, published by Augsburg Fortress. This piece was commissioned by the American Guild of Organists for its national convention in Minneapolis in 2008 (Example 3). It is equally playable on the oboe with only a few minor adjustments. Thomas is a Minneapolis composer whose organ works are published by Augsburg Fortress. This work is medium to difficult.

James Hopkins: Partita on Cranham for Oboe and Organ (2002) is published by E. C. Schirmer. This piece is trickier than the Pinkham, but well worth learning. It was commissioned for the twenty-second annual Baroque Music Festival in Corona del Mar, Burton Karson, artistic director, by Jerry and Roberta Dauderman. If you know James Hopkins’s organ writing, you will see the same characteristics in this piece—innovative writing with colorful and unique organ registrations. This is medium to difficult.

Calvin Hampton (1938–1984): Variations on Amazing Grace for English Horn and Organ is published by Wayne Leupold Editions. Stephanie and I have looked at this piece several times, but we have not performed it. It is a concert piece with ten variations—we simply have not had the opportunity to program it. The variations flow into one another, so taking one or two out to play would not really be an option for worship. Still, this is worth looking at, especially for lovers of Hampton’s music. The music is difficult.

Melodies for Two: Music for Oboe, Violin, or Flute, and Organ or Piano, Book One, Composers of Scandinavia, edited by Stephanie Shapiro and Marilyn Biery. This book presents works of composers from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Some are household names, such as Grieg and Sibelius, while others are not well known—Laura Netzel, Amanda Röntgen-Maier, and Elfrida Andrée. Some selections were composed for solo piano (Grieg, Sibelius), others were composed for oboe and piano (Carl Nielsen), one for vocalist and piano (Netzel, Ave Maria); the rest were written for violin and piano (Röntgen-Maier, Andrée, Frederik Matthison-Hansen, Netzel). We included parts for flute and violin, which are available as a free download with the purchase of each book.

My paternal grandmother emigrated from Sweden in the early part of the 1900s. My father always loved anything Scandinavian. When I was searching for music to transcribe, the piano pieces of Edvard Grieg (1843–1907) came to mind, and I found four pieces that work beautifully for oboe and organ: “Elegie,” opus 38, number 6; “Elegie,” opus 47, number 7; “Grandmother’s Menuet,” opus 68, number 2 (Example 4, page 15); and “In der Heimat,” opus 43, number 3. These are easy to moderate in difficulty.

Jean Sibelius (1865–1957): Another transcription from a piano piece is Impromptu Number 6 in E Major, opus 5, by Sibelius, a Finnish composer and violinist, widely regarded as his country’s greatest composer. His seven symphonies are regularly performed in his home country and internationally. Some of his works were inspired by nature, some by Nordic mythology. This example is moderately difficult (Example 5, page 15).

Frederik Matthison-Hansen (1868–1933) was a Danish organist and composer who came from a musical family, as his father, grandfather, and uncle were all organists and composers. His father and uncle were his first teachers. He worked as an organist and singing teacher—most of his music was written for the church. His Cantilena makes a perfect prelude for any level player—easy enough for a student and well worth playing for a professional. It is easy to medium.

Carl Nielsen (1865–1931): Fantasistykker, opus 2, consisting of “Romance” and “Humoresque,” was written for oboe and piano, and it makes for a wonderful transcription for organ. Nielsen was a Danish composer, conductor, and violinist, considered to be one of his country’s most prominent composers. He attended the Royal Danish Academy of Music, after which he became a second violinist in the Royal Danish Orchestra, a position he held for sixteen years. In 1916 he began teaching at the Royal Danish Academy, a post he held until his death. The movements are medium to difficult.

Three Swedish women are featured in this collection: Elfrida Andrée (1841–1929), Laura Netzel (1839–1927), and Amanda Röntgen-Maier (1853–1894). Andrée, an organist, conductor, and composer, was the first woman to graduate in organ studies (1860) from the Royal College of Music in Stockholm, where she also studied composition. She was the first woman appointed a cathedral organist in Sweden. Her position as organist at Gothenburg Cathedral began in 1867 and continued until her death. She was active in the Swedish women’s movement and worked to bring about the revision of a law to allow women to hold the position of organist in Sweden. We included her Två Romanser (“Larghetto” and “Allegro”) in the volume, works that are medium to difficult.

Netzel, a composer, pianist, conductor, and concert arranger, was born in Finland into the family of Georg Fredrik Pistolekors, a nobleman and high-ranking civil servant. Her mother died a few months after her birth, and the family moved to Stockholm shortly thereafter. It was not considered proper for high-born ladies to seek a career as a musician, so she studied piano and voice privately. She studied composition with Wilhelm Heintze in Stockholm and Charles-Marie Widor in Paris, where many of her works were published and performed. Like many other women of her time, she wrote under a pseudonym, “N. Lago.” She was active in social causes, supporting poor women, children, and workers.

We included four of Netzel’s pieces in this book. Three were originally for violin and piano: Andante Religioso, opus 48; Berceuse, opus 28; and Tarantelle, opus 33 (Example 6); the fourth, Ave, Maria, opus 41, was written for voice and piano. These pieces are medium to difficult.

Röntgen-Maier, a violinist and composer, was the first woman to graduate with a degree in music direction from the Royal College of Music (1872), where she also studied violin, organ, piano, cello, composition, and harmony. She continued her composition and violin studies in Leipzig, where she met and married the composer Julius Engelbert Röntgen, the son of her violin teacher in Leipzig. The marriage ended her performing career, but she continued to compose. She contracted tuberculosis in 1887 and died at the age of forty-one. We included two movements from her set Six Pieces for Violin and Piano, “Allegretto con moto,” and “Tranquillamente” (Example 7). These are of moderate difficulty.

§

Our second collection of Melodies for Two includes music of the Baroque and Classical periods. There are instrumental parts for oboe, flute, and cello/continuo. These pieces have the degree of difficulty that you would expect of pieces from the Baroque and Classical periods.

• “Siciliano,” from Flute Sonata in E-Flat Major, H. 545, by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (formerly attributed to J. S. Bach as BWV 1031);

• Air in E-flat Major, attributed to Johann Christian Bach;

• “Allegretto” and “Andante grazioso,” from Violin Sonata in G Major, opus 16, number 2, by Johann Christian Bach;

• Ich steh mit einem Fuß im Grabe, BWV 156, by Johann Sebastian Bach;

• Sinfonia/Arioso, from Orchestral Suite Number 3 in D Major, BWV 1068, by Johann Sebastian Bach;

• Fantasia in F Minor for Oboe and Organ, Krebs-WV 604, by Johann Ludwig Krebs (transposed from the 
original key);

• Violin Sonata in G Minor, HWV 364a, opus 1, number 6, by George Frideric Handel;

• “Andante,” from Oboe Concerto in C Major, attributed to Joseph Haydn/Ignaz Malzat;

• “Largo,” “Presto-Tempo giusto-Presto,” “Andante,” and “Allegro,” from Sonata for Oboe and Continuo, TWV 41g6, by Georg Philipp Telemann, from Tafelmusik, part 3.

There is a wealth of music available to transcribe. We will continue doing so—the third volume is in initial stages and includes nineteenth- and early twentieth-century music from Central Europe.

The Clavier-Übung Third Part

Michael Radulescu

Michael Radulescu, born in Bucharest, Romania, studied organ and conducting in Vienna at the Academy (now University) of Music and Performing Arts where he taught as professor of organ from 1968 to 2008. His career encompasses work as a composer, organist, and conductor. Since his debut in 1959 he has presented concerts throughout Europe, North America, Australia, South Korea, and Japan. He regularly gives guest lectures and masterclasses in Europe and overseas, focusing mainly on the interpretation and elucidation of Bach’s organ and major choral works.

As a composer, Radulescu has written sacred music, works for organ, voice and organ, choral and chamber music, and orchestral works. He is also in demand as a jury member in international organ and composition competitions and as an editor of early and ancient organ music. Radulescu conducts international vocal and instrumental ensembles in performances of major vocal works. As an organist, he has recorded among other things Bach’s complete works for organ, without any technical manipulation.

For his musical and pedagogical contributions Radulescu was awarded the Goldene Verdienstzeichen des Landes Wien in 2005. In 2007 he received Würdigungspreis für Musik from the Austrian Ministry of Education and Art. In December 2013 Michael Radulescu’s book on J. S. Bach’s spiritual musical language, Bey einer andächtig Musiq . . .,
focusing on the two Passions and the B Minor Mass was published.

When approaching Baroque music in general and spiritual music in particular, it is of greatest importance to take into consideration the fundamental difference between the function and the aims of music in the Roman Catholic rite and the Lutheran conception of music. While Roman Catholic music mainly embellishes and adorns the liturgy, Lutheran music wants to preach, to impress, to move, to convince every single listener. Whereas the mystery of the Canon is at the center of the Roman Catholic Mass, the announcing and the elucidation of the Word of God, spoken by the minister and sung or performed by the church musician, stand at the core of the Lutheran Divine Service.

From this dichotomy results the overwhelming importance of rhetoric, of the musical speech (Klangrede) in Lutheran music. Both the ancient rules of rhetoric and the use of the rhetorical-musical figures determine respectively the overall formal concept of a work as well as the invention of characteristic “speaking motifs.”

In the case of J. S. Bach’s music, however, there also seems to be a more subtle, profound, and hidden means of communicating a message, an interpretation of a text. This happens through the ample use of symbols such as allegories, certain characteristic motifs and specific numerical ratios between different sections of the overall formal concept of a piece, and also, most controversial of all, as numerological entities. The latter aspect has been both heartily emphasized and strongly questioned and even ruled out by scholars and practical performers in recent decades. Nevertheless, a surprising hint at the possibility of Bach’s interest in the use of the “numeric alphabet” seems to be, among others, the theoretical work called Cabbalologia by Johannes Henningius (Johann Henning), published in Leipzig in 1683. This publication is said to have been found also in the famous private library of Bach’s neighbor and colleague Johann Heinrich Ernesti, former rector of Saint Thomas Church in Leipzig.

I

Bach published the Third Part of his Clavier-Übung for the feast of Saint Michael at the end of September 1739 on the occasion of the bicentenary of the Lutheran Reformation in Leipzig. This collection of keyboard compositions is generally known under the titles “The Organ Mass” or “The Dogma Chorales,” neither of which can suggest the complex meaning and the message of the entire opus.

It should be remembered that when Luther introduced his Reformation in Leipzig in 1539 he preached on Pentecost Monday in the Leipzig Pleissenburg Castle on two most crucial themes: the Mystery of the Trinity in the Lutheran Mass and the Lutheran Catechism. Most significantly, Bach takes both these theological categories into consideration and, obviously referring to Luther’s sermon of 1539, treats them consistently in his Third Part of the Clavier-Übung. Of the total of twenty-one chorale settings in the collection, the first nine deal with the Lutheran Missa brevis (which includes only the “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” and the “Gloria”), while the remaining twelve chorales follow exactly, chapter by chapter, Luther’s Catechism of 1529.

Seen as a whole, the entire Clavier-Übung III seems to suggest a most striking resemblance to Bach’s own organ improvisations as described by his first biographer, J. N. Forkel, in 1802:

a) a great prelude and fugue in Organo Pleno as an opening;

b) a long series of different kinds of chorale settings with a varying number of parts;

c) a great fugue in Organo Pleno at the end.

In Bach’s Clavier-Übung III, these correspond to the following sections:

a) the E-flat Preludium in Organo Pleno also containing the two fugal sections;

b) the 21 chorale settings in 3, 4, 5, or 6 parts, as well as four duettos;

c) the E-flat Fugue in Organo Pleno.

Two further allusions to the Trinity are most interesting in the overall plan of the entire collection. These are manifest already in the title, “Third Part of the Clavier-Übung,” and also in the use of the majestic key of E-flat major, with its three flats in the signature, for both the opening Prelude and the closing Fugue. Also striking is the fact that both the Prelude and the Fugue appear to be determined by the number 3 (three main musical ideas in the prelude and three themes in the triple fugue).

Another obvious hint at the Trinity is the fact that the first 9 chorales dealing with the Lutheran Mass are organized in 3 groups of 3 each: 3 “great” settings for Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie, 3 “small” alio modo settings for the same cantus firmi Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie, and 3 settings for the German Gloria, “Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr.”

The remaining 12 chorales, which follow Luther’s Catechism, are arranged by 3 + 3 groups of 2 each, the first group dealing with the 3 main chapters of the Catechism (The Law of the Lord = The Ten Commandments, The Creed, and The Prayer of the Lord = The “Our Father”), and the second with the 3 chapters concerning the Sacraments and the Penitence respectively (Baptism, Penitence as continual renewal of Baptism, and the Communion). Each of these cantus firmi is treated twice, in a “great” version with pedal and in a “small” version without pedal, mostly in another key.

It has often been suggested that these two contrasting versions may allude to Luther’s “Great Catechism” versus its reduced form, the “Small Catechism” for younger and “more modest people.” This double treatment of the “catechism settings,” however, seems also to allude to the double form of liturgy: as the great, official one “in churches,” versus its “small,” intimate, personal form “at home,” within each Christian family. Interestingly enough, this dualism appears also in the original subtitle of the Clavier-Übung III dedicated to both amateurs (Liebhaber) and connoisseurs (Kenner).

II

The opening Praeludium pro Organo pleno, Bach’s largest organ prelude, suggests, in spite of the original slurring of the dotted rhythms of its beginning, the pattern of a French overture:

a) majestic homophonic section with dotted rhythm, measures 1 to 70;

b) Fugato section, measures 71 to 97;

c) majestic homophonic section with dotted rhythm, measures 98 to 129;

d) Fugato section, measures 130 to 173;

e) majestic homophonic section with dotted rhythm, measures 174 to the end.

The three different musical ideas used by Bach seem to illustrate in a marvelous way the three Persons of the Trinity:

1. majestic five-part homophonic section for God the Father (Example 1);

2. transition passage with staccato notes suggesting drops of tears (as in the Passions and in several cantatas) and a plaintive theme in the right hand, full of suspensions and chromaticisms and going to the “extreme” keys B-flat minor and E-flat minor, respectively (musical-rhetorical figure of parrhesia), suggesting the human sufferings, the Passion and Death of God, the Son (Examples 2 and 3);

3. The fugal sections using the most spiritual writing, the fugue, and a theme which by its shape (musical-rhetorical figure of hypotyposis) suggests the movement and the shape of the flames, the fire of God, the Holy Spirit (Example 4).

III

Considering the 9 chorale settings of the Missa brevis, the great “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie,” the small “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie,” and the 3 “Allein Gott” settings, one notes the following characteristics:

• The first three settings of the great “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” are written in the ancient vocal, a cappella style, the stylus gravis, using the so called white notation (breves, whole notes, half notes, quarter and, more rarely, eighth notes as note values). According to Bach’s cousin
J. G. Walther the stylus gravis is “majestic, serious . . . and best appropriate to elevate the human soul to God.”

• The respective cantus firmus descends within this first triad from the soprano in Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit (highest part ~ God Father as the Highest) into the tenor in Christe aller Welt Trost (middle part ~ God the Son as the Mediator) and finally into the pedal-bass in Kyrie, Gott, heiliger Geist (bass part ~ God, the Holy Spirit as the universal Basis). This katabasis, i.e., “descending movement,” suggests the descending of God’s mercy upon us and depicts the “eleison” (“have mercy”).

• The tenor cantus firmus in Christe aller Welt Trost stresses the idea of Christ as the Mediator between God and Man, as strongly emphasized by Luther.

• The bass cantus firmus in Kyrie, Gott, heiliger Geist, on the other hand, represents the fundamental Lutheran idea of Justification through the power of Faith; the text of the chorale also prays for “the reinforcement of our Faith.” The final section of this setting, “eleison,” is excruciatingly dissonant, once again stressing human misery awaiting God’s mercy.

• The total number of measures of all three large chorale-settings is a primary, indivisible number:

Kyrie (42 measures) + Christe (61 measures) + Kyrie (60 measures) = 163 ~ indivisibility of the Holy Trinity!

• The three small settings of “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” strongly contrast with the preceding three works. The cantus firmus is only hinted at by quotation of its first phrase. Their writing is manualiter, without pedal, and in a soft “cantabile clavier style.” This might suggest love and the soft breath of the Holy Spirit by its “cantability.”

• All three small settings end modally on an E-major chord.

• The time signatures of all these 3 chorales also allude to the Trinity, being “progressions” of the number 3: 3/4; 6/8; 9/8 (= 1 x 3/4; 2 x 3/8; 3 x 3/8).

• The three Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr settings fulfill a wonderful anabasis (ascending movement) by the sequence of their keys: following the small “Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie” settings ending all on E major, they rise up to F major, G major, and finally to A major, thus obviously alluding to Gloria in excelsis (Allein Gott in der Höh’/“Glory to the Lord in the Highest”).

• All three settings are trios and written in an “instrumental keyboard style,” the first and the last in a brilliant, light style, the second à 2 Claviers et Pedale imitating violins or flutes accompanied by a basso continuo in the pedal.

• The G-major trio on “Allein Gott” seems to stress Jesus’s role as Lamb of God, alluding to the third stanza of the chorale, “Lamb of God, holy Lord and God, accept the prayer of our misery,” by citing these two verses in canon, a most simple symbol for “one part following another part:” first between the right hand and pedal in measures 78 to 83, and in measures 87 to 92 between the left hand and pedal, and thus alluding to the Gospel of John, 1:29–30: “The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. / This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred before me: for he was before me” (Example 5).

IV

The density and complexity of Bach’s dealing with the theological message through music is most impressively revealed in the settings of chorales treating the main chapters of Luther’s Catechism: the Ten Commandments, the Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer.

The large setting of Dies sind die heil’gen zehn Gebot is written in five parts distributed on two manuals and pedal. The cantus firmus is carried out as a canon between the two tenor parts played by the left hand while the right hand plays the two free upper parts. Surprisingly, these free parts never imitate or cite the cantus firmus.

Most interesting is the fact that in Bach’s treatments of this cantus firmus (Orgelbüchlein, the cantata BWV 77 Du sollst Gott, deinen Herrn, lieben, and the two settings in the Clavier-Übung), he uses the same key, Mixolydian on G, the “pure” key without accidentals in its signature. Never does this cantus firmus appear transposed: this obviously suggests the “immutability of the Divine Law.” Most consistently, the treatment of the cantus firmus as a canon also evokes the “severity of God’s Law.”

A further symbolic meaning of the musical texture is the setting of the canonic cantus firmus in the two middle parts, which clearly refers to Luther’s commentary in his Catechism, regarding the way to keep the Divine Law through “Christ’s the Mediator’s Intercession.”

The beginning of the chorale is most serene, diatonic, and calm, and takes place over an organ point in the pedal. After four measures of “complete harmony” the character changes in the fifth measure: the alto plays a “harsh” descending chromatic figure (the figure of parrhaesia) while the soprano plays three times a “sighing figure” consisting of a sixteenth rest followed by three sixteenth notes, and followed by two groups of stepwise descending eighth notes (Example 6).

This seems to be a strong allusion to the Book of Genesis describing the Garden of Eden (= full harmony~4 measures) and Adam’s Fall in the fifth measure (Adam in Hebrew meaning man and being symbolized, according to Andreas Werckmeister, by the number 5 for man’s 5 senses, 5 fingers and toes, and also hinting at Jesus’s 5 wounds on the Cross).

Interestingly enough, this “sighing” figura suspirans is played by the two upper parts during the whole piece exactly 33 times, reminding of the 33 years of Jesus’s earthly life.

From measure 6 on this figure appears also “transformed” into another figure called kyklosis or circulatio and suggesting a “turning around,” an “insecurity” or, as in our case, a great joy.

This “transformation” of suffering (“sighing figure”) into joy (“turning around in joy”) perfectly matches Luther’s commentary about the Commandments, stressing that those who keep the Law apparently suffer in this earthly world, but that through Christ they shall live in joy.

Luther also considers the First Commandment as being the most important of the Decalogue. It is this very commandment that is cited in the second stanza of the cantus firmus, the stanza to which the great chorale setting seems to allude the most: “I alone am your God and Lord. Thou shalt not have other gods; thou shalt love me from the bottom of your heart. Kyrieleis.”

It is when the cantus firmus expounds the phrase “Thou shalt not have other gods” that the pedal plays a “huge” and “exaggerated” interval of two octaves,
C – c′ (the figure of hyperbole = exaggeration) and obviously referring to God’s immensity (Example 7).

Astonishing is the fact that the motif of measures 47 and 48 appears altered in measures 51 and 52, transformed insofar as it is now divided between the two upper parts: one part continuing the other, and thus suggesting the idea of “two parts becoming one” (the figure called heterolepsis = meaning this continuity, the unification of two parts, i.e., love, as described by J. G. Walther). It is striking to note how often Bach makes use of this figure when alluding to love, to unification in and through love. Not surprisingly, this figure appears in our chorale setting only two times, exactly where each of the two canonic cantus firmus parts play the notes for lieben mich (love me); as one can easily see in the “transformed” version, the motive is played by two “unified” parts according to the text line “Thou shall love me” (Example 8).

If we take a look at the pedal part we note that it is divided into several sections either by rests or by the recurring long organ point on A in measure 29. A most intriguing and striking speculation presents itself in this context when considering the number of notes of each of these sections:

a) measure 1 to 10 = 37 notes

b) measure 10 to 20 = 60 notes

c) measure 21 to 28 = 47 notes

d) measure 29 to 55 = 147 notes

e) measure 56 = 5 notes

f) measure 57 = 5 notes

g) measure 58 to 60 = 14 notes

 

a) Could 37 represent the monogram JCHR for Jesus Christ? (the number alphabet with the correspondence between the letters of the alphabet and the natural numerical order: A = 1, B = 2, C = 3, . . ., Z = 24, with I = J and U = V as in old Latin: J (9) + C (3) + H (8) + R (17) = 37);

b) Could 60 allude to the Old Testament, to the 6 Days of God’s Creation, and also to the 10 Commandments = 60?

NB! Bach occasionally uses the number 6 as allegory for the Creation, for the Entire World (also Orgelbüchlein: Christum wir sollen loben schon, measure 6, where the whole range of the organ is encompassed by the lowest C in the pedal and the highest C in the treble part).

NB! Luther always sees and treats the Old Testament considering the New Testament and vice versa.

c) Could 47 recall the 47th Psalm, mentioned by Luther in his Great Catechism: “O, clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph. / For the Lord most high is terrible; He is a great King over all the earth”?

NB! This third section of the pedal starts in measure 21 where the cantus firmus plays the phrase “Thou shalt not have other gods.” Also, it is here where the pedal plays the enormous, exaggerated interval of the double octave, which also perfectly matches the second verse of Psalm 47.

d) Could 147 recall the 11th verse of the 147th Psalm: “The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear Him, in those that hope in His mercy”?

NB! Luther himself quotes Ps. 147, 11 in his Catechism, in the chapter dedicated to the Ten Commandments. This could make the assumption mentioned above quite plausible!

e) & f) Could the number 5 possibly allude in this context to mankind (five senses; the five wounds on Jesus’s crucified body) as “the Old” vs. “the New Man”?

g) 14 might well suggest Bach’s own name (B [2] + A [1] + C [3] + H [8] = 14) as his personal commitment as a believer, as the pro me (= “for me”), a central point in Luther’s theology.

Another interesting symbolic connotation is suggested by the general form of the chorale setting. The total of 60 measures is clearly divided into two unequal sections considering the sort of “recapitulation” of the beginning, in measure 29:

28 measures (= 7 x 4) + 32 measures (= 8 x 4) = 60 measures, or 28 : 32 = 7 : 8.

Could 7 allude to the seven days of the week, of the 6 + 1 days of the Creation of the earthly world and 8 to the eighth day (the day of Messiah)? Could this overall form and its “articulation” transmit the message of Redemption?

The “small,” manualiter version of Dies sind die heiligen zehn Gebot seems to have a more obvious, more straightforward approach to the text. It is a fughetta using the theme in both normal and inverted position. The gigue-like theme is characterized by the strongly repeated notes at its beginning and by strong leaps followed by stepwise passages. It is most interesting to note some aspects of this piece:

1) the title in the original print from 1739 is Dies sind die heiligen zehen Gebot consisting of exactly 10 syllables (Ten Commandments?)

2) the repeated G in the theme appears 14 times (BACH’s commitment? See above).

3) the theme appears 4 times in normal, 4 times in inverted, and again 2 times in its normal forms, i.e., 4 + 4 + 2 = 10 times (see above).

4) there is quite a long interlude without the theme between measures 18 and 31, lasting 14 measures (see above).

V

The large chorale setting dealing with the Creed, Wir gläuben all’an einen Gott (Schöpfer) is striking because of its dynamism, abundant syncopations, “modern” 2/4 time signature, constant movement in sixteenth notes, and lack of organ points in the pedal, by the six times of the pedal ostinato, and the flamboyant movement of the manual parts. The theme treated in the manual is rooted in the first phrase of the cantus firmus, and it is this very phrase that appears literally quoted in the tenor in the last 12 measures of the piece. The overall flamboyant, dynamic character of this setting might be surprising, but it seems in perfect coherence with Luther’s idea of a willful, powerful, and passionate personal commitment of each believer aiming to attain personal justification.

Some characteristics of this composition might elucidate its possible further message:

a) the total of exactly 100 measures of the piece might suggest the idea of the totality of the Creation (Gott Schöpfer = God, the Creator);

b) the 6-fold appearance of the pedal ostinato might hint at the 6 “working” days of God’s Creation (see above);

c) the quotation of the first cantus firmus phrase in the tenor, starting in measure 89 might allude to Christ as the Mediator;

d) the last pedal entry is longer than its other entries and has exactly 43 notes; this may well mean: (C [3] + R [17] + E [5] + D [4] + O [14] = 43: CREDO) “I believe.”

NB! Interestingly enough, the score of the first Credo chorus in the B Minor Mass shows the word “Credo” written 43 times and heard 41 times, i.e., J-S-B-A-C-H’s creed.

The small version of the same chorale is written as a short manualiter fughetta in the style of a brilliant French overture. This surprising setting can be seen as an introduction to the large version of The Lord’s Prayer, Vater unser im Himmelreich, written in the same key of E Dorian. More likely, however, it also seems to have the function of dividing the whole set of 21 chorales into 12 + 9. One should remember that, on the other hand, the 21 chorales are also divided into 9, dealing with the Lutheran Mass, and 12, treating Luther’s Catechism and the Sacraments. A very beautiful parallel, indeed!

VI

The large version of Vater unser im Himmelreich is possibly Bach’s most difficult and intricate organ work. It is written in 5 parts distributed once again among the two manuals and the pedal, with the cantus firmus in canon. Unlike the Ten Commandments however, each hand here plays a free voice and a canonic cantus firmus part.

Some characteristics may help understand and elucidate the enormous complexity of this composition:

a) the slow, majestic tempo in the 3/4 time signature suggests the austere character of a slow sarabande;

b) the pedal is treated as a basso continuo without quoting the cantus firmus;

c) the cantus firmus is treated in canon suggesting our intimately repeating the prayer spoken by Jesus according to Saint Mark and Saint Matthew;

d) the alternating order of the canonic parts at each new entry seems to suggest a still dialogue between the believer and Jesus;

e) the free manual parts are based on a theme quoting the richly embellished first phrase of the cantus firmus (Example 9);

f) each hand expounds this theme 3 times, alluding probably once more to the Trinity;

g) the two free manual parts display an enormous rhythmical richness with frequent use of the “plaintive” Lombard rhythms and the staccato triplets (Example 10);

h) this “plaintive” Lombardian rhythm and the overall rhythmical complexity seem to depict Luther’s comment on The Lord’s Prayer expressing the “multitude of human miseries;”

i) the staccato triplets obviously describe Saint Matthew 7:7: “Ask and it shall be given to you; seek and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you.” As a matter of fact, this very verse appears quoted in practically all older Lutheran hymn books on the page where the chorale Vater unser im Himmelreich is printed. The staccato triplets may also allude to drops of tears;

j) there is only one spot where the pedal quotes the “plaintive” Lombardian rhythm and this happens in measure 41 (J [9] + S [18] + B [2] + A [1] + C [3] + H [8] = J. S. BACH), alluding to the composer’s personal commitment.

After this extraordinary piece, the alio modo manualiter version of the same cantus firmus is a simple, quiet meditation on the Prayer, devoid of all further speculative symbols.

VII

Following Luther’s Large Catechism exactly, Bach now treats the Sacraments of Baptism in Christ, unser Herr zum Jordan kam, Penitence in Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir, the latter considered by Luther as the continuation and constant renewal of baptism, and finally the Sacrament of Communion in Jesus Christus, unser Heiland.

The large version of Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam treats Jesus’s baptism as described in Saint John, Chapter 1. The piece is set for two manuals and pedal with the cantus firmus in the latter, the bass in the left hand and the two upper parts in the right hand. This setting is quite full of important symbolic meanings:

a) the tenor cantus firmus in the pedal suggests, as the middle part of the setting, Christ’s role as Mediator between God Father and mankind;

b) the almost constant movement in sixteenth notes in the left hand bass part seems to allude to the flow of the waters of the Jordan River;

c) the two upper parts of the right hand can be seen as a symbol for the Holy Spirit floating above the scene of Christ’s Baptism by Saint John the Baptist. The beginning four notes in each of the two upper parts seem to depict, as a hypotyposis, a cross motif. Also, the most intricate imitations between the small motives of the two upper parts can be seen as a hint to the Holy Spirit proceeding from the consubstantiality of God Father and God Son, as mentioned in the Nicene Creed (Example 11).

d) NB: the final note of the fifth chorale phrase in the pedal d° seems to generate a “wrong” 6/4-chord d° - g° - b′: This is to be seen as a hint to avoid the wrong harmony by the use of a 4′ reed in the pedal if the left hand were based on 8′, or a 16′ basis for the left hand, should the pedal be played only on an 8′ basis!

e) The total number of measures, 81, equals 3 x 3 x 3 x 3 as a most impressive symbol for the Trinity.

The small manualiter version of the same chorale is quite a short fughetta based on the first phrase of the chorale, combined with an “obbligato” counter-subject, both treated in normal and inverted position. Could the theme itself represent Christ and its inverted form Christ’s descent on Earth? Could the countersubject stand for Saint John the Baptist? Interesting enough is the fact that this fughetta consists of 27 measures (3 x 3 x 3) with exactly 81 quarter notes (see above).

The large version of Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir, the German version of Psalm 130, “De profundis,” is an exceptional work, as it is written in the old, solemn, majestic vocal stylus gravis or motet style, which, according to Johann Gottfried Walther’s Musicalisches Lexicon of 1732, is able to “elevate the soul to God.” This setting marks a pinnacle in Bach’s entire organ music insofar as it is written in six parts, four in the manual and two in the pedal, with the augmented cantus firmus of Luther’s chorale melody in the right foot’s part. This obviously seems to be an allusion to the significance of the upper bass part as the voice of the Old Testament psalmist. Most impressive is also the fact that at the beginning of the last verse of the chorale Wer kann, Herr, vor dir bleiben? (Who can, Lord, stand before Thee?) in the seventh to last measure, the upper bass part playing the cantus firmus is the highest part in the whole texture (Example 12).

• The registration should be the Organo pleno, i.e., an 8′ based Plenum  in the (coupled) manual(s) and 16′ Plenum in the pedal, without mixtures but with reeds 16′, 8′, and 4′.

• This setting is obviously inspired by the great pleno settings in five parts, with double pedal, in Matthias Weckmann’s great chorale settings with the cantus firmus in the upper pedal part.

NB! In one of the Lüneburg tablatures containing Weckmann’s majestic hymn on O lux, beata Trinitas the opening first movement in five parts with double pedal and the cantus firmus in the upper bass bears the indication that the cantus firmus of the upper bass could be played in the pedal by the right foot, or on the manual by the left hand, or also by both the pedal and the left hand together. This comment seems to confirm the registration mentioned above, with the result that the left foot bass is playing in the reeds-pleno, the manual parts in the mixture-pleno and the cantus firmus in both the reeds- and the mixture-pleno, and thus strengthening the cantus firmus.

The following alio modo manualiter version of the same chorale is written in four parts. Learned contrapuntal imitations in the three lower parts—in normal and inverted form—of each phrase of the chorale, anticipate each phrase of the augmented cantus firmus expounded each time by the treble part.

• Each section of the piece begins with five contrapuntal measures in intricate counterpoint between the three lower parts, followed by eight bars expounding the respective phrase of the chorale in the treble and one supplementary bar concluding each section.

• The overall organization of the piece is quite extraordinary:

Sections a), b), c) & d): 5 + 8 + 1 bars; section e): 5 + 8 + 5

• But 5 + 8 + 1 = 14  [= B-A-C-H = 2 + 1 + 3 + 8] and 8 : 5 stands for the golden ratio.

The large version of Jesus Christus, unser Heiland, der von uns den Zorn Gottes wandt is a trio for the two manuals and pedal with the cantus firmus in the latter. It seems quite interesting that the pedal oscillates between playing the tenor and bass parts. Could this hint at Jesus’s double nature, as God and Man?

• The two manual parts seem to actually symbolize the “Wrath of God” by their extremely virtuosic, agitated, and aggressive movements in sixteenth notes and eighth notes.

• The main theme in the manuals starting with big and then diminishing intervals (tenth-octave-sixth) could possibly hint at Man’s approach to God, whereas, on the other hand, these leaps sometimes occur also in the opposite direction, from smaller to larger (sixth-octave-tenth). The message of these patterns seems to be the “struggle” between God and sinful mankind expecting redemption through communion, Luther’s second sacrament.

The following alio modo version of the same chorale is a very complex fugue in F minor, using as a main theme the first phrase of the cantus firmus. The extremely rich counterpoint and the surprisingly daring new motives seem to recall the big, learned fugues of the Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II.

• The augmented entry of the main-theme in the tenor part in measure 57 might be another symbol for the praise of Christ the Lord, as the mediator between God and Man.

• NB! In order to emphasize this augmented theme in the tenor it should be helpful to use a registration of foundations (principals) 8′ and 4′ and a trumpet 8′.

VIII

Most intriguing and surprising part of the work are the following four duettos preceding the final Fugue in E-flat Major. Some speculations might help justify their presence:

a) Luther adds a “Short Admonition of Confession” after the chapter about Communion. In this short appendix he quotes the various ways of confessing: 1. to the priest/pastor; 2. as an open and common confession in front of the congregation; 3. to the neighbor; and 4. to God;

b) in the first part of his Large Catechism Luther quotes the four elements of the world: 1. Fire; 2. Air; 3. Water; 4. Earth;

c) in his Neu vermehrtes Hamburgisches Gesangbuch (New Hymn Book) from 1739, Vopelius inserts after the Catechism Hymns other hymns for: 1. the morning; 2. the evening; 3. before meals; 4. after meals;

d) taking into consideration the Baroque Theory of Affects one can easily imagine a certain parallel with the four temperaments: 1. choleric; 2. sanguine; 3. phlegmatic; and 4. melancholic temperament;

e) the duettos form a tight unity: their tonal progression ascending from E to F, to G, and finally to A corresponds strikingly to the sequence of keys in the “Trinity chorales” 4 to 9, and thus leading to the first note, B-flat, starting the following fugue;

f) two of the duettos are in a major (II and III) and two in a minor key (I and IV);

g) two are in a ternary (I: 3/8 and III: 12/8) and two in a binary (II: 2/4 and IV: 2/2) time signature.

h) two start with the right hand (I and II) and two with the left hand (II and IV).

It also seems quite remarkable how well the duettos match—by their astonishing variety and by their individual character—both the conception of the four elements (mentioned by Luther in his Great Catechism) and that of the four temperaments and even maybe of the four archangels (Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel) as well as the four Evangelists (?).

Duetto I: E-minor key; 3/8 time signature; right hand starts, left hand follows; 73 measures; perfectly symmetrical form based upon the golden ratio (28 measures + 17 measures + 28 measures = 73 measures // 28:17 = ~ 1.64; 45 (= 28 + 17) : 28 = ~ 1.7; 73 (= 28 + 17 + 28) : 45 = ~ 1.62); flamboyant themes and countersubjects suggesting flames of fire; Archangel Michael (with attributes: fire, sword, perfect balance); choleric temperament (?); element Fire (?).

Duetto II: F-major key; 2/4 time signature; right hand starts, left hand follows; 149 measures; perfectly symmetrical form of: 37 + 31 + 13 + 31 + 37 measures. NB! 37 could stand for Christ’s monogram in the Greek alphabet [ChRistos]: X ~ CH (= 20) + P ~ R (= 17); 31 may stand for the Latin “In Nomine Jesu” (In Jesus’s Name): [I (= 9) + N (= 13) + I (= 9) = 31]; 13 could allude to Jesus and his Twelve Apostles at the Last Supper. NB! This section of 13 measures from measures 69 to 78 is the center, the middle of the whole piece in which the measures 74 to 78 are the exact “inversion” of measures 69 to 73; could that maybe hint to Jesus’s death?; element Air (?) (Example 13).

The overall form of the piece is quite complex, insofar as the first section and its da capo recapitulation (both 37 measures) are in major and in a serene, joyous mood, whereas the second and penultimate sections (both 31 measures) are in minor and written as canons; might this “discrepancy” remind one of the sanguine temperament (?); Air; could the three references to Jesus Christ (see above) suggest a link to the Archangel Gabriel, Jesus’s messenger (with the attributes: lily and fish); could the perfect formal symmetry represent the symmetrical beauty of a lily?; could the inversion, the crossing of the parts in measures 69–78 hint at a symbol for Christ’s Cross and Death?

Duetto III: G-major key; 12/8 time signature; left hand starts, right hand follows; 39 measures:

15 + 8 + 15 + 1 = 39 measures; 15 (= 3 x 5) + 24 (= 3 x 8) = 39 (= 3 x 13) = golden ratio (cf. Fibonacci); melancholic temperament (?); could the very serene character of the piece remind of the Archangel Raphael (with attribute: fish)? element Water?

Duetto IV: A-minor key; 2/2 (Alla breve) time signature; left hand starts, right hand follows; two themes are used (a and b); 108 measures arranged as 8 (a) + 8 (a) + 16 (b) + 8 (a) + 8 (a) + 8 (b) + 13 (b) + 8 (a) + 8 (b) + 10 (b) + 13(a); NB! The grouping of measures and themes reveals the scheme of: 9 x 8 (= 72 measures) + 2 x 13 (= 26 measures) + 2 x 5 (= 10 measures), an order once more based upon the progression 5, 8, and 13 as quantities of the Fibonacci progression hinting at the “golden ratio;” the quite robust character of the music seems to allude to the strong phlegmatic temperament, while the very intricate formal scheme of the piece might possibly be a hint to the archangel Uriel (with attribute: fire); element Earth?

IX

The concluding Fuga à 5 Pro Organo pleno in E-flat major perfectly continues the ascending keys movement of the duettos (E-F-G-A) by its starting with a B-flat in the tenor.

The main theme suggests by its shape the form of a cross: connecting on paper the first note with the fourth and the second with the third, respectively the second with the fifth and the third with the fourth, respectively the third with the sixth and the fourth with the fifth, respectively the fourth with the seventh and the fifth with the sixth, one obtains three times (Trinity again!) the Greek letter X = Chi used as a symbol of the Cross, for crossing: cf. also Bach’s original title Da Jesus an dem X stund’ and the English No X-ing or Merry X-mas (Example 14).

This majestic theme dominates the whole first section of the fugue written in the ancient stylus gravis (see above, chorales 1 to 3). The second section of the fugue is in 6/4 meter and based on a strongly contrasting theme characterized by its constant movement representing a lengthy kyklosis (“turning around-figure”), with the main notes E-flat—F—G and thus quoting the first phrase of the first large chorale Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit (Example 15).

Exactly in the middle of this second section, the majestic first theme reappears, rhythmically strengthened by its syncopations, and dividing the whole fugue into two equal parts of 36 + 22½ : 22½ + 36 (Example 16).

Finally, the third and last section of the fugue written in 12/8 time signature, expounds a third theme that will later be combined with the first and with a varied form of the second theme. This third theme seems to use a bass cadence formula of C–F, and B-flat–E-flat (Example 17).

Most impressive is the perfect formal symmetry of the whole fugue organized in: (20 + 16 =) 36 measures + (22½ + 22½ =) 45 measures + (16 + 20 =) 36 measures.

Considering the fugue as a whole and the most natural tempo relationship of its three time signatures (half note = dotted half note = dotted quarter note), one can conclude the following:

a) the first and the third sections of the fugue are equal in length lasting 36 measures each, divided into 20 + 16, respectively, into 16 + 20;

b) applying the tempo relationship “half note = dotted half note = dotted quarter note” and taking as a common unity of measurement the smaller quantity, i.e., the measure length of the second fugue (which has only two beats per measure vs. the four beats of the first and the third sections respectively), one obtains the following measurements for the three sections:

72 (= 36 x 2) half-measures; 45 measures and again 72 (= 36 x 2) half-measures

c) all these numbers being multiples of 9, these ratios can be reduced to:

72 (= 8 x 9); 45 (= 5 x 9); 72 (= 8 x 9), or just 8 + 5 (= 13) + 8 = 21

d) this series of numbers 8, 5, 13, 21 belongs to the famous “Fibonacci progression” starting by 1:1:2:3:5:8:13:21 and reaching the golden ratio or divine proportion (= “proportio divina”) in the infinite.

e) NB! according to the Italian Renaissance mathematician Luca Pacioli the golden ratio might symbolize the Holy Trinity:

A (the greater quantity/God Father) : B (the smaller quantity/God the consubstantial Son) = (A + B) : A, or, theologically speaking:

A (God Father) engenders B (the consubstantial Son) and, out of these two, proceeds A + B (the Holy Spirit);

f) could this majestic, astonishingly built fugue thus represent once more the ultimate Symbol of the Holy Trinity?

g) its perfectly symmetrical construction is most impressive:

First section (40 half measures—cadence—32 half measures),

Second section (22½—22½ measures)

Third section (32 half measures—cadence—40 half measures), or, more simply:

40 – 32 – 22½ – 22½ – 32 – 40 measure lengths of the second section.

X

Taking a more attentive, new look at the Third Part of Bach’s Clavier-Übung, one discovers some interesting facts concerning the overall compositional plan, a plan corresponding also to Bach’s work, the B Minor Mass:

a) both cycles contain a total of 27 movements each.

b) these 27 movements are divided into two groups of: 6 “free” works without a cantus firmus (prelude in E-flat, the four Duettos, and the final fugue) and the 21 chorales; NB! the “Missa” and the “Symbolum Nicenum” in the
B Minor Mass have together 12 + 9 = 21 movements and the last section of the B Minor Mass (“Sanctus,” “Osanna,” “Benedictus,” “Osanna,” “Agnus Dei,” and “Dona nobis pacem”) also contains 6 movements.

c) the 21 chorales in the Clavier-Übung are divided twice into: 9 for the Lutheran Mass (“Kyrie-Christe-Kyrie – Gloria:” Trinity) and 12 dealing with Luther’s Catechism plus Sacraments.

d) The 21 chorales are also divided (“musically”) into 12 and 9 chorales by the 13th chorale written as a French overture and thus opening the rest of 9 chorales.

[NB! All these numbers are multiples of 3 (Trinity again!).]

e) could the total number of 27 pieces possibly recall in both the Clavier-Übung and the B Minor Mass the 27 books of the New Testament?

f) could the number of 21 pieces allude to the “Teaching Books” of the New Testament, the 21 Epistles, and the 6 “free works” to the four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, and the prophetic Apocalypse of John?

g) could one not consider the overall architecture of Bach’s most impressive cycles, Clavier-Übung III and the B Minor Mass, as huge symbols for the New Testament and thereby also for Martin Luther’s Theology?

Michael McNeil

Michael McNeil has designed, constructed, voiced, and researched pipe organs since 1973. Stimulating work as a research engineer in magnetic recording paid the bills. He is working on his Opus 5, which explores how an understanding of the human sensitivity to the changes in sound can be used to increase emotional impact. Opus 5 includes double expression, a controllable wind dynamic, chorus phase shifting, and meantone. Stay tuned.

Many of the organ compositions of Dieterich Buxtehude (c. 1637–1707) and Nicolaus Bruhns (1665–1697) contain bass accidentals that are not playable on the short-octave manual and pedal basses of the late-seventeenth-century organs of Lübeck. The bass octave of Buxtehude’s organs contained just eight notes—C, D, E, F, G, A, A-sharp, and B—a consequence of meantone tuning. It is impossible to imagine that these wonderful and dramatic compositions were not played in some manner on those organs, but that is the extraordinary claim of at least one modern researcher.¹

A solution to this problem might lie in its history. The original scores of the organ works of Buxtehude and Bruhns were written in tablature, an older form of notation that looks nothing like modern notation. Figure 1 shows an example of tablature and modern notation for the same composition. And here is the key point: none of the tablature originals have survived. All extant versions in tablature are copies, and copies often contain errors. Our modern scores are transcriptions from tablature to modern notation. Transcriptions may contain errors, not the least of which is that the intended octave in tablature is often ambiguous.^{2, 3, 4} Figure 2 shows an example of a tablature copy of Bruhns’s Praeludium in E Minor (the smaller of the two E minor praeludia).

What might have motivated eighteenth- and nineteenth-century musicians to modify the original tablature manuscripts to be unplayable on the organs for which they were composed? The musicians who later copied or transcribed the originals were familiar with later organs that had full-compass basses, or perhaps only a missing low C-sharp. We should also note that the later shift toward equal temperament eliminated the intense gravity of meantone’s pure major thirds, whose resultants sound a full two octaves lower in pitch. The disappearance of this gravity may have influenced the desire to shift tenor accidentals and the phrases in which they were embedded to the bass octave. The ambiguity of the intended octave in tablature may have also provided the rationalization to do so. Equal temperament’s loss of gravity was a strong motivation for eighteenth-century organ builders to include deeper and very costly pitches in their stoplists.⁵

Meantone, unlike equal temperament, has intense key color. Modern-received wisdom relates that the strong dissonances in meantone were avoided in practice; history teaches us otherwise. Dom Bédos argued that meantone was more musical than equal temperament because it presented the composer with useful tensions between the purity of its eight major thirds and the dissonance of its four Pythagorean thirds. Bédos was explicitly referring to quarter-comma meantone.⁶ Restoring bass accidentals to the tenor heightens their dissonance (beat rates will double), setting up tension for later resolution with meantone’s pure thirds.

The short bass octave is an essential feature of the great meantone organs of Lübeck on which the compositions of Buxtehude and Bruhns were most logically composed and played. The short octave with its four missing accidentals has an unusual key order:

         D     E     A#

C  F     G     A     B

This indicates the use of an original form of meantone, i.e., quarter-syntonic comma, not the later and much less colorful versions like Gottfried Silbermann’s fifth-comma meantone. Dissonances were used to good effect, but dissonances in quarter-comma meantone also supported the elimination of accidental bass pipes, saving space in their layouts and considerable cost. Later versions of meantone in the eighteenth century reduced both the dissonances and the purity of meantone; this supported the use of more accidentals in the bass of new organs, often omitting only the C-sharp in a normal order of the bass keys:

           D#          F#      G#     A#

C     D     E   F       G        A       B

We know that the organ compositions of Buxtehude and Bruhns were composed when the large organs of Lübeck had short bass octaves, and there is evidence that those organs were not retuned from their original meantone in Buxtehude’s time.⁷ This suggests that the presence of any bass accidentals other than A-sharp in the organ works of Buxtehude and Bruhns very likely denotes deliberate changes in modern transcriptions to accommodate later organs with more complete bass octaves and much less colorful temperaments.

We will never know if any of our reconstructions are faithful to the originals—they are all lost. But we can use our knowledge of meantone’s inherent dissonant tension and majestic purity to aim for a reconstruction that heightens the emotional impact of these compositions. This is completely in character with the stylus phantasticus, a term coined for the freely composed organ works of Buxtehude and Bruhns—works that speak to modern ears with emotional intensity and dramatic rhythms. These works perfectly express the unique sound of a pipe organ’s principal chorus and thundering pedal bass. And unlike modern compositions, these works feature the musicality and gravity of seventeenth-century meantone.

I am an organbuilder, not a musician skilled in composition. I built my Opus 5 for, among other things, the purpose of showcasing the effect of quarter-comma meantone on the works of Buxtehude and Bruhns, only to discover that many of the modern scores are deeply flawed. Finding no one willing to address this problem, I have evaluated and restored the following scores:

Dieterich Buxtehude: Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 137, restored; Toccata in D Minor, BuxWV 155, restored; Toccata in F Major, BuxWV 157, no issues; Ciaccona in E Minor, BuxWV 160, no issues; Fuga in C Major, BuxWV 174, no issues;

Nicolaus Bruhns: Praeludium in E Minor (“Little”), restored.

At the end of this article you will find my suggested corrections, all of which are in the pedal, noting the editions I used. If a reader objects that others are much more qualified to make these corrections, I could not agree with you more, and I wholeheartedly welcome those with more skill to propose solutions that are playable on historically correct, short-octave organs.

We can debate how much of a phrase containing bass accidentals needs to be moved to the tenor. We can debate whether the bass accidentals are themselves errors that represent different notes. But if we accept that Buxtehude and Bruhns created their compositions on the organs of their time, we must also accept that the accidentals C-sharp, D-sharp, F-sharp, and G-sharp in the bass octaves of modern scores are not faithful to the original compositions.

Claiming that these compositions were not meant to be played on the large and grand late-seventeenth-century organs of Lübeck is analogous to saying that the Scherer family and Friedrich Stellwagen made and maintained beautiful organs with wonderful sounds, but those short-octave organs were not meant to be played—they were just exercises in thought.

Notes

1. Ibo Ortgies, Die Praxis der Orgelstimmung in Norddeutschland im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert und ihr Verhältnis zur zeitgenössischen Musik, Göteborgs universitet, 2007, page 2, Abstract: “An analysis of payments to bellows pumpers as recorded in church account books shows that the organs of St. Marien, Lübeck, were not retuned during the tenures of Franz Tunder and Dieterich Buxtehude. Thus, some of their organ works could not have been played on the organs available to them during their lifetimes.” [translated by John Brombaugh]

2. organscore.com/buxtehude-complete-organ-works, accessed June 2022. “Editing Buxtehude’s organ work is a delicate task because we do not have access to any holographic source of these works. The available manuscripts are all copies by eighteenth- and nineteenth-century organists, mostly written in modern notation system—the originals were probably in German organ tablature—and contain transcription errors such as missing notes, confused voices, incorrect note heights or accidentals, and poorly placed bars. In places where the music is obviously corrupted and no complementary source is available, the editor must reconstruct the music by guessing at the original idea. Because of this, no modern edition can claim to be the genuine composer’s text.”
3. en.opera-scores.com/O/Dieterich+Buxtehude/Herr%2C+ich+lasse+dich+nicht%2C+BuxWV+36.html, accessed June 2022. “Copies made by various composers are the only extant sources for the organ works: chorale settings are mostly transmitted in copies by Johann Gottfried Walther, while Gottfried Lindemann’s and others’ copies concentrate on free works. Johann Christoph Bach’s manuscript is particularly important, as it includes the three known ostinato works and the famous Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 
137. Although Buxtehude himself most probably wrote in organ tablature, the majority of the copies are in standard staff notation.

“The nineteen organ praeludia form the core of Buxtehude’s work and are ultimately considered his most important contributions to the music literature of the seventeenth century. They are sectional compositions that alternate between free improvisation and strict counterpoint. They are usually either fugues or pieces written in fugal manner; all make heavy use of pedal and are idiomatic to the organ. These preludes, together with pieces by Nicolaus Bruhns, represent the highest point in the evolution of the north German organ prelude and the so-called stylus phantasticus. They were undoubtedly among the influences on J. S. 
Bach, whose organ preludes, toccatas, and fugues frequently employ similar techniques.

“Occasionally the introduction will engage in parallel thirds, sixths, etc. For example, BuxWV 149 begins with a single voice, proceeds to parallel counterpoint for nine bars, and then segues into the kind of texture described above. . . . [Note the reference to writing in parallel thirds and sixths. This works extremely well with meantone’s pure thirds. All of equal temperament’s major thirds are very, and equally, dissonant.]

“Buxtehude’s other pieces that employ free writing or sectional structure include works titled toccata, praeambulum, etc. A well-known piece is BuxWV 146, in the rare key of F-sharp minor; it is believed that this prelude was written by Buxtehude especially for himself and his organ, and that he had his own way of tuning the instrument to allow for the tonality rarely used because of meantone temperament.” [The key of F-sharp minor in Pietro Aron’s quarter-comma meantone, with the wolf placed on the interval G-sharp to D-sharp, is very useful; its minor third is much less dissonant than an equal temperament minor third. Furthermore, the minor third beats at exactly twice the rate of the fifth. This is a sonorous key in meantone. (See the beat rate chart on page 131 in The Sound of Pipe Organs, Michael McNeil, 2012.) As there were no pedal F-sharp bass keys on Buxtehude’s organs, this note would have been played in the tenor.]

4. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Organ_tablature, accessed June 2022. “. . . The feature of organ tablature that distinguishes it from modern musical notation is the absence of staves, noteheads, and key signatures. Pitches are denoted by letter names written in script, durations by flags (much like modern notation), although in early notations durations were shown using mensural indications, and octave displacement by octave lines drawn above a letter. There was some variation in the notation of accidentals, but sometimes sharps were specified by the addition of a loop to the end of the letter. B-natural and B-flat were represented by h and b respectively. Naturals are not indicated, as accidentals do not carry through the entire measure as in modern notation. Key signatures are not specified; they are implied by the indicated sharps.

“. . . Repertoire originally written in tablature has been translated into modern notation. However, this translation carries a risk of error. In German script an A and an E can become confused, as can an F and a G. Likewise, an octave line over a series of notes can begin or end ambiguously. Different solutions are given by different editors, and this is one manifestation of the improvisatory tradition of organ performance of the period.”

5. Michael McNeil, “The elusive and sonorous meantone of Dom Bédos,” The Diapason, September 2020, pages 14–17.

6. John Brombaugh analyzed Bédos’s tables of meantone intervals, and McNeil found the result was virtually identical to Pietro Aron’s equal-beating quarter-syntonic-comma meantone (see Owen Jorgensen, Tuning the Historical Temperaments by Ear, Northern Michigan University Press, 1977, pages 173–177).

7. Ibo Ortgies. See quotation in Note 1.

 

 

Restorations for performance on meantone organs with short bass octaves, C, D, E, F, G, A, A-sharp, and B

All examples are in the bass clef in the pedal.

 

Edition Peters 4855, Nicolaus Bruhns, 1968

Nr. 3, Praeludium und Fuge e-moll (“Little”), pages 20–24. See Examples 1 and 2.

Edition Renaud Vergnet, D. Buxtehude, Volume 1, 2018

Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 137, pages 5–7. See Examples 3 through 16.

 

Edition Renaud Vergnet, D. Buxtehude, Volume 2, 2018

Toccata in D Minor, BuxWV 155, pages 2–5. See Examples 17 
through 19.

Sandro Da Silva

Sandro Da Silva studied at East Carolina University, Greenville, North Carolina, earning a master’s degree in sacred music and organ concentration. From 2019 until 2024, he was organist at The Memorial Baptist Church, Greenville.

Throughout the history of music, composers have not only influenced and enriched the cultural life in their communities, but they have also influenced each other. The focus of this article is the influence of Antonio Vivaldi (1678–1741) on Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) and specifically how that influence is manifest in Bach’s organ concerto transcriptions. We will explore Vivaldi’s concerto style and his L’estro armonico, opus 3. Finally, we will explore some facets of how Bach approached the Vivaldi concerto style and ritornello form in his transcriptions.

Among the many fine composers of the Italian Baroque period, Vivaldi is recognized to be among the greatest. He was seen as an outstanding composer even by such towering figures as Bach. The respect one composer had for another can be seen in their transcriptions of works for other instruments. Bach was thus demonstrating his respect for Vivaldi’s music when he transcribed for organ several of Vivaldi’s orchestral works. This began when Prince Johann Ernest introduced Bach to Vivaldi’s compositions during Bach’s time in Weimar. During this period, Bach arranged numerous keyboard reductions and transcriptions.

These works were intended for use in church. As the German musicologist and theorist Johann Nikolaus Forkel noted, “In his [Bach’s] time, it was usual for a concerto or a solo on some instrument to be played in church during the Communion.”¹ Scholars have noted that the practice of transcription established by Bach caused him to absorb musical-technical principles that later showed up in his own compositions. Robert L. Marshall notes, “Whether prepared primarily for practical performance by the Duke of Weimar or himself, or for purposes of study, the transcriptions represent the composer’s first known sustained encounter with the modern Italian concerto style.”²

Italian instrumental music

The Italian Baroque was populated with great composers: Claudio Monteverdi, Girolamo Frescobaldi, Arcangelo Corelli, Tomaso Albinoni, and many others. Scholars note that Italian instrumental music in this period led the development of a number of new musical forms and styles, such as the Venetian concerto style that brought heightened maturity to orchestral music. In the work of Vivaldi, the trend toward the solo concerto and chamber orchestra found its apex. Throughout his oeuvre, examples of mature sonatas, concertos, and sinfonias abound. Vivaldi’s approach to the concerto grosso led him to envision flexible ensembles with several independent soloists. Running the full gamut, Vivaldi’s double, triple, and quadruple concertos stand midway between concerto grosso and solo concerto.

Vivaldi’s period of instrumental composition extends from 1705 through 1730, during which time he produced a number of concertos for various combinations of solo violin, cello, flute, oboe, and trumpet. Vivaldi produced a variety of pieces for ensembles and soloists. Nicholas Anderson writes: “Vivaldi unquestionably was a composer for the voice; however, it was as an instrumental composer that he made his most original and far-reaching contribution.”³ Some of his most important contributions to orchestral music were the introduction of multiple solo instruments, three-movement cycles, and ritornello form.

Concerto grosso genre

The concerto grosso was characterized by the juxtaposition of the full (tutti) orchestra against a smaller group of solo instruments (ripieno). Often Vivaldi employed the harpsichord as a continuo instrument realizing a figured bass line.

Historically, the genre of concerto grosso originates from the Italian operatic sinfonia. The first composer to use the concerto form was Giuseppe Torelli, and the great era of the genre of the concerto grosso was found in the seventeenth century and the beginning of the eighteenth century. According to Wilhelm Fischer, “The form of the Baroque solo concerto was the most influential form of instrumental music in the High Baroque.”⁴

With reference to the concerto grosso genre, Vivaldi adapted the relatively new three-movement form to develop his concerto style. Karl Heller states: “Significantly, the early works are distinguished by Vivaldi’s treatment of the opening tutti ritornello and the artful construction of the opening solo passage.”⁵ As a result, sources draw the evolution of this concerto form through Vivaldi’s twelve concertos that comprise L’estro armonico, opus 3.

Original orchestral music: L’estro armonico, opus 3

These orchestral works were written during Vivaldi’s tenure as Maestro di violino at the Venetian female orphanage, Ospedale della Pietá, beginning in 1703. The collection of concertos included in L’estro armonico was dedicated to the prince of Tuscany, Ferdinando de Medici. In addition, the first performances were at the Pietá during the period of 1709 and 1710. The works were performed as collaborative ventures with the students at the Ospedale.

According to H. C. Robbins Landon, “Opus 3 was published by Estienne Roger in Amsterdam in 1711, with the title L’estro armonico,” which can be translated as the harmonious inspiration, impulse, or frenzy. “It embraced a set of twelve magnificent concertos for sometimes extremely odd combinations of instruments. In 1715 the concertos were reprinted by the London firm of Walsh and Hare, and by 1717 Roger was obliged to reprint.”⁶

Vivaldi set the twelve concertos in a tonal arrangement alternating major and minor keys and consisting of groups of one, two, and four violin soloists in symmetrical groupings. In addition, each of the concertos within opus 3 contains three movements, fast-slow-fast. Referring to opus 3, Steven Zohn stated: “Vivaldi’s works often widen the book’s focus to encompass tonal practice in early eighteenth-century Italy, thereby leading to a deepened understanding of both a crucial aspect of Vivaldian style and a historical period in which modal principles were rapidly yielding to harmonic tonality.”⁷ Heller further notes, “The uniqueness of L’estro armonico is due also to both the popularity and the historical importance of the concertos, which, as far as we can now determine, were reprinted or republished in at least fourteen editions in subsequent decades (by John Walsh of London and by Le Clerc le Cadet of Paris as well as by Roger).”⁸

The concerto is marked by spectacular tuttis, the central slow movements with great cantabile melodies. Landon wrote: “What can explain the immediate success of L’estro armonico? It was, of course, not any one element. Rather it was the freshness, the vigour, the variety, and, in the slow movements, the mysterious tenderness that captivated [people’s] minds.”⁹

Ritornello form

Another compositional technique present in many movements of opus 3 is the ritornello form. According to Michael Talbot, “Ritornello form is the quasi-automatic choice for the first movement in a Vivaldi concerto. It is the most common choice for finales, and appears in a few slow movements, where it may be reduced to a simple frame around what would otherwise be a through-composed movement for soloists, lightly accompanied.”¹⁰

Vivaldi recycled the ritornello form to combine diverse parts, allowing for structural cohesion. As Walter Kolneder states: “With the freedom of modulation gained in about 1680, and the tempered scale that was its inevitable consequence, it was possible to bring the ritornello on different harmonic degrees in accordance with a scheme planned on the basis of a large form.”¹¹

Process and problems of transcriptions

Transcriptions are adaptations of vocal, choral, or instrumental music for an instrumentation other than originally intended by the composer. For example, it is reasonable to play Bach flute sonatas on the violin with only minimal adjustments. In the same manner, adapting clavier works to organ require only the transcription for manualiter.

With reference to the original orchestral music from Vivaldi, Bach arranged the various instrumental parts of the concertos to be played on manuals and pedals. In creating the transcriptions, however, we note that Bach often crafted textures that differed from those of the original concertos. Peter Williams observed: “The passagework typical of Italian string concertos gave new ideas for textures often, in practice, rather different from the string originals. This goes, too, for Bach’s version of the Concerto in G Major, BWV 592, in which the violinistic figuration is replaced by something more appropriate for organ.”¹² Leslie Paul noted that, in addition to technical adaptations made by Bach, “Harmonies were often amplified by the addition of an inner part so cunningly derived as to appear essential, added passing and grace notes.”¹³

Bach’s organ transcriptions

The setting of organ transcriptions in the Italian style includes five works, manualiter and pedaliter, from BWV 592–596. The collection showed up in Weimar between July 1713 and 1714. According to Williams, “The young prince Johann Ernst von Sachsen-Weimar visited Amsterdam and sent Italian music back to Weimar that included the original music from L’estro armonico, opus 3.”¹⁴ As mentioned earlier, the setting includes five organ concertos. However, from Vivaldi’s opus 3, Bach arranged only two double violin concertos for organ. Even though the number of Bach’s transcriptions from opus 3 were small, Weber points out that “[f]rom these pieces Bach learned the essential tools that he would use for the expansion and transformation of seventeenth-century genres into large-scale forms.”¹⁵

One of these transcriptions, the Concerto in A Minor, BWV 593, has become a part of the standard organ repertoire, with a level of complexity and interpretive possibilities that provide ample challenge to the organist. Example 1 demonstrates basic music information regarding the music score archive of the transcription and original works.

Regarding the process of Bach’s organ transcription, Joseph H. Butler states: “The manualiter transcriptions were transposed and adapted to fit the range of the organ played by Bach in the Weimar region, which was four octaves, from C to c.”¹⁶ The two manuals and pedal of the organ were used to create dynamic effects and contrasts between solos and accompaniment, with further contrasts within the two solo lines and tutti. David Schulenberg has written: “Whatever the instrument, the use of two manuals [was] an obvious necessity [in the transcriptions], not only in order to reflect the tutti/solo distinctions of the original but to facilitate performance in several passages where voices cross.”¹⁷

Delving more deeply into the first movement (“Allegro”) of BWV 593, we see that the original orchestral composition was set up by Vivaldi for two violin soloists and orchestra. In the transcription, Bach used a second manual to distinguish each solo part and create the interaction within the two solo parts from the tutti. In addition, Bach added notes in some passages that differ from the original. In reference to Example 2, Williams observes, “particularly interesting is that Bach partly filled in the gaps of the original sequence” in measures nineteen and twenty.¹⁸

Bach used manual indications of Oberwerk and Rückpositiv to instruct for specific passages. Brenda Lynne Leach notes: “Bach used the manual indications to distinguish tutti from solo passages. While tutti sections are to be played both hands on the Oberwerk, Bach treated solo episodes in three ways:

1. Solo and accompaniment played on the Rückpositiv;

2. Solo on the Rückpositiv with accompaniment on the Oberwerk;

3. Solo on the Oberwerk with accompaniment on the Rückpositiv.”¹⁹

The examples mentioned here from the organ transcriptions are clearly regarding the functions of manual changes to bring out the voice leading with accompaniment and tutti. In addition, the transcriptions approach the natural use of the manualiter to establish the music dynamic contrasts ranging from forte to piano.

From the process of transcribing Vivaldi’s works for organ solo, it is clear that Bach gained skill in treating the solo lines individually as they returned in different keys. This process also seems to have given Bach a facility in employing the ritornello form, which he utilized repeatedly in other works as well.        

Italian music influences in Bach’s later organ works      

It is not overstated to say that the Italian influence, particularly that of Vivaldi, had a major impact on Bach’s works. Following his years in Weimar when he was introduced to much music from the Italian Baroque, Bach continued to deepen and develop ideas that he drew from Italian Baroque influences, of which he had sustained exposure while in Weimar. The court during this time was open to and encouraged the incorporation of foreign innovations in music composition. Geoffrey Webber has observed that “[t]he concentration of musical material found in the Orgelbüchlein complements the other great development of Bach’s adoption of compositional techniques learned from Vivaldi.”²⁰

Vivaldi’s influence is also clear in Bach’s six trio sonatas for organ, BWV 525–530, which include both the three-movement structure and ritornello form. According to Karl Geiringer, “Bach was strongly impressed by the natural grade of the Italian style and fascinated by the results that could be achieved by using Vivaldi’s concerto form in compositions for solo organ.”²¹ Bach shows even more mature understandings of the Italian influence and ritornello elements in such organ works such as Toccata in F Major, BWV 540i, and Toccata in C Major, BWV 564i.

Conclusion

It is possible to conclude that many of Bach’s works show the impact of Vivaldi and the Italian Baroque. To a large extent, that influence is grounded in Bach’s organ transcriptions of Vivaldi’s concertos. Peter Williams stated: “J. S. Bach’s experience of making organ transcriptions affected his composition much more deeply and widely, certainly well beyond the organ music itself.”²² Beyond the transcriptions, we see the Italian influence in many of Bach’s original works, including sonatas for solo instruments, harpsichord works, and ensemble music.

Bach’s sizable oeuvre reflects a growth and understanding of the varied sounds available to him that could be used to draw an almost orchestral approach to writing for the instrument. It is logical to conclude that his transcriptions of Vivaldi’s orchestral works contributed to this development.

Notes

1. Walter Kolneder, Antonio Vivaldi, His Life and Work (University of California Press, Los Angeles, 1970), page 109.

2. Robert L. Marshall, Eighteenth-Century Keyboard Music, Routledge Studies in Musical Genres, Second Edition (Routledge, New York, 2003), page 90.

3. Nicholas Anderson, Baroque Music from Monteverdi to Handel (Thames and Hudson, Inc., New York, 1994), page 110.

4. Kolneder, page 54.

5. Karl Heller, Antonio Vivaldi: The Red Priest of Venice (Amadeus Press, Portland, Oregon, 1997), page 62.

6. H. C. Robbins Landon, Vivaldi, Voice of the Baroque (Thames and Hudson, Inc., New York, 1993), page 42.

7. Steven Zohn, “The Baroque Concerto in Theory and Practice,” The Journal of Musicology, volume 26, number 4 (Fall 2009), page 569. https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/jm.2009.26.4.566.

8. Heller, page 67.

9. Landon, page 44.

10. Michael Talbot, The Master Musicians: Vivaldi (Schirmer Books, Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1992), page 111.

11. Kolneder, page 55.

12. Peter Williams, “Some thoughts on Italian elements in certain music of Johann Sebastian Bach,” FIMA-Fondazione Italiana per la Musica Antica. Source: Recercare, volume 11 (1999), page 197. htps://www.jstor.org/stable/41701304.

13. Leslie D. Paul, “Bach as Transcriber,” Oxford Journals, Oxford University Press, Source: Music & Letters, volume 34, number 4 (October 1953), page 308.

14. Peter Williams, The Organ Music of J. S. Bach, BBC Music Guides (BBC Publications, second edition, London, 2002), page 202.

15. Geoffrey Webber and Nicholas Thistlethwaite, The Cambridge Companion to the Organ (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998), page 241.

16. Joseph H. Butler, “Emulation and Inspiration: J. S. Bach’s Transcriptions from Vivaldi’s,” The Diapason, volume 102, number 8, whole number 1221 (August 2011), page 20.

17. David Schulenberg, The Keyboard Music of J. S. Bach (Schirmer Books, Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1992), page 93.

18. Peter Williams, The Organ Music of J. S. Bach: Preludes, Toccatas, Fantasias, Fugues, Sonatas, Concertos, and Miscellaneous Pieces, volume I (Cambridge University Press, New York, 1980), page 298.

19. Brenda Lynne Leach, “Bach’s Organ Transcriptions: Influence of Italian Masters,”  The Diapason, volume 85, number 5, whole number 1014 (May 1994), page 11.

20. Webber and Thistlethwaite, page 241.

21. Karl Geiringer, Johann Sebastian Bach: The Culmination of an Era (Oxford University Press, New York, 1966), page 222.

22. Peter Williams, The Organ Music of J. S. Bach: A Background, volume III (Cambridge University Press, New York, 1984), page 93.

Ludger Lohmann

As one of the most renowned organ virtuosos and organ pedagogues Ludger Lohmann has exerted a lasting influence on organ culture. His career as a recitalist, which has brought him to many churches, cathedrals, and concert halls all over the world, started with awards at important international competitions, such as the competition of the German Broadcasting Corporation in Munich 1979 and the Grand Prix de Chartres 1982.

Born in Herne, Germany, in 1954 he studied organ with Wolfgang Stockmeier and harpsichord with Hugo Ruf at Cologne Musikhochschule. While writing a musicological doctoral thesis on “Articulation on Keyboard Instruments of the 16.–18. Centuries,” he received important artistic stimuli from Anton Heiller in Vienna and Marie-Claire Alain in Paris. The dedication to this artistic legacy motivated him to regard his own pedagogical work as equally important in his recitalist career. In more than forty years, first at Cologne Musikhochschule, and since 1983 as professor at Stuttgart Musikhochschule, he has educated numerous talented young organists from all over the world, many of whom are now doing remarkable artistic and pedagogical work themselves. A central concern was always striving for an interpretation of musical works according to the stylistic conventions of the times of their origin, departing from the insights gathered in his doctoral dissertation, which became standard reading, and later broadened by many publications concerning the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Musically they are documented in his numerous CD recordings.

His artistic and pedagogical impact has led Ludger Lohmann throughout the world as guest professor, teacher of masterclasses, and jury member of international competitions. He was part of the organ research project GOArt of Göteborg University as senior researcher. As organ consultant he has led organbuilding and restoration projects in several countries. To honor his manifold activities the British Royal College of Organists awarded him its first honors medal. In 2023 he received the prestigious German “Prize of European Church Music.”

Editor’s note: the scores to works mentioned in this article may be found online for free access.

Max Reger, Zwölf Stücke, opus 59

Reger, Introduction, Passacaglia, und Fugue in E Minor, opus 127

Reger, Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46

Reger, Organ Sonata No. 2, opus 60

Franz Liszt, Präludium und Fuge über B-A-C-H, S. 260

J. S. Bach, Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542

The sesquicentennial of the birth of Max Reger (1873–1916) has given new life to the reception of his enormous oeuvre. Among the many works of this astonishingly productive composer, only the organ pieces—the number and importance of which are rivaled only by Johann Sebastian Bach’s organ works—have enjoyed a constant presence in public concerts. This fact is not the least due to the efforts of Karl Straube (1873–1950), Reger’s closest friend and arguably his most important advocate during his short life. As the most influential German organ pedagogue of the first half of the twentieth century, Straube motivated generations of the most talented young German organists to become avid Reger performers. Their influence, in turn, can still be felt today particularly regarding certain parameters of Reger performance, since they tended to emulate Straube’s teaching method, which relied heavily on the principle of copying the master, usually starting to learn a new piece by literally copying all indications (fingering, articulation, and phrasing) from the teacher’s personal copy. Thus many details of Straube’s personal performance style, which sometimes are not consistent with Reger’s own indications, are still firmly entrenched in what might be called mainstream Reger performance practice. Straube’s students never, at least not in principle, questioned their validity but regarded them with a kind of Biblical faith, given the fact that Reger always heaped high praise on his friend’s performances of his music.

Straube’s ideas became a second layer of performance indications, sometimes overriding those given by the composer. As the authority that he was in German organ culture, Straube might even have contributed inadvertently or intentionally to the canonization of his ideas. We will never know whether Reger, in cases of conflicting indications, really preferred Straube’s ideas over his own. This must remain in doubt, particularly since Straube did not preserve Reger’s letters from the Weiden years, i.e., Reger’s most productive period regarding organ music, ostensibly because he did not want future generations to get an insight into an intimate exchange touching many aspects of the genesis of Reger’s music—possibly also not due to potential disagreements on matters not only of composition but also of performance practice.

In his monumental doctoral dissertation, “Reger, Straube, and the Leipzig school’s tradition of organ pedagogy: 1898–1948,”¹ Christopher Anderson has described the Straube-Reger relationship with its many positive but also problematic aspects in detail. The new and definitive biography Max Reger: Werk Statt Leben² by Susanne Popp touches this subject only briefly. Some basic problems of Straube’s style of Reger performance have been commented upon by Wolfgang Stockmeier in a volume, Max Reger 1873–1973—Ein Symposion,³ published on the occasion of Reger’s 100th birthday. Some of Stockmeier’s observations will be further developed in the present article, the aim of which is not in the first place to criticize Straube but to point out some very common clichés of present-day Reger performance, some—but certainly not all—of which might have originated in Straube’s practices. These practices can be learned from Straube’s editions of some Reger pieces published during the composer’s lifetime and also from listening to recordings made by some of Straube’s students.

When looking at the editions, some blatant contradictions, particularly regarding dynamics and agogics, can be noted. They expose some fundamental differences of opinion about how to deal with certain musical phenomena like the preparation of a culmination point. Here the name of Hugo Riemann (1849–1919), the most influential German music theorist of the late Romantic period and Reger’s composition teacher, comes into play.⁴ Reger very closely adheres to Riemann’s performance recipes, which can be found in his various treatises,⁵ whereas Straube, while generally being in agreement with Riemann’s theories, sometimes appears to come from a different school of thought. The fact that a performer would change a composer’s detailed performance indications in an edition of his own seems almost unthinkable today, but was all too common a century ago.

Certainly Straube’s aim in the first place was to make some of Reger’s best-known pieces more accessible; he might even have seen a justification for his interventions in Reger’s compositional process, or at least in his way of preparing a final fair copy of his works as the basis for an edition. Reger first wrote the musical text proper in black ink and later added all instructions pertaining to performance in red ink. Of course, it would be naive to assume that the genesis of a piece’s overall musical structure did not already include at least a rough concept of dynamics and movement, but details were probably determined only during this late “red ink stage,” thus easily leading to the impression that they were accessories rather than essential elements of the composition.

As a concert organist who has regularly played Reger’s works all over the world throughout a fifty-year career, I had many opportunities to observe typical problems of the reception of Reger’s music, problems that might have led a majority of colleagues mainly in English- and French-speaking countries to reject this music altogether. According to my experience the single biggest problem, apart from listeners’ difficulties of following Reger’s often over-complex musical textures, is what I would call a lack of coherence. This is first of all due to Reger’s tendency to compose free works like preludes or fantasias in a patchwork style: rather short musical phrases in certain textures are separated from each other by concluding chords. Even when the player goes from one passage to the next in an organic way by letting the listener feel a continuous metrical flow (albeit shaped by rubato twists and turns), the danger is that the piece falls apart, the all-too-frequent “stop and go” effect, tiring the listener and preventing an effective emotional buildup.

“Toccata in D Minor,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 5

Looking at “Toccata in D Minor,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 5, will illustrate this problem.⁶ The first part of this short tripartite composition consists of only twenty measures that contain, depending on how one counts, between four (in measures 4, 7, 15, and 20) and seven (the additional ones in measures 10, 11, and 12) such subdivisions. If the dynamic culminations in Organo Pleno reached at the end of all of the dynamic waves always starting at ff are any clue Reger would have regarded measure 12 as one of the important breaks in spite of the fact that the sixteenth-note triplet movement continues. Among the four clear breaks, all indicated by a large quarter-note chord, the one in measure 20 is marked by a fermata, the one in measure 4 by a fermata with the word kurz, or short. The other two breaks do not bear any indication. The common way of realizing these four transitions, experienced in dozens of performances by students and competition participants without exception, is holding the respective chords for about two beats instead of one as notated. While this is obviously acceptable for the chords marked by a fermata it is clearly not correct in the other two cases.

Apart from the resulting lack of stringency there is a consequence for the dynamic perception of harmonies, which prevents the buildup of tension as probably intended by Reger. The A-major seventh chord in measure 7 is followed by a D-minor harmony on the next beat, by the way a harmonic concept (a traditional dominant-tonic cadence) that Reger employs in a vast majority of formal transitions, even major ones (see measures 20–21: the B-major dominant seventh chord in measure 20 is followed by an E-minor harmony implied at the beginning of the soft middle section of the piece). Since the A-major seventh chord is in an accentuated metrical position (beat 3), holding it for a half note will inevitably give the ensuing D-minor harmony a metrical accent, particularly if the player gives it a strong dose of initially hesitating rubato, a gradual speeding up, with the aim of making his performance expressive.

Both player and listener are satisfied with an accent on the tonic, which might be the reason for this metrical misreading in the first place. If, however, the A-major chord is given its proper value, the D-minor harmony can be perceived as an upbeat to the much more interesting chord on the following beat 1, which consists of a double suspension (B sharp and D sharp) before an A-major sixth chord, thus keeping up the harmonic tension of the A-major seventh chord in measure 7 by preventing the succession of A major and D minor to be perceived as a definite cadence. It goes without saying that this is extremely consequential with regard to the perception of form, in other words to coherence or a lack thereof. The situation in measure 15 is different but comparable: the F-major 3-4 chord is continued chromatically by the implied bass line of the ensuing broken chords.

The question is why Reger notated fermatas in measures 4 and 20, but not in 7 and 15. The answer for measure 20 is clear: in measure 21 the middle section of the piece starts. In measure 4 the fermata marks an E-major chord that is followed by a new statement of the toccata’s opening passage in A minor, the dominant. This fact gives the E-major chord a higher formal relevance than the chords in measures 7 and 15, but not of the same degree as in measure 20, which is why Reger cautioned the player with kurz in measure 4. Since the opening passage starts on beat 4 (and should consequently be played with an upbeat feeling, not easy to achieve particularly when too much initial rubato is involved, as is very common) the “short” fermata should still allow the listener to perceive the value of the E-major chord as one (quarter note) beat in order to maintain the upbeat feeling for the new beginning. Even in measure 20 it is to be recommended to keep the B-major chord only for one beat (albeit somewhat longer than the E-major chord in measure 4, by means of a larger ritardando preparation) in order to clarify its upbeat metrical position.

This upbeat position, the first of its kind after so many seemingly comparable chords concluding phrases in downbeat positions, is undoubtedly a formal ploy to bridge the most incisive formal transition of the whole piece, another example of Reger striving for formal coherence.

“Benedictus,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 9

It should by now be clear that Reger’s notation of transitional places is by no means accidental but highly differentiated and precisely responding to the formal structure. The question is now whether the consequences for the dynamic or metrical perception of harmonies were also on his mind. This can be answered more easily by looking at the equally famous “Benedictus” from the same collection, opus 59, number 9.

This piece is based on two motives, both exposing the interval of a fourth, the second of which outlining the fugue subject (which could easily be sung to “Hosanna in excelsis”) with two ascending fourths, the first with two descending fourths, thus probably meant to be the inverted idea. In its first appearance with the notes D flat, A natural, B flat, F, it enters three times alla stretta, the entrances always coinciding with the fourth note of the preceding entrance. As a consequence the entrances occur on different beats of the first two measures: 1, 4, and 3. The listener might be misled into assuming that the piece is in 3/4 rather than in the 4/4 that Reger notated. Another misunderstanding—this will immediately show its relevance—is that the listener will understand the first two notes as C sharp and A, i.e., a falling major third in A major.

This strange opening has to be viewed in light of Riemann’s teachings. Riemann develops his ideas about the dynamics of phrases, so crucial for his theories, starting with motives of two or three notes.⁷ According to his principles static dynamics are unthinkable: a melodic line always moves either in crescendo or decrescendo. Accordingly a two-note motive can be crescendo or decrescendo.⁸ For a three-note motive there is a third possibility: first crescendo, then decrescendo9 (the fourth theoretically possible variant, decrescendo-crescendo, is not really considered). This is also his favorite dynamic shape for any musical phrase: starting with a crescendo, which leads to a dynamic climax, then relaxation in decrescendo. Though Riemann generally opposes the late Baroque system of metrically oriented accentuation he still maintains the primate of beat one, in his musical examples always placing the dynamic climax on beat one. Hence we may assume that Reger’s dynamic thinking also respects bar lines.

This explains the opening of the “Benedictus.” Reger’s intention probably is to present his central motive in various possible dynamic shapes: the first entrance is thought decrescendo throughout. This can easily be accepted by the listener who de facto hears a falling major third.

The problem here is that the player knows that this interval is supposed to be a diminished fourth, and that the second note is longer than the first, so he will intuitively intend these two notes rather to be felt as a crescendo. In fact a trained ear can identify the player’s respective intention. The motive’s second entrance places the first note in an upbeat position, leading to the second note in crescendo. The third entrance uses still another option: here the dynamic climax is meant to be on the tied-over part of the second note. Since this is not really communicable on the organ Reger employs the swellbox, ending the crescendo sign exactly at the bar line and thus underlining the harmonic tension of the chord on the following beat one, which converts the originally consonant A natural into a dissonant suspension.

According to general compositional principles the moment has come where the composer should change the motive at the very latest: the fourth entrance starts one note higher on E flat, and thus is the loudest entrance. (Note that in the final short part of the piece, in measure 51, the corresponding entrance on the high E flat arrives after the swellbox has been closed, another dynamic-motivic refinement!) Straube¹⁰ displaces the dynamic indications: his crescendo sign starts not on the first note of the third entrance (D flat), but on the second, and continues till the end of the following measure, resulting in a dynamic climax on the first beat of measure 4 on a totally consonant B-flat major chord. He obviously did not see the refinement of Reger’s dynamic strategy and probably also did not understand Reger’s intention to present the motive in three different dynamic versions, an intention very essential to late Romantic musical thinking.

The first appearance in this piece of a solo line on the second manual (measure 8, beat 3) reveals another misreading of Reger’s intentions: Reger continues a diminuendo throughout the first solo notes, which start in a tonality of D major, finishing it on the lowest note of the solo when the tonality has returned to the tonic of D flat (measure 9, beat 4). Straube, however, lets the solo line begin at the end of a diminuendo, which on the first glimpse seems to be more convincing, but Reger’s concept is clearly motivated by considerations both melodic and harmonic and thus certainly more logical from a composer’s perspective.

This excursion into the “Benedictus” was supposed to demonstrate Reger’s refined dynamic intentions and to underscore the importance of playing the transition in measure 7 of the “Toccata” in a metrically correct way. In his edition¹¹ Straube does not add a fermata to the respective A-major chord, but his rallentando covering the first three beats of this measure and the sudden dynamic drop from forte to piano (including switching to another combination and moving back the Rollschweller device quite considerably), which he prescribes, clearly result in an interruption of the metric flow. The same can be said about the transition in measure 13: whereas Reger goes from Organo Pleno to a mere meno ff Straube goes from fff to p. Additionally already in measure 10 he prescribes Sostenuto, eighth note equals 84, and ritenuto in measure 12, thus probably resulting in a tempo only half of the initial eighth note equals 120, which he again suddenly prescribes in the middle of measure 12. This is obviously not the uninterrupted flow of sixteenth-note triplets, which is implied in Reger’s notation, but a clear break.

It might be said in defense of Straube’s apparent handling of these transitions that it separates sections and thus clarifies the structure of the piece very efficiently. However, the question is whether Reger’s way of writing is not structurally clear enough anyway, even considering possible acoustic issues with reverberation, which should be negligible in light of the limited dynamic contrasts, except for measures 20–21.

Looking into a piece by a different composer will show a similar problem. In Straube’s edition of some of the major organ works by Franz Liszt¹² the diminished seventh chord at the end of measure 12 in Präludium und Fuge über B-A-C-H is enlarged from six to eight notes, followed by a manual change,¹³ implying a break between this seventh chord and the ensuing sixth chord of G-flat major. This is a crucial moment in the piece that may be interpreted as a reference to a strikingly similar harmonic adventure in measures 20–21 of Bach’s Fantasia in G Minor, BWV 542i. Since this harmonic progression is a correct but totally unexpected resolution of the seventh chord it is important for the player to present the seventh chord as leading to the following chord. Liszt’s notation of a fermata on the sixteenth-note rest on beat one probably intends to give the listener a moment to digest the surprise, and Bach’s soprano tie across the bar line clearly aims to connect the chords.

It thus appears that Straube’s style of performance had a tendency of accentuating formal incisions of a piece rather than bridging them for the sake of holding together larger sections or the piece as a whole. Whether the motivation for this is purely musical or the result of resignation in the face of technically difficult registration manipulations (some of these self-inflicted by his disrespect for the composer’s dynamic indications) is impossible to decide.

Returning to Reger’s “Toccata in D Minor,” looking at the final two pages will reveal another problem with respect to Straube’s treatment of the musical form, but even more with respect to what might be called the emotional curve. Reger marks the broken-chord passage starting in measure 29 stringendo. The latter continues up to the A-major 6/5 chord in measure 33, which is followed by a dynamic drop to meno ff and an ensuing diminuendo until measure 35. In the middle of measure 35, while the chordal sequence of measures 33–35 still continues for a half measure, Reger turns the diminuendo into a crescendo, thus dynamically bridging the transition to a totally different figurative pattern.

Straube’s concept of the same passages is drastically different. Instead of an accelerando he prescribes an allargando; instead of meno ff plus diminuendo in measure 33 he prescribes pp and then a sudden and quick crescendo starting in measure 36. While on the first glimpse his solution seems to be more convincing than Reger’s rather surprising, in fact counterintuitive one, a second look leads to the conclusion that Reger’s concept might actually be considered artistically superior, at least more interesting, since instead of underlining the formal incisions it rather blurs them, resulting in a far more stringent ending of the piece.

The arpeggiando passage is not majestic (Straube writes sostenuto plus ritenuto) but breathless, the A-major 6/5 chord does not become an opportunity for a satisfied rest (Straube gives it a fermata), but spills over its accumulated energy into the ensuing chordal passage, which because of its falling bass line should rather be diminuendo, during which this energy is gradually spent. Obviously this concept is much more dramatic than Straube’s; it also shows a clear intention to keep the whole third part of “Toccata” coherent.¹⁴

“Kyrie,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 7

In replacing Reger’s stringendo of measures 29–33 with sostenuto/ritenuto Straube shows an attitude toward preparing a dynamic climax that is fundamentally opposed to Reger’s own. In fact he seems to adhere to a different school of thought in this respect since he does exactly the same thing in measures 17–18 and 31–32 of “Kyrie,” opus 59, number 7, and in measures 41–46 of “Benedictus,” or in a totally different musical situation, in measures 35 and 98 of the first movement of Reger’s Second Organ Sonata, opus 60, where the crescendo and accelerando of the short transition between what might be called the second and third main thematic ideas is replaced by diminuendo and ritardando, separating the respective sections rather than connecting them as is clearly Reger’s aim.¹⁵ Reger follows his teacher Riemann’s recipe: a crescendo is naturally accompanied by an accelerando (correspondingly a diminuendo by a ritardando);¹⁶ a dynamic climax is reached with an accelerando, holding back the tempo briefly on the climax itself before the energy is released a tempo, the ensuing diminuendo eventually accompanied by a ritardando.¹⁷ Straube’s approach can be found in some late Romantic organ treatises, for example, Karl Matthaei, who states that an agogic dwelling causes an increase of intensity; when playing in forte registration it may even been extended to longer stretches.¹⁸

Perhaps this fundamentally different approach to presenting climactic moments of a composition reveals differences between the respective personalities: Reger’s radical, dramatic pushing forward versus Straube’s more civilized (if not to say more bourgeois), relaxed basking in a glowing Organo Pleno sound.

Passacaglia in E Minor, opus 127, and Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46

Different opinions about separation/contrast versus blending/overlapping may occasionally work the other way. In measure 64 of Passacaglia in E Minor, opus 127, Reger originally closed a variation in diminuendo and pp and abruptly began the new variation in f, as can be seen in his extant autograph manuscript. The first edition, which was already informed or influenced by Straube’s first performance of this work, commissioned for the inauguration of the world’s then largest organ, built by W. Sauer Orgelbau of Frankfurt/Oder, in the Breslau (Wrocław) Jahrhunderthalle on September 24, 1913, replaces this dynamic contrast by a more modest beginning of the new variation in p;¹⁹ again an example of Straube’s diplomatic mollifying of an emanation of his friend’s more radical personality?

The comparison of autograph manuscript and first edition of opus 127 sheds light on a possible practical explanation of some of the two men’s differing opinions. The original tempo indication for the fugue was quarter note equals 66–84. The first edition indicates eighth note equals 116–132. Though the two indications meet at 66/132 (actually a fairly realistic tempo), the edition’s indication is generally considerably slower. This, however, is not the main point. When listening to performances of the piece it can usually be recognized whether the player feels a quarter-note or an eighth-note pulse, in the latter case resulting in a loss of the dance-like character probably on Reger’s mind, even when there is not a large difference in metronomic tempo. Considering the fact that Straube had to learn this long and difficult piece on rather short notice it may very well be that his studies were in a phase when he was still thinking in an eighth-note pulse, as would be typical for a player facing such a daunting task. The player’s way of thinking will affect the listener’s reaction: thinking in a quarter-note pulse will point his perception toward the larger picture more easily and will consequently lead to a better formal coherence of the piece.²⁰

A comparable problem of learning a difficult piece quickly may have led to two famous instructions Straube used to give his students concerning two short passages of Reger’s “Fantasie” from Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46: Straube recommended to play the chordal diminuendo passage from measure 19, beat 4, to measure 20, beat 2, twice as slow as notated, in spite of the fact that Reger, knowing that this would be difficult to achieve, prescribes Vivace assai, and to the contrary, the four final chords (measure 55, beat 4 onwards) twice as fast as notated, which means that the concluding chords of the fantasia, notated in eighth notes, are performed at the same speed as the chords preceding the eighth-note rest (measure 55, beat 3).

As I could observe numerous students (almost without any exception) doing the same at the end of the fantasia without having the slightest idea of a corresponding tradition, my suspicion has grown that Straube’s recommendation was the eventual result of an original miscounting that he codified, possibly as a face-saving ploy. Notwithstanding the possibility that the resulting performance of the fantasia’s end might be considered as more natural than the one indicated by the composer’s notation, a miscounting would be a very human error that can easily happen even to a distinguished musician like Straube.

A similar mistake might have occurred in measure 10 of the “Toccata in D Minor” where Straube suddenly reduces the tempo to almost only fifty percent. The same can be observed in most students’ performances of the second half of measure 14, there (unfortunately) also in an otherwise quite convincing performance by Straube’s famous contemporary Alfred Sittard (1878–1942), who by the way, makes fine distinctions concerning the transitions in measures 4, 7, 15, and 20. He does, however, keep the first fermata quite long so that the perceived note value becomes something like a half note, whereas his A-Major seventh chord in measure 7 can be perceived very well as a quarter note. Otherwise he generally respects Reger’s indications quite precisely; only his phrasing caesurae are rather too long, possibly a reaction either to the large acoustic of Saint Michael’s Church in Hamburg or to the difficulties of handling registration on its huge Walcker instrument.²¹

As can be seen from the example of Sittard’s performance of this ostensibly “small” piece, Reger’s refined dynamic and agogic indications, certainly at least partly conceived with the aim of guaranteeing formal coherence and a stringent emotional curve of the piece, presents the player with many technical and musical difficulties. The changes that Straube made in his edition eliminate some of these difficulties; additionally they are easily acceptable to a musical player or listener. In fact some of them seem to be more natural than Reger’s original indications. The question of whether they are musically superior may have to be answered individually by anybody experiencing the piece. For Reger his friend Straube was the ultimate authority concerning organ performance in general. His belief in his friend’s opinions went far enough to accept Straube’s suggestions regarding questions of composition proper, the most unfortunate example of this being Reger’s Requiem, which remained unfinished. It should not be forgotten, however, that at least during Reger’s lifetime Straube was active and renowned only as an organist, whereas Reger himself had an enormous reputation as an orchestral conductor and as a pianist, particularly in chamber music and Lied accompaniment. Thus we have to accept that his meticulous performance instructions were informed by vast experiences gained during a very busy and successful career as a performing musician, and that these instructions deserve to be taken seriously despite the inherent difficulties.

Reger’s oeuvre is the fruit of a short, busy, and stressful life taken anything but easily. As responsible performers we should honor his efforts with a matching respect for detail.

Notes

1. Ann Arbor (UMI), 1999.

2. Wiesbaden (Breitkopf & Härtel), 2015.

3. Ed. Klaus Röhring, Wiesbaden (Breitkopf & Härtel) 1974, pages 21–30.

4. See “Hugo Riemann and the Development of Musical Performance Practice,” Ludger Lohmann, in Proceedings of the Göteborg International Organ Academy 1994, edited by Hans Davidsson and Sverker Jullander, Skrifter fran Musikvetenskapliga avdelingen, Göteborgs universitet, Göteborg 1995, pages 251–284. Riemann’s ideas are also to be found in Orgelschule zur historischen Aufführungspraxis, Teil 2, Romantik, Jon Laukvik, Carus, Stuttgart, 2000. The respective passages seem to be quite dependent on my Göteborg article.

5. The two most important ones are: Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, Breitkopf & Härtel, Hamburg/Leipzig/St. Petersburg, 1884, and System der musikalischen Rhythmik und Metrik, Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzig, 1903.

6. Since the scores of Reger’s organ works are easily accessible and probably present in many organists’ libraries I have refrained from giving musical examples. The measure numbers refer to the Breitkopf edition, but other editions may as well be used since they differ only in small textual details not relevant here.

7. Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, pages 11ff.

8. According to his terminology “anbetont” or “abbetont.”

9. “inbetont.”

10. Zwölf Stücke für die Orgel von Max Reger. Op. 59. Hieraus in Einzel-Ausgabe: No. 9. Benedictus. Im Einverständnis mit dem Komponisten herausgegeben von Karl Straube. Leipzig: Peters 1913; London-Frankfurt-New York: Peters, 1949.

11. Präludien und Fugen für die Orgel von Max Reger, herausgegeben von Karl Straube, Leipzig: Peters 1912, Nr. 1. I thank Mrs. Ursula Wild of the library of the Hochschule für Musik Freiburg for providing me with a scan.

12. Orgelkompositionen von Franz Liszt, herausgegeben von Karl Straube. Band II, Leipzig: Peters 1917, pages 55–56.

13. In the first (1855) version of the piece Liszt also indicated a manual change, the right hand moving to the Oberwerk. This does not necessarily result in a dynamic break since the Oberwerk of the Merseburg organ for which the piece is intended is as powerful as the Hauptwerk. It is also interesting to see that the manual change was omitted in the second (1869) version. Additionally the fact that the lowest note of the right-hand chord has a shorter value than the rest of the chord, allowing the left-hand passage to interfere with it, implies that the manual change was not Liszt’s original intention anyway. Whether Straube knew the first version at all is doubtful, his edition concerns the second version, of course.

14. Reger seems to have liked the effect of overlapping musical passages, as can be seen on a smaller scale, e.g., on the last page of his Second Organ Sonata, opus 60. The numerous entrances alla stretta of at least the fugue subject’s opening motive are rarely marked by the beginning of new slurs. Reger once (measures 87–88) places a new slur on the two notes preceding the first thematic note, and more frequently on the second note of the subject, thus indicating respectively that the subject is prepared by a short upbeat, or that the initial note has the double function of ending the preceding phrase and starting the new phrase. In any case his clear intention is that there should be no break in the legato—as most players would do, reacting intuitively to the notation—in accordance with Riemann’s advice that phrasing does not necessarily have to be shown by articulation, but sometimes only by slight rubato nuances in order not to interrupt the longer legato line in the sense of a Wagnerian “infinite melody:” “Es ist etwas ganz bekanntes, dass die Schlusstöne der Phrasen oder wo die Verkettung loser ist, auch der Motive, zumeist abgesetzt, d.h. nicht in ununterbrochenem Tonflusse zu den Anfangstönen der folgenden Phrasen oder Motive fortgeführt, sondern von diesen durch kleine Pausen geschieden werden. Vielfach sind diese Pausen nicht anders, als durch das Ende eines Bogens oder auch gar nicht angedeutet und müssen also ad libitum, d.h. nach Massgabe des guten Geschmacks, durch Abzüge vom Werthe der letzten Note gewonnen werden; Gesichtspunkte, welche mangels einer Andeutung von Seiten des Komponisten dafür entscheidend werden können, ob man überhaupt die Phrasen- resp. Motivtrennung durch wirkliches Absetzen oder aber nur durch eine unbedeutende Verlängerung der letzten Note bewirkt, werden wir weiterhin kennen lernen.” (Riemann 1884, 145)

This way of indicating what Riemann would call “Phrasenverschränkung” (roughly to be translated as “joining of phrases”) or “Phrasenverkettung” is a bit unusual; Reger almost never uses the more conventional notation of letting two slurs meet on one note.

15. The described handling of this transition is not documented anywhere, but I clearly remember it from a radio recording of the piece by Michael Schneider, one of Straube’s most important students, to which I listened several times years ago.

16. See Reger’s footnote on page 8 (first edition, Aibl, later republished by UE) of the Choralfantasie über Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele, opus 30: “Die < > beziehen sich auf den Gebrauch des Jalousieschwellers; doch kann man auch im Tempo bei < etwas string. u. bei > etwas ritard. (Tempo rubato),” which is the practical implementation of a passage in Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, page 11: “Mit dem crescendo der metrischen Motive ist stets eine (selbstverständlich geringe) Steigerung der Geschwindigkeit der Tonfolge und mit dem diminuendo eine entsprechende Verlangsamung verbunden.” Reger’s remark even goes one step further, giving an important hint to situations where no Swell division is at hand: dynamic inflections may be replaced by agogic ones.

17. “Die merkliche agogische Schattirung der Werte, nämlich eine gelinde Beschleunigung im Hineinlaufen in die Schwerpunktsnote, merkliche Dehnung der auf den Schwerpunkt selbst fallenden kurzen Note und abnehmende Dehnung der weiter bis zu Ende folgenden Werte.” Hugo Riemann, System der musikalischen Rhythmik und Metrik, Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzig, 1903, page 17.

18. “Die agogische Stauung, eine bewußt herbeigeführte Verbreiterung des Grundtempos, bewirkt auf der Orgel, dem Instrument unendlichen Atems, eine Verdichtung der Intensität, welche bei stärker registriertem Spiel sich sogar auf längere Strecken auszudehnen vermag.” Vom Orgelspiel. Eine kurzgefaßte Würdigung der künstlerisch orgelgemäßen Interpretationsweise und ihrer klanglichen Ausdrucksmittel, Handbücher der Musiklehre XV, Karl Matthaei, Breitkopf & Härtel. Leipzig, 1936, page 52. Matthaei was a Straube student; his remarks on rubato otherwise follow Riemann’s teachings.

19. A similar contrast mp–f is to be found measure 80, which in the first edition is changed to the f being prepared by a crescendo ending of the preceding variation.

20. I do not want to address tempo questions in general, which in the case of “Benedictus” would be quite interesting. See my article in the Festschrift for Wolfgang Stockmeier.

21. The recording is accessible on YouTube. It has been described in detail by Hans Martin Balz in an article in Ars Organi 1/2017 (journal of Gesellschaft der Orgelfreunde), pages 50–52. I thank Dr. Balz for providing me with the link.

This article originally appeared in Ars et Usus Musicae Organicae: Juhlakirja Olli Porthanille (Essays in Honour of Olli Porthanille), edited by Jan Lehtola and Peter Peitsalo, Sibelius Academy, University of the Arts Helsinki, Finland, 2020, and is reprinted here with permission.

John Bishop

Covering all the basses

I remember the first time I went to Fenway Park in Boston with my father to see a Red Sox game. I had watched many games on television, but those of us “of a certain age” remember what televisions were like in 1965 with foil-wrapped rabbit-ear antennas, bulbous black-and-white picture tubes, and fuzzy pictures. When Dad and I came out of the tunnel into the sunshine at Fenway, the outfield grass was the greenest I had ever seen. I was dazzled.

The first time I heard a symphony orchestra live, those double basses took my breath away. I thought their rich sonorities, enhanced by the storied acoustics of Symphony Hall in Boston, were otherworldly, something that cannot be duplicated by a recording. I remember that magical first time whenever I hear those tones.

Robert Augustus Melcher (1910–1983) was a professor of music theory at the Oberlin College Conservatory of Music from 1937 until 1976. He perennially taught the required two-semester freshman theory course Music Theory 101 and 102 along with a following sophomore course 201 and 202. I was a sophomore at Oberlin in the academic year of 1975–1976, his last year of teaching. Dr. Melcher’s teaching methods included fear and intimidation. He never hesitated to humiliate a student who answered incorrectly in class, and woe betide the one who was caught gazing vacantly across Tappan Square. He was particularly hard on singers, and he fawned over organ majors, calling us “theory prone” because of our understanding of basslines, which he called the driving force of music.

Dr. Melcher was right about basslines. As a Sunday morning organist and today as a sometimes congregant, I love how the basslines of hymns provide foundation, define harmonies, and inspire motion. As a frequent concert goer, I love how cellos, double basses, trombones, and tubas define the motion of Classical and Romantic symphonic music. As an organbuilder, I love the majesty of the wonderful bass sonorities driven by all that wind. It is fundamental.

§

I was curator of organs at The First Church of Christ, Scientist (The Mother Church) in Boston in the 1980s and 1990s, where the principal instrument is Aeolian-Skinner Opus 1203 completed in 1952. It is a heroic organ with eight divisions, 240 ranks, and well over 13,000 pipes. It is something like eighty feet wide, forty feet tall, and twelve feet deep, beautifully organized and engineered because, unlike most organs of this size, it was built all at once under a single opus number. There is a full-length 32′ Kontrafagott enclosed in the Swell along with the rarity of a 5-1⁄3′ Quinte Trompette, four Pedal 32′ stops, and a Pedal division with over forty-five independent ranks.

The music in Christian Science worship services is described in the church’s manual, Science and Health With Key to the Scriptures, by Mary Baker Eddy, founder of the church. There are three hymns, organ prelude and postlude of prescribed length, and devotional music provided by a solo singer accompanied by the organist. When the church leadership planned to join Boston’s fabulously popular New Year’s celebration, First Night, by offering a concert with organ and brass, the church’s organist, Thomas Richner, known to many of us as “Uncle T.,” asked if I would be the organist because he was not comfortable playing with ensembles.

What a thrill, what a great opportunity, the height of my performing career. There were 3,000 people in the audience and a brass quintet from the Boston Symphony Orchestra. With that huge organ under my hands, I’d be King of the Hill. We would play all the usual barnburners for brass and organ—Purcell, Clarke, Handel, Gigout; but there came Chester Schmitz, tuba player for the BSO, and I had a tiger by the tail. The power and energy of his bassline up close and personal was something I had never experienced. It reminded me of standing on the platform of a railroad station when an express train blasts through—the sense of force and power followed by a swirling cloud of dust and paper. I was once on a ferry from Rafina, Greece (an hour drive east of Athens), to the Island of Andros in a heavy gale. Standing on the open upper deck hanging on to the rail with my erstwhile hair and present clothing pushed straight back, I remembered Chester Schmitz’s bassline, as wide and powerful as the wind over the sea. The trumpets were terrific, horn and trombone all you would expect from principal players in a powerful, modern symphony orchestra; but Chester’s bassline ruled the day.

Who’s going to play the melody?

On March 23 of this year, Scott Simon, host of Weekend Edition on National Public Radio, interviewed jazz bassist Christian McBride, who had just released a duet recording with his friend and colleague, bassist Edgar Myers. McBride shared that he and Myers had a mutual admiration society for many decades, and that coincidentally they were both at the festival known as Jazz Aspen some twenty years ago. When it was announced locally that they would play an unscheduled duet concert at the festival, a friend wondered, “But who’s gonna play the melody?” They played concerts and tours together over the years, and this is their first recording together. The title? But Who’s Gonna Play the Melody?

In the various cuts of the recording, they swap back and forth between bassline and melody, even accompanying each other on the piano. It was a creative look into the solo possibilities of an instrument typically associated with bass, made especially interesting by the equality of the two players and their shared inventive exploration. During the ten years Wendy and I lived in Greenwich Village, small jazz combos were a regular part of our entertainment life as we visited with friends in restaurants and bars, and I enjoyed listening to the ubiquitous bass player taking a turn as a soloist, wandering down the instrument’s fingerboard to find the highest treble range, plunking about up high while maintaining the rhythm, then returning “home” to the role of providing bass while accepting the patter of applause from listening patrons. McBride and Myers took that scene many steps further, obviously enjoying the unusual pairing of their instruments and outlooks.

Continuing the bass

The underpinning of most Baroque music is the basso continuo, the duo comprising a bass instrument, usually viola da gamba or cello and sometimes a bassoon, and a keyboard, usually harpsichord but sometimes an organ doubling the bassline and adding harmony above. Since the bassline needs two players, it takes three to play a solo sonata and four to play a trio. The harmonies for the keyboard are indicated by a system of squiggles, actually numbers, under the printed bassline, numbers that form chords by indicating the notes above the bass note. For example, if the bass note is C with a 3 and 5, you play a C-major chord. If it is C with a 4 and a 6, you play an F-major chord in second inversion. It is a magical system left over from the ancient tablatures that predated our modern music notation. It also reminds us of a chart for a jazz arrangement that gives a bassline and indicates chords. It is a license to improvise, and it is an admirable art.

One of my favorite moments in the literature of basso continuo is the end of the alto aria, “Esurientes implevit bonis, et divites dimisit inanes” (He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty) from Magnificat by Johann Sebastian Bach. The singer is accompanied by two flutes and basso continuo, the flutes with a lovely E-major melody in parallel sixths and imitative passages. The alto finishes in measure thirty-six, and the flutes reprise the opening, which becomes the conclusion, but Bach’s gentle genius has them leave us abruptly in mid-resolution while the continuo plays the last chord alone, sending “the rich away empty,” a poignant rebuff.

The catalog of Bach’s cantatas is a dazzling list of masterpieces, some for solo singer with a small ensemble, and some swashbuckling monumental tours-de-force with large orchestra including brass and timpani, chorus, and multiple soloists. Some of music’s most famous passages are included—it is hard to imagine a world without “Jesu bleibet meine Freude” from Cantata 149. It would take some nerve to choose a favorite among the myriad, but I have nerve enough to name mine, Cantata 21, Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis. It is a huge, eleven-movement piece with four choruses and solos and duets for soprano, tenor, and bass. After the mournful opening “Sinfonia,” the first movement is of special interest to organists as it is a fugue with the same subject as BWV 541, Prelude and Fugue in G Major, but in the cantata, the subject is in C minor, a striking comparison.

The continuo keyboard instrument is organ, and the bassoon doubles the continuo part for some movements and has an independent part in others. The ninth movement, “Erfreue dich Seele, erfreue dich Herze” (Rejoice my soul, rejoice my heart), is a snazzy aria for tenor and rollicking continuo, with fast bass scales and skipping-down-the-lane hemiolas that gives the continuo player an opportunity to create melody. What a privilege.

We know a great deal about Bach’s affinity with numbers and math. His music is loaded with mathematical relationships, and works like Cantata 21 are supremely organized. In the context of all that precision, the continuo part is an intimate invitation to improvise, a generous opportunity for creativity. The basso continuo is a colorful underpinning for the melodies, chords, and counterpoints that soar above. Basso continuo is the model for some more recent applications, like the bass and rhythm guitars in a classic rock band, the tuba-and-banjo duet of a sleepy Dixieland ballad, or any musical expression where a bassline with improvised chords accompanies a solo instrument or voice.

Supporting an orchestra

The ubiquitous 16′ Bourdon is found even on one-manual instruments with just a few voices, speaking an octave lower than unison pitch, doubling the bassline of hymns like the double basses of the orchestra. When an organ is large enough to include a 16′ Principal with open pipes, the pedal line takes on a new life, bringing both depth and clarity to the overall sound of the organ, and things really get profound when the bassline is emphasized by a 32′ stop. Because the Organ Clearing House specializes in the hoisting and rigging part of organbuilding, we are often called to handle the monster pipes of 32′ stops in which a single pipe can weigh a ton and produce a pitch at about sixteen cycles per second, which is below the range of human hearing.

Jason McKown (1906–1989) was my predecessor as curator of the organs at The Mother Church. He was an original Skinner man who had cared for the organ since its installation, who told stories about working next to Mr. Skinner on local installations when McKown was in his twenties, including Opus 692, built in 1928 for West Medford Congregational Church in West Medford, Massachusetts. He cared for that organ for fifty-nine years until I took it over in 1987.

The first organ installed in Boston Symphony Hall was built by George Hutchings in 1900, Opus 481, and included the king of organ stops, a 32′ Double Open Wood Diapason. Jason remembered seeing those noble pipes cut into pieces, piled on the sidewalk in front of Symphony Hall ready to be hauled away as scrap lumber in preparation for the installation of a new Aeolian-Skinner organ in 1947. Given that the Aeolian-Skinner organ in Symphony Hall had “only” a 32′ Violone and was never considered the equal of the mighty orchestra, that chopped up 32′ rank seemed a sad waste. When Foley-Baker, Inc., modified and enlarged the organ in 2004, they added a new 32′ Contra Bass and a huge wood Diapason with Haskell basses, a technology that inverts a tube into the pipe increasing its functional length with the side effect of providing more prompt speech.

I had a conversation with Mike Foley of Foley-Baker about the decision to use Haskell basses in which he noted that the conductor of a modern symphony orchestra is used to the instant speech of the double basses (and don’t forget Chester Schmitz’s cannon fire tuba notes) and is not willing to wait around for a lazy organ pipe to find itself and settle on a pitch. Wendy and I were present when the organ was played with the orchestra for the first time. James Levine was the conductor, Simon Preston was the organist, and it will not surprise you that they played Camille Saint-Saens’ Symphony III (the “Organ Symphony”). We had series tickets with seats just over stage right in the first balcony, the perfect seats for piano concertos, and the organ console was placed right under us.

In Symphony III, the organ enters in the adagio section of the first movement with a double-low A-flat followed by bass passages in D-flat major. When those magical deep notes came from the organ, we watched the woodwind players nudge and smile at each other; no other instrument can match those sonorities. Igor Stravinsky despised the organ, calling it the “monster that never breaths.” But how could the instrument produce such wind-driven tones without breathing?

Dad

We have just passed the tenth anniversary of my father’s death. Dad was an Episcopal priest who loved the music and liturgy of the church. He loved baseball, and he loved gardening. Evening primroses from his garden are in our yard in Maine. He had a special church voice that we heard only when he was celebrating the Eucharist. He really celebrated it, not in a here-we-go-again mumble, but in a full bold voice with a touch of singsong, distinctly different from any other of his tones of voice. He supported the music of the church and was involved in the commissioning of two new pipe organs.

I went with Dad to dozens of ball games at Fenway where we shared a streak of twenty-five consecutive opening day games. A large part of my adult relationship with Dad happened in section 26, row 4, seats 13 and 14, seats that he held for over forty years. John Kiley was the creative and revered organist at Fenway, and we made a point of getting to the park early so we could hear “the preludes.” Kiley was also a church organist who slipped lots of hilarious little hints into his improvised reactions to unusual plays, like bursting into the “Hallelujah Chorus” when Carlton Fisk’s long fly ball bounced off the left field foul pole as a fair ball, home run, winning game five of the 1975 World Series.

As rector at the Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester, Massachusetts, Dad stood up for the Civil Rights movement and protested the Vietnam War in a town known as the place where “the politics meet the zip code, Zero-1890.” He educated the parish when the beloved organist Larry Berry was dying of AIDS and parents wanted to pull their children out of the choir, and when parishioner Yo-Yo Ma came to his office offering to play the cello as part of a Christmas Eve service, Dad said, “Larry plans the music here, we’ll have to speak with him.” He was the first in the Diocese of Massachusetts to hire an ordained woman as a full-time member of staff and was chair of the Standing Committee that nominated Barbara Harris as the first woman bishop in the Episcopal Church.

The day Dad died, I was working with my colleague Amory Atkins at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Boston, the church where my parents were married. It was Amory’s birthday. There were twelve priests and four bishops in robes at Dad’s memorial service. I miss him.