Johann Sebastian Bach: Passacaglia and Fugue in c minor, BWV 582

Every once in so often I set up to write one of these little entries and come up with somewhat of a false start.  I usually try and accomplish a few things in a typical Listening Friday entry.  First off, I primarily use it as a vehicle to introduce a work.  Accompanying that I will also try and build some sort of transfer to another topic of interest, something that I usually use as an "A Theme" to introduce things and get the ball rolling.  This can range from a current event, an idea, a pop-culture tidbit or really anything that I can find some leap between that will create a sort of contrast that can help break up the dialog a bit and maybe even supplement a narrative that's related to the piece or possibly my own interpretation of the music being discussed.

Occasionally this is not as easy as it sounds.

I had a great English literature teacher in 7th grade.  To be honest, I've been fortunate enough to have great English teachers for most of my life, but in 7th grade I had a teacher who forced us, against our will and frequent protestations, to write 5 paragraph essays every single day of class.  There would be some sort of prompt, usually a sentence or two about a topic or current event and we'd have to write some cohesive opinion about it following the simple rules that would allow you to create a cogent mini-thesis on whatever the topic was about.

Despite my lack of reverence for this methodology, it has endowed me with the ability to write ad nauseum about essentially anything.  It came in handy when presented with exams with essay sections since they really don't care about whether or not you actually understand the topic but more so that you can create an organized pattern of thinking without drooling on the paper.

You'd probably be right.  But here's the thing- one of the biggest writing hurdles I hear most people talk about is just getting started.  It's so prevalent that real writers actually came up with a name for it- Blank Page Syndrome.  The cure I've found for that sort of phobia is to just start freaking writing! Anything.  Everything.  Just begin to put words on the page.  The beauty of the electronic age is that you can type as much or as little as you want and copy and paste it all over the place.

Here's an example.  I started this very entry with this phrase:

"How long can you listen to the same 16 notes repeated before you lose your mind? 

"According to J.S. Bach (1685-1750) about seven and a half minutes.  Fourteen if you count the fugue. in this case.  His Passacaglia..."

And that's about as far as I got.  I was staring at a blinking cursor.  Originally, I felt that this might be a cool way to start things out talking about Bach's Passacaglia, but after seeing it on the screen it just felt a bit silly.  A portion of overt dramatics.  I mean, it's really cool that he repeats the same 8 bars 20 times and adds stuff in to make it interesting enough to listen to, but that's really just what a passacaglia is.  You take an ostinato (a short phrase that's repeated throughout a composition) put it in 3/4 time, play it in a minor key, riff all over it 10-20 times, and you've got your passacaglia.  It's very similar in nature to a chaconne.  The trick really comes into composing it so your musicians and audience alike don't expire from boredom prior to the conclusion of the piece.

Here's the thing about Bach- he was the last son born into a musical dynasty.  His father was music director in their town and several of his 7 siblings were instrumental (ha) in building musical talent within the young Bach, particularly his older brother Johann Christoph.  Bach's parents died 8 months apart from each other when he was only 10 and JC Bach took JS under his wing.

JS Bach adapted early to the organ and found a strong following for his talents at the keyboard for the remainder of his life.  Surprisingly his compositional talents were not truly appreciated until some time after his death, well past the Classical era (1750-1820) as the titans of the Romantic Era (1800-1850) were getting their footings on the mount of the musical world.

He was married twice, his first wife, Maria Barbara Bach, died unexpectedly while Bach was away on business.  It was a tragic event for Bach, who had 7 children with Maria (three of which died young).  He remarried Anna Magdalena 18 months later with which he had 13 children (7 of which died in infancy or childhood).

So here's the deal- Bach wrote some 1120 pieces of music that we know about.  He lived 65 years, which would mean that at a minimum (assuming he started composing at let's say age 8) that's still an average of 20 pieces a year, some of which were massively lengthy (and granted some of which were relatively brief works), but all of which were published.  I have one kid and can barely write 1000 words a week about music!  Either he had the best au pair in history or he just never slept.

Another facet of Bach's music (which you will observe in the Passacaglia and the Fugue) is that it is intensely technical.  So much so that many of his contemporaries had great difficulty replicating it and even today some of his organ works are more commonly performed by ensembles as opposed to individual organists simply because there aren't really that many people on the planet who can play the organ well enough to create a reasonable facsimile of what Bach wrote.

This piece you're about to listen to is really two pieces melded into one giant bit of awesome.  It starts with the Passacaglia (which we explained above), but at about 7:30 it turns into a fugue- particularly a double fugue.  This type of work is a highly structured format that uses a theme (in this case two themes made up of the bisected ostinato from the passacaglia) and presents them with each voice of the ensemble one at a time and then develops the fragmented theme statements into a new idea (or development section).  The best explanation I've heard comes from another Listening Friday favorite, and somewhat of a Bach scholar himself, Chris Thile.  He has performed a number of Bach's works on mandolin successfully and when describing a partita that he was about to perform he explained that "Bach just kinda riffs on the shit he just did."  That's pretty much what goes on halfway into the fugue section as Bach just plays with the melodies he created.  You hear the themes broken up and shared amongst the different voices that had introduced them and through it all another theme is created (called a countersubject).  Now these three themes are performed together, but never by the same combination of voices twice, making it a permutation fugue.

To help you out, you'll hear the fugue section start with the bassoons (around 7:35) and then the oboes take a turn, followed by the low voices and so on.  It just all swirls around as Bach experiments with the different texture and dips into Bb and Eb major, giving the theme an altogether different experience from what we just heard.

At this point, I would traditionally try to steer back toward my original thought from the beginning of the entry and wrap it up with some witty or clever transfer that puts a nice bow on the entry.  This format usually works quite nicely as it gives a strong sense of finality to everything.  Given that my "A Theme" was in fact a diatribe about how I had nothing to write about and more so on the actual format I ascribe to for the blog, it's proving difficult to "wrap it up" as it were.

Perhaps then, I can just say this- Bach lost his parents young, lived with his brother, worked his fingers to the bone playing organ and composing, lost his wife (who was buried before he even knew she had died) had 20 children, half of which died in childhood.  Granted, this sort of life was not entirely out of the ordinary for his day and age, Bach himself died following some sort of eye surgery (which in 1750, I can only imagine the field of optometry was a guy with a magnifying glass and a butter knife), so death was a pretty common event, hence the need to create a lot of progeny in order to preserve one's lineage. But even still, it had to have had an effect on the man.  He himself never lived to even comprehend the sort of acclaim his name garners to this day- and yet, he gave the world so much in spite of it all.

To me, that's always been an inspiration to create no matter the cost, no matter the hurdles.

See you next Friday.

-ED



The example from today comes from the annual Proms at Royal Albert Hall with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra under Andrew Litton performing the Respighi setting of the Passacaglia and Fugue in c minor.  Turn up.


Sources:
http://www.bachonbach.com/100-johann-sebastian-bach-faq-q-a/100-faq-on-johann-sebastian-bach-answer-20/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Passacaglia_and_Fugue_in_C_minor,_BWV_582
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Sebastian_Bach

J. S. Bach: Suite No. 1 in G major

In 1890, a 13-year-old boy named Pau was browsing a used music store in Barcelona.  He came upon a collection of unaccompanied works for cello, written by a Baroque composer (or possibly his second wife), that had been forgotten and set aside for 150 years or so.  I like to imagine that he understood the severity of the composition the moment he laid eyes on it, like an Indiana Jones sort of moment.

That boy grew to become one of the finest cellists the world has ever seen.  And the piece found on that day was not to be recorded by the artist until 47 years later.  It has been said that Pau "Pablo" Casals would perform these suites daily so as to cleanse and purify the house, as he considered them to be holy works of art.  This contrasted with the prolific opinion of the suites by his contemporaries who regarded it as mere studies and exercises, not to be performed but to refine musicianship like a whetstone on steel.

Sr. Casals saw it differently.

Inconcievable!

Between 1936 and 1939, Casals recorded what has since become the definitive interpretation of the work and redefined the cultural value bestowed upon Bach's work.  The interesting thing is that there is no autographed manuscript of the work.  What that means is that we don't really know what Bach intended these pieces to sound like.  This may seem odd, but the style of music notation we use is not a perfect system.  It is essentially a bare-bones guideline for how a piece might sound, but depending on the detail given by the author a lot is placed upon the performer to dictate and apply rational musical ideas to the written music.

Think of it this way- what does a duck sound like?  Does it really say quack?

Quack is an oral, man-made approximation of a sound made by a duck.  Despite popular belief, most ducks cannot spell, but humans require a way to express to each other ideas and beliefs that are based on the natural realities that surround us, and to do that we have to use approximations.  This has often led to great injustice and suffering merely for the sake of misunderstanding.  I quote Douglas Adams (it's a bit long I'm afraid):

It is of course well known that careless talk costs lives, but the full scale of the problem is not always appreciated.

For instance, at the very moment that Arthur said, "I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my life-style," a freak wormhole  opened up in the fabric of the space-time continuum and carried his words far far back in time across almost infinite reaches of space to a distant Galaxy where strange and warlike beings were poised on the brink of frightful interstellar battle.

The two opposing leaders were meeting for the last time.

A dreadful silence fell across the conference table as the commander of the Vl'hurgs, resplendent in his black jeweled battle shorts, gazed levelly at the G'Gugvuntt leader squatting opposite him in a cloud of green sweet-smelling steam, and, with a million sleek and horribly beweaponed star cruisers poised to unleash electric death at his single word of command, challenged the vile creature to take back what it had said about his mother.

The creature stirred in his sickly broiling vapor, and at that very moment the words "I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my life-style" drifted across the conference table.

Unfortunately, in the Vl'hurg tongue this was the most dreadful insult imaginable, and there was nothing for it but to wage terrible war for centuries.

Eventually, of course, after their Galaxy had been decimated over a few thousand years, it was realized that the whole thing had been a ghastly mistake, and so the two opposing battle fleets settled their few remaining differences in order to launch a joint attack on our own Galaxy -- now positively identified as the source of the offending remark.

For thousands more years, the mighty ships tore across the empty wastes of space and finally dived screaming on to the first planet they came  cross -- which happened to be the Earth -- where due to a terrible miscalculation of scale the entire battle fleet was accidentally swallowed by a small dog.

Those who study the complex interplay of cause and effect in the history of the Universe say that this sort of thing is going on all the time, but that we are powerless to prevent it.

"It's just life," they say.

So, music, being an approximation of sound imagined by the author, is often left in the more or less capable hands of the performer to interpret and reproduce at will.  Being that Bach left no indications for slurs or phrasing, most cellists and music people alike dismissed these suites as serious works.  Casals, however, was able to discern more and found an intricate, spell-binding beauty within.  He formed phrases and slurs over notes that had none, and found remarkably agile ways to cope with the technical challenges laid out by Bach.

It was later found that Bach's wife, Anna Magdalena, had produced a hand written copy of several of the suites that included slurs that corresponded to much of the harmonic progression and therefore supported a valid interpretation of the works.  There have been many editions set out on the works, for several instruments beyond the cello.  Being that very little literature exists for solo trombone prior to the 19th century, cello literature is often pillaged to supplement the void and the suites have become a sort of "holy grail" for trombonists.

And through it all, there is Casal's interpretation and vision of the work.  It has secured a place in the annals of musicology as a momentous and memorable exploration of something beautiful and beyond the ordinary.  Something that was nearly forgotten, before a young man salvaged it from terminal obscurity.

Sadly, the recordings of Casals are not the best quality.  Despite this, much can be learned from listening.

Enjoy.

See you next Friday.

-ED







Sources:
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
http://www.youtube.com
http://www.wikipedia.com
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
The Library of Congress

Arcangelo Corelli: Concerto Grosso no. 8 in g minor, op. 6, mvt. 3

"Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia."

~Kurt Vonnegut

My first personal exposure to Arcangelo Corelli (1653-1713) was actually in a movie.  It was 2003 and and I had just started my second year of college and my dad was excited about this new Russell Crowe movie, "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World" which was based off the 'Aubrey-Maturin' novel series by Patrick O'Brian which followed a fledgling captain and borderline homeless doctor through several years of naval adventures in the early 1800's as they progress into an almost unstoppable duo.  A big plot point was the fact that both Captain Aubrey and Dr. Maturin were accomplished musicians.  In preparing for the movie, Russell Crowe even took violin lessons regularly, studying with Australian violinist/composer/conductor Richard Tognetti to augment his performance.

Speaking of violinist/composer/conductors, Corelli happened to be in that club as well.  Corelli's early life is one of much historical contention, but we do know is that Corelli was talented at violin and composition and did frequent the podium.  

There's a famous anecdote where Corelli is playing a piece written by Handel (another Baroque composer, 30 years younger than Corelli) and he refuses to play a passage because he felt it was written too high for violin.  The young Handel apparently obliged and played the offending note, royally agitating the senior Baroquian.  

I'd pop that Handel right on his nose, I would!

Corelli was also a big proponent of the form known as Concerto Grosso.  A concerto is a work that features a soloist in front of a larger instrumental group, whereas the grosso just means there's a small group instead of a soloist.  The work usually goes back and forth between the smaller group (known as the concertino) and the larger group (known as the ripieno).  

Kinda like the London Phil backing Pink Floyd.

The piece we are looking at today was featured in "Master and Commander" and is one of my personal favorites.  It comes from what is known as the "Christmas Concerto".  On the original score, Corelli wrote, "Fatto per la notte di Natale" which translates from Italian to say, 'Made for the night of Christmas.'  

The entire work is 6 movements long, but for the purposes of this exercise we will focus on movement 3 (Adagio-Allegro-Adagio).  You'll notice the first portion is slow, with a steady pulse of 16th notes being transferred throughout.  The middle section picks up speed and introduces a new theme which then transitions back to the original in a brief example of ternary (remember Alan Rickman?).  

The "Christmas Concerto" was published a year or so after Corelli died.  He wrote it for one of his patrons, Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni, who was an ardent supporter of the arts in his time.  It was probably played for a Christmas around 1690 and then potentially sat unplayed until it was rediscovered after Corelli had passed and archivists went through his effects.

The other neat part about music from this time period is "basso continuo".  This was a part in the music usually fulfilled by an organ or harpsichord and then an accompanying bass voice.  The idea was you would have something that would be able to do chords, but then also you have the capability to accentuate the bass end of the spectrum with a more melodic instrument.  The really weird part is that it just had notes written for the cellist/bassist while the keyboard (or guitarist or whatever your chordal instrument was) had to figure out the chord to play based on the bass note written and a few numbers, also known as "figured bass".

I figured bass would be easier than this.

The numbers (figured bass) would show the notes to be played by indicating how far away they were from the written bass note.  This is a precursor to the modern form that jazz musicians still use today.

All you need is love.  And a melody.  And chord symbols.

The jazz symbology moved the notation to the top of the melody and eliminated the written bass part (most of the time) as the bass notes are implied through the chord notation.

I adapted this piece for four trombones and it was played at my wedding, (and later I recorded it in a closet and overdubbed myself) so this week you get two listening examples.  The first one is a more traditional example featuring instruments closer to what you might expect to hear in the Baroque era.  The concertino is represented by the two foremost violins and the male cellist on the left.  The ripieno is the remaining strings with the bassist, harpsichord (weird, piano-looking thing) and lutes making up the basso continuo:

Homework: Write about your favorite winter holiday or Christmas memory.

You can leave your answer in the comments.

See you next Friday.

-ED

Sources:
www.wikipedia.com
www.youtube.com
http://www.contactmusic.com/
http://www.baroquemusic.org/
The recording of Concerto Grosso no. 8, mvt. 3 for four trombones is my property which I release into the Creative Commons.
The image of Russell Crowe and "Tugger" comes from South Park and belongs to Comedy Central.
The album cover belongs to Pink Floyd.
The jazz excerpt is "Autumn Leaves" with music by Joseph Kosma.
The figured bass excerpt is by Henry Purcell and is in the public domain.