Review Summary: Beauty. Divinity. Science. One of Western History’s Greatest Achievements.
Composer Masterpiece Series No. 4
First time listeners, seasoned Bach devotees, and general classical music enthusiasts almost always approach Bach’s Art of Fugue with a profound sense of awe. The Art of Fugue is a statement so ambitious, so all encompassing, so effective, and thus so revolutionary that it’s hard not to be astonished by it. Like many treatises which aim to demonstrate the properties of their subject, think Plato’s Republic or Descartes Critique of Pure Reason, Bach’s Art of Fugue is a grand essay composed to demonstrate the beauty inherent in counterpoint.
By the time Bach began work on his treatise in the early 1740’s, a new style, the “Galant”, had already seized the musical spotlight from Bach’s Baroque for some twenty years. No fan of the Galants and their emphasis on streamlined simplicity, Bach saw fit to demonstrate the superiority of Renaissance and Baroque counterpoint over the flowers of Galantian melody. If one found him/herself in Bach’s shoes, s/he might understandably be at a loss on where to begin. But Bach, unquestionably the number one fugal/contrapuntal mechanist in Europe, understood that to demonstrate the best qualities of fugue is to demonstrate its utility.
Now, utility may seem like a peculiar word when used to describe how “good” a piece of music is, and this surely seems correct in the thinking; surely we want beauty or energy or catharsis from our music, not utility, and perhaps a 1st year music theory student would find his/her’s professor’s enthusiasm for counterpoint off putting or strange. Fortunately for us however, the sublimity that Bach’s Art of Fugue lends our ears derives exactly from its utility, and all the more so if we don’t know it. The best way, then, to demonstrate the beauty of counterpoint is through the use of a single musical subject.
Without over doing it, it might be helpful to step back for a second and outline the reader’s digest version of fugue. Essentially, the composer sounds a brief musical subject in one voice, and after its completion the same subject sounds in a different voice, typically in the dominant, and so on and so forth. Sonically, the fugue sounds like a chase, each voice fleeing from the last. However, the fugue should not to be confused with the canon or the round, the genres in which the only music heard is the subject itself. In the fugue, while the subsequent iterations of the subject sound, the original line, using the principals of counterpoint, acts freely.
With the principals of fugue at our disposal it’s time for a discussion of the piece at hand. The Art of Fugue is composed of eighteen monothematic pieces divided into five chapters, plus one unfinished fugue, each derived from a single four measure line in d minor. The first subject of the first piece is what Bach uses to generate the entirety of the AoF. Our line, a line so simple it’s actually a bit severe, outlines a d minor triad in the alto with the first four notes a half-note in duration, before dipping to the dominant Amaj in the third measure, followed by a half note diatonic run up to g, with a half-note pause on f, running finally back down to d in quarter notes. As is customary, once the subject ends the next iteration sounds, this time in A and in the soprano, followed by the tenor and bass in D and A respectively.
Bach’s economy of fugue is immediately apparent in pieces one and two, (from here on out C.1 C.2 etc.) While C.1 is austere, C.2 swings so convincingly that one could be convinced it was written by a jazz legend, and the only thing Bach had to adjust to achieve the 1920s-sonic effect is the rhythm of the last four notes of our original subject from quarter notes to a dotted eighth-sixteenth-dotted eight-sixteenth note rhythm. Bach then treats C.2’s subject in the same way as C.1’s, through near identical chord progressions, voices, and iterations.
C.3 and C.4 further demonstrate the possibilities of fugue. Our subjects are now inverted. Where the subject of C.1 rose, the subjects of C.3 and C.4 fall, and vice versa, and the processes of fugue allow for a treatment so simple to produce sonic effects vastly different from their original. C.3 dances in walnut tight chromaticism, because of its slinky countersubject, and C.4 flees with a child’s delight.
C.5 begins the AoF’s second chapter, otherwise known as the chapter of counter-fugues. Each line is heard in regular, inverted, augmented, and diminished forms. C.5 employs the iterations of the subject to alternate in regular and inverted form, a contrapuntal technique that allows for the piece to sound more melodious. C.6 is a real treat, written in “In Stile Francese”, the French style, similar to the Galant style, Bach cascades the subjects in stretti, regular, inverted and diminished form. Like C.2 the subject bounces in dotted rhythms, but here Bach employs flashy 32nd and 16th note runs typical a la the French. These effects taken together, C.6 typifies exactly what the Galants thought counterpoint could not achieve: clarity of voice, melody, and simplicity. Employing augmentation and diminution, C.7, the final piece of the second chapter, is stern but not overbearingly so.
C.8 begins the chapter of double and triple fugues. As the name of the chapter implies, C.8 employs multiple subjects, in this case three, each with their own exposition and distinct character. After exposing and developing each theme Bach weaves them together in a grand tapestry of contrapunctus so satisfyingly that we feel we are hearing algebra in motion. It’s as if the listener is witnessing the mechanics of Newton’s mind as he demonstrated the properties of mathematical physics. With C.9 we have ventured far away from the liturgy of C.1’s original subject. Although it’s speedy, the subject is a rather standard looking 16th note diatonic run that outlines a d minor triad. But, once again, with simplicity and utility as his ally, Bach designed the subject to work with the original Art of Fugue theme at both an octave below and a fifth above. This contrapuntal technique both allows C.9’s harmonies to broaden and deepen and to feel quite jazzy.
As you may have noticed, and this is something Bach loves to do, each piece is getting progressively more and more complex. The double fugue in C.10 is no exception. This piece is designed to demonstrate the contrapuntal technique of sounding subjects at the interval of a 10th apart. To do this Bach needs to go no further than to utilize material already sounded. Again, the utility of fugue. Bach takes the 3rd subject from C.8, employs it in retrograde (backwards) and in inverted form (upside down), and then takes the subject of C.5 and employs it in inverted form. The result is a cacophony of lines that spider out in an increasingly kaleidoscopic fashion. The final of the double/triple fugues, C.11, is a triple fugue that employs the three subjects of C.8 in inverted form which Bach uses to lull and then excite you.
Chapter four is the apotheosis of contrapuntal writing. These are the mirror fugues, which as the name suggests mirror each other exactly. To be clear, I am not talking just about the subjects. I am talking about the entirety of the fugue. Place your hands down on a flat surface and you may begin to contemplate what this means. Each note, each interval, and each voice can be heard right-side up and upside down, all without violating the rules of contrapuntal writing or musicality. Not only are the lines themselves playable inverted, but the voices as well. Most astonishingly, then, this means that the soprano is inverted with the bass, the alto with the tenor, the tenor with the alto, and the bass with the soprano. And again, the only material Bach needs to weave this contrapuntal web is material from AoF’s main theme. Rectus, C.12 is playful with a hint of majesty, and inversus, as one might except, C.12 is melancholy yet resilient. C.13 in rectus is playful and confident, in inversus is apprehensive and driving. C.14 is a mirror fugue for two keyboards based on C. 13.
The fifth and final chapter is a series of canons which explore all matters of contrapuntal writing. C. 15, my favorite, canone per augmentationem et in motu contrario, sees the following voice augmented and in contrary motion. This, of course, means that the second voice will take twice as long to complete as the first voice. As such, in order to remain true to the principals of canon, Bach must successfully cut the second half of the duration of theme two while still following its every note and rhythm. Our main theme, again based on C.1, is quite exciting with its delicious chromaticism (see the Eflat in measure two) and speedy runs, and works equally well in the soprano and bass. C. 16, quick as a footrace, is a canon in imitation at the octave. C. 17 starry and exalted, is a canon in imitation at the tenth, and C.18, obsessive and driving, is a canon in imitation at the twelfth.
One more fugue remains, the unfinished. The unfinished fugue is actually three pieces combined into one, a triple fugue therefore, and is perhaps Bach’s most powerful piece of music. C.19(a) is so elemental it looks as if it’s exercise number one in a beginner’s piano manual, and C.19(b) is serpentine and menacing. C.19(c), however, demonstrates Bach’s contrapuntal genius. Based on a motif that derives from the notes of Bach’s name, Bb-A-C-B (H in german), theme three, because of its elemental chromaticism, allows Bach to explore regions beyond the scope of Baroque harmony. This is so much so the case that scholars have even argued that this theme predates the master of the tri-tone himself, Wagner, by one hundred years. Bach weaves this theme into a crystalline fun house with jagged edges and distorted appearances. And then, not with a bang but with a whimper, the AoF comes to such an abrupt unfinished end, right in the middle of the line, you almost get the feeling that Bach died quill in hand. Chilling.
Earlier I suggested that most people come away from the Art of Fugue with a profound sense of awe. Although this is not incorrect, the draw of music should always come from its sound, and the AoF is a wonderful listening experience. It isn’t dense enough to the point of severity, nor complex enough to the point of rigidity; lush harmonies abound, singing melodies soar, and above all, clarity features throughout. In summa, therefore, both musically and generally, the Art of Fugue is one of western history’s greatest achievements.
