BCS.AOFreview.html

As recently as twenty years ago The Art of Fugue could be found glossed in such terms as 'Sebastian's final major composition... in fact not completed... written in open score probably with no specific instruments [my emphasis] in mind as an example of 'pure' fugue technique.'1 Nineteenth-century musicologists did much both to romanticize the lives of composers and to locate the essence of their works in the printed scores, and, as this quote shows, the effects of their efforts have been long-lived. For this late'2 and indisputably epic work such views have undoubtedly proved detrimental: 'here is the work of a great composer, who, blind and on his deathbed, struggles to sum up his life's work in an abstract form existing beyond any conceivable performance, certainly on a single instrument'. Consequently for many, even Bach enthusiasts, this remains a work more known about than known, more studied than performed.

Let me say at the outset, then, that here is a performance that will dispel any notions of The Art of Fugue as a purely esoteric work, better on paper than in sound. Here is a keyboard performance that allows the music, not to ignore its scholarly construction (it is, after all, called 'Die ART of Fugue, whether this is Bach's title or not), but to carry its learning lightly. In fact the idea that the work was designed for anything other than keyboard-based study and performance has long since been dealt with: Richard Troeger's excellent notes to his recording explain this, and cite supporting sources from Leonhardt in the 1950s onwards. Of course, 200 years earlier C. P. E. Bach says in the Avertissement for the publication of the work 'everything has at the same time been arranged for use at the Clavier or organ.'3

Apart from the intended performance medium, the other issues that have exercised scholars and players have centred around which movements really belong to the work and their positioning, as well as the relevance of the final fugue (now usually designated Contrapunctus 14) and what should be done at the point where the print breaks off (or the manuscript - this continues for another six bars). These matters are all addressed by Troeger, citing the relevant literature, who adopts the currently accepted ordering and inclusion of movements: the extraneous chorale prelude and the redundant early version of Contrapunctus 10, both present in the print, are omitted, and the final fugue (Contrapunctus 14) follows on logically from the others, thus preceding the Canons, which it follows in the print. The Canons are re-ordered so that the first of the four in the print, exploiting the most complex canonical techniques, becomes the last, and so this performance appropriately ends with what David Schulenberg describes as 'the strictest, most learned type of polyphony.'4

As to the unfinished fugue, C. P. E. Bach's comments to the effect that Bach died in mid-composition may have been a gift to the romantically inclined but have been shown to be necessarily inaccurate. It has long been known that the existing triple fugue could also accommodate a fourth subject in the form of the original theme of the cycle, thereby justifying its inclusion in the work. Christoph Wolff has shown convincingly, if disappointingly for those of a romantic nature, that Bach must have worked out the combination of the four subjects, that is the final section, before beginning work on the rest of the fugue.'5 Thus the fugue may be incomplete in the sources, but it was not unfinished. As a teenager I had a recording of the Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields performing the work on a range of instruments, and in the final fugue the ensemble followed the sources, leaving the viola (I think) to finish in mid-phrase. As Schulenberg says, such an approach 'seems inappropriately dramatic and invites a sentimental response from the listener.'6 Troeger provides his own ending, limited to the forty bars generally reckoned to be appropriate to the fugue's structure, and very good it is too. My only quibble is with the final cadence: the sudden halt to momentum and the chromatic inflections catch one unawares. Bach's endings to the other big fugues (8 and 11, for example), despite maintaining the sense of architectural grandeur, also convey a sense of dissipating energy, something Troeger's performance at these points brings off admirably. With Troeger's final couple of bars I could not escape the image of an organist adding full Swell, and possibly the Solo tuba for good measure: a small matter, but a shame nonetheless in such otherwise exemplary work.

Another consideration for any performance of The Art of Fugue is the versions of Contrapuncti 13a and 13b to be used. The original print included settings of these for two keyboards with an added, free, fourth part as well as the three-part versions which properly form a part of the cycle. Troeger very wisely sticks with the three-part versions, despite the availability of a second player and instrument, used for the two versions of Contrapunctus 12. Contrapuncti 12a and 12b definitely contain moments not easily managed by normal-sized hands, despite what Davitt Moroney says in his edition.'7 Here Richard Troeger is joined by Paulette Grundeen (who also 'obligingly' plays the six notes in 13a and 13b that Troeger cannot manage). To say that, apart from the difference of instrumental timbre (Paulette Grundeen's smaller instrument, after a clavichord attributed to G. Silbermann is noticeably richer than Richard Troeger's large J. H. Silbermann copy), the presence of a second player is not obvious is a credit to both performers, especially given the splendid control over structure, pacing and articulation in these movements. The ordering of the movements has the advantage of allowing the sixteen fugues to occupy one CD. It really is worth listening to these all through, however daunting a task this may appear. Various writers, including Troeger himself, comment on the 'variation fugue' nature of the work and this performance has a great sense of the logical progression from movement to movement, and a wonderful cumulative feel to it. This is achieved partly from the tight control Troeger maintains over tempo relationships (this is far from being a slow and deferential performance) and partly from the way in which he maximizes and applies tonal and dynamic variety. The playing at the end of Contrapunctus 5 not only demonstrates the tremendous power (rather than volume) available from a good clavichord well played, but also clearly articulates the end of the first section of the work.

This attention to detail in Troeger's performance is evident not just structurally but locally; listen to the excellent articulation of the opening subject of Contrapunctus 8 and then to the repeated quavers within the second countersubject (first appearance in bar 39). Listen too, throughout, to his superb rhythmic control, whether it is the lively dotted figures of Contrapunctus 2, the compound rhythms of Contrapunctus 13 in its two forms and of the Canons (and I especially like the way he handles the move to simple time at the end of Canon 2), or more generally to his masterfully expressive use of a flexible approach to apparently equal note lengths.

If I have one question about this otherwise stunning and hugely enjoyable performance it is about ornamentation. There is very little marked in either the manuscript or the first edition. Schulenberg notes that where J. C. F. Bach prepared the engraver's copy of the score he added ornaments by analogy; where J. S. himself was involved he did not.8 The few ornaments indicated in the sources are performed in this recording with all the style, musicianship and grace that are the hallmark of the whole venture: but none is added by the performer, something that seems to me not to be in keeping with the implications of the differing approaches to the preparation of engraver's copies (more ornaments were expected than indicated; there was a generational difference in the amount of information required to make this clear to the performer). It is true that the stile antico movements may not invite quite the profusion of ornaments sometimes found in sources of this period for such organ works as the Canzona BWV 588,9 but one wonders whether Richard Troeger's disinclination to add ornaments hints at just a vestige of the romantically inspired awe so refreshingly absent generally.

After the Canons that are placed at the beginning of the second disc we are treated to what amounts to a separate recital. The opening work of this group will be to many the best-known of the two discs. Once again Troeger proves how much can be gained, rather than lost, in transferring large-scale works to an apparently small-scale instrument. This is marvellous rhetorical playing - listen to the way the final notes of the opening flourishes are managed - but it is also not without humour: listen to the delayed final note of the mordent in bar 20. Troeger produces wonderful sounds and some staggeringly exciting playing; the passage from bar 63, for instance, or the grand ending of the fugue where the left hand descends in octaves under the thickly harmonized subject.

The transcriptions from the unaccompanied violin sonatas and partitas are fascinating works, though less frequently performed. They have their difficulties, the leaping bass of the Adagio in G major (the first movementof the C major Sonata III10) or the batteries of the E major prelude, but Troeger is always equal to the challenges and makes these idiomatic, and beautiful, keyboard pieces.