L, Dreyfus Bach G Min Gamba Son

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J. S. Bach and the Status of Genre: Problems of Style in the G-Minor Sonata BWV 1029 Author(s): Laurence Dreyfus Source: The Journal of Musicology, Vol. 5, No. 1 (Winter, 1987), pp. 55-78Published by: University of California PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/763824Accessed: 10-10-2015 22:49 UTC

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J. S. Bach and the Status of Genre:

Problems of Style in the G-Minor Sonata BWV 1029

LAURENCE DREYFUS

In reading about J. S. Bach's style in the literature of music history, one is struck by two recurring linguistic tropes.' The first is cast largely in the heroic mode and sees Bach as a godlike creator. Here Bach's miraculous works resound in a beatific harmony and an air of mystery suffuses the objects of description. This 55 manner recalls Philipp Spitta's Bach, who serves to regenerate the spirit of the German nation. The second trope, more common today, is proud of its circumspection. Although prepared to sprinkle occasional doses of reverence, it dislikes metaphysics in its daily work. In fact, this trope expresses a preference for the language of chemistry. Hence its penchant for properties, elements, analysis, synthesis, balance and equilibrium-terms that pervade the study of style in contemporary musicology.

Today one mocks the first trope as excessively metaphorical. Yet to its credit, it projects Bach as an active persona hovering above his contemporaries. To accomplish this, however, Bach is divorced from his time and even said to anticipate Beethoven and Brahms. The second trope feels embarrassed by this brand of historiography, so that it tends to emphasize the similarities between the composer and his musical en- vironment. Accordingly, neatly ordered elements "outside" Bach's works-French style, ritornello form, the style galant, Lutheran theology-are isolated and tagged "inside." One then concludes- always using the passive voice-that Bach was influenced by Vivaldi,

I A preliminary form of this essay was read at the annual meeting of the American Musicological Society, Louisville, 1983. Both a grant from the American Council of Learned Societies as well as a Morse Faculty Fellowship in the Humanities from Yale Uni- versity provided generous support in the preparation of this article. In addition, special thanks are due to V. Kofi Agawu,Jeffrey Kallberg, Allan R. Keiler, David Lewin, Edward Mendelson, Reinhard Strohm and Christoph Wolff for their advice and encouragement.

J. S. Bach and the Status of Genre:

Problems of Style in the G-Minor Sonata BWV 1029

LAURENCE DREYFUS

In reading about J. S. Bach's style in the literature of music history, one is struck by two recurring linguistic tropes.' The first is cast largely in the heroic mode and sees Bach as a godlike creator. Here Bach's miraculous works resound in a beatific harmony and an air of mystery suffuses the objects of description. This 55 manner recalls Philipp Spitta's Bach, who serves to regenerate the spirit of the German nation. The second trope, more common today, is proud of its circumspection. Although prepared to sprinkle occasional doses of reverence, it dislikes metaphysics in its daily work. In fact, this trope expresses a preference for the language of chemistry. Hence its penchant for properties, elements, analysis, synthesis, balance and equilibrium-terms that pervade the study of style in contemporary musicology.

Today one mocks the first trope as excessively metaphorical. Yet to its credit, it projects Bach as an active persona hovering above his contemporaries. To accomplish this, however, Bach is divorced from his time and even said to anticipate Beethoven and Brahms. The second trope feels embarrassed by this brand of historiography, so that it tends to emphasize the similarities between the composer and his musical en- vironment. Accordingly, neatly ordered elements "outside" Bach's works-French style, ritornello form, the style galant, Lutheran theology-are isolated and tagged "inside." One then concludes- always using the passive voice-that Bach was influenced by Vivaldi,

I A preliminary form of this essay was read at the annual meeting of the American Musicological Society, Louisville, 1983. Both a grant from the American Council of Learned Societies as well as a Morse Faculty Fellowship in the Humanities from Yale Uni- versity provided generous support in the preparation of this article. In addition, special thanks are due to V. Kofi Agawu,Jeffrey Kallberg, Allan R. Keiler, David Lewin, Edward Mendelson, Reinhard Strohm and Christoph Wolff for their advice and encouragement.



THE JOURNAL OF MUSICOLOGY THE JOURNAL OF MUSICOLOGY

the chorale tradition, religious beliefs and so on. But by reducing the interpretive profile to a bundle of influences, contemporary scholarship often ignores what Bach has done with them.

It seems desirable to salvage the moment of activity in the traditional mode of interpretation while also recording the historical event embodied in the musical work. To achieve this, the individual work must be understood within a historically viable system of values. Far from some theoretical abstraction, this system manifests itself con-

cretely as soon as one considers-at any juncture of history-the reper- toire of the various genres and their affective relations. The interpretation of the work thereby shuttles between the work's coherence and its

dynamic response to expectations surrounding it. Among Bach's works, the sonata for viola da gamba and harpsichord in g minor (BWV 1029) presents a composition whose problematic generic identification continues to spark interest. As such, it seems an excellent foil against which to sketch out some aspects of Bach's notion of genre. Relying on an interpretive language somewhat distant from the two traditional

"tropes," I argue that an individual work-and, by extension, the com-

poser's entire output-converses with a tacit generic code that enables 56 its unique articulation.

Different authors have pursued varied interpretive strategies when discussing the first movement of BWV 1029. Philipp Spitta, sur-

veying the work in his famous biography (1873), considers the piece "a work of the highest beauty and the most striking originality." He notes how it begins in the manner of a sonata although the economy of thematic material is "quite in the style of a concerto." This "wealth of imag- ination" takes on a "characteristic picturesqueness." At this point, Spitta leaps into a morass of metaphors:

Here we have a composition in Magyar style: a rushing as of wild and fiery steeds across an open space; the impetuous tributary themes sound like strokes of a whip; sometimes the figures fall confusedly into the discord of the diminished seventh . ..; sometimes they unite in the main subject in heavy unison-an effect seldom found in this master-beneath its tread the very earth groans.2

Accustomed to a more cautious critical style, most of us are probably unable to suppress a groan at this figurative cavalcade. On the other hand, it is worth noting how Spitta centers on the work itself-here rep- resenting its Erlebnis or inner experience. And while seemingly irre-

sponsible, indeed, ahistorical, this move to fanciful imagery faithfully records the story of a sonata movement that behaves out of character,

the chorale tradition, religious beliefs and so on. But by reducing the interpretive profile to a bundle of influences, contemporary scholarship often ignores what Bach has done with them.

It seems desirable to salvage the moment of activity in the traditional mode of interpretation while also recording the historical event embodied in the musical work. To achieve this, the individual work must be understood within a historically viable system of values. Far from some theoretical abstraction, this system manifests itself con-

cretely as soon as one considers-at any juncture of history-the reper- toire of the various genres and their affective relations. The interpretation of the work thereby shuttles between the work's coherence and its

dynamic response to expectations surrounding it. Among Bach's works, the sonata for viola da gamba and harpsichord in g minor (BWV 1029) presents a composition whose problematic generic identification continues to spark interest. As such, it seems an excellent foil against which to sketch out some aspects of Bach's notion of genre. Relying on an interpretive language somewhat distant from the two traditional

"tropes," I argue that an individual work-and, by extension, the com-

poser's entire output-converses with a tacit generic code that enables 56 its unique articulation.

Different authors have pursued varied interpretive strategies when discussing the first movement of BWV 1029. Philipp Spitta, sur-

veying the work in his famous biography (1873), considers the piece "a work of the highest beauty and the most striking originality." He notes how it begins in the manner of a sonata although the economy of thematic material is "quite in the style of a concerto." This "wealth of imag- ination" takes on a "characteristic picturesqueness." At this point, Spitta leaps into a morass of metaphors:

Here we have a composition in Magyar style: a rushing as of wild and fiery steeds across an open space; the impetuous tributary themes sound like strokes of a whip; sometimes the figures fall confusedly into the discord of the diminished seventh . ..; sometimes they unite in the main subject in heavy unison-an effect seldom found in this master-beneath its tread the very earth groans.2

Accustomed to a more cautious critical style, most of us are probably unable to suppress a groan at this figurative cavalcade. On the other hand, it is worth noting how Spitta centers on the work itself-here rep- resenting its Erlebnis or inner experience. And while seemingly irre-

sponsible, indeed, ahistorical, this move to fanciful imagery faithfully records the story of a sonata movement that behaves out of character,

2 Philipp Spitta,Johann Sebastian Bach (Leipzig, 1873), vol. i, pp. 726-27. 2 Philipp Spitta,Johann Sebastian Bach (Leipzig, 1873), vol. i, pp. 726-27.



J. S. BACH AND THE STATUS OF GENRE J. S. BACH AND THE STATUS OF GENRE

appearing to struggle beyond its ordinary bounds. At the very least, Spitta's excitement can be seen as an insightful response to a real generic paradox, one which he does not erase by a reduction to outside influences.

By contrast, Ulrich Siegele (1957), Hans Eppstein (1967) and Peter Williams (1984), who treat the same movement, seem little troubled by the sonata's formal ambiguity.3 Instead, they wish to dispose of it. With the category of "genius" now signifying superior technique and the de- scriptive method careful to avoid metaphorical fancy, the focus shifts from the work to its genesis. For all three writers explain away the para- doxical relation between sonata and concerto by reducing the work to its supposed origins: since the sonata movement has a ritornello-like subject that returns in predictable keys, a lost concerto must be lurking be- hind the sonata.4

While such research often illuminates interesting features of a composer's method of composition, it is worth noting how-at least in contemporary musicology-the methodological move from immanent structure to putative origins often discourages criticism of the work at hand. Yet philological speculation on how the sonata was hatched, even if compelling, cannot replace an interpretation of its present state: to 57 believe so is to fall prey to the genetic fallacy, mistaking process for prod- uct. More perniciously, the sort of blow-by-blow description-a musical Baedeker guide-that ultimately substitutes for interpretation tends to stifle the very insights which Spitta had at least clothed in language gen- erating real critical excitement. With the philological accounts profess- ing an actual concerto preceding BWV 1029, there is no longer a need to fuss over any tensions between sonata and concerto that manage to co- exist. But these, it will be argued, comprise what is truly individual in the work and hence of historical import.

Not only is a secret concerto hypothesis diversionary; it is also un- necessary. As it turns out, the g-minor gamba sonata can be assigned to a perfectly coherent-if somewhat ignored-genre. For this three- movement work is none other than whatJohann Adolph Scheibe called the Sonate aufConcertenart-a sonata in the concerted manner.5 To put it this way is not at all a semantic sleight-of-hand. In the first place, as

3 Ulrich Siegele, Kompositionsweise und Bearbeitungstechnik in der Instrumentalmusik Jo- hann Sebastian Bachs (1957; Neuhausen-Stuttgart, 1975), pp. 97-1oo00; Hans Eppstein, Studien iiberJ. S. Bachs Sonaten fir ein Melodieinstrument und obligates Cembalo (Uppsala, 1966), pp. 116-18; Peter Williams, "Bach's G minor Sonata for viola da gamba and harpsichord, BWV 1029: A seventh Brandenburg concerto?" EarlyMusic 12 (1984), 345-54.

4 Although Williams calls his hypothesis "more or less baseless speculation," it is allied with a recent transcription byJohn Hsu which arranges BWV 1029 as a concerto for two violas (New York, 1984).

5 Johann Adolph Scheibe, Der critische Musikus, (Hamburg, January 20, 1740; Leipzig, 1745), p. 675.

appearing to struggle beyond its ordinary bounds. At the very least, Spitta's excitement can be seen as an insightful response to a real generic paradox, one which he does not erase by a reduction to outside influences.

By contrast, Ulrich Siegele (1957), Hans Eppstein (1967) and Peter Williams (1984), who treat the same movement, seem little troubled by the sonata's formal ambiguity.3 Instead, they wish to dispose of it. With the category of "genius" now signifying superior technique and the de- scriptive method careful to avoid metaphorical fancy, the focus shifts from the work to its genesis. For all three writers explain away the para- doxical relation between sonata and concerto by reducing the work to its supposed origins: since the sonata movement has a ritornello-like subject that returns in predictable keys, a lost concerto must be lurking be- hind the sonata.4

While such research often illuminates interesting features of a composer's method of composition, it is worth noting how-at least in contemporary musicology-the methodological move from immanent structure to putative origins often discourages criticism of the work at hand. Yet philological speculation on how the sonata was hatched, even if compelling, cannot replace an interpretation of its present state: to 57 believe so is to fall prey to the genetic fallacy, mistaking process for prod- uct. More perniciously, the sort of blow-by-blow description-a musical Baedeker guide-that ultimately substitutes for interpretation tends to stifle the very insights which Spitta had at least clothed in language gen- erating real critical excitement. With the philological accounts profess- ing an actual concerto preceding BWV 1029, there is no longer a need to fuss over any tensions between sonata and concerto that manage to co- exist. But these, it will be argued, comprise what is truly individual in the work and hence of historical import.

Not only is a secret concerto hypothesis diversionary; it is also un- necessary. As it turns out, the g-minor gamba sonata can be assigned to a perfectly coherent-if somewhat ignored-genre. For this three- movement work is none other than whatJohann Adolph Scheibe called the Sonate aufConcertenart-a sonata in the concerted manner.5 To put it this way is not at all a semantic sleight-of-hand. In the first place, as

3 Ulrich Siegele, Kompositionsweise und Bearbeitungstechnik in der Instrumentalmusik Jo- hann Sebastian Bachs (1957; Neuhausen-Stuttgart, 1975), pp. 97-1oo00; Hans Eppstein, Studien iiberJ. S. Bachs Sonaten fir ein Melodieinstrument und obligates Cembalo (Uppsala, 1966), pp. 116-18; Peter Williams, "Bach's G minor Sonata for viola da gamba and harpsichord, BWV 1029: A seventh Brandenburg concerto?" EarlyMusic 12 (1984), 345-54.

4 Although Williams calls his hypothesis "more or less baseless speculation," it is allied with a recent transcription byJohn Hsu which arranges BWV 1029 as a concerto for two violas (New York, 1984).

5 Johann Adolph Scheibe, Der critische Musikus, (Hamburg, January 20, 1740; Leipzig, 1745), p. 675.




Scheibe describes it, one expects the ritornello (or Hauptsatz) in a trio concertante to be treated in invertible counterpoint, which does not reg- ularly occur in an actual concerto.6 Moreover, a composer needs some

special way of distinguishing ordinary sonatas from those in the concerto-like mode of this genre. While Scheibe hints at this necessity only obliquely in his discussion of concerted trios, he spells it out explic- itly in his laudatory review (1739) ofJ. S. Bach's Italian Concerto-a similar neighboring genre called the einstimmiges Concert-a concerto played on one instrument, Scheibe writes:

In such pieces the basic structure is kept the same as in concertos for many instruments. The bass and middle voices, which are added now and then to fill out the texture, must represent the subordinate parts. And those passages that above allform the essence of the concerto [empha- sis added] must be most clearly differentiated from the rest. This can very well be done if, after the principle idea of a ... movement has concluded with a cadence, new and distinct ideas enter, and these in turn give way to the principal idea in varying keys. By such means, a piece of this sort for one instrument becomes quite similar to one for many instruments.7

58 Scheibe's description certainly dovetails with several important fea-

tures of our work and provides a useful comparative guide. One inter-

esting aspect of the Scheibe passage is his definition of the "essence of the concerto." Earlier in the Critischer Musikus when discussing the concerto proper he identifies its essence in the traditional manner by nam-

ing its competing membership groups-the concertino and the ripieno. Here, however, he locates the essence of the concerto in its chief melodic

identity-the ritornello delimited by tonal closure. Accordingly, the So- nate auf Concertenart approximates the concerto by distinguishing sections in which material from the ritornello is either present or absent. This stands to reason, since the sonata cannot easily indicate the alternation of texture between the "tutti" and the "solo" which characterizes the real concerto grosso.

Examined against Scheibe's generic grid, the first movement of Bach's gamba sonata reveals several points of interest. First, with regard to the identity of the opening subject, Bach not only presents a subject that cadences in the tonic but goes out of his way to establish the concerto-like credentials of his theme. (See Example i.) Some have noted the resemblance of the opening material to the third Branden-

6 Scheibe, p. 678. 7 Scheibe, p. 637. Translation from The Bach Reader, eds. Hans T. David and Arthur

Mendel, (New York, 1947; 1966), p. 234.

Scheibe describes it, one expects the ritornello (or Hauptsatz) in a trio concertante to be treated in invertible counterpoint, which does not reg- ularly occur in an actual concerto.6 Moreover, a composer needs some

special way of distinguishing ordinary sonatas from those in the concerto-like mode of this genre. While Scheibe hints at this necessity only obliquely in his discussion of concerted trios, he spells it out explic- itly in his laudatory review (1739) ofJ. S. Bach's Italian Concerto-a similar neighboring genre called the einstimmiges Concert-a concerto played on one instrument, Scheibe writes:

In such pieces the basic structure is kept the same as in concertos for many instruments. The bass and middle voices, which are added now and then to fill out the texture, must represent the subordinate parts. And those passages that above allform the essence of the concerto [empha- sis added] must be most clearly differentiated from the rest. This can very well be done if, after the principle idea of a ... movement has concluded with a cadence, new and distinct ideas enter, and these in turn give way to the principal idea in varying keys. By such means, a piece of this sort for one instrument becomes quite similar to one for many instruments.7

58 Scheibe's description certainly dovetails with several important fea-

tures of our work and provides a useful comparative guide. One inter-

esting aspect of the Scheibe passage is his definition of the "essence of the concerto." Earlier in the Critischer Musikus when discussing the concerto proper he identifies its essence in the traditional manner by nam-

ing its competing membership groups-the concertino and the ripieno. Here, however, he locates the essence of the concerto in its chief melodic

identity-the ritornello delimited by tonal closure. Accordingly, the So- nate auf Concertenart approximates the concerto by distinguishing sections in which material from the ritornello is either present or absent. This stands to reason, since the sonata cannot easily indicate the alternation of texture between the "tutti" and the "solo" which characterizes the real concerto grosso.

Examined against Scheibe's generic grid, the first movement of Bach's gamba sonata reveals several points of interest. First, with regard to the identity of the opening subject, Bach not only presents a subject that cadences in the tonic but goes out of his way to establish the concerto-like credentials of his theme. (See Example i.) Some have noted the resemblance of the opening material to the third Branden-

6 Scheibe, p. 678. 7 Scheibe, p. 637. Translation from The Bach Reader, eds. Hans T. David and Arthur

Mendel, (New York, 1947; 1966), p. 234.



J. S. BACH AND THE STATUS OF GENRE

EXAMPLE 1. BWV 1029/1, mm. 1-18


EXAMPLE 1. BWV 1029/1, mm. 1-18

Viola da gamba

Cembalo

Viola da gamba

Cembalo

Lrr - Iti j^^j LT . rrLf . rr Sigm-rr ^.

I,l-tt-c->t-tt

Lrr - Iti j^^j LT . rrLf . rr Sigm-rr ^.

I,l-tt-c->t-tt 6 6 r 6 6 r 6 6

I I 6 6 6

I I 6 6 6

.6 es =1 .6 es =1

|b - - _ X *

Î. rmmbm I [, II[ JrI -I ..

2 2 6 6 6 #

12LF

fej^^Q^j^^TT;;8;^ J ^

^^^âfer^jy^

(t^- -m^^m^ bJ^ rrTT JârH

|b - - _ X *

Î. rmmbm I [, II[ JrI -I ..

2 2 6 6 6 #

12LF

fej^^Q^j^^TT;;8;^ J ^

^^^âfer^jy^

(t^- -m^^m^ bJ^ rrTT JârH

fT~ fT~

59 59

1. Vivace 1. Vivace pw mem pw mem

~? _ _... iF I M . ~? _ _... iF I M .

6m==Q0 6m==Q0



THE JOURNAL OF MUSICOLOGY

EXAMPLE 1. (continued)

14

60i bb

: 1^ ' 1ri .--;lj - -1 r i -itF

-

l )7T1^ bbTm D r

tab1 J LJ ^-J J I

burg Concerto with its alternating Vivaldian motivic cells.8 But more than this: this ritornello presents a paradigm of the demarcated harmonic functions of a basic Vivaldi-derived model. Note that the gamba

8 Williams, p. 352. But the resemblance is limited to the motoric element found in all Vivaldi-derived themes. Curiously, only one opening ritornello among the Brandenburg concertos movements (Brandenburg I/3) has such a functionally demarcated three-part structure (Vordersatz-Fortspinnung-Epilog) in which the intervening sequential Fortspin- nung bridges two tonally confirmatory segments. See Dreyfus, "J. S. Bach's Concerto Ri-


EXAMPLE 1. (continued)

14

60i bb

: 1^ ' 1ri .--;lj - -1 r i -itF

-

l )7T1^ bbTm D r

tab1 J LJ ^-J J I

burg Concerto with its alternating Vivaldian motivic cells.8 But more than this: this ritornello presents a paradigm of the demarcated harmonic functions of a basic Vivaldi-derived model. Note that the gamba

8 Williams, p. 352. But the resemblance is limited to the motoric element found in all Vivaldi-derived themes. Curiously, only one opening ritornello among the Brandenburg concertos movements (Brandenburg I/3) has such a functionally demarcated three-part structure (Vordersatz-Fortspinnung-Epilog) in which the intervening sequential Fortspin- nung bridges two tonally confirmatory segments. See Dreyfus, "J. S. Bach's Concerto Ri-




plays this chief idea with only continuo support. Bach therefore signifies concerto by reproducing the melodic and harmonic content of a ritornello theme without, however, alluding to the orchestral tutti in which it is conventionally clothed.

What happens thereafter breaks with Scheibe's model. First, in m. 9, an opening ritornello fragment migrates to the bass for two measures. Then the entire ritornello duplicates itself beginning in m. 11 in the

right hand of the harpsichord against a new countersubject in the

gamba line. Since a corollary of Scheibe's miniatured sonata-concerto

presumes the absence of ritornello just after the cadence, the piece becomes generically confusing when it restates the ritornello immediately after its initial presentation: By m. 1 1 the process evokes the quasi-fugal entrance of the two upper parts in a trio sonata Allegro, except that the two subjects are not stated a fifth apart but remain in the tonic.9 Only after the cadence at m. 19 does the contrast between ritornello and solo

episode and hence the sense of concerto again become intelligible. The opening eighteen bars of the gamba sonata might therefore

represent a synthesis of concerto and sonata principles. In this way the second statement of the ritornello in m. 1 1 set against a countersubject could be taken as sonata-like, while the tonal closure and the melodic 61 content of the ritornello point to concerto. But granting this point means that there is no explanation for mm. 9 and io, which thus far elude analysis. These two bars, in fact, appear superfluous, since they present only the Vordersatz in the bass before restating the complete ritornello in the harpsichord's upper part. From the vantage point of general harmonic and melodic conventions, one can easily dispense with these two measures. Imagine the opening nineteen measures of the movement, skipping from the end of m. 8 directly to the beginning of m. 11. If classical balance is the aim so that an eight-bar subject appears twice, then it is achieved only by omitting mm. 9 and 1o.

tornellos and the Question of Invention," The Musical Quarterly LXXI (1985), 327-58. The structure-not only its surface melody-of the ritornello in BWV 1029/1 bears a much stronger resemblance to the first movement of Bach's E-major violin concerto, BWV 1041.

9 As a general rule of the genre, Bach's concertos refrain from repeating the opening segment of the ritornello (the Vordersatz)just after the first tonic cadence in order to avoid harmonic redundancy. If the first solo entrance alludes to the ritornello, it mostly does so either by withholding the crucial end of the Vordersatz, namely an emphasized dominant chord confirming the tonic (as in BWV 1041), or (in earlier works?) by varying the thematic content (Brandenburg VI/3 and Brandenburg I/1). (In fact, for Bach, this restric- tion constitutes a crucial difference between the concerto and the aria, in which ritornello procedures are more lax.) Vivaldi's own concertos held no such scruples regarding redundancy. See, for example, Opus 3, No. 6, Movement i, in which the soloist repeats the whole Vordersatz directly after the tonic close of the opening ritornello. In any case, no examples of Bach concertos present two complete tonic statements of the ritornello adja- cent to one another.

plays this chief idea with only continuo support. Bach therefore signifies concerto by reproducing the melodic and harmonic content of a ritornello theme without, however, alluding to the orchestral tutti in which it is conventionally clothed.

What happens thereafter breaks with Scheibe's model. First, in m. 9, an opening ritornello fragment migrates to the bass for two measures. Then the entire ritornello duplicates itself beginning in m. 11 in the

right hand of the harpsichord against a new countersubject in the

gamba line. Since a corollary of Scheibe's miniatured sonata-concerto

presumes the absence of ritornello just after the cadence, the piece becomes generically confusing when it restates the ritornello immediately after its initial presentation: By m. 1 1 the process evokes the quasi-fugal entrance of the two upper parts in a trio sonata Allegro, except that the two subjects are not stated a fifth apart but remain in the tonic.9 Only after the cadence at m. 19 does the contrast between ritornello and solo

episode and hence the sense of concerto again become intelligible. The opening eighteen bars of the gamba sonata might therefore

represent a synthesis of concerto and sonata principles. In this way the second statement of the ritornello in m. 1 1 set against a countersubject could be taken as sonata-like, while the tonal closure and the melodic 61 content of the ritornello point to concerto. But granting this point means that there is no explanation for mm. 9 and io, which thus far elude analysis. These two bars, in fact, appear superfluous, since they present only the Vordersatz in the bass before restating the complete ritornello in the harpsichord's upper part. From the vantage point of general harmonic and melodic conventions, one can easily dispense with these two measures. Imagine the opening nineteen measures of the movement, skipping from the end of m. 8 directly to the beginning of m. 11. If classical balance is the aim so that an eight-bar subject appears twice, then it is achieved only by omitting mm. 9 and 1o.

tornellos and the Question of Invention," The Musical Quarterly LXXI (1985), 327-58. The structure-not only its surface melody-of the ritornello in BWV 1029/1 bears a much stronger resemblance to the first movement of Bach's E-major violin concerto, BWV 1041.

9 As a general rule of the genre, Bach's concertos refrain from repeating the opening segment of the ritornello (the Vordersatz)just after the first tonic cadence in order to avoid harmonic redundancy. If the first solo entrance alludes to the ritornello, it mostly does so either by withholding the crucial end of the Vordersatz, namely an emphasized dominant chord confirming the tonic (as in BWV 1041), or (in earlier works?) by varying the thematic content (Brandenburg VI/3 and Brandenburg I/1). (In fact, for Bach, this restric- tion constitutes a crucial difference between the concerto and the aria, in which ritornello procedures are more lax.) Vivaldi's own concertos held no such scruples regarding redundancy. See, for example, Opus 3, No. 6, Movement i, in which the soloist repeats the whole Vordersatz directly after the tonic close of the opening ritornello. In any case, no examples of Bach concertos present two complete tonic statements of the ritornello adja- cent to one another.




A characterization of this movement's genre therefore hinges on a

reading of mm. 9 and o. Consider first the status of the long trilled d2 in the right hand of the harpsichord in m. 9 and its counterpart in the

gamba line in m. 1 1. As a sign of virtuosity placedjust after the close of a ritornello, the sustained trill itself signifies a new but not unexpected message: a soloist, or, in this case, two soloists are present.'0 For the pattern of two trills at precisely this juncture most plausibly indicates the conventions of two solo instruments in a double concerto. But Bach does not allude to concerto within the sonata by way of the melodic-harmonic code articulating the opening (i.e. with a "solo theme" or with new motivic configurations) but, instead, via a distinct code that distinguishes a musical figure from belonging to a concertist or a ripienist. The work thus alludes to concerto even though it countermands Scheibe's common-sense suggestion that ritornello material be absent just after the first tonic cadence.

Now consider mm. 9 and lo more closely. Have our "two soloists"

actually initiated a solo episode? In fact, they have not. After announc-

ing their presence-indeed midway into the second solo entrance at m. 1 i-Bach demotes the paired contestants into the rather more tame

62 participants in a trio sonata. Instead of the expected departure from the ritornello material in the tonic, there follows an uncharacteristic repeti- tion, although it is enriched by new counterpoint. 1 Thus at the very moment in which Bach signals the most traditional component of the concerto genre-the tutti-solo contrast-he subverts the same signal by treating the concerto-laden ritornello beginning in m. 11 as if it were merely a trio sonata subject elaborated by a counter-subject.12

10 Compare with the trill in Brandenburg Concerto 1/3, mm. 35-40, where the trill coinciding with the transposed ritornello segment announces the presence of the violino piccolo leading to a solo outburst.

11 Ignoring this, John Hsu's transcription treats mm. 9-12 inconsistently. At m. 9, the ripieno instruments play the Vordersatz segment, while at m. 1 1 the Vordersatz reverts to a solo instrument. Yet when the very same passage occurs at mm. 44-47, Hsu makes no distinction in the "tutti" texture. (Likewise when nearly parallel passages occur in "solo episodes," Hsu never again invokes the artificial caesura as he does between m. i o and m. 1 1.) Surely it is telling that he cannot repeat his reasonable orchestration of m. 9 at m. 1 1. For if he had drawn the logical inference, his upper solo part would have disappeared at m. 11 with nowhere to go. Ulrich Siegele's proposed reconstruction (p. 98) is problematic at the same point. He senses the entrance of the two soloists accompanied only by continuo (thereby avoiding Hsu's caesura), but since his Soloist 2 (equivalent to the gamba part) pauses during mm. 9 and lo, he also cannot account for the inequity between the two soloists. Why, in other words, does Soloist i play the Vordersatz while Soloist 2 does not? These reconstructions are therefore valuable to the extent that they undermine their own raison d'etre. The same goes for Frans Briiggen's entertaining recorded "transcription" of BWV 1030/1 (ABC Classics AB-67015/2, 1977), which grinds to a weary halt midway into the movement, unable any longer to sustain its pretense of reconstruction.

12 A similar kind of ambiguity, though not as pronounced, characterizes Bach's A- major flute sonata, BWV 1032/1, also a sonata in concerto manner. While the statement

A characterization of this movement's genre therefore hinges on a

reading of mm. 9 and o. Consider first the status of the long trilled d2 in the right hand of the harpsichord in m. 9 and its counterpart in the

gamba line in m. 1 1. As a sign of virtuosity placedjust after the close of a ritornello, the sustained trill itself signifies a new but not unexpected message: a soloist, or, in this case, two soloists are present.'0 For the pattern of two trills at precisely this juncture most plausibly indicates the conventions of two solo instruments in a double concerto. But Bach does not allude to concerto within the sonata by way of the melodic-harmonic code articulating the opening (i.e. with a "solo theme" or with new motivic configurations) but, instead, via a distinct code that distinguishes a musical figure from belonging to a concertist or a ripienist. The work thus alludes to concerto even though it countermands Scheibe's common-sense suggestion that ritornello material be absent just after the first tonic cadence.

Now consider mm. 9 and lo more closely. Have our "two soloists"

actually initiated a solo episode? In fact, they have not. After announc-

ing their presence-indeed midway into the second solo entrance at m. 1 i-Bach demotes the paired contestants into the rather more tame

62 participants in a trio sonata. Instead of the expected departure from the ritornello material in the tonic, there follows an uncharacteristic repeti- tion, although it is enriched by new counterpoint. 1 Thus at the very moment in which Bach signals the most traditional component of the concerto genre-the tutti-solo contrast-he subverts the same signal by treating the concerto-laden ritornello beginning in m. 11 as if it were merely a trio sonata subject elaborated by a counter-subject.12

10 Compare with the trill in Brandenburg Concerto 1/3, mm. 35-40, where the trill coinciding with the transposed ritornello segment announces the presence of the violino piccolo leading to a solo outburst.

11 Ignoring this, John Hsu's transcription treats mm. 9-12 inconsistently. At m. 9, the ripieno instruments play the Vordersatz segment, while at m. 1 1 the Vordersatz reverts to a solo instrument. Yet when the very same passage occurs at mm. 44-47, Hsu makes no distinction in the "tutti" texture. (Likewise when nearly parallel passages occur in "solo episodes," Hsu never again invokes the artificial caesura as he does between m. i o and m. 1 1.) Surely it is telling that he cannot repeat his reasonable orchestration of m. 9 at m. 1 1. For if he had drawn the logical inference, his upper solo part would have disappeared at m. 11 with nowhere to go. Ulrich Siegele's proposed reconstruction (p. 98) is problematic at the same point. He senses the entrance of the two soloists accompanied only by continuo (thereby avoiding Hsu's caesura), but since his Soloist 2 (equivalent to the gamba part) pauses during mm. 9 and lo, he also cannot account for the inequity between the two soloists. Why, in other words, does Soloist i play the Vordersatz while Soloist 2 does not? These reconstructions are therefore valuable to the extent that they undermine their own raison d'etre. The same goes for Frans Briiggen's entertaining recorded "transcription" of BWV 1030/1 (ABC Classics AB-67015/2, 1977), which grinds to a weary halt midway into the movement, unable any longer to sustain its pretense of reconstruction.

12 A similar kind of ambiguity, though not as pronounced, characterizes Bach's A- major flute sonata, BWV 1032/1, also a sonata in concerto manner. While the statement




That Bach continues to play with the question of identities emerges from the later statements of ritornello segments. In m. 95, for example, he restates the Vordersatz in the tonic and presents it in a brazen three- fold octave setting. Because this statement of the opening segment coin- cides with the return to the tonic, it cannot help but signify the tutti ren- dition of the concerto ritornello itself. Indeed, it seems to recall with

special mention a proud enunciation of the thematic material in its pris- tine state, in which the competing forces proclaimed their unanimity before the concerted struggle ensued. Of course, there was no such unison Vivaldian opening at the beginning of the gamba sonata, when Bach had avoided signifying just such a tutti by setting the ritornello in a sonata texture.'3 The aim here, however, tallies with what appears to be the generic intention: by encouraging the momentary belief-here and elsewhere-that a mere sonata can assimilate the entire range of codes and devices proper to the concerto grosso, Bach has thrown doubt on contemporary notions of genre predicated on a common-sense pecking order. Whereas Scheibe had proposed that a reduction of the concerto into a sonata was plausible given certain accommodations, Bach questions the logic of constraints per se. In so doing, he proposes a formal solution that expands the generic horizons of both concerto and sonata 63 while endowing the new genre with a special, if inimitable, identity. That is, the work cannot stand as a model for future prescription and

of the Vordersatz in the tonic at m. 11 i following two measures of a solo episode is not unusual for a concerto, its combination with a flute counterpoint tends to downplay the domi- nating character of the ritornello: at that moment, the parity between the two upper voices alludes to the sonata rather than to the concerto. It seems quite likely, in fact, that an unsuccessful "struggle" between the genres in BWV 1032 ultimately accounts for Bach's decision to rewrite some forty-six measures at the end of the movement in a form that no longer survives. Perhaps Bach never arrived at a satisfactory solution. Michael Marissen, in "A Trio in C major for recorder, violin and continuo by J. S. Bach?" Early Music 13 (1985), 384-90, pursues the question of the missing measures in BWV 1032/1 and argues for an economized completion which only repeats previous material in transposed keys. While this hypothesis has the virtue of supporting the principle of the tonal "array," by which ritornello segments are transposed even to remote scale degrees, Marissen's reconstruction depends on a mechanical formula, which is precisely what Bach's ritornello principles avoid. See my "Question of Invention." Compare also the opening of the b-minor flute sonata, BWV 1030/1, which only reveals its concerto-like mode at m. 5.

13 Near the end of the third movement of BWV 1032 (mm. 229-236), another Sonate aufConcertenart presents its concerto-like credentials with a similar unison passage and, at the same time, reveals for the first time an ideal form of the movement's ritornello. (On the notion of "ideal ritornellos" see my "Question of Invention," pp. 343-51.) Bach also uses this delayed unison in the Brandenburg Concerto II/i (mm. 103-104). Here it functions as a decorative operation performed on the ritornello emphasizing the return to the tonic. Moreover, the appearance of the unison just after a ritornello in the minor medi- ant invokes a feature of yet another genre: the caesura found in da capo arias before the return to the A section. In other words, Bach uses a familiar key relation to underscore the notion of return to the tonic. Whatever its context, the unison means that the struggle peculiar to the concerto has temporarily ceased.

That Bach continues to play with the question of identities emerges from the later statements of ritornello segments. In m. 95, for example, he restates the Vordersatz in the tonic and presents it in a brazen three- fold octave setting. Because this statement of the opening segment coin- cides with the return to the tonic, it cannot help but signify the tutti ren- dition of the concerto ritornello itself. Indeed, it seems to recall with

special mention a proud enunciation of the thematic material in its pris- tine state, in which the competing forces proclaimed their unanimity before the concerted struggle ensued. Of course, there was no such unison Vivaldian opening at the beginning of the gamba sonata, when Bach had avoided signifying just such a tutti by setting the ritornello in a sonata texture.'3 The aim here, however, tallies with what appears to be the generic intention: by encouraging the momentary belief-here and elsewhere-that a mere sonata can assimilate the entire range of codes and devices proper to the concerto grosso, Bach has thrown doubt on contemporary notions of genre predicated on a common-sense pecking order. Whereas Scheibe had proposed that a reduction of the concerto into a sonata was plausible given certain accommodations, Bach questions the logic of constraints per se. In so doing, he proposes a formal solution that expands the generic horizons of both concerto and sonata 63 while endowing the new genre with a special, if inimitable, identity. That is, the work cannot stand as a model for future prescription and

of the Vordersatz in the tonic at m. 11 i following two measures of a solo episode is not unusual for a concerto, its combination with a flute counterpoint tends to downplay the domi- nating character of the ritornello: at that moment, the parity between the two upper voices alludes to the sonata rather than to the concerto. It seems quite likely, in fact, that an unsuccessful "struggle" between the genres in BWV 1032 ultimately accounts for Bach's decision to rewrite some forty-six measures at the end of the movement in a form that no longer survives. Perhaps Bach never arrived at a satisfactory solution. Michael Marissen, in "A Trio in C major for recorder, violin and continuo by J. S. Bach?" Early Music 13 (1985), 384-90, pursues the question of the missing measures in BWV 1032/1 and argues for an economized completion which only repeats previous material in transposed keys. While this hypothesis has the virtue of supporting the principle of the tonal "array," by which ritornello segments are transposed even to remote scale degrees, Marissen's reconstruction depends on a mechanical formula, which is precisely what Bach's ritornello principles avoid. See my "Question of Invention." Compare also the opening of the b-minor flute sonata, BWV 1030/1, which only reveals its concerto-like mode at m. 5.

13 Near the end of the third movement of BWV 1032 (mm. 229-236), another Sonate aufConcertenart presents its concerto-like credentials with a similar unison passage and, at the same time, reveals for the first time an ideal form of the movement's ritornello. (On the notion of "ideal ritornellos" see my "Question of Invention," pp. 343-51.) Bach also uses this delayed unison in the Brandenburg Concerto II/i (mm. 103-104). Here it functions as a decorative operation performed on the ritornello emphasizing the return to the tonic. Moreover, the appearance of the unison just after a ritornello in the minor medi- ant invokes a feature of yet another genre: the caesura found in da capo arias before the return to the A section. In other words, Bach uses a familiar key relation to underscore the notion of return to the tonic. Whatever its context, the unison means that the struggle peculiar to the concerto has temporarily ceased.




tasteful imitation (like Mattheson's often cited treffliche Modelle) precisely because its formal scheme is peculiar to its own material.'4 Far from a mere synthetic addition, Bach has disposed of the empirical hierarchy by which, according to Scheibe, Mattheson, and other enlightened thinkers, concertos are more substantial works than sonatas because, as it were, "bigger is better."

If Bach saturated the first movement of the gamba sonata with a surplus of generic signs, then he seems to have conceived the second movement in a generic vacuum. (The first half of the movement is given in Example 2.) It is true that the strange alternation of

seemingly endless, sustained notes with arbitrary embellished lines chained to a lethargic bass sounds very much like the work ofJ. S. Bach: indeed, both the affect and compositional structure are amenable to concrete description. On the other hand, the genre and style of this movement are unquestionably mysterious.

Spitta, who senses that the movement is extraordinary, ignores the formal questions and jumps directly into the rhapsodic mode: "The

Adagio ... satisfies our desire for melody with a devotional and earnest 64 strain, of which the beginning is a clear foreshadowing of Beethoven."'5

Hans Eppstein also finds the work unparalleled but relies on dispassion- ate language when he describes the movement's surface structure-the four-bar ostinato figures in the bass, the overall lack of imitation, the peculiar exchange of upper parts between binary sections, and the attempt to effect improvisation.'6 What is it, then, in the Adagio movement that

encourages one historian to refer to Beethoven and another to objectify processes inconsistent with any contemporary genre. How, in fact, can a sonata movement of the eighteenth century sustain such a suspension of

14 This raises another problem for John Hsu's concerto arrangement based on the unusual-indeed, intentionally archaic-orchestration of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 6. For the transcription must constantly appeal to similar features, whereas it was the absence of such similarity which seems to have motivated Bach's extraordinary scorings of the Brandenburg Concertos. Williams's claim-that Bach ultimately rejected this "seventh Brandenburg Concerto because it was too similar to No. 6-thus seems difficult to maintain.

5 Spitta, p. 727. 16 In order to explain these peculiarities, Eppstein invokes an anachronistic notion of

"integration," which he defines somewhat anachronistically as a "principle which not

only leads individual elements of a movement closer to one another but often has them

permeate each other reciprocally (p. 49)." Peter Williams, (p. 348), on the other hand, sees nothing other than a "straightforward trio not unlike, in principle, the slow movements of some concertos in which only the "solo" instruments are involved." Siegele, p. oo, is more cautious: "Perhaps we do not go too far if, in the second movement-despite

certain drastic changes in both upper parts-we recognize in the harpsichord's bass the contours of a string accompaniment." The bass line may well signify "concerto," yet one could as easily detect such contours in the slow movements of several other sonatas such as BWV 1016/1 and BWV 1030/1, provided one is bent on finding them.

tasteful imitation (like Mattheson's often cited treffliche Modelle) precisely because its formal scheme is peculiar to its own material.'4 Far from a mere synthetic addition, Bach has disposed of the empirical hierarchy by which, according to Scheibe, Mattheson, and other enlightened thinkers, concertos are more substantial works than sonatas because, as it were, "bigger is better."

If Bach saturated the first movement of the gamba sonata with a surplus of generic signs, then he seems to have conceived the second movement in a generic vacuum. (The first half of the movement is given in Example 2.) It is true that the strange alternation of

seemingly endless, sustained notes with arbitrary embellished lines chained to a lethargic bass sounds very much like the work ofJ. S. Bach: indeed, both the affect and compositional structure are amenable to concrete description. On the other hand, the genre and style of this movement are unquestionably mysterious.

Spitta, who senses that the movement is extraordinary, ignores the formal questions and jumps directly into the rhapsodic mode: "The

Adagio ... satisfies our desire for melody with a devotional and earnest 64 strain, of which the beginning is a clear foreshadowing of Beethoven."'5

Hans Eppstein also finds the work unparalleled but relies on dispassion- ate language when he describes the movement's surface structure-the four-bar ostinato figures in the bass, the overall lack of imitation, the peculiar exchange of upper parts between binary sections, and the attempt to effect improvisation.'6 What is it, then, in the Adagio movement that

encourages one historian to refer to Beethoven and another to objectify processes inconsistent with any contemporary genre. How, in fact, can a sonata movement of the eighteenth century sustain such a suspension of

14 This raises another problem for John Hsu's concerto arrangement based on the unusual-indeed, intentionally archaic-orchestration of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 6. For the transcription must constantly appeal to similar features, whereas it was the absence of such similarity which seems to have motivated Bach's extraordinary scorings of the Brandenburg Concertos. Williams's claim-that Bach ultimately rejected this "seventh Brandenburg Concerto because it was too similar to No. 6-thus seems difficult to maintain.

5 Spitta, p. 727. 16 In order to explain these peculiarities, Eppstein invokes an anachronistic notion of

"integration," which he defines somewhat anachronistically as a "principle which not

only leads individual elements of a movement closer to one another but often has them

permeate each other reciprocally (p. 49)." Peter Williams, (p. 348), on the other hand, sees nothing other than a "straightforward trio not unlike, in principle, the slow movements of some concertos in which only the "solo" instruments are involved." Siegele, p. oo, is more cautious: "Perhaps we do not go too far if, in the second movement-despite

certain drastic changes in both upper parts-we recognize in the harpsichord's bass the contours of a string accompaniment." The bass line may well signify "concerto," yet one could as easily detect such contours in the slow movements of several other sonatas such as BWV 1016/1 and BWV 1030/1, provided one is bent on finding them.




EXAMPLE 2. BWV 1029/2, mm. 1-12


EXAMPLE 2. BWV 1029/2, mm. 1-12

2. Adagio 2. Adagio

65 65

7 7

I^ f~i, J^ppf'"f J IJXJ

l b rE C f L

r

1 , 'N r 11

1$ff^ FSrr n i err i "* 11

-" '!I '1 '" _

I^ f~i, J^ppf'"f J IJXJ

l b rE C f L

r

1 , 'N r 11

1$ff^ FSrr n i err i "* 11

-" '!I '1 '" _ I 'I I I I 'I I I

. m _ . m _

, I I V- , I I V-




time and place? One approach to these problems is to take the absence of clear signs of genre or style as a significant omission. In other words, one needs to interpret the act of not clarifying the Schreibart-that Ger- man Enlightenment term embracing both style and genre.17

As Eppstein had noted, Bach avoids imitation to structure the rela- tionship between the two upper parts. Instead, he exchanges the two identities midway through the piece. Neither voice, moreover, domi- nates the other. Instead, each melodic and rhythmic profile defines itself with respect to the opposing voice. Yet the parts, while equal, are not

equivalent: far more distinguishes than unites them. This is why it is re-

vealing to suggest that Bach has concealed beneath the surface two con-

trasting genres in divergent styles: the French Sarabande and the Italian

Adagio. In the accompanying Table, I attempt to summarize the distinc- tive features of these Schreibarten as they appear in the two contrasting parts.

In the initial binary section of the movement, the harpsichord plays the French voice while the gamba plays the Italian. Notice how the harpsichord line in the first section falls into the neat four-bar phrases of the Sarabande, how it contains mostly the essential ornaments (Quantz's we-

66 sentliche Manieren) such as obligatory trills and ports de voix of mm. 2, 4 and 5. The Sarabande rhythm in the harpsichord melody typically stresses second beats, prepares the cadence with a hemiola in mm. io and 1 1 and marks feminine endings with a conventional dotted figure as in mm. 4 and 8. The prevailing melodic motion here is by step with embellished passages idiomatic to the Sarabande double. (See, for example, such a movement in the a-minor English Suite, BWV 807.)

In the Italianate gamba line, on the other hand, the ornamental

style is that of the arbitrary embellishments (Quantz's willkiirliche

Manieren)-the arpeggiated and scalar flourishes that decorate a simple melody. The phrase organization elides precisely over those four-bar markers in the contrasting part while the voice refers rhythmically to the

'7 Only free improvisation was exempted from generic standards, as when the anony- mous Kurzgefafjtes musikalisches Lexicon (Chemnitz, 1749; facs. ed. Leipzig, 1975) defines "Fantasie" as a special occurrence when a musician "plays and works through something according to his own devising and pleasure, which therefore cannot be brought into ac- cord with any orderly genre." (p. 137) Improvisation became signified by the absence of composition and takes on an identity in that "it is one and the same everywhere," as Mat- theson put it. (Der vollkommene Capellmeister, p. 88, English translation here and elsewhere adapted from Ernest Harriss [Ann Arbor, 1981], p. 216). Mattheson apparently regret- ted even this state of affairs (a rationalist's horror vacui) and noted "what a pity it is that there are no rules available for such an art of improvisation" (p. 89; Harriss, p. 217). Whatever the status of our Adagio movement, no one doubts that it is composed. On German uses of the term style, see Claude V. Palisca, "The genesis of Mattheson's style classification," New Mattheson Studies, ed. George J. Buelow and Hans Joachim Marx (Cambridge, 1983), pp. 409-25 as well as Dreyfus, "The Articulation of Genre in Bach's Instrumental Works" in The UniversalBach (Philadelphia, 1986).

time and place? One approach to these problems is to take the absence of clear signs of genre or style as a significant omission. In other words, one needs to interpret the act of not clarifying the Schreibart-that Ger- man Enlightenment term embracing both style and genre.17

As Eppstein had noted, Bach avoids imitation to structure the rela- tionship between the two upper parts. Instead, he exchanges the two identities midway through the piece. Neither voice, moreover, domi- nates the other. Instead, each melodic and rhythmic profile defines itself with respect to the opposing voice. Yet the parts, while equal, are not

equivalent: far more distinguishes than unites them. This is why it is re-

vealing to suggest that Bach has concealed beneath the surface two con-

trasting genres in divergent styles: the French Sarabande and the Italian

Adagio. In the accompanying Table, I attempt to summarize the distinc- tive features of these Schreibarten as they appear in the two contrasting parts.

In the initial binary section of the movement, the harpsichord plays the French voice while the gamba plays the Italian. Notice how the harpsichord line in the first section falls into the neat four-bar phrases of the Sarabande, how it contains mostly the essential ornaments (Quantz's we-

66 sentliche Manieren) such as obligatory trills and ports de voix of mm. 2, 4 and 5. The Sarabande rhythm in the harpsichord melody typically stresses second beats, prepares the cadence with a hemiola in mm. io and 1 1 and marks feminine endings with a conventional dotted figure as in mm. 4 and 8. The prevailing melodic motion here is by step with embellished passages idiomatic to the Sarabande double. (See, for example, such a movement in the a-minor English Suite, BWV 807.)

In the Italianate gamba line, on the other hand, the ornamental

style is that of the arbitrary embellishments (Quantz's willkiirliche

Manieren)-the arpeggiated and scalar flourishes that decorate a simple melody. The phrase organization elides precisely over those four-bar markers in the contrasting part while the voice refers rhythmically to the

'7 Only free improvisation was exempted from generic standards, as when the anony- mous Kurzgefafjtes musikalisches Lexicon (Chemnitz, 1749; facs. ed. Leipzig, 1975) defines "Fantasie" as a special occurrence when a musician "plays and works through something according to his own devising and pleasure, which therefore cannot be brought into ac- cord with any orderly genre." (p. 137) Improvisation became signified by the absence of composition and takes on an identity in that "it is one and the same everywhere," as Mat- theson put it. (Der vollkommene Capellmeister, p. 88, English translation here and elsewhere adapted from Ernest Harriss [Ann Arbor, 1981], p. 216). Mattheson apparently regret- ted even this state of affairs (a rationalist's horror vacui) and noted "what a pity it is that there are no rules available for such an art of improvisation" (p. 89; Harriss, p. 217). Whatever the status of our Adagio movement, no one doubts that it is composed. On German uses of the term style, see Claude V. Palisca, "The genesis of Mattheson's style classification," New Mattheson Studies, ed. George J. Buelow and Hans Joachim Marx (Cambridge, 1983), pp. 409-25 as well as Dreyfus, "The Articulation of Genre in Bach's Instrumental Works" in The UniversalBach (Philadelphia, 1986).




TABLE National Identities in BWV 1029/2

TABLE National Identities in BWV 1029/2

Feature Feature

Surface melodic vocabulary

Surface melodic vocabulary

Signs of French Sarabande Signs of French Sarabande

a) prevalent step-wise motion

b) runs in style of double

a) prevalent step-wise motion

b) runs in style of double

c) die wesentlichen Manieren = (essential ornaments, e.g. tierces de coule)

c) die wesentlichen Manieren = (essential ornaments, e.g. tierces de coule)

Signs of Italian Adagio Signs of Italian Adagio

(a) large leaps (e.g. tenth in m. 8)

b) arpeggiated and scalar flourishes

c) die willkiirlichen Manieren = arbi-

trary ornaments)

(a) large leaps (e.g. tenth in m. 8)

b) arpeggiated and scalar flourishes

c) die willkiirlichen Manieren = arbi-

trary ornaments)

Phrase organization Phrase organization

Rhythmic markers Rhythmic markers

Bass functions Bass functions

marked 4-bar phrases marked 4-bar phrases

a) stress on second beats

b) dotted pattern at phrase ends:

I J. iJ I c) hemiolas preceding

cadence

a) stress on second beats

b) dotted pattern at phrase ends:

I J. iJ I c) hemiolas preceding

cadence

bass outlines hemiola at cadence

bass outlines hemiola at cadence

unmarked (clear divisions avoided)

unmarked (clear divisions avoided)

a) long sustained notes tied over bar line

b) running notes start-

ing off the beat

a) long sustained notes tied over bar line

b) running notes start-

ing off the beat

bass ostinato often

accompanies Adagio bass ostinato often

accompanies Adagio

Adagio by its long sustained notes tied over the bar line to running figures beginning off the beat,just as in, for example, the opening Ada-

gio of Bach's g-minor solo violin sonata, BWV 1oo1. It appears, then, that Bach has attempted something comparable to

Francois Couperin's gouts reiinis in effecting a reconciliation of the two

major national styles. But what kind of reconciliation is it? Written precisely to celebrate the fusion of reunited tastes, Couperin's own works in this style, such as his Apotheosis ofLully, lead to a mythic peace of Parnas- sus ("La Paix du Parnasse") in which Lully and Corelli, the two great rep- resentatives of their nations, cooperate in a sublime duet. But the stylistic blend is far more superficial than is commonly recognized. For example, Couperin will ironically Frenchify the title to a work, calling it "Sonade en trio." Or he will write an Italian treble clef for Corelli and a French violin clef for Lully. Or he will wittily distinguish between the two methods of notating ornaments. But the piece itself remains more

Adagio by its long sustained notes tied over the bar line to running figures beginning off the beat,just as in, for example, the opening Ada-

gio of Bach's g-minor solo violin sonata, BWV 1oo1. It appears, then, that Bach has attempted something comparable to

Francois Couperin's gouts reiinis in effecting a reconciliation of the two

major national styles. But what kind of reconciliation is it? Written precisely to celebrate the fusion of reunited tastes, Couperin's own works in this style, such as his Apotheosis ofLully, lead to a mythic peace of Parnas- sus ("La Paix du Parnasse") in which Lully and Corelli, the two great rep- resentatives of their nations, cooperate in a sublime duet. But the stylistic blend is far more superficial than is commonly recognized. For example, Couperin will ironically Frenchify the title to a work, calling it "Sonade en trio." Or he will write an Italian treble clef for Corelli and a French violin clef for Lully. Or he will wittily distinguish between the two methods of notating ornaments. But the piece itself remains more

67 67




or less a French Allemande, while the absence of a binary organization stands for a concession to Italy.'8 No matter how sincerely Couperin intended the union of the two "tastes," one is not intended to mistake one for the other.

Consider next Fux's trio from his Concentus musico-instrumentalis (1701). (See Example 3.) Here the genres of the Italian giga and the French entree coincide but hardly interact: each voice proceeds as if ob- livious to the presence of the other.'9 Either could be played alone with the bass or together. The piece in fact depends on a clear delineation of identities: otherwise, the combination, designed as a clever trick, would fail. What is truly synthetic about this stylistic addition is that the original genres remain palpably intact.

Returning now to the center movement of the gamba sonata, the contrast between these hybrids and Bach's own could not be more striking. For the identities of French Sarabande and Italian solo Adagio do not inhabit the surface of the work; on the contrary, they hibernate in a structure guaranteed to cover them up. In one sense, Bach's reconciliation of French and Italian styles tends to cancel their individual identities. One could even argue that Bach has articulated the signs of style

68 and genre as to be inaudible. One thing is sure: each style adversely affects the other. The walking quarter-note motion of the ostinato bass, although a plausible accompaniment to an Adagio, compromises the identity of the Sarabande, premised on a measure of three pulses that shuns rhythmic subdivision. The Sarabande, in turn, prevents the Ital- ian voice from appearing to improvise since the melodic ornamentation is confined within a rigid metrical frame. The Sarabande itself cannot be heard, because the tempo needed in mm. 4 and 8 to allow the Adagio voice to sound like an expressive flourish is too slow to dance even a grandiloquent Sarabande grave. Finally, Bach eclipses even the French- Italian antinomy starting in m. 21 when the final phrase expands to six

18 A more striking musical example occurs in the chaconne marked "Rondement" that occurs near the end of the work. The clever reference to Italy, behaving like a breach of etiquette, occurs in mm. 18-23 when the dots over the bass line cancel the French in- equality of the conjunct eighth notes and invoke ajarring generic reference to the Corel- lian Andante with its characteristic walking bass.

'9 See Georgia Cowart, The Origins of Modern Musical Criticism (Ann Arbor, 1981), p. 130, which discusses this Fux example. Cowart believes that, since the French voice and the bass would assimilate their dotted figures to ternary rhythms, the differences between the styles are less real than notational. But it is precisely in this genre of the French entree-a neighbor to the overture-that "overdotting" rather than "underdotting" would apply. Only this way can one make sense of the flourishes in small note values in mm. 2, 4, and elsewhere. Accordingly, the differences between the two musical kinds and their corresponding styles of performance would clearly have been heard. A similar device-this time between dance genres rather than between national styles-underlies Marin Marais's "Allemande pour le sujet et Gigue pour la basse" in the fourth book of his Pieces de violes (1717). Here, rhythmic assimilation would likewise spoil the conceit.

or less a French Allemande, while the absence of a binary organization stands for a concession to Italy.'8 No matter how sincerely Couperin intended the union of the two "tastes," one is not intended to mistake one for the other.

Consider next Fux's trio from his Concentus musico-instrumentalis (1701). (See Example 3.) Here the genres of the Italian giga and the French entree coincide but hardly interact: each voice proceeds as if ob- livious to the presence of the other.'9 Either could be played alone with the bass or together. The piece in fact depends on a clear delineation of identities: otherwise, the combination, designed as a clever trick, would fail. What is truly synthetic about this stylistic addition is that the original genres remain palpably intact.

Returning now to the center movement of the gamba sonata, the contrast between these hybrids and Bach's own could not be more striking. For the identities of French Sarabande and Italian solo Adagio do not inhabit the surface of the work; on the contrary, they hibernate in a structure guaranteed to cover them up. In one sense, Bach's reconciliation of French and Italian styles tends to cancel their individual identities. One could even argue that Bach has articulated the signs of style

68 and genre as to be inaudible. One thing is sure: each style adversely affects the other. The walking quarter-note motion of the ostinato bass, although a plausible accompaniment to an Adagio, compromises the identity of the Sarabande, premised on a measure of three pulses that shuns rhythmic subdivision. The Sarabande, in turn, prevents the Ital- ian voice from appearing to improvise since the melodic ornamentation is confined within a rigid metrical frame. The Sarabande itself cannot be heard, because the tempo needed in mm. 4 and 8 to allow the Adagio voice to sound like an expressive flourish is too slow to dance even a grandiloquent Sarabande grave. Finally, Bach eclipses even the French- Italian antinomy starting in m. 21 when the final phrase expands to six

18 A more striking musical example occurs in the chaconne marked "Rondement" that occurs near the end of the work. The clever reference to Italy, behaving like a breach of etiquette, occurs in mm. 18-23 when the dots over the bass line cancel the French in- equality of the conjunct eighth notes and invoke ajarring generic reference to the Corel- lian Andante with its characteristic walking bass.

'9 See Georgia Cowart, The Origins of Modern Musical Criticism (Ann Arbor, 1981), p. 130, which discusses this Fux example. Cowart believes that, since the French voice and the bass would assimilate their dotted figures to ternary rhythms, the differences between the styles are less real than notational. But it is precisely in this genre of the French entree-a neighbor to the overture-that "overdotting" rather than "underdotting" would apply. Only this way can one make sense of the flourishes in small note values in mm. 2, 4, and elsewhere. Accordingly, the differences between the two musical kinds and their corresponding styles of performance would clearly have been heard. A similar device-this time between dance genres rather than between national styles-underlies Marin Marais's "Allemande pour le sujet et Gigue pour la basse" in the fourth book of his Pieces de violes (1717). Here, rhythmic assimilation would likewise spoil the conceit.




EXAMPLE 3. J.J. Fux, Trio from Concentus musico-instrumentalis (1701)

Aria Italiana.

r r - - -

Aire fransoise. t

u-- > J r prM ^r r rr

Wr---- ....it .-.. i\ ..

i ~r


EXAMPLE 3. J.J. Fux, Trio from Concentus musico-instrumentalis (1701)

Aria Italiana.

r r - - -

Aire fransoise. t

u-- > J r prM ^r r rr

Wr---- ....it .-.. i\ ..

i ~r

| - r F T "

r ";;

2

F'

f:^ r I r f \ r -f r J I

i^tr r^ i ^ t o _.. Lr. ^r p

^ r rTT^ r pftr* ^r--t

|Sr r ' r f Pr r 6 6 5

|b Frr f-[ ' r J -'' :

'Y r rr- J r i :11 6 6 5 4 4 3

| - r F T "

r ";;

2

F'

f:^ r I r f \ r -f r J I

i^tr r^ i ^ t o _.. Lr. ^r p

^ r rTT^ r pftr* ^r--t

|Sr r ' r f Pr r 6 6 5

|b Frr f-[ ' r J -'' :

'Y r rr- J r i :11 6 6 5 4 4 3

69 69




bars and all three voices begin to converse with imitative entries, overlay- ing yet another code-that of the severe style-onto the already bur-

geoning artifice. The confluence of these processes converges chiefly in the realm of

affect. For Sarabandes and Adagios are far from value-free items in a

stylistic storehouse. Indeed, they are both charged with meaning: The formal gravity of the Sarabande, to paraphrase eighteenth-century authors, expresses ambition, grandeur and dignity, while the improvised Italian style evokes the passions of fantasy, spontaneity and astonish- ment. Bach has therefore voided these affective referents at the moment when they coincide simultaneously. Perhaps this explains the oth-

erworldly speculation and petrified improvisation that characterize this movement: as soon as the dancers are concealed, the Sarabande, shorn of its courtly pomposity, leaves only a residue of grandeur. And once the

flamboyant Italian virtuoso is viewed apart from his excited listeners, the Adagio emits only a weak echo of spontaneity. The movement de-

pends on what might be called a negative geography, a locus on an in- scrutable map defined by its distance from familiar points.

70 Interpretations of the third movement also display an emblematic contrast. Spitta, invoking our first trope, remarks that the movement "achieves the most extraordinary procreation of new

thoughts in and out of the given materials." So prodigiously does this movement display Bach's "absolute reign" over "the motivic art" that it

again recalls Beethoven:

Thus a flower shoots forth from the stem of the theme in a manner remarkable not only for its time: even in the Beethovenian epoch, which-due to the changed instrumental style-devoted itself more to motivic than to thematic work, one will scarcely be able to demon- strate anything more full in spirit or rich in invention.20

This counts as hyperbole even for Philipp Spitta. Yet he is right to

point out the special variety of thematic subjects-"a cornucopia of beautiful melodies," as he calls it-and to note the skillful manner in which disparate elements are brought into intimate connection with one another. Of particular note is the stark contrast between the fugal beginning in three parts and the contrasting section at m. 19, which Bach marks "cantabile." (See Examples 4 and 5.) Writers as early on as Wilhelm Fischer (1915) detected in the ornamentation and accompaniment an unmistakable sign of modernity,21 although the passage must

20 Spitta, p. 728.

21 Wilhelm Fischer, "Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Wiener klassischen Stils," Studien zurMusikwissenschaft III (1915), 48. Note how Fischer terms the cantabile subject the "second theme."

bars and all three voices begin to converse with imitative entries, overlay- ing yet another code-that of the severe style-onto the already bur-

geoning artifice. The confluence of these processes converges chiefly in the realm of

affect. For Sarabandes and Adagios are far from value-free items in a

stylistic storehouse. Indeed, they are both charged with meaning: The formal gravity of the Sarabande, to paraphrase eighteenth-century authors, expresses ambition, grandeur and dignity, while the improvised Italian style evokes the passions of fantasy, spontaneity and astonish- ment. Bach has therefore voided these affective referents at the moment when they coincide simultaneously. Perhaps this explains the oth-

erworldly speculation and petrified improvisation that characterize this movement: as soon as the dancers are concealed, the Sarabande, shorn of its courtly pomposity, leaves only a residue of grandeur. And once the

flamboyant Italian virtuoso is viewed apart from his excited listeners, the Adagio emits only a weak echo of spontaneity. The movement de-

pends on what might be called a negative geography, a locus on an in- scrutable map defined by its distance from familiar points.

70 Interpretations of the third movement also display an emblematic contrast. Spitta, invoking our first trope, remarks that the movement "achieves the most extraordinary procreation of new

thoughts in and out of the given materials." So prodigiously does this movement display Bach's "absolute reign" over "the motivic art" that it

again recalls Beethoven:

Thus a flower shoots forth from the stem of the theme in a manner remarkable not only for its time: even in the Beethovenian epoch, which-due to the changed instrumental style-devoted itself more to motivic than to thematic work, one will scarcely be able to demon- strate anything more full in spirit or rich in invention.20

This counts as hyperbole even for Philipp Spitta. Yet he is right to

point out the special variety of thematic subjects-"a cornucopia of beautiful melodies," as he calls it-and to note the skillful manner in which disparate elements are brought into intimate connection with one another. Of particular note is the stark contrast between the fugal beginning in three parts and the contrasting section at m. 19, which Bach marks "cantabile." (See Examples 4 and 5.) Writers as early on as Wilhelm Fischer (1915) detected in the ornamentation and accompaniment an unmistakable sign of modernity,21 although the passage must

20 Spitta, p. 728.

21 Wilhelm Fischer, "Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Wiener klassischen Stils," Studien zurMusikwissenschaft III (1915), 48. Note how Fischer terms the cantabile subject the "second theme."




EXAMPLE 4. BWV 1029/3, mm. 1-6


EXAMPLE 4. BWV 1029/3, mm. 1-6

3. Allegro

tE r i ' g I 1 _ - J J

f L Go -f'~ J I ' - '<) K. I I F r -8

f- J

3. Allegro

tE r i ' g I 1 _ - J J

f L Go -f'~ J I ' - '<) K. I I F r -8

f- J

71 71

equally be heard as a reference to a striking solo episode in the third movement of Vivaldi's Concerto, op. 3, no. 8, marked cantabile solo eforte.

How do our contemporaries deal with this movement? The empha- sis once again moves away from critique to genetic reduction. Williams, for example, defends a reconstruction of the movement in the manner of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 6.22 But while it is true that Bach's concerto movements based on fugal organization do not exhibit the pal- pable concertato writing found in pieces crafted on the ritornello principle, they inevitably display one structural feature that identifies them as concerto movements: initial sections are delimited by tonal closure. Un- like fugues in the typical Allegro of a trio sonata, the closing fugal move-

22 Siegele (p. loo) refrains from a full-fledged reconstruction but sees "sufficient signs

to indicate ... an arrangement of a concerto movement," while Eppstein (p. 113) expresses reservations that the fugal material suggests any missing ripieno voices. Williams guesses that they were there anyway: if the first movement "began life" as a concerto, then the third movement must have as well.

equally be heard as a reference to a striking solo episode in the third movement of Vivaldi's Concerto, op. 3, no. 8, marked cantabile solo eforte.

How do our contemporaries deal with this movement? The empha- sis once again moves away from critique to genetic reduction. Williams, for example, defends a reconstruction of the movement in the manner of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 6.22 But while it is true that Bach's concerto movements based on fugal organization do not exhibit the pal- pable concertato writing found in pieces crafted on the ritornello principle, they inevitably display one structural feature that identifies them as concerto movements: initial sections are delimited by tonal closure. Un- like fugues in the typical Allegro of a trio sonata, the closing fugal move-

22 Siegele (p. loo) refrains from a full-fledged reconstruction but sees "sufficient signs

to indicate ... an arrangement of a concerto movement," while Eppstein (p. 113) expresses reservations that the fugal material suggests any missing ripieno voices. Williams guesses that they were there anyway: if the first movement "began life" as a concerto, then the third movement must have as well.

4 ,?, ,le6

W

4 ,?, ,le6

W




EXAMPLE 5. BWV 1029/3, mm. 18-23

cantabile

9: I v _w _! !b

' rn 'rI

72 JTL m

ments in the Brandenburg Concertos (Nos. 2, 4 and 5) all present a

highly visible cadential caesura in the tonic.23 To be sure, there is a certain resemblance between the cantabile

theme in the gamba sonata and a theme with the same marking in the last movement of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, which like the latter evokes a prominent reference to Vivaldi. (See Example 5.) But appear- ances can deceive. For thematic similarity must bejudged by the context in which these subjects occur. Here the difference between the gamba sonata and the Brandenburg Concerto could not be more striking. In

23 Other fugal concerto movements do likewise. See, for example, BWV 1061/3, BWV 1064/3 and BWV 1041/3. (Last movements organized as gigues in binary form, such as that in the Brandenburg No. 3, are exempt from this necessity, although a conventional ritornello rather than a fugal device underlies that movement.) The tonally closed fugal exposition also structures smaller-scale works that are trying to evoke the notion of concerto. See, for example, the prelude to the English suite in e minor (BWV 810/1) or the lengthy fugue in the solo violin sonata in C major (BWV 1005/1). See also Carl Dahlhaus, "Bachs konzertante Fugen," Bach-Jahrbuch (1955), 45-72.


EXAMPLE 5. BWV 1029/3, mm. 18-23

cantabile

9: I v _w _! !b

' rn 'rI

72 JTL m

ments in the Brandenburg Concertos (Nos. 2, 4 and 5) all present a

highly visible cadential caesura in the tonic.23 To be sure, there is a certain resemblance between the cantabile

theme in the gamba sonata and a theme with the same marking in the last movement of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, which like the latter evokes a prominent reference to Vivaldi. (See Example 5.) But appear- ances can deceive. For thematic similarity must bejudged by the context in which these subjects occur. Here the difference between the gamba sonata and the Brandenburg Concerto could not be more striking. In

23 Other fugal concerto movements do likewise. See, for example, BWV 1061/3, BWV 1064/3 and BWV 1041/3. (Last movements organized as gigues in binary form, such as that in the Brandenburg No. 3, are exempt from this necessity, although a conventional ritornello rather than a fugal device underlies that movement.) The tonally closed fugal exposition also structures smaller-scale works that are trying to evoke the notion of concerto. See, for example, the prelude to the English suite in e minor (BWV 810/1) or the lengthy fugue in the solo violin sonata in C major (BWV 1005/1). See also Carl Dahlhaus, "Bachs konzertante Fugen," Bach-Jahrbuch (1955), 45-72.




the concerto, the cantabile theme is positioned directly after the tonic cadence at m. 78. Having moved directly into the relative minor, the new theme is audibly derived from the fugue subject, even to the extent of maintaining the pitch and rhythmic content of the subject. It is therefore intended to be heard as a derivative theme within a harmonically unstable "solo episode." Formally, this resembles a typical rhetorical process in solo concertos, in which the soloist decorates a given "invention" by taking it in a new direction.24 The gamba sonata, on the contrary, has not closed a fugal exposition in the tonic before it introduces the cantabile theme. Not only does this lyrical subject in the relative major contrast sharply with the pitch content of the fugue subject, but its rhythmic profile is distinctly different. On the one hand, the fugal material takes Vivaldian repeated-note figures and superimposes over them the rhythmic values wavering between the sprightly 6/8 of the gigue and the displaced agogics of the courante, presenting a fractured yet vivid set of referents. The cantabile section also has a unique identity. With its placid arpeggiated figures, static harmonic motion, and modish ports de voix, the second theme manages to allude to a soloistic but more old- fashioned Vivaldian gesture via the style galant.25

Yet Bach dissents from the galant sensibility as soon as he refuses to 73

keep distinct the very identities which he has named. For, by m. 44, the cantabile subject loses its easy lyricism as soon as the harmonic motion beneath it accelerates and when more somber forces-in the form of the diminished seventh-are unleashed (m. 48). Thereafter, it becomes difficult to hear whether material stems from one complex of themes or the other. Especially in the absence of tonally stable sections, the rapid succession, juxtaposition and modulation of once distinct elements poison the elegant contrast on which the piece was founded. In other words, the piece denies the galant element of divertissement, according to which the listener leisurely samples a variety of culinary pleasures. On the contrary, to transform one affect into its opposite gives us some idea of Bach's approximate attitude toward the galant, an attitude which prevents the dainty, lyrical, and charming affects from existing apart from darker, more serious forces with which they must contend.

24 The ramifications of this procedure for the large-scale structure of the concerto are, nonetheless, minimal. Since the point is often to alter a harmonically structured entity into a less structured one, creating the resemblance requires little skill. This explains why, more often, the solo "theme" will differ radically from material in the ritornello. The key to the solo sections is the absence of the harmonically signifying ritornello segments, and not the mere preservation of motivic identities.

25 This stylistic refurbishing also suggests that Bach did not compose the piece in Cothen (1717 -1723) at the time of the Brandenburg Concertos but in Leipzig in the late 173os. See Christoph Wolff's, "Bach's Leipzig Chamber Music," Early Music 13 (1985), 165-75 as well as the Afterword to my edition of Bach's sonatas for viola da gamba and obbligato harpsichord, BWV 1027-1029, (Leipzig, 1986).

the concerto, the cantabile theme is positioned directly after the tonic cadence at m. 78. Having moved directly into the relative minor, the new theme is audibly derived from the fugue subject, even to the extent of maintaining the pitch and rhythmic content of the subject. It is therefore intended to be heard as a derivative theme within a harmonically unstable "solo episode." Formally, this resembles a typical rhetorical process in solo concertos, in which the soloist decorates a given "invention" by taking it in a new direction.24 The gamba sonata, on the contrary, has not closed a fugal exposition in the tonic before it introduces the cantabile theme. Not only does this lyrical subject in the relative major contrast sharply with the pitch content of the fugue subject, but its rhythmic profile is distinctly different. On the one hand, the fugal material takes Vivaldian repeated-note figures and superimposes over them the rhythmic values wavering between the sprightly 6/8 of the gigue and the displaced agogics of the courante, presenting a fractured yet vivid set of referents. The cantabile section also has a unique identity. With its placid arpeggiated figures, static harmonic motion, and modish ports de voix, the second theme manages to allude to a soloistic but more old- fashioned Vivaldian gesture via the style galant.25

Yet Bach dissents from the galant sensibility as soon as he refuses to 73

keep distinct the very identities which he has named. For, by m. 44, the cantabile subject loses its easy lyricism as soon as the harmonic motion beneath it accelerates and when more somber forces-in the form of the diminished seventh-are unleashed (m. 48). Thereafter, it becomes difficult to hear whether material stems from one complex of themes or the other. Especially in the absence of tonally stable sections, the rapid succession, juxtaposition and modulation of once distinct elements poison the elegant contrast on which the piece was founded. In other words, the piece denies the galant element of divertissement, according to which the listener leisurely samples a variety of culinary pleasures. On the contrary, to transform one affect into its opposite gives us some idea of Bach's approximate attitude toward the galant, an attitude which prevents the dainty, lyrical, and charming affects from existing apart from darker, more serious forces with which they must contend.

24 The ramifications of this procedure for the large-scale structure of the concerto are, nonetheless, minimal. Since the point is often to alter a harmonically structured entity into a less structured one, creating the resemblance requires little skill. This explains why, more often, the solo "theme" will differ radically from material in the ritornello. The key to the solo sections is the absence of the harmonically signifying ritornello segments, and not the mere preservation of motivic identities.

25 This stylistic refurbishing also suggests that Bach did not compose the piece in Cothen (1717 -1723) at the time of the Brandenburg Concertos but in Leipzig in the late 173os. See Christoph Wolff's, "Bach's Leipzig Chamber Music," Early Music 13 (1985), 165-75 as well as the Afterword to my edition of Bach's sonatas for viola da gamba and obbligato harpsichord, BWV 1027-1029, (Leipzig, 1986).




Nowhere is this reversal of identities more pronounced than at mm. 90-95. (See Example 6.) Notice here how the moment of return to the tonic (in the second half of m. 93) is delayed and hence does not coincide with the return of the fugal subject. As a result, the urgent move to the cadence (in fact, a vintage concerto Epilog) in mm. 90-93, "sung" by the former "galant" subject, overlaps the reprise in a manner suggesting, but not comprising, a fugal stretto. But the elision between cadence and

fugal beginning further crushes any hope that the movement duplicates features of the concerto. For the very code at which Vivaldi excelled-

astonishing both Bach and his contemporaries-was the sharp and ar- ticulate definition of beginnings. If he had wanted to refer unambigu- ously to concerto, even in a movement based on the concertante fugue, Bach would have highlighted-and not intentionally obscured-the return of the opening material.26 That is, the most elemental function of the concerto is subverted just when its intelligibility seemed most prom- ising. This is not to say that Bach did not outfit himself with the neces-

sary materials for a concerto movement; only that he decided not to write one.27

74 To say that the g-minor gamba sonata resists tasteful imitation means not only that its process is unique to its own material but also that its generic identity obscures a sequence of "clear and distinct" ideas. To be sure, the piece discloses a great deal about the genre called the Sonate auf Concertenart-or better, Bach's understanding of it. Yet there is precious little that instructs the avid Liebhaber in a genre of musical composition: the sonata lacks concrete musical events to be copied for edification and profit. It may serve, then, as an example but not as an exemplar. The entire work, it seems, rejects precisely that concept of clarity which came to predominate musical thinking about progress and good taste. Mattheson echoes this sentiment when he writes that:

One must have a secure, clear and pure concept of each main style, according to the cited principles, maintain good order therein, not

improperly mix impression and expression with one another nor

place his troops under a foreign banner.28

26 It is easy to imagine such an alternative, if only Bach had delayed the fugal subject until m. 94. (The last three bass notes in m. 93 would simply outline the tonic triad leading to a g on the first beat of m. 94.)

27 The end of the last movement reveals enough material suitable for the grammatical invention of a fugal-ritornello movement. The introduction of the subjects (functionally equivalent to a Vordersatz) could proceed as in mm. 1-6; mm. 95-98 would comprise the Fortspinnung with its characteristic linear succession of tenths; and mm. 104-109 (or through to m. 1 1) would comprise the Epilog. But then one would have a piece quite different than the one Bach composed. None of this requires much alchemy: one can easily construct similar ideal ritornellos from any number of arias or choral movements in which the concerto principle remains latent.

28 Mattheson, p. 93, Harriss, p. 225.

Nowhere is this reversal of identities more pronounced than at mm. 90-95. (See Example 6.) Notice here how the moment of return to the tonic (in the second half of m. 93) is delayed and hence does not coincide with the return of the fugal subject. As a result, the urgent move to the cadence (in fact, a vintage concerto Epilog) in mm. 90-93, "sung" by the former "galant" subject, overlaps the reprise in a manner suggesting, but not comprising, a fugal stretto. But the elision between cadence and

fugal beginning further crushes any hope that the movement duplicates features of the concerto. For the very code at which Vivaldi excelled-

astonishing both Bach and his contemporaries-was the sharp and ar- ticulate definition of beginnings. If he had wanted to refer unambigu- ously to concerto, even in a movement based on the concertante fugue, Bach would have highlighted-and not intentionally obscured-the return of the opening material.26 That is, the most elemental function of the concerto is subverted just when its intelligibility seemed most prom- ising. This is not to say that Bach did not outfit himself with the neces-

sary materials for a concerto movement; only that he decided not to write one.27

74 To say that the g-minor gamba sonata resists tasteful imitation means not only that its process is unique to its own material but also that its generic identity obscures a sequence of "clear and distinct" ideas. To be sure, the piece discloses a great deal about the genre called the Sonate auf Concertenart-or better, Bach's understanding of it. Yet there is precious little that instructs the avid Liebhaber in a genre of musical composition: the sonata lacks concrete musical events to be copied for edification and profit. It may serve, then, as an example but not as an exemplar. The entire work, it seems, rejects precisely that concept of clarity which came to predominate musical thinking about progress and good taste. Mattheson echoes this sentiment when he writes that:

One must have a secure, clear and pure concept of each main style, according to the cited principles, maintain good order therein, not

improperly mix impression and expression with one another nor

place his troops under a foreign banner.28

26 It is easy to imagine such an alternative, if only Bach had delayed the fugal subject until m. 94. (The last three bass notes in m. 93 would simply outline the tonic triad leading to a g on the first beat of m. 94.)

27 The end of the last movement reveals enough material suitable for the grammatical invention of a fugal-ritornello movement. The introduction of the subjects (functionally equivalent to a Vordersatz) could proceed as in mm. 1-6; mm. 95-98 would comprise the Fortspinnung with its characteristic linear succession of tenths; and mm. 104-109 (or through to m. 1 1) would comprise the Epilog. But then one would have a piece quite different than the one Bach composed. None of this requires much alchemy: one can easily construct similar ideal ritornellos from any number of arias or choral movements in which the concerto principle remains latent.





EXAMPLE 6. BWV 1029/3, mm. 90-94

L.0 ? --If I ---- 1 1'- 11- 1--1 ~ 1

_93 i -i~ ?

\-; \ _ _

\^> > i X 79\1 FJ F- F I

1r rL 7

+^ n2- Lf r r WJ E z75

It is true, of course, that stylistic compounds, with their ostensible disregard for distinct categories, were found on the very same aesthetic agenda. Here one could as easily cite Couperin's gouts reiinis as Heini- chen's gliickliche Melange-even the Sonate auf Concertenart itself. But although it may not seem so at first glance, the contemporary demand for clarity functioned in tandem with an equally strong recommendation

favoring the so-called mixed style. This becomes evident when one considers a seeming contradiction in Scheibe's Compendium musices (ca. 1730). First, he connects clarity to stylistic purity in a statement common to most classicizing aesthetics:

With respect to the music itself one must take care, whether working in French, Italian or German style, not to mix one with the other, for the clarity of the styles must be observed as much as the expression of the object itself.29

29Scheibe, Compendium Musices, edited by Peter Benary in Die deutsche Kompositionslehre des 18.Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1960), p. 76. Later, in his discussion of the "disorderly and imbalanced style" in the CritischerMusikus (p. 135), Scheibe makes clear that the "inequal- ity" results when one "mixes the characters of the French, Italian and German ... pieces without thinking that each piece requires its own elaboration [Ausarbeitung]."


EXAMPLE 6. BWV 1029/3, mm. 90-94

L.0 ? --If I ---- 1 1'- 11- 1--1 ~ 1

_93 i -i~ ?

\-; \ _ _

\^> > i X 79\1 FJ F- F I

1r rL 7

+^ n2- Lf r r WJ E z75

It is true, of course, that stylistic compounds, with their ostensible disregard for distinct categories, were found on the very same aesthetic agenda. Here one could as easily cite Couperin's gouts reiinis as Heini- chen's gliickliche Melange-even the Sonate auf Concertenart itself. But although it may not seem so at first glance, the contemporary demand for clarity functioned in tandem with an equally strong recommendation

favoring the so-called mixed style. This becomes evident when one considers a seeming contradiction in Scheibe's Compendium musices (ca. 1730). First, he connects clarity to stylistic purity in a statement common to most classicizing aesthetics:

With respect to the music itself one must take care, whether working in French, Italian or German style, not to mix one with the other, for the clarity of the styles must be observed as much as the expression of the object itself.29

29Scheibe, Compendium Musices, edited by Peter Benary in Die deutsche Kompositionslehre des 18.Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1960), p. 76. Later, in his discussion of the "disorderly and imbalanced style" in the CritischerMusikus (p. 135), Scheibe makes clear that the "inequal- ity" results when one "mixes the characters of the French, Italian and German ... pieces without thinking that each piece requires its own elaboration [Ausarbeitung]."




Yet only a few pages later, Scheibe notes:

One might ask whether it would not be possible to combine the most beautiful [qualities] of these three nations and apply them in one single piece? I answer, following the example of several masters, that this indeed is possible. The Italian sets great store by the agreeableness and sensual elaboration of the melody (and consequently also to "taste"); the Frenchman loves a sprightly and piercing free spirit; the German is particular about good and thorough workmanship and harmony. Thus, whoever unites these three pieces with one another must produce a perfectly beautiful work.30

While Scheibe's two statements seem difficult to reconcile, they both are subordinated to a strict notion of clarity. For what Scheibe opposes is the obscurity of a "mixing-up" of styles [Vermischung] in the first case, while favoring their selective agreement [Vereinbarung] in the second. It was of course the fashionable or galant aesthetic that promoted a compositional attitude geared toward naturalness and clarity in all styles. With

regard to the national styles, this aesthetic self-consciously sought to choose and combine the best features of each. The union of the tastes

76 was never to be construed as a random pastiche of musical conventions but as a logical choice of superior items stemming from each national

style. Rather than talk in a polyglot, the new style was to enunciate a uni- versal, supra-national diction. Its benchmark was clarity. Moreover, the

composers who favored the mixed taste shared the view that styles were not only scientifically definable but also unchanging and real. This is

why the writers who conceptualize the mixture such as Heinichen, Mat- theson and Scheibe could think as synthetically as did composers such as Fux, Telemann, and Couperin.

The matter of combining the styles veered so dangerously toward the obscure that Mattheson himself-who had discordia concors engraved on the title page to the Capellmeister-conceded that:

I am a little worried, namely, that as time goes by only a few or even perhaps not a single one of these styles and their genres might remain unadulterated and with distinguishing characteristics. For there is already such a mishmash to be found in the styles of many self- instructed composers, as if everything were deteriorating into a form- less mass. And I believe one could find a number of them who, asked in which style this or the other piece were set, would be embarrassed for an answer.31

30 Scheibe, Compendium Musices, p. 78. Cowart's statement that "Scheibe differs from most other critics in forbidding a stylistic synthesis" (p. 135) is therefore in error and mars an otherwise excellent overview of the mixed style (pp. 128-39).


Yet only a few pages later, Scheibe notes:

One might ask whether it would not be possible to combine the most beautiful [qualities] of these three nations and apply them in one single piece? I answer, following the example of several masters, that this indeed is possible. The Italian sets great store by the agreeableness and sensual elaboration of the melody (and consequently also to "taste"); the Frenchman loves a sprightly and piercing free spirit; the German is particular about good and thorough workmanship and harmony. Thus, whoever unites these three pieces with one another must produce a perfectly beautiful work.30

While Scheibe's two statements seem difficult to reconcile, they both are subordinated to a strict notion of clarity. For what Scheibe opposes is the obscurity of a "mixing-up" of styles [Vermischung] in the first case, while favoring their selective agreement [Vereinbarung] in the second. It was of course the fashionable or galant aesthetic that promoted a compositional attitude geared toward naturalness and clarity in all styles. With

regard to the national styles, this aesthetic self-consciously sought to choose and combine the best features of each. The union of the tastes

76 was never to be construed as a random pastiche of musical conventions but as a logical choice of superior items stemming from each national

style. Rather than talk in a polyglot, the new style was to enunciate a uni- versal, supra-national diction. Its benchmark was clarity. Moreover, the

composers who favored the mixed taste shared the view that styles were not only scientifically definable but also unchanging and real. This is

why the writers who conceptualize the mixture such as Heinichen, Mat- theson and Scheibe could think as synthetically as did composers such as Fux, Telemann, and Couperin.

The matter of combining the styles veered so dangerously toward the obscure that Mattheson himself-who had discordia concors engraved on the title page to the Capellmeister-conceded that:

I am a little worried, namely, that as time goes by only a few or even perhaps not a single one of these styles and their genres might remain unadulterated and with distinguishing characteristics. For there is already such a mishmash to be found in the styles of many self- instructed composers, as if everything were deteriorating into a form- less mass. And I believe one could find a number of them who, asked in which style this or the other piece were set, would be embarrassed for an answer.31

30 Scheibe, Compendium Musices, p. 78. Cowart's statement that "Scheibe differs from most other critics in forbidding a stylistic synthesis" (p. 135) is therefore in error and mars an otherwise excellent overview of the mixed style (pp. 128-39).





Mattheson therefore attaches a great discomfort to pieces that the critic cannot easily categorize. Confounding the stylistic categories until

they become unrecognizable threatens the very progress of music itself. This is why Bach's notions of style and genre-especially those exem-

plified in the gamba sonata-seem so willfully opposed to the basis on which the new musical aesthetic was erected. Of his contemporaries, only Bach seems to have resisted the efforts of the early German En-

lightenment to isolate, catalogue, even proscribe the various Schreibar- ten. This is why, moreover, one cannot construe Bach's compositional method as yet another realization of the "reunited tastes." Instead, he seems to have interpreted the given categories of composition without

treating them as natural objects possessing certain fixed properties amenable to empirical description and rational ordering. For him, this scientific premise may have constituted not so much progress as pedantry.32

Returning, finally, to the two tropes of Bach interpretation, it seems

preferable neither to choose between them nor to reject them. Rather, we might best explore the merits of each. The message of "Bach the timeless creator"-as in the first trope-may have outlived its useful- ness, but as a method capturing intuition by an honest use of metaphor, it still has much to recommend it. Hearing a Bach work as Beethovenian 77 meditation at least inspires thought; seeing only "a typical middle movement" aborts it. On the other hand, as the second trope rightly recog- nizes, Bach seen as Beethoven masks the properly historical question: how and why, in early eighteenth-century Leipzig, did Bach compose music this way? To provide a historical answer undoubtedly entails a

thorough examination of sources and origins. However, the search itself can never amount to a historical judgment. Indeed, as seen in the case of BWV 1029, the search for an antecedent concerto tends to va- cate, rather than approach, the work at hand. This is one reason that the

32 To what can one attribute Bach's rejection of the most advanced thought of his day? In this connection, it is useful to consider a central distinction between traditional theology and the German Enlightenment with regard to the notion of understanding. In the more traditional mode, understanding is directed toward interpreting scripture, as when one writes a sermon. Its model is therefore hermeneutic and stresses the "subtilitas appli- candi" (as the Pietist J. J. Rambach put it in 1723)-that is, the talent to apply the text to the present situation of the interpreter. See Hans-Georg Gadamer, Wahrheit undMethode (Tiibingen, 1960), trans. as Truth and Method (New York, 1975), pp. 274-75. In the epis- temology of the early German Enlightenment, on the other hand, understanding means classifying and describing an object: its model is therefore scientific. The interpreter therefore devises a method that separates "intellection" from "explanation" and suspects "application" as prejudicial to truth. The gamba sonata seems to attest to a view of genre and style in which one cannot discern Bach's initial view apart from his interpretation of them. The act of understanding already constitutes an interpretation. Indeed, for Bach, the practice of musical composition seems much more akin to a sermon, a mode of understanding that results in something new by attempting to explain the old.

Mattheson therefore attaches a great discomfort to pieces that the critic cannot easily categorize. Confounding the stylistic categories until

they become unrecognizable threatens the very progress of music itself. This is why Bach's notions of style and genre-especially those exem-

plified in the gamba sonata-seem so willfully opposed to the basis on which the new musical aesthetic was erected. Of his contemporaries, only Bach seems to have resisted the efforts of the early German En-

lightenment to isolate, catalogue, even proscribe the various Schreibar- ten. This is why, moreover, one cannot construe Bach's compositional method as yet another realization of the "reunited tastes." Instead, he seems to have interpreted the given categories of composition without

treating them as natural objects possessing certain fixed properties amenable to empirical description and rational ordering. For him, this scientific premise may have constituted not so much progress as pedantry.32

Returning, finally, to the two tropes of Bach interpretation, it seems

preferable neither to choose between them nor to reject them. Rather, we might best explore the merits of each. The message of "Bach the timeless creator"-as in the first trope-may have outlived its useful- ness, but as a method capturing intuition by an honest use of metaphor, it still has much to recommend it. Hearing a Bach work as Beethovenian 77 meditation at least inspires thought; seeing only "a typical middle movement" aborts it. On the other hand, as the second trope rightly recog- nizes, Bach seen as Beethoven masks the properly historical question: how and why, in early eighteenth-century Leipzig, did Bach compose music this way? To provide a historical answer undoubtedly entails a

thorough examination of sources and origins. However, the search itself can never amount to a historical judgment. Indeed, as seen in the case of BWV 1029, the search for an antecedent concerto tends to va- cate, rather than approach, the work at hand. This is one reason that the

32 To what can one attribute Bach's rejection of the most advanced thought of his day? In this connection, it is useful to consider a central distinction between traditional theology and the German Enlightenment with regard to the notion of understanding. In the more traditional mode, understanding is directed toward interpreting scripture, as when one writes a sermon. Its model is therefore hermeneutic and stresses the "subtilitas appli- candi" (as the Pietist J. J. Rambach put it in 1723)-that is, the talent to apply the text to the present situation of the interpreter. See Hans-Georg Gadamer, Wahrheit undMethode (Tiibingen, 1960), trans. as Truth and Method (New York, 1975), pp. 274-75. In the epis- temology of the early German Enlightenment, on the other hand, understanding means classifying and describing an object: its model is therefore scientific. The interpreter therefore devises a method that separates "intellection" from "explanation" and suspects "application" as prejudicial to truth. The gamba sonata seems to attest to a view of genre and style in which one cannot discern Bach's initial view apart from his interpretation of them. The act of understanding already constitutes an interpretation. Indeed, for Bach, the practice of musical composition seems much more akin to a sermon, a mode of understanding that results in something new by attempting to explain the old.




latest style studies have never really replaced Spitta. Far from substitut-

ing for his criticism of the music, most scholarly discourse steps gingerly around it, putting off the central historical project until some proverbial rainy day. It is hard to believe that this move proceeds from conviction; more likely it results from ironic detachment. Yet for all this, the aston-

ishing individuality of Bach's music commands as much interest as it ever did. If contemporary historiography is dissatisfied with Spitta's metaphors-as well it should be-then it had better devise new ones. The key to interpreting Bach, it seems, lies in confronting the meta-

phors that prefigure the questions we ask. Only then will we know if we are getting the answers we deserve.

Yale University

latest style studies have never really replaced Spitta. Far from substitut-

ing for his criticism of the music, most scholarly discourse steps gingerly around it, putting off the central historical project until some proverbial rainy day. It is hard to believe that this move proceeds from conviction; more likely it results from ironic detachment. Yet for all this, the aston-

ishing individuality of Bach's music commands as much interest as it ever did. If contemporary historiography is dissatisfied with Spitta's metaphors-as well it should be-then it had better devise new ones. The key to interpreting Bach, it seems, lies in confronting the meta-

phors that prefigure the questions we ask. Only then will we know if we are getting the answers we deserve.

Yale University

78 78



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