In 1703, at the age of eighteen, Johann Sebastian Bach was asked to try out the newly constructed Wender organ at the Neuekirche in Arnstadt—a small townnot far from his birthplace, Eisenach. He must have played impressively because soon afterwards he was offered the post of organist. Having finished his formal studies, he was now able to develop his own ideas freely, and to continue absorbing as much as possible from the works of others. Not content to do this only in isolation, he asked for time off in 1705 in order to travel to Lübeck to hear the great Buxtehude (c1637–1707) at the Marienkirche. The fact that he made this journey on foot (a ten-day journey in each direction) attests to his determination

and curiosity. It is possible that he was also interested in taking over from Buxtehude who, at 68 years of age, was looking for a successor. It seems that part of the deal, however, was to accept the hand of his thirty-year-old daughter—something which didn’t appeal to the young Johann Sebastian. After remaining in Lübeck for four months rather than the agreed four weeks, he returned to Arnstadt to face the ire of the town authorities. He was reprimanded for staying away so long, and criticized ‘for having hitherto made many curious variationes in the chorale, and mingled many strange tones in it, and for the fact that the Congregation has been confused by it’. Bach answered that his journey had been necessary ‘to

ANGELA HEWITT BACH ODYSSEY VIII

comprehend one and another thing about his art’ (eins und anderes seiner Kunst zu begreifen’), but the damage was done. The authorities also complained that he had allowed an ‘unfamiliar maiden to be invited into the choir loft and let her make music there’. This was no doubt his second cousin, Maria Barbara, whom he married in 1707.

Buxtehude was a master of the stylus fantasticus - a very unrestrained and free way of composing, using dramatic and etravagant rhetorical gestures. His compositions in this style, often called Praeludium, Praeambulum or Toccata, combined improvisatory passages (sometimes using recitative), with stricter, more imitative sections. This method of composition had its roots in the Italian toccatas and fantasies of the sixteenth century: those by Claudio Merulo (1533-1604), organist at St Mark’s in Venice, were especially innovative in their use of contrasting sections. In the seventeenth century both Frescobaldi and his student Froberger excelled in this art, the latter writing 25 toccatas for keyboard. It was almost as thought he warm-up that a harpsichordist would go through when sitting down at the instrument, tossing off scales and arpeggios and showing off with a bit of improvisation, gradually evolved into a composition. In 1650, the author, scientist and inventor Athanasius Kircher described the stylus fantasticus in his works, Musurgia Universalis:

The fantastic style is suitable for instruments. It is the most free and unrestrained method of composing; it is bound to nothing, neither to words nor to a melodic subject; it was instituted to display genius and to teach the hidden design of harmony and the ingenious composition of harmonic phrases and fugues.

The influence of the stylus fantasticus can be heard in the seven keyboard toccatas of Bach, which were possibly begun as early as 1705, and completed sometime before 1714. He himself did not group them together as a collection, and none have come down to us in manuscript. They exist only in copies made by family memebers and students, showing a large number of variants. Unlike his keyboard suites and preludes and fugues, there is no evidence that he used the toccatas as teaching material in later years; perhaps he considered them only as early experiements. That is how his first biographer, Johann Nicloaus Forkel, described them in 1802 (Jugendübungen). Each toccata, nevertheless, has its own character and design, and is an excellent performance vehicle, showing off the

great effect the player’s touch and vrilliance (the word toccata comes from the Italian verb toccare, meaning ‘to touch’). No doubt Bach used these pieces for his own display at a time when his reputation was growing rapidly. It is not clear for which instrument they were intended - organ or harpsichord. Either is possible, and the piano makes an excellent case for them as well.

Since it is impossible to know the chronological order of the toccatas, I have presented them here in an arbitrary sequence, making what I hope is a satisfying rectial.

The TOCCATA IN C MINOR, BWV911 opens with a flourish, and quickly establishes a no-nonsense mood that pervades the work. A motet-like adagio then appears, the end of which returns briefly to the improvisatory style of the beginning. The rest of the toccata is taken up by one of Bach’s longest but most arresting fugues. Its very extended subject, with the teasing repetition of the opening motive, is typical of his younger years. After already going on for four pages, he introduces, after a pause, a second subject that is a terrific accompaniment to the original one, adding rhythmic impulse and excitement. Not quite content to end there, Bach returns briefly to an adagio, only to let loose in the final line with a presto descent to a low C.

The TOCCATA IN G MAJOR, BWV916 is different from the others in that it is clearly in three movements. The opening allegro is somewhat concerto-like in its use of solo and ritornello passages. Scales, broken chords, and cascading solid chords are used to make a brilliant opener. The second movement is a lyrical adagio in E minor where a fair amount of embellishment seems to be called for. The Bärenreiter edition gives no fewer than three different versions - including one by Bach’s son Johann Christoph. The final fugue (marked ‘Allegro e presto’) is a gigue in the French style, using the characteristic dotted rhythm. Like many of Bach’s early fugues, this one has some passages that are awkward to play, yet it certainly doesn’t lack charm. At the end the texture unravels very quickly, leaving us surprised at the finish.

The TOCCATA IN F SHARP MINOR, BWV 910 is, I think, the least well-known of the seven. It’s written in an unusual key for Bach’s time, and contains two fugues, quite different in character. After the ‘warming up’ section of scales and descending figures (which would certainly not be out of place on the organ), we come to a noble adagio that is very chromatic, the subject of which

will reappear in the final fugue in a different guise. The rhythm is that of a sarabande. Bach’s embellishmnets seem only to be a start, and the performer can certainly add more here according to his taste. The first of the fugues is marked ‘Presto e staccato’ and its pointed subject no more than a descending scale with a short cadential trill attached. The semiquavers around it add brilliance. There is some rhythmic interest in a hemiola passage which suddenly sounds as though the time signature has switched from four to three beats in the bar. Following that, we have a rather startling section in which the same arpeggiando figure is stated 21 times in a strange series of harmonic progressions, a procedure we also find in the D minor toccata. This leads us to the final fugue in 6/8 time, where the chromatic theme of the adagio is livened up, but made to be no less expressive. Wanda Landowska writes of the toccatas as being ‘incoherent and disparate’ at first sight, mentioning this toccata as an example of that. The difficulty is in finding their shape. She goes on to say: “What strikes us above all is the unrelenting insistence with which Bach holds on to a motive, repeating it indefatigably on every step of the scale.’ That is certainly true, though the writing, as shown in this toccata, is nevertheless impassioned.

The TOCCATA IN E MINOR, BWV914 is another well-constructed and appealing work. The main curiosity here is the origin of the concluding fugue. Large parts of it seem to be borrowed directly from an anonymous composition discovered in an Naples manuscript. The subject, which certainly has elements of the Ialian violin style, is almost identical. The episodes, however, contain material by Bach that is more refined and complex than anything written by the mysterious Italian. Preceding it are three sections: a brief introduction in the lower register of the keyboard; a double fugue marked ‘Un poco Allegro’; and a cadenza-like adagio that is written over a descending bass line. The latter is marked ‘Praeludium’ in one copy made by a Bach student, which leads u to think that it was perhaps, along with the fugue, an independent composition before being recycled as part of the toccata.

The TOCCATA IN D MINOR, BWV 913 was possibly the first to be composed. It is one of the longest of the seven but, in a lively interpretation, holds out interest throughout. The counterpoint in its two fugues is slightly less complicated, making it easier for students to grasp. The other sections, however, require an exclelent sense of timing and understanding of harmonic progressions which need to be innate. There are quick changes

of mood and tempo in the opening pages, the bulk of which are occupied by a passage including the ‘sighing’ motif that was very prevalent at the time (and which we also hear in the early Capriccio on the Departure of his Beloved Brother, BWV992). Both fugues are built on fairly short subkects that stay rooted in D minor, rapidly moving from voice to voice. The concluding one is very orchestral in style, ending abruptly in the major key. In between fugues we have another of those curious bridge passages where Bach seems to wander (as much as he ever wanders!) from key to key, repeating the same figuration. In this case the wandering has the effect of calming us down, and preparing us for the final allegro.

The TOCCATA IN G MINOR, BWV915 has many distinctive features, including a cyclic feeling (the opening flourish returns at the end of the piece), and a concluding four-part fugue that ostinately remains in dotted rhythm throughout. In between we have ashort adagio, and a cheerful allegro in B flat major which is in total conrtast to the difficult, but very exciting fugue. Concerning the latter, only Bach could write so imaginatively on what seems at first like a very dull subject. With him, repetition of a motive only builds excitement and strength rather than causing us to lost attention. This is one fugue that, for me, is a perfect example of what the piano can bring to Bach. On the harpsichord it is relentless. On the piano one can lighten the second and fourth beats, giving the subject a welcome buoyancy which serves to enhance its power and character. The episodes can also be coloured differently, especially the one in E flat major which provides some welcome relief. The insisten character of the fugue is emphasized in a passage right before the end where part of the countersubject is presented in both hands simultaneously in parallel thirds.

The TOCCATA IN D MAJOR, BWV912 is no doubt the most popular today. The brilliant opening bars, reminiscent of the Prelude and Fugue, BWV532 for organ in the same key, already contain a tremolo figure that will reappear later on. Then comes an allegro that happily exchanges the motifs between treble and bass. After its final flourish, Bach introduces an adagio in recitative style - the melody being interrupted by the tremolo figure, now heard as a distant murmur rather than a brilliant rattle. An expressive bridge, using the ‘sigh’ motif, leads us into a fairly tranquil fugue in F sharp minor. Another transition, this time marked ‘con discrezione’, suddenly turns into a presto in which the excitement can hardly be contained. It then breaks loose into a

gigue fugue of tremendous energy and rhythm. Then Bach goes one step further and writes a truly virtuoso passage to finish with - or at least almost, as he returns to the improvised adagio style for the final cadence.

CHROMATIC FANTASIA AND FUGUE IN D MINOR

For sheer virtuosity and drama, the Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue is hard to match. Probably begun in Cöthen in 1720, but revised in Leipzig ten years later, it has always been one of Bach’s most popular keyboard works, even during his own lifetime. The opening flourishes begin a toccata-like improvisation in which Bach makes use of the entire keyboard (as it was then). The arpeggios that follow provide a point of rest, although certainly not from harmonic interest. The execution of these has always been a subject of debate. Mendelssohn wrote to his sister, Fanny, after a performance in 1840: ‘I take the liberty of playing the arpeggios with all possible crescendos, and pianos, and fortissimos, pedal of course, and doubling the octaves in the bass.’ These days a more simple approach is favoured! The ensuing recitative would have been more effective on Bach’s favourite keyboard instrument, the clavichord, since it calls for flexible dynamics and shading which, more than the harpsichord, it was able to provide. The Fantasia winds down in a beautiful five-bar coda, with diminished seventh chords descending over a pedal point in the bass. The three-part Fugue begins very quietly, but gradually gains momentum. The sixteenth-notes (semiquavers) drive it forward, full chords add emphasis, octaves reinforce the bass, and all ends triumphantly!

Programme notes, abridged: © Angela Hewitt for Hyperion Records