Johann Sebastian Bach: Toccatas for Harpsichord BWV 910 – 916

Description

The most famous portrait of Johann Sebastian Bach is the one he had made for his admission to the Mizler Society. It represents a man past his prime, with a rather stately figure. He offers the observer a half-smile, possibly alluding to the conundrums found in the simple sheet of music he holds in his hand. In spite of its deceivingly elementary appearance (a simple tune which a first-year music student could play), it is in fact the germinating principle of examples of utterly complex and transcendent canonic writing – i.e. one of the most refined forms of music composition, and one which requires careful and time-consuming planning.
True, it might be that Bach needed far less time than most other musicians in order to devise and/or to solve such enigmas as those of the canonic art. After all, it is reported that he could imagine all, or virtually all, the combinatory possibilities of a subject upon first hearing it. This skill can be likened, with all due provisos, to the ability of a master chess player, who can “view” and consider all possible results of the moves proposed by him/herself and their adversary.
This exceptional skill allowed Bach to practise an art which is considered as far beyond the scope of most, if not all, musicians of today, i.e. the capability of improvising in strict counterpoint. Thus, with him, the two seemingly opposing poles of music creativity suddenly became very close to each other: free improvisation and precisely regulated composition; creative liberty and observance of complex dictates; capricious arbitrariness and well-considered, polished writing.
Improvising is a very risky activity. Improvisers must master the performing technique to the point of being certain that their fingers will faithfully execute, without any previous practice, what their mind commands them. They must possess unfailing and sustained musical fantasy, and also a capability to plan what will later come while playing what is present now. To do this in counterpoint implies that a stream of creative consciousness must follow (or rather precede) each contrapuntal line, and, of course, that an overruling mind must coordinate them all, keeping them at their proper place and integrating them with each other. Improvising is not for the weak-hearted. It is a highly adventurous undertaking.
And, by observing the portrait of the aging Bach, one might be tempted to see in him a well poised elderly gentleman, with no particular fancies and a rather bourgeois outlook. Far from this. Bach’s youthful years were as full of adventures as those of a novel protagonist. He dueled, when circumstances required (or seemed to require) it. He admitted his future wife, Maria Barbara, up to the organ lobby in the church where he played the organ – in order to make music with her in a singer/organ duo (and was reprimanded for this). He thought nothing of importantly disobeying his employers, if he had to choose between the possibility of hearing the famous organist Dietrich Buxtehude, spending time with him, and that of keeping faith to the duties listed in his contract.
If, therefore, some late works by Bach bespeak an artist who had a craftmanship approach to musical art (extremely complex, and requiring more than careful planning), his youthful compositions reveal another side of his personality – one which seemed to enjoy risk, both in “real life” and in musical performances.
He was considered by his contemporaries as a masterful improviser: he could keep the audience’s attention for one hour of improvisation (which is an astonishing result), and probably he remains unequalled in this art. Traces of Bach’s improvisations can be found in some of his written works, and the Toccatas recorded here are among the finest examples.
Seven works in this “genre” (the reason for the inverted commas will be explained shortly) have survived. Although seven is certainly a time-honoured and noble number, Bach’s contemporaries preferred groupings by six or multiples: by Bach we may cite the six Sonatas and Partitas for unaccompanied violin, the six cello Suites, the six Brandenburg Concertos, the (twice) twenty-four Preludes and Fugues of the Well-Tempered Clavier, and so forth. As a matter of fact, the “seven Toccatas” were never labelled as such by Bach, nor did they circulate as a series. No autograph manuscript of this “set” (which was not intended as a set) survive; the texts on which modern editors base their versions are found in several collections whose reliability is the object of countless debates among musicologists. In the absence of a single, authoritative source, the “true” text has to be established time after time.
Even their dating is complex to establish, although all scholars are unanimous in establishing the Weimar period as the most likely, with high possibilities that at least part of this “collection” had been conceived, and also probably played, in the preceding years (Bach was in his early twenties at that time). What characterizes most this “set” is precisely the “genre” of the Toccata and the style it involves – i.e. the so-called stylus phantasticus. “Genre”, as said before, requires cautionary provisos. For instance, the genre and form of a Sonata Allegro or of a Fugue are highly codified, and a scholar trained in the Western classical tradition will not fail to identify the bridge of a Sonata Allegro or the divertimenti of a fugue. By way of contrast, the “genre” of the Toccata is mainly identified by what it is not, i.e. a “forme fixe”, a “fixed form”. Toccatas are made of contrasting episodes, alternating sections characterized by virtuosic passagework with others resembling a ricercare, i.e. a form of the stile antiquo with dense counterpoint.
The Stylus phantasticus may be likened (with a somewhat stretched metaphor, but one which may be illuminating) to a fantasy novel. Here, too, new worlds are created out of the writer’s fancy, and they have to maintain their consistency and coherence throughout the piece. The large room allowed for inventiveness is tempered by the presence of fully-fledged imitative passages. The undisputed master of this “genre” was that very same Buxtehude we encountered earlier in these liner notes. He had derived and learnt this form from some of his Italian colleagues – in particular Claudio Merulo, a late-Renaissance musician, and Girolamo Frescobaldi, who might be considered as the founder of the Italian Baroque organ. Bach was familiar with (he had a first-hand knowledge of) at least Frescobaldi and his works; and, typically for him, he had studied them carefully in his youth and kept returning to them with humility throughout his career.
The very word Toccata, as can be easily be guessed, comes from the Italian language, where it indicated a piece for a keyboard instrument (which is played by touching it) – also in opposition with Sonata, used for instrumental works for bowed string instruments, and with Cantata, which alluded to singing. By the time the harpsichord would begin its descending stage (corresponding to the ascent of the fortepiano), its playing technique was extremely developed. Great performers-cum-improvisers were asked to perform for aristocrats or rulers, and they had to display their improvisational skills. Prior to this, however, and before launching in a reckless chain of technical difficulties, most harpsichordists liked to test the instrument put at their disposal. Keyboards could be tricky, and their quality uneven. Thus, technical modules were played at different pitches, so as to make evident, through this comparison, the possible problems (but also the potential positive elements) of the instrument.
This all is found in Bach’s masterful, youthful Toccatas, which he (seemingly) did not employ as teaching materials for his students in his Leipzig years, nor (so it appears) did he attempt to fix a definitive form for these compositions. Bach’s Toccatas can be also played on the organ, and are actually often performed on Bach’s favourite instrument, although it seems clear that their original concept was for the harpsichord. None of them calls for organ pedalling.
In spite of this, there is a distinctive “organ” flavour in some chordal sections in the Toccatas in D minor, E minor, and G major.
The diverse episodes composing these pieces are normally connected to each other in a musical flow which admits points of rest but cannot be easily understood as a sequence of separate movements (such as those of a Suite, a Concerto, or a Sonata). However, the latter approach can be identified in the E-minor and G-major Toccatas. In particular, the G-major Toccata has a Concerto-like structure, in which ritornellos are clearly identifiable. Incidentally, the E-minor Toccata closes with a Fugue for which a possible model (or an epigone?) has been identified in a work by an anonymous Italian musician, in a manuscript in the holdings of the Conservatory of Naples.
A somewhat looser concept of ritornello can be observed in the G minor and C minor Toccatas, which limit themselves to a quote from their opening material in their conclusions.
The Fugues are conceived in a rather different fashion than those of Bach’s later works: indeed, throughout these youthful works it is possible to see Bach’s approach to the dynamics of tension/anticipation/expectation (and therefore satisfaction due to either fulfillment or surprise): an approach which delights in repetition and circularity, different from what will happen at a later stage of his career.
In spite of this, it is important to point out that these differences are by no means belittling; they simply constitute another style, another arrow in Bach’s quiver; one which was probably more appreciated in the first years of the eighteenth century than later, but one which represented an august tradition implanting the capricious, wondrous inspiration of Mediterranean musicians within the Northern culture of Froberger and Buxtehude – handed down to the young Bach in a memorable set of compositions.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2024

The selection of the harpsichord as the primary instrument for the seven toccatas is well-established, yet the possibility of employing the organ should not be dismissed lightly. During this period, Johann Sebastian Bach’s compositional approach for both instruments exhibited minimal divergences, particularly with regard to the absence of specific notational distinctions for pedal parts. A hallmark of organistic writing, i.e. the commencement of the composition with a ‘Passaggio’ of variable length in the Stylus Phantasticus, is evident in five of the seven toccatas (BWV 910, 911, 912, 913, 915). This technique, along with the structural division into contrasting sections, evokes the Praeludia from the organ repertoire from the North German tradition. The sometimes grandiose and eloquent nature of many passages suggests an affinity with the organo pleno sound found in later grand toccatas or fantasias and fugues that are distinctly organ-centric. Concurrently, numerous organ compositions feature extended episodes characterized by a lighter, violinistic texture where the pedal is either absent or employed sparingly.

One is compelled to consider the presence of a solo pedal passage at the outset of the Toccata in D minor BWV 913. Furthermore, within the fugues, particularly during sonorous entries of the subject in the bass, the inclusion of the Pedal employing a robust reed stop would indeed be advantageous. The palpable similarity between the Toccata in D major BWV 912 and the grand Prelude BWV 532 in the same key – through the use of scales, arpeggios at the opening, tremolos, and cadential suspensions on dominants – suggests that organists might well benefit from a more meticulous engagement with these compositions.
Beyond the organ, the influence of the Italian concerto style is unmistakably present, albeit not exclusively that of Antonio Vivaldi. This is manifest, for example, in the vigorous thematic interplay in the first allegro of the Toccata in D major BWV 912, or in the fluctuating density of texture in the first allegro of the Toccata in G minor BWV 915.
The extended fugue in the Toccata in C minor BWV 911, with its distinctly Vivaldian subject, echoes the alternating episodes assigned to the solo violins of the Concertino and the full string orchestra of the Tutti, a technique Bach appears to mimic in the two allegros of the Toccata in D minor BWV 913, often reducing the texture to just two parts.

The Toccata in G major BWV 916 is so unequivocally styled after the concerto form that, in a now-lost copy by Bach’s pupil Heinrich Nicolaus Gerber, it was labeled Concerto seu Toccata pour le clavecin. The tripartite structure further mirrors the canonical fast-slow-fast sequence of the Italian concerto form.

While the brisk sections can generally be categorized into either fugue-fugato or concerto style, the connecting episodes exhibit a broader diversity of musical scenarios. In the cases of BWV 910 in F-sharp minor and BWV 911 in C minor, for instance, the adagios themselves are rendered in an imitative style. Remarkably, the central section of BWV 915 in D major is structured tripartitely, encapsulating a two-subject fugue within two expansive recitative-style movements. Additionally, compositions featuring arpeggiated passages in lute style (the andante of BWV 910, the adagio of BWV 913 in D minor, introduced by a recitative) are noteworthy. In BWV 912 in G minor, the initial adagio takes the form of a solemn Sarabande, while the subsequent adagio, though maintaining the same 3/2 meter, adopts an ‘arioso quasi recitative’ texture.

Despite occasional verbosity or redundancy, each Toccata functions as an efficacious and captivating mechanism; a detailed examination of all seven exceeds the scope of this discourse, thus attention will be focused on two ‘major’ and one ‘minor’ compositions.
The Toccata in G minor BWV 915 commences with a ‘Passaggio’ that cascades from the high registers to the low, subsequently unfolding into a solemn Adagio in the manner of a Sarabande Grave, characterized by majesty and force. The atmosphere lightens with the ensuing Allegro, an Italian-style movement marked by agility and lightness. Initially, two voices alone present two themes in double counterpoint; shortly thereafter, this thematic material is reaffirmed with the full sonority of four voices, achieving a genuine Ritornello effect. This theme is reiterated multiple times to establish the keys reached through intermediate episodes, incorporating echo effects. This structure suggests that the section could be interpreted (and performed) as a movement within a Concerto Grosso. The final echo fades into a second Adagio, contemplative and mournful, which quickly evolves into a Recitative: a quiescence ensues, as if the energy that propelled numerous events had been expended. Yet, the energetic and rhythmic commencement of the Fugue reasserts reality: a Fugue in the style of a Gigue, a form cherished by Bach. Some have criticized the triple repetition of the ‘gruppetto-figure’ within the subject’s latter half; however, I contend that it significantly contributes to the fugue’s relentless, granitic character, evoking the image of a monolithic structure advancing inexorably to monumental proportions. Upon reaching its zenith, this structure disintegrates, collapsing back into the initial Passaggio, with Bach employing the opening chords of the first Adagio to conclude this Toccata with grandeur.

The Toccata in D major BWV 912 stands as the most formidable and varied within the collection. As previously mentioned, its introduction shares a conceptual likeness with the Prelude and Fugue BWV 532. However, the initial scale in the latter is confined to the pedal, inherently limiting its tempo, whereas the Toccata’s manualiter commencement allows for an exuberantly swift start1. The ensuing Allegro is a vivacious concertante movement, within which two thematic elements – one chordal and accented, the other brilliant and buoyant – engage in a dialogue full of wit, reminiscent of a musical ‘battle’ among various instrumental families in a Concert avec plusieurs instruments. Following a brief detour into D minor, the piece concludes in a majestically pompous and ceremoniously solemn manner. The second part begins with an improvisatory section, evoking the mood of a Biblische Sonate: mood, musical writing, and sonority shift almost with each measure. In its initial bars, a diminutive ‘pleading motif’ is silenced by a grand tremolo, potentially mimicking thunder or an earthquake. Subsequent measures feature a voice repeating a rigid, dotted figure akin to the declaration of a divine edict. The expression progressively broadens and becomes more emphatic, with passages that conjure the sonority of the organo pleno. This progression culminates in the Toccata’s core, a splendid two-subject fugue that could seamlessly integrate into a cantata or Passion; the juxtaposition of the first subject’s ascending motion against the second’s descending trajectory might serve to musically illustrate the soul’s endeavor to ascend, hindered by earthly vanities—a journey through a ‘dark forest.’ [as Dante would put it.] The following section, marked Con discretione, harks back to a term utilized by Froberger and Louis Couperin to denote Rubato, a stylistic norm within the Stylus Phantasticus. Here, its reiteration likely serves to contrast with the preceding fugue’s requisite regularity. The narrative resumes with dramatic twists, transitioning from full, resonant chords to cascading scales and arpeggios, finally ’emerging to see the stars’ [to quote Dante once more] in another gigue-style fugue. The subject, fundamental and nearly primal in its oscillation between two intervals of third, fractured into two sextuplet figures and repeated, propels a relentless mechanism that ventures into extraordinarily distant keys; from D major, it modulates to G-sharp minor. As observed in the first movement, Bach momentarily reduces tension with a few measures in D minor before unleashing a final, whirlwind coda that concludes the Toccata like a pyrotechnic display.

The Toccata in E minor BWV 9142 embarks on a journey from darkness to light. The introduction is restrained, almost unexpressive; the subsequent fugato on two subjects, though slightly more animated (marked un poco allegro, i.e., ‘with motion’), maintains an abstract demeanor. The mood shifts in the third movement, adagio3, reminiscent of another Biblische Sonate or a Representational Madrigal, with allusions to earthquakes (tremolo), ‘plummeting rocks’ (descending arpeggiated figures), and duels (final section). The closing fugue showcases brilliant Italianate violinistic writing, purportedly a reworking of a fugue by Benedetto Marcello. Yet, this piece (attributed to an unspecified ‘Marcello’) is found only in a manuscript housed in the Naples Conservatory library4, dating back to 1764, leaving room for speculation regarding the direction of influence.
Enrico Baiano © 2024

1 The term “Presto” is found only in some sources
2 A copy of this Toccata also exists in Heinrich Nicolaus Gerber’s collection, in which the third movement is named Praeludium. Some scholars have speculated that Bach initially composed this movement and the following fugue according to the customary prelude-fugue scheme, and only later added the two preceding movements to achieve a broader structure. The situation with the sources of the Toccatas is extremely complex: the autographs have not survived, and among the numerous copies, only Gerber’s comes from Bach’s close circle.
3 I have discussed this movement more extensively in the article “Bach and the Seconda Prattica” in “Bach e l’Italia. Scambi, sguardi, convergenze,” edited by Chiara Bertoglio and Maria Borghesi, Libreria Musicale Italiana, Lucca 2022.
4 MS Oc 2.4, formerly 49.a 2. 5. Suonate per organo di diversi celebri Autori. 1764.