Jesus, now be praised

Imagine you were attending the New Year's Day service at Leipzig's Thomaskirche in 1725...

And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

Jesu, nun sei gepreiset, BWV 41 by J.S. Bach 

But before faith came, we were kept under the law, shut up unto the faith which should afterwards be revealed.

Wherefore the law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith.

But after that faith is come, we are no longer under a schoolmaster.

For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.

For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ.

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.

Hallowed be their names...

Felix Mendelssohn has long been honoured for reviving the great name of Bach in the early Romantic era and it's not surprisingly to find him composing works of his own that are imbued with the spirit of that great Baroque master. 

Felix's Six Organ Sonatas, Op.65, for example, are clear homages to the six Organ Sonatas BWV 625-630 of Johann Sebastian. The Organ Sonata No.6 in D minor is a favourite of mine from the set and opens with a Lutheran chorale, Vater unser im Himmelreich. Though the text of the chorale is by Martin Luther (not that we hear it here, of course!) , it appears that the great reformer didn't write the melody himself, merely choosing instead to fit a pre-existing tune around his words:

Vater unser im Himmelreich,

Der du uns alle heissest gleich

Brüder sein, und dich rufen an

Und willt das Beten von uns han:

Gieb dass nicht bei allein der Mund,

Hilf dass es geh von Herzens Grund.

What Mendelssohn does in the first movement of his D minor Sonata is to write a set of chorale variations, just as J.S. used to do. Listen to how he first presents his theme - simply and in D minor. I'll come to some of Bach's harmonisations later, which will allow you to compare the two composers' takes. You will then hear hear just how "simply and in D minor" Mendelssohn harmonises the hymn here. Five variations follow, each presenting the chorale itself with little modification but varying its context. The gentle first variation sets it against flowing figuration and a bass-line notable for its unpredictably long pedal notes, all in a trio sonata manner in keeping with the tradition of Bach. The more forthright and lilting second variation has a highly mobile, very Bach-like bass-line which drives it on. The central variation (another 'trio sonata') has a gorgeous counter-melody. The fourth variations is flamboyant, with toccata-like flourishes swirling around the grandly-presented hymn, and the final variation brings the section to a brilliant conclusion. It is wonderful music. 

One of the most often made criticisms of Felix's music is that it is harmonically unadventurous - timid, conservative, a bit bland. When we come to some of the Bach harmonisations I suspect you might even be tempted to agree, given that some of those sound far more harmonically daring, surprising, shocking even than Mendelssohn's harmonies in this organ sonata. Still, listen to the way the not quite synchronized parts of the first variation create little harmonic surprises and please listen also to the artful and pervasive use of suspensions in the central variation. This may be conservative harmony but it's subtle and satisfying conservative harmony. 

The next section of Mendelssohn's Organ Sonata No.6 is a fugue. "How very Bachian of him!", you might say. Its theme is also derived from Vater unser im Himmelreich. What do you make of this fugue? Is it as exciting, as vital as a Bach fugue? 

What follows, however, is very different and carries us very much into the composer's own time, being a Romantic song-without-words. The D minor mood lifts and we can relax in the comfort of a particularly warm-sounding D major. Vater unser im Himmelreich is quietly put aside.

I've read that this finale is instead based on the old English hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross (which was my grandmother' favourite hymn, incidentally). I can hear similarities, especially in its second phrase but I remain a bit sceptical about the connection though. For some tastes, this closing section might seem too sweet, too sentimental or perhaps the sort of thing the late Charles Rosen meant when he described Mendelssohn (in The Romantic Generation) as "the inventor of religious kitsch in music", sensuously evoking the atmosphere of a church service. I don't mind a bit of religious kitsch, especially if it sounds as lovely as this movement. 

Are you sitting comfortably? Now please take a listen to Leit uns mit deiner rechten Hand, the closing chorale of J.S.Bach's Cantata BWV 90.  Please listen out in particular for the harmony on the syllable highlighted in red below:

Leit uns mit deiner rechten Hand
Und segne unser Stadt und Land;
Gib uns allzeit dein heilges Wort,

Behüt für's Teufels List und Mord;

Verleih ein selges Stündelein,

Auf dass wir ewig bei dir sein!

Now even though I prepared you for it a bit in advance, that was still quite a harmonic shock, wasn't it? It certainly isn't the sort of thing Felix would have done. Ever. 

Those words above come from a text written by Martin Moller several decades after Martin Luther: Nimm von uns, Herr, du treuer Gott. The words may be different but the melody is exactly the same. The chorale melody of Vater unser im Himmelreich was fitted around several later Lutheran texts written by writers other than Luther himself, not just Moller's. Bach's Cantata BWV 101, Nimm von uns, Herr, du treuer Gott, uses these alternative words  and that same tune. Moller's words are, however, far grimmer - "Take from us, you faithful God,/the heavy punishment and great distress,/which for our countless sins we/deserve to have all too often./Protect us from war and costly times/from plague, fire and great misfortune." 

If you were taken aback by that harmony on "lein" from BVW 90, then just wait until you hear the opening chorus of Cantata BWV 101. I will freely admit that when I first heard the Harnoncourt performance linked to in the preceding paragraph, I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing, thinking that it was one of those rough early "authentic performances" where out-of-tune playing abounded, albeit to an extraordinary degree. It is, of course, no such thing. The "out-of-tune" harmonies in this great and glorious movement are entirely Bach's doing. He was so out of this time in the adventurousness of his harmonies - and surely there can be few works where he was so out of his time and adventurous. Gesualdo and Schoenberg might have gasped at some of the dissonances - and the sheer intensity of dissonance - in several passages (especially those where the chorus enter.) The world of the final movement of Mendelssohn's organ sonata couldn't feel further away. The piled-up dissonances join up with a little, wriggling worm-of-sin type of figure to convey the unpleasant things mentioned in Moller's text. The chorale melody Vater unser im Himmelreich shines through this dark, agonised (yet very enjoyable) fugue. 

The second movement of Cantata 101, the tenor aria Handle nicht nach deinen Rechten - a movement with obbligato violin (or flute) -  uses lots of word-painting, leaping up on Höchster ("highest") and falling) and descending on vergehen ("passing away") for example, but it doesn't use the chorale melody. In that it's the exception, as every one of the other remaining movements does. The two recitatives (No.3 and No.5) ingeniously use the chorale rather as a priest quotes from the Bible as he delivers his sermon - dry recitative punctuating by the chorale phrases. The bass aria Warum will du so zornig sein? (No.4), with its delightful woodwind writing (a movement I prefer to the tenor aria), also uses this "quotation" idea, with the bass quoting the opening line of the chorale and the oboes playing the chorale in the central passage. The beautiful soprano-alto duet Gedenk an Jesu bittern Tod! (No.6), a movement in the old pastoral form of the sicilienne (in 12/8 time), interweaves the the chorale melody with a lovely, expressive melody, exchanging the themes between a solo flute and a solo oboe de caccia.  The cantata ends with a simple chorale harmonisation which offers none of the shocks on its opening movement - or its equivalent in Cantata 90. It ends, you will doubtless notice, on a Picardy third. 

This cantata, suggestively, was among the very first that Mendelssohn got published, thus beginning the great re-awakening of interest in the Bach cantatas (an interest that took a long time to build thereafter). 

Going back to the organ, finally, and to Bach's own organ works based on Vater unser im Himmelreich, there are four chorale preludes to bring you yet more delight. BWV 737, uncollected, is the dourest of the four - and the most old-fashioned, recalling the organ works of the preceding generation of German organ composers. BWV 636, from the Orgelbüchlein, is short, gentle and rather Mendelssohnian! Its harmonisation, however, admits modal elements and has many a passing dissonance. It's a lovely piece. BWV 682, from the Clavier-Übung, Part 3, is on an altogether larger scale piece and even better -  a beautiful heart-easing piece, full of canons, chromatic touches and rhythmic kicks, with an independent-minded bass line. It is one of the great Bach organ pieces. BWV 683, from the Clavier-Übung, Part 3, is much smaller in scale but scarcely less captivating. The 'soprano' sings the chorale in full while scale-based figuration flickers beneath it. Gorgeous!

Hallowed be the name of Bach...and hallowed be the name of Mendelssohn. Amen.

Follies (1)

Akin to the remarkable In Nomine phenomenon that gripped English composers from the early 16th Century on, in 1672 a simple 16-bar tune was published. It was called La Folia, meaning 'madness' or 'folly' and begins:

The tune comes with a standard chord progression:

In the years that followed composer after composer began writing variations on this tune and this chord progression. They are still doing so. None were afraid to bend La Folia to their own needs.

The composer who seems to have really got the ball rolling was Lully whose Les folies d'Espagne for four winds was published in 1672. We get the tune and two variations. It is widely believed that Lully is the man we have to thank for re-jigging a pre-existing snatch of melody (and harmony) and making it into the flexible friend of composers the world over.

Where the absolute monarch of French music led others were bound to follow. So we get a lutenist-composer called Jacques Gallot (c.1625-c.1695) penning his own Les Folies d'Espagne - a theme and nine variations - around much the same time.  Shortly after the tune hopped across the border to the land after which it was named and Gaspar Sanz (1640-1710) wrote his Folias, a theme and three variations for guitar. Another Spaniard was hot on his heels, one Lucas Ruiz de Ribayaz (dates uncertain) whose Folias for written for solo harp. Bearing the tune to England and Germany was one Michel Farinelli (dates uncertain), an Italian violinist who came to London and published Faronell's Division on a Ground with 11 variations in 1684. This prompted another spike in its popularity.

As the theme spread the French helped keep up the momentum with Lully pupil Marin Marais (1656-1728) composing a large-scale Les folies d'Espagne, a theme with 31 variations. Composers were getting ambitious. Jean-Henry D'Anglebert (1629-1691) wrote 22 variations for his Les folies d'Espagne for harpsichord. The Spaniards and the Italians kept the momentum going too, with Francisco Guerau (1649-1722) writing his Doze diferencias de Folías for guitar in 1694 and Bernardo Pasquini (1637-1710) writing his Partite diverse di Follia (theme and 14 variations) shortly after.

And talking of Italians...the most influential of all composers of the time, the genius Arcangelo Corelli (1653-1713) ended his landmark set of 12 Violin Sonatas, Op.5 of 1700 with the Violin Sonata in D minor, La Follia - a technical-demanding theme and 23 variations that became massively popular. (Other composers went on to make arrangements of it, including Geminiani).  

The Italians went Folia-mad as a result. Tomaso Antonio Vitali (1663-1745) wrote an immediate response with his Concerto di sonate a violino, violincello, e cembalo Op 4 no. 12 'Follia' of 1701. Soon the other big men of Italian Baroque music were responding too, including Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741), whose very first published set of pieces ended with a Trio sonata for two violins and basso continuo (Variations on "La Folia"), Op.1/12 RV63 whose roots in the Corelli piece are clear for all to hear. Another big name, Antonio Scarlatti (1660-1725), wrote his 29 Variazioni su "La Follia" for harpsichord in 1723. Other Italians include Giovanni Reali (c.1681-1751), whose La follia dates from 1709, and Paolo Benedetto Bellinzani (1690-1757), whose Sonata in D minor for treble recorder and basso continuo, Op.3/12 ends with a set of variations on the theme. 

The Spanish and German composers kept them coming too, including Antonio Martín y Coll's Diferencias sobre las folias and the Sonate pour violon et basse continue Opus 9, nr. 12 'La Follia'  by the German Henrico Albicastro (c.1660-1730). 

Even Johann Sebastian Bach was not immune from La Folia. It makes its appearance in the course of the delightful Peasant Cantata BWV212, sounding out very clearly at the start of the soprano aria Unser trefflicher, Lieber Kammerherr (6.30 into the linked video). The singer's melody is Bach's own. 

The Baroque was an age full of Folias. With the passing of that musical age did the world cure itself of La Folia? The answer to that question will do for another post.

P.S. For more on this fascinating subject please see this wonderful website:

http://members.chello.nl/folia/index.html

Bach's first cantata?

Returning back into the depths (yet once more reaching out to the heights), did you know that out of his couple of hundred or so surviving cantatas, the first Johann Sebastian Bach is believed to have composed is a setting of the De Profundis ('From the deep, Lord, I Cried to Thee')? (BWV150 is the only other contender).


Aus der Tiefe rufe ich, Herr, zu dir BWV131 sets Martin Luther's words in full, though verses from Bartholomäus Ringwaldt's chorale Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut ('I wait for the Lord') are interloped between them. 

The cantata may be Bach's earliest but it does not sound in any way immature. Far from it. It is a beautiful piece. 

Being early though it doesn't do quite what you would expect a Bach cantata to do. Its structure is a continuous one without closed form sections. It is also a symmetrical one, following a chorus-arioso-chorus-arioso-chorus pattern. It begins with a chorus introduced by a substantial and very lovely G minor sinfonia for solo oboe and strings. The chorus enters and embed their beautiful phrases into this texture. Their phrases overlap dissonantly on "rufe" ('cry', 'call'), emphasising the poignancy of the word. Suddenly the tempo changes from slow to fast and the next choral section begins, "Herr, Herr hore meine Stimme" ('Lord, hear my voice'), taking the form of a dancing fugue. Without a break the bass steps in over a walking accompaniment with "So du willst, Herr, Sünde zurechnen" ('If you, Lord, were to mark iniquities'), an arioso with oboe obbligato. As he sings Luther's words of penitence the sopranos of the choir (or a solo soprano) enter, chorale-fantasia-style, singing Ringwaldt's hymn of hope phrase by phrase as a cantus firmus. Again without a break, the cantata continues with a chorus, "Ich harre des Herrn" ('I wait for the Lord'), where that sense of hope is reinforced. In another instance of word-painting, there are delaying melismas here on "Harre" ('wait'). Balancing the earlier bass arioso, a tenor arioso, "Meine Seele wartet auf der Herrn" ('My soul waits for the Lord') follows straight on, with the altos of the chorus singing the next verse of Ringwaldt's chorale, this time only with continuo accompaniment. The closing chorus, "Israel, hoffe auf den Herrn" ('Israel, hope in the Lord'), opens with three stately invocations of "Israel" (perhaps evoking the Trinity) that remind me of the Masonic music of Mozart's Magic Flute. This chorus, like the work as a whole, has a motet-like structure that is unlike that later used by Bach, with each phrase of the text given its own contrasting treatment, the closing section being a fugue. 

You can't beat starting a Sunday morning with a Bach cantata!

Lord, as You will, so let it be with me

Johann Sebastian Bach's Cantata No.73, Herr, wie du willt, so schicks mit mir, is one of the many neglected treasures in the composer's counting house. I urge you to give it a listen.

The cantata's title translates as 'Lord, as You will, so let it be with me' and the words Herr, wie du willt are given a little four-note figure in the cantata's opening movement. You will first hear the figure or horns in the bass line of the orchestra's introduction bars, though at the very end the chorus takes it up strikingly. The figure is reinforced by the strings who play in stealthy pizzicatos at many points in the movement. That's two layers. Over them you'll first hear a pair of oboes playing an attractive tune in thirds. The chorus then enters singing a reassuring four-part chorale - the first notes being the Herr, wie du willt motif -, the orchestra continuing to do its thing between each phrase of the chorale. Suddenly the harmony swerves to a halt and the choral fantasy becomes a dramatic, anxious recitative for solo tenor, with the oboes and the Herr, wie du willt motif accompanying. The Herr, wie du willt motif leads us back into the next phrases of the chorale. Another swerve and we find ourselves in an anxious bass recitative. The process continues until we reach the most dramatic recitative of all, that for the soprano. The chorus answers this will repeated, reassuring statements of Herr, wie du willt. It is a fabulous movement. 

Next comes a lyrical tenor aria, whose text runs as follows:

Ach senke doch den Geist der Freuden

Dem Herzen ein!

_Es will oft bei mir geistlich Kranken

_Die Freudigkeit und Hoffnung wanken

_Und zaghaft sein.

Ah, only let the spirit of joy

sink into my heart!

_Often spiritual sickness

_makes joy and hope waver

_and despair.

This boasts a delicious melody which the tenor shares with an oboe. Bach was a word-painter and treats 'Freuden' with joyful melismas whilst treating with 'zafhaft' with sad, sighing, falling phrases.

This word-painting continues in the following bass recitative:

Ach, unser Wille bleibt verkehrt,

Bald trotzig, bald verzagt,

Des Sterbens will er nie gedenken;

Allein ein Christ, in Gottes Geist gelehrt,

Lernt sich in Gottes Willen senken,

Und sagt:

Ah, our will remains perverted,

quickly contrary, quickly dashed,

never considering death;

but a Christian, educated in God's spirit,

teaches itself to sink into God's will

and says:

Listen out for the remarkable dissonances on 'verkehrt', 'trotzig' and 'verzagt'. Bach's ability to use dissonance daringly and dramatically here shows what a word-painter he could be.

This recitative leads into a bass aria, whose opening words are our old friend, Herr, so du willt, here sung to a new four-note figure that is to play as key a role in this movement as its equivalent did in the opening movement.

Herr, so du willt,

So preßt, ihr Todesschmerzen,

Die Seufzer aus dem Herzen,

Wenn mein Gebet nur vor dir gilt.

Herr, so du willt,

So lege meine Glieder

In Staub und Asche nieder,

Dies höchst verderbte Sündenbild.

Herr, so du willt,

So schlagt, ihr Leichenglocken,

Ich folge unerschrocken,

Mein Jammer ist nunmehr gestillt.

Lord, as You will,

then squeeze, you pangs of death,

the sobs out of my heart,

if my prayer is only acceptable before You.

Lord, as You will,

then lay my limbs

down in dust and ashes,

this most corrupted image of sin.

Lord, as You will,

then strike, funeral bells,

I follow unafraid,my suffering is quieted from now on.

The aria unusually follows the three-verse form of the text. The bass has a noble line and the string writing is full of gorgeous suspensions, their dissonances reflecting the 'pangs' and 'sobs' of the text. Corelli, that master of the suspension, couldn't do any better than Bach in this movement and the string writing between the second and third quatrains is simply superb - as is the invocation of 'funeral bells' during the setting of the third quatrain. I won't spoil it by telling you in advance how Bach does that!

This wonderful cantata ends with a chorale harmonisation of the utmost beauty. 

Heaven laughs! The earth rejoices!

What better way to mark a rainy Easter Sunday than with a Bach cantata! Depending on how long I do this blog, I'll run out of cantatas for Easter Sunday after next year as Bach only ever wrote two of them. (There's also the Easter Oratorio, of course). Still, we have Cantatas 4 and 31, of which the latter is the subject of this year's post.

Cantata 31, Der Himmel lacht! die Erde jubilieret ('Heaven laughs! The earth rejoices!') is quite an early work and begins with a purely instrumental movement ('Sonata'), featuring trumpets and drums. Those instruments are usually a sign of festivity with Bach and this movement is as extrovert and cheerful as can be. It start like a fanfare (heralding the Resurrection?) with a strongly rhythmic theme based wholly on the notes of a C major triad and then dances off in a spirit of unbending jollity, expressing the laughter of Heaven and the rejoicing on earth through massed streams of semiquavers.

The lively chorus that follows is just as fine, if a little less unbuttoned! The choir is, unusually, divided into five parts with the sopranos being divided. The trumpets and drums continue to add their festive colouring (especially in the jubilant orchestral postlude). The movement mingles passages of homophony (shouts of collective joy) with imitative polyphony that includes word-painting, such as with the laughing runs of semiquavers on "lacht". 

There's a 'dry' but emotional bass recitative, Erwünschter Tag! sei, Seele ('Rejoice this day!'), which is followed by the cantata's first aria, also for the bass. Fürst des Lebens, starker Streiter ('Prince of life, great warrior'), accompanied by only by the continuo (including cello), makes a lot of use of dotted rhythms.

A 'dry' and gently exhortative tenor recitative, So stehe dann, du gottergebene Seele ('So then stand, you devout soul'), is then followed by a tenor aria, Adam muss in uns verwesen ('Adam must decay within us'). Against a rich flow of melody from the strings, the tenor sings his attractive melodic lines. 

With the soprano recitative, Weil dann das Haupt sein Glied ('For since the head'), Bach turns inward and the following aria, Letzte Stunde, brich herein ('Last hour, break now upon me') is the most intimate part of the cantata and, for me, its highlight. The soprano here is not so much accompanied as duetted with by a solo oboe whose endless melody lulls us throughout like a loving parent. The continuo is no bit player either, adding its lilt to the play of lines, and the upper strings later bring in the phrases of an old chorale, Nicolaus Herman's Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden ist, to add yet more interest to this beautiful movement. 

As usual, the cantata ends with a chorale, So fahr ich hin zu Jesu Christ ('In this way I shall journey towards Jesus Christ') - the same chorale as that introduced in the soprano aria. Here's its given a straightforward four-part setting with full orchestral accompaniment. 

(For those who aren't keen on period instrument performances, please try this as an alternative).

All Men Must Die, but, Hey, Not to Worry!

Bach's Little Organ Book (Orgelbüchlein) is full of treasure, but it's just one of those jewels that I'm going to write about here, namely the penultimate piece, the chorale prelude Alle Menschen müssen sterben (All Men Must Die). 

The piece is an example of four-part counterpoint. There's a noble chorale melody in the soprano (right hand), a melodically engaging two-part accompaniment in the left with much beguiling use of thirds and sixths and, finally, a bass line on the pedal that make much use of a five-note figure drawn from the accompanying tune. It's a perfect masterpiece in miniature. 

Now, All Men Must Die doesn't exactly sound like a barrel of laughs, but several recording do make it sound cheerful. Take the performance by Wolfgang Zerer. Here, taken at a moderate pace, the syncopations in Bach's accompaniment have a surprisingly jaunty swing to them. I can't help feeling that it wouldn't take a great deal more swing to turn the piece into jazz! (Bach is quite susceptible to being jazzed-up). The result is dignified yet delightful. 

Ton Koopman takes the prelude at a faster pace and plays it with loud jubilation throughout. The music is made to sound overpoweringly exultant. Much of the sense of swing is lost, along with quite a bit of the melodic appeal of the accompaniment, yet the performance socks you between the eyes with its confidence.

All Men Must Die, yet it's cheerful music? Well, the title uses only the first words of the text. The chorale ends by affirming the central Christian belief that death is (for the blessed) the beginning of eternal joy - and so something to be welcomed. Wolfgang Zerer and Ton Koopman are clearly aiming, in their different ways, to convey that joyful message. 

If you take the piece a little slower than Mr. Zerer and a lot slower than Mr. Koopman, as Ulrich Böhme does, an air of serene confidence can enter the music. This peaceful, intimate performance is strikingly different to Ton Koopman's, isn't it? I suspect this is closer to the true spirit of the piece than Mr. Koopman's radical approach. But I could be wrong.  It's certainly closer to how I like to hear it though.

YouTube offers some lovely arrangements, such as this, played in the same spirit at Mr. Böhme, on organ and viols. 

But taken much slower than any of the other performances, please also take a listen to the arrangement for piano made by and played by the great Angela Hewitt. This perhaps speaks more to familiar sensibilities than any of the others as its mood of Christian hope is tinged with understandable sadness. It is absolutely beautiful. There's no exultation in it. 

How do you prefer your Alle Menschen müssen sterben?

Canons to the left of them, Canons to the right of them

A few years ago, BBC Radio 3 broadcast 'A Bach Christmas', playing all the works of old Sebastian, and having enjoyed a feast of counterpoint I thought I might surprise the family with a little canon based on Bach tunes. They're not really into classical music (to put it mildly), but as I recorded it using the 'Bells' sound on our electric organ, it sounded very festive - like having our own cathedral to ring in the new year. It grabbed their attention for at least a couple of minutes. Yes, that was one wild new year!

I love trying to write canons but, no, I'm not going to share them with you. Instead, I want to try to give a short overview of what canons are.

You'll certainly all know what canons are anyhow (if you don't already know) if I tell you that they're also called 'rounds' (or 'catches') and you may have sung them at school. Popular examples are Frère Jacques, Row, Row, Row Your Boat and Three Blind Mice. 

A round is a piece of music where one voice (or instrument) begins the tune and two or more other voices (or instruments) join it later, singing the same tune, note for note, overlapping the first voice. The result is that different phrases of the tune are sung simultaneously. The result should sound harmonious. 

This definition (my own) of a round can serve just as well as the definition of a canon, as the round is only the simplest form of canon, known as a canon at the unison - that is when the second voice (and then the third voice and the fourth voice, etc) begins the tune on exactly the same note as the first voice. A canon at the octave is very nearly the same thing (and will sound pretty much identical to the listener, especially when a mixed choir is singing), except that the second voice begins...and I think you might guess where I'm going with this one...an octave higher. All my attempts so far have been canons at the unison or octave. 

The first-ever (known) piece of counterpoint was a canon at the unison: Sumer Is Icumen In (Summer is here!), dating from around 1260. Even if you don't read music, comparing the shapes of each of the lines in the score below should give you a good idea of how a canon at the unison looks on the page, and perhaps how it might work in practice:

With Sumer Is Icumen In, it's not very difficult to hear the process in action. Even the accompanying figure (which you can see beginning in the tenor part at the end of printed score) doesn't distract the ear. 

That's not always the case. A well-known later example of a canon at the octave is the eight piece, God grant with grace, in Tudor composer Thomas Tallis's extremely beautiful Nine Psalm Tunes for Archbishop Parker's Psalter, a piece known as Tallis's Canon, or as the hymn Glory to thee, my God, this night. Here the soprano follows four beats behind the tenor and begins an octave higher. The other two voices do their own thing, though occasionally echoing parts of the canon. Whether you listen from 6.10 in this video or 6.07 in this one or 6.08 in this one, can you hear the canon being sung between the tenor and soprano? I'm afraid I just seem unable to hear the piece as anything other than a soprano tune accompanied by three other voices providing harmony. For me, the tenor's tune gets lost in the lines and harmony of his two non-soprano companions. I can see the canon in the score but can't hear it in performance. Possibly if some performances brought out the tenor part out more (got Placido Domingo to sing it maybe!) then I might hear the process of Tallis's canon in action, but I'm not so sure about that. 

You can have canons at any interval - at the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, etc. Pachebel's Canon, if you were wondering, is a canon at the unison, with a ground bass for accompaniment: 

Canons are fun for composers. They are a bit like doing crossword puzzles or playing chess. They take a great deal of ingenuity to pull off. Many composers want us listeners to share their pleasure in the ingenuity of their canons. They want us to hear what they're up to. We listeners can indeed find it highly satisfying to follow the different voices as they imitate each other. However, some composers are far less concerned that the listener hears the canonic process. They might even wish us not to notice the intellectual scaffolding beneath their music. Or they might care only to please themselves, or connoisseurs of scores, or performers. The anonymous composer of Sumer Is Icumen In clearly fell in the first camp, and I suspect Tallis fell in the second camp.

Where does Webern fall with his Dormi Jesu from the 5 Canons on Latin Texts, Op.16? Well, he's not exactly hiding the fact that his pieces are all canons, having chosen that title for the set. This particular tiny little piece for soprano and clarinet, however, is an example of a type of canon that is rather hard for the listener to follow as a canon - canon by inversion. Here any rising interval in the first voice becomes a falling interval in the second voice - an instance of contrary motion. It's easiest heard at the very start of Dormi Jesu, where the first four notes played by the clarinet rise through three intervals and the soprano then enters with four notes falling through the same three intervals, upside down. Thereafter I suspect you will find it harder to follow (as a listener), given the wide leaps in the two lines and the fact that you will probably hear the two parts as being completely different melodies.

Even harder not to hear as two completely different melodies is the retrograde canon, or crab-canon, or cancrizans. Here the second voice imitates the first voice by simultaneously singing/playing the melody backwards. The ear is, I would say, incapable of hearing the second voice's part as a new tune altogether, unrelated to the original tune - except to anyone reading a score. With a crab-canon, the composer is satisfying himself and score-reading scholars, but not his listeners - at least as regards the satisfaction given by following canons. Obviously, the piece can still delight us even if we don't know that there are canons at work. (That really is obvious!) This truly excellent YouTube video gives a very clear demonstration of the cancrizans at work in a movement from Bach's Musical Offering.

And there's more. Stravinsky wrote a deeply expressive Double Canon, where two canons on different themes proceed simultaneously. You can have triple canons, or as many canons going on as you like. The great American-born maverick Conlon Nancarrow had twelve of them going on in his jaw-dropping Study No.37 for player piano! Plus, as the Nancarrow example shows, canons can be played at different speeds. There are prolation canons where the tune is, indeed, played at different speeds in different voices. A beautiful recent example is Arvo Pärt's Cantus In Memoriam Benjamin Britten. where an A minor scale falls repeatedly against itself at various speeds.

Canons have been with us since around 1260 then and continued to flourish for the rest of the Medieval period. They were very popular with the Renaissance and the Baroque. After a very short dip they rose again with the Classical era. Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven all wrote them. Many were jokes, such as Beethoven's delightful Ta ta ta, lieber Mälzel (the tune of which might well remind you of this). One of Beethoven's most wonderful creations, the quartet Mir ist so wunderbar from the opera Fidelio, is also a canon. YouTube has huge numbers of these fantastic little chips from Beethoven's workshop here. Canons lasted even through the Romantic era, where they tended to become far less strict and were usually accompanied examples, such as this gem from Schumann, his Study No.4 from Op.56. Brahms was their greatest Romantic exponent, using canons in many of his works and writing a fair few stand-alone ones, such as this magical specimen, Einförmig is der Liebe Gram, based on Schubert's Der Leiermann from Die Winterreise. With the coming of the Twentieth Century, canons of the stricter and unaccompanied kind came back with a vengeance. All manner of composers relished them, from Schoenberg (you should enjoy these!) to Stravinsky (see above), from Pärt (also see above) to Ligeti (not yet on YouTube). 

In other words, they've always been loved by composers and are one of the most durable musical forms.  Long may that continue to be so!

Wakey Wakey!

You know that a piece of music is popular when you hear it being played while you're shopping in Argos. Bach's first Schübler Chorale for organ, Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme ("Wake, Awake, a Voice is Calling") BWV645, is one such piece. It sounds festive and seems to have become associated with Christmas. It is also blessed with one of Bach's best tunes, which positively skips along. Against this tune appears the noble chorale melody, which is a thing of beauty in itself. Beneath both runs a bass line which has a far from uninteresting character of its own. It's a winning combination. Like all the other Schübler Chorales, it's an arrangement by the composer of a movement from one of his cantatas, here from BWV140 (beginning at 14.39). There the tune was played by the violins and violas, here it's played by the right hand. There the chorale was sung by unison tenors (or a solo tenor), here by the organist's left hand. There the bass was played by the continuo, here by the organist's feet. The transformation could not sound more natural. 

There are five more Schübler Chorales, not that you hear them with anything like the frequency of Wachet auf. Is that for a good reason? Are the others less special?

I think the answer would have to be 'yes' - with one exception. Though far from festive, so never likely to be piped to Christmas shoppers, the fourth Schübler Chorale is just as wonderful as its famous companion. Meine Seele erhebt den Herren (My soul doth magnify the Lord) BWV648 is an inward looking piece, with the bass (on the pedal) announcing a mysterious chromatic theme which the alto and tenor of the organ (the left hand) take up and sing in duet. Against them the phrases of the chorale tune appear in the soprano (right hand). The effect is magical. It's an arrangement of a splendid duet for alto and tenor from Cantata 10 (a movement called He remembers His mercy), where the chorale was given to oboes and trumpet (11.37 into the video). This is one of my favourite Bach pieces and should be played more often (as should the cantata). 

What then of the rest? 

Wo soll ich fliehen hin (Whither shall I flee?) BWV646 certainly has least going for it, being pleasant but rather ordinary (by Bach's standards). The hands develop a little figure that, aptly, runs hither and thither while the pedal plays the chorale. The cantata it was presumably taken from has not survived. (It doesn't come from Cantata 5, which is based on the same chorale melody.)  

Wer nur den lieben Gott lässt walten (Who allows God alone to rule him) BWV647 is better and has a beautiful chorale melody, which is played on the pedal. Above it unfolds a three-part invention shared between the hands. This is transcribed from a charming soprano-alto duet in Cantata 93 (beginning at 11.00), where strings play the chorale.

I'm even fonder of Ach bleib bei uns, Herr Jesu Christ (Lord Jesus Christ, with us abide) BWV649. This is as festive in spirit as Wachet auf. The right hand has the chorale with the left-hand playing the delightfully catchy figurative line that makes the piece such a pleasure to hear. The pedal provides an unexceptional bass. The chorale is arrangement from a soprano aria in Cantata 6, where the catchy tune is played by a cello and the soprano sings the chorale. 

Just as delightful is the final Schübler Chorale Kommst du nun, Jesu, vom Himmel herunter

(Come thou, Jesu, from heaven to earth) BWV650. The chorale tune, played here on the pedal, will be recognisable to lovers of Anglican hymns as Praise to the Lord, the Almighty. The soprano has a lively and tuneful theme, which may represent the hovering of an angel, and the left hand provides a bass to accompany it. This is an arrangement of a lovely alto chorale from Cantata 137 (3.26 in) where the angelic theme is played by a solo violin. 

There's very little in this set that isn't wonderful, and the closing pair come close to being as wonderful as Wachet auf and Meine Seele erhebt den Herren. 

Beyond the Canon

Johann Pachelbel (1653-1709) has long been seen as a one-hit wonder, with his Canon becoming one of the best-known works of Baroque music. Things appear to be changing with recordings of his other works growing apace, including his choral pieces. 

One such work particularly caught my attention a couple of years ago and could easily see Pachelbel becoming, at the very least, a two-hit wonder. It's his enjoyable setting of Psalm 100, Jauchzet dem Herrn (Make a joyful noise unto the Lord). The scoring is for double chorus (two each of soprano, alto, tenor and bass) and organ. The two choruses are sometimes used antiphonally to achieve the effect of splendour, as composers had been doing since the days of the Gabrielis, a century earlier. The very opening bars show Pachelbel sitting on the pivot, so to speak, between the age of the greatest master of the German early Baroque, Heinrich Schütz, and the greatest master of the German late Baroque, J.S. Bach - albeit, in the work as a whole, dangling his legs more often on Bach's side of the pivot!

At the very start, the altos, tenors and basses of Choir I sing the word 'Jauchzet' in a strictly rhythmic and syllabic pattern (four quavers followed by two crochets), which is very catchy, whilst the sopranos sing a joyful melisma on the first syllable of their second 'jauchzet'. The second choir joins them all in the second bar, adding a greater weight to this delightful expression of joy. When I first heard this I thought it sounded like Bach, and had to rack my poor brains to try and remember which particular piece I had in mind. It's his glorious motet Der Geist hilft unser Schwachheit, BWV226 (The Spirit helps us in our weakness), also for double chorus, specifically its opening bars. Back to the Pachelbel and if the first two bars look forward to Bach then the third and fourth bars, which end with the words "alle Welt" (all the earth), look back to the age of Schütz, with its antiphonal exchanges of short homophonic phrases. Schütz made his own setting of Jauchzet dem Herrn, and you can hear something of its soundworld (what can be called, using a broad brush-stroke, 'Monteverdi madrigals and polychoral Gabrieli meet a German sensibility') in Pachelbel's setting of the words "Erkennet, daß der Herre Gott ist" (Recognize that the Lord is God), 2.05 into the link provided. 

The German mid-Baroque is a fascinating period of music, full of little known but highly talented composers whose style is only a hybrid when heard through ears that are far more familiar with the distinctive styles of a great composer of one age, and quite familiar with the no-less-distinctive style of a great composer of another age (though many listeners might think of Monteverdi and Gabrieli without thinking of their great German contemporary, Schütz). Bach was taught by his brother, a pupil of Pachelbel (a close family friend of the older generations of Bachs), so something of Pachelbel's music certainly must have filtered through to Johann Sebastian. Wonder if he knew Jauchzet dem Herrn?

Incidentally, and going back to Mendelssohn, our Felix also made settings, a century and a half after Pachelbel and two centuries after Schütz, of the same psalm. There's his a cappella Wo028 setting, a simple piece, and the richer, more polyphonic setting that forms the central motet of his Op.69. Both project the spirit of old German chorales in some of their melodies and textures. They are not Mendelssohn's most distinguished choral pieces, but they are quite attractive and characteristic.

As I've linked to a lot of Jauchzet dem Herrns, it would perhaps be no bad thing for me to provide the text of the psalm:

Jauchzet dem Herrn

alle Welt.

Dienet dem Herrn mit Freuden.

Kommt vor sein Angesicht mit Frohlocken.

Erkennet, dass der Herre Gott ist.

Er hat uns gemacht, und nicht wir selbst,

zu seinem Volk

und zu Schafen seiner Weide.

Gehet zu seinen Toren ein mit Danken,

zu seinen Vorhöfen mit Loben.

Danket ihm, lobet seinen Namen,

denn der Herr ist freundlich

und seine Gnade währet ewig

und seine Wahrheit für und für.

Make a joyful noise to the Lord,

all the earth;

serve the Lord with joy.

Come before his visage with rejoicing.

Recognize that the Lord is God:

he made us—and not we ourselves—

to be his people

and to be sheep for his pasture.

Enter through his gates with thanks,

into his courts with praise.

Give him thanks and praise his name,

for the Lord is kind,

and his mercy endures forever,

and his truth for all time.

Rejoice!