Author: Andy Eskenazi

Of the pieces we studied over the course of this program, there were some I had already listened to a handful of times, others I had only listened to a couple of times, and a few that were completely unfamiliar to me. However, for my last post, I wanted to write about a piece that I became acquainted with before coming to Leipzig.  

 

Fugue in C-sharp minor – WTC I

Over the past half a year, whenever I have sat down at a piano, I have found myself spending less than half the time practicing, and more than half the time playing through the first book of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. Each time I read through, one particular fugue would always catches my attention, not only because of its ridiculous difficulty and complexity and its somewhat unorthodox structure, but also because of the profound suffering expressed by the music. 

However, it wasn’t until I was home from Germany, that I found out just what makes this fugue special. While surfing the internet, I stumbled upon an article by Timothy M. Smith from Northern Arizona University, filled to the brim with instance after instance of religious and numerical symbolism from the fugue. It frankly blew my mind. As there is very little that I could say about the piece that isn’t said in that article, I will just touch on the main points that Smith brings up. However, I will also include a brief analysis of the fugue, a discussion of the pianistic difficulties, and finally a few comments on noted recordings. 

 

 Anaylsis

This fugue has five voices, which is already unusual, as it is one of only two such fugues in the WTC. The subject is the five-note motif (do-ti-me-re-do) shown below. The exposition follows as normal, with the subject entering in each voice and alternating between the tonic and dominant key: 

A fairly standard development ensues, ending with a modulation to the relative major. However, at this point, a new subject enters in the soprano voice.

Or is it a subject? It is a distinct motivic idea that is presented eventually in each voice, however, not in the formal way outlined above. To add to the confusion, 13 measures later a third motivic idea is introduced, which is also reminiscent of a subject but also fails to meet these formal constraints.

So then, although this piece has been called a triple fugue, perhaps it is better to consider it as a fugue with two countersubjects that enter 36 and 49 measures in respectively. Finally, at the 94th measure, the fugue closes with a stretto section in which the second subject drops out entirely and the first and third subjects enter in an overlapping fashion until the eventual final cadence. 

 

Numerical Symbolism

So sure, the fugue is a little unusual, but what’s the big deal? I will try to present just a few things from the Smith article, to give a small taste of the wealth of symbolism in this piece. First of all, the number five.

Five voices, five notes in the subject (the shortest subject of any fugue in WTC I), a second theme consisting of a sequence repeated five times, not to mention a lament of five descending semitones (c#-g#) interlaced throughout.

What is the significance of this? According to Smith, “Lutherans of Bach’s day associated [the number] five with the wounds that were inflicted upon Jesus by the nails in his hands and feet, and a soldier having thrust a spear into his side.” Additionally, the lament is heavily associated with the crucifixion, for example, serving as the basis for the Crucifixus in the B minor Mass. 

Additionally, the pattern of the main subject, consisting of a stepwise descent, an ascending interval crossing over the original note, and another stepwise descent, is considered symbolic of the cross. In fact, the exact same subject with rhythmic alterations is used for the Laß ihn kreuzigen! (Let him be crucified!) fugue in the St. Matthew Passion. This pattern is also repeated five times in the statement of the second subject, with the ascending interval altered to a third.

What’s more, this pattern can be found twice (and one more time in reverse) with descending intervals of a half step and an ascending interval of a minor third, which is a transposition of B-A-C-H, Bach’s very own musical signature. While this may seem like chance, Smith found that these are the first instances of such a motif in the WTC.

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However, the following is what ties it all together: when each letter is given a number indicating its place in the Latin alphabet, B+A+C+H totals 14, which in reverse is 41. In measure 41, the BACH motif is played in reverse (HCAB). Not convinced? The second subject is stated exactly 14 times, at which point it disappears for the remainder of the piece. Within those 14 statements, the variant of the cross motif with the third can be found exactly 41 times. What else happens at measure 41? The only inverted occurrence of the second subject, and on the strong beats of this inversion the five-note lament rising from G# to C# instead of falling.

Here, Smith points to Bach’s Fulda canon in which the five-note lament is also present accompanied by the inscription Symbolum, Christus Coronabit Crucigeros, which he translates as “This is a symbol of Christ who will crown those who carry his cross.” The connection? Bach’s monogram, which a few of us saw engraved on some of his belongings preserved in the Bach Museum. It consists of a crown with five jewels placed on top of Bach’s initials superimposed with their mirror image, which creates a pattern of crosses. In measure 41 the HCAB is presented and in measure 48, BACH is presented in its prime form. And between them is the inversion of the five-note lament. 

If this is at all interesting, I would strongly recommend reading the whole article, which is short and very nicely structured. It highlights types of numerical symbolism somewhat similar to what Ruth Tatlow was pointing out in her lecture, and I found it very eye-opening. There is also an accompanying visual that I will link below. 

 

 Technical Difficulties

Now, as a hobby pianist without strict classical training, I will share a bit about what makes this fugue so hard to play for me. First of all, I try to play Bach without the sustain pedal, in a similar way to how someone might play an organ or a harpsichord. When playing like this, the key should stay depressed for the full duration of a given note. In order to hold each voice through properly, each finger should then be independent of each other finger. It is also often necessary to slide fingers from key to key and cross them over or under one another. 

To give a taste of this, here are a couple examples: 

Here, the B must remain held down while the F# and D# move down. Often when one hand has three voices to play, the fifth finger is all that remains to play the upper voice, as is the case here. 

 

Here, the half notes are part of the subject and are accented. However, the B cannot remain down for the whole two beats, but the pianist must still create the illusion that it is being held down rather than struck twice in order for the motif to remain clear. 

 

Another case of three voices in one hand. Here, the middle voice crosses above the top voice mid-tie, all while the bottom voice is held through. This makes it hard to track which finger is playing which voice at a given moment. 

 

Another recurring challenge is when the span between two voices exceeds the comfortable range of the hand. Here playing both upper voices completely in the right hand would require an octave played between the second and fifth fingers, which, for me, is not comfortable. It is suggested to take the lowermost notes of the alto voice in the left hand, which then creates the challenge of maintaining a smooth line as it transfers back and forth between the two hands. 

 

Here, the left hand has to leap down to play the thunderous entrance of the subject in the bass voice, meaning the tenor line has to be picked up by the right hand. The third finger on F# is no longer sufficient, since all three of the lower fingers are required to play the moving line, so the F# must transfer to the fourth finger over the course of the tie. 

 

Finally, the G# half note is tied to an eighth note, but this simply isn’t physically possible. This is not the only instance of unplayability that I have come across while reading through the WTC. 

 

Recordings

Finally, a couple of different takes on the fugue by the various masters: 

 

This recording I really like. The tempo is comparatively fast, giving it a real sense of urgency, almost desperation. The subject is accentuated well, and the fugue starts out very calmly and evenly before a forceful bass entrance of the subject that sparks a rise in intensity, peaking at the (augmented!?) chord four measures from the end, before falling back a little. 

 

A beautiful touch and amazing voicing, but a bit sluggish for me, and a bit too much pedal. Very serene, but I feel that I lose track of the musical ideas. I always appreciate a little more forward momentum. 

 

An interesting interpretation. Very understated until all of a sudden it isn’t. A moderate tempo with stark dynamic contrasts but played very clearly and with great voicing. Despite this, it doesn’t come across as overly romantic to me, in general. I find the addition of the octave in the final pedal G# intriguing. It almost feels to me like pulling out another stop on an organ. 

 

My favorite tempo so far. To me this feels very emotionally charged, though it’s a little bit rough around the edges. I enjoy the relentlessness of his playing, and I would say that this is probably the one that “convinces” me the most. I think the strongest section is the stretto which really feels like it is driving forward with each accented beat. 

 

And I’ll include this one too for those who are into this sort of … thing. 

 

 

Anyway, that’s all. I hope I was able to justify at least a bit why I think this is such a meaningful work of art and also such a remarkable composition. 

 

 

References

Digital Bach. The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I: Fugue in C-Sharp Minor, BWV 849 – Animated Score and Analysis, YouTube, www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9ShwIrMJlU&list=PLYwl4jo5DoXTTPY0P8TlcyHkrwbEsWMyP&index=4&ab_channel=DigitalBach. Accessed 8 July 2025.

Smith, Timothy A. Fugue No. 4, 2002, www.musanim.com/pdf/BWV849FugueTimonthySmith.pdf.

Wow, what a way to end the festival! This was my first time seeing Bach’s Mass in B minor live and in full. It is truly a work of enormous scale and impact. The performance was amazing as well, though I could nitpick it a little. In fact let me start with a couple complaints so that I can end with the moments that left me truly speechless.

First of all, while all the soloists were clearly world class, I wasn’t in love all of their sounds. The countertenor sang beautifully but for me his tone for me was a bit thin (hollow?). The Agnus Dei is such a heartwrenchingly mournful movement for me and considering that it leads into the Dona nobis pacem it’s a big moment that I didn’t really think delivered. I also wasn’t super convinced by the Christe eleison which I also felt lacked some richness in the solo voices.

I thought that this interpretation excelled more at the moments of exuberance, triumph, and grandiosity rather than the moments of contemplation and lamentation. For example, I really enjoyed in the Gloria in excelsis Deo and the Et resurrexit how the trumpets were and timpani’s were able to fill the huge acoustic of the church. I would say that for me the highlights were the Gratias agimus tibi and Dona nobis pacem. When the trumpets came in the first time in the Gratias agimus tibi, it was unlike any sound I had ever heard. For the Dona nobis pacem, I knew what to expect so I just closed my eyes and allowed myself to be transported. I forgot everything for the next three minutes. When I opened my eyes, for a moment, I had no idea where I was or what was going on, until slowly, I returned to reality. For me, no other music has that power. I think this is why Bach’s music matters to me and honestly it’s because of moments like these that I bother playing music at all at the end of the day.

This concert was definitely the part of the festival I was most looking forward to, as I have been listening to Sir András Schiff’s interpretations for close to two years now. While looking for good resources on the Beethoven Piano Sonatas, I was directed toward a set of talks he did from 2004-2006, one for each of the 32 sonatas, and each before a performance of the respective sonata. I found these interpretations refreshing in that I felt he truly let the music speak for itself. His style in the Beethoven Sonatas clean, dry, precise, and most importantly not avoidant of Beethoven’s sometimes extreme and unexpected dynamic and tempo markings. Schiff is, of course, also known for Bach and I have become pretty familiar with his recordings of the first book of the WTC. I enjoy these as well because of the attention to detail and dedication to the score. So needless to say, I was very excited to see the second book live. I should also note that I do prefer these works played on a harpsichord rather than a piano in general, unless quite a lot of care is taken, as is the case with Schiff.

First of all, I have to comment on how incredible it is to be 71 years old and have the stamina to play for 2 hours 45 minutes with incredible accuracy and sensitivity, especially when half the time you’re playing fugues! It is evident that Schiff knows these works so well that this is simply second nature for him. That said, Schiff played Saturday with much more interpretative freedom than I am used to hearing in his Bach. This included a greater use of the sustain pedal throughout (except in several cases where he chose not to use it at all) and much greater dynamic contrasts. Several times he ended a prelude or fugue in full force with a fortissimo flourish. Often times (much to my enjoyment) when the subject would enter mid-fugue in a booming low voice, Schiff would take full advantage. Tempi were steady though and his touch was as smooth and warm as ever. He gave great care to each line and was able to bring out the counterpoint despite a more washed sound. Also, after thunderous applause, Schiff obliged the audience with a 10 minutes encore (the final prelude and fugue from the first book of the WTC) which he played up to the same standard of excellence?!!

Though perhaps I wasn’t the biggest fan of every interpretive choice, the concert still exceeded my expectations, and I feel very fortunate that I had the opportunity to see such a master of his craft (hopefully not for the last time).

Last Friday, we were treated by InterDaF to a concert at the Gewandhaus. This was my first time inside of the venue and I quite liked the design. Even better, my seat was in the front row behind the orchestra which ended up providing a very unique concert experience.

The first piece was a Bach concerto for harpsichords played on three grand pianos with a reduced orchestra. This, I must admit, was a little bit jarring for me. After hearing Bach for the past week played on period instruments in strict historically-informed practice, I was at once caught off guard by the more modern sound. The orchestra played more or less without vibrato, and the pianists all played with crisp tone and minimal sustain pedal, and yet … I felt as if I was listening to a romantic concerto and by the end I was kind of underwhelmed. Bach is often so densely textured and, for me, if it doesn’t breathe it risks becoming incomprehensible. In a thick, homogeneously blended sound, I find it much harder to track the individual lines. This is to say that the music becomes reduced in my ear to really only its harmonic content. When the instruments’ sounds decay faster, it creates space in the music that allows me to hear each line entering, swelling, receding, exiting, etc. For me personally, modern pianos combined with modern string instruments don’t really offer that possibility, or at least didn’t in this concert. Nonetheless, the musicians and soloists played brilliantly of course and I did enjoy it very much, I suppose I’m just nitpicking.

The second piece, the Honegger, I enjoyed as well, perhaps more so as it went on. As I am somewhat new to appreciating 20th century music, I’m not sure I have anything further to say, except that I particularly liked the climax in the third movement when the trumpet soloist finally entered with the chorale line. The final piece, the Brahms 4, was definitely the highlight of the concert for me. It’s a symphony I am familiar with but not one that I know extremely well, which made it a joy to rediscover through this concert. The full orchestra was one of the best I’ve heard and the variety of dynamics and colors they were able to achieve was extraordinary. However, what made it a special experience for me was actually where I was sitting. I was so close that I could read off the timpanist and bassoonists’ scores as they were playing! Seeing the timpanist’s play up close, I was simply astounded by his level of precision. I was so close that I felt like I was almost in the orchestra, and I was able to see very clearly how the musicians near me were reacting to the conductor in real time. Personally, seeing visually how what I’m hearing is actually getting produced makes me so much more engrossed in the music.

Overall, these things made this a very memorable concert experience!

Friday, June 13th (ooh ominous), I had the chance to attend what ended up being one of my favorite experiences so far in Leipzig. The rather unassuming street entrance just off Richard-Wagner-Platz led up several flights of stairs to an ornate Baroque-style hall. Over a rich coffee-breakfast, early music students from the Hochschule für Musik und Theater in Leipzig performed a spirited, genuine, and very well-prepared concert. There were assorted vocalists, string players, and wind players, and four beautifully decorated harpsichords, each with two manuals, much to my delight as a harpsichord owner and (aspiring) harpsichordist myself. The first part of the program was filled with various ensembles ranging from accompanied soloists to full chamber orchestra, including, at one point, all four harpsichords playing at once! Especially notable was the trumpet player who performed virtuosically on a natural (i.e. valve-less) instrument, no less. I cannot fathom the precision required to leap about and perform ornaments and trills on such closely placed partials. My ears are not accustomed to the 4th being tuned that high the 6th being tuned that low, so the instrument has a slightly unusual sound to me, but I very much enjoyed it.

The main attraction, however, was J.S. Bach’s Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht BWV 211, known as the Coffee Cantata. A tenor narrated from a balcony overlooking the hall while a soprano and bass acted out the humorous story of a father’s attempts to separate his daughter from her one true love: coffee. All of the performers were fantastic, but to me, the soprano stood out. Her voice was light and agile, but also effortlessly filled the hall and her dynamic control was also fully on display in impressively executed messa di voce. Overall, the students proved to be quite skilled technicians but also imbued the music with a fresh vitality. I felt a sense of transparency and authenticity, that kept me engaged through the whole program. I often have this experience when listening to ensembles of young musicians, where the music somehow feels much more alive to me than it otherwise would.

This experience was also made more memorable by the kind woman sitting next to me who was keen to practice her English and insisted on providing me translations of the musicians’ remarks. All in all, it was just about the best way I could imagine spending my breakfast.