Michael Talbot – Fugue Forum

Why I write fugues

As a teenager in the 1950s, if not earlier, I fancied myself as a composer. Since I was already keen on early music and as a pianist had studied one or two fugues, I composed one or two simple fugues for keyboard. I remember being engaged in writing one on a train journey while holidaying with my parents in Germany, much to the amazement of the ticket inspector. I have not kept these compositions and would not be proud of them today.

As a school, conservatoire and university student I learned more about the mechanisms of fugue. Later (from 1968), as a university teacher of music and musicology (the two tend to be taught and studied in association with one another in Britain). I had to teach about fugue and even, to a very few students, to give instruction in the writing of fugues. In my work as a musicologist studying in depth, for example, Albinoni and Vivaldi, I deepened my knowledge of the subject. But at this stage I composed no fugues, nor anything else worth mentioning.

The stimulus to begin writing fugues again, which very soon blossomed into an obsessive passion, was external. My good friend, the Italian recorder player and musical director (and many other thing besides) Federico Maria Sardelli, in latish 2005 sent me as a surprise a marvellous little fugue of his composition in Vivaldian style. I decided to respond in kind and discovered to my surprise that writing a fugue was for me both easy and satisfying. Like tennis players in a long rally sending the ball in both directions over the net (or – to choose perhaps rather too elevated a parallel – like Brahms and Joachim exchanging canons) our fugal dialogue continued, as it has right up to the present day. Later, we started to exchange compositions also in non-fugal forms – but that is another story, and some of its products can be viewed and heard in the main section of the flauto-dolce web site.

My interest in writing fugues, by the way, has also prompted me to work a little in the same area as a musicologist. My most recent book, entitled Vivaldi and Fugue, will be published in English by Olschki (Florence) in 2009, and I am currently toying with the idea of writing a Lexicon of Fugue.

There is little more to say, except that the more fugues I write (I have completed over 100 for keyboard alone), the greater the struggle becomes to express something new. But I do not think that I have reached an absolute saturation point just yet.

The style I employ in the fugues is eclectic: I do not set out merely to imitate a single composer of the past in any composition, even though strong traces of several of my favourite composers of the later baroque – Buxtehude, Purcell, J. S. Bach, Handel, Telemann, Vivaldi, D. Scarlatti, Leclair et al. – are evident, and the influence of Classical and Romantic composers is by no means absent. I do not hesitate to introduce any feature into a composition provided that it “works in context”, regardless of whether I can recall having seen or heard it before.

Finally, to make one thing absolutely clear: these compositions are not intended to “make a statement” about classical music of today. If I could write convincing fugues like those of Hindemith or Shostakovich or ones in an even more “modern” idiom, I would do so for preference. But I cannot, and so I write in a style that is familiar and attractive to me and which I find easy to handle. In the first instance, these pieces are for my private enjoyment, but I am glad to share them with anyone who can spare the time to listen to them, read them and (even) play them.

Michael Talbot
Liverpool, October 2008

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Fuga garrula for three voices, for keyboard added by Michael Talbot

The pdf and midi files of this piece may be downloaded HERE

Writing strictly in three parts poses challenges, but also offers opportunities, that four-part writing (so familiar to anyone trained via the medium of Bach chorales!) does not possess. The challenge is to make the harmony sufficiently full: triads have only three notes, and the demands of melody and part-writing make it often impossible to sound more than two notes of the triad. However, the use of arpeggiated shapes often mitigates, and even sometimes disguises completely, this textural and harmonic thinness. On the positive side, in writing for solo keyboard the reduction to three parts allows the contrapuntal lines to flow more freely and range more widely.

In my “talkative” fugue (Fuga garrula) the subject harks back to a species common in Buxtehude, also found in Bach and continuing up to the present day. In this type of subject the “torso”, or middle part, of the subject is a moto perpetuo of quick notes formed into sequential patterns. This discursive type of subject lends itself badly to a fully fledged stretto and to contrapuntal artifice (except, perhaps, thematic inversion), but can produce an exciting, zestful type of fugue in a concertante spirit.

My choice of key, D flat major, recalls nineteenth-century music: this key is less bright than either C major or D major – it has a mellowness similar to A flat major – but is well suited to a “brilliant” style of writing.

The subject, which modulates to the dominant, A flat major, demands, and gets, a tonal answer. Tonal answers are, by definition, a “distortion” of the original subject, but not, one hopes, an ugly or unwelcome one – and a composer can try to be creative in exploiting the variant intervals thrown up by the process of tonal answer. There is a regular countersubject that mildly – but only mildly – contrasts rhythmically with the subject and emphasizes the mellifluous consonances of the sixth and third. There is even a second invertible countersubject, beginning in the upper voice in bar 10, although I use this less intensively than the first countersubject.

The first exposition runs from bar 1 to bar 17. The three entries of the subject are in a “top down” (SAT, or if one prefers, ATB) formation, and a short concluding section takes the music to a cadence in the home key. It would have been also possible to end the exposition in the dominant, which would have the advantage of making the first exposition necessarily different from the last (which, naturally, has to close in the tonic). The fact that I choose the tonic instead places an obligation on me to make the final exposition significantly different from the first in some respect other than tonal structure.

The shortish first episode occupies bars 18–25. It “plays” imitatively in light counterpoint with fragments of the subject and takes the music to F minor, the mediant minor. It would have been possible also to modulate to B flat minor, the relative minor, and this would have produced a more traditional tonal trajectory. However, the mediant minor is a perfectly valid option.

To end the very long codetta – almost an episode – following the first “middle” entry, in F minor, of the subject there is a wholly new idea (bars 33–36) that is almost Neapolitan (Scarlattian) in character. This is what Germans call an Einfall – a sudden idea that arrives as if from nowhere. I find the idea attractive in its almost opera buffa character arising from the use of ostinato, but, having introduced it, I have to validate its presence in the fugue by employing it at least once again, which I do in bars 44–47 (with inversion of the counterpoint). But before this, there are new middle entries in B flat minor (bar 37, truncated) and G flat major (bar 39).

Bars 48–53 form a second short episode, concerned mainly with dominant preparation for the return in the tonic of the subject.

How to form the final exposition, balancing the first, required thought. If I wished to make it more than a ritornello-like recapitulation of the first episode, I had to inject a new element. This I did by substituting a new, more dynamic (because aggressively syncopated) countersubject indirectly recalling the “Neapolitan” idea, which first enters in the top voice in bar 53. The idea is to revitalize the music in this closing phase. However, for the third entry (bar 63), the original countersubject is restored and the music calms itself in preparation for the end. In bars 69–72 there is a hesitant passage, with rests and harmonic stasis on the first beat of the bar, that is rather nineteenth-century in its rhetoric. This leads straight into the coda.

Theorists of fugue, beginning with Marburg, extol the virtues of placing one or more entries of the subject right at the end of the movement, as if to hammer home to the listener the “prime focus” of the composition. However, even Marpurg allows the alternative, which is to “dissolve” the fugue in a free coda, and many composers, including Bach, have made use of this option (good examples of this “symphonic” kind of fugue with an extended independent coda are the ones in Rossini’s Petite Messe Solenelle and Stabat Mater). In the present fugue, the closing bars 73–83 wind the music down with a free coda of this kind. The rather intense counterpoint of the main part of the fugue gives way to a playful homophony that culminates in simple octave-writing in the manner of a Mozart or Beethoven piano sonata.

The pdf and midi files of this piece may be downloaded HERE

08 October 2008

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