
Vasili Byros
Ph.D., Yale University (2009)
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My imagined Beethoven realization is an improvised adaptation on the versions in A minor and C major from Johann David Heinichen’s General-Bass in der Composition from 1728. The first A minor section in the improvisation uses a tempesta or storm and stress style with sigh figures (Seufzer) that turn each chord into an appoggiatura or suspension into the next chord on nearly every downbeat. The second C major section is in a hymn style adapted to the piano. The improvisation tells a kind of story with and through the harmony of the Rule of the Octave: the struggle of A minor finding peace in C major.
This paper examines the problem by theorizing the relationship of models to creativity, following research in creative cognition. Bach’s Weimar organ fugues in D, G, and A minor (BWV 538, 542, 543) serve as case studies, whereby music analysis becomes a means of (re)enacting the creative compositional act.
The investigation pivots on two key themes in creativity studies: 1) schemata are not internalized in the same way by all members of a culture (Vygotsky 1978), but rather are already learned in a creative manner, which subsequently leads to their original use and appropriation; 2) original contributions in a given domain rely not on the mere imitation of models, but rather on deep-level analogies among them, which allows for conceptual combination or conceptual blending.
The goals of music theory today approximate the reading knowledge of a language acquired in graduate school. Enough about its syntax, grammar, and vocabulary is learned to supply a translation, but without ever acquiring the knowledge and experience to speak, think, or write in the language itself. Score annotations and analyses, as ends in themselves, are like metalinguistic translations. In Bach’s day, on the other hand, music theory was the business of training musicians to speak the language, on the performance-improvisation-composition continuum that defined their daily activities. To implement a “know-how” curriculum in an environment designed for “know-what,” however, is not without its challenges, not least because of limited time and often resources.
I narrate how Bach himself offered me a solution through his own music and pedagogical materials. Rather than throwing students into the proverbial deep end, my mini-curriculum engages them actively and continuously in creative work. The goal is not to compose a self-standing composition, but to get students thinking in Bach’s language in terms of musical schemata, the everyday patterns and conventions of Bach’s day. I do so through a series of creative problem-solving activities that impart knowledge of schemata, particularly as they are used in Bach’s hands. Students are placed in Bach’s shoes as both a teacher and composer, by exploring the connections and differences among Bach’s figured basses from the Vorschriften und Grundsätze zum vierstimmigen spielen des General-Bass, the partimento-preludes of the Langloz manuscript, and certain preludes from the Well-Tempered Clavier as well as selected fantasias. Through realization, analysis, and (class) composition exercises, students encounter a number of recurring schemata as a familiar cast of characters in these materials, all fashioned together into a modern-day Notenbüchlein or zibaldone (musical notebook), which tells a story about Bach’s schema usage—his compositional strategies employing schema development, elision, nesting, extension, and expansion.
The story culminates with Bach’s unique canonic treatment of a particular sequence, the 9/7–8/6/5. After ten weeks, students are able to realize a complex Bach partimento (BWV 908) and compose a continuo part for the Sanctus of the Mass in B Minor, for which no figures survive. These advanced creative problem-solving activities fill the last pages of the students’ Notenbüchlein, which is organized nearly single-handedly by Leipzig’s beloved Thomaskantor himself.
My imagined Beethoven realization is an improvised adaptation on the versions in A minor and C major from Johann David Heinichen’s General-Bass in der Composition from 1728. The first A minor section in the improvisation uses a tempesta or storm and stress style with sigh figures (Seufzer) that turn each chord into an appoggiatura or suspension into the next chord on nearly every downbeat. The second C major section is in a hymn style adapted to the piano. The improvisation tells a kind of story with and through the harmony of the Rule of the Octave: the struggle of A minor finding peace in C major.
This paper examines the problem by theorizing the relationship of models to creativity, following research in creative cognition. Bach’s Weimar organ fugues in D, G, and A minor (BWV 538, 542, 543) serve as case studies, whereby music analysis becomes a means of (re)enacting the creative compositional act.
The investigation pivots on two key themes in creativity studies: 1) schemata are not internalized in the same way by all members of a culture (Vygotsky 1978), but rather are already learned in a creative manner, which subsequently leads to their original use and appropriation; 2) original contributions in a given domain rely not on the mere imitation of models, but rather on deep-level analogies among them, which allows for conceptual combination or conceptual blending.
The goals of music theory today approximate the reading knowledge of a language acquired in graduate school. Enough about its syntax, grammar, and vocabulary is learned to supply a translation, but without ever acquiring the knowledge and experience to speak, think, or write in the language itself. Score annotations and analyses, as ends in themselves, are like metalinguistic translations. In Bach’s day, on the other hand, music theory was the business of training musicians to speak the language, on the performance-improvisation-composition continuum that defined their daily activities. To implement a “know-how” curriculum in an environment designed for “know-what,” however, is not without its challenges, not least because of limited time and often resources.
I narrate how Bach himself offered me a solution through his own music and pedagogical materials. Rather than throwing students into the proverbial deep end, my mini-curriculum engages them actively and continuously in creative work. The goal is not to compose a self-standing composition, but to get students thinking in Bach’s language in terms of musical schemata, the everyday patterns and conventions of Bach’s day. I do so through a series of creative problem-solving activities that impart knowledge of schemata, particularly as they are used in Bach’s hands. Students are placed in Bach’s shoes as both a teacher and composer, by exploring the connections and differences among Bach’s figured basses from the Vorschriften und Grundsätze zum vierstimmigen spielen des General-Bass, the partimento-preludes of the Langloz manuscript, and certain preludes from the Well-Tempered Clavier as well as selected fantasias. Through realization, analysis, and (class) composition exercises, students encounter a number of recurring schemata as a familiar cast of characters in these materials, all fashioned together into a modern-day Notenbüchlein or zibaldone (musical notebook), which tells a story about Bach’s schema usage—his compositional strategies employing schema development, elision, nesting, extension, and expansion.
The story culminates with Bach’s unique canonic treatment of a particular sequence, the 9/7–8/6/5. After ten weeks, students are able to realize a complex Bach partimento (BWV 908) and compose a continuo part for the Sanctus of the Mass in B Minor, for which no figures survive. These advanced creative problem-solving activities fill the last pages of the students’ Notenbüchlein, which is organized nearly single-handedly by Leipzig’s beloved Thomaskantor himself.