A. Copland 「What to Listen for in Music」を読む

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第12章 フーガによる形式 A. Copland「What to Listen for in Music」を読む


III. フーガによる形式 


FugueConcerto Grosso; Chorale Prelude; 

Motets and Madrigals 



Chapter 1 began with the premise that it was essential, in learning to listen more intelligently, to hear a great deal of music over and over again; and that no amount of reading could possibly replace that listening. What was written there is especially true in regard to fugal forms. If you really wish to hear what goes on in these forms, you must be willing to go after them again and again. More than any other formal mold, fugal forms demand repeated hearings if they are to be fully heard by the layman. 



Whatever comes under the heading of fugal form partakes in some way of the nature of a fugue. You already know, I feel sure, that in texture all fugues are polyphonic or contrapuntal (the terms are identical in meaning.) Therefore, it follows that all fugal forms are polyphonic or contrapuntal in texture. 



At this point , the reader might do well to review what was said in Chapter 8 about listening polyphonically. It was stated there that hearing music polyphonically implies a listener who can hear separate strands of melody simultaneously. The parts need not be of equal importance, but they must be heard independently. This is no great feat, any person of average intelligence can, with a little practice, hear more than one melody at a time. At any rate, it is the sine qua non of intelligent listening to fugal forms. 



The four principal fugal forms are: first, the fugue proper; second, the concerto grosso; third, the chorale-prelude; fourth, motets and madrigals. It goes without saying that contrapuntal writing is not confined to these forms alone. Just as the principle of variation was seen to be applicable to any form, so in the same way a contrapuntal texture may occur without preparation in almost any form. Be ready, in other words, to listen polyphonically at any moment. 








A certain number of well-known contrapuntal devices are used whenever the texture is polyphonic. They are not invariably present, but they may put in an appearance, and so the listener must be on the lookout for them. The simplest of these devices are: imitation, canon, inversion, augmentation, diminution. More recondite are cancrizans (crab motion) and the inverted cancrizans. Some of these devices, enmeshed within the web of contrapuntal texture, are quite difficult to follow. I point them out now more for the sake of completeness than because you will learn from one single illustration to recognize them each time that they occur (see Appendix II). 



Imitation is the simplest device of all. Anyone who has ever sung a round in school will know the meaning of imitation. Playing a kind of “follow-the-leader” musical game, one voice imitates what another voice does. When used incidentally during the course of a piece, this device is referred to as “imitation.” This perfectly natural idea may be found in very early music as well as in contemporary music. The simplest imitation sets up an illusion of many-voiced music, although only one melody is actually sounded. The imitation need not start on the same note with which the original voice begins. In such a case, we speak of imitation “at the fourth” above or “at the second” below, indicating the pitch at which the entrance of the imitating voice was made. Paradoxically, you have to listen cotrapuntally, although only one melody is in question. 



Canon is merely a more elaborate species of imitation, in which the imitation is carried out logically from the beginning of a piece to the end. In other words, canon may be spoken of as a form, whereas imitation is always a device. Eighteenth-century music supplies numerous examples; the most quoted illustration of the past century is that of the last movement of Cesar Frank's Violin Sonata. Recently, Hindemith has written canons in the form of sonatas for two flutes. 




Inversion is not so easily recognized. It consists of turning a melody upside down, as it were, The melody inverted always moves in the opposite direction from the melody of its original version. That is, when the original leaps an octave upward, the inversion leaps an octave downward, and so forth. Of course, not all melodies make sense when inverted. It is up to the composer to decide whether or not the inversion of a melody is justified on musical grounds. 



Augmentation is easily explained. When you augment a theme, you double the time value of the notes, thereby making the theme twice as slow as it originally was. (A quarter note becomes a half, a half note a whole, etc.) Diminution is the opposite of augmentation. It consists of halving the note values, so that the theme moves twice as fast as originally. (A whole note becomes a half, a half note a quarter, etc.) 



Cancrizans, or crab motion, as the name implies, means the melody read backward. In other words, A-B-C-D becomes, in cancrizans, D-C-B-A. Here, again, the mere mechanical application of the device does not always produce musical results. Cancrizans is much more rarely found than the other contrapuntal devices, although the modern Viennese school, led by Arnold Schoenberg, has made liberal use of it. Still more involved is inverted cancrizans, in which the theme is first read backward and then inverted.  



The ability to listen contraputally, plus a comprehension of these various devices, is all that is necessaary in order to prepare oneself to hear fugues intelligently. Most fugues are written in three or four voices. Five-voiced fugues are rarer, and two-voiced rarer still. Once a certain number of voices are adopted, they are held to throughout. They are not, however, contiuously present in the fugue, for a well-written fugue implies breathing spaces in each melodic line. So that in a four-voiced fugue, the listener seldom hears more than three voices at a time. 



But no matter how many voices may be going on at the same time, there is always one voice that predominates. Just as a juggler, handling three objects, draws our attention to the object that goes highest, so, in the same way, the composer draws our attention to one of the equally independent voices. It is the theme, or subject, of the fugue that takes precedence whenever present. Therefore, the reader can appreciate how important it is to bear in mind the subject of the fugue. Composers aid by invariably stating the subject at the beginning of the fugue without accompaniment. Fugue subjects are generally rather short - two or three measures long - and of a well-defined character. (Examine, if you can, the famous forty-eight fugue themes used by Bach in his Well Tempered Clavichord). 



Before demonstrating as much as can be blueprinted of the fugue as a whole, it should be made clear that the general outlines of the form are not nearly so definite as that of other formal molds. Every fugue differs as to presentation of voices, as to length, and as to inner detail. Its separate parts are not nearly so distinguishable as, let us say, separate parts in sectional forms. In a non-technical book of this sort, it is not possible to make the measure-by-measure explanation that each fugue demands for complete analysis. 



All fugues, however, begin with what is called an “exposition.” Let us see what the exposition of a fugue consists of before going on to examine the remainder of the form. Every fugue, as I have said, begins with an announcement of the unadorned fugue subject. If we take as model a four-voiced fugue, them the subject will appear for the first time in one of four voices: soprano, alto, tenor, or bass (For convenience sake, let's call them V-1,V-2, V-3, and V-4.) Any one of the four voices may have the first statement of the fugue subject. Whatever the order may be, the subject is heard in each one of the four voice, one after another, like this 

V-1  S......... 

V-2         S.......... 

V-3                S.......... 

V-4                       S.......... 


V-1  S......... 

V-2         S.......... 

V-3                S.......... 

V-4                       S.......... 


Or the order of entrance may be thus: 

V-1                       S......... 

V-2         S.......... 

V-3  S.......... 

V-4                 S.......... 

(V-2 and V-4 are more exactly known as “answers” to the subject. I have retained “subject” in all four voices for the sake of simplicity.) 


V-1                       S......... 

V-2         S.......... 

V-3  S.......... 

V-4                 S.......... 



It goes without saying that when the second voice enters with the subject, the first voice does not stop. On the contrary, it continues to add a countermelody, or countersubject as it is generally called (CS), to the principal subject. Thus, the ground plan really reads: 

V-1  S.........CS.......... 

V-2          S............CS.......... 

V-3                    S...........CS.......... 

V-4                             S..........CS.......... 


V-1  S.........CS.......... 

V-2          S............CS.......... 

V-3                    S...........CS.......... 

V-4                             S..........CS.......... 


When once the subject and countersubject are exposed in any one voice, it is free to continue without restrictions as a so-called “free voice.” With that filled in, our ground plan of the exposition is completed: 

V-1  S......CS.......xxFV.........xx.................................. 

V-2        S.......xxCS.........xxFV............................. 

V-3                  S.......xxCS........FV................. 

V-4                            S.......CS................ 


V-1  S......CS.......xxFV.........xx.................................. 

V-2        S.......xxCS.........xxFV............................. 

V-3                  S.......xxCS........FV................. 

V-4                            S.......CS................ 


In some fugues, it is not feasible to go directly from one entrance of a voice to the next without a measure or two of transition, because of tonal relationships too technical to be gone into here. That is what the crosses indicate. The exposition is considered to be at an end when each of the voices of a fugue has sung the theme once. (Certain fugues have a reexposition section in which the exposition is repeated but with the voices entering in different order.) 



The exposition is the only part of the fugue form that is definitely set. From there on, the form can be summarized only loosely. The general plan might be reduced to a formula something like this: exposition-(reexposition) -episode   1-subject-episode   2-subject-episode   3- subject-(etc.)-stretto (see page 138 for explanation of this term)-cadence. Speaking 

generally, a series of episodes alternate with statements of the fugue subject, seen each time in new aspects. No rules govern the number of episodes or returns of the theme. A episode is often related to some fragment of the fugue subject or countersubject. It seldom is made up entirely of independent materials. Its principal function is to divert attention from the theme of the fugue, so as better to prepare the stage for its reentrance. Its general character is usually that of a bridge section - more relaxed in quality, less dialectic than the fugue subject developments. 

フーガの形式にきちんと設定してあるのは、この主題提示の部分だけである。さてここでは、この形式を大雑把にまとめるとしよう。主題提示-(再提示)-間奏 / 1-主題提示-間奏 / 2-主題提示-間奏 / 3-主題提示-(同)-ストレッタ(主題と対主題が重なり緊迫する所:138頁参照)―終止部。一般的には、幾度となく出てくる間奏は、フーガの主題を提示することで交替する。この時、それまでにない要素が加わってくる。間奏部の回数や主題に戻る回数は、決まりはない。間奏部というのは、フーガの主題・対主題の中にある一部分と、何かしら繋がる部分があることが多い。間奏部が曲中他の部分とは全く関係のない作り方をしてあることは、滅多にない。間奏部の一番大事な役割は、フーガの主題から聞く人の注意を外すことにある。そうすることで、もう一度主題が入ってくるお膳立てをするのに良いからだ。間奏部の特徴は、一般的には橋渡しとしての性格である。フーガの主題を発展展開してゆくやり方よりも、作り込みはゆるく、訴えかける力もゆるくしてある。 


Despite the appearance of the preceding formula, there is no actual repetition in a fugue except for the kernel of the fugue subject itself, and the countersubject which often accompanies its every appearance. Half the point of fugue form would be missed if it were not clearly understood that with each entrance of the fugue subject a different light is thrown upon theme itself. It may be augmented or inverted, combined with itself or with other new themes, shortened or lengthened, sung quietly or boldly. Each new appearance tests the ingenuity of the composer. During the main body of the fugue ― that is, after the exposition and before the stretto ― a severe modulatory scheme is generally adopted, which is too technical for full discussion here. 



A stretto in a fugue is optional, but when present it is usually found just before the final cadence. Stretto is the name given a species of imitation in which the separate parts enter so immediately one after another that an impression of toppling voices is obtained. Not all fugue subjects lend themselves equally well to this kind of treatment, which explains why strettos are not found in every fugue. Whatever the nature of the fugue, the end is never casual. It brings with it, as a rule, one final, clear statement of the fugue subject and an insistence on the establishment withour question of the tonic key. 



The fugue asks for concentrated listening and is therefore not very long, a few pages at most. The character of the fugue is limited only by the imagination of its creator. It may be somber or witty, but it never tries to be both in one fugue. As far as its general character goes, a fugue says one thing, and it derives its keynote from the nature of the fugue subject itself. The emotional scope, in other words, is limited to the kind of theme with which one begins. 



The disciplinary aspect of the fugue has challenged the ingenuity of composers for centuries and continues to do so. But the consensus of opinion is that the fugue, in essence, is an eighteenth-century form. That may be partly accounted for by the fact that the composers of the following century tended to neglect a form that was undoubtedly associated in their minds with the formalism of a past era, plus the emphasis placed upon freedom of expression during the romantic period. There were other reasons also, but these will suffice.    



Recent composers, however, have shown a renewal of interest in the fugue. Whether or not their accomplishments in this field will justify their redoing a form that the past has done so consummately well, the future alone can tell. In any case, there is nothing essentially different about a modern fugue. As far as the form goes, or the general emotional character, it is still the fugue of a disciplined age. The listener's problem is exactly similar in both cases.  






The second principal fugal form is that of the concerto grosso. It, too, is an essentially pre-nineteenth-century form, as are all these fugal forms. It should not be confused in your mind with the later concerto, which is written for a virtuoso soloist accompanied by orchesra. The origin of the concerto grosso is attributable to the fact that composers in the second half of the seventeenth century became intrigued by the effect to be obtained from contrasting a small body of instruments with a large body of instruments. The smaller group, called the concertino, might be formed of any combination of instruments pleasing to the composer. Whatever the smaller group of instruments may be, the form is built around the dialectical interchange between the concertino and the larger body of instruments, or tutti, as it is often called. 



The concerto grosso, then, is a kind of instrumental fugal form. It is generally made up of three or more movements. The classical examples of the form are those of Handel and Bach. The latter's essays in the form, known as the Brandenburg Concerti, of which there are six, make use of a different concertino in each one. Very often, in listening to the contrapuntal texture of one of these works, one has an impression of wonderful health and vitality. The inner movement of the separate parts gives off an athletic quality, as if all were in excellent working order. 



During the nineteenth century, the form was abandoned in favor of the concerto for soloist and orchestra, which may rightfully be considered an offshoot of the earlier concerto grosso. Like other eighteenth-century forms, the concerto grosso has enjoyed renewed interest on the part of recent composers. A well-known modern example is the Concerto Grosso by Ernest Bloch. 






The chorale prelude, which is the third of the fugal forms, is less definite in outline than the concerto grosso and therefore more difficult to define with any degree of exactitude. It had its origin in the chorale tunes that were sung in Protestant churches after the time of Luther. Composers attached to the church exercised their ingenuity in making elaborate settings of these simple melodies. They are, in a sense, variations on a hymn tune, and I shall mention three of the best-known types of treatment of these choral tunes. 




The simplest method consists of keeping the given melody intact, while making the accompanying harmonies more interesting, either by increasing the harmonic complexity or by making the accompanying voices more intricately polyphonic. A second type embroiders upon the theme itself, lending the barest melodic outline an unsuspected grace and floridity. The third, and most involved type, is a kind of fugue woven around the tune of the chorale. For example, some fragment of the chorale tune may serve as fugue subject. An exposition of a fugue is written just as if there were to be no chorale; and then without warning, while the fugue continues along placidly, above or beneath it may be heard the long-drawn-out notes of the chorale. 



Some of Bach's finest creations were written in one or another of these forms of chorale prelude. His Orgelb uchlein is a collection of short chorale preludes containing an inexhaustible wealth of musical riches, which no music lover can afford to ignore. Deeply moving from an expressive standpoint, they are nevertheless marvels of technical ingenuity ― a magistral illustration of the welding of thought and emotion. 






The fourth and last of the fugal forms is that of motets and madrigals. I hasten to add that a motet or madrigal is not a form, properly speaking; but since they will be listened to with increasing frequency and definitely belong with the contrapuntal forms, their proper place is here. One cannot generalize as to their form, because they are choral compositions, sung without accompaniment and dependent on their words in each individual instance for their formal outline. 



Motets and madrigals were written in profusion during the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. The difference between the two is that the motet is a short vocal composition of sacred words, whereas the madrigal is a similar composition on secular words. The madrigal is generally less severe in character. Both are typical vocal fugal forms of the era before the advent of Bach and his contemporaries. 

モテットとマドリガルが盛んに作られたのは、15, 16, 17世紀の間である。この二つの違いだが、モテットは短めで歌詞は宗教的なもの、一方マドリガルは同じようなものだが、歌詞は宗教的でないものだ。曲の性格もマドリガルのほうが、やや厳粛さから肩の力を抜いたものである。両方とも当時のフーガの手法を用いた声楽曲で、バッハやその次代の作曲家が登場する以前のものである。 


From the listener's standpoint, it is important to distinguish the texture of motet or madrigal. Here, again, no rule prevails; motets and madrigals may be either fugal or chordal in style or a combination of both. I fail to see how these vocal forms may be heard intelligently without an elementary idea as to their different textures. In the motet or madrigal of fugal or contrapuntal texture, the fact that the separate melodic voices are attached to words will be found especially helpful in aiding the listener to hear the counterpoint more easily than in the purely instrumental forms. 



The Renaissance period is crowded with masters who used these vocal forms. Palestrina in Italy, Orlando di Lasso in the Netherlands, Victoria in Spain; Byrd, Wilbye, Morley, and Gibbons in England are some of the outstanding names in one of the most remarkable eras in music. The unfamiliarity of most of our concertgoers with this extraordinary epoch is indicative of the comparatively narrow musical interests of our time. 




Bach ― Brandenburg Concertos 

Trevor Pinnock, Baroqe Ensemble (Archiv) 


Bach ― Well Tempered Clavier (see listing under Chapter Two) 


Franck ― Sonata in A for Violin and Piano 

Gidon Kremer, O. Maisenberg (Philips) 


Beethoven ― Piano Sonata in A flat, Opus 110 

Alfred Brendel (Philips) 


Schoenberg ― String Quartet No. 3 

Arditti Quartet (Disques Montaigne) 




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