Lodewijk Muns

Bach’s Toccata in F-sharp minor BWV 910

Bach’s F-sharp minor Toccata is a weird instance of an already somewhat weird genre. Even the key of F-sharp minor is unusual; 18th and 19th theorists who believe in Tonartencharakteristik categorise it as somewhat sinister, gloomy and melancholy. The most vivid characterisation is that by Daniel Schubart, extravagantly imaginative as ever:

F-sharp minor. A sinister key: it tugs at passion like a snappy dog at a garment. Resentment and displeasure are what it expresses. It seems to be ill at ease: therefore it always pines for the peace of A major, or for the triumphant bliss of D major. (My transl. after Christ. Fried. Dan. Schubart’s Ideen zu einer Ästhetik der Tonkunst, 1806)

The toccata as a genre cannot be sharply distinguished from the fantasia: both may contain elements of quasi-improvisation, with virtuoso passages leading to more solid contrapuntal forms; in this case, two fugues. The first, three-part fugue is playful, in a kind of tickling manner (it is marked presto e staccato). It is preceded by a graceful sarabande that emerges abruptly form the improvisatory introduction.

The second, four-part fugue, on a six-step chromatic descent, is more serious, if not melancholy. Between these fugues is the strangest section of the toccata. Bach is here at his most minimalist: a one-bar idea is repeated with slight variations twenty times in various transpositions. It is hard to decide whether this repetitiveness shows the composer’s grim sense of humour – a kind of vexations? Maybe a simulation of an improvisor who is lost for ideas? That interpretation seems to be confirmed by the somewhat harsh (vexed?) conclusion. But perhaps it was just meant to be a challenge to the player to give expression to the trajectory that is implied in the harmonic progressions. What the player can do is limited; as the melodic line does not allow for ornamentation, the only variable parameter is timing, and on the piano, dynamics.

But what fascinated me about this piece is actually just an enigmatic four bars, about halfway the second fugue (at 9:07). It is a moment of an exquisite, almost sentimentally touching, tender expression.

It is enigmatic because its specific charm is not so easily explained. We can try to find the cause in the particular interaction of harmony and melody. The way the melody leaps downwards is a kind of elaborate sigh; I can think of no better illustration of Schubart’s ‘pining’ for a peaceful A major than these bars.

As for the harmony, the three voices complement the chromatic descent of the bass with a pattern that is basically a series of triads in first inversion; though it is the intervening suspensions that are most expressive. The association of this pattern with melancholy is clearly established in Emanuel Bach’s Abschied von meinem Silbermannischen Claviere.

Such considerations go some way towards solving the riddle. But perhaps the particular charm of these bars is just my sentimental perception, imposed on the music. A perception that is conditioned by the piano, an anachronistic instrument, and the acquaintance with later repertoire?

It would be hard to realise the sentimental touch on the harpsichord; and indeed, in the recordings I consulted the moment passes as just a spicy chromaticism. Most harpsichordist play the descending A major scale not cantabile, but as a typical toccata flourish.

Probably Bach did not intend these bars in the way I perceive them. That does not mean the charm isn’t there. It is inherent in the potential of the material, the expressiveness of harmonic shifts and suspensions, and the dog that is tugging at my sleeves.