Journeys Through Galant Expositions 9780190083991, 0190083999

Table of contents :
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
Acknowledgments
About the companion website
1. Introduction
Parsing an exposition
“Like Othello and Iago!”
An alternate jelly-mould
Journeys vs. containers
Neo-Kochian approaches to form
Packing for our journey
I. THEORIES AND TERMINOLOGY
2. Formal Punctuations: Perioden and Sätze
Punctuations and resting points
Perioden
Hauptperioden and Nebenperioden
Sätze
Resting points on the path toward the formal cadence
Grad der Ruhe: degree of repose
The Absatz as a leg of a journey
Satz lengths
Einschnitte
Punctuation formulas
Overview
Absatz-ending ≠ cadence
A Schlußsatz must lead to a PAC, but a PAC ≠ the end of a Schlußsatz
Where does it all end?
Overhangs
Appendices
Satz-appendix, or Satz-beginning?
Sätze in different keys
Other formal terms for passages
3. Hauptruhepuncte and Haupttheile
Avoiding Satz repetitions in the interpunctische Folge der Theile
Repeated Absätze
Appendices
Absätze as “clarifications”
Repeated and clarifying Absätze
Parenthetic insertion (Einschiebsel)
Rauschende and cantabile Quintabsätze
4. Eighteenth-Century Approaches to Expositions: Riepel and Koch
Joseph Riepel
In search of tonal order
Riepel’s sample expositions
The contrasting idea
Aenderungsabsatz
Koch
Succession of resting points
Resting points, not key areas
Thematic character
Energetic passage followed by a cantabile theme
Contemporaneous writings
5. Other Eighteenth-Century Approaches to Expositions: Galeazzi, Kollmann, and Neubauer
Galeazzi
Cadences and thematic character as formal elements
Secondo Motivo can begin in either the home key or the key of V
The “middle” theme
Kollmann
Neubauer
Koch’s 1802 Musiklexikon
6. Modern Terminology
First theme section vs. transition section
Transition vs. secondary theme section
Common criteria for determining secondary theme
Thematic character
Cadences and keys
Direct motion to formal cadence
The medial caesura and other textural markers
Non-medial caesuras
Other formal terms
Closing section
Continuous expositions; merged thematic functions
II. EXPOSITIONS
7. Standard Punctuation Form
The standard interpunctische Folge der Theile
Mozart’s K. 282 redux
8. Two-Part Expositions
A movement by Leopold Mozart
A movement by his son
9. Division Following the Home-Key Dominant
A two-part voyage
Bifocal expositions where the main theme is repeated during the Quintabsatz
Bifocal expositions with increasing momentum
The lyrical “middle” passage
Voice-leading frameworks for bifocal expositions
Boundaries of secondary theme vs. middleground prolongation
Portmann and Mozart’s K. 284
Mid-second theme break? Or dividing line between zones?
10. Division Following the New-Key Dominant
Passage following the new-key half-cadential caesura
Mid-transition demarcation on the home-key V
Pre-medial caesuras
Medial caesura declined followed by a chromatic passage
Mid-transition break
11. Expositions with Two Half-Cadential Breaks
The first movement of K. 43
Parsings following modern concepts
Parsing following eighteenth-century concepts
Double medial caesuras and the so-called trimodular block
A hermeneutic strategy
“Trimodular block” overview
Expected motion to the EEC?
Example from Haydn
12. Division Following Arrival on Tonic
PAC appearing in the middle of a secondary theme section
PAC appearing in the middle of or before the transition
New-key PAC appearing at the end of the transition
Secondary themes that coincide with the Nebenperiode
Home-key PAC appearing before the secondary theme
13. Uncommon Divisions
Unusual resting points
Repetitions (or apparent repetitions?) of Hauptruhepuncte
Non-standard ordering of Hauptruhepuncte
III. THE ENTIRE MOVEMENT
14. The Movement’s Second Half
Development and recapitulation
The final two Theile: eighteenth-century concepts
Early double return
Rotations through the thematic plan
Where does the recapitulation “space” begin?
The so-called false recapitulation
15. Analyses
Johann Adolph Hasse, Overture to Alcide al Bivio, first movement (1760)
First half of movement
Second half of movement
Marianna Martines, Sonata for Keyboard in A, first movement (c. 1765)
First half of movement
Second half of movement
Joseph Haydn, Symphony No. 14 in A, first movement (c. 1762)
First half of movement
Second half of movement
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Quartet for Strings in B-flat, K. 159/i (1773)
Anhang
Appendix I: Conventions Used in Charts
Appendix II: Selected Glossary
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

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Journeys Through Galant Expositions

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Journeys Through Galant Expositions L. POUNDIE BURSTEIN

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Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Burstein, L. Poundie, author. Title: Journeys through galant expositions / L. Poundie Burstein. Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2020. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020014378 (print) | LCCN 2020014379 (ebook) | ISBN 9780190083991 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190084035 | ISBN 9780190084028 | ISBN 9780190084011 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Sonata form. | Instrumental music—18th century—Analysis, appreciation. Classification: LCC MT62 .B87 2020 (print) | LCC MT62 (ebook) | DDC 784.18/3—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020014378 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020014379

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Contents

Acknowledgments About the companion website 1.

Introduction Parsing an exposition “Like Othello and Iago!” An alternate jelly-mould Journeys vs. containers Neo-Kochian approaches to form Packing for our journey I. THEORIES AND TERMINOLOGY

2.

Formal Punctuations: Perioden and Sätze Punctuations and resting points Perioden Hauptperioden and Nebenperioden Sätze Resting points on the path toward the formal cadence Grad der Ruhe: degree of repose The Absatz as a leg of a journey Satz lengths Einschnitte Punctuation formulas Overview

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Absatz-ending ≠ cadence A Schlußsatz must lead to a PAC, but a PAC ≠ the end of a Schlußsatz Where does it all end? Overhangs Appendices Satz-appendix, or Satz-beginning? Sätze in different keys Other formal terms for passages 3.

Hauptruhepuncte and Haupttheile Avoiding Satz repetitions in the interpunctische Folge der Theile Repeated Absätze Appendices Absätze as “clarifications” Repeated and clarifying Absätze Parenthetic insertion (Einschiebsel) Rauschende and cantabile Quintabsätze

4.

Eighteenth-Century Approaches to Expositions: Riepel and Koch Joseph Riepel In search of tonal order Riepel’s sample expositions The contrasting idea Aenderungsabsatz Koch Succession of resting points Resting points, not key areas Thematic character Energetic passage followed by a cantabile theme Contemporaneous writings

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5.

6.

Other Eighteenth-Century Approaches to Expositions: Galeazzi, Kollmann, and Neubauer Galeazzi Cadences and thematic character as formal elements Secondo Motivo can begin in either the home key or the key of V The “middle” theme Kollmann Neubauer Koch’s 1802 Musiklexikon Modern Terminology First theme section vs. transition section Transition vs. secondary theme section Common criteria for determining secondary theme Thematic character Cadences and keys Direct motion to formal cadence The medial caesura and other textural markers Non-medial caesuras Other formal terms Closing section Continuous expositions; merged thematic functions II. EXPOSITIONS

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Standard Punctuation Form The standard interpunctische Folge der Theile Mozart’s K. 282 redux

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Two-Part Expositions A movement by Leopold Mozart A movement by his son 8

9.

Division Following the Home-Key Dominant A two-part voyage Bifocal expositions where the main theme is repeated during the Quintabsatz Bifocal expositions with increasing momentum The lyrical “middle” passage Voice-leading frameworks for bifocal expositions Boundaries of secondary theme vs. middleground prolongation Portmann and Mozart’s K. 284 Mid-second theme break? Or dividing line between zones?

10. Division Following the New-Key Dominant Passage following the new-key half-cadential caesura Mid-transition demarcation on the home-key V Pre-medial caesuras Medial caesura declined followed by a chromatic passage Mid-transition break 11. Expositions with Two Half-Cadential Breaks The first movement of K. 43 Parsings following modern concepts Parsing following eighteenth-century concepts Double medial caesuras and the so-called trimodular block A hermeneutic strategy “Trimodular block” overview Expected motion to the EEC? Example from Haydn 12. Division Following Arrival on Tonic PAC appearing in the middle of a secondary theme section PAC appearing in the middle of or before the transition

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New-key PAC appearing at the end of the transition Secondary themes that coincide with the Nebenperiode Home-key PAC appearing before the secondary theme 13. Uncommon Divisions Unusual resting points Repetitions (or apparent repetitions?) of Hauptruhepuncte Non-standard ordering of Hauptruhepuncte III. THE ENTIRE MOVEMENT 14. The Movement’s Second Half Development and recapitulation The final two Theile: eighteenth-century concepts Early double return Rotations through the thematic plan Where does the recapitulation “space” begin? The so-called false recapitulation 15. Analyses Johann Adolph Hasse, Overture to Alcide al Bivio, first movement (1760) First half of movement Second half of movement Marianna Martines, Sonata for Keyboard in A, first movement (c. 1765) First half of movement Second half of movement Joseph Haydn, Symphony No. 14 in A, first movement (c. 1762) First half of movement Second half of movement

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Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Quartet for Strings in B-flat, K. 159/i (1773) Anhang Appendix I: Conventions Used in Charts Appendix II: Selected Glossary Notes Bibliography Index

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Acknowledgments

I am grateful for the help, feedback, and encouragement of many people in developing this project. Among these I would especially like to thank Andrew Aziz, Carl Burdick, Vasily Byros, Graham Hunt, Sylvia Kahan, Rebecca Long, Danuta Mirka, Markus Neuwirth, Lina Tabak, Charles Weaver, and Lynne Rogers. I would also like to thank the students and faculty at City University of New York, China Conservatory, Columbia University, Florida State University, Indiana University, Juilliard, Louisiana State University, Mannes College, McGill University, Sibelius Academy, State University of Santa Catarina, Temple University, University of Alabama Tuscaloosa, University of Colorado at Boulder, University of Iowa, University of Massachusetts at Amherst, University of Michigan, University of North Texas, University of Notre Dame, University of South Carolina, University of Texas at Arlington, University of Texas at Austin, and University of Toronto. For their help with the German translations, I would like to thank Thomas Lovik, Mary Lovik, and Hedi Siegel. I am also deeply grateful to the Society for Music Theory and to the John Daverio Endowment and Joseph Kerman Endowment of the American Musicological Society, supported in part by the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, for providing grants to help defray the cost of recordings for this book’s companion website. Finally, I would like to express my deep appreciation for the team at Oxford University Press and their partners: Timothy DeWerff, Sean Decker, Dorian Mueller, and especially Suzanne Ryan Melamed for her encouragement at the start and throughout the project, and Elizabeth Davey and Norman Hirschy for helping guide this project through to its fruition.

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About the companion website

http://www.oup.com/us/journeysthroughgalantexpositions Oxford has created a website to accompany Journeys Through Galant Expositions. Material that cannot be made available in a book is provided here, namely annotated excerpts of scores (except for those already found in the book itself) and links to recordings, and/or to full scores, of most of the works charted in the book. Many of the excerpts found on the website may also be downloaded and printed. Links to recordings of entire pieces, or to recordings of the excerpts, are also available for most of these excerpts. A number of these are available via Spotify, which requires signing up. (Spotify is available for free, though those who pay for the service may listen without advertisements. This tool will be easiest to use if you log into Spotify in advance.) Links to full scores are also available for most of these pieces. In the scores provided, figures were omitted from the continuo parts, and in many cases the score is tacitly reduced. In almost all such cases, the full score and figures may be found via the link provided. Examples available online are indicated in the text with Oxford’s symbol .

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1 Introduction

Parsing an exposition Where would you label the appearance of the transition and secondary theme in the sonata-form exposition cited in Ex. 1.1? This seems like a simple enough question, of the type that might appear on a standard exam for a freshman music theory class. Yet the answer is far from straightforward, for there appear to be at least two viable possibilities.

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Ex. 1.1 W. A. Mozart, Sonata for Keyboard in E-flat, K. 282/iii (1774), mm. 1–23.

To be sure, you could probably locate a transition and secondary theme here without much trouble and provide excellent reasons for your choice, along with reasons why any alternate choice would be less satisfactory. But as a thought experiment, could you also think of plausible reasons why someone might choose to label the themes here differently than you do? Experience has shown me that most musicians agree that there is an obvious way to parse this exposition, and that the alternate ways are just plain wrong. What they fail to agree on, however, is which of the possible parsings is the obviously correct one. Some claim that—owing to its extreme similarity with the opening four measures—the phrase of mm. 5–8 cannot be regarded as the transition. Conversely, others contend that since it opens in the key of V, the passage from m. 9 onward must be regarded as

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the second theme group, which in turn implies that mm. 5–8 do serve as the transition.1 As we shall see, however, these and other such rationales cannot be applied consistently without running into severe problems.

“Like Othello and Iago!” Despite the problems that frequently attend the parsing of sonata-form expositions, there nonetheless often are excellent reasons for at least trying to do so. In particular, locating the boundaries of the first and secondary theme sections helps spotlight the thrilling dialectic that seems to lie at the heart of many expositions composed during the high Classical era and after. Not surprisingly, the contrasts between first and second theme groups have served as a matter of central concern for discussions of sonata form ever since the nineteenth century. Coming to grips with this dialectic can be especially crucial for performers. A friend who studied with the celebrated cellist Joel Krosnick told me that among Krosnick’s most important lessons were those that involved strategies for properly enunciating the opposition between first and second theme groups. “The first and second themes must be like Othello and Iago!” he exhorted. Although my friend forgot which specific piece Krosnick mentioned in this regard, perhaps it was the opening movement of Beethoven’s Sonata for Piano and Cello Op. 5/1. In this movement, a brash opening theme section in F major seems pitted against a secondary theme group that enters in a particularly slippery manner (Ex. 1.2). Then again, Krosnick could have been referring to any number of pieces by Beethoven that boast starkly differentiated theme groups (though perhaps for several of these other movements he might have invoked a different set of characters, such as Othello and Desdemona).

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Ex. 1.2 Ludwig van Beethoven, Sonata for Piano and Cello, Op. 5/1/i, start of first and secondary theme groups, mm. 1–2 and 39–42.

Although most obviously present in expositions composed from around 1780 onward, the dialectic tension between thematic sections frequently is cited as an important factor in expositions from earlier decades as well. As is commonly remarked, however, the contrast between thematic sections in expositions does not necessarily rely on a contrast of themes, or even on a contrast of moods. The lack of thematic contrast is most apparent in movements with so-called monothematic expositions, where the first and second themes begin with similar tunes. Especially with such pieces, the

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conflict that underlies the exposition is instead usually claimed to result from an opposition of formal functions. Accordingly, a stable main theme group that serves to establish the home key is set against an expansive secondary theme group that leads to a perfect authentic cadence in the secondary key. As is often further noted, these two spheres of influence are almost always linked by an unstable transition section that leads from one of these sections to the other (Ex. 1.3). Ex. 1.3 Depiction of typical expositional formal functions.

Parsing expositions into distinct thematic sections has a distinguished pedigree, stretching back to the mid-1800s and prior.2 Such parsing remains at the heart of music theory and analysis pedagogy, and it continues to play a central role in introductory music theory and music appreciation classes. In this book, I shall refer to the labels for these thematic sections—labels such as first theme group, transition section, secondary theme zone, and the like—as “modern sonata-form terminology” or “modern sonata-form labels.” Likewise, I refer to approaches that heavily rely on these terms and their associated notions as “modern sonata-form concepts.” This admittedly free, perhaps even clumsy use of the term “modern” stretches its meaning to refer to terminology and concepts that have been in place for well over a century. Even today, musicians don’t analyze sonata-form expositions in a monolithic manner, and certainly it would be far-fetched to suggest that any single analytic method could be understood as entirely representative of the “modern” approach to form. Nevertheless, the notion that expositions normally can be parsed into separate theme groups continues to serve as a mainstay of modern-day analyses and discussions of sonata form—and rightly so, since, as noted above, such parsing can be so helpful in illuminating exciting and dramatic features of the form.

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But not always. This is especially so when dealing with music that flourished closer to the middle of the eighteenth century, what is roughly described as the Galant era. Significantly, until the last few years of the eighteenth century at best, there is no published indication that musicians from the 1700s recognized the presence, much less the importance, of what now would be labeled as a transition or secondary theme within a sonataform exposition.3 As we shall see, the conception of musical form held by those who lived then tended to rest on a much different metaphorical basis than what is standard today. Naturally, in analyzing this music, we need not be handcuffed by what the musicians from the Galant period themselves discussed. Nonetheless, the formal concepts held by those who played, composed, improvised, and heard music around that time are important not merely for reasons of historical curiosity, but also because they offer intriguing ways to understand this music, ways that have since been largely shunted aside.

An alternate jelly-mould Questioning the validity of standard sonata-form concepts is about as old as the concepts themselves. Indeed, almost every discussion of musical form begins with a warning to avoid shoving music into prefabricated, formal “jelly-moulds.”4 Inevitably, this is followed by proposing a new jellymould into which to shove the music. Admittedly, the approach discussed in the present book is no different in this regard. It’s not that one scores brownie points simply by demonstrating how the form of a specific composition lines up with a standard model. Rather, as many others have noted, the elements normally found within a given style help inspire a series of generic expectations. As a result, examining standard stylistic practices provides insights into how these expectations may be fulfilled, delayed, subverted, or thwarted within individual compositions from the style. This in turn provides an especially helpful vantage point from which to explore works from a style that today might initially seem somewhat foreign and forbidding.5 Comparing specific works to a general stylistic model is less helpful if one chooses the wrong style as the yardstick, however. It is hardly surprising that the layout of a composition might diverge from formal practices that were firmly in place only years after the work was composed. 19

This has particular relevance for the present study, which focuses on music of the latter part of the Galant era, from around the third quarter of the eighteenth century. Since modern audiences tend to be less familiar with music of the Galant era than that of the high Classical period, it has been tempting for many people today to view the forms of Galant works against standards that stem from pieces composed during later decades—at times yielding unfortunately skewed results. These problems come to the fore most frequently in discussions of the music of Joseph Haydn, whose treatment of form is frequently cited as quirky and inventive. Haydn’s music indeed is often quirky and inventive, but not necessarily for many of the reasons that are often discussed. If one views his music in reference to other pieces composed around the same time, as described by musicians of the era, many of the supposedly odd features of Haydn’s formal treatment may actually be understood to be rather conventional. A proper understanding of what is stylistically normal in his music in turn allows us to better focus on the features of Haydn’s works that are truly daring and innovative. To help gain an inroad into the form of music composed during the Galant era, it is particularly helpful to take cues from the writings of eighteenth-century musicians, who lived with this music on a daily basis. Though certainly not a cure-all, the ideas they share often yield impressive insights. A particular advantage is that their concepts are uncolored by assumptions that have since developed in analyzing form, assumptions based largely on the practices of later musical styles. As a result, such historically based approaches to form can help illuminate features that may tend to be dismissed too quickly by other analytic methods. It must be emphasized that proper consideration of earlier formal approaches is not merely a matter of dressing modern concepts in olden terminology: rather, it involves a radical shift in mindset. Most notably, the central metaphors eighteenth-century theorists tended to use in describing form are much different from ones that we tend to use today, and this different metaphorical basis has profound implications for listening and performance.

Journeys vs. containers

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A striking aspect of late eighteenth-century discussions of musical form is their heavy reliance on thinking about formal processes in relation to motions toward goals. Put differently, musical form was conceived to a great extent by appealing to the metaphor of FORM AS A JOURNEY ACROSS A LANDSCAPE—what might be called the “journey metaphor” of form. Accordingly, unlike what is more typical in modern analytic discussions, the operative question in coming to grips with a composition’s form was not “what thematic section are we in?” or “what key area are we in?” Rather, the main question was “toward which goal are we leading?” This attitude strongly encourages understanding of the music as it unfolds diachronically. It is particularly well suited for capturing the experiences of those who sight-read music, or of those listening to a composition for the first time, without a score, as would have been the case for many, if not most, audiences in the third quarter of the eighteenth century. Understanding musical form in relation to a series of motions toward goals continued to play an important role in music analysis during the nineteenth century onward, and it is of central importance in most musical discussions today. However, to a far greater extent than witnessed in the eighteenth century, the journey metaphor of form is now combined with the metaphor of FORM AS A CONTAINER. That is, when explaining musical form, musicians have taken to describe the motions toward goals as embraced within distinct areas, sections, regions, groups, zones, blocks, spaces, and the like. When analyzing music these days, we are often asked to think of what key area or thematic group or space a passage is in. This heavy reliance on “container metaphors” is also reflected in the common depiction of forms by means of brackets, boxes, circles, and similar graphic tools developed during the early nineteenth century that suggest formal containers.6 Naturally, appealing to the metaphor of spaces or areas does not necessarily entail invoking the notion of a container. For instance, one can speak of a busy area of town vs. a quiet section of town without suggesting that these zones are sharply divided from each other. Although in discussing these areas one might appeal to a landmark as a rough guide (“the busy part of town begins somewhere around the north side of Elm Street”), it is readily understood that their general locations might well overlap and blend, rather than be strictly roped off from one another. Formal processes in music likewise often involve such blending, as when the metaphorical area that helps establish the main tonality gradually gives 21

way to the area that helps move toward a new key. Still, it remains that a chief goal of many modern formal analyses is to try to locate the musical landmarks that serve as the boundaries between the spaces that embrace these differing processes, though recognizing the possible ambiguities and contradictions that resist or override the impression of their being contained within neat formal packages. Certain aspects of the music from the high Classical era and its transmission make its form extremely amenable to description via such container metaphors. This is partly because music from this era often involves long stretches governed by a single melody, mood, and function. Furthermore, within music of the high Classical style, passages governed by strikingly different melodies, moods, and functions frequently seem cordoned off from one another by sturdy cadential articulations, welcoming the notion that these passages could be construed as contained within distinct spaces. The increasing availability after 1800 of study scores and a stable repertoire likewise made it easier for musical form to be understood synchronically, in a manner not so easily attained when dealing with music from a repertoire that is constantly shifting and often performed prima vista, as was more typical during the eighteenth century. The ability from the nineteenth century onward to carefully scrutinize music from a stable repertoire thereby further invites the characterization of form via the metaphor of a container. Invoking metaphorical containers does not necessarily lead to a static conception of form. On the contrary, the conflicts that may arise between understandings of form-as-process vs. form-as-structure have long been recognized, and all of the best discussions of musical form that appeal to container metaphors nonetheless also strongly emphasize the mobile and fluid sense of the formal sections. One of the modern approaches that is exemplary in this regard is the method established and described at length by Hepokoski & Darcy (1997 and 2006), which they refer to as “Sonata Theory” (spelled with a capital “S” and “T”). Hepokoski & Darcy’s Sonata Theory emphasizes motions toward cadential goals and cadential articulations as essential elements of the form, with each cadential articulation having the potential of opening an ensuing “action space” (Ex. 1.4). Entering into an action space in turn ignites the expectation that a motion to the next cadential articulation will follow. Consequently, the motions to the cadential articulations establish various formal zones, and each formal zone in turn sparks the impetus toward the ensuing 22

articulation. As Hepokoski & Darcy explain at length, skilled and crafty composers may toy with the expected outcomes that result from such action spaces, giving rise to a variety of wonderful hermeneutic effects. Accordingly, those who are sensitive to these processes are prompted to constantly evaluate and re-evaluate what formal location the music is passing through, what event or formal space is expected to arrive next, and what sections have been left, resulting in an extremely fluid and dynamic sense of the form.7 Ex. 1.4 Chart of standard exposition, from Hepokoski & Darcy (2006, 17), depicting motions through “action spaces” [P = primary theme zone; TR = transition zone; MC = medial caesura; S = secondary theme zone; PAC = perfect cadence; EEC = essential expositional closure; C = closing zone].

Hepokoski & Darcy (1997, 115) credit the eighteenth-century theorist Heinrich Christoph Koch with helping to inspire various aspects of their analytic method. To a certain extent, their approach may be understood as adapting some of Koch’s concepts to the music of the high Classical period and beyond—that is, pieces that were composed largely after Koch began work on his celebrated Versuch (1782–1793). As the subtitle of their 2006 book explicates, Hepokoski & Darcy’s approach is devoted to exploring music of the late eighteenth century. They also apply their analytic

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techniques to works of composers who flourished through the late nineteenth century and beyond, such as Brahms, Mahler, and Sibelius. For an analytic method devoted to examining stylistic norms, it is hardly surprising that this wider time span gives rise to certain assumptions that differ from Koch’s. Since they are so emblematic of the contrasting perspectives of their respective eras, it is instructive to compare some primary ways that the approaches of Koch and Hepokoski & Darcy differ from one another. Focusing on their approaches to understanding the layout of sonata-form expositions, these differences may be summarized as follows:

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(1) Zones and spaces vs. motions toward formal articulations: Whereas Koch’s approach highlights a succession of motions toward moments of formal articulation, Hepokoski & Darcy’s Sonata Theory emphasizes the motions that take place through implied zones. Accordingly, Sonata Theory explicitly invokes the metaphors of “event-zones” and “action spaces.” In contrast, appeals to metaphorical zones and spaces play little role in Koch’s approach. (2) Cadences vs. resting points: Sonata Theory focuses on cadences as the primary points of articulations. Koch, on the other hand, uses the term “cadence” much more restrictively. Many of the formal articulations that he discusses involve resting points—Ruhepuncte des Geistes (literally, “resting points of the spirit”)—that do not necessarily conform to what nowadays would be labeled as a cadence. This distinction often is obscured in modern discussions and English translations of Koch’s writings, which frequently—and confusingly—translate the term “Ruhepunct” as “cadence” (see Chapter 2). The term “resting point”—which is used interchangeably with the term “punctuation”—refers to a melodic, rhythmic, and tonal arrival that seems to demarcate the musical flow. Such punctuations may be asserted with varying degrees of emphasis and appear at various locations within the form. As a result, sometimes a resting point takes the form of what today would be called a cadence, but many times it does not. (3) Key areas vs. motion toward tonal punctuations: As with most modern approaches to form, Sonata Theory relies heavily on the notion of key “areas” and motions to cadences that are embraced within these areas. Koch’s approach, on the other hand, focuses almost exclusively on motions toward tonal punctuations, not tonal “areas.” This, too, is often missed in modern discussions of Koch’s writings, which often wrongly suggest that his approach to sonata form is based on key areas rather than theme groups. In actuality, the notion of theme groups and key areas in the modern sense are both rather foreign to Koch.8 (4) Two-part division of expositions vs. variety of punctuations: In its standard layout, Sonata Theory divides expositions into two parts, demarcated by a single cadential break in the form of what they dub the “medial caesura.” Hepokoski & Darcy recognize common exceptions in which the medial caesura is suppressed (thereby 25

forming what they refer to as “continuous expositions”) or in which there are two medial caesuras (one real, one apparent). However, these alternate layouts are clearly framed in opposition to a more normative two-part expositional structure delineated by a single medial caesura. As will be discussed in later chapters, not until his lexicon published in 1802 does Koch acknowledge a type of division that is akin to the concept of the medial caesura, perhaps as a reaction to the then relatively recent stylistic developments witnessed during the high Classical period.9 In his earlier Versuch, however, Koch views the possible divisions of an exposition in a much more flexible manner. Though the differences summarized here may seem subtle, they have farreaching implications. In many ways, these differences are inspired by the different repertoires that serve as the focus of the analytic approach. For instance, consider the prototypical Beethoven sonata-form exposition, with its expansive passages marked by a select handful of powerful cadences. One might muddy the large-scale analysis of such an exposition by equating the importance of all of the resting points, including some types of resting points that might play a chief formal role within the context of a Galant exposition. Though features such as those mentioned by Koch can shed light on works by Beethoven, they arguably do so more effectively if combined with an approach such as Sonata Theory that more explicitly evokes the notion of mid-expositional cadences and thematic zones. Conversely, one would ride roughshod over crucial formal markers of typical Galant expositions if their resting points were held to standards of what would be appropriate when dealing with a typical piece by Beethoven. Although Hepokoski & Darcy’s and Koch’s methods differ from those of their contemporaries in many specifics, their general approaches are representative of their respective eras. As just one other example for comparison, consider the formal-function approach articulated by William Caplin, another highly valuable and popular modern approach to grappling with form of the high Classical era.10 Caplin focuses on the dynamic processes embraced by “hierarchical arrangement of discrete time spans” (1998, 9), discussing how specific phrase processes differentiate and help shape the various “regions” and tonal and thematic “areas” of a movement, including its exposition. He is careful to note that his theoretical approach concentrates on the “instrumental music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven 26

as representing the core repertoire of the high Viennese classical style (ca. 1780–1810)” (1998, 3). Here, too, the invocation of metaphorical regions as a crucial element of the theory, along with the focus on music of the high Classical era, is typical of many other modern approaches to form. Despite its overwhelming prevalence nowadays, however, there is nothing inevitable about employing container metaphors when describing musical form. To point this out is not to criticize the use of these metaphors. Quite the opposite: these metaphors have proven so popular largely because they are so extraordinarily effective, especially when applied to the music for which they were developed—namely, music of the high Classical era onward. As with most metaphors, however, overreliance on the metaphor of FORM AS A CONTAINER can create analytic blind spots, and this becomes particularly noticeable when dealing with Galant music. Again, modern approaches such as the ones discussed in the previous paragraphs do not appeal to formal container metaphors exclusively, any more than eighteenth-century theorists entirely avoid such metaphors. Nonetheless, the comparison of formal sections to types of containers is entrenched in modern formal approaches to an extent that strongly distinguishes them in fundamental ways from the typical eighteenth-century discussions of form, which feature far greater reliance on journey metaphors.

Neo-Kochian approaches to form In the chapters that follow, I will not shy from evoking the more modern container-based concepts where appropriate, as they often are. Unlike many others, however, I do not begin by taking for granted that an exposition will normally involve thematic spaces. Rather, the initial assumption is that the musical form of a Galant exposition could be understood as framed around motions toward a series of standard resting points, and the way these resting points and the motions to them are realized might—or might not—give rise to passages that can be fairly characterized as dividing into distinct theme zones. To this end, the approach to form offered in the present study takes as its starting point concepts that are more in line with those developed during the latter part of the eighteenth century. Naturally, the notion of an “eighteenth-century approach to music form” is as fictional as the notion of

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a “modern approach to form.” Then, as now, music theorists disagreed with one another on many specifics, and they defined core terminology in somewhat differing ways as well. Nonetheless, approaches to form by theorists of the second half of the eighteenth century do share certain tendencies that distinguish these approaches from those that have been prevalent for the past century or so, and it is in this very general sense that the following pages reference an “eighteenth-century approach to form.” In taking the approach of Koch and other eighteenth-century theorists as my starting point, I follow in the footsteps of a number of music scholars who have done penetrating work along these lines over the past number of decades. Extensive discussion of and analyses using theories and concepts of either Joseph Riepel, Heinrich Christoph Koch, or both have been particularly common in Germanic-speaking countries; laudatory examples from the past few decades may be found in publications by Wolfgang Budday, Hermann Forschner, and a host of others.11 Highly enlightening discussions and analyses based on formal theories of the late eighteenth century may also be found in publications by a number of Anglophone scholars.12 Yet many of the valuable ideas and insights of these scholars too often seem treated by many Anglophone musicians as being primarily of historical interest, something to be studied in advanced seminars rather than to be adapted to practical situations dealing with listening or performance.13 A chief aim of the present study is to vivify some key concepts of eighteenth-century formal theory, showing their down-to-earth applications in helping performers and listeners gain new insights into Galant musical form. To this end, the chapters that immediately follow begin with a tour of some core concepts of eighteenth-century formal theory, echoing and clarifying insights offered by previous studies, mixed with examination of some important ideas that have been underplayed or have tended to be misapprehended. To help focus the discussion, this book concentrates on the frameworks of sonata-form expositions. I adopt this focus because I feel a careful walkthrough of the sonata-form exposition better allows us to cut to the heart of the eighteenth-century approach to form. The concepts garnered from such study could then in turn be applied to other parts of sonata form, as well as to other forms. As a taste of these further applications, the final chapters provide an overview of the entire sonata-form movement viewed

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along the lines presented throughout this study, together with a sampling of close analyses of selected movements from the Galant era.

Packing for our journey Before we set out, some preliminaries are in order. Any study must at times choose between clarity and exactitude, and this one is no exception. I have already noted that I use terms such as “modern approaches to form” and “eighteenth-century approaches” in a rather casual manner. The same is true of my reference to the artificially delineated time period of the “Galant era,” which for convenience I employ rather loosely to refer to the style of European music that flourished in the decades that surround the middle of the eighteenth century, focusing particularly on works composed around 1750 through 1780.14 I reserve the similarly loosely used term “high Classical period” for music that flourished starting from about 1780 through 1810. The term “sonata form” is bandied about in a somewhat casual fashion here as well, describing the form of any movement that shares most of the features found in other movements to which this label is commonly applied. Whether Galant movements should be described as being in sonata form admittedly is not always so obvious. For instance, if a movement does not have a distinct recapitulation, or distinct transition and second theme sections—as is the case with many of the works discussed in this book— does it really share enough features with other movements that are commonly labeled as being in sonata form? Perhaps not. Nonetheless, the movements discussed here all arguably share enough elements that traditionally are associated with the concept of sonata form so as to allow them to be described at least roughly as such. On the other hand, standard terms for the subsections of a sonata-form exposition and recapitulation—words such as first theme, transition, and secondary theme—are treated far more gingerly in the present study than in many other modern analytic discussions. Most musicians agree that these terms refer to ideal types rather than to concrete features of the music. However, the distinction between the ideal and the concrete too often is cast aside in the heat of discussions, as people fall into arguments over such things as whether a passage is or is not a bona fide secondary theme—as

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though such a term refers to some essential feature actually embedded in the music. I take a common-use approach in employing these standard, modern formal terms. Chapter 6 examines some of the features associated with passages that are typically labeled as the first theme, transition, secondary theme, and so on. If a passage shares enough of these features, then the label for it could be applied accordingly.15 To avoid implying that such formal sections have an essential character, I often use locutions such as “a passage that could be appropriately labeled as a transition” or “what modern terminology would describe as a secondary theme.” I realize that such hedging phraseology may irritate some readers, causing them to complain, “Oh, just call it a transition or second theme already, and be done with it!” Nonetheless, I feel it is important to avoid any sense of essentialism that typically accompanies these formal terms. As shall be seen, in each case I argue that the sense of the presence of these formal sections arises as a by-product of formal punctuations and the passages that lead to these punctuations. In line with this, I specifically avoid employing abbreviations and acronyms for formal sections. Granted, it is easy to fathom why so many music theorists these days are attracted to such abbreviations and acronyms, for applying terms such as “secondary theme” or “subordinate theme” to passages that are not particularly secondary or subordinate understandably makes us wince. Substituting antiseptic-sounding acronyms like “S” or “ST” does not eradicate the wince-worthy origins of such terms, however. On the contrary, acronyms like these exacerbate the problems that arise by wrongly conveying an aura of exactitude and precision that these concepts don’t deserve. Since I use these formal terms more as placeholders employed for convenience, I avoid such hints of essentialism that inevitably accompanies what I see as these needless acronyms. Abbreviations of any type in this book are mostly restricted to the examples, where they are used solely as space-savers (for instance, using the abbreviation “PAC” for “perfect authentic cadence” and “HC” for “half cadence” where the full term will not conveniently fit within the examples). In the body of the text, however, such abbreviations are deliberately avoided. On the other hand, a number of non-English terms that stem from eighteenth-century music theory treatises are liberally employed throughout this text. Though I try to avoid needless jargon, many of these terms—such as Periode, Grundabsatz, and the like—do not readily translate into modern 30

English. The problem is not so much translating them from German to English, but in translating these terms from their eighteenth-century meanings to their twenty-first-century conceptions. I realize that using foreign terms may seem exotic to some readers, and thus using such terms carries the danger of implying that the concepts to which they refer are likewise exotic. On the other hand, anglicizing these terms may wrongly suggest that they refer to the same modern ideas that are typically conveyed by the English words. These terms will be defined in upcoming chapters, and they are also summarized in the Glossary at the end of this book. If you are less familiar with them, hopefully these foreign terms—and more important, the foreign concepts to which they refer—will seem less daunting as you progress through the book. Perhaps even more foreign than these technical terms is the style of music that serves as the focus of the present study. There is a temptation in a study such as this to rely heavily on analyzing works by Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. This is a temptation that I will not entirely resist, since their music is supremely sublime, well known, and readily accessible to many readers. However, there were many other great composers of the Galant era who wrote fantastic music, so that concentrating too much on just two composers would create a distorted view of the style. Too often, owing to a lack of familiarity with the broader style, a standard Galant layout in a Haydn or Mozart piece is described by musicians today as radical or inventive. Neglecting to cite works of their contemporaries unfortunately feeds into such misconceptions. To help ward off this problem, this book cites a broad range of composers (though even so, many excellent and important composers from this period have been left out). Understandably, this might require more effort for readers who are less familiar with music of this style. However, all of the pieces are readily available in popular editions, on imslp.org, Spotify, or other readily accessible formats. To counterbalance the effort required to locate these scores, excerpts or links to scores and recordings for almost all of the pieces cited are included in the web materials that accompany this book. I hope that you will agree that the beauty of these compositions more than compensates for the effort expended in learning what for you might be a new and unfamiliar repertoire. With that said, let us now embark on our journey.

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PART I THEORIES AND TERMINOLOGY

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2

Formal PunctuationsPerioden and Sätze Punctuations and resting points As the eighteenth century progressed, the various textural, melodic, and harmonic demarcations in compositions tended to become increasingly prominent and differentiated. Writings from the time recognized that coming to grips with these demarcations was essential for understanding musical form. A chief way of describing these delineations was to compare them to the types of punctuation found in language and rhetoric. Accordingly, a mild demarcation in the music would be compared to a comma, a stronger one to a semicolon, and so on.1 Though highly suggestive, attempts to forge strict analogies between punctuation in language and punctuation in music fell short, as was soon acknowledged. Part of the problem is that nuances inevitably get lost in translation when moving between language and music. Adding to the difficulties is that even in language, the roles and classifications of punctuations are far from straightforward. Punctuation in language is sometimes used as a signal for recitation, indicating where a reader might take pauses when saying a text aloud. At other times, however, punctuation is used to clarify sentence construction. Although the grammatical and performative functions of punctuation often coincide, they don’t always do so. For instance, in reciting a text, one might choose to pause dramatically in the middle of an idea, or else to rush past a grammatical demarcation. Complicating matters further, punctuation marks such as commas and semicolons often merely hint at the appropriate degrees of demarcation. As the eighteenth-century grammarian Robert Lowth observed, punctuation marks

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are under a necessity of expressing pauses of the same quantity, on different occasions, by different points [i.e., punctuation marks]; and more frequently of expressing pauses of different quantity by the same points. So that the doctrine of Punctuation must needs be very imperfect: few precise rules can be given, which will hold without exception in all cases; but much be left to the judgment and taste of the writer. (1764, 115–16)

The same may well be said of music punctuations. Theorists’ explanations of the different types of musical punctuations describe imprecise situations that involve overlapping categories. Furthermore, much as in language, grammar and performance don’t always line up in music. For instance, although pauses and fermatas often correspond with melodic and harmonic arrivals, there are many instances where they do not (Ex. 2.1).2 Ex. 2.1 Excerpts from Heinrich Christoph Koch. (a) II §97 (411[34]).

(b) II §97 (411[34]).

(c) II §81 (353 [5]).

As far as the articulation of Galant musical form is concerned, what is most important are not necessarily the actual moments of rest (such as in m. 2 of Ex. 2.1c). Rather, the crucial formal demarcations involve what

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Koch refers to as the Ruhepuncte des Geistes, that is, the “resting points of the spirit” or “mental resting points.” By using the term Geistes (“mind” or “spirit”) in this context, Koch suggests that these moments may be more felt than asserted in a strictly technical sense. The Ruhepuncte des Geistes sometimes are analogous to what today would be called cadences. This is not always the case, however, for in many instances the resting points instead equal what nowadays would be labeled as subphrase endings. To be sure, much as musicians in the present day don’t always agree how to define or apply terms such as “cadence,” “phrase,” or “subphrase,” so music theorists of the late eighteenth century often diverged from one another regarding many specifics of the terminology and concepts relating to resting points. Nonetheless, their attitudes toward resting points follow certain general tendencies. In order to help focus the discussion, this study relies most heavily on the terminology and concepts proposed by Koch, taking his concepts as representative of the late eighteenth-century approach to “punctuation form”—that is, the understanding of form as governed by a series of motions toward resting points. Since Koch’s concepts have already received much attention from modern scholars, particularly in regard to his many insights into rhythm and related topics, there is no need to replicate these discussions with an exhaustive review here. Rather, what follows is an overview, in which I seek to clarify some of Koch’s ideas and terms that may seem foreign to modern readers. In doing so, I hope to show how some of his seemingly obscure concepts actually describe things that are quite down-to-earth. There is a risk, however, that trying to make Koch’s concepts too clear might wrongly give the impression that his ideas are simply variants of modern concepts, clothed in different terminology. With this in mind, the other thing I hope to accomplish with this overview is to defamiliarize some of Koch’s concepts, showing how at times they are more foreign than is typically supposed. In considering his concepts, it should be remembered that Koch’s goals were much different from those of most scholars today. Unlike modern scholars of Classical-era music, he did not seek to investigate practices of an established repertoire from a bygone era. Rather, in his discussion of punctuation form, he looked toward the future (or so he supposed), writing for an audience of those seeking to learn the craft of composition. As such, Koch’s writings have a decidedly practical bent. He did not share many of the concerns of twenty-first-century music analysts for crafting a finely 35

tuned systematization of crisply defined categories. Koch’s flexibility is suggested by several of the examples he cites, which at times stray from the strict letter of his rules in service of illuminating a deeper concept. Koch’s main interest, after all, was not to construct exacting guidelines, but to impart the underlying principles of compositional craft. To underline his goal of conveying the basic principles of composing rather than dispensing strict guidelines, Koch reminds his readers on several occasions that the “mechanical melodic rules” (mechanische Regeln der Melodie) found in his treatise are intended to introduce merely some of the features related to the art of composition. He certainly did not intend these guidelines to exhaust all the possibilities for either composition or analysis. Koch was well aware that much as a mechanical performance will fail to please, so a composition or analysis that mechanically applies his guidelines, unmodified by artistic discernment, will fall short. As Koch famously explains: Only feeling (Gefühl) can determine both the places where the resting points occur in the melody and also the nature of these resting points, if they are more or less noticeable, that is, if they indicate whether the sections of the whole may be considered complete or not. Although in the course of this chapter the lengths and punctuation formulas of these sections (Theile) must be treated, none of these offers a general, characteristic trait that can define not only the place where a resting point is present in the melody, but also the completeness or incompleteness of the section thereby arising. (II §81, 351 [3–4])

Attempts to apply Koch’s specific guidelines in too precise a fashion thus could backfire and distort his approach. In this regard, one may recall the story of the piano teacher who complained: “Half of my students are just awful—they do nothing I tell them to! And the other half of my students are even worse: They do everything I tell them to!” Analyzing the form of compositions by strictly following Koch’s rules is something that Koch himself did not do, and such a rigorous approach can easily miss the essence of his concepts.3 To this end, in the examination of some of Koch’s main terms that follows, some adjustments or refinements are suggested where necessary in an attempt to get to the root of his fundamental concepts.

Perioden 36

Koch conceived the musical form of a typical large movement as framed by a series of Perioden. A Periode is a large section, involving multiple passages, which leads toward a perfect authentic cadence that establishes a “formal cadence.” Note that the term “Periode” in this sense differs from how its English cognate “period” is employed in current music theory discourse. To avoid confusion, and to emphasize that it is used with its eighteenth-century meaning, I leave the word Periode (along with related words) untranslated throughout. The words “formal cadence” (förmliche Cadenz) and “perfect authentic cadence” (Cadenz) also require some unpacking. In the first volume of his treatise, Koch (I §179, 240–44) defines the term Cadenz in a rhythmic/harmonic/melodic sense that matches what today is labeled as a perfect authentic cadence. If a Cadenz appears at the end of a Periode, then it creates a formal cadence. Although it can appear in various other places within a Periode as well, a Cadenz is particularly well suited to establishing the formal cadence that marks the end of a Periode. In this guise, a Cadenz helps provide the strong sense of harmonic closure that is appropriate for the end of a large section, especially if it is accompanied by characteristic melodic gestures that further reinforce the impression of conclusiveness. It must be underlined, however, that the terms “Cadenz” and “förmliche Cadenz” are not interchangeable. Unfortunately, the important distinction between these two terms tends to be flattened out in many modern accounts and translations, which often misleadingly treat the concept of the förmliche Cadenz as though it were directly equivalent to a perfect authentic cadence. This in turn might wrongly suggest that any and every perfect authentic cadence marks the end of a Periode. You may notice that the definitions here are somewhat circular. Specifically, a Periode is defined largely by its concluding with a formal cadence, but a formal cadence is defined largely by its appearance at the end of a Periode. In many cases, the context leaves no doubt whether a Cadenz is to be understood to function as the formal cadence that appears at the end of a Periode. Sometimes, however, analytic disagreements might well arise over whether a Cadenz establishes a formal cadence or simply a mid-Periode punctuation, as is discussed in Chapter 12. In such cases, as with so many other instances, musicians might need to appeal to Gefühl to settle the issue.

Hauptperioden and Nebenperioden 37

Koch explains that large movements frequently involve two types of Perioden. The primary type is the Hauptperiode (“main Periode”), which Koch suggests usually lasts for at least three phrases. This Hauptperiode is then possibly followed by an appendix. If it is substantial and ends with a formal cadence that echoes the one at the end of the Hauptperiode, then this appendix is called a Nebenperiode or erklärender Periode (“subsidiary period” or “clarifying period”). Koch III §101 (305 [199]) also indicates that the term “Hauptperiode” may be used in a looser sense to refer to the combination of a Hauptperiode plus its appended Nebenperiode (Ex. 2.2). Thus in a strict sense, a Hauptperiode concludes when it arrives at a formal cadence, but in a looser sense, full closure is achieved only when the formal cadence is clarified and reinforced at the end of the appendix that follows. This might strike some modern readers as confusing, especially those readers who prize exactitude in categories and who would thus seek a commitment to a precise location where the closure occurs. Koch’s more casual attitude arguably better reflects situations like these, however, in which the sense of closure is achieved through a combination of the initial formal cadence as well as its subsequent confirmation. As we shall see, this is not the only situation in which Koch suggests that the “point” of a formal endpoint does not necessarily arise at one single moment, but instead may be understood as spread across a series of moments.4 Ex. 2.2 The two types of meaning of Hauptperiode.

Koch notes that a standard large movement (what today would be labeled as a sonata-form movement) involves two or three Hauptperioden. These are represented by the charts of Ex. 2.3. The first Hauptperiode ends with a formal cadence in the secondary key, which in a major-key movement is the key of the dominant; in minor-key movements, the second key may instead be relative major. The last Hauptperiode always ends with a

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perfect authentic cadence in the home key. In movements with three Hauptperiode, the middle one finishes with a perfect authentic cadence in a third key, such as vi, ii, or iii.5 Any of these Hauptperioden could be followed by an appendix (perhaps in the form of a Nebenperiode) that follows the formal cadence. Ex. 2.3 Charts of standard Hauptperioden layouts in major-key movements. (a) Chart of movement with three Hauptperioden.

(b) Chart of movement with two Hauptperioden.

The three sections depicted in Ex. 2.3a and on the bottom row of the chart of Ex. 2.3b (with the dotted vertical line on the bottom row in Ex. 2.3b demarcating two separate sections) typically correspond to what today are labeled as the exposition, development, and recapitulation, respectively. Chapter 14 discusses at greater length these standard formal layouts of an entire movement. One thing bears mentioning here, however: notice that according to Koch a movement’s middle section, which is usually analogous to a development, forms a Hauptperiode only when it ends with a formal cadence. In this regard, Koch’s definition of Periode is a bit narrower than some of his contemporaries, such as Marpurg, who do allow a Periode to end with something other than a perfect authentic cadence.6 Despite the stringency of his definition, however, Koch shows notable flexibility in labeling Perioden in his own analyses, for at times he does indeed label the middle section of a movement as a Periode even where no formal 39

cadence is present. One such example occurs in his analysis of the second movement of Joseph Haydn’s Symphony No. 42, where Koch labels the middle Periode as concluding with a deceptive cadence in F-sharp minor.7 Such inconsistency is not out of character for Koch. That is, when dealing with real music, Koch displays a flexibility that belies the strictness of his definitions and guidelines—something to keep in mind when we apply his concepts in our own music analyses. Unlike its middle Hauptperiode, a movement’s first Hauptperiode, which is the focus of this book, almost invariably ends with a clearly articulated perfect authentic cadence. Possible rare exceptions include those in which an expected new-key cadence is thwarted, as happens, for instance, in Joseph Haydn’s Quartet for Strings in G minor, Op. 20/3/i (1772); W. A. Mozart’s Symphony in B-flat, K. 22/ii (1765); or G. B. Sammartini’s Symphony no. 46 in G/iii.8 Such a thwarted cadence gives rise to what Hepokoski & Darcy (2006, 177–78) refer to as a “failed exposition,” that is, an exposition that leads toward a formal cadence that never materializes. Joseph Riepel also discusses this type of situation when describing an exposition that leads toward a thwarted cadence in the dominant key, suggesting that the avoidance of the cadence in such a situation promotes a “flowing and lively” (fliessender und lebhafter) impression (1755, 84–85). In any event, as Hepokoski & Darcy rightly observe, failed expositions are uncommon in eighteenth-century music, and the rare cases in which they do arise may fairly be regarded as variants of the standard layout in which the exposition does end with a formal cadence.

Sätze Resting points on the path toward the formal cadence The large motion toward the Hauptperiode’s formal cadence is articulated along its path by a series of formal punctuations that are less conclusive than the formal cadence. Two factors give rise to these slighter types of punctuation. First of all, they are marked by melodic/harmonic/rhythmic factors that establish them as viable conclusions, though ideally they are not established so firmly as to suggest formal cadences. Second, the passages that lead to these resting points must be substantial enough to express a “complete thought” (vollständige Gedanke) that involves at least two opposing

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ideas. Making a grammatical analogy, Koch refers to these opposing ideas as the “subject” and “predicate,” corresponding to what modern terminology calls a “basic idea” and “contrasting idea,” respectively.9 Comparing Exx. 2.4a and b helps highlight the latter concept. Since it involves a simple repetition of a subject, the four-bar passage in Ex. 2.4a fails to express a complete thought and thereby concludes in a relatively incomplete manner. In contrast, since the passage of Ex. 2.4b involves both a subject and predicate, it presents a complete thought that ends more conclusively than does Ex. 2.4a. Even so, the melodic and rhythmic shape of the ending in Ex. 2.4b would clearly be incompatible with the firmer type of ending expected at the end of a Periode; rather, it produces a degree of closure that seems more suited for the middle of a larger section. Ex. 2.4 Excerpts from Koch II §96 (409 [33]) and §81 (353 [5]); annotations added. (a) Passage that does not express a complete thought.

(b) Passage that does present a complete thought by including both a subject and predicate (and whose resting point in m. 4 therefore sounds more conclusive than m. 4 of Ex. 2.4a).

This type of articulation discussed was addressed by a number of eighteenth-century writings on form, which describe the various possible types of these punctuations, their nature and effects, how they differ from formal cadences, and the like. Since the terminology for these punctuations and the passages that lead to them was still developing and thus not standardized, music theorists used a variety of terms to describe the same types of punctuations. Göllner (2004, 25–42) and Vial (2008, 263–78) outline the various terms used, and they also provide helpful charts that collate the terminology employed by different theorists. In order to avoid the confusion that results from the proliferation of terminology, the present study largely sticks to the terminology suggested by Koch.

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Crucial to Koch’s conception of form is the idea of the Satz (pl., Sätze). A Satz is a short musical passage, such as seen in Ex. 2.4b, that expresses a complete thought and that leads to either a formal cadence or to a resting point that appears in mid-Periode. Much as a series of Perioden lead to the final cadence at the end of a movement, so a series of Sätze lead to the final cadence of at the end of each Periode. The word Satz in this sense does not readily translate into modern English, and thus this and other related terms are left untranslated throughout this book. Because it is so vital to understanding mainstream eighteenth-century notions of form, the remainder of this chapter largely focuses on the concept of the Satz.

Grad der Ruhe: degree of repose Sätze lead to points that embody a variety of degrees of rest (Grade der Ruhe).10 The Satz that sounds most conclusive is the one that leads to the melodic note supported by the formal cadence at the end of the Periode. Koch refers to this Satz that leads to a Periode-ending cadence as the Schlußsatz (“final Satz”). Conversely, he refers to the less conclusivesounding resting points that appear in the middle of Perioden, along with the passages that lead to them, as Absätze. To help describe their different degrees of closure, Koch compares the formal cadence at the end of a Schlußsatz to the grammatical punctuation mark of a period, and the resting point at the end of an Absatz to a semicolon. The succession of the Sätze gives rise to a type of drama. The end of each Absatz is accompanied by a sense of arrival—but an arrival that is not entirely conclusive. The lack of complete conclusiveness yields a sense of instability that pushes the music forward to the next Satz, with one Absatz following another until a firm sense of closure is achieved with the formal cadence at the end of the Schlußsatz (Ex. 2.5). As will be discussed in upcoming chapters, within the first Hauptperiode the succession of Absätze tends to follow a specific order, which in turn gives rise to a large formal trajectory that governs a movement’s exposition.

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Ex. 2.5 Depiction of a Periode punctuated by Absätze and a Schlußsatz.

For this sense of trajectory to be most effective, the Schlußsatz ideally should achieve a greater sense of completion than do the Absätze that precede it. To underscore its sense of finality, the formal cadence at the end of the Schlußsatz often is accompanied by a dramatic melodic gesture, such as a trill on the penultimate note. In contrast, the final melodic note of an Absatz might appear over a dominant chord, which naturally sounds harmonically unstable. Koch labels such an Absatz that concludes over a V as a Quintabsatz. An Absatz may also conclude over a tonic triad, forming what Koch labels as a Grundabsatz. Although both a Schlußsatz and a Grundabsatz end over a tonic harmony, the sense of resolution upon arriving at the end of the Grundabsatz is usually undercut through a combination of rhythmic, harmonic, melodic, and contextual factors. Ex. 2.6 shows some of Koch’s examples that compare possible endings for Absätze or Schlußsätze. In these didactic examples, the Absätze unambiguously sound more open-ended than do the Schlußsätze. As we shall see, however, in real music the distinction between Absätze and Schlußsätze at times may be subtler. Ex. 2.6 Excerpts from Koch II §82 (357–59 [7–8]) comparing Absätze and Schlußsätze, with annotations indicating the implied harmonic ending. (a) Example of a Quintabsatz.

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(b) Example of a Schlußsatz (cf. Ex. 2.6a).

(c) Example of a Grundabsatz.

(d) Example of a Schlußsatz (cf. Ex. 2.6c).

The Absatz as a leg of a journey As mentioned earlier, the term “Absatz” refers not only to the melodic resting point that marks the end of a musical passage, but also to the passage that leads to this resting point. In Ex. 2.7, for instance, one could say either that an Absatz appears in m. 4, or that an Absatz appears in mm. 1–4. This seemingly dual meaning may confuse modern-day readers. After all, modern terminology strongly distinguishes between a phrase and a cadence, between the container and its boundaries. Why does Koch, along with other eighteenth-century commentators, seem to refer to both the passages and their punctuations with the same term?

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Ex. 2.7 Example of Grundabsatz, from Koch II §94 (392 [23]).

Understanding the rationale behind this is key to understanding eighteenth-century approaches to musical form, with their heavy reliance on the metaphor of FORM AS A JOURNEY. Granted, in discussing form, Koch and his contemporaries do occasionally use imagery, analogies, and words that invoke the metaphor of a container. Yet far more prevalently and consistently, they suggest that musical form is to be understood primarily as a type of motion toward a goal. And with such a metaphorical framework, there are good reasons for assigning the same label to a resting point and to the passage that leads to that resting point. To grasp this, it is helpful to compare Sätze to legs of a journey (Ex. 2.8). For instance, consider that a train ride from New York to Philadelphia is called “the Philadelphia train,” labeling the entire trip by its goal point. Or imagine that you are traveling by air from Detroit to Rome. As there are no non-stop flights available, you arrange a journey with stopovers in Atlanta and Paris on the way to Rome. Here, too, you would refer to each leg of the journey by its destination, so that the destination points and the flights that lead to them are given the same name (Ex. 2.8a). It does not matter how long the flight or how short the stopover; in each case, the leg is labeled by its arrival point. Even if you spend eight hours in the air after leaving Atlanta and only 40 minutes switching planes in Paris, you would still refer to this part of the journey as the “Paris leg.”

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In a similar sense, each Satz is a type of leg along a journey that is identified by its arrival point: the journey and the goal of the journey share the same label. Thus, for instance, both the melodic resting point over a mid-Periode tonic harmony and the passage leading to that resting point are referred to as a Grundabsatz. Likewise, both the resting point over a dominant harmony and the passage that leads to it are referred to as a Quintabsatz (Ex. 2.8b). Ex. 2.8 Analogy comparing (a) legs along journey, with (b) Sätze. (a) Depiction of journey to Rome.

(b) Depiction of Hauptperiode that concludes with formal cadence in key of V.

When traveling by plane, the itinerary—along with the various stopping points—is almost always known in advance. When sight-reading through or hearing a movement for the first time, on the other hand, the intermediary resting points are not known beforehand. As an analogy, imagine a fantastical plane trip from Detroit to Rome in which the pilot might choose to make the stopovers listed in Ex. 2.8a, or else could decide to skip any one of them. During the voyage, the pilot might approach the Atlanta airport, but at the last second decide to skip this stopover and fly straight to Paris. With such a scenario, whether one is traveling along the Atlanta leg or the Paris leg can be known for sure only upon landing. In a similar vein, when hearing a typical Galant major-key exposition for the first time, one usually knows the end goal in advance (namely, a formal cadence in the key of V, which would be de rigueur for major-key expositions), and one also has a good idea of the order of possible resting points along the way. However, any of the possible resting points can be skipped, and any Satz or pair of Sätze can be repeated. As a result, in many instances one can know for sure

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whether one is listening to a Grundabsatz or a Quintabsatz only upon reaching the resting point. Since the term “Absatz” refers to both the endpoint and the passage that leads to it, this book sometimes employs locutions such as “Absatz-ending” versus “passage leading to an Absatz-ending” to make distinctions where necessary. Again, for Koch, as with other eighteenth-century theorists, the term “Absätze” sometimes refers to the ends of these passages, sometimes to the passages themselves, but most often to both.11

Satz lengths Koch explains that in its ideal form a basic Satz (enger Satz, or “narrow” Satz) lasts for about four bars. By this, he doesn’t necessarily mean four actual measures in our modern sense, but four “simple measures” (einfache Tacte). As Koch points out, a simple measure equals either a single measure in simple meter, such as , , or cut-time (Ex. 2.9a–b), or half a measure in a compound meter such as common time (which according to eighteenthcentury theory was regarded as a compound meter) or (Ex. 2.9c–d).Thus what most people today would label as two measures in common time, Koch would often label as involving four simple measures.12 Ex. 2.9 Koch II §§108 and 87 (430 and 368–72 [43 and 12–13]). (a) Four simple measures = four measures in

.

(b) Four simple measures = four measures in cut time.

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(c) Four simple measures = two measures in common time.

(d) Four simple measures = two measures in

.

As is typical of him, however, Koch treats the concept of the simple measure more flexibly in practice than his definition might let on. For instance, sometimes Koch contradicts his own guidelines by interpreting a single measure in compound meter as a simple measure.13 In any event, whatever unit is taken as the simple measure, the four-bar length is merely an ideal. Koch mentions that it is also possible for a basic Satz to last for five, six, or seven measures. A Satz also may also be lengthened through various techniques, which Koch describes in detail. These techniques include those that involve internal repetitions, repetitions of Satz-endings, appendices, expansions, and interpolations, so as to create an “extended Satz” (erweiterter Satz, as in Ex. 2.10). With such lengthening techniques, a Satz can be expanded two, three, four, or even more times its normal length.14 Ex. 2.10 Koch II §108 (431 [43]): basic Satz of Ex. 2.9a expanded to create an extended Satz of six measures.

It is also possible for the start of a Satz to overlap with the final melody note and harmony of the previous Satz, creating what Koch refers to as a “stifling of a measure” (Tackterstickung). Koch remarks that the multiple Sätze connected by the stifling of a measure “either appear in the form of a 48

single phrase or ought to be considered a single phrase within the period” (II §120 (453 [54]). This creates what he calls zusammengeschobene Sätze (“pushed-together Sätze” or “compound Sätze”; Ex. 2.11).15 It is not entirely clear whether Koch defines zusammengeschobene Sätze as involving one Satz or two Sätze. That is, he suggests that in some situations the zusammengeschobene Sätze “ought to” (müssen) be considered a single phrase, but in others it might merely “appear” (erscheinen) as if zusammengeschobene Sätze form a single phrase. I adopt Koch’s flexible attitude regarding this matter in the charts presented in the following chapters, where sometimes zusammengeschobene Sätze are “counted” as comprising two Sätze, and sometimes as just a single Satz.16 Ex. 2.11 Koch II §121 (454–55 [55]). (a) Two (non-elided) Sätze in a row.

(b) The Sätze in Ex. 2.11a combined to form a zusammengeschobenen Satz.

Einschnitte Much as the motions toward the formal cadences at the end of Perioden are articulated by a series of Sätze, so the Sätze are articulated by Einschnitte (Ex. 2.12). The term “Einschnitt” (“snippet” or “clip”) refers to a short segment —as well as the punctuation at the end of the segment—that subdivides a Satz and lasts about one measure (an unvollkommener Einschnitt) or two measures (a vollkommener Einschnitt).17

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Ex. 2.12 Koch II §84 (361 [8]).

Determining whether a passage should be labeled as an Einschnitt or a Satz depends not merely on the length of the segment, but also on its content. For instance, consider the passage of Ex. 2.13. Koch labels m. 4 here as marking the ending of an Einschnitt, not of an Absatz. Notice that mm. 3–4 here present a varied repetition of mm. 1–2. Because of this repetition, mm. 1–4 lack the subject and predicate necessary to express the complete thought that is required of an Absatz. This accords with modern formal approaches, for which mm. 1–4 would be regarded as a presentation within a larger sentence. Ex. 2.13 Koch II §122 (460 [57]); cf. Ex. 2.4a (Koch marks Einschnitt-endings with triangles).

But how much difference is needed between segments in order to create a sense of a subject and predicate? Consider the passage cited in Ex. 2.14, where Koch labels an Absatz as ending in m. 4. Koch evidently feels that mm. 1–2 and mm. 3–4 contrast strongly enough so as to form a distinct subject and predicate. Yet considering the melodic similarity of these twobar segments, some musicians may feel instead that mm. 1–4 could be better interpreted as involving a repeated basic idea, especially if the m. 3–4 were harmonized with something other than a root-position V–I.

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Ex. 2.14 Koch II §122 (459 [57]); cf. Ex. 2.13 (square marks Absatz-ending).

Naturally, such disagreements of interpretation may arise more commonly when dealing with actual pieces of music, as opposed to didactic examples. Thus in many cases musicians might reasonably differ with one another regarding whether a passage should be considered as a Satz that involves two contrasting ideas or simply as a repeated Einschnitt. Furthermore, such decisions might be swayed one way or the other by nuances of performance that are not notated in the score, as well as by Gefühl.18

Punctuation formulas Overview Koch distinguishes types of Absätze according to their “ending formulas” or “punctuation signs” (Endingungsformeln, interpunctische Formeln, or interpunctische Zeichen). As noted previously, he labels an Absatz where the melody ends over a tonic triad as a Grundabsatz (as in Ex. 2.15a) and one that ends over a dominant triad as a Quintabsatz (as in Ex. 2.15b). Ideally, the triads at the end of Absätze should be in root position, though Koch does note that in exceptional cases the final harmony could appear in first inversion (Koch II §101, 417–18 [37–38]).

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Ex. 2.15 Koch III §31 (82–84 [96]); cf. Ex. 2.6. (a)Grundabsatz: an Absatz whose melody ends over I.

(b)Quintabsatz: an Absatz whose melody ends over V.

Absatz-ending ≠ cadence As may be gathered from a number of the examples in this chapter, the ending of a Quintabsatz often corresponds to what in modern parlance is called a half cadence, and the ending of a Grundabsatz to what is called an imperfect authentic cadence.19 But this is not always so. For instance, although the final melodic note of a Grundabsatz must be harmonized with I, there is no requirement that its penultimate chord be a V. Thus, for example, it is quite possible for a Grundabsatz to end with a IV–I motion, what in modern terminology would be called a plagal cadence (Ex. 2.16).20 Ex. 2.16 Examples by Koch of Grundabsätze that conclude with IV–I motions. (a) Koch III §135 (351 [217]).

There are also situations in which a Grundabsatz or a Quintabsatz does not end with a cadence at all. For instance, a Grundabsatz-ending can involve an inverted V moving to I, or even a I chord moving to another I chord, as 52

Koch explicitly demonstrates (Ex. 2.17). In these and many similar cases, the Absätze correspond to what modern terminology would likely label as a subphrases leading to a subphrase-endings, rather than as phrases leading to a cadence.21 Ex. 2.17 Grundabsätze cited by Koch that end with non-cadences. (a) Joseph Haydn, Divertimento, Hob. II:1/iii, cited in Koch III §24 (58 [86]).

(b) Koch III §25 (65 [88]).

(b) Menuet attributed to Stamitz in Koch III §26 (70 [91]).

That Koch neither required nor privileged cadences as endings for Absätze is underlined with particular force in his examples quoted in Ex. 2.18. Koch explains that the passage of Ex. 2.18a, owing to its rhythmic shape, ends with a “proper” (eigentlich) accompaniment, despite its lacking a cadence. Conversely, he reads the passage of Ex. 2.18b—whose bass line finishes on a weak beat—as ending with an “improper” (uneigentlich) accompaniment, despite its concluding with a root-position V–I authentic cadence. This is the direct opposite of how these excerpts would be

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interpreted by most modern approaches, which no doubt would read the authentic cadence in the excerpt of Ex. 2.18b here as having a proper phrase ending and the non-cadence at the end Ex. 2.18a as a deformational variant. Again, for Koch, although an Absatz may end with what modern terminology would regard as a cadence, it need not do so: all that is required of an Absatz-ending is that it convey a sense of closure appropriate for what may appear in the middle of a Periode. Ex. 2.18 Two excerpts cited in Koch II §95 (400 [28]). (a)Absatz with “proper” ending.

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(b) “Improper” variant of Ex. 2.18a.

It is also possible for an Absatz to take place entirely over a pedal point in the bass. For instance, the passages of Ex. 2.19 each involves a sustained bass, and thus neither concludes with what today would be labeled as a cadence. Nevertheless, these passages present classic examples of Absätze, neatly aligning with Koch’s definition for these terms. Ex. 2.19 Absätze that appear over pedal points. (a) Haydn, Divertimento in C, Hob. XVI:10/iii, mm. 7–10: Quintabsatz over a dominant pedal.

In sum, for Koch it is entirely possible for a Grundabsatz to end with what modern terminology would label as either an authentic cadence, a plagal cadence, or even a non-cadence: any of these could serve as viable Grundabsatz endings. I harp on this matter because it is so often wrongly assumed that what Koch refers to as Ruhepuncte or Absätze are analogous to cadences. Accordingly, the term “Ruhepunct” is often translated as “cadence,” and “Absatz” as either “phrase” or “cadence.” As the examples cited in Exx. 2.18 and 2.19 indicate, however, such translations skew matters, and the commonly stated notion that Koch’s concept of form 55

relies on cadences distorts his approach. Again, there are certainly situations where what Koch calls a Ruhepunct or Absatz does match what today would be labeled as a cadence. But this is not always the case, and to properly understand Koch’s ideas on form, it is crucial to separate our modern concept of cadences from his concepts of resting points and Absätze. (b) Ignaz von Beecke, Trio for Strings in D IIB7, II/ii, mm. 1–4: Grundabsatz over a tonic pedal.

A Schlußsatz must lead to a PAC, but a PAC ≠ the end of a Schlußsatz Koch II §82 (358 [7]) remarks that whereas an Absatz is formed in a way that makes it unable to satisfactorily conclude a Periode, a Schlußsatz “can close the whole after other preceding sections.” Since by definition it leads to formal cadence, a Schlußsatz should always end with a root-position V–I motion. However, although it does not have to do so, a Grundabsatz may also end with a root-position V–I. As such, one may wonder: if both a Grundabsatz and Schlußsatz can end with a root-position V–I, how can they be distinguished from one another? In many cases, the interpunctische Zeichen strongly hint at the status of a passage as either a Grundabsatz or a Schlußsatz. Koch notes that the “essential difference” between a Grundabsatz and a Schlußsatz depends on their ending formulas (II §82, 358–59 [7–8]). For instance, he demonstrates that in many cases the conclusion of a Schlußsatz is signaled by a dramatic flourish, such as a trill on the penultimate melodic note or (less commonly) a bass-like melodic ending (Exx. 2.20a–b). In contrast, such features rarely accompany the end of Grundabsätze, which tend to finish in a much less conclusive manner, often with the third scale-degree in the melody (Ex. 2.20c).

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Ex. 2.20 Koch II: Sätze with classic ending formulas. (a) §82 (359 [8]): Schlußsatz with classic ending formula.

(b) §103 (422 [40]): Schlußsatz with another possible ending formula.

(c) §84 (361 [8]): Grundabsatz with classic ending formula.

The excerpts of Ex. 2.20 might lure some people into thinking that a Schlußsatz must end with a dramatic flourish such as a trill; or else that a Grundabsatz cannot be marked with a perfect authentic cadence, and thus that the appearance of a perfect authentic cadence automatically implies the presence of a Schlußsatz. Both of these suppositions would be incorrect, however. In his lexicon, Koch (1802, 15–18) explicitly states that an Absatz can end with a tonic in the melody. Furthermore, in his Versuch, Koch presents various standard ending formulas of Grundabsätze that involve afterbeat embellishments that lead either to or from a tonic in the melody (Ex. 2.21). Significantly, some of these Grundabsätze form what today might be classified as perfect authentic cadences.22 Ex. 2.21 Excerpts that Koch labels as Grundabsätze. (a) Koch II, §95 (397 [26]).

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(b) Koch II, §95 (396 [26]).

(c) Koch II, §95 (396 [26]).

(d) Koch II, §95 (396 [26]).

(e) C. H. Graun, Cantone in Utica I/5 (1774), mm. 74–78; cited in Koch III §35 (117 [112]).

On the other hand, the presence of after-beat embellishments does not necessarily imply the presence of a Grundabsatz-ending formula. As Koch demonstrates, after-beat notes could also embellish the end of a Schlußsatz. His examples suggest that this is particularly so if the afterbeat embellishments of a Schlußsatz begin and end both on 1̂ and on a downbeat, as in Ex. 2.22.

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Ex. 2.22 Schlußsatz with after-beat embellishments, from Koch II §104 (423 [40]).

In any event, it is important not to confuse the standard ending formulas associated with them with the Satz-types themselves. To be sure, most normally Grundabsätze and Schlußsätze do indeed conclude with the characteristic ending formulas with which they are associated. This is especially so for didactic examples found within an introductory treatise such as Koch’s Versuch. In order to present his ideas with the clarity appropriate for his intended audience, it made much sense for Koch to unambiguously distinguish conclusive-sounding endings from inconclusivesounding ones in his examples. In real music, however, the differences between the Grundabsätze and Schlußsätze are not always so blatant. Skilled composers can establish a sense of ending appropriate to each type of Satz without needing to rely on the characteristic interpunctische Zeichen. In rare instances, it is even possible for an imperfect authentic cadence to serve as the formal cadence that marks the end of a Schlußsatz. For instance, it is largely its context of appearing at the very end of the movement that instills the passage cited in Ex. 2.23 with the firm sense of closure required of a Schlußsatz, despite the ending on scale-degree 3̂ in the melody, decorated by an appoggiatura.23 Ex. 2.23 Georg Benda, Sonata No. 1/i in B-flat for Cembalo (1757), mm. 41–42.

Ex. 2.24 shows some of Koch’s examples of Sätze that lack the standard, characteristic ending formulas. For instance, the Grundabsatz of Ex. 2.24a 59

concludes with an unembellished keynote in the melody, and the Schlußsatz of Ex. 2.24b lacks the (typical, albeit entirely optional) trill on its penultimate note. Taken out of context, one might not be able to tell which of these is a Grundabsatz, and which a Schlußsatz. It is largely their placement within the Periode that establishes the relative completeness and incompleteness of these Sätze. Nuances of performance might further sway the impression of closure imparted by these passages, in ways that do not show up in the score, especially if the performers are sensitive to the effects of the resting points and their context within the Periode.24 Ex. 2.24 Examples of a Grundabsatz and a Schlußsatz cited by Koch that lack the stereotypical (but evidently optional) ending formulas. (a) Koch, Symphony movement in G/i, mm. 7–10, cited in Koch III §147 (387–88 [231]).

(b) Haydn, Divertimento in G, Hob. II:1/iii (1766), mm. 13–16, cited in Koch III §24 (58–59 [86]).

Where does it all end? Overhangs

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With all this talk of resting “points,” some may wonder where precisely does the point of rest of a Ruhepunct appear? That is, at what exact moment should one locate and label the appearance of the punctuation? Although twenty-first-century theorists might fret about such a question, this matter seemed to be of much less interest to Koch. Koch’s relaxed attitude in this regard is not surprising, since determining the precise location of a resting point has little practical relevance for the would-be composers who were his intended audience. Much as with his apparently free outlook regarding the precise ending of a Hauptperiode (see Ex. 2.2), Koch was apparently content to locate merely the general location of a resting point. For Koch, the Ruhepuncte des Geistes are not literal resting points, but geistige ones. Koch does explain that—with the exception of dance movements such as polonaises—a Satz-ending ideally should begin on a downbeat of a simple measure. He highlights this notion in larger font in the second volume of his Versuch, where he declares that the Cäsur of a Ruhepuncte des Geistes must fall on a strong beat (II §59, 308). However, as discussed in the previous section, Koch also mentions that this downbeat-ending could be embellished with an after-beat note or group of notes, forming what he refers to as a Nachschlag (“after-strike”) or an Überhang (“overhang”) (Ex. 2.25). An appoggiatura on a downbeat also can delay a Satz ending, thereby pushing its final note to a weak beat. In such cases, though it starts on the downbeat, the resting “point” nonetheless could be understood as spread out over a few beats. Ex. 2.25 Koch II, §§94–96 (391–404 [22–31]). (a)Satz-ending on the downbeat, unembellished.

(b)Satz-ending embellished by Überhang.

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(c)Satz-ending embellished by appoggiatura.

(d)Satz-ending embellished by appoggiatura and Überhang.

In some instances, appoggiaturas and after-beat embellishments may be harmonized with chords that differ from the one that harmonizes the note they embellish. In such cases, the harmonic progression itself may seem to come to a halt on a weak beat. Consider the passages cited earlier in Ex. 2.18. In what Koch calls the “proper” ending in Ex. 2.18a, the closing melodic figure of the Satz begins on the downbeat of m. 4 and its overhang then settles down on the measure’s third beat, over a sustained bass. In the variant of this passage in Ex. 2.18b, on the other hand, the first two melodic notes of this measure are supplied with their own harmonies, so that it seems as if this phrase finishes on beat three with a root-position V–I motion. Again, modern theory would tend to regard the root-position V–I close in Ex. 2.18b as normative. In great contrast, Koch—who does not insist on root-position V–I motions at the end of Grundabsätze—regards this harmonization as “improper,” since its conclusion is “drawn into the weak part of the measure.”25 As seen in Ex. 2.14, Koch sometimes uses the symbol of a small square in his musical examples to indicate the location of a Satz-ending, a symbol that he borrowed (in modified form) from Riepel. Significantly, Koch’s placement of these squares is inconsistent: sometimes he places the square on the downbeat of the Satz-ending; sometimes the square appears at the end of (or even following) the after-beat embellishment or resolution of an appoggiatura that decorates the Satz ending; and sometimes the square hovers somewhere in the middle (Ex. 2.26). These inconsistencies are too pervasive to be reasonably ascribed to printer errors, especially since other markings in his published examples (such as staccato indications) almost

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always appear where they should be. Rather, the flexibility of the placement of the squares strongly suggests that Koch was uninterested in pinpointing the location of a Ruhepunct des Geistes, evidently regarding a resting “point” as something that could be represented by a complex of notes that begins on the downbeat and then subsequently extends over the next few beats.26 Ex. 2.26 Koch II §§88, 90, 95, and 110 (372, 382, 397, and 436 [13, 18, 26, and 46]). (a) Square placed at start of Überhang.

(b) Square placed in middle of Überhang.

(c) Square placed at end of Überhang.

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(d) Square placed after end of Überhang.

Koch’s practice in this regard is reminiscent of Riepel’s. Riepel often marks an Absatz-ending with a bracket that embraces an entire measure, placing the square somewhere in the middle of bracket, as in Ex. 2.27, thereby suggesting that the ending is spread over a few beats.27 Ex. 2.27 Excerpt from Riepel (1755, 42): Riepel’s markings suggest that the Absatz-ending occupies an entire measure.

Appendices In addition to overhangs, another type of appendage to a Satz—though one that arises on a slightly larger scale—occurs when a Satz is followed by an appendix (Anhang) consisting of an Einschnitt of one or more measures. In its simplest form, the appendix simply echoes the ending of a preceding Satz (Ex. 2.28).28 Ex. 2.28 Appendices that echo the preceding Satz-ending. (a) Koch II §113 (441–42 [48]): appendix echoes the preceding cadence.

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(b) C. H. Graun, “Ein Gebet um neue Stärk,” from Der Tod Jesu, mm. 35–40: appendix echoes the preceding Quintabsatz-ending; cf. Koch II (61).

An appendix might also differ from the Satz-ending that precedes it. For instance, a strong cadence at the end of a Schlußsatz might be followed by an appendix that concludes with a weaker sense of closure. Such is the case in Ex. 2.29, where Koch notes that the appendix uses an “improper cadential formula” (“ein uneigentliche Cadenzformel”), owing to its ending on the third scale-degree. Ex. 2.29 Koch II §113 (442 [49]): example of Schlußsatz followed by appendix that is more openended.

And in yet other of his examples, Koch shows that an appendix can bring about a deeper sense of resolution (Exx. 2.30a and b). Indeed, for Koch, an appendix may even follow an evaded cadence (Ex. 2.30c).29 Ex. 2.30 Examples of Absatz-appendices cited by Koch. (a) II §110 (436 [46]): appendix clarifies the end of the Satz with greater tonal closure.

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(b) II §110 (436 [47]): appendix clarifies the end of the Satz with greater tonal closure.

(c) II §114 (445 [50]): appendix follows an evaded cadence.

Koch’s labeling in the situations depicted in Ex. 2.30 differs from what is typical in current analytic practice. Music theorists today tend to label a phrase appendix exclusively as something that either follows the moment of closure (as in Exx. 2.28 and 2.29) or that extends the moment of closure (as when a passage’s final chord is simply prolonged). In contrast, Koch seems to regard an appendix as the segment that appears after a Satz could be expected to finish. As elsewhere, the differences between Koch’s views and modern ones arguably result from their contrasting metaphorical bases. Since modern approaches to form tend to view a phrase as a type of container that is essentially completed once melodic and tonal closure is achieved, any segment that appears after this closure is attained is usually understood as “after-the-end”—and thus lying outside the formal container that embraces the phrase. In contrast, since Koch’s approach to form relies more on impressions that are experienced as the music unfolds in time, anything that appears after the Satz could end creates a type of appended addition, even if this appendix produces a much firmer impression of finality. This attitude could well color performance of passages such as those seen in Ex. 2.30, since it tends to encourage performers to play the initial end of the Satz with a sense of conclusiveness, and then to be a bit “surprised” by the addition that follows.30 We return to this notion in Chapter 3, which

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discusses the possibility in which an entire Absatz can serve as an appendix to the preceding Absatz. A special situation arises when an appendix to an Absatz concludes on a different harmony from what appeared at its expected conclusion. As noted earlier, not until one reaches the end of an Absatz can it be known for sure whether a passage is a Grundabsatz or a Quintabsatz: if its last harmony is I, then the Absatz is a Grundabsatz; if its last harmony is V, then the Absatz is a Quintabsatz. As a consequence, the status of an Absatz can reinterpreted in hindsight if a new harmony appears at the end of its appendix. An example of this may be seen in Ex. 2.31. Had it concluded on the I triad implied at the end of m. 2, this passage would be understood as leading to an ending supported by a tonic harmony, thereby forming a Grundabsatz. However, since its appendix ends on V, the entire passage retrospectively is understood to lead to an ending over a dominantharmony, thus forming a Quintabsatz. Adapting a term suggested by William Rothstein, I shall refer to such a situation as one involving a “Satz-altering suffix.”31 Ex. 2.31 Satz-altering suffix, cited in Koch II §112 (441 [48]).

You may wonder: where does the Satz “really” end, at the conclusion of the appendix, or before? Koch’s answer to this question seems to be “both,” for here, too, Koch locates the precise endpoints of Sätze in a manner that may strike some modern readers as somewhat haphazard. In his examples, sometimes the square that indicates the Satz-ending is placed before the start of the appendix (see Ex. 2.30b); sometimes at its end (Ex. 2.31, which seems especially appropriate for situations involving a Satzaltering suffix); or sometimes both (Ex. 2.30a). Koch’s flexibility in this matter is quite in keeping with his overall approach. Not only would a more consistent labeling in this regard have no effect on Koch’s practical aims in teaching the mechanics of composition,

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but a dogmatic consistency arguably would be less reflective of musical experience. As an analogy, consider a journey you may take while returning home after a vacation. Does the last leg of the journey conclude when your flight arrives at your hometown airport, when you step off the plane, or when you enter your house and plop down on your couch? No doubt, all of these moments mark the “end” of the journey in some sense. In a similar vein, a Satz can in certain ways be understood to finish at the initial arrival of its Satz-ending, at the end of its overhang, at the end of its appendix, or all three.

Satz-appendix, or Satz-beginning? A related issue involves deciding whether a segment is best understood as an appendix to a Satz that precedes it, or as the initiation of the Satz that follows. Making this determination is not always so easy. Nor is such a determination necessarily all that important, since it can be misleading to insist that a passage be understood as contained within the time span of one Satz or the other. In Ex. 2.32, for instance, the passage comprising mm. 20– 23 arguably serves both as an appendix that confirms the resting point on V of the preceding Absatz as well as the initial measures of the Absatz that follows.32 When viewed via journey metaphors, as opposed to container metaphors, there is nothing paradoxical about the claim that an appendix to one Satz can also be the start of the next one. After all, the measures that confirm the arrival of a resting point can also be understood to simultaneously initiate the motion to the next resting point, without necessarily producing a sense of formal conflict.

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Ex. 2.32 Joseph Haydn, Symphony No. 9 in C/i, mm. 16–30.

The fuzziness that occasionally surrounds the location of Satz-endings should be kept in mind when viewing the analytic charts found throughout this book. As an aid to the reader, these charts often indicate the first and last measures of Sätze. But the boundaries of the Sätze often are not so severe as these charts might suggest, and thus the measures cited within them need not be understood as strictly “contained” within one Satz or the other. In many instances, as in Ex. 2.32, though the presence of a resting point that marks the end of a Satz may be extremely easy to hear, its exact location and the precise boundaries of the Sätze it delimits might be somewhat vague. For instance, in a specific piece it may be obvious that a resting point appears somewhere around mm. 8 through 10, but whether the resting point should be labeled as appearing precisely in m. 8, m. 10, or both may not be so easy to decide. Where appropriate, many of the charts used in the book attempt to show that a resting point might be understood to extend over a few beats or longer, or (as will be discussed in subsequent chapters) that what “counts” as a single resting point within the punctuation form may actually appear in more than one spot in the music. Where detailing such matters might look too fussy, however, a single moment may be labeled as representing the Ruhepunct, and following Koch, this moment might be designated as coinciding either with the initial arrival 69

of the Satz-ending or at the end of an appendix. In sum, whereas the resting points frequently are quite vivid, the single resting “point” they each demarcate may unfurl over a few beats or appear at multiple moments. After all, these are Ruhepunkte des Geistes, not Ruhepunkte der materiellen Welt: spiritual resting points, not material ones.

Sätze in different keys Sätze can arise in keys other than the home key, and this is reflected in their labels. Thus, for instance, Koch refers to an Absatz that concludes over the V of the dominant key—such as those cited in Ex. 2.33—as a Quintabsatz in der Tonart der Quinte. Ex. 2.33 Koch III §45 (147 [126]) and §147 (392–93 [233]). (a)Quintabsatz in der Tonart der Quinte that begins in the home key and ends on V/V.

(b)Quintabsatz in der Tonart der Quinte that begins and ends in the key of V.

Notice that whereas the excerpt cited in Ex. 2.33a starts in the home key of G major and ends on V of D, the excerpt of Ex. 2.33b remains “in” the key of D throughout. For Koch, that one of these passages modulates and the other does not has no effect on their labels or their roles in the larger structure of the movement. According to Koch, each is a Quintabsatz in der Tonart der Quinte that leads to a resting point on the dominant of D, and each is to be understood as “governed” by the key of D (see discussion in

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Chapter 4). Granted, Koch often acknowledges the tonality that is suggested at the opening of a Satz, along with the transitory tonalities that might appear in mid-Satz. Ultimately, however, he regards the motion toward the goal point of each Satz to be the Satz’s defining tonal feature, and the key associated with that goal point as its defining key.33 Koch’s attitude in this regard is drastically different from the standard modern attitude toward tonal form. Music analysts nowadays place much weight on the difference between a passage that modulates from one key to another, as in Ex. 2.33a, and a passage that stays in one key, as in Ex. 2.33b. But this was not so for Koch. Again, contrary to what is often wrongly supposed, Koch thought in terms not of key “areas” but of motions toward Ruhepuncte. As is discussed at length in subsequent chapters, Koch’s attitude in this regard has tremendous implications for the understanding of form.

Other formal terms for passages In his discussions of form, Koch also often refers to passages of music in a more general fashion with terms such as Glied (segment), Theil (“part” or “division”), and melodische Theile (melodic sections). Furthermore, sometimes Koch also describes passages not only by their tonal goals, but also by their character or other features. For instance, he uses the terms Thema or Hauptsatz to refer to the main theme that initially appears at the outset of a movement and that introduces the movement’s Hauptgedanke (“main idea”). Koch also refers to other types of passages that may be encountered in the middle of a Periode, such as Nebengedanken (subsidiary ideas), Verbindungssätze (connecting passages), and Zergliederungssätze (“dissecting” passages). Koch does not insist that these types of passages have strict boundaries; their beginning and end points may be rather fuzzy. It might be tempting to assume that Koch regards such types of passages as naturally occurring at one specific place or another within the form. For instance, we might like to think that what Koch calls a subsidiary passage ideally corresponds with what is now called the second theme, or what he refers to as a connecting passage matches what is now called the transition. But resist such entertainments. To be sure, Koch does provide some examples of expositions whose themes line up in such manner, and as will be discussed in Chapter 4, he mentions certain typical places where active and lyrical passages may be found within an exposition. However, Koch 71

does not suggest that these various types of passages properly should be restricted to just one particular area or the other within the middle of a Periode. In this, Koch’s approach is in accord with those of the mainstream of eighteenth-century formal approaches.34

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3

Hauptruhepuncte and Haupttheile The previous chapter discussed how the standard eighteenth-century approach to understanding musical form, particularly as elucidated by Koch, relies on a set of hierarchically arranged resting points, rather than on formal “areas” or key “areas.” The different degrees of repose evoked by the resting points help create a sense of forward momentum, as the incompleteness of each resting point usually sets the stage for a motion to a more complete sense of closure at the arrival of a subsequent resting point. As Kirnberger (1776, 142 [1983, 408]) aptly puts it, upon arriving at each moment of relative repose, “the ear is kept in close anticipation of what follows.” This forward momentum evoked by the succession of punctuations occurs not only on the Satz level, as depicted earlier in Ex. 2.5, but on all levels. Thus, for instance, an Einschnitt establishes an unstable resting point, and the tension that results from this instability helps push toward a more complete sense of rest at the end of the Satz. When the Satz-ending is an Absatz, however, the sense of repose is still somewhat incomplete, thereby driving toward the fuller sense of closure at the end of the Periode. And if the Periode ends with a formal cadence in a non-tonic key, this helps spark a trajectory on the largest scale toward the arrival of the formal cadence in the home key that arrives at the end of the movement’s final Periode. In the final volume of his Versuch, Koch devotes much energy to examining what he regards as the proper succession of Sätze that frame the formal trajectory within a movement’s first Hauptperiode. In this succession of Sätze, however, not every Satz is considered to carry equal weight. As Koch notes, sometimes two or more Sätze combine to lead to a single main resting point, or Hauptruhepunct des Geistes (as opposed to a generic Ruhepunct des Geistes). The passages that lead to these main resting points—each of which may consist either of a single Satz or of multiple Sätze—are called Haupttheile (“main sections”), interpunctische Haupttheile (“punctuated main 73

sections”), or melodische Haupttheile (“main melodic sections”). Koch refers to the succession of main resting points and the sections they delineate as the interpunctische Folge der Theile, that is, the “punctuated succession of the sections,” or, more simply, the “punctuation sequence.” Koch’s discussion of Haupttheile may strike modern readers as surprisingly elliptical. Koch appears to be less comfortable discussing formal groupings than most music theorists are today. When confronted with passages that to us may seem obviously contained within a single group, Koch proceeds at a cautious pace. In many cases, Koch does not commence his analysis by first observing the larger groupings and then describing their subdivisions, as would be typical in modern discussions of form. Rather, he begins by noting how the motion toward a resting point of an individual Satz can connect with others so as to suggest a larger motion toward a single main resting point. Coming to grips with the notions of the Hauptruhepunct and Haupttheil is vital to understanding the concept of the punctuation sequence, which lies at the very heart of Koch’s approach to the form of what is now called the sonata-form exposition.

Avoiding Satz repetitions in the interpunctische Folge der Theile The punctuation sequence within the first Hauptperiode usually follows a standard ordering that is governed by two important factors. First, each successive Hauptruhepunct generally moves further from the stability of the movement’s home key as it moves closer to the perfect authentic cadence in the secondary key at the end of the Periode. Second, except in special circumstances, the same punctuation formula should not appear at the ends of two otherwise contrasting Absätze in a row, for such duplication would threaten to create a tedious, repetitious effect. The importance of avoiding the same resting point at ends of successive Absätze is something that Riepel emphasizes at great length, and Koch echoes Riepel in this regard. As Koch put it, “neither two I-phrases [Grundabsätze] nor two V-phrases [Quintabsätze] in one and the same key may be composed immediately after one another with melodic sections which differ from each other” (III §34, 111–12 [110]; this dictum appears in a large font for emphasis in Koch’s original treatise). Ex. 3.1 displays a passage that according to Koch violates this rule, thereby sounding repetitious and dull.1 74

Ex. 3.1 Koch III §134 (348–49 [216]).

As is typical of him, no sooner does Koch announce this decree than he starts providing exceptions. Specifically, although an Absatz by itself can demarcate a main resting point, Koch describes special situations in which two or more Absätze lead to a single Hauptruhepunct des Geistes, as part of a single punctuated main section. And as his examples make clear, when two or more Absätze lead to a single main resting point, it is possible for two of the same type of Satz to appear in succession. Koch enumerates a number of scenarios that allow for this exception. However, he makes no pretense at completeness in this regard. For instance, in discussing the possible exceptions whereby two Quintabsätze may appear in succession, Koch openly admits that there might be specific exceptions that he overlooked or otherwise failed to be able to rationalize: Only what a pity that I am not in a position to reduce these exceptions to certain definite types in order to assist the beginner. . . . Indeed, I have made an attempt to determine the cases in which two V-phrases follow each other without producing an unpleasant effect, but I have failed. . . . So here, too, taste [Geschmack] must be the judge and decide, should the case arise, whether both the V-phrases [Quintabsätze] to be composed are or are not proper. (III §36, 122 [115])

As in so many cases, to follow Koch’s guidelines properly, one cannot be limited to only those situations that he spells out. Rather, taste and feeling must be used to help decide when two successive Quintabsätze may be fairly understood to form a motion to a single Hauptruhepunct, drawing on the scenarios that Koch provides as a rough template for such a possibility. Although Koch’s guidelines in this regard were intended to help beginning composers, they have enormous significance for analysis as well. Being able to follow the punctuation sequence that lies at the heart of 75

Galant expositional form depends largely upon being able to locate the main resting points, which in turn relies on the ability to recognize when multiple Sätze combine to lead to a single main punctuated section. Using techniques mentioned by Koch as a starting post, the present chapter examines some of the chief ways in which such combinations of Sätze may occur. And taking Koch’s hint to appeal to Gefühl and Geschmack in judging such matters, I shall also propose some other techniques, not explicitly mentioned by Koch, whereby two or more Absätze might be reasonably understood to group to form a single Haupttheil.

Repeated Absätze As Koch III §34 (111–12 [110]) remarks, the appearance of the same type of Absatz twice in a row is problematic only “with melodic sections which differ from each other.” The situation is much different when an Absatz is repeated in toto, however. Such repetition does not yield the stagnant effect produced when contrasting, successive melodic segments end on the same harmony. Rather, restating an Absatz creates the impression that the melody is merely retracing its steps. Thus, as Koch explains, two successive Grundabsätze or Quintabsätze are permissible if the second is either an exact or a varied reiteration of the first. To demonstrate this, he shows an example where the second of the Absätze is a softer, slightly varied echo of the first (Ex. 3.2a), as well as one in which the second Absatz is a louder, highly embellished variant of the first. Examples of similar layouts are common in Galant music (as in Ex. 3.2b). In such cases, both Absätze may be fairly understood to lead to a single Hauptruhepunct des Geistes, that is, to a single, main “spiritual” resting point. Ex. 3.2 Passages in which a Grundabsatz is repeated (nearly) verbatim. (a) Koch III §35 (114 [111]).

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(b) Giuseppe Sarti, Sonata for Harpsichord No. 2 in C, ii (1769).

Two successive Sätze also can repeat as a pair. Although Koch does not directly mention the possibility of repeated Satz-pairs, they are implicit in his analysis of the second movement of Joseph Haydn’s Symphony No. 42, which Koch reproduces in keyboard reduction as one of the prime examples in his Versuch.2 This movement’s first Periode features a total of seven Sätze in (Ex. 3.3). However, the first two Absätze are repeated (with slight variation) as a pair, and the sixth Absatz repeats the fifth Absatz. Thus from the standpoint of the punctuation sequence of the sections, the seven Sätze of this Periode could be understood as framed by only four different interpunctische Haupttheile, albeit three of which are repeated. Accordingly, the exposition through m. 34 features only four Hauptruhepuncte, though some of these main resting points are articulated at multiple locations.3 Ex. 3.3 Charts of Joseph Haydn, Symphony No. 42 in D/ii (1771), first Hauptperiode. (a) Chart showing Ruhepuncte and Sätze.

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(b) Chart showing Hauptruhepuncte and Haupttheile.

Incidentally, charts much like those seen in Ex. 3.3b, which have been foreshadowed on the previous pages, will continue to be used throughout this book. These charts are intended as user-friendly tools to help the reader quickly and vividly follow the discussions and analyses. Appendix I walks the reader though some of their symbols, and I pause here to explain some of the features of these charts, as well as to offer some caveats in interpreting them. Note in particular the use of arrows in these charts, which help reinforce the notion that the passages each lead toward resting points supported by specific harmonies. So as to better accommodate the modern reader, harmonies and keys are indicated with Roman numerals. To be sure, this departs from the practice of Koch and most other eighteenth-century theorists, for whom such use of Roman numerals would have been foreign. Nonetheless, Koch and his contemporaries did employ words that are clearly related to what are implied by these Roman numerals, such as the term “Quinte” for what these charts refer to as “V.” Furthermore, at least one eighteenth-century musician, Georg Joseph Vogler, did use Roman numerals to indicate harmonies that support resting points, and Vogler also employed similar locutions to refer to these harmonies, such as “fünften vom fünften” for what would be described in modern terminology as “V of V.”4 Spelling out the word “formal cadence” for the resting point that marks the end of a Periode would make the charts too bulky, and thus would run counter to the utilitarian purpose of these charts as convenient visual aids. For this reason, a formal cadence is indicated more concisely with the label “Cadenz” (and where there is no room to spell out the word, Riepel’s abbreviation “Cad.” is used instead). The convenience offered by this label admittedly is not without its drawbacks. As emphasized earlier, the term “Cadenz” tends to be used in a more general manner than “formal cadence.” Specifically, the word “Cadenz” properly refers to any cadence

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that today would be labeled as a perfect authentic cadence, not just the formal cadence that appears at the end of a Periode (see earlier discussions regarding Exx. 2.21 and 2.24a). This drawback notwithstanding, in order to help distinguish cadences that appear at the ends of Schlußsätze from those that appear at ends of Grundabsätze, in the charts throughout this book the label “Cadenz” always refers to a formal cadence alone. Conversely, the resting point at the end of a Grundabsatz is labeled with a Roman numeral I, even in those cases where its resting point is marked by a perfect authentic cadence.5 The most anachronistic feature of the charts, however, is the charts themselves. As was noted in Chapter 1, use of charts did not proliferate in discussions of musical form until after 1800. In particular, the boxes found in these charts might yield the unfortunate side effect of suggesting that the passages they outline are to be understood as containers, with the resting points serving as the boundaries of these boxed-in passages. Put differently, these boxes tend to suggest precisely the type of impression that I am trying to combat in this study. Furthermore, various features of the expositions analyzed here inevitably are fuzzier than the charts might let on, such as precisely where a resting point arrives, or whether a passage is best understood as an appendix to one Absatz or as the start of the next (cf. earlier discussion regarding Ex. 2.32). In some cases added annotations, either on the charts themselves or on the website that accompanies this book, help flesh out these ambiguities. On the other hand, overburdening these charts with fussy annotations would counteract their primary purpose, and thus in a number of cases I leave it for the readers to work out the nuances for themselves. In any event, these charts are not intended as a documentation of structural features, but as handy aids to help the reader more readily grasp the underlying concepts and as an entrée into further engagement with the music.

Appendices Absätze as “clarifications” Koch explains that an Absatz may be followed by an appendix in the form of another complete Satz that “clarifies” the first (III §132–35, 346–52 [215–17]). Unlike the passages cited earlier in Exx. 2.28–2.31, which involve

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Einschnitten that serve as clarifying appendices, this situation is one in which an entire Absatz serves as an appendix to the Absatz that precedes it. Koch notes that in such cases the two Absätze may be understood as governed by a single resting point (“beyde zusammen nur einen einzigen Hauptruhepunct des Perioden ausmachen”).6 Evidently, he feels that the stronger sense of closure at the end of the second Absatz alleviates the sense of redundancy that otherwise might accompany having the same type of Absatz appear twice in a row. For a well-known example of such an appended Absatz from the repertoire, consider W. A. Mozart’s Sonata for Keyboard in F, K. 332/i (1783). At the outset of this movement, a passage that concludes with a firm arrival on tonic (m. 12) is followed by a contrasting passage (mm. 13– 22) that again leads to a tonic, this time with a slightly greater sense of finality. Since the second of these passages sounds so clearly like an appendix to the opening phrase, there is no sense of redundancy here. Rather, this passage evokes the impression that the second arrival on the tonic simply reinforces the first. Koch also discusses situations in which an appendix sounds far more conclusive than the Absatz to which it is attached. Koch’s attitude in this regard likely would strike many readers today as odd. After all, modern theory tends to label phrase appendices as occurring only after a strong sense of closure has already been achieved, as at the end of the first phrase of Mozart’s K. 332 mentioned in the previous paragraph. Thus, for instance, modern theorists likely would interpret mm. 5–8 of Ex. 3.4 not as an appendix, but as the essential conclusion of an antecedent-pluscontinuation. In contrast, Koch feels that m. 4 of this passage already conveys a sense of closure appropriate for the end of an Absatz—that is, for a resting point that appears in mid-Periode. Again, for him, an Absatz normally consists of four measures—not eight—and need not end with an authentic cadence. As such, he reads mm. 5–8 not as a requisite part of this theme, but as an addendum to it, one that brings a firmer sense of harmonic and melodic completion. And since the passage of mm. 5–8 serves as a clarifying appendix, the two successive Grundabsätze here (mm. 1–4 and 5–8) lead to a single Hauptruhepunct des Geistes, with no sense of redundancy.

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Ex. 3.4 Koch III §135 (351 [217]).

In this light, consider the main theme from the Haydn trio excerpted in Ex. 3.5. According to modern formal terminology, this theme could be labeled as an antecedent-plus-continuation. As such, the theme would be interpreted as coming to a satisfactory conclusion only upon arrival of the perfect authentic cadence in m. 8, with mm. 5–8 serving as an essential part of the phrase. This attitude encourages m. 4 to be understood and performed as an incomplete midpoint within an eight-bar theme, as though it is expected to be followed by a continuation to a cadence (as indeed turns out to be the case). According to a neo-Kochian approach, on the other hand, m. 4 could form a satisfactory conclusion for the opening theme. Indeed, when the main theme returns during the recapitulation, the passage analogous to mm. 5–8 is omitted, so that in the recapitulation the main theme consists in its entirety of just its first four measures. In the exposition, much as in the recapitulation, the main theme could have stopped with m. 4, followed immediately by a transition. To be sure, the deeper sense of closure in m. 8 does help confirm the sense of arrival at the end of the theme’s opening Grundabsatz. Nonetheless, mm. 5–8 could have been omitted without disrupting the theme’s structural viability, and thus the passage of mm. 5–8 presents a type of optional “bonus” that reinforces the closure already achieved in m. 4. And since mm. 5–8 serve as a clarifying appendix, the two Grundabsätze that appear in mm. 1–8 combine to form a single Haupttheile, thereby avoiding the potential redundant effect that otherwise might result from having the same type of Absatz appear twice in a row.7

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Ex. 3.5 Joseph Haydn, Divertimento for String Trio, Hob. V:16/ii (1766), mm. 1–8.

Similar to what was noted in regards to the snippet-length appendices in the previous chapter, Satz-length appendices cannot always be readily classified as belonging to just one Haupttheil or the other. The Hauptruhepuncte are not so much like walls of an enclosure as they are like milestones that signal landmarks along a journey. As such, a passage that confirms one such landmark can be understood to simultaneously initiate the motion toward the next one. Consequently, a single passage quite possibly might serve both as an appendix to one Haupttheil and as the beginning of the next. In the manner described earlier, the possibility for such dual meaning admittedly is obscured by the charts used as visual aids throughout this book, which at times might wrongly suggest that an appendix is cordoned off within just one single Haupttheil.

Repeated and clarifying Absätze It is also possible for the melody of an Absatz to be repeated in such a way that its repetition has a slightly firmer ending. Such a layout may be understood as mixing the strategies discussed in the previous sections of this chapter: that is, the second Absatz serves both as a repetition (in the manner of Ex. 3.2) as well as a clarifying appendix (in the manner of Exx. 3.4–3.5) of the first Absatz. Koch does not detail this specific situation, perhaps because it was more complicated than necessary for his introductory treatise. In any event, such a layout is by no means uncommon. Ex. 3.6 quotes a passage that is constructed in this fashion. Two Absätze in a row here each lead to a resting point over a I triad. However, owing to the repetition of the melody and the stronger conclusion at the end of the second Absatz, there is no sense of stagnation. Note that the melodische Haupttheil that results corresponds to what in

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modern terminology is called a parallel period, in which the antecedent ends with an imperfect authentic cadence. Ex. 3.6 Joseph Haydn, Symphony 46 in B/iv (1772), mm. 1–8.

An instance of an antecedent-plus-continuation involving two Grundabsätze is cited in Ex. 3.7. In modern terminology, m. 4 would probably be labeled as marking a perfect authentic cadence and m. 8 as an imperfect authentic cadence. Yet surely the context here suggests that the ending of m. 8 is more conclusive than the one of m. 4. As such, much as in the passage of Ex. 3.6, the second Grundabsatz here could be fairly understood as a clarifying appendix of the first.8

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Ex. 3.7 Joseph Haydn, Symphony 19 in D/i (c. 1757–61), mm. 1–8.

A related layout occurs when a Satz whose last chord is V is repeated in a varied fashion so that its repetition ends on I. This layout corresponds to what modern terminology classifies as a standard antecedent-consequent parallel period. Koch addresses this structure in his discussion of a rondo theme (Rondosatz) by Georg Benda. Koch explains that Benda’s theme could be regarded as leading to a single Hauptruhepunct, which he notes consists of single melodische Theil that is presented first as Quintabsatz and then repeated as a Schlußsatz (III §86, 248–51 [172–73]).9 That such a framework could be understood as embraced by a single Haupttheil could be justified by combining the notion of the repeated Satz with that of the Satz-altering suffix, demonstrated in Ex. 3.8. Ex. 3.8 Abstract examples demonstrating how a parallel antecedent-consequent period could be understood as leading to a single Hauptruhepunct. (a) Phrase with Satz-altering suffix.

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(b) Repeated Satz.

(c) Repeated Satz with Satz-altering suffix.

The exposition by Leopold Mozart cited in Ex. 3.9a presents a more complicated situation involving a Satz-altering suffix. This exposition is framed by four Sätze, which nonetheless could be understood as dividing into three main sections.10 The movement opens with a Grundabsatz (mm. 1–5/7) that initially seems as if it will be followed immediately by a contrasting Grundabsatz (mm. 8–11), in apparent violation of Koch’s admonition to avoid two contrasting Grundabsätze in a row. However, the melody of the second Grundabsatz repeats (cf. mm. 8–11 and mm. 12–15), and this repetition is expanded with two appendices (mm. 16–17 and m. 18). The second of these appendices ends on V/V, thereby forming a Satzaltering suffix. And since the melodic repetitions encourage hearing mm. 8– 18 as a single unit, this entire passage can be understood to lead to a Hauptruhepunct on V/V. The chart of Ex. 3.9b helps to clarify this layout. To test the successful effect of the Absatz-altering suffix in the exposition of Ex. 3.9, try to imagine the unhappy results if a Grundabsatz had indeed concluded in m. 11 (or in m. 15 or m. 17), in which case there would be two successive, contrasting Grundabsätze. Such a hypothetical recomposition would create a stagnant effect by having the same harmony marked by two main resting points in a row. Within what Mozart actually composed, tension builds up through m. 17, akin to the tension caused by a pedal point, as the listener wonders: will the music be able to break away from its constant reiteration of the resting point on the tonic harmony? The drama that results might well be lost to those who too quickly place the sections of this exposition into distinct theme zones. Those sensitive to the power of

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the Hauptruhepuncte, on the other hand, will more readily appreciate the exciting breakthrough here, as m. 18 finally forges forward toward the next harmony of the punctuation sequence. Ex. 3.9 Leopold Mozart, Sonata for Keyboard in C/ii (1759), exposition. (a) Quotation (melody of mm. 1–18 only).

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(b) Chart of entire exposition (mm. 1–29).

Parenthetic insertion (Einschiebsel) In some instances, the forward progress of an exposition seems interrupted by what may be regarded as a type of parenthetic insertion. Joseph Riepel refers to such a passage as an Einschiebsel (parenthetic aside) or parenthesis claudatur (parenthetic clause); Koch labels this as a Parenthese or eingeschobener Satz (inserted passage). In certain instances, the interpolation consists of an Einschnitt or a group of Einschnitte that appears in the middle of a repeated Absatz (Ex. 3.10a). Other times, however, the interpolation takes the form of a complete Absatz sandwiched between two other Absätze (Ex. 3.10b– c).11 Ex. 3.10 Excerpts involving passages interpolated between repeated Sätze. (a) Joseph Haydn, Symphony No. 28/i (1765), mm. 1–22.

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(b) Koch III §70 (220–21 [161]).

(c) W. A. Mozart, Sonata for Keyboard and Violin in E minor, K. 304/i (1778), mm. 1–28.

Note that the Mozart passage charted in Ex. 3.10c includes five separate Sätze that each end with a Ruhepunct, but nonetheless these measures ultimately are to be understood to be embraced by a single Haupttheil that leads to a single Hauptruhepunct. You might wonder: isn’t this pretty much like saying that this passage is embraced by a single thematic zone—namely, a first theme group, which “contains” the main theme function, framed in the manner of a small ternary form? Admittedly, it is. Although not all expositions from the eighteenth century can be appropriately characterized as dividing into separate theme zones, many can. This is especially so toward the last two decades of the eighteenth century, which is one reason why the concept of locating distinct thematic sections caught on so strongly in analytic methods that focus on these later styles of music. But even in a number of Galant expositions, the Haupttheile may suggest groupings that lend themselves to description as distinct theme zones, as is discussed in subsequent chapters.

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Even so, there are advantages to thinking of a main theme zone as resulting as a by-product of motions toward formal goals, as opposed to filling out a pre-set spatial container. That is, rather than thinking of mm. 1– 28 of Ex. 3.10c primarily as a type of architecturally symmetrical edifice, much can be gained by considering it more in line with the typical eighteenth-century approach, in which a motion toward a tonic resting point is retraced and then clarified, with a parenthetic passage interspersed between the repeated motions.

Rauschende and cantabile Quintabsätze A final standard possibility for successive appearances of the same Absatztype arises when one Satz is active and the following one is gentler. Specifically, Koch argues that two Quintabsätze in a row do not sound offensive if the first Quintabsatz is expansive and rauschend (“swooshing” or “lively”) and the Quintabsatz that immediately follows is cantabile (III §141, 364 [221]).12 This remark of Koch’s is among those that are taken as evidence that he recognized the presence of a transition leading to a second theme within a sonata-form exposition. As is discussed in detail in Chapter 4, however, it does nothing of the sort. Nonetheless, the situation that he describes here can at times—and frequently does—correspond to what modern terminology would identify as a transition leading to a second theme that opens with an antecedent-consequent period (Ex. 3.11). Ex. 3.11 Chart showing possible coordination of Koch’s description of rauschende and cantabile Sätze with a modern sonata-form labeling.

But even where it does not appear at the start of an implied second theme group, a cantabile Quintabsatz nonetheless may appropriately follow a rauschend one in the manner described by Koch.13 Koch suggests that it is

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the contrasting natures of the successive Quintabsätze that mitigate the potential problems of redundancy. The notion that the second Quintabsatz in the scenario depicted in Ex. 3.11 may be regarded as “contained” within a second theme section is one that he does not mention or even allude to. In this regard, consider the exposition by Marianna Martines cited in Ex. 3.12. In this exposition there are two successive, contrasting Sätze that each conclude on V of Ex. 3.12 Mariana Martines, Sonata No. 3 for Keyboard in E/i (1765), exposition. (a) Quotation of mm. 1–28.

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(b) Chart of mm. 1–32.

the home key. The second of these passages, in mm. 18–24, is neither clearly the ending of a transition nor clearly the start of a second theme (note in particular how this passage wavers between the keys of B and E). Rather, the passage of mm. 18–24 seems more like an Einschiebsel inserted between the energetic passage of mm. 9–17 and the new-key theme that follows in m. 25. Stated in poetic terms, the passage of mm. 18–24 seems like an interlude within a drama in which the protagonist momentarily draws inward before resuming the forward drive. Owing to the resulting expressive contrast between these passages, along with the impression that mm. 18–24 serve as a type of interpolation, the two successive Quintabsätze in mm. 9–17 and 18–24 do not create an inappropriately stagnant effect. The interpretive possibilities are hampered for a movement like this if it is assumed in advance that each passage should be able to be understood as contained within a larger theme group. As suggested by Koch, the scenario seen here is a common one in which an expansive, rauschender Quintabsatz is followed by a cantabile Quintabsatz; any difficulties that may arise in attempting to apply modern sonata-form terms to such a layout do not indicate ambiguity in the movement itself.

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4 Eighteenth-Century Approaches to Expositions Riepel and Koch The standard sequence of resting points that frame numerous Galant expositions was addressed, either directly or obliquely, in a number of publications that appeared during the second half of the eighteenth century. As noted in Chapter 2, the appeal to punctuation form pervades eighteenth-century discussions of musical form, to the extent that it could be regarded as the mainstream approach to understanding musical form at the time. To be sure, investigating large-scale form was not the primary concern of most music commentators during the eighteenth century. Discussion of musical form often appeared as a tangential, side commentary during exploration of other matters, such as those that deal with genre or performance.1 Of particular relevance in eighteenth-century treatises are the sample compositions they cite. Whether composed by the treatise author as a demonstration, or selected from the repertoire, it may be assumed that the examples were chosen because it was felt that they exemplified standard features of the style. Many of these examples, however—including those specifically cited during discussions of musical form—exhibit formal traits that nowadays tend to be considered unusual. This in turn prompts us to rethink what formal elements were taken as normal by eighteenth-century audiences. Also significant is not only what these eighteenth-century writings say, but also what they fail to point out. In many cases they do not bother to mention a feature that many musicians today would regard as obviously essential to the formal structure. Conversely, on several occasions they focus on things that current formal theories tend to regard as relatively trivial. We should be careful not to brush aside such instances too readily,

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since they may draw attention to important formal concepts that nowadays tend to be overlooked. When musicians today come upon ideas suggested by eighteenth-century theorists that seem at odds with modern sonata-form approaches, they might ask: “Isn’t it possible that these earlier theorists’ notions were simply wrong?” This certainly may be so. Then again, it is also possible that our own notions are the ones that are simply wrong. In the eighteenth century, much like today, theorists’ discussions included some glaring errors and unfortunate omissions. Mostly focusing on composition rather than analysis, eighteenth-century commentators at times were too close to the music of the era to allow for the broader perspective provided by the passage of time. On the other hand, modern formal approaches, with their focus on analysis rather than composition, at times are too distant from the era to allow for the more intimate perspective of those who lived with the music at the time. Filtered through the expectations prompted by practices of later styles, modern analyses of Galant music might miss exciting features that would have more readily been recognized by musicians closer to the period. To be sure, Galant musicians no doubt could have learned much from modern music theory. Yet surely for our purposes what is more important is not what eighteenth-century theorists could have learned from us, but what we might profitably be able to learn from them. The present chapter focuses on discussions of sonata-form expositions seen in the writings of two music theorists from opposite corners of the Galant era: Heinrich Christoph Koch (1749–1816), whose ideas were discussed in the previous chapters, and his influential predecessor, Joseph Riepel (1709–1782). Their examinations of punctuation form are the most thoroughgoing of the time. As noted previously, since their writings have been extensively rehearsed in the scholarly literature, there is no need for an exhaustive exploration of their theories here. Instead, the following pages largely summarize concepts of Riepel and Koch that have been discussed by others, though in several cases also suggesting a new outlook on facets of their ideas that warrant closer examination and reconsideration.

Joseph Riepel In search of tonal order

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Joseph Riepel’s magnum opus, Anfangsgründe zur musicalischen Setzkunst, deals extensively with issues of form. Of particular relevance for the present study are Riepel’s first two chapters (published in separate volumes in 1752/54 and 1755), which present the melodies of a number of didactic, sample compositions that are framed by what today would be recognized as sonata form. Riepel’s treatise is written in a lively and witty manner. A number of its chapters—including the ones that deal directly with form—are written as a dialogue between a student and teacher, and they are peppered with a series of digressions and jokes. The student in the dialogue is no mere pushover, for on numerous occasions, the pupil challenges the opinions of the teacher. In such instances, it is not always clear whose opinion wins out, or which protagonist reflects Riepel’s own views. This may cause frustration for modern readers who seek clear-cut explanations. As others have argued, however, there seems to be a method to Riepel’s madness in this regard. Riepel repeatedly suggests that musical form should be grasped not via scientifically rigorous formulas, but through examining and questioning various possibilities. In having the student challenge his teacher on numerous occasions, Riepel encourages his readers likewise to question his (or anybody else’s) conclusions. Riepel’s writings were widely praised at the time, and the ideas they present are reflected in the works of many other writers from the second half of the eighteenth century. Some of these writers, such as Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg and Johann Philipp Kirnberger, depart in various ways from the concepts and terminology offered by Riepel. Others, such as Georg Simon Löhlein, seem to adhere to Riepel’s lead more closely. Among those most influenced by Riepel was Heinrich Christoph Koch, who openly acknowledges his debt to Riepel. Almost all of the concepts attributed to Koch in the present book may be understood as attempted refinements and clarifications of ideas that initiated with Riepel. Riepel’s teachings also directly influenced many composers.2 Among those who appear to have borne Riepel’s influence was the young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose father owned at least one of Riepel’s volumes and whose early compositions appear to develop along guidelines suggested by Riepel.3 The portion of Riepel’s Anfangsgründe that most directly touches upon issues surrounding expositions of sonata form is found in its second chapter, which deals with tonal order (Tonordnung). At the outset of this

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chapter, the pupil greets his teacher by exclaiming “Seitderzeitherimmermitleibundseelwohlaufgewesenzuseynanwünschen!” In a footnote, Riepel wryly suggests that such a fancy run-on word is customary for the style of mathematical treatises. Put differently, such a term is a parody of what might be found in the type of meta-theoretical discussions toward which Riepel deliberately turns his nose, since he shows more interest in practical matters of musical composition. In introducing this absurdly long composite word at the outset of the volume, Riepel hints at something else to be avoided: namely, long streams of thought that are strung together without being properly clarified through punctuation. This is a prime focus of Riepel’s chapter volume that follows, which explains at length how the tonal organization of compositions can be effectively molded through musical punctuations. Accordingly, Riepel (speaking via the voices of the teacher and student), describes various types of punctuation that impart differing degrees of weight. These punctuations include Cadenzen (perfect authentic cadences that appear at ends of large sections), Absätze, and Einschnitte. Riepel also offers more-refined subcategories for each of these punctuation types based on their relative degree of completeness, melodic formulas, and harmonic support. Furthermore, he discusses in detail the passages that are delineated by these punctuations, addressing issues regarding their length, construction, and ways in which these passages can be extended through various types of expansions, additions, and insertions, along with other related topics. Riepel also explores features that help govern the ordering of the punctuations, introducing many ideas that were later taken up by Koch. For instance, Riepel notes that in large major-key movements, the first formal cadence should appear in the key of the dominant. He also warns against the redundancy of having the same type of punctuation appear two times in a row, though being careful to note various exceptions to this guideline (cf. discussions in Chapter 3).

Riepel’s sample expositions Of primary interest for the present study is Riepel’s explanation of the punctuations for a movement’s first half (ersten Theil), that is, the section that matches what modern terminology labels as the exposition. So as to help demonstrate the proper ordering of the punctuations, Riepel composed several sample compositions that could serve as melodies for a movement 95

of a symphony. The exposition from Riepel’s basic exemplar is shown in Ex. 4.1a and charted in Ex. 4.1b. Note that Riepel uses the term “Aenderungsabsatz” for what Koch labels as a Quintabsatz, and unlike Koch he does not use the word Schlußsatz to describe the passage that leads to the (formal) Cadenz. Two crucial factors seem to govern the ordering of punctuations in this and other sample expositions by Riepel. First, as Riepel strongly emphasizes and as is noted above, the same punctuation should not appear twice in a row along the path toward the Cadenz, since this would create a tedious effect. Thus, for instance, it would be redundant for a Grundabsatz to immediately follow another Grundabsatz. Furthermore, the harmonies that support each resting point progressively move closer toward the Cadenz in the secondary key. In the sample exposition of Ex. 4.1, for instance, the resting points are supported by I, V, V/V, and finally a Cadenz in the key of V. Ex. 4.1 Riepel (1755, 64), exemplar of first part of movement (= twelve-measure exposition). (a) Quotation (annotations added).

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(b) Chart.

After presenting this central sample exposition, Riepel uses its framework as the basis for a number of other movements. Two of these variants are shown and charted in Ex. 4.2. Note that each of these variants offers a shortened version of the exposition cited in Ex. 4.1 in which one of the Absätze is omitted. Ex. 4.2 Riepel (1755, 64), variants of exposition cited in Ex. 4.1 (annotations added). (a) Quotation and chart of eight-measure exposition.

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(b) Quotation and chart of ten-measure exposition.

Significantly, Riepel’s prototype exposition of Ex. 4.1 involves two Absätze that end on a dominant harmony, first on V and then on V/V. Each of these resting points is then followed by a pause and then a passage in the key of V. In other words, using modern terminology, what Riepel offers as the standard example of an exposition apparently includes two halfcadential caesuras and two new-key themes.4 In contrast, the expositions of Ex. 4.2 each features just one caesura and one passage in the secondary key —yet Riepel presents these as variants of the two-caesuraed, two-new-keythemed exposition of Ex. 4.1. Ironically, this is the exact opposite of what would be assumed by many modern approaches to sonata form. Most modern approaches assume that expositions with one medial caesura and one new-key theme are the norm, and they would thus tend to regard an exposition such as seen in Ex. 4.1 as a variant of a more normative layout. As we shall see, however, Riepel’s implication of the standard nature of an exposition with two half-cadential caesuras and two new-key themes is amply reflected in the repertoire, and this notion is also echoed by other theorists of the eighteenth century, including Marpurg, Koch, Vogler, Galeazzi, Kollmann, and Neubauer.

The contrasting idea 98

Riepel underlines the importance of counterbalancing the main theme with a contrasting passage or passages. However, it is clear that he felt that such contrasting passages could appear almost anywhere in the movement; Riepel does not suggest that a contrasting passage should naturally appear within any specific section.5 To be sure, some of his examples present a contrasting idea (perhaps in the guise of a soft lyrical passage) at the spot in the form analogous to what today would be designated as the second theme section, as in Ex. 4.3a. But Riepel also offers examples where a soft theme appears elsewhere within the exposition, and he also shows examples of transitional-sounding themes appearing where modern audiences might expect a second theme, as in Ex. 4.3b.6 Ex. 4.3 Quotations from Riepel (1755, 81 and 95). (a) Portion of exposition, mm. 19–27 (cf. Ex. 4.2a).

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(b) Sample exposition (cf. Ex. 4.2b).

In this regard, look again at the excerpts of Ex. 4.2. These expositions each begin with the main theme played twice in mm. 1–4 (first time ending on I, the next time on V), followed by a passage that leads to a Cadenz in the dominant key. The second Satz in mm. 3–4 in each has a tonal function that modern theorists likely would associate with the transition section (since these measures lead to a half-cadential V that precedes a passage in the key of V), though in neither of these excerpts does this passage involve the loose-knit energy gain that now tends to be allied with transitions. In its third Satz (beginning in m. 5), which leads directly to the new-key cadence, Ex. 4.2a does feature a tuneful, contrasting idea—which is precisely at the spot where modern sonata-form approaches would expect the appearance of a second theme. Ex. 4.2b, on the other hand, features a lively, transitional-sounding passage at the analogous place. This suggests that for Riepel, whether the new-key passage that leads to the cadence in the secondary key begins in tuneful manner or in a transition-like manner is neither here nor there: he seemed to regard both as standard options, of the types that could be featured as didactic pedagogical exemplars.

Aenderungsabsatz

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As pointed out earlier in this chapter, Riepel uses the term Aenderungsabsatz instead of Quintabsatz to indicate a punctuation on V. He explains his use of this term by noting that following an Aenderungsabsatz the key must change (sich ändern). Thus, for instance, he remarks that in a piece in C major, the passage that comes after an Aenderungsabsatz could “hurry to a cadence in G, or simply return quickly back to the tonic note C.” In this, Riepel seems to refer to the feature that Robert Winter (1989) associates with a “bifocal close”—that is, the varied ability of an ending on V to be followed by a passage that leads either to the dominant key (in the exposition) or tonic key (in the recapitulation).7 Riepel’s guidelines suggest that an Aenderungsabsatz in the home key should not be followed by another home-key Aenderungsabsatz, since that would sound too repetitious. Nor during the first half of a movement should a home-key Aenderungsabsatz be followed by a home-key Grundabsatz, since that would pull back from the larger harmonic goal of leading toward the formal cadence in the secondary key. Rather, during the exposition a home-key Aenderungsabsatz should be followed by either (1) an Aenderungsabsatz in the key secondary key (as in the exposition of Ex. 4.1) or (2) a Cadenz in the secondary key (as in the expositions of Ex. 4.2). Riepel explains this strategy as follows: Now let’s start to examine the modulation that follows the Aenderungsabsatz. Note that in composing an Andante, solo piece, aria, or symphony, there usually will at least be a modulation to the key of V (for example, to G [in C-major movements]), and the Cadenz to this key usually will be announced by an Aenderungsabsatz.8

Riepel does not suggest, however, that the passage following the Aenderungsabsatz should be “in” the dominant key “area.” On the contrary, although he does show instances in which an Aenderungsabsatz is immediately followed by a passage that begins in the key of V (as in the exposition cited in Ex. 4.2a, where m. 5 starts in the key of G), Riepel also provides examples in which the home-key Aenderungsabsatz could be followed by a passage that starts in the home key and then modulates to V (as in mm. 9–16 of Ex. 4.3b, or mm. 9–16 of Ex. 4.4).

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Ex. 4.4 Sample exposition by Riepel (1755, 576), where passage following Aenderungsabsatz begins in home key.

Thus Riepel suggests that a mid-expositional punctuation on V would be expected to be followed by a passage that leads either to a punctuation on V/V or to a perfect authentic cadence in the key of V—but whether this passage also starts in V is something that evidently matters so little to him as to not be worth mentioning. Unlike most modern approaches, for Riepel what seems more important is the key of the resting point toward which a passage leads, rather than the key in which a passage is “contained.” Other eighteenth-century theorists followed Riepel in this regard. For instance, in analyzing a short sonata-form movement that he composed, Löhlein (1773 [1765]), 183–84) remarks that an Aenderungsabsatz “prepares for a modulation to the dominant key” (“zur Ausweichung in die Quinte vorbereitet”). In the passage he cites that demonstrates this, an Aenderungsabsatz in the home key is followed by a passage that begins in the home key before modulating to V (see mm. 9–12 of Ex. 4.20 later in this chapter). For Löhlein, as for Riepel, “preparing for a modulation in the dominant key” evidently was not equivalent to preparing to enter “into” the dominant key “area.” Rather, preparing for a modulation to V meant paving the way for a Satz that leads to a resting point in the key of V. This is very much in line with what was discussed earlier regarding Ex. 2.33, where it was noted that Koch labeled Absätze according the keys of their resting points, regardless of what key the passage begins in. To summarize some of the main concepts suggested by Riepel that relate to issues raised in subsequent chapters of this book: (1) The first part of a movement (i.e., the exposition) could be understood as framed by a motion toward a formal cadence in the secondary key, with this motion articulated by a series of standard resting points. (2) Lyrical, contrasting passages and transition-like passages can arise anywhere within the middle of the exposition; they are not naturally located within a specific thematic space. 102

(3) The defining tonal element of a phrase is the goal point toward which it leads, not the key in which it begins. (4) An arrival on V followed by a caesura can be followed by a passage that begins either in the home key or in the new key; both possibilities are normal. (5) It is also quite normal for an exposition to feature two big arrivals on V (first on V of the home key, then on V of the new key), each followed by a caesura and then a passage that begins in the new key.

Koch Succession of resting points The tonal layouts for expositions that were introduced by Riepel are explored in a more methodical and systematic manner in the third volume (1793) of Heinrich Christoph Koch’s introductory composition treatise, Versuch einer Anleitung zur Komposition (“Introductory Essay on Composition”). Koch’s more straightforward tone might partly result from his having a more staid temperament than Riepel, as well as the later date of his publication. Considering Koch’s conservative nature, it was natural for him to gear his work toward the tried-and-true procedures that he already had time to digest, as seen in works he would have known since his youth, rather than on the more experimental practices featured in compositions hot off the press.9 Thus, although Koch’s concepts can be fruitfully applied to music of the high Classical era and beyond, his treatise bears particular relevance for understanding formal practices that flourished during the 1760s and 1770s. Naturally, these include formal trends that could not have been known at the time Riepel’s initial treatise volumes were published. The succession of tonal punctuations depicted earlier in Ex. 4.1b, which Riepel introduces as a possible tonal ordering, serves as the basis for Koch’s description of an exposition’s standard layout (Ex. 4.5). Koch mentions that a movement’s opening Hauptperiode usually divides into two Theile (sections). The first Theil involves two resting points in the home key, and in the next Theil there are two resting points in the secondary key. Thus, in a standard major-key exposition, the main intermediary resting points occur on I, V, and V/V, leading to a formal cadence in the key of V—the same succession of resting points seen in Riepel’s sample exposition cited in Ex. 4.1a. As

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shown in the top row of Ex. 4.5, however, Koch uses somewhat different terminology to label the Sätze than does Riepel. Ex. 4.5 Standard punctuation succession for exposition, with four main resting points.

This succession of resting points cited by Koch may be understood as a logical outcome of adhering to Riepel’s prohibition against successive similar resting points, a prohibition which Koch adopts (see Chapter 3). That is, if repeated successive resting points are avoided, and each successive resting point inches closer to the cadence in the secondary key, it is almost inevitable that an exposition will feature either the series of resting points depicted in Ex. 4.5 or a variant thereof. Koch cites various examples of expositions that follows this format; Ex. 4.6 shows one such exposition. Ex. 4.6 Sample exposition from Koch (III §72, 226 [163]); cf. Ex. 4.5.

Notice that the Sätze of Koch’s sample exposition of Ex. 4.6 last for only two measures each (which, since this example is in common time, equal four simple measures). As a result, the entire Hauptperiode here comprises just eight measures. Immediately following this sample exposition, Koch provides a variant of the exposition in which each Satz is greatly expanded, using Satz repetitions, appendices, and other techniques that Koch describes elsewhere in his treatise.10 Ex. 4.7 presents charts depicting the layouts of both the original exposition and its expanded variant. Notice that the expanded variant charted in Ex. 4.7b actually includes seven separate Sätze, but they group into four expanded Haupttheile.

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Ex. 4.7 Charts of sample expositions by Koch (III §72, 226–30 [163–65]). (a) Chart of the exposition cited in Ex. 4.6 (8 bars long).

(b) Chart of the Haupttheile in the expanded variant of this exposition (32 bars long).

Although the sample expositions presented in Koch’s Versuch all feature similar types of main resting points, many of them lack clearly defined theme groups that lend themselves to parsing via modern sonata-form terminology. This is vastly different from what would be expected in a modern book that introduces sonata form, where the examples of expositions would almost surely include unproblematic examples of transitions and second themes, ones that could be readily recognized by an audience of beginners. That so many of Koch’s introductory examples do not do so suggests that such thematic sections were of much less importance to him. Koch also describes other possible layouts for expositions, some of which are depicted in Ex. 4.8.11 The layouts of Ex. 4.8 are like the one of Ex. 4.5, but with one of the Hauptruhepuncte omitted. Koch also discusses variants in which the exposition includes more than four resting points; two of these are charted in Ex. 4.9. Koch suggests some other variants of these layouts as well, including those in minor-key movements where the final two resting points are supported by V/III and a Cadenz in III, respectively. Even so, his discussion of possible layouts is not exhaustive, nor does he suggest that he intends it to be. Nevertheless, the basic outlines described

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by Koch, and as are depicted in Exx. 4.5, 4.8, and 4.9, are found with extraordinary frequency and clarity in Galant expositions. Ex. 4.8 Standard punctuation successions for shorter expositions, with three main resting points. Samples of these are cited in Koch III §45 (145–48 [125–27]). (a) Punctuation sequence without a new-key Quintabsatz.

(b) Punctuation sequence without a home-key Quintabsatz.

(c) Punctuation sequence without a Grundabsatz.

Ex. 4.9 Some standard punctuation successions with five resting points (Koch III §§141–46, 363–80 [221–28]). (a) Punctuation sequence including a new-key Grundabsatz.

(b) Punctuation sequence including two new-key Quintabsätze, one rauschend and the other cantabile.

Resting points, not key areas

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As mentioned earlier, Koch divides the first Hauptperiode into two sections (zwey Theile). He notes that one of these sections is governed by the main key, and the other by the dominant key (III §129, 342 [213]). With our modern approaches to sonata form, we also speak of an exposition dividing into two parts—that, is two large key areas, which are associated with the first and second theme sections, respectively. Might Koch be thinking of sonata expositions much as we do, with the two sections that he mentions corresponding to what is described by our notion of the two-part exposition? It would be pretty to think so—but alas, closer examination reveals that he does no such thing. Quite unlike most modern approaches, Koch’s division of the tonal layout of the exposition is based on the keys of the punctuations, not on key “areas.” When Koch says the second section of a major-key Hauptperiode is governed by the key of V, he clearly does not mean that it begins in this key and remains in this key throughout, as though the section “contains” the key. Rather, he simply means that passages of the second section each lead to a resting point in the key of V—that is, either to a V/V or a Cadenz in V. Koch clarifies this by noting that within the second section there is a modulation toward the key of V (“wird die Modulation nach der Tonart der Quinte hingeleitet”; III §129, 342 [213]). This is further demonstrated in the excerpt that Koch uses to exemplify the exposition’s two sections, cited in Ex. 4.6. According to modern theory, the passage starting in m. 5 probably would be regarded as a transition, modulating from the home key to the secondary key, and the exposition’s second section would begin in m. 7. In contrast, Koch makes it clear that he regards the zweyter Theil of this exposition as beginning in m. 5.12 Since he allots the two Theile of expositions according to the keys of the resting points, here and in numerous other cases what Koch calls the exposition’s zweyter Theil begins either at the start or even in the middle of what modern terminology labels as the transition. As such, Koch’s concept of the first Hauptperiode’s two parts departs considerably from the modern concept of the two-part exposition (Ex. 4.10).13

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Ex. 4.10 Charts of exposition cited in Ex. 4.6. (a) Chart following Koch.

(b) Chart following modern concepts.

That Koch divides the tonal layout of the exposition according to the motions toward resting points rather than key areas is particularly evident in his discussion of the minor-key expositions cited in Exx. 4.11 and 4.12. Notice that with the exception of the passages of m. 9, bracketed by a box in both Exx. 4.11a and 4.12a, these expositions are identical. As a result of this different measure, the third Absatz (mm. 9–12) begins in the home key in Ex. 4.11a, but the third Absatz begins in the key of III in Ex. 4.12a. For most modern approaches, this difference would be a big deal, one that strongly colors the understanding of the form (compare annotations in Exx. 4.11b–c and 4.12b–c). In great contrast, Koch evidently feels that the difference between these expositions is so slight that he doesn’t even bother writing out the entire second exposition. After all, his approach is not based on locating thematic and tonal “regions,” but on locating goals in relation to resting points. As he evidently views it, despite their slightly different openings, the third Absatz in both expositions leads to a resting point on III. As a result, the third Absatz in each could be given the same label and be understood to play a similar role within the formal design, and in each of these the Quintabsatz in III initiates the exposition’s zweyte Theil. This example forcefully demonstrates the difference between the prevalent modern metaphors for form (with their emphasis on key areas and thematic 108

zones) and those that dominated during the eighteenth century (in which keys and passages are understood primarily in relation to the goals toward which they lead). Many readers today might find it odd the Koch should conflate modulatory passages with those that involve prolongation. We might feel that despite their outward similarities, the third phrases in Exx. 4.11 and 4.12 function in fundamentally different ways: whereas in Ex. 4.11, mm. 9– 12 move toward the key of C, the analogous passage of Ex. 4.12 is entirely encapsulated within the confines of C major. By trying to view this in the manner of Koch, however, we may notice that these passages are not so dissimilar as first assumed. True, m. 9 of Ex. 4.12 does begin with an implied C chord, which turns out to be the tonic of the phrase. But the tonic status of C here is provisional; it would have been possible for a passage that begins in such a manner nonetheless to end in A minor. Only when the phrase comes to an end is the prolongation of C recognized in hindsight as starting in m. 9. As such, mm. 9–12 of Ex. 4.12—much like mm. 9–12 of Ex. 4.11—could be understood as leading toward a confirmation of the key of C. This issue relates to Koch’s discussion of different types of modulation (Koch II §§26–32, 188–216).14 Koch describes a “passing modulation” (durchgehende Ausweichung) as one that is relatively fleeting, usually appearing only at the start or middle of a phrase before moving on to another key or returning to the home key.15 In contrast, Koch notes that a “formal modulation” (förmliche Ausweichung) either lasts for a while, leads to a formal cadence (or at least to the end of a Satz), or both.

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Ex. 4.11 Sample exposition from Koch III §130 (344–45 [214]). (a) Quotation (boxed passage are the only notes different from the exposition of Ex. 4.12).

(b) Parsing following Koch.

(c) Parsing following modern concepts.

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Ex. 4.12 Another sample exposition from Koch III §130 (344–45 [214]): Koch bothers to show only mm. 9–10. (a) Quotation (boxed notes are the only ones different from the exposition of Ex. 4.11).

(b) Parsing following Koch (cf. Ex. 4.11b).

(c) Parsing following modern concepts (cf. Ex. 4.11c).

Koch also suggests that a formal modulation either can take place at the very start of a Satz, or it can be delayed until closer to the end of the Satz. Exx. 4.11–4.12 thus demonstrate both of these strategies for formal

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modulation: that is, in Ex. 4.12, the formal modulation to C is initiated at the very outset of the third Satz (mm. 9–12), but in Ex. 4.11, the formal modulation unfolds as the phrase continues. Thus following Koch’s concepts, in both Exx. 4.11 and 4.12 the third Satz involves a modulation to the key of III, and yet ultimately each of these passages may also be understood as “governed” by the key of III (i.e., the key of its resting point). Koch’s attitude in this regard is much in line with concepts of other eighteenth-century theorists, such as Löhlein and Riepel, who, as noted earlier, likewise tended to view a key in relation to the goal toward which a passage moves.

Thematic character Modern approaches to sonata form often highlight a standard coordination between the affective character of themes and their tonal/formal function. For instance, it is often noted that (many exceptional cases notwithstanding) the passage leading to the secondary key normally sounds tumultuous, and the passage that establishes the new key area typically provides a lyrical contrast with the main theme. Koch acknowledges this as a common possibility (see discussion below), and some of Koch’s sample expositions do fit this profile. On the other hand, Koch also provides examples of expositions that do not match this general layout, and he does not insist that connecting passages, dissecting passages, or subsidiary ideas must appear in one part within the middle of the form or the other. His flexible attitude fits well with the flexible practice of Galant expositions, where it is quite common to find things such as a subsidiary idea within the Haupttheil that establishes the main key, or a turbulent passage that appears alongside the entrance of the secondary key. Other theorists of that time shared this flexible attitude.16 This was seen earlier regarding Riepel’s notion of contrasting ideas, which could appear at various places during a movement’s first Periode. Likewise, as has been noted by others, although Georg Joseph Vogler (1779, 62) famously refers to two Hauptsätze and “fiery” connecting passages, he gives no indication that such themes or passages should naturally be found within one place of the form or the other.17

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Koch feels that special ramifications attach to a situation in which a blustery, rauschend passage is followed immediately by a cantabile one.18 Koch’s comments regarding this matter frequently are cited as evidence that he recognized the presence of transitions and second theme sections. Closer examination of these remarks, however, reveals that they do nothing of the sort. Because Koch’s comments on these matters have deep implications, and yet can be highly confusing to modern readers, let’s take some time to untangle them. One of these comments appears in Koch III §101 (305–6 [199], which in turn is echoed in §147, 385 [230]). Here, Koch observes that in opening symphonic allegro movements, most of the Sätze usually lead one to the other with no clear break in between. Accordingly, each Satz tends to connect to the start of the next Satz in the guise of a phrase elision or a strong textural connection. Koch suggests, however, that a standard exception to such Satz-to-Satz connections occurs at the end of the Quintabsatz in the secondary key (i.e., the Quintabsatz in V in a major-key piece, or the Quintabsatz in III in a minor-key piece). As Koch puts it, unlike the other Sätze that precede it, the new-key Quintabsatz frequently concludes with a “formal Absatz” (förmliche Absatz). Although Koch does not define the term directly, the contexts in which he uses the locution “förmliche Absatz,” along with the examples Koch uses to demonstrate this device, suggest that a formal Absatz is an unelided, clearly delineated Satz-ending, one that ideally is followed by a rest in the melody (and perhaps in the other voices as well). But why should the new-key Quintabsatz conclude with a formal Absatz, thereby establishing what—according to Koch—is often the first formal Absatz within a symphonic allegro? Koch’s rationale for this is because the new-key Quintabsatz is usually rauschend and followed by a cantabile phrase (III, §147, 385 [230]). Koch’s reasoning here might strike many modern readers as peculiar; I return to it presently. But first, let’s consider one of Koch’s examples that demonstrate this situation.19 Ex. 4.13 quotes a passage from a symphony by Koch. Since the previous Haupttheile in this movement elide with each other, the Quintabsatz in V— whose ending is shown here—presents the movement’s first formal Absatz, much as Koch explains is typical. Also typical is that the non-elided Quintabsatz in V is rauschend and the passage that follows it is cantabile.

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Ex. 4.13 Excerpt from sample symphonic allegro movement from Koch III §147 (392–93 [232–33]).

Those familiar with modern approaches to sonata form will readily recognize the passage of Ex. 4.13 as involving a transition that leads to a medial caesura followed by a cantabile secondary theme, in the manner depicted in Ex. 4.14. As such, the presence of the formal Absatz—that is, what today would be called the medial caesura—would be explained as a means of starkly separating the two main parts of the exposition, as well as dramatically paving the way for the entrance of the ensuing secondary theme. According to this modern rationale, the secondary theme need not be lyrical at all in order to justify the presence of the sharp break that precedes it: whether its theme is cantabile or not, there would still be a desire to demarcate the section that contains the secondary theme zone. Consequently, modern approaches to sonata form would tend to regard the succession of the rauschend phrase and cantabile phrase here as merely an optional side-effect of the large structural delineation.

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Ex. 4.14 Standard modern parsing of an exposition with a medial caesura following a half cadence in the key of V.

Koch, on the other hand, gives no indication of noticing the large-scale grouping here that seems so obvious to modern readers, nor does he mention the role of the formal Absatz in articulating these theme groups. Unlike for most modern form theorists, for Koch the succession of a lively passage and cantabile passage is neither optional nor a mere side-effect within this scenario. Quite the contrary: he suggests that it is the phrase-tophrase succession that motivates the presence of a caesura (cf. Ex. 4.14 with Ex. 4.15). Ex. 4.15 Standard punctuation succession for a major-key exposition with four main resting points and in which a formal Absatz marks the end of the Quintabsatz in V.

To follow his reasoning, note that when it is followed by a gentler phrase, an active passage usually concludes with a clear demarcation. Thus, for instance, although the end of a lyrical passage often may elide with or lead directly to the beginning of an energetic passage, with no break in between, the reverse situation is relatively uncommon (cf. Exx. 4.16a and 4.16b).

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Ex. 4.16 Examples of elided lively and cantabile passages. (a) Joseph Haydn, Symphony No. 104 in D/i, Allegro, mm. 30–34: common situation in which the end of a cantabile passage elides with the start of a rauschend passage.

(b) Leontzi Honauer, Sonata for Keyboard, Op. 2/1/i (1765), mm. 24–26: uncommon situation in which the end of a rauschend passage elides with the start of a cantabile passage.

A textural break can be quite helpful in separating an active passage from an ensuing cantabile one. This is so wherever these passages appear during a sonata-form exposition, or whether the active passage takes the form of a new-key Quintabsatz or otherwise. Put differently, this situation is not necessarily limited to passages that involve what today would be labeled as a transition followed by a second theme, but may appear anywhere in the middle of the exposition. Koch does not try to explain why it is particularly common for the new-key Quintabsatz to be active and the following phrase cantabile: he merely observes that this happens to be the case. As is typical of him, his explanation focuses on the concatenation of the Sätze, much as one might describe the passages upon encountering them during the course of a metaphorical journey. To be sure, in confronting a passage such as seen in Ex. 4.13, Koch observes the same phenomena that modern theorists do, much as Ptolemy and Copernicus observed the same basic phenomena in the heavens. However, what is significant is not merely what features are noticed, but how they are interpreted and characterized, and Koch’s

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description of this passage suggests an attitude that differs drastically from modern formal approaches. Koch’s reliance on journey metaphors, and his avoidance of explaining form in relation to thematic zones, is particularly apparent in a related discussion that appears in Koch III §141 (363–64 [221]). In this discussion, which was mentioned in Chapter 3, Koch offers justification for the successive appearance of two Quintabsätze in the same key. To help demonstrate this, Koch explores the form of a sample exposition that he composed as a demonstration piece, cited in Ex. 4.17. Because his comments here are particularly knotty, I cite the entire passage and propose a translation as follows:20 Bey dem Gebrauche der Quintabsätze tritt der Fall weit öfterer ein, daß, wenn zwey derselben unmittelbar in einer und eben derselben Tonart gesezt werden, sich unser Gefühl nich darwider empört; besonders bedienet man sich ihrer in dem Falle mehrentheils mit guter Würkung, wenn der erste melodische Theil der damit geschlossen wird, ein erweiterter, oder mit mehr melodischen Theilen verbundener, und etwas rauschender Satz, der folgende aber, der ebenfalls den Quintabsatz macht, ein cantabler Satz ist. Daher benuzt man oft diese Gelegenheit, durch die Wiederholung des Quintabsatzes mehrere melodische Theile in dem Perioden zu verbinden. [In Bsp. 4.17], findet man vom [20–25] Tacte den Quintabsatz der Haupttonart, vom [37–40] Tacte aber den Quintabsatz in der Tonart der Quinte vermittelst verschiedener melodischer Theile wiederholt. Frequently, our feelings are not disturbed by the direct succession of two Quintabsätze in the same key. In particular, this succession generally produces a good effect when the first Quintabsatz is a somewhat rauschender Satz that is expanded or combined with additional melodic passages, but the next Quintabsatz is cantabile. This opportunity for repeating the Quintabsätze often is used as a means of connecting additional melodic passages within a Periode. From [mm. 20–25 of Ex. 4.17], one finds a Quintabsatz in the home key repeated with different melodic passages [that is, different from those of the rauschender Quintabsatz that precedes it in mm. 8–19], whereas from [mm. 37–40] one finds a Quintabsatz in V repeated with different melodic passages [that is, different from those of the rauschender Quintabsatz in V that precedes it in mm. 26–36].21

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Ex. 4.17 Sample exposition (through end of first Hauptperiode) by Koch III §§139–141 (360–66 [220– 22]); the cantabile passages are shaded.

Let’s walk through Koch’s comments cited here. As noted in Chapter 3, Koch feels that it is always fine for two of the same resting points to appear

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in a row in situations where the entire Absatz repeats. On the other hand, it is problematic for two contrasting Absätze to lead to the same type of resting point. This is a potential problem in the exposition excerpted in Ex. 4.17, since the two Quintabsatz pairs here each involve contrasting Quintabsätze. As Koch puts it, the second Quintabsatz in each of these pairs has “different melodic passages” (verschiedene melodische Theile), that is, different from what is found in the Quintabsatz that immediately precedes it. He countenances having the same type of resting point twice in succession, however, because the first of each pair of Quintabsätze is rauschend and the second is cantabile. As noted in Chapter 3, Koch evidently feels that the contrasting natures of passages in a rauschend/cantabile pair counteracts the potential impression of redundancy. Here, too, Koch’s explanation differs greatly from ones that would be offered by modern approaches to musical form. Ex. 4.18 parses Koch’s sample exposition following modern concepts. According to this reading, the half cadence in m. 36 serves as the medial caesura that demarcates the end of the exposition’s first half, and the half cadence in m. 40 is contained within the middle of the secondary theme section. From this modern perspective, it seems painfully obvious that these two half cadences have vastly different functions and thus can succeed one another without a sense of redundancy. That the first half cadence comes at the end of an active passage and the next half cadence comes at the end of a cantabile one hardly seems relevent in this regard, since even if the second theme were not lyrical, a half cadence at the end of its first phrase in m. 40 would readily be understood to function on a different level than the medial caesura in m. 36 that precedes it.

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Ex. 4.18 Chart that parses the form of the Koch’s exposition cited in Ex. 4.17 following standard modern sonata-form concepts; cf. Ex. 4.19.

Even a beginning student today should be able to recognize that a secondary theme group begins in m. 37 of this exposition, and that the half cadence in m. 40 is contained within this theme section. But the presence of metaphorical theme spaces evidently was not so obvious to Koch, who thought about form in much different terms. Accordingly, Koch does not explain the succession of the two successive Quintabsätze in V by appealing to the notion of thematic zones, but instead he appeals to the experiences one encounters when journeying from one Satz to the next. A parsing following Koch’s concepts is seen in Ex. 4.19; the differences between Koch’s approach and the modern parsing are glaring.22 Ex. 4.19 Chart that parses the form of the Koch’s exposition cited in Ex. 4.17 following Koch’s concepts; cf. Ex. 4.18.

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Notice that, in what might be regarded as a bit of overkill in order to drive home his point, Koch includes two pairs of same-key Quintabsätze in his sample exposition, each of which involves a rauschend passage followed by a cantabile one.23 And at the risk of a bit of overkill of my own in order to drive home a point, I again underline that this demonstrates that Koch’s concept of a rauschend/cantabile Quintabsatz pair is not tied to what nowadays is labeled as a transition followed by a second theme. That is, the rauschend/cantabile Quintabsatz pair in mm. 8–19/20–25 of his sample exposition certainly does not correspond to what modern theory describes as a transition followed by a secondary theme—and yet Koch cites this passage as exemplifying his concept of how a cantabile Quintabsatz may follow a rauschend one. Koch even suggests that the rauschend/cantabile pairs themselves combine to form groups of sorts. In Koch III §140 (362 [221]), he implies that these phrase pairs are “united” (vereinigt) so as to lead to a single Hauptruhepunct within the larger punctuation sequence.24 Curiously, this suggests that what today would be labeled as the medial caesura (in m. 36 of Ex. 4.17) would be understood by Koch to lie in the middle of a single Haupttheil. In any case, Koch certainly gives no indication that he regards the medial caesura in m. 36 as a more important division than the nonmedial caesura of m. 19, or that he regards the cantabile Quintabsatz in V in mm. 37–40 (which today would be labeled as the start of the secondary theme) as more formally significant than the cantabile Quintabsatz of mm. 20–25. It is ironic that these passages from his Versuch are so frequently cited as evidence that Koch acknowledged the presence of transition and secondary theme groups within sonata-form expositions. If anything, they demonstrate the exact opposite: even when Koch was staring straight at and describing a situation that most any music theory novice today would readily see as involving a transition leading to a second theme, he apparently fails to recognize the metaphorical thematic spaces that result. I dwell on what Koch did not say in order to help unmask what he actually did say. We lose an opportunity if all we observe in Koch’s discussion of sonata-form expositions is a fumbled attempt to describe formal features that are addressed more eloquently by modern approaches. But Koch’s approach is fundamentally different from modern ones, for it envisions form in relation not to containers, but to a series of motions

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toward resting points that follow one after the other in a hierarchical fashion. Some modern readers might think: “If Koch only were able to see the thematic sections like we do! That would have made his explanations here so much more efficient!” But it is too late to try to change Koch’s thinking now. In any case, even if he did come back to life, he would more likely think: “If only modern readers would be able to see the implications of the phrase-to-phrase successions, much as I did during the eighteenth century! That would enable them to better experience the music as it unfolds in time, thereby enriching their experience of the music. It would also allow them to explain the situations seen here while avoiding the problems that arise by trying to force the passages into one purported theme group or the other.” It is not easy to wean ourselves away from a dependence on container-oriented formal concepts, trying to experience form more along the lines suggested by Koch. When it comes to studying form of Galant music, however, the rewards repay this effort.

Contemporaneous writings Like Riepel and Koch, a number of other musicians published accounts during the second half of the eighteenth century that discussed form in relation to a series of melodic/harmonic goals. An example of this may be seen in the analysis by Georg Simon Löhlein of one of his own keyboard compositions, excerpted here in Ex. 4.20. Much like Koch, Löhlein outlines the form of this movement’s first part by describing the Sätze, with their standard resting points on I, V, V/V, and finally a cadence in the key of V, followed by a short appendix.25 A few things regarding Löhlein’s analysis bear mentioning:

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(1) In his publication, Löhlein highlights the resting points in the score with letters. Much as with Koch’s use of squares, there seems little attempt to pinpoint the precise moment of the resting points; rather, these letters seem to hover somewhere around the end of the Satz (cf. discussion in Chapter 2 regarding Exx. 2.26 and 2.27). (2) In addition to having it to refer to a resting point, Löhlein—like Koch—uses the term Absatz to refer to the passage that leads up to the resting point. This is clear from his comments that describe the length of the Absätze (such as “ein Absatz von vier Tacten”). (3) Löhlein explicitly refers to the perfect authentic cadence in m. 4 as a Grundabsatz. Löhlein notes that the Grundabsatz helps establish the home key (“dem Ohre die Tonart des Stückes einschärft”). (4) Löhlein employs Riepel’s term Aenderungsabsatz, instead of Quintabsatz, and he notes that the home-key Aenderungsabsatz (mm. 5–8) prepares for the ensuing modulation to V (“der zur Ausweichung in die Quinte vorbereitet”). (5) Although the Aenderungsabsatz prepares for the modulation in V, the following passage—the Aenderungsabsatz in V—starts out in the key of C and only then modulates to the key of V (“der Ausweichung in die Quinte, g”). Löhlein underlines this in his fundamental-bass analysis of the movement, which interprets the harmonies of m. 9 through the downbeat of m. 10 as an implied G7 resolving to C. Here, too, we see the outlook typical of eighteenth-century theorists in which tonality is understood in relation not to key “areas,” but to tonal goals.

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Ex. 4.20 G. S. Löhlein, Arioso in G (1773 [1765]), mm. 1–23. (a) Quotation.

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(b) Chart depicting Löhlein’s own analysis.

As a final example, let’s consider Georg Joseph Vogler’s analysis of the exposition of a Trio by Franz Mezger (Ex. 4.21).26 Vogler describes this exposition as framed by

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Ex. 4.21 Franz Mezger, Trio in F, Adagio, 1–25 (violin solo and bass part only;