For the past several centuries, master composer Johann Joseph Fux's fame has rested almost exclusively not on any composition, but on his 1725 treatise Gradus ad Parnassum (Steps to Parnassus; the famous partial translation in English is, of course, Alfred Mann's The Study of Counterpoint from Johann Joseph Fux’s Gradus ad parnassum). For myself, this mighty treatise is a great example of having to take a piece of writing not for its purported aim, but rather for what use it can offer. Many people studying species counterpoint (and, alas, not a few who teach it) seem to have ideas on the subject which are, at best, demonstrably silly, and at worse borderline insane. For example, Fux projects the view—unquestioned by many—that the study of species counterpoint is, itself, a study of (a) composition and/or (b) compositional technique; that the species exercises are somehow mini-compositions. This is ridiculous. (I own thousands of recordings, literally; I do not own a single one—nor even seen one—of "Greatest Hits of Species Counterpoint;" nor, indeed, have I ever listened to a real work of art—even a mass or motet by Palestrina—and ever said "Wow! Listen to that lovely passage of fourth species! What a great exercise!" (Click here to hear a great example of such masterpieces). As a small sidebar, one notes, too, that Fux's purported aim was to crystallize and distill the essence of Palestrina's compositional technique, but he famously got much wrong. For example, the idea of the strong-weak-stong passing dissonance (i.e., second species) is quite rare in Palestrina's music, outside of the occasional cadential moment*

But to dismiss Gradus because it isn't what it is supposed to be is as silly as to accept it for what it purports to be. If one were unaware of Harper Lee's description of To Kill A Mockingbird (which, in my opinion, is the only perfect novel ever originally written in the English language), most would, I believe, be hard-pressed to come to the same conclusion she did about the work; she called it "a love story, plain and simple." She may have been right, and that is perhaps a fruitful debate; but, more importantly, let's suppose for a moment that she was essentially wrong. Would this in any way change the book's themes? Its worth? Its power? Not even a little bit. Imagine now if, rather than calling it "a love story, plain and simple," she had said something really outlandish about it, say, "It's basically a book about ornithology and how ornithologists emotionally deal with taxidermy." (That's the type of answer a student who hadn't read the book would put on an exam!) In short, simply saying something doesn't make it so, no matter who is saying it.

So, too, goes the way of Gradus. It is not a book about Palestrina's style, and it is not a book to teach how to compose—in Palestrina's, or anyone else of worth's, style. But why get rid of the rather good-sized baby just because of a little bathwater? What Gradus does do, quite nicely and elegantly, is distill the essence of tendencies of relationships endemic to the workings of late-modality, the relatively emergent tonality, and the not-insignificant overlap of them, in the time-honored species methodology. Is that such a bad thing?! The species approach, of course, is not at all original with Fux, and there are many prominent examples which long predate Gradus. That Fux's great work was famously studied and/or admired by so many great musicians is not insignificant, naturally, but not to beat a dead horse, Bach, Mozart, Haydn, and Schubert sound nothing like species counterpoint exercises, to say nothing of Beethoven, who studied it very seriously, but still gained so much from his work with Albrechtsberger. So what of Fux's own compositional prowess?

This month's clip is from Fux's so-called "Kaiserrequiem." Harry White and Thomas Hochradner, in their Grove article on Fux note that this work "must be regarded as one of the greatest settings of the Office of the Dead in the first half of the 18th century.... [It] virtually comprises an anthology of Fux's manipulation of high Baroque style, notwithstanding the absence of formal da capo structures....Fux's reliance on counterpoint is here mediated by a sharply distinctive melodic profile, a freedom of chromatic movement in the harmony and a rhythmically flexible structure. The opening ‘Requiem’, the ‘Tuba mirum’ and the ‘Confutatis maledictis’ fugue are sufficient to establish the work as a masterpiece." That's quite an endorsement. And, to be frank, they are right. Though there are passages which seem mildly anachronistic, and there are, indeed, one or two passages which really do sound like elaborated species exercises, they are relatively few and far between. The work, on the whole, is an artistic statement which projects a beautiful arch and excites a range of emotional responses. Have a listen to this month's clip and see if you can reconcile the received opinions and attitudes towards Fux you might have gained over the years with the elegance and grace of the excerpt.

*Quite rare, but not completely absent. It is hardly prominent enough, however, to warrant basing an entire form of dissonance treatment on it, if that basis is supposedly in a style in which it is....essentially absent!