Peter Billig
B W V
I befriended Compenius, an outstanding computer specialist, because of shared love for the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. We spent evenings together listening to Bach’s compositions. Compenius had them all on CD and we came to learn them by heart. We would vie with each other, humming a tune and asking the other to name its number according to the catalogue Bach-Werke-Verzeichnis: BWV.
One evening, as we, satiated with the music, began to talk – about Bach, of course – the conversation touched the topic of so much of his work having been lost by his contemporaries, unappreciative of his genius. We were both concerned that perhaps the best compositions have been squandered forever.
“Just think of it: nowadays they publish the scribbles of any pipsqueak not fit to hold a candle to Bach!” Compenius complained.
“When I listen in the chronological order,” I said, “I have a feeling that some compositions sound out of the context, as if fallen from the Moon, while others seem to flow from each other even though they patently qualify as divergent genres. I’ll bet the fallen from the Moon are those whose predecessors, so to speak, have been lost.”
Compenius was listening with a growing interest.
“Unbelievable!” he exclaimed. “I feel the very same way!”
He was silent and there was a light of revelation in his eyes.
“Does it imply that…?” he murmured after a while and there was deep concentration in his face. Immersed in thought he did not even notice me leaving the flat.
Some days later, just before my going out to join Compenius for the next Bach-session, the phone rang:
“Be so kind as to refrain from further visits,” I heard the familiar voice and he hung up.
I was so hurt and offended that I did not even bother to phone him and ask for an explanation. I deleted this acquaintance from my address book and memory; I even quitted Bach.
A year and a half later, as I was beginning my evening yawns, the phone rang:
“Please, come at once!” an excited voice said and hang up.
It took a while to connect who was summoning me. I hesitated but curiosity got the better of me. I forgot my resentment, got hold of the coat and ran out.
Compenius opened quivering with excitement. He showed me the armchair without a word.
“Owing to your remark,” he began as if nothing had ever happened,” an idea crossed my mind: that only humanistic tommyrot about free will and unpredictability of human endeavors stands in the way of a mathematical conception of man. Accordingly, as Bach sat down to compose his first piece of music, he was beginning, unbeknownst to himself, to execute the artistic task assigned to him by Nature. Therefore, the subsequent compositions were consecutive phases on the way to the final result. Lacunae in a series of ensuing equations can be filled up. The challenge lies only in transcribing music into mathematics – and this I wanted to puzzle out. Unwilling to miss concentration, I allowed myself to sever ties with my ambience, and when I was finished with the theoretical part of the job, I have contrived an apparatus reconstructing the missing equations and converting them into music. The device is also capable of computing what Johann Sebastian would have composed had he not died earlier, and of bringing his artistic task to fruition; at this moment, Bach, should he live that long, would have perceived he has nothing more to say as composer. As I owe this idea to your words, I have invited you to the inauguration. To begin with let’s find out what Johann Sebastian has composed between BWV 333 and BWV 334!
Compenius went over to the contraption on his desk and pressed a button: some unfamiliar tones issued, though somehow expected and anticipated.
Copyright © Peter Billig, 2007.
One evening, as we, satiated with the music, began to talk – about Bach, of course – the conversation touched the topic of so much of his work having been lost by his contemporaries, unappreciative of his genius. We were both concerned that perhaps the best compositions have been squandered forever.
“Just think of it: nowadays they publish the scribbles of any pipsqueak not fit to hold a candle to Bach!” Compenius complained.
“When I listen in the chronological order,” I said, “I have a feeling that some compositions sound out of the context, as if fallen from the Moon, while others seem to flow from each other even though they patently qualify as divergent genres. I’ll bet the fallen from the Moon are those whose predecessors, so to speak, have been lost.”
Compenius was listening with a growing interest.
“Unbelievable!” he exclaimed. “I feel the very same way!”
He was silent and there was a light of revelation in his eyes.
“Does it imply that…?” he murmured after a while and there was deep concentration in his face. Immersed in thought he did not even notice me leaving the flat.
Some days later, just before my going out to join Compenius for the next Bach-session, the phone rang:
“Be so kind as to refrain from further visits,” I heard the familiar voice and he hung up.
I was so hurt and offended that I did not even bother to phone him and ask for an explanation. I deleted this acquaintance from my address book and memory; I even quitted Bach.
A year and a half later, as I was beginning my evening yawns, the phone rang:
“Please, come at once!” an excited voice said and hang up.
It took a while to connect who was summoning me. I hesitated but curiosity got the better of me. I forgot my resentment, got hold of the coat and ran out.
Compenius opened quivering with excitement. He showed me the armchair without a word.
“Owing to your remark,” he began as if nothing had ever happened,” an idea crossed my mind: that only humanistic tommyrot about free will and unpredictability of human endeavors stands in the way of a mathematical conception of man. Accordingly, as Bach sat down to compose his first piece of music, he was beginning, unbeknownst to himself, to execute the artistic task assigned to him by Nature. Therefore, the subsequent compositions were consecutive phases on the way to the final result. Lacunae in a series of ensuing equations can be filled up. The challenge lies only in transcribing music into mathematics – and this I wanted to puzzle out. Unwilling to miss concentration, I allowed myself to sever ties with my ambience, and when I was finished with the theoretical part of the job, I have contrived an apparatus reconstructing the missing equations and converting them into music. The device is also capable of computing what Johann Sebastian would have composed had he not died earlier, and of bringing his artistic task to fruition; at this moment, Bach, should he live that long, would have perceived he has nothing more to say as composer. As I owe this idea to your words, I have invited you to the inauguration. To begin with let’s find out what Johann Sebastian has composed between BWV 333 and BWV 334!
Compenius went over to the contraption on his desk and pressed a button: some unfamiliar tones issued, though somehow expected and anticipated.
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