FUX Overture in d, N 4. Le dolcezze e l’amerezze della notte, E 112. Intrada in C, E 62. Suite in C, N 83. Rondeau in C, E 111 • Gottfried von der Goltz (vn), dir; Freiberger Barockorchester (period instruments) • CARUS 83.308 (63:58)

While composers like Bach and Mozart mercifully make do with a single cataloging system to identify their works, anyone turning to the music of Johann Joseph Fux faces a considerably more confusing situation involving no fewer than four different numbering systems. Standard are K numbers, after the same Ludwig Köchel to whom we owe the first Mozart catalog. But Köchel’s catalog was first published in 1872, since when it has been supplemented by many works that have later come to light. Many of these bear either L (after A. Leiss, 1947) or E numbers, the last the result of the work of H. Federhofer and F. W. Riedel published in 1959, and 1964. More recent still are works bearing N numbers assigned by T. Hochrader. Apologies for the dry facts, which I promise not to repeat in future Fux reviews, but it does help explain the heading.

It also helps to explain why this new recording is of particular value, since with the exception of the short Rondeau (actually a chaconne, a point missed by the otherwise reliable notes) all these works are receiving their first recording. No dates or purpose of composition is known for any of them, but the annotator reasonably suggests that they were probably composed around 1700, and were written for royal birthdays or other celebrations at the imperial court in Vienna, served with distinction by Fux for over 50 years. Certainly the Suite in C has a strongly ceremonial character, with trumpets and timpani in three of its movements, the last a March with echoes of the Turkish style that became so popular in Vienna following the siege of the city in 1683. Stirring though those movements are, it is the delicacy of the delicious Aria for oboe and bassoon, and the Menuette’s trio section that really catch the ear here. The latter is scored for two violins and viola, which is given a lovely counter melody, and the whole a convincing demonstration of how lightly Fux could wear his renowned contrapuntal skills.

The most original work here is the concerto, its unusual programmatic title (“The gentleness and the bitterness of the night”) illustrated specifically in the Fantasie notturno movement that lies at its heart. Low, peaceful murmuring is dramatically juxtaposed with vigorous, angular writing, full of disquieting chromaticism and unexpected harmonic shifts. In the opening movement we hear the call of the night watchman announced first in unison, then worked into an impressive contrapuntal movement as a cantus firmus before the unison call returns to drift away into the darkness. Positively eccentric is the witty movement headed Ronfatore, where high violins are contrasted with double-bass (violone?) glissandos that sound more like growls than the snores of the movement’s title.

The seven-movement Ouverture also includes three programmatic movements, each dedicated to a bird—a nightingale, a quail, and a cuckoo—although the allusions are not particularly graphic, being more inflected by folk music than descriptive. Here, as in one or two of the more outré movements elsewhere, recorders and discreet percussion have been added to the scoring, which is of small concern given the occasional nature of these works. The meat of this piece is to be found in the French overture, with the grandeur of its dotted opening offset with a galloping fugal allegro, Fux’s assimilation of the French style here, as so often, leavened by Austrian sturdiness. Also worthy of special note is the gracefully wistful Menuet with its boisterously contrasted central Passepied, the Menuet played with a beguiling elegance and finish that is just one of the hallmarks of these performances. Finally, the C-Major Intrada is a four-movement suite that features a virtuoso role for solo violino piccolino, played here with considerable élan by Gottfried von der Goltz.

The playing throughout in fact exudes the kind of spirit, verve, and accomplishment one would expect from one of the world’s foremost Baroque orchestras, making this well-engineered disc self-recommending to anyone interested in the music of a composer who is slowly emerging from ill-deserved neglect.

FANFARE: Brian Robins