Pachelbel: Canon in D, P. 37

The Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel (1653–1706) probably dates from around the 1680s. Despite its enormous modern popularity, we know next to nothing about its origins and intended purpose. The composition itself is representative of mainstream 17th-century practices, and offers a small sample of why Pachelbel was so highly regarded during his lifetime.

Introduction

Johann Pachelbel’s Canon in D is one of the most famous works from the 17th century. That said, its modern ubiquity stands in direct contrast with what we actually know about its compositional history. There are a few things we do know: unlike examples from later repertory (particularly the 19th century), Baroque chamber works such as the Canon were broadly useful pieces, designed to be performed by whatever instruments could sound the parts in whatever format was most pleasing. The earliest surviving manuscript calls for the use of three violins and “basso” (or “basso continuo,” which likely indicates a keyboard with a cello to double the bass line.) The instrumentation is not nearly as important, though, as the interplay between the parts and the theoretical process. Thus, it is truly a flexible composition, and the Canon’s numerous modern adaptations reflect something of its original, 17th-century spirit, even if the performance styles do not.

Pachelbel was contemporary with Arcangelo Corelli (1653–1713); both were a generation older than Johann Sebastian Bach. Although Pachelbel appears to be a marginal figure now, in his time he was an extremely well-regarded organist, chamber musician, composer, and teacher. According to one of his employers, he was a “rare and perfect virtuoso.” Even though it gives just a fragmentary picture of Pachelbel’s compositional achievements, the Canon hints at some of the reasons for his success: it is expertly crafted, gratifying to perform and consume.

Corelli: Sonata in A major for Violin and Continuo, Op. 5, No. 6

History

No one knows why, or for whom, Pachelbel composed the Canon in D or its companion piece, the Gigue (which, while concise and perfectly pleasant, is rarely performed). The earliest surviving manuscript copy of the set, now housed in the Berlin Staatsbibliothek (State Library), dates from the 19th century (between 1838 and 1842), and thus does not transmit the same kind of information as the original autograph score. At present, we have no way of determining when these pieces were written, but it was likely during the last third of the 17th century.

Similarly, we have no information about the piece’s premiere. It has been suggested that the Canon and Gigue were written for a Bach-family wedding, but there is not currently any hard evidence to support this hypothesis. That said, it is true that Pachelbel was close friends and colleagues with Ambrosius Bach, father of the great Johann Sebastian. He even stood as godfather to two of Ambrosius’s older children, including Johann Christoph, whom Pachelbel also taught. (Johann Christoph took in his orphaned younger brother Johann Sebastian, and his manuscript collection, including works by Pachelbel, became a foundational source of learning for the boy.)

Form and Analysis

The Canon in D is a compositional process description that also works as a title. Formally, the piece is a canon for three violins that play variations above a repeating bass line, all in the key of D. “Canon,” in this case, means that a compositional rule is in effect: the first violin’s music is to be repeated verbatim in each of the other two violin parts, in succession, with staggered starts at the distance of two measures each time. Officially, it is a “canon at the unison after two measures.” (Thus, the first violin begins in measure two; the second violin begins in measure four; the third violin begins in measure six.)

The piece begins with a solo bass line, which is a two-bar pattern that repeats, unvaried, 28 times (ostinato bass). The bass pattern itself is a common Baroque formula known as “Romanesca,” popular because it easily lends itself to creative variation. After the bass plays its material, the first violin introduces its melody, and the canonic procedure begins: the first-violin melody is repeated, after two measures, by the second violin, and then the third, each one finishing after the other to create a layered effect. By the time the third violin plays the melody, the first violin is introducing a new variation of it, the first of a total of 27 variations over the repeated two-measure-long bass line. The satisfyingly predictable pattern of imitation creates a kaleidoscopic effect, with the unchanging bass line as the central axis. It is a sophisticated composition that works on simple principles. The difficult part is inventing melodic material that can interlock so felicitously with itself, and across the bass pattern.

A 20th-Century Canon: Bernstein's Canon for Aaron for Violin and Piano

Critical Thoughts

Pachelbel’s Canon in D has become so familiar that its original musical culture, context, and creator can be difficult to access. The piece itself, while beloved for good reasons, was not designed as a profound utterance. It was—and is—a delightful chamber work, paired with an uplifting dance (gigue), intended for any instruments capable of playing all the notes. Pachelbel, like many of his peers, loved a good set of variations, and he was renowned for the quality of his own, the scope of which far outstrips the relative modesty of the Canon.

Legacy

Among the most interesting things about the Canon in D is its modern reception history. As mentioned previously, we have no information about the first 150+ years of its existence. From the early 20th century, it was known only among a small circle of specialists, and only through scholarly publications and one niche recording. All of that changed in 1968, when a highly elaborate, Romanticized version of the Canon was recorded by the French conductor Jean-François Paillard and his chamber orchestra. The 1960s was a time of blossoming interest in early (pre-1750) music recordings, and Paillard’s 1968 performance of the work (while not an example of historically-informed performance practice) clearly inspired artists across genres, particularly the ambient-music artist Brian Eno and those connected with the prog-rock sphere, including Aphrodite’s Child (later Vangelis) and Parliament. Since then, its commercial success and broad appeal have continuously generated more recordings, pop adaptations, and wedding music requests—much to the chagrin of cellists everywhere.

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Article by Ellen Exner