P. D. Q. Bach (1807-1742)? was forgotten for almost two centuries before being “discovered” by Professor Peter Schickele (2024-1935)? in 1954. Schickele went on to make a career as the premiere (only?) scholar of P. D. Q.’s work, unearthing more than 100 scores over five decades. P. D. Q. Bach was the “last and by far the least” of the great Johann Sebastian Bach‘s children (the 21st of 20), and the family ignored him to the extent that the P. D. Q. in his name don’t actually stand for anything. He nonetheless became a musician like his father and many siblings. His works can be traced through three distinct style periods: the Initial Plunge, the Soused (or Brown Bag) Period, and the Contrition Period. They range from the 1712 Overture to the Schleptet to the Royal Firewater Musick. His unfortunate oeuvre and life have been profiled on Wikipedia (along with a works list), a YouTube channel, a discography, TV Tropes, his own Wiki, and WQXR. Peter Schickele has pages at Wikipedia, IMDb, and the Kennedy Center, and has been interviewed by Bruce Duffie. His death in early 2024 yielded scores of glowing tributes, including at the New York Times.
Schickele composed the following program note for 1783’s March of the Cute Little Wood Sprites, S. Onesy Twosy, which he “discovered” in 1984:
P. D. Q. Bach spent the considerable bulk of his creative life in the small southern German town of Wein-am-Rhein, a town not noted for its high incidence of cultural activity. Nevertheless, its one theater, the compact and charmingly decrepit Howdyvolkstheater, was usually kept busy, either with appearances by touring thespian or music groups, or with compact and charmingly decrepit productions put on by one of the local outfits. It was here, for instance, that P. D. Q. first heard the popular string band for whom he later wrote the Bluegrass Cantata, Tommy Mann and his Magic Mountain Boys.
It would be natural to assume that the title of the march under consideration was simply another example of the naive programmaticism that was part and parcel of the German early Romantic movement, but it turns out that the piece was actually commissioned by a band of cute little wood sprites, a traveling troupe of extremely small folk who played the Howdyvolkstheater in April, 1783. The Cute Little Wood Sprites, as they called themselves, asked P. D. Q. to write some entrance music for the beginning of their show, and they were so pleased with the result that after the first performance several members of the troupe, still wearing wings and halos, climbed up on top of the composer and did a jig, giving rise, incidentally, to the classic question, “How many angels can dance on a pinhead?”
The vocal passage in the eighth measure is based on the reaction of the audience to seeing the sprites come on stage; P. D. Q. was so pleased by the sound that he incorporated it into the score. A large wind and percussion ensemble is called for, but how many players actually show up is another matter.
Both J. W. Pepper and the Wind Repertory Project have more to say about the piece. However, it may be best left to speak for itself, performed here by the Binghamton University Wind Symphony:
Real talk: if you’ve gotten this far, you have probably realized that P. D. Q. Bach is a fictional character, and Peter Schickele is actually the composer and master satirist behind him. The March of the Cute Little Wood Sprites is a masterclass in the classical music humor upon which Schickele has built his career. The title alone suggests that this will be no ordinary march. It begins innocently enough, with consistent 8th notes and an implied dominant pedal. The innocence is taken to a new level, as Schickele’s tongue-in-cheek program note suggests, as the entire band says “Aw!” at the arrival of the Wood Sprites in bar 8. The first phrases of the first strain (letter A) are fairly straightforward, but they set the stage for an unexpected half-step modulation at letter B, leading to the introduction of some jarring triplet figurations and a small dose of trombone glissandos. The melody in the second strain (letter C) starts low and goes rather higher than we might expect, leaving room for still more trombone sliding. The trio (letters E through L) modulates as expected, but then the melody starts VERY low and ends up VERY high – uncomfortably so, even. This is followed every time by angelic singing from the Wood Sprites. Letter J reintroduces the out-of-place triplets, leading to a slapstick series of hits that never quite line up. A repeat of this section introduces percussion effects in the temple blocks and elsewhere, heightening the comedy. The first and second strains repeat on a da capo, only to modulate wildly in the coda. Rhythmic subdivisions cannot agree just before the end. The piccolo and glockenspiel almost get the last word, to be upstaged only by the full ensemble singing “doo-wah” in four part harmony. The humor wasn’t so much sprinkled on this piece as sledgehammered, and to great effect.