In one of the many bitter ironies of music history, Johann Sebastian Bachs six Brandenburg Concertos are now his most popular work and an ideal entrée to his vital and variegated art, especially for those who mistakenly dismiss his 300-year old music as boring and irrelevant, yet Bach himself may never have heard them – nor did anyone else for over a century after his death. Title -- The Brandenburg Saga Scholars must speculate to fill the many lapses in our knowledge of so much of Bachs music. Nearly half his output is deemed lost and many of his concertos exist only in later arrangements or spurious copies. But his so-called Brandenburg Concertos survive in his original manuscript, which he had sent to the Margrave of Brandenburg in late March 1721. Bachs own title was Six Concerts Avec plusieurs Instruments (Six Concertos With several Instruments); the familiar label adhered after first being applied by Philipp Spitta in an 1880 biography. Bach left a brief but telling account of their origin in his dedication to the presentation copy of the score, handwritten in awkward, obsequious French (which Ive tried to reflect in translation): Comme jeus il y a une couple dannées, le bonheur de me faire entendre a Votre Altesse Royalle, en vertu de ses orders, & que je remarquai alors, quElle prennoit qeulque plaisir aux petits talents que le Ciel m a donnés pour la Musique, & qu en prennant Conge de Votre Altesse Royalle, Elle voulut bien me faire lhonneur de me commander de Lui envoyer quelques pieces de ma Composition: jai donc selon ses tres gracious orders, pris la liberté de render mes tres-humbles devoirs à Votre Altesse Royalle, par les presents Concerts, que jai accommodés à plusieurs Instruments; La priant tres-humblement de ne vouloir pas juger leur imperfection, à la rigeur de gout fin et delicat, que tout le monde sçait quElle a pour les piéces musicales … Since I had a few years ago, the good luck of being heard by Your Royal Highness, by virtue of his command, & that I observed then, that He took some pleasure in the small talents that Heaven gave me for Music, & that in taking leave of Your Royal Highness, He wished to make me the honor of ordering to send Him some pieces of my Composition: I therefore according to his very gracious orders, took the liberty of giving my very-humble respects to Your Royal Highness, by the present Concertos, which I have arranged for several Instruments; praying Him very-humbly to not want to judge their imperfection, according to the severity of fine and delicate taste, that everyone knows that He has for musical pieces Scholars understand Bach to refer either to a trip he made to Berlin in March 1719 to approve and bring home a fabulous new harpsichord for his employer, Prince Christian Leopold of Cöthen, or possibly to an excursion they made the following year to the Carlsbad spa. Apparently, Bach played for the Margrave, who requested a score to add to his extensive music library. A persistent question, though, is why Bach took so long to respond, and then finally did. Bach seemed happy at Cöthen. His patron not only loved music but was a proficient musician and spent a substantial portion of his income to maintain a private band of 18 and to engage traveling artists. As a Calvinist, Leopold used no music in religious observances, and freed Bachs energies for secular instrumental work and performances. Yet, the relationship may have begun to sour, as Bach applied for an organ post in Hamburg in late 1720 but was rejected. Bachs dedication continues: Je supplie tres humblement Votre Altesse Royalle, davoir la bonté de continuer des bonnes graces envers moi, et dêtre persuadèe que je nai rien tant à coeur, que de pouvoir être employé en des occasions plus dignes dElle et de son service … I very humbly beg Your Royal Highness, to have the goodness to maintain his kind favour toward me, and to be persuaded that I have nothing more at heart, than to be able to be employed in some opportunities more worthy of Him and of his service … In other words, Bach intended the Brandenburgs as his resumé for a new job. The attempt was unsuccessful. Indeed, its unclear what, if anything, the Margrave did with the presentation score once he received it. Common wisdom is that the Margrave never bothered to perform these fabulous works, and perhaps never even examined the score. The three-fold basis for this notion is that the manuscript, which passed through private hands into a library, is in such fine condition as to suggest that it never was used, that Bach never received an acknowledgement (much less any reward), and that the works were considered so worthless that they were sold for a pittance upon the Margraves death. Yet, Malcolm Boyd deflates these myths, pointing out that a performance would not have used the full score, but rather copies of the individual parts, that the mere absence of any record of a response could evidence nothing more than the typically sparse documentation of the time, and that the score wasnt sold, but rather assigned a nominal value solely to assure that the Margraves estate was divided equitably among his heirs. Yet, the fact remains that the estate inventory neither cataloged the Brandenburgs nor even mentioned Bach, but rather included the scores in a bulk lot of 177 concertos while individually listing presumably more important works by Valentini, Venturini and Brescianello. In his Baroque Concerto Arthur Hutchings explains that this is hardly peculiar – despite subsequent acclaim, during his lifetime Bach was valued far more as a performer than as a composer, and his instrumental music was promptly forgotten once he attained his next (and final) post at Leipzig, where he focused again on religious music (although he did perform some concertos and orchestral Suites in the 1730s with the Collegium musicum, a fellowship of local amateurs and students). Joshua Rifkin offers a sadder but more practical explanation: As would happen so often in his life, Bachs genius shot so far above the capabilities of ordinary musicians that his greatness was veiled in silence. Indeed, the Brandenburgs remained unknown for a half-dozen generations until they were finally published in 1850 in commemoration of the centenary of Bachs death and then were more widely circulated in 1869 as part of an authoritative Bach Gesellschaft edition. Even so, their popularity would have to wait nearly another century for the phonograph. Since then, the Brandenburgs have been widely praised. On the most basic level, Christopher Hogwood claims that, beyond wanting to impress the Margrave with his versatility, Bach used them to codify and organize his miscellaneous output and so they represent an endeavor to imitate the wealth of nature with all the means at his disposal. Similarly, Abraham Veinus regards them as the exemplification of Bachs creative thinking, comprising the full range of his thought, variety of instrumentation and inner structure – Hermann Scherchen conducts (Westminster LP cover)not a mere summary of the styles, forms and techniques of his predecessors but a realization and expansion of their full possibilities. Others view the Brandenburgs as an inextricable facet of Bachs overall religious bent. Thus, Karl Richter stresses that Bachs universality can only be understood in terms of the theological, mystical and philosophical foundations that infused all of his art,Paul Sacher conducts the Chamber Orchestra of Basel (Epic LP cover) and Fred Hamel asserts that Bach was able to develop all the resources of his craft only after years of work in the devotional sphere and that Bach never distinguished religious and secular music, as his entire body of work was aimed for the glory of God. From that perspective, Bachs magnificent interplay of diverse musical elements can be seen as a reflection of his pervasive belief in the Divine harmony of the universe. Thus, Wilhelm Furtwängler sees Bachs music as symbolizing divinity by exuding supreme serenity, assurance, self-sufficiency and inner tranquility that transcends any personal qualities to achieve a perfect balance of its individual melodic, rhythmic and harmonic elements. Albert Schweitzer, too, views the Brandenburgs in metaphysical terms, unfolding with an incomprehensible artistic inevitability in which the development of ideas transverses the whole of existence and displays the fundamental mystery of all things. Yet, despite the philosophical depth of such analyses and the extraordinary density and logic of Bachs conception that leads academics to fruitfully dissect his scores, commentators constantly remind us that the Brandenburgs were not intended to dazzle theorists or challenge intellectuals, but rather for sheer enjoyment by musicians and listeners. The Concertos In his introduction to the Eulenburg edition of the scores, Arnold Schering notes that the concerto was not only the most popular form of instrumental music in the late Baroque era, but also the primary vehicle of expression for grand, sublime feeling, a role later to be assumed by the symphony. Boyd notes that with the exception of the First, each Brandenburg follows the convention of a concerto grosso, in which two or more solo instruments are contrasted with a full ensemble, and where a slow movement in the relative minor is bracketed by two fast movements, mostly structured as a ritornelloThe Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment plays the Brandenburg Concertos (Virgin CD cover) (Italian for return) in which the opening tutti (played by the full ensemble) reappears as a formal marker between episodes of display by the concertino (solo instruments) and again as a conclusion, thus producing a psychologically satisfying structure. (After all, its only human nature to seek the comfort of returning to and dwelling in the familiar.) Wilhelm Fischer further divides a traditional ritornello into a motivic opening that establishes the key and character of the work, a continuation of sequential repetition, and a cadential epilog. Vivaldi and others who established the concerto grosso model used nuances of texture, tone coloration and novel figurations to contrast the ensembles ritornello and the solo episodes. Bach, though, tends to fluently blend and integrate them. Indeed, in his treatise on orchestration, Adam Carse notes that Bach conceived his parts generically rather than in terms of specific instruments, and distributed them impartially and largely interchangeably, such that all sink into a common contrapuntal net without consideration of balance in the modern sense of orchestration. Even so, some scholars assume that Bach customized the Brandenburgs according to the forces the Margrave had available (after all, why would he present a lavish gift that the Margrave couldnt use?). Yehudi Menuhin conducts the Bath Festival Orchestra (Capitol LP cover) Hans Günter-Klein, though, correlated Prince Leopolds account books with the instrumentation of the Brandenburgs and asserted that the scores reflect the salaried musicians available at Cöthen, and therefore preserve a document of the musical practices there. He concluded that the Brandenburgs were written for performance there. Indeed, Rifkin claims that the Margrave had a small orchestra that lacked both the instruments and sufficiently skilled players to cope with the demands of the Brandenburgs diverse and difficult parts. Thurston Dart calls Bachs presentation copy of the Brandenburgs a masterpiece of calligraphy but of far less value as a musical source due to the many errors that suggested haste. Fortunately, secondary sources exist to remedy such lapses, notably copies made in 1760 by Frederich Penzel of earlier versions (now all lost). It is generally assumed that all the Brandenburgs were selected from a large body of Bachs existing concertos, some of which we know from admirers copies and Bachs own later arrangements for other instruments, although none of the originals survives. While Veinus traces the individual concertos to models by Telemann, Fasch, Molter, Gaupner, Heinichen and others, Hutchings notes that the Brandenburgs did not simply sum up his predecessors work, as he did with chorales and fugues, but rather comprise an extraordinary exploration of different relationships of solo and tutti. Since the Brandenburg Concertos were never meant to be played as a continuous set (which would have sidelined most of the players and exhausted the listeners), their order is of little import, although there was a certain logic for Bachs presentation copy to have led off with the most elaborate and to have ended each half of the set with the comfort of strings. Yet it seems apt to consider them in the approximate order of their composition. #6in B-flat major for 2 violas de braccio, 2 violas da gamba, violincello + continuo (violone and cembalo) The last of the Brandenburg Concertos is often considered the oldest, as its instrumentation conjures a 17th century English consort of viols, similar scoring had been used by Bach in his earlier Weimar cantatas, and its structure relies heavily upon both the ancient canon form and the conservative Baroque gesture of a chugging bass of persistent quarter-notes. Yet, typically, Bach combines a knowing salute to the past with a bold leap into the future, raising the violas, customarily embedded in the continuo accompaniment, to solo status. The unprecedented gesture was triply suitable – the viola was Bachs own favorite orchestral instrument (as he once put it, placing him in the middle of the harmony), it was also the instrument played by his patron Prince Leopold, and the Margraves orchestra was known to have employed two especially accomplished violists. Scholars assume that Bach only had enough forces at Cöthen for one player per part. Indeed, performances with full string sections, or even large chamber ensembles, no matter how well rehearsed, tend to blur the precisely articulated interplay of buoyant rhythms and swamp the harpsichord, whose bright plucked overtones need to emerge from the depth of the strings. Moreover, the nasal sound of violas da gamba (six-string bass viols held between the legs) and a single violone are needed for bright, transparent middle and bass lines that complement rather than thicken the tone of the featured violas de braccio (hand-held violas comparable to current ones) and solo cello. Similarly, modern substitutions of deeper and more powerful modern instruments, including a double bass, unduly deepen the sonority and fuse the timbres. In one sense, the work seems a concerto for two violas to display Bachs love of his instrument and its full range of expressive possibilities. Yet, it is their interplay, both with each other and with the cello and continuo, that characterizes each of the three movements, thus exemplifying the claim of Johann Nicolaus Forkel, Bachs first biographer, that Bach considered the essence of a polyphonic composition to be a symbolic tonal discussion among instruments, each presenting arguments and counterpoints, variously talking and lapsing into silence to listen to the others. Shorn of the violins customary brilliance, the dark timbre suggests a harbinger of the mystery and somber thoughts of the Romantic era to come. Indeed, Boyd sees the instrumentation as an allegory of progress, as Bach elevates the then-newest member of the string family to prominent status while relegating the older viols to the background. Yet Bach ingeniously creates a compelling and complex aural image of irresistible gaiety that arises out of and is enriched by its seemingly melancholy components. The sections of the first movement are closely integrated into a continuous flow of vigorous thrust, led by the two violas in tight canon a mere eighth-note apart during each of the six ritornellos, blending into a lively dialogue with the gambas during the five episodes, all over a persistent quarter-note continuo rhythm. The second is a lovely, if somewhat quaint, meditation for violas and cello. The finale is an irresistibly propulsive dance in 12/8 time with astoundingly catchy primary and counter-melodies, in which Bach seems to tease us as the violas constantly begin, abandon and resume canonic imitation. Indeed, while Bach is reputed to lack humor, he manages to play an unintended joke on those of us relegated to listening on record – the violas constantly switch parts but the difference is inaudible and thus impreceptible without the visual clues in a concert. Perhaps out of respect for the limited stamina of his royal soloist, after sitting out the adagio, the gamba parts of the finale are easy accompaniment, leaving all the work to the violas and occasional fits of activity from the cello. #3in G major for 3 violins, 3 violas and 3 celli + continuo (violone and cembalo) Here, too, Bach explores string sonority, but with a richer palette than in the Sixth. There are no solo instruments as such, and Veinus considers the work more symphonic than a true concerto. Yet Hutchings calls the Third the greatest stroke of originality in any concerto grosso, due to Bachs handling of the same players in constantly evolving groupings and solo flights to imply concertino and tutti by spreading, opposing, unifying, concentrating and balancing their registers. Rifkin aptly describes the first movement as a framework of homogenous sonority which Bach varies through perpetual juxtaposition of different sudivisions of the ensemble. The inventiveness of this approach emerges by comparing the first movement of the Brandenburg version with Bachs rescoring of it as the opening of a 1729 cantata augmented with horns, oboes, tailles (tenor oboes) and a bassoon. The strings still dominate but the added instruments emphasize cadences, add inner voices and underscore the harmony with long held chords, thus making explicit what the original implies with far greater impact. The third movement is in binary dance form, with its two complementary sections each repeated. Between them lies a puzzle that has perplexed scholars and challenged performers. The second movement, labeled adagio, consists of two chords forming a bare Phrygian cadence of the type that often links a slow middle movement in the relative minor to a vivid major-key finale, but with an intriguing sense of open expectancy. Here, the chords occur in the middle of a page, so clearly no music was lost. Yet the remainder of the score is fully detailed and presumably was intended as complete guidance to the Margraves forces, as Bach had no realistic expectation of preparing a performance. What to do? – the two-note adagio Several scholars note that Corelli and other contemporaries inserted similar bare cadences in their scores, and Reiner, Casals, Klemperer and others schooled in Romantic interpretation play it unadorned in their recordings. Yet when played literally it sounds far too short to serve as a needed respite between two rollicking neighboring movements. Other scholars assume that it must have been a conventional shorthand instruction that all performers of the time would have understood to require embellishment or an improvised interlude (even though the meaning has since been lost). Yet the question remains as to which instruments would do this. In several recordings (Cortot, Goberman, Horenstein, Ristenpart, Karajan, I Musici) the harpsichordist ornaments the first or both chords with arpeggiated runs. Others (Sacher, Richter, Paillard) go further, with the harpsichordist providing brief fantasies recalling thematic material from the preceding movement. Yet the soft tinkling of that instrument seems dwarfed by the sonority and at odds with the string texture of the surrounding movements. (Sachers and Paillards engineers avoid the former problem by cranking up the harpsichord volume for the passage to unnatural levels.) Busch, Harnoncourt, Hogwood and Britten avoid both issues by having their violinists embroider the chords. Other recordings (Pommer and Pinnock) attempt to restore the usual formal balance of three entire movements by having their violinists extemporize at greater length. Still others extend the effect by inserting a slow movement from one of Bachs other, and often more obscure, works. Thus, Dart uses the adagio from a Sonata in G for violin and continuo, Munchinger the ruminative, delicate Concerto # 15 for solo harpsichord (itself possibly an arrangement of a Telemann piece), Koussevitzky the tragic sinfonia from the Cantata # 4, the Brandenburg Consort the adagio from Bachs Violin Sonata in G, and Menuhin an arrangement by Britten for violin, viola and continuo of the gracious, mournful lento of Bachs organ Trio Sonata # 6 (although curiously Britten omits all the embellishments found in the three-part organ score and didnt use this movement in his own recording). While none of these seems wholly satisfactory, they all present intriguing attempts to surmount the vexing snag posed by Bach. #1in F major for 2 horns, 3 oboes, violino piccolo, first and second violins, violas + continuo (bassoon, cello, violone grosso and cembalo) The only Brandenburg Concerto in four movements, the First may appear to be the conventional fast-slow-fast form to which a final dance section was added, but scholars trace a more complex origin, in which the first, second and fourth movements comprised a sinfonia to introduce a 1713 Hunting Cantata and thus was more like a standard suite of the time. Boyd goes further to speculate that to create the character of a concerto, Bach later added the present third movement with its prominent violin solo, the short phrasing of which suggests separate origin as a now-lost choral piece. (Bach later adapted the third movement back to a choral setting to open a 1726 cantata.) The overall orchestration is unusual. The sheer number of instruments gives the work more of an orchestral than chamber character. Karl Geiringer calls it a concerto symphony. To expand the range of the sonority, Bach specifies in lieu of his standard violone a violone grosso played an octave below the bass staff (corresponding to the modern double bass) and in lieu of a solo violin a violono piccolo, an obsolete small violin with scordaturo tuning a major third above notation and whose lighter bow, less resonant body and tighter string tension yield a sweeter, lighter tone. Harnoncourt asserts that the instrument was chosen purely for its tone color, rather than any technical reason. Indeed, Boyd notes that Bach didnt exploit its higher range and that its reduced volume is overwhelmed by the large ensemble. Bach himself used a regular violin in his earlier sinfonia version. Perhaps Bach led with this work to give his offering a strong start for a lazy patron who might judge the set only by its opening. Yet, despite its immediate appeal to conservative ears, each movement has a remarkable feature typical of Bachs irrepressible sense of invention. The first movement is four minutes of pure jaunty swaggering infectious elation, yet theres an subtext of discomfort. The two natural horns appear to be making their first solo appearance in a concerto. Yet, their raucous sound (more strident than our more mellow valved modern horns) disturbs the otherwise carefully-balanced texture and their insistent bellowing hunting calls disrupt the overall rhythm. Harnoncourt suggests symbolic significance in that the horn players were not part of the regular court orchestra. If so, their strident sound suggests an unwanted guest. The second movement, slow and soft, is scored for the full ensemble (sans horns) rather than the usual reduced forces. The mournful melody is not only traded in canon between the oboe and violino piccolo but descends all the way down into the bass to augment its standard role as pure accompaniment. The early version (without the violono piccolo) balances the solo oboe against all the violins for an earthier tone, but Smith, for one, cites the complex ornamentation in the score as suited for a single performer. The melancholy mood is tinged with bitterness, as the harmony is flecked with dissonant minor seconds. The most astounding touch is saved for the very end as each note of a conventional descending bass is first supported by the oboes but then cancelled by unexpected chords in the strings, resulting in Boyds citation of a frozen harmony with a remarkably dry 20th century sound. The third movement is the closest approach to a standard concerto format, although the violino piccolo, amid its florid solos, is given many emphatic slashing triple-stopped figures, perhaps struggling to assert itself. As if to avoid fatigue, the insistent 6/8 rhythm is broken by a two-bar adagio at measure 82 (of 120) and then resumes to the rollicking end. Although the concerto proper appears to conclude at that point, Bach adds a set of four dances in which all members of the ensemble are displayed – a minuet for the full band is heard four times, enfolding a trio for oboes and bassoon, a Polacca for strings (absent from the 1713 sinfonia version) and a second trio for horns and oboes. The overall structure, alternating the full minuet with the softer interludes, evokes the ritornello form, yet there are a few surprises here, too – in the first trio the bassoon emerges from its role buried in the continuo, the polka erupts into a jaunty triplet sprint and the second trio is in 2/4 time, although the shift is barely apparent as the horns and oboes preserve the overall rustic mood. #2in F major for tromba, flute, oboe, violin + ripieno (first and second violins, viola and violone) + continuo (cello, cembalo) Of the Brandenburgs, the Second is considered the closest to the standard concerto grosso model, although more in the sense of its sound than its structure. Hans-Joachim Schulz felt that it arose from Bachs love of experimentation and the challenge of writing for a solo contingent of four similarly pitched instruments differentiated by their dissimilar means of tone production. William Mann felt that Bachs intent was to explore their different sonic coloration. Yet, as many have pointed out, Bach rarely writes idiomatic, individualized parts that would exploit the unique capabilities of each instrument, but rather tends to write abstractly while respecting their limitations. Thus, the first movement, as analyzed by Boyd, is built not upon schematic alteration of orchestral and solo sections but rather upon a broad tonal structure with cadential landmarks. Yet, the coloration is intense – within the first minute alone we hear sections of violin solo, violin and oboe, oboe and flute, and flute and tromba, all separated by brief interjections of the string ripieno. The instrumentation, though, does present a fundamental problem. Despite intensive research, scholars remain unsure what Bach meant when he designated one of the solo instruments a tromba. While often taken to mean a trumpet in F played a major fourth above its score notation, others point out that Bach never wrote any other part for such an instrument, that F is the natural key for horns rather than trumpets, and that an authentic copy of the score and parts by Penzel specifies use of either a trumpet or a hunting horn. Nor can any hint be gleaned from the personnel available to Bach, as musicians routinely played several brass, wind or string instruments. Indeed, while a trumpet overwhelms the other soloists (especially the soft recorder), a horn (played a major fifth below the score) is better balanced. While most recordings use a modern trumpet, others take a variety of approaches. Menuhin uses a softer piccolo trumpet, Harnoncourt a more mellow natural trumpet, Enesco and Casals a soprano saxophone, and Dart a hunting horn. All achieve a more natural balance among the solo instruments, especially the gentle breathy recorder. Harnoncourt considers this a prime illustration of the difference between the sounds Bach heard (and wrote for) and those of today, which can distort his intentions. Yet, however it sounds, the tromba aptly resides on the top staff, as it enjoys a commanding position in the score. Its interjections provide shape and emphasis to the first movement, in which the soloists jostle for control by progressively appropriating the tutti theme. While the trumpet rests during the andante, a lovely contemplation in which the other soloists constantly evolve a short, simple theme over a walking bass, it launches the third movement with a fugue theme that it grudgingly shares with the others while reducing the orchestra to a purely subsidiary (and often silent) supporting role. The role of the tromba exemplifies Karl Geiringers observation that Bach often likes to single out one of the concertino members as its leader and protagonist and makes its part more brilliant and technically exacting. #4in G major for violin, 2 flauti decho + ripieno (first and second violins, viola, cello, violine and cembalo) The Fourth, too, presents a mystery of instrumentation for performance. No one knows what Bach meant when he specified flauti decho as two of the three solo instruments. Harnoncourt posits that the term merely refers to echo effects in the second movement where the flutes imitate violin figures and indeed most performances use standard flutes. In his introduction to the authoritative Eulenburg score, Roger Fiske notes that when Bach later transcribed the entire piece as a harpsichord concerto in Leipzig, he designated the parts as flauti à bec (recorders) and indeed their softer timbre melds well with the solo violin. (Ristenpart, Menuhin and Pearlman all opt for recorders in their recordings.) Dart, though, asserted that the intent was a flageolet, a type of shrill tin-whistle that was a popular novelty of the time used to teach birds to sing and which sounds an octave above the score, thereby keeping its line consistently above the violin and clarifying the texture. Smith, though, notes that there was no tradition of playing the flageolet professionally and opts for soprano recorders (also sounding an octave higher) which Marriner uses in his recording; either way, the result is piercing, shrill and somewhat tiring to hear through an entire piece. The prominence of the violin in the outer movements, and the extreme difficulty of its part (more so than in Bachs three actual violin concertos), including delirious extended sequences of extremely rapid notes, has led some to consider the Fourth a violin concerto, although in the central andante it mostly plays with the ripieno violins to support the flutes. Indeed, Mann notes that the first movement looks forward to the structure of the classical and even romantic concerto, as the opening tutti is an unusually long 82 measures (well over a minute) and is not heard in its entirety again until the close, yielding to a central section of intensive development ordered by repetitions of the opening G-A-B three-note motif. The lovely andante atypically employs the full ensemble, providing a richer foundation than the continuo that customarily accompanies the soloists in middle movements. But its the finale that has attracted the most attention. Boyd hails it as a genuinely successful fusion, rather than a mere amalgam, of two radically different forms – the contrapuntal rigor of the fugue and the virtuoso display of the concerto, a combination of gravitas and high spirits that shifts the focus from the first to the last movement. Rifkin agrees and salutes it as the most complex movement in the Brandenburgs and a stunning monument to Bachs virtuosity, as the fugal exposition and episodes align with the concertos tutti and solo runs even as the contrasts among instruments reflect distinctions between free and subject-derived thematic material. But technical classifications aside, the finale simply brims with invention and high spirits and is utterly thrilling to hear. Indeed, it creates so much rousing momentum that Bach slams on the breaks with sudden rests three times before the final surge in an effort to interrupt the flow and prepare for the finish. #5in D major for flute, violin, cembalo + ripieno (violin, viola, cello and violone) The fifth Brandenburg is thought to have been the last written, intended as a vehicle to show off the new Cöthen harpsichord. Bach presumably played the solo part himself; Philipp Spitta considered the part to have demanded finger dexterity that no one else possessed at the time. The Fifth is the most historically important of the Brandenburgs, as it is the earliest known instance in which the harpsichord is elevated out of the role of continuo accompaniment to solo status. Harnoncourt praises it as employing all the technical and tonal possibilities of this instrument in such a masterly fashion that this work becomes at the same time the beginning and climax of its category. Boyd, though, views it as a prophetic combination of thematic references and brilliant passagework in an improvisatory style that paved the way to Mozarts perfection of the genre. In any event, while the other Brandenburgs held little interest for the following generations, the Fifth is the only one to have circulated after Bachs death (in copies by others) as it spoke to their interest in the emerging solo keyboard concerto. The unusually lengthy first movement literally breaks the mold of the old ritornello form, as the opening melody returns only in fragments and cedes to a long serene central section far more developed and of greater emotional contrast than a normal episode. Throughout, the harpsichord not only holds its own but keeps escaping its role as accompanist to override and grab the spotlight from the solo flute and violin. But most remarkable of all is the cadenza. As if to emphasize its import, the other instruments dont boldly lead up to the lengthy solo display as they would in later concertos, but rather slow down and drop off, as if respectfully bowing, turning away and receding before the royal presence of the majestic harpsichord. An earlier version of the cadenza (known only in posthumous copies by others) was 18 measures long and seems more suited to the scope of the surrounding movement. The final version is 65 measures (about 3 minutes, to which could be added the prior 16 bars in which the solo thoroughly dominates the texture) and runs an astounding gamut of frantically forceful and concentrated figurations in rapid 16th-, triplet 16th- and 32nd-notes, ending in a hugely suspenseful chromatic sequence that leads to the final orchestral statement of the principal melody which has gone unheard since the opening. The reflective second movement (marked affettuoso) displays a more subtle formal daring by suggesting the solo and tutti divisions of the outer movements through changes in intensity as the harpsichord overflows the bounds of accompaniment with rapid figures that thicken the texture and imply shifts in dynamics beyond those marked in the score. The canonic basis of the second movement emerges more fully in the fugal finale, in which the harpsichord not only is a full participant an gigue begun by the violin and flute, but soon dominates the entire ensemble with dense 16th-note passages and trilled held notes.
Posted on: Tue, 27 Jan 2015 05:00:27 +0000
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