Brandenburg concerto no. 5, BWV 1050 is one of six concertos Bach assembled in 1721 while employed by the court at Köthen in Germany. However, they were part of an exit strategy, and were dedicated to Christian Ludwig, Margrave of Brandenburg-Schwedt, probably with the intent of persuading the Margrave to hire him. It appears the concertos were never heard in the Margrave’s court, which did not even have the required instrumentalists, and Bach was never offered a position.
It is generally believed that Bach did not write the six concertos from scratch, but reworked existing material. That is definitely the case for this piece, though the exact date of the earlier piece is unknown, but scholars are leaning toward 1717 as a possibility. One of the main differences between the early version and this one is the accompaniment, which was originally quite thin, owing to the softness of the harpsichord. For this later version, Bach had a new, double-manual instrument, and this piece served to exhibit it.
This particular concerto is one of the more eccentric pieces of the Western canon. There is so much to love in this work: the exhilarating opening ritornello and its many returns, the dialogue between the solo instruments, the episode and extended retransition only a few minutes into the movement, the uber-cadenza by the harpsichord that consumes about a third of the movement. To enjoy all of this with fresh ears, it helps to strip away the layers of our familiarity with this work, and rediscover its several oddities.
Take the cadenza, for example. On the one hand it sounds very out of place, because there is nothing else quite like it in music history until the bigger cadenzas in solo concertos later in the century. Yet formally, there is nothing unusual about it. Ritornello form, the most common structure used by instrumental concertos of the baroque, is made up of a series of statements of the ritornello (which starts the movement, played by the orchestra, or concertino), alternating with episodes, which are dominated by the soloist(s), harmonically unstable, and motivically inventive. That is exactly what the cadenza is—an episode, albeit very extended and for only one, unaccompanied instrument. The effect is breathtaking.
The second movement features only the soloists, in which they pass around a theme written by a French composer, Louis Marchand. It is thought that Bach is showing off his superior treatment of the idea. The final movement, written in da capo form, is a gigue and contains a great deal of imitation between the soloists but is thematically to short motives. Also notice how much the flute and the violin parallel each other, a French influence on the work.
The lives of Bach and Georg Philipp Telemann were contemporary, yet different. Telemann was much more prolific and professionally gregarious. Wherever he settled he quickly took on any number of projects to facilitate musical production, whether it was organizing ensembles, composing music, or publishing his music. And in a commercially shrewd move, he often made his compositions easily adaptable to other instruments.
The trio sonata in B-flat major, TWV 42:B5 remained unpublished during Telemann’s lifetime, and the manuscript remains in the Hessische Landes- und Hochschulbibliothek in Darmstadt. The second movement, in the relative key of G minor, is a stylized dance derived from a Sicilian rhythm (thus the name).
The juxtaposition of this piece with the preceding concerto by Bach is revealing: Telemann, while showing no less skill, is opting for clarity and simplicity in his writing, as compared to the relative density of Bach’s writing. This clarity is intentional, for while Bach sought to raise up the listener through elevated musical works, Telemann tended to favor comprehension. Perhaps, in the long term, Telemann’s approach has diminished his status as a composer in the eyes of music history; but in the short term, Telemann was pointing towards the immediate future. By the mid-18th century, the overall trend in music was clarity—and Bach was considered old-fashioned.
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Regarding Alex Burtzos’s The Hourglass Equation, which is being given its premiere this evening, the composer writes the following:
The Hourglass Equation is inspired by the following text, which I wrote in 2012:
growing older is the attenuation a set
of all potential life experiences
to only one
this is inarguable
irrefutable
it is as mathematicians would say
invariable
yet artists claim that differences exist
as multifarious as the different brushstrokes which make a painting.
this seems like a contradiction
or
perhaps it just depends on how far away you stand.
~ Writes Alex: I am deeply indebted to Randy and Cynthia Nelson for making this piece possible, and to the amazing musicians of Aston Magna for bringing it to life.
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As anyone who knows the Messiah can tell you, George Frederic Handel is among the most masterful artists when it comes to setting texts, particularly works for solo voice, rendering the affect and sentiment of the text to perfection. Further evidence runs throughout his other vocal repertoire, including his operas, oratorios, and sacred music. Süße Stille, sanfte Quelle, HWV 205 and Süßer Blumen Ambraflocken, HWV 204 are the fourth and third of the nine German arias written between 1724 and 1727. The texts of the arias were by the German Enlightenment poet Barthold Heinrich Brockes (1680-1747). Handel probably met Brockes around 1702 when they were both students in Halle and where the poet organized weekly concerts in his rooms. These texts were written much later as part of the nine-volume collection Irdische Vergnügen in Gott (Earthly pleasures in God). Handel used texts from the second edition of volume one of this collection, which appeared in 1724. In volume two, published in 1727, Brockes acknowledged Handel’s achievement: “The arias of this and the next two cantatas can, it is true, be found here and there in the preceding volume of this work. However, as the world-famous virtuoso, Herr Hendel [sic], has set them to music in a quite particular manner, the author has thought it best to unite all of them in three cantatas by adding new recitatives specially written for that purpose.” The nine arias are not intended as a cycle and their ordering is arbitrary. All but follows da capo form. The identity of the obbligato instrument was not specified.
As these two arias demonstrate, the theme of these poems is enticing: being led towards eternity through the ordinary, tangible, yet passing world. It is not surprising that many German composers of the time set texts from the collection. In the first aria, silence hints at the peace of eternal rest; in the latter it is the scent of a flower.
In 1723, Bach secured his most important and demanding position as the Thomaskantor, the Cantor of the Thomasschule, in Leipzig. He was involved, to some degree, in providing music for four churches in this great mercantile capital. One of Bach’s more taxing responsibilities during the first years of his position in Leipzig was to compose/compile five cycles of cantatas to provide for the services of each of the Sundays and major feasts of the church calendar.
Ich habe genug (genung), BWV 82, was written for the Purification of Mary (Mariae Reingung), celebrated on February 2, marking the occasion on which Mary presents herself in the Temple, 40 days after Christmas. The events, described in Luke 2:22-32, are marked by a type of revelation owing to the arrival of the Christ child in the Temple. The four different cantatas Bach wrote for this feast day focus not on Mary, but on Simeon, “a righteous and devout man,” who is waiting in the Temple because he is aware that the Lord is going to do something very important. In fact, Simeon has been told by the Spirit of the Lord that he will not die before he has “witnessed the consolation of Israel.” He is not disappointed. Upon seeing the child Jesus, the story goes, he takes him in his arms, and recites an extraordinary canticle, “Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace…Your word has been fulfilled…My own eyes have the salvation of the Lord…”
Ich habe genug is a contemplation of this moment in the old man’s life—he has been anticipating it for a very long time. But Simeon is not the only one; for a Pietist Lutheran like Bach, Israel is also filled with anticipation, as is everyone in any state in life—the coming of the one who is the fulfillment of a long-standing promise. “It is enough…I remain here no longer…I look forward to my death…” The speaker demands release in death, because the world holds nothing further. Each of the arias advances this process, probing the sensation of complete fulfillment and desire for death completely void of despair.
Bach must have liked this piece very much: he ended up with at least four versions of it: two for bass, one for soprano, and one for alto. In addition, he put a portion of it in the eclectic second volume of the two notebooks he assembled for his second wife, Anna Magdalena. And there are other sources, as well. The topic likely meant a great deal to him, and even more as he aged and, perhaps, witnessed the wonders of his own music.
Joseph Orchard ©2018
Joseph Orchard