These program notes were written by Elise Groves for a program of music by J.S. Bach presented by The Bach Project in conjunction with Ashmont Hill Chamber Music on May 15, 2022.
Disease and death were constant companions in the late 17th and early 18th centuries. Bach lost both of his parents by the age of 10 and returned home from a trip to discover his first wife, Maria Barbara, had died and he was now a single father at the age of 35. Over the course of his life, he buried 10 of his 20 children (3 from his first marriage and 7 from his second). Lutheran theology from this time viewed death as a release from the torments and agony of worldly existence – something to yearn for rather than something to fear – which seems a practical approach given the turmoil and unpredictability of the time.
In 1714, Bach became Konzertmeister (behind the Kapellmeister and vice-Kapellmeister) for the court chapel of Dukes Wilhelm Ernst and Ernst August of Saxe-Weimar, and part of his duties included composing an occasional sacred cantata. O heil’ger Geist- und Wasserbad, BWV 165, was first presented in 1715 for Trinity Sunday. Bach would probably have led the performance from the violin, with a group of skilled professional court musicians and his own students providing organ continuo. The libretto was by Salomo Franck, the court poet, and is based on the story of Nicodemus, specifically Jesus’ words to Nicodemus that “…except a man be born of water and of the spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” (John 3:5). The text set by Bach links the power and workings of the Holy Spirit with the sacrament of baptism, emphasizing the importance of both for the sanctification of the believer. Especially interesting in the text is the imagery of the serpent, which contrasts the “alten Schlange” (the old serpent or the devil) with the bronze snake on a pole erected by Moses in the wilderness to save the Israelites from snakebite and finally with the “blutrotes Schlangenbild” (blood red serpent image) of Christ raised on the cross as a symbol of redemption.
The Harpsichord Concerto in A major, BWV 1055, probably began as a concerto for another instrument. Some believe the earlier version was composed in Köthen (possibly around 1721) for oboe d’amore, or viola d’amore, or maybe even an unaccompanied work for solo keyboard. Regardless of its early origins, the concerto in this form is the fourth harpsichord concerto of a set of six in an autograph score from roughly 1738, long after Bach’s move to Leipzig. Unlike modern concerti which are written to showcase soloists with the orchestra in a supporting role, Bach’s harpsichord concerti function more as chamber music and require the soloist to fill the traditional role of continuo in between dazzling moments of soloistic virtuosity.
The Prelude and Fugue in C major, BWV 547, was probably written in Leipzig though there is great scholarly debate about exactly when. Some date it as early as 1719 and others contend it was written in the 1740s and might have been Bach’s last organ work. The joyful, lilting motion of the prelude contrasts with the more square, angular fugue subject, which Bach takes through an astounding number of variations in only 72 measures. There has been a significant amount of scholarship devoted to analysis of the fugue as some consider it the peak of Bach’s contrapuntal prowess.
In Leipzig, motets were sung as introits for church services and were generally chosen from 16th-century sources. Because of this, Bach focused more on other sacred genres and rarely composed motets. Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied, BWV 225, was probably first performed in Leipzig in 1727. The text is taken from Psalm 149:1-3, verses 3-4 from "Nun lob, mein Seel, den Herren” by Johann Gramann, and Psalm 150:2, 6. The exact occasion for this motet is unknown. One possibility is the funeral for Christiane Eberhardine of Brandenburg-Bayreuth, Queen Consort of Poland who died in exile from the Polish Court after refusing to convert to Roman Catholicism. Another may have been the city festival celebrating the birthday of her husband Augustus II, Elector of Saxony, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania, who visited Leipzig after recovering from an illness. In any case, it remained in the repertoire at the Thomasschule after Bach’s death, and an oft-told story includes Mozart being so deeply inspired when he heard it in 1789 that he requested a copy of the score.
Not only was Bach no stranger to death, he was also well-acquainted with the fragility of one’s livelihood. By the time he arrived in Leipzig in 1723, he had already had well-documented disputes with his employers (even ending up in prison in Weimar) and would go on to have heated debates with the town council over working conditions, pay issues, employment terms, and all of the things musicians still find themselves negotiating for today. Through all of that, Bach kept making music. Many view this as some “grand artistic endeavor”, and perhaps it was, but it is equally possible that it was simply his job – the skill in which he had trained – and it was how he knew to express his creative energy and support his family. He found ways to keep going, with breaks for disease, death, employment drama, marriage, children, work trips, etc., and perhaps that’s the greatest message for all of us – to keep going, and preferably to keep making good music.
Elise Groves, May 2022