Concerto for two violins in d, BWV 1043

During the late-18th and 19th centuries, the concerto developed into a form of musical drama, pitting the soloist against the orchestra in a battle for control of the tonal unfolding. Audiences and composers preferred a tension between the one and the many rather than the Baroque tradition of concerto grosso, in which a small group of soloists—note the plural—periodically emerge from and recede back into the full ensemble. Although some composers, including Beethoven, Mendelssohn and Brahms, continued to create concertos for multiple soloists, these are certainly exceptions to the rule. Ensemble concertos were essentially a thing of the past by the time Mozart died. (Two notable exceptions by C.P.E. Bach and Mozart were heard last evening.)
For J.S. Bach, composing concertos between roughly 1720 and 1750, all options were still on the table. Bach wrote numerous concertos for one, two, three, and even more soloists, usually harpsichordists. They were written in Cöthen where Bach’s employer, Prince Leopold, maintained a strong chamber orchestra populated by musicians who left Berlin when that city’s musical scene took a downward turn. This time in Cöthen offers a small window during which Bach could indulge his interests in Italian concerto composition; nearly all of his concertos, including the set of six Brandenburgs, was likely written between 1717 and 1722. Unfortunately, when the Prince married, his new bride’s distaste for music put a halt to secular music at the court. Within a few months Bach was auditioning for a post in Leipzig, where he would live from 1723 until his death.
We know that Bach wrote the D-minor concerto for two violins with Joseph Spiess in mind; Spiess had been recruited to Cöthen from Berlin in 1714. We see from the start how Bach uses Vivaldi as a starting point. Where Vivaldi would have opened such a piece with a canon (that is, imitation between parts playing the same notes), Bach ups the ante by starting with a fugue (imitation at different pitch levels). At the first solo episode we hear a new idea marked by leaps of a tenth and some wonderful two-part counterpoint between the lead violins. Bach structures his themes so that orchestra and soloists dovetail into one another, creating an immense forward drive all the way to the final “Picardy Third” (where the expected minor tonic chord turns to major at the last moment).
In the central Largo Bach spins out of his most touching melodies based on a simple falling line. Underneath, however, the careful listener may pick out the same fugal relationship upon which Bach constructed the opening of the first movement. Of course, there is something to be said for just attending to the sheer serenity which unfolds. The long-held notes are wonderfully offset by the lilting meter (12/8). With a full central section based upon a different theme and a coda at the end, this slow movement is more substantial than most other Baroque masters.
The spirit of Vivaldi comes through most clearly in the brilliant final Allegro, which Bach begins with a tight canon. All the Vivaldian conventions are found here—rapid triplets, imitation between the parts, chains of dissonant suspensions and sequences—combined with Bach’s impeccable sense for color via key changes. It takes the right gesture to end such a vigorous Allegro, and Bach rises (or better yet, falls) to the occasion with a short descending motive that hones in on the final chord.

(c) Jason Stell