Keyboard Concertos, BWV 1052-1058

PART ONE - BWV 1052, 1053, 1055, 1058

During the early 18th century, Italian instrumental concertos were taking Germany by storm. Johann Sebastian Bach first took notice during his tenure at Weimar (1708-1717) when he transcribed Venetian string concertos for solo keyboard. His self-imposed task—much like a co-author or translator—was to adapt idiomatic string writing to the keyboard and infuse it with what mattered most to him: counterpoint and motivic development. During subsequent positions in Köthen (1717-1723) and Leipzig (1723-1750), Bach continued to explore and adapt the Italian precedent to suit his own style. At Leipzig, ostensibly consumed with sacred music, Bach still recognized that concerto Allegros could double as introductions or overtures to church cantatas. Moreover, his involvement with that city’s Collegium Musicum, a performing ensemble founded by Telemann in 1702, provided ready occasion and need for larger chamber works. Bach directed Collegium performances throughout the 1730s and, in 1738, harvested the fruits of his efforts, compiling a manuscript collection of six concertos for harpsichord solo with ripieno strings, BWV 1052-1057.

It must be pointed out that none of these concertos were newly composed in the 1730s. In fact, each one is based on a previous string or wind concerto by Bach or another composer. The original sources still exist for several concertos, such as BWV 1054 and 1057, and we can thereby pinpoint Bach’s adaptations and alterations. This link offers a fascinating window into his working method and goals in undertaking the Collegium arrangements. But for many of the pieces, including BWV 1052, 1053, and 1055 recorded here, the original source is lost. Scholars can only speculate, piecing together fragmentary clues to identify or reconstruct something of the model.

After a false start of sorts (see comments below regarding BWV 1058), Bach decided to open the collection with the Concerto in D Minor, BWV 1052. As mentioned above, it probably derives from a lost violin concerto of unknown authorship. Bach clearly liked the inherent qualities of the main theme, with its alternation between rising/falling contours and its characteristic syncopated leap. But credit for those features must go to the unidentified composer of the original concerto. What Bach did with this material, of course, is wholly his own, and that can be appreciated in the modulations, motivic development, and toccata-like cadenzas that set BWV 1052 apart.

Certain passages will not come across on the keyboard as they would on the violin. For instance, at the first solo cadenza in A minor, the repeated pitch surrounded by upper- and lower-neighbor notes is idiomatic for the violin; the repeated A would be played as an open string, enhancing its resonance against the neighboring “stopped” or fingered tones (a technique called bariolage). On harpsichord the effect can only be approximated, perhaps by use of separate manuals. On the other hand, there are times when Bach has substantially recomposed the keyboard’s left hand to bolster the counterpoint. Such richness of texture—for example, the thick chords that punctuate the finale’s second cadenza—simply cannot be achieved on the violin.

There is a corollary to this borrowing of source material, for Bach himself had already used portions of the D-minor concerto in two sacred cantatas. The first two movements, transposed down a whole step, convey a dark, weighty expression that suits the central message of Cantata 146: “We must pass through great sadness in order to enter God’s kingdom.” Around the same time he used the finale as an organ prelude for Cantata 188, “Ich habe meine Zuversicht” (I have my confidence). Thus, although his motivation to pull this material together for a keyboard concerto in the 1730s was primarily practical (i.e., Collegium performance), we can suggest an expressive interpretation by tracking the material’s previous incarnations in other contexts.

The second work in the collection, the Concerto in E Major, BWV 1053, likely derives from a lost woodwind work possibly dating to Bach’s Weimar period. As with BWV 1052, he had previously used some of this material in two cantatas (in this case, BWV 49 and 169). The tonality is not a common one for the era, meaning other E-major works may come to mind—as they probably did for Bach himself. The first Allegro highlights an arpeggiated main theme redolent of the great Partita for unaccompanied violin in this same key, whereas extensive two-part counterpoint in the keyboard solos posits the E-major Invention as an inspiration, conscious or otherwise.

Bach grows more adventurous and interesting as he moves beyond the opening minutes of the broad Allegro, reaching into other keys (such as C-sharp and F-sharp minor) to present developed cadenzas and more thoughtful handling of the ripieno strings. He also resisted the temptation to insert a formulaic slow movement. Where others may have relied on a decorated chord progression, ending with a simple Phrygian half-cadence, Bach revels in a lengthy siciliano led by solo harpsichord. This dance type carried significance for Bach, who relied upon it for particularly affecting moments in other compositions. At the end, he rounds the concerto off with a lively Allegro in triple meter. The original source for this E-major concerto is no longer extant, so we cannot trace Bach’s reworking in detail. But the final result stands fully on its own, needing no additional reasons to justify a position in the current repertory.

That same assessment pertains equally to the Concerto in A Major, BWV 1055. As this concerto bears no relation to any known work, it is perhaps the easiest one to judge on its own merits. Yet opinions vary widely, with two noted Bach scholars holding opposite views. Ludwig Finscher feels the A-major concerto is quite straightforward and “not very characteristic” of Bach’s style, whereas Werner Breig lauds its concentrated motivic development as “among the most mature” of Bach’s efforts in the genre. Certain features argue for substantial new material having been added in the 1730s. For instance, the powerful Larghetto—with hints of siciliano topic and doleful “lament” bass progression—parallels the slow movement from BWV 1053, both of which are not typical for early 18th-century Italian concertos. In the opening Allegro, Bach brings solo and ripieno forces together at the very outset, creating substantial doubling between the harpsichord’s treble part and the first violin but also hindering the independence of the strings. During the finale, Bach handles this relationship more successfully by allowing true moments of dialogue in the midst of an exhilarating Allegro. The virtuosic theme, idiomatic for the violin, does two things that benefit the whole: it helps Bach avoid favoring the keyboard too much, and it forces him to continue asserting the ripieno as an equal partner in this conversation.

In a careful examination of Bach’s manuscripts, Werner Breig outlines what he believes was the method used in both BWV 1053 and 1055. First, Bach copied out the upper strings of his model, then added harpsichord treble and bass, and finally thickened the texture by inserting a string bass part. The string bass generally provides foundation for tutti sections, whereas the harpsichord fulfills that role during all solo passages. This was an area in which Bach’s contribution was profound—breaking the left hand out of its accompanimental role and weaving it fully into the contrapuntal fabric around it. As these concertos from the 1738 manuscript were perhaps the first true harpsichord concertos in existence, such a detail directly influenced later efforts from Bach’s sons to Mozart and beyond.

With the Concerto in G Minor, BWV 1058, we are at last on firmer ground regarding Bach’s original source. In this case, his own past comes in for updating: the beloved Concerto in A Minor for violin and strings, BWV 1041. Evidence indicates that Bach prepared BWV 1058 before BWV 1052-1057; it had been planned as the opening work in a collection of keyboard concertos—probably six, as was his custom. But with the G-minor concerto completed, Bach only drafted a single movement of BWV 1059 before stopping. (Speculating about why he did not complete BWV 1059, while interesting in itself, remains beyond the scope of these notes.) Instead, he turned his attention to the six concertos, BWV 1052-1057, which were moved to the front of the manuscript when it was bound.

A great deal of the success achieved by BWV 1058 must come from its source being by Bach himself. He knew these themes intimately, had ruminated on their motivic possibilities, and had a complete formal structure already in place. This is most evident in the poignant slow movement. All of the features that attract us—the stately pulse, the suspension figures, a highly decorated solo line—are taken note for note from its violin predecessor. What remained for Bach was to develop the keyboard’s left hand during passages, mainly in the outer movements, where the existing bass line was not sufficiently robust to pair with an active treble part. The opening ritornello is wonderfully expansive, stretched by harmonic sequence and both an evaded and a deceptive cadence. The concluding Gigue sprints by in passages of continuous sixteenth notes, which Bach did his utmost to transfer effectively to the keyboard.
At times the solo harpsichord completes a phrase begun by strings, creating a stark contrast of timbre that would not have occurred when the solo part was carried by violin. Many will prefer the sound of the original violin concerto over this arrangement, but two things are certain regarding Bach’s project from the 1730s: first, any additional opportunity to experience BWV 1041/1058 is a welcome one; and second, these Collegium arrangements often represent our only chance to hear concertos that would otherwise be lost to history.

(c) Jason Stell


PART TWO - BWV 1054, 1056, 1057, 1044

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) loved to tinker, musically speaking. He combined an inventor’s curiosity with a craftsman’s delight in design and polish. Encountering a work that captivated his interest or promised to teach him something new, Bach got his hands on the music and started to take it apart. For instance, this process describes the period at Weimar (1708-1717) during which he made arrangements of numerous Italian violin concertos by Vivaldi and others. Arranging these concertos for solo harpsichord, Bach could reassign melodic material to different registers, creating the kind of counterpoint and full, resonant lower voices he favored.

In 1738, now well-established in his final post at Leipzig, Bach set out to produce a collection of six concertos for solo harpsichord with ripieno strings. These concertos (BWV 1052-1057) were not newly written in the 1730s. All derive from older sources, including Bach’s own music. For some of the works (BWV 1052, 1053 and 1055), the original source is lost; scholars can only piece together fragments to identify or reconstruct something of the model. But for others, including BWV 1054 and 1057, the source concerto still exists and can be compared. This fact adds immeasurably to our appreciation of these works. For while they certainly succeed in their own right as keyboard concertos, they also reveal how Bach reworked material conceived for a melody instrument (be it violin, oboe, etc.) to suit the wider compass, textural richness, and contrapuntal possibilities available with the harpsichord.

In these borrowed themes, Bach saw what others did not or could not: possibilities for greater fullness and polyphonic elaboration. That vision, combined with a few particulars of history—his need for ensemble repertory to suit Collegium Musicum programs, for instance, and the presence of four or five harpsichords in his personal collection as well as gifted students to play them—gave rise to an outpouring of keyboard concertos in the later 1730s.

Such conditions directly explain the origin of the Keyboard Concerto in D Major, BWV 1054 (1738). This is an arrangement of a brilliant violin concerto, BWV 1042, the date of which is uncertain but probably can be assigned to Bach’s Weimar years. The opening Allegro unfolds with irresistible fluency. Bach integrates solo and ritornello forces more fully than his Italian model, and the “conversational” tone by which thematic heads and tails are handed off even looks forward to Mozart. As one would expect from its source, violinistic touches abound (quick turn figures, arpeggiated themes). Bach deftly inserts new material for the keyboard’s left hand that adds heft to the glittering string-like treble passages.

The Adagio takes its material note-for-note from BWV 1042, yielding an accompanied solo for keyboard in B minor. Sustained harmonies and plodding bass notes create a dolorous affect pierced only occasionally (as at the turn to D major) by rays of light. By grounding the theme in the bass register, Bach liberates the treble part to become far more decorative. The Finale is a vibrant, triple-meter rondo. Each short section fosters a taut give-and-take between solo and ritornello textures, but the movement’s overall brevity leaves a little bit to be desired. The lack of any thematic development suggests either that Bach felt he had exhausted this theme in its violin original (which seems unlikely) or that he was pressed for time in getting the keyboard arrangement ready for Collegium performance. To his credit, he did compose new material for the third solo episode that marks a worthy advance beyond the earlier version.

The F-minor keyboard concerto, BWV 1056, is almost certainly based on an earlier violin concerto. But apart from an exception noted below, scholars have not been able to identify and locate those possible sources. Bach focuses attention in the first movement on the head motive, which is built on a recurring neighbor-note figure. In addition, the choice of key contributes to the emotional mood, for F minor is a rich, dark, at times imposing key. Form recedes in significance behind the more attractive aspects of motivic development and imitation. The ritornello/solo distinctions are as a clear as anything penned by Vivaldi, and the later movements continue to strongly exhibit Italianate features.

The idyllic Largo soars on the keyboard’s florid melodic line, given only token harmonic support by the strings. It may derive from a lost oboe concerto, but we can still hear its expressive potential utilized to good effect in the oboe solo at the start of Bach’s Cantata 156, Ich steh mit einem Fuß im Grabe. The spirited Finale stays comfortably within the conventions of concerto form as defined by Bach’s Italian predecessors. Instead, small details show the master’s hand at work: a poignant suspension here, a striking key change there. Clearly this is not Bach’s last or most profound word in the concerto genre. Still, its balance between tense outer movements in F minor and a serene middle movement in A-flat major is enough to recommend it to later generations.

Compared to other concertos in the set, the Concerto in F Major, BWV 1057, clearly trends toward the concerto grosso realm. Indeed, it is a close adaption of Brandenburg Concerto No. 4; here the keyboard takes over the solo violin material from Brandenburg No. 4 with added left hand bolstering. The keyboard gets occasional moments to shine and plenty of glittering passagework. But its true role is to support Bach’s brilliant writing for the solo flutes. Their close counterpoint draws the ear, and the first movement’s most appealing moments come when Bach pares the texture down to just flutes and keyboard.

The slow movement offers a study in chromatic writing and emotional gravitas. Bach maintains the full ensemble texture—which is fairly striking as this would provide a conventional time during which the flautists could catch their breath. Instead, all the instruments dwell on a theme built of two-note slurs, enveloping the movement in countless sigh gestures. A final flourish from the keyboard, a rising chromatic scale, and a “Phrygian” half cadence complete the impression of an antique-sounding Adagio. This mood is cast off by the lively, skipwise motion of the ensuing fugue. At first, the flutes remain silent until all four entrances have occurred; these proceed from viola to second violin, first violin, and finally cello/bass, all doubled in the keyboard. The flutes do eventually enter and create the Finale’s finest moments in episodes with the keyboard based on canon and free counterpoint. Bach’s ability to sustain harmonic tension through suspension chains ensures that the dynamism of the Finale continues up to its final cadence.

Finally, in the so-called “Triple Concerto,” BWV 1044, we have a true ensemble concerto. Its scoring directly mimics the instrumentation for the famous Brandenburg Concerto No. 5: solo flute, violin, and harpsichord with strings. Apart from scoring, the first movement is also notable for the continuous triplet rhythms. Such details are adopted from Bach’s source (his own keyboard Prelude and Fugue, BWV 894), but timbral contrasts make the effect even more appealing. Except for the lack of a massive keyboard cadenza, we are deeply immersed in the world of Brandenburg No. 5. Which is another way to say that, for those who find the latter’s cadenza too ostentatious, BWV 1044 may offer an ideal balance between solo and ensemble writing.

A further development in BWV 1044 is Bach’s use of pizzicato solo violin in the slow movement, scored for the three solo instruments. With the keyboard’s treble and bass keeping their independence from each other, the result is a free-ranging four-part texture: two melody parts, and two accompanying parts. The success of this movement makes one wonder if Bach wrote other quartets that have been lost; and if he did not, why not? As this Adagio is based on a Trio Sonata for organ, BWV 527, Bach clearly had ample material on hand.

For the Finale Bach takes the fugue from BWV 894 notated in alla breve (2/2) time signature. This subject reprises the motivic triplets that marked the prelude material. Compared to the other movements, however, the Finale squarely places the greatest burden on the keyboard, both for leading the tonal argument and providing connections between ritornello and solo sections. And whereas we commented on the absence of a cadenza in the opening Allegro, Bach compensates with a modest cadenza at the end. Overall, it may not rise to the level of other finales Bach composed, and its main theme (taken from BWV 894) lacks a memorable profile. But the growing importance of the keyboard—as both soloist and anchor of the ensemble—shows how Bach’s adaptations to older sources helped create works that transition from concerto grosso to the full-blown classical concertos to come.

(c) Jason Stell