It might be difficult for many modern listeners to appreciate the intimate connection Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) felt to the liturgical calendar. Arriving in Leipzig in early 1723, Bach knew full well that among his most important tasks would be to create music for weekly services at the Lutheran Thomaskirche. And because the readings and spiritual focus of each Sunday changed, so would the music need to respond on a week-to-week basis. For generations already, sacred cantatas had become a featured element through which music could reinforce scripture. Music directors like Bach, Telemann, and Buxtehude produced hundreds of cantatas thematically linked to specific days in the church calendar. Bach wrote five complete (i.e., annual) cycles of sacred cantatas during his Leipzig tenure, though the majority have since been lost.

Cantata 90, Es reißet euch ein schrecklich Ende (A horrible end will carry you off), was written for the 25th Sunday after Trinity and first performed on November 14, 1723. The gravity of that message offers a striking wake up call for those of us gathered here this Sunday morning. We find no tones of extreme gratitude, no joyous reflections on God’s grace or tender expressions of comfort through our human struggles. Instead, drawing upon themes from Tribulation captured in Matthew and Revelation, Cantata 90 summons forth cataclysmic End Times and the Last Judgement. Bach spreads the text across five movements, including two arias, two recitatives, and a traditional four-part chorale in final position. It opens with a rousing tenor aria (not performed today) that, but for the use of German language, would accord itself admirably in any 18th-century Italian opera. We will hear the second aria, “So löschet im Eifer,” for bass voice, trumpet, strings and continuo. It arrives just after a substantial recitative detailing how God’s abundant goodness has been squandered on the sinful:

O! wickedness of this life,

these good deeds are wasted on you.

Bach wonderfully captures the gravity of “So löschet im Eifer” by using bass voice. In addition, he includes trumpet – an instrument traditionally reserved for great pomp or ceremony – because it symbolizes the call to judgement heralding Christ’s return. To modern ears, the exhilarating tone of the opening B-flat major section may seem incongruous with the imminent terror of God’s wrath. Bach clearly focuses on two key words in the text, “zeal” and “light,” as the inspiration for material brimming with virtuosity, frequent vocal arpeggios, and luminous violin scales. The central section turns to G minor and D minor for deeper consideration of mankind’s “guilt” and God’s “wrath,” but Bach musically and poetically returns to the optimistic tones of B-flat major before the close. A tenor recitative (movement 4) ushers in the final chorus, music Bach recycled months later for his St. John Passion. In the cantata, that music delivers a concluding message of hope:

Give us your holy word always,

guard against the devil’s deceit and harm;

grant a blessed little hour to us,

in which we shall be eternally with you!

Bach’s six Sonatas and Partitas for Unaccompanied Violin hold an envied position among works in the genre. They were finished around 1720 but not published until almost a century later and not widely known until the late 19th century. We don’t have firm evidence to date their composition precisely. They probably took shape inititally during Bach’s Weimar periods (1703 and 1708-1717), when he had interactions with esteemed violin virtuosi like Paul von Westhoff and Georg Pisendel. The set came together years later when Bach took a position in Köthen that prioritized instrumental projects. A likely immediate inspiration stemmed from interactions with Pisendel, whom Bach met in Weimar and whose incredible Sonata for Solo Violin in A Minor appeared in 1716.

For solo violin, Bach composed three works in traditional sonata da chiesa design and three partitas, comprising numerous dance movements.  This morning we will hear two movements from the Sonata No 3 in C Major, BWV 1005, in recent arrangements for two violins made by Martin Davids. With music so well-known, so often studied, it is refreshing when someone like Davids sheds new light on a familiar treasure. He began publishing selections from Bach’s sonatas and partitas in arrangements for two violinists in 2016, a project called Bachfor2. Davids started with the three fugues from the sonatas. He premiered the C-Major fugue in Staunton in 2017 with Aisslinn Nosky, to whom his version was also dedicated. As he notes, “I worked on these arrangements in spare moments for years – during kids’ swim lessons and soccer practices – any free time I had when I couldn’t practice. My goal was to show the beauty of this music and also make some additions (bass lines, etc.) to keep the duet feeling.”

We begin with the Largo movement, a restrained and touchingly simple two-part counterpoint in the vein of Bach’s keyboard Inventions. The higher of the two lines is more active and interesting, but it relies all the same on the lower voice to ground its harmonic progress. Bach’s original calls upon the solo performer to render the illusion of multiple independent lines, technique called “compound melody.” In Davids’ version for two players, that challenge is removed and replaced by a reposeful sense of ease.

The C-major Fugue provides a brilliant example of three-part counterpoint, lasting all of ten minutes. Based on the Lutheran chorale Komm, heiliger Geist (Come, Holy Spirit), this classic fugue theme stays within a compact range, thereby opening the door to all manner of elaboration. Bach does not maintain strict fugue throughout the entire movement; indeed, there are extended episodes based on mere fragments of his main subject, as well as passages based on new ideas and not developed contrapuntally. Still, the amount of sustained fugal writing is incredible. Davids makes use of the added violin to enhance the clarity of that endeavor. As a single example of Bach’s gambit, note the lengthy episode built on a (dominant) pedal tone occurring at the movement’s midpoint, after which Bach turns the subject upside-down and proceeds to build a new fugue on that inverted version.

On Friday evening we heard the first of Bach’s four Orchestral Suites, a work in C Major. He never grouped all four suites together as a set, and they were written at very different times. We also commented Friday that these suites bring together aspects of various national traditions. Bach’s native German element is actually less pronounced than French and Italian imports. In style, a great deal of the orchestral writing looks to the concerto model developed in Italy, and the French manner touches on everything from the opening French Overture to the selection of diverse dances included. These include Gavottes, Minuets, Bourrées, a Réjouissance (“rejoicing”), and – apropos of the B-minor suite heard this morning – a spirited Badinerie. More on that in a moment.

The Orchestral Suite No. 2 in B Minor dates from the late 1730s. Bach was once again in charge of Leipzig’s popular Collegium Musicum, the loose-knit musical society that met periodically for performances at Zimmermann’s Kaffeehaus. Scored for transverse flute (as opposed to the more common end-blown recorder), strings, and continuo, the B-Minor Suite contains seven movements in all. We begin, de rigeur, with a grand French Overture in three part-form. Lasting about one-third of the entire composition, this single movement showcases Bach at his most mature. The initial Grave section features the familiar dotted rhythms and sharp gestures inherent in the Overture genre, followed by a lively Fugue and return to the Overture ethos. Two important points may be made. First, Bach uses the flute to lead concerto-style passages interspersed throughout the Fugue.  Second, the recycled Grave material (originally in duple, 4/4 time) is recast in triple meter, perhaps in anticipation of the many dances to come?

Those dances begin with a subdued Rondeau and Sarabande pairing, followed by two fast Bourrées played as a three-part unit (I-II-I). As flute and first violin double one another exactly in most movements, it is clear that Bach uses the woodwind instrument for sonic color rather than to introduce additional melodic material. That approach changes dramatically during the Polonaise and its variation kin, called a Double, where the flute enjoys a prominent solo moment. Following a brief and gracious Minuet, Bach closes the suite with a ravishing flute showpiece. The movement’s title, Badinerie, refers to playful banter. Bach obliges with a main theme built on tumbling rhythmic figures. His music trips along with charming élan, masking a devilishly demanding flute solo.

While the French element comes through strongly in this suite, we should not think that Bach had been in direct contact with Paris, Versailles, or the great composer Jean-Baptiste Lully. He never ventured outside central Germany. Instead, Bach leaned on similar orchestral suites penned by Telemann, Kuhnau, Fasch and others: German composers intent to please their patrons’ francophile preferences. He may have featured the flute in Suite No. 2 out of respect for French virtuoso flautist Pierre Buffardin, though the connection is mere speculation. While Buffardin may not have been in Leipzig for this performance, Bach clearly had a superlative player on hand to perform material rising very much above the norm.

Jason Stell, © 2025