All composers, no matter their current stature in modern eyes, emerge from and draw upon their predecessors and contemporaries. We might celebrate only a handful of creative artists from each generation out of respect for some innovation they made, some powerful depth of expression that seems ahead of its time or beyond the reach of their peers. But these distinctions are matters of degree. In other words, what we value in a composer like Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) – fluid instrumental style, sophisticated counterpoint, and deep spirituality, for example – can also be found in literally dozens of other composers from that time and place, perhaps not as fully developed but present nevertheless. This kinship motivates us to look more closely at forgotten voices and “minor masters” from the past.

Yesterday we focused on Bach’s contemporaries, those figures near in time and place that help situate him as one among a host of superlative musicians. Today we turn to figures who preceded Bach in the European tradition, looking particularly at composers he would have known through close exposure to their music. This includes a largely forgotten member of the Bach family (Georg Christoph), two composers Bach knew only in passing (Schmelzer and Westhoff), as well as two musicians he studied in great detail (Buxtehude and Vivaldi). In today’s program, therefore, we have a chance to revel in the breadth and varying depths of Bach’s musical surroundings from youth to maturity.

The first composer performed today, Johann Heinrich Schmelzer (ca. 1623-1680), is also the one most tenuously connected to Bach. Schmelzer lived and worked entirely in the Hapsburg lands of modern-day Austria. He attained a prominent position in Vienna just prior to his early death during a plague epidemic. Schmelzer’s reputation soared on the basis of his astounding violin technique. Like his contemporary Pachelbel, Schmelzer linked the virtuosic style of Italy to the growing instrumental forms of the German territories. He died before Bach was even born, but the latter would have encountered Schmelzer’s music and general influence through such figures as Froberger and Biber.

Schmelzer’s Sonata for five parts is scored for trumpet, two violins, bassoon, and viola da gamba plus basso continuo. Because the continuo group is not a fixed entity, the piece could actually involve anywhere from six to eight players. The first movement, written as a lively Allegretto, builds almost entirely from a simple, triadic motive presented in the lower voices before the trumpet’s first entrance. Schmelzer uses light counterpoint to generate a conversational tone between subgroups of instruments. For instance, the two violins provide lengthy interludes during which the trumpet soloist catches her breath and, equally importantly, clears moisture from the brass tubing. After the opening section, Schmelzer places a series of improvisatory episodes in the best Italian manner, progressing from second violin to first violin and finally to trumpet. These are sonic displays meant to impress and resonate in the sumptuous acoustics of a cathedral or large hall. To close the sonata, Schmelzer recaptures the spirit of the opening movement, combining all the players for a brief but rousing conclusion. With an antique sounding plagal cadence, Schmelzer’s Sonata reveals its exact time in history: still in touch with older gestures from the Renaissance, but also embracing the virtuosic manner creeping northward over the Alps.

Following early posts in his native Denmark, Dietrich Buxtehude (1637-1707) became organist at the Marienkirche in Lübeck, where he remained for the last 40 years of his life. Even as the economic fortunes of this North German port city dwindled, Lübeck still enjoyed a rich musical life. Buxtehude’s stature drew musicians from all over. He was clearly a mentor for young Bach, though the two only directly connected (as far as we know) on one occasion around Christmas 1705. The famous story relates that Bach made a pilgrimage on foot from Arnstadt to Lübeck – a journey of some 250 miles – to hear Buxtehude perform during Advent. He would have heard Buxethude play the organ as well as lead sacred cantatas presented during services.

Apart from sacred vocal music, Buxtehude is best known today for his many organ compositions exploring the “fantastic style.” Less familiar are his harpsichord compositions, which include numerous dance suites. A perfect example can be found in the A-Major Suite, BuxWV 243. The four movements, touching on the familiar Allemande, Courante, Sarabande, and Gigue template, show strong similarities with later suites penned by Bach. The Allemande opens with clear, simple harmonic progressions that outline primary (tonic) and secondary (dominant) keys. Buxtehude’s light counterpoint suggests two to three lines of melody throughout. The following Courante parrots the same harmonies and melodic ideas while changing from duple to triple meter. His Sarabande might seem uneventful by the standards Bach would later set, but the final polyphonic Gigue manages to end with a spirit of exhilaration.

Today the Bach family name is synonymous with Baroque music. All told, the clan included more than 50 professional musicians and composers – mostly men, but a few women as well – born between Hans Bach (ca. 1575) and the end of the 18th century. Above all others, we revere Johann Sebastian Bach as the highest expression of techniques that had been generations in the making. But when Bach died, he was not the most famous musician of the day (that was Telemann), nor was he even the most famous Bach: that honor fell to his second son, Carl Philipp Emanuel. This is not to diminish Sebastian's genius, but rather to situate him in the midst of a musical lineage that neither began nor ended with him.

The earliest Bach on our programs this weekend is Georg Christoph Bach (1642-1697). Georg was Sebastian's uncle and received his initial musical training in Arnstadt.  Little biographical information survives about Georg.  We know he attended Leipzig University and held several church posts over the last decades of his life. Among Georg’s extant works, a few vocal compositions and several chorale preludes for organ remain. Without doubt, his most significant work is the celebratory cantata Siehe, wie fein und lieblich ist’s, based on Psalm 133. Notations in the score indicate Georg wrote the music to mark his own birthday in 1689. The scoring for two tenors and bass, plus violin and gamba, may connect to the personnel on hand for the party: Georg, of course, as well as a special visit from his younger twin brothers, Johann Christoph and Ambrosius (Sebastian's father). Cantatas at this time rarely, if ever, attained the multi-movement grandeur achieved by later examples.

Siehe wie fein opens with an instrumental sonata built on contrapuntal imitation between the strings. It flows directly into a trio for voices who deliver the main, very timely message: “What a delight it is when brothers can sit down together in friendship.” Phrases of text are interspersed with engaging instrumental dialogue, and changes of meter (from duple to triple and back again) create a highly sectional feel.  Closing all is a quasi-sacred Amen – suitable given the Biblical text being set, but also emphasizing the brothers' deep religious feeling and joy at being reunited.

Like Schmelzer before him, Johann Paul von Westhoff (1656-1705) enjoyed fame as a violinist. He composed a vast amount of music for his preferred instrument. Sadly, most of that repertoire has been lost, but enough remains for us to assess his importance and to trace a direct influence on J. S. Bach. The two men were briefly colleagues in Weimar around 1703: Westhoff nearing the end of his life, an esteemed virtuoso and court favorite; Bach just turning 18 and filling a minor position at the organ. We will return to their direct connections in a moment, but one must mention another city – Dresden – when discussing Westhoff.

Beginning with the arrival of Heinrich Schütz in 1615, the Saxon capital at Dresden enjoyed musical activity not surpassed anywhere in Europe (though the city suffered greatly during the Thirty Years War). Under the worldly Augustus I, who came to the throne in 1694, Dresden’s resident orchestra showcased numerous foreign virtuosi, strong Italian connections, and a thriving opera tradition. Bach longed for a position there, noting how well paid and well treated its artists were in comparison to his own situation in Leipzig.  Among the luminaries who helped restore Dresden’s allure after the war, Westhoff rose through the ranks from native son to celebrity status. Himself a student of Schütz, Westhoff performed with the court orchestra for over 20 years and traveled extensively around Europe as a violin virtuoso.

We will hear one of his Suites for Solo Violin, the fifth in D Minor, probably composed around 1690. Significantly, Westhoff created the first examples of multi-movement dance suites for solo violin. Thus anyone who adores Bach’s unaccompanied violin and cello works will find here the direct source of those inspired creations. Westhoff’s four movements range from a haunting Allemande to a brilliant Gigue in three-part counterpoint. Advanced techniques, such as triple- and quadruple-stops, show Bach the way to create polyphonic textures on a stringed instrument, whereas ample spaces to improvise and ornament provide limitless rewards to the performer.

The most familiar name on today’s program, Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741) was a minor cleric and incredibly prolific composer. Vivaldi spent nearly his entire life in Venice. By virtue of works like The Four Seasons, he is now a household name around the globe. The Four Seasons demonstrate the power of “program music” and typify the Baroque solo concerto genre. However, Vivaldi also wrote concertos for multiple soloists. Several of these appeared in a 1711 collection published at Amsterdam called L’Estro Harmonico, or Harmonic Inspiration. It was Vivaldi’s third published work and has been described as arguably “the most influential collection of instrumental music to appear during the entire 18th century.” The pieces in the collection defined the concerto form, and circulated from London and Paris all the way through central Europe. Vivaldi’s reputation soared. Bach made keyboard transcriptions based on his study of L’Estro Harmonico; for instance, he esteemed Vivaldi’s Concerto in B Minor for Four Violins enough to arrange it for four harpsichords.

Today we will hear Vivaldi’s Concerto in A Minor for Two Violins, Op. 3 No. 8. The three-movement concerto combines what listeners love about Vivaldi with other features that are less common in his style. The opening Allegro makes interesting use of stasis. To be more specific, Vivaldi uses the colorful Neapolitan chord (a semitone about the tonic note) to divert us from the relentless forward drive. Similarly, in the Finale, there are moments of recitative-like punctuation borrowed from the realm of opera. The central movement is built primarily as a Chaconne, and the Finale starts with a suggestion of canon. (Recall how both of those techniques were merged in Pachelbel’s Canon.) Toward the close, one hears sustained counterpoint – the simultaneous presentation of two distinct themes – in a manner rare for Vivaldi. Against the oscillating arpeggios of the first violin solo, he offers a tender, lyric theme in the second solo part. All these details counter the image of Vivaldi as a mechanical producer of carbon-copy concertos. He actually lavished care at every turn, and we would do well to demand that classical ensembles show us more of Vivaldi’s brilliance than simply The Four Seasons.

Jason Stell, © 2025