PROGRAM NOTES UNDERWRITTEN BY THOMAS WARD

At today’s noon concert we heard an example of how J. S. Bach’s works are frequently used by later composers as launching pads for their own flights of fancy. With Russian composer Sofia Gubaidulina, that transformation involved a traditional chorale (Vor deinen Thron) being passed through the mystical prism of numerology and modern string quartet technique. This evening’s concert pairs Old Bach with later reflections by Schumann, Villa-Lobos, Piazzolla, and the Swingle Singers.

We begin with Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) himself – but with something of an anomaly. Bach composed hundreds of cantatas; roughly 200 are extant today, though many more have been lost. Only about one-quarter are based on secular topics or libretti. Some are known for their physical setting, such as the Coffee Cantata first performed at a Leipzig coffee house or the Funeral Ode for a Saxon electress. Bach composed Cantata 207, Vereinigte Zwietracht, at the height of his powers in 1726. As is the case with nearly all of Bach’s secular vocal works, Cantata 207 took shape around a specific event: the installation of Gottlieb Kortte as a new professor at Leipzig University. Bach was not opposed to creating music on-demand for academic or civic purposes, and he composed a similar cantata just one year earlier (BWV 205). In such cases, he was also not averse to recycling his own music to help fill the commission, especially if time was short. Several of the ten movements draw from themes aired in his Brandenburg Concerto No. 1, written several years earlier in Cöthen.

Cantata 207 features four vocal soloists each fulfilling an allegorical role suitable for the academic occasion: happiness (soprano), gratitude (alto), hard work (tenor), and honor (bass). Supporting the voices is a rich collection of instrumental colors, headed by the festive inclusion of three trumpets and timpani. The opening March and Chorus create a summons: it would have been hard for any passing student at the university to not stop and observe this grandiose musical celebration of Herr Prof. Kortte’s arrival on campus.

Two hundred years after his birth, Robert Schumann (1810-1856) remains a favorite composer among modern audiences. The Canonic Studies for Pedal Piano, however, will be new territory for most listeners. Early in his career Schumann achieved brilliance as a pianist and composer of virtuosic piano music. As he matured, he felt a need to amplify the rigor and technical mastery of his style. Thus like his contemporary, Felix Mendelssohn, Schumann sought instruction in counterpoint (the art of combining multiple melodic ideas simultaneously). In 1845 he undertook formal lessons in the “Baroque manner” with a teacher in Dresden. Those lessons bore immediate fruit in a series of works, including the six Canonic Studies Op. 56, which Schumann felt contained “something entirely new.” (Tonight we hear nos. 1-3.)

These two-part studies were created for a piano with attached pedal keyboard, a domestic instrument intended to mimic the organ but which never gained wide popularity. Schumann stays closest to his models (Bach’s Inventions) in the first piece. His own voice comes through in the poignant no. 2, with its totally un-Bachian throbbing chords. Study no. 3 features ideas redolent of Mendelssohn and is particularly lyrical. Like so many other works, these Canonic Studies view Bach’s technical legacy through the contemporary lens of rich chromatic harmony.

Each of Bach’s six Brandenburg Concerti explores a different combination of solo instruments. At noon we heard the dazzling Brandenburg No. 5, featuring solo harpsichord, flute, and violin. Brandenburg No. 3 is scored for just eleven instruments in total: ten strings and keyboard. Building from the bottom of the ensemble, we have the continuo helping to support the harmony and comprised of double bass and harpsichord; above there are three cellos, three violas, and three violins. (Is it mere coincidence that the number “3” figures so prominently in this particular concerto?) Other Brandenburgs may utilize more striking combinations of timbres. What the work lacks in variety of instrumental color must be made up in more nuanced ways.

The first allegro carries a buoyant confidence in its steady rhythm. Most of the material is constructed out of nothing more than a three-note neighbor pattern, e.g., G/F-sharp/G or D/C/D. At key moments, Bach scatters the motive quickly across the members of the string family. The entire ensemble plays together most of the time. When they don’t, it is because the three solo violins are enjoying a few moments of contrapuntal dialogue. That strategy becomes obvious toward the close of movement, where Bach largely silences the low strings and our ears can better track the interplay happening above.

Surviving early copies of Brandenburg No. 3 do not transmit an actual slow movement, only a two-bar half cadence known as a “Phrygian cadence.” Many works from the Baroque, including some by Bach himself, do not include written-out slow movements. When they do notate something, it is often not fully realized; it may be just a few chords that end with a similar half cadence. Modern players can thus look to other concertos for suggestions about what to do at this moment in tonight’s performance.

The finale presents a canon in G major that thrills and soars in a jubilant 12/8 meter. Bach does a masterful job of dispersing energetic figures across the texture, particularly in the middle section. Certainly the first violin takes on a soloist’s role, but the entire ensemble shares in the enthusiasm of this brilliant finale.

Arguably the greatest composer born in all of Latin or South America, Heitor Villa-Lobos (1887-1959) came of age in 20th-century Rio. It was a time of foment in world politics, and many South American countries looked to their arts to help express a newfound nationalist fervor. Villa-Lobos traveled widely in his youth, enough to absorb the major currents of European classical music. But the core of his craft, its brilliance and uniqueness, lay in his adherence to native Brazilian idioms. Initial cello lessons by his father enabled Villa-Lobos to participate in Rio’s vibrant popular music scene. That scene included the chorőes, a form of strolling serenade that Villa-Lobos was to incorporate years later into fourteen pieces for varying ensembles. At a time when the avant-garde held sway, Villa-Lobos did not shy away from traditionalism. Yet he delved more deeply into the Amazon’s folk music interior than any other musician of international stature.

During the 1930s and early 1940s, Villa-Lobos created nine suites that combine Baroque forms with Brazilian popular song and opera. Their name says it all: Bachianas Brasileiras, or Brazilian Pieces in a Bachian Style. Suite No. 9, composed in New York City in 1945, is a ternary form for strings alone. For the opening Prelude, Villa-Lobos adds the tempo indication of “slow and mystical.” It features solo viola in a wash of sustained high and low strings, with hints of counterpoint in the chromatic lines that move simultaneously in opposite directions. The middle section offers a vigorous Fugue (marked “a little rushed”) jazzed up by light syncopation. About halfway through, the fugue breaks down into smaller melodic fragments that Villa-Lobos freely combines into a more lyrical passage. Lower strings valiantly cling to the fugue concept, whereas the soaring violins would rather be center stage at the opera house. That combination then dominates the closing section: the violas provide the fugue theme amid a rapturous elegy. It is a wonderful effect, a fitting conclusion to the suite and the nine Bachianas Brasileiras as a whole.

You might be surprised to know that the Swingle Singers originally began life in Paris in the early 1960s. The group’s founder, Ward Swingle, provided both the name and the concept. Swingle received a classical music education in the U.S. before moving to France on a Fulbright Scholarship in 1951. He stayed to become active in the Parisian ballet and jazz worlds. Eventually he formed a group to perform a cappella, scat singing and applied this method to works from the classical canon. The Swingle Singers were born. The group went through various manifestations, gradually shifting operations to the U.K. and recording over 80 albums. They are still performing today.

For many years, audiences clamored to hear the Swingle Singers perform Bach’s counterpoint with a jazzy ethos. A favorite was the Sinfonia in G Minor. Bach’s three-part Sinfonias offer basic instruction in counterpoint: the leading voice (subject) appears first, then switches to a contrasting countersubject as soon as the second voice enters; the pattern is then repeated for the entrance of the third voice. Hearing this poignant G-minor Sinfonia, with the sustaining power of the human voice, brings out the striking dissonances that mark the piece. Almost as if hearing it for the first time, one feels Bach’s music pulled back in time to the great Italian madrigals of the 16th century. The Swingle Singers also recorded orchestral works, including portions of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 heard in its original version earlier tonight. The Swingle arrangement makes certain concessions (such as splitting rapid violin riffs between separate singers and dropping notes an octave because of range), but otherwise their take remains faithful and an exciting way to hear Bach anew.

From the cerebral polyphony of the High Baroque, we collide with the earthy force and tender beauty of Argentine legend Ástor Piazzolla (1921-1992). Born to Italian emigrés in Argentina, Piazzolla spent his youth on the streets of both Buenos Aires and New York City, where he quickly mastered the bandonéon. A prominent bandleader invited Ástor to go on tour, but Piazzolla’s father felt his 13-year-old son was just too young to join them – a tragically fortunate decision, for the entire orchestra died in a plane crash while on that tour. Piazzolla began formal composition lessons with Alberto Ginastera and then, years later, with Nadia Boulanger. In a pioneering step, Piazzolla fused indigenous and Spanish traditions with jazz and classical music, elevating the seedy world of tango to a place among high art. Nuevo Tango was born and burst forth in Piazzolla’s brooding opera, María de Buenos Aires (1968).

The story for María centers on the death and afterlife of an aspiring nightclub singer. She succumbs to the brutal reality of life in the city, is drawn into prostitution and killed. Resurrected in spirit, María conceives a child through the power of poetry. In a macabre modernization of the nativity story, she gives birth to a girl (also named María) under the watchful gaze of Three Construction Workers and The Women Who Knead Pasta.

Early in María de Buenos Aires, Piazzolla’s heroine sings a strong, defiant anthem about her feminine power (“Yo soy María”). Her life’s arc carries religious overtones, of course, but it equally symbolizes tango’s rebirth. As prelude to her outpouring we will hear the incisive Fuga y misterio based on elements of Maria’s main theme. Piazzolla’s music is lush and captivating, the story heartrending and fantastical, the expressive contrasts wide – in short, the ideal combination from which to build a compelling operatic take on our modern condition.

INTERMISSION

Bach took up his final post as cantor of St. Thomas’s Church in Leipzig under less than auspicious conditions. He was the third choice for the job and only appointed hesitatingly after the first two candidates (Telemann and Graupner) declined the post. Bach was nevertheless eager to get straight to work and put his best foot forward. The Magnificat was one of the first works he completed in Leipzig and was performed at Christmas 1723. Originally set in E-flat major, Bach made slight revisions and transposed it to D major to accommodate natural trumpets. This version, a Latin setting of the complete Magnificat text, has become the standard concert version.

Bach divided the text (Luke 1:46 – 55) across twelve movements. The work is scored for orchestra and five-part chorus with divided sopranos, though the full ensemble only appears together in certain key situations. These include the anchoring movements 1, 7, and 12. Bach built the total structure of the Magnificat as an approximately symmetrical arch. Movement 7 stands at the center; certain pairs of movements moving outward from the center share the same tonality. Moreover, the closing theme quotes the opening movement, drawing attention to the work’s overall symmetry.

This Magnificat is unique among Bach’s output. Alongside the B-Minor Mass, is one of only two large-scale sacred works in Latin that he created. Nearly everything else Bach wrote uses German texts and borrows heavily on Luther’s precedent. The Magnificat is much more southerly in its outlook, straying close to opera at times. The chorus and orchestra step forth majestically in the first movement, and the use of timpani and brass signal a festive mood. This kind of work would have been performed only on high holidays, such as Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, or Marian feast days.

All of the arias, such as “Et exultavit” for mezzo-soprano and strings, use reduced scoring. They are usually quite florid and happily eschew conventional da capo form. This allows the drama to continue moving forward rather than awkwardly doubling back to repeat earlier material. In the case of the dolorous soprano aria in B minor, accompanied by oboe d’amore, Bach can also proceed without pause into the boisterous chorus (“Omnes generationes”). Indeed, he dovetails the aria’s end with the downbeat of the chorus, creating a clamorous, hurried affect.

Throughout, Bach attends to opportunities for word painting. Consider the tender “Misericordia.” Scored as a duet for alto and tenor, the E-minor key and triple meter produce a hypnotic, humbling mood. Bach elicits a heightened effect through striking chromatic touches (typically the lowered-2nd and lowered-5th scale degrees). At times the sound strikingly reminds one of the poignant vocal mannerisms of a Renaissance madrigal. In the choral centerpiece (No. 7), Bach scatters the vocal lines at “dispersit,” pauses for rhetorical effect on “superbos” (the proud), and writes an Adagio in antique style for “the imagination of their hearts.”

After two powerful arias (for tenor and then alto) and an austere trio for female voices with oboe accompaniment, the chorus returns to carry forward toward a grandiose conclusion. The finale begins with a fugue (“Sicut locutus est”) back in the key of D major, followed by the closing “Gloria.” In this last movement, Bach plays with a series of imitative entries for all five voice parts – sometimes building up from the bottom of the texture, sometimes reversing the effect to descend gradually from sopranos down to basses. As mentioned, this final material also recycles the first movement, a unifying strategy with additional liturgical possibilities: “In the end is my beginning.”

This Magnificat marked the beginning of Bach’s tenure at Leipzig. In a sense, it is hard to imagine how he could have made a better start. By comparison to the massive Passions and the B-Minor Mass, this Magnificat seems light, even lightweight in an emotional sense. But taken in a different vein, it is simply pared down to essentials, incredibly concise and filled with masterful small touches. Bach would write hundreds of other vocal works for Leipzig, but none finer than this Magnificat.

Jason Stell, © 2026