Born in a small town near Göttingen in central Germany, Johann Joachim Quantz (1697-1773) was destined to follow his father into the blacksmith trade until the latter’s death offered Joachim additional options. He seized a chance to study music with various relatives, and already by his early teens he had settled on a career in music. Quantz had the good fortune to secure a position at the Dresden court in 1716, one of the strongest musical centers in all of Europe. There he would meet several significant figures like Jan Zelenka and flute virtuoso Pierre Buffardin. Finishing touches were applied during a “grand tour” of Europe’s musical capitals from 1724 to 1727. As the tour ended Quantz met Prussian Crown Prince Frederick. Frederick was a very talented amateur flutist, and the two forged an immediate connection. However, Quantz’s Saxon employer would not release him to join Frederick’s retinue. Thus it was not until 1741, a year after Frederick ascended to the Prussian throne, that Quantz arrived in Berlin to regale king and court with his brand of modern flute music.

Years later Quantz produced a collection of six Duets (1759) for two unaccompanied flutes. The final work is a grand suite in E minor built along the four-movement structure of the traditional sonata da chiesa or church sonata. This genre developed in the 17th century out of older, single-movement forms that alternated between slow and fast sections. The first movement draws the dotted rhythms and processional feel from a French Overture. It is followed by a dazzling fugue, representing a perfect combination of virtuosity and contrapuntal sophistication. During the Cantabile movement both players take turns leading the melodic action; one can easily envision Frederick and Quantz performing this together for a gathering of friends. The finale, built as a perpetual canon, shows again Quantz’s technical skill. It also reminds us of J. S. Bach’s famous visit to Frederick’s court in 1747, which resulted in a whole slew of musical canons in The Musical Offering.

Not a familiar figure today, Francesco Turini (c. 1595-1656) was an organist active in northern Italy during the early Baroque. He is thought to have been born in Prague, where his father was a court musician and the talented boy’s first teacher. As a composer, Turini wrote extensively for his preferred instrument, but he also composed numerous sacred vocal works and madrigals during periods in Venice and Brescia. He was an important figure in the development of the Baroque ensemble sonata, typically featuring a combination of treble instruments moving above the basso continuo’s harmonic foundation. A central feature of this repertoire is the role of rhythmic diminution: the technique of gradually shortening rhythmic values to add variety and energy to an established melodic line. In this way Turini’s Trio Sonata heard today has similarities to literally hundreds of such pieces written, mostly after his time, by Corelli, Vivaldi, Bach, Telemann, and Handel.

Turini’s Trio Sonata in D Minor carries the curious subtitle “E tempo tanto hormai,” which translates most likely as “It’s such a long time ago.” We have no further information to interpret this cryptic reference, but it is possible to hear echoes of late Renaissance vocal forms in this highly sectional work. As evidence in favor of this reading, Turini published this instrumental sonata in a collection titled Madrigali in 1621. Overall, the treble parts – today taken by recorder and violin – imitate one another through various levels of rhythmic action, often moving in parallel consonances, and flitting into and out of different duple and triple meters. Harmonic repetition is intentional, and it allows the soloists to unfurl brilliant strings of notes above the rock-steady basso continuo.

Turini’s Trio Sonata may gesture toward older vocal forms, but the next works on today’s program do not mask their expressive intentions. Two madrigals are featured, one by Italian poet and composer Giulio Caccini (1551-1618) and one by his daughter Francesca (1587-c. 1623). Like many of his generation, Giulio Caccini first began to earn recognition as a singer. His talent was so remarkable that no less a figure than Francesco de Medici brought the youth to Florence, already the nexus of innovation in Renaissance music. By the early 1580s, Giulio’s reputation at court allowed him to network with other creative artists who were pushing a revival of the neglected riches from ancient Greek art, poetry, and music. Out of these meetings of the Florentine Camerata, Caccini – with his prodigious voice and ability to accompany himself on the lute – helped invent the genre of solo song. This style, also known as monody, offers a much simpler style than previous music. Rather than a complex network of overlapping voices (i.e., polyphony), monody features a single vocal line supported by minimal chords. Caccini’s Amarilli, mia bella demonstrates monody at its best. The texture is clean and pure, melody and accompaniment move in tight unison, and the voice uses ornaments sparingly to highlight the occasional cadence or key word. Everything is restrained in order to highlight the poetry. A threefold repetition of “Amarilli,” each sequentially higher in pitch, is the extent of Caccini’s overt gesture toward musical effects.

Born in Florence amid this culturally vibrant atmosphere, Francesca Caccini enjoyed the very best education that her father Giulio could provide. Adept in languages, literature and music, she would pen her own texts and craft melodies to support them in staged productions. Although very little of Francesca’s music survives, it is believed that she composed six complete staged operas at a time when that genre was still in its infancy; indeed, Francesca is credited with writing the first opera by a female composer. Her contemporary Monteverdi may have stolen the limelight for all of posterity, but Francesca certainly held her own among contemporaries and enjoyed the patronage of the Medici. Her song for voice and lute (or guitar), Chi desia di saper, che cosa è amore, is structurally quite simple. It unfolds strophically across four stanzas and strikes a more vigorous tone than her father’s example. This is music infused with popular dance and just the slightest touch of operatic pathos.

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) composed the six Brandenburg Concertos in 1721 during his tenure in Köthen, the Calvinist court where secular instrumental music took precedence over sacred music. Each concerto explores a different combination of solo instruments and varying degrees of coordination between the soloists and the full orchestra (the latter group also known as the ripieno or ritornello). Bach didn’t have many musicians at his disposal in Köthen. A further reduction in numbers after the arrival of Prince Leopold’s unmusical new bride was certainly a factor in Bach’s decision to leave. But during better times, those few musicians – whose ability clearly compensated for scant numbers – helped inspire Bach’s fabulous and diverse concerto scorings.

Bach made no secret of attempting to showcase a wide variety of instrumental timbres in these works. In fact, it is a specific point he makes in the obsequious dedication to Christian Ludwig, the Margrave of Brandenburg: “I have in accordance with Your Highness’s most gracious orders taken the liberty of rendering my most humble duty to Your Royal Highness with the present Concertos, which I have adapted to several instruments . . . .”

Parts of Brandenburg Concerto No. 1 exist in other works, suggesting it probably dates from a time before Köthen. Indeed, its notable four-movement structure only exists because Bach appended a dance finale to the conventional fast–slow–fast format of Italian concertos. Apart from that novelty, Brandenburg No. 1’s robust scoring typifies the Baroque concerto grosso in which a small group of solo instruments emerge from and recede back into the full orchestral texture. It features an intriguing solo ensemble: three oboes, two horns, bassoon, and a violino piccolo. That last item is simply a smaller version of the standard four-string violin. Its higher timbre may have been favored here by Bach because it could hold its own against the powerful winds.

Bach’s inclusion of horns merits comment. Horns were not typical instruments in concert settings at this time. They were heard almost exclusively during the hunt, and it is not surprising that this concerto once functioned as the opening to Bach’s “Hunt” Cantata 208 (1713). We note the horns most clearly during the opening Allegro where they unexpectedly perform triplet rhythms against the prevailing duple meter. Their other moment to shine comes in the Polacca of the fourth movement. The horn’s distinctive sound gives an autumnal quality to the work. During the inner movements, Bach favors a pairing of violino piccolo and oboe; the Adagio in particular features the lyrical, affecting quality of those two soloists.

The Finale of Brandenburg No. 1 combines several dances into one movement. Once again Bach uses specific instrumental colors to showcase the different sections. The Minuet is played by the full ensemble, whereas the delightful Trio is scored for just two oboes and bassoon.  Similarly in the Polish dance with Trio that follows, Bach writes the one for strings alone and the other for two horns and oboes. It is possible the dances were added to satisfy a specific performance situation, perhaps a festive banquet in the spirit of Telemann’s popular Tafelmusik. That these dances remained as part of the received (and now definitive) Brandenburg No. 1 score may be just a happy coincidence. They could easily have been lost or removed at some point prior in the century after Bach’s death and thus would not have been included with the materials passed down to us.

Jason Stell, © 2025