Milestones of the Millennium: Bach's "Brandenburg" Concertos Johann Sebastian Bach's "Brandenburg" Concertos with Lisa Simeone Few musical works are as loved--and as often performed--as the six "Brandenburg" Concertos by Johann Sebastian Bach. These six works display a lighter side of Bach's imperishable genius. Yet they came into being as an unexpected gift. That's what happened in 1721 when Bach presented the Margrave of Brandenburg with a bound manuscript containing six lively concertos for chamber orchestra, works based on an Italian Concerto Grosso style. The Margrave never thanked Bach for his work--or paid him. There's no way he could have known that this gift--later named the Brandenburg Concertos--would become a benchmark of Baroque music and still have the power to move people almost three centuries later. On this edition of Performance Today's Milestones of the Millennium, we explore how Bach's genius opened up a vivid new world of music for chamber orchestra. The Brandenburg Concertos are a highlight of one of the happiest and most productive periods in Bach's life.

At the time he wrote them, Bach was the Kapellmeister--the music director--in the small town of Coethen, where he was composing music for the court. Since the Margrave of Brandenburg seems to have ignored Bach's gift of concertos, it's likely that Bach himself presided over the first performances at home in Coethen. They didn't have a name then; that didn't come until 150 years later, when Bach's biographer Philipp Spitta called them "Brandenburg" Concertos for the very first time, and the name stuck. Even though he didn't call them the "Brandenburgs," Bach still thought of them as a set. What he did was compile them from short instrumental sinfonias and concerto movements he had already written. Then he re-worked the old music, often re-writing and elaborating where he saw fit. In doing so, Bach created something of a dramatic arc from the brilliant first concerto to the last, which evokes a spirited chase. Each of the six concertos requires a different combination of instruments as well as some highly skilled soloists.

The Margrave had his own small court orchestra in Berlin, but it was a group of mostly mediocre players. All the evidence suggests that these virtuosic Brandenburg concertos perfectly matched the talents of the musicians on hand in Coethen. So how did a provincial town get so many excellent musicians? Just before Johann Sebastian arrived in Coethen in 1717, a new king inherited the throne in Prussia. Friedrich Wilhelm I became known as the "Soldier King" because he was interested in the military strength of his kingdom, not in refined artistic pursuits. One of his first royal acts was to disband the prestigious Berlin court orchestra. That threw many musicians out of work, and as luck would have it, seven of the best ones were snatched up to work in Coethen by its music-loving Prince Leopold. That's why Bach found such a rich music scene when he started to work there. It gave him the luxury of writing for virtuosos and they let him push the boundraries of his creativity. Concerto No. 2, for example, has the trumpeter play high flourishes. No. 4 allows the solo violin to soar.

When Bach played chamber music, he usually took the viola part so he could sit--as he wrote in a letter--"in the middle of the harmony." But for the Concerto No. 5 he had a real inspiration. He switched to harpsichord, gave it a knock-out part and, in the process, invented the modern keyboard concerto. The writing is so advanced and so intricate for its time that scholars assume the Fifth Concerto is actually the last Brandenburg Concerto Bach wrote. If the dazzling writing style of the Fifth Concerto points to a late composition date, the Sixth Concerto probably came first in chronological order. It's got a simple part for the viola da gamba, a forerunner of the cello, which Bach probably put there for his employer, Prince Leopold, to play. The Prince was wealthy man and a serious music lover but probably a performer of only modest talent. The Sixth is also unique in the set because Bach omitted the violins from the ensemble; the violas take the highest string part. All six Brandenburg Concertos reveal the ebullient side of Bach, and they're one of the most welcome gifts he left us.

Hear Performance Today host Lisa Simeone explore the world of Bach's six Brandenburg Concertos and their lasting influence on chamber music and the solo concerto. Another Milestones of the Millenium online feature. (This audio segment requires the free RealPlayer 5.0 or higher. You can also listen with a 14.4 connection) Bach - Brandenburg Concertos - Classic FM Schedule Bach - Brandenburg Concertos J. S. Bach composed this famous collection of six concertos (BWV 1046-51) between 1708-1721, although they weren't known as the 'Brandenburg' Concertos until 150 years later. For a gateway into the world of Baroque music you can do no better than Bach’s 'Brandenburg' Concertos. Written between 1708-1721 for Christian Ludwig, Margrave of Brandenburg, they are based on the Italian concerto grosso style.

Bach composed them when he was Kapellmeister (music director) in the small town of Cöthen, presumably for various members of the Cöthen Court Orchestra, the composer gave them the unofficial title of ‘Six concertos for several instruments’. The concerto grosso form was pioneered by Italian composers like Archangelo Corelli, but Bach’s Brandenburgs took the form to new heights. They changed music by demonstrating the potential of an already-established form. Bach gave each instrumental family solo opportunities and created unusual combinations, like inclusion of violas and violas da gamba in No. 6 (which is also notable for its absence of violins), the exciting use of the harpsichord in No. 5, and the virtuosic violin lines in No. 4. Each of the six concertos appeals most to different listeners, from the galumphing first, the more stately second, the homely third, the lofty fourth and the galloping fifth right through to the joyous sixth. They form a sort of musical job application; Bach packaged them up for the Margrave in the hope that he might secure some form of employment.

Sadly for Bach, there appears to be no record of him ever having received a reply from the Margrave, and no evidence the Margrave himself even heard them played. In a sense it's lucky Bach was unfortunate in his employment - perhaps if he'd been employed by the Margrave, he would not have become Cantor of the Thomasschule at Thomaskirche in Leipzig just two years later in 1723. While in Cöthen, he also wrote his Six Suites for Unaccompanied Cello and the Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin. Bach News American Bach Soloists - Bach's Brandenburg Concertos Sinfonias and Sonatas from Cantatas Concerto in A Minor for Four Harpsichords AMERICAN BACH SOLOISTS Why make another recording of Bach's Brandenburg Concertos?Two words: basso continuo!

by Jeffrey Thomas As Johann Sebastian Bach went to some trouble indeed to provide the Margrave Christian Ludwig of Brandenburg with a stunning assortment of unique orchestrations in these six "Brandenburg" concertos, we seize the opportunity to instill even more variety in these timeless works by varying the colors of the only part of Bach's orchestra that is available to such an indulgence: the basso continuo. Although Bach's indications call only generically for continuo, or at times most specifically violone e cembalo, a "continuo group" can include any one or several of the typical bass line and realizing instruments, including the harpsichord, organ, lute, violoncello, bassoon, violone, and contrabass. The choice of string instrument used to play the continuo line (other than violoncello) is less free: Specific indications regarding the nature of the bass line and its range (lowest note) almost always result in an obvious solution.

Our scheme regarding the realizing instruments—those used to play chordal harmonizations above and along with the bass line—for these performances is as follows: For the first concerto, in keeping with the larger scale of the work, we employ not one but two harpsichords, a practice borrowed from the theater; a 16' violone is used, the lowest string tuned down to C1. For the second, we utilize a chamber organ rather than a harpsichord (chamber organs were a very popular continuo instrument for secular as well as sacred music, and provide a highly complementary timbre to the solo trumpet); an 8' "G" violone is used, since the violoncello and continuo line are often an octave apart, meaning that the use of a 16' instrument would cause a two-octave separation between it and the 'cello. For the third, borrowing from Bach's scoring for three different string groups (violins, violas, and violoncellos), we use three instruments (organ, harpsichord, and lute); a 16' violone is used, the lowest string tuned down to C1.

For the fourth, a harpsichord and lute; a 16' violone is used (normal tuning with D1 as the lowest string). We think the fifth's cembalo concertato stands by itself; a 16' violone is used (normal tuning with D1 as the lowest string). And for the sixth, with its "royal" instrumentation of two violas da gamba, we call upon two lutes to complete the sonority; an 8' "G" violone is used due to the lowest pitch (Bb0) of the part. About the Brandenburgs by John Butt, Alan Lewis, & Kristi Brown-Montesano On 24 March 1721, a few days after his thirty-sixth birthday, J. S. Bach signed the dedicatory preface to a meticulously prepared and beautifully penned manuscript of "Concerts avec plusieurs instruments" ("Concertos with several instruments"), an offering to the Margrave Christian Ludwig of Brandenburg, who lived in Berlin.

Bach did not compose these concertos specifically for this collection; indeed, the set can be seen as his selection of the best concerto movements he had written over the previous decade, as he encountered, emulated, and finally assimilated the concerto style of Vivaldi and other contemporary Italian masters. Early definitions of the concerto as a musical genre alternatively (and ambiguously) translate the term as "disputation" and "agreement"—scarcely a sign of terminological clarity! Nevertheless, this contradiction does give a useful sense of the formal rhetoric of the concerto: the very differentiation of instrumental forces into tutti and solo groupings generates an immediate sense of opposition, or disputation, but the composer's task is to render this opposition productive and agreeable. Bach and the composers of his day used the term "concerto" quite promiscuously: it is, for example, one of Bach's customary generic titles for the works we now call "cantatas"—an acknowledgment of the contrasts between instrumental and vocal, or solo and choral forces, all functioning in "concert." Bach's first essays in emulating the Italian concerto took the form of keyboard transcriptions, or arrangements, of published concertos by Vivaldi and others.

The transfer of the idiom from the orchestral originals to keyboard, whether organ or harpsichord, radically narrowed the range of contrast possible between the opposing sonorities, but it still afforded ample experience in manipulating the formal and technical devices of the Italians. Most important among these was the use of ritornello form as a structural principle. (In this type of form, a memorable block of music returns in various guises at strategic points in the piece as an audible musical marker, simultaneously establishing shape and coherence through repetition, and generating considerable musical tension by being recalled in various keys.) This principle later informs not only Bach's grasp of the concerto proper, but virtually every genre in which he composed. Bach's concerto transcriptions for keyboard arose during his employment as organist, and later Kapellmeister, at the ducal court of Weimar. Upon taking up duties as the Kapellmeister to the Prince of Anhalt-Köthen in 1717, Bach was expected to compose regularly for the court orchestra, and he transferred the concerto style back to its native, orchestral habitat, now in music of his own composition.

Thus by the time he copied out the manuscript for the Margrave, he would have had several years' supply of orchestral works from which to draw. This may account, at least in part, for the diversity of style and instrumentation in the collection: from the smooth, sonorous agreement of all the instruments in the Sixth, to the highly developed contrasts of the Fourth, with its distinctive recorders, or the Fifth, with its three independent soloists, we can hear Bach experimenting with different realizations of the concerto idea. Eager perhaps to offer a collection which would effectively compliment the Margrave's excellent orchestra, Bach's aims in revision and compilation seem to have been to present six entirely disparate solutions to the concerto genre, which was by no means fixed and which could imply many instrumental combinations. Never, in fact, was he to better his achievement here, and each concerto seems exhaustively to exploit a different aspect of the genre: no two share the same instrumentation. The Six Concertos Brandenburg Concerto No 1 in F, BWV 1046 An early version of the First Brandenburg Concerto (without the violino piccolo) contains only the first two movements and the minuet.

In the later version, the added third movement helps transform the music from a sinfonia into a concerto form. This Allegro later appears as a choral movement in Cantata 207, which could imply that it might have originated as a choral piece that has subsequently been lost. What distinguishes this concerto from the other five is the addition of five dance movements (the first of which, Menuetto, alternates with the remaining four). This gives the work the character of a French suite, something which would doubtless have flattered the Francophile tastes of the Margrave. Although in comparison with the contemporary works of Vivaldi, Telemann and Handel, these Brandenburg concerti seem that much more densely composed, Bach is never a victim of musical cholesterol: every added note and figuration contributes to the overall momentum and affect, Bach's extravagance is always "economical" and relevant. And - as the dances show - he was not afraid to adopt a lighter texture when it suited the style of the musical genre. — J.B. Brandenburg Concerto No 2 in F, BWV 1047 The Brandenburg Concerto No.

2 in F has four soloists: trumpet, recorder, oboe, and violin, along with strings and continuo. Bach combines the solo instruments in various ways, and displays both their potential for successful cooperation and their individual virtuosity (the high tromba parts in the outer movements are particularly impressive). The solo trumpet and the orchestral strings retire for the second movement, leaving the remaining soloists and continuo to present a lyrical meditation on a simple two-bar melodic fragment. As if to compensate the trumpet for its silence during the Andante, Bach gives it both the first and last word in the closing fugue, built on a fanfare-like subject. — A.L. Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G, BWV 1048 Sonorous repartee invigorates the more traditional homogenous string instrumentation of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G major. The three distinct groups—violins, violas, and violoncellos (joined, of course, by the basso continuo)—conflate the roles of solo and ripieno, sustaining a harmonic fullness amid the contrapuntal interaction.

The delightful, three-way motivic rallies provide balance and energy to the two fast movements, an energy checked only momentarily by the two-note Adagio transition before bursting forth once again. — K.B.-M. Brandenburg Concerto No 4 in G, BWV 1049 The Fourth Brandenburg Concerto opens with an extensive ritornello which not only introduces the basic material for the movement but also reveals the instrumental argument: a solo group is contrasted with the rest of the orchestra and within this solo group there is a dialog between the two recorders and the violin. This ritornello functions as a microcosm of the work as a whole, containing its own contrasts, departures and returns; only at the end of the movement do we hear it again complete. Intermediate returns of portions of the ritornello give the movement a sense of architecture, something to provide pillars between the episodes. However, rather than simply confining the solos to the episodes, Bach dislocates the solo argument from the ritornello structure: we simply cannot predict when the soloists will be strongly profiled, they are continually weaving in and out of the larger orchestral texture.

The second movement introduces a new concept of the concerto: here there is a close dialog between the solo group and the orchestra in which the contrast is highlighted by dynamics rather than material. The piece thus plays on the concepts of repetition and light and shade. With the final movement we hear yet another interpretation of the concerto style: the opening ritornello is essentially a fugue, the subject of which can subsequently be used in a variety of ways. Indeed there are only a few places where it is entirely absent. Thus the expected contrast of ritornello and episode is replaced by frequent contrasts of instrumentation, the fuller expositions of the subject providing the tutti sonority usually associated with the ritornello. Furthermore another traditional feature of the concerto - virtuosity - is provided by the violin part, something which by its very nature turns a fugue - brilliant enough on its own terms - into a dazzling concerto movement. — J.B. Brandenburg Concerto No.

5 in D, BWV 1050 The Fifth Brandenburg Concerto dates from the Köthen era, and presents a somewhat unlikely trio of soloists: the violin is usual enough, but the transverse flute was a very new instrument in German orchestras in 1721, an import from the trend-setting court of France. Most peculiar of all, though, is the appearance of the harpsichord in the solo group: this instrument was perfectly familiar as a solo instrument, or as a continuo "chord-filler" within an orchestral texture, but was quite new as a concerto soloist. The comparatively thin tone of the instrument doubtlessly rendered it traditionally unsuitable to carry a solo line, but the construction of larger instruments, and, particularly, the court's well-documented acquisition of a large harpsichord from Berlin in 1719, might well have accounted for Bach's ground-breaking experiment. The instrument is hardly coy in its first appearance within a concerted context: it is accorded the most virtuosic writing, quite often dominating the texture of the other two instruments.

Nevertheless, it does not - initially - have significantly more thematic material, so its exuberance barely affects the fairly standard course of the piece. However, in the closing section of the first movement, the harpsichord takes over entirely, presenting a frenzied cadenza which all but forsakes the principal motives and melodies. Only at the last minute does the opening ritornello return to restore order. Several interpretations of this state of affairs are possible: one recent theory suggests that the harpsichord - as normally the "servant" of the other, solo instruments - overthrows the existing hierarchy; in a more formalistic sense, it might represent a fevered search for closure, something which has been continually frustrated throughout the course of the movement. Of all Bach's instrumental works, this is the one which seems most to challenge the establishment of a hierarchy within the music, perhaps an allusion to his belief that all humans are created equal under God and that even established earthly orders are only temporary. The second movement is a trio for the three solo instruments alone - the point at which the concerto genre comes closest to the sonata.

This scoring does not seem so unusual when it is considered that the majority of Bach's concertos were almost certainly performed with only a single instrument on each line: in other words, every instrument is, in a sense, a soloist. The final movement is an exceedingly vivacious gigue, which presents both a ritornello form and a large-scale da capo of the opening section. The harpsichord is considerably better behaved than in the first movement, sharing out the solo sections with the other instruments. Nevertheless, it still has the fastest note-values. — J.B. Brandenburg Concerto No 6 in B-flat, BWV 1051 As many scholars have speculated as to the origins and age of each concerto, there is a case for dating the Sixth Brandenburg Concerto to the earliest stage of the composition since it seems to be a "group concerto" employing supposedly archaic instruments, specifically the two violas da gamba. Nevertheless Bach may purposely have been mixing "ancient" and "modern" elements to create a work that was as unique in its form as in its musical ideas.

Indeed the opening movement employs the ritornello form of the modern Vivaldi concerto, and it contains several textural contrasts which give the illusion of solo-tutti forces. The ritornello technique here is one of Bach's most ingenious: virtually everything counts as ritornello since it is reused during the course of the movement. Another interesting device is the canonic writing for violas at the outset, something which provides an extremely dramatic atmosphere that characterizes the entire movement. The second movement is essentially a sonata trio, an example of the close relation between concerto and sonata genres. Such generic ambiguity is enhanced when a concerto such as this employs single instruments: the concerto becomes more intimate without losing its "public" perspective. While the da capo form of the final movement originated in the aria genre and the gigue-like idiom came from the dance, the elaborated repetitions of the opening phrases relate to some of the oldest instrumental idioms in which the players traditionally provided elaborated divisions over a given melody.

But here again Bach mixes the conventions: the violas da gamba, traditionally associated with the performance of divisions, have comparatively simple parts, while the most virtuosic writing is assigned to those most shy of stringed instruments, the violas. — J.B. The Musicians & Their Instruments Reid Galbraith; after J. C. Hoffmann circa 1714. David Tayler Klaus Jacobsen, London, 1982; copy of Matteo Sellas, Venice, circa 1630. Recorder Tom Prescott, Massachusetts, 1976; copy of J. Denner, private collection of Hans Ulrich Staeps, 18th-century. David Coomber, Utrecht, 1983; copy of J. Denner, Musikhistorisk Museum Copenhagen, 1720. Ricardo Kanji & Jacqueline Sorel, The Hague, 1993; copy of J. Denner, Musikhistorisk Museum Copenhagen, 1720. Judith Linsenberg Henri Gohin, Boissy l'aillerie, France, 1987; copy of P.

Bressan, London, circa 1710. Flute Rod Cameron, California, 1983; after of Rottenburgh, Belgium, 1750. Rod Cameron, California, 1986; after Cahusac, England, 1740. Oboe H. A. Vas Dias, Georgia; after Thomas Stanesby, Sr., London. Stephen Hammer H. A. Vas Dias, Georgia, 2002; after T. Stanesby Sr., London, 1700. Toshi Hasegawa, Netherlands, 1985; after Paulhahn, Germany, circa 1720. Debra Nagy Oboe: Randy Cook, Basel, 2004; after Jonathan Bradbury, London, circa 1720. Gonzalo Ruiz Phil Levin, New Jersey; after Saxon models. Trumpet Stephen Keavy, London, 1987; after Nuremberg, 1720. Stephen Keavy, London, 1994; after Nuremberg, 1720.

Horn Richard Seraphinoff, Indiana, 1997; copy of J. W. Haas, Nürnberg, early 18th century. Paul Avril Lowell Greer, Michigan, 1981; after Anonymous, Vienna, circa 1750. Derek Conrod John Webb, London, 1993; after Leichnamschneider, Vienna, circa 1720. Bassoon Levin & Ross, New Jersey, 1991; after Eichentopf, Leipzig, circa 1725. Kate van Orden Peter de Koningh, Hall Netherlands, 1986; copy of Prudent, Paris, circa 1770. Harpsichord John Phillips, California, 1981; copy of Ruckers-Taskin. Michael Sponseller John Phillips, California, 1981; copy of Ruckers-Taskin. Jeffrey Thomas Martin Skowroneck, Bremen-Oberneuland, 1966; after Christian Zelle, Hamburg, circa 1728.

Elaine Thornburgh Larry Snyder, California, 1974; after Blanchet, France, 1730. Organ Brandenburg Concertos | compositions by Bach | Britannica.com compositions by Bach concerto grosso Brandenburg Concertos, six concerti grossi by Johann Sebastian Bach , considered masterful examples of balance between assorted groups of soloists and a small orchestra. The collection was composed circa 1711–20 and dedicated in 1721 to Christian Ludwig, the margrave ( marquess ) of Brandenburg and the younger brother of King Frederick I of Prussia. About 1719, when Bach traveled to Berlin to order a new harpsichord , he performed for Christian Ludwig, who was quite impressed and soon commissioned several works. Two years passed, however, before Bach delivered the so-called Brandenburg Concertos. Such royal requests could be quite lucrative for a composer, but the margrave never paid for Bach’s work, for reasons that remain unclear. It may be that Christian Ludwig knew the pieces were neither newly created nor written specifically for him; rather, they were revisions of works Bach had composed some years earlier for the court at Köthen.

Johann Sebastian Bach, oil on canvas by Elias Gottlieb (Gottlob) Haussmann, 1746; in the … © Photos.com/Jupiterimages The Brandenburg Concertos represent a popular music genre of the Baroque era—the concerto grosso—in which a group of soloists plays together with a small orchestra. The word grosso simply means “large,” for there are more soloists than was customary at the time, and the music tends to be more expansive. In the case of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 1, the soloists are so numerous that the work is virtually symphonic. At various points in the composition , Bach crafted solo roles for one violin , three oboes , one bassoon , and two horns —nearly as many musicians as might constitute a small orchestra. The second concerto of the set has a perilously high trumpet solo as well as solos for recorder (or flute ), oboe, and violin. Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 features three each of violins, violas , and cellos . Soloists in the fourth concerto include two flutes and a violin and in the fifth a flute, a violin, and a harpsichord.

Brandenburg Concerto No. 6, the only piece in the collection to include no violins whatsoever, spotlights the lower strings, supplemented, as always, by the harpsichord. Similar Topics Classical Notes - Classical Classics - Bach's Brandenburg Concertos, By Peter Gutmann In one of the many bitter ironies of music history, Johann Sebastian Bach's six Brandenburg Concertos are now his most popular work and an ideal entr�e to his vital and variegated art, especially for those who mistakenly dismiss his 300-year old music as boring and irrelevant, yet Bach himself may never have heard them – nor did anyone else for over a century after his death. Scholars must speculate to fill the many lapses in our knowledge of so much of Bach's music. Nearly half his output is deemed lost and many of his concertos exist only in later arrangements or spurious copies. But his so-called Brandenburg Concertos survive in his original manuscript, which he had sent to the Margrave of Brandenburg in late March 1721.

Bach's own title was Six Concerts Avec plusieurs Instruments ("Six Concertos With several Instruments"); the familiar label adhered after first being applied by Philipp Spitta in an 1880 biography.

Bach left a brief but telling account of their origin in his dedication to the presentation copy of the score, handwritten in awkward, obsequious French (which I've tried to reflect in translation): Comme j'eus il y a une couple d'ann�es, le bonheur de me faire entendre a Votre Altesse Royalle, en vertu de ses orders, & que je remarquai alors, qu'Elle prennoit qeulque plaisir aux petits talents que le Ciel m' a donn�s pour la Musique, & qu' en prennant Conge de Votre Altesse Royalle, Elle voulut bien me faire l'honneur de me commander de Lui envoyer quelques pieces de ma Composition: j'ai donc selon ses tres gracious orders, pris la libert� de render mes tres-humbles devoirs � Votre Altesse Royalle, par les presents Concerts, que j'ai accommod�s � plusieurs Instruments; La priant tres-humblement de ne vouloir pas juger leur imperfection, � la rigeur de gout fin et delicat, que tout le monde s�ait qu'Elle a pour les pi�

ces musicales � Since I had a few years ago, the good luck of being heard by Your Royal Highness, by virtue of his command, & that I observed then, that He took some pleasure in the small talents that Heaven gave me for Music, & that in taking leave of Your Royal Highness, He wished to make me the honor of ordering to send Him some pieces of my Composition: I therefore according to his very gracious orders, took the liberty of giving my very-humble respects to Your Royal Highness, by the present Concertos, which I have arranged for several Instruments; praying Him very-humbly to not want to judge their imperfection, according to the severity of fine and delicate taste, that everyone knows that He has for musical pieces � The Castle and Park of C�then 1650 engraving by Matthias Merven Scholars understand Bach to refer either to a trip he made to Berlin in March 1719 to approve and bring home a fabulous new harpsichord for his employer, Prince Christian Leopold of C�then, or possibly to an excursion they made the following year to the Carlsbad spa.

Apparently, Bach played for the Margrave, who requested a score to add to his extensive music library. A persistent question, though, is why Bach took so long to respond, and then finally did. Bach seemed happy at C�then. His patron not only loved music but was a proficient musician and spent a substantial portion of his income to maintain a private band of 18 and to engage traveling artists. As a Calvinist, Leopold used no music in religious observances, and freed Bach's energies for secular instrumental work and performances. Yet, the relationship may have begun to sour, as Bach applied for an organ post in Hamburg in late 1720 but was rejected.

Bach's dedication continues: Je supplie tres humblement Votre Altesse Royalle, d'avoir la bont� de continuer des bonnes graces envers moi, et d'�tre persuad�e que je n'ai rien tant � coeur, que de pouvoir �tre employ� en des occasions plus dignes d'Elle et de son service � I very humbly beg Your Royal Highness, to have the goodness to maintain his kind favour toward me, and to be persuaded that I have nothing more at heart, than to be able to be employed in some opportunities more worthy of Him and of his service � In other words, Bach intended the Brandenburgs as his resum� for a new job. The attempt was unsuccessful. Indeed, it's unclear what, if anything, the Margrave did with the presentation score once he received it. Common wisdom is that the Margrave never bothered to perform these fabulous works, and perhaps never even examined the score.

The three-fold basis for this notion is that the manuscript, which passed through private hands into a library, is in such fine condition as to suggest that it never was used, that Bach never received an acknowledgement (much less any reward), and that the works were considered so worthless that they were sold for a pittance upon the Margrave's death. The Margrave of Brandenburg Yet, Malcolm Boyd deflates these myths, pointing out that a performance would not have used the full score, but rather copies of the individual parts, that the mere absence of any record of a response could evidence nothing more than the typically sparse documentation of the time, and that the score wasn't sold, but rather assigned a nominal value solely to assure that the Margrave's estate was divided equitably among his heirs. Yet, the fact remains that the estate inventory neither cataloged the Brandenburgs nor even mentioned Bach, but rather included the scores in a bulk lot of 177 concertos while individually listing presumably more important works by Valentini, Venturini and Brescianello.

In his Baroque Concerto Arthur Hutchings explains that this is hardly peculiar – despite subsequent acclaim, during his lifetime Bach was valued far more as a performer than as a composer, and his instrumental music was promptly forgotten once he attained his next (and final) post at Leipzig, where he focused again on religious music (although he did perform some concertos and orchestral Suites in the 1730s with the Collegium musicum, a fellowship of local amateurs and students). Bach, around 1720 Joshua Rifkin offers a sadder but more practical explanation: "As would happen so often in his life, Bach's genius shot so far above the capabilities of ordinary musicians that his greatness was veiled in silence." Indeed, the Brandenburgs remained unknown for a half-dozen generations until they were finally published in 1850 in commemoration of the centenary of Bach's death and then were more widely circulated in 1869 as part of an authoritative Bach Gesellschaft edition. Even so, their popularity would have to wait nearly another century for the phonograph. Since then, the Brandenburgs have been widely praised.

On the most basic level, Christopher Hogwood claims that, beyond wanting to impress the Margrave with his versatility, Bach used them to codify and organize his miscellaneous output and so they represent an endeavor to imitate the wealth of nature with all the means at his disposal. Similarly, Abraham Veinus regards them as the exemplification of Bach's creative thinking, comprising the full range of his thought, variety of instrumentation and inner structure – not a mere summary of the styles, forms and techniques of his predecessors but a realization and expansion of their full possibilities. Others view the Brandenburgs as an inextricable facet of Bach's overall religious bent. Thus, Karl Richter stresses that Bach's universality can only be understood in terms of the theological, mystical and philosophical foundations that infused all of his art, and Fred Hamel asserts that Bach was able to develop all the resources of his craft only after years of work in the devotional sphere and that Bach never distinguished religious and secular music, as his entire body of work was aimed for the glory of God. From that perspective, Bach's magnificent interplay of diverse musical elements can be seen as a reflection of his pervasive belief in the Divine harmony of the universe.

Thus, Wilhelm Furtw�ngler sees Bach's music as symbolizing divinity by exuding supreme serenity, assurance, self-sufficiency and inner tranquility that transcends any personal qualities to achieve a perfect balance of its individual melodic, rhythmic and harmonic elements. Albert Schweitzer, too, views the Brandenburgs in metaphysical terms, unfolding with an incomprehensible artistic inevitability in which the development of ideas transverses the whole of existence and displays the fundamental mystery of all things. Yet, despite the philosophical depth of such analyses and the extraordinary density and logic of Bach's conception that leads academics to fruitfully dissect his scores, commentators constantly remind us that the Brandenburgs were not intended to dazzle theorists or challenge intellectuals, but rather for sheer enjoyment by musicians and listeners. In his introduction to the Eulenburg edition of the scores, Arnold Schering notes that the concerto was not only the most popular form of instrumental music in the late Baroque era, but also the primary vehicle of expression for grand, sublime feeling, a role later to be assumed by the symphony.

Boyd notes that with the exception of the First, each Brandenburg follows the convention of a concerto grosso, in which two or more solo instruments are contrasted with a full ensemble, and where a slow movement in the relative minor is bracketed by two fast movements, mostly structured as a ritornello (Italian for "return") in which the opening tutti (played by the full ensemble) reappears as a formal marker between episodes of display by the concertino (solo instruments) and again as a conclusion, thus producing a psychologically satisfying structure. (After all, it's only human nature to seek the comfort of returning to and dwelling in the familiar.) Wilhelm Fischer further divides a traditional ritornello into a motivic opening that establishes the key and character of the work, a continuation of sequential repetition, and a cadential epilog. Vivaldi and others who established the concerto grosso model used nuances of texture, tone coloration and novel figurations to contrast the ensemble's ritornello and the solo episodes. Bach, though, tends to fluently blend and integrate them.

Indeed, in his treatise on orchestration, Adam Carse notes that Bach conceived his parts generically rather than in terms of specific instruments, and distributed them impartially and largely interchangeably, such that all sink into a common contrapuntal net without consideration of balance in the modern sense of orchestration. Even so, some scholars assume that Bach customized the Brandenburgs according to the forces the Margrave had available (after all, why would he present a lavish gift that the Margrave couldn't use?). Hans G�nter-Klein, though, correlated Prince Leopold's account books with the instrumentation of the Brandenburgs and asserted that the scores reflect the salaried musicians available at C�then, and therefore preserve a document of the musical practices there. He concluded that the Brandenburgs were written for performance there. Indeed, Rifkin claims that the Margrave had a small orchestra that lacked both the instruments and sufficiently skilled players to cope with the demands of the Brandenburgs' diverse and difficult parts. Thurston Dart calls Bach's presentation copy of the Brandenburgs a masterpiece of calligraphy but of far less value as a musical source due to the many errors that suggested haste.

Fortunately, secondary sources exist to remedy such lapses, notably copies made in 1760 by Frederich Penzel of earlier versions (now all lost). It is generally assumed that all the Brandenburgs were selected from a large body of Bach's existing concertos, some of which we know from admirers' copies and Bach's own later arrangements for other instruments, although none of the originals survives. While Veinus traces the individual concertos to models by Telemann, Fasch, Molter, Gaupner, Heinichen and others, Hutchings notes that the Brandenburgs did not simply sum up his predecessors' work, as he did with chorales and fugues, but rather comprise an extraordinary exploration of different relationships of solo and tutti. Since the Brandenburg Concertos were never meant to be played as a continuous set (which would have sidelined most of the players and exhausted the listeners), their order is of little import, although there was a certain logic for Bach's presentation copy to have led off with the most elaborate and to have ended each half of the set with the comfort of strings. Yet it seems apt to consider them in the approximate order of their composition.

in B-flat major for 2 violas de braccio, 2 violas da gamba, violincello + continuo (violone and cembalo) The last of the Brandenburg Concertos is often considered the oldest, as its instrumentation conjures a 17th century English consort of viols, similar scoring had been used by Bach in his earlier Weimar cantatas, and its structure relies heavily upon both the ancient canon form and the conservative Baroque gesture of a chugging bass of persistent quarter-notes. A viola da gamba Yet, typically, Bach combines a knowing salute to the past with a bold leap into the future, raising the violas, customarily embedded in the continuo accompaniment, to solo status. The unprecedented gesture was triply suitable – the viola was Bach's own favorite orchestral instrument (as he once put it, placing him "in the middle of the harmony"), it was also the instrument played by his patron Prince Leopold, and the Margrave's orchestra was known to have employed two especially accomplished violists. Scholars assume that Bach only had enough forces at C�then for one player per part.

Indeed, performances with full string sections, or even large chamber ensembles, no matter how well rehearsed, tend to blur the precisely articulated interplay of buoyant rhythms and swamp the harpsichord, whose bright plucked overtones need to emerge from the depth of the strings. Moreover, the nasal sound of violas da gamba (six-string bass viols held between the legs) and a single violone are needed for bright, transparent middle and bass lines that complement rather than thicken the tone of the featured violas de braccio (hand-held violas comparable to current ones) and solo cello. Similarly, modern substitutions of deeper and more powerful modern instruments, including a double bass, unduly deepen the sonority and fuse the timbres. In one sense, the work seems a concerto for two violas to display Bach's love of his instrument and its full range of expressive possibilities.

Yet, it is their interplay, both with each other and with the cello and continuo, that characterizes each of the three movements, thus exemplifying the claim of Johann Nicolaus Forkel, Bach's first biographer, that Bach considered the essence of a polyphonic composition to be a symbolic tonal discussion among instruments, each presenting arguments and counterpoints, variously talking and lapsing into silence to listen to the others. Shorn of the violins' customary brilliance, the dark timbre suggests a harbinger of the mystery and somber thoughts of the Romantic era to come. Indeed, Boyd sees the instrumentation as an allegory of progress, as Bach elevates the then-newest member of the string family to prominent status while relegating the older viols to the background. Yet Bach ingeniously creates a compelling and complex aural image of irresistible gaiety that arises out of and is enriched by its seemingly melancholy components.

The sections of the first movement are closely integrated into a continuous flow of vigorous thrust, led by the two violas in tight canon a mere eighth-note apart during each of the six ritornellos, blending into a lively dialogue with the gambas during the five episodes, all over a persistent quarter-note continuo rhythm. The second is a lovely, if somewhat quaint, meditation for violas and cello. The finale is an irresistibly propulsive dance in 12/8 time with astoundingly catchy primary and counter-melodies, in which Bach seems to tease us as the violas constantly begin, abandon and resume canonic imitation. Indeed, while Bach is reputed to lack humor, he manages to play an unintended joke on those of us relegated to listening on record – the violas constantly switch parts but the difference is inaudible and thus impreceptible without the visual clues in a concert. Perhaps out of respect for the limited stamina of his royal soloist, after sitting out the adagio, the gamba parts of the finale are easy accompaniment, leaving all the work to the violas and occasional fits of activity from the cello.

in G major for 3 violins, 3 violas and 3 celli + continuo (violone and cembalo) Here, too, Bach explores string sonority, but with a richer palette than in the Sixth. There are no solo instruments as such, and Veinus considers the work more symphonic than a true concerto. Yet Hutchings calls the Third the greatest stroke of originality in any concerto grosso, due to Bach's handling of the same players in constantly evolving groupings and solo flights to imply concertino and tutti by spreading, opposing, unifying, concentrating and balancing their registers. Rifkin aptly describes the first movement as a framework of homogenous sonority which Bach varies through perpetual juxtaposition of different sudivisions of the ensemble. The inventiveness of this approach emerges by comparing the first movement of the Brandenburg version with Bach's rescoring of it as the opening of a 1729 cantata augmented with horns, oboes, tailles (tenor oboes) and a bassoon.

The strings still dominate but the added instruments emphasize cadences, add inner voices and underscore the harmony with long held chords, thus making explicit what the original implies with far greater impact. The third movement is in binary dance form, with its two complementary sections each repeated. Between them lies a puzzle that has perplexed scholars and challenged performers. The second movement, labeled adagio, consists of two chords forming a bare Phrygian cadence of the type that often links a slow middle movement in the relative minor to a vivid major-key finale, but with an intriguing sense of open expectancy. Here, the chords occur in the middle of a page, so clearly no music was lost. Yet the remainder of the score is fully detailed and presumably was intended as complete guidance to the Margrave's forces, as Bach had no realistic expectation of preparing a performance. What to do? Violin staff of the Third Concerto autograph – the two-note adagio Several scholars note that Corelli and other contemporaries inserted similar bare cadences in their scores, and Reiner, Casals, Klemperer and others schooled in Romantic interpretation play it unadorned in their recordings.

Yet when played literally it sounds far too short to serve as a needed respite between two rollicking neighboring movements. Other scholars assume that it must have been a conventional shorthand instruction that all performers of the time would have understood to require embellishment or an improvised interlude (even though the meaning has since been lost). Yet the question remains as to which instruments would do this. In several recordings (Cortot, Goberman, Horenstein, Ristenpart, Karajan, I Musici) the harpsichordist ornaments the first or both chords with arpeggiated runs. Others (Sacher, Richter, Paillard) go further, with the harpsichordist providing brief fantasies recalling thematic material from the preceding movement. Yet the soft tinkling of that instrument seems dwarfed by the sonority and at odds with the string texture of the surrounding movements. (Sacher's and Paillard's engineers avoid the former problem by cranking up the harpsichord volume for the passage to unnatural levels.) Busch, Harnoncourt, Hogwood and Britten avoid both issues by having their violinists embroider the chords.

Other recordings (Pommer and Pinnock) attempt to restore the usual formal balance of three entire movements by having their violinists extemporize at greater length. Still others extend the effect by inserting a slow movement from one of Bach's other, and often more obscure, works. Thus, Dart uses the adagio from a Sonata in G for violin and continuo, Munchinger the ruminative, delicate Concerto # 15 for solo harpsichord (itself possibly an arrangement of a Telemann piece), Koussevitzky the tragic sinfonia from the Cantata # 4, the Brandenburg Consort the adagio from Bach's Violin Sonata in G, and Menuhin an arrangement by Britten for violin, viola and continuo of the gracious, mournful lento of Bach's organ Trio Sonata # 6 (although curiously Britten omits all the embellishments found in the three-part organ score and didn't use this movement in his own recording). While none of these seems wholly satisfactory, they all present intriguing attempts to surmount the vexing snag posed by Bach.

in F major for 2 horns, 3 oboes, violino piccolo, first and second violins, violas + continuo (bassoon, cello, violone grosso and cembalo) The only Brandenburg Concerto in four movements, the First may appear to be the conventional fast-slow-fast form to which a final dance section was added, but scholars trace a more complex origin, in which the first, second and fourth movements comprised a "sinfonia" to introduce a 1713 Hunting Cantata and thus was more like a standard suite of the time. Boyd goes further to speculate that to create the character of a concerto, Bach later added the present third movement with its prominent violin solo, the short phrasing of which suggests separate origin as a now-lost choral piece. (Bach later adapted the third movement back to a choral setting to open a 1726 cantata.) The overall orchestration is unusual. The sheer number of instruments gives the work more of an orchestral than chamber character.

Karl Geiringer calls it a "concerto symphony." To expand the range of the sonority, Bach specifies in lieu of his standard violone a "violone grosso" played an octave below the bass staff (corresponding to the modern double bass) and in lieu of a solo violin a "violono piccolo," an obsolete small violin with scordaturo tuning a major third above notation and whose lighter bow, less resonant body and tighter string tension yield a sweeter, lighter tone. Harnoncourt asserts that the instrument was chosen purely for its tone color, rather than any technical reason. Indeed, Boyd notes that Bach didn't exploit its higher range and that its reduced volume is overwhelmed by the large ensemble. Bach himself used a regular violin in his earlier sinfonia version. Perhaps Bach led with this work to give his offering a strong start for a lazy patron who might judge the set only by its opening. Yet, despite its immediate appeal to conservative ears, each movement has a remarkable feature typical of Bach's irrepressible sense of invention. The first movement is four minutes of pure jaunty swaggering infectious elation, yet there's an subtext of discomfort.

The two natural horns appear to be making their first solo appearance in a concerto. A natural horn Yet, their raucous sound (more strident than our more mellow valved modern horns) disturbs the otherwise carefully-balanced texture and their insistent bellowing hunting calls disrupt the overall rhythm. Harnoncourt suggests symbolic significance in that the horn players were not part of the regular court orchestra. If so, their strident sound suggests an unwanted guest. The second movement, slow and soft, is scored for the full ensemble (sans horns) rather than the usual reduced forces. The mournful melody is not only traded in canon between the oboe and violino piccolo but descends all the way down into the bass to augment its standard role as pure accompaniment. The early version (without the violono piccolo) balances the solo oboe against all the violins for an earthier tone, but Smith, for one, cites the complex ornamentation in the score as suited for a single performer. The melancholy mood is tinged with bitterness, as the harmony is flecked with dissonant minor seconds.

The most astounding touch is saved for the very end as each note of a conventional descending bass is first supported by the oboes but then cancelled by unexpected chords in the strings, resulting in Boyd's citation of a "frozen harmony" with a remarkably dry 20th century sound. The third movement is the closest approach to a standard concerto format, although the violino piccolo, amid its florid solos, is given many emphatic slashing triple-stopped figures, perhaps struggling to assert itself. As if to avoid fatigue, the insistent 6/8 rhythm is broken by a two-bar adagio at measure 82 (of 120) and then resumes to the rollicking end. Although the concerto proper appears to conclude at that point, Bach adds a set of four dances in which all members of the ensemble are displayed – a minuet for the full band is heard four times, enfolding a trio for oboes and bassoon, a Polacca for strings (absent from the 1713 sinfonia version) and a second trio for horns and oboes.

The overall structure, alternating the full minuet with the softer interludes, evokes the ritornello form, yet there are a few surprises here, too – in the first trio the bassoon emerges from its role buried in the continuo, the polka erupts into a jaunty triplet sprint and the second trio is in 2/4 time, although the shift is barely apparent as the horns and oboes preserve the overall rustic mood. in F major for "tromba," flute, oboe, violin + ripieno (first and second violins, viola and violone) + continuo (cello, cembalo) Of the Brandenburgs, the Second is considered the closest to the standard concerto grosso model, although more in the sense of its sound than its structure. Hans-Joachim Schulz felt that it arose from Bach's love of experimentation and the challenge of writing for a solo contingent of four similarly pitched instruments differentiated by their dissimilar means of tone production. William Mann felt that Bach's intent was to explore their different sonic coloration.

Yet, as many have pointed out, Bach rarely writes idiomatic, individualized parts that would exploit the unique capabilities of each instrument, but rather tends to write abstractly while respecting their limitations. Thus, the first movement, A Baroque oboe as analyzed by Boyd, is built not upon schematic alteration of orchestral and solo sections but rather upon a broad tonal structure with cadential landmarks. Yet, the coloration is intense – within the first minute alone we hear sections of violin solo, violin and oboe, oboe and flute, and flute and tromba, all separated by brief interjections of the string ripieno. The instrumentation, though, does present a fundamental problem. Despite intensive research, scholars remain unsure what Bach meant when he designated one of the solo instruments a "tromba." While often taken to mean a trumpet in F played a major fourth above its score notation, others point out that Bach never wrote any other part for such an instrument, that F is the natural key for horns rather than trumpets, and that an authentic copy of the score and parts by Penzel specifies use of either a trumpet or a hunting horn.

Nor can any hint be gleaned from the personnel available to Bach, as musicians routinely played several brass, wind or string instruments. Indeed, while a trumpet overwhelms the other soloists (especially the soft recorder), a horn (played a major fifth below the score) is better balanced. While most recordings use a modern trumpet, others take a variety of approaches. Menuhin uses a softer piccolo trumpet, Harnoncourt a more mellow natural trumpet, Enesco and Casals a soprano saxophone, and Dart a hunting horn. All achieve a more natural balance among the solo instruments, especially the gentle breathy recorder. Harnoncourt considers this a prime illustration of the difference between the sounds Bach heard (and wrote for) and those of today, which can distort his intentions. Yet, however it sounds, the tromba aptly resides on the top staff, as it enjoys a commanding position in the score. Its interjections provide shape and emphasis to the first movement, in which the soloists jostle for control by progressively appropriating the tutti theme.

While the trumpet rests during the andante, a lovely contemplation in which the other soloists constantly evolve a short, simple theme over a walking bass, it launches the third movement with a fugue theme that it grudgingly shares with the others while reducing the orchestra to a purely subsidiary (and often silent) supporting role. The role of the tromba exemplifies Karl Geiringer's observation that Bach often likes to single out one of the concertino members as its leader and protagonist and makes its part more brilliant and technically exacting. in G major for violin, 2 "flauti d'echo" + ripieno (first and second violins, viola, cello, violine and cembalo) The Fourth, too, presents a mystery of instrumentation for performance. No one knows what Bach meant when he specified "flauti d'echo" as two of the three solo instruments. Harnoncourt posits that the term merely refers to echo effects in the second movement where the flutes imitate violin figures and indeed most performances use standard flutes.

Baroque recorder In his introduction to the authoritative Eulenburg score, Roger Fiske notes that when Bach later transcribed the entire piece as a harpsichord concerto in Leipzig, he designated the parts as "flauti � bec" (recorders) and indeed their softer timbre melds well with the solo violin. (Ristenpart, Menuhin and Pearlman all opt for recorders in their recordings.) Dart, though, asserted that the intent was a flageolet, a type of shrill tin-whistle that was a popular novelty of the time used to teach birds to sing and which sounds an octave above the score, thereby keeping its line consistently above the violin and clarifying the texture. Smith, though, notes that there was no tradition of playing the flageolet professionally and opts for soprano recorders (also sounding an octave higher) which Marriner uses in his recording; either way, the result is piercing, shrill and somewhat tiring to hear through an entire piece.

The prominence of the violin in the outer movements, and the extreme difficulty of its part (more so than in Bach's three actual violin concertos), including delirious extended sequences of extremely rapid notes, has led some to consider the Fourth a violin concerto, although in the central andante it mostly plays with the ripieno violins to support the flutes. Indeed, Mann notes that the first movement looks forward to the structure of the classical and even romantic concerto, as the opening tutti is an unusually long 82 measures (well over a minute) and is not heard in its entirety again until the close, yielding to a central section of intensive development ordered by repetitions of the opening G-A-B three-note motif. The lovely andante atypically employs the full ensemble, providing a richer foundation than the continuo that customarily accompanies the soloists in middle movements. But it's the finale that has attracted the most attention. Boyd hails it as a genuinely successful fusion, rather than a mere amalgam, of two radically different forms – the contrapuntal rigor of the fugue and the virtuoso display of the concerto, a combination of gravitas and high spirits that shifts the focus from the first to the last movement.

Rifkin agrees and salutes it as the most complex movement in the Brandenburgs and a stunning monument to Bach's virtuosity, as the fugal exposition and episodes align with the concerto's tutti and solo runs even as the contrasts among instruments reflect distinctions between free and subject-derived thematic material. But technical classifications aside, the finale simply brims with invention and high spirits and is utterly thrilling to hear. Indeed, it creates so much rousing momentum that Bach slams on the breaks with sudden rests three times before the final surge in an effort to interrupt the flow and prepare for the finish. in D major for flute, violin, cembalo + ripieno (violin, viola, cello and violone) The fifth Brandenburg is thought to have been the last written, intended as a vehicle to show off the new C�then harpsichord. Bach presumably played the solo part himself; Philipp Spitta considered the part to have demanded finger dexterity that no one else possessed at the time. The Fifth is the most historically important of the Brandenburgs, as it is the earliest known instance in which the harpsichord is elevated out of the role of continuo accompaniment to solo status.

Baroque bassoon Harnoncourt praises it as employing "all the technical and tonal possibilities of this instrument in such a masterly fashion that this work becomes at the same time the beginning and climax of its category." Boyd, though, views it as a prophetic combination of thematic references and brilliant passagework in an improvisatory style that paved the way to Mozart's perfection of the genre. In any event, while the other Brandenburgs held little interest for the following generations, the Fifth is the only one to have circulated after Bach's death (in copies by others) as it spoke to their interest in the emerging solo keyboard concerto. The unusually lengthy first movement literally breaks the mold of the old ritornello form, as the opening melody returns only in fragments and cedes to a long serene central section far more developed and of greater emotional contrast than a normal episode. Throughout, the harpsichord not only holds its own but keeps escaping its role as accompanist to override and grab the spotlight from the solo flute and violin. But most remarkable of all is the cadenza.

As if to emphasize its import, the other instruments don't boldly lead up to the lengthy solo display as they would in later concertos, but rather slow down and drop off, as if respectfully bowing, turning away and receding before the royal presence of the majestic harpsichord. An earlier version of the cadenza (known only in posthumous copies by others) was 18 measures long and seems more suited to the scope of the surrounding movement. The final version is 65 measures (about 3 minutes, to which could be added the prior 16 bars in which the solo thoroughly dominates the texture) and runs an astounding gamut of frantically forceful and concentrated figurations in rapid 16th-, triplet 16th- and 32nd-notes, ending in a hugely suspenseful chromatic sequence that leads to the final orchestral statement of the principal melody which has gone unheard since the opening.

The reflective second movement (marked "affettuoso") displays a more subtle formal daring by suggesting the solo and tutti divisions of the outer movements through changes in intensity as the harpsichord overflows the bounds of accompaniment with rapid figures that thicken the texture and imply shifts in dynamics beyond those marked in the score. The canonic basis of the second movement emerges more fully in the fugal finale, in which the harpsichord not only is a full participant an gigue begun by the violin and flute, but soon dominates the entire ensemble with dense 16th-note passages and trilled held notes. There had been recordings of individual Brandenburg Concertos (the earliest seem to have been by Goosens and the Royal Albert Hall Orchestra in 1923 and H�berg and the Berlin State Opera Orchestra in 1925, both, curiously, of the Third). Yet it was with an integral 1935 recording of all six that the Brandenburgs came into prominence. Adolph Busch was one of Germany's most prominent violinists and its busiest soloist and chamber musician.

Although Aryan and thus not personally at risk, he was sickened over the rising tide of repression and emigrated, not quietly but with strident denunciations of the fascist regime, vowing to return only once all the Nazi leaders had been hanged. As expressed by Andr� Tubeuf in a deeply moving tribute, Busch left everything material behind, even his prized Stradivarius violin, yet took with him into exile something far more precious. In Italy, England and finally America, along with his son-in-law Rudolf Serkin, he became a fervent missionary for the eternal truths of German culture and planted and nurtured the spirit of Bach throughout the free world. As one of his first steps, he formed the Busch Chamber Players (comprised nearly half of women – an extreme rarity at the time – and including such famous soloists as Aubrey Brain on horn, Marcel and Louis Moyse on flutes and, of course, Busch on violin and Serkin onpiano). In October 1935 they recorded the complete Brandenburgs (as well as all four Suites for Orchestra).

A hugely successful best-seller, this was one of the most important recordings ever made, as it brought Bach to the attention of a world that had been content to relegate him to the dry bins of history and academic theory. Infused with humanity and spirituality, yet purged of romantic sentimentality, the Busch readings present the music in all its integrity and genius. While using modern instruments and a piano rather than a harpsichord, the Busch Brandenburgs are no mere relics. They remain vastly gratifying in their own right as well as a timeless touchstone of selfless devotion to the essential soul of Bach's immortal art. Despite its renown, the Busch series was not the first full set of Brandenburgs to be recorded by a single ensemble. That honor goes to Alfred Cortot and his Orchestre de l��cole Normale de Musique, Paris, waxed in May (the Fifth) and June (the rest) 1932 (Koch or EMI CDs). If the Busch set was a labor of affection and respect, then Cortot�s was one of heartfelt passion and adventure.

His orchestra was a group of advanced students (possibly augmented by faculty) at a conservatory he had founded in 1919 and the grooves of his records fairly burst with their ardent sense of exploration. The cohesion tends to be quite coarse and the horn and trumpet playing wildly inaccurate, but the players� raw enthusiasm, far removed from the polished �professional� presentations of the next three decades, heralds the unruly (and authentic) sounds recaptured in more recent, historically-informed outings, as do the overall tempos (ten minutes faster than Busch�s). Famed primarily as a deeply poetic, if technically insecure, pianist, Cortot also was a pioneering conductor, responsible for the French premieres of Wagner operas and many contemporary works. His Brandenburg readings are heavily romanticized, with emphatic pauses and slowdowns to signal cadences and other structural markers, bold dynamic swells to shape phrasing, minimal trills and other ornamentation, and occasional rescoring (notably string pizzicato). In his notes to the Koch edition, Teri Noel Towe attributes these "unforgiveable ...

interpretive shenanigans" to a Wagnerian sense of a partnership of equals between a (then-) eclipsed composer in desperate need of modern presentation and a headstrong interpreter demanding to impose his own personality. Perhaps most remarkable is Cortot's Fifth, in which his colleague Jacques Thibaud gives such a strongly-underlined and assertive yet ineffably sweet reading of his part as to shift the perspective into a de facto violin concerto – at least until the cadenza, played by Cortot on the piano (rather than the harpsichord he used for all the other concertos) with deeply human feeling. While Cortot�s highly personal touches diverge further from our modern notions of authentic Baroque performance style than any other recording, the overall impression is one of constant vitality and discovery that still resonates through the many years. Also of considerable interest is the post-World War II set by Serge Koussevitzky and the Boston Symphony Orchestra (Pearl CDs), performed not by a chamber-sized pickup group but by an established full symphonic orchestra.

Taking advantage of the richer complement of musicians, the First and Third sound like they were played by far larger string sections than Busch or Cortot used, with solo parts doubled (or more), although the forces are pared back to customary size in the other concertos (and all the slow movements). The result of the more massive sonority is a blurring of textures and ornamentation, with keyboard continuo omitted altogether (except, of course, for the Fifth, featuring a wonderfully expressive piano solo by a young Lukas Foss). The pacing can push the boundaries of convention, as when the third movement of the First sprints only to contrast with an exceptionally relaxed minuet finale. Once set, though, tempos are held steadfast, reflecting both Koussevitzky�s view of music as a disciplined rite (an approach fully compatible with Bach�s religious inspiration) and Christopher Howell�s cogent observation that the old style of Bach playing featured an unforced swinging motion that over a long span gives a sense of timeless inevitability. Indeed, there�s a pervasive sense of natural, artless momentum here, even without particular touches (although the calm middle movements are especially earnest, with the Sixth downright ravishing).

The only curious feature is Koussevitzky�s use of the brief but mournful sinfonia from Bach�s Cantata # 4 (Christ lag in Todesbanden) ("Christ lay by death enshrouded") for the adagio interlude of the Third, which seems a bit out of character as it brings the bouncy work to an utter halt rather than a thoughtful pause. Koussevitzky's reading of Bach is of the �old school� – straightforward, persistent and smooth – yet modern, as he avoids romantic clich�s with minimal vibrato, steady pacing and constant dynamics. In a sense, he melds Busch�s fundamentally respectful discretion with tantalizing hints of Cortot�s tangible spirit of outgoing commitment. A 1949 set led by Fritz Reiner gave a final push toward the explosion of modern interest by populating the nameless "Chamber Group" of his Brandenburgs (Columbia LPs) with American superstars, including Julius Baker on flute, Robert Bloom on oboe, William Lincer on viola, Leonard Rose on cello.

Egos were minimized by spreading the solo turns – Sylvia Marlowe and Fernando Valente traded harpsichord roles and the movements of the Fourth feature different flautists. In keeping with Reiner's reputation as a precisionist, the playing throughout is meticulous and refined, without ever becoming fussy or precious. Nor is it boringly uniform or self-consciously rigid, amply projecting the personality of each movement, with an ear-splitting trumpet in the Second and unabashedly moving from a heartfelt middle movement to a rollicking conclusion of the Sixth. The only seeming romantic indulgence – an extreme slowdown at the end of the first movement of the Third – is logically convincing, as it leads smoothly into the two lingering transitional chords that comprise the entirety of Reiner's andante. Marlowe's measured harpsichord cadenza in the Fifth is enlivened with a striking change in register for the middle portion. But beyond the details, Reiner's readings point the way to restoring a sense of sheer musicianship which, more than any other element, is all that is needed to convey the glory of Bach. Aside from these full sets, we have several individual Brandenburgs of historical significance.

Although Arturo Toscanini recorded only a single slice of Bach in the studio, we have a 1938 NBC Symphony concert of the Brandenburg # 2 that's crude, brusque and with no pretense of style. Treating the polyphony as if it were a straggler from the classical era, all solos stand out from the fabric with raised volume, although the trumpet generally overwhelms the texture (and sounds if it adds a mute for some, but not all, of its accompanying figures) and the poor bassoon is mostly lost altogether. The andante survives largely intact, possibly because Toscanini leaves his three soloists and a cello on their own. A significant contrast is found in a far more pliant broadcast of the Brandenburg # 5 by the same orchestra only three years earlier under Frank Black with pianist Harold Samuel (Koch CD), thus attesting that Toscanini's only Brandenburg wasn't a rare lapse in preparation or taste but a conscious approach – and an unexpected disappointment, in strong contrast to his meltingly beautiful 1946 studio Air on the G String in which the lines blend exquisitely and each phrase swells with subtle dynamic inflection.

Wilhelm Furtw�ngler , too, recorded the Air on the G String (in 1929) with a style equally removed from accepted Baroque practice, yet with a clear difference – his is far slower and more spiritual, a deeply moving meditation rather than a perfunctory abstraction. His 1930 Berlin Philharmonic recording of the Brandenburg # 3 follows suit with a rich, full string section in which balances and dynamics constantly underscore the logical unfolding of the first movement. Furtw�ngler considered Bach as subjective as any Romantic composer, but self-contained with all emotion embedded deeply within his work. With subtle variations of tempo and volume, including an entire pianissimo section and two gradual buildups, Furtw�ngler eschews Bach's sudden shifts by enhancing the constant sequencing of repeated short figures and creating tangible and meaningful suspense, all without disrupting the fundamental uniformity of the texture. It's an interpretation, to be sure, but one that fully respects the spirit of the original.

Far different are his 1950 Vienna Philharmonic concerts of the Third and Fifth Brandenburgs (Recital Records LP) – measured, solemn, richly romanticized and as far from idiomatic as can be imagined, seemingly closer to Wagner than anything Baroque. Yet on their own terms they are magnificent, infused with deeply personal feeling – every phrase is individually shaped amid vast shifts of tempos and dynamics, with exquisitely tender lyrical passages bracketed by emphatic transitions underscored with imposing piano chords. At the keyboard in the Fifth is Furtw�ngler himself, who provides a somewhat crude but profoundly moving cadenza. While disquieting to those who crave historical authenticity, these fascinating interpretations typify Furtw�ngler�s irrepressible urge to internalize and reconceive all music on his own highly personal terms – an extreme example, perhaps, yet a compelling souvenir of the manner in which later generations tended to mold Bach to conform with their own artistic impulses.

Question: How many Brandenburg Concertos did Johann Sebastian Bach compose?
Answer: SIX