Bach (born 1685, died 1750) was one of the most prolific composers of his time. Though it could be argued that he is more well-known outside musical Academia than George Frederic Handel (composer of the popular oratorio, Messiah), he was relatively unknown comparatively during his life. While Handel enjoyed fame and a comfortable lifestyle, Bach spent his life working at cathedrals. Oddly enough, Bach and Handel were born in the same year, a few miles apart, and visited the same doctor when they struggled with blindness later in life, but they never met.
Composing peers or star-crossed lovers?
Back in the Baroque era, music wasn't written to span the centuries and survive its creator. In fact, music was rarely performed more than once or twice. Music was composed for immediate needs, such as a Sunday service, and then discarded. Interestingly enough, we wouldn't even know Bach's name, much less his myriad of compositions, unless a fellow by the name of Felix Mendelssohn had taken it upon himself to revive Bach's work nearly a century later. The resurgence of Bach's work began in 1829, when Mendelssohn conducted a performance of Bach's St. Matthew's Passion oratorio.
Before we get into what makes Baroque music....Baroque, take a listen to the Brandenburg Concerto no. 3, movement 1, performed by the Filipino-American Symphony Orchestra.
This particular concerto can be elusive when seeking out a clean recording. Due to the amalgamous nature of string instruments, if the players aren't completely and 100% precise with their bowing, the piece can end up sounding muddy and unarticulated. This group, however, nails it. I am also impressed that they followed the historically accurate tradition of not having a conductor. In those days, the first violinist was responsible for keeping tempo. You see, Baroque music doesn't have the musical nuances that require a conductor, which is why conductors as we know them now didn't become a thing until the 19th century. There were some early appearances of men stamping large wooden sticks on the ground to keep tempo, but that was not only clumsy but fatal. Jean-Baptist Lully was known for sharpening the end of the stick in order to produce a sharper metronome, and as a result he stabbed himself in the foot while conducting a performance of a Te Deum. Because no one knew what a germ was, he contracted blood poisoning and died.
Look at those luscious locks - no wonder fate couldn't let him live.
I digress.
Baroque music doesn't have any ritardandos (slow down) or accelerandos (speed up), so there is no need for someone to wave a stick at you. The only exception here is the end of pieces, which usually have a slight ritardando, guided by the first violinist. The manner of dynamics (level of sound, softest to loudest) is also quite different than the current standard. Before 1750, the softness or loudness of music was determined by terrace dynamics. There was no gradual change from soft to loud (a crescendo) or vice versa - instead, changes in volume were abrupt and sometimes very dramatic. The lack of gradual volume or tempo changes equals a lack of conductor, and I have many musician friends who wish that we still didn't need conductors. (To my conductor friends - I am kidding! Mostly.)
The simplicity of the minimalist revolution in the 20th century is arguably a throwback to Baroque music, according to some historians. Many minimalist composers were heavily influenced by other musical cultures, such as gamelan music - which is why I find it lazy to credit Baroque music with the minimalist movement. There is some influence, to be sure, but in my opinion the ideology of repeating patterns came more from gamelan than Bach.
Baroque music is usually a love it or hate it kind of genre. I know some people who adore Baroque music and have gone through many years of schooling to learn everything there is to know about this era, while others hate Bach and Handel with every fiber of their mortal being. To each their own, I say - as long as we occasionally get to tell the story about the first conducting casualty.
R.I.P. Jean-Baptiste Lully.
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