Many of J.S. Bach’s most loved and best known works date from between 1717 and 1723, a period he spent at the court in Cöthen. This was his only completely secular post: the job description was "Capellmeister to the Grand Duke of Anhalt-Cöthen and the director of his chamber music." Since for the first time no steady output of church music was required of him, Bach was free to turn his attention to purely instrumental music, and his creative powers in chamber music reached their peak: the Brandenburg Concertos, the Well-Tempered Clavier, the Inventions, the English and French Suites, the Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin, and the Six Suites for Solo Cello. These last two collections seem to have been written as companion pieces; Bach’s autograph manuscript of the Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin continues with a single additional page: the title page for the Cello Suites—beyond that, the Cello Suites themselves are missing. They have survived in a copy made by Bach’s second wife, Anna Magdalena, and in a handful of other copies made by musicians in and around Bach’s circle.

The cello first flourished as a solo instrument, as opposed to its usual subordinate role in continuo playing, among a group of performer-composers in Bologna in the 1690s. One of these, Domenico Gabrielli, published a set of seven Ricercare (a form closely related to the Prelude) in 1687, which are likely the first works ever written for unaccompanied cello. Although Bach probably never knew these pieces, the Italian school of virtuoso violin playing had certainly had an impact on German composers by his time. In any event, Bach’s works capped the craft of composing for solo cello before anyone else even got a chance. He wrote for unaccompanied cello with his customary overwhelming invention and completeness; nothing even remotely close to these works has been written before or since. From an instrument that can really only sustain a single note for any great duration, Bach effortlessly conjures up an impression of counterpoint and polyphony; through implied harmonies and briefly held chords, he creates a texture of fullness from the sparest of musical means.

Bach was by no means the most famous or respected musician of his day and, devout Lutheran that he was, seemingly had no greater personal ambition than to be a servant musician. His music went into a general public eclipse from the time of his death until 1829, when Felix Mendelssohn conducted an historic revival of the St. Matthew Passion. Certainly the Six Suites for Solo Cello suffered various indignities during the 19th century. Schumann wrote piano accompaniments to remedy a perceived lack in the originals. (He also, along with Mendelssohn, wrote similar accompaniments to the Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin, while Brahms and Busoni got into the act with versions of the Chaconne from the second Violin Partita for piano without violin.) The lack of an "official" autograph of the Cello Suites gave free rein to editors of all stripes; only in the last generation or so have these works been cleansed of their Romantic-era varnish and restored to their Baroque glory.

Today those various musical hybrids have faded from common use, and the original solo works have rightly taken their place as a cornerstone of the repertoire. Bach himself would no doubt be amazed to discover that 300 years later, he is the composer most esteemed by all musicians, and his Cello Suites are among the most treasured works of all cellists.

Each of the Suites follows the typical dance-suite structure of a Prelude leading into an international sampling of dance movements: the German Allemande, the Italian (sometimes French) Courante, the Spanish Sarabande, and a concluding English Gigue. A pair of "new dances" always occupies the penultimate position—Minuets, Bourr￩es, or Gavottes. By Bach’s time the "old dances" had crossed boundaries and assumed stylistic mannerisms that superseded their original national characters (to say nothing of their suitability for dancing). This is especially true of the Sarabande, which began life in medieval Spain as a rather racy number, only to become the spiritual centre point of the 18th century dance suite.

The Suite No. 1 in G Major, which begins tonight’s program, is the sunniest and most transparent of the set. The Prelude is strongly reminiscent of the first prelude of the Well-Tempered Clavier; in both works an unfolding series of arpeggiated chords functions simultaneously as melody and harmony. Each dance that follows is beautifully balanced in form and length; Bach at his most classical, if you will. Although this Suite is the shortest and least consequential of the six, it is beloved beyond its weight by cellists and audiences alike.

The great Spanish cellist Pablo Casals called the Suite No. 3 in C Major the "heroic" suite. Again the Prelude sets the tone, beginning with a simple C major scale which soon develops into a full-blown tour-de-force of cellistic virtuosity. Especially notable is an extended section built upon a pedal open G string, which magically transcends the capabilities of the instrument, to continue silently in the imagination of the listener, until a triumphant return to the home key. The Allemande and the Courante make extensive use of counterpoint (both implied and explicit), while the Sarabande takes on an emotional weight unheard in the first two suites. Two rustic Bourr￩es fill the penultimate position, and a cheerful Gigue full of string-crossing pyrotechnics completes the Suite.

The Suite No. 5 in C Minor is notable for its use of scordatura, a retuning of the cello from the usual C G d a to C G d g. This practice, common in the early Baroque, was somewhat anachronistic by Bach’s time. Here it opened up new chordal possibilities for Bach to work with, and lends a poignant timbre to the work as a whole (since the brightness of the A string has been diminished). The weight of the Fifth Suite resides in the Prelude, an overture in the French style much employed by Handel and characterized by over-dotted rhythms, followed by a masterful fugue, bringing to mind the great Chaconne from the Partita No. 2 for Solo Violin. The Sarabande is the other most remarkable movement in this Suite. Here Bach eschews the chordal writing that has marked each preceding Sarabande for a simple arpeggiated structure. The result is breathtaking in both simplicity and emotional impact.

©2008 by Brian Mix, cellist of the Vancouver-based Pacific Rim String Quartet