The Music and Culture of J.S. Bach in Context

Our final performance at the Alte Börse was definitely the part of the program I was most looking forward to. As a music major who’s been in love with performing for practically my whole life, getting the opportunity to perform international in a setting unlike any I’ve ever played in was incredible! I especially enjoyed performing my own solo on bassoon, and getting to play in a piano trio, both of which I had not been able to do since high school.

The solo I played was Bach’s Sonata for Viola da Gamba No. 2 in D Major, first movement. This was a particularly interesting choice—Bob Wagner, the bassoon professor at Princeton, suggested it for me. When I first heard about it, I was intrigued, but also admittedly a little hesitant. I had originally wanted to play a solo written for bassoon, but I realized there’s probably not a lot of bassoon repertoire from Bach’s time. I figured I’d give the sonata a shot, and I’m very glad I did! Listening to several different recordings of the piece, I grew to love it. Especially the opening adagio section, it’s a beautiful way to introduce the piece, with a nice peaceful melody that prepares you for the soon-to-come allegro melody. Before coming to Leipzig, I had not really been a fan of Bach’s music. As a pianist, I had grown up learning his inventions, which I think were a little too… musically simple for me (I’m not sure if that’s exactly the phrase I’m looking for…). I like music with several parts, and many different overlapping aspects to it. But when I played the inventions, I was also quite young, so I didn’t have a great understanding of the true difficulties of them. I hadn’t been introduced to much of Bach’s instrumental music, which my time in Leipzig made me fall in love with!
I played a transcription of the piece for cello on bassoon, so it was quite a challenge, mainly with figuring out where to breathe. Luckily, a close friend of mine from high school is an incredible cellist, and we would always play cello duets together, so I have a lot of experience with playing music not necessarily meant to be played on an instrument that requires breathing. Once I had figured that out, it was so much fun! I’ve always loved faster sections, and it’s very satisfying figuring out how to make those technically faster melodies also have a musical, emotional aspect to them. Once I was able to achieve that, I really grew to love the piece (and Bach in general)!
(Shoutout to Ruth for accompanying me!!!)

I also played piano in Clara Schumann’s Piano Trio in G Minor, Op. 17, third movement. This was also so much fun, as I had heard about Clara Schumann but never really heard any of her music, only that of Robert. Just with the opening 8 measures of solo piano, I played it once and immediately knew I was missing out on a huge selection of music that has been unfortunately pushed down in society throughout history. With the opening melody, we are brought into a world of peace and calm, ready to sit back and relax and enjoy the beautiful nature of the world.
Clara Schumann wrote this piece at the age of 25 in Dresden, in 1846. When the trio was first rehearsed, she wrote in her diary a statement I’ve come to relate with over this past semester in Professor Dennehy’s MUS106 class, which was a great intro to composing: “There is nothing greater than the joy of composing something oneself, and then listening to it.” The beauty of this trio and the joy that C. Schumann felt in composing it inspires me to both explore more music of her and similar composers of the period, and compose more music myself!

My time in Leipzig introduced me to a new era of music that I was previously not very familiar with. Since this is my last blog post, I’ll take this time to say: thank you to Wendy and Ruth for teaching us the history behind all this beautiful music. Going forward, I hope to take that new knowledge and use it to expand my repertoire, and grow even more as a musician. This was a wonderful experience, one I will treasure for many years to come.

Source:
https://clara-schumann-channel.com/2023/12/12/why-clara-schumann-wrote-a-woman-must-not-desire-to-compose/

Here are images of us holding random parts of the instruments (since they had already packed them up).
Me with the 2 bassoonists:

Me and Malcom (thank you Malcom for forcing me to socialize):

Going to see the St. John Passion performed in its entirety was an incredible experience. Of course, our seats weren’t ideal spots to view the orchestra, but one of the first things I saw when we got there after the orchestra came out was some kind of bassoon, that even from a distance I could see was not a standard bassoon used today. And then I saw that there were 2 different kinds of bassoons on stage! I figured they were both some kind of a baroque bassoon. I later found out one was a baroque bassoon, and the other a baroque contrabassoon! During the performance, it was difficult to hear them, but I could hear the low rattle of the contra, which added a lot to the feel of the piece.

After the performance, I stayed behind with Malcom in the hopes of getting the chance to see the bassoons up close. As a bassoonist, I own both a regular bassoon and contrabassoon, but I had never seen baroque versions of the instruments played live. We walked up to the stage to meet the bassoonists (credit to Malcom for forcing me to get over my unreasonably large sense of social anxiety…), and I was amazed at what I got to see. We talked to the bassoonists for a bit, I told them I was a bassoonist and had always wanted to see a baroque bassoon, and they showed me what the instruments looked like. It was fascinating, seeing how they differed from a regular bassoon. The bassoons we know today are extremely complicated, with a very large number of keys, 13 being for the thumbs alone. However, not only did the baroque bassoons have very few keys, and it seemed like there were more holes than keys, but the few keys they did have seemed to be very different from what you would see on a standard bassoon. I hope to one day be able to play one for myself and figure out the exact differences, because it is very interesting to me to see how the form of the instrument has changed through the years. I am curious to learn about the ranges too; a modern bassoon has a range of 3.5 octaves, and contra has a similar range. I wonder if it is possible to have a range that wide with so few keys, or if the repertoire for baroque bassoons is more limited in that sense. I am also curious about the shape of the instruments. It seemed like some parts of the baroque bassoons were more spherical, while the parts of a regular bassoon shaped more like cylinders. Does this affect the range of the instrument? Or the tone? Why has this part of the design changed over time?

Overall, I really enjoyed getting the opportunity to meet the bassoonists, and I learned a lot in that very short time. Someday, I hope to be able to play a baroque bassoon myself, and get answers to all these questions that came up just from seeing the bassoons up close.

Lastly, random flex: I followed both bassoonists on Instagram afterwards, and they both followed me back 😀

 

Going to see Jean-Guihen Queyras play all 6 Bach cello suites was an incredible and unique experience. As a double bassist, I have only played a couple movements from some of the earlier suites, but I have several close string player friends who have played more of the suites, so I am very familiar with several of them (mainly the first 3). The later suites I believe seem to be much more difficult, so I have very rarely heard those played. It was amazing seeing Queyras play all 6 nearly flawlessly, completely memorized too! The concert was a bit long, but quite engaging, because it inspires me greatly watching someone play over 2 hours of music memorized and enjoying themselves the whole time. As someone who really enjoys performing solos from memory, I hope to be able to do a similar thing someday.

There were a couple things (many things actually, but a couple worth mentioning) in the performance that particularly impressed me. One of them I’ve already mentioned: Queyras’s ability to play over 2 hours of music completely memorized, and not getting tired! It takes a huge amount of work and dedication to be able to do that. The second thing was about one of the suites in particular, I believe suite no. 5. Looking at the score, I noticed this suite was written with a different tuning: the A string was tuned down to a G. It took me a while to notice this, but I noticed that the score was written with only the notes played on the A-turned-G string were transposed. So for example, if you had a C minor rolled chord with a low C2+G2+Eb3+C4, the chord itself would be written with the same bottom 3 notes, but the top note, C4, would be written as a D instead. I realized later this is because when a cellist sees a D written, they will automatically place their 4th finger down in 1st position (I think, speaking as a bassist here where everything is way different…). But with this new tuning, that finger placement will sound as a C instead. So I think having the notes on the top string written transposed is helpful to the cellist to make it easier to read and play, but the reason this caught my attention was because as someone with perfect pitch, reading transposed music is very difficult. For example, I used to play clarinet in high school for pep band, and I would always struggle reading even simple music because I would see a G written, and then I would hear an actual G in my head, place the fingers down that I know make the sound of a G, and then realize that the note that sounds like a G on a clarinet is actually an F, so I’m playing the wrong note! I would associate fingerings on clarinet with the notes they sound like, rather than like a typical clarinetist who would associate fingerings with the transposed notes. It was because of this that the 5th cello suite particularly impressed me.

Overall, this was an amazing performance. Watching the suites played in this way gave me a new appreciation for them and made me want to become more familiar with them. This summer, I want to potentially try to play some more of these on either bass or bassoon.
(Included the last picture for fun, I enjoyed trying to see where Bach’s initials are in the logo on the organ!)

Introduction: Princeton in Leipzig

“Seminars by Princeton’s Prof. Wendy Heller explore the music performed at the festival. Dr. Ruth Ochs, conductor of the Princeton Sinfonia, provides coaching on students’ performance of relevant repertoire, culminating in a public recital. Language classes at each student’s level are provided by interDaF, supplemented by weekly one-on-one tutorials with Dr. Jamie Rankin of the German Department. And all of this takes place in Leipzig, considered by many to be one of the most exciting cities in Germany.”

The 81 words in this passage don’t lie. I applied and proceeded to enroll in this course for several reasons; let’s name them:

Firstly, my primary motivation for participating in the Princeton in Leipzig program was to enhance my singing skills through intensive performance coaching while immersing myself in the rich musical traditions of Leipzig. Having only played the recorder at Grade 1-2 music level in high school, this program offered me an unparalleled opportunity to build my confidence as a performer in a historically rich environment.

This is the third time I’ve mentioned this in my life, but the reason I was interested (and still am) in improving my singing skills is that I believe I’ve a talent. In short, while going about any mundane or thrilling activity, I come up with songs. I don’t necessarily have to sing the song or brainstorm deeply on it. Still, it just starts playing in my head with a complete set of main lyrics – the chorus, hook, perhaps another stanza – lyrics for the background singers, and the most intriguing part is that there’s a perfect accompanying beat. It’s always amazed me, especially since I’ve never understood what notes, instruments, or singing ranges (aside from saying ‘low’ and ‘high’) my brain simulates as being performed.

An almost complete song begins, and it ends. In the past, when I was really into music, I’ve noted down the lyrics and sung them out. To this day, I still remember the song about me and my best friend in primary school entitled “You’re The Star and I’m The Linker”, the one about my and an acquaintance on the school bus’ bags called “Royalex”, and the rather self-centered one called “I Am A Legend.” At random times, they can play in my head and take me back to the exact moment or at least how I felt in 2015, 2016, or 2017. It’s how I’ve been able to remember certain people who’ve only been around for a few days in my life, or those that I haven’t encountered in almost a decade. There are several of them; there could be 3-7 albums depending on how one decides to group them.

Thus, I want to use my voice and this talent to reflect on the past, to embrace the present, dream about the future, and, as a Christian, praise the God I believe in. In 2017, my peers regarded me as a good singer. However, the lack of exposure to choir or vocal music in high school meant I lost the ability to articulate my singing voice, except for the one time I sang the entirety of “How Great Thou Art” during the pandemic. In the past two years, I’ve tried to sing, but without much success in harnessing the full potential of my vocal cords. I was interested in taking singing lessons during the past Spring, but my schedule didn’t allow it. Having decided that I would have to wait till the Fall, I saw Princeton in Leipzig as the door that could open a world of possibilities for me in this universe of my life: music and singing.

Now, with that said, I was slightly concerned when one of the program page brochures said there would be “no coaching.” In hindsight, perhaps that was a misread. One of my professors can correct me on this, as I found it difficult to find this detail in the GPS brochure at the time of writing.

Not only did I view myself as being able to appreciate the works and legacy of the famous German composer Johann Sebastian Bach, whose works I’d never listened to, but I also thought it’d allow me to deepen my understanding of how music transcends linguistic and cultural barriers.

Next, I was excited to learn about a new language. However, to me, Deutsch is not just any language. Having spent a significant amount of time learning about Germany’s history over the past 8 years and following current events, such as the 2021 and 2025 federal elections, my interest in learning German was at an all-time high.

During my spring semester, I took a freshman seminar on intercultural communication. It introduced me to the intricacies of pragmalinguistics, politeness, and cross-cultural exchange — how language reflects and shapes social practices. Hence, I also saw actively participating in a public recital in Leipzig while simultaneously studying German as an opportunity to apply what I’d learned.

Last but not least, as much as this was going to make a once-thirteen-year-old’s dreams come true, Leipzig was personally significant to me as the home of RasenBallsport Leipzig, one of my favorite soccer teams; it still is for this reason. The city’s blend of history, culture, and contemporary life makes it a fascinating place to experience the intersections between music, language, and community.

Everything you’ve read thus far is context. Each bit of it will be relevant in the reflection proper that is to come. The course description, the context I’ve provided, and what I will proceed to reflect on are words – accurate and precise words. However, I will never be able to write that fully captures the essence of the new knowledge, discoveries, realizations, and emotions I gained and experienced on this excellent summer study abroad. Nonetheless, that will not stop me from telling you all about it.

Baroque & Heroes

The first time I recall seeing the word ‘Baroque’ was in the guide on how to play the recorder in 7th grade. The last time I remember hearing that word was in presentations my classmates and I did for our music class about the classical music eras: Medieval, Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, Romantic, Modernist, and Postmodernist. I had completely forgotten about these facts until our first reading began, debating whether Bach marked the end of the Baroque era or the beginning of the Classical one.

Now, almost everybody in the class had a favorite Bach piece. Some of them also loved Mozart, Mendelssohn, and others of a similar ilk. Perhaps it was because I didn’t enjoy my 7th-grade music class at the time, but the idea of truly loving Baroque music was novel to me. My mind couldn’t let go of the passionate and elegant gestures that accompanied the energetic and comprehensive voice with which Prof. Heller discussed Bach, the musical history of Leipzig, and attending conferences in Halle during the pre-departure orientation. Hearing my fellow Zimbabwean Tendekai proclaim J.S. Bach as his favorite composer added to the fuel. I really needed to understand the how and why of how one could come to appreciate Baroque and Bach’s music in such a fervent and adoring manner.

After the first concert, I was thrilled to see how Tendekai and Laura were so jubilant to meet their heroes (plus their instruments), the bassist and another individual whose name I’ve forgotten.

I felt the same way when James held the concert bassoon and spoke with the bassoon players at the St. John Passion concert as well. When they explained to me how and why it meant so much to them, from the details of why they regard them highly to the rarity and special nature of the instruments. James reacted to the bassoonists following him on Instagram in the same manner I probably would if the Scuderia Ferrari Formula 1 team followed my account. In addition, Tendekai and Laura’s excitement, which saw them share moments as precious as Tendekai’s performance on that special bass, being recorded by the bassist herself, would be akin to my getting to play on Roger Federer’s court or something. The beauty of it was that they were right there.

Speaking on behalf of all long-term soccer fans (or fanatics), I could describe soccer as pronounced in my first ever soccer video game: “the game that we love, the game that we live for. This isn’t any game. It’s our game.” In that moment, I truly understood that what the role models and heroes mean to me in the sports and games that I watch and play is the same for them in the realm of music. Notwithstanding, they could accentuate that feeling with a different set of words.

However, as I’ll go on to explain in a later section, this Bach character truly transformed into a new role model of my own, in addition to the ones I already had, as the course drew to a close.

Three Blogs on Music Theory: But What About The Singing?

Going into the course, I found it highly unlikely that I would be singing in this course. However, I must tell you, when you meet a truly joyous and wonderful music professor (Dr. Ochs) – who happens to be a conductor – on the 2nd day that tells you, “I’m going to make a musician out of you,” in the most calm, confident and collected way possible in front of all your classmates, you listen and you hold onto hope. So, I listened and held onto hope.

Until Tuesday, 17th, and Thursday, 19th of 2025, I really hadn’t had a clear-cut chance to sharpen my ability to sing the songs for the recital that the class had been working on. Dr. Ochs’ determination to see me make an attempt never died down, however. The trajectory of the question “will I perform? will I not perform?” completely changed that week.

On the latter day, it became apparent that I might just perform in the suit I had brought all the way from Princeton. With the help of Andy and Prof. Rankin, I finally understood how to change pitch (change note) mid-word and how to hold the same note. Andy was a great explainer of many errors and tricks vocalists come across and utilize, such as figuring out how to maximize one’s singing time before running short of breath or doing a continuous increase in pitch.

With his encouragement and questions, I found the answer to a question that had been bothering me for the past four (4): could I still sing the relatively higher pitches for my now deep voice? It turned out that I could, despite running out of breath, as I had been struggling to do so when I tried to sing the songs I had made in my head. Since then, I’ve never forgotten to breathe down and not bring my shoulders up – thank you, Ruth!

Leading up to this, I always daydreamed of a moment I would get to sing in front of an almost endless array of grass bordered by trees on a slightly higher altitude that stood behind. I’d always thought I’d have to do it at night by the golf field separating Forbes and the Graduate College. Fortunately, to my surprise, the experience occurred much earlier and in a place I would’ve never expected.

After the Koffee Cantata Fruhstuck concert in the Salle Pologme, I decided to visit the periphery of the Red Bull Arena – home of Rasenballsport Leipzig. My encounter exceeded the expectations you might have for a situation where I’m unable to enter the stadium. Seeing it up close just brought immense joy to me. As I circled around the entire structure, I discovered a new sport that resembles volleyball, but with a significantly larger ball called fistball. A competitive game was being played by what appeared to be local youth teams. As I completed my circular path around the stadium, I began singing. I was just happy to even if it didn’t sound great. In the middle of my song, that’s when I saw it – the almost-endless grass with the trees on the edge of a neighboring incline. I embraced it and sang even more in the backyard of the Red Bull Arena.

Unfortunately, my phone battery was dead by the time I arrived at the stadium. However, this moment was special – it was a dream come true, and I appreciated how singing thousands of miles away from home can bring some of the best joys you’ll ever experience at a fantastic place you’d never thought possible, just a couple of years before.

The road to the recital was rather tricky. On the day of our penultimate rehearsal, random, unfortunate errors sprang up. I got lost. Deciphering how to get to the Reformed Evangelical Church – a brand-new course location – turned out not to be my best work, as I disembarked the tram two stations before the correct one. Therefore, this meant I was now on a 2-3 day (zwei bis drei Tagen) streak of getting lost (verloren).

In the end, I managed to make the last 5 minutes of this particular rehearsal. I was disappointed, as I really felt like I had let the team down. However, on the bright side, I still managed to get in a few lines of practice—which always lifts the soul—and the post-rehearsal chat I had with Ruth was deep, encouraging, and delightfully helpful. I may have had nerves going into the recital, but after that awful day, I knew I just wanted to enjoy it, even if I ran short of breath at an inopportune time.

The Beauty of Passionate Performance

Speaking of enjoying music joyfully, I must mention two of my classmates’ performances at the recital.

During the dress rehearsal, Maurice informed Dr. Ochs that he couldn’t play one of the cello suites. Dr. Ochs announced to the crowd, twice, that one of the performances was unfortunately not going to take place.

However, when Maurice’s initially planned time for his solo was upon us, he showed up. It turned out he was going to perform after all. I could see the confidence, tenacity, and commitment on his face, his eyes, and his hands as he sat down with his cello. In that moment, I knew that something extraordinary was about to happen, and I instinctively reached for my recorder.

When that suite was performed, Maurice utterly demonstrated all the subtle and superb things which you could do with a cello. It was beautiful. It was like watching a racing driver start from last place and go on to steal the whole show with an epic win in a commanding performance that was head and shoulders above the rest, due to skill rather than chance. The applause that we, the audience, gave fed off the intricate way he played the cello.

I have always found the applause culture of orchestras, operas, and ensembles so fascinating in how it emanates respect and appreciation, especially in light of the bowing. This moment was so special; I recalled telling my roommate, Felix (a violin player), about the applause culture. After showing him the video I took of Maurice’s performance, we will have a discussion on whether it is one of the top 5 applause culture moments we’ve ever seen.

Another instrumental performance I really enjoyed was the duet between Charlotte and Noah. During our last lunch with everyone at InterDaF, Charlotte reflected on how she was happy to have practiced such an epic piece in a way she hadn’t recently on campus. I’ve just been left stunned by how this course provided her with a chance not only to practice again with ample space and time to really push herself, but also at such a mesmerizing level.

Bach – Another Role Model of My Own

Speaking of practice, Bach’s VR self had a few words to share with us about the topic in the Bach Archives.

I certainly have my critique about the graphics during the VR experience – Bach’s coat literally cut through the piano bench he sat on. However, I’ll never forget when he advised us that “any modest talent can be turned into the finest ability.”

After spending weeks in a seminar, understanding his life beyond the legend emanating from the style of his statue, comprehending who Bach, the church musician, court musician, father, husband, and son, was, was enlightening. With that quote, I felt encouraged about my singing and any other pursuits that pique my curiosity, which I want to explore. Compared to the weeks leading up to June, I felt like I knew Bach better. My classmates can definitely say otherwise, as they’ve probably already delved into his life and performed his music. Today, he is genuinely remarkable.

The Bach Community

Lastly, who else thinks the Bach is superb? The Bach Community thinks Bach is cool!

Being able to meet and engage with the performers on stage or in the backrooms after the Kaffeekantate, St. John Passion, and Concerto No. 20 was an opportunity I never expected. Like the director of the festival said, this isn’t Hollywood, where there’s a significant distance between the performers and the audience.

In this world, John Eliot Gardiner is a highly regarded figure. He made the time to talk as extensively as possible to Tendekai and Laura, who hold him in a regard that I can’t put into words. Dr. Tatlow took the time to share with us their outstanding research on whether universal harmony influenced Bach’s compositional style. At the same time, Professor Dr. Peter Wollny made extra time for us to explore Bach’s composition and choir endowment accounts with him.

In short, I love how tight-knit and open the Bach community is. I wasn’t learning or interacting with their work from a distance. Still, the natural setup of the concerts allows one a clear-cut chance to interact with the performers, scholars, and coordinators in a way I wouldn’t have imagined. They’re family, and if you’re reading this, having never been to a BachFest or Leipzig, I know you can be part of it too.

Conclusion

From the first time I shed a tear while watching a musical performance at the Gewandhaus to embracing the scenery and atmosphere around me, including the chandeliers and the wonderful people I met while learning German, I grew as a singer.

From the times I struggled to pronounce the different “ch” consonants in German class and at 1:1 with Prof. Rankin to the moment I finally got it with 30 minutes of extra help from the Phonetiks teacher and Vito’s encouragement every day, I grew as a German speaker.

From the time I had the point-of-sale experience at Aldi, where the lady complained that I couldn’t speak German in Germany, to having a conversation in Germany with a random man in an NFL shirt on the tram, and the two women who work at the Breite Straße bakery, I grew as an intercultural communicator.

To conclude, my experience surpassed what I hoped I would gain from in only its extent but also its ways. Thank you so much to Wendy, Jamie, and Ruth for all their support! Danke Katherina und InterDaF! Thank you to the Music Department, German Department, Office of International Programs, and Princeton! And of course, thank you to all my classmates! It wouldn’t have been what is was without you all.

Exploring the third spaces within the city of Leipzig is wonderful.

Tonight, I will give two examples – both are parks.

On Sunday, 22 June 2025, I attended a park service at an international church on the opposite end of the city.

Unfortunately, for the ideal of a smooth journey, things didn’t go quite to plan in terms of getting to Clara-Zetkin-Park on time — this 40-minute journey was also my first time using the bus instead of the tram. I accidentally took the bus on the correct line but in the opposite direction. This mistake significantly delayed me.

However, due to this error, I discovered an awesome mini-park. I don’t suppose that this stretch of healthy grass and benches would count as the standard park to a Leipziger. Hence, whenever one mentions how Leipzig strives to be a green space city, this small park around the neighborhood comes to my mind.

And not only that! Let me tell you about Clara-Zetkin-Park.

Now, upon getting there, it became clear that this place was amazing – Ich habe den Park super gefunden = I found it super!

There’s a diverse range of outdoor activities to enjoy. I was intrigued by a family mud run that took place at the adjacent horse racing track – if I come back to Leipzig, I will look into how I can participate in one. This park was also one of the best places to have a picnic, cycle along a picturesque scene, or go canoeing in some beautiful waters.

In my case, going for a park service and then hanging out with others to play badminton, Viking chess, and spikeball on the cool grass in hot but not desert-hot sun was great! Without a doubt, every tourist needs to view and appreciate this city’s greenery as one of the main attractions. This aspect of Leipzig – just roaming into the actual outdoors and being able to do all kinds of cool stuff spontaneously is one of the reasons I find it epic!

Introduction
On Saturday, June 14, 2025, at 9 a.m. I found myself at Salle Pologme for a breakfast concert hosted by the Collegium Musicum.

The path to the concert built up a lot of anticipation. As I made my way up the stairs of a building whose entrance you can’t easily identify when taking in the magnificence of the cobblestone streets that line the Augustplatz, I had no expectations but great hope that this concert would deliver.

Main
The first piece, a concert in A minor, struck me with its gentle beginnings, drawing each instrumentalist into the spotlight one by one as they soloed. The atmosphere transported me to a medieval festival—a time when jousting was a prominent spectacle. I noticed the use of caesuras in the music, which piqued my curiosity; this was the second particular time that I realized I needed to learn more musical terminology to articulate what I was experiencing. Nonetheless, feeling that way didn’t make me forget that music is abstract, as Ruth said. Hence, strings of letters cannot accentuate all perceptions and feelings.

As the last movement approached, it ended abruptly, leaving me wanting more, my anticipation for its continuation unfulfilled. Fortunately, I had recorded parts of the performance so I could revisit it later. There was a light-hearted moment when someone poked fun at the unique brass instruments, particularly one that resembled a trumpet.

 

The next piece began with a singer whose voice, in harmony with the trumpet, evoked memories of serene scenes from In the Night Garden.

What is “In the Night Garden,” you may wonder?

Igglepiggle and his friends reside in a magical forest filled with vibrant, colorful flowers. They participate in numerous delightful activities and enjoy listening to bedtime stories together. To my 5-year-old self, they represent a charming ensemble of toys exploring the values of sharing, caring, and having fun.

It felt transported to untouched woodlands, complete with perfectly manicured lawns. The trumpet’s rhythm radiated joy, reminiscent of a celebratory cantata, a festive occasion worthy of a royal gathering from Disney or Nickelodeon, setin a medieval monarchy.

I regretted not recording this piece, but figured I might find it online later. Conversations flowed again, this time focusing on the instruments themselves. I discussed with Gabrielle the nuances of applause—when to applaud during a chamber performance versus a solo instrumentalist or a vocal piece.

The concluding piece featured a piano duet, which I thought sounded akin to striking metal. Were there numerous trills? Or perhaps I was merely noticing repeated phrases throughout? The music made me feel like I was on a holy adventure through an evergreen forest in the summer, along a richly colored clay path dotted with stones, rising to a rocky ledge. It might be a bit far-fetched from the actual theme of the song, but that’s how I processed it: as wonderful.

The long pauses in the music created a profound silence, allowing the audience moments to connect, as Gabrielle noted. These silences mirrored the breaks between collections of pieces performed.

As the next movement unfolded, I found myself envisioning scenes from the more gentle moments of a story about Dracula, adding a whimsical layer to the experience.

Koffee Cantata
Last but not least, I must mention the awesome Koffee Cantata. Firstly, I’d like to say that at times I find myself looking for particular sounds and beats to draw me into the complexities beyond the surface melodies and harmonies. Other times, it’s the way a performer gestures asthey sing or play an instrument.

The one time I was hooked by neither of those two was the moment they had the lead vocalists in the Koffee Cantata act out the entire relationship andinteraction between the mother and father. Those individuals may be students, but I’d give them a degree for the excellent performance they put up. Watching this made me contemplate more on the broader societal reflections I could draw from the story as I recalled how my extended family culture has transitioned from a highly patriarchal one to a more egalitarian one in the past 200 years, with girls being discouraged from pursuing beyond the 4th grade to my parents and myself motivating my sisters and coaching them on how to optimize their studying methods.

Additionally, the breakfast was delicious and wonderful. It reminded me of the ‘bread and circuses’ act policy of the Roman Empire – keeping the people fed and entertained at the same time. As the Koffee Cantata concert demonstrated, the entertainment doesn’t have to be gladiators and apex predators in a colosseum for the combination to work. Therefore, when the director mentioned they will keep having it again in the 2026 BachFest, I was more than thrilled for the people who will be able to experience such an eye-catching and substantive concert.

To conclude, my first time in the Salle Pologme was a wonderful four (4) hours I’ll never forget.

 

Present Day
This particular blog entry utilizes a more ‘in the moment’ perspective as compared to hindsight, given it takes inspiration from my live notes during the excellent performance of the St.John Passion.

Somehow, we found ourselves at the Nikolai instead of the Thomaskirche at 8 PM on June 15, 2025. The schedule contained an error. In hindsight, my time in Leipzig featured several fun and not-so-fun errors that made the experience akin to my daily life, even though four (4) weeks was such a short time. Without over-elaborating, that is good.

It took the entire class a few minutes to figure out where we were supposed to be seated, but it was worth it. We had better seats this time. Despite it being a bit cold, it helped me appreciate what I was about to witness even more.

I like to think this was an example of John Wooden’s saying in action: “Good things take time, as they should. We shouldn’t expect good things to happen overnight. Getting something too easily or too soon can cheapen the outcome.”

With that said, here is what I thought of the St.John’s Passion live in the moment. Therefore, note that the transition between the present and past tense is sometimes literal minutes:

The first movement’s flute and woodwind melodies had a certain sweetness, while the violins added depth that evoked the gentle sway of a tram gliding around a bend. The St. John Passion started on a joyful note, but I soon realized how vital the conductors are in ensuring a seamless performance. I became intrigued by their hand signals—what they signify and how they communicate with each musician to convey what to do and how to do it.

Come to think of it, I will ask Ruth more about this and look up the conductor’s way on YouTube as well.

As we delved into a 2C recitative amid reflections on Jesus of Nazareth, I noticed that some sections I previously referred to as “arias” or “chorales” in my live reports from the first two concerts might have been “recitatives,” especially the former. This recitative was dramatic, leading into a chorale that carried a melancholic tone. I hypothesize that I would have grasped this more clearly if I knew more German.gpt

The pauses, or caesuras, stood out once again, providing moments for reflection—a feature that an 18th-century audience would have fully appreciated. I found myself using fewer filler words today; our class discussions had given me plenty of material to draw from during the first concert. Nevertheless, if I notice anything noteworthy as we move forward, I’ll be sure to jot it down. I should look into that Khan Academy item soon.

By the time we reached the 7th aria, I could feel how these pieces encapsulated the thoughts and emotions of an 18th-century believer. They focused less on recounting events and more on conveying introspection. The subsequent 8th recitative mentioned Simon Peter and another disciple following Jesus, creating a poignant moment. The 9th aria struck deep, with the flute emphasizing the significance of this critical point while the soloist conveyed the deep feelings an 18th-century believer had for their Lord.

Listening to the performance while following along with the script, which included an English translation, enriched my analysis. The powerful bass in the 11th aria and chorale demonstrated skillful repetition, spotlighting the emotion and anxiety present in the singers’ reflections. The alternating repetitions in the 12th chorale created an accusatory effect, evoking the desperate pressure Peter must have felt while responding.

The 13th aria captured the intense emotions of an 18th-century believer. The instrumental backdrop for this piece was fascinating; while it suggested a whirlwind of feelings, it didn’t come across as sad to me. Instead, it felt more neutral—perhaps reminiscent of the initial ‘sad truth’ perceived by the 18th-century believer.

Part one concluded with a quiet instrumental tone, yet the choir’s bold proclamation was unmistakable, signaling the beginning of the second part. The 16th B section further elaborated on the determined delivery from the crowd. Meanwhile, the 17th choral section evoked a heartfelt sentiment, aided by the slow pace and nuanced background accompaniment that facilitated contemplation.

In the 18A recitative, I noticed how the individual portraying Jesus animatedly gestured, sharing insights not just with one person, but with many, as if embodying that 1st-century moment. The following 18B recitative got delivered in much the same way as 16B, and although we had only progressed through two sections, it felt as if significant time had passed.

As we moved from 19 to 21A to 21B, the chorale approached, coinciding with the moment of the crown of thorns and purple robe. The delivery was striking, capturing a sense of ironic mockery that could easily mislead someone lacking context into interpreting it as a joyful proclamation.

In 21G, it was impressive how the performers maintained evocative sounds, drawing out notes like “haaaaaaa” for an extended period, blending seamlessly with the instruments and lyrics.

Back to Hindsight

Over that weekend, I watched the Khan Academy introduction to music theory series that Ruth (Dr. Ochs) recommended. I got a much better understanding of timings in signatures and notes (with or without dots). This series helped me immensely when I tried singing. Thank you, Ruth!

To conclude, the St.John Passion is the last of an exciting first trilogy of concerts and seminars that familiarized me immensely with the fundamentals of Bach’s Music. Then, I wondered what the rest would hold for us. What do you think?

Of the pieces we studied over the course of this program, there were some I had already listened to a handful of times, others I had only listened to a couple of times, and a few that were completely unfamiliar to me. However, for my last post, I wanted to write about a piece that I became acquainted with before coming to Leipzig.  

 

Fugue in C-sharp minor – WTC I

Over the past half a year, whenever I have sat down at a piano, I have found myself spending less than half the time practicing, and more than half the time playing through the first book of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. Each time I read through, one particular fugue would always catches my attention, not only because of its ridiculous difficulty and complexity and its somewhat unorthodox structure, but also because of the profound suffering expressed by the music. 

However, it wasn’t until I was home from Germany, that I found out just what makes this fugue special. While surfing the internet, I stumbled upon an article by Timothy M. Smith from Northern Arizona University, filled to the brim with instance after instance of religious and numerical symbolism from the fugue. It frankly blew my mind. As there is very little that I could say about the piece that isn’t said in that article, I will just touch on the main points that Smith brings up. However, I will also include a brief analysis of the fugue, a discussion of the pianistic difficulties, and finally a few comments on noted recordings. 

 

 Anaylsis

This fugue has five voices, which is already unusual, as it is one of only two such fugues in the WTC. The subject is the five-note motif (do-ti-me-re-do) shown below. The exposition follows as normal, with the subject entering in each voice and alternating between the tonic and dominant key: 

A fairly standard development ensues, ending with a modulation to the relative major. However, at this point, a new subject enters in the soprano voice.

Or is it a subject? It is a distinct motivic idea that is presented eventually in each voice, however, not in the formal way outlined above. To add to the confusion, 13 measures later a third motivic idea is introduced, which is also reminiscent of a subject but also fails to meet these formal constraints.

So then, although this piece has been called a triple fugue, perhaps it is better to consider it as a fugue with two countersubjects that enter 36 and 49 measures in respectively. Finally, at the 94th measure, the fugue closes with a stretto section in which the second subject drops out entirely and the first and third subjects enter in an overlapping fashion until the eventual final cadence. 

 

Numerical Symbolism

So sure, the fugue is a little unusual, but what’s the big deal? I will try to present just a few things from the Smith article, to give a small taste of the wealth of symbolism in this piece. First of all, the number five.

Five voices, five notes in the subject (the shortest subject of any fugue in WTC I), a second theme consisting of a sequence repeated five times, not to mention a lament of five descending semitones (c#-g#) interlaced throughout.

What is the significance of this? According to Smith, “Lutherans of Bach’s day associated [the number] five with the wounds that were inflicted upon Jesus by the nails in his hands and feet, and a soldier having thrust a spear into his side.” Additionally, the lament is heavily associated with the crucifixion, for example, serving as the basis for the Crucifixus in the B minor Mass. 

Additionally, the pattern of the main subject, consisting of a stepwise descent, an ascending interval crossing over the original note, and another stepwise descent, is considered symbolic of the cross. In fact, the exact same subject with rhythmic alterations is used for the Laß ihn kreuzigen! (Let him be crucified!) fugue in the St. Matthew Passion. This pattern is also repeated five times in the statement of the second subject, with the ascending interval altered to a third.

What’s more, this pattern can be found twice (and one more time in reverse) with descending intervals of a half step and an ascending interval of a minor third, which is a transposition of B-A-C-H, Bach’s very own musical signature. While this may seem like chance, Smith found that these are the first instances of such a motif in the WTC.

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However, the following is what ties it all together: when each letter is given a number indicating its place in the Latin alphabet, B+A+C+H totals 14, which in reverse is 41. In measure 41, the BACH motif is played in reverse (HCAB). Not convinced? The second subject is stated exactly 14 times, at which point it disappears for the remainder of the piece. Within those 14 statements, the variant of the cross motif with the third can be found exactly 41 times. What else happens at measure 41? The only inverted occurrence of the second subject, and on the strong beats of this inversion the five-note lament rising from G# to C# instead of falling.

Here, Smith points to Bach’s Fulda canon in which the five-note lament is also present accompanied by the inscription Symbolum, Christus Coronabit Crucigeros, which he translates as “This is a symbol of Christ who will crown those who carry his cross.” The connection? Bach’s monogram, which a few of us saw engraved on some of his belongings preserved in the Bach Museum. It consists of a crown with five jewels placed on top of Bach’s initials superimposed with their mirror image, which creates a pattern of crosses. In measure 41 the HCAB is presented and in measure 48, BACH is presented in its prime form. And between them is the inversion of the five-note lament. 

If this is at all interesting, I would strongly recommend reading the whole article, which is short and very nicely structured. It highlights types of numerical symbolism somewhat similar to what Ruth Tatlow was pointing out in her lecture, and I found it very eye-opening. There is also an accompanying visual that I will link below. 

 

 Technical Difficulties

Now, as a hobby pianist without strict classical training, I will share a bit about what makes this fugue so hard to play for me. First of all, I try to play Bach without the sustain pedal, in a similar way to how someone might play an organ or a harpsichord. When playing like this, the key should stay depressed for the full duration of a given note. In order to hold each voice through properly, each finger should then be independent of each other finger. It is also often necessary to slide fingers from key to key and cross them over or under one another. 

To give a taste of this, here are a couple examples: 

Here, the B must remain held down while the F# and D# move down. Often when one hand has three voices to play, the fifth finger is all that remains to play the upper voice, as is the case here. 

 

Here, the half notes are part of the subject and are accented. However, the B cannot remain down for the whole two beats, but the pianist must still create the illusion that it is being held down rather than struck twice in order for the motif to remain clear. 

 

Another case of three voices in one hand. Here, the middle voice crosses above the top voice mid-tie, all while the bottom voice is held through. This makes it hard to track which finger is playing which voice at a given moment. 

 

Another recurring challenge is when the span between two voices exceeds the comfortable range of the hand. Here playing both upper voices completely in the right hand would require an octave played between the second and fifth fingers, which, for me, is not comfortable. It is suggested to take the lowermost notes of the alto voice in the left hand, which then creates the challenge of maintaining a smooth line as it transfers back and forth between the two hands. 

 

Here, the left hand has to leap down to play the thunderous entrance of the subject in the bass voice, meaning the tenor line has to be picked up by the right hand. The third finger on F# is no longer sufficient, since all three of the lower fingers are required to play the moving line, so the F# must transfer to the fourth finger over the course of the tie. 

 

Finally, the G# half note is tied to an eighth note, but this simply isn’t physically possible. This is not the only instance of unplayability that I have come across while reading through the WTC. 

 

Recordings

Finally, a couple of different takes on the fugue by the various masters: 

 

This recording I really like. The tempo is comparatively fast, giving it a real sense of urgency, almost desperation. The subject is accentuated well, and the fugue starts out very calmly and evenly before a forceful bass entrance of the subject that sparks a rise in intensity, peaking at the (augmented!?) chord four measures from the end, before falling back a little. 

 

A beautiful touch and amazing voicing, but a bit sluggish for me, and a bit too much pedal. Very serene, but I feel that I lose track of the musical ideas. I always appreciate a little more forward momentum. 

 

An interesting interpretation. Very understated until all of a sudden it isn’t. A moderate tempo with stark dynamic contrasts but played very clearly and with great voicing. Despite this, it doesn’t come across as overly romantic to me, in general. I find the addition of the octave in the final pedal G# intriguing. It almost feels to me like pulling out another stop on an organ. 

 

My favorite tempo so far. To me this feels very emotionally charged, though it’s a little bit rough around the edges. I enjoy the relentlessness of his playing, and I would say that this is probably the one that “convinces” me the most. I think the strongest section is the stretto which really feels like it is driving forward with each accented beat. 

 

And I’ll include this one too for those who are into this sort of … thing. 

 

 

Anyway, that’s all. I hope I was able to justify at least a bit why I think this is such a meaningful work of art and also such a remarkable composition. 

 

 

References

Digital Bach. The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I: Fugue in C-Sharp Minor, BWV 849 – Animated Score and Analysis, YouTube, www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9ShwIrMJlU&list=PLYwl4jo5DoXTTPY0P8TlcyHkrwbEsWMyP&index=4&ab_channel=DigitalBach. Accessed 8 July 2025.

Smith, Timothy A. Fugue No. 4, 2002, www.musanim.com/pdf/BWV849FugueTimonthySmith.pdf.

It has been wonderful reading all of your reflections on Leipzig.  I thought I might add a few of my own.  First of all, while I had hoped that this would be a good course and a successful trip,  I had entirely underestimated how wonderful this experience might be.  As many of may have gleaned, I have a complicated relationship with the music of Bach.  On the one hand, my experiences singing Bach choral music in high school had a profound influence on my life.  I think it’s fair to say that I might not have pursued music professionally as either a singer or scholar had I not, on the first day in the Classical High School Choir, found a score of the Bach Magnificat on my desk.  I sang Bach during my conservatory years and learned some arias; but this was during a time in Boston when very rigid notions about early music singing were taking hold, and—even when I was young—I didn’t sound quite enough like a boy soprano!  When I went to graduate school, I had the privilege of studying with two amazing Bach scholars, Robert Marshall (whose essay you read) and Eric Chafe (who writes a lot about tonality and theology in Bach).  But then I discovered that — particularly in the 90s—the Bach scholarly world was very much a masculine realm.  And I blissfully went off to study seventeenth-century opera in Venice—another great city, to be sure! I didn’t come back to Bach, as it were, until I was commissioned to write the book on Music in the Baroque (I began that around 2008 or 2009) and spent a lot of time thinking about what role Bach plays in a textbook in baroque music.  I bristled against the notion that we treat all the other composers of the baroque as mere “predecessors” of the great masters.   Should he have his own chapter? How do we lead up to Bach without devaluing the other composers? What about Telemann, who was arguably far more successful by many metrics than Bach?  Most textbooks spend time on the Vivaldi concertos that were models for Bach, as it will certainly help students better understand the Brandenburg Concertos.  I became interested in the Vivaldi concertos that were much less conventional, such as the one for Viola d’amore and lute:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXTMeNF-Pf8

In the end, I was reasonably happy devoting a chapter to Handel and Bach, underscoring, as much as possible, some of the complexities in the way that Bach was represented by scholars while also conveying something of my passion for the music.

While I was still finishing the book, I was asked to be a keynote speaker for a conference at Yale on “Bach and Women.”  I nearly turned it down, but Ruth Tatlow persuaded me that I was the right person to do it—though I’d never published anything much on Bach at that point, beyond program notes at Princeton.   With her encouragement, I published an essay on Bach’s Magnificat (that she edited)  and then was asked to write an essay on Bach and women that I posted on canvas, published a few years ago.   And that resulted in an invitation to speak at the Emmanuel Institution at Emmanuel Church in Boston.  (For those of you who don’t know about Emmanuel Church, they perform a Bach cantata every week for their service! ).  And while I’ve spoken at some Bach conferences over the years—in no small part because of Ruth Tatlow’s encouragement—I always feel like an outsider.

So that brings us to our trip to Leipzig.   I was excited about the possibility of doing this course—and thrilled at the prospect of hearing all the wonderful concerts—but I truly had no idea what to expect.  What I found, however, is that in introducing all of you to Bach in the classroom, at the archive with Peter, in concerts, and in our own performance, I felt much closer to Bach again, regaining something of the unmitigated passion that I had felt in high school.   This was truly a gift, and I am grateful to you all!  If indeed I do get to write a book on Bach (which I’m contemplating, but it will have to wait a few years),  each of you will be listed in the acknowledgements.

Thank you!

Wow, what a way to end the festival! This was my first time seeing Bach’s Mass in B minor live and in full. It is truly a work of enormous scale and impact. The performance was amazing as well, though I could nitpick it a little. In fact let me start with a couple complaints so that I can end with the moments that left me truly speechless.

First of all, while all the soloists were clearly world class, I wasn’t in love all of their sounds. The countertenor sang beautifully but for me his tone for me was a bit thin (hollow?). The Agnus Dei is such a heartwrenchingly mournful movement for me and considering that it leads into the Dona nobis pacem it’s a big moment that I didn’t really think delivered. I also wasn’t super convinced by the Christe eleison which I also felt lacked some richness in the solo voices.

I thought that this interpretation excelled more at the moments of exuberance, triumph, and grandiosity rather than the moments of contemplation and lamentation. For example, I really enjoyed in the Gloria in excelsis Deo and the Et resurrexit how the trumpets were and timpani’s were able to fill the huge acoustic of the church. I would say that for me the highlights were the Gratias agimus tibi and Dona nobis pacem. When the trumpets came in the first time in the Gratias agimus tibi, it was unlike any sound I had ever heard. For the Dona nobis pacem, I knew what to expect so I just closed my eyes and allowed myself to be transported. I forgot everything for the next three minutes. When I opened my eyes, for a moment, I had no idea where I was or what was going on, until slowly, I returned to reality. For me, no other music has that power. I think this is why Bach’s music matters to me and honestly it’s because of moments like these that I bother playing music at all at the end of the day.