Category: Uncategorized (Page 4 of 8)

The annotations, edits, and markings made by musicians on some of Bach’s original manuscripts were what stood out to me the most during our first visit to the Bach archive . It was fascinating to see how Bach’s performance ideas shifted and evolved throughout the course of his life as his works were performed, and how some of his ideas were recycled in different pieces or edited to fit a different piece’s requirements. I felt incredibly privileged by the opportunity to see some of the original scores (penned by his copyists) and the account books that included his signature.  I also enjoyed our later visit to the Bach VR exhibit, which highlighted an increase in accessibility beyond the scholarly realm to Bach’s life and works – I found his use of the snuff box amusing, his anecdotes about his childhood and life entertaining, but was a little unsettled by the idea that Bach was supposed to be talking to me…

Of particular interest to me during our primary visit was the cartoonish satire doodle in one of the choristers’ chorale books:

First, I think this scribble humanizes Bach’s choristers. It is easy to forget, as we discussed repeatedly during our time in Leipzig, that those we consider ‘greats’ were human too, and faced the same human interactions and emotions that we have today. It also uncovers a rare moment of humor, reminding me of the long history of political satire. Clearly, the rehearsals and work of the Thomanerchor cannot always have been as serious as I imagine them – was the chorister bored? Or perhaps sneaky? Or did he take the book back to his lodgings with him? It is fun to imagine the possibilities about how this image came about.

The doodle itself is indicative of a mindset of ridicule toward the Leipzig guards who paroled the city walls, hinting at an attitude of mockery on the part of the chorister in question. Perhaps this chorister thought that the guards were useless – after all, they are depicted as rats – or otherwise invasive and unnecessary. The rats look almost unable to use their large weapons, which stand much taller than them, suggesting that they are unable to do their jobs. Moreover, their heads are pointed upwards, making them look oblivious of their real responsibilities. All this indicates to me an attitude of mockery, distrust, and ridicule of the military presence in Leipzig from the chorister — perhaps he considered Leipzig’s defenses insufficient, or perhaps this is a criticism of the necessity of guards (is the music contained in the chorale book perhaps the antithesis to the militance or inefficiency of the guards in Leipzig?)… What can we take away more broadly from this image beyond the chorister’s own musings?

Peter Wollny noted that as of yet they had not been able to decipher the text around the doodle, and at that point in the course, my German was not good enough to attempt to figure it out myself. It would be fascinating to me to further uncover what was meant by this cartoon with the words that surround it!

Last Friday, we were treated by InterDaF to a concert at the Gewandhaus. This was my first time inside of the venue and I quite liked the design. Even better, my seat was in the front row behind the orchestra which ended up providing a very unique concert experience.

The first piece was a Bach concerto for harpsichords played on three grand pianos with a reduced orchestra. This, I must admit, was a little bit jarring for me. After hearing Bach for the past week played on period instruments in strict historically-informed practice, I was at once caught off guard by the more modern sound. The orchestra played more or less without vibrato, and the pianists all played with crisp tone and minimal sustain pedal, and yet … I felt as if I was listening to a romantic concerto and by the end I was kind of underwhelmed. Bach is often so densely textured and, for me, if it doesn’t breathe it risks becoming incomprehensible. In a thick, homogeneously blended sound, I find it much harder to track the individual lines. This is to say that the music becomes reduced in my ear to really only its harmonic content. When the instruments’ sounds decay faster, it creates space in the music that allows me to hear each line entering, swelling, receding, exiting, etc. For me personally, modern pianos combined with modern string instruments don’t really offer that possibility, or at least didn’t in this concert. Nonetheless, the musicians and soloists played brilliantly of course and I did enjoy it very much, I suppose I’m just nitpicking.

The second piece, the Honegger, I enjoyed as well, perhaps more so as it went on. As I am somewhat new to appreciating 20th century music, I’m not sure I have anything further to say, except that I particularly liked the climax in the third movement when the trumpet soloist finally entered with the chorale line. The final piece, the Brahms 4, was definitely the highlight of the concert for me. It’s a symphony I am familiar with but not one that I know extremely well, which made it a joy to rediscover through this concert. The full orchestra was one of the best I’ve heard and the variety of dynamics and colors they were able to achieve was extraordinary. However, what made it a special experience for me was actually where I was sitting. I was so close that I could read off the timpanist and bassoonists’ scores as they were playing! Seeing the timpanist’s play up close, I was simply astounded by his level of precision. I was so close that I felt like I was almost in the orchestra, and I was able to see very clearly how the musicians near me were reacting to the conductor in real time. Personally, seeing visually how what I’m hearing is actually getting produced makes me so much more engrossed in the music.

Overall, these things made this a very memorable concert experience!

On the same night as the Cello Suites concert, I instead went to the Leipzig Zoo for Concert No. 26 “Reflections” with the Tim Kliphuis Trio and Shunske Sato, the former concertmaster and artistic director of the Netherlands Bach Society. I have been in love with Sato’s playing ever since I began listening to historically informed performances of Bach, so I couldn’t miss this opportunity to witness him play in person, even if the Cello Suites concert did present as a very tempting alternative.
Nevertheless, after a brief tour of the Zoo and dinner, the concert was a very big change from the music I had been hearing for the past week. I don’t really know what I was expecting, buying a ticket to an open-air concert in the Zoo featuring modern arrangements of Bach, but it was definitely a pleasant surprise. The concert began with a jazz arrangement of the 3rd Brandenburg Concerto, with supposed inspirations taken from all the other Brandenburg Concertos as well (though I was not able to hear any). It did make me realize, however, how unfamiliar I am with each concerto and how much I rely on hearing the instrumentation to identify which one I am listening to. I also found it interesting that, despite playing on an instrument from the 1800s (I overheard Sato talking about his instrument with a colleague I suspect is from the Netherlands Bach Society) and using a modern bow, his technique remains very baroque. His bow hold and the way he supports his instrument all stayed consistent with how he played on early instruments, and it also sounded in his playing, even in a jazz context.
Overall, I found the concert to be a very well-constructed take on Bach and other composers in a “Transformed” way, including an arrangement of Pachelbel’s canon, Handel’s “Arrival of the Queen of Sheba”, and, unsuspectingly, Copland’s Rodeo Hoedown that I found very cheesy but also well-made. My favorite part of the concert was, without question, the encore, where Sato played a selection of Bach solo violin repertoire, and the Kliphuis Trio played an arrangement of Strauss’s “Morgen.”

“It feels so weird to clap in a Church,” I whispered to Ruth as we stood clapping for the singers who had just finished performing the “Art of Dying” cantatas. It was a new, strange, and somewhat jarring feeling for me, having grown up playing violin for a Church choir, taught to never clap or expect applause with Church music, to give standing ovations to orchestral performers and singers in both the Nikolaikirche and Thomaskirche.

Throughout this course, I was prompted to reflect on the fascinating multifaceted roles of European Churches.

First, the sites of the Churches we visited are extremely historically significant, which immensely enhanced my visits and appreciation for our concert venues. It is amazing that the Thomaskirche, for example, was visited and even frequented by figures the likes of Luther, Bach, Mozart, and Wagner. And the Nikolaikirche was renowned philosopher Leibniz’s birthplace! More recently, the Nikolaikirche was the site of the “Monday Demonstrations” that were part of the 1989 ‘Peaceful Revolution,’ mobilizing 70,000 people to walk the streets of Leipzig on the GDR’s fortieth anniversary in one of the most significant political uprisings preceding the fall of the Soviet Union. All this to say — it is incredible how much you learn and retain from a few Church panels (and a visit to the Zeitgeschichteliches Forum) – and incredible to be able to listen to concerts in these historically significant buildings!

Next, the Churches stand as symbols of riveting debate around religion, secularism, and pluralism. For instance, in the thirteenth century, the site where the Thomaskirche now stands was home to an Augustinian Monastery. That the Thomaskirche went from Catholic to Lutheran in a matter of a few centuries is fascinating — it was also cool to really be able to appreciate the importance of the religious reformation which was taught repeatedly during my high school years (also, shoutout to the Stadtgeschichtliches Museum). It made me think about how important it is to consider religious pluralism and inclusion on a larger historical scale. On a similar note, I was fascinated to learn upon my visit to the Frauenkirche in Weimar that the Church was only fully rebuilt in 2004, almost fifteen years after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Even though the Thomaskirche and the Nikolaikirche were kept in shape during the GDR years (perhaps to attract Western tourism), the Frauenkirche, facing the same fate as many religious institutions under the rule of the USSR, was left in ruins. It was not rebuilt until the eventual reunification of Germany. Even then, it had to encourage a huge fundraising campaign in order to raise sufficient funds. Its basement space included an exhibition, some ruins, and a space to reflect on the role of religious spaces in the modern age. 

Finally, I found it interesting to think more about the ethics of tourism in Churches. Is it appropriate to charge people to visit religious spaces? What are the ethics of performing concerts in Churches, out of their intended religious context? What role should tourism play in these spaces?

Below: Thomaskirche History, Berlin Cathedral Dome, Frauenkirche Interior, Bach’s grave

Friday, June 13th (ooh ominous), I had the chance to attend what ended up being one of my favorite experiences so far in Leipzig. The rather unassuming street entrance just off Richard-Wagner-Platz led up several flights of stairs to an ornate Baroque-style hall. Over a rich coffee-breakfast, early music students from the Hochschule für Musik und Theater in Leipzig performed a spirited, genuine, and very well-prepared concert. There were assorted vocalists, string players, and wind players, and four beautifully decorated harpsichords, each with two manuals, much to my delight as a harpsichord owner and (aspiring) harpsichordist myself. The first part of the program was filled with various ensembles ranging from accompanied soloists to full chamber orchestra, including, at one point, all four harpsichords playing at once! Especially notable was the trumpet player who performed virtuosically on a natural (i.e. valve-less) instrument, no less. I cannot fathom the precision required to leap about and perform ornaments and trills on such closely placed partials. My ears are not accustomed to the 4th being tuned that high the 6th being tuned that low, so the instrument has a slightly unusual sound to me, but I very much enjoyed it.

The main attraction, however, was J.S. Bach’s Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht BWV 211, known as the Coffee Cantata. A tenor narrated from a balcony overlooking the hall while a soprano and bass acted out the humorous story of a father’s attempts to separate his daughter from her one true love: coffee. All of the performers were fantastic, but to me, the soprano stood out. Her voice was light and agile, but also effortlessly filled the hall and her dynamic control was also fully on display in impressively executed messa di voce. Overall, the students proved to be quite skilled technicians but also imbued the music with a fresh vitality. I felt a sense of transparency and authenticity, that kept me engaged through the whole program. I often have this experience when listening to ensembles of young musicians, where the music somehow feels much more alive to me than it otherwise would.

This experience was also made more memorable by the kind woman sitting next to me who was keen to practice her English and insisted on providing me translations of the musicians’ remarks. All in all, it was just about the best way I could imagine spending my breakfast.

On Friday, June 13, 2025, at 8 PM, I had the unique opportunity to experience a performance of Bach’s cantatas, notably one titled “Nr. 20 Kantaten zum Sonntag Jubilate.”

From the very beginning, the atmosphere felt theatrical, brought to life by the soprano’s singing alongside the first instrumental soloist. The initial chorale was captivating; after an energetic opening, there was a noticeable slowdown, allowing me to savor moments of caesura. It was during these reflective pauses that I truly began to appreciate the power of sound—so soothing and relaxing that my mind hovered just beneath the threshold of peaceful sleep. I yearned to understand the language of the music, and though my comprehension was limited, I was eager to learn. I envisioned a day when I could fully embrace the depth of Bach’s work.


As the performance continued, I perceived the serene beginning as a subtle river, flowing gently with waves of melody rather than explosive crescendos. When the singers joined for the first chorale, the emotional intensity surged, igniting a fire deep within my heart. The sound swept above my diaphragm, filling the space with sweetness and calm, lingering in the air like an unspoken presence. The soloists created an atmosphere that allowed me the freedom to process my thoughts, evoking a sense of ease amid their performance. 

It was remarkable to observe one of theviolinists skillfully reading their music while effortlessly gracing us with smiles. The connection between academic study and musical performance became increasingly unclouded, and I found myself reflecting on how dedicated scholarship can deepen our understanding of such a rich heritage. 

The applause following each movement was infectious. The energy in the room transformed with every pause, urging spontaneous cheers of encouragement as the violinist took brief moments of respite. The rhythmic backdrop of the orchestra flowed seamlessly, inviting us on a journey that felt endless, full of discoveries and realizations. Even the most irritable spirits could be comforted by the mesmerizing “bum bau bum” section.

I marveled at how musicians resisted the temptation to relax despite the soothing quality of the music. Each section held its softness yet remained controlled, allowing me to discern the nuances of major and minor harmonies. Observing one of the singers, who walked in place as laughter echoed softly among the audience, I contemplated the production’s effort to connect modern listeners with those who experienced Bach’s music in the 18th century, especially during those cold winter mornings when survival was the priority.



My thoughts drifted to the question of whether they ever considered how the conditions of the past—temperature, seating arrangements, historical context—might have influenced the experience of the music. Yet, here we were, viewing it all through a contemporary lens that could never fully capture the past. It was heartening to realize that scholarship sought to bridge this gap, emphasizing the importance of appreciating the music within its original context.

As I continued typing my thoughts, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the unwavering stamina of the vocal soloist. Even amidst my focused observation, the grand pauses that erupted throughout the performance drew me in. For the first time, I noticed how one blows the flute from the side, not the end; it struck me that there were over 1,500 musical instruments in the world. This orchestral mosaic was a testament to the classification that my high school teacher, Mr. Nyathi, had encouraged us to comprehend. Seeing the brass, woodwind, string, and percussion instruments come together was a beautiful realization, far beyond simply earning a good grade in a niche subject.

The transitions between instrumental and vocal soloists added layers to the overall experience. Amazingly, when I thought the performance might draw to a calm conclusion, the music would swell again, leaving me in awe of the heavenly artistry unfolding before me.

That night, my roommates explained to me that groups of performers go in the order “solo, duet, trio, quartet.” I then discovered “quintet, sextet,” and even more! Having been able to draw back on everything we’d learned in the first music seminar with Dr. Heller made me realize that I was truly learning, even if I barely knew how to read sheet music or analyze the performance as my professor did in class.

As a sports enthusiast and chess commentator, I’ve always appreciated how field-specific terms capture the core of the activity performed. My perspective is that once you know those, you not only describe how you feel or see, but how you believe it comes alive, which is another whole realm where captivating discussions also spring from. However, as Gabrielle said to me the next day, “You have to start somewhere.” I agreed.

Before taking this course, I was not super familiar with the music of J.S. Bach, and in fact the only piece of his I had ever played was a portion of his third cello suite arranged for viola. As a result I did have some idea of what to expect going in, but seeing these pieces performed live has completely changed my perspective on them.

On Tuesday, June 17th, we went to the Thomaskirche to see the suites performed by Jean-Guihen Queyras, who I thought overall did an excellent job. One of the first things that struck me about the performance was something we had discussed in class, which was how the suites are all collections of dance movements. Though, as we talked about, they would be near impossible to actually dance to, it was very clear how their composition and performance were informed by these different dances. The complexity and liberties taken with tempo throughout the suites make it clear that they are meant as performance pieces and would not likely be danced to. This is particularly evident in the later suites which are more technically challenging and would be extremely difficult for a dancer to follow. However, the way Queyras performed the suites still seemed to keep in mind the spirit of the dances.  I especially noticed this in the Allemande from the third suite in C major, as the lightness with which Queyras played this movement definitely allowed the listener to feel a pulse reminiscent of dancing. I also noticed this in the Minuets from the first two suites, his light and clean playing combined with a slight emphasis on beat one created a feeling of lifting up which is characteristic of minuets and makes the dance elements very clear.

On further reflection, I tried to imagine what a different interpretation of the suites would sound like without this characteristic lightness and a more “virtuosic” and heavy tone, and I do not think it would work as well. Not only was Queyras’ performance leaning into the dance elements of the suites, but the way they were composed seems to make this approach necessary. Trying to take too many liberties and make the pieces fit a style where the soloist is clearly the main focus would only make them sound unnatural, and instead a balance must be struck between interpreting them originally while not straying too far from the uniform and light nature of dance pieces. I think Queyras overall did a great job of finding this balance, especially in the first three suites.

Another interesting aspect of this performance is the repeats which occur in almost every movement of every suite. These again contribute to portraying the pieces’ origins in dance, as the repeats make them more uniform and, well, repetitive, which would be important for people to latch onto and dane to a piece. In Queyras’ performance he did not take all of the repeats, which is understandable as this would have made the performance longer than is practical for the audience or for Queyras himself. It also does not take much away from the performance, as he took enough of the repeats to still convey the sense of dance. However, I do feel that some of his choices of which repeats to take were rather random and there were times where he took repeats which I did not expect him to take and vice versa. I feel like a more consistent approach to which repeats to take would have made the performance a little more cohesive and natural, but this is not a huge issue and I still enjoyed the performance quite a bit.

The final days of the Princeton in Leipzig program were some of the most chaotic I’ve experienced in a long time. Between slipping and twisting my knee, speaking broken German with paramedics, hydroplaning in an Uber, scrambling for a last-minute ICE train after my flight was cancelled, and then sprinting through the airport only to find the gate closed four minutes early due to an extended security screening—I’m not entirely sure how I made it home in one piece. These are not the memories I plan to hold onto, but they do underscore how unpredictable and disorienting travel (and life) can be, especially at the end of something so meaningful.

Looking back on the final recital, however, I’m filled with gratitude. I performed three pieces: the Allemande from Bach’s Third Suite, transcribed in G Major for double bass; a trio in C Major with Maurice on cello and Vito on viola; and The Art of the Fugue No. 5, alongside Charlotte on violin, Vito on viola, and Maurice again on cello. Each ensemble offered something distinct, but the trio in particular surprised me with how naturally the instruments blended. There was a warm, grounded texture to the sound that felt effortless and deeply rewarding to be part of.

The Allemande was, without question, the most personally challenging. Not because of the notes on the page — although Bach leaves no room for hesitation — but because solo playing still brings a kind of internal resistance I’m learning to overcome. Ensemble work comes more naturally to me; there’s safety and energy in collaboration. Playing alone is a different conversation. In preparation, I did everything I could to stay grounded: hydration, breathing exercises, walking, and even a slightly excessive number of bananas. I also tried pushups as a way to flush the nerves, but strangely it was effective.

The performance as a whole was deeply fulfilling. I particularly appreciated hearing the gamba sonata performed by James on bassoon. It inspired me to explore the piece myself, especially given the bass’s lineage in the viol family. It’s a reminder of how fluid and adaptable early music is — and how much more there is to explore.
The recital venue offered beautiful acoustics, which required restraint. I’m not often in spaces of that size, and learning how to let the sound breathe rather than over-project was a valuable lesson in itself. Performing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring to close the evening was a perfect conclusion — a piece I’ve long loved, and one that felt amazing.

Our group came together the following evening for a celebratory dinner — a chance to unwind, reflect, and connect beyond the rehearsal room. We shared stories, laughed about our rehearsal blunders, and exchanged photos. It’s rare to feel so connected to a group in such a short amount of time, but this experience brought us together in a truly meaningful way. I leave with not just stronger musicianship, but with friendships I genuinely value.
This program has reaffirmed many things for me. That Bach’s music is inexhaustible in its beauty and challenge. I am grateful to the Princeton German Department, the music faculty, and every musician and mentor I encountered in Leipzig. And I hope to be back soon!

If you know me, you know I love coffee. However! I am not addicted to caffeine. How can this be? I grew up drinking coffee since I was 6 years old (maybe when I was 6 it was mostly milk, but it was still my job to brew the coffee every morning). My mom began drinking coffee when she was 5. While this may not be normal for most American families, my mom’s side of the family is Colombian, and there’s much less stigma related to coffee there. Plus, it’s typical to add cinnamon! This practice did not turn into a caffeine addiction because due to having ADHD, I actually experience the opposite effect from coffee — it makes me sleepy and calms me down. So, if I don’t drink coffee in the mornings I don’t really feel a difference at all because after all, it’s always been more of a social and cultural activity for me.

Okay! That was a lot, But that background brings me here, to Germany, where I have quickly fallen in love with the culture of “Kaffee and Kuchen” on Sundays. I like the idea of one day each week being a Ruhetag, and as someone who’s not very religious, I appreciate how it’s done in Germany. Businesses except for cafes and ice cream places are closed, and the expectation is that you’ll sit (preferably outside) with friends and family and exchange gossip or “Kaffeeklatsch.” Clearly from having read about and listened to Bach’s coffee cantata, coffee and coffeehouses have held important social roles for quite a while. In fact, how long coffeehouses have been around is fairly fascinating to me (and maybe this is just an amazement of how much older many buildings in Europe are than in the US), but Cafe Riquet (where our one on one German sessions are being primarily held) was founded in 1745 — a year before Princeton was founded! When I decided to first check it out on my own, I felt a bit like a fish out of water after realizing that I was the only person with a laptop out, working. To be fair, this was on the holiday we had off, but I still haven’t seen too many people working in coffeeshops when I walk around town (which is quite often). While working in a coffee shop is definitely my happy place, it’s caused me to wonder how the same exact spaces are treated in different geographic locations. I wonder what it must feel like to go to a US coffeeshop on a Sunday (or any day) and see almost everyone with their headphones in, bent over their computers. It does stress how we as Americans can be quite individualistic and perhaps more antisocial than other regions where rest time is more built into the weekly schedule.

Wondering where these traditions all began, I decided to read a bit more about German Kaffee und Kuchen. I began by reading an article from the Goethe Institute called “The Culture of Coffee.” It starts with an interesting account from a student named David who grew up in Germany and left to attend the University of Minnesota for college. He remarks that in contrast to to-go cups in the US, many german coffee places serve you your drink on a porcelain cup which means you’d have to take your time and finish your drink before you leave the coffee house, forcing you to slow down. He also remarks that coffee is treated as more of a stimulant in the US (students would drink it to perform better in class, feeling a dependency on caffeine) whereas coffee in Germany was drank more for enjoyment or as a social activity.

Next, the interviewer speaks with a local expert in Berlin: Jochen Hintze, the owner and founder of JOcaffè Rösterei und Maschinen, which is a shop roastery. He notes that his favorite aspect (aside from the coffee and a good Kenyan roast) is the way that people who live in the same neighborhood get to know each other through the coffee shop. In my experience, I have almost never met someone new at a coffee shop and stayed in touch. Places like Small World and Sakrid function more for maintaining pre-existing relationships or running into friends which has its own positive aspects, but I find it interesting that meeting new people seems to be more associated with coffee shops in Germany.

Next, Hitze begins explaining that another term for Kaffee und Kuchen is ‘Konditoren gehen’ because the tradition used to be centered on visiting a cake shop called ‘Konditorei,’ getting a slice of cake, and having a cup of coffee. He also talks about the shift in coffee culture from the mid-80s to the arrival of Starbucks in Germany. Surprisingly, he describes it as a positive shift in bringing back coffee culture as it encouraged people to leave their houses to get a cup of coffee.

Upon return to the US, I will definitely continue enjoying Ruhetag on Sundays and inviting my friends out to Kaffee und Kuchen perhaps at Small World, perhaps somewhere else.

https://www.goethe.de/prj/tbp/en/bpa/cul.html