The Cello Suite In D Minor19:38 Apr 02 2011
Times Read: 564
No one knows exactly when JS Bach’s six suites for unaccompanied cello were written. Estimates vary from circa 1715 to 1723 The surviving manuscripts we have today are not in Bach’s flowing script nor are they signed by him. They are also devoid of any dating. Adding to their mystique, the Suites were never popular in their time and not mentioned in any periodicals or historical records. Unlike Beethoven, for example, Bach largely went unnoticed in his time.
Further complicating the issue of The Cello Suites is the existence of one variant for solo lute, an existence which offers more questions than it does answers. Which was written first? The solo lute version or the Cello version? And what of the lute? Are there six complete lutes suites out there, awaiting discovery? To date only one lute suite has been found and it is a variant of the C Minor suite, notable for it’s retuning of one of the cello’s strings.
One thing about the Suites is known: They were lost for close to 200 years. The Suites remained known only to a small group of music scholars and dedicated cellists almost as if they were ghosts whispering quietly in the corner of a shaded room. To the masses, to the public, they lay forgotten and out of the realm of the popular repertoire.
One day in 1890, blossoming Catalonian cellist Pablo Cassals, just about age 13, and his father were out looking for new music for the child protégé to play on his new adult-sized instrument. A world of possibilities lay at and within his fingertips but he could never in a lifetime have guessed of the significance which lay just yards from him. Father and son entered a music store in Barcelona and in a quiet back room the young Cassals located an original bound Grutzmacher edition with “Six Sonatas or Six Suites For Violincello”printed on the cover page. It was probably the single most important development in the Cello’s history.
Casals played the pieces daily for an astonishing 13 years, understanding the phrases, the complexities, every nuance he could extract from the music, before ever daring to go public with a performance. He cherished, revered, and respected the Suites and likely appointed himself as their de facto guardian, unwilling to release a solitary phrase to the public until every last measure, every bar, every phrase was nothing less than flawless.
It then took Cassals three years to record all six, between 1936 and 1939. Reverence and dedication to The Suites is not unusual in Bach performance circles. In 1951 Mtsislav Rostropovich, the revered Russian cellist, recorded the Second Cello Suite in Moscow. While in New York, in 1960, “Slava,“ as he is lovingly referred, recorded the dramatic Fifth Cello Suite.
Speaking to Kenneth Furie of The New York Times in March of 1991 at the age of 63, Mr. Rostropovich revealed: “In both cases I cannot forgive myself. I acted rashly. . . .” To the best of anyone’s knowledge, the Maestro never forgave himself for what he considered as premature attempts at recording these two Suites.
Slava admiringly continued: “"Now at 63, I must pluck up courage and record all the Bach suites. . . . Nothing in the world is more precious to me than these suites. These compositions always allow you to discover something new. Each day, each hour, each minute you reflect upon them, you reach deeper. You think you know everything about them, but no, next day you discover something new."
And this time he nailed it and he did it better than anyone else. Recording in the austere, all marble 900 year old church of St. Madeleine Basilica in Vezeley, France, March 1991, Bach brought his understanding and technique to their apex in The Suites.
Some take issue with the liberties Rostropovich allows himself on phrasings. To the purists, he deviated a little too much at times. To most of us, he poured every last ounce of his being into these works and watching the video recorded as he performed, it often appears as if Rostropovich is emotionally drained at the conclusion of some of The Suites. In the end it is a matter of personal taste, however I do not see his interpretations ever being surpassed.
The Cello Suite in D Minor is one of two Suites composed in a minor key. Heavy of hand and dark of heart, it is to some degree eclipsed by the even more funereal, almost exotic nature of the magnificent and sometimes angry Suite in C Minor.
From late May until early July, Bach was in the company of Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cothen. Leopold was a patron of the musical arts and when he hired Bach, he knew he had in his service an musician beyond all comparing and value. The Prince’s retinue traveled to a spa/resort in Carlsbad where Bach dutifully entertained the Prince’s musical tastes and likely worked on his composing skills.
Bach arrived home in Cothen only to learn his beloved wife of 13 years, mother of this first seven children, Maria Barbara had passed away and already been buried. He never had the opportunity to say goodbye to her or see her again. As he returned home, eager to be with his children, eager to see his wife, what must his sorrows have been like upon receiving this news? Bach scholar and biographer Christophe Wolff wrote: “the family’s grief was immeasurable and enduring.”
Sadness is an umbrella term and under it’s auspices there are many forms: Melancholy, hurt, despair, dysthymia, etc. One can be morose, blue, depressed, anywhere on the continuum. I’ve always viewed this suite as mournfully reflective as if looking back upon brighter days which have now since ended. As one undertakes the study of this piece one must be able to subtly move between these shades of the dark.
The first movement, the Prelude, begins with a D Minor arpeggio which I believe was born more out of necessity and meaning than through mechanics of a cello. On the cello it is nearly impossible to sound more than two strings at a time. The prelude begins with a perfect D Minor triad D (root), F (flatted third), and A (the fifth). Taken alone and by itself, this I, III, V combination rings powerfully. Arpeggiated, as it is here, the chord gives the sense of something once mighty and strong, now fractured and less than it once was. A pervasive feeling of loss is inescapable. This triad sets the foundation for what is essentially a tragedy in six movements.
Bach was a very religious man. He frequently signed his manuscripts with "Soli deo Gloria," meaning “To the glory of God.” Was the use of a Minor triad more than just a musical device? Did the triad represent the trinity of Bach’s God, Father, and Son? One gets the sense the Prelude is one man’s sorrow-filled petition to his lord, asking how could you have visited such sorrow upon me?
In performing the three out of six movements from this piece, I believe it is critical to maintain an air of sustained bereavement. The remaining five movements, are all named after common dances in the 1700’s: Allemande, Courrante Sarabande, Minuet, and Gigue (commonly pronounced “Jig“ in The United States).
The Courrant, mainly written is 16th notes, should be played faster than the Prelude with special emphasis to the tied quarter notes scattered throughout. They are few and far between and as such they provide both a contrast and a moment for the listener to process the deep emotional waters this Suite provides.
The Sarabande written for this piece is neither technically demanding nor is it to be played very fast at all. Still, for me the Sarabande represents the most difficult movement of the Suite. It is the Suite’s heart both musically and in terms of it’s placement, nearly half way through the piece. It is the culmination of the sorrows and agony which precede it as well as a musical signpost warning of still darker times ahead. I alter the beginning D to ring the same D as well as one an octave higher rolling all three like a classical guitarist, giving a terraced effect. It fills out the next move from E and A/E with an austere dignity worthy of Bach’s statement.
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