Program Notes: Midori In Recital

Midori is a dynamic force in the music realm. Since her auspicious debut with the New York Philharmonic in 1982, subsequent concerts, recordings, teaching positions and awards — including Kennedy Center Honors in 2021 for lifetime cultural contributions — have revealed an extraordinary artist who is wholeheartedly devoted to her craft and delights in sharing it with listeners worldwide. This recital celebrates Midori’s 40th anniversary as a performer, placing works by J.S. Bach in dialog with Bach-inspired pieces from 21st-century composers. 

The solo violin works of Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) are the cornerstone of every violinist’s repertoire. But it wasn’t always this way. When Bach composed his set of six sonatas and partitas in the early 1700s (the exact dates are uncertain), the concept of a violinist performing alone was still somewhat unusual. Contemporaries of Bach would typically add a small string ensemble or continuo instruments (harpsichord, organ, lute and/or cello) to their violin works to fill out harmonies and bolster the soloist. In the sonatas and partitas, though, Bach aimed to explore the full capabilities of the violin as a truly solo instrument. Incredibly, these works were not fully appreciated until violinist Joseph Joachim began championing them in the 19th century, which all but cemented their legacy in the years to come. 

From the first notes of its somber opening Grave — a slow tempo marking unique to the sonatas and partitas — the Second Sonata (BWV 1003) grounds our ears in the home key of A minor. The soloist stays largely confined to a single melodic line, which pokes its head into other key areas via the occasional inquisitive chord. This is soon turned on its head in the Fugue. The (very short) theme is quickly passed to other registers of the instrument, spinning a web of sinewy counterpoint that often requires the player to navigate multiple lines simultaneously. The Andante that follows is one of Bach’s most magnificent creations. Set in C major — the sonata’s only movement in a major key — the soloist presents an intimate yet rapturous song on top as a simple accompaniment quietly pulsates below. Afterward, a boisterous Allegro throws caution to the wind in its endless stream of notes. Here, Bach asks the violin to alternate between forte (loud) and piano (soft), creating a delightful “echo” effect, which is even more impressive considering that notating volume was not yet standard practice in Bach’s day. 

In sharp contrast, a gently rocking ostinato opens the Third Sonata (BWV 1005), which crossfades between consonance and dissonance. A quiet chord in the dominant key (G-major) closes the Adagio, preparing our ears for what comes next. The ensuing Fugue starts simply enough, with a mostly stepwise theme based on a Lutheran chorale tune. But looks can be deceiving. It is one of the longest fugues Bach ever penned (lasting between nine and 12 minutes) and presents numerous challenges and curiosities, including a section in which the theme is played upside down (al riverso) and developed all over again. The player gets a well-deserved breather in a short Largo that follows, but the technical gymnastics appear once again in the buoyant Allegro assai. 

Yehudi Menuhin called the Chaconne that concludes the Second Partita (BWV 1004), “the greatest structure for solo violin that exists.” But the music preceding it is no less remarkable. Structured as a Baroque dance suite, the Partita covers a vast emotional range, winding its way through landscapes both serene (Allemande) and playful (Gigue) before reaching the towering Chaconne. Bach starts the proceedings with a series of noble, biting chords built around D-minor (hints of which appeared in the Sarabande). A dotted melody soon blossoms out of this, the first trail marker on a journey that will present 64 seamless variations on the opening chords. Whether one keeps track or not, it is almost impossible not to get swept up in the grandeur of Bach’s music; by the time the full chords return in the final bars — ending with a solitary “D” played on two strings — one cannot help but breathe a sigh of gratitude. 

Unsurprisingly, the Chaconne has captivated generations of performers from Joachim and Menuhin to Midori. Composers, too, have fallen under its spell. Some have arranged it for other solo instruments — piano, organ and mandolin among them — while others have reimagined it for their own compositions. Passagen by the American composer and saxophonist John Zorn (b. 1953) is a striking example of the latter. Zorn used the Chaconne and Bach’s musical cryptogram — B-A-C-H (that is, the notes B-flat, A, C, and B-natural) — as the basis for this 2011 work for solo violin. Passagen opens with a slightly sour version of the Chaconne chords before catapulting us head-first into a virtuosic, madcap fantasia. This is Bach fed into a hadron collider and shot out the other side, picking up bits of Bartók, Paganini and Ornette Coleman along the way. While Bach’s materials can be tricky to distinguish at times, the work is a relentless thrill ride from beginning to end, one that’s intense (and even a bit scary) but ultimately exhilarating. 

On a slightly different — but no less impressive — note is Nun Komm. French composer and organist Thierry Escaich (b. 1965) wrote this short solo work in 2001, taking inspiration from the Lutheran chorale Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (“Savior of the nations, come”). Bach made ample use of this tune during his career. It appears in at least three different Advent cantatas (BWV 36, 61 and 62) alongside several arrangements for organ. Unlike Zorn’s Passagen, where the Chaconne gets thrown into a musical blender, Escaich’s Nun Komm keeps the Bachian connections a bit closer to the surface; fragments of melody and harmony persistently hint at the original chorale. Nervous, halting rhythmic gestures kickstart the work before a ghostly apparition of the tune appears high in the violin’s upper register. This frenetic dialog between high and low notes — perhaps heaven and hell? — continues undisturbed before both sides eventually wear themselves out and fade into an exhausted silence. 

Dr. Kevin McBrien © 2023