The Violinist’s Book of Genesis: Adagio from Bach Violin Sonata No. 1
Photo courtesy of Britannica Imagequest
Eddy Kang, Co-Editor-in-Chief
Johann Sebastian Bach, the master of tonality, resides atop the steep, immense mountain of violin repertoire. The Adagio from his first violin sonata represents one of his most celebrated and performed works. This movement holds significant weight as the opening statement of his Six Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin, widely considered the “holy Bible” of violin.
Much of the Adagio’s difficulty stems from the fact that the piece is unaccompanied: the violin plays completely alone. As such, every imperfection and blemish in the sound is completely exposed. Bach pieces present a fundamentally different type of challenge from many standard repertoire: not of virtuosity or flashy technique, but of long phrases, delicate balance, and precarious harmony.
The Adagio opens with a solemn, broken G minor chord, the first of four “pillar” chords, as world-renowned soloist Ray Chen dubs them. A wave of 32nd notes joins the next three pillars. A subsequent series of chords build tension, juxtaposed with tasteful trills and ornamentation. Bach then arrives at a decrescendo into a delicate piano. Two voices emerge, one low and one high. Internationally-acclaimed violinist Maxim Vengerov describes the lower voice as “fate,” while the upper voice is a desperate soul trying to escape from it. After a repeated back-and-forth, in the eighth measure, the upper voice resigns to its fate, landing on a pure D octave.
A new, softer melody begins, leading up to an unresolved D# minor diminished chord and a subsequent caesura which signals the first break in the 13-measure overarching phrase. A winding string of 32nd and 64th notes ends in a C minor chord, which leads into an echo of the beginning, only this time, a 4th higher. The next section closely resembles the opening theme, but Bach now utilizes more complex chord progressions and a darker color. This building tension culminates in a quick crescendo in the antepenultimate measure, where he traverses two octaves to arrive at a high B flat. A despairing flurry of 64th notes ends in a final, drawn-out chord: the same mellow G minor chord that began the piece. Man returns to the dust of his origin.
Throughout the decades, Bach’s compositions, including the Adagio, have been the subject of much dispute.
The “old school” violinists from the mid to late 20th century favored an expressive, rawer interpretation characterized by a healthy vibrato, a liberal use of rubato, and a sustained dynamic. Violinists in this camp include Jascha Heifetz, Nathan Milstein, and David Oistrakh.
Over the years, the rise of the historically informed performance (HIP) movement has produced renditions such as that of Rachel Podger. These interpretations stand in stark contrast to the old guard. They highlight frugal vibrato (oftentimes none at all), loose ornamentative rhythm with key chords as arrival points, and period instruments.
I favor those who have found somewhat of a middle ground, say, Augustin Hadelich, James Ehnes, or Janine Jansen. I admire their conservative use of vibrato as purely an ornament, as well as their balance between Romantic Era expressiveness and Baroque Era civility. Even so, their interpretations vary greatly. Hadelich, for example, exhibits variety in his chords. He often chooses to break chords into one note increments, whereas many violinists tend to play them in units of two. Jansen, for another, employs a more connected sound in comparison to Hadelich, opting for long, sweeping bow strokes which rarely leave the string.
My practice copy of the Adagio
As a student currently learning the Adagio, I seek to develop and refine my own interpretation by studying these legends of the field. I’ve taken aspects of the aforementioned artists’ performances and worked on incorporating them into my own.
I seek to emulate Jansen’s smooth, fluid bow arm, which generates a resonant sound with substantive projection. I’m continually amazed by the way she draws every drop of sound out of her 1715 “Pierre Rode” Stradivarius. I strive toward Ehnes’ flawless, precise intonation, however unattainable it might be. Podger’s looser sense of rhythm gives me direction, as I’m able to define periodic arrival points that guide my phrasing. I hope to expand my range of artist interpretations through Youtube, gathering more diverse takes on this classic piece to better inform my own playing.
No matter the interpretation, Bach’s G Minor Adagio will remain a cornerstone of the violin repertoire: an incorruptible bastion of polyphony and a milestone for all aspiring soloists.
