The Impossible Trumpet: Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2
As we continue through the set of six concertos that J.S. Bach sent as a wildly optimistic job application to the Margrave of Brandenburg in 1721, we arrive at the second in the set. If the First Concerto was a festive, symphonic pageant, the Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F major, BWV 1047, is a brilliant, high-wire act of the most breathtaking virtuosity. It stands as one of the most famous and exhilarating pieces of the entire Baroque era, primarily for its audacious choice of solo instruments and the near-superhuman demands it
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The Impossible Trumpet: Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2
As we continue through the set of six concertos that J.S. Bach sent as a wildly optimistic job application to the Margrave of Brandenburg in 1721, we arrive at the second in the set. If the First Concerto was a festive, symphonic pageant, the Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F major, BWV 1047, is a brilliant, high-wire act of the most breathtaking virtuosity. It stands as one of the most famous and exhilarating pieces of the entire Baroque era, primarily for its audacious choice of solo instruments and the near-superhuman demands it places upon one of them.
At the heart of this concerto is one of the most unusual solo groupings ever conceived: a quartet of four distinct and competing instrumental colors. Bach assembles a brilliant trumpet (a high-pitched tromba), a gentle recorder (often replaced by a modern flute), a lyrical oboe, and a virtuosic violin. This isn't a team of similar voices; it’s a gathering of high-profile soloists from every section of the orchestra, each with a strong personality, pitted against one another in a dazzling display of contrapuntal conversation. One can only imagine the Margrave, had he ever looked closely at the score, wondering how his modest court orchestra could possibly assemble such a team of stars.
The star of the show, and the source of its legendary difficulty, is the trumpet. The part was written for a valveless natural trumpet, requiring the player to produce incredibly high, clarion notes in the instrument’s extreme upper register through sheer force of will and embouchure. It is widely considered one of the most treacherous and demanding parts in the entire orchestral repertoire. The fact that Bach wrote it at all implies he must have had a truly phenomenal, once-in-a-generation player at his disposal in the court of Cöthen.
The concerto opens with a joyous and energetic first movement. The full orchestra, or tutti, presents the main theme, a memorable and robust ritornello. This theme then serves as the framework for the soloists' entrance. They introduce themselves one by one before launching into a brilliant, sparkling dialogue, tossing fragments of the theme back and forth with dizzying speed and complexity. The high, silvery voice of the trumpet soars over the ensemble, an emblem of pure, celebratory brilliance.
For the second movement, a poignant Andante, Bach does something remarkable. He silences the trumpet completely, as its piercing, festive character would be utterly out of place. Instead, he creates an intimate, melancholic trio for the recorder, oboe, and violin, accompanied only by the gentle pulse of the continuo. It is a moment of profound, sorrowful beauty, a shared sigh between the three more lyrical soloists. The mood is one of tender intimacy, a quiet conversation in a private chamber.
But the trumpeter, having had a chance to catch his breath, returns with a vengeance in the spectacular finale, Allegro assai. This movement is a masterful and exhilarating fugue. The trumpet itself gets the honor of announcing the main subject, a jaunty, unforgettable tune that is then taken up in turn by the oboe, violin, and recorder. From there, the movement builds into a whirlwind of unstoppable contrapuntal energy, a joyful chase that brings this most brilliant and audacious of concertos to a breathless and triumphant close.
