Symphony No. 4 in e minor, Opus 98 – Johannes Brahms ( 1833 – 1897)
Allegro non troppo
Andante moderato
Allegro giocoso
Allegro energico e passionato
For many years Brahms was in such awe of Beethoven's towering example that he had no confidence in
his own compositional efforts. Thus his First Symphony was not introduced until he was forty three
years old and he was fifty two when his Fourth and final Symphony was first performed in 1885, nine
years later.
Though by the time he was working on his Fourth Symphony he was among the most respected
composers of his day, his lack of confidence persisted to such an extent that he hesitated even to admit
that he was working on a symphony, addressing the topic only indirectly. A letter to his publisher
alluded vaguely to a need for manuscript paper with more staves. He sent a manuscript copy of the
first movement score to one of his closest and most musical friends, Elisabeth von Herzogenberg,
asking her to give an opinion of it. When she failed to reply as quickly as he hoped, he sent a letter to
her husband expressing his fear that the Symphony was “a complete failure.”
Brahms's confidence was not reassured by the fact that some of his friends did have reservations about
the Symphony. It is a serious and complex work and one often-repeated story tells of the reaction of
critic Eduard Hanslick (who was one of Brahms's staunches allies) who, after hearing a two piano
version of the symphony, stated that the experience felt as if he, “was being beaten by two extremely
intelligent people!”
Fortunately, Hans von Bülow, who was to rehearse for the symphony's first performance had no such
doubts. Bülow, probably Europe's most eminent conductor, sent Brahms a letter after the first
rehearsal, stating that, “Number Four is stupendous, quite original, individual and rock-like with
incomparable strength from start to finish.” Bülow's preparation of the Meiningen Orchestra was
evidently thorough: the first performance in Meiningen, conducted by Brahms on October 25, 1885,
was superb and the symphony was the featured work of the orchestra's highly successful nine-city tour
under Bülow's direction which followed. Interestingly, the audience in Vienna, Brahms's adopted city,
gave the Symphony a cool initial reception. Music historians tend to believe that this reception derived
more from the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra's less-than-adequate rehearsal of the work than from the
actual tastes of the Viennese.
The Allegro non troppo is in the standard classical sonata form. But it must have been Brahms's
intention to have a bit of fun along the way, for the movement begins with a surprise for the listener:
the initial violin entrance seems to be mid-phrase. Brahms definitely intended the surprise because an
early manuscript shows a two bar chordal “preparation” that he crossed out. The ensuing theme of
descending thirds and ascending sixths establishes the harmonic structure of the entire symphony.
Further along in the movement, Brahms toys with the conventions of the sonata form by seeming to
make the “standard” repeat of the exposition but, after eight bars, abandoning the repeat for the
development instead. The recapitulation is introduced in a similarly novel manner with twelve bars of
seeming confusion during which the winds seem to try to restate the first theme but the strings fail to
“understand.” The winds finally win out and the recapitulation is at last underway to be followed by a
compelling coda.
The Andante Moderato begins with a simple horn call in the Phrygian mode, a call that provides the
movement's thematic germ material that Brahms transforms masterfully, with alterations of rhythm,
color and character. The cellos, horn and clarinet in particular play important roles in the movement
and, at times, the scoring becomes sensuous in a manner that could almost be said to anticipate
Rachmaninoff. But Brahms never quite lets himself go that far and, though the movement ends in a
major tonality, its concluding mood is somber.
If the Monty Python crew were to be narrating a performance of Brahms's Fourth Symphony, they
would surely intone at this point, “And now for something completely different.” For the Allegro
giocoso is energetic, almost boisterous in nature and a great contrast to the preceding movement.
Brahms is said to have later remarked on the character of this movement (no doubt with a twinkle in
his eye), that “three tympani, triangle and piccolo will make something of a show.” Though Brahms
included some moments of comparative calm they never last very long and seem to be there only to
give contrast to the exuberance which follows. Brahms's mention of the timpani, triangle and piccolo,
probably should have included the trumpets as well for they frequently reinforce the tympani's
rhythmic energy and they add great brilliance to the movement's stirring conclusion.
The final Allegro energico e passionato movement is unique and a milestone of symphonic writing.
Though Beethoven had written a theme and variations in the finale of his Eroica Symphony, no one
before Brahms had thought of basing the finale of a symphony on a passacaglia – a set of variations
over a bass line. Brahms based the theme loosely on Bach's Cantata No. 150, Nach dir, Herr, verlanget
mich (I long for you, O Lord). The melody is introduced, at the opening of the movement, by the
trombones which Brahms has saved until this moment.
Though making use of the passacaglia, a form associated with the Baroque period, Brahms manages,
through the style and character of the variations, to superimpose the sonata form upon it! This was
(and still is) an amazing feat. Brahms was never a ground-breaker in the sense of creating new forms.
He took what existed and extended its intellectual scope and breadth and, in this sense, the finale of the
Fourth Symphony is ground breaking. Using the passacaglia within the sonata form, Brahms was able
to create a vast musical structure of relentless power with great richness of thought and feeling.
A previous paragraph alluded to the cool reaction of the Viennese to Brahms's Fourth Symphony.
They, of course, soon changed their minds as can be discerned from the following moving account by
Edward Downes which, based on a biography of Brahms by Florence May, describes Brahms's last
appearance in Vienna at a concert on March 7, 1897, less than a month before his death. “At the close
of the first movement the applause persisted until Brahms came to the front of the box where he sat.
He was a tragically different Brahms from the hearty, stocky figure they had known. He had suffered a
terrible blow the year before, when his dearest friend and early champion Clara Schumann, died. He
never recovered from that shock. And a chill he caught at her burial aggravated a long-standing cancer
of the liver which killed him. The demonstrations were repeated after each movement of the Fourth
Symphony and at the end there was an extraordinary scene. The applauding, shouting house stared at
the figure standing in the box and seemed unable to let him go. Tears ran down his cheeks as he stood
there, shrunken in form, with lined countenance, strained expression, white hair hanging lank, and
through the audience there was a feeling as of a stifled sob, for each knew that he was saying farewell.
Another outburst of applause and yet another; one more acknowledgment from the master; and Brahms
and his Vienna had parted forever.”
Canon in D – Johann Pachelbel (1653 – 1706)
It is highly likely that you have heard of Johann Pachelbel only because Robert Redford heard a
Musical Heritage Society recording of an obscure piece of Baroque chamber music and decided to use
it in his 1980 film Ordinary People. That obscure piece was Canon in D. If you can name another of
Pachelbel's compositions you are probably a church organist or a musicologist.
Though today few are familiar with the music of Pachelbel beyond his Canon, it was not always so.
He was, in fact, a highly influential and popular composer in the middle Baroque and was considered
one of the finest organists of his time. Born in Nuremberg, Germany, he was educated at the
University of Altdorf and the Gymnasium Poeticum at Regensburg. Early in his career he was
appointed deputy organist at St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna where he was exposed to the musical
styles of Austria and, indirectly, of Italy. During his career he was organist and composer (both skills
were expected of church musicians) around southern and central Germany including the cities of
Eisenach, Erfurt and Stuttgart.
Until Pachelbel's Canon in D gained its recent popularity, Pachelbel was remembered most for his
interaction with the famed musical Bach family whose numerous members resided in Eisenach.
Pachelbel became friends with Johann Sebastian’s father Johann Ambrosius. He became godfather to
Johann Ambrosius's daughter Johanna Juditha (Johann Sebastian’s older sister), a tutor to brother
Johann Christoph, and rented a house from Johann Christian. It has often been stated that Pachelbel
also tutored Johann Sebastian but research now indicates that this is not the case. It is indisputable,
however, that Johann Sebastian was influenced by Pachelbel through his having studied with older
brother Johann Christoph. It seems indisputable as well, that there was a striking lack of originality
regarding children's names in Eisenach!
The Canon in D was originally written for three violins and basso continuo and was paired with a
Gigue though today the Gigue is almost never performed. A canon is a technique used in polyphonic
music in which the same melody is played sequentially by multiple voices, similar to a round. In the
Canon in D there are three voices performing the canon, entering two bars apart. However, in addition
to these canon voices, there is another element, the ostinato, that is played by the continuo and this is
the part that is heard at the very beginning. It repeats the same two-bar quarter note pattern over and
over throughout the piece. The composer's skill in developing the power and expressive qualities of the
music while adhering to the patterns of the ostinato and the canon are what makes this music
fascinating. One can only marvel at the genius that is involved – as any student of music theory who
has been required to write even a simple example of counterpoint will testify.
It may be of particular interest to members of our audience to note the pairing on this program of the
Canon in D with Brahms's Fourth Symphony whose finale employs a passacaglia. As mentioned in the
Brahms program note, a passacaglia is a compositional device that makes use of repeating patterns, in
essence similar to an ostinato. Though Brahms's treatment of repeated patterns is very different from
that of Pachelbel, listeners may find the comparison to be quite intriguing.
Concerto for Violin No. 1 in g minor, Opus 26 – Max Bruch (1838 – 1920)
Allegro Moderato
Writer Michael Steinberg begins his analysis of Bruch's Concerto No. 1 with the straightforward
statement, “Bruch comes perilously close to being a one-work composer, this g minor Concerto being
the one work.” This assertion is, perhaps, a bit severe but it is essentially true since the Concerto is by
far Bruch's most performed work today, followed distantly in popularity by his Scottish Fantasy for
violin and orchestra and Kol Neidrei for cello and orchestra – both gloriously melodic works. He also
wrote two additional violin concertos that are almost never performed. One might surmise from the
foregoing that Bruch wrote only for solo instruments but one would be wrong as he also composed
three symphonies, three operas, over a dozen choral works, songs and a considerable amount of
chamber music. In his time he was a sought-after conductor and a famous teacher, ending his career as
a teacher of composition at the prestigious Hochschule für Musik in Berlin.
The Concerto No. 1 in g minor was begun in 1857 when Bruch was only nineteen years of age – a
period during which he began writing and saving themes for future use. He completed the first version
of the concerto in 1866 and it was performed by Otto von Königslow in Koblenz where Bruch was
teaching. Bruch then made a substantial revision of the Concerto, consulting with the preeminent
violinist of the day Joseph Joachim who was, incidentally, one of Brahms's most ardent supporters.
The Concerto was reintroduced in its present form by Joachim on January 5, 1868 in Bremen.
The Allegro Moderato begins with a soft roll on the timpani, soon followed by brief, quiet phrases from
the flutes. The violins enter with a pensive and gradually rising melody. This sequence is repeated
with greater vigor until the original woodwind phrases are forcefully assumed by the full orchestra and
the solo violin plays a passionate melody characterized by the use of double stops and accompanied by
a “pulse” of pizzicato lower strings and timpani strokes. The second theme is more song-like, though
no less passionate and makes effective use of the violin's lower register, sometimes melodically pairing
with the oboe. A series of trills carry the theme into the upper register where the passion continues,
expressed by lovely rubatos and ornamentation. The first theme returns, again characterized by double
stops but of a more intense almost fierce nature. This brings us to the development, a tempestuous
passage played by the orchestra alone. The original melody of the opening bars returns and the violin's
solo phrases serve as short cadenzas. The movement ends with the orchestra playing a tutti passage
that tapers gently to a quiet conclusion.
There is a final biographical note regarding this Concerto that is likely to be of interest. After the end
of World War I and near the end of his life, Bruch found himself, like many of his countrymen, in dire
circumstances due to the awful monetary inflation that swept the German economy and to the fact that,
during the economic turmoil at the war's end, he was unable to collect the royalties he was due. To
raise some funds, Bruch sent an autographed score of the Concerto to the Sutro sisters, Rose and
Ottilie, an American piano duo for whom he had, in 1912, written a concerto for two pianos. He had
requested that the Sutro sisters sell the score and send him the desperately needed money. The Sutros
shamefully decided to keep the score for themselves but claimed to have sold it, sending Bruch nearly
worthless German money instead of the American dollars for which he had hoped.
Overture to Anacréon – Luigi Cherubini (1760 – 1842)
Though generally admired by classical musicians, Cherubini is probably not well known to the casual
concert-goer. He was born in Florence, Italy, the son of a harpsichord virtuoso. A prodigy, he had
composed a mass and Credo by the age of thirteen. But at the age of twenty five he visited Paris and,
having secured an introduction to Marie Antonette, settled there and became so thoroughly assimilated
that today he is considered a French composer. His early and greatest fame was as a composer of
opera, though especially in his later years, he wrote a considerable amount of sacred music. Although
rarely performed today, his operas were seminal works in the development of Romantic opera and they
exerted great influence in the development of Parisian grand opera, perhaps the most important operatic
genre in the first half of the nineteenth century.
During Cherubini's long career he was troubled by the political machinations of France. The French
Revolution began just a year after he moved to France and, though he escaped the violence that swept
over the nation, through the years which followed he “walked a tightrope” as the government vacillated
between royalist and Republican regimes. It seems a wonder that he managed as well as he did since
he evidently had a legendarily acerbic personality. An example of this can be found in this account by
biographer Edward Bellasis of an exchange between Cherubini and Napoleon:
Napoleon: “My dear Cherubini, you are certainly an excellent musician, but really your music is so
noisy and complicated that I can make nothing of it.”
Cherubini: “My dear general, you are certainly an excellent soldier but, in regard to music, you must
excuse me if I don't think it necessary to adapt my compositions to your comprehension.”
Unlike his other operas, Anacréon was a total flop. Premiered on October 4, 1803 by the Paris Opera,
it was given just seven performances. The subject matter, the ancient Greek poet Anacréon's life and
loves (complete with the interventions of Cupid), was completely out of the spirit of the time.
Additionally, there was, during this period, something of an anti-intellectual movement that condemned
operatic material that was “too serious.” In contemporary minds Anacréon fit this description. The
result was an audience that hissed and booed and laughed aloud.
But the Overture was another matter. Unlike the opera, it was admired in its day (though perhaps not
immediately) as an instrumental masterpiece, full of Cherubini's melodic genius with brilliant and
dramatic orchestration. Today the Overture to Anacréon remains in the standard concert repertoire,
probably Cherubini's most performed work with the possible exception of his Requiem in d minor.