Brahms:Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat Major, Op. 83

Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat Major, Op. 83

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

When the twenty year-old Johannes Brahms paid a visit to Robert and Clara Schumann in 1853 the unknown young composer could hardly have imagined the remarkable chain of events which would follow, which would quickly leading fame and artistic fulfillment. Brahms,a brilliant pianist, had already written piano works of great originality, including piano sonatas which Schumann would describe in a celebrated article as “veiled symphonies.” Schumann’s composing days were nearing an end, his mind increasingly clouded by the onset of his final mental illness. But he was so taken by the young Brahms that he wrote a magazine article (his last) entitled “New Paths,” proclaiming great things for Brahms, and speaking of the young man as “a chosen one.” (In an interesting parallel, Schumann’s very FIRST critical piece had called the attention of the German musical world to the unknown young Frederic Chopin.) Aware of the high expectations raised by Schumann’s words, Brahms moved with great care in presenting his first major works to the scrutiny of the musical world. There was good reason for caution, as he learned when the first of his compositions on a truly symphonic scale, the First Piano Concerto in D Minor, Op. 15, was greeted by icy hostility at its premiere in Leipzig in 1859. Little wonder that Brahms spent a tortuous 23 years before releasing the First Symphony for performance.

IF THAT PARAGRAPH IS INDEED CUT, THE ARTICLE SHOULD OPEN WITH THIS SENTENCE:

ARTICLE STARTED HERE AS PRINTED IN PROGRAMME:

With the great success of his First Symphony (1876), which had required 23 years of tortuous labour to bring to completion, Johannes Brahms moved ahead surprisingly quickly to compose most of his other major orchestral works, the Second Symphony following in 1877, and Violin Concerto in 1878. Brahms had reached a highpoint of public esteem.

The controlled emotional intensity and insecurity of his younger years had mellowed into a tranquillity of spirit and artistic mastery which would would become manifest in the works of his maturity. The very essence of his later creative period, the Second Piano Concerto, completed in 1881 and dedicated to his beloved old piano teacher, Eduard Marxsen, was introduced with Brahms as soloist in Budapest in November of that year. In a letter to his dear friend Elisabeth von Herzogenberg Brahms described the work (in his usual sardonic manner) as “a tiny, tiny concerto with a tiny, tiny wisp of a scherzo.” In fact the work is notable for its intricate design and fascinating expressive content, and not until the Busoni Concerto of 1904 would another piano concerto exceed its massive 45 minute duration. A work of truly symphonic dimensions, the concerto has long been regarded as a supreme challenge to the performer, requiring a sovereign command of piano technique, sheer physical stamina as well as great delicacy and interpretive subtlety. (It was not long ago that the B-flat Concerto was considered out of bounds for women pianists, perhaps in line with Brahms’ jibe that “it is decidedly not for little girls” – but then, Brahms was notorious for bringing young women to tears with his teasing ways. Great women pianists such as Myra Hess and Gina Bachauer long ago disproved such antique notions.)

Brahms may have been a disciplined “classicist” at heart, but in all the works of the 19^th century there is nothing more magically “Romantic” than the opening of the B-flat concerto, with its horncall figures stealing out of silence, balanced by echoing phrases in the piano. It is an opening worthy of Weber, or even Bruckner, with its evocation of the forest, the stillness of nature. With but a few bars of gentle comment from the winds and strings, the piano suddenly bursts into an impassioned cadenza which then gives way to a full-dress orchestral RITORNELLO. Building to a powerful climax, the piano re-enters.

The first three notes of the horncall predominate, soon leading to a suavely CANTABILE transition melody in the violins. After some filigree passagework in the piano, the second subject (a cluster of themes) is laid out, first with a three-note motive taken from the horncall, soon bringing in a hushed, rhythmically-pointed figure heard over repeated triplet notes. This leads to graceful, atmospheric figuration in the piano, hands rippling in contrary motion, alternating between high and low pairs of notes over broken octave accompaniment. A wistful little theme first heard in the orchestral RITORNELLO is heard in a richly decorated, full-throated statement in the solo piano, followed by a tightly-sprung rhythmic section which closes out the exposition of the movement with the orchestra hammering out the main horncall melodic figure. After an orchestral RITORNELLO in the classic 18^th century manner, the soloist is drawn back into the argument, the horncall leading the way into the development, which at first focuses upon the agitated arpeggiated patterns first heard in the piano cadenza early in the movement. The music presses ahead with increased emphasis upon dotted rhythms, at first in heavy sweeping patterns, then giving way to a quiet dialogue between piano and orchestra. Harmonically the musical argument has shifted into the unlikely key of B Minor, then finds its way to the home key, the horncall leading in a smooth and easeful recapitulation. This time there is no bristling piano cadenza, instead a gentle winding down into the tonic key for the return of the second subject material, very much as before. The coda is drawn into play with hovering soft trills, the horncall (plus thematic elements from the second subject) spun out in a final developmental passage before the movement pushes ahead to a resolute conclusion.

As a rule concertos do not include SCHERZO movements, although there is one in the Liszt First Piano Concerto (the antithesis of the Brahms B-Flat concerto!)

And in a departure from the traditional structure of a SCHERZO, the second movement is actually constructed in a clear-cut sonata form plan, with a “Trio” emerging in the middle of the development. There are two well-defined thematic elements: the first is a heavy, rhythmically distinctive melody in D Minor (originally considered for use in the Violin Concerto three years earlier), thundered out by the piano in block chords against a pounding, syncopated bass-line, the second a lilting, wistful tune in A Minor in the upper register of the violins, which is heard in an extended variant in the piano. After a repeat of the exposition, the development gets down to business, tackling the two main thematic elements in turn. The first theme begins to scramble the main elements, with the pounding bass-line beginning to be taken by the piano, while the gentle secondary theme soon takes on an urgency and agitation, building to a powerful climax. This suddenly breaks into a new MARCATO D Major theme, which takes on the character of a “Trio” section. At first this has a martial, trumpet-tune character, but then fills out into richer harmonic solidity. Out of nowhere the piano sails into a hushed (“SOTTO VOCE”) passage of whirling octaves, and intricate patterns in thirds and sixths—for pianists a notorious and much-feared finger-twister. After a moment of quiet, the martial flourishes return in full FORTISSIMO. After a moment of glassy stillness (the piano momentarily stilled), the recapitulation lunges into action---this time with the roles reversed: the tune blared out in the orchestra, the piano attending to the pounding bass-line. The second theme is wonderfully transformed by a change in orchestral colour, heard in a pair of solo horns, then becoming progressively more agitated, pressing relentlessly on to conclude the movement in a hectic run for cover.

If there should be some question as to Brahms’ decision to include a SCHERZO movement, the explanation is that without such a movement the haunting effect of the ANDANTE slow movement would surely be robbed of much of its extraordinary atmosphere. Returning to the home key of B-flat, Brahms opens the slow movement with the solo cello unfolding a melody of utter serenity---a melody which (similar to the opening oboe melody of the Violin Concerto’s slow movement) is NEVER played by the piano soloist! (Although not to appear in print for another eight years, Brahms’ lovely song, “Immer leise wird mein Schlummer,” Op. 105, No. 2, shares its opening phrase and mood of hushed inwardness with the slow movement of the concerto.) The orchestra is reduced in size: only two horns, no trumpets or timpani. The cello solo takes its easeful course, joined by a solo oboe, followed by the entry of the piano, in a meditative passage which hints at the cello theme without actually quoting it. A change in mood ushers in an extended section based upon the primary melodic material, with increasingly impassioned dialogue between soloist and orchestra, finally coming to rest on the tonic minor (B-flat minor). The intense quiet of the opening has been regained, which enables Brahms to glide imperceptibly into the unearthly stillness of the remote key of F-sharp major, where time seems to stand still, a pair of clarinets hover above a murmuring figuration in the piano, a tinge of cool piano tone added to their distant warmth. The cello soloist steals back, returning to the “Immer leise wird mein Schlummer” theme (still in F-sharp major), before the return of the piano guides the music around to the home key. A coda of ever more transparency and tenderness brings the movement to a a final warm cadence.

A second pair of horns rejoins the orchestra for the finale, but the trumpets and drums remain silent. The final movement is filled with genial warmth, good cheer and serenity. The surging emotions of the scherzo are past, the slow movement’s phases of anxiety have been overcome, and the remarkable vision revealed in the opening horncall is now fulfilled. While the finale has the character of an easy-going rondo, it is in fact an amiably relaxed sonata form structure, in which the initial thematic element predominates: a sprightly, rhythmically springy tune which sometimes takes on a more assertive character, but never quite loses its innocent spirit. A more lyrical variant of this tune is heard in the piano, soon circling into a second subject, one of those Brahms melodies reminiscent of his “Hungarian Dances,” intoned by the winds against a trotting triplet accompaniment in the piano. A jaunty subsidiary tune turns up in rolling sixteenth-notes in the piano against a sauntering PIZZICATO background in the lower strings. What at first sounds like a repeat of the opening melody (which would indicate a RONDO structure) soon moves into some spirited development. After a recapitulation which tightens up some of the component parts, a lively triplet version of the opening melody forms the basis of a coda which creates a spirited and good-humoured conclusion.

Weber: Overture to Euryanthe

Overture to Euryanthe

Carl Maria von Weber (1786-1826)

Carl Maria von Weber might seem to be a familiar name in music history, but anyone skimming through an account of this remarkable man’s career will be astounded to discover how little is generally known about his life, as well as how little of his finest music is ever heard. Part of the problem is due to the fact that Weber’s most important works, the operas, are rarely performed outside of Germany, while the instrumental music tends to be overshadowed by that of his immediate contemporaries, Beethoven and Schubert. Apart from a number of rather facile compositions for wind instruments few of his concert works are ever performed. And it is not widely known that Weber was one of the key figures in the development of early musical Romanticism in Germany, and a serious-minded figure in operatic history comparable to Wagner and Mahler----not merely a precursor of Richard Wagner, whose works have quite unfairly overshadowed the accomplishments of the earlier composer.

Weber was born in a middle-class family filled with professional musicians---the aristocratic “von” was a fanciful embellishment added to the family name by his father. Linked by marriage with Mozart, whose wife Constanze was a relative, he showed remarkable musical gifts at an early age, and began his professional career in opera as a teenager, becoming a Kapellmeister before the age of EIGHTEEN, with positions in Breslau, Stuttgart and Prague, later Berlin and Dresden, where he would be a predecessor of Richard Wagner. Before the age of thirty Weber had held a dizzying succession of appointments, with tours and appearances in every important city in the German-speaking world. Along the way there were commissions for the woodwind concerti, symphonies, songs, chamber music and piano works, including the “Invitation to the Dance,” today best-known through the orchestration by Hector Berlioz, a passionate advocate for Weber’s works.
By the time Weber was in his mid-twenties he was deeply absorbed in the emerging “Romantic” movement, heralded by the work of writers and poets such as Byron and Scott (in translation), and in Germany such figures as E. T. A. Hoffmann and Goethe, both of whom Weber came to know. As with composers such as Berlioz and Schumann, Weber was keenly involved in the world of literature, even writing articles, poems, sketches for a novel, and turning out important musical criticism. He even made plans to write a guidebook for musicians travelling in Germany [“Musikalisches Topographie Deutschlands.”]

Weber began writing operas in his teens, but there were to be but three major works for the stage, composed in his last decade, DER FREISCHUTZ, EURYANTHE and OBERON. These excited wide attention for their vivid Romantic elements: the exotic settings, the looking back to a fairy-tale “past,” elements of the supernatural, the descriptive, the heroic, the exploration of a dream world. These elements would have great impact upon the music dramas of Wagner, as well as exerting a powerful influence upon such composers as Berlioz, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Liszt and a host of German composers throughout the 19^th century. (As late as the 1880s the young Gustav Mahler would undertake to complete Weber’s unfinished opera, DIE DREI PINTOS.)

Weber ’s professional life in the world of opera was marked by the highest artistic standards, with close attention to details of stage design and dramaturgy, and a breadth of musical vision quite exceptional for the early 19^th century.

Not again until the appearance of Richard Wagner would such a comprehensive perspective be brought to bear upon the slapdash world of opera---it is quite understandable that Wagner viewed himself as the natural successor to Weber as the standard-bearer for German opera.

The very existence of “German opera” owed much to Weber’s accomplishments. In Dresden, for example, when Weber was appointed music director in 1817, the lingering influence of Italian OPERA SERIA still held sway, supported by the Saxon court, with Italian singers and composers occupying the key positions.

In his post as music director at Dresden Weber set out to build a genuine German opera company in the teeth of fierce opposition, and soon began work on DER FREISCHUTZ, which had a sensational success at its premiere in Berlin in 1821. Although he would never be entirely free from financial and professional pressures (and began to show alarming effects of the tuberculosis which would soon cut short his life), Weber was now at the height of his powers. A commission for a new work came from Vienna, which led to plans for a “grand opera,” EURYANTHE, on a libretto by the Dresden poet, Helmina von Chezy. Although well-received at the first performance in October, 1823, the opera’s originality baffled many listeners, and failed to win the overwhelming acclaim shown FREISCHUTZ.

Weber’s health began to decline rapidly in 1824, and he composed little. In the final years of his life Weber appeared with great success as a conductor, not only of opera, but orchestral and choral works (including Handel’s MESSIAH.) He was one of the first to conduct STANDING before the orchestra, using a baton, and giving attention to the seating position of the players.

Weber’s last opera, OBERON, was composed to an English text for a gala premiere at Covent Garden, where it was first heard in April, 1826.

Despite his weakened condition, the composer fulfilled many musical and social engagements, and was shown lavish care and attention by his English friends.

Shortly before his planned return to Germany he died on June 5, 1826, and was buried in London amid great public mourning. In 1844, Richard Wagner, who was a successor to Weber at Dresden, organised the transfer of Weber’s remains for reburial in Germany.

The failure of EURYANTHE to win a place in the operatic repertoire is most of all due to the libretto: a tangled tale which attains a wondrous level of absurdity and word-spinning. Anyone hearing a recording (and a quite fine one exists, with Jessye Norman in the cast) may discover why Donald Francis Tovey described it as a “tremendous work,” of a quality which sometime exceeds that of Wagner’s LOHENGRIN - !

Whatever EURYANTHE’s difficulties, the Overture has always been popular. It is a clear-cut sonata form structure, leaping into action with a wonderfully zestful declamatory opening figure, which immediately is followed by a solid, “chivalric” first subject, more than a little suggestive of the medieval swagger soon to appear in LOHENGRIN and TANNHAUSER. This is followed by a sweeping lyrical secondary theme in the strings, rounded out by a closing theme of “heraldic pomp,” as Tovey puts it. True to the spirit of the age, there is a ghost scene in EURYANTHE, which suddenly is evoked at the start of the development section, in an eerie passage played by divided violins and violas in the remote (and “haunted”) key of B Minor. Returning to the primary tempo, the development is built around an inverted version of the closing theme worked out contrapuntally, at first hushed, then swelling in intensity, moving ahead to a brilliant recapitulation. The major components return in their proper places, ending with the kind of energy and dash which so fired the imagination and admiration of the young Wagner and so many others of his generation.