The 20-year gestation of this symphony is related to two factors – Brahms’ own self-criticism of his work and the public’s expectation that Brahms would continue “Beethoven’s inheritance” and produce a symphony of depth and scope equal or superior to Beethoven’s monumental Ninth Symphony.
This would be a daunting task for any composer. For Brahms, it was almost paralyzing. This first symphony was finally completed in 1876, when he was 43 years old.
The symphony opens with a turbulently powerful melody underscored by the relentless pounding of the timpani and basses. The movement is dark and brooding, angry and restless. The rich counterpoint of this movement is modeled less on Beethoven or Schumann and more related to the polyphony of musical ideas associated with Bach. Brahms merges a baroque era, fugue-like structure with the scale and power of a modern symphonic orchestra.
The second movement begins with a lyrical, melodic, rising phrase, first in the violins, then in the other sections. Like the first movement, it is introverted and reflective in nature, although it warms at the end with a sense of hope, first with a trio featuring oboe, French horn, and solo violin, and then with a beautiful violin solo, echoed by the French horn.
The third movement, in contrast to the typical, frantic Beethoven Scherzo, places us in a calm, wandering state. It features woodwinds, especially clarinets. Its relaxed, serene style is a welcome respite from the tension and intensity of the symphony’s outer movements.
The immense finale is Brahms’ clearest homage to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. As with that masterpiece, it begins with a dramatic introduction and chorale theme. Even the key of c minor, with its twist to C major at the end, can be considered parallel to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in d minor. The horn calls, after the introduction and before the chorale, are based on traditional Alphorn music Brahms heard on a trip to the Alps. What follows is one of the most famous and moving melodies in all of Brahms’ writing; a melody with a clear resemblance to the famous “Ode to Joy” in Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9. When one thinks of the First Symphony, it is this beautiful melody that often comes to mind.
This concerto was Brahms’ first attempt at symphonic writing. He sketched the majority of the work in 1856. For a while it took the form of a two-piano sonata; then he orchestrated it, striving for a symphony. Finally, it was completed as a piano concerto, but one very different in nature from the piano concertos of its era.
Material from the symphony’s first and second movements was retained for the concerto; the last movement was replaced with an upbeat Rondo in Hungarian style. From the dramatic opening of the forceful theme to the rousing finale, the piano weaves in and out of the texture and becomes an integral part of the whole piece. In the slow Adagio, Brahms pays tribute to both Clara and Robert Schumann. In 1856, he wrote to Clara, “I am painting a lovely portrait of you. It is to be the Adagio.” The inscription on the original manuscript of this hymn-like movement is: “Benedictus qui venit in nominee Domini.” Aside from its religious connotations, it suggests a dedication to Robert Schumann, who had recently died, and whom Brahms referred to as “master” or Dominus.”
The root of Brahms’ music lies in the tension between the duple and the triple rhythmic pulse. The inspiration for this can be traced back to his great fondness for the so-called “gypsy” music of Hungary.
In 1852, as a nineteen-year-old pianist, the young Brahms accompanied the Hungarian violinist Eduard Remenyi, whose musical style was greatly influenced by the verve and freedom of the gypsy violin. Brahms developed a great affection for this style and in 1869 wrote his Hungarian Dances for piano duet based upon Magyar folk melodies. He later orchestrated many of these Dances and they are part of our standard repertoire today.
This supernatural fantasy for orchestra was composed by the Russian composer Mussorgsky in 1867 and re-orchestrated by Rimsky-Korsakov in 1886.
Notes from Mussorgsky’s own score make clear its programmatic nature. It starts with subterranean sounds from supernatural voices. Then, there is the appearance of the spirits of darkness, and after them, of Chernobog (the black god). The piece builds to the glorification of the Black God and Black Mass; a witches’ sabbath follows. At its height, the sabbath is interrupted by the distant sounds of a bell in a little village church, which disperses the spirits of darkness as daybreak ensues.
Fittingly enough for this concert, this next work is from Boito’s opera Mefistofele, a retelling of the Faust legend and his bargain with the devil. In this hauntingly beautiful aria, Faust’s beloved Margherita is in her jail cell and going mad from grief at the supposed loss of her baby and her mother.
Instead of a singer, though, we’re having this aria performed on a Theremin. A theremin is an electronic instrument invented in 1919 by a Russian scientist (Léon Theremin) played by moving both hands around two antennas – one of which determines pitch, and one of which determines loudness – without touching the instrument itself. In the 1950s the theremin was featured in a number of science-fiction movies (such as “The Day the Earth Stood Still”) because of its capability of producing “otherworldly” sounds.
More recently, though, the theremin has been undergoing a revival because of its novelty and expressiveness in performance. It is considered the forerunner of the Moog synthesizer and other electronic instruments in use today.
According to an old French superstition, Death appears at a graveyard at midnight on Halloween, “tunes” his violin (a very peculiar type of tuning), and calls forth the skeletons from their graves to dance – to their own type of waltz!
Saint-Saëns, who first performed this work in 1874, uses all sorts of unusual instrumental effects, including the xylophone and having the strings hit the wood of their bows on the strings (col legno) to conjure up the skeleton images. A cock-crow by the oboe heralds the dawn, when all of the revels cease and the skeletons return to their graves for another year.
In Scotland, the cross-fertilization between classical violin music and traditional fiddle tunes began in the 18th century. Because fiddle players in Scotland had an unusually high rate of musical literacy, their folk music, unlike that in other countries, was often learned and written down. As a result, hundreds of printed and manuscript collections were created between the 1740s and the end of the century. Max Bruch found some of these Scottish melodies in a copy of Scottish Musical Museum by James Johnson, during a visit to the Munich Library in 1862. He said that the Scots tunes “pulled me into their magical circle” and that they were more beautiful and original than folk tunes from Germany.
The “Fantasia for the Violin and Orchestra with Harp, freely using Scottish Folk Melodies,” better known as the “Scottish Fantasy,” was written mostly during the winter of 1879–80. Bruch struggled over whether to call the work a fantasy or concerto and in the end chose the word “Fantasy” because of its free style. Unlike a normal fantasy, however, the Scottish Fantasy consists of four full-fledged movements. The role of the harp, an instrument associated with Scotland’s earliest traditional music, is nearly as prominent as that of the violin soloist.
Each of the Scottish Fantasy’s four movements are based on a different Scottish folk tunes. The piece begins in darkness, evoking the image of “an old bard, who contemplates a ruined castle, and laments the glorious times of old.” We then are introduced to the 18th century tune “Through the Wood Laddie.” The second movement is based on “The Dusty Miller,” a lively, cheerful tune that first appeared in the early 1700s. “Through the Wood Laddie” is revisited in the transition to the third movement whose main theme is derived from the 19th century song, “I’m A’ Doun for Lack O’ Johnnie.” The main theme of the finale is the unofficial Scottish national anthem, “Scots, Wha Hae,” (Robert Burns’ tribute to the 1314 Battle of Bannockburn). This ancient war song and “stomping dance” has taken on many different titles and sets of lyrics over the years. Bruch alternates virtuostic variations on the main theme interspersed with a contrasting lyrical melody. After one last appearance of a phrase from “Through the Wood Laddie,” the Scottish Fantasy concludes triumphantly.
This is the symphony which truly defined an age – Beethoven’s “heroic” period, in which many of his great works were composed – as well as the beginning of the “Romantic” period of classical music.
The Eroica is a break from the past. A massive work, it is the longest symphony composed up to that point, making substantial demands on players and audiences alike. Beethoven began composing the Eroica in 1803. He initially called the symphony “Bonaparte,” even writing a dedication to Napoleon Bonaparte as the exemplar of a new age of freedom and liberty; but he angrily tore that up in 1804 when Napoleon had himself crowned Emperor. Instead, Beethoven re-dedicated this work more generally as a “Heroic Symphony to celebrate the memory of a great man.”
The “Eroica,” as it came to be known, was first publicly performed 200 years ago in Vienna in April 1805. We are pleased to help usher in its next century of performance.
The first movement, after starting on two crashing chords, is built on a rising and failing 10-note theme, first taken up by the ‘cellos and then by the winds. Several melodic counter-themes introduced by the winds follow; a series of striking chords punctuates the first section. There is a massive development section in which these themes are expanded, culminating in a crashing series of syncopated chords played by the entire orchestra. A lengthy transition, with an intentional “false entrance” played by the horn against hushed violins, brings us to the recapitulation of the opening theme; a striking coda heralded by the opening theme in the second violins brings us to the end of this movement.
The second movement Funeral March evokes many emotions – grief, despair, defiance, anger and rage on the one hand; warm remembrance, hopefulness, and triumph on the other – before ending in a broken hush. The Scherzo is notworthy for its quick, light and playful character; the Trio for its sonorous horns evoking hunting calls.
After an introductory rush of notes, the last movement’s theme begins simply with plucked strings, is picked up in turn by the winds, and is expanded with a series of variations. A flowing melodic theme is then introduced by the winds. Beethoven then takes us through a number of renditions, including fugal treatments, solo flute and violin passages, and triplet and minor-key variations. A reverent interlude is introduced by the woodwind choir (could this be a hymn of praise to the “hero”?). After a murmuring transition, Beethoven abruptly switches gears again; there is a culminating Presto, with musical climax upon climax hurtling relentlessy to a triumphal conclusion.
Sir Edward Elgar (1857-1934) was a dominant force in English music at the turn of the 20th century. His magnificent ‘cello concerto was composed in 1919; more recently, it has become identified with the great ‘cellist Jacqueline du Pré, who made it into her signature piece (and is used in the movie Hillary and Jackie.)
This 4-movement work displays an astonishing sweep of emotion and melody, from tragedy and pathos to exuberance. After a declamatory ‘cello opening, the first movement settles into an introspective lilt, punctuated by solo flourishes and dramatic orchestral statements. It is followed without a break by the witty second movement, with its brilliant solo passagework and lightly-textured accompaniment.
A romantic adagio allows the ‘cello to display its singing qualities to the fullest. The dramatic last movement is at times almost operatic, with the ‘cello and orchestra playing off each other’s themes; towards the end, themes from the adagio and opening movements make an encore appearance before a dash to the dramatic finish.
By profession an eminent chemist and professor, Borodin (1833-1887) was also a member of a Russian musical circle which included Mussorgsky and Rimsky-Korsakov.
While his musical output was not large, it includes some of the best-known Russian classical works, including a number of symphonies, his D Major string quartet (with the famous Nocturne), and his masterpiece, the opera Prince Igor.
The Polovtsian Dances come from the second act of the opera, in which the Khan of the Polovtsi, a Mongol tribe, is entertaining Prince Igor, whom he has taken captive.
While a chorus is used when the dances are played in the opera, they are often played by instruments alone in a concert setting, as we are doing today. An initial processional characterized by wind solos against a plucked string and harp accompaniment gives way to a series of dances alternatively featuring dancing girls, warriors (fast descending clarinet motif); and young boys (leaping wind and string motifs). An accelerating coda brings the piece to its conclusion.
