Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, Marek Janowski - Conductor
Symphony no.4, 8 Hungarian Daces for Orchestra
Gramophone Editor's Choice - March 2009
The brotherhood of writers likes to get hold of a slogan in order to effectively and boldly describe a composer and his oeuvre. However, such an abbreviated description is not without danger, if not followed by subtle arguments for the choice of the words. Nevertheless, please permit the undersigned also to mention a catchy phrase in the case of Johannes Brahms, which concentrates the mind on the essential. Therefore, should one wish to label Brahms as a composer, then it would most certainly not bear the inscription of a “symphonic” or “Lied” composer, but – if the word existed – of a “variationalistic” composer. After all, the main purpose of Brahms’ life as a composer was the constant transformation of the musical material at hand, the re-examination of traditional elements and forms. And also during the course of his four contributions to the symphonic genre, which indeed caused him such great problems at first, the variation model was ceded an increasingly important role.
Whereas in his Symphony No. 1
Brahms was still consciously searching for a mental affinity with his titanic predecessor Beethoven, and in his Symphony No. 2 had placed the merry idyll under a melancholy filter (once again clearly intensifying the principle of the evolution of the symphonic course from a constantly present motivic nucleus, as already laid down during his Symphony No. 1), thus the transparency and comprehensibility of his Symphony No. 3 gave it the air of chamber music. Here, Brahms concentrated even more strongly than during his previous symphonies on the details, on the inner feelings engendered by the music. The technique of the motivic nucleus was now awarded a structural significance. Brahms’ Symphony No. 4 is the pinnacle of his symphonic work, and simultaneously also signifies the end of a journey in this genre through which Mendelssohn and Schumann had also passed. In this work, Brahms raises the variation to an all-dominating principle. And by linking past and present, the work points towards a future for the genre, which was recognized only in the 20th century.
Brahms wrote his Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98
during the summer of 1884 and 1885 in the Styrian town of Mürzzuschlag. However, he did not release the manuscript until September 1885 – to friends of his, the Herzogenbergs, who had awaited the new symphony with great expectation. Not until some weeks of eloquent silence had passed, did he receive a reaction: “One does not tire of listening to and gazing upon the abundance of the ingenious characteristics scattered throughout this work, unusual examinations of a rhythmic, harmonic and tonal nature, and of admiring your subtle chiselling, which determines the character so wonderfully and at the same time manages to portray it with such delicacy.” In Herzogenberg’s words, one encounters the main terms, with which the work was at first received: ingenious characteristics, examinations, subtle chiselling. They represent the exceptionally subtle work carried out on the musical parameters, the compositional nuances, the almost microscopically applied variational elements. And indeed, the Symphony No. 4 is primarily a work written for the intelligent and knowledgeable listener, in which an extreme condensation of the composition is mainly conspicuous in the inner structure.
The first movement (Allegro non troppo) begins with a flowing and graceful first theme (descending sequence of thirds) in the violins, which gives the movement a feeling far removed from the spectacular. The theme is immediately subjected to the variation principle, which makes the construction of the sonata movement unclear to the listener. Somehow or other, everything here is the development, including the recapitulation. In the two-part Andante moderato, Brahms develops the harmonic colours, especially the incorporation of church-music-like phrases (Phrygian Second!) which gives the movement an archaic, yet not old-fashioned outer coating. The melancholy mood is lifted in the Allegro giocoso by the rather burlesque character of the movement. The main theme here reminds one of a stamping dance with rhythmical shifts. The culmination of the symphony is the Finale, although not as an apotheosis-like culmination of the symphonic structure, yet rather more as a pure variation movement (in this respect alluding to Beethoven’s Eroica), which falls back on the Baroque form model of the passacaglia. Brahms presents no less than 30 variations on the fixed eight-bar bass theme, derived from Bach’s Cantata “Nach dir, Herr, verlanget mich”. It would be hard to encounter a simpler theme, seconds steps as in a scale. Only one tone is added by Brahms. During the course of the movement, the composition becomes increasingly complex, until Brahms links the Passacaglia theme to the thirds theme from the beginning of the symphony. The work ends in a monumental intensification.
The Hungarian Dances feature among Brahms’ best-known works – not only do they appeal to the connoisseur, but also and especially to the amateur music-lover. The piano duets were published by Simrock in 1869. As a forward-looking businessman, Simrock suspected that, in particular, an orchestral version would do wonders for the popularity of the works, and proceeded to petition the composer repeatedly for an orchestral version. Brahms, for whom Hungarian music held a lifelong fascination, was not absolutely taken with Simrock’s request: “I wrote them for piano duet; had I wanted to write them for orchestra, I would have written them differently.” And thus, in the end, Brahms arranged only the numbers 1 (wild), 3 (graceful and peaceful) and 10 (wild with the character of a “bouncer”) in an extremely elaborate manner, leaving the remaining dances to be arranged by others, such as the numbers 17-21 by Antonin Dvo?ak. The short pieces, full of syncopation, written in 2/4 time with folklore flair, are mainly based on popular instrumental music, with which Brahms had come into contact through the Hungarian violinist Eduard Reményi. They present “that mixture of pain, pondering and wild bustling” (Döge), which was received with great pleasure by contemporary audiences.
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