Concerto in A minor for Violin and Cello, Op. 102
Johannes Brahms (1833-97)
Allegro; Andante; Vivace non troppo
Having completed his double concerto in 1887, Johannes Brahms presented it as a peace offering to his one-time friend, the violin virtuoso Joseph Joachim. Joachim had resented Brahms siding with his wife, Amalie, when their estrangement was heading for divorce. Although Joachim and the cellist in his quartet, Robert Hausmann, gave the first performance in 1887, his friendship with Brahms failed to rekindle beyond politeness.
Concertos with more than one soloist are rare. W.A. Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola and Ludwig van Beethoven’s Triple Concerto for piano, violin and cello were notable forerunners of this work. If Mozart appeared to soar sublimely above the problems inherent in the form, Beethoven seemed to spell them out for all to hear. The over-riding question was: should the solo instruments be treated as rivals or as though a single instrument? If they are to be rivals, each having its say, the result is likely to be long and, maybe, a little boring. That’s the problem with Beethoven’s Triple Concerto, according to critics. If they are treated ‘as one’, the drama can be diluted, leaving not much more than a bland union of minds. Mozart found a way through these difficulties, but did Brahms?
Some commentators see the Double Concerto as a masterly blend of two instruments into one:
...Brahms simply sidestepped that tiresome equal billing nonsense, and solved the balance problems by treating the violin and cello as a single complex instrument. (Paul Serotsky)
Others regard Brahms’s treatment as a brilliant display of all the possibilities. The soloists:
...are variously playful, contrary, sweet, gruff, unison partners, friendly competitors, melodic generators and harmonists, they support and imitate each other, complete each other’s phrases, serve as the other’s accompanist, and comment on each other’s roles. (Peter Gutmann).
The first audiences were underwhelmed – even supporters of Brahms such as Eduard Hanslick and Clara Schumann couldn’t warm to it. Later critics, Sir Donald Tovey in particular, have found undeniable depth and beauty in the music, and the words to point out where they lie.
The first movement is almost as long as the other two movements combined. Cadenzas for the cello and violin in turn follow the brief opening flourish and herald a full exposition of the thematic material by the orchestra. A three-note phrase dominates the movement as a whole and helps to highlight the key moments. A distinctive second melody arrives quite far in as an unexpected and enchanting contrast: gentle, cast in a major key and characterised by a lop-sided rhythm. As the music unfolds, listeners may consider the musical relationship, not only between the soloists, but between the soloists and the orchestra as well. The solo parts are technically challenging at several points, but the two instruments seem to strive together, not in competition. If their figurative work is sometimes blurred by the orchestral support, we may be sure that such interweaving was intended by Brahms. The other two movements also set out with memorable melodies. The short slow movement is essentially an aria without words, a duet for two richly expressive instruments. Its soothing harmonies and rhythms are thrust aside by the final rondo, a gypsy-like romp, galloping toward a triumphant finish, notwithstanding the composer’s caveat ‘...non troppo’ (not too much).
So where does the work stand among Brahms’s other concertos, and indeed within his oeuvre as a whole? In this, his last composition for orchestra, Brahms had no need to ‘show off’ or to require soloists to show off on his behalf. His musical language was thoroughly established; his mastery of form and orchestration was recognised by all. He may have felt that a double concerto would be a fitting vehicle for understatement rather than flamboyance. It is surely a valedictory offering, free of needless novelty and display, a work of reflection and beauty that touches listeners who are willing to understand and are ready to respond.
Johannes Brahms (1833-97)
Allegro; Andante; Vivace non troppo
Having completed his double concerto in 1887, Johannes Brahms presented it as a peace offering to his one-time friend, the violin virtuoso Joseph Joachim. Joachim had resented Brahms siding with his wife, Amalie, when their estrangement was heading for divorce. Although Joachim and the cellist in his quartet, Robert Hausmann, gave the first performance in 1887, his friendship with Brahms failed to rekindle beyond politeness.
Concertos with more than one soloist are rare. W.A. Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola and Ludwig van Beethoven’s Triple Concerto for piano, violin and cello were notable forerunners of this work. If Mozart appeared to soar sublimely above the problems inherent in the form, Beethoven seemed to spell them out for all to hear. The over-riding question was: should the solo instruments be treated as rivals or as though a single instrument? If they are to be rivals, each having its say, the result is likely to be long and, maybe, a little boring. That’s the problem with Beethoven’s Triple Concerto, according to critics. If they are treated ‘as one’, the drama can be diluted, leaving not much more than a bland union of minds. Mozart found a way through these difficulties, but did Brahms?
Some commentators see the Double Concerto as a masterly blend of two instruments into one:
...Brahms simply sidestepped that tiresome equal billing nonsense, and solved the balance problems by treating the violin and cello as a single complex instrument. (Paul Serotsky)
Others regard Brahms’s treatment as a brilliant display of all the possibilities. The soloists:
...are variously playful, contrary, sweet, gruff, unison partners, friendly competitors, melodic generators and harmonists, they support and imitate each other, complete each other’s phrases, serve as the other’s accompanist, and comment on each other’s roles. (Peter Gutmann).
The first audiences were underwhelmed – even supporters of Brahms such as Eduard Hanslick and Clara Schumann couldn’t warm to it. Later critics, Sir Donald Tovey in particular, have found undeniable depth and beauty in the music, and the words to point out where they lie.
The first movement is almost as long as the other two movements combined. Cadenzas for the cello and violin in turn follow the brief opening flourish and herald a full exposition of the thematic material by the orchestra. A three-note phrase dominates the movement as a whole and helps to highlight the key moments. A distinctive second melody arrives quite far in as an unexpected and enchanting contrast: gentle, cast in a major key and characterised by a lop-sided rhythm. As the music unfolds, listeners may consider the musical relationship, not only between the soloists, but between the soloists and the orchestra as well. The solo parts are technically challenging at several points, but the two instruments seem to strive together, not in competition. If their figurative work is sometimes blurred by the orchestral support, we may be sure that such interweaving was intended by Brahms. The other two movements also set out with memorable melodies. The short slow movement is essentially an aria without words, a duet for two richly expressive instruments. Its soothing harmonies and rhythms are thrust aside by the final rondo, a gypsy-like romp, galloping toward a triumphant finish, notwithstanding the composer’s caveat ‘...non troppo’ (not too much).
So where does the work stand among Brahms’s other concertos, and indeed within his oeuvre as a whole? In this, his last composition for orchestra, Brahms had no need to ‘show off’ or to require soloists to show off on his behalf. His musical language was thoroughly established; his mastery of form and orchestration was recognised by all. He may have felt that a double concerto would be a fitting vehicle for understatement rather than flamboyance. It is surely a valedictory offering, free of needless novelty and display, a work of reflection and beauty that touches listeners who are willing to understand and are ready to respond.