Variations on a Theme of Joseph Haydn, Op. 56a
Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)
The Philharmonic last performed this work on February 3rd, 2001 with Larry Rachleff on the podium. The Variations are scored for piccolo, 2 each of flutes, clarinets, oboes, bassoons, contrabassoon, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, strings and triangle.
Brahms’ entry into the arena of orchestral composition was long and laborious. One reason was the fear that people might compare his symphonies with those of Beethoven. “You have no idea how the likes of us feel when we hear the steps of a giant like him behind us,” he once said. As it turned out, Brahms made his debut as a composer for full orchestra not with a symphony but with a set of variations. The successful premiere of Variations on a Theme by Haydn in 1873 apparently gave him the confidence he needed, for he went on to complete the First Symphony within three years.
Johannes Brahms chose for his variations a theme from a Feldparthia (outdoor partita) for wind instruments attributed to Josef Haydn (but now considered false). The movement’s title was “Chorale St. Antonii,” based on an Austrian pilgrim hymn. Although Brahms’ conception was decidedly orchestral, he sketched the variations also for two pianos, and the two versions were subsequently published under the same opus number.
Each variation projects its own special character, but Brahms groups the eight variations and finale in a way that suggests a four-movement symphonic plan. The first three variations have fast tempos (= mvt. 1). Then the Andante of Var. 4 explores the minor mode for the first time (= mvt. 2). Three of the next variations (Var. 5, 6 and 8) have the feel of a scherzo, and Brahms’ personal scherzo, a gracious “intermezzo,” comes as Var. 7 (= mvt. 3). The sumptuous Finale rounds out this quasi-symphonic plan.
In many ways, Brahms paid tribute through his variations not only to Haydn but also to the entire 18th century. This is most obvious in the work’s instrumentation. Except for two extra horns and a third bassoon (adapted from the original Feldparthia), Brahms generally limits himself to an orchestra not unlike Haydn’s London Symphonies. Only during the final build of excitement in the Finale does Brahms allow himself the luxury of one additional instrument: a triangle.
Concert Music for Strings and Brass, Op. 50
Paul Hindemith (1895-1963)
This is a Philharmonic Premiere Performance scored for 4 horns, 4 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba and strings.
Most of us are accustomed to the style of Paul Hindemith’s most familiar compositions of the 1930s-1950s, such as Mathis der Maler (the opera and symphony) or the many chamber sonatas for orchestral instruments. These were the works of Hindemith’s maturity, and they adhere to his closely worked out theories of composition in a consistent, sometimes even predictable, manner. However, there was once a younger, more volatile Paul Hindemith. That was the Hindemith of the 1920s, who, around 1922, leapt to prominence as the most important young composer in post-war Germany . His singular personality could easily be identified in his music even then, but his style was more eclectic and adventurous than later. Although Hindemith developed his characteristic neo-Baroque style of writing at that time, it was a style spiced with experiments that elicited both admiration and harsh criticism.
By the year 1930, Hindemith had an international reputation strong enough to draw a commission from the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Side by side with famous names such as Igor Stravinsky, Hindemith contributed a work for the occasion. He titled it simply Concert Music and limited its forces to just the brass and string sections of the orchestra. The premiere in April 1931 of this brilliant music impressed the American audience and the critics alike, and the work immediately took its place in the assemblage of Hindemith’s finest music.
What to listen for: The brass and the strings are sometimes heard separately, but they are also combined cleverly. Notice the different ways in which they support each other.
Hindemith was looking for contrasts in sound, most obviously in the color difference between brass and strings. However, you can also hear big changes in energy. In the first movement listen for periods of exciting “athletic” rhythms clearly distinguished from smoother, less abrupt patterns.
The beginning of the second movement is a playful game of “follow-the-leader” among the strings. Listen for the brass’s sassy punctuation marks during this. Some of these may remind you of the blues. Notice the unusual sounds in the calm, noble middle section before the “follow-the-leader” game resumes and builds to the climax.
Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 77
Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)
“You will think twice before you ask me for another concerto!” wrote Brahms to violinist Joseph Joachim, his lifelong friend and advisor on violinistic matters. The year was 1879, and on that New Year’s Day, Joachim had just premiered Brahms’ Violin Concerto in Leipzig. The reception had not been very gratifying, partially because the violin part sounded unduly difficult and labored. That was the view of conductor Hans von Bülow, who stated that the concerto was written “against the violin.” (Violin prodigy Bronislav Hubermann later countered with the remark that it is a concerto “for violin against orchestra — and the violin wins.”)
As usual, Brahms had modeled the proportions — and something of the approach to solo violin treatment — on a parallel work by his transcendental idol, Beethoven. In its day, Beethoven’s Violin Concerto had also been accused of unwarranted difficulties, and early audiences often missed its profound content. Brahms placed his concerto in the key of D major, the key of Beethoven’s great work.
D major also happens also to be the key of Brahms’ Second Symphony finished less than a year ahead of the concerto. The Violin Concerto is a companion piece to the symphony in other ways, too, notably the use of a broken chord as the basis of the opening theme. This theme in the concerto is the focus of the orchestra’s brief opening. At the entry of the violin, this theme returns but eventually gives way to others, including a gloriously sweet, song-like second theme. Following Classical tradition, Brahms leaves the long solo passage near the end of the movement (the “cadenza”) up to the performer (as Beethoven, another non-violin-soloist, had done). This concerto is virtually the last one to do so, granting an opportunity for virtuosos from Joachim to Perlman to make their own mark on Brahms’s first movement.
Brahms had originally intended two middle movements. However, he discarded them, placing there instead what he modestly called “a feeble Adagio.” Far from feeble, this is some of Brahms’s richest writing for orchestra, exploring remote keys and supporting a lovely, decorative violin line.
The finale is a Hungarian-style piece. It has a rhythmically athletic main theme and contrasting episodes (also with soloistic acrobatics) to charm the listener. Near the end, the short cadenza by the composer leads to a concluding section that first builds excitement and then, as in a Mozart opera, subsides into restrained propriety for its grand ending.
Brahms’ Violin Concerto stands as a great musical pillar near the end of the 19th century, counter-balancing the pillar of Beethoven’s great Violin Concerto from the beginning of that century. As analyst John Horton has put it:
That Brahms should have ventured upon a Violin Concerto in D with the sound of Beethoven’s . . . in his ears was in itself an act of faith and courage; that he should have produced one . . . worthy to stand beside it, is one of the triumphs of Brahms’s genius.
