Classicism and Romanticism in Brahms's Music

Because he created musical works within the genres and forms of his predecessors, Brahms is often characterized as a classical composer born too late. He performed and adapted works by Bach, Beethoven, and Haydn, realized basso continuo lines, and wrote cadenzas for piano concertos by the Germanic masters. Brahms was also a pioneering musicologist, contributing to the publication of Mozart's Requiem and the complete edition of Schubert's symphonies, and introducing choral works of the Renaissance and early Baroque. According to John Daverio, after Bach's death, Brahms was the rare composer for whom counterpoint was a native language.Footnote ¹ For Brahms the past was still very much alive; yet, as Lester reminds us, he was also a remarkably innovative composer. Whenever Brahms adapted older genres, he would cast his movements in traditional forms, with the necessary alterations to fit his expressive ends. He would favour harmonic progressions by Classical-era composers but could also be as adventurous as Wagner or Liszt. In terms of texture, rhythm, and metre, he was even more progressive. Lester demonstrates this by comparing Beethoven's A-major Violin Sonata, Op. 30, No. 1 with Brahms's Violin Sonata, Op.100 in the same key. While Beethoven gives us a model of ‘balance of energy and restraint’, Brahms pushes further through his use of dissonance and counterpoint, particularly in the middle voices. And in terms of musical continuity – what creates the narrative of a musical passage – his techniques would be incorporated by some of the most modernist composers of the early twentieth century. Lester posits that one can follow a straight line from Brahms's music to Heinrich Schenker's theories and the iconoclastic works of Arnold Schoenberg.

Developing Musical Narratives

Lester primarily uses ‘narrative’ to refer to how characteristic formal, harmonic, or thematic aspects of the music come together in a given work. Brahms did not satisfy himself with ‘filling a sonata-form mould’ with formulaic music but adapted both form and content of each section to express its unique musical narrative. Some of these features happen in all three first movements (such as the absence of a traditional repeat sign at the end of the exposition), while others are intrinsic to the expressive features of a particular movement.

No comparable norm exists for the construction of slow movements. Each middle movement is structured differently, and their organization contributes to the overall narrative of that sonata. While the slow movement of Op. 78 can be heard as an A–B–A′ movement with an extended coda based on the B section, Op. 100 has a middle movement that is part slow movement and part scherzo. Op. 108 is the only sonata with two middle movements – an Adagio and a Scherzo.

Brahms concludes each sonata with a rondo variant tailored to the expression and narrative of each specific work. Every finale is an integral composition, but they also draw on music from preceding movements, be it a theme or motive, a prominent harmony or progression, or a key tied to a distinctive event. As a result, each finale concludes not only with its own musical materials, but also draws on narratives that span the entire sonata.

Interpretation and Analysis

Of great use to performers is Lester's emphasis on a closer reading of the score and Brahms's notation – as well as an informed view of his life and compositional approach – to make his music come alive. Brahms's careful notation frequently points to subtleties in his music, creating opportunities for nuances. Examples abound, from the expressive interpretation of wedges to the rare but significant instances of fortissimo dynamics. For the energetic ending of the first movement of Op. 78, Lester considers a variety of interpretive options. Is it an afterthought or rather an exuberant conclusion, trying to forget the tonal, metric, and thematic violence of the development, and the lack of a strong tonic arrival during the recapitulation? Perhaps less essential than a close study of the score is the still illuminating possibility of informing an interpretation by taking into account biographical information. The slow movement of the first Sonata, with its central funeral march section and many allusions to a set of lieder well known to Clara Schumann,Footnote ² is widely understood to be a posthumous tribute to Felix Schumann, Brahms's godson, who died of tuberculosis at a young age. We lack a dedication or a direct quote from the poems; Lester argues that Brahms simply felt that any narrative would emerge from the music and should not be imposed by words. At the same time, Brahms's deeply personal musical tribute also has a universal reach, by creating a musical narrative that can be perceived as remembering a beloved person and coming to terms with their truncated life and unrealized achievements.Footnote ³

Another informative instance of biographical circumstances occurs in the first movement of the A-major Sonata, where the interaction between the violinist and the pianist becomes increasingly close. In the early 1880s, Brahms concertized and performed his lieder with singer Hermine Spies (1857–1893). According to the not–always–reliable Max Kalbeck, Brahms composed the sonata ‘in expectation of the arrival of a beloved friend, Hermine Spies’. It is perhaps telling that Brahms only used the amabile (‘lovingly’) marking twice in his oeuvre. One widely known musical allusion that might support the narrative is the rising chromatic scale from G-sharp to B that leads into the second theme, which replicates the ‘longing’ or ‘desire’ Leitmotif found in the Prelude to Wagner's Tristan und Isolde. Whether Brahms expected listeners to recognize this famous progression, or if it is just a coincidence is subject to interpretation, but Lester does entertain the possibility of performers treating the movement as an operatic seduction scene. While this may hardly be ‘the’ narrative of the movement, it can still ‘give performers a conceptual framework through which they make their decisions on the infinite matters that they must project’ (p. 154).

The author also addresses how issues of tempo can affect a reading and understanding of these works. Since Brahms did not provide metronome markings, performers must interpret the verbal instructions. Brahms thought a lot about his tempo markings and would change them substantially as he worked on a piece (sometimes by playing them for over a year, as he would suggest Clara Schumann do in preparing publication of her late husband's music). In general, he would often refrain from specifying a particular tempo and only rarely provided metronome markings.Footnote ⁴ He also observed that a specific tempo marking on the piano might not work for an orchestra or choral piece, since a piano can play faster and is ‘more forgiving in tempo’.

Lester treats the last movement of Op. 78 as a case study, since Brahms used identical musical material to open three different compositions. The sonata's finale is marked Allegro molto moderato, while ‘Nachklang’ Op. 59, no. 4 is Sanft bewegt (‘gently moving’), and ‘Regenlied’ Op. 59, no. 3 is In mäßiger, ruhiger Bewegung (‘in a moderate, calm movement’). The author argues that Brahms probably meant similar metronomic tempos, but each marking emphasizes a different aspect. The first word in the sonata's tempo is ‘Allegro’, even if only ‘very moderately’. But the tempo markings for the two lieder emphasize either gentleness or calm. Also worthy of note is the chosen metre (4/4 in the sonata, cut time in the lieder). Performers typically strive for steady tempos, although we know from historical accounts that practices could be subjective and contradictory. According to Joachim, Brahms would change tempos noticeably at the first forte in the D-minor Sonata's opening movement (even though he wrote no tempo change at all). Such tempo changes within movements were a part of late nineteenth-century performance styles, but it is also not clear how consistently Brahms approved of such tempo changes from one passage to another.Footnote ⁵

Another issue is raised when performers ignore what Brahms wrote. One can understand playing soft, lyrical music slower (to consider the increased resonance of modern pianos and consistent vibrato, as scholar Paul Berry suggests), but the choice of tempos can affect the meaning of the narrative. In the first movement of Op. 78, if the lyrical exposition and recapitulation are slower than the agitated music in the development, the overall mood becomes lyrical and loving, with a passionate episode in the middle, and an enthusiastic coda. By contrast, if one follows Brahms's tempos, the exposition and recapitulation emerge as filled with life, with the development heightening and tearing apart the exposition's themes. The recapitulation may restore some of the earlier mood, but only after several measures.

In Part II Lester divides the sonatas up to focus on how Brahms crafted movements of a given type by comparing all first-movement sonata forms, middle movements, and finales. This approach is similar to the one used in Lester's book on Bach's Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin, although in that work the bulk of the analysis focused on the BWV 1001 G-minor Sonata.Footnote ⁶ In what follows I will summarize each sonata as a whole by putting together Lester's analyses of the individual movements.

Remembrance and Acceptance in Op. 78

The underlying narrative for the first sonata is remembrance, as it continually seems to refer to and build upon itself in a reflective and pervasive manner. In the first movement, ‘just as we might replay cherished memories slowly in our minds while other thoughts move ahead, the violinist continues to spin out an ever-changing series of thoughts over the pianist's wistful echo’ (p. 47). Also, ‘the very nature of the unfolding melody in the violin contributes to the sense that the music is remembering something’ (p. 47). Elsewhere in Op. 78, we encounter previously heard music, including a theme from one movement recurring in a later one (a device also found in violin sonatas by Robert Schumann and Gustav Jenner). And, as mentioned earlier, the finale begins by quoting note–for–note the opening from two of Brahms's lieder. The violin's entrance is recitative–like, noble yet hesitant, beginning each gesture after a piano chord. ‘Are the pianist's chords jogging the violinist's memory, inspiring each thought in response’? Lester asks. Even the upbeat figures are somewhat tentative since Brahms writes a staccato quarter note (instead of a dotted quarter) followed by an quaver rest. The placement of climaxes also strengthens the contemplative and reflective mood, since not one primary theme returns in a heroic or triumphant manner. In some instances, the melody and accompaniment project different metres, so the first movement's 6/4 time signature may not always dictate the texture. Some performers choose to emphasize the notated metre, while others highlight the conflicting metres in the music, thus determining what audiences hear.

Through register, chromaticism, texture, and dynamics, Brahms carefully manages melody and accompaniment to support the expression. In bars 1–9, the violin melody is unchallenged in the highest register, adding to the ethereal effect of the music. But beginning in bar 11, the violin melody is suddenly in the middle of the texture. The Allegro of Op. 78 is also the only movement where the violin plays every single measure. Brahms obviously wanted the timbre to dominate the sonority (Felix Schumann aspired to become a professional violinist), and so the violin line is mostly lyrical or used in counterpoint.

In the ‘unusually violent’ development section, every thematic distortion builds upon the hesitancies, metric complexities, and other complications heard during the exposition. The overall narrative is deeply connected to this middle section. After the pervading lyricism of the exposition, the development gradually enervates the music, then tears apart those themes, often in distant keys. It does find its way to a strong arrival on G, albeit in minor. After three failed attempts to regain the warmth and stability of the opening, another transitional passage leads to the recapitulation, although this restatement seems less settled than the beginning of the exposition, almost as if the development's climax has undermined the exposition's memories. In the coda, the movement ends ebulliently.

As is often the case with Brahms, the funeral march in the middle of the slow movement comes from previously heard music. If one thinks of the sonata in terms of the remembrance of a young, artistic spirit and accepting that loss, a more energetic tempo for the funeral march emerges. The refusal to accept that his spirit is gone forever is heard in the avoidance of a complete cadence.

Classical-era rondo finales generally offer less drama than the movements that precede them. In Op. 78, one trait shared by all sections is how they are mostly ‘off the tonic’, thus imparting a sense that this music is less grounded and more floating. When the Adagio's opening gesture interrupts the flow of the movement in bar 84, it alters more than the themes, rhythms, and textures; for the first time a section begins with a motion into a strong tonic.

For the finale, Brahms combines aspects of the main themes of all three movements into a single concluding gesture;Footnote ⁷ the Regenlied accompanimental semiquavers are the basis of the left hand's figures, the tranquillo draws upon the entire dynamic range of the Sonata, and the violin, which has soared far above the piano, rests in its middle register. To Lester, this movement comes to terms with the memories of loss, nobility, and youth at the heart of the sonata's narrative. If performers or listeners hear this as representing making peace with Felix Schumann's death, Brahms's score encourages them to do so. Yet if we choose to hear this narrative as an expression of universal feelings associated with loss and remembrance, that is how the work was known and loved for over a century before Brahms's revealing letter to Clara was discovered.

Evolving Conversation in Op. 100

Lester traces the second Sonata's distinctive musical narrative through the evolving roles of both instruments. The opening is for piano alone; is the violinist ‘patiently waiting or impatiently joining?’ The interaction takes shape like a genuine conversation, with the two parts listening and responding to each other. Both melody and accompaniment are in the same register; they cross over and share notes and patterns. It is up to imaginative performers to figure out how to balance the demands of bringing out the melody and have all voices intertwine with each other. Since the counterpoint is connected to the expressiveness, all elements coalesce to form a narrative.

Both opening movements of Op. 78 and Op. 100 offer a wealth of lyrical melodies, and in each case the development section begins and ends with soft, lyrical music. After a recapitulation that shortens the first key area, both end ebulliently. Yet each of these aspects arises in a different manner and to a different end, inviting performers to interact accordingly. In the A-major Sonata, the roles of the instruments evolve as the Allegro amabile proceeds, with the previously passive violinist gradually becoming more assertive.

This interaction changes in the middle movement, with both performers often joining forces to play the leading role. In the finale, the violin emerges as the leading instrument. But during most of the first movement, the violinist is being sung to more than doing the singing. The personas of the instruments interact through the way Brahms crafted both themes in the exposition and recapitulation as two parallel parts, allowing the pianist to lead during the first part and the violin to gain prominence during the second. Lester observes that one of the most beautiful traits in the works of the late Brahms arises from his ability to combine contrasting music into a single large-scale phrase group, so that the piece is both expansive in expression and thematic content while remaining compact in phrasing. This movement illustrates this, as it is the shortest opening Allegro of all three sonatas yet creates a sense of expansiveness thanks to how Brahms paces the thematic groups.

The middle movement of Op. 100 is a combination of a slow movement and a scherzo. It is similar to what Robert Schumann does in his own A-minor Violin Sonata, Op. 105, and the comparable passages can be suggestive to performers as they develop their interpretation. The movement continues the narrative of interactions between instruments, now collaborating from the beginning. In the first phrase, what begins as a single line almost immediately becomes two complementing melodies. This movement also includes a texture in which both instruments are in the same register, sometimes doubling or crossing each other. Much like in the second theme of the first movement, Brahms disregards basic principles of instrumentation in pursuit of an artistic expressive goal.

For the sonata-rondo finale, Brahms builds the opening theme, ‘one of the outstanding cantabiles for the fourth string’,Footnote ⁸ via the evolution of its opening materials, in which the violin's gesture of a rising skip of a third grows to a fourth, and then dramatically to a sixth. The interactions between instruments now differ strikingly from earlier roles. The violinist takes the leading role (even beginning most themes alone) while the level of interaction is higher and more varied. Brahms does provide the performers guidance through dynamic and character markings, with the violinist being asked to bring out the melody (piano espressivo as opposed to the pianist's piano dolce). The violin's lyrical melody and the overall texture unfold simultaneously. Lester advises: ‘By paying attention to these motivic and contrapuntal interactions, the performers can create a virtual kaleidoscope of colours within the overall sonority of the phrase’ (p. 62). Later in the movement, motivic fragments of the opening theme reappear. Via this process, Brahms relates the A theme to the transitional music and to the movement's B theme. ‘The music seems almost improvisatory, but the underlying musical logic is carefully planned’ (p. 65).

A Lack of Musical Narrative? Cohesive Extremes and Contained Tragedy in Op. 108

One aspect that sets the Allegro of Op. 108 apart from its predecessors lies in the placement of the most extended passage of agitated music. Since both the development and part of the coda sit on a bass pedal, Brahms casts these sections in a more lyrical manner, thus reversing the most commonly found dynamic. In terms of personas, this Allegro generally offers the performers more equal roles. The violinist owns most of the melodies in the first theme group, but the pianist begins the second theme as a solo. Another difference is the absence of tempo changes until very late in the movement.

Op. 108 is also unique in that it has two middle movements: a slow one and a scherzo (or intermezzo). Despite being the two shortest movements, they offer a wide range of expression, with Tovey describing the compact Adagio as a cavatina in which ‘a single melody achiev[es] the spaciousness of an entire movement’ (p. 213). Because of the ways Brahms employs his developing variation technique, the music sounds improvisatory, continuously evolving, while still showing recognizable structural markers. The opening melody returns in a fuller texture halfway through the movement, clearly dividing it into two parts. As the second part proceeds, we hear the music from the first part, suggesting a Classical-era abbreviated sonata form. It takes considerable care by the performers to ensure that the musical thread remains unbroken until the last chord.

Extremely varied in moods is the following Un poco presto e con sentimento. It alternates a tender and delicate opening with forceful and incisive chords; a lullaby; sinuously chromatic and elusive music; and an impish ending. It is also a movement of dynamic extremes (often underplayed, perhaps to avoid sentimentality). Brahms relies on a combination of the simplest harmonies while traveling to distant tonalities. Nevertheless, the music follows the clear course of a Classical-era rounded-binary form. Clara Schumann described the movement's mood as flirtatious: ‘like a beautiful young girl frolicking gracefully with her lover. Then suddenly in the middle of it comes a flash of deep passion, before the sweet dalliance resumes, now permeated with a melancholy air’ (p. 221). Like the preceding movement, nothing recurs exactly as earlier. Both repeats of the A and B sections maintain the melody and principal harmonies, but alter or add details, and change the instrumentation. The avoidance of rhyming cadences combined with motivic evolution is another instance of how Brahms keeps the music moving ahead while adapting a Classical formal construction.

The finale is the only sonata movement that opens and closes with ferocious music in a striking outburst. Lester notes that not only is Presto agitato the fastest tempo of any movement, but Brahms's only marking where additional words heighten, rather than diminish, the energy level implied. In the finale, both harmony and motivic development contribute to support and heighten the musical energy. Even the form is agitated and unsettled, yet carefully organized into the familiar sonata-rondo mould. Peter H. Smith has called attention to the tragic quality of the work's musical narrative, and compares it to Brahms's Op. 60 Piano Quartet, as well as his Tragic Overture, Op. 81 (p. 322). Although the earlier movements in the sonata lack the relentlessness that pervades the Piano Quartet, Smith's point complements that of Eduard Hanslick, who noted that ‘each of the four movements tells a different story, but we nevertheless perceive each of the tales as belonging together’ (p. 322). This differentiates the third Sonata from its predecessors where, as the music unfolds through new manifestations of evolving musical ideas, an overall story emerges. Also lacking is a connection to any life events that could have motivated Brahms to compose a third sonata. But Lester believes these events only corroborate the music. In the case of the G-major Sonata, does it really matter to our interest in the piece that, thanks to recently uncovered documents, we now know with certainty that Brahms's thoughts were concerned with the death of his godson? Brahms's music remains the centre of study and performance. The composer uses musical means to craft a narrative of reminiscence and reconciliation, and the music affects us because of its own integrity. Over the course of the A-major Sonata, for instance, the personas of the two instrumentalists gradually interact more with one another. Regardless of whether Brahms had specific people in mind or a different context, the music itself tells the story.

Returning to Op. 108, the opening agitato outburst in the finale picks up elements from previous movements, as well as a network of disparate moods and stories. We may conceptualize these stories and their interrelationships in the sounds themselves, or we may interpret what the sequence of musical narratives might mean. How does the unease of the first movement, the warmth and lyricism of the second movement, and the ‘sweet dalliance’ found in the third movement relate to the agitato of the finale? The ending is not gentle or subtle. While Op. 78 ends with an extended ‘amen’ cadence and Op. 100 eases into its final cadences without a direct V–I progression, Op. 108 ends with a bang.

A Window into the Future: The Sonatensatz, WoO 2

This Scherzo, completed in ten days when Brahms was only twenty, was originally part of a musical gift to Joachim in the guise of a sonata for violin and piano collectively composed by Brahms, Robert Schumann, and Albert Dietrich. As such, it offers a unique glimpse into Brahms's early writing for violin and piano and a revealing window into his mature style.Footnote ⁹

From the beginning, Brahms focuses tightly on a few motives and their development, while supporting the thematic concentration through harmony, rhythm, and texture. The opening phrase zeroes in on the semitone. After the violin plays insistent open Gs (one of the first of Brahms's many works with allusions to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony), the piano's melody enters by repeating G–A-flat three times. In response, the violin abandons the rhythmic Gs for a new pattern that incorporates the interval while still maintaining the open G pedal. The Trio contrasts with a noble theme in major, while the texture lacks the preceding agitation. But the young Brahms had an additional purpose for the role of the Trio. Beginning in bar 113, a thematic evolution soon weaves this new theme into the musical fabric of the Sonatensatz as a whole. Even at this early age Brahms was already a master of developing variation and counterpoint at the service of the musical narrative.

Despite the unpretentious circumstances in which it was written, the Sonatensatz is a sophisticated piece. Its thematic evolution, form, tonal structure, use of dissonances, dynamics, harmonies, textures, phrasing, and rhythms all coordinate effectively in shaping the music. The movement has sometimes been criticized for aspects that Brahms might have approached differently later in life, such as the fact that the coda draws solely on the theme of the Trio, despite how Brahms integrated the section into the overall musical narrative. Some of its most exaggerated aspects (14 accented chords in succession, more than a dozen fortissimo passages, and the grandioso ending) would probably have been toned down. In his more circumspect maturity Brahms wrote fortissimo only twice in all three sonatas, and both are in the finale of Op. 108. The energy of the Sonatensatz may call for such extreme markings, but there are other passages from all periods of his life where Brahms builds so much energy into the music that he does not need to write fortissimo or grandioso.Footnote ¹⁰

One aspect of Brahms's later style that is embedded in the Sonatensatz concerns the interaction of thematic evolution and contrapuntal textures. The ways in which he maintains its opening rhythmic motive during the Trio's accompaniment means that even a seemingly routine pattern is more than ‘just an accompaniment’. Brahms's inherently contrapuntal textures were a central aspect of his developing variation approach. Reading his scores is more than simply reading the notes, rhythms, articulations, dynamics, tempo, and character markings. Brahms's scores help the performers balance the parts of a texture so that the contrapuntal nature of his music emerges as part of the overall expression. His use of registers, evolving motives and themes, articulation marks, beamings and slurs, and phrasing interact with each other to shape the music. Many passages can certainly be played in a way that sustains the texture and sound over a phrase or section. However, if we study how he integrates all the aspects of a passage to create an overall effect, we will find that a wide variety of nuances will result in a more fluid and interesting performance. It is fascinating to see how a personal and unassuming musical gift like the Sonatensatz can encapsulate so much of what Brahms would achieve as a composer later in life. It is proof that even from an early age, Brahms could derive as much music as possible from a limited amount of musical material, making every moment and voice play an important role in a continually evolving musical narrative. To end, Lester sums up his main points succinctly:

Caring performers and curious listeners alike will undoubtedly be grateful for the helpful guidance Lester's book lends in achieving this worthy end.