Johannes Brahms, "Violin Sonatas, Opp. 78, 100, 108"

Johannes Brahms
"Violin Sonatas, Opp. 78, 100, 108"
Decca (1967)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die





I have constantly commented during our looks at Brahms— with the addendum that I may be too unfamiliar with classical music to recognize the essential and minute details —that I find him to be rather conservative. I don't know what I should be expecting, but I just don't hear the 'oomph' present in Beethoven, nor the range of moods we heard in Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. The composer's three violin sonatas offer a more diverse view of his tastes however, at least certainly in comparison to his sonatas for cello.
The most striking is the second movement of his Violin Sonata no. 2 in A Major. Titled "Andante tranquillo-Vivace-Andante-Vivace di più-Andante-Vivace," it's easy to tell that the guy is cramming a lot of parts into one roughly seven-minute piece of music. The opening andante travels at a moderate pace, carrying the pleasant themes of the opening movement. "Vivace," as its name implies (to all you Romance language readers out there), is an especially ebullient movement, so much so that it almost seems like comic relief compared the andantes. Brahms was reportedly in a good mood at the time of Sonata no. 2, and it shows.

Although no. 2 is interesting for its shocking revelations regarding Brahms' personality (to us noobs, at least), Sonata no. 1 in G Major best displays his range as a composer, following a singular theme. The theme set by the piano in opening movement, "Vivace ma non troppo," evokes the sound of rainfall, and hence the piece has become known as the "Rain Sonata." The official title only includes "G Major" because that's the key that the first movement follows. By the time Brahms reaches movement three, "Allegro molt moderato," the sonata is in G minor, drastically changing the mood of the piece. The theme of rainfall is present throughout: What begins as a gentle shower in the form of quiet, twinkling keys becomes an angrier storm, based on the volume of performer Julius Katchen.

I'm somewhat stealing Tom Moon's point in this paragraph, but most of his entry on this album was dedicated to praising the chemistry of Katchen and violinist Josef Suk. The form presented on this record is the "violin sonata," and traditionally the titular instrument serves as the main attraction. Brahms takes a more balanced approach to the form however, even labeling Sonata no. 2 as being for "piano and violin"— the placement of piano at the fore indicating the instrument's importance in the piece.

So far, from the Brahms I've listened to, I find his violin sonatas the most enjoyable. The range and themes used in these compositions make them one part of the Brahms repertoire that even a rookie like me can appreciate right off.

INTERESTING FACT: Pianist Julius Katchen, a renowned performer of Brahms, was also just totally awesome. One tidbit we found: He and his wife were collectors of netsuke, a practical Japanese sculpture that men used to anchor small storage baskets on their belts. His collection was sold at auction in 2005-'06 for $2.2 million dollars.

Johannes Brahms, "The Four Symphonies"

Johannes Brahms
"The Four Symphonies"
RCA (1983)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

Johannes Brahms was to classical music what LeBron James was to basketball. Just like James was being compared to Michael Jordan while he was still in high school, Brahms was touted as being the heir to Beethoven's mantle...the King of classical. The composer didn't appreciate the comparisons, and why should he? As complimentary as it may seem, that's a heck of a lot of pressure. Beethoven was (and is) largely hailed as the greatest mind in the history of music, and Brahms, born six years following the former's death, was just expected to take over that role? That aspect of his prospects explains plenty about the crafting of his four symphonies.

The first feature it explains is his pace. Beethoven wrote nine symphonies during his lifetime, and Brahms only four. Symphony No. 1 in C Minor took the composer 21 years to complete. He debuted his second, Symphony No. 2 in D Major a little more than a year later. The painstaking process behind the first is attributed to the pressure he felt from those behind the Beethoven comparisons, and trying to ensure that everything was picture perfect.

So of course, when No. 1 debuted, everyone compared it to Beethoven's Ninth. And when Brahms debuted the more lighthearted No. 2, critics compared it to Beethoven's Sixth. Brahms could not win. Admittedly, the composer was rather conservative in style, which might explain why he stuck to his/Beethoven's guns when composing his symphonies, versus experimenting similar to his contemporary and "rival," Richard Wagner.

There's something of an "Old Hollywood" charm when listening to Brahms' first two symphonies…something of a fairy tale in nature. The dark undertones of No. 1 play like the scary forest of Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs, and the cheery flute theme from the opening Allegro of No. 2 resonates of Little Red Riding Hood walking through the woods (pre-wolf of course). The seeming familiarity of the music — and my less-than-thorough of classical music — kind of make these opening symphonies a touch boring to me (although I encourage more competent readers to tell me why I'm wrong in the comments section).

Brahms' Symphony No. 4 amps up the experimentation however. The second movement, Andante Moderato, features horns in the Phrygian mode, lending an Eastern European air. Most curious, in a pleasing way, is the use of the triangle for flair during the Allegro Giocoso. It invited me to bob my head, a sensation rare in classical music from any composer.

My girlfriend, far more knowledgable on the subject than I, tells me that Brahms is a safe choice for more conservative fans of the form. For the most part, his symphonies lead me to agree. The problem for me is that the beauty here most likely lies in its subtleties, which are beyond what my poor ear can catch.

INTERESTING FACT: Brahms' pal Joseph Joachim used the motto "frei aber einsam" (free but lonely). Brahms was 50 and single when Symphony no. 3 debuted, and he incorporated a motto of the notes F-A-F throughout. The acronym stood for "frei aber froh," or "free but happy."

Johannes Brahms, "Sonatas for Cello and Piano, Opp. 38, 99, 108"

Johannes Brahms
"Sonatas for Cello and Piano, Opp. 38, 99, 108"
Sony Classical (1992)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

Moon is wise to open the stretch of Johannes Brahms' compositions with "Sonatas for Cello and Piano," and particularly wise to choose a version played by pianist Emmanuel Ax and cellist Yo-Yo Ma. For one, Ma is the closest thing to a rock star that classical music has right now, what with playing at presidential inaugurations and whatnot. Obviously, to be one of the few classical musicians that an average American has heard of, you're probably pretty qualified for the job. Hence we can enter the world of Brahms with a point of reference.

The interesting thing is that these sonatas (Ops. 38, 99 and 108) were most likely not meant to showcase the cello, or at least not meant for the cello to overshadow the piano. Brahms himself was a skilled pianist, and it stands to reason that he would draft sonatas to display his own talent. There's a famous anecdote where an accompanist complains that the composer is playing too loudly and blocking out his own instrument, to which Brahms reportedly replied "lucky for you."

Ax is no slouch (not only because his last name is "Ax"), but he makes sure to give Ma his fair share of spotlight. It may seem odd that one instrument could hog the attention during a two-instrument sonata with a predetermined composition, but of all instruments, the piano has that ability. More often than not, the pianist interprets pace and emphasis. In Brahms' case, the cellist is expected to follow suit. This wasn't Ma and Ax's first time at the rodeo together however, which explains why this recording flows so well. They might not know in advance what the other is thinking, but they've got a better sense than most.

Even if my theory is correct and Brahms wrote these sonatas for his own showboating, he left plenty of room for the cellist to wiggle. Although Ops. 38 and 108 are in minor keys, the traditional allegro openings don't allow for dreariness. The pair takes turns running during "Allegro Vivace," the opening number to Op. 99, and shifting between upbeat and downbeat paces. Ax plays a tremolo-style of piano, which is essentially a classy way of saying "saloon-style." The sonata, in F-major, slows down for an adagio, and then picks up for another allegro, "Allegro Passionato." I found the latter to be the most exciting portion of the three sonatas presented, and was a little bummed when it ended on the more introspective "Allegro Molto." As you can probably tell, I am neither Brahms nor a genius.

I draw issue with Moon's claims that simpler is the best way to get someone interested in classical music. I know that Vivaldi and all his Baroqueness drew my initial attention to the form. But if you have to start with two-person sonatas, might as well make it Ma and Ax. We'll see how complex Brahms works for beginners in two entries, with his four symphonies.

INTERESTING FACT: I wasn't kidding when I said AxMa (my celebrity relationship name for the pair) played together a lot. Ax has won five Grammys, all of them for recordings done with Ma. Ma has won 16 Grammys.