Program Notes

April 24, 2010

Robert Schumann already ranked among the most important German composers of his age when, in 1853, he made the acquaintance of a fair-haired 20-year old prodigy recommended to him by the violinist Joseph Joachim. The elder composer immediately recognized greatness in this young man, and wrote as much in a highly influential essay in the journal Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, where he declared the young Johannes Brahms the new messiah of music, a musical visionary who would “give expression to the times in an ideal fashion.”

Schumann’s praises would prove prescient, if not altogether surprising; today, we recognize Brahms as the most important German symphonist of his time. And for his part, Schumann isn’t exactly a forgotten composer.

Brahms – Hungarian Dances No. 1, 3 & 10

It is impossible to ascribe a date to Brahms’ set of Hungarian Dances, which were written intermittently over a period of years. Originally penned for the piano, these small-scale gems totaled 21 in number; of those, Brahms scored these three for orchestra (other composers have subsequently scored the remainder).

Brahms viewed the Hungarian Dances as arrangements, and historians indeed cite Gypsy sources for many of the melodies employed in these characterful works: No. 1, for example, is built around a melody by Ferenc Sárkozi. Each of these Dances evidences a deep understanding on the part of the German composer of the impassioned character of the traditional music, with its dramatic shifts in mood and tempo.

Brahms – Serenade No. 2 in A Major

Brahms spent much of his early career working around the symphonic idiom, producing works that often felt symphonic in scale, yet which were purposely structured in non-symphonic forms. His two orchestral Serenades, both written in 1860, were prime examples of that work.

The Second Serenade is the less oft-played of the two, for reasons that seem to have mostly to do with the unusual scoring: the music lacks parts for trumpets, timpani, and, perhaps most notably, violins. Structured in five movements, it is a remarkable testament to Brahms’ ability to work around such apparent obstacles: this is not music that “lacks” anything.

As he often did, Brahms sought out the opinions of Robert Schumann’s wife, Clara, as he worked on the Second Serenade. She was the first – though hardly the last – to sing the music’s praises: “I cannot find the words to express the joy it has given me and yet you want me to write at length!” she wrote to Brahms. “It is difficult for me to analyze what I feel; it impels me to something which gives me pleasure, as though I were to gaze at each filament of a wondrous flower. It is most beautiful!”

Schumann – Symphony No. 1, “Spring”

In Robert Schumann’s flowing, lush Romantic music, one can hear simultaneously the echoes of Beethoven – the pastoral beauty, the heroic grandeur -- as well as murmurings of the stylistic principles and aesthetic ideals that would be advanced by Brahms and Dvorak: the emphasis on familiar folk melodies and references to other arts (particularly poetry); the dense textures and flexible forms; the grand scale.

Music historian John Daverio, in his tome “Robert Schumann: Herald of a New Poetic Age,” offers an apt summary of Schumann’s artistic and temporal position in history:

“The majority of his works fall within the two decades bounded on the one hand by the rise of the optimistic literary movement known as Junges Deutschland and on the other by the failed revolutions of 1848/49. Hence they span a period of transition from faith in philosophical idealism to resigned embrace of political realism. Schumann’s music…hovers between the no-longer and the not-yet, between the youthful bloom of Weber and the autumnal reflection of Brahms.”

Schumann sketched out his First Symphony in a remarkable fit of creativity, with the basic framework completed by the 30-year old composer in just four days. This music was, itself, a transition-point for Schumann, who had previously established himself as a noteworthy composer of piano miniatures and songs, but who had only approached large-scale orchestral composition in limited ways.

His impetus traced, at least in part, to his new wife, Clara, who had exhorted him in a letter a year earlier: “I’ve been seized by the desire to encourage you to write for orchestra. Your imagination and your spirit are too great for the weak piano.” Schumann took her at her wishes, turning out not only his First Symphony, but also the Overture, Scherzo and Finale for orchestra, the Phantasie for piano and orchestra, and the D-Minor Symphony (which would later be published as the Fourth Symphony) – all within the months of 1841.

The critic Ludwig Finscher once noted that Schumann’s First Symphony stands poised “between absolute and program music,” an assertion supported by the work’s initial title: “Spring Symphony.” Schumann was inspired in this direction by a “Spring Poem” by Adolph Böttger. However, he later struck the formal reference from the title, calling it simply his First Symphony; he also removed the original titles of the four movements: “Beginning of Spring,” “Evening,” “Jolly Playmates,” and “Spring Replete.”

Listening to Schumann’s music today, one doesn’t hear the kind of directly pictorial references one encounters in, say, Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (which predates this work by several years). Yet in the music’s youthful energy and brilliantly blossoming melodies, one certainly comprehends the spirit of Schumann’s inspiration.

Program notes written by Joe Nickell