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Phillip T Young Recital Hall
August 1, 2017
To paraphrase Voltaire: if Johannes Brahms had not existed, it would have been necessary to invent him.
Consider, for example, the number of second-rank composers from the late nineteenth and early twentieth century whose music is often described as "Brahmsian", an adjective also frequently used about the early work of those who would later be of the first rank (Dvořák immediately springs to mind).
While Brahms was undoubtedly a very influential composer — even, one suspects, on those who had never actually heard a note of his music — my sub-Voltairian aphorism really stems from his other function: as an exemplar, a demonstration that it was still possible for great music to be composed by a musical conservative, that it was not necessary to worship at the shrine of Wagner.
Of course, Brahms himself was not originally as self-confident as some: he claimed to have composed and destroyed some twenty string quartets before his first published example in the form. His Piano Trio No.1, Op.8, was his first published chamber work in any form and one might imagine, therefore, that he was completely satisfied by it, yet some three-and-a-half decades later, when offered the opportunity by his publisher, Simrock, to revisit any of his earlier music with which he no longer felt entirely happy, Brahms replied that he would "and to such an extent that you will be justified in announcing the fact on the title page". In the event the only work he did revise was the trio.
"You will never guess what childish amusement I have used to while away the gorgeous summer days", he wrote in a letter to Clara Schumann from Ischl on September 3 1889, "I have rewritten my B major trio and can now call it Opus 108 instead of Opus 8. It will not be as wild as it was, but whether or not it will be better—?".
His friends were not uniformly convinced by the revision and Clara remarked after the first performance that it "strikes me as being much better proportioned, but I don't like all of it...the second theme of the last movement seems to me to be quite ghastly".
When Brahms, after several performances, finally allowed Simrock access to the manuscript, he warned the latter that "with respect to the modernised Trio I must categorically state that the old one is bad, but I do not maintain that the new one is good". In the event, Brahms wanted both versions in print, viewing them almost as two distinct works.
Posterity has tended to opt for hearing the revision and it was a truly outstanding performance of Op.(10)8 that closed Tuesday's Victoria Summer Music Festival concert.
Coming at the end of a "gorgeous summer day", with temperatures to match, even the considerably shorter revised version of the trio could have proved tiresome in the wrong hands.
Fortunately, the hands involved were those of Alexandra Preucil, Cameron Crozman (looking, somewhat disconcertingly, like Ron Weasley's cello-playing brother — never mind) and Arthur Rowe; and their performance held the attention throughout.
Throughout the work ensemble and balances between the three were exceptional; those few spots where the piano dominated I think we can safely lay at the feet of the pianist-composer himself (and let us also remember Arnold Schoenberg's justification for orchestrating the first piano quartet was that he could never hear the strings properly in performance).
The opening movement is a glorious outpouring of melody, which was here cast in exceptionally beautiful tone colours. So fine was the playing that my reaction to their observance of the exposition repeat was "Oh, good!" (as opposed to a more frequent "Oh, God!") and the development section was grippingly intense.
The scherzo, perhaps the least revised movement, had an almost Mendelssohnian fairy feel, with the trio, by contrast, being deeply soulful.
During the slow movement, time virtually stood still. It was very slow, but exquisitely played, both coherent and cohesive. Exemplary Brahms indeed.
The turbulent finale is perhaps the least successful movement. It, of course, includes that second subject which Clara so disliked (according to some it resembles "The Star-spangled Banner"; I can't say I can hear it myself) and does tend to meander somewhat.
However, when played at this level, it is easy to overlook any minor flaws and simply be swept away by the music as it progresses to its tumultuous close.
Magnificent.
In a sense, one of those who "invented" Brahms was his friend and mentor Robert Schumann.
Schumann's Violin Sonata No.1 was composed in a week in September 1851 (almost precisely two years before the twenty-year-old Brahms arrived, unannounced, at the Schumanns' door, with a letter of introduction from Joachim) and he was not entirely happy with it: "I did not like the first Sonata for Violin and Piano; so I wrote a second one, which I hope has turned out better"; the second was written just two months later.
William Preucil and Arthur Rowe opened Tuesday's programme with a splendid account of the one which Schumann claimed not to like. From the opening, with Preucil's rich-toned violin pitted against Rowe's turbulent piano, to the final, hectic coda, this was a performance which put not a foot wrong.
I was especially taken with the rhapsodic and volatile feel of the opening movement and its hushed, misterioso introduction to the dramatic and determined coda; the charming allegretto, which featured some dazzlingly precise rubato and a delicious pizzicato close; and the rapport between the two players — throughout the piece, but particularly in the agitato finale.
It is slightly under a year since I last reviewed a performance of Moritz Moszkowski's Suite for Two Violins and Piano, at which time, of course, not necessarily anticipating another performance within my lifetime, I used up all the Moszkowski anecdotes I know. (I also, I notice, used the word "Brahmsian" in connection with the second movement.)
William and Alexandra Preucil, together with Rowe, reinforced my opinion, which I expressed last year, that more first-rate performance of Moszkowski might do a great deal to raise his profile. This may not be (oh, alright, is definitely not) profound music, but it is profoundly enjoyable, when played like this.
The highly romantic opening movement, very mittel-European in feel, featured some truly excellent interplay between the two violins, who were so much en rapport that I would have been pushed to distinguish the players with my eyes closed. The delectable allegretto veers close to salon music, without ever quite crossing that particular line and is surprisingly determined in nature; the slow movement evinced just one word in my notebook: "lovely"; while the finale, whose bounce oddly reminded me of something by Percy Grainger (a great Brahms pianist by the way) was great fun and culminated in a tremendous accelerando finish.
An evening to remind one just why chamber music is so rewarding.
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