GEORGE GERSHWIN (1898-1937)

 

Matthew has now reached the last lap in his mammoth series of lectures on the Concerto (1900-1950). In his nine lectures so far, he has visited 21 different composers, a feat in itself. The last of the series will take us upon a flying visit to America for two more with concertos by Copland, Barber and George Gershwin – Matthew has earlier examined the clarinet concerto of Copland. I have chosen Gershwin as the subject of my final note for the term partly because we have touched upon him recently in both Matthew’s lecture and my last note on Ravel. More importantly because Gershwin is a completely different kettle of fish from every other composer we have dealt with before.

 

George Gershwin for many was a brilliant composer of popular songs and music theatre who could, given his due, dabble in classical music, but, let’s face it, could not be said to be in the top rank. For others, whatever his provenance and whatever else he produced or lacked he was the first true composer to spring out of the American soil.

 

America had been around a long time from its colony era to its independence, its expansions westwards and the war of the states as the civil war was called. It had developed its home grown authors and playwrights, its own painters, poets and theatre. Yet it had not developed a musical style of its own being both derived from the European tradition and yet American at the same time. It had welcomed new arrivals from all over Europe who brought with them their traditions and their folk music. The slaves, the African Americans – no-one called them that then – thought to be without souls or culture, developed their own spirituals which travelled the length of the country after the civil war. As it happened most of the negro spirituals as we know them were recorded or composed by one man, Harry Burleigh at the instance of Dvorak. Dvorak had gone to America in 1892 when offered the position of composition professor at the New York Conservatory. It had been spelt out to him that he was expected to pave the way for an “American” musical style. Just like that. So it was that Dvorak enlisted the help of Harry Burleigh (1867-1949), one of the earliest African-American composers. It was he who introduced Dvorak to traditional American spirituals. It was Dvorak who urged Burleigh to collect and arrange the spirituals he sung, which he then set about doing, about 300 of them. His works included, Deep River; Steal Away; Go Down Moses. Without Harry Burleigh there would have been no Dvorak New World Symphony as we know it. Many towns and cities had developed their own styles, New Orleans, St Louis and Kansas City developing from the spirituals the blues and most had syncopated rhythms in common developing into ragged time to be called ragtime. There were classical composers about in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, notably Edward Macdowall whose second piano concerto owes something to Grieg, and Amy Beach who was a child prodigy, mainly self taught as a composer and pianist. She married a surgeon, Dr H H A Beach who insisted as a married woman she only played twice a year and that she appear and compose as Mrs H H A Beach. I can feel the women libbers amongst you trembling with rage.

 

Jewish immigration into America had been gradual over the early nineteenth century, mainly German speaking. Between 1880 and 1914 there arrived waves of Ashkenazy Yiddish speaking Jews from the Russian Pale of Settlement fleeing from pogroms in Poland, Lithuania, Belarus. There were similar arrivals in England at the same time and I myself can empathize as my paternal grandparents arrived in this country in or about 1895. Whether in America or England their achievement was that within a generation they and their children had integrated in their new countries whilst able to retain at home their traditional customs. It was in 1895 also that Morris (formerly Moishe) Gershowitz married Rose (Roza) Bruskina in New York. She had arrived from Vilnius. He had followed her. They lived in Brooklyn where he became a foreman leather cutter for women’s shoes. Their first son, Israel, but always known as Ira was born in 1896. George was born in 1898 and always known as George although his birth certificate describes him as Jacob Gershwine. Two further children were to follow.

 

Morris moved jobs and family home several times and his standard of living increased such that he bought a piano in 1910 principally for Ira to learn. George meantime was a typical back street roller skating boy without any apparent musical leanings but he heard his friend Maxie Rosenzweig’s playing a violin. It was his earliest encounter with classical music. The sound and the way his friend played captured him. His parents, having bought a piano for Ira to have lessons, found to their surprise and Ira’s relief, that it was George who played it. The theatre also was prominent already in Ira and George’s lives. The Yiddish theatre was very popular and the boys attended performances and ran errands for the theatre. George sought various lessons in the piano and after two years was introduced to Charles Hambitzer who became his mentor. Hambitzer taught him conventional piano technique, introduced him to classical music tradition and encouraged him to attend orchestra concerts. At home, following such concerts, George would then try to play at the piano the music that he had heard. Later on, he took composition lessons from the American composer, Henry Cowell thought to be quite avant garde.

 

George staying on at school for continuing education was not on the agenda. He left school at 15 and took a job as a song plugger at Jerome H. Remick and Co. on Tin Pan Alley. The recording industry had not yet started and piano rolls were a popular form of musical reproduction. However the main turnover business was sheet music. Song pluggers were employed in a store or publishing house and would sit on a balcony or landing demonstrating at the piano the latest sheet music for prospective buyers. Frequently they plugged the same tune over and over again, a bit like Classic FM playing Holst’s Jupiter. In 1915 George was writing his own songs and mixing them in with his playlist.

 

In 1916, George moved to the Aeolian Company with whom he cut his first piano rolls. He went on to produce hundreds of others, sometimes under his own name, others under pseudonyms. His first published song was when he was 17 and tells us something about George’s progress with the opposite sex. It is entitled “When You Want ‘Em, You Can’t Get ‘Em, When You’ve Got ‘Em, You Don’t Want ‘Em”. Others followed but it was in 1919 he scored his first big national hit with his song, “Swanee”. Al Johnson heard Gershwin perform it at a party and decided to sing it in one of his shows. Swanee sold one million sheet music copies and an estimated two million records, and it earned George $10,000 in royalties in the first year alone. It was the biggest song hit of Gershwin’s entire career. Before that success George had left song plugging behind and become a rehearsal pianist on Broadway and managing rather cheekily to interpolate his own music into the shows.

 

From individual songs George teamed up with others to create their own musicals. First with the song writer William Daly with whom he wrote three musicals between 1920 and 1923 and also with Buddy de Silva who jointly created an experimental one-act jazz opera called Blue Monday and set in Harlem. It is widely regarded as a forerunner to Porgy and Bess. However there is no doubt that the ground breaking partnership came about in 1924 when George and Ira teamed up to form the greatest combination.

 

1924 was also the year when George’s first “classical” work, Rhapsody in Blue, described as “for Jazz Band and Piano”, came into the world. The bandleader, Paul Whiteman had been impressed with Blue Monday and was himself planning a big modern jazz concert. So he approached George for a concerto-like jazz work. To begin with, George turned the suggestion down. A month or two later George got persuaded to take it on although there was not enough time left for orchestrating it. The idea of the theme came to him on a rail journey to Boston “with its steely rhythms, its rattle-ty bang”. It was a combination of a Liszt type Hungarian Rhapsody mingled with the blues. His original thought was to call it American Rhapsody but Ira suggested Rhapsody in Blue as the title after having visited a Whistler exhibition. He was taken in particularly by titles such as ‘Nocturne in Black and Gold’ and ‘Arrangement in Grey and Black’ which you would know better as Whistler’s Mother. George actually wrote Rhapsody in Blue for two pianos and then handed it over to Ferde Grofé, Whiteman’s arranger, for him to orchestrate. The orchestration we hear today is that of Grofé who knew and understood the workings of the Whiteman orchestra. Whiteman was trying to develop jazz of the traditional variety into formalised symphonic jazz with an extended orchestra with saxophones, clarinet, trumpets, trombones supplemented with two horns and tuba. There was an orchestra pianist and drums and timpani combined. The basic orchestra was surrounded by an array of strings and in the middle of the orchestra to cover the jazzier aspects were an accordion and banjo. What is amazing is that Grofé was able to anticipate the Gershwin orchestral sound. Although he had never heard any Gershwin orchestration he had an uncanny instinctive feel which would produce the same sound as Gershwin would later create.   If anything marks out the Rhapsody in Blue over anything else it must be that opening glissando on clarinet. It is the most famous sound in all of Gershwin and yet it was not even written by George or Grofé. It actually came about as a joke in rehearsal by the orchestra clarinettist, Ross Gorman. He played the opening bars with a deliberate wobbling glissando to which George reacted by asking Gorman to do it that way at the concert and to put in as much of a wail as possible.

 

The concert had George himself as solo pianist and was a success with the audience, although panned by some critics. It has become today a cult work but it was not always that way. At the time traditional jazz of the New Orleans or Dixieland variety was still just emerging. It had its great names like King Oliver and Louis Armstrong. The style of jazz that was performed from the late teens to the late 1920s was improvisatory and by nature contrapuntal and might well have been enjoyed by a toe tapping J S Bach had he been around two centuries later. Its adherents were the purists and appalled at what Paul Whiteman was about. The latter had been a violist in the Denver Symphony Orchestra and after the First World War formed his own band using jazz and hailed as the King of Jazz. His orchestra contained some thirty five players for which formal monothematic composition was necessary. He was already earning over a million dollars a year in the 1920’s. However he was seen by the traditional jazz followers as a thieving magpie and a typical white man taking over black culture. At least, the Duke Ellington orchestra, founded in 1926, only consisted of blacks. So there was a split both between classical and jazz and a racial divide between white and coloured to start with. Yet the adherents to classical music, the so-called high brows, were equally hostile to hear jazz sounds with growl trumpets played by an orchestra in a symphony concert. In black and white films the high brow women were depicted with anachronistic lorgnettes frowning down their long noses. So who were its fans and followers? One can say it was the great uncultured mass of the white American middlebrows. Many would eventually opt for a brand of music they could dance and swing to, rather than symphonic jazz, and which by 1935 would come to dominate the American musical scene led by the likes of Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller.

 

By the end of 1927, Whiteman’s band had played the Rhapsody eighty-four times, and its recording sold a million copies. Later, for the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics during the Reagan presidency it was played at the opening ceremony with 84 grand pianos!. Whiteman adopted the piece as his band’s signature tune, and opened his radio programmes with the slogan “Everything New but the Rhapsody in Blue.” It has had its detractors, many of them, but in more recent years it has come to be symbolized as A Portrait of New York, an iconic background in the film Manhattan, for romantics such as Woody Allen. However even Gershwin’s greatest supporters cannot lay claim to it being a great classical work. No one could have given greater love or support to Gershwin than Leonard Bernstein who nevertheless wrote in 1955

 

“The Rhapsody is not a composition at all. It’s a string of separate paragraphs stuck together. The themes are terrific, inspired, God-given. I don’t think there has been such an inspired melodist on this earth since Tchaikovsky. Your Rhapsody in Blue though is not a real composition in the sense that it must seem inevitable. You can cut parts of it without affecting the whole. You can remove any of these stuck-together sections and the piece still goes on as bravely as before. It can be a five-minute piece or a twelve-minute piece. And it’s still the Rhapsody in Blue.”

 

On the popular musical front, 1924 was the year when George and Ira Gershwin teamed up, a team like Mozart and da Ponte or Verdi and Boito or Gilbert and Sullivan were teams. George and Ira’s first successful collaboration was Lady Be Good, which included the song, “Fascinating Rhythm”. They followed this with one after another. Oh Kay! (1926); Funny Face (1927) Show Girl (1929) Strike Up The Band (1930) and in the same year Girl Crazy which included “I Got Rhythm” and “Embraceable You” and made Ginger Rogers a star. The Wall Street Crash did not slow down the productivity in Gershwin musicals. In 1931 there followed “Of Thee I Sing”, a musical based on a presidential election campaign which won a Pullitzer Prize for Drama, the first musical comedy to do so. Its sequel was “Let ‘Em Eat Cake” involving the sale of blue shirts following the growth of brown shirts and black shirts in Europe. Back in 1926 George had met Kay Swift, a composer, with whom he had a relationship for 12 years. They didn’t marry although Kay got divorced so as to be able to do so. Kay’s grand-daughter thought that George held back because his mother Rose – shades of the Jewish momma with Maureen Lipman – was unhappy that Kay Swift wasn’t Jewish. The musical “Oh, Kay” was named for her.

 

Covering this same period is George Gershwin’s progress with “classical” music. Walter Damrosch, conductor of the New York Symphony Orchestra had been present at the first performance of Rhapsody in Blue and commissioned Gershwin to write a piano concerto which might be be closer in form to a classical model and, unlike the Rhapsody, would be orchestrated by its composer. Whilst George would later receive formal training from Henry Cowell and Arnold Schoenberg in composition and advanced harmony and orchestration, he had had no such training in 1924. Under the pressure of a deadline to complete the work in 1925, George bought books on theory, concerto form and orchestration and taught himself the skills needed. Because of contractual obligations for three different Broadway musicals, he was not able to begin sketching ideas until May 1925. He began scoring for two-pianos in late July following a trip to London. The original title was intended to be “New York Concerto”. Its three movements were written between July and September with full orchestration carried out by November. The Concerto in F shows considerable development in Gershwin’s compositional technique, particularly as he orchestrated the entire work himself. The first performance was a sell out at the Carnegie Hall in December 1925, and George was the soloist. It was well received by the public but as usual the reviews were mixed, with many critics unable to classify it as jazz or classical. Indeed, there was a great variety of opinion among Gershwin’s contemporaries. Stravinsky thought the work was one of genius, although I doubt he was at the performance or in America at that time. Prokofiev is said to have disliked it intensely. William Walton is said to have commented that he adored Gershwin’s orchestration of the concerto but I have no idea as to when he said it or to whom. Without the Gershwin concerto there never would have been the Ravel, that’s for sure.

 

Further down the line it was Walter Damrosch again who also commissioned from George a symphonic poem for the NYSO.   George made two trips to Paris in the 1920’s, first in 1926 when he stayed with friends, and he returned with more serious purpose in 1928. His object, having met Ravel in America and on his recommendation, was to seek lessons from Nadia Boulanger, a celebrated French composer, conductor, and teacher who taught many of the leading composers and musicians of the day. She also performed as a pianist and organist. Boulanger replied that she had nothing to teach him. Here it is interesting to compare with Aaron Copland, also an American Jewish composer with immigrant parents. He had set out on a different path and took lessons from Boulanger for three years. None of this set George back, as his real reason in coming to Paris was to complete a new work based on that city as well as to write a second rhapsody for piano and orchestra as a possible sequence to Rhapsody in Blue. An American in Paris is his greatest orchestral achievement. He described the piece as a “rhapsodic ballet” because it was written more freely than his previous works. He stated “My purpose here is to portray the impressions of an American visitor in Paris as he strolls about the city, listens to the various street noises, and absorbs the French atmosphere.” It is a bustling impressionist scene written in five sections. Its principal theme is interspersed by honking motor horns and with a show off trombone theme which I seem to recall was used for an advert by Wrigley’s Chewing Gum. There is a solo jazz trumpet nocturne, pure Beiderbecke, a blues in the night theme, which paints a moment of nostalgic loneliness of the American visitor. Its mood is more Manhattan than Hot Club de France. Later in 1951 there would be the film which also contains music from the piano concerto. Still, when it comes to Gershwin musicals, nearly every film, although containing a few standard songs, had its story line completely changed. The film of An American In Paris is a typical clichéd view of Paris, France as seen by Americans, not that they are any worse than any other tourists but Hollywood happens to have made more films about it than anyone else, except the French. I am afraid that, energetic a dancer as Gene Kelly was, I suffer a bout of nausea when seeing him and the film, which I try not to do.

 

After returning to America, accompanied by a set of klaxon horns for the first performance of An American in Paris, George was signed up in 1929 by the Fox Film Corporation to compose the score for the film, Delicious. This was the beginning of the talkies. The Jazz Singer with Al Jolson had come out in 1927 but feature films were largely only for music to begin with. To George’s infuriation, only two pieces got used in the final version and the rest of the score was rejected. It would be seven years before George worked in Hollywood again. Still, as we have seen, the stage musicals continued to come out.

 

Gershwin now turned his attention to opera and a venture he had had in mind for some time. “Porgy and Bess” is now regarded as an important American opera or folk opera as George liked to call it. It is based on a novel “Porgy” by DuBose Heyward, the action of which takes place in a fictional all-black neighbourhood of Charleston called Catfish Row. Just as well, it wasn’t Ferguson. The critics weren’t quite able to make it out. It crossed the barriers. Was it opera, or was it simply an ambitious Broadway musical? All the principal characters were black. That itself was shock enough. The music combines elements of popular music of the day but, as with his other “classical music”, with the clear influence of negro, as it was called, music, not just jazz but spirituals, as well. Yet it contained techniques typical of opera. The songs were sung with operatic voices. It also had recitative and Gershwin introduced an extensive system of leitmotifs. He was no longer writing in pseudo Liszt style but experimenting. It includes a fugue, a passacaglia; there is the use of atonality, polytonality and polyrhythm, and, God Bless Schoenberg, a serial row. Of course we know it best from its individual set numbers, “Summer Time”, “I Got Plenty o’ Nuttin”, “Bess, You Is My Woman Now” and “It Ain’t Necessarily So”. These bear a relationship to his other melodies and works, an identifiable Gershwin sound. Take Summer Time, for example, it is more refined but it has the same family relationship to “Some Day He’ll Come Along. The Man I Love”. Take “Bess, you is my woman now” and now think about that steamy trumpet solo in “An American In Paris”. Surely they come out of the same stable? The work was first performed in 1935; it was a box office failure. What Gershwin did achieve was a spirit of mutual sympathy between two peoples, unrelated but with oppressions in common, the Blacks and the Jews. Michael Tippett would do the same in a different way in “A Child Of Our Time” five years later.

 

After the commercial failure of Porgy and Bess, George was signed up in1936 by RKO to write the music for the film “Shall We Dance” which would star Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. The music was to marry ballet and jazz in a new way. For this he needed to move to Hollywood. The music for the film which runs for over an hour took several months to complete. By this time he was a very rich man and lived in luxury in a 14-room duplex, with a gymnasium, an artist’s studio and space for his own paintings and art collection. He was living the “American Dream” but not for long. Photographs of the time show him smoking a cigar at the piano and as having lost his shiny hair leaving a sizable bald patch from the recession. As to that I know what it’s like. I’ve been there. Shall We Dance was followed by “A Damsel In Distress” with Astaire and Joan Fontaine. It was based on a novel by P G Wodehouse and instigated by George as its main character is a songwriter. The film did not get released until four months after George’s death.

 

At not quite 39 years old, George had developed blinding headaches and a recurring impression that he smelled burning rubber. In February 1937 he was the soloist in his own piano concerto with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra under Pierre Monteux and began hitting the wrong notes.  In July he collapsed and was rushed to hospital. For five hours, doctors tried to remove what turned out be a deeply embedded brain tumour. He never regained consciousness and died on 11 July, 1937. Within six months of each other Ravel and Gershwin, each mutually influential on the other, would die during brain operations!

 

George Gershwin died one of the richest men in the graveyard and his estate still collects royalties. Undoubtedly he was a great popular song writer. In many ways he can be compared to Schubert. Both wrote songs which were popular within their own milieu. Most who listen to Schubert today do so with reverence without realising that he was giving his fans the same pleasure that George would do for his a hundred years later. Their styles were different, that’s all. George Gershwin was not a great giant of classical music but a talented genius to emerge from the American Melting Pot and to lead the way where others would follow. I end by making a comparison between Arnold Schoenberg and George Gershwin. Arnold Schoenberg was a Jewish émigré from Vienna who through force of circumstances lived in America. George Gershwin was the son of a Jewish émigré but himself born in New York. Arnold Schoenberg may have been a great composer but he was the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. George Gershwin may not have been such a great composer but he was the right man in the right place at the right time.

POSTSCRIPT

 

AN ALMOST ELEVEN YEAR OLD’S VIEW OF GEORGE GERSHWIN

 

In 1946, with my father demobbed, we moved to London from Swansea and stayed for a week with my aunt and uncle in Tufnell Park. Already I missed the Swans (Swansea Town FC). My uncle generously gave me some pocket money and suggested I go to see the Arsenal at Tottenham. (Highbury had been closed down and Arsenal played at White Hart Lane when Spurs were away). I was told to get any trolley bus going to Stamford Hill and change for Tottenham. As I waited at the bus stop I saw a trolley opposite clearly going to Tottenham in the other direction. I crossed and got on. I couldn’t be wrong. It had “Tottenham Ct Rd” on the front. Of course the conductor put me down, somewhere in Kentish Town I believe, and it was too late to see the match. Anyway I was not really interested as it was only Arsenal, not the Swans.

 

Across the road was a cinema, the Rex or the Ritz or whatever. There, they were showing something called “Rhapsody In Blue”. I had no idea what it was about but with my pocket money I went in and sat in the front stalls. The seats were good. They didn’t have springs that stuck in your arse like the Carlton in Swansea. The film was a biopic – not that anyone used that word – of George Gershwin of whom I knew nothing but whose name had been known to me from the wireless. I saw the young George thumping the piano in excitement to his brother Ira. I found that strange because in Wales that was a girl’s name. I loved the way George sung his new song, “Swanee, how I love you, how I love you” and how the two of them in trousers, shirt and braces wearing trilbies on the backs of their heads tapped danced on a desk-table “D-I-X-I-E-ven know my mammy’s waiting for me, waiting for me”. I saw Al Jolson sing Swanee with his face painted black and a great white circle round his mouth. I saw the Paul Whiteman orchestra and the portly figure of Paul Whiteman playing Paul Whiteman himself; also a pianist called Oscar Levant played by Oscar Levant. George was played by an actor I have since learned was Robert Alda, father of Alan Alda. He had a lady friend played by an actress called Alexis Smith. That was the yucky part of the film. I don’t remember much else until it came to the end. George was due to play the Rhapsody in Blue at a concert and had not turned up. A note was given to Oscar Levant who took George’s place at the piano. Paul Whiteman started to conduct and the clarinet started up with a wail like a cat. Somehow Alexis Smith who was sitting in the audience seemed to know by telepathy that George was dead. The camera zoomed in on her face, which got larger and larger until it filled the whole black and white square screen. The tears rolled down her magnified face but then women always cried in films. Men didn’t. It was all so silly but there in the darkness of the Rex or the Ritz or whatever, although she did not know it, I cried with Alexis Smith. I cried for George Gershwin.

 

JOHANNES BRAHMS (1833-1897) and HIS LITTLE SINGING GIRLS

Brahms is a strange, somewhat forbidding figure to get to grips with. A giant of the later 19th century but ostensibly out of nowhere. In Britain, at any rate, the name of Brahms is possibly the widest known of all the composers to have been bandied about….though for the wrong reasons. The unlikely linkage of the name of Brahms with that of Liszt has given rise within the chattering classes to a politely coded reference to inebriation. Without knowing a note of music my younger son can tell you who Brahms was. For him it is a name imprinted on the imagination by none other than Basil Fawlty with his ranting reference to Brahms’ third racket, not a description that remotely can relate to the music of Brahms whatever else one may think about it. On the other hand it might do nicely for Liszt, thank you very much.

Brahms was born in Hamburg in 1833. He comes therefore a generation later than Berlioz (1803), Mendelssohn (1809), Schumann (1810), Liszt (1811) and Wagner (1813). This will help give one some chronological bearings. Brahms was still a young man of 20 in the second half already of the nineteenth century when he first met Schumann. He is frequently coupled as a protagonist of Wagner but the latter was a slow starter which made their compositional output contemporaneous with each other. He was born into a poor Lutheran family. His father was a town musician who played horn and double bass and instilled some of this into Johannes. His mother had been a seamstress who was 41 when she married.

Little detail is known of Brahms’ education but he studied mathematics, history, English, French, and Latin in private elementary and secondary schools. He was an avid reader and left a library of over 800 books which can be seen in the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna. Brahms took lessons on cello and horn and at age seven, he started private piano lessons followed within a few years by instruction at no charge in piano and music theory by Eduard Marxen, a piano teacher and composer who seems to have been a pupil of a pupil of someone famous or a friend of a friend of someone else who was even more famous. Still he left a considerable impression on Brahms who dedicated his massive second piano concerto to him.

From what one can make out, Brahms’ professional music career began at age 10. In order to ease his family’s often tight financial conditions he played the piano at dance halls of ill repute and presumably gained as much musical practice there as at any conservatoire. By the time he was a teenager, Brahms is said to have been an accomplished musician, and he used his talent to earn money along the city’s docks at local taverns and in brothels. Various opinions are advanced as to the effect his close working relations with prostitutes had upon his later difficulties in his relationships with women and a misogynistic outlook he developed. Come what may, he never did marry and in his later years he spent some of his own pleasurable time in Vienna with “my little singing girls” as he was wont to describe them.

Brahms gave a few public concerts in Hamburg but did not become well known as a pianist. He began conducting choirs from his early teens, and became a proficient choral and orchestral conductor. He started composing quite early but later destroyed most copies of his first works. A fellow pupil of Marxsen stated that she had heard Brahms play a sonata he had written when he was 11 but that he had destroyed it.

In early 1853 he travelled as an accompanist on a concert tour by a Hungarian violinist and whilst in Hanover he was to meet the great violin virtuoso, Joachim, all of two years his senior. Joachim was impressed enough by the totally unknown Brahms to give him a letter of introduction to Robert Schumann, then the leading light in contemporary musical trends and to whose allegiance Joachim had switched following his disaffection from the Liszt modernist school. From there Brahms went on to Weimar where Liszt held court assisted by his disciples, Cornelius and Raff. Brahms not only got presented but the great Liszt himself performed Brahms’s opus 4 scherzo at sight. Brahms failed to return the compliment. He himself fell asleep during a performance of Liszt’s recently composed sonata in B minor. It was not however a case of Brahms and Liszt but that Brahms claimed that he had been exhausted by his travels.

After a walking holiday in the Rhineland, Brahms took the train to Dusseldorf to meet Robert Schmann, armed with his letter of introduction from Joachim. As it happened, at the time of his knocking at the door, Schumann was half way through writing his violin concerto for Joachim. This never got played for eighty years as Joachim saw it as a product of Schumann’s madness. Joachim did not do too badly though because he would later in 1867 receive the dedication of the first violin concerto of Max Bruch; in 1878 the violin concerto of Brahms and in 1887 he was to be one of the dual dedicatees of Brahms’ double concerto.

Schumann and his wife, Clara, were amazed at the talent of Brahms. Despite their having seven children and another on the way they invited Brahms into the family circle on his arrival there. Schumann was really serious about it and went on to publish an article entitled ” New Paths” in the next issue of the journal, Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, claiming here was a young man “destined to give ideal expression to the times.”

At this early stage Brahms was happy to participate in a Schumann’s composition, a violin sonata written for Joachim. There is a noticeable similarity in the sound worlds of Schumann and Brahms, a distinct German sound. Brahms music was clearly more muscular and his piano writing and playing more powerful. Schumann might well have recognized this muscular potential as an extension to his own limitations. Brahms for his part seemed somewhat bowled over by Schumann’s expectation predicted for him which seemed to bring out in Brahms an inferiority complex. It was at this time in late 1853 that he was writing his own first published works; three piano sonatas, opus 1,2 and 5 (his scherzo, opus 4 played by Liszt had been written two years earlier). Like Beethoven before him, Brahms started his composing career with chamber music and also songs. Orchestral music was a long way yet from getting on the agenda. Just listening to the third sonata, a mighty five movement work, one is already aware of the enormous power that Brahms could engender. With Brahms there is no sense of early period, middle period and late period but one of power, energy and then with premature old age a sense of recline, rather than decline, and waning power.

Brahms’ presence in the Schumann household could not be maintained. Apart from not overstaying one’s welcome Brahms may well have found himself disturbed by an attraction to Clara although, if he did, he could not let on. It would not be long after his departure that he received the distressing news in February 1854 that Robert Schumann had attempted suicide by throwing himself into the Rhine and had been confined to an asylum near Bonn. Brahms rushed back to offer his help, putting all musical commitment to one side. He took an apartment above that of Clara who had the family to look after and was only allowed to see Robert on one occasion only two days before his death two years later in 1856. One presumes this prohibition was for her protection as a member of the weaker sex. Brahms acted as a family representative and go between.

By this time Brahms was clearly, as his letters show, in love with Clara but too frightened to come out and say as much and at the same time remaining loyal to the memory of her husband. She was fourteen years older than him and had eight children in tow. He was seen by the children as an avuncular loyal friend but what was the attraction for him? His feelings for her would have been high minded and impossible for him to associate with what he had observed in the brothels of Hamburg. A pure almost unspoken love similar to that depicted by the pre-Raphaelite painters. Oddly enough there is another possibility, an oedipal variation. Clara was fourteen years older than Johannes. His own mother had been seventeen years older than her husband, his father. Each, Clara and Brahms’ mother might be viewed as mother figures to their respective partners, except that in Brahms’ case Clara never became his partner. He lived on and off with the family, never it seems declaring himself, except by epistolary statements of his love, and whilst she must have been very aware of her attraction to him, perhaps even hoping, she seemed content to make her life centre upon her eight children and his music.
It could not go on. Brahms decided to leave and this hurt Clara. They did maintain correspondence, however, including over the period of his engagement in 1859, three years later, to Agathe von Siebold which he suddenly broke off without reason whilst declaring that he continued to love her more than ever. In matters of the heart Brahms was an absolute nutter. Clara and Brahms maintained a strange relationship. She bought a house near Baden Baden and he rented a nearby apartment every summer from 1863 to 1873. They saw less of each other after that as she moved to Berlin and Brahms made Vienna his home. They travelled on concert tours together but he always wrote to her addressing her in his letters with the formal “Sie” for you and not the informal “Du”. Some commentators say that Brahms had become too entrenched in his ways and too mean to want to get married; that he bought cheap presents and got others to get them past the custom posts! Other commentators state how generous he was giving sweets to children. To adults, Brahms was often brusque and sarcastic, and he often alienated other people. His pupil Carl Jenner wrote “Brahms has acquired, not without reason, the reputation for being a grump, even though few could also be as lovable as he.” Brahms became quite wealthy later on but despite this, he lived very simply, in a modest apartment with a single housekeeper who cleaned and cooked for him. He was often the butt of jokes for his long beard, his cheap clothes and often not wearing socks. Yet he also gave away large sums of money to friends and to aid various musical students, often on terms of strict secrecy.
The death of Schumann in 1856 following that of Mendelssohn only nine years earlier, had left a musical lacuna within the classical tradition of writing. The progressives led by Liszt and Wagner were in the ascendant and the sole standard bearer for the traditional side was the unknown 23 year old Brahms, assisted by the musical support of Clara, and carrying on his shoulders the heavy legacy bestowed by his predecessors. Brahms divided his time between Hamburg, where he formed and conducted a ladies’ choir, and Detmold. where he was court music-teacher and conductor.

The praise heaped on him by Schumann brought derisory responses from some but Breitkopf and Hartel, Beethoven’s publishers had pricked up their ears and sought to publish Brahms’ works. He needed not to go chasing round to find a publisher. He was at work producing in particular his First Serenade, opus 11 and his first piano concerto, opus 15 which received its first performance in 1859. The serenade is effectively Brahms first orchestral work but it was first written for a string and wind octet and later orchestrated. Hence perhaps Wagner’s description of Brahms’ orchestral music as chamber music writ large. It remains one of the most felicitous works he would write. The same procedure took place with his Second Serenade, opus 16 which underwent the same process of being upgraded from chamber to orchestral status. It is a little unusual in omitting violins giving the strings a darker hue. Did he get the idea from Bach’s sixth Brandenburg concerto? This was the first work he wrote to be published by the Simrock house. The first piano concerto was started soon after Schumann’s death which would explain its opening mood of heavy tragedy. It was originally intended as his first symphony. However Brahms did not feel he had sufficiently mastered orchestral colour and rewrote it for two pianos before ending up with a piano concerto. It is dark, shattering, powerful and long. Many a tear has been shed by its impact particularly in the film “The L Shaped Room”. Its first performance was hissed but notwithstanding Johann Rittner took the bold risk of publishing the concerto.

By 1860 the musical world had divided into two camps. The modernists led by Liszt, and Wagner and the Traditionalists with Brahms, Joachim and the critic Eduard Hansleck. For the modernists, the symphony was dead. It was replaced by the programme symphony (Berlioz); the symphonic poem (Liszt) and music drama (Wagner). For the traditionalists the symphony remained a live force together with sonata form which needed upgrading to reflect current romantic outlook. It was party politics. It was Stalin and Trotsky; Cameron and Milliband and in this case one was a Brahmsian or a Wagnerian. The Traditionalists decided to issue a manifesto but they went public too early and only three signed. It was a political disaster and from then on Brahms withdrew from further polemics and simply followed his own path.

Between 1860 and 1865 Brahms was producing chamber works and numerous song cycles. Two cello sonatas were followed by his first two piano quartets, (the first with its gypsy finale later orchestrated by Schoenberg) and in addition variations, one set on a theme of Handel and the other on a theme of Paganini. Expanding further, there followed the piano quintet, never a work one can imagine being played by drawing room amateurs. I was lucky enough to hear it played frenetically by the Lindsays with Peter Frankl in our own Matthew room. Over this period Brahms was attempting on and off to compose his first symphony but this Herculean task was to take a further eight years before it would see the light of day. It was during this period that he settled in Vienna for the rest of his life, like Beethoven before him.

The German Requiem would be his first large scale work since the piano concerto,written for soloists, chorus and orchestra. The death of Brahms’ mother in 1865 had a profound effect upon him and is said to have been the inspiration for Ein Deutches Requiem. Parts of it had been on the stocks for some time and originally was planned for the death of Schumann with some sections written even earlier. It therefore went back ten years. Further parts were added after his mother’s death. The requiem mass is in concept a liturgical ceremony of the Roman Catholic Church to which Brahms did not belong. His is not a setting of the Missa Pro Defunctis but of German texts which Brahms himself selected from the Luther Bible. The majority of the Requiem was composed after his mother’s death and the fifth movement, with soprano soloist, added after the official premiere in 1868. The work was to make Brahms a bigger name before a wider public and was published by Rittner who made a pretty pfennig from it. Music used as an add on for a visual can in the right setting have an enhancing effect. Conversely thoughtless choice can result in the ruination of the music by association with the cinematic content. Much of Wagner’s orchestral work coloured my wartime childhood when heard to accompany German storm troopers and Nuremberg rallies. Even worse was perpetrated in the BBC film series “The Nazis: A Warning From History” by the use of “Denn alles Fleisch”, the second section of the German Requiem, as sound accompaniment to the horror images shown during the credits. The identifying of war and extermination with great music of religious and high humanistic values was as artistically barbarous as the scenes it depicted.

We have seen that Brahms was given a leg up at the start by Schumann, but there was one other who assured his continued success, Fritz Simrock. It was in the 1870’s that Fritz took over the publishing house from his grandfather and realized that Brahms was their greatest asset. There was nothing by Brahms that he would not publish. Moreover, he would never stipulate a fee but told Brahms that whatever fee he suggested would be acceptable. The two were great friends and holidayed together in Italy. Later when Brahms took Dvorak under his wing he advised Dvorak to use Simrock and also twisted Simrock’s arm to take on Dvorak. Simrock never lost out. He made a fortune alone both from Brahms’ Hungarian Dances and Dvorak’s Slavonic Dances.

Time passes by. One cannot deal singly with each and every one of Brahms’ works as they came, lieder; more choral works (Schicksaslied, Rinaldo and Nanie); the second piano concerto, larger and more heroic; the violin concerto written for Joachim with its gypsy finale. It was not until 1876 however that he would at last produce his first symphony after twenty one years of effort struggling to do so. The problem had been the claim by Schumann at the outset that here was a Beethoven in the making. It was a claim that Brahms could never live up to. Had it not been made he could and would have written symphonies, different no doubt, perhaps owing something to Mendelssohn or to Schumann, lighter in touch maybe, like his serenades, but they would have been Brahmsian and not Beethovenian. His first symphony , when it did come, was hailed as Beethoven’s 10th. Many rate it as such although I personally do not agree. Brahms said that writing a symphony was no laughing matter and that is the problem with the work, it is no laughing matter as it would have been with Beethoven. Brahms could write a scherzo and often did as in his horn trio or the St Antony Variations. But he lacked the humour to write a symphonic scherzo and avoided doing so in his first three symphonies and whilst adding a fiery third movement in his fourth it does not contain that rhythmic ingredient of a true scherzo. Still, having got the first off his chest he produced his lovely second with ease within a year and later the third and fourth. The third contains the most sumptuous of melodies and the third movement of which will always be remembered from the film of Françoise Sagan’s novel “Aimez-vous Brahms?”

It is a matter of personal preference. For many Brahms is the greatest. And why not? I myself find his orchestration lacking colour contrast. It seems his music tends to occupy the middle ranges and that all the winds seem to be playing in the middle of the park. I get the feeling that the character of the instrument chosen does not stand out as it would with, say Mahler. Some people see colour in music. If that is so I would describe Brahms as sepia brown. Yet, at the same time, he could produce some most harmonious sounds and if I were to substitute taste for colour it would be toffee fudge for Brahms. I therefore end up kinder to Brahms than Constant Lambert who referred to the muddy impasti of the symphonies of Brahms. The toffee fudge can be found in the slow movement of his double concerto for violin and cello which he wrote in the autumn of his career.

By 1890 when he was 57 Brahms decided to retire. He had had enough. However he was to hear Richard Muhlfeld the lead clarinet of the Meiningen Orchestra and Brahms could not just write enough for him, certainly more than Matthew Taylor can manage in one lecture. Most famous is the clarinet quintet which has a decidedly autumnal feel about it. My best personal memory was visiting my older son in Siegen during his gap year and playing in my car the recording of the clarinet quintet you will hear, whilst the autumn leaves were falling all around us. I get sentimental.

One aspect of Brahms I have not dealt with is his popular Viennese music. He loved to sit outside the cafés of Vienna and listen to the Hungarian gypsy bands whose music he reproduced in his Hungarian dances as well as his lieberslieder waltzes. He was in fact a lifelong friend of Johann Strauss and said that he would have done anything to have written the Blue Danube waltz.

In 1896, his dearest friend and colleague, Clara Schumann died, aged 77. In 1897 Hans Richter conducted a performance of the Brahms fourth symphony with the audience cheering all four movements in the presence of the tearful composer. He was suffering from cancer and died a month later. He had no close relatives to mourn his passing, but there were friends and colleagues…….and maybe perhaps a tear or two of fond memories from his little singing girls.