DENÈVE CONDUCTS BRAHMS & DVOŘÁK

Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 77 (1878)

JOHANNES BRAHMS (1833-1897) 

“The healthy and ruddy colors of his skin indicated a love of nature and a habit of being in the open air in all kinds of weather; his thick straight hair of brownish color came nearly down to his shoulders. His clothes and boots were not of exactly the latest pattern, nor did they fit particularly well, but his linen was spotless.... [There was a] kindliness in his eyes ... with now and then a roguish twinkle in them which corresponded to a quality in his nature which would perhaps be best described as good-natured sarcasm.” So wrote Sir George Henschel (the singer and conductor who became the first Music Director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra) of his friend Johannes Brahms. At the time of the composition of his Violin Concerto, Brahms, at 45, was coming into the full efflorescence of his talent and fame. The twenty-year gestation of the First Symphony had finally ended in 1876, and the Second Symphony came easily only a year later. He was occupied with many songs and important chamber works during the mid-1870s, and the two greatest of his concertos, the B-flat for piano and the D major for violin, were both conceived in 1878 after the delicious experience of his first trip to Italy in April. That summer, he returned to the idyllic Austrian village of Pörtschach (site of the composition of the Second Symphony the previous year), where he composed the Violin Concerto for his old friend and musical ally, Joseph Joachim.

The first movement is constructed in Classical concerto form, with an orchestral introduction presenting much of the movement’s main thematic material before the entry of the soloist. The violin’s initial entry is anxious in mood and serves to heighten the serene majesty of the main theme when it is sung by the soloist upon its reappearance. A limpid, waltz-like melody serves as the second theme. The vigorous dotted-rhythm figure returns to close the exposition, with the development continuing the agitated mood of this closing theme. The recapitulation begins on a heroic wave of sound. The soloist’s cadenza serves as the bridge to the coda, which closes this masterful movement with a series of dignified cadential figures. The rapturous Adagio is based on a theme that the German composer Max Bruch said was derived from a Bohemian folk song. After the violin’s entry, the soloist is seldom confined to the exact notes of the theme, but rather weaves a rich embroidery around their melodic shape. The central section of the movement is cast in darker hues. The finale is an invigorating dance of Gypsy character in rondo form, with a scintillating tune in double stops as the recurring theme.

DVOŘÁK: SYMPHONY NO. 8

Symphony No. 8 in G major, Op. 88 (1889)  

ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK (1841-1904) 

You would probably have liked Dvořák. He was born a simple (in the best sense) man of the soil who retained a love of country, nature and peasant ways all his life. In his later years he wrote, “In spite of the fact that I have moved about in the great world of music, I shall remain what I have always been — a simple Czech musician.” Few passions ruffled his life — music, of course; the rustic pleasures of country life; the company of old friends; caring for his pigeons; and a child-like fascination with railroads. Milton Cross sketched him thus: “To the end of his days he remained shy, uncomfortable in the presence of those he regarded as his social superiors, and frequently remiss in his social behavior. He was never completely at ease in large cities, with the demands they made on him. He was happiest when he was close to the soil, raising pigeons, taking long, solitary walks in the hills and forests of the Bohemia he loved so deeply. Yet he was by no means a recluse. In the company of his intimate friends, particularly after a few beers, he was voluble, gregarious and good-humored.” His music reflects his salubrious nature, and the G major Symphony, composed during his annual summer country retreat at Vysoká, perfectly mirrors its creator.

Dvořák was absolutely profligate with themes in the Symphony’s opening movement. The first theme is presented without preamble in the rich hues of trombones, low strings and low woodwinds; the second theme is a chirruping melody for flute. The opening theme is recalled to initiate both the development and the recapitulation. The second movement contains two kinds of music, one hesitant and somewhat lachrymose, the other stately and smoothly flowing. The first is indefinite in tonality, rhythm and cadence. Its theme is a collection of fragments; its texture is sparse. The following section is greatly contrasted: its key is unambiguous; its rhythm and cadence points are clear; its melody is a long, continuous span. These two antitheses alternate, and the form of the movement is created as much by texture and sonority as by the traditional means of melody and tonality. The third movement is a lilting essay in the style of an Austrian folk dance, the Ländler. The trumpets herald the start of the finale, a theme and variations with a central section resembling a development in character.