Fall Concert 2018 - Program Notes
Igor Stravinsky
Born: Oranienbaum, Russia, June 17, 1882
Died: New York, New York, April 6, 1971
Greeting Prelude
As the most influential composer of the twentieth century, Igor Stravinsky dazzled, infuriated and confounded both his audiences and especially his critics with his astonishingly diverse and dynamic musical language. As a boy, Stravinsky studied piano and theory, but despite his obvious musical gifts his parents pressed for a law career. Music won out, and after study with Rimsky-Korsakov, Stravinsky composed his first works, attracting the attention of Serge Diaghilev and ultimately leading to the association that produced the three great ballet scores and secured Stravinsky’s international reputation.
Stravinsky’s compositional output is generally divided into three distinct periods. The “Russian” period (1907 – 1919) includes the three ballet scores, Le Sacre du Printemps,the Firebirdand Petrushka. His “Neoclassical” period (c. 1920 – 1954) contains such works as the Concerto for Piano and Winds, the Symphony ofPsalms and The Rake’s Progress. The final and most experimental “Serial” period (c. 1954 – 1968) was marked by his forays into the twelve-tone theory originated by Schoenberg. This amazingly varied output, coupled with his interest in literature, art, politics, religion and philosophy, marks Stravinsky as not only one of the most influential artistic figures of the twentieth century, but also as one of the most revolutionary.
When Schoenberg died in 1951, Stravinsky, who was a neighbor of his in Los Angeles (but with whom he had no contact), was developing an association with conductor Robert Craft, a disciple of Schoenberg. This partnership led to Stravinsky’s interest in the serialism that defined his late works.
The 1955 Greeting Preludecame about as a result of an incident at the Aspen Music Festival. Stravinsky gave the rehearsal downbeat of Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony and the orchestra instead played Happy Birthday as a tribute to one of their colleagues who’d just become a father. Stravinsky was reportedly irritated, but soon took what he called “that ridiculous little tune” and gave it the twelve-tone treatment he’d been researching and wrote the Greeting Prelude as a tribute to his friend, conductor Pierre Monteux.
The piece is approximately one minute in length.
Born: Oranienbaum, Russia, June 17, 1882
Died: New York, New York, April 6, 1971
Greeting Prelude
As the most influential composer of the twentieth century, Igor Stravinsky dazzled, infuriated and confounded both his audiences and especially his critics with his astonishingly diverse and dynamic musical language. As a boy, Stravinsky studied piano and theory, but despite his obvious musical gifts his parents pressed for a law career. Music won out, and after study with Rimsky-Korsakov, Stravinsky composed his first works, attracting the attention of Serge Diaghilev and ultimately leading to the association that produced the three great ballet scores and secured Stravinsky’s international reputation.
Stravinsky’s compositional output is generally divided into three distinct periods. The “Russian” period (1907 – 1919) includes the three ballet scores, Le Sacre du Printemps,the Firebirdand Petrushka. His “Neoclassical” period (c. 1920 – 1954) contains such works as the Concerto for Piano and Winds, the Symphony ofPsalms and The Rake’s Progress. The final and most experimental “Serial” period (c. 1954 – 1968) was marked by his forays into the twelve-tone theory originated by Schoenberg. This amazingly varied output, coupled with his interest in literature, art, politics, religion and philosophy, marks Stravinsky as not only one of the most influential artistic figures of the twentieth century, but also as one of the most revolutionary.
When Schoenberg died in 1951, Stravinsky, who was a neighbor of his in Los Angeles (but with whom he had no contact), was developing an association with conductor Robert Craft, a disciple of Schoenberg. This partnership led to Stravinsky’s interest in the serialism that defined his late works.
The 1955 Greeting Preludecame about as a result of an incident at the Aspen Music Festival. Stravinsky gave the rehearsal downbeat of Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony and the orchestra instead played Happy Birthday as a tribute to one of their colleagues who’d just become a father. Stravinsky was reportedly irritated, but soon took what he called “that ridiculous little tune” and gave it the twelve-tone treatment he’d been researching and wrote the Greeting Prelude as a tribute to his friend, conductor Pierre Monteux.
The piece is approximately one minute in length.
Joseph Haydn
Born: March 31, 1732, Rohrau, Austria
Died: May 31, 1809, Vienna, Austria
Symphony No. 6, “Le Matin”
Even by the standards of the eighteenth century, in which composers not born into wealth depended on aristocratic or royal support for their livelihoods, Haydn's employment in the Esterhazy household stands out. And it was as propitious for posterity as it was for Haydn, given the astonishing oeuvre produced during his tenure at Esterhaza. Not only were the Prince and his family passionate music lovers, their generosity gave Haydn both a comfortable living and access to a fine orchestra and theatre in which to perform. Within a few years he was promoted to Kapellmeister and for nearly four decades he was supported by and composed tirelessly for the large musical establishment of the Esterházys.
Somewhat isolated at Esterhaza, in the country in what is now Hungary, Haydn was in charge of the music, both chamber and orchestral (and later opera) of a family of musical connoisseurs. He had his own orchestra with whom he could rehearse new compositions on a daily basis and soon began producing outstanding symphonies in his new post. One of the first, Symphony No. 6 in D major, nicknamed "Le Matin", ("the morning") is characterized by an assured style and considerable writing for solo instruments, including extensive solos for both bassoon and double-bass in the Trio.
Evidence suggests that this symphony was intended to be the first of a trio (the others nicknamed – naturally – “Le Midi” (afternoon) and “Le Soir” (evening). All three symphonies contain much solo writing for the various instruments in Haydn’s new orchestra. Inasmuch as the Prince was known to pay bonuses to his musicians for outstanding performances, we can assume Haydn’s new symphonies were welcomed with open arms by his players.
The Symphony No. 6 is in the four movements that Haydn established as standard for the classical symphony:
1. Adagio, 4/4 – Allegro, 3/4
2. Adagio, 4/4 – Andante, 3/4 – Adagio, 4/4
3. Menuet e Trio, 3/4
4. Finale: Allegro, 2/4
The symphony begins with a slow introduction that, to some listeners, suggests a sunrise as the music seems to arise from nothingness. Hence the nickname “Le Matin”, an appellation which is almost certainly not Haydn’s doing. The programmatic associations end there, however, as Haydn expertly combines Classical-era sonata form: exposition, development, and recapitulation—and Baroque principles like the alternation of solo and ensemble playing, leading some scholars to assert that these symphonies are a hybrid of classical symphony and concerto grosso.
After the brief “sunrise” introduction, the sprightly and ingratiating Allegro of the first movement is built on minimal material, a brief motif first heard in the flute and then handed off in turn to the other instruments. The second half of the movement restates the theme on the dominant.
The lyrical and moving second movement is nothing less than a violin concerto movement, and was probably composed with the Esterhazy orchestra’s brilliant concertmaster Luigi Tomasini in mind. Haydn and Tomasini developed a mutually respectful and satisfying friendship during their decades-long association at Esterhaza.
The Menuet and Trio provides ample solo opportunity for the winds, which were absent in the slow movement.
In the brilliant and exciting finale, Haydn uses the same technique as with the opening movement: one theme, tonic to dominant and then back again, with an extended development in the middle. Solo passages for almost every instrument appear here with minimal orchestral accompaniment, once again suggesting the Baroque concerto grosso.
Born: March 31, 1732, Rohrau, Austria
Died: May 31, 1809, Vienna, Austria
Symphony No. 6, “Le Matin”
Even by the standards of the eighteenth century, in which composers not born into wealth depended on aristocratic or royal support for their livelihoods, Haydn's employment in the Esterhazy household stands out. And it was as propitious for posterity as it was for Haydn, given the astonishing oeuvre produced during his tenure at Esterhaza. Not only were the Prince and his family passionate music lovers, their generosity gave Haydn both a comfortable living and access to a fine orchestra and theatre in which to perform. Within a few years he was promoted to Kapellmeister and for nearly four decades he was supported by and composed tirelessly for the large musical establishment of the Esterházys.
Somewhat isolated at Esterhaza, in the country in what is now Hungary, Haydn was in charge of the music, both chamber and orchestral (and later opera) of a family of musical connoisseurs. He had his own orchestra with whom he could rehearse new compositions on a daily basis and soon began producing outstanding symphonies in his new post. One of the first, Symphony No. 6 in D major, nicknamed "Le Matin", ("the morning") is characterized by an assured style and considerable writing for solo instruments, including extensive solos for both bassoon and double-bass in the Trio.
Evidence suggests that this symphony was intended to be the first of a trio (the others nicknamed – naturally – “Le Midi” (afternoon) and “Le Soir” (evening). All three symphonies contain much solo writing for the various instruments in Haydn’s new orchestra. Inasmuch as the Prince was known to pay bonuses to his musicians for outstanding performances, we can assume Haydn’s new symphonies were welcomed with open arms by his players.
The Symphony No. 6 is in the four movements that Haydn established as standard for the classical symphony:
1. Adagio, 4/4 – Allegro, 3/4
2. Adagio, 4/4 – Andante, 3/4 – Adagio, 4/4
3. Menuet e Trio, 3/4
4. Finale: Allegro, 2/4
The symphony begins with a slow introduction that, to some listeners, suggests a sunrise as the music seems to arise from nothingness. Hence the nickname “Le Matin”, an appellation which is almost certainly not Haydn’s doing. The programmatic associations end there, however, as Haydn expertly combines Classical-era sonata form: exposition, development, and recapitulation—and Baroque principles like the alternation of solo and ensemble playing, leading some scholars to assert that these symphonies are a hybrid of classical symphony and concerto grosso.
After the brief “sunrise” introduction, the sprightly and ingratiating Allegro of the first movement is built on minimal material, a brief motif first heard in the flute and then handed off in turn to the other instruments. The second half of the movement restates the theme on the dominant.
The lyrical and moving second movement is nothing less than a violin concerto movement, and was probably composed with the Esterhazy orchestra’s brilliant concertmaster Luigi Tomasini in mind. Haydn and Tomasini developed a mutually respectful and satisfying friendship during their decades-long association at Esterhaza.
The Menuet and Trio provides ample solo opportunity for the winds, which were absent in the slow movement.
In the brilliant and exciting finale, Haydn uses the same technique as with the opening movement: one theme, tonic to dominant and then back again, with an extended development in the middle. Solo passages for almost every instrument appear here with minimal orchestral accompaniment, once again suggesting the Baroque concerto grosso.
Samuel Barber
Born: March 9, 1910, West Chester, PA
Died: January 23, 1981, New York, NY
Knoxville: Summer of 1915. Op. 24
Barber conceived the idea for Knoxville: Summer of 1915 after reading James Agee’s autobiographical novel A Death in the Family. He wrote, “I had always admired Mr. Agee’s writing and this prose-poem (the prologue to the novel) particularly struck me because the summer evening he describes in his native southern town reminded me so much of similar evenings when I was a child at home. I found out, after setting this, that Mr. Agee and I are the same age, and the year he described was 1915, when we were both five. You see, it expresses a child’s feelings of loneliness, wonder, and lack of identity in that marginal world between twilight and sleep.”
Barber’s friend and mentor, conductor Serge Koussevitzky, encouraged him to contact soprano Eleanor Steber (who subsequently premiered the title role in Barber’s opera Vanessa), who agreed to “commission” the work, even though most of the piece had already been composed. She gave the premiere of the work, and it has become a cornerstone of the American repertoire for soprano and orchestra.
In one movement, the work (a lyric rhapsody, Barber called it) describes the sadness, confusion and longing of a child who’s experienced the worst possible childhood catastrophe – the death of a parent. Both Agee and Barber manage brilliantly to convey the almost unbearable nostalgia for the comfort, serenity and simplicity of childhood.
From the novel, Agee writes, “We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville Tennessee in that time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.
...It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds’ hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt; a loud auto; a quiet auto; people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber.
A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping, belling and starting; stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter, fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.
Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.
Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes....
Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories
.....hang their ancient faces.
The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once
.....enchants my eardrums.
On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there....They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine,...with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.
After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well‑beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.
Born: March 9, 1910, West Chester, PA
Died: January 23, 1981, New York, NY
Knoxville: Summer of 1915. Op. 24
Barber conceived the idea for Knoxville: Summer of 1915 after reading James Agee’s autobiographical novel A Death in the Family. He wrote, “I had always admired Mr. Agee’s writing and this prose-poem (the prologue to the novel) particularly struck me because the summer evening he describes in his native southern town reminded me so much of similar evenings when I was a child at home. I found out, after setting this, that Mr. Agee and I are the same age, and the year he described was 1915, when we were both five. You see, it expresses a child’s feelings of loneliness, wonder, and lack of identity in that marginal world between twilight and sleep.”
Barber’s friend and mentor, conductor Serge Koussevitzky, encouraged him to contact soprano Eleanor Steber (who subsequently premiered the title role in Barber’s opera Vanessa), who agreed to “commission” the work, even though most of the piece had already been composed. She gave the premiere of the work, and it has become a cornerstone of the American repertoire for soprano and orchestra.
In one movement, the work (a lyric rhapsody, Barber called it) describes the sadness, confusion and longing of a child who’s experienced the worst possible childhood catastrophe – the death of a parent. Both Agee and Barber manage brilliantly to convey the almost unbearable nostalgia for the comfort, serenity and simplicity of childhood.
From the novel, Agee writes, “We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville Tennessee in that time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.
...It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds’ hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt; a loud auto; a quiet auto; people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber.
A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping, belling and starting; stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter, fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.
Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.
Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes....
Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories
.....hang their ancient faces.
The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once
.....enchants my eardrums.
On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there....They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine,...with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.
After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well‑beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.
Johannes Brahms
Born: May 7, 1833, Hamburg, Germany
Died: April 3, 1897, Vienna, Austria
Symphony No. 2 in D Major, op. 73 (1877)
Rarely has a major composer been haunted by a predecessor as intensively as was Brahms by the spirit of Beethoven. “You cannot imagine what it is like to hear the footsteps of such a giant behind you,” he wrote. As a result, it took Brahms roughly two decades to produce his first symphony, finally finishing it in 1876. As if his self-doubt wasn’t already serious, conductor Hans von Bulow provided the soubriquet “Beethoven’s Tenth” to the symphony, but apparently the spectre of Beethoven had been routed by the experience, for the Second Symphony was written in short order the following summer during Brahms’ vacation in the Austrian Alpine village of Portschach am Worthersee.
The Second Symphony is a total contrast to the churning intensity of the first, and it flowed from Brahms’ pen with unfettered ease. After the First Symphony and the First Piano Concerto (part of which was originally sketched as a symphony), Brahms knew what was expected from him, so he teased his publisher Simrock that “the new Symphony is so melancholy that you will not be able to bear it.” When the work premiered in 1877 with the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Hans Richter, everyone was surprised by the comparatively genial nature of the piece.
From the three note motif that opens the first movement Allegro non Troppo, the atmosphere is idyllic and serene, and with one soaring phrase from the violins, the pastoral landscape unfolds before us. If you’re reminded of the “Brahms Lullaby”, it’s because Brahms does indeed use theme from Weigenlied, Op. 49 here.
Comparisons with Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony are inevitable, but they cease with the music’s content. In contrast to Beethoven’s programmatic treatment of the music, the structurally conservative Brahms followed, as was his compositional modus operandi, in the footsteps of Haydn and Mozart. There are flashes of drama in this movement, but none that diminishes the overall feeling of contentment in the music.
The second movement, Adagio non troppo, is the only true Adagio movement in Brahms’ symphonies, opening with a long, somber theme in the cellos, and passing through sections of light and dark, but never falling victim to true despair.
The third movement Allegretto graziosoopens with what sounds like a folk melody played by the oboe, and has, as critic (and frequent Brahms champion) Eduard Hanslick described it, the relaxed feeling of a serenade. But it is a serenade of some complexity, reviving the oboe theme repeatedly after contrasting faster sections.
The finale Allegro con spiritoopens with a whisperingly quiet melody in the strings which suddenly bursts forth jubilantly and continues, almost completely unchecked, until the end. The movement contains much contrapuntal interest and themes are introduced, developed and revisited throughout. There is a sense of ecstatic momentum, which even the slower parts of the movement do not impair as the music hurtles toward the final resounding D Major chord.
When Brahms sent the symphony to his friend and confidante Clara Schumann, she predicted, correctly as it turned out, that the symphony would be much more warmly received than the dramatic First Symphony. By contrast, however, many critics took considerably more time to warm up to the work, and reading some of their comments after the work’s 140 years of popularity makes for an amusing diversion. It also gives rise to questions about the hearing and/or intelligence of said critics.
For example, the critic for the Boston Traveler, in an 1882 review, writes that “it would appear as though Brahms might afford occasionally to put a little more melody into his work – just a little now and then for a change. His Second Symphony gave the impression that the composer was either endeavoring all the while to get as near as possible to harmonic sounds without reaching them; or that he was unable to find any whatever.”
In the same vein, the New York Post’s critic, in 1886 writes “Brahms’ Second Symphony was listened to attentively but did not arouse any enthusiasm. What work of Brahms ever did? Of course, it is an exceedingly erudite work, so to speak, containing details which betray an honest and profound musical thinker; but it lacks grand sweeping ideas, and is deficient in sensuous charm. The Allegretto is the most original movement of the four. It is marked ‘grazioso’, yet it rather reminds one of the gambols of elephants than of a fairy dance. The greater part of the symphony was antiquated before it was written. Why not play instead Rubinstein’s Dramatic Symphony, which is shamefully neglected here, and any one movement of which contains more evidence of genius than all of Brahms’ symphonies put together, and would certainly be received with more favor by the audience?”
Does anyone now remember the Rubinstein symphony this critic so worshipfully admired?
Born: May 7, 1833, Hamburg, Germany
Died: April 3, 1897, Vienna, Austria
Symphony No. 2 in D Major, op. 73 (1877)
- 1. Allegro non troppo
- 2. Adagio non troppo
- 3. Allegretto grazioso (quasi andantino)
- 4. Allegro con spirito
Rarely has a major composer been haunted by a predecessor as intensively as was Brahms by the spirit of Beethoven. “You cannot imagine what it is like to hear the footsteps of such a giant behind you,” he wrote. As a result, it took Brahms roughly two decades to produce his first symphony, finally finishing it in 1876. As if his self-doubt wasn’t already serious, conductor Hans von Bulow provided the soubriquet “Beethoven’s Tenth” to the symphony, but apparently the spectre of Beethoven had been routed by the experience, for the Second Symphony was written in short order the following summer during Brahms’ vacation in the Austrian Alpine village of Portschach am Worthersee.
The Second Symphony is a total contrast to the churning intensity of the first, and it flowed from Brahms’ pen with unfettered ease. After the First Symphony and the First Piano Concerto (part of which was originally sketched as a symphony), Brahms knew what was expected from him, so he teased his publisher Simrock that “the new Symphony is so melancholy that you will not be able to bear it.” When the work premiered in 1877 with the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Hans Richter, everyone was surprised by the comparatively genial nature of the piece.
From the three note motif that opens the first movement Allegro non Troppo, the atmosphere is idyllic and serene, and with one soaring phrase from the violins, the pastoral landscape unfolds before us. If you’re reminded of the “Brahms Lullaby”, it’s because Brahms does indeed use theme from Weigenlied, Op. 49 here.
Comparisons with Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony are inevitable, but they cease with the music’s content. In contrast to Beethoven’s programmatic treatment of the music, the structurally conservative Brahms followed, as was his compositional modus operandi, in the footsteps of Haydn and Mozart. There are flashes of drama in this movement, but none that diminishes the overall feeling of contentment in the music.
The second movement, Adagio non troppo, is the only true Adagio movement in Brahms’ symphonies, opening with a long, somber theme in the cellos, and passing through sections of light and dark, but never falling victim to true despair.
The third movement Allegretto graziosoopens with what sounds like a folk melody played by the oboe, and has, as critic (and frequent Brahms champion) Eduard Hanslick described it, the relaxed feeling of a serenade. But it is a serenade of some complexity, reviving the oboe theme repeatedly after contrasting faster sections.
The finale Allegro con spiritoopens with a whisperingly quiet melody in the strings which suddenly bursts forth jubilantly and continues, almost completely unchecked, until the end. The movement contains much contrapuntal interest and themes are introduced, developed and revisited throughout. There is a sense of ecstatic momentum, which even the slower parts of the movement do not impair as the music hurtles toward the final resounding D Major chord.
When Brahms sent the symphony to his friend and confidante Clara Schumann, she predicted, correctly as it turned out, that the symphony would be much more warmly received than the dramatic First Symphony. By contrast, however, many critics took considerably more time to warm up to the work, and reading some of their comments after the work’s 140 years of popularity makes for an amusing diversion. It also gives rise to questions about the hearing and/or intelligence of said critics.
For example, the critic for the Boston Traveler, in an 1882 review, writes that “it would appear as though Brahms might afford occasionally to put a little more melody into his work – just a little now and then for a change. His Second Symphony gave the impression that the composer was either endeavoring all the while to get as near as possible to harmonic sounds without reaching them; or that he was unable to find any whatever.”
In the same vein, the New York Post’s critic, in 1886 writes “Brahms’ Second Symphony was listened to attentively but did not arouse any enthusiasm. What work of Brahms ever did? Of course, it is an exceedingly erudite work, so to speak, containing details which betray an honest and profound musical thinker; but it lacks grand sweeping ideas, and is deficient in sensuous charm. The Allegretto is the most original movement of the four. It is marked ‘grazioso’, yet it rather reminds one of the gambols of elephants than of a fairy dance. The greater part of the symphony was antiquated before it was written. Why not play instead Rubinstein’s Dramatic Symphony, which is shamefully neglected here, and any one movement of which contains more evidence of genius than all of Brahms’ symphonies put together, and would certainly be received with more favor by the audience?”
Does anyone now remember the Rubinstein symphony this critic so worshipfully admired?
Program notes by Michael Carroll