Symphony No. 4 in E Minor, Op. 98

The late 1800’s marked a period of upheaval in the history of German music. Beethoven, the musical revolutionary who had stretched the strict boundaries of classical composition almost to their breaking point, had died in 1827. Following his death, there emerged two distinct schools of thought about composing: one that honored the traditions of the past - valuing form, structure and craftmanship - and one that saw the rules for writing symphonies, concertos and sonatas as a prison to be escaped from. The spiritual leader of the “burn it all to the ground” camp was none other than Richard Wagner, a compositional rebel whose enormous operas epitomized the “more is more” ideal. On the opposing side was Johannes Brahms, a traditionalist with a deep respect for the music of the past, whose meticulous attention to detail prioritized not bombast, but elegance. Brahms’ four symphonies are among the finest examples of his commitment to tradition. Composed with a painstaking craftsmanship that was his trademark, his symphonies utilize conventional structures and harmonic language, yet remain some of the most creative, and exquisitely beautiful orchestral works ever composed. Brahms did not seek to redefine an art form. Rather, he challenged himself to create the most elegant and meaningful music that he could, all while honoring the traditions of a musical past that he revered.

The late 1800’s marked a period of upheaval in the history of German music. Beethoven, the musical revolutionary who had stretched the strict boundaries of classical composition almost to their breaking point, had died in 1827. Following his death, there emerged two distinct schools of thought about composing: one that honored the traditions of the past - valuing form, structure and craftmanship - and one that saw the rules for writing symphonies, concertos and sonatas as a prison to be escaped from. The spiritual leader of the “burn it all to the ground” camp was none other than Richard Wagner, a compositional rebel whose enormous operas epitomized the “more is more” ideal. On the opposing side was Johannes Brahms, a traditionalist with a deep respect for the music of the past, whose meticulous attention to detail prioritized not bombast, but elegance. Brahms’ four symphonies are among the finest examples of his commitment to tradition. Composed with a painstaking craftsmanship that was his trademark, his symphonies utilize conventional structures and harmonic language, yet remain some of the most creative, and exquisitely beautiful orchestral works ever composed. Brahms did not seek to redefine an art form. Rather, he challenged himself to create the most elegant and meaningful music that he could, all while honoring the traditions of a musical past that he revered.

From the opening of the first movement, Brahms’ compositional skill is on full display as he takes the simplest of motifs, a two-note, sighing figure, and magically develops it into a restless first theme. Woodwinds interject themselves above the flowing string accompaniment as the music slowly builds in intensity and complexity. Suddenly, horns and woodwinds announce a new theme, a heroic, fanfare like figure that leads to a new melody in the cellos. This regal music is then developed, culminating in a noble cadence before the gentle opening music returns. The development section which follows takes snippets of both the opening, sighing figure and the heroic, fanfare-like figure and weaves them together into incredibly complex, yet amazingly organic-sounding music. Musicologists marvel at the ingenuity with which the music is structured, with different instrumental sections taking just pieces of a melody, then handing them off to other sections to continue. Themes are dismantled, inverted and reconstructed in myriad ways, yet nothing sounds forced. The entire movement flows with an inevitability and beauty that belies its complexity. There is a muscular coda section at the end that puts an exclamation point on this meticulously crafted, yet mysteriously beautiful movement.

Like the alpine horns whose melodies were used to send messages across the mountains, the 2nd movement opens with an expansive, ceremonial call from the horn section. This simple, regal opening gives way to an exquisite melody in the clarinet and bassoons, accompanied by pizzicato strings. As complex as the first movement was, this melody is achingly simple. The strings eventually take over the tune, with a lush presentation that could only have been written by Brahms. The energy builds briefly, but soon cedes the floor to the second theme, a poignant, nostalgic music given to the cellos. Brahms legendary “gift of melody” is on full display as this tune, and the opening horn call melody take turns, in versions both lush and delicate. The woodwinds and horns eventually bring a gentle close to the movement, as night falls on the mountains.

The third movement is marked Allegro giocoso (quick and playful), and it is exactly that. The brass and percussion join the party, with a rustic theme full of syncopations and foot stomping fun. The boisterous celebration is the perfect palette cleanser between the bliss of the second movement and the drama of what is to come.

For the last movement of his final symphony, Brahms again chose to look to the past for inspiration. A lifelong admirer of the music of J.S. Bach, Brahms set himself the challenge to compose a chaconne (also called a passacaglia) – an 18th century musical form in which a single bassline or harmonic progression is repeated over and over, with ever changing melodies above it. Bach had been a master of this form, and Brahms was fascinated with the challenge that the format presented – utilizing the same harmonic basis for everything, yet needing to create unique and ever-changing variations that avoid repetition and maintain interest. To compose an interesting chaconne requires not only extreme creativity, but herculean compositional skill. Luckily, Brahms had both.

In another homage to Bach, Brahms did not compose an original bassline for this movement. Rather he utilized the bassline from Bach’s Cantata No. 150, titled Nach Dir, Herr, verlanget mich — “I long to be near you, Lord.” Whether this choice was intended to convey anything particular in terms of Brahms’ state of mind at age 52, or whether he simply admired the simplicity of the music, we do not know. However, he opens the last movement of the symphony with a dramatic statement of this bassline in the brass. Eight chords, bold and declarative, lay out the harmonic foundation of what will be one of Brahms’ most admired symphonic movements. What follows are 32 variations, each exactly eight measures in length and utilizing the exact same bassline, yet dramatically different in sound and character. From tender woodwind variations, to solemn brass chorales and muscular full orchestra moments, the mood is constantly shifting, yet the movement never feels disjunct. The compositional skill necessary to create an interesting and musically satisfying symphonic movement within the confines of a passacaglia structure is monumental, yet Brahms rose to the challenge, eager to prove that great music could still be composed utilizing the structures of the past. Only in the final, quicker coda section does he break the passacaglia pattern, putting a dramatic exclamation point on the movement. The extraordinary work of a master craftsman, the Fourth Symphony exemplifies all that Brahms valued – refined artistry, knowledge of and reverence for the past, and elegance achieved through meticulous detail work. A dramatic statement by a mature artist, this loving look backward serves to remind us that the past can serve as powerful inspiration, and that one need not abandon tradition in order to compose emotionally compelling, “contemporary” music.