One certainly does not need to be a slave to the score, nor does performance practice research imply this. It does attempt an intelligent answer to the question of how we read the score (its conventions not necessarily being those we might otherwise have assumed) and to ascertain more about the composer's conception of the piece as it might be manifested in performance (which might take various forms - Brahms was open to lots of ways, Chopin much less so). From that knowledge one can build an interpretation which may diverge significantly from what has been discovered, but in meaningful ways. Or often (certainly this has been my experience) it can illuminate a wider range of possibilities than might earlier have been imagined.


There are three, all very early works. I can't get on with the F# minor sonata but like the other two (especially the big F minor one). The first sonata in C major perhaps wears its Hammerklavier allusions a little heavy-handedly (in the case of Brahms's first sonata, string quartet and symphony, a certain weight of tradition seems a little inhibiting for him).


There are five sets of variations for piano, on themes of Schumann, Handel, Paganini, an original theme and a Hungarian theme. Also a set of variations for piano duet on a different Schumann theme (the last piece Schumann wrote, in E-flat WoO 10e, which Schumann himself used as the basis for a set of variations) and a transcription for solo piano of the variations from the second movement of the String Sextet Op. 18, very loosely based on La Folia (also used by Corelli). This is not often performed on the piano - is this the piece you mean?

Yes, they can sound like that - perhaps need a quite free and spontaneous approach in performance to avoid such a thing.


Well, I like the F-minor most of all. Do have a look at the Schumann Variations if you have them - gorgeous (also the theme itself, from Schumann's Bunte Blätter, is already quite extraordinary), I think you'd like them. Incidentally, Clara Schumann wrote a set of variations on the same theme the previous year (very worth checking out - they are included in the Dover volume of her piano works) - quite possibly Brahms was attempting to 'outdo her' here!


Absolutely, and this is one of many ways in which Brahms's writing was utterly different to that of Liszt, say (which sounds extremely impressive, and is indeed challenging, but tends to fall under the hands quite readily). A passage like the following, from the Second Piano Concerto, does not have the same ostentatious flamboyance as one might find in Liszt, but the leaps in the left hand add to the sense of tension, I feel:



In the Handel Variations, as you know, he has a long passage as the fugue approaches its climax, with many chains of thirds in the left hand, which might sound a little awkward and clumsy:



But when he finally reaches that climax he sets this into relief by setting the left-hand in octaves instead, to me like sudden radiant clarity (achieved through hard work!):



There are a few other filled-in left-hand chords on this final page, but overall Brahms communicates a huge sense of liberation. But that would not be so palpable were it not for the slightly tortuous writing in thirds from before - some would call this 'unpianistic', but I think that's a narrow view. Brahms understood the instrument very well, and understood what could be achieved through writing 'against' it as well as writing 'for' it.

I think this sort of perception comes from the fact of Brahms's insistence upon developing just about every type of material he uses, and integrating everything into a more comprehensive musical argument. You don't often find moments of 'fleeting fancy' in Brahms (though they do exist) or where he suddenly gives rein to mere impulse (very different from Schumann in that respect). But that's not to say that his works represent wholly organic conceptions (as Schenker wanted to think) - the fragmentary nature of many of the later works belies that notion. The early sonatas are a touch over-earnest, perhaps; the second is an odd piece, with that opening theme that could be an allusion to somewhat banal nineteenth-century melodramatic writing - might Brahms have been doing this a little ironically? A lot of variety of touch, care with the detailed articulations, clarity of contrapuntal lines, differentiation of strong and weak beats, and less sluggish tempi than are common, can help to counteract the over-'heavy' seeming qualities of these works. The last movement of the first sonata is very often played in a rather heavy-handed manner.

Very much so, but there are crucial differences. The dialectical interplay between contrasting materials in Brahms is somewhat less stark and epic than that in Beethoven, and Brahms is even more concerned with developing material from within rather than through contrast (though he does that as well).


Debussy said that when Beethoven started to develop his themes, he could go outside for a cigarette.


The music in question that he alludes to is indeed Hungarian, music used for recruiting purposes for the army, which was generally played by Roma musicians. But the forms of embellishment was the Roma's own (Liszt, who wrote about this in detail in his book The Gypsy in Music misunderstood this aspect, imagining these to be original Roma melodies). Brahms uses material or idioms of this type, but develops them according to his own type of compositional grammar.

In terms of 'letting himself go', I think this is more a question of temperament - Brahms simply wasn't given to the types of emotional impulsiveness of Schumann, or morbidity of Chopin, say, at least not to the same extent. Certainly he was a composer who seemed drawn to developing the immanent aspects of his material almost for its own sake (rather like Bach in this respect). But I don't think that makes the work any the less personal. To think through things, to explore what could be done with certain genres, idioms, themes, etc., was in itself, I believe, a quite 'natural' thing for Brahms.


It may be tricky. They aren't played all that often, and maybe could benefit from a wider spectrum of interpretation.


That's fine! I'd just say that Schumann, Chopin and Brahms were three very different individuals, all of whose sensibilities I personally find of equal interest.

I agree with Tony. Perhaps repeats were good in their time, but now I often think it is not necessary.

That is interesting what you write about his connection to Bach as well as Schumann and Chopin (in terms of comparison).
Some poeple like to let go so to say and some find it repulsive and vulgar. Brahms's personality is very complex like everybody else, he is not one dimensional individual. It is interesting to get inside his brain through his music to know what he thinks and how he takes life.

It is fascinating to see how one can take the same things (gypsy=Hungarian themes) and come out on the other end so different. What Brahms saw in them is very different than Liszt for example. The broodiness and emotional charge is completely different.

I am thinking lately about different tastes in music. There are some people who disregard everything that is remotely intellectual and want music to be very accessible. This people grow up with the end of 19 century tastes when the late Beethoven's sonatas were not played for the wide audience.
Since this time some of the audience grow up so to say. There are more sophisticated people now days that grow out of this narrow mind concept. However one can not tire the audience too much.

On the other hand there's the repeat in the first movement of the third symphony: the first-time bar at the end of the exposition (which if you don't do the repeat of course you don't play at all) comes back as the 'hinge' between the end of the development and the recapitulation. So if you haven't done the repeat it comes across as completely new material as the recap is about to start, whereas if you have done it it's material which you already know as introducing a return of the main themes. To me that's a repeat whose omission really does damage the piece.

I don't care much for Brahms on the whole. (Where do you care for him then? That's enough from you Ms Lenz.) But I find his throwaway comment about leaving out the repeat somewhat troubling. When I was a lot younger I used to think that repeats in 19th century music were indeed there to reacquaint the audience with the music, given that they couldn't go home and listen to the CD before or after the concert. Then, after "discovering" Schubert, I came around to thinking that there was much more to it than that, first-time bars or not. Maybe Brahms is a different case. But I've always found the way he handles the "corners" of his sonata forms one of the more attractive things about his music.

Just goes to show you shouldn't take composers' statements at face value.

Sorry about these purple bits. It isn't me, I assure you.