Tyler's Millersville Music Blog

J. Tyler Riegel

26 April 2010

Brahms Symphony No. 2 in D Major

You have only to sit at the piano, put your small feet on the two pedals in turn, and strike the chord of f minor several times in succession,first in the treble, then in the bass (ff and pp), and you will gradually gain a vivd impression of my ‘latest’ [symphony]. (qtd. in MacDonald 253)

The preceding quote, written by Brahms with a typical infusion of dry jest to his good friend Elisabet von Herzogenberg in the summer of 1877, offers a glimpse into the self-confidence and joviality that permeated Brahms’s life in the late 1870’s. After over twenty years of self-doubt and timidity surrounding the creation of his First Symphony in C Minor, Brahms felt a great sense of relief upon its premiere in 1876 to generally favorable reviews. Hans von Bülow, one of the greatest Austro-German conductors of the late nineteenth century, even went so far as to dub it “The Tenth Symphony” of Beethoven (MacDonald 232). With his faith in his compositional powers strengthened, Brahms began composing with unprecedented ease. In contrast to his First Symphony, Brahms’s Second Symphony in D Major only took one summer to put together. (Of course, Brahms had probably begun compiling ideas for the symphony several years before.) Though contrary to what he suggests to Elisabet von Herzogenberg (Brahms was often very secretive and misleading about his current projects), the Second Symphony is widely regarded to be the sunniest of his symphonies, some even dubbing it his “Pastoral” (MacDonald 252). Judging from the happy state of affairs in Brahms’s life during the Second Symphony’s creation, it is hardly surprising that this symphony leaves an impression of triumph and gaiety; out of the broodiness of the first two movements emerges a fourth movement that is squarely up-beat and life-affirming. Of course, each movement, regardless of its sentimentality, exhibits the highest order of Brahmsian craftsmanship through motivic development and unity, careful attention to contrasting timbre, and rhythmic dynamism. The following analysis will explore these qualities in each movement of the Second Symphony.

Movement I: Allegro non troppo

Much like in his first symphony, Brahms introduces the simplest form of the unifying motives at the very beginning of the second symphony’s first movement (mm.1-12). The two principle unifying motives of this movement, set in ¾ time, are as follows: a half note followed by a quarter note, usually at the interval of a perfect fifth or fourth, and three quarter notes, the second of which is an interval, often a major or minor second, above or below the first and third notes.

Motive 1 Motive 2

As the movement progresses, these motives become increasingly embellished, altered, or entwined. However, Brahms masterfully juxtaposes these modifications against the original motives so that a sense of continuity and fluidity is preserved. In measures twenty-one through twenty-eight, for example, the second motive undergoes a tonal mutation to become a series of cascading octaves. Just when it seems like the original motive has been cast aside, it is poignantly reintroduced by the first flute and oboe in measure thirty-five and then again by the first clarinet and bassoon in measure thirty-nine. In measure forty-four, the first melody is introduced. Although of a lushness seemingly at odds with the earlier bars of the movement, this melody actually contains the second motive (last three notes of measure forty-four). Passed from the first violins to the flutes and then back again, the experimental melody is short-lived; it soon reverts back into its progenitor, motive number two (m. 63). In measures sixty-four through seventy-one, a complete reversal of the motivic mutation of measures twenty-one through twenty-eight takes place. Whereas in measures twenty-one through twenty-eight motive number two undergoes a tonal mutation while retaining its original rhythm, in measures sixty-four through seventy one the same motive undergoes a rhythmic mutation while keeping its original relative tones. Motive one, hitherto largely neglected, is used with ingenious effect as a transition in measures seventy eight through eighty-one, whereupon in measure eighty-two the violas and cellos introduce perhaps the most hauntingly beautiful melody of the whole symphony. Again, just like the first melody, this second melody seems at odds with anything heard before. Hearkening more closely, however, and one realizes that this melody, like the earlier one, is actually based upon the opening motives. Bars one, two, five, and six of melody two are based on motive one, while bars three, four, seven and eight are based on motive two. At measure 102, an even more brilliant synthesis takes place; here the second melody is passed to flute, oboe, and bassoon while low strings play an inversion of the original motive one as accompaniment. The entwining of the two motives reaches a climax at measure 134, where the basic rhythmic parameter of each is eloquently fused in an eighth-sixteenth note figure, as shown below.

Almost as if in boisterous celebration of the birth of a child, this offspring motive is repeated without pause from measure 134 until measure 152.

From this point on, the original motives are gradually borne back into prominence so that the development is free to start with the same clean motivic slate available to the exposition. As in the exposition, the development grows with increasingly complex manipulations of the original motives. The development, however, sees more pairing between the stark original motives and their melodic progeny. For example, the development’s climax, occurring between measures 246 and 261, consists of two four-bar episodes in which the two opening motives are played boldly and simultaneously, motive one by the brass and woodwinds and motive two by the upper strings. These rousing fusions of the two motives then progress into restatements of melody one, and ultimately, at measure 350, of melody two, which signals the start of the recapitulation. Clearly, Brahms is a master of motivic writing; he treats motives as akin to the elements here on Earth, shaping them through evolution into amazingly complex forms.

In addition to motives, the first movement is full of many other Brahmsian traits, especially rhythmic innovation, mellow orchestration, and idiosyncratic harmony and tonality. A prime example of one of Brahms’ favorite rhythmic devices, the juxtaposition of triplets against duplets, can be found at measure 156. Here, melody two is recast in a more major tonality in the celli and violas, and to enhance this change the first flute is given a lyrical countermelody consisting of triplets. Another one of Brahms’s favorite rhythmic tricks is the overlapping of phrase such that simple rhythms take on a complex feel. This is perfectly illustrated at the climax measures of 246 and 258, where the last note of the phrase in the brass and woodwind parts occurs in the midst of a phrase in the strings part, as shown below:

Brahms achieves his signature mellow orchestration in this movement by assigning key soli to the low strings and French horns. Melody two, for example, is assigned exclusively to the violi, celli, and second violins in both its tonally dark form, at measure eighty-two, and its tonally light form, at measure 156. The French horn is given many moments of glory in this movement, culminating in the first horn’s twenty-two measure long solo that acts as a bridge between the recapitulation and the coda (mm. 456 – 477). Oddly, the clarinet, typically one of Brahms’ favorite instruments, is overshadowed by abundant flute soli in this movement. However, each flute solo, as at measure forty-eight or measure 156, is marked “piano” or “dolce” and phrased expertly, thereby framing an enchantingly mellow sound for this potentially shrill instrument.

As regards harmony and tonality, the first movement has many elements typical of Brahms. At measure forty-four, for example, melody one is based on a Plagal cadence, transitioning from D Major to G Major and then back again. Though widespread throughout Romantic literature, Plagal cadences are particularly common in the works of Brahms. Furthermore, the second melody, starting at measure eighty-two, is in f# minor, a relationship of a third from the tonic key of D Major. Brahms is famous for having the third as the tonal center for his works.

Overall, the first movement is perhaps most remarkable for the synthesis it achieves at so many levels: synthesis of motives, synthesis of mood (both melancholy and contentment), and, as Walter Frisch points out, synthesis of “expansive lyricism and dense motivic-thematic working,” a combination that reflects “the dual heritage of Schubert and Beethoven” (68). An insight into Brahms’s desire to entwine conflicting moods in this movement is provided by a letter he wrote to his friend Vincenz Lachner; notwithstanding the occasional triumph of happiness, Brahms says that the “black wings [of death] are ever flapping above us” (qtd. in Frisch 70).

Movement II: Adagio non troppo

One of the most Brahmsian attributes of this movement is its unstable tonal center. The opening motive itself, decidedly more complex than the opening motives of the previous movement, has two accidentals, B# and G natural, which, within the framework of the tonic key of B Major, suggest a Neapolitan C Major chord. The unsettling sonorities of this opening motive are then juxtaposed against a sweetly gliding second motive in the celli that is firmly grounded in the tonic key. As in the last movement, the second movement has a strong emphasis on the third of the triad as the tonal center. However, in this movement, Brahms is more experimental with his definition of the third, putting the development not in the relative Major third (d# minor), but instead in the relative minor third (D Major). The end of the movement is no less tonally unstable than the rest of it, consisting of thirteen accidentals in the celli alone before finally reaching the tonic triad.

Also prominent in this movement is counterpoint and the illusion of counterpoint. Though certainly a stalwart adherer to Classical form in the midst of the feelings-and emotions-driven Romantic Era, Brahms nevertheless thought strict Baroque counterpoint to be too often stifling. In a nod to the old masters, Brahms includes traditional fugal counterpoint in measures forty-nine through fifty-four; however, there are far more instances of Brahmsian nontraditional counterpoint in this movement than traditional. For example, in measures forty-five through forty-eight, Brahms shapes the feeling of counterpoint by having the viola line move in the opposite direction form the first violin line. Furthermore, in measures sixty-two through seventy-two, Brahms uses conflicting meters, in this case duple meter in the strings and oboe and triple meter in the bassoon, to create the illusion of two independent melodic lines, even though the bassoon line is just accompaniment. One of the most blatant examples of Brahms affecting counterpoint from contrasting rhythm and texture can be found between measures thirty-three and thirty-six. Here a sumptuously rich and flowing melody in the woodwinds is underlain by a simple pizzicato accompaniment in the celli to shape two choirs of sound in such sharp contrast to one another that the feeling of counterpoint arises.

As in the first movement, Brahms imparts his characteristic mellowness to the second movement by scoring prominent parts for celli, French horns, and bassoon. All of the moving melodic material in the opening motive, for instance, is shared by the celli, who sing blissfully high in the tenor clef, and the bassoons, who create contrapuntal interest by moving in the opposite direction. Then, it is the celli alone, still singing in tenor clef, that give the first taste of the lyrical second motive. Though not as prominent in this movement as in the last, the French horn has several interesting lines in the second movement, most notably at measure seventeen, where the first horn leads a small, quasi-fugal section based on a third motive.

If any of the movements support Brahms’s wry description of his Second Symphony to Frau von Herzogenberg, it is the second movement. The climax at m. 88 seems to wail with bitterness and regret; of a love scorned and never to be realized. But as David Hurwitz points out, overall the second movement leaves, like the first movement, “a very emotionally-ambivalent impression: at times solemn, wistful, delicate, and angry” (88). Certainly Brahms’s fondness for emotional ambivalence grows out of his adherence to the “absolute music” tradition, a tradition whose pragmatism sees the world as it is and not how one wishes it to be.

Movement III: Allegretto grazioso (Quasi Andantino)

Whereas movements one, two, and four of this symphony are all in sonata-allegro form (exposition, development, recapitulation, and coda), this movement is in a modified scherzo form with two trios (ABACA). Unlike most third movements, whether Classical or Romantic, this third movement is soft and lyrical in its principle A section while fast and boisterous in its B (m. 33) and C (m. 126) sections. The chief factor contributing to this change of mood among the sections is meter. As is the standard for symphonic third movements, the A section of this movement is in ¾ time. However, the B section is in 2/4 time, and the C section is in 3/8 time. Enhancing these changes in meter are also accompanying changes in tempo, in both cases from “Allegretto grazioso (Quasi Andantino)” to “Presto ma non assai.” Interestingly, the thematic material for all the sections is the same. Therefore, Brahms creates in the third movement of this symphony an innovative blend of Scherzo and Theme and Variation forms.

Ever the innovator, Brahms uses not only the trio sections as a means of varying the main theme, but also the A sections themselves. Contrary to tradition, Brahms never repeats an A section in exactly the same way. The first rendition of the A section (m. 1) is firmly grounded in the tonality of g major. The second rendition of the A section (m. 107), however, is more tonally complex, meandering through the tonalities of C Major and e minor before finally reaching a cadence in E Major. Likewise, the third and final rendition of the A section (m. 194) begins in F# Major, modulates a half step up into the tonic key of G Major, lapses for several measures into g minor (mm. 222-225), and then concludes back in the tonic. The third rendition of section A is also orchestrated differently from the other renditions; whereas the first and second renditions have the theme scored primarily in the woodwinds, the third rendition has the theme scored primarily in the strings.

In addition to being innovative in form and tonality, the third movement is a playful study in articulation. Brahms has a fascination with accented articulations in areas where they seem unnatural, and in this movement he indulges his fascination handsomely. For example, in the very opening measures, Brahms indicates an accent mark above the final note in each phrase where one would expect a gentler sound. In the B section, Brahms again puts accent marks at the end of some figures, but then puts accent marks at the beginning of others, creating an odd mixture of emphases that simulates changes in meter. In the C section, Brahms adds yet another complicating factor to the articulation mix; in addition to accent marks on both the downbeats and upbeats of phrases, Brahms demands that all notes be played staccato. Achieving the proper nuance for each of these articulations is certainly among the toughest challenges of this movement.

Certainly, the opinion of some who consider this movement too light and insubstantial for the rest of the symphony betrays a lack of critical analysis. Despite its short length, the third movement glitters with masterful nuance in rhythm, form, and harmony. As David Hurwitz asserts, “the impression the [third movement] makes is timeless…Brahms seldom wrote a movement so immediately engaging to both the mind and the senses in equal measure” (90-91).

Movement IV: Allegro con spirito

The final movement is a stirring synthesis of musical elements from each previous movement and even from the first movement of Brahms’s Symphony No. 1 in c minor. Permeating the whole movement are the two motives introduced at the beginning of the first movement. However, whereas the first movement is in triple meter, this movement is quadruple meter, so the context and feel of the two original motives is refreshingly different:

Motive 1, in cut time; notice that the original motive is only the second and third notes

Motive 2, in cut time

Brahms will often alter the note values of each motive, particularly by turning the “long-short” theme of motive number one into a dotted quarter and eighth note or by writing motive number two as a cluster of three eighth notes or triplets. Often, the two motives are felt as three beat phrases within a four beat measure, as is the case with motive one played by the woodwinds in measure eighty-six and motive two played by the upper strings in measure eighteen. Just as in the first movement, the two motives are blended together to create an organic melody (m. 78), only this time, the main melody is optimistic and resolute. Succinctly yet profoundly incorporating the essence of the entire symphony, this beautifully-wrought melody is used to rousingly close the movement. It must be noted further that in addition to motives originated in this symphony, the final movement, for reasons unknown, incorporates a sequence of intervals between measures 234 and 238 that bears a great similarity to the second introductory motive of Brahms’s Symphony No. 1.

Another Brahmsian trademark common in this movement is the positioning of phrases one or several beats off from what is expected. This is evidenced by the flute and clarinet solo at measure thirteen. Were the first note of this phrase on the downbeat, then the phrase would only have to cross a bar line once; however, Brahms’s positioning of the phrase’s first beat on beat two means that the phrase must pass two bar lines, creating the sensation of meter change. This sort of odd phrase positioning happens again at measure 135, where, owing to the phrase markings, an exuberant sequence of eighth note scales played by the strings is made to feel like it is in triple meter instead of the indicated duple meter (cut time).

Also widespread in this movement is Brahms’s use of syncopation. In the theme introduced at measure seventy-eight, for example, motive number one is paired with an extra quarter note to create a distinctive syncopation that draws valuable attention to the motive. This syncopation reaches its climax at measure 138, where the quarter note is replaced by a quarter rest so that motive number one can shine through in its original starkness. Much of the final movement’s syncopation is found in accompanying or transitional lines, such as in the strings section between measures 111 and 113 and in the woodwinds section between measures 196 and 205.

Emotional yet not mawkish, Brahms’s Second Symphony shapes a world of sound in which elemental motives evolve into beautifully complex melodies. Though Brahms was an “absolutist” in terms of composition, he certainly was not an “absolutist” in terms of emotion; relishing the complexity of life, Brahms used a vast palette of rhythmic and harmonic nuance to imbue each measure of his compositions with a tinge of both bliss and brooding. After meeting Brahms and discussing views on religion and the meaning of life, the great Czech composer Antonin Dvořák wrote in a letter that Brahms was “such a man, such a soul…and [yet] he believes in nothing, he believes in nothing!” (qtd. in Beller-McKenna 31). As a thorough analysis of any work by Brahms will show, Johannes Brahms certainly did not believe in nothing, a view that is often ascribed to people who do not share one’s own simple world view. Instead, Brahms saw the world as too complex for any simple creed or mantra, and he sought to honor this complexity through musical works steeped in intricacy and contradiction. Listening to a Brahms symphony is like beholding the universe in miniature; the interplay and development of voices can become awesomely complex, and yet they are all born out of and reflect a common beginning strand, a simple incipient concoction of motives that is akin to the earliest evolution of life.

Bibliography

Beller-McKenna, Daniel. (2004). Brahms and the German Spirit. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press

Frisch, Walter. (1996). Brahms: The Four Symphonies. New York: Schirmer Books, Inc.

Gál, Hans, ed. (1965). Johannes Brahms: Sämtliche Werke. Band I. Wiesbaden, Germany: Brietkopf & Härtel

Hurwitz, David. (2009). Brahms’ Symphonies. New York: The Continuum International Publishing Group, Inc.

MacDonald, Malcolm. (1990). Brahms. New York: Schirmer Books, Inc.

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