Thoughts on Brahms Symphonies

A musician who loves slow tempi will play the same composition ever more slowly. 

Ein Musiker, der das langsame Tempo liebt, wird die selben Tonstücke immer langsamer nehmen.  

Friedrich Nietzsche. Human All Too Human. Seventh Part, Nr 397. 

The accepted belief, as the belief of all the world, continually engenders a disgust and a new longing in finer minds; and already the slow tempo which it demands for all intellectual processes (the imitation of the tortoise, which is here recognised as the norm) drives artists and poets away. – It is in these impatient spirits that a positive delight in madness breaks out, because madness has such a joyful tempo! 

Fortwährend erzeugt jener Glaube als Allerweltsglaube einen Ekel und eine neue Lüsternheit bei feineren Köpfen: und schon das langsame Tempo, welches er für alle geistigen Processe verlangt, jene Nachahmung der Schildkröte, welche hier als die Norm anerkannt wird, macht Künstler und Dichter zu Überläufern: – diese ungeduldigen Geister sind es, in denen eine förmliche Lust am Irrsinn ausbricht, weil der Irrsinn ein so fröhliches Tempo hat!  

Friedrich Nietzsche. Book II, 76 of The Gay Science

For many years I have thought that Brahms has been misrepresented by the vast majority of conductors. What I saw in the printed score and what I kept hearing in the concert hall, and on record, seemed to be at stark variance. In particular, most performances of Brahms simply seemed to be too slow and dragging. It seems that conductors hate Brahms and wish to make him look bad by stuffing as much "beer and beard" into his music as they could muster. The result too often sounds awfully stodgy.

What I have always yearned to hear is a Brahms that is played as though it were Bartók.  By that I mean Brahms played with enough forward momentum to allows the rhythms to come life and really dance.  Brahms is a far more rhythmically interesting composer than many give him credit for. His music is full of cross rhythms, and unexpected syncopations. Not to mention the way those across the bar phrases displace rhythmic accents. 

My biggest bugbear amongst all of the symphonic movements is the way the finale of the Fourth Symphony is played. Brahms has written "allegro energico e passionato". Yet every conductor seems to take it upon themselves to outdo Brahms by showing that they can pull off an "andante maestoso e molto serioso". Rarely is there enough forward momentum to allow any hint of the "energico" asked for, let along any intensity even remotely resembling anything like a heated "passionato". 

The trouble is that there is this ludicrous misconception that equates "slow" with "Romantic" or "expressive". The idea seems to be that the slower the tempo, the more "expressive" it is. If the tempo is twice as slow then it must be twice as "expressive". Brahms being considered a "Romantic" composer, his music is automatically played at the most dragging possible tempi in order to make it more "Romantic". 

In reality, when used correctly, faster tempi can give the music a sense of impassioned expressive urgency. Slower tempi all too often kill this by tranquillising the music. It sounds more like it is on Valium than sounding anything remotely like Romantic or passionato. 

So when I encountered the Brahms symphony cycle from John Eliot Gardiner released on the SDG label, I must say I was genuinely excited. With movement after movement, I kept nodding in agreement with the tempi. It was exactly what I had waiting for so many years for. There was a "just rightness" to it all that made me leap for joy. Movements suddenly started to spring off the page as they danced and sung with deeply impassioned excitement.

I must, however, confess I have always been a little ambivalent about Gardiner as a conductor. When his Beethoven cycle came out, I was initially excited but over the years I rarely find myself wanting to return to it. It seems to be of little more than novelty value. The same goes for his Missa Solemnis. Yet something about this Brahms cycles just makes me think that this one is a keeper. Maybe it reflects greater musical maturity on behalf of the conductor. Whatever the case, the phrasing is always beautiful and the way the music comes alive rhythmically with the fluid tempi is such a joy. Indeed, it makes him sound like Bartók. The music springs to life where there usually is only stodginess. All the "beer and beard" is instantly swept away.

Now, I must admit that despite my preference for more flowing tempi, I do find that many times when these musicologically influenced "historically informed" conductors get their musicians to play at much faster tempi than the musicians are accustomed to, it sounds like a disaster. A good example is Roger Norrington playing the Wagner Meistersinger overture. Norrington takes it at almost exactly the same tempo as Karl Muck (1859-1940) does in his 1928 Berlin State Opera recording:

    

Wagner himself said he took only a little longer than eight minutes to get through the overture and complained bitterly about conductors who dragged their way through the score - and, no, Wagner was not rushing to fit a recording onto fewer 78 rpm discs since he predated recording**. Yet between Muck (8' 31") and Norrington (8' 28") it could hardly be more different. One makes it sound completely natural, the other makes it sound rushed and facile. It only serves to remind us why Wagner gave up adding metronome markings to his scores – conductors would mindlessly follow the metronome marking and, still, the tempi sounded all wrong. 

I suspect there are reasons for Norrington's abject failure in this instance. Part of the problem is that modern orchestral musicians are uncomfortable playing music at fluid tempo after a lifetime of playing it at dragging tempi. Older generations of musicians such as those in Karl Muck's era play like faster tempi just came naturally – they probably never once stopped to even think that the tempi might be considered fast. Even the playing techniques of that era are better suited to faster tempi. For example, portamento helps to create as sense of greater legato and helps to prevent the choppy staccato effect that can creep in with faster tempi. Portamento also helps to elongate phrase lengths. Flowing, longer phrases are one of the main advantages of fluid tempi. The long phrases in turn encourage a greater flowing cantabile. A greater emphasis falls too on bowing technique rather than fingering. 


Here is what Mahler had to say to the New Philharmonic players during a rehearsal:

Portamento sounds old fashioned to us today, but it was a period technique used to impart legato in an age when tempi were still often very fast by modern standards. Take a listen to Mengelberg conducting the Adagietto of the Mahler Fifth:

Also take a listen to Bruno Walter playing the opening movement of the Mahler Ninth with the Vienna Philharmonic in 1938:

Absolutely nobody takes it that fast today*. Nor are modern musicians capable of taking it that fast without introducing a sforzando character to the playing. In many cases, the musicians would probably deliberately introduce a sforzando character to their playing as a means of silently protesting the faster tempi. 


The older generation were brought up to play as much of the phrase in a single "breath" of the bow as possible. Today, string plays seem to take many more breaths of the bow. If you do this at faster tempi, it sounds very choppy as the line get broken up into a series of subphrases. The only way to regain the legato of the line then is to play the music more slowly. All you have to do now is to add more vibrato to add interest to the line. Presto – you have modern period practice. 


The trouble is that it is very hard to get modern musicians to adjust to the nineteenth century period aesthetic of faster, more fluidly cantabile phrases. You have to rethink your approach to the music from scratch. If you merely play it the same way as you do in the modern slow, vibrato laden manner only sped up, naturally it sounds too fast. 


The other trouble with Norrington is that the musicians sound like they are concentrating too hard on trying to get used to unfamiliar period instruments to really be able to have time to totally rethink their approach to musical interpretation. In this day and age, rehearsal time is precious too.  The end result is a bunch of under-rehearsed musician who really never feel fully comfortable playing the music on strange instruments at even stranger tempi. This is how you get these under-rehearsed train wrecks passed off as "authentic performance practice". Then you get these fools concocting the most ridiculous high blown defence about how this is how the composer supposedly "really wanted it to be played". Hah!


Of course, there is also the unfortunate example of Toscanini (1867-1957). Some of his tempi are very old fashioned, in the nineteenth century manner (though some of his Wagner is some of the slowest in history). Toscanini generally went against the grain of the fashion of his time by refusing the adopt the modern fashion of increasingly slower tempi. In the case of his Beethoven, Toscanini often justified this by pointing to the older generation of conductors, especially Karl Muck. However, the musicians in Toscanini's NBC Symphony all too often produce a choppy sound, with harsh accents in all the wrong places. This may be a sign that come the 1950s musicians had already grown uncomfortable with the old fashioned fast tempi Toscanini imposed on his musicians. So once again, like Norrington, Toscanini is a prime example of what not to do. I would rather listen to Furtwängler – slow tempi done right.


How about Gardiner and his Brahms cycle then? Does the phrasing sound brusk, and choppy – a dragging modern approach except with the fast forward button forced down, just to keep the musicologists happy? The answer is that Gardiner gives the faster tempi life, fluidity and joy. Personally, I suspect that period orchestras played phrases with even more portamento to make the phrases flow with more effortless cantabile. However, the phrasing is beautiful enough to always be enticing. And what rhythmic energy many a movement has! There is so much joyful dancing. It brings a smile to the face to see that Brahms too could attain that apotheosis of the dance. That is why I am calling the Gardiner Brahms cycle a keeper, though only time will tell if these are really performances that will draw me back to listen time and time again. 


All that praise aside, I must say I am still rather disappointed with Gardiner's account of the finale of the First Symphony (15' 57"). Here he is outpaced by Otto Klemperer, who in his 1927-28 Berlin State Opera recording gets through it a minute faster (14' 52"). 

When you get overtaken by Klemperer, it is seriously time to complain. Some will make the absurd suggestion that Klemperer is fast, however, this conductor is truly legendary for the slowness of his tempi. It is just that most modern performers have taken to outdoing him with ridiculous tempi even more dragging than anything even Klemperer could muster. Incidentally, Bruno Walter times in at 14' 57" (or 15' 08" depending on which issue of this recording you are looking at) in his New York Philharmonic Brahms cycle, and at 15' 13" in his 1937 Vienna Philharmonic recording. 


Gardiner also takes the finale of Fourth Symphony too slowly. It still retains hints of an "andante maestoso e molto serioso" in place of the "allegro energico e passionato" that Brahms asks for. Gardiner times in at 9' 36" here. This makes his timing hardly different from that of Toscanini (9' 33"), Mengelberg (9' 48"), Weingartner (9' 42") or Furtwängler (9' 50").


Other conductors manage to maintain the "allegro energico" slightly better than Gardiner. Particularly noteworthy is Carlos Kleiber who times in at 9' 14". This is arguably the finest account of the finale on record, though still slightly too slow for my taste. Leopold Stokowski (New Philharmonia Orchestra on BBC Legends) times in at 9' 19".  Another worthy performance of the Fourth comes from Victor de Sabata with the Berlin Philharmonic in 1939. 

 

His timing for the finale is 9' 22" - a touch faster than Gardiner. As you would expect from de Sabata, he delivers well on the "passionato". At more introspective moments, de Sabata slows the tempi down more than Gardiner too. Also noteworthy is de Sabata's account of the Scherzo (5' 38), which is full of life and "giocoso" whereas Gardiner (5' 37") sounds a touch too choppy and staccato to sound genuinely "playful". 


Another surprising case of the art use of effortlessly fluid tempi in Brahms comes from Sir Adrian Boult. 

His timing for each of the movements of the First Symphony comes very close to Gardiner. Both conductors observe repeats:

First Movement:     JEG 15' 04" AB 15' 08" 

Second Movement: JEG 08' 30" AB 08' 01" 

Third Movement:    JEG 04' 16" AB 04' 48" 

Fourth Movement:  JEG 15' 57" AB 16' 09"

In the slow movement Boult times in faster than anyone else I can find on record - even Toscanini (8' 20"). However, where Toscanini sounds fast, with Boult you would never notice it unless it were pointed out to you.

I should also mention that other examples of Brahms with effortlessly fluid tempi exist on record from Felix Weingartner (1863-1942). Weingartner's accounts of the First and Second Symphonies are particularly noteworthy here. I particularly love the way Weingartner takes the finale of the Second:

It should be mentioned that Brahms himself gave a nod of approval to Weingartner's interpretation of this symphony. However, in the finale of the Fourth, even Weingartner's tempi start to unexpectedly drag, despite a nicely fluid opening movement.

In the Second Symphony, Gardiner is more than a match for Weingartner when it comes to bringing fluid tempi to life with complete aplomb. I can only hope that this represents a start to the rediscovery of the art of effortlessly fluid tempi, even if Gardiner fails to quite sustain his commendable efforts throughout his Brahms symphony cycle.










*Walter in 1938 takes 24' 47" to get through the opening movement. By contrast Simon Rattle takes 28' 57" to get through it. Michael Gielen takes 29' 16". Bernstein managed to drag his way through this movement with the Concertgebouw Orchestra in 30' 03", and Chailly manages to push past him through the 30 minute barrier at 30' 32". Solti too is impressive in his dragging skills with a 30' 14". Giulini manages to get a bit ahead of him at 31' 52". Maazel manages a whopping 32' 19". Just nipping ahead of him by a whisker is Emil Tabakov, however, who just manages to be crowned as the official "drag queen" by schlepping his way through it in 32' 35" with the Sofia Philharmonic. There is obviously a serious competition going on in an effort to beat the 40 minute barrier. Bernstein managed to schlepp through the Finale of the Tchaikovsky 6th twice as slowly as most conductors, so perhaps the 50 minute barrier will be the next goal post.


** There used to be baseless speculation about how faster performances were a result of artists being forced to take faster tempi in order to squeeze performances onto the limited space of 78 rpm shellac discs. However, this has long been debunked. For example, the above Bruno Walter 1938 Vienna Philharmonic Mahler Ninth is a live performance on the eve of the Anschluss, and not a shred of evidence exists that any commercial consideration for the number of discs required for publication even remotely influenced the interpretation. This will doubtless do little to stop some from continuing to speculate that the reason Wagner took only 8 minutes to get through the Meistersinger overture and 12 minutes to get through the Tannhäuser overture was to squeeze the performance onto as few 78 rpm discs as possible. Alas, the only snag is that Wagner predates recorded music!