Concerto for violin and cello in A minor, Op.102

“Why on earth didn’t I know that one could write a cello concerto like that?” said Brahms to Robert Hausmann after hearing Dvorak’s Concerto in B minor in 1896. “If only I had known I would have written one long ago.” But he nearly had done a few years earlier. The Double Concerto in A minor presents the cello in an unmistakably heroic role and makes no pretence of offering an equal distribution of favours between the two solo instruments. In comparison with a scrupulously fair-minded score like Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola, it is not so much a double concerto for violin and cello as a concerto for cello with violin chaperone.

Having got to know Robert Hausmann through his role as cellist in the Joachim Quartet, Brahms admired his playing so much that he wrote the Sonata in F major for him in 1886. In 1887 he might even have been thinking about writing a concerto for him. But he was possibly also thinking about how, after seven years of severely strained relations, he could renew his friendship with Joseph Joachim, the violinist for whom he had written the Concerto in D major in 1879. If so, his thinking led him, by way of the fact that the two instrumentalists were regular chamber-music partners, to conceiving a concerto for both of them. No such work had been written before, as far as he knew, and the possibilities intrigued him: “If it is at all successful,” he wrote to Clara Schumann from his summer residence at Lake Thun in 1887, “it might give us some fun.” It turned out, in fact, to be one of the most inspired of all works in the string concerto repertoire.

The introduction to the first movement is particularly interesting. After a brusque orchestral anticipation of the three-note main theme, there is a cello cadenza so eloquent in line and so dramatically effective in its muscular double stops that, when he came to write his Cello Concerto in E minor more than thirty years later, Elgar was moved to present his soloist in much the same way, though rather more briefly. The first conciliatory gesture to Joachim is an anticipation on woodwind of the second subject, a tenderly lyrical theme alluding to a Viotti Violin Concerto which was one of the violinist’s favourite works. Although the violin is also awarded a cadenza at this point, it is not without giving the cello an opportunity to join in. From then on the cello takes much of the initiative, not only re-introducing both the main themes in the much delayed and much anticipated exposition but also leading the way in a many-sided development of mainly first-subject material. The violin’s prominent role in recapitulating Joachim’s second subject does not restore the balance.

The main theme of Andante, on the other hand, is an essentially violin-and-cello inspiration which requires the combined lower registers of both instruments to give full expression to its serious-minded ardour. In fact, it is never heard in any other way than in octaves on violin and cello. The lighter material of the middle section invites the violin to take lyrical flight on its own, stimulating the cello to emulate it and then making a discreet re-entry at a pitch well below the cello line. Both themes are recalled in a radiant coda.

If there is any doubt about which instrument was foremost in Brahms’s mind when he devised the playful main theme of the sonata-rondo last movement, he must surely have been thinking primarily of the cello when he came to the second subject. Anyway, the cello introduces both of them, the latter in sonorously double-stopped harmonies. The violin imitates but initiates neither here nor in the next episode - where, in fact, the most lyrical intervention is made by clarinets and bassoons. Perhaps the most inspired section of all is a belated and poetic development of the main theme - quietly blending cello and violin colours not only with each other but also with those of the orchestra - just before the vigorous coda.

“Why on earth didn’t I know that one could write a cello concerto like that?” said Brahms to Robert Hausmann after hearing Dvorak’s Concerto in B minor in 1896. “If only I had known I would have written one long ago.” But if he didn’t know for sure he must have had a very good idea. He would not otherwise have written the Double Concerto in A minor, which presents the cello in an unmistakably heroic role and makes no pretence of offering an equal distribution of favours between the two instruments. In comparison with a scrupulously fair-minded score like Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola, it is not so much a double concerto for violin and cello as a concerto for cello with violin chaperone.

Having got to know Robert Hausmann through his role as cellist in the Joachim Quartet, Brahms admired his playing so much that he wrote the Sonata in F major for him in 1886. The scoring of that work, which is far more adventurous than that of the earlier Sonata in E minor, indicates how much faith he had in the cellist’s technique and musicianship. It is not inconceivable that in 1887 he was even thinking about writing a concerto for Hausmann. But he was possibly also thinking about how, after seven years of severely strained relations, he could renew his friendship with Joseph Joachim, the violinist for whom he had written the Concerto in D major in 1879. If so, his thinking led him, by way of the fact that the two instrumentalists were regular chamber-music partners, to conceiving a concerto for both of them. No such work had been written before, as far as he knew, and the possibilities intrigued him: “If it is at all successful,” he wrote to Clara Schumann from his summer residence at Lake Thun in 1887, “it might give us some fun.” It turned out, in fact, to be one of the most inspired of all works in the string concerto repertoire.

The introduction to the first movement is particularly interesting. After a brusque orchestral anticipation of the three-note main theme, there is a cello cadenza so eloquent in line and so dramatically effective in its muscular double stops that, when he came to write his Cello Concerto in E minor more than thirty years later, Elgar was moved to present his soloist in much the same way, though rather more briefly. The first conciliatory gesture to Joachim is an anticipation on woodwind of the second subject, a tenderly lyrical theme alluding to a Viotti Violin Concerto which was one of the violinist’s favourite works. Although the violin is also awarded a cadenza at this point, it is not without giving the cello an opportunity to join in. From then on the cello takes much of the initiative, not only re-introducing both the main themes in the much delayed and much anticipated exposition but also leading the way in a many-sided development of mainly first-subject material. The violin’s prominent role in recapitulating Joachim’s second subject does not restore the balance.

Then D major main theme of Andante, on the other hand, is an essentially violin-and-cello inspiration which requires the combined lower registers of both instruments to give full expression to its serious-minded ardour. In fact, it is never heard in any other way than in octaves on violin and cello. The lighter material of the F major middle section invites the violin to take lyrical flight on its own, stimulating the cello to emulate it and then making a discreet re-entry at a pitch well below the cello line. Both themes are recalled in a radiant coda.

If there is any doubt about which instrument was foremost in Brahms’s mind when he devised the playful main theme of the sonata-rondo last movement, he must surely have been thinking primarily of the cello when he came to the second subject. Anyway, the cello introduces both of them, the latter in sonorously double-stopped C major harmonies. The violin imitates but initiates neither here nor in the next episode -where, in fact, the most lyrical intervention is made by clarinets and bassoons with a syncopated melody in F major. But perhaps the most inspired section of all is a belated and poetic development of the main theme - quietly blending cello and violin colours not only with each other but also with those of the orchestra - just before the vigorous A major coda.

Gerald Larner©