Piano Concerto No.2 in B flat major, Op.83

When Brahms announced, in 1881, that he had written “quite a little piano concerto with quite a little tender scherzo,” it would have been obvious to anyone who knew him that something big was about to burst upon the world, no doubt with a turbulent scherzo. His Second Piano Concerto was actually the biggest ever. And yet, for all the heroism he attributes to his solo part, and in spite of the vast scale on which he works, Brahms maintains an almost chamber-music equality between piano and orchestra. In this respect, he remains firmly in the Viennese classical tradition, where he properly belongs.

Even the form is classical. True, the piano makes an early entry, in support of the horn and its poetic announcement of the main theme. But, after a solo cadenza, there is a regular orchestral exposition which presents that theme in such a vigorous way as to make the foregoing seem merely an introduction. The fact that it is no mere introduction becomes clear only later, in the recapitulation, where the horn melody is gently recalled in its original poetic form, the vigourous version being reserved for the coda. This is one way Brahms has of expanding the form. Another, foreshadowed by Mozart and Beethoven, is to award the piano an exposition of its own with a new second-subject theme. The orchestra’s second subject is then expanded to heroic proportions, culminating in the cascade of trills which here and in the recapitulation mark the two main climaxes of the movement.

A work which begins like this is bound to end in serenity. But first it must pass through the turbulence of the “tender little scherzo” in D minor - without which additional movement, incidentally, the work would be shorter than Beethoven’s Violin Concerto. The comparatively expansive D major middle section of the scherzo is more prophetic of the end result. In the meantime, the orchestra is liberated in the lyrical beauties of the Andante, which is also basically in ternary form. Turbulence this time is restricted to the middle section and then, in an inspired passage for piano and two clarinets, luminously clarified before the return of the solo cello and its hymn to serenity.

Just before the end of the Andante, the piano makes a veiled reference to the beginning of the concerto, which is the final psychological preparation for the untroubled happiness of the last movement. This Allegretto grazioso is another indication, in both its sonata-rondo construction and the character of the main theme, of Brahms’s adherence to the Viennese classical tradition. There is a melodically abundant episode in F major and, after a development devoted to the main theme, a quicker and even happier coda.

When Brahms announced, in 1881, that he had written “quite a little piano concerto with quite a little tender scherzo,” it would have been obvious to anyone who knew him that something big was about to burst upon the world, no doubt with a turbulent scherzo. His Second Piano Concerto was actually the biggest ever. And yet, for all the heroism he attributes to his solo part, and in spite of the vast scale on which he works, Brahms maintains an almost chamber-music equality between piano and orchestra. In this respect, he remains firmly in the Viennese classical tradition, where he properly belonged, deflected by the influence of neither the piano-indulgent concerto of Schumann nor (still less) by the piano-dominated Chopin examples.

Even the form is classical. True, the piano makes an early entry, in support of the horn and its announcement of the first subject. But, after the solo cadenza, there is a regular orchestral exposition which presents the first subject in such a vigorous way as make the foregoing seem merely an introduction. The fact that it is no mere introduction becomes clear only in the recapitulation, where the horn melody steals in, in its original form, and the vigour is reserved for the coda. This is one way Brahms has of expanding the form. Another, foreshadowed by Mozart, is to introduce a new second-subject theme into the solo exposition. The orchestra’s second subject is then expanded to heroic proportions, culminating in the cascade of trills which here and in the recapitulation marks the main climaxes of the movement. The development section itself begins with the horn melody in the wrong key and in the wrong rhythm, but it takes a no more than Mozart-length middle section to restore it to its original form.

A work which begins like this is bound to end in serenity. But first it must pass through the turbulence of the “tender little scherzo” in D minor - without which additional movement, incidentally, the work would be shorter than Beethoven’s Violin Concerto. The comparatively expansive D major middle section of the scherzo is more prophetic of the end result. In the meantime, the orchestra is liberated in the lyrical beauties of the Andante, which is also basically in ternary form. Turbulence this time is restricted to the middle section and then, in an inspired and luminous passage for piano and two clarinets, clarified before the return of the solo cello and its hymn to serenity.

Just before the end of the Andante, the piano makes a veiled reference to the beginning of the concerto, which is the final psychological preparation for the untroubled happiness of the last movement. This is a sonata-rondo which, in both its construction and the character of the main theme, is another indication of Brahms’s adherence to the Viennese classical tradition. There is a melodically abundant episode in F major and, after a development devoted to the main theme, a quicker and even happier coda.