Variations on a Theme by Paganini, Op.35

Of Brahms’s five sets of solo piano variations, all of them written between 1854 and 1863, the last is, technically, much the most demanding. In fact, the composer headed it “Studies for the Pianoforte,” adding “Variations on a Theme by Paganini” as a subtitle. Even a pianist as accomplished as Clara Schumann was so intimidated as to call the work “witchcraft variations.” Like Schumann before him, Brahms was fascinated by Paganini’s spectacular transformation of violin technique, not least in the 24 solo Caprices, and the posibilities of its application to the piano. But in Brahms’s case there was also the virtuoso challenge represented by Liszt’s variations on the 24th Caprice in A minor, the last of the six Paganini Studies he had dedicated to Clara in 1840. Perfectly simple theme though it is, built largely on just one rhythmic figure, even after Paganini’s own eleven variations, Liszt’s eleven and Brahms’s 28 (issued in two books of 14 each) it still had the potential for further development by several composers of later generations.

Unlike the Paganini Variations of, say Rachmaninov and Lutoslawski,, Brahms’s conscientiously observe the classical conventions. Of the 14 variations in Book I, all but two are in A minor, and the exceptions (Nos 11 and 12) are in the tonic major; they nearly all have the same number of bars as the theme, the same phrase lengths, the repeats in the same places; and most of them are in the same 2/4 metre. Those conditions did not, however, restict the imagination of a composer as resourceful as Brahms, who was particularly successful in merging each piece into the larger pattern. The even semiquaver figures of the first variation (a toccata study in double sixths) run over into the second, where the sixths continue in the left hand while the right resorts to octaves. The semiquavers persist in the third variation, almost a solo violin caprice in itself, but in 6/8 time in preparation for the 12/8 rhythm of the fourth variation accompanying the extended trills in one hand or the other.

In the next two varitions Brahms dissolves the rhythmic regularity by setting the right hand in 2/4 against the left in 6/8 I and then by overlapping two phrases in themselves a quaver too short to fill a 6/8 bar. Neither No.7 nor No.8, the one a staccato reflection of the legato other, restores the regularity. No.9 obscures it in a fog of tremolandos and No.10 subtly syncopates it. The point of this is to restore rhythmic regularity for the major-key variations, the first of which puts the two hands in rhythmic unison two octaves apart, the second of which is not quite so simple. The sensational Hungarian-gypsy glissandos of No.13 prepare the way for the extended last variation which is in two parts, Allegro and Presto, and which is surely the most brilliant tribute ever to the virtuoso spirit of Paganini the violinist.

brahms: paganini variations II

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Variations on a Theme by Paganini Op.35, Book II (1862-3)

One of the most influential figures behind the development of the romantic piano style was Niccolò Paganini, violinist and guitarist but by no means a pianist. In comparison with some of his greatest admirers – like Schumann, Chopin, and Liszt – he was not much of a composer either. He was, on the other hand, a uniquely extraordinary musician, a virtuoso who transformed the technique of violin playing and whose enlargement of the instrument’s powers of expression was a revelation to the whole musical world, not only to the violinists in it. Of his pianist followers, only Liszt deliberately set out to do the same transcendental thing for the piano, but to all of them he was an inspiration.

Although he was born too late to hear Paganini play, Brahms was no less fascinated by his virtuosity than those who had experienced it at first hand. Of his five piano works in variation form, all of them written between 1854 and 1863, the Paganini set is, technically, much the most demanding. In fact, the composer headed it “Studies for the Pianoforte,” adding “Variations on a Theme by Paganini” as a subtitle. Even a pianist as accomplished as Clara Schumann was so intimidated as to call the work “witchcraft variations.” Like Robert Schumann before him Brahms was particularly fascinated by the 24 solo Caprices. But h e was aware too of the virtuoso challenge represented by Liszt’s variations on the 24th Caprice in A minor – the last of the six Paganini Studies he had dedicated to Clara in 1840. Perfectly simple theme though it is, built largely on just one rhythmic figure, even after Paganini’s own eleven variations, Liszt’s eleven and Brahms’s 28 (issued in two books of 14 each) it still had the potential for further development by several composers, not least Rachmaninov, of later generations.

The variations of Book II are less concerned with specific technical problems than those of Book I, but even here – in the parallel thirds passing from hand to hand in the first variation, the rhythmic contradictions between right hand and left in the second and the seventh variations, the octaves and double octaves in the ninth and tenth – Brahms’s technical interest is clear enough. The expressive ends are always more important than the technical means, however: the octave runs and leaps in tenth variation of the present set, though spectacular in themselves, would be meaningless without the dramatic effect they are intended to create. There are also the purely musical delights of the the graceful waltz in the fourth variation, the virtuoso violin allusions in the sixth and eighth and, above all, the nocturnal poetry of the singular twelfth variation in F major. After that fanciful digression, the thirteenth variation immediately restores the key to A minor and, in the middle of the comparatively extended finale, the original theme is briefly glimpsed in something like its original shape.

Book I

One of the most influential figures behind the development of the romantic piano style was Niccolò Paganini, violinist and guitarist but no pianist. In comparison with some of his most famous admirers - like Schumann, Chopin, and Liszt - he was not much of a composer either. He was, on the other hand, a great musician, a virtuoso who transformed the technique of violin playing and whose enlargement of the instrument’s powers of expression was a revelation to the whole musical world, not only the violinists in it. Of his pianist followers, only Liszt deliberately set out to do the same transcendental thing for the piano, but to all of them he was an inspiration . . .

Though no great composer, Paganini did write a highly influential series of Caprices (or studies) for solo violin. The 24th Caprice in A minor has been an endless source of inspiration, not only for the romantics but for later composers too, like Rachmaninov, Blacher, and Lutoslawski. And yet it is a perfectly simple theme, with more or less the same rhythmic figure occurring in twenty of its 24 bars (including the repeats of its first four-bar section and of its second eight-bar section) and no harmonic surprises. Brahms - who, incidentally, was born too late to hear Paganini play - was probably the first pianist composer to write variations on the theme. Schumann had transcribed several of the Caprices for piano and Liszt had made his own fantastic arrangements of them. But Brahms was so fascinated by the one in A minor that, between 1862 and 1863, he wrote no fewer than two sets of variations on it.

Cut the above and insert something based on the following (from Pag I/w495)

Of Brahms’s five sets of solo piano variations, all of them written between 1854 and 1863, the last is, technically, much the most demanding. In fact, the composer headed it “Studies for the Pianoforte,” adding “Variations on a Theme by Paganini” as a subtitle. Even a pianist as accomplished as Clara Schumann was so intimidated as to call the work “witchcraft variations.” Like Schumann before him, Brahms was fascinated by Paganini’s spectacular transformation of violin technique, not least in the 24 solo Caprices, and the posibilities of its application to the piano. But in Brahms’s case there was also the virtuoso challenge represented by Liszt’s variations on the 24th Caprice in A minor, the last of the six Paganini Studies he had dedicated to Clara in 1840. Perfectly simple theme though it is, built largely on just one rhythmic figure, even after Paganini’s own eleven variations, Liszt’s eleven and Brahms’s 28 (issued in two books of 14 each) it still had the potential for further development by several composers of later generations.

Like Chopin’s Etudes, Brahms’s Paganini Variations are studies in technical problems and contain, according to no less an authority than John Ogdon, “some of the most difficult piano writing there has ever been.” But, unlike Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, they also observe the classical variation convention. Of the fourteen variations in Book I, all but two are in A minor, and the exceptions (Nos 11 and 12) are in the tonic major. They nearly all have the same number of bars as the theme, the same phrase lengths, the repeats in the same places. Most of them are in the same 2/4 metre.

It is amazing that he could write so resourcefully within such restrictive conditions. But he did it successfully in his Handel Variations and he does it successfully again, merging each piece moreover into the larger pattern. The even semiquaver figures of the first variation (a study in double sixths) run over into the second, where the sixths continue in the left hand and the right hand resorts to octaves. The semiquavers persist in the third variation, almost a solo violin caprice in itself, but in 6/8 time in preparation for the 12/8 rhythm of the fourth variation accompanying the extended trills in one hand or the other.

Brahms then dissolves the rhythmic regularity by setting the right hand in 2/4 against the left in 6/8 (No.5) and by overlapping two phrases in themselves a quaver too short to fill a 6/8 bar (No.6). Neither No.7 nor No.8, the one a staccato reflection of the legato other, restores the regularity; No.9 obscures it in a fog of tremolandos; and No.10 subtly syncopates it. The point of this is to restore rhythmic regularity for the major variations, the first of which puts the two hands in rhythmic unison two octaves apart, the second of which is not quite so simple. The sensational glissandos of No.13 prepare the way for the last extended variation which is in two parts - Allegro and Presto - and which is surely the most brilliant tribute ever to the virtuoso spirit of Paganini the violinist.

Book I

Book II

One of the most influential figures behind the development of the romantic piano style was Niccolò Paganini, violinist and guitarist but by no means a pianist. In comparison with some of his greatest admirers - like Schumann, Chopin, and Liszt - he was not much of a composer either. He was, on the other hand, a uniquely extraordinary musician, a virtuoso who transformed the technique of violin playing and whose enlargement of the instrument’s powers of expression was a revelation to the whole musical world, not only to the violinists in it. Of his pianist followers, only Liszt deliberately set out to do the same transcendental thing for the piano, but to all of them he was an inspiration.

Paganini’s most influential work was his series of Caprices (or studies) for solo violin. The 24th Caprice in A minor has been an endless source of interest, not only for the romantics but for later composers too, like Rachmaninov, Blacher, and Lutoslawski. And yet it is based on a perfectly simple theme, with more or less the same rhythmic figure occurring in twenty of its 24 bars and no harmonic surprises. Brahms - who, incidentally, was born too late to hear Paganini play - was probably the first piano-composer to write variations on the theme. Schumann had transcribed several of the Caprices for piano and Liszt had made his own fantastic arrangements of them. But Brahms was so fascinated by the one in A minor that, between 1862 and 1863, he wrote no fewer than two sets of variations on it.

Cut the above and insert something based on the following (from Pag I/w495)

Of Brahms’s five sets of solo piano variations, all of them written between 1854 and 1863, the last is, technically, much the most demanding. In fact, the composer headed it “Studies for the Pianoforte,” adding “Variations on a Theme by Paganini” as a subtitle. Even a pianist as accomplished as Clara Schumann was so intimidated as to call the work “witchcraft variations.” Like Schumann before him, Brahms was fascinated by Paganini’s spectacular transformation of violin technique, not least in the 24 solo Caprices, and the posibilities of its application to the piano. But in Brahms’s case there was also the virtuoso challenge represented by Liszt’s variations on the 24th Caprice in A minor, the last of the six Paganini Studies he had dedicated to Clara in 1840. Perfectly simple theme though it is, built largely on just one rhythmic figure, even after Paganini’s own eleven variations, Liszt’s eleven and Brahms’s 28 (issued in two books of 14 each) it still had the potential for further development by several composers of later generations.

Like Chopin’s Etudes, Brahms’s Paganini Variations are studies in technical problems. Some of them are as difficult as any piano music written in the 19th century. But - unlike, say, Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini - they also observe the classical variations conventions. Of the fourteen variations in Book I, all but two are in A minor, and the exceptions (Nos 11 and 12) are in the tonic major; in Book II only the twelfth of the fourteen variations abandons the tonic key. Nearly all the twenty-eight variations have the same number of bars as the original theme, the same phrase lengths, the repeats in the same places. Most of them are in the same 2/4 metre.

It is amazing that Brahms could write so resourcefully within such restrictive conditions. But he had done it successfully in his Handel Variations and he did it again with Paganini, merging each piece moreover into a larger pattern. The even semiquaver figures of the first variation in Book I (a study in parallel fifths) run over into the second, where the fifths continue in the left hand and the right hand resorts to octaves. The semiquavers persist in the third variation, almost a solo violin caprice in itself, but in 6/8 time in preparation for the 12/8 rhythm accompanying the extended trills in the fourth.

Brahms then dissolves the rhythmic regularity by setting the right hand in 2/4 against the left in 6/8 (No.5) and by overlapping two phrases in themselves a quaver too short to fill a 6/8 bar (No.6). Neither No.7 nor No.8, the one a staccato reflection of the other, restores the regularity; No.9 obscures it in a fog of tremolandos; and No.10 subtly syncopates it. The point of this is to restore rhythmic regularity with the major variations, the first of which puts the two hands in rhythmic unison two octaves apart, the second of which is not quite so simple. The sensational glissandos of No.13 prepare the way for the last, extended variation which is in two parts - Allegro and Presto - and which is surely the most brilliant tribute ever to the virtuoso spirit of Paganini the violinist.

The variations of Book II are less concerned with specific technical problems, but even here - in the parallel thirds passing from hand to hand in the first variation, the rhythmic contradictions between right hand and left in the second and the seventh variations, the octaves and double octaves in the ninth and tenth - Brahms’s technical interest is clear enough. The expressive ends are always more important than the technical means, however: the octave runs and leaps in tenth variation of the present set, though spectacular in themselves, would be meaningless without the dramatic effect they are intended to create. There are also the purely musical delights of the the graceful waltz in the fourth variation, the virtuoso violin allusions in the sixth and eighth and, above all, the nocturnal poetry of the singular twelfth variation in F major. After that fanciful digression, the thirteenth variation immediately restores the key to A minor and, in the middle of the comparatively extended finale, the original theme is briefly glimpsed in something like its original shape.