Violin Concerto No.1 in G minor, Op.26

According to Max Bruch, writing violin concertos “is a damned difficult thing to do.” The earliest of the three he completed - which, it would surprise him to know, is now one of the most popular works in the whole classical repertoire - was particularly troublesome. “Between 1864 and 1868 I rewrote my concerto at least half a dozen times and conferred with any number of violinists before it took its final form.” The most valuable advice came from one of the great authorities of the day, the Hungarian violinist Joseph Joachim, who gave the first performance of the definitive version of the work in Bremen in 1868.

One of the secrets of its success, ironically enough, is that it appears to flow so easily and so naturally from what Bruch described as the “melodious soul” of the violin. The whole of the Vorspiel (or Prelude) develops spontaneously, as though by improvisation, from the opening bars. A quietly rolled G on the timpani and a little woodwind melody move the violin first to contemplate the harmonic and emotional implications of G minor and then to express its melodic reactions in a natural progression of linear invention and virtuoso comment.

The open-ended Vorspiel leads directly into the Adagio which, though it approximates to sonata form, also proceeds in spontaneous freedom from structural preconceptions. The violin introduces the two first-subject themes - a devout expression on the two lowest string only and a still more intimate confession over a quiet pizzicato in the bass - before it weaves an elaborate embroidery over a second-subject melody on lower wind and strings. There is little development, apart from repetitions of the first-subject material in different keys with decorative variations on the violin.

The Hungarian gypsy-violin sprung rhythms and double-stopped chords of the main theme of the Allegro energico - intended no doubt as a tribute to Joachim - reveal a different aspect of the instrument. There is soulful melody here too but, for all its nostalgia, the second subject is unable to halt the rhythmic impetus, least of all when it aligns itself with the G major of the main theme and so makes way for an accelerated pursuit of a happy ending in that key in the coda.

Gerald Larner©

According to Max Bruch, writing violin concertos “is a damned difficult thing to do.” The earliest of the three he completed - now one of the most popular works in the whole classical repertoire - was particularly troublesome. “Between 1864 and 1868 I rewrote my concerto at least half a dozen times and conferred with any number of violinists before it took its final form.” The most valuable advice came from the greatest violinist of the day, Joseph Joachim, to whom Bruch turned for help after an unsatisfactory performance of an early version of the work in 1866. Joachim not only made detailed technical recommendations on scoring and structure but also gave the first performance of the definitive version in Bremen in 1868.

Perhaps the secret of it success is that, though no violinist himself, Bruch instinctively understood the true nature of the instrument. “The violin,” he once said, “can sing a melody better than the piano can, and melody is the soul of music.” The whole of the Vorspiel (or Prelude) of the Concerto in G minor develops spontaneously, as though by improvisation, from the opening bars. A quietly rolled G on the timpani and a little woodwind melody move the violin first to contemplate the harmonic and emotional implications of G minor and then to express its melodic reactions in a natural progression of linear invention and virtuoso comment.

Open-ended in construction, the Vorspiel leads directly into the Adagio which, though it approximates to sonata form, also proceeds in spontaneous freedom from structural preconceptions. The violin introduces the two first-subject themes - a devout expression on the two lowest string only and a still more intimate confession over a quiet pizzicato in the bass - before it weaves an elaborate embroidery over a second-subject melody on lower wind and strings. There is little development, apart from repetitions of the first-subject material in different keys with decorative variations on the violin.

The Hungarian-gypsy sprung rhythms and double-stopped chords of the main theme of the Allegro energico - intended no doubt as a tribute to Joachim - reveal a different aspect of the instrument. There is soulful melody here too but, for all its nostalgia, the second subject is unable to halt the rhythmic impetus, least of all when it aligns itself with the G major of the main theme and so makes way for an accelerated pursuit of a happy ending in that key in the coda.

Gerald Larner ©2004

Bruch’s own instrument was not the violin but the piano. As a performer his activities were restricted to conducting and as a composer he was far more interested in large-scale choral music than anything else. So he was not the most likely musician to create the one violin concerto which, of all those written between Mendelssohn’s in 1844 and Brahms’s in 1878, has survived into the standard repertoire of today. Moreover he was only in his twenties when he did it and, although he eventually completed no fewer than eleven works for violin and orchestra - including two more concertos and the popular Scottish Fantasy - he wrote nothing to equal his First Violin Concerto in G minor.

As a young man, however, Bruch had several important qualities in his favour. He was both humble enough to take advice and patient enough to revise his work until he got it right. “It is a damned difficult thing to do,” he once said of writing violin concertos. “Between 1864 and 1868 I rewrote my concerto at least half a dozen times and conferred with any number of violinists before it took its final form.” The most valuable advice came from the greatest violinist of the day, Joseph Joachim, to whom Bruch turned for help after an unsatisfactory performance of an early version of the work in 1866. Joachim not only made detailed technical recommendations on scoring and structure but also gave the first performance of the definitive version in Bremen in 1868.

Most important of all, though no violinist himsefl, Bruch instinctively understood the true nature of the instrument. “The violin,” he once said, “can sing a melody better than the piano can, and melody is the soul of music.” The greatness of the Concerto in G minor is that it seems to grow spontaneously out of the melodic heart of the violin. The work begins with a quietly rolled G on the timpani and a little woodwind melody which amounts to scarcely more than an expression of G minor. The violin’s response is a long-bowed note on the open G string, a G minor arpeggio, another G minor arpeggio an octave higher, and a slow flight up to the dominant. The whole first movement - significantly headed Vorspiel (or Prelude) as an indication that it is an open-ended improvisation rather than a formal sonata construction - develops in this completely natural way, from the basic facts of G minor and violin life.

The Vorspiel leads directly into the Adagio which, though it comes nearer to sonata form than the first movement, also proceeds in spontaneous freedom from formal preconceptions. The violin introduces the two first-subject themes in E flat major - a devout expression on D and G strings only and a still more intimate confession over a quiet pizzicato in the bass - before it weaves an elaborate embroidery over a second-subject melody on lower wind and strings. There is little development, apart from repetitions of the first-subject material in different keys with decorative variations on the violin. The passionate statement of the second subject in E flat, at the height of an orchestral climax, is the major event of an abbreviated recapitulation.

As for the natural violin qualities of the Finale, they are so evident that, when they came to write the last movements of their violin concertos, both Brahms and Tchaikovsky clearly acknowledged that Bruch had discovered something fundamental to the instrument in the Hungarian-style sprung rhythms and muscular double-stopped chords of his Allegro energico main theme. There is soulful melody here too but, for all its nostalgia, the second subject is unable to halt the rhythmic impetus, least of all when it aligns itself with the G major of the main theme and so makes way for an accelerated pursuit of a happy ending in that key in the coda.

Gerald Larner