Photograph of the “Viennese” Brahms (taken around 1872 by an unknown photographer, from Wikimedia Commons, public domain)
Last night pianist Garrick Ohlsson returned to Herbst Theatre to make his sixth appearance presented by San Francisco Performances (SFP) as part of their 2018–1019 Piano Series. His last SFP concerts took place during the 2014–2015 season. He devoted two solo recitals to the music of Alexander Scriabin and structured his programs around an account of that composer’s ten sonatas. This season he has again planned two recitals, both devoted this time to Johannes Brahms.
Like Scriabin, Brahms composed far more piano music than could fit comfortably into only two concert programs. For his SFP recitals, Ohlsson has chosen to focus on collections of short pieces from different periods of Brahms’ life and variations compositions. I have found it useful to think of Brahms’ biography in terms of three periods separated by two key events, his first encounter with Robert Schumann in Düsseldorf in 1853 and his decision to move to Vienna in 1863. Last night’s program presented only one “Viennese” composition, the Opus 76 collection of eight pieces. All the other works came from his time with the Schumann family and were probably promoted by Clara Schumann in the recital performances she gave.
The least familiar sections were the two sets of variations published together as Opus 21. The first of these was a set of eleven variations on an original theme, completed in 1857; and the second consisted of thirteen variations on a Hungarian song, completed in 1854. These both involve relatively brief themes; and the Hungarian song goes by like lightning, usually lasting about a quarter of a minute. As might be expected, the variations themselves are similarly brief.
Ohlsson thus concentrated more on the flow of the overall composition than on the individual variations themselves. It was interesting to see how Ohlsson used his body language to discourage applause after the first set of variations. This perplexed me a bit, given how different the two collections were; but I think his objective was to play all of Opus 21 as if it were an integrated piece, a sonata without sonata form, so to speak.
Because of the brevity of both themes, each set involved an almost seamless flow from one variation to the next. To my ears this reinforced the idea that each set constituted an uninterrupted movement; and, since both sets of variations are in D major, the idea of their establishing two complementary sonata movements stands somewhat as a reflection on sonata practices prior to the beginning of the Classical period. This was my first encounter with Opus 21 in performance; and Ohlsson could not have made a better case that these pieces deserve more attention, perhaps always in the “coupled” form in which they were published.
While Clara was familiar with the Opus 35 set of variations on Niccolò Paganini’s 24th caprice for solo violin in A minor, she supposedly called the piece Hexenvariationen (witch’s variations) due to its devilish difficulty. The source theme, of course, had its own “diabolical” reputation; and Brahms actually composed the variations for piano virtuoso Carl Tausig. Opus 35 was structured in two books, each consisting of fourteen variations; and Ohlsson performed only the first book. Here again, however, one could appreciate the intense impact of the individual brevity of each variation and a sense of flow that endows the entire book with the spirit (if not the letter) of a well-integrated sonata movement.
The other “Schumann period” piece that Ohlsson performed was the Opus 10 collection of four ballades, completed in 1854. Like Schumann, Brahms was a great admirer of the music of Frédéric Chopin; so it is probably no coincidence that the number of pieces collected in Opus 10 is four. However, each of these is decidedly shorter than any of the four Chopin ballades; and, if they reflect on Chopin at all, it is through rhetorical expressiveness, rather than structure.
On the other hand, Chopin’s ballades were published separately, completed between 1835 and 1843, while Brahms’ ballades all reside under one roof, so to speak. It is therefore interesting to see the progression of their respective keys: D minor, D major, B minor (relative minor of D major), and B major. Mind you, Ohlsson did not approach Opus 10 with the same sense of integration that conjoined the two Opus 21 sets of variations; but there was still some impression that Brahms, who had already composed three piano sonatas, may have been guided by a unifying architectural objective.
The one “Viennese” composition on the program was the opening selection, the eight pieces collected in Opus 76. These involve alternation of capriccio and intermezzo forms through a “progression” of key signatures that “migrate” from F-sharp minor to C major. Completed in 1878, this marked the beginning of a genre of collections that Brahms called simply “pieces.” There are any number of ways that one might imagine an overall plan to Opus 76; but it can just as easily be the case that Opus 76 constituted a “laboratory notebook” from Brahms’ “experiments” in the expressiveness of short forms. There was certainly no shortage of expressiveness in Ohlsson’s performances; but, in this case, he seemed more focused on the individuality of each piece rather than a “greater plan” for Opus 76 as a whole.
Ohlsson took only one encore, which he used to explore Brahms’ interest in Chopin’s music. He played the seldom-performed Opus 45 prelude in C-sharp minor, published in 1841. He introduced the work by describing it as “the first Brahms piece.” Given that the piece predates all of the works on last night’s program and, therefore, also Brahms’ first encounter with the Schumanns, there is some possibility that Robert’s enthusiasm for Chopin may have directed Brahms to this piece, in which case Ohlsson may have made a valid point!
Taken as a whole, this was a highly satisfying evening. One could appreciate the wide diversity of expressions of individuality across the entire program. Just as important, however, was how Ohlsson always knew how to bring just the right expressive tropes to establish the individuality of each of the compositions. The appetite for more Brahms has now been convincingly whetted!
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