Program notes by Eric Bromberger

Symphony No. 2 in C Major, Opus 61
Robert SCHUMANN
Born June 8, 1810, Zwickau, Germany
Died July 29, 1856, Endenich, Germany

Schumann and his wife Clara made a five-month tour of Russia in 1844. Her piano-playing was acclaimed everywhere, but Schumann found himself somewhat in the shade, and on their return to Leipzig the composer began to show signs of acute depression: he said that even the act of listening to music “cut into my nerves like knives.” So serious did this become that by the end of the year Schumann was unable to work at all–he gave up his position at the Leipzig Conservatory, and the couple moved to Dresden in the hope that quieter surroundings would help his recovery. Only gradually did he resume work, completing the Piano Concerto in the summer of 1845 and beginning work on the Second Symphony in the fall. Schumann usually worked quickly, but the composition of this symphony took a very long time. Apparently Schumann had to suspend work on the symphony for long periods while he struggled to maintain his mental energy, and it was not completed until October 1846. The first performance took place on November 5, 1846, with Mendelssohn conducting the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra.

Given the conditions under which it was written, one might expect Schumann’s Second Symphony to be full of dark music, but in fact the opposite is true–this is one of Schumann’s sunniest scores, full of radiance and light. And, considering the extended and difficult period of the symphony’s composition, it is surprising to find the work so tightly unified. The symphony opens with a slow introduction--Sostenuto assai–as a trumpet fanfare rings out quietly above slowly-moving strings. During the earliest stages of this symphony’s composition, Schumann wrote to Mendelssohn that “Drums and trumpets (trumpets in C) have been sounding in my mind for quite a while now,” so apparently this trumpet-call was one of the earliest seeds of the symphony; it recurs throughout. The introduction gathers speed and flows directly into the Allegro ma non troppo, whose main subject is a sharply-dotted melody for violins and woodwinds. This opening movement is in sonata form, and near the end the trumpet fanfare blazes out once again.

The second movement is a scherzo marked Allegro vivace. In contrast to some of Schumann’s others symphonic scherzos–which can remain earthbound–this one flies. Almost a perpetual-motion movement, it makes virtuoso demands on the violins. Two trio sections interrupt the scherzo–the first for woodwinds in triplets, the second for strings–before the opening music returns and the movement speeds to an exciting close. At the climax of this coda, the trumpet fanfare rings out above the racing violins.

The Adagio espressivo, one of Schumann’s most attractive slow movements, opens with a long-breathed melody for the violins. This movement is the emotional center of the symphony, and though this music never wears its heart on its sleeve, its composition made such heavy emotional demands on the composer that he had to stop work temporarily after completing it.

In the finale–marked Allegro molto vivace–the energy of the opening movement returns as the music bursts to life with a rush up the C-major scale. Schumann said of the composition of this movement: “In the Finale I began to feel myself, and indeed I was much better after I finished the work. Yet . . . it recalls to me a dark period in my life.” The symphony’s unity is further demonstrated by Schumann’s transformation of the first four notes of the main theme of the Adagio into this movement’s second theme and then–at the climax of the entire symphony–by the return of the trumpet fanfare. It begins softly, but gradually grows to a statement of complete triumph, and–with timpani and brass ringing out–the symphony thunders to its close. Though the Second Symphony may have been the product of a “dark period” in its creator’s often unstable life, it also appears to have been the vehicle by which he made his way back to health.

Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Opus 73
Johannes BRAHMS
Born May 7, 1833, Hamburg
Died April 3, 1897, Vienna

Brahms was haunted by the example of Beethoven’s nine symphonies. “You have no idea how the likes of us feel when we hear the tramp of a giant like him behind us,” Brahms remarked to the conductor Hermann Levi, and he worked on his own First Symphony for nearly twenty years before he was ready to take it before audiences. The première in November 1876 was a success, and Brahms himself conducted the new work throughout Europe during the winter concert season. With the stress of that tour behind him, he spent the summer of 1877 in the tiny town of Pörtschach on the Wörthersee in southern Austria, and there he began another symphony. This one went quickly. To Clara Schumann he wrote, “So many melodies fly about that one must be careful not to tread on them.” Brahms’ First Symphony may have taken two decades, but his Second was done in four months, and its première in Vienna on December 30, 1877, under Hans Richter was a triumph.

While the Second Symphony is quite different from the turbulent First, this music is not all pastoral sunlight. The first two movements in particular are marked by a seriousness of purpose and a breadth of expression. Brahms’ friend Theodor Billroth spoke of only one side of the Second Symphony when he said: “It is all rippling streams, blue sky, sunshine and cool green shadows. How beautiful it must be at Pörtschach!” For all the sunshine in this symphony, the first two movements explore some of those shadows in depth.

The hand of a master is everywhere evident in the Second Symphony, particularly in Brahms’ ingenious use of the simple three-note sequence (D-C#-D) heard in the cellos and basses in the first measure. This figure recurs hundreds of times throughout the Second Symphony, giving the music unusual thematic and expressive unity. The constant repetition of so simple a figure might become monotonous or obsessive in the hands of a lesser composer, and it is a mark of Brahms’ skill that he uses this figure in so many ways. It gives shape to his themes, serves as both harmonic underpinning and blazing motor-rhythm, is by turns whispered softly and shouted at full-blast. Once aware of this figure, a listener can only marvel at Brahms’ fertile use of what seems such unpromising material.

The Allegro non troppo opens with this figure, and a rich array of themes quickly follows: a horn call, a flowing violin melody (derived from the opening three-note motto), a surging song for lower strings (Brahms characteristically sets the cellos above the violas here), and a dramatic idea built on the violins’ octave leaps. This wealth of thematic material develops over a very long span (the only longer movement in a Brahms symphony is the massive finale of the First) before the movement comes to a relaxed close.

The expressive Adagio non troppo opens with the cellos’ somber melody; while this is in B major, so dark is Brahms’ treatment that the movement almost seems to be in a minor key. The center section, with its floating, halting melody for woodwinds, brings relief, but the tone remains serious throughout this movement, which comes to a quiet conclusion only after an eruption in its closing moments.

After two such powerful movements, the final two bring welcome release. The charming third movement comes as a complete surprise. Instead of the mighty scherzo one expects, Brahms offers an almost playful movement in rondo form. The oboe’s opening melody (Brahms marks it grazioso: “graceful”) leads to two contrasting sections, both introduced by strings and both marked Presto. Brahms’ rhythms and accents here are imaginative and complex: phrases are tossed easily between instrumental families and complicated rhythms are made to mesh smoothly as one section gives way to the next. This movement so charmed the audience at the symphony’s première that it had to be repeated.

The Allegro con spirito opens quietly and quickly–so quickly that one may not recognize that its first three notes are exactly the same three notes that began the symphony. In sonata-form, the finale features a broad second subject that swings along easily in the violins. Full of energy and explosive outbursts, this movement drives to a mighty conclusion. We do not usually think of Brahms as a composer much concerned with orchestral color, but the writing for brass in the closing measures of this symphony is thrilling, no matter how often one has heard it.