By 1885, Brahms appeared to be finished writing for the orchestra. Having consistently approached the orchestra with caution, he had arrived at a relatively modest output: four symphonies, two orchestral serenades, three concertos (two for piano and one for violin), and three shorter pieces. (His works for chorus and orchestra are usually omitted from this list, since their primary focus is on the voices, rather than the instruments.) His most recent orchestral composition, the fourth symphony, had met with mixed reviews, and Brahms seemed content to spend the rest of his career working with smaller forces.
The cellist Robert Hausmann asked Brahms to write a cello concerto, but the composer either did not take to the idea or doubted the ability of the cello, its sound lower and darker than the violin’s, to be an effective solo instrument against a large orchestra. At the same time, however, Brahms was struggling to mend his friendship with the great violinist Joseph Joachim, to whom the violin concerto had been dedicated and who played regularly in a string quartet with Hausmann. Joachim had gone through a messy divorce case in 1884, during which Brahms had offered a testimonial supporting the violinist’s wife. Feeling betrayed, Joachim turned cold to Brahms and all but stopped corresponding with him, although he did continue to perform his music.
Thus the Double Concerto – the only concerto for violin and cello in the standard repertoire – benefited from a dual inspiration. Brahms created an opportunity to respond to Hausmann’s request for a cello concerto with a novel way of making peace with his estranged violinist friend, taking advantage of the kinship the two string players had spent years developing as chamber musicians. The uniqueness of the project intrigued Joachim, who at last welcomed Brahms back into his trusted circle. Joachim, Hausmann, and Brahms met to play through the work (with Brahms covering the orchestral parts at the piano) and make minor revisions, and Brahms was at the podium with the same two soloists for the first performances, in eight cities over four months, starting in late 1887.
Compensating for its less brilliant
register, the cello is “first among equals” in this concerto,
introducing nearly every important theme before the violin gets its
chance. The violinist and the
cellist each have a cadenza – by tradition, a lengthy, unstructured passage
for a concerto soloist to demonstrate virtuosity and individualism – but,
contrary to tradition, the cadenzas come at the very beginning of the work,
with the orchestra providing only brief, appetite-whetting segments of
phrases. The main part of the first
movement has great breadth and drama, comparable to the first movement of
any of Brahms’s symphonies.
The second movement opens with a beautiful melody for the two soloists
and the orchestral strings, and features a mysterious middle section in which
chorale-like writing in the woodwinds is supplemented, then interrupted, by
arpeggios from the soloists. In the
finale, just as he had done with his previous three concertos, Brahms opts for
the spirit of a Hungarian dance.
The mood is lighter, but the interaction of the musical ideas is no
less compelling. After a nostalgic
interlude in which the tempo slows down and the melodic focus shifts to the
woodwinds, a short coda brings the piece – and Brahms’s career as
an orchestral composer – to a decisive, affirmative close.