Brahms spent much of his career facing charges that his compositional style was stale, hopelessly enslaved to the traditions of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. Yet, as aggressively as his opponents mocked him, extolling Richard Wagner (1813-1883) as the true visionary of the time, Brahms's supporters argued energetically on his behalf. Furthermore, he was championed by some of the most important performers of the day, including the violinist Joseph Joachim and the conductor Hans von Bülow. Recognition was some time in coming, especially with respect to his orchestral music, as he struggled for more than twenty years to complete his first symphony. However, his 1873 Variations on a Theme of Haydn, his most important orchestral work to that point, met with great acclaim, and the Symphony No. 1 at last appeared a few years later. In 1879, the University of Breslau presented him with an honorary degree, lauding him as "first among contemporary masters of serious music": an irate Wagner published a vituperative article in response, but Brahms confidently ignored the attack. By the time he had reached middle age, Brahms enjoyed a favorable reputation in many circles, had little difficulty getting new works performed, and could count on the presence of friends at important premieres.
The Piano Concerto No. 2 is often regarded as the finest piano concerto in the literature. Its nobility and grandeur are unsurpassed, and the balance between the orchestra and the soloist is ideal. Brahms was an excellent pianist himself, and he did not hesitate to make the work difficult enough to stretch even his own technique. Yet, in the characteristic fashion of this composer, the challenges for the soloist are immersed in the piece's compelling architecture, and gratuitous opportunities for the pianist to show off his or her virtuosity are markedly absent. The result is a solo vehicle demanding that the soloist not only master the formidable technical challenges, but also participate fully in shaping and pacing a work which is essentially symphonic in its architecture. As if to underscore this point, Brahms cast the piece in four movements, the usual number for a symphony, rather than the standard three for a concerto.
The first movement begins innocently with a solo horn, echoed by the soloist; the woodwinds and strings have the chance to offer a couple of melodic fragments before the soloist interrupts with a cadenza. The orchestra returns for some time on its own, but thereafter neither the soloist nor the orchestra spends much time alone, instead sharing the roles of melody and accompaniment. The second movement is in the form of a scherzo, but the mood, at times desperate or defiant, is anything but a joke (the Italian meaning of "scherzo"). After a more optimistic middle section comes and goes, Brahms takes advantage of the piano's compass in dramatic fashion, sending the soloist to the lowest pitches on the keyboard while the orchestra restates the primary theme. The third movement gives the orchestra's principal cellist a chance to shine, with a melody so ideally suited for bowed strings that the pianist never gets a chance to play it. The finale is lighter in spirit than the other movements, choosing to resolve the earlier dramatic conflict by returning to more easygoing ideas. The trumpets and timpani, which played important parts in the first two movements, are silent during the third and fourth. The work ends affirmatively but somewhat modestly, reminding us of the composer's own lengthy struggle to gain acceptance for his art.