The Concerto for Violin and Cello by Johannes Brahms

The Brahms Double Concerto was a work of reconciliation on more than just the personal level, for it united the elements of the Baroque concerto grosso, its solo group (concertino) pitted against the orchestra, with Classical concerto form. Mozart had made the not-so-disparate violin and viola soloists in a Sinfonia Concertante, and Beethoven in his Triple Concerto joined piano, violin, and cello. And now here was Brahms’ violin-cello wedding, which was predicated not on the exploitation of the soloistic couple’s contrasting individualities, but on their ability to live happily together if given the advantages of powerful and congenial materials.

Instead of finding the instruments’ huge combined range unwieldy, Brahms makes the most of it, setting off the contrasting highs and lows with unflinching conviction. For the many passages in which the instruments meet at the same range and even on the same pitches, Brahms had to have faith that the cello and violin would fuse in an enhanced sonorous blend rather than project separate and perhaps clashing identities.

Solo as well as duo passages abound throughout the work, and the first solo — for cello — arrives in the fifth measure. The four measures preceding this solo entrance contain, not introductory material, but a forthright statement of the movement’s stern — no, angry — main theme. That the lone cello can cast aside this orchestral energy is a clear demonstration of the earliest and most basic concerto principle: one against the many. In this case, the cello as adversary is soon to be joined by a soloistic ally, the violin, and the two share an elaborate cadenza declaring their intention of independence before the orchestra returns for a complete exposition of the main theme.

The perfect respite from the intensities of the first movement is supplied by the broad lyricism of the second. It begins with violin and cello, a resonant octave apart, singing one of Brahms’ most expansive melodies, a theme suffused with rhapsodic warmth not untouched by melancholy.

The finale, vigorously pursuing A-minor tensions after engaging in the Andante’s D-major relaxations, is part gypsy, part philosopher, part struggling demon, with the struggle ending at last in A-major triumph.

Here is the music:

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