An Intellectual Approach to Brahms
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

Wordsworth once wrote, “’twas pastime to be bound within the sonnet’s scanty plot of ground,” expressing his joy in working under heavy stricture. Brahms, too, enjoyed the crabbed and challenging environment of restriction, fashioning his Variations and Fugue on a Theme of Handel without ever significantly altering the melodic or harmonic pattern of the source material and even keeping the rhythm relatively constant as the tempo and dynamics changed radically. James Gibbons Huneker, music critic of the New York Sun from 1902 through 1917, called the original baroque theme “a ruddy-cheeked tune” and Brahms the masculine adventurer runs it through its paces expertly. Old Bach himself never wrote a more powerful or noble piece of counterpoint as the conclusion of this majestic keyboard essay.
The Handel Variations formed the centerpiece of a program on Sunday afternoon by perhaps the most respected pianistic scholar on the planet, Charles Rosen, who finished his series of lectures and concerts at the 92nd Street Y. Rosen has many impressive credits on his resume, but, for me, his two books, “The Classical Style” and “The Romantic Generation,” better defined the two periods than any other efforts that I have encountered. This final public event was, in fact, entitled “The Classic and Romantic Fused.”
Mr. Rosen divided his remarks into sections about two composers and their relative merits as imitators of Beethoven. Paraphrasing Goethe’s remark that genius begins with facility and ends by seeking the greatest of difficulties, he contrasted the seemingly native ability of Mendelssohn to spin out lovely music with the more studied and disciplined approach of Brahms. Speaking as a pianist, he mentioned (in retrospect somewhat ironically), how much easier it was to perform the former, since the boy genius of Leipzig never really sought out Goethean difficulty, whereas the methodical Hamburg master constantly strove for more and more challenging puzzles at the keyboard.
Listening to this talk was extremely enjoyable and evocative of reading one of Mr. Rosen’s books. Punctuating his ideas with musical examples at the piano, he exposed with great clarity the difference between Mendelssohn’s imitation of Beethovenian melodies and Brahms’s more sophisticated adoption of his characteristic techniques. Using the Haydn Variations as an example, the scholar infectiously communicated to the audience his own great passion and fervor for the intellectual side of creativity.
When Mr. Rosen opted to let his fingers do the talking, however, the result was considerably less eloquent. Perhaps he was rattled by the public’s initial response. He began with the fugue in E minor that Mendelssohn wrote while still a boy, but preceded it with a prelude composed much later and added on by the adult composer. This prelude was realized steadfastly, but in the nanosecond before Mr. Rosen could start the fugue the crowd erupted in applause, ruining not only the moment but perhaps his concentration as well. In any case, the fugue was a disaster, belying that earlier remark about facility.
The professor recovered nicely, however, singing out two lovely Songs Without Words at the keyboard, being very careful not to raise his hands even a twitter between them so as to keep the unwanted applause stillborn. The final piece of Mendelssohn, the Rondo Capriccioso in E Major, was simply botched, much too fast for a pianist so accuracy-challenged.
It truly pains me to report this, but the Brahms half of the program fared no better. Beside the aforementioned Handel Variations, Mr. Rosen presented the Four Pieces, Op. 119, the last piano music that Brahms wrote. These are the miniatures that so inspired Arnold Schonberg that he wrote an essay, “Brahms the Progressive,” that argues for smashing the stereotype that Brahms was the most traditional composer of the 19th century. Charles Rosen is, once again, the modern authority on this subject, having written the most perceptive monograph on Schonberg since the composer’s demise. But, as an interpreter, he infused the quartet with many more dissonances than Schonberg had ever pointed out to illustrate his idea that Brahms was looking forward and not backward.
Of the three intermezzi, the B minor was actually played quite nobly, with a measured tempo that emphasized its regal nature. The E minor, however, was simply ham-fisted and unfocused. The C Major started out quite brilliantly, Mr. Rosen capturing that odd walking rhythm as if the music itself were limping. But this performance too quickly degenerated into an amorphous cloud of mistakes. Finally, the E Flat major Rhapsody was little more than an approximation of itself.
I still think that an afternoon with Charles Rosen is a great privilege and that his pianism, although flawed, shows many interesting stylistic and structural insights that stay with the listener long after the memory of any mechanical deficiencies fades away. His authority cannot be gainsaid.