Love and death: Piano Concerto No. 1 by Johannes Brahms

 

Johannes Brahms in 1853 [Wikipedia]

And speaking of romanticism, Johannes Brahms wrote his Piano Concerto No. 1 in D minor, Op. 15 in 1858; he was twenty five years old at the time. Brahms came from a poor family, and during his youth he played the piano in dance halls and brothels in Hamburg. He studied from the age of seven, and became known after he made a concert tour at the age of nineteen. At this stage, Brahms met with prominent composers and musicians of his era, and became close friends with Robert and Clara Schumann; the former was one of the best romantic composers, and the latter one of the most distinguished pianists, as well as one of the few women composers. They both acknowledged Brahms' talent and encouraged him to compose symphonic works.

Robert and Clara Schumann [philarmonia.org]

In October 1853, Robert Schumann publicly claimed that Brahms was "destined to give an ideal expression to the times." Sadly, four months later, Schumann started to suffer from syphilis, attempted to commit suicide, and was eventually confined to an asylum. Brahms, who at that time had already started working on what would later become his First Concerto, was devastated by this turn of events, and tried to help. As Philip Huscher wrote in the Program Notes of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra:

This would have been an even more difficult time for Clara if Brahms hadn’t returned to Düsseldorf to be with her. We don’t know for certain what transpired over these months. Brahms went to visit Robert in the asylum periodically, but Clara was not allowed to see him. On Robert’s birthday in 1856, Brahms found him making alphabetical lists of towns and countries. Finally, on July 17, Clara went along with Brahms and, for the first time in more than two years, saw the sad spectacle of her husband. Two days later, Robert Schumann died.

It is under these circumstances that Brahms' work explored the formats of the symphony and the sonata for two pianos, before resulting to a concerto for piano and orchestra. It took him five years to finish it, given the self-critical perfectionism he was renowned for, and the result was a monumental and groundbreaking work in the history of classical music. The death of his friend and mentor had of course left a deep mark on the concerto, and so did the composer's devotion to Clara Schumann. They became lifelong friends, and it is unclear if they ever were lovers. The way the concerto was affected by his relationship to both Robert and Clara Schumann is clearly evident in the astonishing Adagio; as Chris Morrison argued in the Program Notes of the Boulder Philharmonic Orchestra:

A warm and noble theme in the strings opens the second movement. The piano enters with rich harmonies and a hushed mood is created, with a sense of longing in the arc of the melodies. Brahms had originally given this movement a written inscription, “Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini” (“Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord”). He might have been referring here to Robert Schumann, whom he had often addressed as “Dominus” (in the sense of “Master”). Likewise, in December 1856 Brahms wrote a letter to Clara Schumann in which he wrote of this movement, “I am also painting a lovely portrait of you.” One way or the other, this leisurely, beautiful music had close personal associations for the composer. 

One the best performances of this concerto is by Clifford Curzon with the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by George Szell, in 1962; you may find it here. However, as it is available only in audio format, I would also suggest the following passionate performance by Hélène Grimaud with the Southwest German Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Michael Gielen, in 2005 (the Adagio starts at 24:05):

Hélène Grimaud has actually commented on the concerto in the most insightful of ways in the documentary Living With Wolves, which was directed by Reiner E. Moritz in 2002 (50:22):

 

For me, Brahms' First Concerto is a [...] vital piece, it's a piece I need to survive, and there aren't very many of those, perhaps two or three. It was written fairly early in Brahms' life, and [...] for me it's a testament, it's a requiem. It has a density, and a gravity of expression, that I find very moving, and one of the things I love the most about it is [...] this raw power.

I always think of Schumann, because when Brahms wrote it, it was after Schumann's first suicide attempt, and when I hear the orchestral introduction, which is of course fairly long, it's a piece where I see, I see my life unrolling, you know, as the music goes, [...] it's a very, very personal experience for me.

 

Johannes Brahms in 1894 [Last.fm]