Brahms and Strauss: Julian Rachlin (violin), Royal Philharmonic Orchestra; Daniele Gatti (conductor). Royal Festival Hall, London 23.5.2008 (JPr)


Brahms ‘Tragic’ Overture, Op. 81, is the dramatic counterpart to the jollier ‘Academic Festival’ Overture, Op.80. It uses a larger orchestra than any of the four symphonies, utilizing both piccolo and tuba, but eschewing the percussion of the ‘Academic Festival’. It starts with two hammer-like opening chords,  possibly Mahler-like ‘blows of fate’ with a complex first subject to follow. There is a transition passage with a series of descending wind figures that are a bit like the opening of Mahler's First Symphony and these are actually derived from the two opening chords. It is this passage that introduces both piccolo and tuba. The secondary theme is a plaintive melody on the violins after which the ‘tragic’ mood returns for a dramatic closing section. Later there is a slow march and the music will eventually become chorale-like. Hammer blows return again, introducing the coda and trumpet and horn fanfares seem to signal the end, yet just as it seems it is all going to end with a crashing chord, the work suddenly tapers down to quiet string tremolos and tThe woodwind hint at the main theme before the real doom-laden closing flourish. I am sure the orchestral forces that Daniele Gatti was vigorously conducting, were bigger than in Brahms’s day and so would have given the work even more gravitas than the composer himself intended. Nevertheless, this  was a clean and extremely detailed account.

Joseph Joachim and Johannes Brahms met first in May 1853 when they were both in their twenties,  and became firm friends. Joachim was already a celebrated violinist but Brahms, not yet  the famous composer he would become, was still unknown. It was to be expected that before long Brahms would offer to write Joachim a concerto. It was sketched during a summer holiday at Pörtschach in 1878; across the lake was the country house where Alban Berg would write his own violin concerto some sixty years later. The Brahms Violin Concerto in D major, Op.77 is a classical one; in the first movement, the composer writes a double exposition, one that is for the orchestra alone and a second led by the violin. This movement is on a grand scale, with a wealth of melodic material and near the end, the orchestra is reined in so that the soloist gets his opportunity to actually improvise a cadenza. (The one that Joachim eventually wrote down is the one most performed today however.)  The Adagio opens with one of Brahms’s finest melodies (here from John Anderson’s oboe) and the soloist produces delicate wisps of sound. The finale to the work is surprisingly jolly considering who the composer is and full of good-humour and wit. The spirit is undoubtedly that of the gypsy violinist, an intentional homage to Joachim's Hungarian heritage. The final march, with trumpets and drums, rises to a climax (which despite Brahms’s hatred of Wagner is actually very Wagnerian) and then the concerto seems to peter out exhaustedly with an air of resignation.

The violin soloist here was Julian Rachlin who was born in Lithuania but whose adopted home is Austria. Formally dressed,  he looked very Austrian and could have smiled a bit more. He seemed more to be playing for himself, for Gatti and sections of the orchestra than attempting to communicate his performance to the audience: though this is just his style? He also stamped his foot like Kennedy but no two violinists could be more dissimilar. His delicate fingering allowed the double and triple-stops to be cleanly executed throughout and his tone sweetly cloyed like a gypsy violinist. I did not warm to the performance however masterly it may have been technically, and certainly I was not keen on his appearing to want to conduct the orchestra at times. For his part, Gatti listened with folded arms in rapt contemplation to Rachlin’s virtuosic rendition of the Joachim cadenza and was very supportive in this partnership, drawing a performance of great finesse from his orchestra throughout the whole concerto.

Strauss’s ‘Also sprach Zarathustra’ is over-familiar because of the opening section that was used as the main theme to 2001: A Space Odyssey and which depicts a sunrise. The rest of the work encompasses a wide range of varying moods. The tone poem is of course,  based on a philosophical poem by Nietzsche inspired by an ancient prophet called Zarathustra (or Zoroaster to the Greeks). Poetry is used to describe the life and the preachings of this prophet, including the philosophy of the ‘Superman’ into which the author proposed that  Man ultimately would ulimately evolve :Nietzsche’s epic would later stimulate Mahler to compose his Third Symphony.

The music is not philosophical however  and Strauss simply uses some of the chapter headings, teachings and storylines as a starting point. In addition to the sunrise ‘Introduction’, the score's sections include ‘Of the Inhabitants of the Unseen World’, ‘Of the Great Longing’, ‘Of Joys and Passions’, ‘The Song of the Grave’, ‘Of Science and Learning’, ‘The Convalescent’ ‘The Dance-Song’, and ‘Song of the Night Wanderer’ all corresponding to Nietzsche’s chapters. Strauss weaves a number of short motifs through these sections, the main one being that rising C-G-C motto which starts the whole work. After this sunrise,  the front desks of four violins, two cellos and two violas played for Gatti with an almost a chamber-like quality. Later,  Strauss uses a fugue for the scetion called  ‘Of Science and Learning’ based on a theme which also starts with C-G-C, proceeds with the three notes of a B minor chord and then includes all the 12 tones of the scale. The theme itself initially seems ploddingly slow and a bit dull but it develops into some of the most highly charged and powerful music Strauss ever composed. ‘The Dance Song’ seems initially to be almost frivolous in contrast, since it is based on a Viennese Waltz such as those composed by the 'other'  Straus. Gatti's waltzing on the podium to Tamás András’s lilting violin, all helped to propel the musical narrative forward to the  further powerful climax which introduces the ‘Song of the Night Wanderer’. Here 12 bells gradually lead the work towards its close - which is unresolved  - and seemingly to aa pulse that is forever slowing in the plucked strings.

I am pleased that I have persevered with going to hear ‘Also sprach Zarathustra’ as there are many moments to savour.  While it is undoubtedly a work that is more pretentious than it is complex, that  does not make a performance like this one with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra under Daniele Gatti’s cajoling baton,  any less satisfying.

 Jim Pritchard


Back to Top                                                    Cumulative Index Page