The first seven works that Brahms published were compositions for solo piano or for voice and piano. In 1854, at the age of 21, Brahms ventured into chamber music with the publication of his first trio for piano, violin, and cello, Opus 8. It holds a unique place in the composer’s catalog.
Brahms had lifelong doubts about the quality of his work. He wrote many more pieces than he published. By the time he was 50, he had destroyed all the unpublished manuscripts from his youth that he could get hold of. Some of those works might be ranked today as masterpieces had they been allowed to survive, but they did not meet their author’s standard.
Delay rather than suppression was another strategy that Brahms employed to deal with his doubts. He was over 40 before he published a symphony or a string quartet. Had Mozart or Schubert waited until they were past their 30s to produce a symphony or a string quartet, they would have waited too long.
Brahms adopted yet a third strategy for Opus 8. Thirty-five years after releasing the piece to the public, he revised it. The word “revised” is both too weak and too strong. He refined the piece’s strong points here and there while ruthlessly deleting weaker material in wholesale lots to replace it with new music of unsurpassed power, grace, and beauty. He considered giving the revised work opus number 108 and leaving the original in the catalog, but decided to keep the original opus number for the new piece. This is the only Brahms work to exist in two versions, dubbed the “original” 1854 version and the “revised” 1889 version. A work with an early opus number was completed in the composer’s full maturity.
I heard this trio for the first time when I was 21. The powerful impression it made on me then has never worn off. I still remember the room I was in, the scent of early summer air entering through an open window. The piece seems to have the same attraction for musicians. Many of the world’s finest pianists, violinists, and cellists have presented this jewel.
While it is generally agreed that the revised version is significantly superior, the original version is nevertheless the subject of intense study by musicologists. Comparing the two versions allows insights into Brahms’s methods that are not available for other works because the composer was thorough in his destruction of notes and drafts.
The first movement begins with a melody notable for its reserved beauty. Although it sounds like the product of the mature Brahms, the tune dates from 1854. In both versions, the piano hints at the theme in a four-measure introduction. The cello adds more detail as it joins the piano in a further 16-measure anticipation before the melody is presented in its finished form. The young Brahms brought the violin in too early, something that he corrected 35 years later. The 1889 version keeps the violin silent for 20 measures, until the composer is prepared to present the melody fully formed for the first time. The delayed entry of the violin, when it articulates the melody, improves the presentation of what was already nearly perfect. The composer tightened up a few measures as the melody closes, but otherwise he left the first subject alone.
He tossed the rest of the first movement and started over. A bland second subject was deleted and replaced with material that is worthy of the first subject. A completely new development section, significantly leaner than the original, draws chiefly from the first subject to build tension that is released by the return of the original theme in a new form. A new coda provides a tender reprise of the movement’s main melodies.
Brahms barely touched the second movement, a scherzo, in the 1889 revision. His treatment of the slow third movement and the haunting fourth movement is similar to what he did with the first movement. The slow movement is in A-B-A form. Brahms retained the hymn-like outer sections, while completely replacing the middle section with a tune whose beauty rivals the opening movement’s first melody. Similarly, in the fourth movement, the first part is retained and refined, while the second subject, the central section, and the coda are almost completely deleted and replaced with better music. A few phrases from the original survive to be repurposed.
The work has been recorded so many times by gifted musicians that a listener could select one at random. Even so, I prefer certain renditions, based chiefly on three considerations.
First movement repeat. The exposition of the first movement requires some 118 measures. At the end of that section, there is a “first ending” sign telling the musicians to go back to the beginning and repeat the entire exposition until they get to the “second ending”, at which point the development section begins. Performers are divided on whether to repeat the exposition or to go straight to the second ending.
There are several reasons to take the repeat.
Presenting the abundant material of the exposition twice will aid the listener as themes bubble up in the taut development section.
The opening melody recurs in the development, the recapitulation, and the coda, but it never again appears in its original form. Before encountering the alterations, the listener appreciates the chance to place the details of this memorable tune firmly in mind.
The melodies of the first movement are so beautiful that it is worth hearing them twice for that reason alone.
There are some impressive performances that skip the repeat. I don’t include them among my favorites. I don’t think the music has been presented at its best if the musicians omit the repeat.
Energy and Pace of Play. Brahms marked the first movement of the original version “Allegro con moto”. He gives a metronome mark of 72 half-notes per minute for this movement. He doesn’t give a metronome mark for the revised version, but he marks it “Allegro con brio”. He had roughly the same pace in mind. Musicians differ on the proper speed at which the first movement of Opus 8 should be presented.
72 half notes per minute is impossibly fast. I have found only one performance that approaches that speed. It dates from 1941, the earliest recording I have heard, and features Artur Rubinstein (piano), Jascha Heifetz (violin), and Emanuel Feurmann (cello) – a trio for the ages. (I’ll mention other groups in that order: piano-violin-cello.) They skip the first ending and get through the opening movement in a blazing eight and a half minutes. Even so, that is slower than Brahms’s metronome marking, which implies that the musicians are to finish the movement in eight minutes flat (if they skip the repeat). At the speed chosen by these titans, I hear the notes but I don’t hear the music.
In 1951, Knushevitsky-D. Oistrakh-Oberon slowed things down a bit. They take the repeat and complete the first movement in 13:24. They are noticeably slower than the Rubinstein group but still remarkably fast.
A dramatic shift toward a slow tempo came the next year. In 1952, Myra Hess, Isaac Stern, and Pablo Casals give us a first movement (with repeat) that lasts nearly 16 minutes. In my opinion, the music drags at that pace. This is the slowest first movement that I have encountered.
Later performances balance the expressive potential that lies in the first movement played at a measured pace against the need to build and release tension by keeping things moving.
The most notable of these is the 1966 studio recording by Istomin-Stern-Rose (released 1967). This was the one that my host played at my first hearing. Their stately yet energetic presentation allows the music to breathe without letting go. The Istomin-Stern-Rose pace seems to have become standard, although some recent recordings – some faster, at least one considerably slower – indicate that opinion is still divided.
Ultimately, it’s less a question of pace than it is of energy. For example, Previn-Mullova-H. Schiff (1995) take 15:00 to present the first movement with repeat. Among more recent recordings, Angelich-R. Capuçon-Moreau (2019) operate at about the same pace. Those two are only slightly slower than the Istomin-Stern-Rose standard – they take 14:50 — yet to my ear both the Previn and Angelich performances convert the first movement to a lullaby. In contrast, the Gaon Trio (2017) are slightly faster than the Istomin-Stern-Rose standard. That slight difference provides the sense of forward motion that Brahms’s tempo marking – allegro con brio – seems to call for.
Balance. The piano writing is dense and complicated. Brahms intended for all of that impressive detail to be heard. But is there a danger that the piano at full volume will overwhelm the strings? The balance between the strings and the piano is delicate. As with pace and energy, musicians’ choices over the balance between strings and keyboard cover a wide range.
Maria João Pires-Augustin Dumay-Jian Wang (1996) make the case for the extroverted piano. Ms. Pires’s attitude seems to be that the customers have paid to hear the piano and she is going to make sure they get what they paid for. Alessandro Taverna-Clara-Jumi Kang-Jian Wang (again) take a similar approach, combined with a very slow pace, producing a rather ponderous rendition. Katchen-Suk-Starker (1969) produce a magnificent performance and are the best of the “piano forward” groups, in my opinion.
By contrast, Edwin Fischer can barely be heard on a 1954 “live” recording (Fischer-Schneiderhan-Mainardi). This must be due to the engineering rather than the performance.
Once again, Istomin-Stern-Rose provide a model performance. The piano is dominant when that is what the score calls for. When the strings take center stage, Istomin acts as accompanist, providing a rhythmic and harmonic base for the violin and cello to build upon.
Some Eccentrics.
I hesitate to make a critical comment about any performance of this piece. Only a small number of musicians have the ability to present this music. As with other activities requiring a standard beyond excellence, ability is not enough. Years of practice and training are needed as well as single-minded devotion, good musical taste, and the luck to find partners who are equally talented and committed. Artists who perform music of this quality make a gift to the rest of us. I am going to offer some criticisms, but always in the context of a deep appreciation for the gift that these musicians offer us.
Several recordings present problems of balance among the instruments. I mentioned that Edwin Fischer, one of the great pianists whose career just missed modern recording technology, can barely be heard on his 1947 recording. The violinist for the Wandel Trio is drowned out by her partners on YouTube. This is a “live” recording. She is a superb violinist. I attribute the imbalance to the recording rather than the performance. I detect a similar issue, less pronounced, in the fine performance by the Gaon Trio. I noticed that the violinist – Jehye Lee – has made a career in orchestras in southern Germany. I speculate that her background in the orchestra inclines her away from singing out.
Schnabel-Szigeti-Fournier (1947) present a heartfelt performance – without the first movement repeat unfortunately – but put the first movement through a series of changes of tempo that I find unsettling. Judging from the YouTube comments, no one else has been bothered by this feature.
Baschkirova-Vengerov-Pergamentchikov (1997) present a video recording of the work in what appears to be a studio, although it could be a drawing room. Maxim Vengerov is said to be the greatest living violinist. His greatness overshadows this fine performance. He performs the entire piece with eyes closed except for a moment or two when the eyelids part by a fraction of an inch for a split second. Obviously, it is up to his partners to maintain contact with him, since he is not going to maintain contact with them. The pianist has her back to Vengerov, which may explain why she seems to be less affected than is the cellist by the lack of contact with their star partner.
An eccentric recording of the original version features Hamelin-Bell-Isserlis. It is not the performance that is eccentric; it is the presentation. An elderly gentleman named Eduardo Lozowsky presents the music on his channel “La Emoción de la Música”. As the musicians perform, he inserts a picture-in-picture of himself wearing headphones and swaying to the rhythm of the music. I found that this display did not increase my enjoyment of the 1854 version of the trio.
A final eccentric recording I will mention was extremely appealing until I got to the fourth movement. The strings in the Yamamoto-Colombet-Sivkov trio are distinguished. M. Colombet is the first violin in the Ébène Quartet (Quatour Ébène if you want to be technical), known for their probing and sensitive performances. Sivkov produces a marvelous tone from his cello. Ms. Yamamoto does not appear to me to be in quite the same class as her partners, but it is the cellist who turned me away from this performance. The second theme of the fourth movement is a broad melody played in octaves in the right hand of the piano with a syncopated accompaniment by the left hand and the cello. Maestro Sivkov for some reason hears this passage as a solo for cello with piano accompaniment and produces some notably ugly sounds as he converts the notes to that purpose. It’s not a fluke – when the same theme recurs later in the movement, he does the same thing. Ms. Yamamoto doesn’t help matters by making a nasty error in the same passage. However, mistakes will happen in the course of a performance, so I don’t consider that fatal. The odd behavior of the cello in the fourth movement causes me to rate this recording “Avoid”.
Some Favorites
I subscribe to Amazon Music and to YouTube. When I developed an obsession over this piece earlier this year, I explored every recording that either of them had to offer. After an exhaustive exploration, there are four audio recordings and four video recordings that I count as favorites and would recommend to anyone interested in this piece of music. The audio recordings include (in chronological order):
Istomin Stern Rose (1967 release) – After more than fifty years, this is still my reference audio recording. The pace is to my mind perfect. Maestro Istomin is forward when he needs to be and reticent when he should be. Leonard Rose’s cello has a warm and gratifying tone. Isaac Stern does not disappoint. The measured tempo allows Stern and Rose to work magic. There are many moments when one partner is heard over the other at the beginning of a note only to change places before the tone dissolves into the next phrase. I imagine they worked at this effect for months until they got the sound they were looking for. I have encountered only one other pair that does this. Incidentally, the same group can be seen performing this work on video in a later recording (1974). Unfortunately, they do not take the first movement repeat in that performance.
Katchen-Suk-Starker (1969) – As I mentioned, I think this is perhaps the best of the “piano forward” renditions. Starker produces a lovely bright tone from his cello.
Chung-Chung-Chung (1994) – The violinist is the older sister of this family trio. The cellist is her younger sister. The pianist is their younger brother. The strings have a lovely rounded sound and the piano is appropriately reticent and extroverted in turn. This is a very warmhearted performance.
Z.E.N. Trio (2017) – Their pace is somewhat brisker than my other favorites. They combine forward movement, sweet intonation, and a deep respect for the music. Incidentally, the name of the group is an acronym of the first names of the musicians — pianist Zhang Zuo, violinist Esther Yoo and cellist Narek Hakhnazaryan.
Among video recordings, I can recommend four outstanding performances.
The first two of these were recorded in 2016. I’ll consider them as a pair because the two performances share the same violinist and cellist. Lugansky-Kavakos-G. Capuçon provide a model performance that is reminiscent of Istomin-Stern-Rose in its balance, pace, and taste. Wang-Kavakos-G. Capuçon provide a compelling alternative. The two pianists are at the top of their game. They are both fearless, in possession of limitless talent and flawless technique.
I listened to them in order on the same evening about a week ago. On that hearing, I came away with a very slight preference for Lugansky. He leans towards reticence, while there are a handful of moments in Wang’s performance where she seems a little too eager to make a point with her left hand. In addition, the strings may play infinitesimally better for Lugansky. Really, there is nothing to choose from between these two superb performances. I’ll keep paying five bucks a month to Google to reserve the opportunity to compare them again at my leisure, free from commercial interruptions.
One interesting contrast occurs at the end of the piece, on the last page of the score. When Lugansky gets to the last note, his left hand at the far end of the keyboard, his momentum nearly carries him off the bench. The deep breath that follows seems to say that he has given this performance every ounce of energy he has. There is nothing left in the tank. He looks wan and drawn when he takes his bow.
Wang has an incident of her own on the last page of the score. In any performance, her focus at the keyboard is piercing. However, she will sometimes produce a small smile during a particularly difficult passage, as if to say to the composer, “Yes, you did make that a bit tricky.” On the last page of the score in this performance, her problem is not one of technique. Instead, the page is not lying flat and is in danger of turning over. At a moment when Brahms has all ten of the pianist’s fingers busy, Ms. Wang has the presence of mind to blow a puff of breath to flatten the page. Her page turner realizes what has happened and finishes the job.
I have already mentioned the Gaon Trio (Kim-Lee-Lutzker). Their 2017 performance, recorded “live”, is very fine, full of energy and an obvious deep respect for the music. I noted that the sound of Ms. Lee’s violin tends to be overshadowed by her partners, but that quibble aside, this is a performance worth hearing. I plan to return to it.
My current favorite is a 2018 recording in performance by Rabinovich-Kenney-Herbert at something called ChamberFest Cleveland. Their tempo is brisk but tasteful. The partners are beautifully balanced and draw a full measure of the music’s emotional and intellectual power. The string players have adopted the Stern-Rose technique of changing the emphasis of a note from one instrument to the other. That little trick adds depth to the texture of the performance. Like the others I have mentioned as favorites, this threesome demonstrates musicianship that transcends virtuosity, something this music demands.
Gerry Bresslour