Johannes Brahms – The Symphonies
Chamber Orchestra of Europe; Yannick Nézet-Séguin
Deutsche Grammophon 486 6000 (deutschegrammophon.com/en/catalogue/products/brahms-the-symphonies-yannick-nezet-seguin-13508)
“I shall never write a symphony! You have no idea what it’s like, how hard it is to compose when always you hear the footsteps of that giant marching behind you,” Brahms wrote in a letter to the conductor Herman Levi in 1872, when he (Brahms) was 40 years old. So deeply had he struggled to write his first symphony, his early years spent in fear of being compared with Beethoven, that his first symphony didn’t see the light of day until 1876.
Within a decade he had completed his second, third and fourth symphonies, a sequence so revered that many declared them to be the most distinguished symphonic music since Beethoven. Hans von Bulow, who conducted the premiere of Symphony No.4, famously declared that his favourite key was E flat (signified by the letter b in German), for its three flat notes symbolised for him the “Holy Trinity” of Bach, Beethoven and now Brahms.
No such shadows pursue Yannick Nézet-Séguin as he conducts the Chamber Orchestra of Europe through his cycle of Johannes Brahms: The Symphonies. He appears unfazed despite the fact that he follows such giants as Wilhelm Furtwangler whose 1940s/1950s cycle seethes with brooding energy and an overriding sense of tragedy. Nor is he affected by Herbert von Karajan’s traditionalist cycle. He does appear to give Nikolaus Harnoncourt’s brilliant cerebral cycle on period instruments a run for its money, though.
The quality of the conducting by Nézet-Séguin, and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe’s playing on this cycle, is altogether exceptional. Nézet-Séguin takes nothing for granted in his Brahms, nor should we while listening, even if you know how Brahms “goes.” Not that he does anything wildly idiosyncratic, let alone provocatively iconoclastic, à la Glenn Gould and Leonard Bernstein. Rather, he plainly understands that every interpretation is just one possibility, and he offers us a very enticing opportunity to open our minds, especially to a familiar composer (and his works) most burdened by the weight of his great idol who bridged between the German Classical and Romantic tradition.
In the mighty rumble of timpani that opens the first movement of Symphony No.1 in C Minor Op.68 we find drama and power, followed by epic strivings, that develop into exultant triumphalism. At the end of the fourth movement we marvel at the degree of sage poetry that Nézet-Séguin imparts to Brahms’ epic achievement. This is followed by the refined, lustrous orchestral performance of Symphony No.2 in D Major Op.73. Particularly impressive are the massed cellos in their great melody in the slow movement, and the finale which develops bounding energy as it progresses.
Nézet-Séguin’s use of pivotal phrases to change the pace and emotional temperature allows him to suggest immense breadth of emotion coloured by an autumnal resignation in Symphony No.3 in F Major Op.90. Nézet-Séguin’s shepherding of the orchestra in an emotional rollercoaster of a performance of Symphony No.4 in E Minor Op.98 highlights the inner logic of Brahms’ brilliantly grave symphonic work. The performance of No.4 is evocative only of Carlos Kleiber’s version with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Nézet-Séguin certainly challenges that great master in the command of orchestral colour and electrifying dynamism in his performance. Overall we have a cycle of Brahms that is superlatively judged by Nézet-Séguin on his own terms. Bravo!
