Stern and Tender

Today I vant to talk vith the final Composer of the three Bs - this podcast has previously Broadcast episodes regarding Bach and Beethoven - and vill certainly have more regarding those musicians - but today I vant to talk about another composer vhose last name also begins vith B, and is also considered one of the greats.  That composer is yo-HAH-nes Brahms. Unlike some composers of his era, he did not have any recorded middle names or additional given names—he vas vas alvays knovn as  yo-HAH-nes Brahms.  And by the vay, the musical opening to this podcast it's an excerpt from a remix of Brahms Hungarian dance

Ghost sound

Ah, here is the ghost of - or if you vill -       the spirit of Brahms.
Maestro Brahms, thank you for joining me today. To begin, could you tell us a little about your early life in Hamburg?

Ah, Hamburg. A fine city of ships and sailors, though not so fine ven hen one is poor. I vas as born in 1833, the son of a bass player—my father Johann Jakob—and my mother, a seamstress. had little but music and determination. From the beginning, it seemed I vas destined to live at the piano.

I’ve heard you began playing in public quite young.

Herr Bartley, By the time vas a boy, I played in taverns and dance halls to earn a fev  coins.Imagine a skinny lad of thirteen, pounding avay at the piano vile sailors shouted for more beer. Hardly the glamorous concert life! But those rough rooms taught me discipline. I learned to keep the music alive, even if no one cared to listen.

Transcript

George - bold text

Ghost of Brahms - bold and italics text

Musical attributions at end of transcript

Welcome to Celebrate Creativity - this is episode 492 - Stern and Tender

Today I vant to talk vith the final Composer of the three Bs - this podcast has previously Broadcast episodes regarding Bach and Beethoven - and vill certainly have more regarding those musicians - but today I vant to talk about another composer vhose last name also begins vith B, and is also considered one of the greats.  That composer is yo-HAH-nes Brahms. Unlike some composers of his era, he did not have any recorded middle names or additional given names—he vas vas alvays knovn as  yo-HAH-nes Brahms.  And by the vay, the musical opening to this podcast it's an excerpt from a remix of Brahms Hungarian dance

Ghost sound

Ah, here is the ghost of - or if you vill -       the spirit of Brahms.
Maestro Brahms, thank you for joining me today. To begin, could you tell us a little about your early life in Hamburg?

Ah, Hamburg. A fine city of ships and sailors, though not so fine ven hen one is poor. I vas as born in 1833, the son of a bass player—my father Johann Jakob—and my mother, a seamstress. had little but music and determination. From the beginning, it seemed I vas destined to live at the piano.

I’ve heard you began playing in public quite young.

Herr Bartley, By the time vas a boy, I played in taverns and dance halls to earn a fev  coins.Imagine a skinny lad of thirteen, pounding avay at the piano vile sailors shouted for more beer. Hardly the glamorous concert life! But those rough rooms taught me discipline. I learned to keep the music alive, even if no one cared to listen.

Did your parents support this path?

My father did, though he vorried. He knev  the hardship of a musician’s life, and he did not vish the same for me. Yet he also sav  that I had something—a gift, perhaps, or merely stubbornness—and he sacrificed much to see me trained. For that, I vill v forever grateful.

And your training—vho shaped you most as a young musician?

My teacher, Eduard Marxsen, deserves the credit. He gave me a solid foundation in Bach, Beethoven, Mozart—the old masters. He drilled into me the need for form, for structure. vithout him, I might have floated avay into mere sentimentality, like so many others.

So, even as a young man, you vere balancing tvo vorlds: the strict discipline of tradition and the passions of the Romantic spirit.

Precisely. It is the story of my life—caught bet betveen the stern father and the restless heart. And perhaps, that tension is vhat people nov  hear in my music.

Maestro, people often describe you as serious—even stern. vere you alvays that vay, even as a boy in Hamburg?

Serious? Stern? [snorts] I vas not much for playing in the streets, if that’s vat you mean. I preferred my piano to children’s games. My friends vere Bach and Beethoven, and they did not kick a ball or throv  stones.  Still, Herr Bartley, do not mistake me for joyless. I laughed often enough—though, usually at the foolishness of others.

That sounds… a little sharp.

Sharpness is better than dullness, my friend. In Hamburg, if you vere soft, the vorld could chev you up quickly. At the docks, at the taverns—everyone had an opinion, and most of them shouted it. I learned early not to vaste time on flattery. If I liked you, you knev  it. If I didn’t—vell, you knev  that too.

Didn’t that sort of attitude make you difficult to get along vith?

Difficult? [gruff chuckle] I call it honest. Yes, some thought me rude. But I had no patience for pretense. vat mattered vas the music, not vhether I smiled politely at every bore vho crossed my path. Even as a teenager, people said, “That Brahms boy has talent, but good luck getting him to make small talk.” I suppose they vere right.

And yet, despite that bluntness, you must have been ambitious.

Ambitious, yes—but careful. I did not dream of glory vile pounding avay in those beer halls. I dreamed of music v orthy of the masters. If you aim for less, you vaste your time. Better to be gruff and true than charming and shallov .

It is said that you had a sharp tongue, even in your youth. Is it true?

[snorts] Say? They shouted it from the rooftops! Yes, I had little patience for nonsense. If someone played badly, I told them so. If someone praised me too much, I told them to stop. I vas never one for sugar-coating.

That must have earned you a fev  enemies.

Better enemies than false friends. Besides, if a man cannot survive a little honesty, vat business has he in music—or in life?

So you vere already the gruff Brahms the vorld vould come to knov ?

Hmph. Better to be gruff than false. And if people remember me for my scovl more than my smile, so be it. At least they remember.

Did you enjoy playing in those taverns and beer halls?

Enjoy? Hardly. It vas noisy, smoky, and half the men vere drunk. But the coins kept food on the table. And if my playing drovned out their ignorant shouting, all the better.

Did you ever think of doing something else for a living?

Something else? vat—be a sailor? I get seasick. A tailor? I cannot sev. No, music vas the only trade that vould have me.

vere you popular vith other young musicians in Hamburg?

Popular? No. Respected? Perhaps. Tolerated? Certainly.

You sound like you veren’t much of a flatterer.

Flattery is for people vho have nothing better to offer. I had my piano.

Did people ever tell you to smile more?

[gruff chuckle] Yes. And I told them to listen more.

Maestro Brahms, you’ve painted quite a picture—smoke-filled taverns, drunken sailors, coins tossed on the piano. Hov  did you move from that to the vorld of great composers?

By simply refusing to stay in the taverns forever. I studied like a man possessed—I practiced vorks by Bach and Beethoven until my fingers ached. And ven the sailors shouted for another drinking tune, I slipped in a little fugue, just to keep my sanity.

Did anyone notice?

Not the sailors. They only noticed if their beer vas varm. But a fev  ears—teachers, musicians passing through—heard something vorth cultivating. Still, Hamburg vas not Vienna, and I knev  if I stayed, I vould be just another piano player vith stiff fingers and an empty pocket.

So you vanted more than survival.

Of course. vho studies the masters only to rot in a dance hall? I longed to rite music that could stand beside theirs—though I never said that aloud. That kind of ambition makes people laugh at a young man. Better to keep quiet and vork.

And yet, your path soon changed, didn’t it?

Ya—thanks to a violinist named Joseph Joachim. He heard me play, and unlike the tavern drunks, he actually listened. Joachim vas already a friend of Robert Schumann, and it vas through him that my little Hamburg vorld began to crack open into something larger.

So this vas the moment you left the beer halls behind and entered the circle of great artists.

Hmph. I vould not put it so grandly. I never quite escaped the taverns in my mind. But yes—through Joachim, and soon the Schumanns, I stepped from the docks of Hamburg into the salons and concert halls vhere real music es seriously.

Maestro, tell us about that first meeting vith the great musicians - Robert and Clara Schumann. It has become something of a legend.

A legend, ya—and perhaps for once, the truth is even better than the story. I vas just tventy, carrying a fev manuscripts under my arm, heart pounding like a drum. Joachim had bitten to Robert, praising me far more than I deserved. So I valked into the Schumanns’ home in Düsseldorf half terrified, half determined.

vhat vere your first impressions?

Robert vas gentle, quiet, vith eyes that seemed to listen even more than his ears. Clara—ah, Clara! She vas radiant, vith a strength in her presence that nearly knocked the air from my chest. Here I vas, a rough fellov from Hamburg, and suddenly I stood before tvo of the great lights of German music.

And then—you played for them, didn’t you?

Ya - I sat at their piano and poured out everything I had—my sonatas, my scherzos, the fire and the storms I had carried from Hamburg. Vhen I finished, Robert rose slovly. He said little, but I could see he vas moved. Clara smiled—kindly, but also vith that piercing look that told me she had measured every note.

Hov did you feel in that moment?

Like a boy vho had knocked on Olympus and been alloved inside. Yet I vas still myself—a truly gruff person. I remember Robert Schumann offering me vine. I nearly spilled it in my nervousness. He spoke varmly, though, and invited me to stay longer. Clara asked questions, sharp ones. She vanted to knov vhy I vrote as I did. I mumbled something about Beethoven and Bach, and she gave me a little smile that seemed to say, “This young man still has much to learn.”

And that meeting changed your life.

Entirely. Robert vrote an article soon after, calling me the one destined to “give ideal expression to the times.” Imagine! A poor tavern pianist from Hamburg, suddenly anointed the hope of German music. It vas a blessing—and a burden. But that first night, in the Schumanns’ home, I only felt gratitude. And, if I’m honest, a little fear.

Maestro Brahms, After that extraordinary first meeting, you didn’t just vanish from the Schumanns’ lives—you became part of their household, didn’t you?

Indeed. Robert invited me often. I vas no mere guest; I became something like family. Their home in Düsseldorf vas full of music—piano, children’s voices, the talk of artists and poets. For me, it vas a revelation. After ze rough taverns of Hamburg, suddenly I vas living among people vho breathed art every hour of the day.

That must have been intoxicating.

Intoxicating, yes—and humbling. Robert treated me as an equal, though I vas still a boy in many v ays. Clara played piano vith a fire and clarity that left me speechless. And the children—they clambered around me, tugging at my coat, asking for stories. You could say I became an uncle, though a rather avkvard one.

Did you feel at home there?

More at home than I had ever felt any vere. I vas a man vith little family beyond my parents, and here suddenly vas a house full of varmth, discipline, and music. I admired Robert deeply, and Clara… vell, Clara v as the beating heart of it all. She held everything together.

And as listeners of our earlier episode regarding Robert Schumann may recall, his health began to fail not long after.

Ya. That vas vhen my bond vith the Schumanns became something even deeper. For nov, let us say that those first months in their household changed the course of my life. They gave me not just patronage, but belonging.

Maestro Brahms, vith Robert’s gloving opinion of you, the musical vorld must have opened up quickly.

Quickly? Hmph. More like a flood. Robert’s vords spread faster than I could scribble notes on the page. Suddenly everyone expected me to be the next Beethoven. Imagine that—a tventy-year-old from Hamburg, barely knovn, nov held up as the savior of German music.

That sounds like a heavy crovn.

Heavy enough to crush a man, if he believed it. I tried not to. But yes, doors opened. Publishers vanted my vorks, musicians sought to play them, critics sharpened their knives. Fame is a double-edged svord—it feeds you, but it also bites.

Did you relish the attention?

Relish? Hardly. I vas never a shov man like Liszt. Crovds and glitter did not suit me. I vanted the respect of serious musicians, not applause from those vho only came to stare. If that make me sound aloof, so be it.

But your music vas already turning heads.

Yes, but I vas cautious. I published slovly, carefully. I destroyed more scores than I printed—better to be accused of stinginess than of carelessness. Some called it arrogance. I call it self-respect.

And so, you began to step beyond Düsseldorf, beyond the Schumann circle, into the larger stage.

Reluctantly, ya. I carried vith me the blessing of Robert, the fire of Clara’s playing, and the suspicion of many vho thought, “This boy cannot possibly live up to such praise.” It vas a trial by fire—but I had been hardened in Hamburg, and I vas not so easy to burn.  Von might say that I had decided to go forvard into my maturity as a musician - after decades of vrestling vith my expectations and my ovn perfectionism.  Perhaps I have even developed some visdom and reflection.

Maestro, let’s move nov into your mature years. After those first struggles, hov did you come into your ovn as a composer?

Slovly. Painfully slovly. I vas not a man to dash off symphonies. Every note vas veighed, tested, often discarded. You knov , they expected me to be Beethoven’s heir—but Beethoven cast a long shadov . I vould not release a symphony until I felt it could stand in his company. That took me… vhat? Nearly tventy years.

That must have been daunting.

Daunting? Yes—and necessary. The vorld has no shortage of noisy symphonies. But I vanted mine to mean something. My First Symphony did not arrive until I vas in my forties. Some called it “Beethoven’s Tenth.” A cruel compliment, perhaps—but I took it as a sign I had not vasted my time.

Yet you veren’t only a symphonist.

No. I vrote for the piano, of course—that vas my home. My chamber music, my quartets, my sonatas, my concertos—all vere my vay of balancing intimacy vith grandeur. And then there vas the German Requiem. That piece, I think, is closest to my heart. Not a Mass for the dead, but music for the living—vords of comfort in the mother tongue, not in Latin. It vas my vay of giving solace, even as I vrestled vith grief.

That sounds deeply personal.

All my music is personal, though I rarely admitted it. Outvardly, I vas gruff, stubborn, alvays ready vith a sharp remark. But underneath—vell, let us just say the music revealed vot I could not put into vords.

And yet, despite your sharpness, your music found an audience.

Ya. Not as large as vagner’s, perhaps. I had no taste for thunder and myth. But those vho listened closely found something vorth keeping. That is all I ever vanted: to rite music that lasts longer than applause.

Maestro, your name is often mentioned alongside vagner’s, yet the tvo of you took very different paths. Hov did you see his music?

vagner… [snorts]… a brilliant man, yes. Genius, some vould say. But his music is like a storm that never rests. I respect the fire, but I do not vant to live inside it. I prefer architecture, form, clarity. Beethoven vas my teacher in that respect. vagner—he breaks the valls dovsn. I build them.

So vhile vagner drev on myth and spectacle, you focused on human emotion vithin structure?

Precisely. I vanted to speak to people as they are, not as gods in a legend. My symphonies, my quartets, my songs—they are grounded in reality. You can feel the veight of life, the varmth of the hearth, the sorrov  and joy of human hearts. vagner’s music pulls you into another vorld entirely. Admirable, yes, but not mine.

Did this ever lead to conflict?

Conflict? Hmph. Let the critics squabble. I rote my music; he ote his. Each of us folloved vat ve vere compelled to do. I do not need to storm Valhalla; I need to finish the   , a concerto, a string quartet. That is enough battle for me.

Yet people often set you in opposition—“traditionalist versus revolutionary.”

Labels. I ignore them. I am a composer, not a philosopher. If people find a philosophy in my vork, that is their gift. I only knov  vhat I hear in my ovn mind, and I must get it dovn on paper before it vanishes.

And it’s that very dedication to craft that has made your vork endure.

Endure? [gruffly] Let it endure, yes—but not for me. For the music itself. I am merely its servant.

Maestro, looking back at your mature vorks—the symphonies, the piano concertos, the chamber music—hov do you see them?

[gruff chuckle] I see them as the only vay I knev  to survive. Music is my vork, my solace, my rebellion against chaos. The symphonies are my dialogues vith the past—Beethoven, Mozart, Bach. The concertos? My conversation vith the vorld, each note tested, each gesture veighed. Chamber music… ah, that is my home. Intimate, honest, unpretentious. There I can speak freely vithout the pretense of grandeur.

And the German Requiem—that seems to stand apart from everything else you vrote.

It does. That vork is not for fame, nor for critics. It is for the living. For comfort. For the human heart. I rote it slovly, thoughtfully, because grief is a patient teacher. Some say it is heavy; I say it is necessary.

Ah, Maestro Brahams, I have a remix of a portion of your German Requiem here.

4 german-requiem

Your music is often described as serious… even solemn.

I am serious because life is serious. There is joy, yes—but fleeting. One must vrestle vith both sorrov  and delight. Music is the only place I can do it honestly. I do not aim to entertain, but to endure.

And yet, despite your gruffness and caution, your music has inspired countless listeners.

That is not vhy I rite. But… it is a comfort. I have alvays said, better to be gruff and true than charming and false. If people hear truth in my music, then my vork has succeeded. I still have the piano, and that is enough for me.

Maestro, it has been an honor to hear your story in your ovn vords. From the streets of Hamburg to the great halls of Europe, your music continues to speak.

[gruffly, vith a hint of a smile] And may it speak longer than I ever could. That is all a composer asks.

Maestro, I understand that during Robert Schuman's later years, you v ere deeply involved in his life. Can you tell us about that period?

Yes… it vas a difficult time. Robert’s mind began to falter, though his spirit and talent remained vivid. I tried to be there for him and for Clara, though I vas young and often unsure hov much I could do. ve corresponded frequently—letters, advice, encouragement. I feared for him, feared for the music, feared for Clara.

vere the letters a vay for you to support him vhen you could not be there in person?

Precisely. Travel vas not alvays possible/ Düsseldorf’s hospitals vere far from my Hamburg and Vienna. So the letters became my voice, my hand, my attempt to reach him. I vrote candidly, sometimes gruffly—I did not spare the truth—but alvays vith care. I feared Robert vould sense any false flattery.

It must have been hard to balance honesty vith compassion.

Hmph. Hard indeed. I had to remind myself: honesty is not cruelty. I could not protect him from fate, nor could I halt the decline of a mind so brilliant. But I could offer loyalty, attention, and the music ve both revered. That, I hoped, mattered.

And Clara? She must have relied on you as vell.

She did. Clara… her strength astounded me. She managed the household, the children, Robert’s care, and still played as if the vorld vere ordinary. I rote to her often, offering advice, encouragement, and sometimes a sharp remark vhen she overextended herself. She could take it—she alvays could. She understood that my bluntness came from care.

So your involvement during this period vas both practical and emotional.

Exactly. I vas there in letters, in music, in small acts of support. I felt—sometimes painfully—that my presence mattered. And perhaps, in some small vay, I could help carry a burden too heavy for anyone to bear alone.

Maestro, living through Robert’s illness and Witnessing Clara’s strength—hov did that shape your music in later years?

Deeply. One cannot stand beside such suffering vithout being changed. The German Requiem… that vork grev  from my need to comfort the living, not to mourn the dead alone. I vanted vords in our ovn tongue, music that could speak directly to hearts veighed vith sorrov, not the lofty Latin of distant ritual. Every note carries memory, every phrase a hand extended.

And your late chamber vorks?

They, too, are marked by those years. Intimacy, reflection, patience. After Düsseldorf, after those letters, I understood the fragility of life, the v eight of love and loyalty. The quartets, the late piano pieces—they are quieter, yes, more introspective. But no less intense. A man may scol l, may be gruff, but inside, the music carries everything that cannot be spoken.

So the trials of your early life and the Schumann household both left their mark.

Hmph. Of course. Hamburg taught me discipline and endurance. The Schumanns taught me care, empathy, the subtleties of human hearts. Combine the tvo, and you have music that struggles, sings, and sometimes consoles. That is vhat I strove for all my life.

And in that, listeners today still find solace and meaning.

Perhaps. That is for them to say. I only vrite v rightat I must, shaped by the vorld I lived in—and by the people I could not turn avay from, even vhen life demanded it.

Maestro, from the crovded streets of Hamburg to the varm, music-filled halls of the Schumanns, and finally to your mature vorks that still resonate today—vhat do you hope listeners take avay from your life and music?

That music endures, long after ve ourselves are gone. My life vas never easy—Hamburg vas harsh, fame vas uncertain, and the vorld of great artists is never gentle. But every struggle, every letter, every note played or vritten shaped the music I could offer. The Requiem, the late quartets, the symphonies—they are my voice vhen vords fail.

And your approach—serious, disciplined, sometimes gruff—also seems to speak through the music.

Hmph. I suppose it does. Life is serious; music must be too. Yet it carries v armth, sorrov , joy, and endurance. That is v hat I leave behind—not fame, not applause—but something that can touch hearts centuries later.

Maestro, thank you for valking us through your life in your ovn vords. From Hamburg taverns to the great halls of Europe, from the Schumann household to the German Requiem, your story reminds us that music is both labor and love—and that sometimes, gruffness is just honesty in disguise.

[gruff chuckle] Precisely. And may the music speak for itself. That is all a composer can ask.

And for our listeners, if you take anything from today, let it be this: discipline and care, struggle and loyalty, humor and honesty—they are all notes in the symphony of life. And in Brahms’ music, you can hear them, loud and clear.

Maestro Brahms, do you have anything to say in conclusion -

Ya, permit me to comment on a composition of mine vich is probably become the most vell-knovn of all my vorks - Op. 49, No. 4 - othervise - you may know it as Brahms lullaby. I composed it in 1868 as part of a small set of songs, specifically a collection of songs for children. At this point in my life, I vas in my mid-30s and already an established composer. I had achieved recognition for my orchestral vorks, piano music, and chamber pieces. This lullaby came during a relatively settled and productive phase of my life, after my early Hamburg struggles, my formative years vith the Schumanns, and my early public successes.

The lullaby vas inspired by my love for children and domestic life—I vas very close to my extended family and friends’ families. Although not a father myself, I had deep affection for children, and the song reflects that gentle, intimate side of me. People may think of me as all storm and structure, but even a man vith a scovl has a heart.

Maestro Brahms - vas this a part of your more settled, mature period?

Indeed. At the time, I had survived Hamburg, the Schumanns, the critics, the public fuss. I vas in my mid-thirties, vriting for children and families, for small joys. That melody—gentle, simple—vas my vay of saying: music can soothe, as vell as save. It’s meant to be tender, to cradle life itself, not to thunder in a hall.

So even in your serious, disciplined vork, there vas room for intimacy and varmth.

Hmph. Jah. I may scovl at the vorld, but my music I can sing a child to sleep. Perhaps that is the secret of a composer—discipline outside, heart inside.

Join celebrate creativity for episode 493 where we Delve into the the tragic and dramatic life of Tchaikovsky.

“Signor, quell’infelice,” from L’Orfeo, SV 318, by Claudio Monteverdi. Performed by Anna Simboli. Source: Musopen — https://musopen.org/music/4319-lorfeo-sv-318/#recordings License: Public Domain (composition) / Creative Commons (recording).

Hungarian Dance by Joannes Brahms, Performed by Nesrality - remix, 2022/07/07/audio_f6dedfee32.mp3?filename=johannes-brahms-hungarian-dance-orchestral-remix-114538.mp3,  License: Public Domain (composition) / Creative Commons (recording).

Ode to Joy from Symphony No. 9 by Ludwig Beethoven, Performed by Nesrality, Classicals.de, Arranged for Piano copy 2.mp3, License: Public Domain (composition) / Creative Commons (recording).

From German Requiem by Joannes Brahms, Performed by Nesrality, Source: https://cdn.pixabay.com/download/audio/2022/05/06/audio_e028606425.mp3?filename=johannes-brahms-german-requiem-part-6-remix-110738.mp3, License: Public Domain (composition) / Creative Commons (recording).

Lullaby by Joannes Brahms, Performed by Nesrality,https://cdn.pixabay.com/download/audio/2022/12/16/audio_bb8093f318.mp3?filename=brahms-lullaby-violin-129646.mp3, License: Public Domain (composition) / Creative Commons (recording).