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Program
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Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Op. 90 (1883)
"Like a rainbow after a thunderstorm" — that's how Johannes Brahms's biographer Karl Geiringer describes the cyclical Third Symphony, in which the rising opening motif returns again and again. It was premiered in Vienna to great acclaim-perhaps more than the composer had experienced before. Brahms was his own worst enemy when it came to his craft; he was a tough critic of his creations, and once finally satisfied with what he had written, he destroyed all traces of the "journey." He threw away more than he left us. But perhaps it's not surprising: in the article "Neue Bahnen" ("New Paths") in the October 28, 1853 issue of the music journal Neue Zeitschrift für Musik Schumann had made a prophecy that probably turned out to be a mixed blessing: according to him, the barely 20-year-old Brahms was "the young blood...the One called to convey the most exalted spirit of our time in an ideal way...the One at whose cradle the Graces and heroes stood guard..." It is no wonder that Brahms waited till he was 42 before he dared to write his First Symphony. When that creative struggle had finally been won, the Second Symphony followed quickly, and in 1883 the present Third was completed. This work has often been called Brahms's most personal symphony. The notes of the opening motif, F, A-flat, F, are said to represent the German words "Frei aber froh" (free but happy) — Brahms's response to his violinist/friend/musical advisor Joseph Joachim's motto "Frei aber einsam" (free but lonely). Whether it's true or not, that musical cell is the foundation and backdrop to much of the symphony. Still, the "free but happy" explanation seems a little off the mark at times, because throughout the symphony Brahms sets up conflicts expressed in the alternation of major and minor keys — as if he felt a greater kinship to the "free but lonely" motto and to an emotional palette that paints in colors of yearning, reflection, and serene acceptance.
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Symphony No. 4 (1885)
"God forbid, it is nothing so aristocratic — I've merely put together another collection of polkas and waltzes," Johannes Brahms wrote to his friend Max Kalbeck about his Fourth Symphony, in the typically self-deprecating way he had when he was about to give birth to a masterpiece. It is Brahms's farewell to the symphonic form, whose supreme master he had become. It is nothing less than a summing up of what he had learned about composing for orchestra. This symphony did not easily find a place in the orchestral repertoire — it is austere and tragic, but also defiant. Even Brahms's loyal admirers were reluctant to praise it. But when Brahms attended a performance in Vienna in 1897 (his last appearance in public), he was accorded a tumultuous ovation. His biographer Florence May who was in the audience described the scene: "A storm of applause broke out at the end of the first movement, not to be quieted until the composer... showed himself to the audience. The demonstration was renewed after the second and third movements, and an extraordinary scene followed the conclusion of the work. The applauding, shouting house, its gaze riveted on the figure standing in the balcony, so familiar and yet in present aspect so strange, seemed unable to let him go. Tears ran down his cheeks as he stood there in shrunken form, with lined countenance, strained expression, white hair hanging lank; and through the audience there was a feeling as of a stifled sob, for each knew that they were saying farewell." At last his work had received the recognition it deserved. The composer died less than a month later. The opening two movements are fraught with tragedy, with the subsequent Scherzo providing a bit of relief (including the famous "solo" for triangle). Speaking with the deepest emotions — resignation and resolve — in this autumnal work Brahms had reached the pinnacle of his magnificent symphonic output.
Artists
Kurt Masur is well known to orchestras and audiences alike as both a distinguished conductor and a humanist. In September 2002 he became music director of the Orchestre National de France in Paris, and, in September 2008, became that ensemble's honorary music director for life. From September 2000 to 2007 he was principal conductor of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. From 1991 to 2002 he was Music Director of the New York Philharmonic, and was subsequently named Music Director Emeritus — the first New York Philharmonic music director to receive that title, and only the second (after Leonard Bernstein, who had been named Laureate Conductor) to be so recognized. The New York Philharmonic established the Kurt Masur Fund for the Orchestra, which endows a conductor debut week at the Philharmonic in his honor in perpetuity. From 1970 until 1996 Mr. Masur served as Gewandhaus Kapellmeister of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, a position of profound historic importance; upon his retirement in 1996 the Gewandhaus named him its first-ever conductor laureate. Mr. Masur is a guest conductor with the world's leading orchestras and holds the lifetime title of honorary guest conductor of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. In July 2007 he celebrated his 80th birthday in a concert at the BBC Proms in London, where he conducted the joint forces of the London Phil