The Bruch G Minor was the first major Romantic concerto I learned, at the age of eight, after studying various Baroque and Classical concertos and standards of the student repertoire. It was such a pleasure to go to the public library and borrow LP recordings of great artists. I loved listening to their vibrato, legato, and phrasing (I remember being particularly taken with Anne-Sophie Mutter’s sound). I had an incredible opportunity, at the age of 11, to perform the last movement of the Bruch violin concerto with the Chicago Symphony for eight youth concerts. Performing pairs of concerts four times over the course of a few months really deepened my understanding of the piece and taught me a lot about life as a concert artist. I also got to know many of the members of the CSO, a number of whom became mentors and lifelong friends.
The Bruch is never far from my fingers. It is a standard when testing violins. The opening cadenza is great for assessing an instrument’s voice across all four strings, while the “sul G” melody in the last movement is perfect for highlighting the lowest string.
I also frequently use the Bruch for demonstrations and educational outreach. The opening cadenza is perfect for showing how the endless options for spontaneous choices of rubato (with no backbeat) is one way in which classical musicians improvise, even if we’re not adding any notes. I start by playing the rhythms on the page exactly as written and then play it again three or four times with different schemes of dynamics and flow. It also contains some great short excerpts for demonstrating how the violin can communicate emotions. For example, the rhythmic minor-key section of the first movement conveys a forceful and stern quality (“angry!” is the kids’ most frequent description) and the soloist’s first entrance in the last movement demonstrates a more positive expression (“triumphant!”). In fact, I include the entire second movement in my symphonic rock/classical outreach program because its epic sweep fits well with the drama and power familiar to and appreciated by fans of rock music.
Max Bruch began his Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 26, in the summer of 1864. After conducting an early version with Otto von Königslow, consulting with Joseph Joachim and Ferdinand David, and rewriting it at least half a dozen times, he finished it in October 1867. Joachim gave the premiere in January 1868. Nearly four decades later, Joachim described the high esteem to which the concerto had risen with these words: “The Germans have four violin concertos. The greatest, most uncompromising, is Beethoven’s. The one by Brahms vies with it in seriousness. The richest, the most seductive was written by Max Bruch. But the most inward, the heart’s jewel, is Mendelssohn’s.”
Bruch follows Mendelssohn’s idea of connecting the first and second movements, but his proportions are quite different. The first movement is almost an extended introduction. Originally titled Introduzione-Fantasia, he eventually changed it to Vorspiel (Prelude). The form of this movement is unusually free: two brief solo cadenzas are followed by a solo section over a dotted rhythm in the orchestra. After a lyrical section in major key, the section with the dotted rhythm is reiterated. The first substantial orchestral tutti follows, and finally two more brief solo cadenzas lead into the bridge to the second movement. Bruch was concerned with his first movement’s lack of strict form, but was reassured by the conservative Joachim. Interestingly, Joachim was never able to accept the similarly free-flowing first movement of Dvorak’s violin concerto.
The second movement’s gorgeous, soaring music is the heart of the concerto. Lush melodies abound. The treatment of the secondary theme is artfully varied, returning “sul G” midway through the movement and pianissimo at the end, as though in memory of its first appearance. Orchestral interludes are marvelously crafted on both ends of the spectrum – a hushed tutti transition to G-flat major takes your breath away, and the subsequent tutti contains a climax which can only be described as cathartic.
The orchestral opening of the last movement is one of the best examples of anticipation in the violin concerto repertoire. The main theme is bold and exuberant, with the lyrical secondary theme played first melodically and then in variation by the soloist. A final stringendo rushes headlong into the brief but thrilling coda. The passing resemblance between this movement and the final movement of Brahms’s violin concerto, written a decade later, is perhaps not a coincidence.
Bruch subsequently wrote eight other works for violin and orchestra, including two more violin concertos and the Scottish Fantasy. He came to resent the popularity of his first violin concerto, feeling that it unfairly overshadowed the rest of his extensive output of orchestral, chamber, and choral music. Sadly, he hardly profited from his biggest “hit.” He had agreed to a flat fee from the publisher with no royalties. In a later attempt to profit, he placed the manuscript for sale with a pair of American sisters who left the country and from whom he never heard again.