Piano Quartet No. 3 in C Minor, Op. 60

I will come right out and say what I believe: we are fortunate that Brahms lived and wrote chamber music, period. Now, I do not insist that everyone agree in placing Brahms’ chamber compositions on so high a pedestal. Still, I do feel that something in these works brings a renewing energy, a sense of one’s self projected into the sonic world, complete with joy and sorrow, contentment and nostalgia, vigor and passion. Moreover, Brahms brings out the best of the particular ensemble for which he is writing - to wit, the sonatas for violin and piano, or the late works involving clarinet. He manages to infuse the grandeur of his symphonies into the intimacy and transparency of the chamber texture. Added to this are features that Brahms, in general, made his own: the principle of developing variation (whereby initial themes are parsed into component parts which then shape later themes), harmonic deftness, folksong inspiration, and the propulsive appeal of cross rhythms.
Many of these features are present in the opening paragraph of the Piano Quartet No. 3 in C Minor, Op. 60. This was the composer’s third effort in the genre, and the previous works - written in the 1850s - offer very successful pillars upon which he could build. The C-minor quartet appears to be the work of a much-older Brahms. It was completed in 1875 and premiered that November; among other luminaries in attendance, Brahms would have to endure the pressurized presence of Richard and Cosima Wagner. However, the quartet’s origins date back to the 1850s as well, at the very time Brahms had moved in with the Schumann household. Robert was soon to be committed to an asylum for suicidal delusions, and Brahms balanced filial devotion to his elder against an ardent love for Clara, Robert’s wife. Whatever tensions this inspired with the man himself, Brahms was able to channel his feelings into several remarkable compositions, including this third Piano Quartet. He made no secret of his feelings, in fact, for in communications to his publisher, Brahms all but recommended placing an illustration of the unfortunate Werther (from Goethe’s popular novel about a man locked in unrequited love) on the cover.
Solemn piano octaves signal the start of the first movement, marked Allegro non troppo. Answered by a hushed passage in the strings and then repeated a whole tone lower, the gesture calls to mind Mozart’s Fantasia in C Minor for solo piano. Here the ultimate goal is to reach the dominant chord from which Brahms can launch the intense first theme. All of its storm and strain spills over into a chromatic transition that will ultimately open space for a lyrical second theme in E-flat major. That theme, unfolding at first as a piano solo, revels in thick harmonies and subtle counterpoint; some may hear hints of Brahms’ other piano works in the same key (for instance, the late Intermezzo, Op. 117 No. 1. As one might expect, the development section of this sonata-form movement explores various key areas, some rather distant from the home key. What is more surprising, perhaps, is what Brahms does with the recapitulation. The first theme begin in C minor, though a shift to C major - introducing the pitch E natural - allows Brahms to veer off for a striking passage in E minor. By the end, this tonal departure comes back full circle to the tonic key, but the composer clearly relished a chance to depart from one of the main conventions of sonata form.
The following Scherzo burst forth with an infectious energy from the first notes. The effect can be quite startling, as the majority of four movement chamber sonatas will proceed from the opening Allegro to a slow movement. Instead, Brahms continues the minor-mode intensity generated from his first movement - as he did in other works like the Piano Concerto No. 2. Even as the music progresses between thematic ideas, at no point does the energy flag. Through the middle of the movement (not labeled but basically functioning as a “Trio” section), Brahms never truly departs from C minor. Only at the end, pounded out with vehement force, does minor shift to major. Just as in the opening Allegro, the pivotal change from the C-minor’s requisite E-flat’s to the E-natural’s of C major opens the door to a new tonal realm.
That new tonality, E major, launches the Andante movement. The juxtaposition of C minor to E major is rare, to be sure. But Brahms already presaged this in the recapitulation of the first movement; other resonances point back to his own Symphony No. 1 (begun in 1855) and forward to the Piano Concerto No. 2 of Rachmaninoff (1900) - both of which explore this striking tonal relation. In addition, one should note that this movement derives from earlier sketches for a piano quartet in the key of C-sharp minor; as the relative major of C-sharp minor, E major is hardly pushing any boundaries. Brahms apparently did not feel any revisions were in order. Again, to take some cues from his other piano works, E major was a key that motivated some of the composer’s most tender effusions.
The finale begins with two important allusions to other C-minor compositions - one referencing a theme from the Piano Trio No. 1 of Mendelssohn, the other an audible link to the “fate” rhythmic motif from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. However, these are but momentary gestures and quickly yield pride of place to a brilliant finale, fleet of foot and a fitting conclusion to the quartet as a whole. Over the entire first theme Brahms maintains running eighth notes in the piano accompaniment, which keeps the texture clear and allows the string figures to shine through more fully. This does not mean the movement lacks for intensity, for Brahms carefully explores various other devices to generate tension, including striking tonal moves, four-against-three rhythms, and sweeping gestures in the piano. And after thirty minutes, it is perhaps fitting that the final moments offer a respite, growing ever more tranquil as the final cadence nears.
(c) Jason Stell, 2023