Johannes Brahms, Sonata in F minor, op.5

Brahms felt that "to compose a long adagio is the most difficult of all." By adagio, he means "slow movement," and I think he was right. It's hard to keep a listener's gears turning with original material for more than a few minutes.

Brahms revered Beethoven — Beethoven's success in the symphony and string quartet genres made Brahms petrified at the prospect of releasing some of his own — so it's not unlikely that Brahms's observation was a direct reference to his fellow German. Any slow movement coming from Beethoven's later years was terrific (the Hammerklavier piano sonata's adagio [performances of which push the 20-minute mark] and the cavatina from the op. 130 string quartet are good examples; bring a sword if you plan to disparage them to a critic).

Brahms's third piano sonata was completed when he was 20 years old — pre-beard. The sonata is unique for its five movements. Four is the conventional maximum, and I guess one could argue that it is a conventional, early-Romantic sonata, with a strange little piece squeezed in between the quick scherzo and the finale.

The andante espressivo I've recorded is really the center of the sonata. Performance times can flirt with 15 minutes. I think mine's around 12. In any case, it doesn't seem that long, which I guess is the beauty of it. Alfred Brendel, with characteristic eloquence, described the movement as a musical orgasm (is that why it doesn't seem so long? [I'm sorry, that was too easy, but still very bad]).

Brahms was a staunch believer in music for the sake of music — called "absolute music" — that is to say, the idea that music shouldn't necessarily tell a story or do anything that ties it down to anything as vulgar as language. There was practically a war between he and Wagner on this principle alone — you were either a Brahmsian or a Wagnerite (or you didn't care). So what's notable about the andante espressivo is the epigraph he affixed to the top of the manuscript:

Der Abend dämmert, das Mondlicht scheint,
Da sind zwei Herzen in Liebe vereint
Und halten sich selig umfagen.

Unfortunately, the German makes that C.O. Sternau stanza all but unreadable. So here it is in English:

Twilight falls, the moonlight shines,
Two hearts are united in love,
And keep themselves in bliss enclosed.

Notice a pattern? Whatever else the two hearts are doing, they have a dialogue around the 2:40 mark. Also note the short-short-short-long motif at around 8:13. It's sprinkled throughout the entire sonata, and is thought to be an homage to Beethoven (imitation is flattery, right?).

I played the whole sonata for my senior recital at N.Y.U., and hope to get the other movements up eventually as well. Sorry in advance for wrong notes; this baby's too long to re-record.


Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)
Piano Sonata No. 3 in F minor, Op. 5
Composed 1853

II. Andante espressivo

mp3 | score | note on recordings

Ludwig van Beethoven, Sonatas

Here are Beethoven's two most widely known slow movements — the Adagio Cantabile from the Sonata "Pathétique," op. 13, and the Adagio Sostenuto from the "Moonlight" Sonata, op. 27 no. 2.

For as often as they're played, these movements are nice to return to from time to time because they're wonderful exercises in contrapuntal voicing (more on that later) and, surely no less important, because the melodies are unforgettable.

By "voicing," musicians usually mean emphasizing one note (voice) over the others. Often that happens to be the top voice — the highest note — as if a vocalist were singing over accompaniment. Cantabile means "singing," so there you go.

Those of you who are familiar with the sonatas may raise an eyebrow at a few liberties I've taken in my interpretations. Thankfully, most of you aren't, so you won't notice. Suffice it to say that the great pianist Josef Hofmann made a convincing case for indulging little artistic conceptions that came to him during that particular performance, conflicts with the composers' explicit instructions notwithstanding. His view was pretty much, as long as it isn't capricious and ridiculous, knock yourself out. So, not one to ignore anyone named Hoffmann, I did.

I studied the Pathétique sonata in high school, and haven't formally studied the Moonlight. In any case, I hope to have the other movements of each recorded soon. It's really strange to post individual movements of sonatas; I only did it here because these are so famous. Go.

Finally, at the beginning of each track you will hear a faint resonance from a high note. The software cuts out the first few milliseconds of the signal it receives from the piano. I don't know why. To get around it, I play a high note, which starts the recording process; then I wait for the note to die and start playing. Crucially, I then edit out the annoying, irrelevant note at the beginning. Laziness prevents this last step from being taken in these cases. Try to deal.


Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

Sonata No. 8 in C minor, Op. 13 ("Pathétique")
II. Adagio cantabile
mp3 | score

Sonata quasi una fantasia* No. 14 in C-sharp minor, Op. 27 No. 2 ("Moonlight")
I. Adagio sostenuto
mp3 | score


* The subtitle quasi una fantasia was, unlike the moniker "Moonlight," actually added by the composer. It refers to the unconventional structure of the sonata — the slow movement is placed first. Usually the first movement is a quick tempo, the second movement is slow, and the third quicker than the first (with a minuet or scherzo sometimes shoehorned in between the first and second or second and third movements). Fantasia is a catch-all for anything that doesn't fit into a common mold. Needless to say, it explains my middle name.

Blame Legal Writing

Ludwig van Beethoven, Bagatelles, Op. 119

The importance of Beethoven's last three piano sonatas, Opp. 109-111, seemingly can't be overstated. There's this romantic, transcendent halo about them, which is unfortunate from the stance of an amateur music critic, because that means every performance of them is awful. Even professional critics on occasion fall into the trap of saying that a pianist lacks "feeling" in her playing, without bothering to elaborate. To my mind, saying that a pianist lacks feeling may as well mean that the critic doesn't like the pianist's face, or the country he came from. It's utterly meaningless.

Don't get me wrong. Convincingly playing these works beyond simple(!) technical prowess is no easy task. And there's nothing quite like closing your eyes and really being wowed by one of the greats. (Try the slow movement of the Op. 110.) But after four years with a conservatory, I would submit that the three late sonatas need to be more accessible, and played less often by conservatory soldiers.

Despite the myth that Beethoven was composing his last three sonatas as a grey old miser on his deathbed, there were quite a few solo piano works still in the offing. The most significant of these was certainly the epic Diabelli Variations, Op. 120, but there were also two sets of Bagatelles, Opp. 119 & 126. Beethoven's Bagatelles are short, sweet, and were probably composed as a quick cash infusion. He expressly indicated that the pieces aren't meant to be related as a "suite" per se. So, I consider myself justified in shamelessly ripping seven from the Op. 119 set, in no particular order.

Maybe I shouldn't bore you with production details, but at least it might shed a little light on my selection process. No. 11 is the result of about 20 takes; No.7, of probably somewhere near 30. That doesn't mean I recorded them the whole way through all of those times, but still. This is why I'm shying inconspicuously from larger works. Because I may perish in my rage (but a cool, Beethoven-y rage).

Of the 11 in the Op. 119 set, Nos. 10 and 11 would probably be my favorites. Not often do you get to plunk something down that lasts all of 13 seconds, as No. 10 does. And the lyrical No. 11 was the inspiration for Max Reger's imaginative Variations on a Theme of Beethoven, which was arranged both for two pianos and for orchestra.

If you really want to hear death in music form, hunt down Beethoven's late string quartets. Start with the Heiliger Dankgesang of Op. 132, and then there's always Op. 135, the last work he completed.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Bagatelles, Op. 119
Composed 1820-22

I. Allegretto (G minor)

II. Andante con moto (C major)

V. Risoluto (C minor)

VII. * * * (C major)

IX. Vivace moderato (A minor)

X. Allegramente (A major)

XI. Andante ma non troppo (B-flat major)


mp3 (zip) | note on recordings | sheet music

Mac and Windows each have an unzipper tool built in. If it doesn't work for you, let me know.

Johannes Brahms, Waltzes, Op. 39

Two quick waltzes from Brahms's opus 39, first published around 1865. Please ignore Wikipedia's editorializing. I'm the editorialist around here.

I know of three arrangements of this set — the original, a simplified version, and an arrangement for piano duo. Maybe there are more. Brahms arranged a large number of his works for two pianos* or piano duet, probably because he had many musical friends, or because he needed money (duet arrangements were hot sellers), or both. I went with the original.

In any case, this set of 16 waltzes doesn't see much light, except when the A-flat major warhorse serves its perennial purpose as an encore (and, sometimes concurrently, a lullaby). I chose the G-sharp minor to accompany it because it's a closely related key signature (G-sharp = A-flat) and because I like the transition right before the first repeat.

You'll recognize number 15 from pretty much everywhere.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)
Waltzes, Op. 39
Composed 1864-5

III. G-sharp minor
XV. A-flat major

mp3 | note on recordings | sheet music

* Brahms's most successful ventures in this arena, I think, are the Haydn Variations, originally for full orchestra, and the F minor sonata, which began life as a string quintet and eventually became the great Piano Quintet.

About my recordings

For Christmas, Mom and Dad got me a Yamaha P-140 digital piano to keep me busy while I'm holed up in my apartment. It's early February, and I've used it easily every day. The Jacobs School is very accommodating of intruders such as myself, but it's not easy to block out time to head over to the practice rooms. So, here we are. The Yamaha has a remarkably authentic grand piano touch, so it's hard to say I miss the grand piano that much.

That takes care of touch, which, really, only I care about. You needn't, unless for some reason it's important to you that I'm happy. The realistic grand piano sound is the work product of some tireless Germans (what isn't?). Akoustik Piano is a software package put out by Native Instruments, which consists of thousands of clips, called samples, of real pianos, miked in all kinds of combinations of arrangements (lid open, lid closed, lid short-sticked, close up, far away, hitting the notes softly, hitting them loudly, etc.). They even tack on the faint sound the keyboard action makes when a key is pressed and depressed, and when the damper pedal is raised and lowered.

When I connect the digital piano to a computer running the software with a MIDI interface, I hear a nine-foot Steinway concert grand, without $100,000 of debt. Really, the final product is akin to cutting and pasting each note and stringing them together.

After recording, the software exports my playing to a WAV file. My personal preference is to compress these to MP3 format, which sound just as good in a substantially smaller size. I keep the WAVs anyway in case I may need to speed them up to impress someone, or perhaps transpose a piece to a different key for a really fun Friday night.

If the download doesn't work, let me know and I'll send you a copy. Also, if you hear any instrument other than a piano, it's not me, and you should probably give it back.

Robert Schumann, Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6

I can't admit to knowing much about the Schumann's Davidsbündlertänze (literally, "Dances of the Davidsbündler," however much that helps), other than they're a set of 18 miniature pieces Bobby composed early on. Some say that his solo piano output early in his career, which was probably when he was most piano-focused, is his strongest work. I don't know. It's all good.

Four years before these pieces were composed, Schumann finished his brilliant Toccata (YouTube), which is that rare combination of incredibly difficult and musically awesome. So we can be sure that by 1837, when he was 27, Bob was on a roll.

I decided to record seven of the pieces. I haven't played or studied them seriously; they're short, pretty approachable, and take less time to record than, well, longer things.

There are two versions of the Davidsbündlertänze. In the first version, Schumann labeled each piece with the character each represented: Florestan was the passionate, fiery, crazy guy, and Eusebius was the romantic, soft one. The whole thing strikes me as a little over the top — Brahms would've agreed, and perhaps Schumann did too, as these indications are absent from the second version. For kicks, I've marked the pieces I've recorded with "F." or "E.", as the composer did in the manuscript copy. If this interests you, indulge in the Wikipedia link above. Take that information with a grain of salt, though, because some things in the article are plain false. The suite doesn't end with "12 low C's." I count three.


Robert Schumann (1810-1856)
Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6
Composed 1837

II. Con intimo sentimento (B minor) — E. — mp3

IV. Con impazienza (B minor) — F. — mp3

VIII. Con freschezza (C minor) — F. — mp3

X. Alla ballata; Molto vivo (D minor) — F. — mp3

XI. Semplice (D major) – E. — mp3

XIV. Dolce e cantando (E-flat major) — E. — mp3

XVIII. Non presto (C major) — E.* — mp3


* Over the 18th and last piece Schumann wrote: "Quite redundantly Eusebius added the following; but great happiness shone in his eyes the while."

A free PDF of the score (second ed., probably published by Breitkopf & Härtel) can be found here — click "Complete score of all pieces."