For most listeners' purposes, Riccardo Chailly's set of Johannes Brahms' four symphonies will seem standard-issue, with respectable and uncontroversial interpretations from an esteemed conductor, and rich and resonant performances by the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra. Even in the choice of filler pieces, the set includes the three orchestral works that are usually packaged with the symphonies: the Tragic Overture, the Haydn Variations, and the Academic Festival Overture. However, this set offers welcome suprises and extra value for the purchase. Two orchestral arrangements of the Interludes, Opp. 116 and 117 for piano, are included, along with instrumental versions of a handful of Liebeslieder Waltzes and three of the orchestrated Hungarian Dances, which may be incentives to listeners who are looking for a little more. Also included are Brahms' original version of the Andante of the First Symphony and the alternate opening of the Fourth. But no one should invest in a set solely on the basis of these extras, however unusual they may be. Since first recording the cycle with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, where he offered a rather heavy-handed modern take on the symphonies, Chailly has gone back to an older, more historically informed style of playing Brahms that was familiar to conductors of the early 20th century. The music is lighter and more transparent, so in some ways, his recordings are sometimes reminiscent of classic performances by Bruno Walter, George Szell, and other revered conductors. For traditionalists, this is a fine set to own, especially if a fresh digital recording is needed.© TiVo

After two glorious albums devoted to Chopin and Liszt, Benjamin Grosvenor continues his exploration of the Romantic period by tackling the third leading faction of the genre, Robert Schumann and Johannes Brahms (who was a close friend of both the Schumann’s). The Kreisleriana, like many of Schumann’s other cycles, are a virtuosic reflection on his artistic 'doubles'; Eusebius, the melancholic dreamer, and Florestan, the feverish and passionate rake. The Three Romances Op.28 expresses Schumann's eternal and unconditional love for Clara, who saw in these pieces "the most beautiful love dialogues". In the last movement of the Sonata No. 3 Op.14, Schumann makes an elegant reference to his own Kreisleriana. Clara Wieck's Variations on a Theme of Schumann later inspired Brahms to write his own variations on the same theme. There are similarities in character to his Intermezzi at the end of the album. With his singular and unmistakable touch, Benjamin Grosvenor delivers an interpretation of unadulterated purity, with a simple and luminous audio recording that gives these great passages their deserved nobility. © Pierre Lamy/Qobuz

It doesn't take long, listening to this recording of Brahms' Ein deutsches Requiem with Otto Klemperer leading the Philharmonia Orchestra and Chorus, to understand its iconic status as one of the outstanding recordings of the work. In the opening measures of the first movement, "Selig sind, die da Leid tragen," Klemperer creates an ethereally transparent texture that blossoms throughout the movement into a mood of luminous serenity. That quality is even more pronounced in the transcendent tranquility of the fourth movement, "Wie Lieblich sind deine Wohnungen." In the second movement, "Den alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras," Klemperer cuts loose in the build up to the apocalyptic second choral statement of the theme, which has an overwhelmingly ominous power, a power that he summons again in the forceful sixth movement, "Denn wir haben keine bleibende Stadt." Klemperer handles the composers' tricky tempos shifts with complete assurance, so that they seem entirely inevitable. Throughout, Klemperer demonstrates his profound understanding of the musical and emotional richness and complexity of Brahms' masterpiece. The orchestra and chorus respond to his leadership with complete attentiveness and deliver nuanced and passionate performances. Baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau's investment in the music is evident in his warm tone, shapely phrasing, and the dramatic urgency of his performance. Soprano Elizabeth Schwartzkopf's voice did not have all the bloom and flexibility of its prime, but she brings a floating lightness to her solo, "Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit." Produced by Walter Legge and engineered by Douglas Larter, the recording was state-of- the-art when it was recorded in 1961, and the 1997 digital remastering brings it to a standard that should satisfy most listeners. The sound is transparent in the quieter moments, and round and rich in the fuller sections, and always clear and clean. This recording is a must-have for fans of Brahms' Requiem and of outstanding choral performances.© TiVo

All of the principals here were close associates of the late pianist Lars Vogt, and this Ondine release, which landed on classical best-seller charts in the autumn of 2023, is intended as a tribute to him. Vogt loved Brahms, and the main attraction is a performance of the Double Concerto in A minor for violin, cello, and orchestra, Op. 102, by Christian Tetzlaff, Tanja Tetzlaff, and the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin under the usually somewhat cerebral conductor Paavo Järvi, who turns in quite a passionate performance here. The Double Concerto is structured unlike anything else Brahms (or really anyone else) ever wrote, opening with quasi-improvisatory passages in the cello and then the violin that are reconciled and brought within a Classical structure as the movement proceeds. The Tetzlaffs, in an interview-format booklet, suggest that the opening represents the feuding Brahms and violinist Joseph Joachim, for whom the concerto was meant as a kind of peace offering. Whatever the actual case, the idea results in a performance of considerable tension. Also figuring into the biographical interpretation is the inclusion of Giovanni Battista Viotti's Violin Concerto No. 22 in A minor, which at first glance may seem an odd pairing. The work was a favorite of both Brahms and Viotti, and hints of Viotti's music seem to recur in the Brahms concerto, again as a kind of peace offering or, it has been suggested, a subconscious reference. The album ends with a warm performance by Tanja Tetzlaff of Silent Woods from Dvořák's From the Bohemian Forest, Op. 68, not directly connected to the biographical theme but full of a spirit of calm reconciliation. It is a fine conclusion to a powerful album. © James Manheim /TiVo

The press quickly recognised the perfect accord between German violinist Christian Tetzlaff and English conductor Robin Ticciati after their beautiful recording of Beethoven and Sibelius Concertos, published by Ondine in 2019. They’re back again with a stellar new album centred on two equally famous and much-recorded works: the Brahms and Berg Concertos.A rising star in the world of conducting, Robin Ticciati approaches Brahm’s famous Concerto in D major without any emphasis. He obtains velvety tones and intimate dialogues from the German Symphony Orchestra of Berlin - perfectly in phase with Christian Tetzlaff’s expressive, inventive and personal violin. Far from the interpretation standards established throughout the world by a few celebrated violinists, Tetzlaff seeks musical truth in every phrase, note and inflection, with a refined, yet perfectly natural style. The distraught song of the solo oboe that announces the violin in the 'Adagio' is particularly moving.Following this astonishing concert version, the same instrumental perfection and divine inspiration can be found in Alban Berg’s Concerto dedicated to “the memory of an angel”. This time, the piece is recorded without an audience. Ever since its premiere in 1936, this masterly work has been a classic within the violin and orchestra repertoire. Tetzlaff and Ticciati create a vision of twilight Romanticism, finding magical timbres and intense expression in this masterpiece that mixes mystery with existential questioning. At the climax of its tribute to Manon Gropius, the angel who died at the age of 18, this violin concerto quotes from a Bach chorale, soothing the morbid atmosphere that hovers over this requiem—a prelude to Berg’s own death several months later. © François Hudry/Qobuz

When I can’t be the only one who has the Pavel Haas Quartet’s magnificent Dvořák quintets collaboration with Boris Giltburg and Pavel Nikl still ringing in my ears (and indeed making repeat returns to my stereo), I equally can’t be the only one whose heart is beating faster upon first sight of this Brahms-shaped reunion for them. So, to all of you for whom the above does indeed apply, know that these readings will if anything exceed your already-high expectations. First up is the Op. 34 Piano Quintet in dark F minor, an early-career work which began life in 1862 as a string quintet with two cellos, channelling Schubert’s great C major String Quintet, but which ultimately – at the suggestion of both Clara Schumann and Joseph Joachim – needed a second look. In 1864, therefore, Brahms reworked the original to create both a sonata for two pianos and this piano quartet – drawing from Beethoven’s “Appassionata” Sonata, while also still very audibly paying homage to the Schubert Quintet, heard especially clearly at the close of the Scherzo via its final C being preceded by a dramatic D-flat. As for the Pavel Haas Quartet and Boris Giltburg, think multi-timbred, metrically fleet-footed, heart-filled playing, spanning the dynamic range, which thoroughly realises both the work’s turbulent passion and its highly symphonic feel, with the ability to switch the emotional dial in a heartbeat. Highlights include an absolute blinder of a Scherzo for the conviction of its emotional extremes, and at its most high-octane moments the rhythmic drive and spring of their attack, and the overall sound’s satisfyingly powerful, woody thwack. Then next we jump to 1890 and to the Op. 111 two-viola String Quintet in G major Brahms is said to have initially intended as his last musical work, its language thus nodding to his musical life’s influences – from Beethoven to Schubert, and from waltzing Johann Strauss to Wagner, with further colour by way of the Hungarian motifs he loved to pepper his work with. And again, it’s a rare treat to have such a sensation of unbridled freedom and singing exuberance at the music’s most impassioned climaxes as we have here. Equally affecting are the moments where the music suddenly retreats into whispers either sweetly tender or darkly tragic (head to the first movement for some beauty). There’s also the delicious rhythmic swing of their dance impetus when things get folky. Essentially, don’t hesitate. This is an album for life. © Charlotte Gardner/Qobuz

By the early 1890s, Johannes Brahms began thinking that his career was approaching its end, perhaps because of his growing awareness of his mortality, due to the deaths of several close friends. In spite of that, encouragement from Brahms' publisher Fritz Simrock and a renewed burst of creativity brought about the major works of his final years, which included chamber pieces for clarinetist Richard Mühlfeld; a collection of arrangements of German Folk Songs; the Four Serious Songs; the 11 Chorale Preludes; and the piano pieces published as the Fantasias, Op. 116, the Intermezzos, Op. 117, the Clavierstücke, Op. 118, and the Clavierstücke, Op. 119. This group of 20 keyboard pieces collectively represent the autumnal and sometimes gloomy moods that dominated Brahms' thoughts in his last decade, and have even retroactively colored the overall character his music, suggesting a nostalgic attitude in his work as a whole. Yet there is a balance between melancholy and exuberance in Brahms, and while much can be made of the sorrowful events in his life that influenced him, particularly in the Intermezzos, Op. 117 (which he considered to be lullabies for his sorrows), expressions in the late piano music are artfully conceived and perhaps less a measure of Brahms' emotional state than of his genius. Stephen Hough has recorded Brahms' piano concertos, and some of the chamber works, but this 2019 Hyperion album is his first album since 2001 devoted to Brahms' solo piano works. At this stage of his career, Hough seems to have found the right approach to these character pieces, which can be just as fiery and passionate as they are sad or sentimental. However, just as important are their structures and formal designs, which show an active and lively imagination, especially in Brahms' use of chromatic harmony and his sometimes expansive treatment of the Romantic "miniature."© TiVo

This is a rather brisk reading of Brahms' masterpiece, the most ambitious work in his output, one of the greatest compositions of its type. When I listen to this piece, I often sit numb, in awe of its profound beauty, of its emotional range and intellectual depth. I hadn't heard it for some time, so this recording occasioned a most welcome reacquaintance. Though Herreweghe's tempos often pushed the music to its limits here (except for the first section), the performance never actually sounded fast, or at least not offensively fast. In fact, it challenges my previous favorite, the Levine/RCA.Funny, but both recordings are rather opposites: Levine's is weighty and glorious, where Herreweghe's is ecstatic and animated. The former has the better soloists in Kathleen Battle and Hakan Hagegard, and the better supporting forces in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, advantages that would seem to tilt the scales in favor of the RCA. But those seeming pluses can be deceptive. In fact, I think Herreweghe may actually have a superior interpretation, perhaps hitting closer to the spirit of the Requiem as Brahms conceived it: the composer's work aims toward the human side of the issue, depicting mourning, all right, but offering consolation, instead of expressing the grimness of the Last Judgment. Try Herreweghe's positively rapturous ending of the third section, starting from around 7:00. Levine here goes slower and is convincing in his way. Both offer good opening sections (Selig sind), although here it is Herreweghe who goes slower, and to good effect.In the end, this Harmonia Mundi Brahms Requiem is thoroughly compelling and suffers from no weaknesses: if the soloists are not as good as Levine's, they're not much inferior either, and they certainly convey the requisite drama, religiosity, humanity and sorrow with total conviction. On the evidence here, I'd say Finley should be better known. Oelze's contribution isn't to be overlooked either, but she comes up short when compared with Battle. The choral and orchestral support on this Harmonia Mundi release are first-rate. The notes are informative, and full texts are provided; sound reproduction is superb. In sum, this is a major effort by all parties involved, and takes its place among the most distinguished Brahms Requiems.© TiVo

Reviews of this release by Russian pianist Arcadi Volodos, as with some of his others, are split, with a large group of favorable responses and some dissenters. It's often like this with interpretations that are brilliantly executed but fall at one end of a spectrum. In this case, you can certainly find more atmospheric and passionate readings of Brahms piano music. But among those that make you understand why the 12-tone composers loved Brahms the most, not the outer chromatic reaches of Wagner or Strauss, this one is very hard to beat. Much of the music is from the end of Brahms' career, and these pieces are famous for drawing you in with their complexities and never letting you out again. Sample the Intermezzo in B flat minor, Op. 117, No. 2, where the tune is just one of the music's parameters: harmony, register, and dynamics are all tightly controlled, even as the music has a distinctive warm-hearted sadness. In Volodos' reading, there is an uncanny quality that every single note is in its place. At just over 54 minutes, the album is short, but you won't be missing the extra minutes after the feat of concentration that listening to this music entails. In places, Volodos makes Brahms sound a bit like Mompou, the composer whose music put the pianist on the map; it sounds unusual, even odd, but let it connect with you, and it's profound. Sony's production team, working at Berlin's Teldex Studio, creates a suitably inward environment. Very highly recommended.© TiVo

This cycle of Brahms' violin sonatas presents two of the more charismatic artists on the current scene, neither of them particularly known for Brahms. It works quite a bit better than you might expect. In a way pianist Yuja Wang is the star of the show. The Brahms sonatas still carry a trace of the violin sonata's origins with a violin accompanying the keyboard, and it is often the pianist who leads and sets the tone; in many movements Wang establishes a warmth and depth that are a bit out of character with her usual flamboyant style. She then plays nicely off of Kavakos' lyrical lines with her own more urgent style. The deeper logic of these works might be better served by a more neutral approach, but the overall impression is of two distinct personalities in conversation about the music, and that's the chamber music ideal. An added attraction is the presence of the scherzo from the early F-A-E Sonata, a work collaboratively written by Brahms, Schumann, and Albert Dietrich; Brahms' scherzo is a sort of essay in the Beethoven short-short-short long motif, and it allows Wang to really take command. An enjoyable outing that shows Wang, especially, developing talents beyond her comfort zone. Overly closely miked sound detracts from the experience.© TiVo

It's hard to imagine how anything could have been improved upon with this Brahms recital from three of Harmonia Mundi's most sensitive and interesting artists. The programming alone is a work of art: the idea of pairing the viola versions of Brahms's two autumnal Op. 120 Clarinet Sonatas inspired by Meiningen Orchestra clarinettist Richard Mühlfeld, with three further softly intimate works of his showcasing the viola's similarities with the human voice – viola and piano arrangements of Nachtigall from the six Op. 97 Songs (extra resonant, when Brahms described Mühlfeld as the nightingale of the orchestra) and the famous Op. 49 Wiegenlied, followed by the Op. 91 Zwei Gesänge for Voice, Viola and Piano. Then there's the instruments, because for Tamestit and Tiberghien these are just as important to the music's alchemy as the abilities of the performers, and their quest to find the perfect match for the penetrating, multi-shaded tones of Tamestit's Stradivarius viola eventually led them to an 1899 Bechstein piano. The result was two instruments capable of a range of colours and roundness of sound across all registers and through even the most virtuosic of passages; and that's precisely what you hear across the resultant lyrically tender, natural-feeling readings, because beyond the hand in glove chamber partnering you're hearing, their respective tones are both alive with colouristic complexities and verily glowing. Then, beyond being simply delicious, the vocal quality Tamestit draws out from the famous Wiegenlied melody serves as the perfect overture to the programme's Zwei Gesänge – shaped icing on the cake – yet another perfect combination, Tamestit's lines lovingly encircling and dovetailing with Goerne's own richly warm, gentle baritone, the polished Teldex Studio engineering casting them on satisfyingly equal footings with each other, with the piano just slightly behind. In short, absolutely gorgeous. © Charlotte Gardner/Qobuz

This is the debut recording with the Luzerner Sinfonieorchester by conductor Michael Sanderling, who recently ascended to the orchestra's podium as of 2023 when the album appeared. A set of Brahms symphonies, a crowded marketplace slot in the extreme, might seem a bold move in these circumstances, but nobody can accuse Sanderling of merely retreading others' steps. His Brahms is broad, slow, and detailed, seemingly opening the works into an expanded view. One attraction here, and one that could well bring buyers to the set on its own, is the rare Arnold Schoenberg orchestration of Brahms' Piano Quartet No. 1 in G minor, Op. 25, that concludes the album. Although all the melodic material in the work is Brahms', the work is quite characteristic of Schoenberg in its rich, brash orchestration. Schoenberg, in explaining why he made this version of a Brahms chamber work, said, "It is always very badly played, because the better the pianist, the louder he plays, and you hear nothing from the strings. I wanted once to hear everything, and this I achieved." That statement might serve as well as a general characterization of Sanderling's symphony treatments here. All of his tempos are well on the slow side. The Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98, clocks in at well over 46 minutes, perhaps six minutes slower than average for the work. The rest are similarly measured, with exposition repeats adding to the overall heft. Sanderling fills the spaces with orchestral detail. Sample the opening movement of the Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 68, where the slow introduction is atomized into small gestures that do, in his reading, have their parts to play in the music that follows. However, the big tunes, in this symphony's finale and elsewhere, lose some of their impact; the long line is not quite long enough to sustain them. Sanderling is probably at his best in the Symphony No. 3 in F major, Op. 90, with its compact thematic blocks in which he finds unsuspected layers. This new Brahms, also benefiting from the spacious acoustic of the new Orchesterhaus Luzerner Sinfonieorchester, certainly commands attention.© James Manheim /TiVo