Uncorking the Goodness of Brahms's Symphony No 1
The Backstory

Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 68

Brahms presenting the backstory of his Symphony No 1
I'm Brahms, and this is the backstory of my Symphony No 1, a piece I carried around for more than twenty years before I let anyone hear it. You'll learn why I hesitated for so long, and how the shadow of one great predecessor made every page feel like a risk I wasn't sure I could take. If you'd like to recognize my symphony when it begins, and the work of my fellow composers too, you're welcome to  practice in the Trainer  on this site.
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The World's Longest Procrastination

I made my first sketches for this symphony in 1855, and I didn't finish it until September 1876. That is about twenty-one years, and by then I was 43. Most people would have lost the notebook long before that. I kept coming back to it anyway, because I wasn't willing to let it out of the house until I thought it was ready.

A Giant Behind My Back

The reason I took so long is simple: I was afraid of being measured against Beethoven. I once said, "You can't have any idea what it's like always to hear such a giant marching behind you." Every time I sat down to write a symphony, I could practically hear those footsteps. So I waited, and I revised, and I waited some more, until I had something I could stand behind.

Four Courses, One Meal

A symphony is built from movements, which are big separate sections with a pause between them, a bit like the courses of a dinner. The first movement, marked Un poco sostenuto and then Allegro, is the serious opening course, and the second, Andante sostenuto, is a quieter one that gives you time to breathe. The third, Un poco allegretto e grazioso, is the light, warm intermezzo in A-flat major, and it feels like a small, friendly break between the heavy dishes. The fourth begins with a slow Adagio and then builds through Più andante to Allegro non troppo, ma con brio, and it ends in a C major triumph that makes the whole meal worth the wait.

A Birthday Card With a Horn In It

In September 1868 I sent Clara Schumann a birthday greeting with a melody written on it. It was the alphorn tune, and I added the words "Thus blew the shepherd's horn today!" Years later that same tune came back in the finale, in the slow introduction, and it sounds like a call drifting down from a distant mountain. I like to think of it as a gift that took a long time to unwrap.

Opening Night in Karlsruhe

The premiere took place on 4 November 1876 in Karlsruhe. Felix Otto Dessoff conducted, and the players were the Baden Court Orchestra. After twenty-one years of waiting, I finally got to hear the whole thing played aloud. I can tell you that hearing it was a very different experience from imagining it.

The Trombones Wait Their Turn

I gave this symphony three trombones, but I kept them silent until the very last movement. They only appear in the finale, where they play a solemn chorale right after the alphorn tune. Their entrance feels like a door opening in a quiet room, and the whole sound suddenly gets deeper and wider. Saving them for the last movement gave that moment far more weight than it would have had otherwise.

The Tune Everyone Recognizes

The finale has a big, hymn-like main theme, and people noticed right away that it resembles the Ode to Joy from Beethoven's Ninth. I was not pleased with the comparison, and I reacted to it rather dismissively. The musicologist Donald Tovey later pointed out that my theme gets compared with Beethoven's only because it is the one great enough, among many tunes of that type, to suggest the resemblance. I'll take that as a compliment, even if it took a scholar to say it kindly.

Beethoven's Tenth?

In 1877 the conductor Hans von Bülow gave the symphony a nickname that stuck: "Beethoven's Tenth." Beethoven wrote nine symphonies, so that label put me right in the shadow I had been trying to avoid. It is a generous thing to say, and I understand it was meant warmly. Still, I would have preferred that people simply call it my First.

Steps Going Down

Underneath everything, the symphony is built on a chain of falling thirds, which is one of my musical hallmarks. A third is a small skip down from one note to a note two places lower in the scale, and if you listen for it, you start to hear it everywhere. It ties the four movements together, so that they feel like one long journey rather than four separate pieces. A typical performance lasts about 45 minutes, so you have plenty of time to catch it.

The Symphony Goes Traveling

After Karlsruhe, performances followed in Mannheim, Munich and Vienna. Simrock published the score in 1877, so that other orchestras could play it too. The first American performance came on 15 December 1877 at Steinway Hall in New York, conducted by Leopold Damrosch. A piece that spent twenty-one years in my notebook crossed the ocean within about a year of its premiere.
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So that's how a symphony I carried around for so many years finally found its way into the world. Looking back, I'm glad I waited, even though the waiting felt endless at the time. After the premiere in Karlsruhe in 1876, the symphony traveled on to Mannheim, Munich and Vienna, and it slowly stopped feeling like mine alone. Then, in 1877, Hans von Bülow called it "Beethoven's Tenth", a remark I had mixed feelings about. I had spent so long trying to step out of a giant's shadow, and here was a compliment that put me right back beside him. Still, I understand what he meant, and I've made my peace with it. Did you enjoy learning about the story behind Symphony No 1? I hope it gave you a sense of the patience, the doubt and the stubbornness that went into it. There's still plenty more to discover in this symphony. The finale alone, with its alphorn call, its trombone chorale and its slow climb from C minor into C major, is worth a closer look. If you're curious, please click on the links below to keep exploring Symphony No 1. And when you next hear it, listen for those falling thirds running through the music, and see how many you can catch.