Johannes Brahms’ Piano Quartets Nos. 2 and 3, performed by pianist Krystian Zimerman alongside violinist Maria Nowak, violist Katarzyna Budnik, and cellist Yuya Okamato, have been interpreted with striking depth and finesse in their recent release. While the First and Second Piano Quartets were composed in close succession, as reflected in their consecutive opus numbers, the two works exhibit marked contrasts—similar to certain compositions by Beethoven that were created concurrently yet diverged in mood and structure.
The First Quartet, known for its extroverted character—particularly in its lively “gypsy” finale and Arnold Schoenberg’s popular orchestration—has long captured attention. By contrast, the Second Quartet is more introspective and measured, emerging as Brahms’ longest chamber work, typically lasting around 50 minutes. Although a recording by the Borodin Quartet on Chandos once stretched this duration by an additional five minutes, Zimerman and his ensemble manage to trim a few minutes off the average performance time without ever compromising the music’s integrity or depth. Their interpretation maintains a balance that avoids both haste and superficiality.
A possible subliminal influence of Franz Schubert on the young Brahms seems to permeate the work, lending it a sense of Schubertian expansiveness and tranquil grandeur. Despite Brahms’ relative youth at the time of composition, the quartet reflects an “autumnal” emotional quality and an exquisite musical finesse. Zimerman and his colleagues maintain an engaging dialogue throughout, frequently exchanging leading roles to create a chiaroscuro effect—a dynamic and poetic interplay that brings the music to life in a mellow, unhurried tempo while preserving its structural firmness and expressive phrasing.
In the second movement, Poco adagio, the ensemble brings out a dreamy, romantic atmosphere. The violinist Joseph Joachim, a close friend of Brahms, once described this movement as possessing “ambiguous passion.” The subtle use of muted strings gently veils the piano’s voice, adding to the mystique. The movement opens with a piano theme delicately adorned by string ornamentation. A particularly moving moment occurs in a quiet rocking figure played by the strings, answered by a soft rolling chord on the piano—a sequence repeated with haunting beauty. Music writer Friedrich Niecks referred to this moment as “clandestine program music,” suggesting it invites listeners to project their own emotional or visual interpretations, much like a painting by Caspar David Friedrich.
The performers imbue this section with sublime sensitivity. The Scherzo follows with assertive, masculine energy and rivals the preceding movements in duration. The final movement, also influenced by gypsy rhythms, builds gradually in power—more akin to the finale of Schubert’s C major String Quartet than the whirlwind ending of Brahms’ G minor Op. 25. The ensemble captures this arc with great nuance and drive.
Although Brahms’ Piano Quartet No. 3 is officially numbered as Op. 60, it predates the other two quartets. Only its third movement survived in its original form. The earlier version of the quartet was closely tied to Brahms’ secret affection for Clara Schumann. In correspondence with his publisher, Brahms dramatically likened himself to Goethe’s tragic figure Werther—a symbol of hopeless, self-destructive love. The composer withheld the quartet for nearly two decades. When it finally saw publication, the work had evolved, reflecting the mature introspection of a man reflecting on youthful romantic despair.
The first movement of the Third Quartet opens with a dark, brooding energy. Zimerman and his ensemble shape the material with a sense of urgency and a sweeping melodic force. The tension is palpable, with explosive dynamic contrasts that make full use of the recording’s sonic range. However, it is the third movement, Andante, that arguably forms the emotional core of the work. Lyrical and tender, it may well be the most heartfelt slow movement Brahms ever composed. One memorable performance by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra left a lasting impression on many, as does this refined interpretation by Zimerman’s group.
The final movement concludes the piece with solemnity and restraint. During its development section, a moment of quietude suggests a secondary slow movement, introducing a brief emotional lull before the music resumes its intensity—only to taper off again into a reflective close. Zimerman, Nowak, Budnik, and Okamato handle this journey with sensitivity and gravitas, rendering a performance that feels both natural and deeply rooted in the essence of the music.
In this recording, the ensemble achieves a rare balance of poetic delicacy and structural strength, delivering performances of both quartets that feel both intimate and expansive—truly reflective of Brahms’ complex inner world.
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