Program Notes: Xian and James Ehnes

MAX BRUCH  
Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 26 
BORN: January 6, 1838, in Cologne 
DIED: October 2, 1920, in Friedenau, near Berlin 
WORK COMPOSED: 1864–1868 
WORLD PREMIERE: The original concerto was completed in 1866 and the first performance given on April 24, 1866, by Otto Friedrich von Königslöw, with Bruch conducting. After being considerably revised with help from celebrated violinist Joseph Joachim, the concerto (in its present form) was debuted on January 7, 1868, in Bremen, with Karl Rheinthaler conducting.  

When embarking upon his first attempt to write a violin concerto, German composer Max Bruch remarked that “the violin can sing a melody better than a piano, and melody is the soul of music.” Published in 1868, Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in G minor, Op. 26 gained wide recognition and stood as the undisputed successor to Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto until the publication of Brahms’ concerto 10 years later. Bruch’s concerto embodies Romantic ideals of virtuosity and sublimity: the three-movement form offered space for dramatic bravura, soaring melodies and memorable passages for both soloist and orchestra.  

Both Bruch and Brahms dedicated their violin concertos to the legendary Hungarian violinist Joseph Joachim, who collaborated closely with each composer during the works’ development. Bruch’s partnership with Joachim, however, became a source of frustration. After the two exchanged extensive letters in which Joachim offered detailed suggestions for the concerto, publishers proposed making the correspondence public. Bruch objected, concerned that readers would mistake Joachim’s editorial advice for co-authorship. While he valued Joachim's expertise and incorporated some of his recommendations, Bruch insisted that the concerto remained entirely his own creation. 

Bruch had long hoped to compose a violin concerto and finally began work on the piece while serving as music director at the court of Koblenz (1865–1867). Rejecting the progressive ideals of the New German School led by Franz Liszt and Richard Wagner, he instead looked to the lyrical traditions of Romantic composers such as Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann. Even so, Bruch initially lacked confidence in writing for the violin, admitting in an 1865 letter to his former teacher Ferdinand Hiller, “My violin concerto is progressing slowly... Do you not think that it is very audacious to write a violin concerto?” Despite this setback, Bruch completed the concerto within the year and premiered it in 1868. 

Departing from the conventional concerto form, Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 opens with a slow, meditative melody that gradually rises from the depths of the violin’s range. Marked Vorspiel (Prelude), this movement showcases the violin’s singing, soulful qualities before transitioning to a stormy, virtuosic development and a cadenza-filled ending. The second movement — arguably the most famous piece in Bruch’s oeuvre — features an emotional, nostalgic melody that leaves listeners yearning for the beauty of simplicity. Bruch’s third movement answers the slow musings of the second, providing a buoyant, folk-like finale. Together, these movements create a stunning concerto full of romance and virtuosity.  

Megan Francisco © 2019, revised 2026 

HECTOR BERLIOZ 
Symphonie fantastique, Op. 14 
BORN: December 11, 1803, La Côte-Saint-André, Isère, France 
DIED: March 8, 1869, Paris  
WORK COMPOSED: 1830 
WORLD PREMIERE: December 5, 1830, in Paris at the Paris Conservatoire, conducted by François-Antoine Habeneck. 

An iconic artist of the Romantic era, Hector Berlioz was full of grand ideas and dramatic self-expression. He studied medicine briefly in Paris — his father, a doctor, expected his son to follow the same path — before devoting himself to music and literature. The inspiration for Symphonie fantastique was ignited after Berlioz attended a production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet by a London theater company touring Paris in 1827. He fell madly in love with the Irish actress Harriet Smithson, who starred as Ophelia, and pursued her with an all-consuming passion that grew into obsession. This unrequited love fueled his creativity, and the resulting symphony tells a semi-autobiographical tale of an artist who, after being driven to the brink of suicide by a failed love affair, overdoses on opium and has a series of drug-induced dreams.  

The reality of the eventual relationship between Berlioz and Smithson was far less impetuous and romantic. After the premiere of the fantastique in 1830, Berlioz left Paris for an extended stay in Rome, where he revised the work and composed a sequel, Lélio, to be presented alongside the symphony. Berlioz’s publisher invited the famed actress to this second premiere in 1832 and the pair finally met the following day. Despite language barriers and general incompatibility, they married the next year and spent a disastrous decade together before separating. Smithson grew increasingly resentful of her husband’s success and her diminishing career, which she was forced to put on hold after she broke her leg in an accident. She took to drinking and ultimately retired; meanwhile Berlioz began an affair with Marie Recio, an opera singer who became his second wife. He continued to support Smithson financially until her death in 1854.

The young Berlioz idolized Beethoven and was especially inspired by his “Pastoral” Symphony, in which the music clearly reflects the nature scenes described in each movement. Berlioz took this idea to the next level, composing the first true programmatic symphony: a work that is tied to a storyline rather than an abstract musical form. The innovation within this new structure was astounding and at the time of its premiere in 1830, unlike anything audiences had heard before.  

Berlioz wrote his own extensive notes to accompany the published score, stating his aim as a composer was to musically develop “various situations in the life of an artist.” In his words, the first movement depicts a young musician who “sees for the first time a woman who embodies all the charms of the ideal being of whom he has dreamed, and he falls hopelessly in love with her. Through a bizarre trick of fancy, the beloved image always appears in the mind’s eye of the artist linked to a musical thought whose character, passionate but also noble and reticent, he finds similar to the one he attributes to his beloved.” 

This musical thought that is irrevocably tied to his beloved, known as the idée fixe, appears in different guises within each movement, never able to escape the composer’s mind. The theme is first heard as a yearning and lilting melody in the violins and flute after a slow introduction. Low strings punctuate the melody like irregular heartbeats. The music fluctuates between moments of restlessness and peace as the protagonist experiences feelings of tenderness, fury, joy and jealousy.  

The harps make a grand entrance in the second movement, setting the scene for a shimmering ballroom and a fevered dream-state waltz that builds in energy before halting at the sound of the beloved’s theme in the solo clarinets. No matter where the artist is, Berlioz writes, the “image appears before him and troubles his soul.” The orchestra then comes crashing in, whipping the dance to a raucous conclusion.  

The third movement is a pastoral reverie as the artist finds himself in the country listening to distant herdsmen exchange calls across the fields, represented by the English horn and an offstage oboe. The timpani create chords of rumbling thunder, an ominous darkness that tinges the scene with a sense of dread.  

In the fourth movement, the artist poisons himself with opium, certain that his love is unrequited. But the dose is not fatal, instead bringing on a hallucinatory state. He dreams that he has killed his love, is condemned to death and must witness his own execution. A powerful array of instrumental forces band together to create a dense and anxious scene. A clarinet plays a bit of the idée fixe before it is quieted by the fall of the guillotine.  

The final movement follows this execution with a ghostly funeral. The music sounds possessed as the high E-flat clarinet plays the theme in a demonic jig, as if taunting the artist in his death. Berlioz quotes the medieval funeral chant Dies Irae as the orchestra gathers like a storm, hurtling toward a tumultuous ending.  

Catherine Case © 2023, revised 2026