Analysis of Robert Volkmann's Cello Concerto op. 33

Robert Volkmann:

Concerto for Violoncello and Orchestra in a-minor, op. 33

If history had treated Volkmann with greater justice, his cello concerto in a-minor would today be widely acknowledged as one of the finest contributions to this genre ever written. Its passionate, glowing melodies, the profundity of its thoughts, its noble and romantic gestures that nonetheless do not sacrifice structural logic, the splendid examples of contrapuntal craftsmanship and harmonic inspiration, and, not least, the superb cello writing, which testifies to Volkmann's familiarity with this, his favorite, instrument, make this concerto one of the most important of Volkmann's compositions, and also a true challenge for any cello virtuoso.

Written in 1855, during Volkmann's four-year stay in Vienna, the first performance was delayed several times when Karl Schlesinger, the cellist who was to premier it, fell critically ill and recovered only slowly. As an arrangement had been made - not unusual at the times - for the publication of the concerto to be put on hold until after the premiere, Volkmann and his publisher, Gustav Heckenast, were facing delays of an unknown duration. When the date of the first performance was still unforeseeable, Volkmann finally asked Schlesinger whether he would be willing to return the concerto, so that the publication could go ahead, and even offered to write another concerto for him instead, which, he promised, would turn out better!. But the cellist pleaded to keep the concerto, saying that, if he was to take it from him, Volkmann would be taking away Schlesinger's "medicine and soul" with it. Needless to say, the kind-hearted Volkmann left the concerto in the hands of Schlesinger, who finally premiered it on November 22nd, 1857.

Volkmann reports that the concerto was received very warmly by the audience, but that critics were raising objections. With his pragmatic approach that shunned any idea of subjecting musical expression to the ideologies of either the classicist or the New German camp, the unideological Volkmann was bound to venture into a crossfire at times, but he was experienced enough to understand the politics of the music life of Vienna and did not let himself be distraught by any politically motivated criticism, himself apparently quite satisfied with his composition. It is quite possible that the cello concerto might have drawn some ire of the conservative camp; in this work, Volkmann again adopts a pragmatic approach to the question of form, choosing the vessel that befits his musical ideas best. Although absolute music throughout, and adhering to the basic structure of the sonata movement, Volkmann allows himself formal innovations not only in choosing a single movement form, as opposed to the traditional three-movement concerto, but also in making certain modifications to the sonata form. Knowing his sense of structural balance, however, we can be assured that these modifications are by no means unwarranted or excessive, but that they account for the specific challenge of integrating the content of a traditional, three-movement form into a single movement. Therefore, while transcending established, classical forms, the attitude and character of this concerto is still of a nobility and modesty of means, of profundity and expressiveness, but not excess, that would befit any formally more conservative composition just as well.

In a letter to Johannes Brahms, who, with regard to an upcoming performance of the concerto under his baton, almost 20 years later, had asked for advice and opinions, Volkmann professed his disapproval of cuts that others had made to the concerto, pointing out that the structure was a 'well-calculated' one, and that it 'encompasses the usual three movements'. This is a clear indication that Volkmann indeed gave careful consideration to the problem of form. His solution represents an original and innovative model for what a single movement concerto may be structured like, and we shall examine this solution as we look at the concerto in detail.

Foregoing any introduction, the main theme in the key of a minor is immediately exposed by the solo cello (measures 1-24). Presented with a rich and slightly chromatic accompaniment by the strings, it is a simple, yet noble and deeply romantic melody:

An important side motif, whose characteristic staccato notes make it easily recognizable throughout the concerto, follows immediately (measure 25, letter A), also in a-minor and presented by the solo cello:

Although its somewhat playful character is sufficiently different from the main theme and its function in the concerto of enough importance to consider it a structural element in its own right, its close proximity to the first theme (it has actually been announced by the last four notes of measure #24) and key indicate that it should not be regarded as a second theme, but rather as a spin-off motif of the first theme, which the exposition dwells on for a moment.

After a virtuosic transitional passage that is dominated by the solo cello, the main theme is repeated in an insignificantly abbreviated form by the full orchestra (measures #49-68), as if unleashed by the descending chromatic scale in the solo part that precedes it. Another transitional passage ensues in measure #79 (letter B). Again, it provides ample opportunity for a virtuosic display by the soloist. The orchestra injects short tutti passages.

Measure #108 (letter C) brings a new motif, while, at the same time, a bassoon and then a horn gently remind us of the first few notes of the main theme.

Again, we are inclined to consider this not the second theme, but rather a side motif, for it has also evolved out of an earlier seed. Its core is a simple, descending sequence of five notes with a characteristic dotted rhythm; this motif is formed of rhythmic and melodic elements that have been heard before in the exposition of the first theme. The melodic sequence - g - f - f - e - appears for the first time in the last measure of the main theme, the same measure that announced the staccato motif, and the dotted rhythm is a prominent feature of the first theme as well. However, the character of this side theme is a strikingly different, darker one, clearly set apart from the noble, albeit somewhat melancholy, main theme and the more playful staccato motif. It is this theme that introduces contrasts and elements of dramatic tension into the development.

For the time being, however, it casts only a fleeting shadow, which is disspelt as, at last, in measure #129, what we may truly consider the second theme of this movement is presented - again by the solo cello - in a slower tempo and in C major, the parallel major key of a minor, as is expected in a conventional sonata form movement:

A melody whose sweetness lives up to the performance direction, 'dolce', Volkmann must nevertheless have felt that its musical content did not warrant frequent repetition; this theme will play no part in the development and will actually not recur until the recapitulation. Let us thus enjoy the moments of unclouded serenity that it provides. Gently accompanied by the strings and occasional accents by the woodwinds, the soloist sings forth a playful and melodious line that continues this mood, until the it subsides on a gentle C-major chord, and with it, so does the exposition.

Volkmann constructs his development entirely from the first theme and its two spin-off side themes. More precisely, it is only their most characteristic elements that form his building blocks - from the first theme, it is the immensely recognizable first six notes, and from the second side theme, only the five-note descending motif, sometimes even reduced to only its rhythmic or melodic pattern. Like his younger colleague and friend in later life, Johannes Brahms, Volkmann proves himself a master of motivic variation, erecting an artful structure with these building blocks as they appear in ever new harmonic, melodic and instrumental shades. Interestingly, though, throughout the development, the soloist handles very little of the thematic material. Instead, Volkmann assigns the task of developing his themes to the orchestra, while the soloist reflects on the changing and contrasting moods with an independent, very virtuosic melodic line. Only near the beginning and the end of the development section do we find reminiscences of the previous themes - the two side themes, to be exact - worked into recitatives of the the solo cello.

The development starts at measure #164 (letter D) with a presentation of the staccato motif by a solo basson, later by an oboe - both instruments that seem especially suited to the character of this motif -, each immediately followed by a short, passionate recitative of the soloist, in which we detect hints of the two side motives, fluently and seemlessly integrated into one statement:

A brief recitative leads us to the next section (measure 186, letter E). We cannot help but admire the contrapuntal craftsmanship with with Volkmann interlaces no fewer than three different themes here. The opening phrase of the main theme, its most characteristic first six notes, is passed from one instrument to the other, immediately answered by a melodic variation on it:

Not a single measure passes in which this brief and characteristic phrase is not heard anywhere in the orchestra. Hardly any more sparsely is the first side motif, the staccato motif, being interjected, mostly by the strings playing pizzicato, but also by the woodwinds. Meanwhile, the soloist stoically pursues yet a third melodic line, this one without obvious relations to any of the other thematic material, and is apparently unaffected by the plethora of melodies that arise all around in the orchestra. The thematic material remaining virtually static throughout this passage, all sense of motion is derived from the tonal progression as the melodies effortlessly shift through a sequence of fairly distant keys, the modulations nonetheless appearing natural and unforced to our ears.

This passage testifies not only to Volkmann's contrapuntal skills, but also to his harmonic inspiration. In the example above, taken from the beginning of this section, the quotation of the main theme clearly establishes the key of d-minor. However, the response ( a - e - c# - g ) contains a note - c# - that is alien to the most commonly used of the minor modes, the aeolian minor scale. In fact, we could interpret the notes in the example above - d - e - f - g - a - c# - as being drawn from the harmonic (or melodic, since the sixth degree is not defined) d-minor scale. While it was not uncommon to sharpen the seventh degree of a minor scale if it was used as a leading tone, e.g. to be followed by the tonic via a step of a semitone upward, the melodic context that Volkmann uses it in here does not call for such a use of the harmonic minor mode. The resulting emphasis on a note - c# - that is more familiar to the ear as the leading note of the D-major scale, an impression which is reinforced by the fact that the notes that form the responding motif are those of the V7 chord of D-major with its strong tendency towards the tonic major, evokes a strange ambiguity between major and minor modes and contributes to the fascinating and exotic harmonic colors that pervade this passage, as Volkmann continues to pursue this idea while the melodies progress to more distant keys.

A crescendo leads us to another virtuosic transitional passage (F) that is dominated by the soloist. Restless and forward-driven, this passage forms a stark contrast to the almost static and motionless previous section. The tension is driven towards a climax as the orchestra, at letter G, begins to interject violent, dissonant tutti beats. Only twice is the mounting tension being relaxed briefy, as the highly dissonant, tonally ambiguous, diminished seventh chords (on g#, later on a#) are resolved (into A-major and B-major, respectively). After that, there is no more respite as a sequence of dissonant harmonies leads the development into a dramatic climax.
Into the turmoil, the woodwinds call out the second side motif, the tragic, five-note descending motif. Volkmann has assigned them to solo instruments playing piano, and it is a challenge to the performers to make them heard distinctly enough against the solo cello, playing fortissimo. Yet undoubtedly the appearance of this motif at this point is of great importance (certainly more so than the harmonically tense, but unmelodic tutti and solo cello parts) and must not be neglected.

Meanwhile, a repetitive figure in the solo part, affirming the harmonies imposed by the tutti beats, appears like an effort of desparate and utter resistance to the violence with which the descending motif is intruding - an effort which, ultimately, proves futile. As the orchestral development breaks off on another diminished seventh chord (on b), which Volkmann does not provide us the comfort of resolving with, the soloist, all resistance seemingly collapsed, picks up the melodic pattern of the descending motif in c-minor. It forms the basis of a brief, but highly expressive, recitative, that leads to the first cadenza.

The first cadenza also marks the end of the development section. It is slightly unusual for a concerto movement to feature two cadenzas; the classical first movement of a concerto usually provided one cadenza between the recapitulation and coda. Nevertheless, as we shall discuss in a moment, Volkmann's decision to set a cadenza at this point is by no means an arbitrary one, but entirely logical in the context of the movement.

With a stirring sforzando of the Celli and Double Basses, the orchestra re-enters after the cadenza. A three-note motif that the cadenza had ended on is gradually transformed into a figurative line of triplets. During the transformation, it passingly reveals its distant relation to the second side motif, but this memory soon fades. The violins and celli, then a clarinet and bassoon, present a melody of haunting beauty that seems to disspell the anguish and despair in which the development had ended:

This melody bears no melodic relations to any of the other themes of the concerto; it has not been heard before and will not be heard again. The appearance of new thematic material at this point, so late in the movement, and for just a single occurence, may seem like a structural deficiency to us at the first glance. However, Volkmann's assertion to Brahms that the structure of his concerto was a 'well-calculated' one and that the piece 'encompasses the usual three movements' does suggest that a closer examination is in order. The challenge Volkmann had set for himself was that of condensing the content of a conventional concerto, in which the composer would usually be given three movements to state a dramatic challenge and then resolve it, into a single movement. Volkmann knew better than to simply write a one-movement concerto as if it was just the first movement of a three-movement form. He knew that the resolution would have to be provided by the recapitulation of the one movement that he was allowing himself to write, and his sense of balance told him that this resolution, the recapitulation, should not follow the dramatic and tense development section immediately, without a moment of rest to alleviate and explain the contrasts between the preceeding sections and those that are to follow. The insertion of this Cantabile is his answer to the challenge. It fulfills the role that would normally be assigned to the slow movement of a three-movement composition: providing a moment of rest, serving as the pivotal point at which the dramatic tensions that had been raised earlier are resolved, and preparing the ground for the recapitulation/finale. Thus, Volkmann created his own, original model for the structure of a one-movement concerto form.
In this context, the occurence and placement of the first cadenza is also easily understood. As the development assumes the role of the conventional first movement, it is concluded by a cadenza, like a classical first concerto movement.

As the cantabile melody gently subsides, the recapitulation begins with the restatement of the first theme (letter I). It has been simplified melodically, compared to the exposition, but a charming echo effect by the celli and basses adds rhythmic interest. Most poignantly, however, the theme appears more subdued than at its first appearance, played pianissimo instead of the original pianoforte. It is only towards the end that it seems to gather new strength and vigor, supported by the entry of the clarinets and bassoons.
As in the exposition, the first theme is immediately followed by what we identified as the first side motif, the staccato motif - but now, this motif of formely such innocent and playful character suddenly unleashes an unanticipated force and power, as it becomes the subject of a dense polyphonic treatment - con fuoco - by the full orchestra, which is pushed to no small degree of virtuosity here (K). The motif enters three times, first in the Celli and Basses, then Violas and 2nd Violins, finally in the first violins, and the bassoons later add a related, albeit rhythmically simpler figure.
The forward momentum hardly spent as the con fuoco episode comes to a determined, matter-of-factly closing statement, the soloist dominates again in a transitional passage that ressembles the one that separated the tutti restatement of the first theme in the exposition from the second side motif. Volkmann now departs from the structure of the exposition; neither is the first theme repeated, nor is the second side motif recapitulated. Instead of the shadows that that motif had cast when it first appeared in the exposition, the mood is now one of expectant determination and anticipation as we seem to be rushing towards a not-too-distant goal. The transition passes through a modulation to A-major (the tonic major of the home key, a-minor, the textbook pattern of keys for a sonata movement) and leads directly to the recapitulation of the second theme, heard here for the second and last time (M).

A second cadenza heralds, in accordance with the traditional form, the end of the recapitulation. Volkmann provided four different cadenzas that may be used here, and acclaimed cellists such as David Popper or Julius Klengel contributed candenzas of their own, although it is doubtful that all of them would have found the approval of Volkmann, who, in his letter to Brahms, professed his preference for short and concise cadenzas. Of the four he himself provided, the default cadenza is undoubtedly the most appropriate one. Not only does it fulfill Volkmann's own demands of concision, its rhythmical pattern also fittingly prepares the ground for the re-entry of the orchestra.

As the cadenza ends, we find ourselves back in a-minor, in a fast-paced passage that evolves from a motif that had initially been heard at the end of the first part of the development section. Whereas, however, there it led into a pensive recitative and ultimately into the dense polyphonic development at letter E, there is no sign of hesitance or contemplation here. All signs seem set for the soloist to lead the orchestra on towards a traditional, exuberant and extroverted coda in a showcase of soloistic virtuosity. We briefly touch A-major again, but only for moments, before we fall back into a minor key, and a series of tutti beats quickly stir up the tensions one last time. The orchestra stops on the dominant seventh of A, leaving it unresolved for three measures that are filled by a chromatically ascending solo cello line, until, finally, carried by the forces of the full, the second side motif makes a final and violent return in a-minor. Five times is it called out by the orchestra, as if it was making up for its earlier absence from the recapitulation.

The effect is dramatic: all of the momentum suddenly drained, nothing hints at the classically exuberant coda any more. The soloist begins an introspective, melancholic, almost mournful recitative. The strings attempt to accompany it for only a few measures before they subside; until the end of the concerto, the orchestra is to add only a few sparse and sporadic accents.

After a few questioning measures, the soloist, softly accented by the orchestra, settles on the home key of a-minor. Although the melody attempts to rise several times on a harmonic d-minor scale (the harmonic mode, in this case, serving to emphasize the tonality of these brief excursions into d and contrast them more clearly with their point of departure on a), it always returns back to a at the end of each measure, as if in utter resignation. Tempo and rhythm are entirely subjected to the soloist's judgement now, as Volkmann prescribes this passage to be played quasi improvisando. By the use of triplets in the melodic line, the rhythm is additionally blurred. And it is only now, for the last few measures, that the melody seems to break free of the bounds that had forced it back to a in each measure; rising searchingly on the notes of a harmonic e-minor scale, it finally arrives, pianissimo, on e. Two tutti beats pull us back to a and conclude the concerto.