Some words on Max Bruch

It is often remarked that history tends to be written by the winners, leading to a sense type of history that has been characterised as "monumentalist." One of the asterisks of music history is one Max Bruch (1838-1920), a conservative composer who wrote in the conservative stream for which his more illustrious and more celebrated contemporary Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) is now famous. He has also lived very much in the shadow of Brahms ever since; his name is inextricably linked to his popular Concerto for Violin in G Minor, Op. 26 (1868).


The viola has fallen victim to a similar fate with regard to repertoire. It lives in the shadows of not only the violin, but its other contemporary sibling (and frequent collaborator, particularly in the context of the string quartet), the violoncello. Violists are the subject of many jokes and much condecension in the orchestral world. Unlike fairy tales' too hot/too large--too cold/too small--just right paradigm, the viola takes the third position but is generally regarded to be awkward and unsatisfactory. With regard to size, in fact, the viola is remarkably analogous to the fashion models in the world who are neither anorexic waifs nor plus-sized. They're in-betweeners who have a tough time eking out a market.


Violists (the ones I know, anyway, and I know several) are most often fiercely passionate about their instruments, quick to defend their roles in the chamber and orchestral repertoire and quick to point out the unjustly neglected works that place the viola in the limelight that it deserves. I was a little shocked that a violist in one of my seminars (on Brahms, incidentally) had never heard tell of the man, not least because I would have expected said violist to have encountered some of the chamber music featurig the viola and especially the Romance for Viola and Orchestra, not to say anything of the ubiquitous violin concerto (which is currently available on perhaps 100 commercial recordings).


What has caused the near-total neglect of the over 200 works (save one) by this composer who was so well respected in his own lifetime? (A brief summary of some of his biographical highlights is perhaps in order here: compositional prizewinner at age 14. He held various court and conservatory positions throughout his lifetime, most notably at Berlin where his students included the Englishman Ralph Vaughan-Williams and the Italian Ottorino Respighi, both of whose reputations could safely be said to have exceeded that of their tutor. Composer/conductors as famous as Gustav Mahler programmed his operas after they had fallen out of fashion.) The melodic beauty is quite consistent across much of his output, but most works evidently lack the certain je ne sais quoi that has assured the aforementioned violin concerto to eclipse the man.

I'm writing here neither to defame my colleague nor to persuade you, gentle reader, to rush out and listen to the viola works of Mr. Bruch (although I do encourage it, but be warned: such recordings may be difficult to find and imports are generally overpriced). I write with my own writing and my career as a writer (I fully and happily acknowledge that the likelihood of my making a living solely by writing is very slim indeed, but that aside...) in mind.The wee case of Mr. Bruch has taught me a couple of lessons. One, it is important to strive for excellence at all times to have any chance of being critically and popularly well received (there are some debatable exceptions to this, but I'm not interested in cult phenomena and marketing just now). Two, if one is going to write solely for the fame and recognition of the masses, one is both writing for the wrong reasons and is going to be sorely disappointed the overwhelming majority of the time. Three follows from one and two: if one is writing because he or she loves, and so needs, to write, than excellence will always be the goal; the achievement of personal excellence (which still always leaves room for improvement) will be enough recognition to keep one going. Four, to open-minded critics (for what is the point of writing without an audience?), as in the case of Mr. Bruch, others will recognize dedication to the craft as a virtue in and of itself.