In 1907, Gustav Mahler visited Helsinki, where he met Jean Sibelius. The two towering composers went for a walk in nature, when unsurprisingly the talk turned to shop.
It was Mahler who lent an exclamation point, as they swapped observations on the symphony. Poor Sibelius was taken off-guard, as he was merely contemplating the nuts and bolts. “I admire its severity of form and profound logic,” he said. To which Mahler, seizing the advantage, replied, “A SYMPHONY MUST BE LIKE THE WORLD. IT MUST EMBRACE EVERYTHING!”
If I know Sibelius, after that, his private thoughts were full of vodka and cigars.
Composer Jean-Baptiste Lully, also an accomplished dancer, injured his toe while pounding the floor with a heavy stick to mark time; the resultant infection killed him.
Anton Webern violated curfew when he snuck out on his porch for a smoke and was shot by an American soldier.
Ernest Chausson lost control of his bicycle and fatally slammed into a brick wall.
Fire tore through Geirr Tveitt’s cabin and destroyed four-fifths of his compositional output, driving him to alcoholism.
Friedrich Kuhlau blinded himself when he fell on a bottle at the age of seven; later, he died of complications after being left out in the cold all night as his house burned to the ground.
Charles-Valentin Alkan was reaching for a copy of the Talmud, located on a high shelf, when the bookcase toppled, crushing him.
Henry Purcell developed pneumonia after his wife locked him out of the house for coming home late after one too many pub crawls.
Alexander Scriabin died of a septic carbuncle.
Tchaikovsky drank cholera-contaminated water.
Jean-Marie Leclair was found murdered in his room.
Alessandro Stradella was set upon by unidentified assassins.
None of these misfortunes occurred on Friday the 13th.
Toss some salt over your shoulder and whistle a happy tune!
On Brahms and Tchaikovsky’s shared birthday anniversary, here’s a gold mine of material relating to the complicated relationship between the two artists, who didn’t much care for one another’s music, but rather enjoyed one another’s company.
They were like the Felix and Oscar of Romantic music – the high-strung, fastidious Tchaikovsky (1840-1893), and the acerbic, unkempt Brahms (1833-1897). May 7th marks the anniversary of the births of these twin titans of hirsute Romanticism.
I always find it oddly endearing that Brahms and Tchaikovsky were able to look past their personal aversions to one another’s music to actually grow to appreciate their individual qualities as people. There’s a lesson to be learned from that, I think.
Initially, Tchaikovsky might have been right at home posting in a YouTube comments section, confiding to his diary, “I have played over the music of that scoundrel Brahms. What a giftless bastard!”
For his part, Brahms indelicately drifted off to sleep during a rehearsal of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony – unfortunately, in the presence of the composer.
According to the pianist Zygmunt Stojowski, “Tchaikovsky’s comment to me was that he would have been deeply hurt had he not, himself, frankly hated the Brahms symphonies.”
The two composers met unexpectedly in Leipzig in 1888. They must have been as surprised as anyone to find themselves actually delighting in one another’s company.
“I’ve been on the booze with Brahms,” Tchaikovsky wrote. “He is tremendously nice – not at all proud as I’d expected but remarkably straightforward and entirely without arrogance. He has a very cheerful disposition, and I must say that the hours I spent in his company have left me with nothing but pleasant memories.”
The following year, the two met again in Hamburg. That’s when Brahms slept through the Fifth Symphony. Tchaikovsky bore it lightly and was convivial throughout the meal they shared afterward. Although Brahms was harsh in his assessment of the last movement of the symphony and Tchaikovsky confessed an overall aversion to Brahms’ style, the evening was full of good cheer and ended with Tchaikovsky inviting Brahms to visit him in Russia.
How large a role alcohol may have played in the two men’s warmth for one another we can only guess. It was not just anyone who could be Brahms’ drinking buddy.
Regardless of their mutual affection, the two never could reconcile themselves to one another’s music. When asked what he thought of a piano trio Brahms had been rehearsing (the Trio in C minor), Tchaikovsky was polite but frank: “Don’t be angry with me, my dear friend, but I did not like it.”
Happy birthday, boys.
Brahms, Piano Trio No. 3 in C minor, Op. 101 (disliked by Tchaikovsky)
Tchaikovsky, Symphony No. 5 in E minor (disliked by Brahms)
Due to my hectic weekend in Ticonderoga, I was unable to honor Dmitri Shostakovich and George Gershwin on their birthdays. It did occur to me that both were featured on the cover of Time Magazine, which gave me the idea to compile ten Time covers of famous composers (which I am only just getting around to posting). Happy belated birthdays, boys!
Shostakovich, born September 25, 1906 (died August 9, 1975)
Gershwin, born September 26, 1898 (died July 11, 1937)
Interestingly, both appeared on the cover on July 20, seventeen years apart!
It’s sobering to be reminded of a time when classical music was still accepted as a part of our broader culture. I wonder who the last living composer was to be featured on the cover of Time?
Andrew Lloyd Webber got a cover in 1988. No John Williams?
Clockwise from left: Gershwin (July 20, 1925), Shostakovich (July 20, 1942), Richard Strauss (January 24, 1927), and Richard Strauss (July 25, 1938). More in the gallery.
