I like things that are different.

Like most people who dig underground/alternative music, musicians, authors, books, or art, I like discovering stuff that’s a step or two outside the norm.

When it comes to music, I still flip out over Led Zeppelin, Rush, Queen, ELP, Yes, Bad Company, the Beatles, and Alice Cooper. But when I discover an obscure passage of music, or a quirky band – or rare instrument like the glass harmonica, which I discovered listening to Mozart’s compositions a few years back – I get all tingly.

That goes double for Classical music. Symphony after symphony after opera after opera bores me to tears. Especially if they all sound the same, which they often do.

That’s why I like piano sonatas, cello sonatas, and other compositions that open up the space between notes to let another instrument come forward, or a melody reveal itself. There’s usually an opportunity for the music to sound different, to be magical.

Usually.

Beethoven, for example, knew how to put air between notes, to let his compositions breathe. There’s no equivocation with Beethoven. His works are just powerful pieces of music that kick my ass.

Brahms, however, is another story.

In the case of Brahms’ cello sonatas (Cello Sonata No. 1 in E minor Op. 38 and Cello Sonata No. 2 in F Op. 99), what we have is more notes, not necessarily something fundamentally different from everything else I’ve heard from him so far.

And that’s too bad, because the cello has the ability to dig really deep, to pluck emotional chords that can bring tears welling up in one’s eyes. It’s a mournful instrument. Combined with a piano – which can also be extremely emotional – such a sonata could be powerful stuff, indeed.

Although Movement I (“Allegro non troppo”) from Cello Sonata No. 1 in E minor features pizzicato, and a repeating melody echoed on both instruments, it didn’t do what I hoped it would – move me. And I wasn’t blown away by the subsequent movements, either. The melodies just weren’t powerful enough, and the instruments didn’t dig deeply enough. Movement II (“Allegretto quasi menuetto”) had my attention for almost throughout. But it was in the bouncy, repeated melodic phrases that interested me the most. I don’t know what it is about melodic phrases, but if I don’t hear them I don’t consider what I’m listening to something I need to share with someone else – because it won’t have moved me, either.

It wasn’t until Cello Sonata No. 2 in F Op. 99 that I heard more of what I longed to hear – instruments used for their inherent strengths and ability to touch the human spirit. That’s when the two instruments at play here – cello and piano – did some things that made me take notice.

For one thing, there’s more melody here, more clever repeating passages that I can wrap my brain around.

For another, the cello is doing more of that pizzicato thing I enjoy so much.

Both cello sonatas offer pleasant, intriguing music. But I didn’t hear anything that made me want to share it with my wife, which is usually the prime indicator that I really, really like something.

The musicians on Brahms CD 11 are:

Herre-Jan Stegenga cello
Philippe Entremont piano

From its entry on Wikipedia:

The Cello Sonata No. 1 in E minor, Op. 38, actually entitled “Sonate für Klavier und Violoncello”, was written by Johannes Brahms in 1862-65.

Brahms composed the first two movements during the summer of 1862, as well as an Adagio which was later deleted. The final movement was composed in 1865. The sonata is actually entitled “Sonate für Klavier und Violoncello” (for Piano and Cello) and the piano “should be a partner – often a leading, often a watchful and considerate partner – but it should under no circumstances assume a purely accompanying role” It is dedicated to Josef Gänsbacher, a singing professor and amateur cellist. In the course of a private performance for an audience of friends, Brahms played so loudly that the worthy Gänsbacher complained that he could not hear his cello at all – “Lucky for you, too”, growled Brahms, and let the piano rage on.

It is “a homage to J. S. Bach” and the principal theme of the first movement and of the fugue are based on Contrapunctus 4 and 13 of The Art of Fugue.

Brahms was 32 when he completed this cello sonata.

From its entry on Wikipedia:

The Cello Sonata No. 2 in F major, Op. 99, was written by Johannes Brahms in 1886, more than twenty years after completing his Sonata No. 1. It was first published in 1887. It was written for, dedicated to and first performed by Robert Hausmann, who had popularised the First Sonata, and who would the following year be given the honour of premiering the Double Concerto in A minor with Joseph Joachim.

Brahms was 53 when he wrote Cello Sonata No. 2.

Two final thoughts:

1. To my ears, these cello sonatas have a modern sound to them. They seem to employ tricks (for want of a better word) used by songwriters today. Their structure sounds less like Classical-music like than, say, Mozart’s and Beethoven’s. And certainly less so than Haydn’s music. I couldn’t tell you what it is about them that made me type those words. It’s just a gut feeling.

2. I like to put things in historical context. When I do that, I discover that Cello Sonata No. 2 in F Op. 99 was written just as America’s Civil War was drawing to a close. It’s hard to believe that while Americans were embroiled in a very bloody, divisive war, a man in Europe named Brahms was putting the finishing touches on this mesmerizing cello sonata.

I don’t know why that strikes me as a noteworthy juxtaposition. But, as I wrote, I like to know how things fit in historical context.

So there you have it.