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Robert Fuchs
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“My music does not require clarification, it speaks completely for itself.”

ROBERT FUCHS (1847 — 1927)

Robert Fuchs’ lov­able, mod­est, and reserved pres­ence in the Vien­nese music cul­ture led to very few specifics being known about his life. Fuchs was ret­i­cent and thrifty when talk­ing about him­self – not just in his pri­vate cor­re­spon­dence, but also in his note­books. He him­self did not think he was inter­est­ing and could not under­stand that oth­ers could find any­thing about him inter­est­ing beyond the “few notes” that he had writ­ten. Only his clos­est friends and rela­tions were able to sketch a pic­ture of his devel­op­ment using his casu­al remarks. In real­i­ty, these mem­o­ries and occa­sion­al Feuil­letons in the news­pa­pers of his day com­prise the only bio­graph­i­cal sources of infor­ma­tion we have regard­ing Robert Fuchs.

Robert Fuchs was born on 15 Feb­ru­ary 1847 in Frauen­thal an der Lass­nitz, the youngest of 12 chil­dren. His father, Patriz Fuchs, was an extreme­ly active music teacher; musi­cal tal­ent was read­i­ly avail­able in the fam­i­ly. Fuchs’ broth­er Johann Nepo­muk was a con­duc­tor at the Impe­r­i­al and Roy­al court opera and direc­tor of the Vien­na Con­ser­va­to­ry, while his broth­er Patriz, who died young, was reput­ed to be an excep­tion­al pianis­tic tal­ent. Fuchs’ sis­ters Maria, Elisa and Ludowi­ka were sought-after singers in church choirs, and Maria, with her light sopra­no voice, lat­er gained rep­u­ta­tion as the “Sulm­taler Night­en­gale”. The only thing known about Robert’s ear­ly child­hood is that he enjoyed sit­ting on the bank of rustling brooks and lis­ten­ing for hours as soon as he learned to walk.

In 1854, Robert’s old­er sis­ter Maria takes charge of rais­ing sev­en-year-old Robert and his old­er broth­er Johann Nepo­muk in the near­by region of Wies, while her hus­band, Mar­tin Bischof, school­mas­ter in Wies, assumes respon­si­bil­i­ty for the con­tin­ued musi­cal edu­ca­tion of the two boys. There are piano, vio­lin, flute, organ and fig­ured bass class­es, all in accor­dance with the strict mot­to “a clean stroke of the vio­lin bow and a strong switch”. How­ev­er, Fuchs is thank­ful to his broth­er-in-law, as he him­self said, for the absolute­ly sol­id base of his musi­cal edu­ca­tion. Fuchs writes to his moth­er on 25 Novem­ber 1870, say­ing, “Send my greet­ings and kiss­es to dar­ling Mar­tin Bischof in Wies and tell him that even if I don’t write him myself, his mem­o­ry and the feel­ing of infi­nite thank­ful­ness that con­nects us is alive in my breast and will nev­er be extin­guished.” From 1860 to 1865 Fuchs attends the ele­men­tary school and ped­a­gogy course so that he too can become a teacher.

Soon, how­ev­er, Fuchs is no longer able to with­stand the tempt­ing reports from his friend, Wil­hem Ger­icke, regard­ing musi­cal life in Vien­na and arrives in Vien­na on 6 Octo­ber 1865 after an eight-hour jour­ney, with just six­teen gulden to his name. He enrolls at the Con­ser­va­to­ry as Otto Dessoff’s, the for­mer con­duc­tor of the Vien­na Phil­har­mon­ic Orchestra’s com­po­si­tion stu­dent and keeps his head above water by giv­ing lessons and coach­ing. The first con­cert he hears under Dessoff’s tute­lage is Beethoven’s Fourth Sym­pho­ny. “When I heard this piece, I tru­ly believed that I had been trans­port­ed to a spir­it world and when the first move­ment end­ed I could no longer make out the peo­ple around me for my eyes swam in tears. And then the finale! It pulled me com­plete­ly out of my sad­dle. Like a man pos­sessed I screamed ‘bra­vo, bra­vo!’ until I final­ly real­ized that the hall was already emp­ty.”

Before his 23rd birth­day Fuchs mar­ries Amalie Kopp, the daugh­ter of a fac­to­ry direc­tor in Hirten­berg. In the mean­time, he has writ­ten two sym­phonies, the sec­ond of which is per­formed in 1872 by the Phil­har­mon­ic led by Dessoff. How­ev­er, he feels that he has not yet learnt enough and begins Opus 1 again at the age of 25. Three years lat­er he becomes a the­o­ry and com­po­si­tion teacher at the Con­ser­va­to­ry, a post that he will retain for the next 36 years until 1912. Dur­ing these many years of teach­ing, Fuchs taught almost the entire­ty of the musi­cal Vien­na of the sub­se­quent decades. He taught the major­i­ty of all com­posers, con­duc­tors and music pub­lish­ers who obtained fame in Vien­na, always with mild­ness and friend­li­ness. Alexan­der Zem­linksy, Franz Schrek­er, Ernst Dec­sey, Karl Lafite, Egon Kor­nauth, Otto Siegl, Hugo Wolf, Gus­tav Mahler, Franz Schmidt, Jean Sibelius, Arnold Rose, Arthur Nikisch and many oth­ers num­ber amongst his pupils. In 1912 Fuchs is more or less forced into retire­ment (along with Her­mann Grä­den­er).

Fuchs begins study­ing Eng­lish when he is 50 and Ital­ian when he is 60 and evi­dent­ly could read cel­e­brat­ed lit­er­ary works in their orig­i­nal lan­guages, such as Dante, Man­zoni, Byron and Shake­speare. Fuchs lived the last 40 years of his life in Wieden, at May­er­hof­gasse 9 (which was destroyed in the war) where Her­mine Böck, the niece of his late wife, man­aged his house­hold. Four days after his 80th birth­day at approx­i­mate­ly 11:00, Fuchs was walk­ing “with his stu­dent on the left side of the Wied­ner Haupt­strasse towards the city. There, at the place after the Frei­haus where the planks cov­ered with posters begin, he fell quite sud­den­ly with­out hav­ing com­plained pre­vi­ous­ly about feel­ing poor­ly and sunk into his sur­prised friend’s arms. He was uncon­scious and wheezed soft­ly. Mr. Led­er car­ried him with the help of two passers­by into the build­ing across the street, to Wied­ner Haupt­strasse 1, which hous­es a Unions­bank branch. Short­ly after enter­ing the doors of the build­ing, Pro­fes­sor Fuchs passed away.” (Neue Freie Presse, 19 Feb. 1927)

With­out a doubt, the largest influ­ence any­one had on his artis­tic career came from Johannes Brahms, who was four­teen years his senior. In terms of the more con­tem­po­rary musi­cians, Brahms par­tic­u­lar­ly loved Bizet, Dvo­rak, Smetana, Ver­di and Johann Strauß; still, he always had a spe­cial pref­er­ence for the refined, intel­li­gent Robert Fuchs. The two had met in a con­cert where Brahms was seat­ed by chance between Fuchs and his friend, Kapellmeis­ter Ger­icke. He was intro­duced as that gen­tle­man “who had recent­ly explained that if he didn’t like one of Brahms’ com­po­si­tions, he would blame him­self and not the com­po­si­tion.” At first, Brahms was quite aloof. It was in the Salon Bill­roth where Brahms and Fuchs’ rela­tion­ship grad­u­al­ly began to deep­en. In par­tic­u­lar, Bill­roth raved about Fuchs’ first piano sonata, which had been pub­lished in 1877. Fuchs was prompt­ed to play it in Brahms’ pres­ence. Brahms lis­tened atten­tive­ly and admired it so much that he lat­er played it for Clara Schu­mann.

Fuchs ded­i­cat­ed his first piano trio to Brahms in 1879. “This is a beau­ti­ful begin­ning,” exclaimed Brahms, and in 1888 he said with regards to Fuchs opera plans, “I expect from him a beau­ti­ful, vir­tu­ous opera,… refined, ele­gant, not excit­ing. Fuchs is nev­er deep; in the sym­phonies he touch­es upon some­thing deep­er now and again. But he is so charm­ing with­in his lim­i­ta­tions, which he only seri­ous­ly crossed in the trio that he ded­i­cat­ed to me.” When Brahms learnt of Fuchs’ plans for a sym­pho­ny he only grum­bled, “well, it seems to me he doesn’t have what it takes”. How­ev­er, as soon as he had looked through the fin­ished man­u­script he wrote to Sim­rock by express post on 30 Octo­ber 1884: “Actu­al­ly, you should pay atten­tion to the sym­pho­ny writ­ten by Robert Fuchs that will be pre­miered here this win­ter. I only had a glance at it, but was very hap­py to see how fresh and live­ly, how fine­ly musi­cal it is. If it is even remote­ly pos­si­ble to make mon­ey on sym­phonies, then this is the per­fect one for it. Pub­lish­ers, how­ev­er, are like innkeep­ers: no mat­ter what it is that they offer, they com­plain that they can­not make a pen­ny on it right now.”

On 8 Novem­ber, three weeks before the pre­mier, Brahms expressed his grat­i­tude for Simrock’s alacrity, say­ing, “because you have so imme­di­ate­ly and glad­ly expressed an inter­est, I would like to say a few more things. The sym­pho­ny is deci­sive­ly his best larg­er work and much bet­ter, much live­li­er and more com­plete than I could have ever imag­ined. I can praise it all the more because I once killed a sim­i­lar fruit of his in the womb.” He con­tin­ues by bring­ing Her­mmann Goetz’s sym­pho­ny into the dis­cus­sion:“But one should not make com­par­isons; thus, I will only say that Fuchs, as an Aus­tri­an – which quite suits him — has an innate, beau­ti­ful, fresh tal­ent. He can let him­self go in such a com­fort­able and wit­ti­ly inti­mate fash­ion.” After the pre­miere at the phil­har­mon­ic con­cert at the end of Novem­ber 1834, Brahms sent him a bas­ket of cham­pagne “to prop­er­ly show­er the child”. Max Kalbeck vis­it­ed Brahms the day after the con­cert to invite him out to eat. The con­ver­sa­tion turned to the pre­vi­ous day’s pre­miere and Brahms indulged him­self in prais­ing the piece and its author with even more flat­ter­ing expres­sions than he had used with Sim­rock. This pro­voked Kalbeck to con­tra­dict him, say­ing that the spir­it and work of the com­po­si­tion were cer­tain­ly admirable, but he did not feel that the ideas were robust enough for a sym­pho­ny. This upset Brahms, who replied, “So? You don’t always need some­one to so mas­sive­ly and bow­legged­ly set­tle in with his Ratatataa,” — he intoned the begin­ning of Beethoven’s Fifth Sym­pho­ny – “oth­er, more del­i­cate­ly con­struct­ed peo­ple also want to live. Maybe you have some­thing to say against Schumann’s d-minor sym­pho­ny? There are many rooms in our Father’s house.”

Brahms remained ami­ca­bly con­nect­ed with Fuchs, even in dis­sua­sion. Fuchs’ piano con­cer­to was sup­posed to be played by the Phil­har­mon­ic, but due to an advanced sea­son no longer came into ques­tion. Nev­er­the­less, Fuchs want­ed to give it to the pub­lish­ing house imme­di­ate­ly. “Some­thing like this has to be heard first”, warned Brahms. When­ev­er Fuchs had a piano com­po­si­tion arranged for four hands ready, Brahms was gen­er­al­ly the first with whom he played it through, as was the case with the Op. 25 waltz, which Brahms liked very much, and the op. 48 “Traum­bilder” which he rec­om­mend­ed with light­ning speed to the Peters pub­lish­ing house. The fol­low­ing let­ter from Clara Schu­mann to Robert Fuchs proves how much Brahms advo­cat­ed for the com­po­si­tions of his younger col­league:

Dear Sir!

If I might allow myself to write these lines to you, then you have Mr. Brahms to thank for recent­ly encour­ag­ing me to do so as he told me it might bring you plea­sure when we played your sym­pho­ny “In der Daem­mer­stunde” togeth­er on the forth day of the month.
I find your com­po­si­tions so nat­u­ral­ly flow­ing, refined, often dream­i­ly noble, and always res­o­nant through­out, that I tru­ly find plea­sure in them. It would be a joy to me to hear the sym­pho­ny in its orig­i­nal form, and per­haps I will have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to share my high esti­ma­tion per­son­al­ly with you.

Most Sin­cere­ly,

Clara Schu­mann

Brahms said of Fuchs’ opera “The Devil’s Clock”, “Fuchs is real­ly a famous musi­cian; every­thing is so refined, so adroit, so fas­ci­nat­ing­ly invent­ed! It is always a plea­sure!” Once, when Brahms met Dr. Fellinger (the CEO of Siemens, one of his clos­est friends) on the Elis­a­beth Bridge, he asked Fellinger if he knew who Fuchs was. Fellinger did not, to which Brahms replied, “What? You don’t know him? He is Robert Fuchs, one of our best musi­cians, one should know of him!“

Fuchs also belonged to the same cir­cle of friends (such as Anton Door, Julius Epstein, Euse­bius Mandy­czews­ki, Ignz Brull) who accom­pa­nied Brahms on his lengthy hikes. Fuchs remem­bers, “We would often go walk­ing togeth­er, and one of his friends called me ‘Mas­ter Fuchs’- then you should have seen Brahms’ explode. ‘What do you mean ‘Mas­ter’?! Always this ‘Mas­ter’! There have been no Mas­ters since Bach and Beethoven!’ Then they would have to cajole Brahms at length, until the upheaval of his agi­tat­ed mood had calmed.” Fuchs also recalled Brahms’ direct char­ac­ter:

“…once I showed him a com­po­si­tion from my youth. One of the themes seemed to him to be sim­i­lar to one from a Beethoven Andante and he would not let the top­ic rest. ‘That there’, he said, ‘I would want to change a bit, not because it is bad, but just so not every idiot would rec­og­nize it imme­di­ate­ly!’”

For many musi­cians of the 19th Cen­tu­ry who lived long lives well into the 20th, Brahms’ death marked the end of an era of which they were con­sid­ered liv­ing relicts by the younger gen­er­a­tion. Even Robert Fuchs, who him­self out­lived Brahms by thir­ty years, was not spared this dif­fi­cult expe­ri­ence. Still deeply shak­en by this death, Fuchs lost his wife of 28 years, Amalie short­ly there­after in the same year, 1897; in 1899 his broth­er Johann Nepo­muk, then Dvo­rak, Bruck­n­er, Strauß; in 1918 his best friend Theodor v. Brücke as well as his last sis­ter; and final­ly his son after an oper­a­tion in 1919. “My Hans! My dar­ling Hans died on Sep­tem­ber 24th at 14:00.”

Inter­est in his music also ebbed and per­for­mances in Vien­na were sel­dom. His 2nd Sym­pho­ny only received a sin­gle per­for­mance in 1887 despite Brahms’ warm sup­port and an enthu­si­as­tic pub­lic recep­tion. “A work com­posed with great effort over dif­fi­cult weeks is con­demned to the death of eter­nal silence in three counts”, wrote the cheer­less com­pos­er. The pay­ments for his three sym­phonies speak for them­selves: Fuchs received 2000 gulden for the first, 1500 for the sec­ond, and only 500 for the third sym­pho­ny with the promise of a bonus should the sym­pho­ny become “com­mer­cial”. This made Fuchs all the hap­pi­er about the rare per­for­mances of his works, such as the pre­miere of his Sonata for Vio­la Op. 86 in Berlin on 24 Octo­ber 1912 by Max Reger, who played it along with his own Op. 107. On 15 Novem­ber 1916, respond­ing to a request for an arti­cle for his 70th birth­day, the Aus­tri­an “Illus­tri­erten Zeitung” replied as fol­lows:

Hon­or­able Sirs,

We deeply regret our inabil­i­ty to assist in your request dat­ed on the 14th of the month, as we have not had the hon­or of mak­ing the acquain­tance of the Mr. Robert Fuchs whose 70th birth­day should be cel­e­brat­ed in word and pic­ture in the ‘Aus­tri­an Illus­tri­erten Zeitung’. We would also like to point out that accord­ing to Lehmann there are many Robert Fuchs in Vien­na, one of which is a known aca­d­e­m­ic painter, anoth­er is an organ­ist in the court music chapel, and a third is a high rank­ing civ­il ser­vant at the min­istry of trade.

With best regards…

If a few years ago Robert Fuchs, this old Aus­tri­an mas­ter, was only men­tioned with the key­word “Fuchs Ser­e­nades”, then an increased inter­est in his cham­ber music can now be observed. Thus, the name ‘Fuchs’ has once again returned to the con­scious­ness of the music world. Now, his cham­ber music appears more and more on records, but his exten­sive Lied and choral works and his piano music still wait to be dis­cov­ered.

The First Cel­lo Sonata in d minor, Op. 29, appeared in 1881 and is ded­i­cat­ed to David Pop­per. On 10 May 1881, Brahms wrote to his pub­lish­er, Sim­rock, “Now a quick word, to which I request a sim­i­lar­ly quick response. I do not know if you have tak­en note of our very own Robert Fuchs? Prob­a­bly the most beau­ti­ful tal­ent in town; a charm­ing man who is also mar­ried (so talk­ing about mon­ey is a neces­si­ty). Up to now, Kist­ner (his pub­lish­er in Leipzig) has always hap­pi­ly accept­ed his work and paid well for them. Recent­ly, how­ev­er, the pub­lish­er began nego­ti­at­ing, which embar­rass­es the very mod­est and fear­ful­ly cour­te­ous Fuchs. I did not want to go to you regard­ing the waltzes, since Kist­ner (who would be hap­py to wring my neck even with­out all of this) would have known instant­ly that I am involved. But now I do indeed have to ask you to let me know in pass­ing if you could inci­den­tal­ly pay 600 gulden for the cel­lo sonata. I think it is his best and most live­ly work, and if you have nev­er heard of him at all you real­ly should have a look at his Vari­a­tions (Här­tel) and piano sonatas (Kist­ner)… Fuchs doesn’t know any­thing about this.” Sim­rock, how­ev­er, had a deep mis­trust of cel­lo sonatas; they did not entice him, even if they would have been cheap­er. The sonata was released that same year with Kist­ner as pub­lish­er.

Fuchs did not par­tic­u­lar­ly care for the high­er reg­is­ter of the cel­lo, and so he also begins this sonata with an ele­giac melody in the tenor range of the instru­ment. The sec­ondary theme is pow­er­ful and lat­er serves as the basis for the devel­op­ment. The scher­zo, which also begins calm­ly, is strong­ly con­trast­ed by the trio. The ada­gio move­ment begins with a slow, heav­i­ly pon­der­ous move­ment that is quick­ly re-framed as an intro­duc­tion to the final move­ment. This dance-like, quick move­ment in D Major brings the sonata to a tri­umphal close with a dra­mat­ic Coda.

The sev­en „Phan­tasi­estücke“ Op.78 appeared in the Sep­tem­ber of 1905 on the heels of his 4th vio­lin sonata thanks to the requests and demands of his friend Anton Mayr, an ama­teur cel­list. Fuchs wrote to Mayr in Admond on 4 Sep­tem­ber, “cel­lo pieces are not my pas­sion, but to make you hap­py I will per­haps try to write some, but only because it is you who is ask­ing”. There­after, the pieces appeared in rapid suc­ces­sion. The first was fin­ished on 18 Sep­tem­ber,  three more on the 23rd and by 15 Octo­ber all sev­en cel­lo pieces were pre­pared in fair copy.

At the first play-through on 20 Octo­ber with Mayr at the cel­lo, sev­er­al cor­rec­tions were made, which are described in detail by Mayr in his “Mem­o­ries of Robert Fuchs”. In the sec­ond piece Fuchs said he had imag­ined that the har­mo­ny with the emp­ty D-string would sound more beau­ti­ful; the strings should be very even­ly and ten­der­ly played togeth­er. In the third piece he found the reca­pit­u­la­tion super­flu­ous and the pizzi­ca­to of the cel­lo too weak against the piano. He was very con­tent with piece num­ber four, and par­tic­u­lar­ly liked the fla­geo­let on the G-string.  He did not want the 8th mea­sure of the fifth piece to be played too weak­ly so that the fol­low­ing dolce came across even more ten­der­ly. In piece num­ber six he added quite a num­ber of dynam­ic mark­ings. He also want­ed the first of the eighth-note fig­ures in the first two mea­sures to be a bit accen­tu­at­ed with­out chang­ing the length of the eighth note. He want­ed the cel­lo to sound robust and full in the sec­tions where the cel­lo played the bass line and the piano was in a high­er reg­is­ter. This piece was Fuchs’ favorite. In the last piece the arpeg­gios in the begin­ning of the sec­ond part proved to be too dif­fi­cult and he made minor adjust­ments and sim­pli­fi­ca­tions to the cel­lo part.

With the excep­tion of a few triv­i­al­i­ties, Fuchs seems to have been sat­is­fied with the pieces. They were pub­lished the fol­low­ing year with Robitschek and ded­i­cat­ed to Fuchs’ friend, Richard von Perg­er.

The sec­ond cel­lo sonata in e-flat minor, Op. 83 came into being dur­ing the autumn of 1908 and was fin­ished on 3 Decem­ber. It was unded­i­cat­ed. Robert Haus­mann, the cel­list of the Joachim Quar­tet should have pre­miered the piece in Vien­na on 19 Jan­u­ary 1909, and a sort of pre-pre­miere was also planned. How­ev­er, short­ly before the pre­miere, a mes­sage arrived that Haus­mann was seri­ous­ly ill. Fuchs went to Hausmann’s hotel with the pianist, Maria Bau­may­er, where they learned that Haus­mann had suf­fered a stroke. “It would have been so beau­ti­ful”, he wrote to his friend Anton Mayr in Admont, “but it was not meant to be”. Four months lat­er the then 30-year-old Paul Grüm­mer played the sonata in Munich with the com­pos­er present.

The three-move­ment sonata is — though sim­i­lar to the first in expres­sion — much more com­plex­ly con­struct­ed. Fuchs was in the bloom of his per­son­al style in this work, and it is full of his sur­pris­ing­ly chro­mat­ic twists and enhar­mon­ic rein­ter­pre­ta­tions. The first move­ment exudes a great calm through its two lyric themes. The sec­ond, even calmer move­ment is inter­rupt­ed by a dra­mat­ic mid­dle sec­tion. Final­ly, the third move­ment rounds out the sonata with bois­ter­ous-yet-untrou­bled exhil­a­ra­tion in E-flat Major.

Translation by Chanda VanderHart, M.A. and Dune Johnson

Robert Fuchs

Sonata for piano and cello in d minor, Op. 29

1 Molto mod­er­a­to .….….….….….….….….….….….… 15:37
2 Alle­gro .….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….. 5:07
3 Ada­gio – Alle­gro non trop­po, ma gio­coso .….. 10:44

'Phantasiestücke' for cello and piano, Op. 78

Nr. 1 Etwas bewegt, lau­nig .….….….….….….….…. 4:49
Nr. 2 Ruhig und äußerst zart .….….….….….….….. 4:14
Nr. 3 Leb­haft .….….….….….….….….….….….….….…. 5:21
Nr. 4 Ruhig und gesangvoll .….….….….….….….…. 3:59
Nr. 5 Anmutig bewegt (Menuett) .….….….….….… 3:51
Nr. 6 Etwas langsam, sehr innig .….….….….….… 5:17
Nr. 7 Leb­haft bewegt .….….….….….….….….….….. 2:14

Sonata for cello and piano in e-flat minor, Op. 83

1 Alle­gro mod­er­a­to assai .….….….….….….….….… 9:28
2 Ada­gio con sen­ti­men­to .….….….….….….….….… 5:13
3 Alle­gro vivace .….….….….….….….….….….….…… 6:01

[lbg_audio2_html5 settings_id=‘2’]

“My music does not require clarification,
it speaks completely for itself.”

 ROBERT FUCHS (1847−1927)

Robert Fuchs’ lov­able, mod­est, and reserved pres­ence in the Vien­nese music cul­ture led to very few specifics being known about his life. Fuchs was ret­i­cent and thrifty when talk­ing about him­self – not just in his pri­vate cor­re­spon­dence, but also in his note­books. He him­self did not think he was inter­est­ing and could not under­stand that oth­ers could find any­thing about him inter­est­ing beyond the “few notes” that he had writ­ten. Only his clos­est friends and rela­tions were able to sketch a pic­ture of his devel­op­ment using his casu­al remarks. In real­i­ty, these mem­o­ries and occa­sion­al Feuil­letons in the news­pa­pers of his day com­prise the only bio­graph­i­cal sources of infor­ma­tion we have regard­ing Robert Fuchs…

 Continue reading About Robert Fuchs' life on the second tab of this page

Chan­da Van­der­Hart, Piano (Stein­way, Mod­ell C, New York 1884)
Ronald Fuchs, Cel­lo (Gio­van­ni Bat­tista Gaibis­so, Alas­sio 1911)

Sonata Nr. 1 and ‘Phan­tasi­estücke’ record­ed 5–8 May 2009,
Sonata Nr. 2 record­ed 20–21 Nov. 2009 in Kun­sthaus Mürz­zuschlag

Record­ing and Sound Engi­neer: Matthias Hupp­mann (www.derguteton.at)
Graph­ic design: Michael Glet­thofer, Michael Murschetz

Total time: CD 1 61:18  —  CD 2 20:43

www.brahmsmuseum.at | info@brahmsmuseum.at

Also available on:

Robert Fuchs: Compositions for Cello and Piano - Chanda VanderHart & Ronald Fuchs

Chanda VanderHart & Ronald Fuchs: Robert Fuchs: Compositions for Cello and Piano