Johannes Brahms took nearly 20 years to complete his First Symphony. When it finally premiered in 1876, critics were ready with hot takes. Some hailed it as a triumph of pure, abstract music. Others rolled their eyes and called it “Beethoven’s Tenth.” And Wagner? Oh, he said Brahms was just a “street-singer” pretending to be Beethoven. Cute.
But was Brahms really copying the master? Or was he doing something much bolder?
The Weight of a Giant
Brahms began work on the symphony in 1862 but didn’t release it until 1876. The usual explanation? Beethoven anxiety. The man had redefined the symphony—and Brahms knew it.
There’s a famous line from Brahms’s biography:
“You have no idea what it feels like to hear the footsteps of a giant behind one.”
Except… Brahms probably never said it. His biographer likely made it up. Still, the pressure? Very real.
Beethoven’s Tenth? Really?
At its premiere, the reception was mixed. Critics like Hans von Bülow dubbed it “Beethoven’s Tenth,” while Wagner basically called it cosplay.
Why? Because the finale includes a theme that sounds a lot like Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.
You hear it.
Not a Copy—A Confrontation
When asking about the similarity, Brahms didn’t deny it. He even said: “Any ass can see that.” Obviously, he did it on purpose.
But it wasn’t a direct quote. He reshaped Beethoven’s theme into something stormy and defiant. Where Beethoven gave us joy and unity, Brahms gave us resistance, grit, and angst.
And that’s the point.
Literary critic Harold Bloom called this the anxiety of influence—the idea that great artists don’t just imitate their idols; they misread them, twist their legacy, and claim it as their own.
That’s exactly what Brahms did. He didn’t avoid Beethoven’s shadow—he rewrote it.
And honestly? Quoting wasn’t the problem. Mozart did it. Beethoven did it. Everyone in the classical world borrowed from someone.
The real issue was the pressure. Robert Schumann had already crowned Brahms “the future,” setting him up as Beethoven’s heir before he ever finished a symphony. So by the time he finally delivered, expectations were sky-high.
At some point, Brahms probably thought: “You want Beethoven? Fine. But you’re getting my version.”
Brahms didn’t write to escape Beethoven’s shadow—he walked straight into it. And he didn’t say, “I am Beethoven.”He said: “I hear the giant behind me… and I’m still moving forward.”
