The articles I’ve written on Louis Spohr’s works show that he’s a composer worth remembering, one whose works should be a regular part of the concert repertoire. He was highly regarded in his lifetime. Robert Schumann greatly admired him. His 1813 opera Faust was translated into multiple languages and was frequently performed over the next fifty years. In 1852, it had a very successful run in England under Spohr’s direction. Brahms, speaking decades after the premiere of Spohr’s 1822 Jessonda, called it “magnificent.” In Italy his Violin Concerto No. 8 drew so much applause during the music that it drowned out the orchestra at times.

Gilbert and Sullivan put his name next to the two greatest composers of all time. The Mikado sings about

Bach, interwoven
With Spohr and Beethoven
At classical Monday Pops.

Today, many fans of classical music haven’t even heard of Spohr. Why?

Some composers had too short a lifetime. Mozart, Schubert, and Gershwin come to mind. Spohr’s problem may be that he lived too long. Not that anyone wishes he had died young, but he outlived his best years, and that brought his reputation down. In the 1830s he experienced a series of tragedies: the deaths of his brother Ferdinand, his wife Dorette, and her sister Minchen Scheidler. Dorette was a master harpist and Spohr’s musical partner, often performing with him. Her demise deprived him of much of his inspiration. His music after the mid-1830s, covering over two decades, is generally considered weaker than what came before. Like Mozart, he wrote an unfinished Requiem near the end of his life, but in his case he abandoned it because he was no longer satisfied with his work.

Another factor is that Spohr’s music was considered somewhat old-fashioned even in his earlier years, and it seemed increasingly anachronistic as the Romantic movement changed musical tastes. Clive Brown’s biography calls him “the last embodiment of the Classical tradition.” He still drew praise after his death in 1859, but critical estimation of his work dropped over the rest of the century. Many new composers achieved fame during this period, and novelty was almost mandatory for a composer to make a name. Among the composers of the late 18th and early 19th centuries, many worthy ones have become comparatively obscure: Salieri, Cherubini, Hummel, J. C. Bach, Clementi, and so on. Spohr’s fall was one of the deepest. Can I seriously hope that the keystrokes of an obscure blogger who isn’t a professional musician will change that? No, but I have to try.

Update: An article on Louis-Spohr.com includes a discussion of his stylistic development offering technical reasons why his later works were mostly less effective. Martin Wulfhorst sees the problem largely as one of choices by Spohr that ended up limiting him.