Johannes Brahms spent twenty years writing his First Symphony, and when it finally premiered in 1876, critics immediately dubbed it "Beethoven's Tenth." That comparison would haunt him for the rest of his life, but honestly? He'd brought it on himself. The Hamburg-born composer was so intimidated by Beethoven's legacy that he destroyed at least twenty string quartets and multiple symphonies before allowing anything to see the light of day. Talk about perfectionism.

Here's something you might not know: Brahms was caught in the middle of classical music's biggest throwdown. On one side stood Richard Wagner and Franz Liszt, championing the "Music of the Future" with their dramatic program music and operas. On the other? Brahms, the traditionalist who believed in absolute music and classical forms. The rivalry got so intense that critics literally split into two camps, like some 19th-century musical civil war. Wagner once called Brahms "a street musician," and Brahms fired back by keeping a photo of Wagner on his wall – with a pig's body photoshopped onto it. Classy.

Despite his grumpy reputation and legendary beard, Brahms was a bit of a softie underneath. He never married, though he carried a torch for Clara Schumann (his mentor Robert Schumann's wife) for decades. When Robert was institutionalized, the young Brahms moved in to help Clara and her seven children, and their complicated relationship lasted forty years until her death. He was also absurdly generous with struggling musicians, often sending anonymous gifts and claiming publishers had overpaid him so friends wouldn't feel like charity cases.

The guy had some peculiar habits too. He loved taking long walks in Vienna's woods, and he'd often compose entire passages in his head before writing anything down. He was also notorious for showing up to formal occasions in wrinkled clothes that were too short for him – fashion was definitely not his forte. But perhaps the most touching detail? When Brahms lay dying in April 1897, thousands of Viennese citizens lined the streets for his funeral procession. The man who'd been called old-fashioned and backward-looking had become, ironically, one of the most beloved figures in Vienna. His Third Symphony's third movement was played at the service, and apparently, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Not bad for a street musician.