Beethoven's Fourth Concerto

Arrau / Bernstein A winning pairing and, therefore, the result can only be how wonderful. I adore them both,

EVERY time I listen to the Fourth or the Fifth concerto, I continue to wonder which one I like more. I can't quite find the answer: one moment I lean towards one, sometimes the other. The fact remains that they are both wonderful!

If I think of the First Movement, I probably prefer that of the Fourth, but it is a close call.

The Second Movement of the Emperor is as beautiful as anything Beethoven has composed from an exquisitely melodic point of view, but the second of the Fourth continues to be, for me, despite countless listenings, absolutely overwhelming in its construction and conception.

In the Third Movement, the victory goes to the Emperor: I still remember the first time I listened to it with Artur Rubinstein at the piano, I was left ecstatic.

My opinion on these two concertos.

Apparently, in these works Beethoven seems to exceed the usual pattern which provided for an orchestral introduction before the soloist's entrance. Let us remember that in all of Mozart's solo concertos there is an orchestral-only introduction; the only partial exception is the concerto K.271 "Jeunehomme", which begins with a phrase broken between orchestra and soloist (followed then by the normal introduction). Beethoven's IV concerto opens with this "stroke of genius": a very brief "prologue" of eight bars, a phrase that remains suspended on the dominant (note that the orchestra, initially with strings only, then resumes the theme but in a distant key, precisely G major, then with a circular progression descends again to G major). Well, despite the apparent exception (Schnabel said this concerto was extremely difficult, "because after the first bars the pianist has an entire minute to think about how badly he has already played"), in reality LVB does not renounce his usual orchestral introduction, which to tell the truth is based almost entirely on the first theme and does not present the second (there is only, starting from b. 29, a secondary phrase, initially in A minor, which however is not the second theme: it appears instead much later, at b. 119). The soloist's entrance (we should say the "second entrance"), in this case is different from previous concertos: it does not arrive after a "concluding" phrase by the orchestra, but interrupts the orchestra's discourse (this entrance will then be taken up again, perhaps in an even slightly too obvious way, in Dvorak's only piano concerto). However, we can observe that, apart from these exceptions, the rest of the first movement proceeds in a traditional manner, anyway not very different from what LVB had done in previous concertos (it is true that the soloist continues to play after the cadence, but this had already been done in the third concerto). This regarding the formal aspect; obviously the style is different from previous concertos, and even the sonorities are, in this first movement, very "subdued" compared to what is usually expected from a piano concerto (note also the economy of means: in the first movement neither trumpets nor timpani are used, the same thing the author did in the "Pastoral" symphony, where the orchestration expands gradually).

In short, a stupendous first movement rich in surprises. But... I know I will scandalize someone here, but I must say that the second and third movements convince me a little less. Of course, even the idea of basing the second movement on the contrast (dynamic and rhythmic) between piano and strings can be considered a brilliant idea, but to tell the truth it does not move me like the first movement, nor like the other slow movements of the Master's piano concertos. Let's set aside for a moment the wonderful variations of the Adagio poco mosso of the V concerto (which I will mention later), but even the simple "Largo" lied of the first concerto seems like something else to me. Above all, I don't quite understand "where he is going with this". Let me explain better. Even a short piece usually has a discourse that develops and concludes with the piece itself, regardless of whether it is more or less long or if it then attaches directly to a subsequent movement. Just think, for the sake of staying with Beethoven, of the second movement of the violin concerto: although brief, there are two themes that are both repeated (a kind of abbreviated sonata form, without development). Instead, the second movement of the IV piano concerto seems to me not to have "a sense in itself", but finds its raison d'être only as an introduction to the rondo. Here I notice an analogy with the "Waldstein" Sonata op. 53. Everyone knows the story: the second movement of op. 53 was supposed to be a vast "Andante" in F major; despite it being a piece the author liked very much, however he convinced himself to replace it with a short piece (in the same key), which is essentially nothing more than an introduction to the rondo (perhaps this choice was dictated by considerations of "balance"): well, don't you seem to notice a similarity? I don't know if what I am about to say has a historical basis, but who knows if among the quintals of notes left by LVB there was some idea to exploit for an "Adagio" or a "Largo" (perhaps in C major) that was initially intended to be the slow movement of this concerto, and then the author thought of canceling everything and leaving between the two allegro movements only a short intermezzo, essentially an introduction to the rondo.

Finally... even the rondo proceeds in a somewhat strange, unusual way. The form is more or less the same as other rondos, but strangely the second "couplet" does not seem to propose different ideas, and in the end resembles the other two. In short, the concerto overall is certainly not "bad" (of course not!), but after listening to the first movement, it gives me the vague impression of a great"}

a promise not entirely kept. (go ahead and let loose, Beethoven lovers, and throw all the virtual tomatoes you want at me!)

And instead, let's come to the 5th Concerto (by the way, who had the crazy idea of nicknamed it "Emperor"?) This seems to me the pinnacle of LVB's creation in this field. Here too, the first movement seems to begin in an exceptional way, but if we think about it for a moment, we notice that the author does nothing more than repurpose the scheme of the 4th Concerto: except that the "prologue" is extremely dilated. No longer a simple eight-bar phrase played piano, but a forceful presentation of the protagonist, which seems to say "let's make it clear right away who is in charge here": three chords with full orchestra, each followed by a phrase that resembles a cadenza. But even here, the author does not renounce his usual vast orchestral introduction, which this time contains all the elements that will later be elaborated. Note also the unexpected second entry of the soloist, almost in the background. If it were a theatrical performance, one could imagine an entrance at the beginning with some very incisive bars from the main character, who then exits the stage and re-enters after a while, when the story is already unfolding, and when he re-enters he does so on tiptoe, almost as if he didn't want to be seen. At this point, however, the first movement proceeds according to the usual formal scheme (albeit with great freedom in the use of tonalities, and indeed the second theme appears in keys far from the home key). The real surprise comes at the end of this first movement: there is the usual fourth and sixth chord that makes one think of the usual cadenza; but on the score (obviously the listener does not know this the first time) there is the note "N.B. No cadenza is made, but proceed immediately to the following". It is obvious that the author put this precise indication there because he knew his people (let's not forget that this was the only concerto that B. could not perform, because the advancing deafness prevented him from doing so): thus a warning to the soloist not to invent anything, but to move forward. Only... the "following" seems to begin exactly like a cadenza, with the reprise of the first theme, trills, then a hint of the second theme. Thus everything suggests a normal cadenza. Instead... surprise! Suddenly the horns take up the second theme in major (as had already been heard before). It is as if, returning to the theatrical parallel, a few seconds after the protagonist has launched into his monologue, another character enters to interrupt him. But here the soloist does not lose composure, does not "get angry"; on the contrary, this is one of the moments of greatest "integration" between soloist and orchestra, which end the first movement playing together (chronicles say that once Celibidache got very angry with Pollini, who according to him performed this final part of the first movement too "as a soloist", ignoring the integration with the orchestra).

Then there is the beautiful "Adagio un poco mosso" in B major (the sequence of tonalities is similar to that of the 1st concerto). A beautiful theme (in fact, there is even a secondary theme), with some variations. In the last variation, the winds take up the main theme, the strings accompany with pizzicato, the soloist performs simple unison quartets: an extraordinary orchestration find that Berlioz liked so much, who was convinced that the piano could and should also be used as an orchestral instrument, and lamented that this example of Beethoven had not been followed.

In the end, B major becomes B-flat... and the rondo starts directly. A very lively and very interesting piece, also constructed like the rondos of the other concertos (rondo-sonata, i.e., three couplets of which the first and third are equal but proposed in different keys as in a sonata form, then a concluding period and coda). Here too, the author finds a way to add a pleasant orchestration find: the concluding phrase is preceded by some "pianissimo" timpani strokes (alas, in some recordings these strokes cannot even be heard). It should be noted that in this concerto, although there are no cadenzas, the piano is treated with unprecedented virtuosity. For me, this is the most perfect of the five concertos, and I only regret that in his last creative period LVB no longer wrote concertos for piano and orchestra (it would have been interesting, in light of certain masterpieces like the last sonatas, the last quartets, the 9th symphony, to see what other brilliant finds B. could have devised in a solo concerto).

To conclude this long rant: if I remember correctly, in this same forum there was mention of a fragment of a sixth concerto for piano (in D major). Personally, I think B. was right to abandon the project, because that little bit we can hear does not seem to me to be"}

all'altezza dei concerti precedenti.

Un saluto agli amici del forum

Gino (da Roma)

Goodness, Gino! Forget about tomatoes, virtual or otherwise. If only there were more people like you!

So, what follows is what I think about Beethoven's Opus 58 and why I disagree with you regarding the Second Movement. Forgive me if I begin by contextualizing it within Beethoven's life, but from my point of view, this process—not just with Beethoven, but especially with him—must always be done when approaching his greatest masterpieces.

Beethoven and the Piano Concerto and Orchestra Opus 58, or the struggle between the principle of opposition and the imploring principle

Beethoven worked on his "Fourth Piano Concerto and Orchestra Opus 58" from 1802 to 1806, but there are those who believe he made further refinements as late as 1807. What is certainly certain, however, is that the bulk of the work was done between 1805 and the early months of 1806 and, therefore, it was contemporary to the "Piano Sonata No. 23 'Appassionata' in F minor, Opus 57," the "3 Razumovsky Quartets Opus 59," the "Symphony No. 4 in B-flat major, Opus 60," and the "Violin Concerto and Orchestra in D major, Opus 61." But one must not forget that, regardless, its long gestation makes it contemporary, albeit more indirectly, to the "Eroica Symphony Opus 55," the "Fifth Symphony Opus 68," and the Singspiel "Leonore-Fidelio" in its first two versions. All this to say that, in this beautiful concerto, the Beethoven of those years is summarized, with all his psychological and biographical contradictions of the moment.

It is the Beethoven who, after recovering from the story with Giulietta Guicciardi, after the Heiligenstadt Testament, had a reaction absolutely contrary to what the text of that terrible letter would have foretold; it is the Beethoven who accepted, with resignation, a cynical and baroque fate but rebelled against all of it. It is a Beethoven who resumed composing with great vigor, churning out masterpiece after masterpiece, and who fully entered into his second style, the "Heroic" one, the most romantic, and who finally experienced a period of peace because he fell in love with another woman: Josephine Brunsvik. If this inner peace found its most significant expression in his Fourth Symphony, or in the Violin Concerto, it certainly also flowed into the first movement of this concerto, "Allegro Moderato."

On a musical level, it is an absolutely important Concerto. Even if its forms are certainly not revolutionary from the standpoint of a stronger dramatic intensity compared to previous concertos and the Mozartian model because, as Piero Rattalino says, it is "a return to the concerto form within the sphere of interiority," it nonetheless represents the definitive break with the Mozartian style and the affirmation of the complete spiritual maturity of its author. With this concerto, the era of the eighteenth-century concerto closed definitively, and the era opened where the soloist and the orchestra are no longer antagonists but merge into one another: the first example is given right at the beginning of the first movement, where for the first time it is the solo instrument that begins and not the orchestra. It was in this movement that Beethoven renounced his typical language of that era, the "heroic" language with strong epic and martial tones, where a strong sense of struggle between parts was always central. For the first time in history, Beethoven no longer wanted to pit the soloist and the orchestra against each other but to integrate them, to fuse them with the orchestra. Therefore, if it was not revolutionary from the standpoint of accentuating drama, it was so in this latter sense. Berlioz wondered why that path had not been pursued. The answer is, as always with Beethoven, the same: because the composer, being a great visionary, was always much further ahead of his time and even of those who would follow him. One had to wait for Brahms and his two Concertos—especially the Second, Opus 83—for this revolution to reach its natural completion.

From a psychological point of view, it was the inner peace, albeit very precarious and fleeting, of a man who experienced one of his rare moments of serene life that dominated; and this is fully expressed, all paced by twilight sonorities of an intimate and melancholic character. Luigi della Croce identifies in this movement the longing for marriage that permeated the Beethoven of that time and which was expressed so completely in the contemporary Leonore-Fidelio—that desire for a domestic hearth that life always denied him.

The Second Movement "Andante con Moto" is one of the most beautiful pages in absolute in musical literature, period. Beautiful and absolutely disconcerting in relation to that melancholic peace of the first movement. Here Beethoven introduced his two fundamental principles: the principle of opposition assigned to the orchestra and the principle..."}

The implorer assigned to the piano. The two contestants intone two absolutely different themes. First, the orchestra enters with a loud, imperious and authoritative one, to which the piano responds with a theme of an absolutely humble, cantabile type, of imploring sweetness. After an alternation between the two themes, the opposing one fades away bit by bit and, in contrast, the imploring one gains more and more prominence in a song of intense strength but always absolutely unhappy and melancholy. Then the orchestra returns to make its basses heard, but this time its strength is significantly reduced compared to what it had at the beginning, while the piano performs beautiful trills.

Let's stop for a moment. It is quite evident that the peace of the first movement is thus interrupted by the typical Beethovenian duality; someone wanted to see in the orchestra – Vincent d'Indy - a tyrannical character opposing a supplicating character but, once again and precisely because of that intimate character of this work that I was mentioning, I think it is more likely that what Beethoven intended to represent was always that fate which he would have wanted to "grab by the neck," against which he, through the piano which, one must never forget, was his preferred instrument, rebels with a voice at first subdued, then increasingly strong, but in a manner – those trills, those wonderful and strange trills – almost lost or angry.

Then, without any break from the second, the third movement begins; first, the attack of the orchestral strings is in pianissimo, almost imperceptible, but the theme is immediately taken up by the piano, while a cello plays a melody completely independent from the rest. The same thing happens with the second idea and at this point the orchestra reaffirms the initial theme with great strength. It is a song of triumph, of joy, of victory; fate, tyranny has once again been defeated. The various episodes connect to each other and vary, and in connecting them, it is a musical theme that many years later – could it be a coincidence? I think not, obviously - somewhat changed, which Beethoven used to begin the Ode to Joy. Beethovenian optimism has once again triumphed despite everything, despite the many adversities of life, and the conclusion on the main theme's head motif is absolutely dazzling and intense.

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Giulietta GuicciardiTestamento di HeiligestadtJosephine Brunsvik Piero RattalinoBerlioz Brahms

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Luigi della Croce

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il principio d'opposizioneil principio imploranteVincent d'Indy

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gpr wrote:

To conclude this long rant: if I remember correctly, in this same forum there was mention of a fragment of a sixth piano concerto (in D major). Personally, I think B. was right to abandon the project, because that little bit we can hear does not seem to me to be up to the standard of the previous concertos.

A greeting to the friends of the forum

Gino (from Rome)

However, I would now like to pick up this part of Gino's discussion because it allows me to express my thoughts regarding the completion – or so to speak – of Beethovenian works that remained at the level of sketches and drafts.

I do not know if you, Gino, in making this judgment are referring to Beethoven's sketches that remained as such, dating from 1815 and cataloged by Hess as number 15 and by Biamonti as no. 641, or to a posthumous reconstruction of that kind.

In the second case – which is also the case for the tenth symphony – it is an absolutely legitimate operation, but criticism, for better or worse, must be directed solely at that composer who thought of undertaking the operation. In short, Beethoven is the starting point and nothing more; everything else is the work of the second protagonist of the operation.

If, instead, you are referring solely and purely to the sketches left by Beethoven—that is, about 70 pages of the first movement, some completed, others only outlined, of an orchestral score draft that goes up to the middle of the solo, with signs of indecision and dissatisfaction on the part of the composer—well, I can tell you that those who have analyzed it and know astronomically more than I do – for example Lewis Lockwood – assert that it is one of Beethoven's most important unrealized works.

As to why Beethoven did not proceed and complete this work, one can obviously only make conjectures. Probably the most popular theory is that he was perfectly aware that a concerto going beyond his last two, and thus continuing on the path of his revolution, would absolutely not have been accepted by the critics and the public of the time; and so, this advised him to let it go and set the matter aside, at least for the moment.

But it is also true that 1815 coincided with that series of personal and political events that led him to an almost total silence, broken only by the harmonization of folk songs mostly from Great Britain. After this silence ended, the composer threw himself into solo piano, then onto the Missa Solemnis and the Ninth, and finally onto the last Quartets. If he were still alive, at least in terms of intentions, there were quite different things that had priority: the Tenth Symphony, an Overture on the name of Bach, an Oratorio in the style of Handel, and an opera on Goethe's Faust. In short, something else entirely compared to a Piano and Orchestra Concerto.

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Lewis Lockwood

Hello everyone.

For the third time in a row, I agree with Daniele!

As far as the Tenth is concerned, the fruit is a fruit of sin; as far as Hess 15 is concerned, the matter is very different: the material is of excellent quality and already partially orchestrated. For personal knowledge, I recommend these texts:

First, the autograph score: Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, MS Artaria 184.

The sketches: Grasnick 20b, Landsberg 10, Mendelssohn 1, Mendelssohn 6, and Scheide sketchbooks, and B.M. Add. MS 29997. (The Scheide will be published this year, or rejoice!!)

for details: Nicholas Cook, 'Beethoven's unfinished piano concerto: a case of double vision?' (below).

and the articles on the subject:

Cook, Nicholas, 'Beethoven's unfinished piano concerto: a case of double vision?', in Journal of the American Musicological Society 42 (1989), 338-74. A response to this article by Lockwood appeared, together with a reply to Mark Zimmer, in Journal of the American Musicological Society 43 (1990).

then

Cook, Nicholas, 'A performing edition of Beethoven's Sixth Piano Concerto?'. Beethoven Newsletter, 8/3-9/1 (1994), 71-80

Lockwood, Lewis, 'Beethoven's unfinished piano concerto of 1815: sources and problems', Musical Quarterly, 56 (1970), 624-46; reprinted by Paul Henry Lang (ed.), The creative world of Beethoven (New York, 1971), 122-44.

Nottebohm, Gustav, 'Ein unvollendetes Clavierconcert', in Zweite Beethoveniana: nachgelassene Aufsatze (Leipzig, 1887), 223-4.

I have the manuscript copy of Nicholas Cook's reconstruction at home, but a copy can be obtained by writing to:

Department of Music, University of Southampton, Highfield, Southampton SO17 1BJ, UK (email ncook@soton.ac.uk).

Bye------------

Ok, you are unbeatable!

danielescarpetti wrote:

Arrau / Bernstein is a winning pairing and, therefore, the result can only be wonderful. I adore them both,

EVERY time I listen to the Fourth or the Fifth concerto, I continue to wonder which one I like more. I can't quite find the answer: a turnaround, I lean towards one at times and the other at others. The fact remains that they are both wonderful!

If I think of the First Movement, I probably prefer that of the Fourth, but it is a close call.

The Second Movement of the Emperor is as beautiful as anything Beethoven has composed from an exquisitely melodic point of view, but the second of the Fourth continues to be, for me, despite countless listenings, absolutely overwhelming in its construction and conception.

In the Third Movement, the victory goes to the Emperor: I still remember the first time I listened to it with Artur Rubinstein at the piano; I was left ecstatic.

A propos of the Fourth and Fifth concerto and which one is the most beautiful, even on this - but not only on this -, musicologist Attilio Piovano gives his opinion!

I don't know which one is more beautiful, but I am sure it is worth listening to this recording (starting from 1:36:46).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRq9kEjfXZQ

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I confess I have always associated the name Radu Lupu with Schubert and Mozart and not with Beethoven, and I was not aware of this interpretation of the Beethoven concertos which, obviously, I listened to in its entirety and, I must say, which I undoubtedly found sublime. Thanks Red!

Besides Schubert and Mozart, Brahms' Piano Concertos and pieces recorded by Radu Lupu are among the few records I would gladly listen to again!

As for these Beethoven Concertos, I have only heard the First and the Fourth, and they seem to me a truly miraculous balance of a perfectly polished object, of a virtuosity without any display of gratuitous spectacularity, with a sound and tempos based on a real understanding of harmony and form.