PROGRAM NOTES

Best of Beethoven

Symphony No. 6 in F Major, Opus 68: I. Allegro ma non troppo
Ludwig van Beethoven
(b. Bonn, 1770; d. Vienna, 1827) 

Composed 1808 in Heiligenstadt, Austria.
Premiered on December 22, 1808, in Vienna, conducted by the composer. 
Instrumentation: pairs of woodwinds, horns and trumpets, timpani and strings.
Duration: approximately 13 minutes. 

In 1808 Beethoven completed his sixth symphony at a time during which he was enjoying a rising popularity, albeit one without financial security. He already had written some of his most memorable and lasting works, and was a composer fully in possession of technical mastery and supreme musicality—in other words, even if he had composed no more, his place in music history would have been secure. His previous symphony, the fifth, of course, is now the quintessential model of musical works that exemplify so-called economy of means, integrated technique, unified composition, or any other of a number of terms that simply mean one thing more or less: it’s all about the music—not any experience or object in the physical world. And, of course, that famous composition stems from the skilled manipulation of just a few basic ideas, wonderfully worked out. As we all know from the fifth symphony: “ta-ta-ta-taaah!” This approach to composing became the high altar for the rest of the century for those who reproached music with “stories” or about “real” things.

And then Beethoven did something quite unexpected (being Beethoven): he wrote a symphony about something in our real world of experience! Beethoven openly described his sixth symphony as a reflection of feelings about being in the countryside, replete with birdcalls, a rainstorm, and happy peasants. He nicknamed the work, “Pastoral,” himself, and even precisely noted in the score the names of particular species of birds when he wrote imitations of their calls. However, he was intent that the listener not try to exercise his imagination too specifically, when he cautioned that the symphony was really “. . . more the expression of feelings than painting.” The feelings were good, though, and after the incredible intensity of the fifth symphony, this one is full of serenity, peaceful contentment, and the untroubled enjoyment of nature. Unique in Beethoven’s symphonies, the composer gave each of the five movements (he added an additional one to the more or less standard four) an explanatory title.

In his distinctive and typical fashion, he was able to serve both the God of architectural rigor and the Mammon of story telling. That is, we experience the feelings and understand the allusions to birds, storms, and peasants, but all of it is thoroughly shaped by the same principles of tight, logical musical construction that we expect in a more abstract piece like a string quartet, or even a Bach organ fugue. It takes musical skill and inspiration of a high order to pull this off. It’s simply a “perfect classic symphony” that also happens to create a magic evocation of the out of doors.

The first movement (titled by Beethoven, “Awakening of cheerful feelings on arrival in the countryside”) is notable for its relaxed exploration of clear-cut themes with little of the tension and drive that we have come to associate with the composer. The harmonies stick to relatively close and straightforward relationships, with little exploration of the remote. Thereare plenty of rustic little tunes to entertain us as Beethoven skillfully explores the description of the feelings that he alluded to in its title.

–Wm. E. Runyan
© 2015 William E. Runyan

String Trio in G Major, Op. 9 No. 1,  IV. Presto

In the dedication of the three string trios that make up his Opus 9, Beethoven referred to them as “the finest of his works.” Requisite puffery aside, Beethoven had reason to believe that they were his strongest compositions up to that point. He appeared to treat the genre of the string trio as the testing ground for his later work in the string quartet. The String Trio No. 3 in G major, Op. 9, no. 1 from 1797 begins with a broad Adagio introduction; the three instruments unfurl the opening gesture together in octaves. The violin proceeds with a graceful gesture, urged on by the other instruments, who then repeat the phrase themselves. The violin uses this gesture to segue into the spirited Allegro con brio. Runs pass freely between the three instruments, then come to a halt for an understated march theme. The movement explores the interactions of these musical ideas, with the segue gesture returning to usher in the harmonically surprising conclusion.

Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Opus 92: II. Allegretto
Ludwig van Beethoven
(b. Bonn, 1770; d. Vienna, 1827) 

Composed 1812 in Teplice, Czech Republic
Premiered on December 8, 1813 in Vienna, conducted by the composer. 
Instrumentation: pairs of woodwinds, horns and trumpets, timpani and strings.
Duration: approximately 9 minutes. 

This work is simply a gem. Beethoven, himself, famously said that it was one of his best works. It is commonplace, for scholars to think of Beethoven’s musical life in three great periods—the last being the time of compositions that “challenge” comprehension and appreciation. The fecund middle period, roughly the first decade of the nineteenth century is the time of dozens of the magnificent works that came to define the composer and establish his eternal reputation, and his seventh symphony stands pretty much near the end of that time.

Written mostly during 1811 and finished by early 1812, it is a without doubt a complete reflection of the happy times and optimistic personal attitude of the composer at that time in his life—both professionally and personally.

The beloved “Pastoral” symphony was finished in 1808, and he then busied himself with important works, among them, the “Emperor” piano concerto and the music for Egmont. Sketches for both the seventh and the eighth symphonies were all part of his activity during this time.

He had already suffered health problems by early 1811, and traveled to the spa in the Bohemian town of Teplice, where work on the symphonies went on during that summer. Both symphonies were finished the next year, and together they more or less demark the end of an era. From that time on, until the end of his life in 1827, Beethoven the man, and his musical works underwent significant changes. His health underwent further deterioration, with debilitating family squabbles and failures in personal relationships all contributing to the change. While there were great works still to be written, the flow of inspiration was lessened, his social isolation increased, and the style of his composition took on a new, abstract quality.

So, the uplifting joy and vigor of Symphony No. 7 is a turning point. Beethoven, himself, conducted the première—contemporary accounts entertainingly describe his energetic and exaggerated gesticulations on the podium. And in the orchestra were some of the luminaries of the musical scene.

The second movement is a special one—even for Beethoven. The first audience immediately recognized its inherent appeal, and forced its encore, right then. It consists of a “theme” in the violas and cellos, that undergoes a series of variations—or, rather more strictly, is repeated with new and attractive elements added with each repetition, while retaining all that which was added. And it’s not really a theme in the melodic sense at all, rather just a basic chord progression in a constantly repeated simple rhythm. Here again, is ample evidence of Beethoven’s consummate skill at conjuring up magic out of the simplest of elements. There is a new tune in the middle, in the major mode—still with the simple rhythm of the beginning. The material of the opening returns, with some development added, and it all ends as it began.

–Wm. E. Runyan
© 2015 William E. Runyan

CHORAL FANTASY in C minor for Piano, Chorus, and Orchestra, Op. 80
Ludwig van Beethoven
(b. Bonn, 1770; d. Vienna, 1827) 

Composed 1808 in Vienna, Austria.
Premiered on December 22, 1808, in Vienna, solo part played by the composer. 
Instrumentation: pairs of woodwinds, horns and trumpets, timpani and strings.
Duration: approximately 20 minutes. 

The signal crisis of Beethoven’s life, in 1802, was the deep depression wrought by the stark reality of his increasing deafness. In his famous “Heiligenstadt Testament” from that year he articulated his resolve to live, work, and overcome this crushing development. There ensued the remarkable production of his artistic maturity—but it did not ease his lifelong quest for financial security. In a city where Mozart had almost starved to death only a decade before, Beethoven cobbled together a livelihood comprised of constant wheeling and dealing with music publishers in several countries, the occasional subvention from the wealthy to whom compositions were dedicated, and personal performance fees. None of these were certain, and the constant need for income loomed ever present. One favored source of income was “Benefit Concerts,” wherein a composer would wangle from the authorities the use of one of the municipal theatres during a rare off night in their busy schedules. Public concerts were not the usual affairs then that they are now, and official productions dominated the public theatres, so opportunities for alternate use were not common. Exceptions, however, were made for public charity concerts, which were somewhat frequent. And, in that regard, Beethoven was generous in donating his time and talent to these concerts, and that willingness finally brought him the use of the Theater an der Wien for a personal benefit concert on the fateful night of 22 December 1808.

The events of that evening were sufficiently vivid that they are famously chronicled in the recollections and memoires of Beethoven’s acquaintances who attended. Zealous in his determination to make the best possible impression with the audience, Beethoven programmed an impossibly long concert—almost four hours! The chief works on the program included the Vienna premières of both his fifth and sixth symphonies, his fourth piano concerto—with him as soloist, of course, parts of the C major Mass, solo vocal works, and the composer, featured in his signature solo piano improvisations. Then there was the complication of a heating system that malfunctioned—it was bitter cold in the hall. The orchestra was under rehearsed, and in a surly and foul mood, owing to some bitter experiences with Beethoven in a recent concert.

Thinking that all these important compositions were still not enough, Beethoven, at the last minute, decided that what was needed as a grand finale was some sort of work that would bring all the musical forces together at the end. The Choral Fantasy was the result. His idea was simple enough, begin the piece with a solo piano improvisation, joined by the orchestra for some variations on a previously composed song, and at the end bring in the chorus for a dynamic conclusion with all participating together. And so it was. Of course, the composer’s improvisations were not written down, and the orchestra was not only spectacularly under rehearsed but actually sight-read some of the work. Moreover, not untypical of Beethoven, as one wag put it, the chorus was given parts with the ink still wet. One could have predicted the unfortunate travesty that ensued. Some in the orchestra repeated a section while others went on—shouted instructions kept it going. The clarinets started their variation before waiting for the oboes to finish theirs. At one point, the performance halted for regrouping before resuming. It really couldn’t have gone worse. Withal, posterity has deemed the Choral Fantasy an important work, elements of which clearly presage the finale of the composer’s Symphony No. 9, more than fifteen years later.

Beethoven finally got around the next year to actually writing out the solo piano part that opens the Fantasy. It is somewhat instructive to observe that the original notice in the newspaper referred to the work not as the Choral Fantasy, but as a “Fantasia for the Pianoforte which ends with the gradual entrance of the entire orchestra and the introduction of the choruses [sic] as a finale.” Just how reflective of his improvisations from the opening night is the published, notated version, is of course subject to speculation. But it is safe to say it certainly is in the pianistic style of the Beethoven that we know so well from his sonatas and concertos.

The opening “fantasia” by the solo piano is a technically challenging adagio, rather like a cadenza, but without theusual working through of important thematic ideas. Dazzling arpeggiosand chromatic scales carry the primarily harmonic focus along—Beethoven’s familiar scurrying, almost frenetic, chromatic bass lines will be familiar to many. After suitably dramatic trills and roulades, the stage is set for the entrance of the orchestra with the main theme of the next section.

That theme—from his solo song, “Gegenliebe” – had been composed over a decade before, and now makes its appearance after a soft introduction in the ‘cellos and basses, answered by the piano. Gradually, the theme is picked up by the rest of the orchestra, alternating with the soloist. A pause brings on the horns and oboes, which herald the entrance of the piano with the theme that will carry us through to the end.

If it seems vaguely familiar then it should—for in various melodic and harmonic ways, it clearly is the antecedent of the famous “Ode to Joy” theme of the last movement of the Ninth Symphony. Clever variations ensue that feature a solo flute, pairs of oboes, and then a pair of clarinets with a bassoon. A solo string quartet then takes it up, followed by the full orchestra. A “fantasy” on the theme with the soloist and orchestra ensues, in various tempos and keys, ending in a brave little march.

Beethoven was quite adept at the style, having written more than a few marches for the small wind marching bands used by the military at the time. It doesn’t last very long before a few measures of reminiscence intrude, with the soft, marching basses from way back at the entrance of the orchestra leading right into the entrance of the chorus. Beethoven is known to have worried about how to bring such a new element into the work, and toyed with the idea later used in the Ninth Symphony: a few words in the poem, justifying the entrance of the voices. But not here, and the women’s voices enter straightaway with the quasi-familiar theme. The men then follow, all the while with arabesques in the piano. There’s no solo vocal quartet out front here, but from time to time, six vocalists in the chorus get the call. If some dramatic harmonic moves out of the key sound familiar, they should, for they parallel the same stentorian utterances in the Ninth Symphony.

Authorship of the text in the Choral Fantasy is still a bit ambiguous—the words of the original song had to do with speculative joy found in requited love. But here, as in the text of the Ninth Symphony, the words idealistically aspire to a higher joy and bliss, as humankind, united, luxuriates in nature’s blessings.

Beethoven may have ground out the Choral Fantasy in haste at the last minute, to serve the dubious function as a concert-ending flag waver, but the audience that night got much more than it expected. Not only is the Choral Fantasy an invaluable document of the gestation of the last movement of the  Ninth Symphony, but it’s also a diverting and satisfying work on its own terms. And it’s yet another window into the mind of an artist who aspired to humanity’s highest ideals, but whose own persona famously failed in social intercourse.

–Wm. E. Runyan
© 2015 William E. Runyan