Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major for Piano and Orchestra, Op. 73, “Emperor” – Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

On May 12, 1809 Napoleon’s army successfully occupied Vienna, part of a succession of victories which would not end until 1812 in the disastrous invasion of Russia, and the final defeat at Waterloo in 1815. By this time, Beethoven had entirely lost faith in the ideals he once had attributed to Napoleon (seen in the dedication to Napoleon of his Third Symphony, which he later erased in a fit of rage) and re-dedicated “to celebrate the memory of a great man… ”

Sensing the city’s demise, the Viennese nobility had fled the city by the time Napoleon arrived, off to their country castles perhaps, but Beethoven elected to remain in his brother’s basement (or that of the poet, Castelli) covering his ears to deafen explosions and cannons in his neighborhood. On July 26, he wrote to his publisher, Gottfried Christoph Hartel in Leipzig, “The course of events has attacked me, body and soul… What a destructive, disorderly life I see and hear around me…nothing but drums, cannons, and human misery in every form.” It was within this chaotic, brutal matrix that Beethoven worked on his fifth and final Piano Concerto in E flat. (A sixth piano concerto was partially completed and scored in 1815, but nothing ever came of it.) Amazingly, the composer completed the majority of Opus 73 by December. For Beethoven, the outer world was but a part of his existence: a greater reality was the discipline of his writing. “Nulla dies sine linea” he stated (“No day without a line of music”). He did exactly that, faithful to his art and his commitment.

It was a massive creation, “music of sweeping imperious grandeur, unknown to any concerto written up to 1812, and beside which the dignity of emperors or archdukes loses all consequence.” It was the culmination of Beethoven’s “heroic decade,” 1802-1809. “The Fifth Piano Concerto marks both a summit and termination.” (John N. Burk)

Opus 73 begins with three huge orchestral chords, each separated by pianistic flourishes from the soloist. Immediately afterwards, the orchestra follows with a sweeping theme, followed by several subsidiary subjects. Strings sing the first main theme quietly and are answered immediately by horns. The pianist soon answers, leading us into a rhapsodic world, moving steadily toward the second main idea. A dramatic, complex development follows with both forces taking equal part, thus fusing both performing elements. The recapitulation is traditional with major themes being re-stated almost without change. At the point where one would anticipate a cadenza, Beethoven wrote, “Do not play a cadenza, but attack immediately the following.” The pianist does exactly that, initiating an episode, which introduces a stunning coda.

The relatively small second movement opens with a slow moving, hymn-like melody presented by muted violins. After a small pause, the soloist responds with a complementary, intimate theme in slow triplets followed by graceful variations. The two forces converse slowly, always relaxed, and at ease. A small crescendo adds momentary dynamic color: and an extraordinary section ensues with an exquisite long trill from the soloist, underscored with syncopated chords which yields seamlessly into a poised, decorated recap of the opening melody. Beethoven urged that the movement not be taken too slowly, “un poco piu mosso” and assigning two large beats per measure rather than four, giving a pulse which has momentum. Cramer’s first published edition noted, “This must not drag.”

At the close, listen for a soft bassoon passage, which slides into a single sustained tone. This tone (B) drops a semitone (to B-flat), establishing a new possibility for modulation: the piano whispers (pianissimo) a new tune in two measures, offering a hint of what is to come, but in no way forecasting the astonishing character change of the last movement.

From quiet tranquility, Beethoven soars into a movement of high rhythmic propulsion and ebullient linear sweeps. The little melody heard at the outset becomes the basis for an enormous rondo in 6/8 meter. That aforementioned, tiny hint is now fully highly energized, leaping upward in powerful syncopated rhythms, roaring ahead in its statements (fantissimo), separated by imaginative, jolly episodes. One of the most interesting moments is the duet for piano and timpani just before the close. Throughout, the music never loses its impetuous, headlong nature, surging to a massive closure, marked by soaring piano scale passages and orchestral flourishes.

Program notes excerpted from the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra

Compiled by Claire Vivian

Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 54 – Robert Schumann (1810-1856)

…Schumann had come to the conclusion that composers must continue to work towards a balanced treatment of the solo and orchestral parts, and ‘devise a form which would consist of a single substantial movement in a measured tempo, in which the introductory section takes the place of the first allegro, the cantabile section that of the adagio, and a brilliant conclusion that of the rondo’. The aforementioned Phantasie of 1841 took account of these progressive ideas in many respects, but turned out to be a failure nonetheless. There was no public performance of the piece (a rehearsal with his wife Clara at the piano took place in August behind the closed doors of the Gewandhaus), nor could any of the publishers to whom it was offered be persuaded to print the score. Not even the numerous revisions that Schumann made subsequently could change anything. It was only when, in the summer of 1845, he steeled himself to expand the Phantasie to the traditional three-movement structure by adding two pieces, a short, demure Intermezzo and a brilliant finale, that the curse appeared to be broken.…

‘How rich in invention, how interesting it is from beginning to end’, rejoiced Clara after the first performances of the work; ‘how fresh, and what a fine, coherent overall structure!’ In fact, Schumann had never entirely betrayed his original, highly innovative formal design in spite of all the subsequent revisions and extensions. This is seen particularly in the opening Allegro affettuoso, where Classical sonata form has still left its trace, but now operates only in the background. The foreground is dominated by the fantasia principle, the free interplay of a few basic ideas that are developed through different variation techniques and constantly seen in new lights and shadings. In the contrasting characters and temperaments of these themes, we meet once more that fictional ‘pair of rogues’ through whom Schumann, taking as his revered model the writer Jean Paul, was so fond of depicting the dual nature of his own soul: Florestan, the impetuous daredevil, and Eusebius, the dreamy poet. No question about it: here Eusebius plays the undisputed leading role, while Florestan’s interjections mostly remain no more than episodic. Hence the lyrical, effusive character of the main theme, which is presented by the woodwinds immediately after the striking opening bars, dominates almost the entire first movement in countless variants and thereby fairly audaciously subverts the formal model on which it is based. Clara’s admiration for the ‘coherent overall structure’ probably referred mainly to this little poetic reminiscence, which makes a significant contribution to unifying the work’s overarching form. But it might equally well be applied to the fabulous interweaving of soloist and orchestra, eschewing any idea of predominance of one or the other, by means of which Schumann, in all the movements of the work, sets against the Classical notions of rivalry characteristic of Mozart and Beethoven an entirely independent conception: that of a dialogue between equals.

Program notes excerpted from CD liner notes written by Roman Hinke for Piano Concerto in A minor op. 54 by Robert Schumann, performed by Alexander Melnikov

Compiled by Claire Vivian