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Stephen Johnson is captivated by Beethoven in warm, lyrical mode as he listens out for the finest recordings of this groundbreaking work
The best versions of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4
The work
Beethoven’s so-called ‘middle period’, roughly the years 1802-12, is often referred to as his ‘Promethean’ phase. The masterworks of this time, we are often told, are characterised by intense striving, heaven-storming ambition, revolutionary daring in matters of form and expression. But as Beethoven wrote enigmatically on one of his manuscripts, ‘Sometimes the opposite is also true’; and if any work could be held to demonstrate the truth of that it’s the Fourth Piano Concerto, a work that, composed in 1805-06, enjoyed its premiere at the same huge Theater an der Wien concert on 22 December 1808 – the same event that also saw the first performances of Beethoven’s Fifth and Sixth Symphonies.
As if to underline this ‘opposite is also true’ thesis, Beethoven based the Fourth Piano Concerto’s long first movement on the same rhythmic pattern as the famous da-da-da-dah ‘Fate’ motif that launches the Fifth Symphony. But it’s hard to imagine anything less like that symphony’s driven, turbulent, anguished Allegro con brio.
The work’s opening is truly innovative. Where almost every classical era concerto before it had begun with a substantial orchestral introduction, setting out the main ideas before soloist claims centrestage, Beethoven begins his Fourth with the soloist alone, quietly and ‘gently’ (dolce) delivering the main theme as though in a kind of reverie – it could almost be the beginning of one of Beethoven’s famous improvisations. It breaks off, as though in mid-thought, and the strings reply with a hushed but magically surprising chord.
The movement that grows from this has its moments of grandeur and brilliance, but it is that opening that sets the emotional scene. Tender lyricism, delicacy and warmth of tone, even moments of intimate, chamber music-like exchange between piano and orchestra are what one tends to remember above all, even in the cadenza that is normally played (Beethoven completed two of them). Strikingly, trumpets and drums are silent in this movement – nothing martial is permitted here. There are also moments of exquisite mystery, as at the beginning of the central ‘development’ section, where the piano leads us into strange new harmonic territory, with mesmerising crystalline falling figures; almost without realising it we have stepped into a romantic dream world.
After this comes a slow – or, rather, slower – movement (the marking is Andante con moto), whose effect is out of all proportion to its length. Orchestral strings and piano alternate and finally combine in a powerful and moving dialogue: strings initially brusque and rhythmically jagged,
When Beethoven performed the second movement, he ‘truly sang’ through the piano
piano soothing, placatory. It could have been composed as a demonstration of the verse in the biblical Book of Proverbs: ‘A gentle answer turns away wrath’. The piano’s phrases are at first incredibly simple – more or less a succession of barely ornamented chords – but the poignancy is intense.
By the middle of the 19th century, Romantic writers were comparing this movement to the Ancient Greek legend of the divinely inspired musician Orpheus pacifying wild beasts or the Furies in Hades with his playing. The image has stuck – and no wonder. As the piano grows more and more impassioned, the string writing quietens and loses its edge, until at the end – after a short, heartfelt piano cadenza – only a ghost of its opening motif can be heard in the bass, like a great rough beast falling peacefully into sleep. According to a contemporary writer, when Beethoven played this movement he ‘truly sang’ through the piano. To make such simple writing ‘sing’ seems a huge challenge, but it’s surprising how well it comes over in so many performances.
Virtuosic display, kept on a tight rein in the first two movements, is now allowed its moment in the Rondo (Vivace) finale, though even this begins with hushed strings, and a lightly dancing answer from the piano. There is Beethovenian grit along with the brilliance (trumpets and drums now doing their military bit), but there are plenty more moments of confidential poetry, as at the entry of the second theme – the piano solo followed by what sounds like a half-defined pre-echo of the famous ‘Ode to Joy’ theme in the finale of the
Ninth Symphony.
This time, however, Beethoven’s cadenza is all fire and brilliance and, unusually for the time, Beethoven notates the piano part in full to the very last bar, ensuring that keyboard fireworks dominate proceedings. Thus a concerto that began with the soloist meditating alone ends with the piano very much in command. If it’s an invitation for applause, the music at the very least has earned it.
Turn the page to discover the finest recordings of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4