Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major for Piano and Orchestra, Opus 73

I. Allegro

II. Adagio un poco mosso

III. Rondo: Allegro ma non troppo

Solo piano, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, timpani, and strings.

Beethoven’s 5th Piano Concerto in E-flat Major is the last of his completed concerti, though sketches remain of a 6th in D Major. The work was composed between 1808 and 1809, capping an astounding decade of work as the composer slowly lost his hearing; Beethoven’s ‘Heroic period’ saw six piano sonatas, five symphonies, four violin sonatas, three string quartets, two string trios, an oratorio, an opera, and much more. The concerto’s grandeur foreshadows the Byronic bombast of the Romantic era as later composers followed the example of Beethoven’s virtuosic writing. Beethoven also revolutionized the role of the artist by imbuing his pieces with political meaning, dedicating them to political figures or broader humanist values. However, the name of the piece, “Emperor” was not of his design, but rather the blurb of a French officer during the Viennese premiere who said aloud, “C’est L’Empereur!”

Beethoven would certainly have disapproved of the title ‘Emperor’ for his piano concerto. In 1804, Napoleon’s self-coronation as Emperor shattered the composer’s conception of him as an egalitarian and idealistic leader. Beethoven then rescinded his dedication of the landmark 3rd Symphony Eroica to the tyrant. In 1806 Napoleon was once again causing trouble, this time in Beethoven’s Viennese home. French troops marched on the city, causing the upper-class and nobility— Beethoven’s income source— to flee, and interfering in the premier of Beethoven’s only opera, Fidelio. Then, in the summer of 1809, just after Beethoven had committed to staying in the Austrian Empire rather than taking a station in Jerome Bonaparte’s Westphalian court, French troops stormed the city again. To escape the artillery, Beethoven relocated to his brother Caspar’s house in another quarter of the city, relaying to his publisher their surroundings: “drums, cannons, and human misery of every sort.”

Despite these hardships, the concerto is remarkably warm, noble, and filled with excitement. It was finally heard by the Viennese public on February 12th, 1812, with none other than Beethoven’s pupil Carl Czerny as the soloist. Even though the aging Czerny’s performances were increasingly inhibited and nervous, he is said to have pulled off a convincing performance. Beethoven chose not to play the solo part himself because his deafness had made performance nearly impossible. despite everything standing in his way, Beethoven’s artistic achievements in this time are nothing short of miraculous.

At the start of the Allegro, listen for the virtuosic eruptions and cascades in the piano part, for they carry hints of material which is later spun out over the rest of the composition. The written out cadenza is rather unusual for its time, as solo cadenzas were typically improvised at the end of the first movement. of The Allegro includes many martial and heroic elements: march rhythms, kettle drum reinforcements, and strong melodies in the horns all contribute to the “military” character of the piece. But moments of startling delicacy, ethereality, and repose also transform the thematic material. Cross-rhythms (clashing patterns of two against three, three against four) pervade the piece, usually as a method of heightening tension in dramatic crescendi. The culmination of the movement does not allow much space for lengthy cadenza, and the piano carries us all the way to the end of the piece, after a few triumphal flourishes.

The Adagio in B Major, as Hector Berlioz put it, is “the very image of grace.” Here Beethoven shows us some of his most ethereal and delicately orchestrated colors. A truly magical moment occurs at the end of the adagio, where the orchestra rests on a B natural, before sinking down to a B flat, the dominant key of the next movement. While the horns sustain a beautiful harmony, suspended in the air for an eternity, from the piano float hints of the Allegro finale, rising to the heavens in a transfixed meditation, before we launch into the next movement. The final movement is a lively and potent 6/8 dance, with no shortage of syncopation and excitement. After the festivities, Beethoven takes us all the way down to pianissimo with just timpani and piano before a decisive finish with full orchestra.

Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Opus 73

I. Allegro non troppo

II. Adagio non troppo

III. Allegretto grazioso. Quasi Andantino

IV. Allegro con spirito

Two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, and strings.

Brahms famously struggled with his first symphony, trying to reconcile the established symphonic canon, others’ expectations of him, and his own expectations of his work. He exclaimed as late as 1870, “I shall never compose a symphony! You have no idea how one of our craft feels when he hears a giant like Beethoven striding behind him.” The first symphony would take him fourteen years to write, a spiritual and artistic battle, not premiering until the composer was 44 years old. Brahms strode forth yet again, emboldened by favorable reviews and performances, turning out Second Symphony less than a year later—record-breaking time for the famously self-critical composer.

The moniker for Brahms’s 2nd (again, not by the composer’s design) is “the Pastoral Symphony”, which invites comparison between it and Beethoven’s 6th. But Brahms, the aficionado of absolute music, makes no reference to murmuring river, birdsong, or the storm. It is known thusly because of the relative lack of fire and brimstone found in his other orchestral works, and because of the setting in which it was composed. Unlike Beethoven’s dismal surroundings while writing the Emperor, Brahms was situated in the most bucolic countryside to be found in Austria. He wisely chose to work on his second symphony during his 1877 summer get-away on Lake Wörth in southern Austria. Of the beautiful surroundings, he wrote “the melodies flew so thickly [there], you had to be careful not to tread on them.” From this rich earth he would also turn the Violin Concerto op. 77 and later the Violin Sonata in G Major of op. 78.

Due to the lighter character of this symphony, the mischievous Brahms delighted in playing with critical expectations of his next work (some may have been expecting Beethoven’s 11th). He professed to his publisher, “[My second symphony] is so melancholy that you will not be able to bear it. I have never written anything so sad, and the score must come out in mourning.” Brahms kept up the charade in his correspondence with his friend and fellow pianist Elizabeth von Herzogenberg, telling her that the score was to be printed with a black border, and that the dirge-like symphony would sound in the key of F Minor. Undoubtedly, she would’ve been surprised after finding there wasn’t a single F Minor chord in all four movements.

The first movement, Allegro non troppo gives us plenty of listening material. As the movement gently comes to life, we are enveloped in the main three-note motive and a beautiful conversation between the high and low instruments, punctuated with some delicate drum rolls. The piece gradually opens, syncopations fly, and we float through Brahms’ vibrant soundscape. One of the beautiful melodies of this movement, first presented by the cellos, is reminiscent of Brahms’ famous lullaby “Wiegenlied”. The development section reaches many climaxes before subtly easing back into the recapitulation. A playful coda guides us to the end, where the movement concludes with as much tenderness as its outset.

The Adagio in B Major gives us a closer look at the varied shadows of the first movement: impassioned, foreboding, and pensive. Many characters are woven together in this movement, and the effect is surprising and moving. In the third movement, we hear a graceful yet meandering character in the woodwinds. The calm is broken by a festive and impulsive episode in the strings, weaving in and around the woodwinds before the two eventually meet and settle in a happy medium. The Allegro finale treats us to a sotto voce introduction before the scene bursts to life, and the kinetic energy Brahms has so carefully measured throughout the symphony is jubilantly released. The finale transcends beyond the symphony’s title of Pastoral; it is the expression of pure joy.

Paul Salzberg, Sacramento State School of Music