The complete idiot's guide to classical music (33 page)

You can’t really escape Beethoven. We’ve all heard the “Da-Da-Da-Dummm” opening of the Fifth Symphony (during World War II, it became the American equivalent of Churchill’s “V for Victory” sign); we’ve met Beethoven in the movies, either as that big cuddly dog, complete with symphonic snippets on the soundtrack, or in person in the recent biographical film
Immortal Beloved.
He’s even made it to the top of the pop charts with “Roll Over Beethoven” and a disco version of the Fifth Symphony. What was Beethoven like as a person, and how did he come to write all that incredible music? Read on . . .

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) was a hard man to get along with. He was sloppy, rude, and egotistical (although, to be fair, he had plenty to be egostical about). “With whom need I be afraid of measuring my strength?” he asked, presumably not expecting an answer. He disdained the rules of polite society, just as he broke the compositional chains that bound so many of his composing colleagues. Even his concerts tended to be monumental. On one evening in 1803, the program listed his oratorio
Christ on the Mount of Olives,
the First and Second Symphonies, and the Third Piano Concerto, with a few arias thrown in lest the audience worry about not getting its money’s worth.

 
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Given some of the traits mentioned here, it’s little wonder Beethoven had trouble keeping household help. His calendar for 1820 included the following entries:

April 17: The kitchen-maid entered upon her duties.

May 16: Gave notice to the kitchen-maid.

July 1: [Another] kitchen-maid entered upon her duties.

July 28: The kitchen-maid ran away in the evening.

September 9: A girl entered service.

October 22: The girl left.

December 12: The new kitchen-maid entered service.

December 18: The kitchen-maid gave notice.

Beethoven lived and died a rebel. His defiance was rooted in his genius and in a passion for independence. Why not? He grew up in the wake of the French and American Revolutions. But he also possessed the defiance that comes with abuse and exploitation. Sorry to say, he was born into an unhappy family of alcoholics, and his father’s approach to developing his son’s talent was tyrannical, often violent. When Ludwig showed early signs of musical promise, his father, remembering all those stories about the way Mozart had been welcomed by royalty, figured that his kid could be a similarly rich source of beer money. He forced the child to practice long hours, beating him if he made too many mistakes, and when Ludwig was eight, his father plastered the town with posters announcing the debut of his six-year-old son. Whether six or eight, it didn’t really matter. The audience was underwhelmed. Beethoven was a late bloomer (at least by musical prodigy standards).

By age 13, he was working as a harpsichordist in the court orchestra, and before long he was promoted to assistant organist and was starting to pile up a good-sized stash of pocket change. Not yet 17, he got up the nerve to try Vienna out for size, playing for Mozart, who predicted great success for him, and studying under Haydn, who never felt entirely comfortable dealing with this headstrong youngster.

 
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Johann Albrechtsberger, a respected teacher but hidebound conservative, was outraged at the younger Beethoven’s blossoming originality. “Beethoven has never learned anything, and never will learn anything,” he said; “as a composer he is hopeless.” This pretty much describes Albrechtsberger’s gifts as a fortune-teller.

Gradually, Beethoven found himself accepted by the Viennese aristocracy. Not, to be sure, for his looks or personality. He was short (5'4"), had a massive, bullet-shaped head, a prize-fighter’s nose, protruding teeth, and pockmarked skin. (Prince Anton Esterhazy called him “the Moor” because of his leathery complexion.) His temper was erratic and volatile, but he could improvise up a storm at fancy dinner parties, and the improved pianos had power enough to match his volcanic temperament. He was one of the first pianists to extract nearly orchestral sound from the instrument, and he impressed enough members of high society to start earning a living with incoming commissions.

Beethoven’s irascible nature was well in place by his mid-20s, but his sense of isolation was enormously heightened with the onset of the ultimate tragedy for a musician: deafness. He withdrew from society more and more, partly in shame of his affliction, partly because his commitment to music was becoming evermore passionate and all-consuming.

 
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Once, having entertained guests with his keyboard prowess at an elegant soiree, Beethoven was asked to eat with the servants, as Haydn and Mozart had done before him. Ludwig would have none of that, of course, so he created a big scene and stalked out angrily. The story had a happy ending though: One of the guests was Prince Ferdinand of Prussia, who promptly threw another party, inviting Beethoven to sit on his left side, while the now-contrite hostess of the previous evening was placed at his right.

However, this withdrawal was not all-consuming enough to prevent his passions from seeking human connections. Beethoven was forever falling in love, though usually the targets of his affection were unattainable women who were either married, royalty, or both. He did teach a few of his pretty piano students more than what was on the music page, and he was known to dally with some of his landladies. He also wrote long, burning letters to his “Immortal Beloved,” but refused to tell anybody who she was, because it might have upset her husband and children.

Meanwhile, music was pouring from Beethoven’s pen. Usually, his creative life is divided into three segments. The so-called “early period,” roughly from 1792–1803, contains works that stayed more or less within the bounds of the classical conventions established by Haydn and Mozart, though with highly individual bursts of energy and originality. Included here are the first two Symphonies, three Piano Concertos, six String Quartets, and nine Piano Sonatas.

With the
Eroica Symphony,
no. 3—longer, harmonically more daring, and emotionally more powerful than any symphony had been before—Beethoven embarked on a revolutionary path. From here on, he would experiment with new forms even as he was expanding the old ones, invent his own musical parameters, produce works on a vast and heroic scale, and ultimately shatter existing preconceptions about the expressive potential of music altogether. This “middle period” encompasses the Symphonies nos. 3 through 8, the next three String Quartets and fourteen Piano Sonatas, the last two Piano Concertos and the Violin Concerto, and Beethoven’s only opera,
Fidelio
.

With his hearing almost completely gone, Beethoven entered the “late period” with deep introspection and artistry honed to its highest level. No longer was there the least concern for performers’ limitations or audience preferences. Beethoven was writing for the ages. From these final years came the lofty
Missa Solemnis,
the powerful Ninth Symphony, the radiant final String Quartets and Piano Sonatas, including the nearly hour-long
Hammerklavier Sonata
, which has been described as “herculean” and “gargantuan.” Would one expect less from a titan?

 
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Not surprisingly, Beethoven’s powerful new ideas ruffled all sorts of critical feathers. “All impartial connoisseurs are fully agreed,” wrote one critic about
Fidelio
, “that never has anything been written so shrill, chaotic, and ear-splitting. The most piercing dissonances clash in atrocious harmony, and the few puny ideas only increase the deafening effect.”

Despite all the controversy that had swirled about him, all the rumors of his disreputable behavior, and his self-imposed retirement from society, the public knew that a giant had been walking among them. Thirty thousand people attended his funeral, with a little-known composer named Franz Schubert among the torchbearers. His tombstone bears his dates of birth and death and a single word: Beethoven.

All nine of Beethoven’s symphonies are pretty indispensable to a basic library, and fortunately, you’ll find many inexpensively priced boxed sets. Cart home one of those and you’ll get a lot of Beethoven for your buck. For some reason, the odd-numbered symphonies (once beyond the cheery Symphony no. 1) have the greater drama: think of the revolutionary
Eroica,
no. 3, and the stormy Fifth sandwiching the lyric and graceful Fourth Symphony. Schumann called the Symphony no. 4 “a slender Greek maiden standing between two Norse giants.” The warm-hearted country landscape of the
Pastoral
Symphony, no. 6, leads into the expansive Seventh, with its jubilant dance finale. No. 8 is again on a smaller scale, witty and lighthearted, and stands in startling contrast to its successor, the stupendous Ninth Symphony, with its great choral finale.

Try the jaunty Piano Concerto no. 1 (which was actually written after Concerto no. 2, but don’t let that bother you) and the spaciously dramatic
Emperor
Piano Concerto no. 5. The Violin Concerto is another popular masterpiece, and to get your soloistic money’s worth, there’s always the Triple Concerto for Piano, Violin, Cello, and Orchestra.

Those same three instruments without any symphonic help are available in a set of terrific trios, or try any of the 16 string quartets. For pianophiles, the list of 32 sonatas includes such favorites as the
Pathetique, Moonlight, Waldstein
(dedicated to Beethoven’s friend and patron from his Bonn years, Count Ferdinand von Waldstein), and the aptly subtitled
Appassionata
. The ten Violin Sonatas and five more for cello and piano are also well worth exploring. Beethoven only wrote one opera,
Fidelio,
but it took him four overtures before he got to one he liked (the others being the
Leonore
Overtures nos. 1, 2, and 3). Come to think of it, the Overtures are a good way to enjoy Beethoven’s dramatic style without spending three hours at it: listen to the
Egmont
,
King Stephen,
and the
Ruins
of Athens
Overtures (all heading up suites of incidental music—“my little operas,” Beethoven used to call them) and
Consecration of the House,
written to celebrate the opening of a new theater in Vienna.