In a somewhat
radical departure from the norm of program notes, it may be of interest to
address some of the elements of musical debate that ensued, as we prepared for
this evening’s concert.
In
many articles written on the Beethoven Violin Concerto, we are made aware that
this gargantuan, majestic work does not stand out in the repertoire for its
dazzling virtuosity or for the expected rapport between solo and orchestral
phrases. Rather, this work, from
its inception has come under scrutiny and even early criticism for its
subliminal nature. The
essence of this lies in the simplicity of its phrases and the pure magic that
ensues is as much a testament to Beethoven’s genius as anything else. The work was written for a virtuoso of the day, Franz
Clement, whose playing was as noted as much for its lack of virtuosic excesses
as for its intellectual and cerebral manner.
All
the great performers of this work have remarked on how hard it is to ‘fill the
space’ of a simple phrase and make the profound statement that a mature
Beethoven surely intended. It
was this simplicity that struck both Jon Toth and myself as the most attractive
and yet the most difficult aspect of the work.
Many telephone conversations were thus spent in discussing how not to
tamper with the prevailing mood and yet make a unique personal statement.
The
attempted solution, in as much as problems of this nature can be solved, is
deeply rooted in an awareness of ‘classical’ elegance and grace.
To paraphrase the writings of Ulrike Brenning, ‘A musical logic which
transcends the display of technical prowess can only become apparent if the
performer exercises deliberate restraint’ — as I am convinced, any violinist
who tackles this concerto should.
On
23rd December 1806 Franz Clement first performed this work in Vienna.
The Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung was less concerned to praise the
work itself than to applaud the ‘elegance and grace’ of the performer.
The
Fifth symphony of Tschaikowski, performed first in St. Petersburg on November 5,
1888, with the composer on the
podium, was received with favor by the public but undue hostility from the
press. This situation remained
unrectified until March of the following year, in Hamburg, when the work first
took on the immense success it now enjoys.
Tschaikowski’s detractors have long swayed intellectual opinion against
his works labeling them void of content, serious thought, structural balance and
a whole host of unfair invective. Few
would challenge his orchestral mastery today and public opinion has always been
firmly in the Tschaikowski camp.
It
became clear that the various musical decisions that arose from the study of the
Tschaikowski score would be satisfactorily qualified, if one chose to make a
very personal statement about the music and how it felt.
This is probably the only way to solve the overriding problem with the
metronome markings. So many of the suggested tempi are much faster than we have
all come to expect. (This we
could undoubtedly attribute to that anomaly - ‘Tschaikowski in the
Austro-German Tradition,’ which provokes the thought that passion in Russia
may have quite a different zest to passion in Germany, and that not all waltzes
are ‘Wiener Walzer’.) Thus, in
coming to conclusions about this ceremonially imperial work it is wise to bear
in mind the caveat from Beethoven himself, as reported by Schindler.
“No metronome at all! He
who has sound feeling needs none, and he who has not will get no help from the
metronome....”
Two
more diametrically opposite works as the Beethoven Violin Concerto and this
symphony would be hard to find. As
far as restraint and intellect mark the concerto, unbridled exuberance and
affairs of the heart rule the symphony.