(program)
Columbia Masterworks Recording . Printed in Canada. // Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) // Piano Concerto No.4 in G Major
New York Philharmonic, conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Pianist: Glenn Gould
Piano Concerto No.4
Allegro moderato
Andante con moto—
Vivace
Lemonade and Dubonnet
fill my heart with such array
I can't stop
Fill my glass with more Dubonnet
“” Lemonade and Dubonnet, The Great Yawn
The piece is best described as a conversation whose witty interlocutors, having weathered the crisis of the slow movement, constantly inspire each other to higher and brighter things. “” david johnson on the third movement, notes for the recording
a crisis of slow movement—yet another way to look at our current collective situation…weathered as we are by a habitual break-neck speed, what are we to make of ourselves in the uncomfortably slow pace enforced by this pandemic?
i think it was stravinsky that said something about music’s ability to create an alternative measurement of time; that is the same sentiment behind this journal, and one that is especially relevant during this period of social distances.
keep calm—surround yourself with great music—and carry on, and we’ll all get through this.
Imagine, if you can, a piano concerto written in Beethoven’s late manner. If such a work were possible it would have been as an atavist of the Fourth Piano Concerto, not the Fifth. The Fourth Concerto is the serenest, the most chaste, the most modest (temperamentally, not technically) of the series. And it contains a slow movement of such philosophical eloquence as almost to transgress the bonds of absolute music. “” david johnson, notes for the recording
with all these cancelled concerts, i’m reminded again of the benefits of keeping a musical routine the house. my on-going mission remains the same: beethoven beyond the cliche, beyond the hoopla—less of the symphonic beethoven and more of beethoven of the late quartets and piano sonatas.
at a performance of three of beethoven's piano sonatas earlier this month (how far in the rearview that now seems), pianist james rhodes described their character as indicative of a homely ‘interiority’; a word that wouldn’t be the first or second to come to mind at the mention of a composer whose inspirations are moreso beholden to the spectacles of nature and the activity of walking therein, than to the wool-shawl and perpetually steaming-samovar-domesticity of our current situation.
For anyone who thinks of Beethoven only as the defiant, truculent hero, there is no better antidote than this concerto. “” robert philip, The Classical Music Lover’s Guide
when i bought this record last august, the plan had been to use it as a contrasting antecedent to the fifth concerto, Emperor, that i’ll be listening to next week (and that pianist jan lisiecki and the TSO would otherwise have performed the week after that). instead, i find in this concerto—from the ‘extraordinarily undemonstrative gesture’ that opens the first movement to the ‘whispered dance’ that opens the third—a more than adequate soundtrack for a week that has been inexplicably baffling and expected.
The orchestra consists of strings only, playing harsh recitatives in octave progression. The piano replies with almost human utterance, soft and pleading. The strings are implacable and impatient, cutting into the soloist’s yearning phrases before they have been completed. “” david johnson on the first movement, notes for the recording
‘Out of Touch’ by Denis Sarazhin (2019)
it’s the short second movement—a recovery from the first and an anteroom to the third—that justifies the label of interiority that i’m forcing on this concerto, an atypical label for a beethoven concerto. the first movement is characterized by a recurrent agitation—four quarter-notes long—animating the solo instrument and orchestra in turns. the orchestra tags along, not exactly as a calming counterweight nor an ideal accomplice, but enough of a presence to thicken the material around the piano’s long solo paragraphs.
the roles flip in the second movement which opens with an urgent and demanding phrase on strings. when the piano responds, it’s demeanour is an exact opposite from the first movement: the world that revolves around it is smaller, quieter, more contemplative. its gesture an attempt to ease the orchestra’s howling, or at least shut it to the outside world. the strings persist with their urgent message, but the soloist’s part insists on calm. so lethargic and laconic is this gesture that, instead of the orchestra, paul desmond’s saxophone would be just as fitting a response opposite of the pianist.
waning a bit in vigour, the orchestra’s retort is met again with an easy, individual, seemingly improvisational gesture on the piano (an easiness reminiscent of the top the second movement of rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No.2). it is ‘oedipus taming the wild beasts’ or, as musicologist david johnson puts it, ‘the power of eloquence and compassion to placate brute force’ (a virus operates via the opposite of brute force, but nevertheless). confident of its calm, the instrument breaks free with a litany of cadenzas that barely make room for the orchestra—now mumbling the agitated phrase of the opening at a more subdued register—pumping the brakes only to settle in for the final movement that is adjoined without a break.
the final movement is more-so typical beethoven than the preceding two; leaving behind the interior atmosphere, both the material for orchestra and soloist are for the first time brought outside. all partitions between the two entities are removed, agitation and grace alike flows freely between the two. by the time the conductor signals the final stretch that’ll bring the concerto to a close, the cadence is so overtly optimistic that the interiority of the preceding movements are revealed for what they really: a brief momentary circumstance.
one of the things that can make music of the 19th century feel dated is the insistence on cadence and optimism—though the modern world around it never seems to run out of need for the cadences of eloquence and compassion, even if belief in it diminishes.
(song of the week: Lemonade and Dubonnet — The Great Yawn)
The Great Yawn—a band name like no other—hails from south africa with their 2019 album, Botanica. and try as i did to resist ‘Lemonade and Dubonnet’s saccharine, un-ambitiously obvious lyrics, the melody nevertheless steeped me to the bone at first listen: the snaking route through which she takes each mention of ‘lemonade and dubonnet’ and then again with ‘coffee in the morning’ has been working its magic on my mind’s ear over the last year till, in need of a lighter note in music and in general, i finally succumbed to its sugary insinuations this week.
i’ve been running into brilliant little PSAs on social media warning against the perception of the on-going hiatus as an opportunity to write a bestselller or finally learn how to play whatever has been soaking up dust in your closet. instead, now is a good time to do little and take great care, or to constantly inspire each other to higher and brighter things with great recommendations. it’s also a great time to take another swing at less more coffee in the morning.
Throwback to: Year 2, Week33
Click here for the full 2019/2020 roster