An Awesome Spin On Beethoven The Piano Trios in 2020

Piano Trio in E-flat major, Op. 1, No. 1 (1795)

The three trios known as “Op. 1” were not the first set of compositions by Beethoven to appear in print:  after all, he had written three piano sonatas at the age of twelve that were published with a dedication to the Elector of Cologne.  Yet by calling a group of mature works explicitly “Op. 1,” the 24-year-old Beethoven was sending the world a message that he was embarking on a career as a professional composer.  With twelve years of experience and a newly-won fame as a piano virtuoso in Vienna, the city that mattered the most in the world of music, Beethoven was definitely ready.

Dedicated to one of Beethoven's aristocratic patrons, Prince Lichnowsky, the three piano trios proclaim, loud and clear, that a major new voice had appeared on the scene.  The piano trios of Haydn and Mozart were always in three movements.  Beethoven added one more movement that he already called a “scherzo” in two of the three trios—as opposed to the minuet that had long been customary in string quartets.

The very first phrase of the first trio brings a surprise:  a note foreign to the main tonality (D-flat) is heard as early as the third measure.  This unusual move sets the stage for a movement where the traditional conventions, although observed, are stretched in all sorts of interesting ways.  In the heartfelt Adagio cantabile, the second movement, the returns of the lyrical main melody are graced with elaborate written-out embellishments, giving us an idea of how Beethoven might have improvised at the piano.  The third-movement Scherzo is the first of many Beethovenian examples of tonal ambiguity:  the key of E-flat major is not confirmed until measure 16.  After a delicately scored middle section (‟trio”) and a return of the scherzo, Beethoven, in another unusual move, adds a few extra measures in which the strong closure of the scherzo is effectively demolished in favor of a hushed and mysterious ending.

The word ‟scherzo” means joke, but Beethoven’s finale is possibly even funnier than his third movement.  The playful skips of its primary theme introduce a sparkling sonata form filled with surprises, such as distant modulations, dynamic contrasts, and more.  In spite of the undeniable influence of Haydn and Mozart on young Beethoven, we would never find a movement like this among the works of those masters.

Piano Trio in C minor, Op. 1, No. 3 (1795)

Many qualities commonly associated with the “heroic” Beethoven of the middle years are already on display in this early work.  The  special emotional climate associated with the key of C minor in the Pathétique sonata or the Fifth Symphony makes its first appearance just a few years after Mozart’s death, at a time when Joseph Haydn was still actively composing.  Haydn must have felt that his erstwhile pupil had gone a little too far; he reportedly “doubted whether this trio would be easily understood and accepted by the public”—certainly a veiled criticism.  In the event, Haydn’s worries notwithstanding, the three trios had a resounding success in Vienna’s musical circles. 

The musical events happening in the first few seconds of the C-minor trio (energetic opening gesture, hesitant stop on a fermata, agitated continuation) strike a brand-new tone, and the movement as a whole more than lives up to the expectations of such an unusual beginning.  Alternations of extremes (turbulence and gentleness, very soft and very loud volume), novel modulations into distant keys and other musical surprises enrich the musical language.  The cello, which, in the trios of Haydn and Mozart, was often treated merely as a provider of harmonic support, plays a few prominent solos, in an important step toward the complete equality of the three instruments realized in Beethoven’s later trios.

The second movement is a set of variations on a cantabile (eminently singable) theme of utmost simplicity.  In the course of five variations, the theme receives the usual virtuoso figurations, but it seems that the changes in melodic character were much more important to Beethoven than mere technical display.  The piano melody of the first variation is more memorable than the theme itself in its intense lyricism.  In the second, the roles of the three instruments (melody and accompaniment) change with great frequency, resulting in a novel instrumental texture.  In the third, the pizzicato (plucked) notes of the strings are particularly effective against the fast notes of the piano. The fourth brings sighing accents, unsettling syncopations and chromatic progressions along with the dark key of E-flat minor (with six flats!).  

The staccato (separated) notes of the piano and the double-stops of the violin enliven the fifth and last variations, leading into the coda that recapitulates motives heard separately in some of the earlier episodes.  (German musicologist Helga Lühning has pointed out that one of Beethoven’s shorter piano works, the Bagatelle Op. 119, No. 2, is so close to this movement that it could almost qualify as another variation on the same theme.  Despite its high opus number, this bagatelle was actually written as early as the 1790s.)

The third movement is not quite the graceful “minuet” its designation in the score would suggest—but it is not a playful scherzo either.  Its main theme is related to the agitated motive from the first movement, but it is put in even sharper relief here.  In the trio, the tonality changes from minor to major and the mood brightens up accordingly.  The fast runs of the piano alternate with a simple but engaging melody in the cello.

High drama returns in the finale, significantly marked Prestissimo.  After a few introductory measures that function as a musical “curtain,” the violin intones a main theme full of nervous tension.  Its insistent minor thirds are subsequently developed in an almost maniacal fashion; a more relaxed second theme brings only temporary calm.  The movement ends with a most astonishing coda.  For the first time, Beethoven used a strategy to which he would often return in his later works:  just when one would expect the music to settle down in the home tonality, a surprise modulation sends the harmony off into very distant regions.  In this instance, Beethoven resolved this last-minute complication only to make another unheard-of move.  He modulated into C major without resolving any of the dramatic tensions: the soft C-major scales of the piano against the quarter-notes of the string instruments, repeated ostinato (without any changes), end the work on an oddly mysterious note.

Beethoven himself thought particularly highly of this early work of his.  More than twenty years later he returned to it and made an arrangement for string quintet, which he published in 1819 as Op.104.

Piano Trio in D major, Op. 70, No. 1 (‟Ghost,” 1808)

We don’t know who gave Beethoven’s D-major trio the nickname ‟Ghost” but, as nicknames go, this one is singularly apt.  There is something undoubtedly ‟spooky” about the work’s central Largo, and even though it is framed by two cheerful fast movements, it is the memory of the Largo that lingers in most listeners’ minds as they leave the concert.

Along with its companion work in E-flat (Op. 70, No. 2), this trio marks the first time Beethoven returned to the piano-violin-cello combination since the three Op. 1 trios of 1795.  In the meantime, the composer had created many of his greatest works:  six symphonies, five concertos, the opera Fidelio, more than twenty piano sonatas and nine string quartets.  The piano trio was a medium associated with private chamber music parties in aristocratic salons; the two trios Op. 70 were dedicated to the Hungarian Countess Erdődy, in whose Viennese palace they were first performed.  Yet there is something in these works that the sumptuously decorated walls of the Countess’s music salon can’t seem to contain. 

The unison melody at the beginning of the ‟Allegro vivace con brio” shoots up with uncommon energy, only to stop abruptly on a note outside the key of D major.  A new, lyrical melody appears; it, too, picks up considerable dramatic momentum as it is developed.  The exposition is relatively brief but extremely intense.  In the development, the two themes previously heard are combined contrapuntally in constantly changing configurations.  The recapitulation temporarily darkens the mood by an unexpected modulation from D major to D minor, but it soon recaptures the upbeat energy of the opening.

The D-minor that was adumbrated in a few measures in the first movement takes center stage in the second.  Sketches to this ‟Largo assai ed espressivo” were found on the same page where Beethoven had also jotted down ideas for an opera based on Macbeth that was never written.  We will never know whether there is a connection between the Largo of the piano trio and the witches in Macbeth.  Yet the unusual harmonies, the eerie tremolos and the sudden outbursts of this music are indications that Beethoven had something extremely dramatic in mind.  This Largo has an atmosphere not found in any other of Beethoven’s works (or anyone else’s, for that matter).

The dark clouds vanish without a trace in the concluding Presto, a sparkling movement full of playful melodies and delicious harmonic surprises.  At the same time, there is plenty of that Romantic fire that heralds a new century and with it, a whole new era in the history of music.

Credits : 

Peter Laki 

Cleveland Chamber Music 

Beethoven The Complete String Trios -- Performed By The Zurich String Trio A Critical Review

My favorite recordings of Beethoven's string trios, out of a very crowded field, are with the Leopold Trio on Hyperion. But these are full-priced discs, while the current Brilliant Classics box with the Zurich String Trio goes for a super bargain price. There should be more involved, however, than the matter of cost in guiding you to a decision. If I tell you why I favor the Leopold, you may find that the Zurich is more suited to your personal taste.

These trios are among Beethoven's earliest published works. 

Mozart's great E. Divertimento, K 563, was likely the young Beethoven's model. Whatever else one may say about them, evidence already exists in these very early trios, albeit in latent form, for the unique Beethoven persona that would soon emerge. Two examples will suffice.

The trio section of the first Menuetto in the E : Trio: a lovely melody is floated in the violin over an arpeggiated accompaniment in the viola and pizzicato in the cello. It is repeated, as expected. Then, where the melody reappears appended to the end of the second strain of the trio section, it is not exactly restated; instead, it is suggested by a series of gestures  in the violin part. But the ear hears outlined in those gestures the same melody, now made more poignant through the power of imagination. 

This technique will become a Beethoven hallmark, and it is one of the devices that accounts for the capacity of his music to affect us in such profound ways. It is the means by which the essence of an idea is communicated without explicitly expressing it, leaving us to imprint upon it our own meaning. To grasp the fuller implications of this, skip 30 years ahead to the alla danza movement of the op. 130 Quartet, and listen to how Beethoven implants his lilting little tune in your head, only later to have the first violin weave a filigree around it. You hear the tune spun through the decorative lace, even though it's not literally there.

In other ways, the Scherzo from the C-Minor Trio is also a portent of things to come. The restless urgency and sense of underlying menace that pervade the first movement already warn of the Sturm und Drang that lie ahead. Compare this movement, for example, to the first movement of the op. 18/4 String Quartet in the same key. But most of all, it's the shock of the Scherzo (no joke, this) with its whiplash cross rhythms and syncopations that not only convey a sense of dire danger, but rip asunder the comity and conviviality of 18th-century upper-class Viennese Hausmusik . Caught up in the revolutionary spirit of the 1790s, Beethoven was already on his own path to personal liberation, and indeed, music would never again be the same.

What all of this boils down to is, how do you want to hear these works? If you prefer to hear them, as I do, as harbingers of something new and quite bold, the Leopold Trio places a premium on those very elements that make this music so daring and dramatic. If you prefer a lower-voltage approach, one that de-emphasizes the shock and awe, and presents these trios more within the well-mannered context of Haydn's and Mozart's drawing-room music, the present readings with the Zurich String Trio are, I can honestly say, among the best of that particular class.

So, strongly recommended, if you like your early Beethoven decaffeinated. 

Credits : Arkiv Music 

Beethoven's Missa Solemnis -- A Grand Way To Start Off 2020

‘Is this the greatest piece ever written?’ Such was the question fired at me by Sir Roger Norrington during our correspondence in preparation for the recent performance of Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, given by the combined choirs and orchestras of Cambridge University in King’s College Chapel, conducted by Sir Roger himself.

Norrington is an alumnus of Clare College, and perhaps the key figure in the development of historically informed musical performances during the 1970s – with extraordinary energy, imagination and a large dose of historical proof, he set about reimagining all sorts of music from Schütz to Wagner (and in recent years, even to Mahler) with the aim of playing that music, as far as possible, as it was played when it was written. That means – more often than not – smaller orchestras, fast tempi and, most notoriously, ‘pure tone’, or no vibrato, giving the sound an exciting edge and vitality in fast music, and a wonderful depth and profundity in slower music.

There’s plenty of both in the Missa Solemnis, and I spent a wonderful week assisting Sir Roger as he brought this music to life with Cambridge students. Assisting a conductor is an interesting task in itself – after leading the orchestra through an initial playthrough before Sir Roger joined us, I spent time in King’s evaluating balance issues between choir and orchestra, checking that the choir’s text was audible (never easy in a resonant acoustic like King’s) and occasionally suggesting where perhaps something might work better if played slightly differently. I have to confess, though, that the best part was getting to spend a week listening to the Missa Solemnis every night. I had spent a lot of the Christmas vacation learning the piece in order to prepare for my rehearsal with the orchestra, so I thought I knew it quite well – but I had barely scratched the surface, and (like so many works) the impact of a recording is trifling compared to that of a live performance, especially of this monumental work.

Beethoven considered the Missa Solemnis his greatest achievement. Cast in five monumental movements, it’s a real compendium of almost every musical texture – calm, pure diatonicism in the Kyrie, thunderous tutti sections and an almost operatic intensity at times in the Gloria, a mini-violin concerto in the Benedictus, war-like trumpets and drums in the Agnus Dei and, most remarkably, a seemingly never-ending sequence of massive fugues. Striking too are the frequent references to older styles of music, what Sir Roger referred to as the ‘old modes’ – a number of passages in the work, such as the Praeludium to the Benedictus, use the sound of older composers such as Palestrina and Bach, as well as frequent references to Handel’s Messiah. It may well be Beethoven’s masterpiece – but hardly anyone knows it. It’s pretty extraordinary when you think about it like that. His other great work with choir and orchestra, the Ninth Symphony, is performed hundreds of times every year and is a cornerstone of our musical culture, but somehow the Missa Solemnis has never reached such heights of popularity.

There are obvious reasons for this – it hasn’t got a tune to rival the Ode to Joy, and it’s ferociously difficult to perform. But there is also a more subtle reason, which I believe lies in a fundamental difference in the messages of the two works. The Ninth moves from a state of disorder and darkness at its opening to a glorious celebration of human brotherhood and hope, from chaos to certainty. The Missa Solemnis takes the opposite journey, from the stability of the unison cries of ‘Kyrie’ at the beginning to an oddly abrupt, almost unresolved ending.

The words that close the Mass, ‘dona nobis pacem’ (grant us peace) seem outwardly conciliatory, full of relaxed certainty in a peaceful future. Indeed, they are most often set like that, a major resolution of usually stormy, minor-key cries of ‘miserere nobis’ (have mercy upon us). Beethoven follows that harmonic path, but undercuts that with two sudden interjections of military trumpets and drums, the army banging at the gate. Sir Roger was keen to impress on us during rehearsals that Beethoven lived in Vienna during wartime – he knew the sound of warfare, and the frailty of peace. So the Agnus Dei presents an ambiguous ending – we seem to reach some kind of resolution with the last few orchestral chords, but the sound of warfare is still ringing in our ears. We have moved from a communal call in prayer to profound uncertainty about the future – the exact opposite of the Ninth.

So the Ninth is powerfully affirmatory, and looks to the future, whereas the Missa Solemnis is in the final reckoning ambivalent, unsettling and spends a lot of time looking to the past. It’s a no-brainer – but if you give yourself one musical project this year, make it to get to know the Missa Solemnis. It’s utterly extraordinary, and a list of my favourite passages could take up another two articles. There’s one, though, that’s too good not to share.

After the energy of the opening section of the Credo, we suddenly hit a wall – the music halves in speed, and we reach D minor for the words ‘Et incarnatus est’. The tenors of the choir intone the words in which Jesus was made man and dwelt among us to the accompaniment of violas and cellos; the same music is taken up by a few string players and the four soloists, while the flute, the Holy Spirit appearing as a dove, flutters serenely over the top of the texture. It’s an amazing moment, like so many in this work. But enough of me telling you about it – go and have a listen, live with it for a few weeks like I did, and become one of the few people who actually know Beethoven’s greatest achievement.

Credits : William Cole 

Beethoven's Mass In C Major -- Heaven On Earth

The C Major Mass was commissioned by Prince Nikolaus Esterhazy (II) to commemorate the name day of his wife, Marie von Liechtenstein. Beethoven’s motivation for writing it, then, was less related to his own religious feeling. Because of this, the style of this mass was similar to that of Haydn’s masses. In fact, this commission was an annual Esterhazy custom fulfilled on six prior occasions by Haydn. The Mass in C, therefore, is not highly creative and is written in a static form. Even some melodies have been more suggestive of Mozart or Gluck than Beethoven.

Nevertheless, Beethoven put enough of his own style into his C Major Mass that he occasionally deviated from conformity to strict conventions. After the first performance of the Mass, the Prince reportedly said, "My dear Beethoven, what have you written there!", evidently in a condescending tone. Beethoven immediately became irritated by this, and he left the Prince’s court on the same day of the performance. The score was then dedicated to Prince Ferdinand Kinsky instead.

Like the Missa Solemnis, the C Major Mass was divided into five movements, and it utilized SATB soloists, a SATB chorus, and a full orchestra.

In the Kyrie, Beethoven uses a sonata form. The first Kyrie is in tonic C major, and its theme is the exposition. The Christe changes to the mediant E and functions and the development. The final Kyrie reverts to tonic FC and recapitulates the theme of the first Kyrie.

In the Gloria, two Allegro sections surround a slower section in a different key. This movement ends fugally with "Cum sancto spiritu in Gloria Dei patris, amen.", which is the customary ending of the Gloria. One can contrast this ending with the Missa Solemnis, where shouts of "Gloria!" instead of "Amen" conclude the section.

The Credo consists of three sections, the Allegro con brio, the Adagio, and the Allegro ma non troppo. This movement also ends with a fast and lively fugue, which follows the same pattern followed by Haydn.

In the Sanctus and Benedictus, each unit ends with "Osanna in excelsis!", which utilizes the same fugato. Like the Missa Solemnis, the Sanctus and Benedictus are treated somewhat independently, though they are included within the same movement.

The Agnus Dei perhaps illustrates the biggest difference between the Missa Solemnis and the C Major Mass. In the C Major Mass, Beethoven does use the three conventional calls to the Lamb of God, the first two ending with "miserere nobis" and the last ending with "dona nobis pacem". Supposedly, it was the custom in the Viennese Mass for the first sections to be in a minor key and for the last to end in the tonic major with a brighter tempo. Beethoven follows this convention in his C Major Mass, but as previously discussed, completely changed the format of the text and the music in his Missa Solemnis.

Beethoven unifies the C Major Mass by using the same music at the beginning of the Kyrie and the ending of the Agnus Dei. Even the orchestration is the same; only the words in the texts differ.

With all of the similarities between Beethoven’s and Haydn’s masses, it is obvious that Beethoven’s C Major Mass was supposed to be in the traditional style of the mass. On the other hand, the Missa Solemnis was written as much for himself as for anyone else, so he integrated his soul into the heart of the Missa Solemnis, giving it a religious signficance far deeper than that of the C Major Mass.

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Beethoven The Complete Piano Trios By Trio Elegiaque -- AN INDEPTH REVIEW

Here, for all piano trio aficionados, is the complete-complete oeuvre of Beethoven in that genre. This set includes not only all the opus-numbered trios, not only the “Kakadu” Variations and Variations on an Original Theme, op. 44, but also both trios without opus numbers (including the obscure Allegretto, Hess 48) and trio reductions of other works: the Second Symphony, the famous Septet, and the String Quintet, op. 4. In short, if you like Beethoven in a piano trio mode, this set is heaven for you.


Moreover, Brilliant Classics has really lucked out with Trio Élégiaque. Its members are all laureates of major international competitions: violinist Laurent Le Flécheur, pianist François Dumont, and cellist Virginie Constant. The liner notes tell us that they had “several meetings with members of the Beaux Arts Trio, Amadeus, and Alban Berg Quartets” which helped them formulate their style of playing chamber music. 

The result is a group very much like Beaux Arts, certainly a lot like the original Beaux Arts when they had the sweet-toned, elegant violinist Daniel Guilet heading the group. Trio Élégiaque practically oozes French elegance and charm, particularly violinist Le Flécher, whose tone and technique reminded me not only of Guilet but also of Jacques Thibaud, and pianist Dumont, whose light but rhythmically propulsive playing recalls any number of outstanding French pianists. These qualities find their way not only into the mature works, but also into the early ones. 

The op. 1/2 Trio that opens disc one is a perfect case in point: Their mellifluous reading of the opening Adagio practically floats on a cloud. At first, I heard this as a possible danger point for the set—I hoped they would not stay light and airy even when the music turned more dramatic—but I shouldn’t have worried. Though this trio will not erase memories of Thibaud-Cortot-Casals, they share with that legendary group a penchant for bringing more out of the music that is apparent in the printed page. True, their style leans more towards coaxing sounds out of their instruments rather than the kind of deep drama that Cortot and especially Casals were capable of, but it’s not at all bland playing. On the contrary, one stays mentally tuned in to them because their playing is so subtle—until they pull out the stops, as in the Finale of the op. 1/2, where they take off like birds riding a jet stream.


And just listen to the way they tear into the opening movement of the “Ghost” Trio! Even Yehudi Menuhin, playing with his sister Hepzibah and cellist Maurice Eisenberg, didn’t take it at this blistering a speed. Yet Trio Élégiaque loses nothing in terms of elegance, instrumental control, or dynamics; on the contrary, it’s all there, just spun out at a pace that takes your breath away—as it should. Nor does this Trio slough off the early trios: Listen to the way they manage to bring out Beethoven’s peculiarly galumphing humor in the E? Trio WoO 38.


I was particularly fascinated by Dumont’s style. Unlike many Beethoven pianists, his playing isn’t “dynamic” in the sense that the music explodes from his fingers. Rather, he produces an excellent legato by means of connected, pearl-like notes that almost emerge from the keyboard as if they were played on the vibes. At times, he creates an almost shimmering sound; at others, a crisp, clean articulation that accents no particular notes in his scale-runs yet somehow manages to make the entire scale-run sound dynamic via subtle crescendos that encompass the whole of each passage.


I’m not a fan of transcriptions, even when the composer himself does them, unless they have some interesting features about them (new textures, different balances, etc.). Consequently, I can’t say that I looked forward to hearing these trio transcriptions of the Symphony No. 2, String Quintet, op. 4, or the Septet. 

The Trio plays them very well, with verve and charm, but not with enough of the peasant humor Beethoven put into the first and third of them. (I might add that neither this transcription nor the original String Quintet is particularly interesting as music.) Thus I found them to be good but not revelatory. Also, after nearly a century of recordings, it’s hard to find anything new (or revelatory) to say with the “Archduke” Trio. This performance focuses on the music’s refinement of ideas, something new for Beethoven at this particular time, and thus comes across as a good reading without exactly stealing one’s breath away.


I did, however, find myself caught up in their brilliant performance of the op. 11 Trio, titled “Gassenhauer,” and it was indeed a gasser! They also have fun with the variations on I am the tailor Kakadu . As for the trio arrangement of the Septet, I’m sorry, but it’s just too empty-sounding. Not enough “voices,” and I don’t want to hear the Scherzo there played on a cello. I want to hear a horn.


All in all, however, this is a remarkably good set. Don’t mind my quibbles; they may not be yours. Where it really matters, in the early and little-known pieces, Trio Élégiaque is simply splendid. 

Credits : Arkiv Music 
  

Beethoven's Profound Piano Quartets

The Three Piano Quartets were written when the Composer was only 15 years old.

They are among the most profound of Beethoven's Earliest Compositions.

When Beethoven was very young, He was musically influenced mostly by Christian Neefe a Composer and one of Beethoven's First Music Teachers. He was also highly influenced by Franz Sterkel -- One Of the Best Pianists in Europe at that time as well as by Mozart.

Of all influences on the Young Beethoven, Neefe's was immediate and Mozart's extremely profound.

The First of Beethoven's Quartets is based on Mozart's K- 379/373a, the Second on K 380/374f and the Third on K - 296. All 3 Piano Quartets are in 3 Movements.

The E Flat Major Quartet is unique in that its slow first movement jumps without waiting into an Allegro Con Spirito in E Flat Minor.

The E Flat Minor Movement in Sonata Form features an extremely small development but has some adventurous passages in its recapitulation. The Final Movement is a set of 6 Variations in an ornamental style on a High Classical Era Theme with 2 Eight Measure Segments.

Each of the Segments is repeated, the First Moving to the Dominant and the Second returning to the Tonic. Beethoven follows this pattern in all of the variations the fifth of which is in E Flat Minor.

After the Awesome Variations have been done with the theme returns only slightly differently followed by a movement of the first variation.

It should be remembered right here that The Piano dominates the Musical Scene Completely.

Beethoven Set the D Major Quartet in a more traditional way, with a slow central movement encompassed by two fast ones.

The Opening Allegro is in Sonata Form and is modulated to the dominant Key. Boasting a much larger development section than that of the E Flat Quartet, the movement touches on D Minor before it recapitulates again.

The Second Movement in F Sharp Minor is in two parts and is aptly named Andante Con Moto.

The Piano opens the concluding Rondo with a movement of Youthful Energy dominated by the Keys.

Finally, We come to the Third and Final Piano Quartet. What Does Beethoven have in store for us here ??

The Quartet in C Major has 3 Movements, the second of which is in a laid back F Major.

After a Brief Development Section, Beethoven commences the recapitulation on the subdominant -- a procedure Schubert would make use of in several of his Piano Works.

The Second Movement features some of the most melodic passages of Beethoven's Youthful Days though his tendency to double most of these robs them of some of their delicate nature.

Nearly, all of the Thematic Material in the closing Rondo is concentrated in the Piano Part.

The Art of Playing And Understanding Beethoven's Razumovsky String Quartets

They are not easy listening and even harder to play.

Beethoven's three "Razumovsky" string quartets left both their first performers and the public shocked and suspicious. The violinist Ignaz Schuppanzigh, whose quartet premiered the Opus 59 works, complained they were unreasonably difficult. After playing the opening solo from the second movement of the first of the three quartets, cellist Bernhard Romberg threw his music to the ground and stamped on it.

What sort of sorry substitute for a tune was this? How insulting to give a cellist of his stature such a banal rhythm, the sort of thing anyone could tap out with a pencil!

Meanwhile, the violinist Felix Radicati is said to have complained these were "not music".

"They are not for you, but for a later age," Beethoven told his critics.

Commissioned in 1802 by Count Razumovsky to write three new quartets, Beethoven surprised his Russian patron by presenting him with lengthy compositions that express intense, shifting emotions. Imagine the scene: the guests at Count Razumovsky's new Viennese palace, after a sumptuous meal, pause on the terrace to look down over the Danube and spires of Vienna; they adjourn to an elaborate concert hall to listen to these brand new works. But the opening music of Opus 59 No 2 is hardly an aid to digestion: two loud chords followed by a bar's silence.

A few bars of breathless, mysterious music and another silence. It was like nothing they had heard before. The complicated rhythms and dialogue between the different parts must have perplexed anyone encountering them for the first time. Schuppanzigh had good reason to feel worried about the music – exposed runs and leaps that cover the whole range of the violin with alarming velocity.

But it was not only the technical demands that disturbed these early interpreters. They suspected that the music was inappropriate – that it did not behave as classical chamber music should. The movement that so offended Romberg is marked sempre scherzando – "always jokingly". With its unpredictable changes of emotion and texture, the musicians probably felt that the joke was at their expense.

A sweet melody has only just got going when it peters out to be replaced by an aggressive rhythm. Very loud passages end abruptly and are superseded by cheeky, quiet music that seems to bear no relation to the previous music. The last bars of the movement feature wrong-sounding notes righted only by emphatic final chords.

The closest thing to a favourable review of Beethoven's new quartets was published in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung on 27 February 1807:

"Three new, very long and difficult Beethoven string quartets … are attracting the attention of all connoisseurs. The conception is profound and the construction excellent, but they are not easily comprehended."

Although the Razumovsky Quartets are today among Beethoven's most popular works, it's worth reminding ourselves of those first reactions – which can inform our own approach to this radical music.

The Takács Quartet begins a year-long traversal of the complete Beethoven cycle over six concerts at the Queen Elizabeth Hall in London. Playing the works is a thrilling and daunting experience. We feel like tennis players forced out of position, obliged to draw on our physical and mental resources to raise our game. We have rehearsed this music for many years, but performing a Beethoven quartet still inspires an exhilarating sense of danger.

There's a short passage during the last movement of Opus 59 No 2 that raises our blood pressure however many times we perform it. We throw a three-note figure from one instrument to the next as if engaged in a frantic relay race. No sooner has a player grabbed the baton than it must be passed on to the next, who gives it on to the next, now back to the first, and so on, to create a musical line that whirls us back to the opening tune.

If someone misses an entrance, the resulting hole is as comical as the culprit's desperate attempt to recover. A late entrance results in collision with the following player – who drops the baton altogether while the others wait in confusion, wondering what to do next. In rehearsal such an accident is amusing, in a concert less so.

Playing the passage is easier if we approach it like a technical study, concentrating merely on entering at the right time. But to bring out its mischievous character requires an element of risk. Although we know this passage so well that it whirls around in our heads during sleepless nights, on stage it should sound spontaneous. We vary slightly the dynamics and timing each night – spontaneity helps maintain the illusion that the music is being created for the first time.

The thrill of Beethoven's quartets comes in part from the combination of virtuosic difficulty and emotional intensity. In the second Opus 59 quartet's first movement, sudden changes of dynamics, unexplained silences and breathless digressions draw us into a drama where emotions are barely under control.

It would certainly be easier to manage the music if we could play in a detached manner, keeping our muscles loose and remembering to breathe deeply. Frequent breaks to towel down, eat a banana and do some yoga stretches would be handy in performance as well as rehearsal. Yet the turbulent character of this music is impossible to achieve if the performers appear to be holding back. In rehearsal we often alternate approaches, playing first slowly and comfortably, then with maximum commitment, trusting that our joints will remember to stay supple as we become more emotionally engaged.

Communicating sudden and extreme shifts of emotion in Beethoven's quartets requires a combination of abandon and control. Beethoven follows the whirlwind ending to this first movement with an Adagio molto, apparently composed after contemplating the stars at night.

Celestial serenity brings solace after the turbulence of the first movement, but this shift from one mood to another is a challenge. As we play the first quiet notes with smooth and slow bows, our hearts are still racing from the previous movement. I try to communicate an atmosphere of peaceful wonder aided by a large bead of sweat that tickles its way down my nose before splashing on to the top of my violin.

Our rehearsals give us time to explore different musical possibilities and return to familiar passages to question our interpretation. How best to create the maximum shock with those chords at the beginning of Opus 59 No 2?

Our cellist András worries that we are using too much bow and should focus more on a crisp initial attack. We send him out into the hall to gauge how distance affects the impact. He confirms that the violin sound is too shallow and needs more bite. Geri, our violist, reminds us to freeze in the following silence – the suspense will be lessened if I fidget on my chair.

At the beginning of the slow movement Károly suggests that I play with a less rich sound. When he joins in with the second violin part we will be able to make a purer sound together – more like a church choir. Encouraging each other to try different approaches helps us to stay true to the searching spirit in the music.

Although Beethoven would no doubt be happy that his quartet cycle is now celebrated as mainstream chamber music repertoire, he might have derived his greatest satisfaction from the music's continuing ability to surprise and challenge. He never wanted his performers and audience ever to become too comfortable. The experience of the first players and listeners can still inspire us.

Credits : The Takacs Take on Beethoven's Razumovsky String Quartets
               By Edward Dusinberre
               November 5, 2009
               The Guardian
               United Kingdom