Program Notes & Analysis
Poetry, Philosophy, and a Quiet Revolution
The public premiere of the Fourth Piano Concerto, on a freezing Vienna evening in December 1808, was a deeply poignant occasion. It was part of the same legendary, four-hour marathon concert that also saw the first performances of the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies. More significantly, it was the last time Ludwig van Beethoven would ever perform as a piano soloist with an orchestra. His deafness had become so profound that his control over the instrument was failing. An attendee, Johann Friedrich Reichardt, wrote of the sad spectacle, noting that in loud passages the "poor deaf virtuoso... pounded on the keys until the strings jangled, and in soft passages he played so lightly that whole groups of notes were inaudible. " This tragic image—of a great composer struggling to bring his most lyrical and subtle concerto to life, hearing it only in his memory—adds a layer of profound pathos to a work that is, at its heart, about the power of quiet persuasion.
A Period of Intense Creativity The Fourth Concerto was born during an astonishingly fertile period of creativity, composed between 1805 and 1806 alongside masterworks like the Fourth Symphony, the "Appassionata" Sonata, and the Violin Concerto. While emerging from the crucible of his "heroic" period, this concerto is unique for its sustained lyricism and introverted character. If the Third Concerto was a heroic battle and the Fifth would be an epic drama, the Fourth is a profound spiritual and philosophical dialogue.
Movement I: Allegro moderato – A Revolutionary Opening The concerto begins with an act of radical subtlety. The solo piano, alone and without any orchestral introduction, gently presents the opening five-bar theme (piano, dolce). This had never been done before, and it immediately changes the relationship between the soloist and the orchestra. The piano is not a challenger, but the source from which the music flows. The orchestra responds magically, in the distant and unexpected key of B major, before finding its way back to the home key. This feeling of gentle, dream-like improvisation permeates the entire movement. The piano writing is less about percussive power and more about delicate, poetic beauty, emphasizing pearly scales, shimmering trills, and expressive cantabile playing. It is an expansive, lyrical conversation, one of Beethoven's most personal and improvisatory-sounding creations.
Movement II: Andante con moto – Orpheus Taming the Furies This is one of the most original and dramatic movements in the entire concerto literature. Lasting only about five minutes, it is a stark, theatrical dialogue between two opposing forces. The orchestra's strings play a gruff, angry, and rhythmically severe unison motive. In response, the piano offers a soft, richly harmonized, and intensely beautiful chorale melody, played with the sustaining pedal held down to create a celestial aura. The 19th-century critic Adolf Bernhard Marx famously likened this confrontation to the Greek myth of Orpheus, who descends into the underworld and tames the savage Furies at the gates of Hades with the sheer beauty of his music. The dialogue continues, with the orchestra's menacing phrases becoming shorter, softer, and less confident with each repetition, until it is finally silenced, "tamed" by the piano's quiet persuasion. The soloist is left to play a few hushed, sorrowful chords, which dissolve into a shimmering arpeggio that leads directly, without pause, into the finale.
Movement III: Rondo: Vivace – A Joyful Awakening The Rondo bursts forth (attacca) from the somber spell of the Andante, a sudden explosion of brilliant C major chords that immediately pivot to the sunny home key of G major. It is a joyous return to the world of light and life. The main theme, a rustic, syncopated tune, is first heard quietly in the cellos before being triumphantly taken up by the piano. The movement is a brilliant and exhilarating showcase of rhythmic vitality and dazzling virtuosity. The piano part is filled with brilliant passagework and energetic, dance-like rhythms. After the profound introspection of the first movement and the dark drama of the second, this finale is a cathartic release, an expression of pure, uninhibited joy that brings the concerto to a breathless and triumphant conclusion.
The Poet's Touch: A New Conception of Virtuosity With this concerto, Beethoven redefines what it means to be a virtuoso. The technical demands are immense, but they are of a different kind from the heroic thunder of the Third Concerto. The Fourth demands subtlety, a masterful control of color and touch, and a deep poetic sensibility. The intricate tracery of the piano writing, the expressive use of the pedal to create new sonorities, and the long, sustained trills all require a pianist who is a poet at heart. It is a work that values lyrical expression and philosophical depth over sheer athletic display.
A Last Bow and a Long Silence Perhaps because of its radical innovations, the Fourth Concerto was not a success with the Viennese public. Its quiet opening, strange slow movement, and poetic nature baffled audiences expecting a more traditional heroic display. After its difficult premiere, the work fell into almost complete neglect for nearly thirty years. Its resurrection came in 1836 at the hands of the 27-year-old Felix Mendelssohn, who championed the forgotten masterpiece in a legendary performance in Leipzig. It was Mendelssohn's advocacy that rescued the concerto from obscurity and established it, once and for all, as one of the cornerstones of the piano repertoire.
The Introspective Concerto The Fourth Concerto's legacy is profound. It created a new archetype: the lyrical, poetic concerto. Its influence can be heard in the concertos of composers like Robert Schumann and Frédéric Chopin, who similarly valued intimate expression and keyboard color over overt symphonic drama. It proved that a concerto's power could lie in its capacity for profound, personal reflection, establishing a lineage of introspective works that continues to this day.
A Work of Radical Beauty Beethoven's Fourth Piano Concerto is arguably his most beautiful and spiritually profound. It is a work that finds its strength not in conflict, but in persuasion and dialogue. From its revolutionary opening, which redefines the relationship between soloist and orchestra, to its unforgettable slow movement, which stages one of music's most compelling dramas, the concerto is a masterpiece of radical beauty. It is the soul of the piano, made audible by a composer who could find a universe of meaning in a single, quiet chord.
