Beethoven : Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, op. 58

Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, op. 58
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

This concerto comes at the most abundant period of Beethoven's composing career, cheek-by-jowl with the Eroica Symphony, Appassionata Sonata, "Rasumovsky" String Quartets, and Violin Concerto. Like all of these, the work has its surprises. The first surprise is the opening: instead of a lengthy orchestral ritornello, the piano alone quietly sets the music in motion with a motto-like sequence of repeated chords whose rhythm (resembling the famous pattern which opens the 5th symphony) is to dominate the entire movement, Having set forth its claim in a still voice the piano retires to permit the orchestra to indulge in its accustomed ruffles and flourishes, if perhaps a trifle subdued by the tone set by the piano opening. The soloist returns with the introductory melody, soon moving toward regions of color texture and poetry quite new to the piano concerto form. To some extent taking advantage of the newest mechanical developments in the early 19th century piano, the performer's hands often search out the farthest extremes of the keyboard, especially exploring the highest register, deliberately blurring the sounds with the coloristic use of the pedal. The air of mystery, with adventurous use of texture and harmony carrying us far away from the usual bluster of the "virtuoso concerto," soon is swept away, and the introductory "motto" returns, with the repeated chords now thundered out by the piano full throttle. The first movement cadenza is normally one of two written out with great care by Beethoven, and although perhaps presenting an idea of Beethoven's legendary skills as an improviser, have come to seem like an integral part of the work as a whole.

The second movement is brief, simple and devastating. Only the strings of the orchestra are used, the piano kept at a whisper for nearly the entire movement, while the orchestra carries on its part of the dialogue in loud rhythmic statements, peremptory and challenging. Franz Liszt suggested a comparison with Orpheus taming the wild beasts with his music. Whatever the mental image, there is an unmistakable confrontation between the sweet reasonableness of the piano and the obstinate, implacable orchestra. In this interchange the gentleness of the piano prevails, and the orchestra gradually backs down and fades into the background, only then permitting the piano its single crescendo into a fortissimo tilll (in an almost Debussyist blur of color) before sinking back, united with the vanquished strings in an ending of hushed amity.

Tiptoeing out of the grey quiet without a break, the lively finale (a hybrid of rondo and sonata form), sets off in the wrong key of C Major, featuring a galloping rhythm which is to dominate the movement. For the first time in the concerto romping high spirits prevail, and the contrasts of poetic reflections and conflict now achieve joyous resolution. Relaxing into a dreamy secondary theme, the music hearkens back to the high-floating "exploratory" passages of the first movement with a skylarking theme in the highest reaches of the keyboard, the left hand floating up and down in a lower register, anchored by a low drone in the cellos. There is a proper, if bumptious development section which quickly whisks us back to the "skylark' theme (the principal themes are now heard in reverse order). With cheeky persistence the music threatens to ride off to a C Major conclusion, only to wheel around and gallop breathlessly home in the correct key of G.