Beethoven
Concerto for Piano & Orchestra No. 5 in E-flat major, Op. 73, Emperor
Ludwig van Beethoven was born in Bonn in 1770 and died in Vienna in 1827. He composed this work in 1809, and it was first performed in 1811 by Friedrich Schneider with the Gewandhaus Orchestra Leipzig, Johann Schulz conducting. The name “Emperor” didn’t come from Beethoven; there are conflicting theories about how the concerto acquired it. The work is scored for solo piano, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani and strings.
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Had Beethoven known that one day his Fifth Piano Concerto would be known as the “Emperor,” he would not have been amused. In 1809, while Beethoven was composing the work, Vienna was being attacked and later occupied by Napoleon’s troops. At one point Beethoven had to take refuge in his brother’s basement: “The whole course of events has affected me body and soul. What a disturbing, wild life around me! Nothing but drums, cannon, men, misery of all sorts!”


Years previously, Beethoven had felt an affinity between himself and Napoleon, a self-made man of professed republican intentions; he even wrote his Third Symphony with Napoleon in mind. But when the Frenchman proclaimed himself emperor and set a course for world domination, Beethoven reacted bitterly: “Now he, too, will trample on all the rights of Man and indulge only his ambition. He will exalt himself above all others, become a tyrant!” Beethoven so violently scratched out Napoleon’s name on the symphony’s dedication page that he went right through the paper. Under the circumstances, “Emperor” was the last title Beethoven might have chosen for a work composed while under attack.


Beethoven never wrote an ordinary concerto: there’s something unusual around every corner. While most concertos lay out the themes in the orchestra before the soloist enters, here the piano launches right in, only to fall silent. This deceit creates a certain tension about when it will re-enter. Later, at the place where we expect a to hear a cadenza, Beethoven specifically forbids one, instructing the soloist to push on.


The theme and variations second movement begins in the unexpected key of  B major, about as far removed from E-flat as can be. Its ending is pure genius. The piano ruminates, inventing a new melody note-by-note; it keeps adding notes until it achieves the opening theme of the Finale, which follows without pause.


This Rondo is an astonishing dissertation on the use of form. The first episode of the rondo is in fact a sonata form; the second episode is itself a miniature rondo. You might only hear these forms-within-forms and compositional devices if you deliberately listen for them, but they create a finely crafted, multi-layered cohesiveness—and music that sounds utterly fresh and spontaneous.
This remarkable concerto was Beethoven’s last, even though he would live a further eighteen years.  The piano concertos had been vehicles for his own prodigious pianism, but by this time he had grown too deaf to perform. Despite the cruel irony of his affliction and the frightening scenes around him, Beethoven left us a magnificent work of noble spirit and profound affirmation.