Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Poco sostenuto – vivace; Allegretto; Presto; Allegro con brio
For some compositions, fame and adulation follow disappointing premières; for others, the opposite occurs. Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony is among the latter. Its first performance was a triumph. It formed part of an exceptionally long charity concert given in Vienna in 1813, conducted by Beethoven himself. Among the works played were his Eighth Symphony, also for the first time, and yet another première: his so-called ‘Battle Symphony’ celebrating the victory of Wellington over Bonaparte at the Battle of Vitoria. Among the orchestral players were Louis Spohr, Johann Hummel, Giacomo Meyerbeer, Antonio Salieri, and the Italian double bass virtuoso, Domenico Dragonetti. The audience was ecstatic, insisting that the second movement of the Seventh Symphony be repeated, (how often is a slow movement encored?), and the whole concert had to be given again to satisfy public demand.
Subsequently, the symphony fared less well. Friedrich Wieck, Robert Schumann’s father-in-law, wondered whether Beethoven had composed it while drunk, and Carl Maria von Weber suggested that Beethoven was ‘ripe for the madhouse’. The English in particular were slow to embrace the work. Long after its première, critics were scathing. ‘(The Seventh Symphony) … is a composition in which the author has indulged a great deal of disagreeable eccentricity’ lamented The Harmonicon in 1825. ‘We shall certainly never become reconciled to either the first or last movements of this, both being full of asperities and almost unbearably whimsical’ the Quarterly Musical Magazine grumbled in 1829. Even as late as 1836 we read in Musical World, ‘Many of his passages … appear confused and unintelligible’.
Since then, its astonishing originality and genius have been universally recognised and accepted. The distinguished critic, Anthony Hopkins, wrote ‘The Seventh Symphony perhaps more than any of the others gives us a feeling of true spontaneity; the notes seem to fly off the page as we are borne along on a floodtide of inspired invention. Beethoven himself spoke of it fondly as one of my best works. Who are we to dispute his judgment?’. Who indeed? Perhaps the most famous summary of the work was coined by Richard Wagner who proclaimed that the Seventh Symphony was the ‘apotheosis of the dance’. Everyone seems eager to agree with that despite few of them knowing what ‘apotheosis’ means.
Concert-goers who are familiar with this symphony need no guided tour. Those hearing it for the first time should be swept along by its force, character and sheer ebullience. Words won’t help them much either. But let us imagine that we are at that unique concert in 1813. What aspects of this new symphony will astonish us?
The first movement opens with an expansive and eventful introduction: the longest Beethoven composed, and almost a ‘mini-movement’ in itself. We know it is coming to an end because the note E is left in the air, tossed between the flute and oboe in octaves and the violins. If you are in a mood to count, you should discover that there are 61 repetitions of this note. It leads into the first movement proper, based almost entirely on a ‘dotted rhythm’, characterised by an engaging jerkiness. Towards the end of the movement a long ‘pedal’ (repeated or held note) in the cellos and double basses heralds the final flourish. This pedal reappears in a new guise, played by the second horn, in the third movement trio section. The slow movement is remarkable because it is not particularly slow, and because its long opening section doesn’t really have a tune, yet it sounds so tuneful. Hard to fathom, but it’s true. A repetitive rhythm coupled to a plodding gait would score few marks in an examination but we learn that rules are made to be broken and here, surely, is the proof. For the academically minded, the chord in the third bar of the melody has no 3rd. In any harmony manual for students, that’s a howler!
The scherzo must have struck the first audience as perilously fast and the ‘trio’ section as curiously static. Additionally, the usual pattern for a scherzo movement is mocked here. Normally, the opening section returns after the trio, and that’s it. Here, the trio is played again, then the opening section yet again. The trio tries to make a third appearance too, but the orchestra says ‘No!’ and swipes it away. The last movement is indeed dance-like, possibly influenced by Irish and Scottish dance melodies that Beethoven was arranging for an Edinburgh-based publisher at the time. It is hugely exciting to experience, even today, so it must have been sensational in 1813. And listen carefully: that ‘pedal’ returns again. The thematic linkage between and across movements was another innovation, possibly triggering ideas in Hector Berlioz for his idée fixe. But that’s another story.
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Poco sostenuto – vivace; Allegretto; Presto; Allegro con brio
For some compositions, fame and adulation follow disappointing premières; for others, the opposite occurs. Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony is among the latter. Its first performance was a triumph. It formed part of an exceptionally long charity concert given in Vienna in 1813, conducted by Beethoven himself. Among the works played were his Eighth Symphony, also for the first time, and yet another première: his so-called ‘Battle Symphony’ celebrating the victory of Wellington over Bonaparte at the Battle of Vitoria. Among the orchestral players were Louis Spohr, Johann Hummel, Giacomo Meyerbeer, Antonio Salieri, and the Italian double bass virtuoso, Domenico Dragonetti. The audience was ecstatic, insisting that the second movement of the Seventh Symphony be repeated, (how often is a slow movement encored?), and the whole concert had to be given again to satisfy public demand.
Subsequently, the symphony fared less well. Friedrich Wieck, Robert Schumann’s father-in-law, wondered whether Beethoven had composed it while drunk, and Carl Maria von Weber suggested that Beethoven was ‘ripe for the madhouse’. The English in particular were slow to embrace the work. Long after its première, critics were scathing. ‘(The Seventh Symphony) … is a composition in which the author has indulged a great deal of disagreeable eccentricity’ lamented The Harmonicon in 1825. ‘We shall certainly never become reconciled to either the first or last movements of this, both being full of asperities and almost unbearably whimsical’ the Quarterly Musical Magazine grumbled in 1829. Even as late as 1836 we read in Musical World, ‘Many of his passages … appear confused and unintelligible’.
Since then, its astonishing originality and genius have been universally recognised and accepted. The distinguished critic, Anthony Hopkins, wrote ‘The Seventh Symphony perhaps more than any of the others gives us a feeling of true spontaneity; the notes seem to fly off the page as we are borne along on a floodtide of inspired invention. Beethoven himself spoke of it fondly as one of my best works. Who are we to dispute his judgment?’. Who indeed? Perhaps the most famous summary of the work was coined by Richard Wagner who proclaimed that the Seventh Symphony was the ‘apotheosis of the dance’. Everyone seems eager to agree with that despite few of them knowing what ‘apotheosis’ means.
Concert-goers who are familiar with this symphony need no guided tour. Those hearing it for the first time should be swept along by its force, character and sheer ebullience. Words won’t help them much either. But let us imagine that we are at that unique concert in 1813. What aspects of this new symphony will astonish us?
The first movement opens with an expansive and eventful introduction: the longest Beethoven composed, and almost a ‘mini-movement’ in itself. We know it is coming to an end because the note E is left in the air, tossed between the flute and oboe in octaves and the violins. If you are in a mood to count, you should discover that there are 61 repetitions of this note. It leads into the first movement proper, based almost entirely on a ‘dotted rhythm’, characterised by an engaging jerkiness. Towards the end of the movement a long ‘pedal’ (repeated or held note) in the cellos and double basses heralds the final flourish. This pedal reappears in a new guise, played by the second horn, in the third movement trio section. The slow movement is remarkable because it is not particularly slow, and because its long opening section doesn’t really have a tune, yet it sounds so tuneful. Hard to fathom, but it’s true. A repetitive rhythm coupled to a plodding gait would score few marks in an examination but we learn that rules are made to be broken and here, surely, is the proof. For the academically minded, the chord in the third bar of the melody has no 3rd. In any harmony manual for students, that’s a howler!
The scherzo must have struck the first audience as perilously fast and the ‘trio’ section as curiously static. Additionally, the usual pattern for a scherzo movement is mocked here. Normally, the opening section returns after the trio, and that’s it. Here, the trio is played again, then the opening section yet again. The trio tries to make a third appearance too, but the orchestra says ‘No!’ and swipes it away. The last movement is indeed dance-like, possibly influenced by Irish and Scottish dance melodies that Beethoven was arranging for an Edinburgh-based publisher at the time. It is hugely exciting to experience, even today, so it must have been sensational in 1813. And listen carefully: that ‘pedal’ returns again. The thematic linkage between and across movements was another innovation, possibly triggering ideas in Hector Berlioz for his idée fixe. But that’s another story.