The public premiere of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 was his last appearance as a piano soloist. Unfortunately, this concert was nothing short of a disaster. 

The composer had been lobbying Joseph Hartl, director of the Theater an der Wien, for a private benefit concert, but Hartl had continuously put off the matter. Beethoven spent a year “volunteering” his services for charity concerts and, finally, was permitted to use the hall. Stagetime was at a premium, though, and it wasn’t until the dead of winter that Beethoven was able to utilize the theater. He held a marathon concert of his own works at the Theatre an der Wien on December 22, 1808. Among other works, the four-hour spectacle included premieres of his fifth and sixth symphonies as well as his Piano Concerto No. 4. 

When this story is retold, our first thought is generally that the audience would have disliked the performance simply because it was too long. But this isn’t necessarily true; composer’s Akademie concerts were often a test of endurance, and concertgoers knew what to expect in 1808. This concert, however, was anything but predictable. 

The Theatre an der Wien was described as “the most lavishly equipped and one of the largest theatres of its age,” and “most comfortable and satisfactory in the whole of Germany,” though the heating system was on the fritz when Beethoven took the stage. Then, his soprano for “Ah! Perfido” pulled out of the performance; Beethoven had gotten in a fight with her fiancé before rehearsals began. Rather than reprogram the aria, Beethoven hastily sought out a new vocalist. The replacement was gripped with stage fright during the concert and completely butchered the aria. 

And then there was the problem of the 

orchestra. 

Beethoven typically would have performed at this hall with its house orchestra, usually under the direction of Antonio Salieri. Remember that Beethoven did not have control over his concert date; his Akademie directly conflicted with an offsite performance, leaving the Theater orchestra booked elsewhere and Beethoven with no musicians. Salieri threatened to fire any of his musicians who attempted to get out of his gig to play Beethoven’s. Naturally, Beethoven hired any freelance musician available. 

To make matters worse, musicians were reluctant to rehearse with Beethoven anywhere in the room. Just weeks before, Beethoven was less-than-professional with the orchestra ahead of their November concert, having allowed his feverish temper to get the better of him. As a result, it is likely Beethoven did not conduct his entire Akademie concert; he was only on the podium for his newest work, the Choral Fantasy, and behind the keyboard as a soloist on his Fourth Piano Concerto. 

While his playing during the concerto did dazzle audiences, Beethoven’s conducting of the Fantasy was . . . less than satisfactory. He had finished the work in just enough time to put it on this program—the ink was still wet—and, in a rushed rehearsal, told the orchestra not to repeat a section. During the performance, he forgot this instruction and Beethoven conducted the repeat while his orchestra moved on to the next section, as previously instructed. The concertmaster stopped playing and the orchestra fell apart. Beethoven began the work again, this time with repeats, to the complete humiliation of his musicians. 

With a surly orchestra and a shivering audience, this performance was doomed from the start. The lack of professional orchestral talent mixed with the last-minute soprano, the almost-not-finished Fantasy, and the lack of heat led to a . . . suboptimal concert week. As we all know, though, the show must go on. This concert received virtually no positive reviews although the program was, in retrospect, stacked with some of Beethoven’s most masterful works. 

One downside (amongst many) of the marathon concert is that the concerto was entirely eclipsed by Beethoven’s symphonies. Now heralded as Beethoven’s most complex concerto, the Fourth faded into obscurity after 1808. One must wonder if it was, in part, due to the composer calling for more powerful pianos than most players may have had access to. Perhaps it was the “tremendous speed of Beethoven’s playing” that scared the general piano-playing populace out of attempting No. 4 for themselves. Thankfully Felix Mendelssohn revived the concerto in 1847, performing it himself in his final concert appearance. 

The Fourth Concerto begins with a truly solo piano, a compositional choice that was unheard of at the time. The Allegro moderato opens with G-major chords in the lone piano, a simple theme that is then repeated (in the “wrong” key: B major) by the strings. The main melody harkens to Beethoven’s Fifth; three motivic upbeats lead to a long note, but in the piano concerto this feels less like blows of fate and more like a hopeful assurance. The first movement is the longest of the three, and in twenty minutes Beethoven utilizes this rhythmic motif across every emotional variant available: sneaky, hopeful, stubborn, reverent. In his true Beethovenian manner, a slight change of harmony completely alters the main theme. 

The second movement, its stark pitting of soloist “against” orchestra, has been the subject of a musicological debate. Strings rebel against the first movement’s opening; they are now the solo force of the Andante’s first measure. A pervasively dolce piano answers their threatening theme, and over time the piano reveals it is not working against the orchestra at all, but to subdue its ferocity. Generations of musicologists have wondered if Beethoven intended this movement to illustrate Orpheus and the Furies at the gate of Hades. The second movement may very well conjure that image, but there is no evidence to suggest that Beethoven explicitly planned this sonic portrait. The commentary between piano and orchestra gets shorter with each refrain, ending with a delicate E-minor chord. The beasts have been lulled to reluctant sleep. 

Beethoven’s Rondo reawakens the orchestral beast as strings quietly segue into an excited marchlike figure. The conversation between piano and orchestra chatters with excited effervescence until a solo cello drone supports the B-theme at the keyboard. Pockets of the third movement open up to sublime chorale writing, surely at the top of mind from Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony. Greener pastures, too, make way for thunderstorms in the development as furious low strings shepherd Beethoven’s solo back home.