I have been listening to three different versions of Beethoven’s late B flat quartet over the past couple of days. I must have at least ten recordings of this work, which is probably my favourite of the last five, but every time I come to the end, I feel like giving Ludwig a swift boot in the rear. Why did he write that substitute finale? Was he really bowing to pressure from players and public – or did the thought of an alternative finale give him a new artistic challenge? What probably never crossed his mind was the dilemma he created for me and my CD collection.
I first heard this work in the summer of 1973 in a recording by the Amadeus quartet. The “Grosse Fuge” was included as an “extra” and I (being aware of its fearsome reputation) approached it with extreme caution. I can recall my first reaction very well – it didn’t sound like anything I had ever heard before – especially the uncouth rhythm of the first main section. But the sleeve notes quoted somebody as saying that if ever a piece of music justified the invention of the gramophone, it was the Fuge. That statement is absolutely true for only after countless listenings have I come to appreciate it.
To call it the “Great Fugue” is a misnomer because, like the finale of the Ninth Symphony, it has a number of distinct sections, not least a beautiful flowing middle section which follows five or six minutes of harsh counterpoint. This is followed by something resembling a scherzo and another finale, and this diversity within a single movement has enabled the work to stand alone down through the years to the detriment of the B flat quartet. The beautiful war-time recording by the Busch Quartet, for example, omits the Fuge but this may have been down to the recording limitations of 1942. Nowadays, it seems to have regained its place as the crowning glory of a sublime masterpiece and the attractive substitute is relegated to the status of an encore. That’s the way I listen, anyway.
But on the odd times I use the substitute finale, I approach the work differently. If the fugue is not used as the finale, then the intellectual (for want of a better word) weight falls upon the first movement and the whole piece can be viewed as a superior divertimento, with a light finale. Choose the fugal finale and you have a different beast altogether. What I am trying to say is that my choice of finale influences the way I listen to the preceding movements. The Lindsays have become very much aware of this and, in their latest recording, they include two versions of the Cavatina, the movement which immediately precedes the finale. You pick one version if you are playing the Fuge, and another if you choose the substitute finale. I don’t have this recording, but I would be curious to know what the differences are. All I know is that one version is nine seconds slower than the other.
Once or twice, I have asked someone to programme my CD player without telling me which finale has been chosen. This hasn’t helped much as I keep wondering, towards the end of the Cavatina, will I be greeted by the lilting strains of the substitute or the brutal attack of the Overtura.
Both finales have their devotees which effectively makes the B flat quartet one of the most problematical works in Beethoven’s canon. I wish he had left it alone – but then we would have lost a fine happy movement which turned out to be the last completed work he ever wrote.
I first heard this work in the summer of 1973 in a recording by the Amadeus quartet. The “Grosse Fuge” was included as an “extra” and I (being aware of its fearsome reputation) approached it with extreme caution. I can recall my first reaction very well – it didn’t sound like anything I had ever heard before – especially the uncouth rhythm of the first main section. But the sleeve notes quoted somebody as saying that if ever a piece of music justified the invention of the gramophone, it was the Fuge. That statement is absolutely true for only after countless listenings have I come to appreciate it.
To call it the “Great Fugue” is a misnomer because, like the finale of the Ninth Symphony, it has a number of distinct sections, not least a beautiful flowing middle section which follows five or six minutes of harsh counterpoint. This is followed by something resembling a scherzo and another finale, and this diversity within a single movement has enabled the work to stand alone down through the years to the detriment of the B flat quartet. The beautiful war-time recording by the Busch Quartet, for example, omits the Fuge but this may have been down to the recording limitations of 1942. Nowadays, it seems to have regained its place as the crowning glory of a sublime masterpiece and the attractive substitute is relegated to the status of an encore. That’s the way I listen, anyway.
But on the odd times I use the substitute finale, I approach the work differently. If the fugue is not used as the finale, then the intellectual (for want of a better word) weight falls upon the first movement and the whole piece can be viewed as a superior divertimento, with a light finale. Choose the fugal finale and you have a different beast altogether. What I am trying to say is that my choice of finale influences the way I listen to the preceding movements. The Lindsays have become very much aware of this and, in their latest recording, they include two versions of the Cavatina, the movement which immediately precedes the finale. You pick one version if you are playing the Fuge, and another if you choose the substitute finale. I don’t have this recording, but I would be curious to know what the differences are. All I know is that one version is nine seconds slower than the other.
Once or twice, I have asked someone to programme my CD player without telling me which finale has been chosen. This hasn’t helped much as I keep wondering, towards the end of the Cavatina, will I be greeted by the lilting strains of the substitute or the brutal attack of the Overtura.
Both finales have their devotees which effectively makes the B flat quartet one of the most problematical works in Beethoven’s canon. I wish he had left it alone – but then we would have lost a fine happy movement which turned out to be the last completed work he ever wrote.
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