(MUSIC) …..Except that reconciliation does come, magically, in the form of the second movement, which rises directly out of the ashes of the first. Beethoven takes the falling gesture that ends the first movement, and turns it into a rise; takes its e minor, and turns it into E major; and takes its despair, and turns it into song. (MUSIC) I’ve been beating the drum, thorough the now twelve lectures of this course, about the importance of structure and of context – of how our experience of a movement of a sonata is so deeply affected by what it follows. Well, maybe instead of talking at you on this topic for twelve hours, I should simply have played Op. 90, because nothing could make the point more succinctly, or more beautifully. This second movement is, under any circumstances, very lovely. But it's the way that it follows the quiet devastation of the first movement that makes it so extraordinarily heart-warming. The way in which Beethoven literally flips the final gesture of the first movement to create the opening of the second (MUSIC), is a perfect metaphor for how the second movement turns the world of the first upside down. Again, the movements of op. 54 and 78 are substantively different, but the idea of a sonata's two movements representing polar opposites – or, perhaps, two sides of a coin – that is original to op. 90. So let me enumerate some of the dichotomies that this two-movement sonata presents: first, and most obviously, the first movement is in minor, and the second is in major. (MUSIC) It’s a bit of a generalization, of course, but music in minor keys tends towards pathos, and music in major keys tends to have at least a certain amount of optimism – very much the case here. Then, there is the texture. As I mentioned, on of the signature elements of the first movement is its tendency to stop and start. We see this already in the first phrase, and it continues throughout the movement, with all of those ritardandos, and so many dramatic silences. The second movement, by contrast, is among the most mellifluous things Beethoven ever wrote, with the melody supported by those gentle, ever-present sixteenth notes. (MUSIC) In a seven minute long movement, those sixteenths go away only a handful of times, and never for long. A related issue: the first movement is very much instrumental writing – even orchestral, at times. Lots of chords, quite a lot of scales, many brusque attacks. The second movement is again at the opposite end of the spectrum: it is just about the most vocal thing Beethoven ever wrote; those sixteenth notes, they sound so much like the piano accompaniment in a Schubert song, and the melody itself is one Schubert almost could have written and should have been proud of if he had. This leads me to the main difference between the two movements, which is the difference in their character. I don’t buy the story that Beethoven was depicting a marital dispute and rapprochement in this sonata – it strikes me as way too sentimental an idea for him. But there is no question that the first movement is rife with pain, and with yearning; coming out of that, the second movement – mellifluous, songful, transposed into major – projects a wonderful contentment. It's a true yin and ying, in that the movements are opposites, and in the fact that it is impossible to appreciate the one without the other. I will say, for the thousandth time: in music, context is everything. Now, the second movement is a rondo form, and it really is a pure rondo: ABACABA. And that actually has been the source of some criticism: the knock on op. 90’s second movement, when it gets knocked, is that it is extremely beautiful, but also extremely repetitive. And there's no disputing the truth of that: the first three times the A section comes, not a single note in it is altered, and the B and C sections are built out of the same materials as one another. But in my opinion, to consider this a weakness is to fundamentally misunderstand the piece. As usual, Beethoven’s mastery of structure meant that he always knew what kind of music to write when. And in the case of op. 90, he surely understood that what was needed, following the angst of the first movement, was not music of great complexity and variation: rather, the unperturbable stability and simplicity of the second movement act as a balm. Our ability to predict what is coming is soothing, and after the turmoil of the first movement, we need soothing. I actually find Beethoven’s willingness to revel in this unaltered theme to be incredibly endearing: normally, he’s so rigorous with himself, it’s wonderful to observe him taking pleasure in just how beautiful this theme he’s written is. Schumann apparently liked to sit at the piano and play his favorite themes of his own over and over again, wallowing in them: self-satisfaction is not a luxury Beethoven normally afforded himself, and I, for one, will not begrudge it to him in this case.
