It is commonplace, of course, for scholars to think of Beethoven’s musical life in three great periods—the last one being the time of compositions that “challenge” comprehension and appreciation. The fecund middle period, roughly the first decade of the nineteenth century, is the time of dozens of the magnificent works that came to define the composer and establish his eternal reputation, and his eighth symphony stands pretty much near the end of that time.
Written mostly during 1811 and finished by early 1812, it—like its mate, the seventh symphony--is a without doubt a complete reflection of the happy times and optimistic personal attitude of the composer at that time in his life—both professionally and personally. We are all familiar with the struggles and depressive moments in his emotionally up and down life, but times were good about then. The beloved “Pastoral” symphony was finished in 1808, and he had then busied himself with important works, among them, the “Emperor” piano concerto and the music for Egmont. Sketches for both the seventh and the eighth symphonies were all part of his activity during this time.
He had already suffered health problems by early 1811, and traveled to the spa in the Bohemian town of Teplice, where work on the symphonies went on during that summer. Both symphonies were finished the next year, and together they more or less demark the end of an era. From that time on, until the end of his life in 1827, Beethoven the man, and his musical works underwent significant changes. His health underwent further deterioration, with debilitating family squabbles and failures in personal relationships all contributing to the change. While there were great works still to be written, the flow of inspiration attenuated, his social isolation increased, and the style of his composition took on a new, abstract quality. So, the Symphony No. 8 in many ways roughly marks the end of the major creative period of the composer’s life—what lay ahead were works that often tested his audiences in significant ways; they still do.
A common trait of the Beethoven’s creativity was to write works, though conceived almost simultaneously, that often end up quite differently. The contrasts between his seventh and eighth symphonies are a case in point. The seventh has significant “gravitas” and length, whereas the eighth is much shorter and full of humor, élan, and a certain light-hearted sparkle. Beethoven, himself, referred to it as “my little one.”
It’s a rollicking, thumping affair, full of humor, and with some of the loudest passages that Beethoven ever called for. Even the so-called “slow” movement is not in the slightest, slow. The symphony starts right out with an emphatic, happy theme replete with dramatic pauses, with passages that almost sound like powerful ending material rather than an opening. The form is the familiar sonata form, but in typical fashion Beethoven almost dashes through it, seemingly to just get it over with, in order that he can indulge himself with a long intense coda with pounding sections with unprecedented sustained volume. And then the movement ends with a Beethoven surprise: intense hammer strokes followed by unexpected soft little accents.
As noted above, the second movement is not the usual slow movement but a fairly rapid exercise in what many generations have thought of as some kind of parody on a metronome or a clock. It’s not proven, and you can draw your own conclusions, but it goes from the first to the last bar with almost unremitting sixteenth note “tick-tocks” in the woodwinds—it doesn’t vary a whit in tempo, even during the “stutter stops.” More Beethoven humor, it would seem –what else could it be?
Not many serious moments so far, and the third movement—usually a brisk, and often dramatic “scherzo” in Beethoven—is a throwback to the old minuet of Haydn and Mozart, but with a major difference. This is not a gentle, stately dance of old. In Beethoven’s hands, this one is nothing less than a bit weird in rhythm, and full unusual accents that would make it a challenge to dance to for even Fred and Ginger. It’s as if the composer deliberately set out to confuse us as to what this is, and he succeeds famously at continuing the unusual nature of this symphony with yet another bit of eccentricity. Most will find the horn and clarinet solos in the middle section ingratiating and a rather smooth diversion from the outer sections.
The last movement is a run for the money. Taking off at blistering speed, there is a shower of machine gun-like notes that occasionally pause, followed by an enigmatic loud note that seems from some other key. We hear a main section that returns on regular basis, with contrasting ones and a bit of a development, as the movement explores a variety of unusual and entertaining keys that surprise and delight. But, it’s a relatively short affair—rather like the first movement—for Beethoven more or less zips through the form almost perfunctorily to indulge himself in a coda of literally unprecedented length. Along the way, the unexpectedly loud “wrong” notes continue to be heard—but now in a context that rather explains them. The rustic humor continues in the funny, thumping octave jumps in the bassoons and timpani. This whole amusing symphony ends with what seems to be another poke at convention: tonic chords are repeated, repeated, and repeated to nail the conclusion. It's almost a self-parody of the “long hair” Beethovenian emphatic ending. This is a delightful work, and constantly surprises those who are more familiar with all of the other “big” symphonies,” and it is well deserving of the composer’s documented pride in it.
--Wm. E. Runyan
© William E. Runyan