Beethoven's Cadenza for Mozart

The intellect is a marvelous thing; it is thinking and what is done with thinking. And thinking—or the intellect—is only one area of importance in the human equation. There’s the business of the emotions—which is similarly important. So in considering what intellectual experience has been a great influence upon my development I would also want to weigh in the balance what has helped me with my complex assortment of feelings. And surely the answer to this investigation must lie in Beethoven’s Cadenza to Mozart’s Piano Concerto #20 in D minor.

At present I am attempting to conquer this Cadenza and the effort is a perfect framing of what has been a special influence upon my growth as a thinker and feeler. The development of the technique and strength it takes to control my touch and the dynamics as I play this piece is changing me—as every piece of music does which I attempt on my piano.

A cadenza is a section of a piano concerto, generally at the end (although this is not always the case) and originally a solo section which culminates and unifies the piece, allowing the artist to improvise a few minutes of music. By the nineteenth century many composers wrote out their own cadenzas, or, in the case of the concerto that I’m playing, another composer (Beethoven) wrote out a full cadenza so that other pianists could learn the cadenza ahead of time and wouldn’t be under the pressure of improvising. Thus, Herr Beethoven, loving Mozart, his close pianistic forerunner, saw to it that the Cadenza for the D minor would not remain completely improvisational. He put together this finishing flourish in a manner which wonderfully captures both Mozart and, ironically, some of Beethoven himself.

To play Mozart takes a light yet controlled touch. This is hard to pull off without careful preparation and lots of work. In the first four measures of the cadenza Beethoven wrote trills which are often heard in Mozart’s music and also composed varying layers of sound patterns. There is a motive (a repeated idea)—in this case, the transition between trills. When Beethoven repeats the motive he’s playing around with the musical idea. Also, he uses a huge range on the keyboard. He uses a pedal point (when a bottom note is held or repeated while the chords on the top are moving around and changing) to make the section. Also, the use of silence and unexpected ideas really brings the entire movement together. Sequences (a repetition of patterns) bring the main theme back. In measures 50 and 51, the style is broken and, again, playful. However, from measures 52-60 it is suddenly fast and furious in a rush of musical voicing. Finally, as the cadenza grows closer to the end, trills come out, and the left hand is dramatic while the end is powerful and brings forth satisfying resolutions.

All of this is a way of saying that the d minor Cadenza is a lot like my intellectual and emotional learning curve. Life done right is really a set improvisational moments and flourishes. There’s the structure and demand—the rules, like learning to work hard, persevere, be creative and work on a huge range of ideas at once. Then there’s the idea of learning to feel deeply and learning to care about the vulnerability of all of us and the beauty, too—empathy using silence for a reason, just like the rests. When I hear, or play, a Mozart piece, especially the 20th D minor, I am reminded about how little I know, how much I want to learn, how satisfying achievement is, how satisfying facing conflict and finding resolutions is, and generally how unpredictable each moment is unless I enter into the work of the moment and hold on like keeping the pedal down.

This Cadenza, symbolic of everything I do. teaches more about who I am and what I am supposed to be doing with my life—improvising, playing around with ideas, rising to heights of insight and bowing low to soft realizations, balancing thought and feeling again and again. Life is play and work combined. Life is rushing (carefully) ahead with enthusiasm tempered by wary reflection and isolated periods of wistful response to my own and others’ needs. Intellectual growth comes from playing the run up or down perfectly after having practiced it 200 times. It’s resolving to take each moment apart, analyze it, care about the outcome, and start over. It’s not giving up in the face of gray days, too much to do, or a messy page of music notes. It’s sorting it out until the beauty and order emerges once more.