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Rating: There is always a certain reverential fear when approaching Beethoven. Other greats of music seem to look at you with more indulgence: Mozart for his apparent lightness, Bach for his imperturbable serenity, even the gruff Brahms reveals a certain rough benevolence beneath... Not Beethoven. He scrutinizes you with a grim eye under a storm of wild hair and seems to say to you, more or less: "Hey you, I don't care if you're an amateur reviewer; try to write some nonsense, and I'll make you hear the Funeral March from the "Eroica" in your ears for the rest of your life!". Which is marvelous, mind you, but it's not exactly ideal as the soundtrack to one's life unless one is entirely masochistic. Sooner or later, however, a classicophile is inevitably faced with discussing this giant, and a good way to break the ice may be to avoid the more severe and monumental works, focusing instead on a somewhat more "confidential" Beethoven like the chamber music one.
Chamber music, along with the Piano Sonatas, represents a kind of laboratory where the genius of Bonn experiments with innovations that will later find their fullest expression in the Symphonies and Concertos. In particular, the String Quartets are a thread that accompanies all his creative phases, from the youthful, still brilliantly post-Mozartian period to the dissonant, complex yet sublime one of his later years. But Beethoven also leaves an indelible mark on the history of another classical chamber form: the piano trio, violin, and cello. Born in the previous century and then meant more as a refined instrumental game, so much so that it was also called a "Divertimento," the piano and string trio maintained this role even in the times of Haydn and Mozart, albeit with greater technical difficulties for the parts assigned to the three instruments. Only with Beethoven is the trio completely rethought and takes on the characteristics of an elaborate composition with almost concertante character.
After the somewhat immature trial of the youthful Trios Op. 1, the decisive turning point is represented by the two classified as Op. 70. In particular, the first in D major, known as the "Ghost Trio", is a very personal work already projected towards Romanticism, although broadly maintaining the classic "shell" structure typical of Mozartian concertos (and also of trios): three movements, of which the outer ones (the valves) are lively and the central one (the pearl) more reflective and melodic. Here, however, there is an evident disproportion, not only in terms of duration, between a large, sparkling pearl and two short, barely sketched valves that should enclose it. Both the initial "Allegro vivace e con brio" and the final "Presto" are abruptly energetic: bursts of closely spaced notes force the musicians into repeated acrobatics, with the violin and cello bows whipping through the air sonorously. Particularly in the first movement, there is a sense of urgency in presenting and developing the simple themes, as if to reach the central engine of the trio as soon as possible, which is the inspired "Largo assai ed espressivo" (the name alone says a lot). This is based on two rather simple melodic nuclei, but their progressive expansion, along with their continuous evolution into increasingly dramatic variants, gives this Largo that mournful and spectral atmosphere that explains, at least partially, the name given to the entire work. However, the light trills of the piano and the tremors of the strings also contribute significantly, giving this movement a sound that is at times "insubstantial" and transparent, qualities presumed to be typical of spirits. About twenty years later, we will find similar sound effects in the ethereal Adagio of the String Quintet by Schubert.
The atmosphere is quite different in the Trio in B-flat major Op. 97, known as the "Archduke" in honor of Archduke Rudolph, one of the many nobles of the time who dabbled in music, a decent student and friend of Beethoven. Solemn and complex like a true concerto, this Trio comprises four movements, with a sequence that even anticipates that of the Ninth Symphony. The initial "Allegro moderato" is monumental and very rich in melodic themes. The main one is initially presented by the solo piano, but with the hum of the strings ready to join and reinforce it. There follow countless fascinating interactions with the other themes that originate during this lengthy movement. At this point, when everyone would expect a "slow" movement, lo and behold, lurking just like in the Ninth, is the "Scherzo", which is no accident named so. The violin and cello start to duet shyly and cautiously, but the tension soon bursts into an energetic and triumphant intervention by the piano, well supported by the strings. What follows is the anticipated "slow" ("Andante cantabile"), and it is one of those sweetly typical Beethoven melodies that initially seem intangible (a bit like the Adagio of the "Emperor" Piano Concerto), but then gain more and more substance in their development, which in this case is given by a series of variations so imaginative that by the third, the initial theme is already completely transfigured. The splendid coda of the last variation seamlessly leads to the final ("Allegro moderato"), one of the liveliest and happiest pieces Beethoven ever wrote, joyous like a Mozartian rondo but enriched by a robust and generous flourish of motifs that beautifully closes this great Trio.
The interpretations of Beethoven's two most famous trios are countless, so I limit myself to suggesting the excellent one by Eugene Istomin (piano), Isaac Stern (violin), and Leonard Rose (cello). In chamber music, it often happens that even the most narcissistic soloists adapt with unusual modesty to the sound of their partners, but in this case, there is already an initial advantage: the only "superstar" is the violinist, accompanied by two still excellent level soloists, with an absolutely perfect harmony.
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