Beethoven’s Fifth
I notice it at night.
The arrival of an invisible insect and its strangely consistent buzzing. A barely perceptible string of Es smoothed out and perpetual. A monotone whisper; a breeze most unwelcome in the smallest of tunnels. Annoyance proportional to the volume of silence. The sounds from everything else – vehicles on the road outside, voices or footsteps of neighbors, clamors of wildlife, rustling of wind, or the ticking and whirring of appliances – must have ceased. All it takes is a moment of complete stillness for it to creep in. When all other vibrations retreat, this imaginary one takes their place.
Why does it choose to disturb me at this time? When I am most yearning for peace. Of course, the truth is it is always there. The coarse hum of Tinnitus, a confounding affliction that many manage. One that I have dealt with for a couple of years. Not due to hearing loss, luckily, but devoid of explanation.
A ripple that will never ebb. The tedious taunt of an uneasy mind.
I used to chase the hush of night, but now I shun it out of necessity. Some white noise is better than none. A miniscule opening in the window can do the trick; this car city’s abhorrent nighttime echoes provide enough shielding. Or a fan turned to its first setting, a lighter repose.
But often, I choose music.
Take now, for example – an autumn night with negative temperatures outside and the balcony door firmly shut. Silent except for the occasional interruption from the old refrigerator, its sporadic rattles enough to shake one from daydreams. I sit on the couch reading and writing, with the calm specter hovering about. If it was not for music, without lyrics and played at low volumes, I would not be able to focus. An entire playlist of classical tunes, whether it be on YouTube or my iPod Touch, keeps the Tinnitus at bay.
One of my favorites is an mp3 file of Beethoven’s entire Fifth Symphony. A recording of an old BBC radio concert and shared by a friend eleven years ago in Uganda. Transferred to the iPod, let’s say in a darkening evening, as the lack of internet limited our peer-sharing network to two. It is an extraordinary version of the composition – faster than others, impatiently delivered, disruptive at times, yet unusually pleasant.
The recording begins with an introduction from an unnamed radio host. Imagine the most elite British accent you can, tempered with assurance, passion, and sympathy. They relay:
“Well it’s just coming up to quarter to nine as we approach perhaps the best known sequence of notes that will be heard this week on BBC Radio 3. The call to attention that marks the start of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.
When Berlioz, his teacher, heard the work for the first time, he was so disturbed that when trying to put on his hat afterwards, he momentarily couldn’t find his head. Goethe thought it a threat to civilization as he knew it. And when, eight years after the Viennese premiere, the work was first heard in London, the performance wasn’t even completed. Salomon, the concertmaster, declared it rubbish. A few years later, he recanted, telling his orchestra that he now considered the Fifth to be one of the greatest compositions he’d ever heard.
Well, ‘fate knocking at the door’ is the romantic interpretation of those opening notes. In fact, they were probably inspired by something rather more mundane: the cry of the yellowhammer bird that Beethoven had heard as he strolled through the Prater Park in Vienna. A work then, that was once considered revolutionary, in more than one sense of the word, now amongst the world’s most popular classics. And yet still, with the power to astonish and move. Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5, Gianandrea Noseda conducts the BBC Philharmonic.”
Music historians will note that there are a few errors in this intro. Berlioz was not Beethoven’s teacher; the former’s time came well after the latter’s. The anecdote is likely apocryphal, and I am unsure who the host is referring to. Salomon also died before the London premiere (which did take place in 1816, eight years after the Viennese premiere conducted by Beethoven), though he did refer to the Fifth as ‘rubbish’ during rehearsals in preceding years.
Still, I enjoy letting the foreword run. Even after all these years, there is something comforting in the host’s tone.
The conductor referenced, Gianandrea Noseda, takes a decidedly brash approach:
I am unable to share the file from my iPod here, and unable to find the accompanying recording online, but I did locate a similar version of the symphony conducted by Noseda. Linked here for your pleasure:
And finally, the LPO’s cover, for those looking for better audio preservation:
One of innumerable patronuses easily conjured to stay imagined nuisances. Your Measures entry for today.
