The Most Enduring Communal Piece of Music: Royal Albert Hall Presents Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9
Pianist Glenn Gould once compared Beethoven’s compositions to inkblot tests in psychology, where people hear what they want to hear in a way that suits them. This insight is especially true for Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, which has been repeatedly repurposed for different political ideologies. The famous final movement, ‘Ode to Joy’ — now burnt into the public’s memory — has often been understood as a hymn for universal brotherhood. But this ideal of uplifting humanity into a new consciousness of commonality has made it vulnerable to both use and misuse, representing all “brothers” while just as easily casting non-brothers as outsiders.
On September 21st 2024, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra performed Beethoven's Symphony 9th at the Royal Albert Hall, marking the 200th anniversary of the choral symphony’s completion. However, given the hostile tensions around racism and immigration in the UK, the performance prompted reflection on both the symphony’s idealism and its history.
The most notorious example of the symphony’s appropriation is by the Nazi Third Reich to cement their vision of nationhood. A favourite work of Hitler’s, it was performed in honour of his birthday in 1937 and broadcast on the radio as a way to harness the Volk through common ritual. Critics described the event with religious fervour. More recently, the symphony was played during a ceremony to mark the opening of the European Parliament, where Brexit Party MEPS, led by Nigel Farage, turned their backs on this anthem of European unity and humanitarianism. I hate to think how Beethoven would feel, if he knew his symphony was used to validate differences and weaponised in the context of mass crimes against humanity. Most definitely rolling in his grave.
In contrast to these historical examples, the recent performance, conducted by Oliver Gooch, took listeners on a musical odyssey through the various moods Beethoven intended to capture. The first movement, opening up from a vacuum and building into an sublime soundscape, unfurled with tight dynamics and tension that held on the brink of an eruption. In the turbulence of the scherzo, extreme moments of aggression shattered the listeners' calm. By the time the lyrical melody of the third movement finally arrived, its joyous glow felt all the more convincing, because it was a joy that knew what it felt like to struggle. The orchestra guided listeners through all the riotous declarations and volatile moments of hesitations in between, like a pilgrimage.
It was the orchestra’s effective use of silences that stayed with me; when the entire orchestra joined in a moment of silence, that absence became a provocative presence. Special mention goes to the timpani player Stefan Beckhett, who was truly an MVP. The orchestra’s togetherness held pauses and cadences with a carefully controlled pace, evoking moments of reflection when the music was not there.
Although the ‘Ode to Joy’ suffers from overfamiliarity, it was still overwhelming to experience the musical force of the final movement. The London Philharmonic Choir and soloists— Claire Rutter, Kathryn Rudge, Toby Spence, and Jonathan Lemalu— joined in with the orchestra to deliver joyful grandeur, a testament to the enduring power of this music and why it must continue to be performed. Even with the return of the Natzism in Germany this year and the incendiary far-right violence in the UK fresh in our minds, the performance put Beethoven’s music centre stage, which reminded me that the symphony was not dangerous in and of itself.
Photo by Akane Hayashi
Beethoven’s 9th Symphony has manifested political agency through people using it as a mouthpiece for their ideologies, skewering his intentions for insidious purposes. In this way, the political value of any music circulates in between and around its makers and receivers. But that’s a scary thought to rest on, as it suggests that music is not the embodiment of the creator, but can detach itself to become something different entirely, sometimes very sinister. So, what is the status of music once it departs it's composer for the audience? Can it act as a political space or render the masses a unified whole? Returning to Glenn Gould’s comparison of Beethoven’s music to psychological inkblot tests, we might argue that the status of music only comes into existence through its experience for the audience, since it always takes two to tango.
At its premiere 200 years ago, Beethoven’s deafness meant he couldn’t hear the audience, so one of the soloists had to turn him around to acknowledge their rapturous applause. It moved him to tears. During the recent performance by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, I looked around and saw the audience smiling and nodding along, even with the pressing realities waiting outside. Symphony No. 9 has travelled dynamically across time and space, and while I initially assumed the performance might lean political given its timing, I was glad to be proven wrong. I wonder what everyone in the audience heard—or wanted to hear— that night in the Royal Albert Hall.
Edited by Julia Curry - Music Editor
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