Beethovenâs âHammerklavierâ sonata, first published over two hundreds years ago, is notoriously considered one of the most difficult-to-play piano pieces of all time.
In particular, when Beethoven sent it to his publisher in 1818, he allegedly said, âNow you have a sonata that will keep the pianists busy when it is played 50 years hence!â, and much has been made of the fact that it wasnât publicly performed in its entirety until eighteen years later, by Franz Liszt himself.
Except thatâs a bit of a deceptive statistic. See, when Beethoven published Hammerklavier, public solo piano recitals/concerts werenât really a thing yet. Symphonies, sure; concertos, definitely. But sonatas were âparlorâ musicâa thing played by amateurs, often skilled amateurs, but amateurs nonetheless, in little sitting-rooms for a bit of entertainment after dinner, or at private salons with a guest list in the low dozens. (And mostly they were meant to be sight-read! The culture of obsessively polishing a piece to make it âperformance-readyâ wasnât as much of a thing, back then.) People bought these things the way they bought novels, and, just as someone might buy a copy of Joyceâs Ulysses today and enjoy puzzling over the thing, even if they never read the whole thing or feel like they fully âgetâ it, well⌠some folks would enjoy sonatas the same way.
So yeah, Hammerklavier didnât have its first public performance until Liszt played it in the Salle Ărard. But also, Liszt basically invented the format of âstar virtuoso pianist hogging the stage for two hoursâ in order to get a public audience at all.
But in the meantimeâI think about how wonderful it mustâve been, tooling around on the piano during that 18-year-span where there was no evidence that thing even was playable, or that, if playable, that the thing even made sense. Beethoven was nearly totally deaf by this point, after all, a fact that was publicly knownâhad he totally lost it? people had to wonder. And the only way to find out would be⌠well, trying it out yourself!
It has the sound of a gimmick. And Iâll bet it was, at least a little bitâbut just because somethingâs more interesting to play than listen to doesnât mean itâs failing in its goal. (Though fwiw it is very interesting to listen to.)
It also has the sound of, like, Dark Souls, to be honest. Proto-video game culture. A new game drops and people are asking each other: can anyone beat this boss? can you beat this boss? do you still consider your time on the game well-spent even if you never 100% it?
Biographies generally agree that Beethovenâs metronome markings (which only appear in his later work, and only *some* of his later work) are preposterousâoften borderline-unplayable, and certainly not very musical. I couldnât find a recording of anyone trying to play Hammerklavier at the marked 138bpm tempo, so I got a computer to do itâand burst out laughing at the result because, yeah, 138bpm is fucking NUTS. But whether intentional or accidental, I love the audacity of its being there, like a taunt: I dare you to do more. I dare you to do better. I dare you to try.
Much has been made of how difficultyâs a way of keeping people outâbut itâs also a way of inviting people in, I think. It says: do this hard thing and you will be rewarded. You will be rewarded in the trying. Because the trying is the thing that makes the music live; there is no music without you.
Hereâs an old bit from an interview with the game designer Porpentine:
âThe purpose of a puzzle [in a game] is to provide resistance. For me, that resistance doesnât need to be coercive or challenging, just interesting and aesthetic. My mechanics are to be touched. Games are perhaps the most intimate art because the player must remain touching at all times. They must touch or the game does not exist.â
So it goes with these sonatas, too.
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