The Emersons on Beethoven

David Finckel and Eugene Drucker talk about their relationship to the quartets. (3:50)

There is nothing quite like the exhilaration of being swept along by the powerful currents of the Große Fuge at the end of Op. 130. We are often tired when we begin this movement near the end of a long concert, but it never fails to galvanize us with a new burst of energy. Going further than one had thought possible, straining the sonic boundaries of the string quartet, content pushing form beyond recognized limits—these strivings in Beethoven’s music inspire performers to outdo themselves. Then there is the exquisite sadness of playing the Cavatina that precedes the Große Fuge, or the Adagio molto e mesto from Op. 59, No. 1, with tears in one’s eyes. When we are really open to the depth and mystery of this music, we might remember the loss of loved ones, or feel a tender closeness to the stormy, troubled man who struggled so hard to achieve perfection.

Pain evoked by music of such quiet power and beauty is assuaged by sharing it with our listeners. The best moments amidst all the rigors, challenges, and pleasures of concert life are those in which we no longer have to think about our usual concerns, such as projecting to the audience or even making our intentions rhythmically clear to each other. Such moments don’t come from a conscious effort to forget the audience; they just happen. The solitude in which Beethoven shaped his visions casts its spell over the hall. Everyone is alone, yet together at the same time. Listeners are pulled into that quiet, sometimes painful, sometimes blissful space the music has created within us.

—Eugene Drucker