Thoughts · 20 April 2026
From Composer to Performer — Performance Practice in Transition
In the eighteenth century every artist played his own works. How the virtuoso displaced the composer on stage — and what that means for us.
Let us imagine a concert in late eighteenth-century Vienna: the young Ludwig van Beethoven enters the hall, sits down at the fortepiano and begins to play — not a finished sonata, but a free improvisation. That was the norm. Composers such as Mozart, Beethoven and Haydn were not only creators of music but virtuoso performers of their own works. Concert life revolved around the composer himself. It was not customary to play the works of others — each artist was his own interpreter.
Improvisation was a widespread art. When Mozart or Beethoven sat at the keyboard they often simply began to play whatever came to mind — without notes, without a prepared programme. Melodies that emerged might later appear in their compositions. In a fully worked-out piece such as a piano concerto it was customary for the composer to improvise the cadenza during the performance.
Performances were thus always tied to the composers themselves, which is why they travelled so much. Mozart, Beethoven and Haydn visited patrons to obtain commissions: another sonata for a particular prince, bishop, duke or count — for payment, of course. This led to numerous journeys across Europe, letters of recommendation in hand, and to concerts before noble or ecclesiastical dignitaries in the hope of a commission.
During the nineteenth century this relationship changed fundamentally. Composers now wrote for particular virtuosos. An outstanding example is the collaboration between Johannes Brahms and the violinist Joseph Joachim. Brahms wrote his Violin Concerto for Joachim, who not only premiered it but gave technical advice. Similarly Felix Mendelssohn worked closely with Ferdinand David, concertmaster of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra. David not only advised on the E minor Concerto but wrote the cadenza still played today.
This development had far-reaching consequences. Where the Classical period placed the composer at the centre, the nineteenth century brought the virtuoso to the fore. Audiences came not to hear a composer but to experience a great performer. Cadenzas were no longer improvised but carefully worked out and learned.
At the same time concert halls changed in size. Many Classical works were originally performed in intimate rooms holding thirty to fifty listeners. Today we play the same works in halls seating a thousand or more, which places entirely different demands on projection, articulation and interpretation.
These changes still shape our understanding of music. Every interpretation is a child of its time — and there is no single correct way to perform a work. Historically informed performance teaches us to understand the conditions of the time of composition, in order to find our own viable interpretation in the present.
Servant or creator?
In the music of the eighteenth century the performer was first of all a servant of the work. His task was to realise the composer’s intentions and to make the affects inherent in the text sound. In the nineteenth century this changed fundamentally: the performer became an artist who stamped his own mark on the work.
What does it mean to be a performer? The task is to mediate between work and audience. One must understand the composer’s intentions, absorb them, and present them to the listener in a way that is intelligible and moving. This requires not only technical skill but empathy and the willingness to keep listening afresh.
The difficulty is that the score is only an incomplete guide. It prescribes notes and rhythms, but not expression. The performer must read what stands between the notes — the silences, the articulation, the dynamic nuances that cannot be captured in signs. These undertones are what make an interpretation alive.
In the Baroque, the doctrine of affects gave the performer a framework within which to move. In the Classical and Romantic periods that framework widened and freedom grew. Today there is a variety of styles, from historically informed performance to highly personal readings.
How much freedom a performer may take is one of the central questions of musical aesthetics. Should one adhere strictly to the text? Or place one’s own personality in the foreground? The answer probably lies in between: a good performer knows the historical background, respects the text, but does not shy away from setting personal accents. A performance without personal expression is dull; one that ignores the composer’s intentions seems arbitrary.
Ultimately it is a balance between respect for the work and creative freedom. The performer is not only a mediator but also a creator — and the best interpretation is one in which you forget that anyone stands between the composer and the listener.
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