As I perform and repeatedly listen to pieces from No. 28 to Beethoven’s final No. 32, I find them captivating in a way that feels distinct from his earlier works. Of course, his earlier sonatas are also remarkable, and they clearly showcase his genius. However, for some reason, when I listen to them now, I find myself thinking, "Ah, I see," rather than being deeply moved. This feeling persists even when I listen without considering the famous titles later given to works like Moonlight, Waldstein, or Appassionata.
But when I listen to No. 28 and his later works, I feel something completely different—a deep, penetrating greatness that truly reaches inside me. His final piano sonata, No. 32, was probably completed about five years before his death, meaning he was just over 51 at the time. His lifespan of 56 years was slightly longer than the average for that era. He was considerably younger than I am now, but back then, he must have been seen as quite an old man. Many of his later works seem to have a certain feeling, as if saying, "Yeah, this is how my life turned out, I suppose…"
Moreover, in his middle and late periods, his works seem to express pure emotion beyond technical performance, perhaps because he had already lost his hearing and could no longer play the piano as he used to. Whether for that reason or not, these pieces appear to be quite difficult. Since I don’t play the piano myself and instead create music using MIDI programming, that’s not an issue for me at all.
At some point, I attended a concert by an older female pianist (I’ve forgotten her name), where two of Beethoven’s piano sonatas were performed. One of them was either No. 30, No. 31, or No. 32... What left a strong impression on me was when, after finishing the performance and catching her breath, she said, "I finally felt ready to play this at my age." And at that moment, I completely understood.