The Violin Solo in Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis Is the Audition Piece You’ll Probably Never Actually Play

By Laurence Vittes | From the March/April 2026 issue of Strings

Even if we were not heading into the 200th anniversary of Beethoven’s death in 2027, the first-ever performances of Missa Solemnis in 2026 by two of today’s most celebrated conductors would be remarkable events. The work is often considered Beethoven’s most daunting and exalted creation—raw, visionary, and striving toward transcendence. It may be the most difficult of the major choral works to conduct, or even just control. Arturo Toscanini didn’t conduct it until he was 66. Riccardo Muti waited until he was 70. But it would appear that the masterwork is calling to a younger group today: Klaus Mäkelä will have just turned 30 when he is scheduled at press time to conduct it in Paris on January 28, and Gustavo Dudamel will have just turned 45 in Los Angeles on February 20.

Lying at the core of the music’s vast spiritual architecture is one of the most exposed concertmaster solos in the repertoire—and one of the most requested at auditions: the ten-minute Benedictus. Unlike the famous orchestral solos from Richard Strauss’ tone poems, or the last movement of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto, the Benedictus is less about virtuosity than purity: a floating, singing line that must balance with and project over the large chorus, four vocal soloists, and one of Beethoven’s largest orchestras to deliver a literally divine message.

And while the solo in the Benedictus offers few technical fireworks, no cadenza, and no encore, it may be Beethoven’s most serene expression of transcendence: the violin stepping quietly forward to bless the world, radiant and weightless, before dissolving back into the choir’s eternal prayer. As musicologist Donald Tovey (1875–1940) wrote, “The entry of the solo violin is one of those completely simple strokes of genius which, once accomplished, seem to have been in the world since time began, and which can never be repeated.”

Concertmasters the world over have developed their own approaches to the solo. Wouter Vossen of the Residentie Orkest in the Hague describes Missa Solemnis as “quite something . . . a bit different from other major concertmaster solos. It’s one of those solos that feels very different at home than in rehearsal or concert, because of all others joining.” Asked about balance, Vossen prefers the vocal soloists behind the orchestra, in front of the choir. “The one thing I always strive for is to open my sound through relaxation. It shouldn’t sound too muscular, but still one definitely needs a large and noble presence.”

Detroit Symphony concertmaster Robyn Bollinger wishes the piece appeared more often on programs. “It’s such a strange and glorious piece overall—and the Benedictus solo is Beethoven at his sweetest, most profound, and most lyrical.” Bollinger has “North Star” penciled over the first note in her part. “It is a perfect image, that note appearing clear, gentle, and bright with the flutes out of the depths of the night sky’s violas, cellos, and basses. It is heavenly! I’m pretty sure,” she adds sheepishly, “that I stole that idea from my mentor David Kim, concertmaster of the Philadelphia Orchestra.”

Kim, who has performed it under Wolfgang Sawallisch at Carnegie Hall and more recently under Yannick Nézet-Séguin at the Kimmel Center, says that the solo in the Benedictus “sits well and is not especially complicated in terms of knowing what else is going on in the orchestra. It’s in G major and actually kind of user friendly. Unlike the rest of the Missa, the orchestration is not overwhelming in its density, and Beethoven gives the violin a kind of stratosphere in which to float above the chorus and orchestra, even in a large hall.

“I’ve done it twice in Carnegie,” Kim says. “It was easy to somehow let the violin sing, and I didn’t have to push the sound out. As long as the conductor’s heart is in the right place,” Kim believes the Benedictus “should kind of happen on its own.”

Addressing its musical and technical difficulty, Bollinger says that one of the challenges, “whether in performance or an audition setting, is to develop the colors and the seamless line in such a way that it doesn’t detract from the overall pulse. It’s tempting to indulge in some rubato with the dynamics—pushing forward in crescendos, pulling back in diminuendos—but the integrity of the lilting rhythm is vital to the character of the music.

“Too much rubato,” she adds, “also isn’t practical from a collaborative standpoint—for example, with the flutes at the opening, there’s too much distance between the players. We all have to feel the pulse together, know where we fit within the pulse, and stay true to it and to each other. It really is chamber music on a massive scale.”

Bollinger thinks that prioritizing a true legato in the right arm helps contribute to that spiritual character and matches the voice textures better. “That way, when the dots, chords, and sforzandos come into play, there’s true contrast and more impact.”

Kirill Troussov, who has taught the solo in master classes but never performed it himself, emphasizes the clarity of Beethoven’s writing—and the unforgiving intonation. “The problem or the difficulty of Missa Solemnis and basically of Beethoven, if you include the Beethoven Violin Concerto, is that the music is written in a very straight, four-square way, and you have to accommodate your musical line to the sometimes very long lines of that very clear structure. And you have to have the presence of a soloist and yet you are concertmaster and can’t play in a romantic way. It’s very tricky.”

Troussov says that “because the harmonies in the Benedictus are also very clear, as soon as you play something out of tune, even somebody who is a non-musician hears. In other pieces, you can kind of manage. But in Beethoven, not.”

Kim offers a frank dose of irony. “It’s crazy that the Benedictus solo is on so many concertmaster audition repertoire lists—that you have to learn this uniquely transparent, floating, heavenly piece, which takes a certain sound and approach that’s truly transcendent. And yet you’ll probably never play it. In fact,” he notes sadly, “you’ll have a much better chance of playing [Strauss’] Ein Heldenleben than this incredible solo, one of the greatest written for us concertmasters. I’m seeing it less and less.”

For Kim, the Benedictus remains unforgettable. “I would love one more shot at it in my career. After nearly 30 years as concertmaster, a lot of it has blurred together, but that first one in Carnegie Hall really stands out and is clear in my memory.”