1767 – The Music part 1 – On the cusp of drama?

Hob	Key	NC	HRL	Instruments
38	C	41	43	2 Oboes, 2 Horns (in C alto) & Strings (2 Trumpets & Timpani added later)
58	F	42	45	2 Oboes, 2 Horns & Strings
35	Bb	43	41	2 Oboes, 2 Horns (in Bb) & Strings

Sturm und Drang, What else?

One of the most deceptive concepts ever perpetrated upon a gullible , music-loving public was produced in 1909, the year of the centennial of Haydn's death. Prominent French musicologist Georges de Saint-Foix, in a centennial essay, was at a loss to explain why Haydn's symphonies, for a period of a few years, took a turn for the dramatic. He wanted to attribute this to some great heartbreak in Haydn's life, a la Beethoven's 'Immortal Beloved', but the total lack of even the slightest shred of evidence dissuaded him from this 'Romantic Crisis' idea. But being a Romantic, and with the Romantic viewpoint of a composer's music being the outward manifestation of the inner man, Saint-Foix had to come up with something to fill this terrible void. The result was an (highly successful) effort to tie Austrian music of the time to the German literary movement begun with Goethe's book, The Sorrows of Young Werther. Now, over 100 years later on, and despite all knowing better, we have saddled ourselves with Haydn's (and Vanhal's and many others'; hell, half of Vienna!) period of Sturm und Drang.

I won't, here, present the manifold arguments against, such as the dates being completely wrong, Haydn's remoteness at this time from the sorts of literary salons which would one day carry the torch for Werther, and the essential non-Haydnish character of the whole business, but neither will I bow before the inexorable stream which washes away too many interested listeners with the idea of an easy explanation for the clear change of course Haydn was taking in this phase of his career. So I won't use the term often, and certainly not to characterize an entire group of works (which phase extends beyond symphonies). While I readily agree Haydn had changed his apparent musical goals, I don't see it as anything more than the maturing process such as any composer undergoes. In Haydn's case, so endowed with genius, the results he obtained stood out as more extreme than did those of others of his less-blessed brethren. No one needs to summon up an unattainable mistress or clinical depression or being in thrall to a faddish literary movement which would appear one day. As Sigmund Freud would say in an entirely different context 125 years later: sometimes a cigar is just a cigar!

We have already looked at the symphony considered by many to be the first of this dramatic phase, 1765's Hob 39 in g minor. There we saw the two outer movements composed in a strongly dramatic style, while the two inner ones were as galant as could be. Suffice to say, without getting into the technical aspects, the stylistic differences are enough to throw the balance of the piece off by a considerable margin. Now we move ahead to 1767, and see how this newfound flair for the dramatic has affected Haydn's work.

Symphony #38, though, is not one of these stormy dramatic works. It is, instead, likely the first true 'festive C major' work of the Esterházy years. Which is to say, the first with actual Haydn composed trumpets and timpani, and scoring including both trumpets and horns in C alto (which is to say, high C). It bothers historians though to discover there were absolutely no occasions taking place during the period when this was composed for which it would have been clearly intended. Nonetheless, it is an extraordinarily nicely conceived and executed piece in which everything in the first two movements seems almost (dare I say?) textbook. How un-Haydnish! At this point in time, the Prince managed to gain a short term commitment to play from one of the finest virtuoso oboists of the day, Vittorino Colombazzo. It is a rather curious thing to discover that the first two movements of this symphony contain nothing more than standard parts for the oboes. Speculation is the work was already 'under construction' at the time of his appearance. In any case, following a rather mundane minuet, the oboe takes over the trio, with leaps and runs of two whole octaves. And the finale Allegro di molto is virtually an oboe concerto! While it is true Haydn catered to his first rank musicians with concertante solos right from the start, as we have seen so many times, this goes beyond, devoting the entire finale to solo oboe vs ritornello orchestra throughout. As with Symphony #39, although for different reasons, it seems like the parts of this work don't fit together quite as seamlessly as Haydn would have wanted. But once again, it isn't for lack of musical quality so much as for what seems like a sudden change of purpose for the work. If one had a choice to sit with Haydn and discuss, the result might instead be a splendid festive finish for the symphony followed by a true oboe concerto for Colombazzo. That would be nice!

Symphony #58 in F is dated all over the place, as late as 1774 in some places, but as early as late 1767 in the sources I have decided to go with. I am constitutionally unable to pick and choose between authorities to suit my own purposes, so I go with the same throughout. A strong argument in favor of 1767 is the Baryton Trio #52, the last believed to be composed in 1767, which shares the same 'Minuet alla zoppa' (Limping minuet). Haydn is well known to have incorporated favorite tunes from other works into trios for the Prince. One of Haydn's favorite forms of humor involves unexpected beginnings and endings. The whole first movement Allegro is an unexpected beginning; it sounds like nothing so much as a large scale minuet! This so atypical of Haydn, especially in this period, where the normal drive of energy and unusual rhythms which prevail in his contemporaneous works give way to a galant ballroom sort of motif. Fear not, though; the second movement begins as though it was in the middle of a bar, fooling you into expecting a Gavotte, and the rhythms are wonderfully slightly off through the exposition. And the third movement Minuet alla zoppa is a masterpiece of strategically placed syncopations and agogic accents expands on the rhythms, which have taken over the work by this point. The Presto finale has its own points of interests, using an harmonic scheme which more nearly resembles gypsy music than anything Haydn has written so far. As Peter Brown sums up this work, it is a Minuet, a Gavotte, a 'limping' minuet and trio and a gypsy finale. The final two movements in particular must have been geared towards the Prince's taste, but also in no small amount towards Haydn's own. And mine….

The final symphony of the year, #35 in Bb, sounds once again to be a traditionally Haydnish galant symphony. Despite its straightforward seeming opening movement, it is in fact a long series of manipulations of the vital parts of the sonata, false expositions, recapitulations in the 'wrong' key, finally corrections to make it 'all right' at the end. The overall tenor is also hard to place, as in one moment it sounds like warm and sunny Italy, while in the next there is a note of the sinister from the horns which seems anything but sunny, then it is gone again. It also has some especially nice figures for the horns all through and again at the last, a reminder of the band's forte. It all puts me in mind of Mozart's letter to his father about his own piano concertos in which he says that even amateurs will be delighted, although they may not know why. Hell, I'm delighted. The second movement, sans winds, has a lovely little tune to it, and also a plethora of rather unique syncopations, as though Haydn is reminding us that this is something which he is incorporating into his style now, get used to it! The minuet welcomes back the horns, as they get to dominate with some nice playing, although not virtuoso, still not easy to toss off either. All the winds sit out the trio though as the strings work out a rather busy set of scalar runs. The Finale: Presto, is rather like a continuation of the first movement, except for the disappearance of the sinister overtones. It is all sunshine, and no less the winner for it. It has been speculated Haydn wrote this work for the return of the Prince from Paris. If so, it is suitably cheerful for such an occasion.

Next time we will look at some other genres which came up in 1767, including one of Haydn's sacred masterpieces, the Stabat Mater, which as we shall see, propelled him to fame far from home.

Thanks for reading!