Joseph Haydn  (1732-1809) Symphony No 99 in E flat (1793-4)

Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) Symphony No 99 in E flat (1793-4)

i   Adagio - Vivace assai             ii Adagio

iii Menuetto – Allegretto and Trio    iv Finale – Vivace

In 1790 Haydn’s tenure as Kapellmeister at the Court of Esterhazy became looser with the succession of a new Count, and at long last he was able to capitalise on his fame and visit the remainder of Europe. In particular his music had become well-loved in London, and when the impresario Johann Peter Salomon called upon him at his home in Vienna to invite him to visit London personally to compose six special symphonies, he leapt at the chance, despite his trepidation at the thought of a fortnight’s journey through Europe culminating in a perilous channel-crossing. Before he left he and Mozart met to bid each other farewell; the younger composer expressed his fear that he would not see his mentor again, but by the saddest irony it would be Mozart rather than the relatively aged Haydn who would be dead within two years.

Haydn was to stay in London on this first visit for a year and a half, directing the successive premieres of his symphonies Nos 93 to 98 from the fortepiano (forerunner, of course, of the pianoforte), with Salomon playing in the orchestra. Having returned home for Esterhazy commitments in 1792 he found himself commissioned by Salomon to write six more symphonies for a further extended visit to London. No 99 in E flat was completed in Vienna in late 1793, together with the Minuets of Nos 100 and 101, but the remainder of the six were written following Haydn’s return to London in early 1794. Since it was complete already No 99 was premiered on 10 February 1794 at a Salomon concert in Hanover Square Rooms, and the first movement was encored. Haydn was to remain in London until mid-1795, the last of the new symphonies, No 104, given in early May.

Four of the final six London Symphonies have subsequently been given nicknames, the Military (No 100), the Clock (No 101), the Drum Roll, (No 103), and the London (No 104),  but Nos 99 and 102 escaped that slightly doubtful honour. Despite the fact that Haydn was to continue composing until shortly before his death fourteen years later, No 104 was his very last symphony; safely settled back in Austria he was to move towards oratorio, producing, amongst others, the groundbreaking Creation in 1798, The Seasons in 1801 and the Harmoniemesse in 1802.

The twelve Salomon or London symphonies continue the development of the form, progressing, for example, towards making the clarinet an ever-present member of the symphony orchestra where Mozart had used it sparingly – No 99 is Haydn’s first to use clarinets – and introducing trumpets and timpani in some slow movements. In the final six symphonies his wit and invention reach new heights, each symphony a total joy, cementing his acknowledged status as ‘Father of the Symphony’.

As regards style, present performance practice in Haydn and Mozart tends towards leanness, with smallish string sections, but Salomon’s orchestra, it appears, consisted of at least sixty players. London’s love-affair with Haydn remained undiminished, and reviews both of the composer and the orchestra were consistently in the ‘rave’ category; of No 103 the Morning Chronicle wrote:  Another new symphony by the fertile and enchanting Haydn was performed, which, as usual, had continual strokes of genius, both in air and harmony, and following the premiere of No 104 the same paper had: This wonderful man never fails; and the various powers of his inventive and impassioned mind have seldom been conceived with more accuracy by the Band, or listened to with greater rapture by the hearers, than they were on this evening.  At this point Haydn was sixty three years old.

As was his habit in these London Symphonies Haydn begins No 99 with a slow introduction, but whereas in some, such as in the vibrant Clock symphony, he leads the listener into expecting seriousness which then turns into music which makes the listener smile, here there is elegance with only a moment or two of minor-key unrest in the introduction; the first subject of the Vivace is both dramatic and celebratory, then the second theme, first violins and clarinet, brings the expected injection of charm. The development draws heavily on the second theme with injections of drama before the recap leads to a triumphant coda.

The Adagio, slightly surprisingly in G major, begins delectably, its two related themes becoming a little more decorated as the movement proceeds, trumpet and timpani reinforcing the climaxes. As is often the case, the slow movement is the heart of the symphony.

The E flat Minuet initially thrives on contrast between piano and forte question-and-answer, then in its second half briefly explores canonical development in which sections chase each other. The Trio, in C major, again sets aside drama for charm.

Finally, the finale sweeps along in a sonata form which marries genial energy, sturm und drang (‘storm and stress’, which featured in many of Haydn’s middle period symphonies) and exhilaration, the development including parts moving in canon, contrary motion and inversion  in a typically modest show of complete virtuosity.

Notes by HDJ 27 January 2018

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Johannes Brahms (1833 – 1897) Symphony No 2 in D Major, op 73 (1877)

Johannes Brahms (1833 – 1897) Symphony No 2 in D Major, op 73 (1877)

i.   Allegro non troppo

ii.  Adagio non troppo

iii. Allegretto grazioso (Quasi Andantino) — Presto ma non assai —Tempo 1

iv.  Allegro con spirito

There is unquestionably a feeling of release in Brahms’s D major Symphony. After having laboured with the First Symphony for some fifteen years encumbered by the burden of being perceived as Beethoven’s successor, he completed the Second only a year later, almost as if floodgates had been opened. The D major is consequently a wonderful complement to the First in C minor; where that great work ends having achieved a blaze of light after its dark striving, rather in the manner of Beethoven’s Fifth, the Second opens in a glow of autumnal sunshine. Indeed the work was begun on his summer holiday in 1877 at Portschach on Lake Worth, one of his favourite and most inspirational locations — the Violin Concerto Op 77 and the G major Violin Sonata Op 78 were to emerge from there in 1878, both in similar vein to Op 73 — and, excepting the more tormented moments of the slow movement, it sounds like the work of one at ease with himself at long last. In fact the journey from conception to first performance took only some four months, the first performance taking place at the Musikverein in Vienna on 30 December under Hans Richter, one of the composer’s most dedicated advocates. Not one normally much given to having fun, Brahms was so consumed with euphoria at having completed such a good-humoured work so easily that he teased his friends; his publisher Simrock was told that the symphony was ‘so melancholy you won’t be able to listen to it’, and after its first performance he told a friend, Elisabeth von Herzogenberg, who had not been able to attend: ‘The musicians play my music with black armbands because it sounds so mournful. It will be printed on black-edged paper.’

During Brahms’s lifetime the size of orchestral string sections increased considerably, gradually developing the tradition of large-size Brahms performances, whilst woodwind and brass sections retained one player to a part; many magnificent performances on this scale have been given, even with double woodwind, sometimes occasioning criticism of Brahms’s ‘thick’ scoring, but the composer’s own instinct was for smaller forces. Although he himself was constrained to conduct the Second Symphony in 1878 with no less than twenty five first violins, given the choice he opted for much smaller sections, his favourite orchestra, the Meiningen Court Orchestra, having a string section of only 9, 9, 4, 4, 4 (firsts to basses). The M50 is pleased therefore to be giving its performance tonight in relatively authentic scale. Indeed the luminosity of much of the scoring in the Second Symphony is enhanced by the use of smaller sections.

The first movement opens serenely with a three-note figure (D, C#, D) in the cellos and basses which will pervade the work in various guises, and is explored in depth in the first movement development section; at the very opening it is answered by poised horns then the flute, then upper strings, before the first violins introduce a beautiful cantabile (singing) melody based on the initial motif. This leads into more strident, angular material with ascending leaps and Brahms’s characteristically muscular syncopation, sometimes as part of the melody, sometimes driving underneath. As always in Brahms the middle parts, violin II, viola, clarinet, horns and others, are often given great importance as the propulsive force. The second subject, sung by cellos and violas, is one of Brahms’s most serene inspirations. The crisis in the development sets the three notes of the motif in insistent syncopation within the ¾ time signature, and there is also a fugal passage based on the flute’s answering phrase from earlier. There is strident work for trombones, much more fully used in this work than in the First. The recap, when it comes, leads to a genial coda with playful staccato (strings pizzicato) answered by the horns recalling their very first entry earlier.

The darker Adagio is in the key of B major, and fails to fall into an accepted structure; its complexity makes it much harder work than the first movement. The opening echoes to a degree the First Symphony’s tortured Introduction, but reversed; the top line begins with cellos striving downwards, whilst the two bassoons’ counter—subject underneath aspires upwards to meet them. This section continues lyrically, but there is always an undercurrent of tension. Moving imperceptibly into 12/8 instead of 4/4 Brahms fosters a more gently lilting and somewhat wistful atmosphere with the woodwind, but each time the 4/4 returns the mood blackens, the first episode descending into true sturm und drang (‘storm and stress’ — a concept explored by composers such as Haydn in the late eighteenth century). As the movement progresses subject and counter—subject are used with the utmost skill. Eventually after its difficult journey the movement ends in peace.

The third movement, in G, lightens both the mood and the scoring. The pastoral opening theme, again with the initial semitones seminal, is introduced by oboe above plucked cellos, but once again there is a change of metre, one beat of the opening 3/4 ingeniously changing into a whole bar of 2/4, and the oboe’s melody transformed into a chattering motif for strings, then woodwind as a variant. Back in 3 the pastoral oboe theme becomes more luscious, but this is swept away by the final variant, Presto in 3/8, in which the theme represented in the backwards, quaver/crotchet rhythm actually inverts the shape of the oboe’s original phrase. The movement ends in pastoral stillness.

The finale, beginning with the D, C#, D motif again, proceeds in a tingling pianissimo for many bars until it springs to joyous life, eventually leading to a suavely noble theme not unlike that of the last movement of the First Symphony. Muscularity increases and a complete surprise ensues — Brahms turns into a Scotsman, introducing a passage of Scotch Snaps almost as if he were writing a Strathspey. During the development the initial motif is transformed into a triplet figure in a mood of temporary languor; this returns later, gradually transmuting into syncopations which propel us into the triumphant coda, with thrilling brass, bringing the work to a conclusion as joyful as Brahms was ever to write.

Notes by HDJ

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