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Beethoven’s Eroica symphony.

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Sounding Together #31: L. van Beethoven, Symphony #3, “Eroica,” (1804)

So. We have finally arrived. This is the symphony that is touted as forever changing what the symphony was, for bridging the gap between classicism and romanticism in music, and for cementing Beethoven as a composer of great music, a new breed of musician, quite unlike Mozart or Haydn. This symphony has been examined and analyzed so many times, adding my own voice to the mix seems almost a futile gesture. And yet, I said I would look at the symphony over time . . . and I can’t very well do that and not look at the Eroica.

I was taught--as were many, I think--that this symphony was the beginning of the Romantic era of music. And while I think that’s a severe oversimplification, there’s no doubt that the symphony wouldn’t be the same after the Eroica. It should be noted, of course, that many of the so-called “revolutionary” elements of the symphony--the length, the strange harmonies, the early horn entrance--had been done before. Some of them we’ve already talked about. However, what Beethoven essentially does is take all of these odd elements from other symphonies, the little moments that stand out and briefly strike you as strange before the symphony continues on its merry way, and builds an entire work out of them.

One of the more famous stories associated with this symphony is the fact that Beethoven had originally intended to dedicate it to Napoleon Bonaparte, who Beethoven greatly admired, but upon hearing the Bonaparte had crowned himself Emperor, he was so enraged that he either tore the title page in two or scratched the dedication out so vigorously that he tore through the paper. (There are a couple different accounts of the incident.) Apocryphal or not, the story reveals Beethoven’s real passion. Napoleon was a figure of the French Revolution, wherein the monarchy was overthrown and, for a time, the people governed. (Relatively unsuccessfully, but never mind.) Beethoven was very much a champion of the human spirit and leadership by the people, and had little patience for titles or royalty, and in that sense, he was very much a romantic. And this symphony, regardless of its original intent, is very much a work of the people, intended not so much as an exercise in form and structure--though those elements are still present--but an exercise in expression and visceral emotion.

In spite of that, this symphony was not so easy to understand. Symphonies up to that point had a very predictable pattern to them, and analysis and interpretation were simply a matter of stating which theme started where and in what key. But this symphony was different, and audiences found it more than a little off-putting when they first heard it. (The second symphony got a similar, though far milder, reaction.) It wasn’t until the score was published and people could actually take time to study and analyze the symphony that it began to garner higher praise. Because there was more to this symphony than mere form and harmony. Music was passing from the Era of Stimulation to the Era of Expression, something which invited audience to ask the question: What is he trying to say? Because with this symphony, Beethoven was absolutely making a statement.

One of the elements of Romantic symphonies that became more prevalent was programmatic writing; that is music that represented some extra-musical element, an emotion or a story. Though we have seen some programmatic elements in some other symphonies, particularly Haydn’s, often these are assigned after the fact, and may or may not have been intentional by the composer. Though this work is not as programmatic in nature as later symphonies of the Romantic era, we can definitely see a more programmatic style of writing here. The name “Eroica,” or Heroic, was assigned by Beethoven himself, indicating a certain thoughtfulness in what this symphony was meant to represent. I’ve compared the structure of a sonata to the structure of a three-act story, and in the first movement of this symphony, we see another story: specifically, the Hero’s Journey.

In this symphony, Beethoven dispenses with the slow introduction and starts things off right away with two strong, loud chords in E-flat major. This gives way to the opening theme, which outlines an E-flat arpeggio, leaving utterly no doubt as to what the key is . . . before plunging down into the highly unusual C-sharp. So just seven measures in, Beethoven is already indicating to us that this is not going to be a typical symphony. Not only does C-sharp not belong in the key of E-flat, but with the high strings playing a tritone above, it creates an uncomfortable dissonance that takes a couple measures to resolve. Then the opening theme repeats in the winds, this time resolving in a far different manner, taking us to the third playing of the opening theme with the full orchestra and changing the key to the dominant B-flat. The transition to the second theme, then, occurs after the key has already changed, and contains in it three distinct motifs: a gentle lilting of descending notes, a pattering upward scale pattern, and a flurry of more descending notes, this time rougher and stormier. This transition gives us the fundamental conflict within this movement, which has a give and take between stormy and dramatic dissonance and a tone so gentle and spare, it almost sounds like it belongs in the second slow movement rather than the first. Perhaps that’s why Beethoven decided against a slow introduction: there’s already plenty of it within the movement proper.

The second theme is carried, as it often is, by the winds, and has an almost hymn-like quality to it. The forward movement almost stops here, and we’re given a brief moment to catch our breath before a few quiet, but gradually accelerating chords take us back into the excited flurry of the movement. As we move into the codetta, Beethoven plays with our expectations of the meter. This is a triple meter movement, but Beethoven puts orchestral hits on the off beats, finally using hemiola and putting a strong chord every two beats instead of three. As the movement ends with more dynamic and style contrast, we’re carried back to the key of E-flat and quieter opening, with one strong dominant chord finally pushing us the rest of the way into the repeat. Just in the exposition, Beethoven has already laid out much of what we can expect in the rest of this movement, as well as the symphony in general.

Strange though it may have sounded, the exposition was still easy enough to follow. Beethoven didn’t want to completely alienate his audiences, after all. He needed to make sure that no matter what experiments he performed on the symphony, it was still rooted in classical style and form, and those elements are still recognizable, if a little harder to pin down. It’s the development, though, which distinguishes this movement, as it is longer and far more intricate than any we’ve so far seen. Though Mozart’s Prague symphony may have had a longer first movement (if you observe all the repeats), with Beethoven, it’s the development section that lends most of the length, and it takes us on a ride through not only different keys and themes, but also vastly different styles. It begins very gently, and almost sounds as though it’s setting up an entirely different tempo, like the transition from the fast section of an overture to the slow section. The beat is very difficult to locate, even though the tempo has not actually changed. This eventually solidifies into the descending lyrical theme, still gentle, but with a feeling of the original tempo now. A little tension, and then the stormy theme returns again, followed by some of the hemiola patterns, similar to what we heard in the bridge before the full playing of the first theme. These rise chromatically, increasing the tension, and with a loud, blaring, and very dissonant chord, things quiet down again, bringing us to a completely new theme in the winds.

This new theme is gentle, another hymn-like passage, but more melodic than the second theme of the exposition. Indeed, it’s the most melodic passage in the entire movement. This serves as the midpoint of the development. Where the first half of the development mostly developed the transition themes, the second half deals almost exclusively with the opening theme. And here we see the advantage of having thematic material be more texture-based than melody-based. All Beethoven has to do is give us an ascending arpeggio--which he does, many times in many guises--and it has the feel of the opening theme. This texture alternates with the new theme, and then all this activity finally quiets down, and we have the infamous “early” entrance of the horns on the recapitulation, which, it should be noted, is a musical joke that already been employed by Haydn. And yet many listeners thought a mistake had been made, and that those silly horns had come in too early. (Silly horns . . .) A couple of loud chords later (an angry reaction to the early entrance, perhaps?) and the recapitulation proper begins.

We begin, of course, with the opening theme, but this time instead of resolving up, and C-sharp resolves down, giving us an entirely new take on the theme for the bridging passage, almost as if we’re not quite finished developing this particular theme yet. Then the orchestra comes through, we hear our three transition themes and the second theme, all in the tonic key of E-flat, and the recapitulation continues as normal . . . that is until the coda, which takes us on what could be considered to be a second development section, not nearly as extensive as the first, but one like might have seen in the days of Haydn or Mozart. The first theme is developed primarily, which could simply be the practice of playing the opening theme at the end of the movement except that the new theme introduced in the development section is also played here. The arpeggios build and build, resolving in the ascending pattern we heard in the transition of the exposition . . . but this time, it leads not to a storm, but to the final triumphant chords of the movement, ending the way it began. The Hero’s Journey is evident throughout the movement. The trials of a turbulent transition, the stormy development, the new lessons learned in a new theme, an impulsive early entrance, the return to the recapitulation, but with a stark difference even in the opening theme, and a final triumph over adversity. And that’s just the first movement.

The second movement changes the mood from one of triumph to one of grief with a funeral march, which has elements of rondo and even sonata in it as well. It begins as a typical march, with an opening theme in C minor. The theme is played again, this time ending in the relative E-flat major for the beginning of the second theme, which returns to minor relatively quickly, and then a repeat of the opening theme. This section is then also repeated, although in both cases, they are not literal repeats. That is, Beethoven doesn’t just throw in repeat markers, but rewrites the themes so that he can change certain things, like the color and tone. This opening section gives way to what would be the trio of the march, a gentle section in C major (actually marked “Major” in the music) with triplets in the accompaniment. It’s in the third section that things begin to get strange. Normally with a march, there would be a de capo and a return to the beginning of the movement, playing everything over literally. But again, Beethoven rewrites the opening . . . and then the third section becomes something else entirely. The opening theme gives way to a fugal passage built on an inversion of the second theme. The first theme returns, but is then interrupted by what can only be referred to as a mini-development section, featuring fragments of the opening theme interrupted by stormy textures. featuring a back and forth between the triplet accompaniment from the trio and the duple accompaniment of the rest of the march. Finally, the opening material returns, and we get the restatement of the opening section, eventually winding down to a fragmented playing the opening motif, as though theme was finally having an emotional breakdown over the grief of the music.

The third movement scherzo is at least easier to follow as far as form is concerned, though it does play with expectations of beat and meter. It opens with the strings alternating between two notes very quietly--in triple meter, remember, so the beat is almost impossible to find until the main melody comes in, which is really just a little flourish on the oboe. The entire opening section is basically built on that flourish, eventually bringing it in a different key, and then with the full orchestra. The second theme, if it can be called that, is a set of descending notes, written completely off the beat, making it necessary to throw a rest into the mix making it sound as though the music has tripped over itself, somehow. Then some back and forth between strings and winds brings us to the end of the opening section. The trio is carried almost entirely by a horn trio, with the other winds coming in on the secondary theme and the strings providing accompaniment. And again, Beethoven elects not to do a de capo, but instead to rewrite the opening section again, but with two major differences. First, at the descending pattern with the “trip” in the middle, he writes it differently the second time, switching to cut time and having the notes descend evenly, making it seem as though that was way those notes were always meant to be played. And second, he adds a coda to the end, with the orchestra giving the movement a grand ending that third movements don’t typically get. In that way, he has given more weight to what is typically a lighthearted, easy movement.

The finale of the symphony is a theme and variations, but much like the march and scherzo before, Beethoven takes what would ordinarily be a very simple musical structure and makes it into something much more. The main theme used here is actually a theme he had used in a previous work about Prometheus--a character who stole fire from the gods for humanity’s use, drawing something a parallel to humanity’s fight against monarchy at that time. Beethoven actually begins, not with the main theme itself, but the theme’s bass line, variations of which can actually be spotted in the previous three movements, lending evidence to the idea that this movement was actually composed first. Eventually, after a couple variations, the main melody make its appearance, and is also varied in numerous ways and moods. We see a fugal section in the middle, as well as a substantial slowing of tempo for a hymn-like section. And in the end, the movement ends as it began, with a flurry of notes and chords in E-flat major.

It’s easy to see why this movement was so difficult for audiences to understand upon first listening. They were used to music that was easy to follow, able to anticipate basic form, harmonies, and meters. But in this symphony, Beethoven plays with expectations on all three. Though the familiar forms, harmonies, and meters are there, they’re hidden, obscured by the thing that had taken precedence over all else: expression, the thing that would become the backbone of the Romantic era. Though it’s too soon to call the start of the Romantic era proper--classical form and harmony are still quite prominent after all--it’s easy to see why people call the Eroica the start of musical Romanticism. This is a piece of emotion.

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Beethoven’s second symphony, again, directed by Leonard Bernstein.

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Sounding Together #30: L. van Beethoven, Symphony #2 in D major (1802)

There are a few composers on this list who have the distinction of having all the symphonies they ever composed included in this series. Of course, not every symphony is going to stand the test of time, but for some composers, every symphony deserves to be examined closely. Beethoven is one such composer. Of course, he only composed nine, which after the 100+ from Haydn seems like a paltry number. But Beethoven’s symphonies were different, because he obviously put so much of himself into them. Even so, many will tell you that his odd-numbered symphonies are the best, and indeed, they do tend to steal away the limelight. The Eroica, #5, #7, and of course, #9, are all memorable in their own way. His even-numbered symphonies tend to be quieter and, with the possible exception of #6, you don’t hear them talked about quite as much.

And yet, for all the people hail the Eroica has Beethoven’s big turning point, Symphony #2, I think, is really where a lot of elements that would mark his middle “heroic” period really start to take shape. It still looks very much like a classical symphony, which is why it’s usually placed in that period, but a closer look reveals some more progressive things going on.

This symphony is also significant, because he wrote it at a time of great personal crisis, specifically when he was admitting to others--and himself--that he was losing his hearing, that the loss was irreversible, and that the sense that was most important to his chosen career was deeply impaired. At this point, Beethoven was better known as a performer than a composer, a brilliant concert pianist, and he made a number of public performances. He would continue to do so as he entered into his “Heroic” period, but this is also the point when things would start to shift, and Beethoven would begin to focus more and more on composing, before finally giving up on public performances altogether.

What seems to strike people about this symphony in particular is how joyful it is, how Beethoven, even in the midst of his personal tragedy, is able to write such a happy and bright piece of music. And quite honestly, I don’t hear that. Oh, there’s definitely a brightness to it, but it strikes me rather differently given the context. What I hear, far from the boundless joy that others seem to hear, is a sort of tired optimism, the sort of hope that comes from someone who has gone to a very dark place, but is trying so very hard to carry on with as much joy and hope as he can muster.

The first movement begins very dramatically, with an opening octave D. It then goes back and forth between that very emphatic statement of the key and a quieter, more hymn-like portion. The slow intro, indeed, passes through a number of moods and styles and keys before arriving at the allegro section, giving us in early indication of the sort of dramatic ups and downs this symphony will contain. There’s a lot going on in this introduction, it’s almost a movement in and of itself.

The allegro proper is a very fast-moving piece. Much like one of Haydn’s later finales--or indeed, Beethoven’s scherzos--it almost seems out of control at times, passing through different moods so quickly it’s difficult to keep track at times. The first theme is quiet, but urgent, rushing forward into the theme. When the full orchestra comes in for the transition, though, it’s very dramatic, a faster version of the intro almost, with many keys and many tonalities. There’s even a moment when it lands, not in the dominant A major as it should, but in the parallel A minor instead, lending even more drama to the moment before it finally settles where it belongs for the second theme. The second theme goes back and forth between a quiet call from the winds and a loud, dramatic response from the strings. The codetta is fairly long, almost a third theme but for the fact that it has no real singable melody, containing more drama and more moments of sharp dynamic contrast, catching the listener by surprise at times. There’s even a return of the opening motif, but by itself and hesitant, as though afraid to sound in the face of the bombast from before.

After the repeat of the exposition, the development begins, first developing the ending portions of the codetta a bit, and then focusing on the opening motif, taking it through a number of different keys and moods, mixing with themes from the codetta, and then finally quieting down for the strings to play the second theme in the key of G, before being interrupted by more development of motifs from the opening theme, and eventually, the return of the theme in full for the recapitulation. Like his first symphony, the recapitulation here is fairly straightforward, with even more drama and back and forth between the strings and winds for the coda. The piece ends on a note of triumph, but I don’t see it as a note of joy. It’s how one might feel after winning a battle. There’s joy to be had, of course, but there’s also the knowledge of everything that has passed, leaving the fighter a little weary, a little wiser, and a little more mature.

The second movement is another sonata, this one slow and flowing, beginning almost hymn-like, but containing, in its own way, as much drama as the first movement. The exposition could contain as many as five themes, all which flow into each other so seamlessly it’s difficult to tell where one ends and the next begins at times. The opening theme starts in the strings, and is then echoed by the winds. This happens again with the second line of the theme, which is given enough weight that it almost seems like another theme, but we’re still in the tonic key of A. The transition theme also sounds like its own theme, but soon begins the transition into E major, by way of the parallel A minor. The second theme begins, again, with such a similar accompaniment and style from previously that the only real distinction is the key and the melody. A dramatic rising of chromatic harmonies and a series of loud chords leads into the codetta, which again, seems like yet another theme with the amount of weight it is given. The exposition does not repeat, but for a moment it seems like it has, until it’s revealed that it’s just the opening theme in A minor, then switching to the relative C major. The development continues in a similarly stormy way, modulating through major and minor, acting as more of a development of harmony than of theme, and the recap adds some embellishment to the accompaniment. The dynamic contrast continues right to the end of the movement, with a crescendo to fortissimo before quieting down to light touches on the final two chords.

In this third movement, Beethoven finally admits what was evident in the first movement: this is a scherzo, not a minuet. This is another fast movement, with a lot of themes passing between colors, from strings, to woodwinds, to brass, and back again. Both scherzo and trio are structured in the usual way, both ABA, but in both cases, the middle sections dip into some darker places, going into the minor mode or just containing more drama than the comparatively light outer sections. Beethoven also does the same thing he did in his first symphony and gives the initial statement of the trio theme over to the winds, offering both a style and color contrast.

The finale is another speedy movement, a sonata rondo with touches that would become signature Beethoven. Some have speculated that some of these touches--particularly the opening motif--are meant to represent Beethoven’s digestive problems. And indeed, this opening motif, which comes back repeatedly throughout the movement, does sound a bit like a hiccup or a burp or a gurgling stomach. Regardless, it’s an odd enough passage that it immediately calls attention to itself. It’s difficult to place what key it’s in, or even what colors are sounding. It sounds more like a sound effect than a piece of music. The opening theme is dramatic and even a little disjointed, but it transitions into a smoother second theme. The repeat of the opening theme gives way to a dramatic development section, the recapitulation, and then a coda which contains its own sort of mini-development on the opening theme, a couple of pauses, and even more dramatic playing with the harmonies.

I wouldn’t term this symphony as joyful. There’s joy in it, but there’s also a great deal of drama and darkness. I would describe the symphony as energetic and passionate. It reminds me of when I’m in the zone on some sort of creative project. Leonard Bernstein described the tone as “manic,” which I think describes it much more aptly. Indeed, when Beethoven wrote about his impending deafness to his brothers, he said that the only thing that kept him going was his music. If not for that, he may well have killed himself. That, more than anything, is what I hear in this symphony. There’s a great deal of difficulty and darkness, but the overall feeling is triumphant. It seems to me a personal triumph, the triumph of someone working and working to overcome the darkness in his own life. So joy, yes, but not of the purest sort. And though the Eroica would mark the beginning of Beethoven’s “heroic” period, I do think that there is plenty of heroism to be had in this symphony. After all, what could be more heroic than overcoming a personal tragedy so as to continue to bring beauty and inspiration to others?

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Beethoven’s first symphony. Side note: I don’t normally look for specific recordings, just post the first one that pops up . . . but for Beethoven’s symphonies, I’m specifically seeking out Bernstein’s recordings.

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Sounding Together #29: L. van Beethoven, Symphony #1 in C major, (1801)

Confession time: writing about Beethoven’s symphonies scares the hell out of me.

Which is weird, because I didn’t have the same apprehension when tackling the symphonies of Haydn or Mozart. But for some reason, there’s just some deeply intimidating about analyzing Beethoven. Maybe it’s because I know that this is the point when this is going to get harder. I mean, Haydn and Mozart are pretty easy to analyze when it comes right down to it, but this is BEETHOVEN, the one who kick started the Romantic era, who changed the face of classical music forever, who inspired every musician who came after him . . . and yeah, when stated in those huge hyperbolic terms, it is a little daunting.

So, let’s take a breath, and look at Beethoven with fresh eyes. First off, the Romantic era was much bigger than one man, as much as we like to attribute it to him. The Romantic era reflects the changing attitudes of the people and is tied to increasing humanist movement in much the same way the Classical era is tied to the Age of Enlightenment. Meaning that while Beethoven may have been a key figure in Romanticism, he wasn’t the cause of it.

Second, was Beethoven really a Romantic? In some ways, sure. He did pour a lot of emotion into his music, his approach to a number of forms and compositional styles fundamentally changed, and unlike Haydn and Mozart before him, he worked freelance and on commission his entire career, never being employed by royalty. But those are all extra musical considerations. Was his music really Romantic? Or did it lean more Classical? This is an argument that musical historians continue to have. On the one hand, he’s one of the Big Three classical composers, along with Haydn and Mozart, (sorry, Schubert), but on the other hand, most if not all of the early Romantic composers were in some way inspired by his music and what he did.

Well, let’s put in a pin in those questions for the time being, because at this stage in his career, Beethoven is very much still of the Classical era of music. His first symphony, performed five years after Haydn’s last and published a year later, is very much along the same lines as something Haydn or Mozart might have written, and yet still distinctly Beethoven’s work. One has to imagine that Beethoven might have been a little intimidated to dive into the musical form so famously and prolifically dominated by Haydn for so long. Nothing’s worse than working hard on something and presenting it, only to have people say, “Well, it was good, but nothing like . . .” And indeed, this was one of the last instrumental styles Beethoven tackled, and he spent a good deal of time on this symphony, with some evidence suggesting work as early as 1795, even as Haydn was finishing his final tour in London. But when this symphony did premiere, it was clear that though this new composer was clearly following in the footsteps of Mozart and Haydn, he was his own creature.

The symphony begins in ambiguity. Though the key is ostensibly C major, the first chord adds a B-flat, making it into a dominant seventh chord . . . resolving to F major. Then a G dominant chord . . . which ends in a deceptive cadence and an A minor chord. Then D dominant ending with a G, and the intro continues to dance around anything resembling a definite cadence in C until it falls into the beginning of the allegro. (The allegro, for its part, establishes C quite incessantly with its three-note motif of G-B-C.)

Aside from the ambiguity of key, which is something you rarely, if ever, saw as the introduction to a symphony (though this sort of technique had been used by Haydn in other works), there is one other aspect of this opening--and this symphony--that makes it uniquely Beethoven, and that’s the use of winds. The opening chords are carried almost entirely by the winds, with the strings only playing pizzicato notes underneath. We’ve seen winds take on a more prominent role in the orchestra, and Haydn in particular was starting to make greater use of them in his later works, but Beethoven takes it to a new level here, having whole sections that just feature the winds.

In particular, once the first theme of the exposition has run its course, the transition material is played first in the strings and then echoed in the winds, and when the second theme begins a little while later, it’s the winds carrying the melody with the strings providing the accompaniment, offering a contrast in color as well as style. The same thing happens as the codetta starts, with the strings falling to accompanying the winds. Then the strings return with the first theme, and the exposition comes to an end. The development section is relatively short, and mostly spends time developing that opening three-note motif, simple enough that Beethoven can layer it in multiple instruments and keys, much the same way Haydn and Mozart did in some of their symphonies. The recap is a fairly straightforward playing of the themes again, but now with the entire orchestra, including brass and percussion, coming in on the opening theme, and an extended coda with massive appregios and final chords, making it sound more like the end of a final symphony movement than a first movement. Clearly, Beethoven wanted to make a statement from the top.

The second movement is another fully developed sonata, but slower and a little simpler. Again, the themes are more harmonic than melodic. It starts with a simple pattern of notes, outlining the F chord, and then to transition to the second playing of the theme, there’s a brief canon-like passage where different parts pass the opening motif between themselves, before the full theme plays again. After a brief transition, the second theme group comes, borrowing a trick of Haydn’s and starting, not on on the dominant C major, but an A major chord, before winding back to the key of C via the circle of fifths. All of this is is done with a very spare orchestration outlining the chords. Another transition, and then the accompaniment rhythm switches to triplets for the codetta, and the exposition is over. Just as in the first movement, the development section is reasonably simple, more of an exercise in harmonics than a development of any of the themes we heard. The recapitulation begins with an added accompaniment in the lower strings, which is continued in other instruments as both themes play again. The codetta now layers dotted rhythms on top of triplets, adding to the rhythmic complexity, and the movement ends with another playing of the first theme.

The third movement is ostensibly a minuet and trio, but the tempo indicates otherwise. One of the trademarks of Beethoven’s symphonies is that he wrote very fast dance movements, which eventually he just started labeling as scherzos, because that’s really what they were. This piece moves so quickly, and has such intense dynamic contrast, particularly in the opening measures, it almost sounds like it’s out of control at times. And again, there’s really no melody to speak of. This is an exercise in harmony, and it’s mostly just the harmonies we hear, as if someone was just playing simple chords on a keyboard. The trio calms things down a bit, and brings the winds back in a prominent role, as they take the lead on the harmonies with the strings providing little flourishes underneath, once again providing a color contrast in addition to the stylistic one. The movement ends so abruptly, it’s almost jarring.

The finale begins with another slow introduction, which is almost necessary after the speed of the third movement. After a unison G, the violins play a hesitant scale, first three notes, then four, and so on, finally making it up the F natural to outline the dominant chord, and then they complete the scale, which then becomes the pick-up into another fast piece of music, another sonata. This one is made up of a lot of scales, once again making it more of a harmonic exercise than a melodic one. After the first theme plays a series of ascending scales, the transition comes in with some descending ones, and the second theme is built on thirds. The codetta then brings back the ascending scales, building higher and higher until they once again launch, either into the repeat of the exposition of the development section. The development, as expected, is built mostly around scales, and is another simple one. The recap plays the first theme as before, but then decides to just forgo the transition altogether and go into the second theme. After the codetta, the orchestra holds a couple big chords, and then after some more hesitant scales, they launch into another playing of the first theme--something that has, by now, become common--before another coda full of more big chords and, of course, more scales.

This is, in many ways, a textbook symphony, something that an ambitious student of the classics might write. It contains many elements that Haydn and Mozart put into their symphonies, and stays true to the idea of showcasing a number of different compositional styles in one work. But aspects of Beethoven’s own style are definitely evident in this work: the prominence of the winds, the placing of harmony over melody, the fast tempos, and even the storminess that so many people associate with Beethoven. It’s not fully realized yet, but the seeds are here, and we’ll continue to see them grow.

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Sounding Together Recap #2: The High Classical period

Imagine a vast field, or perhaps a playground, where a bunch of small children are being allowed to play during recess. They have their pick of anything they might want to do, but there is one rule: they may not cross The Line. Most of the children play happily and contentedly well away from The Line, but as with any group of children, there are exceptions.

First, there’s Joe, who frolics and plays and makes everybody laugh--even the playground monitor--and moves closer and closer to The Line. Eventually, he’s playing right at the edge of it, and his rambunctiousness leads to the occasional step over the line, but for the most part, he stays behind it. Then, there’s Wolfgang, who sneaks off into the woods, explores for a bit, and eventually reappears on the other side of The Line, leading the playground monitor to haul him back over, all the while he insists, “But I never crossed The Line!” And finally, there’s Ludwig, who waits until the recess is nearly over, then goes up to The Line and starts playing so roughly that he ends up scuffing The Line away so you can’t even tell where it once was, but by then the playground monitor doesn’t really care anymore.

The Line between Classicism and Romanticism is difficult to draw. We like to think that Beethoven was the first Romantic composer, even though he, for the most part, kept at least one foot firmly in classical tradition. Sometimes, we like to imagine Mozart as a Romantic, though evidence suggests otherwise. It’s difficult, because the High Classical era--the last decades of the eighteenth century--were a time of change throughout the world. The Imperialist model that had led the world for so long was beginning to crumble, as first America and then France denounced their respective monarchies and began to champion rule by the people. And as with anything, political changes were reflected in the art being produced at that time.

The High Classical period of music was pretty much dominated by Haydn and Mozart. Beethoven was starting to make his mark, but he wouldn’t really arrive on the scene until the next century. Haydn and Mozart both wrote some of their greatest and most mature works during this time period, and it’s difficult to argue that this didn’t happen due to increased creative freedom. Haydn’s royal employers severely downsized their musicians, leading Haydn to seek creative fulfillment in tours of Paris and London. Mozart’s freedom was a bit more tempestuous, leaving his employers to work freelance at exactly the wrong time to be doing so.

Despite all this, the High Classical era is still a celebration of form and efficiency. No matter what Mozart and Haydn do to stretch the form, no matter what methods they might use to toe or get around The Line, they still never quite cross it. The symphonies of this time period reflect finding more and more that can done with the form, rather than abandoning it completely. And not for nothing, but that’s exactly what Beethoven would do in the following decade. None of these composers were seeking to change the face of music or kick start the Romantic era. They were looking to make a living. They were looking to entertain and delight. They were looking to serve the art and the form that they knew best. The Classical era, remember, is about pragmatism above all else, and as much as we like to assign Romantic foreshadowing to the music these composers wrote, we’re not there yet. Pragmatism and form are still the rule. Beethoven has yet to scuff up the line.

(PS--for any Schubert fans wondering where he fits into this analogy, he’s the kid who waits until Beethoven’s done scuffing the line, and then runs over to play with him.)

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Composer Highlight: Franz Josef Haydn

Close followers of the blog (of which I realize there aren’t many, but whatever) may have noticed a gap of over a year between my look at Haydn’s symphony #102 and symphony #103. There are all sorts of excuses I could give about real life getting in the way of this project, but the truth is that I just got burned out on Haydn. It’s easy enough to do. After all, at fifteen symphonies, there’s more Haydn on this list than any other composer, which makes sense for one of the most prolific symphony composers who ever lived.

Haydn so often gets overlooked, and one of the reasons why is the same reason I got burned out on him. His symphonies have a certain predictability to them, which is fine when you’re hearing six of them over the course of two years, but a little more difficult when you’re trying to listen to them in the course of two weeks. And it’s easy to overlook Haydn for this, especially when you consider the groundbreaking work of Mozart and Beethoven, the other two great classical composers. Haydn may have written a lot, and he helped people take the form of the symphony seriously, but he played it relatively safe, just throwing a few gimmicks into his works to keep things interesting. And as we’ve already talked about, he didn’t have a lot of drama in his life. By all accounts, he did his job, he did it well, and didn’t have a huge tragedy or drama associated with him like Beethoven’s deafness or Mozart’s early death.

And that, honestly, might be one of the big reasons I like Haydn so much. There’s this idea that’s often tossed around that great art requires great suffering, but I think composers like Haydn show us that’s not true. He surely had suffering and tragedy in his life--most people do at some point--but he doesn’t fit the narrative of the Tragically Misunderstood Artist (TM) that many composers--particularly as we get into the Romantic era--seem to. Haydn is very often inspired, not by tragedy or drama, but by joy and humor, and his music reflects that.

And I think there’s one important thing that Haydn had that neither Mozart nor Beethoven really did. There’s a reason why Haydn was able to gain as much experience as he was, and it’s also the reason why he didn’t push boundaries as much as Mozart and Beethoven did. Haydn had an incredible ability to relate to people. He very much had his finger on the pulse of what people wanted. He understood and related well with his musicians, his employers, and his audiences. We saw how he related with his musicians with the number of solos he handed out in Symphony #6; we saw how he related with his employers with the Farewell Symphony and how confident Haydn was that it would send the right message; and we saw how he related with his audiences in his twelve London symphonies, and how he was able to find the balance between predictable and understandable form and defying expectations and maintaining interest.

It was this understanding and interpersonal relationships that allowed Haydn to do what he did throughout his lengthy career. He was able to make people take the symphony seriously because he knew how to do it. He knew which buttons to push and which emotions to evoke to make people sit up and take notice of what he was doing. Mozart and Beethoven forced people’s attention, but Haydn persuaded. His symphonies might seem comparatively tame, but there’s no doubt that he was a talented musician who saw it as his purpose to entertain people. He wasn’t looking to change the face of music, just to do his job to the best of his ability.

And as we get into the era of Tragically Misunderstood Artists (TM), that sort of purity of purpose will be missed. Haydn’s work allowed artists like Mozart and Beethoven to do what they did. In fact, remember that question about how much influence the three classical composers had on music? One classmate put Haydn on the top of the list, arguing that he influenced the other two. And there’s something to be said for that argument. It’s easy to overlook Haydn, but he remains one of my favorite composers, even more so now that I’ve taken a closer look at him. As the song goes,

“Papa Haydn’s dead and gone,

But his memory lingers on.”

SURPRISE!

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Haydn’s final London symphony, in its entirety.

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Sounding Together #28: F.J. Haydn, Symphony #104 in D major, “London” (1795)

We’ve come to the end of another symphonic career. This is the last symphony Haydn was known to have written, and though it doesn’t have quite the dramatic weight of some other final symphonies on this list (Beethoven’s and Mahler’s come to mind), there is definitely something to be said about this particular final symphony. It’s unlikely the Haydn knew this would be his last symphony. Composers often don’t know that sort of thing. But Haydn probably had an idea that this was going to be the peak of his considerable career. He was in his sixties, on his second London tour, and getting about his big a reception as he was ever likely to get. His old employers, the Esterhazys, no longer had much interest in court music, and wouldn’t have near the level of appreciation necessary for Haydn to put more than a cursory effort into his music. So this was it. This was Haydn’s chance to lay it all out on the field.

Already, he’d made a huge impression with his first eleven of the London symphonies, but interestingly enough, this is the only symphony to actually have the nickname “London” specifically attached to it. It’s hard to say for sure why this was, but I tend to think that it was because this was the culmination of his work in London. Everything he had learned in his considerable length of experience was brought into this work.

Just as his penultimate symphony began with an attention-getting drumroll, this symphony also immediately commands your attention with a unison D, jumping to an A, outlining the perfect fifth of the key of this symphony, though as of yet, with no specific mode attached to it. The slow introduction is actually keyed in D minor, though the symphony itself is in major. After a brief trip to the relative F major, the introduction settles on the A dominant chord, and the allegro begins in D major.

The opening theme--and actually one we’ll hear in this particular sonata--is typically lively and cheerful. The exposition goes on the usual way, with a relatively short transition, and then with the main theme repeated in A for a second theme group, bringing us into the codetta and concluding what, for Haydn, is a relatively straightforward exposition. The development section, though, is where things get interesting. Haydn develops the theme, of course, but not quite in the way you might expect. Instead of developing the recognizable opening measures of the theme, he actually begins with a heavy development of the SECOND two measures of the theme, a motif simple enough that he is able to layer it over and over again, and build a complex musical structure around it. He also develops the closing measures of the theme, but the next time we hear the opening measures is the beginning of the recapitulation. The repeat of the theme in the recap is then carried by the high winds, creating a nice color contrast that we’ll hear a few more times throughout the symphony. Haydn clearly enjoyed having wind instruments in his orchestra, and often made use of their unique colors in his later symphonies. The recap, of course, remains in D, but now we get a little extra development of the opening measures of the theme, as though realizing to late that they were left out of the development. A codetta later, and this reasonably simple sonata comes to a close.

In the second movement, in G, Haydn returns to something of a combination of two of his favorite second movement forms: a three-part form with minor in the middle, and the theme and variations. The main theme starts us off, a quiet and very refined melody, which visits some relative minor tonalities in the second section before returning to G. The next section does something similar, but with a minor mode visiting some major modes, and then the rest of the movement stays in G major, and varies the background rhythmic patterns, featuring some triplets, dotted rhythms, and sixteenth notes pattering underneath. Simple, but effective, showing Haydn’s love of color and different sounds that can be created by the orchestra.

In the third movement minuet and trio, Haydn plays around with keys, establishing D major for the minuet, and then shifting into the relative B minor and dominant A major for the second section. He also plays with beat perception with some well-placed hemiola in the lower instruments. The trio, then, uses the final D of the minuet to pivot to the non-related key of B-flat major. Indeed, the trio begins with just D and F, making it unclear whether we’ve moved to the parallel D minor until the continuation of the trio puts us in B-flat major. The second half of the trio also dives into the relative G-minor, and there is a necessary extension at the end so the key wind its way back to the dominant A for the repeat of the minuet. Not as simple as it seems.

The finale is one of my favorites, both for the music itself and also for a memory associated with it. When I was taking music history, and we had a listening exam (where a piece of music would be played at random, and we would have to identify it, name, composer, etc.), the finale to this symphony was one of the pieces on the listening list, and in a study session, the device they came up with to remember it was “headbanging bunnies in a mosh pit.” The finale actually starts with a unison drone, indicating the rustic, folksy background this music comes from, Haydn calling back to his roots in his final symphony. The melody (the “bunnies”) dances along in D, until the hammering chords (the headbanging in a mosh pit) signal the beginning of the transition, the opening dancing melody continuing play in various guises. The transition plays through some motifs that will make appearances in the development of the movement, before finally settling down into a quieter second theme group. Interestingly, though the transition sets up the dominant key of A major, the first chord is an f-sharp major chord, doubly deceptive, making its way through the chords before settling back into A major where it belongs. The codetta plays a strong theme in unison before falling back to the drone for the repeat.

The development section starts with the opening theme, falls into some playfulness around some different keys, before playing through the transition theme, pausing, and then falling into a development of the second theme, now set up for the relative minor, which transitions nicely into the drone that leads back into the recapitulation. This time, we only hear the opening bunny theme once before the mosh pit comes in, extended a bit, as though it’s a bit more dramatic just to stay in the initial key of D major this time. The second theme group continues to be doubly deceptive, this time starting on B major before winding its way back to the home D major. The codetta is now extended, making this a proper finale, including a number of returns of the opening theme, including one with just the wind color again, before the raucous finale comes to a close. The finale, it should be noted, is much more involved than the opening movement, continuing Haydn’s trend of weighting his finales more heavily. It’s a more fully developed sonata. Decades earlier, the two movements might have been reversed, but this movement acts as not only an intellectual sonata, but an exciting finale to one last symphony from the master of the form himself.

Haydn would continue to compose for the next decade or so, but he wouldn’t compose anything on this scale again. Most of the compositions for the rest of his career would be chamber music, as Haydn would develop an interest in the string quartet in particular. And perhaps that was best for him after this tour: a quiet life composing quiet music at the end of a phenomenal career.

[yourmusicquestions]

Haydn’s Drumroll symphony in its entirety.

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Sounding Together #27: F.J. Haydn, Symphony #103 in E-flat major, “Drumroll” (1795)

Haydn was very much at the peak of his musical career in 1795. He was on his second tour of London, his music was a rousing success, and he was composing some of the symphonies he’d composed in the course of his entire career. As I’ve mentioned before when talking about his twelve “London” symphonies, Haydn was seeking to impress his London audience. They knew who he was, they knew what his music was like, and they knew what to expect from his symphonies. Haydn wanted to give them the Haydn they were expecting, while at the same time confounding their expectations. He wanted to Haydn at his Haydn-est.

This symphony, named for the drumroll that sounds at the beginning and at various points throughout the work, was designed with that purpose in mind. It was written to make the London audience sit up and take notice. Haydn was known for starting his symphonies off with a slow introduction to lend a weight and seriousness to the work . . . but a drumroll? Right away, that was new. A drumroll is the musical equivalent of saying “Wait for it . . .” It immediately gets your attention, makes you take notice of whatever comes after the drumroll. And in this case, what comes after the drumroll is . . . the symphony.

The introduction that follows the drumroll is very like a plainchant, and indeed the first four notes are based on a plainchant that Haydn favored. But the notes are such that the mode of the chant it unclear. The key of the symphony is E-flat major, of course, but the opening measures could just as easily be in C minor. In fact, the whole introduction is ambiguously keyed, as the opening bars are repeated, transposed up a fourth, and then embellished and built upon, never quite settling on a tonality, and finally ending on a unison G . . . the dominant of C minor or the median of E-flat major? We don’t know until the opening chord of the allegro. (Spoiler alert: it’s E-flat major.)

The strings take the opening theme of the exposition, a jaunty little melody in six-eight, playing it twice before the full orchestra joins in on the lengthy transition. Indeed, the transition takes up most of the exposition here, with both the first and second themes being relative brief. There’s a point where it seems the transition should be done, as we’ve moved into the dominant B-flat, but it keeps going, almost like a mini-development section of the opening notes of the first theme, playing around with key and style. When the second theme does come in, it’s very much a calming effect, a gentler theme with a quieter orchestration. But we’ve barely heard the theme before the exposition comes to an end.

The development section lives up to its name, first developing the first few notes of the opening theme, and then the next few. Then, a brief pause, and the notes of the adagio introduction begin to play, but faster this time, turning into an accompaniment figure for the next portion of the development section. There’s also one of Haydn’s recapitulation fake-outs, one of his favorite tricks, and some development of the second theme before the recapitulation begins again. This time, the transition ends where it ideally should have done last time, and the second theme begins in E-flat. But now, it’s the codetta that’s extended, carrying on for a bit before winding down into some long chords, and then . . . the drumroll returns, and with it the adagio introduction. This is now the third time we’ve heard this adagio in this symphony, and we typically only hear it once at the beginning and never again. After the first two phrases of the adagio, the allegro reasserts itself, with the coda finally wrapping things up.

The second movement recalls Haydn’s sturm und drang days with a double theme and variations: two themes alternating, one in C minor, the other in C major. Note that neither is in the dominant B-flat major, which is typical for second movements, but instead the relative minor and the subsequent parallel major. The two themes are both somewhat march or gavotte-like, and both similar sounding enough to almost pass as one theme in two modes. There are only two variations for each theme, and one of them includes a lengthy solo for the concertmaster over top of the theme. The fluctuating modes, especially in the coda, leave us wondering whether the movement will end in minor or major. (Spoiler alert: it’s minor.)

The third movement minuet and trio can’t quite decide what sort of tone it wants to set, at times loud and bombastic, at times quiet and gentle, and at times hesitant and almost apologetic, as in the first phrase where it repeats the last few notes before launching into the repeat. The trio sets a completely different tone altogether, a gentle lilting song with a certain air of refinement that the stomping minuet doesn’t quite manage.

And in the finale, Haydn builds an entire, exciting movement out of just a few short notes, starting with a four note horn call at the very beginning, which then comes back as accompaniment to the main theme throughout the movement. The movement is a sonata rondo, but with only the single theme in various guises. The theme is played against horn call, then launches into what will be the “home” theme for the rondo, before going into the transition, which is another sort of mini-development section for both the horn call and main theme, going back and forth with each other, until finally things calm down for the first episode, the second theme, which is really the first notes of the first theme, in the B-flat now, but taken in a different direction. Then the horn call and main theme again, a development with another occurrence of that episode version of the theme, now in D-flat, and then the “recapitulation,” with everything now in the home key of E-flat, before wrapping things up. A great deal of fun and excitement with just a few simple notes, a technique more famously used in Beethoven’s Fifth just a decade later.

At this point, Haydn knew how to capture an audience’s attention, and that’s exactly what he’s doing here. By this time, the forms Haydn is using are well-known and well-established: the sonata, the rondo, the theme and variations, the minuet and trio. It’s up to Haydn to make sure his audience doesn’t get so caught up in the predictability of the music that they forget to listen to the music itself. And from beginning to end, he delivers on this, his penultimate symphony.

[yourmusicquestions]

Haydn’s Symphony No. 102.

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Sounding Together #26: F.J. Haydn, Symphony #102 in B-flat Major (1795)

The story goes that the London audience was so excited to see Haydn that they crowded to the front of the house to get close to the composer, leaving the middle of the auditorium largely unoccupied, so that when the chandelier, for some reason, fell into the audience, no one was seriously hurt. The event was lauded as a miracle, so much so that the nickname “Miracle” was given . . . to Haydn’s 96th symphony performed some three years earlier, because history gets things wrong sometimes. But in 1794, Haydn was at the height of his London popularity. His concerts were widely attended, his symphonies kept getting better and better. But after the technical and musical mastery demonstrated in the Clock symphony, this unnamed symphony seems relatively simple in comparison, a return to the basics of symphonic composition in a way.

In fact, there’s something of a parallel history between this, the first of Haydn’s last three symphonies, and Mozart’s Symphony #39, the last of his three symphonies. As I mentioned before, last symphonies are of some interest to me, as they say a lot about the composer’s mindset at that point in his or her life. And this symphony, just like Mozart’s #39, is an exercise in form, a return to the symphony at its purest, doing exactly what it was meant to do: impress. Haydn had successfully made the symphony something to be taken seriously, particularly when the symphony came from him. And with Mozart dead and Beethoven still in his early life as a composer, Haydn was the greatest living composer at that time.

There’s something very easy to like about the composer at this time in his life. I mentioned earlier that Mozart’s last symphonies were obviously written in attempt to continue defying expectations, to keep topping himself. He was writing for his life, and indeed, there is a kind of desperation to his last works that Haydn’s final symphonies don’t have. We’re looking at two different types of impressive. For Mozart, he was impressive for his incredible talent and his incredible drive. For Haydn, though, he was impressive due to the depth of his experience. This is work from a composer who’s been doing what he’s been doing for so long and so well, that he can write an impressive symphony without hardly having to try.

The first movement begins with Haydn’s standard slow introduction, this one alternating between strong solid chords and lighter moments of some harmonic dissonance, providing both a dynamic and stylistic contrast to the music, something that will keep coming back throughout the movement. After a light flute arpeggio, the movement plunges into the fast and lively sonata, the first theme of which is a rush of notes and a flurry of strings. After a lengthy transition, which muddles the key as transitions are meant to do, the second theme returns to the intro’s alternation between strong chords and lighter moments. Remember that the key word here is “contrast.” That’s what the two themes of a sonata are meant to do, provide a contrast to each other. Haydn, here, is taking this idea a step further and providing contrast within the second theme itself. Every few measures, there’s a new surprise. (Remember, Haydn is a man who loves surprises.) Finally, an exciting codetta brings the exposition to a close.

The development section begins with the second theme, before doing some work on the first theme, and then going into the standard fluctuation of keys, but it seems even more muddled than usual. The development section, here, is doing what it was always meant to do: develop the themes from the exposition. Mozart often, and even Haydn occasionally, introduced new material and developed that, but Haydn is sticking pretty much to his original ideas here. Haydn also plays around with keys, as the music seems drift in and out of tonality and has to be forced back into place. Then the opening theme seems to return, but it’s in the wrong key, and is soon interrupted by more modulations, and a few more false starts, before the true recapitulation begins, moving through the first and second themes in B-flat. Finally, one more statement of the original theme is tacked onto the end before the last coda brings the movement to a close, a trick Haydn borrowed from Mozart’s later symphonies.

The other three movements continue in the lighter style that those movements were typically written in those days. The second movement is a transcription of music from a previous work, which takes the simple three-part form that Haydn favored for his second movements, but with a slightly less dramatic middle section than usual. This music is very dream-like and serene, and is another instance where you don’t want to analyse the music so much as listen, which is generally what second movements were supposed to do following the intellectual first movements. The minuet and trio is straightforward in form, but does play around with expectations of beat and meter, with the downbeat being occasionally difficult to ascertain just by listening, and the phrasing often becoming uneven. The trio offers a stylistic contrast and is more chromatic with the winds providing some pleasant harmonies above the melody. We see Haydn playing around with color as well as beat in this dance number. The finale sees Haydn returning to his trademark quirkiness, with a somewhat odd little melody providing the main theme of a rondo, interrupted throughout by dramatic episodes, giving this finale many different moods. This is the point in Haydn’s career and where he seems to be using his symphony finales to really pull out all the stops and have some fun. This finale doesn’t have the intellectual rigor of the first movement, the lovely interplay of harmonies of the second, or the dance-like simplicity of the third. It’s just its own thing, a fast-paced, exciting, and fun piece of music to close out another impressive symphony.

Haydn has, by this time, fallen into a predictable pattern with his symphonic form, and yet he continues to add the little touches to his music that made him so popular, particularly in London. I said at the beginning that this symphony was comparatively simple, but I don’t think that’s entirely accurate. I think the main difference between this symphony and the ones on either side of it is that there’s nothing about it to earn it a specific nickname. It doesn’t have the march-like percussive quality of the Military symphony, or the ticking of the Clock symphony, or the dramatic drumroll of the Drumroll symphony. And that, in and of itself, is telling us something. It’s telling us that though Haydn enjoyed his little gimmicks and tricks, he didn’t need them. He is still able to use the symphony as the canvas it was intended to be, and give us an impressive collection of decades of experience as a composer. Even if it doesn’t lend itself to a particular nickname, this symphony is still an accomplishment from someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

[yourmusicquestions]

Haydn’s “Clock” symphony

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Sounding Together #25: F.J. Haydn, Symphony #101 in D major, “Clock” (1794)

London audiences and critics were, by this time, beginning to wonder if Haydn would ever get to a point where he wouldn’t surprise them, where he would compose a symphony so brilliant and entertaining that he would never be able to surpass it. The Military symphony was quite an ambitious project, and audiences loved it. And when this symphony premiered, the reviews read that Haydn had done it again.

This symphony starts in ambiguously. The slow intro starts in minor, though the home key of the symphony is major, and through a number of suspensions and dissonances, the key is left ambiguous and somewhat clouded. The first movement is a lively presto, like one might expect as a finale, starting with an ascending scale which actually turns a four-measure phrase into a somewhat lopsided five-measure one. The first subject ends in a fermata, and then the transition comes off of that ascending scale again. The second subject thins out the orchestra playing a quieter theme, with the full orchestra coming in for the codetta. The development builds on the second theme and codetta, shifting through some different tonalities, before coming to a stop and launching into the opening theme again for the recapitulation. The recapitulation continues in the usual way, with the second theme in the home key of D, and then an extensive coda which ends with another statement of the first theme, passed from the strings to the winds before the full orchestra brings the movement to a close.

Unlike previous symphonies, the first movement actually carries relatively little weight in this symphony compared to the other three. We’ve seen symphony finales carry increasing weight under Mozart, but the middle movements are generally lighter. However this symphony, as well as the last two nicknamed symphonies (”Surprise” and “Military”) derives its nickname--and thus the most memorable thing about it--from its second movement. The bassoons and plucked lower strings introduce a ticking motif that continues in various forms throughout the movement. The movement is in the expanded three-part song form Haydn has been favoring, with a dramatic middle section in the parallel minor, but this one has a little theme and variations sprinkled in as well. After the opening theme plays through in rounded binary, and the middle section plays in minor, a faster ticking continues in the violins leading into a repeat of the first theme, this time with a thinner orchestration, the winds providing the ticking motif. Then, as the movement seems to be over, after a couple measures silence, a new statement of the theme begins in E-flat, leading into a final variation of the theme with a great deal of orchestral development, but with the ticking still very much present, as though we are hearing the ticking of many different clocks throughout the playing of the movement.

The third movement minuet and trio also carries much more weight, being unusually long, the longest Haydn ever wrote at over seven minutes. The length comes both from the minuet being a bit more extravagant than usual, as well as the trio section, which features a complete switch in style from pompous ballroom to humorously mediocre village band, featuring a lot of elements that don’t quite fit together: an odd, meandering flute solo, a harmonic backing that doesn’t always quite fit the melody, and a weird gap of silence at the end of an unfinished phrase, as though someone missed an entrance at the worst possible time.

The finale, however, is where Haydn reserved his full musical resources. Just as the opening movement sounded like a finale, this finale has all the hallmarks of an opening movement, with the exception of the form, which is a sonata rondo with a little theme and variations thrown in, instead of a full sonata. The opening theme is simple and elegant, with the full orchestra coming in for the transition, carrying us to the dominant key. The second subject uses similar thematic material, as well as some extensive syncopation, eventually making its way back to the original theme, but with the first couple measures disguised in some extra non-chord tone embellishment. Once the theme has played again, the development begins suddenly, bringing the movement into the parallel minor, a familiar trick of Haydn’s by this time, making use of transitional material, as well as the material from the main theme, before pausing at the end, preparing for the recapitulation. In this recap, rather than a literal playing of the exposition, Haydn places the theme into a double fugue along with a complementary theme, and though not as complex as the fugue from Mozart’s final symphony, it’s still a thrilling and unexpected juxtaposition of musical styles and eras. The second subject is briefly touched upon before one last playing of the end of the theme, and a brief coda to the end of the symphony.

Haydn was clearly enjoying a good challenge in London, and was trying his best to outdo himself with every symphony he wrote for his audience. There’s a reason why most lists of Haydn symphony recommendations feature the London symphonies--and this one in particular--in a prominent place. And Haydn still had three more symphonies to go.

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Haydn’s “Military” symphony