Haydn’s music occupies a somewhat awkward place in the classical repertoire. Most musicians and listeners would include Haydn in the pantheon of great composers. But fewer, I think, would list him among their personal favourites, or their selections of the “greatest of the great” (see, e.g., the New York Times music critic Anthony Tommasini’s top 10 from 2011). Although he is by no means ignored, he is undervalued.
Why is this so? Haydn’s prolificity is one possible reason. His huge output, which comprises hundreds of pieces, can be intimidating even to trained musicians. And while much of it is excellent, some is just serviceable—music that will not offend, but hardly qualifies as must-hear. For beginners, it is hard to know where to start. Second, Haydn’s life was relatively undramatic. He did not die tragically young, like his friend Mozart. He did not go tragically deaf, like his student Beethoven. Haydn was actually successful during his lifetime, and retired in upper-middle-class comfort. We are drawn to the tragic genius archetype, and Haydn does not fit into that mold. Generally speaking, his music is not tragic either, though it can be stormy and passionate all the same. Third, in the orchestral context, Haydn has been shunted into a kind of no man’s land. Symphony orchestras have decided that his music—being the province of period instrument groups—lies outside their core repertoire, while many period instrument groups are simply ill-equipped (in terms of instrumentation and size) to bring off his later music, which is written on a grander scale.
Whatever the reasons for Haydn’s relative neglect may be, I do not believe that they have anything to do with the quality of his best music. Those pieces are brilliantly crafted, life-affirming, and often funny. Here are some of my favourites.
It is nearly impossible to keep track of everything that happens in each of Haydn’s 104 symphonies. Most of them, even when they are not consistently inspired, have noteworthy aspects or moments. If you want to listen in rough chronological order, start with No. 6, “Le matin”. This piece—from the “sunrise” opening to that quirky bassoon/bass duet in the third movement—shows what a creative orchestrator Haydn was, even when working with a very small band by modern standards. Of the middle pieces, No. 45, “Farewell” is worth highlighting. Its nickname refers to the coda of the last movement, in which—in a bit of eighteenth-century performance art—Haydn has the musicians stop playing and walk off stage gradually, so that at the end only two violins are left. But what stands out to me is the turbulent first movement, which is doubly unusual for being in F-sharp minor and triple metre. It shows that Haydn’s music isn’t all politesse, and can be pretty vehement when he wants it to be. There are no weak links among the late symphonies (No. 82 onward), but I think No. 96, “Miracle” is one of the most exciting of the bunch. The first movement in particular has a wonderful energy.
Leaving aside the question whether Haydn “invented” the string quartet, he undoubtedly spearheaded the development of the genre, establishing the four-movement form and the possibilities of the instruments on their own and in concert. As an aggregate, the quartets are denser than the symphonies, and—to my mind—they surpass the latter in terms of creative audacity. Haydn’s contemporaries, including Mozart, certainly thought highly of them. I have always liked the colouring of Opus 20, No. 5. It has a sombreness that I find especially compelling. Next, I would recommend Opus 33, No 2, “The Joke”, which sits at the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of tone. Even apart from the well-known joke in the last movement, in which Haydn toys with our expectations about when the piece should end, it is obvious that Haydn had fun writing this piece—for example, in the constant manipulation of the melodic cells in the first movement or the deliberately garish slides in the second movement’s trio. It exemplifies his essential good-naturedness and sense of humour. Finally, I would like to highlight Opus 54, No. 2. There are so many great works in the later series—opuses 64 and 76 in particular—but I am choosing this quartet because (i) it is often overlooked and (ii) it is kind of weird. Listen to the first two minutes or so and you will see what I mean by “weird”. It starts with two five-bar phrases (or six, if you count the silences), rather than the standard four-plus-four. Then, right after that, the music veers unexpectedly from C into A-flat. And within that short section, Haydn makes all sorts of demands on the first violinist’s technique, pushing the music very close to the edge of the fingerboard at times. It is surprising and exhilarating, but not in a jarring way. Haydn has a clear idea of where he needs to take us, and keeps everything in perfect proportion.
There is much more worth exploring beyond the symphonies and string quartets, but for the sake of brevity, I will close by recommending the two Cello Concertos, especially No. 1 in C Major. No. 2 in D Major has a lot of very attractive material, but I sometimes find the first movement to be slightly too leisurely. No. 1 had been listed in Haydn’s own catalogue, but the score was lost in the shuffle. It was not rediscovered until the 1960s in a Prague library. I think it has everything you would want in a concerto. The structure is concise, and there is a good mix of fast and slow music that lets the cellist show off both their dexterity and lyricism.
Needless to say, I have left out a lot of important music in this survey, and readers will have their own sense of what is most worthwhile. Nonetheless, if you start with (or revisit) these works, you will get a sense of Haydn’s expressive range and compositional finesse. I hope that after listening to them, you will agree with me that his music is sadly underplayed. I encourage you to return to it frequently; it pays such rich dividends.
