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Haydn Quartet opus 77 #2

Haydn composed his F major Quartet, opus 77 #2, in 1799. It was one of an intended set of six quartets commissioned by the music-lover Prince Lobkowitz, who also sponsored so many great works from the young Beethoven. As it turned out, Haydn did not finish the set, and was never to write another entire quartet after this one. At the age of 67, he had just completed his massive "Creation" oratorio, arguably the highest achievement of his enormous output; as if drained from that effort, he became significantly less productive for the remaining ten years of his life.

The year 1799 is thus a sort of "cusp" year for classical string quartets. Mozart had been dead for eight years, a composer who felt Haydn's influence and influenced him in turn, particularly in the writing of quartets. There is no question that Mozart's six "Haydn" quartets, which were dedicated to the older composer and were a reaction to his earlier quartet works, inspired Haydn to explore new possibilities in his latest quartets, opp. 74, 76 and 77 -- new scope, complexity, and structural innovation. Meanwhile, Beethoven was a year away from publishing his first string quartets -- opus 18 -- but at this point, for Haydn, he was just a brilliant, annoying and irresponsible counterpoint student. Be that as it may, it is hard not to feel a spiritual or conceptual continuity from Haydn's latest quartets to Beethoven's youthful ones: beyond the obvious similarities of Classical Viennese style, the works share qualities of rhythmic robustness and vitality, love of surprise and innovation, and a virtuosic showcasing of the first violin part.

The F major Quartet is a big piece as Haydn's quartets go, reflecting perhaps his shift towards composing for larger public concerts in London during the 1790s. The genial first movement starts with a series of courtly bowing gestures, incorporating right away Haydn's love of musical hesitation: it seems to take a few attempts before the music is fully launched, and the instruments exchange flurries of joyous 16th notes in the first sustained forte passage. A contrasting idea follows, featuring a set of repeated notes in the lower instruments, answered delicately by the first violin. This "repeated-note" idea is to take on an obsessive quality later, in the middle developmental section of the movement, where the instruments pass it back and forth through several different keys; there is a feeling almost of frustration as the argument tries to find its way back to F major, arriving finally by means of a brilliant outburst in the first violin, and a dramatic pause. The path that was traveled at the movement's opening is revisited, the same and yet different in a million beautiful particulars, and the movement ends in a spirit of euphoria.

The second movement is a Minuet that has forgotten its dignity. Marked "Presto", an unusually fast designation for a minuet movement, it is all fun and very little grace. The figuration that Haydn has chosen is strongly based on two beats, which is constantly doing battle with the dance's triple meter; the movement plays a guessing game with our preconceptions of the natural swing of a minuet, so that as listeners we are alternately disoriented and repositioned. At the same time, there are darker harmonizations from time to time, which cast a hint of a shadow over the frolicsome proceedings. This darker side reaches fruition in the middle "Trio" section, startlingly in D flat major and marked "pianissimo" throughout, so that we seem to eavesdrop on intimate confidences that are far removed from the festive main section. But the idea that opened the movement steals back in upon this quiet scene, like a vague memory, and prompts the music to return to the bright lights and fun once more.

If the Trio section's key of D-flat major was unexpected, how much more so is the key of the slow movement, D major following on the heels of the Minuet's F major. Furthermore, this movement starts out not as a quartet, but a simple duet between first violin and cello that evokes a lone walker, musing philosophically. The eloquent simplicity of this music is more than enough for several bars, but the extraordinary moment comes when the remaining parts enter, and the melody is quietly enriched. This movement turns out to be a kind of variations movement, a form Haydn often uses for slow movements. Unlike a strict theme and variations, the movement is not defined by closed sections, but flows seamlessly, alternating statements of the melody -- now played by the second violin, now by the cello -- with reflections or elaborations of that material in between. After an ecstatic high point, the melody returns in its most hushed guise, followed by a gentle coda.

A jarring F major chord yanks us back to the home key at the opening of the Finale -- perhaps Haydn wanted his audience to settle down and pay attention -- and we are off into a more lively and celebratory kind of music. The main idea pauses wittily in its initial version; these little pauses will later be filled in by retorts from lower instruments. The movement is brilliant, restless, ever-active. Although it follows a quite conventional sonata form, it does not appear that the composer intended the music to repose, even briefly, at the close of sections; the idea is to keep the ball in the air continually. After those opening pauses, the only full stops that occur are quite late in the movement, rhetorical teasing that keep the listener wondering for just a second, after which the movement rockets to its conclusion.

Note by Misha Amory