Haydn & Beethoven

Well, he was thought of in his time, and for all time since, to be a father of sorts, and his progeny can be found all over the globe. He was Franz Joseph Haydn (born March 31, 1732, Rohrau, Austria; died May 31, 1809, Vienna, Austria), and counted among his many contributions to music are creating and honing the string quartet and the symphony. He was prodigious on both fronts, bringing forth upwards of 70 string quartets and bearing over 100 symphonies. So what he lacked in flesh and blood offspring, he made up for in works that have outlived most family lines. Haydn was one of the most beloved musicians of his time, drawing adoring crowds and fans not only in his native Austria, but also in London, where he was to have two incredibly successful residencies in the 1790s. His music had been championed in London by violinist, composer, conductor, publisher, and all around impresario, Johann Peter Salomon. After Haydn’s benefactor, Prince Nikolaus Esterházy, died in 1790, Salomon entreated the now unemployed Haydn to leave his homeland for a trip to London. He obliged, and what resulted was a partnership that produced Haydn’s final twelve “London” Symphonies. As  part of the deal, Salomon was granted the rights to arrange and perform any and all of the symphonies produced during Haydn’s trips. The Symphony No. 104 in D major is the last of the London symphonies, and the final symphony Haydn would compose. The version we hear today was arranged by Salomon for flute and strings, and to add a bit of additional fun, we’ve included the timpani part from the original orchestral version. 

 

From London, we travel to a former British colony: New Zealand. Gareth Farr (born February 29, 1968, Wellington, New Zealand) is among New Zealand’s most recognized and prolific composers, with hundreds of works to his name. While studying composition and percussion at the University of Auckland, he was profoundly moved by a visiting gamelan ensemble (much like Debussy,  after hearing gamelan music at Paris’s 1889 World’s Fair). Inspired, he wrote what remains his most popular work, Kembang Suling for Flute and Marimba. He describes the work as follows:

 

Kembang Suling is three musical snapshots of Asia:

 

I – On the magical island of Bali, flowing gamelan melodies intertwine with the sound of the suling (Balinese bamboo flute) to form rich colourful tapestries. The marimba and flute start out as one, their sounds indistinguishable. Bit by bit the flute asserts its independence, straying further and further from the marimba melody. An argument ensues – but all is resolved at the climax.

 

II – The haunting sounds of the Japanese shakuhachi flute float out over the warm echoes of the rolling landscape.

 

III – Complex rhythms and South Indian scales set the two instruments off in a race to see who can outplay the other. The marimba is set in a three bar cycle of 5/4+5/8+5/16 but the flute plays a different cross-rhythm each time, returning to the marimba’s pattern at the end of every cycle.

 

It was a chilly February morning in 1939, when a 21-year-old Harvard student was dispatched to the train station to retrieve a Sarah Lawrence professor whose Second Symphony was to be performed by the Boston Symphony. The Harvard student? Leonard Bernstein (born August 25, 1918, Lawrence, MA; died October 14, 1990, New York, NY). The Sarah Lawrence professor? William Schuman. That meeting on the platform led to a lifelong friendship, with the two sharing a rich correspondence right up until Bernstein’s death in 1990. They championed one another professionally and personally. Schuman encouraged Bernstein to become a conductor, and Bernstein soon found himself to be the assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic. It was in that timeframe when he wrote his first set of Seven Anniversaries for Solo Piano, including “For William Schuman.” The short, pithy work, reflects Schuman’s spiky compositional style (Schuman would later return the favor, writing a short fanfare for Bernstein’s 70th birthday called “Let’s hear it for Lenny,” that brilliantly quotes Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man along with a number of Bernstein works). Bernstein premiered and performed many of Schuman’s compositions as music director of the NY Philharmonic. Schuman went on to become president of The Juilliard School in 1945, and later president of Lincoln Center from 1961–1969. In a connection closer to BCMF, Schuman became the godfather for Jamie Davidson, one of Artistic Director Marya Martin and Board Chair Ken Davidson’s two daughters. 

 

Just as Schuman and Bernstein had a mutually beneficial relationship, so too did Franz Joseph Haydn and Ludwig van Beethoven (baptized 17 December 1770, Bonn, Germany; died March 26, 1827, Vienna, Austria), though theirs was more convoluted. A 17-year-old Beethoven, headstrong and confident,  first visited Vienna in 1787 intending to study with his idol, Mozart. However, having just arrived, he received word that his mother had become gravely ill, and he headed back to Bonn to be with her. Another five years passed before he could return. In the interim, Mozart had died in 1791 at the age of 32. All was not lost. Beethoven had an opportunity to meet with Franz Joseph Haydn and his publisher Johann Salomon in 1790 when the two were on their way to London for Haydn’s first trip. Beethoven met them again upon their return in 1792, though this time he brought along some compositions to show Haydn. Suitably impressed, Haydn told the young Beethoven that he would give him lessons if he could find his way to Vienna. Having made the trip once, he knew he could. They started lessons in November of 1792, and Beethoven quickly grew disenchanted, finding Haydn too busy and too disengaged. Haydn left for his second trip to London in 1794, and Beethoven, hungry for feedback, secretly studied with other composers. When Haydn returned in 1795, Prince Lichnowsky, a great proponent of Beethoven, arranged for Beethoven to perform his newly minted Op. 1 Piano Trios with Haydn as guest of honor. Following the performance, Beethoven rushed over to hear his teacher’s verdict. Trios No. 1 and No. 2 got a thumb’s up, but he told the youngster that he should reconsider the 3rd trio before publishing. Beethoven was stung, and later commented, “I never learned anything from Haydn.” However, his animus was not long-lived, and he dedicated his second set of trios to his former teacher. By 1808, Beethoven was seen as the composer of the day. Meanwhile, an ailing Haydn would attend his final concert that year, one in honor of his 76th birthday. That year also saw the creation of Beethoven’s Piano Trio in D major, Op. 70, No. 1, “Ghost.” The sobriquet is not Beethoven’s. It was coined many years after his death, when his student, Carl Czerny, compared it to “an appearance from the underworld. One could think not inappropriately of the first appearance of the ghost in Hamlet.” He wasn’t far off. Later discoveries of some of his handwritten notes on sketches of the work included the words, “Ende” and “Macbett.” In a grisly side note that relates more to Hamlet, eight days after Haydn was buried, two entrepreneurial phrenologists dug up his grave and stole his head for study, which is both ghastly and ghostly.   –ML