Selling Joe Haydn Short

Why do I always sell Joe Haydn short in my mind? Admittedly when I listen to records it's usually because I have to. But once in a while I seek nepenthe and surcease from sorrow by sneaking a hark to something I want to hear. And it's usually a piece by one of the establishment-approved biggies -- Bach, Mozart, Schubert, Berlioz, or Toselli, say; but never does it occur to me to turn to Haydn, a fellow I always think of as just missing the Mozartian and Beethovenian luxury liners. Then when I'm forced to hear him, I kick myself for my stupidity.

Saturday night, for example, subscription tickets demanded that we attend the second seasonal concert of the Lehigh Valley Chamber Orchestra, especially since I had, in the name of culture, invited three uncultured students, and since a work by a friend and colleague was being premiered. The LVCO, one of two such musical organizations presently gracing a community that ten years ago would have considered Lawrence Welk high art, is shaping up nicely and plays to overflow audiences.

But I was weary and, despite feeling curiosity about Paul Salerni's piece, was somewhat loath to have to sit through such familiar chestnuts as one of the Respighi antiche arie things, a Mozart horn concerto, and Haydn's Military Symphony. As it inevitably turned out, the whole concert was a joy -I was quite taken with Paul's "Post Jeter Street Rise" Chaconne -- but the Haydn simply knocked me out. Not that it was the greatest reading in history, but for once I really had to listen to it (and look at it!) and thus came at last to recognize its enormous ingenuity and wit.

A few nights later, in an effort to cut down the backlog of unheard records, I dragged out Haydn's opera L'incontro improvviso (The unexpected encounter), which had been gathering dust on the "unplayed" shelves for over a year -and once again cursed myself for depriving myself of so much delight. Then on top of that my obligation to the allegedly waiting world out there necessitated my hearing the set here being considered.

By the side of the two works noted above, the wind music qualifies as diddlypoo Haydn -- but, as I noted in a recent issue, most diddlypoo Haydn would qualify as top-grade caviar if produced by the likes of a Stamitz or a Rosetti or a Dittersdorf. The longest pieces -- some of the divertimenti, or Parthien, as the composer seems to have preferred -- run only a few seconds over ten minutes. The' shortest, the second of two marches for the Derbyshire Regiment (which obviously wasn't going very far), lasts exactly 50 seconds.

No one is sure of dates of most of the undisputed divertimenti, except that they were written relatively early, when Haydn was in his late twenties. These include six for a sextet of oboes, horns, and bassoons, two others for the same forces, which the indefatigable Robbins Landon turned up not so long ago in Prague, and a single work for paired clarinets and horns. This last work Graue says was written in 1761, but the more circumspect liner notes by Joel-Marie Fauquet say "no later than" that year.

It is assumed that the sextet works were written for Count Morzin, whose music director Haydn became in 1759, and who, as a passionate music lover, presumably had some crackerjack Bohemian wind players at his summer place near Pilsen. Robbins Landon thinks his discoveries, however, date from around 1776. If you want to hear how lovely this music can be, listen to the exquisite nocturne that is the middle movement of Hob. 11,7.

Of the little marches, the one for the "Marschall Regimement” must have been written in or around 1770 and Hob. VIII,6 may have been written in the 1780s for Prince Esterhazy’s regiment. The rest are late, most of them dating from the English sojourns, though the Hungarian march was written in 1802 when Haydn was at the very end of his pro­ductive career. None of these performances include the gratuitous drumming heard in other recorded versions. The introduction to the oratorio version of the Seven Last Words spells finis to all the unquestioned wind com­positions by Haydn known to be extant.

But the most famous such work attributed to the composer is first of a set of six divertimenti whose second movement, marked “Choral Saint-Antoni,” provided Brahms with his “Haydn” theme for his famous variations. It and one other of the set are included, though most scholars agree they are not Haydn’s.

Why the very capable players designate themselves as coming from Chateauroux, a rather forgettable little town in central France, eludes me, since most of them are big Paris names.