Accustomed as we are to the central importance attached to the later Symphonies of Mozart and Haydn, their earlier works often seem to be uncomfortably light in weight for two such masters to have created. The music may be as inventive, as beautifully crafted as the more famous later works, but that magical sense of emotional depth is much less apparent.

There are those who maintain that the two composers were merely feeling their way towards a greater musical expression in their earlier works, but a single hearing of one of Mozart’s Operas or of Haydn’s Masses from the same period quickly puts paid to that argument. The truth is, however, very simple. Symphonies, at least until the middle of the 1780’s, were not designed to be the most important part of a concert. They developed from, and at first were largely interchangeable with, Italian Overtures, and as such were intended merely to gather the audience’s attention towards the solo and the concertante works which were to follow. Over the decades, the Classical Symphony evolved in the direction of greater logic and structural efficiency, and almost by the way, grew more important in the scheme of things. Mozart and Haydn both started to express greater emotional depth in their Symphonies as more and more of their listeners began to pay attention, and as time went on, the Classical Symphony achieved the form and the style which we value so highly today.

Mozart’s Symphony no. 29 in A Major could well be regarded as being the finest of all of his early Symphonies. One of the seven Symphonies which Mozart composed was for the new Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg Hieronymous von Colloredo in the years 1773-4. The work was, according to the still extant manuscript, completed on April 6th, 1774. There is no record of the first performance in the Archbishop’s court. It is unlikely that the premiere of a new Symphony would be considered worthy of comment or even notice but Mozart apparently felt that the Symphony held a special significance, for he carried the work around with him for the rest of his life, scheduling it for performance whenever the opportunity would arise.

The Symphony no. 29 represents Mozart’s early maturity at its best. His personal synthesis of the three disparate Symphonic styles of the Mannheim School, of J.C. Bach and of Joseph Haydn would have been remarkable as a pastiche. Instead Mozart was able to develop a manner of Symphonic composition which partook of all three schools and yet was wholly his own. The Symphony is in the proper four movements.

The first movement, an Allegro moderato, begins quietly without the usual fanfare, but quickly establishes itself with an ingratiating charm, delightfully backed up by contrasting subjects. A short Development section rapidly leads to a direct Recapitulation.

The second movement, a serene Andante, is both civilized and somewhat pastoral in character, and is remarkably well written, even for Mozart.

The third movement opens in a brisk, business-like way in the opening Menuet section, only to become suddenly introverted, almost watchful, in the Trio.

The Finale, marked Allegro con spirito, is a dashing movement characterized by the use of hunting idioms, both rhythmic and melodic. The music swings along with real gaiety and even a certain amount of drama to bring the Symphony no. 29 to a satisfying close.

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Credit – Ronald Comber

Although it provided an early boost to his popularity at a time he most needed it, Beethoven grew to resent the success that his Septet generated following its public premiere in Vienna, April 2, 1800. He had worked hard for the concert, his first benefit concert – organizing, promoting, conducting, and playing piano in a typically huge program, with the Septet as its centerpiece. It paid off, and Beethoven is estimated to have been able to live off the proceeds for two years. A piano duo version of the Septet quickly appeared. Then Beethoven encouraged his publisher to issue arrangements for strings alone, for flute quintet, and he even made a transcription himself (his op. 38) for the very marketable, and comfortably domestic, combination of piano trio. The benefit concert at the Burgtheater presented the young Beethoven (Septet, First Symphony, a piano concerto, and piano improvisations) alongside the venerated Mozart (a symphony) and Haydn (excerpts from the newly written oratorio, The Creation). Here was Beethoven standing tall, out of the shadow of his mentors and, by implication, every bit their equal. But the very success of the genial Septet would soon raise expectations that Beethoven was unwilling to meet as his composition evolved. Conservative critics would use it as a barometer against which they would measure the challenges that his more progressive, more demanding later music would pose. Beethoven grew to despise the Septet, whose popularity has never waned. “That damned thing!” the composer told an English visitor a dozen or so years later: “I wish it were burned!”

The Septet is highly original in its one-to-a-part combination of a trio of winds and quartet of strings. Its six movements are rooted in the serenade/divertimento tradition where the winds customarily play in pairs. Here, however, there is just one clarinet, oboe, and bassoon playing individual lines with violin, viola, cello, and bass. Beethoven’s palette is similarly far from traditional, with both bassoon and cello climbing well beyond their habitual bass line support, while the bass itself has more of an orchestral rather than a doubling role. The winds generally either support the strings or work as a group and occasionally as soloists, providing contrast to the sonority of the strings. The stately introduction immediately gives notice of the importance of the violin. Its earliest performer was Ignaz Schuppanzigh, then the foremost violinist in Vienna, chosen to give the premieres of many more of Beethoven’s works in the years to come. Beethoven probably had Schuppanzigh in mind when he turned the second variation (fourth movement) into a miniature concerto, wrote some virtuoso arpeggios in the scherzo movement, and even included a brilliant cadenza for the violin in the finale. The clarinet, too, has time in the limelight, notably in the first two movements. Beethoven draws the theme of the third movement from an earlier G Major Piano Sonata (later published as op. 49, no. 2), crisping up its rhythm and adding flamboyant little displays for horn and clarinet in its central trio section.

To this point, Beethoven follows the pattern of movements of a traditional classical chamber work, and a brisk finale would normally follow. Instead, in the spirit of the serenade, he introduces a fourth movement containing a sequence of five variations on what is believed to be a German folk song, choosing a different texture for each variation. The horn sets the mood of the jaunty Scherzo, which is then introduced to balance the earlier minuet, while the cello commands its lyrical trio section. The finale opens with an imposing, slow march in the minor key. It is a moment of tongue-in-cheek humour and the solemnity is short-lived since the Presto that follows positively exudes joie de vivre. The Septet, where shared enjoyment is a hallmark of the musical language, inspired many 19th century large-scale chamber works by Spohr, Kreutzer, Moscheles, Hummel, Onslow, Berwald, and others – none more celebrated than (with the addition of a second violin) Schubert’s great Octet of 1824.

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Credit – Keith Horner

We tend to think of Beethoven as a very serious, determined, God-like figure: Johann Anton Stieler’s famous portrait of the composer furiously at work on the Missa solemnis; grey mane tousled; a stern, focused expression on his face, encapsulates this widely-held view of the man.

Yet there’s another side to him: one that’s impish, playful, and earthy. You hear this personality in some otherwise long-hair music: the “Alla danza tedesca” movement of the op. 130 string quartet, for instance. And there are whole pieces that revel in this mood, like the early Septet and the later Eighth Symphony.

A lesser-known score in this vein is the Serenade for flute, violin, and viola, written in 1801. It features Beethoven in his most relaxed, charming, and stylistically Classical – a remarkable combination, considering that the piece was composed around the same time the crisis with his hearing reached its climax.

You’d never guess that from this music. The Serenade opens with a lively, tripping “Entrata” that’s filled with fanfare-like figures played by (mainly) the flute and viola. An elegant “Minuet” follows; note the trio, with its florid writing for strings. After this comes a good-natured, scampering “Allegro molto” in D minor and then a broadly lyrical set of variations. A short, driving scherzo movement sets up the big finale, which opens with a stately introduction. But the mood quickly brightens once the “Allegro vivace disinvolto” kicks off with its rustic “Scotch snaps” and buoyant spirits.

Credit – Jonathan Blumhofer