Program Notes · Wiener Philharmoniker · 14 May 2026
Three Times London
v3 · updated 30 September 2026 · 15 sources
-
v3 · 30 September 2026 · Further reading added
- Added three recommended books: The Life of Haydn, Haydn: His Life and Music, Cambridge Companion to Haydn
-
v2 · 30 September 2026 · Sources added; house-style edit
- Added 12 sources
- Removed em dashes
- Concert details (date, time, conductor, programme) checked against the orchestra's page: unchanged
- Muti bio: Vienna Philharmonic bond dated to his 1971 Salzburg debut; 'invented the form' softened to 'shaped'
- Haydn 102: corrected the chandelier story, which belongs to this symphony's premiere (later confused with No. 96, hence that work's 'Miracle' nickname); premiere dated 2 February 1795
- Haydn 102: unsourced 'some commentators rank it the finest of the set' removed; slow movement described as shared with the Piano Trio Hob. XV:26 rather than 'borrowed'; unsourced minor-key Trio claim removed
- Haydn 103: Haydn's age corrected to almost sixty-three (he was sixty-two at the premiere); Viotti's shared direction and the orchestra of about sixty added
- Haydn 103: claims that Haydn left the drumroll's shaping to the performer and that the introduction is in the minor removed; Croatian folk-song origin of the Andante themes softened to a scholarly attribution
- Haydn 103: finale described as opening with a horn call and built on a single theme (was 'built from a single horn-call motif'); unsourced clarinet detail in the Trio removed
- Haydn 104: unsourced 'Haydn called it simply his last symphony' replaced by the sourced diary entry about 4,000 gulden
- Haydn 104: finale tune given as heard both as the 'Hot Cross Buns' street cry and (after Kuhač) as the Croatian ballad 'Oj, Jelena'; neither origin is certain
- Haydn 104: Trio described as jaunty and led by oboe and bassoon (was 'gentle, pastoral')
-
v1 · 21 June 2026 · First published
Joseph Haydn (1732–1809)
Symphony No. 102 in B-flat major, Hob. I:10228 min
About the Work
By the time Haydn wrote his Symphony No. 102, he was the most famous composer in Europe and the toast of London. The twelve ‘London’ symphonies (Nos. 93–104) were composed for two extended visits to the English capital, in 1791–92 and 1794–95, arranged by the violinist-impresario Johann Peter Salomon, who lured Haydn from his long service to the Esterházy court with the promise of a paying public and an orchestra larger and more brilliant than any he had known. No. 102 belongs to the second London journey: completed in 1794, it was first heard at the King’s Theatre on 2 February 1795.
It is one of the grandest and most tightly argued symphonies Haydn ever wrote, even though it is the only one of his last five symphonies without a nickname to make it famous. In fact it was cheated of the best nickname of all. At its premiere a chandelier fell from the ceiling during the finale, yet nobody was hurt, reportedly because the audience had pressed forward to get a closer look at Haydn. The incident was later confused with the premiere of Symphony No. 96, which is why that work, and not this one, is known as the ‘Miracle’. What No. 102 lacks in fame it makes up in sheer symphonic command: a slow introduction of mysterious gravity, a first movement of relentless rhythmic drive, and a finale of dazzling wit.
Haydn had by now perfected the public symphony as a form of theatre. Writing for a sophisticated paying audience rather than a private court, he learned to combine learned counterpoint with broad, immediately graspable gestures: sudden silences, surprising harmonic turns, jokes timed with an almost comic precision. No. 102 deploys all of these at the highest level. Its orchestration is full and bright, with prominent trumpets and timpani, and in the slow movement Haydn reached for an unusual coloristic effect: muted trumpets and muted timpani that lend the music a veiled, otherworldly glow. The result is a symphony of monumental ambition that never loses its sense of delight, the summation of decades of patient invention now poured out for the most appreciative public Haydn had ever met.
What to Listen For
The first movement opens with a slow introduction (Largo) of bare, sustained sound, a single held note blossoming into searching harmony, before the Allegro vivace bursts in, lean and propulsive, built from a deceptively plain little theme that Haydn drives forward with tireless energy and unexpected contrapuntal turns.
The Adagio is the symphony’s secret jewel. The same music also exists as the slow movement of Haydn’s Piano Trio in F-sharp minor, Hob. XV:26; here he clothes it in muted trumpets and veiled drum-taps, producing a hushed, almost hymn-like serenity. Listen for the way the sound seems to come from behind a gauze.
The third movement is a robust, swinging Menuetto, with a quieter, more serious Trio at its centre before the dance returns. The finale (Presto) is Haydn at his most exhilarating: a fleet rondo whose chattering main theme is tossed around the orchestra, punctuated by abrupt pauses and false endings that keep the audience guessing right up to the brilliant final chord.
Joseph Haydn (1732–1809)
Symphony No. 103 in E-flat major, Hob. I:103 (‘Drumroll’)30 min
About the Work
The ‘Drumroll’ Symphony, No. 103, is the penultimate of Haydn’s twelve London symphonies and one of his boldest. It was first performed at the King’s Theatre in London on 2 March 1795, during the second of Haydn’s triumphant English sojourns, with the composer himself at the fortepiano, sharing the direction of an orchestra of about sixty players with the violinist Giovanni Battista Viotti. By this point Haydn was almost sixty-three, world-famous, and writing with the freedom of a master who knew exactly how to surprise the most attentive listeners.
The symphony takes its nickname from its astonishing opening gesture: not a chord, not a melody, but a solo roll on the timpani. It is an inspired piece of theatre. The roll emerges from silence, and out of it grows a dark, slow introduction, grave and questioning, before the music breaks into the sunlight of the Allegro. The drumroll is more than a stunt: its shadow returns at a crucial moment near the end of the first movement, when the solemn introduction unexpectedly reappears, knitting the whole span together.
No. 103 shows Haydn’s late style at full stretch: the fusion of folk-like directness with the most sophisticated structural thinking of the age. The slow movement is a double set of variations on two contrasting themes, one minor and one major, both of which have been traced to Croatian folk songs Haydn may have known; the finale is a glittering tour de force that opens with a horn call and is built almost entirely from a single theme. Throughout, the scoring exploits the brilliant London orchestra: prominent clarinets (a relatively new addition to Haydn’s palette), gleaming brass, and those famous timpani. Together with its companions, No. 103 helped define what a symphony could be, the model that Beethoven would inherit and transform a few years later: the public symphony raised to the level of high art.
What to Listen For
Everything begins with the drumroll. Listen for how it rises out of nothing, then gives way to a hushed, ominous introduction whose slow theme will return, transformed, much later. When the Allegro con spirito arrives it is buoyant and dancing, and its surprise comes near the close, when that grave opening music suddenly resurfaces before a brisk final dash.
The Andante is a set of double variations alternating a minor-key tune with a brighter major-key one; follow how Haydn re-dresses each return with fresh orchestral colour, including a lovely violin solo and warm woodwind writing.
The Menuetto is sturdy and broad, with a graceful, almost rustic Trio. The finale (Allegro con spirito) is the most ingenious of all: it opens with a single horn call, and from one simple theme Haydn spins an entire movement of relentless, joyous momentum, the idea chased through every section of the orchestra until it blazes home.
Joseph Haydn (1732–1809)
Symphony No. 104 in D major, Hob. I:104 (‘London’)28 min
About the Work
Symphony No. 104 is the last symphony Joseph Haydn ever wrote, the final word in a form he had done more than anyone to shape across more than a hundred works over four decades. Composed in 1795 and premiered at the King’s Theatre in London on 4 May of that year, it is the twelfth and crowning member of the ‘London’ set. Although all twelve were written for the English capital, it is this one, by a quirk of nicknaming, that bears the title ‘London’ alone. Haydn directed the premiere, in a concert of his own music, and noted with satisfaction in his diary that he had made 4,000 gulden that evening: ‘such a thing is possible only in England.’
That Haydn should close his symphonic life here, at the height of his fame and powers, lends No. 104 a valedictory grandeur. It distils everything he had learned: the symphony is broad, confident, and superbly balanced, with a richness of orchestration (full woodwind including clarinets, bright brass, timpani) that reflects the splendid London band at his disposal. Like several of its companions it opens with a slow introduction, here a stern, almost tragic fanfare in D minor that makes the warmth of the ensuing Allegro all the more radiant.
The symphony is also a meeting of high art and popular song. Its finale is built on a swinging tune that has been heard as a London street-vendor’s cry (‘Hot Cross Buns’) and, by the Croatian scholar Franjo Kuhač, as ‘Oj, Jelena’, a ballad sung by the Croats around Eisenstadt, where Haydn had lived. Neither origin is certain. It is set over a drone that evokes a bagpipe or hurdy-gurdy: the learned symphonist tipping his hat to the music of the street and the village green. After a lifetime of innovation, surprise and wit, Haydn signs off with a dance everyone could hum, lifted to symphonic dignity. It is a fittingly generous farewell from the composer who, more than any other, taught the symphony to speak to a whole public.
What to Listen For
The symphony opens with a grave, arresting introduction (Adagio) in D minor, a unison fanfare and a brooding answer, before the Allegro arrives in radiant D major, its graceful main theme launching a movement of poise and quiet mastery. Notice how much Haydn builds from a single, songful idea.
The Andante is broad and serene, a long-breathed melody that Haydn interrupts midway with surprising minor-key storm clouds before the calm returns: a reminder that even in his last slow movement he kept the power to unsettle.
The Menuetto is vigorous and full-bodied, with sudden accents and a jaunty Trio led by oboe and bassoon. The finale (Spiritoso) is the famous one: listen for the rustic tune over its sustained drone, sounding like a bagpipe under a folk dance, which Haydn then develops with all his contrapuntal cunning. The seed of the whole movement is sown in those first bars, and from that humble song Haydn builds a jubilant, swelling close: the last page of his last symphony, and one of the great farewells in music.
Further reading
-
Accessible The Life of Haydn
David Wyn Jones, Cambridge University Press 2013
A concise modern life of Haydn, with a full account of the two London visits that produced the last twelve symphonies.
-
Accessible Haydn: His Life and Music
H. C. Robbins Landon, David Wyn Jones, Indiana University Press 1988
Two Haydn specialists combine a life with a survey of the music, including the ‘London’ Symphonies Nos. 102 to 104.
-
Deeper The Cambridge Companion to Haydn
Caryl Clark, Cambridge University Press 2005
Scholarly essays on Haydn’s world and music, including his symphonies and his reception in London.