Symphony No. 103 in E-flat major, Hob. I:103 (‘Drumroll’)

Program notes

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.