Symphony No. 94 in G (Surprise)

In the dizzying array of Joseph Haydn’s (1732-1809) 104 symphonies, it can be helpful to have a few signposts. Among the best of them all is the G Major Symphony No. 94, whose nickname “The Surprise” should give you a vague sense that something dramatic is going to happen. But what it is, and when it will occur, is of course what makes this piece surprising. The well-schooled listeners probably know what is coming, but Haydn’s first audiences were at his impish mercy. That audience was English, as this symphony was the second Haydn completed for his London trip in 1791. Haydn understood that London audiences were sophisticated; they expected a bit of theatre from any concert they deigned to attend. Haydn was happy to oblige.
Haydn generally preferred to launch his fast first movements with a slow introduction. Beyond adding a touch of color and drama, a slow introduction served to gradually garner the audience’s attention. Back in 1790, people did not sit in hushed expectation awaiting the first notes of a performance. Indeed, it was customary for social chatter to continue even after the music had begun. Composers thus sought devices to shock their garrulous listeners into paying closer attention. Haydn uses a slow introduction, as well as the soft–loud first theme to coerce stragglers into their seats. However, the real “surprise” does not occur until the second movement, an Andante in theme-and-variations form. Just hearing the main theme may be enough to remind some of you of the fortissimo jab that Haydn rudely inserts at the tail end of his mincing, quiet tune. More than one drowsy listener has been jolted awake by its sonic impact; so different from the music preceding and following it, the blast lifts us back to an upright posture. But even apart from this little stageplay, the variations movement is a delight.
The third movement Minuet and Trio strikes up a folk style cheery tune. Particularly engaging is the dialogue between oom-pahpah accompaniment in the winds and soaring melody in the strings. Listen for the cello’s terse downward reply to the flute’s rising question. But in my opinion, it is the Rondo finale where Haydn’s true self steps forward. The Rondo form is premised on periodic returns of the main theme after various intervening episodes. As such, conventions about when and how often that theme returns gave Haydn ample opportunity to play with our expectations. He loved to set up expectations—and then pull the rug right out from under us. We might think we are deep in the middle of a contrasting episode, but with sleight of hand Haydn brings back the main theme with almost no transition needed. He pulls the strings, and we are best advised to just sit back—stay awake!—and enjoy the show.

(c) Jason Stell