Franz Joseph Haydn (1732–1809) The Seasons (highlights) Gundula Janowitz, Werner Hollweg, Walter Berry Chorus of the Deutsche Oper Berlin Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra / Herbert von Karajan Recorded Berlin, 1972 EMI Classics CDE 574977 2; [53:26] — There’s something perversely maddening about listening to a highlights compilation of The Seasons—especially when it omits, of all things, the opening orchestral scene that sets the entire work’s pastoral tableau in motion. Picture this: the slow but inexorable transition from Winter’s frost to Spring’s gentle breezes, painted with orchestral colors so vivid you almost smell thawing earth and hear the first birdcalls. It’s a moment of true Haydn magic—precise, evocative, subtle—and it’s missing here.
And not only that, but the radiant sunrise of Summer, another jewel in the score’s crown, is cut as well. Why? The rationale behind this 1975 highlights reissue, resurfaced now on EMI, remains opaque.
I’ve always thought The Seasons lives or dies by its narrative grip—or rather, by how well you tolerate the quaint, somewhat clunky libretto involving Jane, Lucas, and Simon, archetypal country folk who hardly stir the imagination. Roger Fiske nailed it decades ago: the recitatives can grow tedious, and the plot’s cyclic nature offers no grand teleology like the apocalyptic sweep of The Creation. Karajan’s approach here—slow — luxuriant, almost romantic—draws out the lush: the shimmering strings of the Berlin Philharmonic, the hunting horns of Autumn blazing with the bright, clean edge one only hears from players at the very top of their game.
Yet, it indulges too much in tempo and rubato, stretching phrases where Haydn’s natural buoyancy demands a lighter, more sprightly articulation. Which brings us to Gundula Janowitz. Her voice is the disc’s undeniable treasure—airy, reedy, and — well — possessing that rare ability to conjure pastoral idealism without slipping into sentimentality.
Hearing her finally appear in the Summer highlights, responding to the oboe’s dialogue in the aria “Mark the smiling Zephyrs play,” is worth the wait alone. That oboe solo is a pastoral character in its own right; it’s as if the instrument breathes with Janowitz, painting the sensual optimism of the season with a delicacy that’s almost tactile. And yet, when compared with her earlier production under Karl Böhm with the Vienna Symphony, Karajan’s more measured pace feels, well, overdone—almost smothering the natural rhythmic vitality that Haydn’s score demands.
The chorus and soloists—Werner Hollweg and Walter Berry, both stalwarts—navigate their parts with professionalism, though the balance occasionally tips in favor of the ensemble’s grandeur over vocal immediacy. The Deutsche Oper chorus is robust, but the Philharmonic’s sonority sometimes overwhelms the intimacy that The Seasons needs to avoid sounding merely like a pastoral concert overture stretched to oratorio length. I admit a personal bias here: I much prefer the Böhm version for its fleetness and freshness, qualities that keep the listener engaged through the entirety of the work, something The Seasons desperately needs given its episodic structure.
Karajan’s Berlin interpretation is, in contrast, a sumptuous buffet—rich, sometimes overindulgent, yet undeniably seductive. It’s a matter of taste, really. If you delight in orchestral textures and vocal timbres polished to an almost operatic sheen, this might charm you deeply.
The director’s presence feels palpable even in this studio setting.
But, if one is to approach The Seasons with any sense of completeness, this highlights disc feels like a partial, if occasionally illuminating, glimpse rather than a true encapsulation. Omitting the opening Spring and the Summer sunrise scenes is like skipping the overture to a symphony and the first movement’s main theme, then wondering why the whole feels disjointed. In sum: this EMI release offers splendid moments—Janowitz’s timbre, the Berlin Philharmonic’s hunting horns, fleeting bits of Haydn’s pastoral wit—but the gaps in the selection and Karajan’s indulgent pacing prevent this from being the definitive introduction to The Seasons.
For those intrigued, I’d urge seeking out the complete recording, preferably Böhm’s, for a more coherent and lively journey through Haydn’s seasonal cycle. John Leeman’s comments from the original 2002 review hit the mark: buy the whole thing, or not at all. This disc, charming as it is in parts, leaves you wanting—and not just for more music, but for better sense.
