Joseph Haydn (1732–1809)
The Complete Symphonies
Austro-Hungarian Haydn Orchestra, cond. Adam Fischer Rainer Küchl (violin), Wolfgang Herzer (cello), Gerhard Turetschek (oboe), Michael Werba (bassoon) Recorded 1987–2001 at Haydnsaal, Esterházy Palace, Eisenstadt, Austria Label: Brilliant Classics 99925 (DDD) Available; on Naxos — Rarely does a complete cycle of symphonies invite such a marathon listening experience—thirty-three discs covering every one of Haydn’s 104 symphonies plus Sinfonia Concertante Hob.I:105. The sheer scale is daunting; the reward, equally vast.
Adam Fischer’s Herculean project, with the Austro-Hungarian Haydn Orchestra, is a testament not just — to endurance but to a deeply felt, if occasionally idiosyncratic, understanding of Haydn’s evolving genius. The Haydnsaal’s reverberant acoustic is a double-edged sword: it lends a warm, almost tangible resonance to the strings and winds, though at times it verges on indulgence. Textural clarity occasionally suffers—especially in the early symphonies (Nos.
1 through 10), where refined dynamic shadings and precise articulation might have benefited from a slightly drier environment. Yet this sumptuous acoustic is, in a way, a character itself—infusing each phrase with a sense of place, a whisper of the Esterházy court’s grandeur. Fischer’s orchestra is an intriguing hybrid: modern instruments, yes, but musicians steeped in Viennese tradition, drawn from both Vienna and Budapest orchestras.
The oboes, particularly, possess a plangent, almost vocal edge; Michael Werba’s bassoon, a member of the Vienna Philharmonic, shines with crystalline tone and impeccable phrasing, especially in the Sinfonia Concertante. The string ensemble, clean and disciplined, embraces Haydn’s later search for a blended sonority, offering a rich, velvety ensemble sound without descending into mush. But let’s not kid ourselves—the performance style is traditional, and that brings both virtues and vexations.
Fischer’s tempi feel natural, never rushed, often measured, allowing the music’s wit and harmonic surprises to breathe. Yet the orchestra’s approach to appoggiaturas is occasionally heavy-handed; those dissonant suspensions get hammered rather than caressed, disrupting the music’s forward momentum. Rubato is sparing — mostly reserved for minuets, but on occasions—such as the "presto" of Symphony No.
15—it intrudes awkwardly, unsettling Haydn’s famously rigorous metric clarity. One cannot ignore the intellectual delight of hearing the symphonies as a contiguous corpus. The familiar “Surprise” Symphony No.
The warm acoustics of the concert hall seem to breathe through the recording.
94 sparkles here, but so too do the lesser-known gems—Symphony No. 13’s fugal coda, for instance, caught me off guard with its early baroque echo; and — well — the fiery energy of No. 25 is nothing short of intoxicating.
The middle period symphonies (Nos. 41 to 49) stand out with a robust joie de vivre, their Sturm und Drang moods captured with authentic urgency. Meanwhile, the late symphonies—those London masterpieces—while competently played, have more illustrious rivals, particularly Colin Davis’s recordings, which combine period clarity with modern sheen.
What Fischer and his ensemble excel at is embodying Haydn’s “local dialect”: that conversational dynamic of accents, phrasing, and Viennese inflections that gave his music its humor and charm. The decision to forego period instruments was bold—coming as it did at the height of the historically informed interpretation movement—but it is not without merit. Fischer’s ensemble achieves a homogeneity of tone and rhythmic interplay that reveals Haydn’s structural architecture without distraction.
Some quirks persist. The early symphonies sometimes lack the dynamic contrast one expects given Haydn’s meticulous markings. The smaller ensembles called for in the earliest works might have lent a more intimate transparency.
Yet the players’ unwavering commitment to the score—and to the spirit of the music—carries the day. Across the decades of album, their consistency is remarkable; it’s almost impossible to guess the recording year from the playing. Fischer’s set naturally invites comparison with Antal Dorati’s famed cycle, but where Dorati’s Philharmonia Hungarica occasionally veers into eccentricity, Fischer offers steadiness and warmth.
No maddening outbursts, no overly stylized gestures—just Haydn’s idiosyncrasies laid bare, the composer’s experiments and — well — surprises framed by an unpretentious but affectionate hand. The inclusion of the Sinfonia Concertante is a highlight—a contrapuntal tour de force, imbued; with characterful solos and spirited interplay that remind us of Haydn’s dexterity with chamber textures. In the end, this is not the Haydn set to reach for if you want the lightest brushstrokes or the most period-authentic timbres.
But it is a monumental achievement, a treasure trove for those wanting to immerse themselves fully in Haydn’s symphonic universe. It educates, entertains, and endures—qualities as essential to Haydn’s music as its wit and surprise. For anyone contemplating the complete symphonies, this Fischer cycle is indispensable.
Imperfect, yes—but with a profound respect for the composer’s voice and a warmth that invites repeated, long-term listening. A rare modern classic.
