In the 1780s, Haydn began to capitalize on his growing international reputation. He was still employed by Prince Nikolaus Esterházy, as he had been since 1761, but much of his music was no longer exclusive to the prince and his household. As a result, Haydn was busily sending publishers in Vienna and abroad a wealth of new music—so busy that he sometimes sent the same pieces to more than one publisher in an effort to meet the high demand.

Very salable, string quartets were a prominent part of this. In 1782, Haydn published the six quartets of Op. 33, his first in 10 years. Four more sets of quartets written and published from 1786 to his first trip to London in 1791, brought about 24 quartets in a 10-year span.

Make that 25 quartets, because in 1785 he composed a lone quartet as his Op. 42. The reasons for this anomaly are not clear, but whatever the impetus, the result was a dark and slender charmer.

When we see that the first movement is marked “Andante ed innocentemente,” we should be ready for twists and surprises; Haydn’s music is never innocent in the sense of naive, and that is the equivalent of a sleight-of-hand artist saying, “Look, nothing up my sleeve.” That “innocent” opening is actually a dramatic conspiratorial conversation.

In all four movements, Haydn examines every possible permutation of his spare motivic materials. The Menuetto is a superficially straightforward dance, but on a floor of characteristic dynamic drama and surrounding a terse, miniature Trio. The slow movement is an almost operatic lyrical reflection, and the Finale fizzes with nervous contrapuntal energy, interrupted by pauses and moments of mysterious stasis. Haydn’s final bit of musical magic is a disappearing trick; like the first and third movements, the Finale simply evaporates.

– John Henken