Grant Us Peace A New Year’s Journey Through Music and Hope

by Hermione Lai  January 1st, 2026

As we step into 2026, we carry with us the quiet and enduring hope that every new year invites. The hope for peace, for connection, and for renewal. Few words capture this yearning as simply and profoundly as the Latin phrase “Dona nobis pacem,” translated as “Grant us peace.”

Although it first appeared in the “Agnus Dei” of the Roman Catholic Mass, this plea has travelled far beyond the walls of any church, finding its way into music across centuries and styles.

Bach’s writing of “Dona nobis pacem”

From the serene rounds of the medieval era to the soaring polyphony of the Baroque, the impassioned mass settings of the Romantic period, and the stirring cantatas of the twentieth century, composers have returned again and again to this three-word invocation.

It is at once humble and transcendent, a lyrical prayer for our collective hopes, our sorrows, and our longing for a world at rest. As the calendar turns, let us carry “dona nobis pacem” not just as a musical motif, but as a prayer and a promise.

A Single Line

When we look at the diversity of settings, we first look at the dual identities of the text. In fact, it is both a liturgical fragment and a stand-alone musical symbol.

Musically, dona nobis pacem has been composed as a canon, a choral movement within a mass, a large‑scale choral‑orchestral work, and even modern arrangements for handbells and secular choirs.

Through these settings, composers have revealed not only their personal reflections on peace but also the cultural, social, and historical currents that shaped their lives. Each interpretation becomes a mirror of its time. In every era, “Dona nobis pacem” has offered musicians a way to translate human longing into sound.

Statue of Mozart in Salzburg

Maybe the famous “Dona nobis pacem” sound isn’t actually by Mozart, but it captures something people long to associate with Mozart. Clarity without coldness, elegance without effort, and the quiet miracle of voices joining, one after another, to ask for peace.   

Two Visions of Peace

Once we move beyond the intimacy of a simple canon, the Renaissance gave “dona nobis pacem” architectural weight and spiritual depth. The plea for peace, as in the masses of Palestrina, is not whispered but carefully built.

The phrase, within the polyphonic Mass, becomes the destination. It is the final space where all preceding musical thought comes to rest. Peace is embodied rather than described, as the music suggests that peace arises through balance, restraint, and communal listening.

For Johann Sebastian Bach, the final “Dona nobis pacem” is both culmination and transformation. The chorus unfolds in dense, purposeful imitation, propelled by orchestral energy, and the prayer expands beyond a personal plea into collective affirmation.

This is peace earned through striving, and order forged from complexity. Where the Renaissance offers calm equilibrium, Bach offers radiant conviction. His vision of peace is not stillness, but moral triumph. It is hard-fought, structured, and ultimately luminous.

Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina

Peace as Architecture of Faith

Joseph Haydn

As we move through societal changes and developments, the plea for peace transcends from a communal ritual to an inward, almost existential longing. The words remain the same, but the musical attitude does not. For Joseph Haydn, “dona nobis pacem” belongs to the architecture of faith.

In his late masses, the final Agnus Dei/Dona nobis pacem often begins in gravity or tension and then resolves into buoyant affirmation.

Haydn’s musical language here is public and ceremonial. Rhythmic vitality, clear tonal direction, and bright orchestration suggest peace not as fragile or doubtful, but as something bestowed.

Peace, for Haydn, is communal and stabilising. It belongs to a world where faith, reason, and social order ultimately align. The music reassures, as the pleas for peace have been heard.    

The Fragile Plea for Peace

With Mozart, the plea for peace steps out of ceremony and into lived experience. The plea for peace no longer sounds like a confident conclusion to a ritual already understood, but like a moment of exposure.

Rather than pressing toward emphatic resolution, Mozart allows vulnerability to linger. His lines unfold with a natural, almost conversational lyricism, as if the music itself were breathing alongside the listener.

This is peace understood as a moral and human ideal rather than a guaranteed outcome. Peace in this music is not proclaimed, but carefully and almost shyly, offered. His settings acknowledge that peace is something we long for precisely because it is so easily broken.

Mozart’s Enlightenment spirit comes fully into focus. Faith remains, but it is infused with empathy. Even when he writes for grand forces, the plea for peace feels intimate. It is music that does not assume peace as a conclusion, but asks for it gently and earnestly.   

The Music of Hesitation

Franz Schubert © Hadi Karimi

Once we make it to Franz Schubert, ” Dona nobis pacem ” has crossed a threshold. In his late masses, the plea no longer feels assured of fulfilment. Schubert often avoids emphatic closure, favouring suspended harmonies, unexpected modulations, and an almost questioning tone.

Schubert’s Dona nobis pacem can feel hesitant, inward, and searching. The music does not declare peace so much as hope for it. The sense of consolation is fragile and provisional. A Romantic consciousness is emerging.

Faith exists, but certainty does not. Peace here is not guaranteed by divine order nor resolved through classical balance. It is something yearned for by an individual soul, aware of loss, mortality, and distance from transcendence.

Schubert turns it inward, allowing doubt and longing to remain unresolved. What begins as a liturgical formula becomes, by Schubert’s time, a mirror of changing human self-understanding. The words never change, but the music tells us that we might never fully possess peace.     

A Universal Cry for Peace

E.O. Hoppé: Vaughan Williams, 1920

While settings throughout the 19th century often remained within liturgical boundaries, the 20th century witnessed a dramatic reimagining of this plea for peace as a large-scale artistic statement about war and peace, reaching far beyond liturgical roots.

Probably the most significant example emerges courtesy of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s 1936 cantata Dona nobis pacem. Commissioned for the centenary of the Huddersfield Choral Society, this work blends the Latin Mass text with poetry by Walt Whitman, Biblical passages, and political speech excerpts to produce a sweeping plea for peace during a period of escalating global tension.

Vaughan Williams’ setting opens with the familiar “Agnus Dei” prayer and then moves into movements based on Whitman’s vivid war poetry, which dramatise the intrusion of war into everyday life and explore the emotional and moral complexities of conflict.

Ultimately, the piece returns to the prayer, asserting peace not merely as a liturgical desire but as a deeply human imperative. The work exemplifies how the theme evolved in modern times. Vaughan Williams transforms a liturgical fragment into a political and emotional epic, situating the plea for peace within a universal conversation about war.  

The Enduring Human Plea

In our time, Dona nobis pacem continues to appear in countless settings beyond traditional choral liturgy or large orchestral works. Composers and arrangers have crafted versions for smaller ensembles, educational choirs, and instrumental groups.

Even in secular popular culture, the phrase often appears in contexts divorced from strict liturgy. Its presence in hymnals, children’s choir pieces, and recordings of Christmas and peace songs suggests that Dona nobis pacem has entered the broader cultural imagination as a universal symbol of hope.

Across the centuries, Dona nobis pacem has never belonged to a single style or moment. It has lived as a simple round sung together, as intricate polyphony, as a radiant mass finale, and as an urgent modern cry. Each setting reflects its time, yet all return to the same fragile truth. Peace is never assumed, only asked for.

Perhaps that is why these words continue to move us. In singing “grant us peace”, we hear generations before us voicing the same hope we carry today. Music gives us the hope, if only for a moment, to believe that by listening together, and by singing together, we might edge a little closer to the harmony we so deeply desire.

The 10 Most Exciting Double Concertos

 by Hermione Lai  

There is an old saying that “two heads are better than one” when it comes to reasoning and perceptual decision-making. That might well be true, but are two soloists in classical music better than one? This seems a tricky question as the word “concerto” can mean both to contend, dispute, and debate, but also “to work together with someone.” And there is lots of musical and interpretive cooperation needed when it comes to the “Double Concerto.” The definition of that genre is straightforward, as it simply reads “a composition for two solo instruments with orchestra.” The kinds of instruments are left to the imagination of the composers, and while we are primarily used to hearing solo concertos these days, double concertos used to be very popular with composers and performers alike.

C.P.E. Bach: Concerto in E-flat Major for Harpsichord and Fortepiano, H. 479

C.P.E. Bach’s Double Concerto

So I decided to write a little blog featuring 10 of the most exciting double concertos in the repertoire. And my starting point is Johann Sebastian Bach’s eldest son Carl Philipp Emanuel. As a keyboard composer, he was a true pioneer, “imitating the cantabile melody of applied music,” and incorporating improvisatory passages of dazzling virtuosity. Just have a listen to his Concerto for Harpsichord and Fortepiano, which dates from 1788.   

Elliott Carter: Double Concerto for harpsichord, piano and two chamber orchestras

Elliott Carter: Double Concerto for harpsichord, piano and two chamber orchestras

Personally, I think that the C.P.E. Bach Double concerto is a masterpiece, and the same has been said of the double concerto for the same basic setup by American composer Elliott Carter. Mind you, that particular double concerto dates from 1961. And while the musical language is certainly very different, Carter’s double concerto strives for the same delicate balance between the two different keyboard instruments. Of course, the percussion is an added 20th-century bonus. But you don’t have to take my word for it, as Igor Stravinsky regarded the Carter double concerto as a masterpiece. The composer Harrison Birtwistle wrote of the piece, “I love the Double Concerto for piano, harpsichord and two chamber orchestras. There’s nothing like it in music: the concept, the way it makes time and rhythm move, the instrumentation, and that bloody harpsichord!” Pianist Charles Rosen first performed the piano solo part, and he called it “the most brilliantly attractive and apparently most complex work.” And he adds, “The absence of a central pulse adds to the liberating excitement.”   

Felix Mendelssohn: Concerto for Two Pianos in E Major

Fanny and Felix Mendelssohn

Lots of double concertos were composed between C.P.E Bach and Elliott Carter, and it’s time to turn to the music of Felix Mendelssohn. He clearly was one of the rare universal geniuses, and by the age of 15 he had already composed 12 string sinfonias, various sonatas for viola and for violin, religious choral pieces, numerous piano compositions, and was busily working on his fourth opera. One of his early compositions is the Concerto for 2 pianos in E Major. It was composed as a birthday gift for his equally talented sister Fanny Mendelssohn. The work unfolds in 3 movements, and the opening “Allegro” starts with an extended orchestral introduction, which could easily have been written by Mozart. After the pianos enter, one at the time, we hear a delightful musical dialogue between two equal partners. But it’s not all Mozart imitation, as we also hear sudden chromatic shifts, surprise cadences, and almost instantaneous shifts in atmosphere—all features we clearly associate with the music of Mendelssohn.  

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Concerto for 2 pianos in E-flat Major, K. 365

Wolfgang and Nannerl Mozart

You heard me mention Mozart in connection with the Mendelsohn double concerto. Mendelssohn had a ferocious musical mind, and he devoured any and all kinds of music, basically everything he could get his hands on. And that surely included the glorious Concerto for 2 pianos in E-flat Major, K. 365 by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Mozart composed the work in the late 1770s, around the same time as another great double concerto, the Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola. It has been suggested that Mozart wrote the concerto for two pianos to perform with his sister Nannerl, but there is no record of them playing the work. However, we do know that Mozart performed the work with his student Josepha Auernhammer in Vienna in 1781 and 1782. Mozart was trying to make an impression on the city of Vienna, and he selected this concerto to show some of his best work. It is possible that Mozart enlarged the orchestra, adding clarinets, trumpets, and timpani for these performances, to make an even more brilliant impression. We still don’t know to this day, however, if these orchestral additions are in fact by Mozart or not.   

Johann Sebastian Bach: Concerto for two violins in D minor, BWV 1043

Collegium Musicum in Leipzig, 1790

Pianos are fun, but double concertos have been written for other instruments as well. Did you really think that I would not feature my favorite composer of all time, Johann Sebastian Bach? And we are lucky indeed that Bach left us with the Concerto for Two Violins in D minor, BWV 1043, one of the most magnificent double concertos in the repertoire. It really is surprising that a substantial number of Bach’s compositions cannot be dated with certainty. And that is certainly true for many of his concertos, as many are arrangements of previous versions. There is lots of scholarly squabbling going on, and it all depends on which argument you would like to believe. Some say that the work originated during Bach’s tenure at the court of Cöthen between 1717 and 1723. Others have argued that it comes from Bach’s appointment as the director of the Collegium Musicum in Leipzig after 1730. And we also know that Bach himself produced a transposed arrangement of this concerto for two harpsichords in 1739. While we might not be sure of the exact date, we certainly hear a work of remarkably expressive intensity. The themes are full-bodied and highly irregular and presented with Bach’s tremendous and glorious urgency.

Johannes Brahms: Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 102

Joseph Joachim and Johannes Brahms, 1855

From “B” for Bach, let’s move next to “B” for Brahms. Life works in mysterious ways, and the Brahms Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 102, owes its existence to a divorce, at least partially. One of his best friends, the violinist Joseph Joachim accused his wife Amalie Weiss of infidelity with Brahms’ music publisher. Brahms did not believe Joachim’s accusation, and he wrote a sympathetic letter to Amalie. Unfortunately, when Joachim filed for divorce, that letter ended up as evidence. Brahms had written, “With no thought have I ever acknowledged that your husband might be in the right. At this point, I perhaps hardly need to say that, even earlier than you did, I became aware of the unfortunate character trait with which Joachim so inexcusably tortures himself and others… The simplest matter is so exaggerated, so complicated, that one scarcely knows where to begin with it and how to bring it to an end.” The judge was certainly convinced and quickly ruled in Amalie’s favor. Always professional, Joachim continued to perform and promote the music of Brahms, but the two did not speak again for four long years. In 1887, Brahms remembered that he had promised to write a piece for the cellist Robert Hausmann, and so he decided to kill two birds with one stone by also including Joachim. Without doubt, the friendship was in need of patching up, and Joachim enthusiastically agreed.  

Frederick Delius: Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra

Cellists May and Beatrice Harrison, c. 1920s

The idea of featuring a violin and cello soloist in a double concerto also appealed to Frederick Delius (1862-1934). In fact, hearing the sisters May and Beatrice Harrison in a Hallé Orchestra concert performing Brahms’s Double Concerto in 1914, certainly kindled his interest. The Harrison sisters were celebrated figures in British music, and both became closely associated with Delius’ music. Shortly after the Brahms performance, Delius apparently said to Beatrice, “Your performance was superb, so much so that I am inspired to write a double concerto and dedicate it to you and your sister.” The composer frequently consulted the Harrison sisters, and May reports, “When Delius began the Double Concerto at our house in Cornwall Gardens he wrote a lot of it in unison. We both said, ‘you can’t do that, it doesn’t sound right.’ And when we played bits he said, ‘No, you are quite right. I see what you mean.’ Delius used to come over with two pages, sit at the piano and then say, ‘This is what I want.’ He then bring two more pages and so in this way it was built up.” In the end, Delius built his double concerto in 5 undulating and entwined movements.

Joseph Haydn: Double Concerto for Harpsichord, Violin and Strings in F Major

Maria Anna Keller

It is called Haydn’s “only surviving concerto for two solo instruments,” but it was probably originally intended for the organ. I am talking about the Concerto in F Major for Harpsichord, Violin and Strings, Hob.XVIII:6. It appears to have been written for Therese Keller, his future sister-in-law, who decided to become a nun in 1756. However, there is a backstory to this double concerto. Therese Keller was the daughter of a wigmaker, and a student of Haydn. He taught her to play the piano and fell head over heels in love with her. Therese, as it turns out, had been earmarked by her family for religious life, and she eventually did join a nunnery. Haydn, however, was considered a good catch as he was already earning money from the aristocracy and he had recently composed his first symphony. So the Keller family came up with the glorious idea that Therese’s older sister Maria Anna might be a suitable replacement. Haydn wasn’t thrilled and it took him almost five years to settle on a wedding day. That relationship, as we know, was an unmitigated disaster.

Johann Nepomuk Hummel: Concerto for Violin and Piano in G Major, Op. 17

Johann Nepomuk Hummel: Concerto for Violin and Piano in G Major, Op. 17 © Artaria Editions

The combination of the solo piano and solo violin also held some fascination for Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778-1837). And there is even a closer connection to Haydn himself. Both composers worked for the Esterhazy family in the castle of Eisenstadt. Haydn would stay there for nearly thirty years, while Hummel managed to get himself fired for neglecting his duties after only seven years. Both composers greatly enjoyed the local wine, but Hummel wanted to see the world and eventually became a pianist famous for his technical skills. In fact, only his fellow pianist Ludwig van Beethoven could rival his technical prowess. Hummel’s double concerto dates from 1804, and it is scored in the traditional three concerto movements. Hummel dishes out a delightful interplay between the two solo instruments, maybe slightly less virtuosic than in many solo concertos, but the music flows with consuming ease and beauty. Also noteworthy is the fact that Hummel fully composed his own cadenza for the opening movement. And we can hear an additional Hummel cadenza in the concluding playful Rondo.   

Francis Poulenc: Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra in D minor

Francis Poulenc: Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra in D minor © Sheet Music Plus

With so many great double concertos to choose from, it is very difficult to decide on a good closer. In the end, I decided on a work of childlike exuberance, filled with teasing, innocence, caricature, and the sounds of the Parisian street café. I am talking about the Concerto for Two Pianos by Francis Poulenc. Premiered on 5 September 1932, Poulenc literally found his inspirations around every corner. The opening figuration is thought to have been inspired by Poulenc’s encounter with a Balinese gamelan at the 1931 Exposition Coloniale de Paris. The instrumentation and jazzy effects come from Ravel’s G major Concerto, which premiered in Paris just a couple of months earlier. However, the composer admitted that the opening theme goes all the way back to Mozart because, “I have a veneration for the melodic line and because I prefer Mozart to all other composers.” However, there was one more influence at play. Poulenc wrote in a letter to the Russian-born composer and conductor Igor Markevitch, “Would you like to know what I had on my piano during the two months gestation of the Concerto? The concertos of Mozart, those of Liszt, that of Ravel, and your Partita.” What a fabulous and fun...

Joseph Haydn: 10 Most Ingenious String Quartets

 by Hermione Lai

 

The 68 string quartets by Joseph Haydn revolutionised chamber music and earned him the title “Father of the String Quartet.” Haydn transformed the genre from polite parlour tunes into a dynamic conversation among four instruments.

Joseph Haydn

Written primarily between the 1750s and 1790s, these works showcase his ingenuity, featuring sparkling melodies, intricate counterpoint and really clever structural surprises.

Drawing from Haydn’s extensive catalogue is no easy task, but we’ve selected 10 of Haydn’s most ingenious string quartets. That selection is based on their musical inventiveness, historical significance, and influence on subsequent generations of composers.

So let’s get started with his Op. 20 set of string quartets, representing Haydn’s early experiments that defined the conversational nature of the genre.

String Quartet in D Major, Op. 20, No. 4, Hob. III:34 (1772)

The six “Sun” quartets of 1772 shook up the classical music world in 1772. Haydn was in his late 30s and working for the Esterházy family. The Op. 20 quartets came at a time when Haydn was pushing boundaries, blending the elegance of the gallant style with the emotional depth of the “Sturm und Drang” literary movement.

Op. 20 No. 4 was written for four skilled players, so Haydn could be adventurous. He treated all four instruments, two violins, viola, and cello, like equal partners. This was pretty radical as the first violin would normally hog the spotlight.

This quartet is not a solo act, but a conversation. It’s funny, tender, and clever all at once. It’s like friends jamming together, trading ideas and laughs. This quartet is the perfect entry point in the wonderful and human world of Joseph Haydn.  

String Quartet in F Minor, Op. 20, No. 5, Hob. III:35 (1772)

Compared to the sunny D-Major quartet, the Op. 20 No. 5 in F minor has a darker and more introspective character. It reflects the “storm and stress” trend at the time, putting a premium on dramatic and emotional intensity.

The opening movement is especially intense, unfolding from a brooding theme through a number of intricate motivic developments. There is plenty of lyrical melancholy in the slow movement, and just listen to the double fugue in the finale. After all, Haydn was a master of counterpoint.

This timeless gem is so emotionally rich. It is a musical journey through tension, calm, and eventual revolution. And you certainly need expert musicians to bring out the raw energy and nuance, mixing depth and accessibility. 

String Quartet in E-flat Major, Op. 33, No. 2, Hob. III:38, “Joke” (1781)

The Opus 20 quartets turned Haydn into a superstar in the musical world. One decade later, he further refined the genre with more polish and playfulness in his Op. 33 set. As Haydn himself said, these works were written in “a new and special way.”

The Op. 33 are often called the “Russian” quartets, because they are dedicated to the Grand Duke Paul of Russia. Some scholars theorise that these quartets might have been the inspiration for the six Mozart string quartets dedicated to Haydn.

The most famous of the set earned the nickname “Joke” because of the mischievous ending of the Finale. However, the entire quartet is packed with Haydn’s trademark humour and surprises. It is light-hearted yet sophisticated, showcasing the composer’s ability to make complex music feel effortless. Just goes to show that classical music does not have to be deadly serious.   

String Quartet in G Major, Op. 33, No. 5, Hob. III:41 (1781)

Another gem from the Op. 33 set is the quartet No. 5 in G Major. It sometimes carries the nickname “How Do You Do?” for its quirky and conversational opening. This quartet presents a perfect blend of elegance, wit, and warmth.

Haydn called the Op. 33 “new and special,” likely because of their polished structure, lyrical themes, and the equal roles for all four instruments. Each movement has its own character, from the musical handshake of the opening to the warm and lyrical slow movement. The Scherzo is a lively dance with a rustic edge, and the Finale is a set of variations on a simple and catchy tune with folk-song character.

Op. 33 No. 5 is a crowd pleaser because of its sunny glow, catchy themes, and some subtle humour. It’s a perfect blend of sophistication and fun, full of infectious energy and momentum.  

String Quartet in D Major, Op. 64, No. 5, Hob. III:63, “The Lark” (1790)

Nicknamed “The Lark” for its soaring and birdlike melody in the opening movement, the string quartet Op. 64, No. 5 represents a polished example of Haydn’s ability to blend the emotional depth of his earlier works with a polished and accessible style that greatly appealed to audiences.

This quartet is less experimental than his Op. 20 but more refined than Op. 33, showcasing Haydn’s mastery of balance. We find catchy tunes, a tight structure, and it’s a performer’s delight and a listener’s joy.

Each movement has its own personality, from the chatting bird in the opening to a slow movement of pure warmth. The minuet has a playful spin, and the high-energy Finale is like a musical game of hot potato. It certainly sparkles with clarity and charm.     

String Quartet in D Minor, Op. 76, No. 2, Hob. III:76, “Fifths” (1797)

The six quartets of Op. 76 are ambitious late works with advanced forms and thematic unity. Composed in 1797, they are among Haydn’s final and most celebrated contributions to the genre.

At the age of 65, Haydn was a global superstar, having returned from his triumphant tours to London. This trip had given him new ideas, and he now blended technical brilliance, emotional depth, and a highly polished style that appealed to both players and audiences. And the Op. 76 No. 2 is a masterpiece, bold, emotional, and packed with Haydn’s wit and wisdom.

Nicknamed “Fifths” for the stark and descending fifth motif in the opening movement, the work opens with a tense and conversational energy. The warm D Major in the slow movement provides a lyrical and playful breather, but the Menuetto is back in the minor key. Sometimes it is nicknamed the “Witches Minuet.” The Finale is a whirlwind based on a fiery, folk-inspired theme.

String Quartet in C Major, Op. 76, No. 3, Hob. III:77, “Emperor” (1797)

Nicknamed “Emperor” for its majestic second movement, Op. 76 No. 3 is one of Haydn’s finest works in the genre. It is a masterpiece of balance, juggling grand, lyrical and humorous elements in a clear and approachable style.

The “Emperor” nickname comes from the second movement, a set of variations on Haydn’s anthem “God Save Emperor Francis,” composed in 1797 as a patriotic response to Napoleon’s rise. The simple and noble melody undergoes four variations that transform the theme while keeping its dignity completely intact.

The opening movement is a burst of energy, sounding a bold and fanfare-like theme in the first violin. And just listen to the sudden pauses, harmonic twists, and playful interplay between all four instruments. The minuet has a rustic edge while the Finale is once more a high-octane affair. 

String Quartet in B-flat Major, Op. 76, No. 4, Hob. III:78, “Sunrise” (1797)

Another gem in the Op. 76 set is the string quartet in B-flat Major, No. 4. It earned the nickname “Sunrise” from the opening of the first movement. A soaring violin melody rises over a gentle accompaniment, resembling the sun peeking over the horizon.

It is a magical moment that sets a joyful tone. The mood quickly turns playful with a bouncy second theme and lively interplay between the four instruments. The slow movement, in turn, is a soulful gem, with a tender and hymn-like melody that is almost orchestral in texture. Intimate and heartfelt, it provides a moment of quiet reflection.

The minuet is again a rustic dance with Haydn adding quirky offbeat accents and dynamic shifts to keep it cheeky. What a charming mix of elegance and earthiness. And then there is the infectious rhythm of the rollicking Finale. Op. 76 No. 4 is a work of sheer beauty and charm, blending accessibility with sophistication.   

String Quartet in D Major, Op. 76, No. 5, Hob. III:79 (1797)

Op. 76, No. 5 in D Major is a radiant and lyrical work that is often considered among Haydn’s finest string quartets. Known for its serene and songlike qualities, this quartet does not have a catchy nickname, but its warmth and elegance make it a standout.

It is a gem for its lyrical and balanced structure, and certainly more introspective and serene. The sunny D Major feels like a warm embrace, and Haydn once again blends sophistication with charm and vibrant energy.

The heart of this quartet is the deeply expressive slow movement scored in the unusual key of F-sharp Major. Sounding a unique and glowing warmth, the melody is soulful and expansive, with a touch of melancholy. It’s like a private confession, both tender and profound. On account of this movement, some commentators have called it the “Graveyard Quartet.”   

String Quartet in G Major, Op. 77, No. 1, Hob. III:81 (1799)

Haydn playing a string quartet

Let us conclude this blog on the 10 most ingenious string quartets by Joseph Haydn by featuring his Op. 77, No. 1. It represents a vibrant and polished work that sounds the culmination of Haydn’s quartet writing.

This work was among his final contributions to the genre he helped to perfect. This quartet is the culmination of his craft, blending the emotional depth of his late style, the polish of his London visits, and his lifelong love of surprise and interplay.

The opening movement presents a flowing theme in the first violin contrasted by a dance-like second theme. The slow movement is a lyrical gem, and the minuet is full of musical mischief. The folk-inspired theme of the Finale is passed among the quartet like a musical relay, and the high-spirited finish simply makes us smile.

Joseph Haydn mastered the string quartet genre by transforming it into a dynamic and conversational form where all four instruments share equal roles. From the Op. 20 to the Op. 77, he blends structural brilliance with emotional depth and incredible humour. Haydn set the standard for the quartets of Mozart, Beethoven, and beyond.

Global Giggle Fest World Laughter Day Unleashes Hilarity

by Hermione Lai  

On the first Sunday in May, we celebrate World Laughter Day. It all started in a park in Mumbai in 1998 when Dr. Madan Kataria gathered hundreds of people in a laughter yoga movement.

It started with some fake-laughing until the giggles turned real. It was gloriously absurd as strangers cackled like hyenas, some wiping tears of laughter, all because someone pretended to laugh at a non-existent joke.

Laughing is highly infectious, and moments of organised silliness remind us that laughter can cut through the daily grind. And while classical music might seem like a stuffy museum of serious faces, composers have given us plenty of giggles over the centuries.

Mozart Joke 

Mozart’s Divertimento for Two Horns and Strings in F Major, K. 522, is like the 18th-century equivalent of a musical prank call. It is a deliberate trainwreck of bad composing, written in 1787 to poke fun at every hack and mediocre musician. To be sure, Mozart throws in every compositional cliché he can think of.

© wfmt.com

We hear repetitive phrases and off-key surprises, with the strings playing along like they forgot how to read music. The horns honk at the worst possible moments and in silly keys, and the transitions are simply awkward. Still, it’s catchy and brilliant. It’s the kind of piece that makes you laugh out loud. Are you laughing with Mozart, or is he secretly laughing at you?

Satie Joke

Erik Satie

The French musical maverick Erik Satie gave the world his “Three Pieces in the Shape of a Pear” in 1903. This piano duet isn’t just a composition, it’s a wacky response to stuffy critics who whined that his music lacked form. The title alone is enough to make you laugh, and in fact, it’s actually seven pieces and not three.

The music itself is a delightful mess of quirky melodies, wonky rhythms, and moments when the piano is daydreaming about being in a circus. Satie throws in some playful titles and instructions, like “play with a very profound gentleness,” and “Prolongation of the Same.” The pieces meander through dreamy waltzes like a conversation between friends that keeps changing topics. We can’t help but laugh at such sheer silliness.

Alkan Joke

The reclusive piano wizard Charles-Valentin Alkan unleashed his “Funeral March on the Death of a Parrot” in 1858. This piece is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a mock-serious dirge for a dearly departed parrot, complete with all the pomp and circumstance you might expect for a fallen feathered friend.

It’s pure musical satire with a solemn and plodding rhythm that sounds absurdly grandiose. Alkan piles on the melodrama with heavy chords and exaggerated tempos. Can you hear the quirky little flourishes and dynamic shifts? It’s like Alkan is snickering behind the music and daring you to keep a straight face. This is musical trolling at its finest, and somewhere, the parrot’s ghost is squawking with glee.

Haydn Joke

Franz Joseph Haydn was basically the original musical prankster, and his String Quartet Op. 33, No. 2 is nicknamed “The Joke” for very good reasons. This piece shows Haydn at his most impish as he lures listeners into a false sense of security with its chipper melodies and polite classical vibes.

In the finale, Haydn pulls out all the stops. Just when you think the music is wrapping up with a tidy little bow, Haydn throws in a cheeky pause, and when everybody gets ready to clap, he restarts the music with a cheeky encore. I bet he had some stuffy aristocrats looking like fools. Pure, mischievous and utterly funny genius!

As we celebrate “World Laughter Day,” let’s raise a glass to the musical jesters who turned stuffy concert halls into serious giggle celebrations. Let’s tip our hats to the genius composers who weave hilarity into their harmonies, proving that music can spark laughter around the world.