In 1785, seven-year-old Johann Nepomuk Hummel went with his father to the Schikaneder Theater in Vienna, where his father was the conductor of the orchestra. There Mozart had occasion to hear young Johann play one of Mozart’s new piano concertos from memory. So impressed was Mozart, who had some personal experience with wunderkinder, that he took the boy into his home for two years of free lodging and lessons. Afterwards, Hummel embarked upon a five-year concert tour with his father.
During and following the tour, Hummel pursued further study with Clementi, Salieri, Haydn, and Albrechtsberger, sharing the last three teachers with his young friend, Beethoven.
Mozart’s prediction of a brilliant future for his favorite pupil came true. During his lifetime, Hummel was celebrated as one of Europe’s dominant musical figures, both as a virtuoso pianist and a composer. He was known as the principal inheritor of Mozart’s melodic gift and grace, and the chief rival to Beethoven. The powerful journal of musical opinion, Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, wrote that Hummel “combined the clarity and the profound serenity of Mozart’s style with the rich splendor and the novel manner of our own time.”
Hummel was also one of the most important teachers of his day. His students included Mendelssohn, Hiller, Czerny, Thalberg, and Henselt. Liszt and Schumann wanted to study with him but couldn’t afford to; Chopin knew him and liked him; and Schubert was so impressed that he dedicated his last three piano sonatas to him. Spohr, Gottschalk, Field, and all of Europe raved over Hummel’s improvisations.
While Hummel was considered one of the immortals in the early nineteenth century, he was removed from the pantheon soon after his death in 1837. The new Romanticism swept all before it and engulfed his work in obscurity.
An example of the condescending attitude that developed toward Hummel was offered by that epitome of the Romantic wild man, Hector Berlioz. When he visited Weimar to intoxicate himself with the air of the workplace of Goethe, Schiller, and Herder, Berlioz sarcastically exclaimed: “Wait! In order to get back to prose and to regain my composure, I will think of another inhabitant of Weimar, a man of great talent, who wrote Masses and beautiful septets, a severe pianist—in a word, Hummel! There, now I am quite sober again!”
Perhaps his sarcasm would have been tempered had he known of the regard in which his hero, Goethe, held Hummel. Goethe, who knew Hummel well, said: “Napoleon treated the world as Hummel his piano: both appear miraculous to us, we are not able to comprehend the one any more than the other, and yet it is so and happens before our eyes.”
Nonetheless, Hummel fell on the far side of the great Classical/Romantic divide. Beethoven’s stormy triumph was sure to wipe out the reputation of this man who once had the impudence to be his competitor. Put simply, Hummel was interested in lyricism and ornamentation, Beethoven in titanic struggle and volcanic power. Their paths diverged: Hummel’s led indirectly to Liszt and Chopin; Beethoven’s to the nightmare every composer since has experienced when trying to write a symphony.
Hummel was aware of the problem Beethoven presented. He was thrown into an artistic crisis after having heard a Beethoven symphony—he recovered by never undertaking to write one. It is the only musical genre Hummel never touched. He was prolific in all the others, writing six piano concertos, a famous and thoroughly delightful trumpet concerto, concertos for other instruments, numerous chamber works, operas, sacred works, and many pieces for solo piano, including six sonatas.
Hummel’s piano concertos are a must for lovers of early nineteenth century music, and will be a special treat for lovers of Mozart. The same singing line as Mozart, the same operatic orchestral accompaniments, and an almost equal talent for themes of deceptive simplicity and exquisite beauty will be found. The two most widely recorded are Op. 85 and Op. 89. I have always thought the opening Allegro of Opus 89 to be a masterpiece (one of the few places where Beethoven’s influence is clearly discernible), and have used it for years to stump musical friends in games of “Who’s That Composer?”
Anyone who thinks Hummel is a lightweight should listen to the substantial four-minute introduction, which almost operatically prepares for the entrance of the piano. The following larghetto, written with mainly brass accompaniment, could only have been pulled off so brilliantly by a true master, while the vivace finale is full of high spirits and fun. If there is a little froth in it, it is from champagne, not beer. The Opus 85 concerto is equally beguiling and charming, if a bit less powerful.
Fortunately, there are two superb performances of these works on compact disk. On a prize-winning Chandos CD, Stephen Hough (a member of the Crisis Publication Committee) gives a bracing, bravura rendition with the English Chamber Orchestra that is irresistible in its excitement and verve. While Hough’s powerful approach plausibly emphasizes Beethoven’s impact on Hummel, Korean pianist Chang Haewon is more lyrical, relaxed, and fluid on a budget Naxos CD, accompanied by the Budapest Symphony Chamber Orchestra.
Hummel’s six elegant piano sonatas, composed from 1792 to 1824, reflect a compendium of styles from Haydn to Schubert, but, for the most part, they stand up very well on their own. One hears most often the influence of Mozart, some Beethoven, and perhaps a bit of Schubert—not a bad pedigree. In these works one again finds the deceptively simple, exquisite melodies, along with complex counter-point and cascades of figurations.
Hummel’s chamber music is equally delightful. Carl Czerny said in his autobiographical recollections that Hummel’s Septet, Op. 74, created such a sensation in Vienna that people stopped each other in the street to discuss it as if it were an event of national importance. Its success spread throughout Europe and its popularity has remained constant. This is a truly enchanting work, full of charm and animated by a wonderful sense of play.
Hummel later wrote another Septet, Op. 114, that, while enjoyable, is not quite at the same level of inspired invention. CRD has just reissued recordings of these two works from the 1970s, made by the Nash Ensemble, and they are very good. However, even better is the Hyperion CD (CDA66396) featuring the Capricorn Ensemble. This newer recording is fresher and more transparent, with more leisurely performances that reveal even more of Hummel’s many felicities.
Hyperion also has another very important Hummel recording (CDA66568), the only one made of the three string quartets, brilliantly performed by the Delme Quartet. Anyone disposed to dismiss Hummel as a mere decorative artist should hear the Schubertian poignance in these works.
Hummel’s sacred works are a largely undiscovered treasure outside of Austria, where they are very highly regarded. According to Dr. Joseph Braunstein, Hummel’s Masses “represent Hummel’s best creative efforts and stand after the Masses of Beethoven and Schubert as the finest contribution to the musica sacra in Austria prior to the advent of Anton Bruckner.” Only one of the five Masses is currently available, the Mass in B-Flat, Op. 77, on Koch International Classics (3-7117-2 H1) with the Westminister Oratorio Choir. Without solo parts, it is distinguished by its disarming simplicity and loveliness.
The old Grove Dictionary of Music derisively suggests that Hummel seduced his contemporaries into thinking he was a great composer (an interesting feat in and of itself).
The New Grove comes to a somewhat more balanced and accurate conclusion, calling him “perhaps the finest … representative of late Classicism,” concluding that “Hummel’s music reached the highest level accessible to one who lacks ultimate genius.” New Grove ends with a sentence that helps us understand both why Hummel was neglected and why there is reason for renewed interest: “Through Hummel, not Beethoven, may be seen the crucial phase in which the Classical style outlived its usefulness, as the old virtues of clarity, symmetry, elegance and ‘learnedness’ yielded to the new ‘inspiration,’ emotionalism, commercialism, and bombast.”