The American Recital Tours of Jeanne Demessieux

Part TWO of Two

Demessieux's Salle Pleyel debut series in 1946 was indeed a fitting climax to the teasers that had been sent out.68 Those present at any of the six recitals heard the consummate clarity of her articulation, her sensitive musicianship, her comprehensive command of the organ literature, her unprecedented pedal technique and the paradoxical polish of her improvisations on themes submitted to her immediately before; they also observed her cool self-control. Recital number one included the première of her own composition, Six Études, the execution of which proved that what the sonorities of Chopin and Liszt ask of the wrists in suppleness and control can also be asked of the ankles and wrists simultaneously.69 At the conclusion of the last recital of the series, listeners were awed by excerpts from another Demessieux composition, her modernistic and mysterious Sept Méditations sur le Saint-Esprit.70 While her recital series was in progress, Demessieux was already in direct communication with a government department regarding funding for touring outside the country;71 through one of Dupré's agents a recording contract had been proposed72 and there was an offer of an engagement with the BBC.73 In view of the tremendously favorable publicity, the director of the Salle Pleyel must have been very pleased to agree to underwrite another six-concert Jeanne Demessieux series the following year. The difference was that by 1947 and the second series of six recitals the Duprés were no longer involved.

The Search for Fault Lines in the Collaboration

Demessieux's journal does not bear out Trieu-Colleney's theory that, by 1946, she was weary of Marcel and Jeanne Dupré's micro-management of her career, and rebellious of some of the plans put forth for her first North American tour.74 Admittedly, none of their correspondence from the summer and autumn of 1946 has come to light; but neither does Demessieux comment in her journal entries for that period on any business dealings with the Duprés. From notes that Trieu-Colleney typed when doing research for her book, it is clear that for part of the chapter entitled "The Rupture" she drew upon views that originated in two letters written to Yolande Demessieux by a mutual acquaintance of the Dupré and Demessieux families, Jean Berveiller.75 From the wider subject matter and tone of each letter, Berveiller was evidently indignant over Dupré's refusal to break his silence on the cause of the rupture; in a well-meant effort to be helpful to the Demessieux family by means of these letters, Berveiller searched for every uncharitable interpretation of Dupré's attitude toward Demessieux's career that he could imagine. Trieu-Colleney's statement that Dupré would, perhaps, even have liked to "Americanize" Demessieux--to show her off like a film star in Hollywood--is one of several such off-hand remarks in Berveiller's letters to Yolande Demessieux. The tenor of both his letters was that, from his point of view, her sister was better off in her sudden independence from Dupré.

Demessieux's journal entries, on the other hand, for as often as they express her good fortune to have the benefit of the collaboration with Dupré, never hint, as Trieu-Colleney does, that the younger organist felt she was being made to work in the shadow of someone else.76 Nor does her journal suggest, as Berveiller assumed she must have, that she ever felt constrained from being herself. On the contrary, to submit even temporarily to constraint would have been uncharacteristic, for, in her accounts of her dealings with people generally, Demessieux comes across as strongly in charge of what she herself thought and someone who gloried in her individuality. That she and Dupré happened to think alike on the future of the organ, and have a common mission, was part of the marvel of it all. Dupré, for his part, knew when to bow out. When they said their last good-bye at a Paris train station in June 1946, he affirmed: "I am no longer your 'Master'! I am your old friend, and I will stay that way."77

Ironically, these words marked the last occasion upon which they ever shook hands. To reckon why, we must, first of all, underline how extremely important the collaborators' oneness of mind had become to Dupré's sense of purpose in life. The following incident is illustrative. During final preparations for her first Salle Pleyel recital, in a meeting of all persons involved in producing the event, a technician grumbled that it had not been possible to adjust the organ's pedal action as requested because what Demessieux had asked for and what Dupré had demanded were inconsistent with each other. Dupré took strong exception to this remark, saying, "'I will thank you to note something for your guidance: between Jeanne Demessieux and me, there is not, and there will never be, any differences of opinion! It's strange how someone has me saying something I've not said!'"78 Similarly, Demessieux's journal shows time and time again that, both in public and in private, the collaborators' mutual trust and respect were very important, to all members of the Dupré family.79 The day following her debut, she noted down the following conversation:

[JD:] "Following my first success, I shall remain faithful to you in my art; you can count on me! I swear this." . . .

Dupré reacted with an indefinable expression: "I know, oh! I know."

We were walking; he stopped: "Marguerite said to me this morning, 'Jeanne Demessieux will be faithful to you.' I have never doubted it. I know you. And you know that I will be your support and your defence against our enemies."

If our affection and our trust could possibly have been strengthened, they were that afternoon with this mutual profession of faith.80

It is evident from the above that Demessieux's utter loyalty was foundational to her adoption by the Dupré family and had become a cornerstone of Dupré's happiness.

The Downfall

What, then, destroyed the family's impression of Demessieux's worthiness? The Duprés must have come to believe that Demessieux had said or done something disrespectful of Marcel Dupré's art or person. How could this be? From reading the journal Demessieux wrote during the years 1941-46, I believe that Trieu-Colleney came closest to an explanation for the rupture (and she, too, may have believed this) when she wrote: "In the final analysis, friends, then Jeanne herself, more or less sensed the calumny of individuals who, searching to destroy this outstanding amity, profited from a propitious moment . . . ."81

To explain the reference to calumny, it is time to recapitulate what has been demonstrated concerning the Paris organ scene, and about the roles in it of Dupré and Demessieux during the five years of the grand scheme. An intellectual and psychological war for the allegiance of students and audiences was underway between proponents of two opposing visions of the organ and its repertoire. Dupré was so convinced of the rightness of his beliefs in the future of the organ that he regarded any display or espousal of an artistic principle inconsistent with his own as a personal affront. Equally intransigent, members of the opposing side maintained that they, and only they, stood for progress. From the point of view of this faction (and with deliberate provocation from Dupré) Demessieux was the "spoiler" among young Paris organists: a performer who was able to attract attention to herself without participating in the fashion for neoclassicism, and who honestly respected Dupré's vision of a modern organ and modern organ repertoire. To those who hated what Dupré stood for, Demessieux's achievements, beginning with her Paris Conservatory first prize in organ, constituted an anti-revolutionary influence and an intolerable anomaly. She needed either to be brought in line, or put out of commission, by any means possible.

Evidence of a concerted and ongoing effort to do so has been cited from her journals. Because she avoided the social circles that included Dupré's detractors, their members badgered her with invitations to soirées. After she declined to play at Chaillot, supporters of the neoclassic Gonzalez organ at Chaillot plotted to derail plans for renovation of the Salle Pleyel Cavaillé-Coll organ. Because, in her words and in her musical practice, she praised Dupré, his intellectual adversaries became vicious in needling her about him. Having exalted Dupré and damaged the prestige of the neoclassic cause with her Salle Pleyel debut, she invited yet more determined efforts to disempower her.

The Paris organ world knew that the tangible emblems (not to mention the economic lifeline) of Demessieux's future success in Paris depended upon Dupré's leverage in the choices of his eventual successors at the Conservatory and at Saint-Sulpice. From Dupré's boasting, they knew he attached utmost personal importance to her oneness of mind with him. Meanwhile, it was natural for Dupré to assume that, for all he had done on Demessieux's behalf thus far, he had earned her strict allegiance to his lonely social position among Paris organists. This need for utter personal loyalty and Dupré's tendency to suspect and distrust his colleagues had become two sides of the same coin. The tendency to suspect and distrust others had been to his and Demessieux's advantage in the Salle Pleyel organ renovation incident, but this paranoia could just as well be turned to their adversaries' advantage.

Logically, during the Duprés' absence in the summer and fall of 1946, those who were resentful of the public success of the Dupré-Demessieux collaboration, or who feared it would cause further strategic setbacks to the neoclassic cause, would have brought to bear the most effective tactics to destroy that collaboration. The "propitious moment" was a juncture when Marcel and Jeanne Dupré were most susceptible: the nadir of fatigue after six months of travel by train and ocean liner, the end of a period of intense work that included championing Demessieux in North America. For "Mlle Demessieux" to have proven "unworthy" of their efforts on her behalf, as Dupré would eventually view the whole affair, the likely explanation is that, upon their return to France, someone conveyed to them (in person, or by letter) information of a word or action by Demessieux that appeared disrespectful of Marcel Dupré.

What could this be? Probably an out-of-context (or fictitious) remark attributed to Jeanne Demessieux, or perhaps one of her actions, slanderously reinterpreted. It is futile to think we can know exactly what form this slander took. As a mere possibility, I point to the fact that in the summer of 1946 Demessieux finally agreed to accept, on one occasion, a repeatedly extended invitation to a dinner party at the home of a Monsieur Régnier, whom she describes as a friend of Dufourcq.82 She recorded in her journal that she did not have a pleasant time that evening, perhaps an indication of what directions the conversation took. Her presence at this gathering could be truthfully reported and its implications could have been given a traitorous spin.

Why would Dupré accept at face value a mere report of a traitorous action, or words, by Demessieux? Like the example just mentioned, the words or incident may have had a basis in undeniable fact that blurred the edges of truth and falsehood. Why would he not have given her the benefit of the doubt? The stark contrast between his most recent labors on Demessieux's behalf and the first news he had of her upon returning home was like a slap in the face that would have upset his judgment as to who, truly, had deceived him. The seed of suspicion would have progressively wounded his self-esteem: if Dupré even suspected that Demessieux had said or done something disparaging of his musical likes and dislikes, his thoughts on the matter would likely set off in an uncontrollable mental spiral; as a result of this mental spiral, far from giving her the benefit of doubt, his next thought would be to imagine that she had long been insincere in her regard for his ideas ("[a]lthough during the years after her prize I worked with her for nothing, she was unworthy of me and Madame Dupré").

Why did he not confront her with his anger? It was consistent with his customary stance toward people who offended him to match the extremity of his reaction to the extremity of the offense: we know that he was not on speaking terms with those who had offended him by some remark made or stance taken. Evidence of unashamed betrayal would, then, be matched by ruthless rejection. If Dupré believed Demessieux had betrayed him, even in one small matter, he would not have thought it necessary to tell her how he now felt; he would not even have been able to address her.

For Dupré to destroy a close friendship and do so irrevocably was not without precedent. As a young man he had revered and aided Vierne, his beloved master in the study of improvisation; but by the time Demessieux came to study organ and improvisation with Dupré, he (as the result of influence by a deliberate troublemaker, if Gavoty is to believed) had little if any regard for Vierne, so that, as an excerpt from Demessieux's journal has already shown, she had no notion of the greatness of the late organist of Notre-Dame-de-Paris. It was in character that, once Dupré's regard for Demessieux had been tarnished, he never examined or rethought his initial reaction.

Dupré was too embittered and, probably, too humiliated to reveal what had angered him. Berveiller's final, regretful words on the matter to Yolande Demessieux were that, for his unexplained repudiation of Jeanne Demessieux, "impartial" public opinion was solidly against Dupré. Berveiller added:

For this, I hold responsible certain feminine influences (I do not speak of his wife) that, without any personal advantage to be gained, are compromising him ridiculously. I've written to tell him so, just as I think! Without success, of course!83  

Berveiller's perception that the actions of an unnamed woman were further compromising Dupré's credibility cannot be confirmed (Demessieux's journal ends abruptly at the end of December 1946 with mention that the Duprés were expected to return any day). Nevertheless, after the many occasions on which Dupré had gloated over his pride in Demessieux's accomplishments in front of those who were skeptical or envious of his claims--for instance, before the parents of other students--it is difficult to imagine that no one would have succumbed to the temptation to publicly ridicule him for his change of stance toward his former protégée.

Afterword

Despite the trauma she underwent at the beginning of 1947, Demessieux never disavowed her admiration for, and her debt to, Marcel Dupré.84 Meanwhile, she struggled to forge new links with incumbents of Paris organ tribunes and directors of Paris recital series, none of whom ever forgot that she had first presented herself in Dupré's image.85 In 1948 she played a thirteenth Salle Pleyel recital; in 1952 she was heard live and in radio rebroadcasts with the Orchestre radio-symphonique conducted by Eugène Bigot, performing, among other works for organ and orchestra, the première of her own Poème and the première of Langlais's Concerto. Paris organ critics never ceased to shower praise on her recordings and live performances. Nevertheless, during the 1950s, although she concertized intensively in France, Europe and the British Isles (as well as making three North American tours86), and the French capital remained her home base, she only very occasionally enjoyed the privilege of being featured in a Paris organ recital. She also had difficulty getting permission to make recordings on that city's church organs.87 Belatedly, this changed in 1962, when she was named principal organist of the Cavaillé-Coll organ of the Church of the Madeleine.88 The year 1963 was also a turning point: Dufourcq invited her to play a Bach recital in his series "Les Heures Liturgiques et Musicales de Saint-Merry," which she did, to enthusiastic acclaim.89 Never in good health, just five years later she succumbed to cancer.

Dupré, despite the wound he said would never heal, paid his last respects to Demessieux: he attended her funeral at the Madeleine in 1968.90

In all his studies, D’Arcy Trinkwon has been fascinated by the person behind the musician. An early interest in the Dupré tradition inevitably led to Jeanne Demessieux, and his particular interest in her began when he first heard her recordings in the early 1980s. Over the years he has explored, researched and studied in depth all he could of her, fascinated and inspired by her legend. Inspired by her Salle Pleyel programs, in 1994 he presented eight concerts in as many weeks: “The King of Instruments” was a celebration of the great masterpieces and culminated in a complete performance of her famous Six Etudes—then the first organist to do so in recent time. He has since become particularly associated with them and her other works as a result of his numerous performances of them. He is vice-president of Les Amis de Jeanne Demessieux. D’Arcy welcomes any correspondance on the subject of Jeanne Demessieux and, time permitting, hopes to write a serious and comprehensive biography of her.

The year 2008 marks the fortieth anniversary of the death of Jeanne Demessieux, and it may therefore be interesting to reflect on various aspects of her extraordinary career. Where did this legend begin and what has been her legacy? And what of the enigmatic lady herself—of whom so many have loved to talk, yet of whom so few have ever really known much. This article deliberately reflects more on the person and the artist than would a conventional academic study, and inevitably space here cannot discuss every angle of her career. A more purely biographical article appears by this writer in Organists’ Review, November 2008.
Jeanne Demessieux died on November 11, 1968: born in Montpellier on February 13, 1921, she was only 47. One might even say that she “disappeared,” for the dazzling star of this organist had already dimmed somewhat: once the talk of organists worldwide, a legend in her own younger years, the changes of musical fashions—as well as several unexpected twists of fate—had rendered her almost something of a bygone curiosity. This is reflected in the fact that some who were studying elsewhere in Paris during the ’60s never even crossed the city to hear her play at the Madeleine.
At the time, the circumstances surrounding her passing were only discreetly alluded to and, as with so many musicians of exceptional achievement, much of what she had achieved was all too quickly forgotten, overlooked in favor of newer artists. A large crowd attended her Paris funeral in the Madeleine, and on that day even the organ—of which she had been titulaire since 1962, and that she so loved—mourned. Instead of flooding the church with music as it had so many times under her remarkable hands, it stood silently in respect of her passing, a vast black drape hanging from its gallery to the floor. Only some days before she died, she had told friends “I can hear the flutes of the Madeleine” as she lay convalescing in her bed after nearly two months in hospital. Little did she know she would never play the instrument again.
And how did this woman, once the “Queen of Organists,” become almost overlooked in her later years, bypassed in favor of a younger generation? The spectacular successes and triumphs of her youth have been unparalleled by any other organist, yet the burning apogee of these years seemed almost to burn part of her out as the blaze faded, leaving her inwardly exhausted and bereft. An artist of the great virtuoso tradition, her style became less popular as the so-called Organ Reform movement continued to sweep through and gain ever-greater momentum like a rushing wind. And there was her health. Throughout her life, Jeanne Demessieux battled with serious health problems, undergoing numerous operations beginning in her early 20s. She fought cancer silently in an age when any public knowledge of such an illness was a social taboo that would leave the sufferer ostracized and an outcast.
Few ever got to see the woman behind the public persona; being both very reserved, but also having an uncommon force of character and purpose, she didn’t let many people see the “person” behind, except the few she truly trusted. It must also be surmised that the famous “rupture” with Dupré probably seriously affected her faith, and it was a “scandal” she was aware would never leave her.
In many ways, so many elements of her life seemed always to have two such opposing poles: on one hand triumph and fame, on the other, obscurity; being “the chosen one” of her master Dupré, but then being bypassed and cast out; being very much a “grande dame” when at the organ or mixing professionally, yet being a woman of an (at times) uncomfortably reserved nature. The gentleness and sensitivity she showed those whom she trusted contrasted with her strong opinions and individuality. On one hand she was admired as a great artist—on the other she was viewed with suspicion because her brilliance was such that some simply couldn’t see past that alone, and undoubtedly many seethed with jealousy. Even Demessieux herself was aware of the two poles in her personality—gentleness, sensitivity and creation contrasting with “violence” (although her exact word, it referred more to force and strength of character than any darker force). This duality in her nature reflected the two very different natures of her adored parents: her father—cultivated, artistic, sensitive and affectionate; her mother—highly strung, a forceful, driven nature disguised behind an emotive, gentle façade.
By quite some years, she was the first woman to achieve international fame as a virtuoso organist, and her gender undoubtedly had a serious impact on her career. Not only was she entering what was at the time an almost exclusively male domain, it undoubtedly meant that she had, in fact, to be even better than her male colleagues to be accepted as their peer.
She had immense good fortune; she was taken under the wing of the great Dupré when she was still only fourteen. In her, he saw at last the messenger he had been looking for: someone of unlimited and precocious talent, the prophet who would bear the torch of the glorious French organ school forward from him, as he himself had done from his own master Widor. In addition to his other responsibilities and work, he devoted the next eleven years to her education, tirelessly and meticulously preparing her for the role he knew she could fulfill. Proclaiming her as his true successor, he elevated her prowess to such a level that she simply had no realistic competition; even before her famed 1946 debut, he proclaimed to Léonce de Saint-Martin: “You know that I do not say anything glibly, and I say Jeanne Demessieux is the greatest organist of all.” He proclaimed that posterity would rank her alongside Clara Schumann.
Cocooned in this privileged world of Dupré’s home in Meudon, she was loved and nurtured by him and his family as their own. Yet only a year after her triumphant debut concerts, he abruptly severed all contact with her, cutting her off and out of his life without any explanation. Anyone wishing to understand the possible motives and reasons is strongly encouraged to refer to the excellent article by Lynn Cavanaugh, which offers the best considerations of this issue. [See “The Rise and Fall of a Famous Collaboration: Marcel Dupré and Jeanne Demessieux” by Lynn Cavanaugh, in The Diapason, July 2005.] Although she was devastated and suffered enormously from this, some around her felt it was actually a good thing; they were all too aware that under the gently acquiescent girl was a woman who would be unable to live in another’s shadow. Despite Dupré’s unlimited generosity to her (he did, after all, do everything possible to plan her future triumph and success), they knew she could never be a puppet—however well-intentioned the master.
Again, the reader is refered to the above-mentioned article, which discusses with great clarity the unfortunate situation and “fall-out” of this “rupture.” Undoubtedly, there were some who reveled in the scandal of the “fallen angel” and used the situation both for their own opportunity, and also as an advancement in the “turf war” that undoubtedly existed in the Parisian organ world. Despite the fame she enjoyed outside Paris (and to a lesser degree in France), she was certainly given the cold shoulder by a certain faction of its organists and concert promoters. As a result, even today many in France are surprised to know of the celebrity she had outside their country because of her having been largely ostracized from the French organ world. Her music remains largely unknown there.

The legend begins
Jeanne Demessieux made her debut in 1946 at age 25. Dupré himself had arranged a series of six recitals at the Salle Pleyel, Paris, in which he could launch the career of this, his most exceptional pupil. He planned every detail for their maximum impact, even calling them “Six Historic Recitals.” Even the venue, the restoration of its organ, the setting of the stage were a specific part of their big scheme to launch her career. An audience of 1,725—considerably more than was customary for a debut recital (on any instrument) in Paris at the time—witnessed the level of accomplishment she displayed. It was a level that no other organist had before displayed, and the reaction of the audiences at these concerts was simply sensational. Her debut was compared to those of Horowitz, Menuhin, and Gieseking; Dupré himself said “You have shown us this evening that we are in the presence of a phenomenon equal to the youth of Bach or Mozart . . .”
Of Paris’s finest organists present—including Langlais, Litaize, Grünenwald and Falcinelli—Duruflé more humorously (but no less seriously) declared “Next to Jeanne Demessieux, the rest of us play the pedals like elephants!” The press gave free reign to the emotions felt by all, and noted that not even Liszt himself could have stunned them more—and the musical sensitivity she displayed was compared to that of Vierne. At the conclusions of these recitals she was often almost mobbed by the throngs who came to hear her as they clamored for autographs and a closer glimpse of her; their enthusiasm was like fire.
In short, these recitals were a triumph the like of which had never been seen before and has not since. They heralded what was to be an unparalleled few years.

Her career
That first evening (February 26, 1946), when that young woman walked out onto the stage at the Salle Pleyel, dressed simply and elegantly in a pale blue dress, had an impact on the organ world, and it was never the same again.
As a result of the word spreading—as well as due to the very careful particular public relations that the Duprés had planned—the young Jeanne quickly received a flood of invitations to give recitals throughout Europe. On many of these occasions she was the first woman ever to play in those cathedrals, churches and concert halls. Within a few years she had played in virtually every major European city, having given 200 recitals in only four years. As was the case with outstanding performers in an age before the numerous distractions of society today, her concerts usually attracted and drew capacity audiences—both fascinated by her as a woman, but also stunned by what they heard.
In the autumn of 1947 she gave a second, equally triumphant series of six recitals at the Salle Pleyel.
Her London debut was on February 26, 1947 at Westminster Cathedral (where she would return many times). Attended by the whole of the Willis firm, Willis himself had to attend to a cipher immediately before the recital began! She made five visits between 1946 and 1948 alone, including a concerto at the Proms with Sir Malcolm Sargent, Jeanne loving the great Royal Albert Hall instrument. However, it is worth noting that the English critics were usually fairly hostile and, although not widely known, there was a definite intrigue involved here. In 1947 the London Organ Music Society, then headed by George Thalben-Ball, made a request that she pre-sent herself and undergo something of an audition for them; understandably insulted, she flatly refused such a ludicrous request—but they, with a pompous attitude, never got over the fact that she did. Equally—unlike the Americans—they seemed to have a serious issue with being so outshone (in so many ways) by a woman! At the time, English organ critics were usually organists from this Society, and the mean-spirited reviews they gave were in stark contrast to those given by the Americans whose generosity of spirit and enthusiasm knew no limits. During her years of training and preparation, Dupré had warned her she would undoubtedly encounter elements of jealousy. However, the audiences themselves and non-organist critics in the UK also shared this enthusiasm. Although not widely known, in 1953 Demessieux played, by invitation of the young Queen Elizabeth II herself, at her coronation in Westminster Abbey.
At the time of the Pleyel recitals, Dupré had been both planning and insistent that Jeanne must go and make her debut in America; he saw her potential as an artist to achieve considerable fame and success. She, however, flatly refused to agree to go there unless assured of the best possible terms and conditions; her strong-willed nature was beginning already to assert its independence. It has been written and suggested that Dupré was trying to manipulate her into something uncomfortable—to create a Hollywood-style glamor star—but surely he only saw the very real chances for her to make a great life and in turn give herself the freedom such success would allow to devote herself to music. Dupré left for another of his own tours there the following year. Upon his return he never spoke to or had any dealings with her again.
Jeanne’s first tour in North America did not, in fact, take place until 1953: but it was simply triumphant, the audiences and critics alike stunned by the experience. [See “The American Recital Tours of Jeanne Demessieux,” by Laura Ellis, The Diapason, October 1995.] Perhaps only Virgil Fox displayed a similar degree of virtuosity, although his style was, of course, far more flamboyant and his repertoire far more popular. She returned again in 1955 and 1958, and on each occasion packed audiences from coast to coast rewarded her with feverish ovations.
In the early days of her career, her virtually non-stop schedule of concerts included nearly every major city of Europe and North America—all the more remarkable since travel was in those days more reliant on slow trains and sea. Touring was not something she enjoyed, finding it exhausting and, at times, nothing but a punishment. She made only three tours of North America, apparently refusing any further invitations because of a wish to remain near her aging and ever more frail parents.
Unlike many were beginning to do, Jeanne refused to travel by plane unless absolutely necessary; as result of losing a great friend in a crash in her youth, Jeanne was terrified of flying. Undoubtedly, as the years progressed and younger organists were increasingly leaping on planes to play everywhere, this must have curtailed her activities and left her somewhat behind. Disliking traveling generally, unlike such as Dupré, she never ventured further afield to such places as Australia either.
The apogee of her career was undoubtedly during the late 1940s to the mid-1950s. Although she continued giving recitals widely after that, a new generation was emerging—figureheads of the so-called Organ Reform movement—whose fresh ideas and new approach to the organ were captivating followers, leaving the grander virtuosos of previous generations somewhat bypassed. But certainly no other organist—before or since—could ever claim such an auspicious beginning to a career as Jeanne Demessieux.

Repertoire
What did Jeanne Demessieux’s repertoire include? As may be expected, her choice of music was very much based on the traditions of the French Romantic school; during her years with Dupré she studied most of Bach’s works (including all the great preludes, toccatas, fantasias, fugues, sonatas, Orgelbüchlein), as well as many of the works that were the cornerstone of Dupré’s own repertoire—including the great works of Liszt, Franck, Mendelssohn. She also studied numerous works of Dupré himself—both sets of preludes and fugues, both symphonies, Evocation, Le Chemin de la Croix, the Variations, Suite Bretonne and Sept Pièces—all of which she performed in Meudon before 1946. And there was the “riddle” of the Etudes he wrote for her, the transcendental sketches he later regrouped. (It may be pertinent to remark that this was not done, as has been incorrectly noted by some, after the “rupture” between them: it was openly discussed between them prior to her Salle Pleyel debut.)
Jeanne’s concert programs are fascinating to study. However—as with all performers who play from memory—the inevitable restrictions of memorized concert repertoire meant there were, as a result, numerous repetitions of the same works. This aside, all her programs show a decided concern for a variety and balance of periods, texture, styles and emotional impact. Despite a certain classical austerity and obvious concern for music of serious quality, purity and refinement—much in the way a concert pianist of the same era would have chosen that instrument’s classics—there was also very much a regard for aural and structural color.
Nearly every program included at least one major work of Bach, often supplemented by an intimate and expressive chorale prelude or two. Although she played all six of Bach’s trio sonatas in a recital at Dupré’s home on March 19, 1942, only very occasionally did she perform one of these in her subsequent programs. By contrast, some of Handel’s concertos (I, II and X) featured regularly in her programs, complete with spectacular cadenzas of her own—and it may be worth noting here that Dupré’s edition of these was, in reality, almost entirely her work, done during her years of study with him. A variety of other Baroque composers featured occasionally in her concerts—some of these obviously being taken from Dupré’s series Anthologie des Maïtres Classiques. She seemed to like opening recitals with Purcell’s Trumpet Tune, something she first played as an encore in one of her Salle Pleyel programs, when she noted how it “refreshed the audience.” From the Hamburg recording we can today hear on CD, she opted for a bright, sparkling approach to this music, this quite in contrast to the heavy, ponderous and pompous style often given to the same work by many English and American players of her time. Mozart’s Fantasia in F minor, K. 608 was obviously another favorite work of hers, and she performed it frequently. Generally, however, she only included the odd Baroque piece as a bit of “fluff” in her early years; in the ’60s she did, however, include more works—such as Buxtehude, sometimes a suite of Clérambault—although she obviously felt her attentions better directed (and requested) towards more specifically “concert” music. Of particular note (for it being unusual) was her including a fugue of Gibbons in a recital at Westminster Abbey on May 3, 1956—also because it appears that was her only performance of anything English. She did not appear to play any American works.
Despite performing all the Mendelssohn sonatas and preludes and fugues in her youth, these were only rarely included subsequently, whereas the three great works of Liszt featured throughout her whole career and were of obvious great importance to her. Occasionally she chose one or two lighter works of Schumann (a fugue, perhaps a canon) or, less often, maybe a Brahms prelude, usually placed as a moment of contrast after or before a big piece. An unusual work in her repertoire (from the ’50s onwards) was her own transcription of Liszt’s Funérailles—one of the first times being at Westminster Abbey on May 3, 1956, and subsequently she played it quite often. She never wrote it out, instead playing her transcription from memory of the piano score. Similarly, many of her actual compositions were never written out until they were exactly as she wanted them in her head.
The music of César Franck was of particular importance to her, and after Bach it appeared more regularly than anything else. It is interesting to note that on the organ in her apartment, an instrument bought on the success of her American concerts, she hung the famous print of César Franck serenely playing the organ of Sainte-Clothilde.
Other than Franck, the only French Romantic composer she performed with any regularity was Widor, the Allegro from the Sixth Symphony being presented often. Only rarely did she perform a complete symphony—occasionally maybe the Gothique—but the variations of both this and the Fifth appeared often, the latter regularly in her later programs. Interestingly, Vierne (whose music would have suited her so well) only occasionally appeared: for example, sometimes the Scherzo of Symphony No. 2 appeared, much in the role of a refresher between bigger works.
Of the twentieth century, only three names ever appeared with regularity: Messiaen, Berveiller and Demessieux herself. Other than her early years—during which they appeared only occasionally—she hardly ever performed any works of her other contemporaries.
She frequently performed one or two of her own pieces. Apart from her very early concerts, she did not play the Six Etudes as a complete set, later often taking just one or two (Tierces, Notes Repetées, Accordes Alternatés and Octaves being those she chose most often). She did sometimes include one of her choral preludes (Rorate Caeli—her own favorite of the set—and Attende Domine appearing most often), and the austere and granite-like Dogme from the Sept Méditations seems a work she had particular affection for, it appearing many times; occasionally she played one or two other movements from this same set. The Triptyque (with its mysterious and poignant Adagio written just a day or so after the “rupture” with Dupré) appeared on programs throughout her career. In the 1960s, the then recently written Prélude et Fugue and the Répons pour le temps de Pâques quite often featured, as had her Te Deum in the years following its own composition.
Jeanne’s association with Jean Berveiller was of significance. Both apparently loved jazz and particularly Duke Ellington—and the influence of this “lighter” music is reflected in Berveiller’s colorful style. His music suited Jeanne’s obvious wish to bring freshness to her programs, and she played many of his works—Epitaphe, the Suite, his transcription of Franck’s Redemption, and Cadence, written for her 1953 U.S. debut (although one wonders why she didn’t include any of her own Etudes there, for they are far more spectacular). And, of course, there was that famous Mouvement—organists sought to unearth the score for so many years. However, not all these works were, as has been variously claimed, dedicated to her.
Messiaen was of particular significance to Jeanne; he greatly admired her, and she was one of his first and most powerful advocates. She regularly performed his pieces in recitals. Movements of both L’Ascension and La Nativité appeared frequently, as did the whole suites occasionally. For example, she gave the first complete performance of the former at London’s Royal Festival Hall on May 15, 1957, and she played the complete La Nativité at the English Bach Festival on July 1, 1964 in Christ Church, Oxford. She also played Le Banquet Céleste, Apparition de l’Eglise Eternelle, and Combat de la Mort et de la Vie regularly. It is also interesting to note that many players of younger generations who later became associated with this music first heard it in performances (either broadcast or live) by Jeanne Demessieux. It is also a measure of the respect Messiaen held for her that he frequently invited her to be an examiner for his analysis class at the Conservatoire.
And Dupré? She performed so much of his music during her years of study, and some pieces also featured in her earliest public recitals outside France. She performed the Prelude and Fugue in B as part of London debut, and the Symphonie-Passion for a recital there on March 13, 1947 for the Organ Music Society. (This recital has often, erroneously due to Felix Aprahamian, been cited as her London debut.) She also performed the Suite in London.
But did she ever perform Dupré after the “rupture”? Very seldom and from the rarity with which she did, one may believe it was only when specifically asked. She never played any in America, but it is poignant to note that she included the Symphonie-Passion in what was to be one of her final recitals—one in Chester Cathedral, as part of the Chester Festival in July 1967.
Whatever her feelings of betrayal and disappointment, her respect for Dupré as an artist, as much as for the values he upheld and represented, never diminished; neither was she ever known to make any remark against him. A testament to this was the article she contributed to Études (Paris, April 1950) entitled “L’art de Marcel Dupré.”

Improvisation
Improvisation featured in all of her recitals, and her extraordinary skill in all forms of this art was widely known. Dupré once claimed that he could train any technically competent organist to improvise a five-part fugue within six months; so, given the extraordinary gifts of this pupil, it is not surprising that he trained her in this skill to be as brilliant (more, some said) as he was himself. At her first Salle Pleyel recital, she improvised a four-movement symphony. She also did the same in her March 1947 London recital, whose brilliance prompted George Thalben-Ball to say—with a reserve of generosity typical of the British organists—that it was “trick” improvisation because “no one can think that fast”! The French prowess at improvising specific and disciplined musical structures was a world apart from the meandering service-style improvisation of the English, and, again, one notes the distinctive “green eye” looking at her.
Of particular note was a recital she gave at the Conservatoire in Liège on March 1, 1957, the entire program of which was improvised! During it she improvised in numerous forms and structures—from choral variations, a trio sonata, prelude and fugue, paraphrase, and various treatments of chorale (polyphonic, contrapuntal, canon, fugue, ornamented).

Concertos
Quite unusually for an organist of her times, Jeanne was invited to perform concertos fairly often. There were the Proms, the performances with orchestras in France, Belgium and elsewhere—although never, surprisingly, America. She wrote her own “concerto,” Poème, in the very early ’50s, giving its premiere in 1952, as well as that of Langlais’ Concerto. In December 1964 she gave the Belgian premiere of Poulenc’s, also performing Jongen’s Symphonie Concertante with the Orchestre de Liège. Less successful was her recording of two of Handel’s concertos with the Suisse Romande orchestra; she found working with its conductor, the aged Ernest Ansermet, very difficult and was infuriated by his despotic wish to control the proceedings—including her playing, and even trying to suppress her cadenzas. Again, her strong will and individuality were far too strong to be so treated by a despotic conductor.

Recordings
Nearly all the recordings Jeanne made were for Decca, in those days probably the most significant recording company. Her first were several 78s, featuring works by Bach, Widor, Franck, Mendelssohn, and Purcell’s Trumpet Tune.
Then she made numerous LPs—several were made at Victoria Hall in Geneva in the early 1950s; in addition to the Handel concertos mentioned above, these included works of Bach, Liszt, Widor and Franck. A recital of Bach and Franck on the organ of St. Mark’s, North Audley Street (an instrument later removed to Holy Trinity, Brompton, where it remains) was also issued. A project a few years later for her to record a series in Notre-Dame (Paris) was never realized, much to her great regret. She did, however, record several mixed selections at the Madeleine a few years before her famous recording of Franck made there, for which she won the Grand Prix du Disque in 1960. Two years later she was appointed Organiste-titulaire of this great church and its organ, an honor she considered so special she admitted she “cried with joy.” She had served prior to this appointment as organist in the church of Saint-Esprit during her teenage years.
In the early 1960s, Messiaen agreed she should record his (then) complete works. Although greatly passionate about this project, her refusal to sign the contract easily and continued questioning and bargaining of its terms meant that by the time of her unexpected death, the actual contract remained still unsigned. On the strength of her extant recordings, one can only imagine how we have missed out from these never being recorded. Her last recording was made at Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral as part of the celebrations of the then new cathedral and its organ.
It was rumored that during the ’50s she recorded the Six Etudes for Decca, although this may have been just a legend. Certainly this writer has failed to unearth any concrete facts about these.
Many of Demessieux’s recordings have now been reissued by Festivo and are available on CD. They testify to an artist of exceptional gifts and clearly disprove the claim of those who tried to brand (even dismiss) her merely as an empty virtuoso.

Performance style
Jeanne Demessieux was a spectacular and transcendental virtuoso. Although the influence and tradition handed down to her by Dupré is apparent, her playing obviously had a personality decidedly her own, one markedly different from his; despite certain similar elements, there are few other similarities. From recordings we can hear her remarkable strength of authority, characterized by the same rigorous heroism and rhythmic power that Dupré demonstrated—but her playing demonstrated very little of Dupré’s rigidity, instead displaying a far more emotional expressive range, even at times being remarkably sensual.
In recitals, critics repeatedly spoke of her commanding mastery, taste, responsibility and respect for the composers and works she played (with the exceptions of those less generous mentioned earlier). Again, from her recordings, it is also very clear that she listened intensely to her own playing and to the inner workings of what she played. She was also very aware of and sensitive to acoustics, which she employed in a very personal way.
Demessieux once remarked “a performer has her rights,” implying that a performer must create an interpretation. Unlike many of the “organ reform” brigade, she, like Dupré and other virtuosos, did not attach great importance to slavishly following the score indications and registrations (as some have insisted we all should) in either her own or others’ music without question or a certain (tasteful) liberty. From her journals we can note frequent questioning of things such as metronome markings and performance indications. Her ambition was clearly to make music “live,” free from rigidity and the dogmatic approach certain other performers favored.
Another point is worth mentioning with regards to certain British and American reviews in which it was claimed she was simply a dazzling virtuoso and nothing more. For one, they missed that her playing—decidedly French—was strikingly different from the often overtly sentimental styles of performance common in both countries at the time. Few players had the exceptional sensitivity and subtlety she was capable of in her Bach chorales, her Franck. Maybe her excessive brilliance actually irritated some who were made all the more aware of their own limitations.
One thing is certain: no one, especially not Demessieux herself, would claim any were “definitive”—for such a claim would only reveal more arrogance and ego than true artistry. But these recordings are a wonderful testament to a great artist; we younger generations have truly missed out, not being able to hear her live.

The performer
The commanding presence of Jeanne Demessieux was widely remarked upon, and she was known for an aristocratic “hauteur” combined with a feminine, graceful demeanor. As with Dupré (and most of his pupils), once seated at the organ she was virtually motionless. Sitting bolt upright with regal carriage, she played with remarkable physical dignity and relaxation, and had no interest in the kind of performing histrionics and display that were customary in America—something often remarked upon by the press. This seemed to cause an even greater impact on the audiences, because the authority and strength of her performances belied her small and fragile physique. Dupré himself had repeatedly spoken of her power and strength as a player, even using the terms “masculine” and “virile.”
In the early days of her career, applause in churches was not customary and recitals were quite a sober affair; she presented herself accordingly in reserved, but elegant, attire. However, in concert halls or more relaxed venues Jeanne brought a sense of occasion and glamor not previously known in recitals and not adopted as the norm for many years afterwards. She was known for beautiful, stylish long evening gowns, often including a train that she would drape gracefully over the back of the organ bench. Perversely, this often obscured the pedals and her legendary pedal prowess from the view of the audience! The silver shoes—with their high Louis XV heels—in which she always played have become part of her legend. However, it would be quite wrong to believe there was anything remotely exhibitionist or “flashy” about her presentation—this was quite contrary to her reserved nature; it was for her just presentation and style.
Other than occasionally during church services, she never used music and played everything entirely by memory, never traveling with any scores. According to Marie-Madeleine Duruflé-Chevalier, who was a loyal and trusted friend, she had little (if any) difficulty in recalling any of the great works of the repertoire from memory.

Teacher
In her years of study, Dupré had repeatedly spoken of his wish that she would succeed him as Professor of Organ at the Paris Conservatoire, also expressing his wish that she succeed him as Organiste-titulaire at Saint-Sulpice (“only Jeanne Demessieux can occupy the organ loft of the great Widor” he declared). Indeed, on a few occasions about the time of her first Salle Pleyel recitals, she took his class while he was absent giving concerts. However, after the “rupture” these were just shattered dreams. The conservatoire post was in the end filled by another Dupré disciple, Rolande Falcinelli.
In addition to her concerts, Jeanne did, however, teach both organ and piano throughout her career. In the early days, she was teaching some 25 hours each week, on top of which were 14–15 hours for Saint-Esprit. After all this came the most important call on her time—her own practice; she often worked eight hours a day at the organ, as well as composing. And in addition to all these demands, was the greatest of all—her hectic concert schedule!
In Paris she taught privately in her apartment, also doing some teaching in Nancy. She was appointed professor of organ at the Royal Conservatoire in Liège in 1952, a role she took with great responsibility, traveling every week on the train from Paris for two or three days. She was as exacting with her pupils as she was with herself. However, she managed this imperceptibly, and their testimonies speak always of her kindness, warmth and encouragement as a teacher—and her unlimited generosity in encouraging them to achieve their maximum. She was also enthusiastic, encouraging and aware that a pupil may wish and need to explore other styles and traditions of performance than her own—illustrated by her recommending one student to go to study with Anton Heiller, who was then setting Europe alight with his brilliant interpretations, in a style very different from her own. Among her outstanding pupils were noted virtuosos Pierre Labric and Louis Thiry.
She was also invited to give various masterclasses and interpretation courses—among them Dublin in 1954 and Haarlem in 1955 and 1956, where she also become chair of the jury for the competitions. Following Dupré’s retirement, she was several times invited to be on the jury for the organ class at the Paris Conservatoire.

Organ building
What is less known is that Jeanne Demessieux had a passionate interest in organ building: she was fascinated by traditions and future ideas for organ building. Again, it was Dupré who had awoken this, and again—as with everything she did—she cultivated her own views and knowledge. She admired many diverse types of instrument—the great Cavaillé-Colls of course (particularly those in Rouen, Saint-Sulpice, the Madeleine and Notre-Dame), but also many older instruments, such as those in Weingarten and various great Dutch instruments.
In the 1960s, she began a major project for the French government to undertake a classification and study of the great instruments throughout France. Her private papers include a large file of her notes written in longhand analyzing many aspects of each of the numerous instruments considered in detail.
Perhaps least favorite for her were some of the large, heavy and ponderous American instruments. One note in her diary remarked a certain instrument was flat, dull and heavy in sound—“unfortunately, just what Dupré would love!”

The person
Jeanne was a person of complex personality—although not in the “temperamental” way. She could have great charm, yet be very aloof and display noted reserve with people. While not displaying any offensive ego or arrogance, she was well aware of her capabilities and stature: how could she not have been?
Her “duality” has been touched on earlier. A woman of highly intellectual capacity, with a remarkable ability to learn and retain, she was not interested in the superficial—thus she found many of the inevitable post-concert receptions (these being especially part of the American scene in the days she played there) quite dreadful; she loathed them, and even felt she’d earned her money just by enduring “ordeals,” as she called them! She seemed to have confused many—some saw her as very shy, others as reserved, some as charming, some as distant and impersonal. Yet under these various exteriors was a woman who was perhaps exactly all of these things by turn. She was also an observer of others—she noted in her diary how, on one of the boat trips going to play in America, she asked to dine alone at her own table—so that she could watch all the other passengers from a distance, but not have to mix with them or exchange superficial conversation. She also remarked elsewhere that she did not like the “snobbism” of certain artistic and cultural circles, some of whom were there merely because it was “the thing to do.”
Few—realistically only a mere handful—ever knew the real person behind the woman. Of those who did, all have spoken without limit of generosity of her kindness, gentleness, distinction, warmth and charm; to these people she was never affected by her celebrity, but remained a person of modesty and humility. She retained a sincere loyalty and friendship with those she trusted. Possibly the “rupture” with Dupré scarred her here too, for she never allowed many to ever become close to her again.
When relaxed, she had a sparkling and engaging personality, and to some she was a breath of fresh air from the usual, more drab male colleagues whom promoters had to entertain. Her correspondence to friends reflects a charming and effusive spirit; the radiant and effusive tone here was of great warmth, energy and spirit.
What was not publicly known in her life was that she suffered precarious health throughout much of her life, battling cancer in particular. It must be remembered that, until only recent generations, the discussion of illness—particularly serious illness—was an absolute social taboo; knowledge of any serious illness could often leave a person socially outcast, even professionally ruined. In addition to cancer, she had repeated bouts of “nervous exhaustion”—undoubtedly exacerbated by constantly fighting cancer plus her own fragility in order to continue working. Her drive, however, is reflected in that on several occasions she was up and traveling merely days after one of the many operations she underwent.
It was typical of her reserve that she lived in only modest accommodation—her apartment being only two rooms in a suburb of Paris. Yet she died owning multiple properties.

The last years
The auspicious successes and good fortune of her youth did not follow her through to middle age. Although the center of everyone’s attention in her youth, this changed. Despite the unswerving loyalty and love of her family, Dupré—the man she loved as her mentor and second “father”—turned against her (as did many in the wake of this), and the wider organ world began to look at new and emerging younger artists, rather overlooking her in the process. Understandably, for someone as sensitive as she undoubtedly was, this must have been immensely difficult to endure.
In the mid 1960s, she began to look back on her life and reflect, sometimes quite plaintively, and began to speak to those she trusted of her exhaustion and serious inner fatigue. Some who met her in these years spoke of her displaying quite visible inward sadness, despite the smiling and charming exterior. In addition to the enormous drain her illness must have had on her, her soul seems to have become disillusioned not with music itself, but with it as a profession and with all it had demanded of her. Despite her luck, she felt trying to establish her career had been a constant battle, many having viewed her either with suspicion or envy (often both). The dreams of her youth were shattered and soured, the sadness of her broken alliance with Dupré had distressed her immeasurably. Instead of looking back on a happy childhood, she began to look back with resentment on a childhood of solitary study, on a life of great personal disappointment, of disillusioned sadness at betrayed trusts. As a performer, the outstanding fame of her youth had waned.
One wonders how Dupré must have felt when she died, something he is never known to have divulged. Once as dear to him as his if she was his own daughter, to whom he had promised so much (and against whom he had turned against violently), she died—as did his own daughter, Marguerite—from cancer far too young. One wonders what he felt, and notes how pointless all those wasted years of non-communication surely were.

The legacy
The legend of Jeanne Demessieux has been of far greater importance than many have considered, or been willing to admit. Maybe some even felt such discussion would have distracted from their own achievements? To many, the star of this brilliant artist has always been something quite untouchable, and many organists (this writer among them) have practiced themselves into a frenzy in the hope of attaining just a little of her level of brilliance. Many openly freely admit how much they have been inspired by her image, and nearly every outstanding female organist since has, inevitably, at some stage been compared to her. Some people were, of course, less generous (as is their right) or simply didn’t appreciate her style, and undoubtedly there were also those who may even have been well served by the waning of her star and her passing because it gave them more space to grow. Yet she still remains one of the most talked of organists of all, a name virtually every organist knows.
Today there is renewed interest in her both as performer and composer and younger generations are discovering a legend anew. Her music is being discovered and performed more than ever before. Her influence is a great deal more than just the eternal talk of “the silver shoes.”

Further reading
Jeanne Demessieux, “Un Vie de Luttes et de Gloire” by Christiane Trieu-Colleney, Les Presses Universelles 1977
Jeanne Demessieux: Témoignages de ses Elèves et Amis, published by Les Amis de Jeanne Demessieux, 1901
“Six Etudes, Op. 5, of Jeanne Demessieux,” by Marjorie Ness, The Diapason, August 1987, pp. 9–11.
“The American Recital Tours of Jeanne Demessieux,” by Laura Ellis, The Diapason, October 1995, pp. 14–18.
“The Rise and Fall of a Famous Collaboration: Marcel Dupré and Jeanne Demessieux” by Lynn Cavanagh, The Diapason, July 2005, pp. 18–21.
The recordings of Jeanne Demessieux now reissued by Festivo contain excellent writing by one of her devoted friends, Pierre Labric.

Websites:
Les Amis de Jeanne Demessieux: http://cat.uregina.ca/demessieux/

Part ONE of Two

Lynn Cavanagh holds a M.M. in Church Music from Westminster Choir College and a Ph.D. in Music Theory from the University of British Columbia. She is an assistant professor in the Department of Music, University of Regina, where she teaches music theory. Her research on the career and musical compositions of Jeanne Demessieux has been funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

Mention the name of the French organist-composer JeanneDemessieux (1921-68) and someone will broach a tantalizing question from the history of the Paris organ world: why in 1946 did Marcel Dupré bring to a sudden end both his five-year-long artistic collaboration with Jeanne Demessieux and the close friendship he and his wife shared with the Demessieux family? No one knows, but recently rediscovered primary sources shed light on the matter.

The basic scenario was unusual. In the wake of her ParisConservatory first prize in organ in 1941, Demessieux underwent an intensivepostgraduate program of organ study with Dupré. Under his supervisionshe acquired an enormous repertoire and prodigious improvisation skills.Meanwhile, she was Marcel Duprés collaborator in seeking newfrontiers for pedal technique and new directions in composition for the organ.Demessieux's long-overdue public debut, a February 1946 recital of worksby Bach, Franck, Dupré and herself, created a sensation. That spring,Demessieux performed the remainder of the six-recital series that MarcelDupré and his wife, Jeanne Dupré, had planned for her. Theseprograms were played entirely from memory and always on a specially restoredand regulated Cavaillé-Coll organ, its console placed to evoke the sceneof a piano recital. Audience reaction suggests that her debut series bestowedrenewed glory on Duprés powers to bring organists to ever newheights of virtuosity and creativity at their instrument. Immediately afterrecital number six, near the beginning of June, the Duprés left on aNorth American recital tour, one of the aims of which was to undertake advancepublicity for another stage of the Demessieux project, her planned NorthAmerican debut. Yet, from their return to France at the end of December 1946onward, the Duprés refused ever again to speak to Jeanne Demessieux.

To the mutual friends who then entreated him, MarcelDupré withheld all word of explanation.1 Demessieux, who, according toher friends and family never completely recovered from the trauma of rejection,remained, to the end of her life, entirely at a loss to understand what causedher dearest friends to repudiate her.2

Six years after her death, in 1974, her older sister,Yolande Demessieux (1908-2000), provided material to theorganist-composer-musicologist Christiane Trieu-Colleney (1949-1993),including Jeanne Demessieux's journals and surviving correspondence, fora biography.3 As well as describing every aspect of Demessieux'sformation and career, this book undertook discussion of possible causes of theDuprés volte-face, which was a blow to Demessieux's parentsand sister, too. Having to walk a narrow path between satisfying YolandeDemessieux's desire for justice and not stating anything too embarrassingor controversial, Trieu-Colleney offered several, hypothetical, carefully phrased explanations. Most attempted, on the basis of evidence available toher, to find a bone of contention between the former collaborators, butwithout, in the end, appearing to favor one particular reason for the rift morethan any other.4

Duprés only available words on the matter arein a handwritten memo, to an unknown addressee, concerning his wish that someof his correspondence be suppressed. In translation, the entire memo reads:

Here are the reasons for which we wish that these fewletters do not appear:

1st Messiaen--the criticisms are just, but severe forhim. I like him personally very much. Please let this remain secret.

2nd Mlle Demessieux--Although during the years afterher prize I worked with her for nothing, she was unworthy of me and MadameDupré. This wound has never healed. I don't need to say more. Youcan guess.5

These words, even if they do not tell us exactly whathappened, do make it clear that something caused the Duprés to lose allrespect for their former protégée. Moreover, the final two, shortsentences suggest that Marcel Dupré expected his intended reader wouldbe able to deduce in what way Demessieux had proved to be undeserving of theircharity and respect.

Having the benefit of this statement from Dupré, thesame primary sources that were available to Trieu-Colleney--including thejournal of events and conversations Demessieux kept during the period December1940 through December 19466--and a cushion of elapsed time, I present inthis article a picture on which to base a theory of what brought about the endof the Dupré-Demessieux collaboration. Three concurrent situations willbe examined: the general state of the Paris organ world, the nature of therelationship between Marcel Dupré and other Paris organists, and thenature of the relationship between the Dupré family and JeanneDemessieux. Information on all three, as well as on Demessieux herself, emergesfrom events and conversations recorded in the latter's journal for thesix-year period cited above. In the remainder of the article, I will set thehistorical scene, outline the scenarios that emerge from the journal and, inconclusion, point to the likely cause of the abrupt end to the collaboration.

A Perspective on the Paris Organ World, circa1920-1960

 Since theheyday of the 1890s, when attendance at organ recitals in public halls in Parisand the fame of Parisian organ tribunes on a Sunday were at their height, therole of organ music in the city's musical life had gradually waned. Inthe period between the wars, it was increasingly evident that one ofFrance's greatest exports, organ playing, was continuing to lose prestigerelative to other musical genres, and doing so even in its own capital.Meanwhile, at the start of this period the organs of France were the victims of disrepair, the First World War, a decline in excellence in organ-building andmodifications to historic instruments that were sometimes ill-conceived.

After World War I, there were two contrasting viewpointsamong Paris organists as to where the future of the organ and its repertoirelay.7 One viewpoint was that of Dupré (1886-1971), a protégéof Alexandre Guilmant (1837-1911) and Charles-Marie Widor(1844-1937) and, through them, heir to the performance practice of theBelgian organist Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens (1823-81).8 Duprébelieved he had demonstrated, in his successful domestic and internationalcareers, that the way to renew and maintain the glory of the French organschool was by continuing the interdependent evolutions of organ technique,composition for the organ and organ building, and to do so in the samedirections as had led French organists to their original world acclaim. ForDupré this meant grooming organists who could rival the great pianistsin technical brilliance and interpretive charisma, and mentoring futuregenerations of composers for the organ. In his mind, revitalization of theFrench organ school called for studying the principles of thenineteenth-century organ builder Aristide Cavaillé-Coll in order thatthe best French Romantic organs could be restored according to their originaldesigns. In the design of new organs, it depended upon making up for havingrecently fallen behind British builders (Henry Willis)9 and American builders(E. M. Skinner)10 in pursuit of technology that would allow the organ tocontinue to increase its dynamic and timbral flexibility.11

On the other hand, coming up just behind Dupré werethe careers of a lineage of French organists who were personally interested inquite an opposite set of goals. Among these goals were cultivation of the vastFrench Baroque organ repertoire and the recovery of early keyboard technique.The most influential proponents of early organ music were the organistAndré Marchal (1894-1980)12 and the musicologist Norbert Dufourcq(1904-1990).13

Marchal, like Dupré, enjoyed an international concertand recording career, and was a sought-after teacher by students from NorthAmerica and other parts of Europe as well as France. Unlike Dupré, hewas not a direct descendant of the Lemmens-Widor heritage. Marchal's performance style is described by a friend of his, the British music critic Felix Aprahamian, as follows: Having rejected an untraditional Romanticapproach to Bach early in his career, his later resistance to the equally false aesthetic of metronomic intransigence and excessive staccato made him asometimes wayward but always sensitive Bach player.14 His repertoireranged from the medieval era to Messiaen, but omitted the big organ works,particularly the organ works of Liszt, and Dupré's large-scale compositions for organ.15 Unlike other famous French organists born prior to1925, he was not himself a composer.

Dufourcq, a close friend of Marchal, was, foremost, a highlyknowledgeable historian of French music and early organ building in France, anda scholarly editor of early organ music. He shone as an engaging, if alsopolemical, writer and speaker. His visibility rose further when he collaboratedwith Marchal in several famous series of lecture-recitals that occurred inParis, elsewhere in France and beyond.16 Dufourcq was one of the foundingmembers, in Paris in 1926, of the society 'Les Amis del'Orgue,'17 one of the aims of which was to encourage a new styleof organ-building.18

Marchal and Dufourcq, in collaboration with the organbuilder Victor Gonzalez (1877-1956), spearheaded the twentieth-centuryorgan reform movement in France.19 Beginning with organs the Gonzalez companybuilt from about 1930, theirs was an attempt to unite in one instrument thetonal requirements of German and French Baroque organ music, and Romantic andmodern organ music, using principles of organ design that they termednéo-classique.20 These principles were, at first, used both in therenovation of existing Baroque- and Romantic-era instruments, and in thebuilding of completely new instruments.21 Between the wars, as organs needed tobe restored or replaced, the aim to create an all-purpose instrument resultedin some controversial rebuildings of Romantic and Baroque organs alike.22 Aprominent example in Paris was the 1937 Gonzalez organ, built for the concerthall of the Palais Chaillot, which incorporated the pipework of theCavaillé-Coll organ that had existed in the former concert hall on thesame site.23

The two streams of organists in France in the first half ofthe twentieth century did not coexist peacefully. Dupré had many harshcritics from among adherents to Marchal and Dufourcq. They accused him ofmetronomic playing of an unmusical sort24 and excessively fast tempos. They didnot like his phrasing and claimed his registrations were flawed by heaviness.25When teaching, 'he showed himself to be fiercely opposed to certaininterpretations, to certain aesthetics; this attitude could not but irritatethose who were warm-blooded.26 According to Dufourcq, Duprédefended 'technologie passéiste' in organ design.27 Writingin 1971, Dufourcq summed up his critique by saying that it would not have beenlogical for everyone to follow Dupré because many others were'very interested in progress.'28

On the other hand, Marchal and his students came undercriticism from Dupré's supporters for neglecting the cultivationof virtuosity and ignoring most of the big organ works in existence. From thepoint of view of Marchal's detractors, when playing Bach, he, andorganists like him, employed inappropriate rubato and an idiosyncratic melangeof different sorts of detached articulation.29 The neoclassic organ, to thesupporters of Dupré, rendered an equal disservice to Bach, the Romanticrepertoire and modern organ composition. Moreover, the organ reform movement inFrance fostered misunderstandings of the principles of Cavaillé-Coll(e.g., it was responsible for the notion that Cavaillé-Coll aimed tovoice stops in imitation of orchestral instruments, and the notion that he madeno use of mutations and mixtures); thereby the neoclassic movement furtheredthe neglect of Cavaillé-Coll's ideals.30

The ideological differences between Paris organists resultedin acrimonious disputes on commissions to restore organs.31 Combined with thebaser human emotions, such as egotism and envy, they also caused anunconscious, and not-so-unconscious, forming of cliques of loyalty, forexample, when church positions and teaching posts came open.32 Competition inthe Paris organ world was strong and ruthless.33

Dupré's Relationships with Others in the ParisOrgan World

Demessieux's journal of 1940-46, in which shestrove to record events exactly as they occurred, and conversations as nearlyverbatim as possible, provides insights into Dupré's relationshipswith other Paris organists. From Dupré's point of view, a majorcause of enmity toward him and his goals was his colleagues' jealousy ofhis abilities and achievements. He judged that their resentment began inearnest following the display of his musical powers in his pioneering 1920series of Bach recitals. In the following words he warned Demessieux what toexpect as a result of her own debut:

. . . At your age I, too, saw that the old could bejealous of the young. (I am jealous of no one, you know.) Later I knew thejealousy of colleagues, and now, as you well know, I know the jealousy of theyoung. Not that I mind. You will see! . . .34 

He did, though, feel keenly the malice of others that heattributed to jealousy:

I have reached the age of fifty-seven without havingattained my goal, which is peace. I will have accomplished so much, and allI've gotten in return is insults, insults.35 

Having become distrustful of his colleagues, he privatelybelieved that the society Les Amis de l'Orgue had been setup expressly to oppose his viewpoints.36 On the other hand, sometimes being tootrusting of others' motives caused him grief: in the following excerptfrom Demessieux's journal, Bernard Gavoty37 tells her how one ofDupré?s friendships turned to enmity:

In the train, he [Gavoty] had a lot to say about the'great affection' that, at one time, joined Dupré andVierne, and that was ruined by 'some third persons, playing a role intheir life.' 'These two great men,' he called them, whichshocked me.

It was like a thorn in Dupré's side that in thefirst half of the twentieth century a generally negative attitude toward therecent Romantic era of music caused early- and modern-music enthusiasts aliketo disparage post-Romantic organ composition and the symphonic organ.39 As aMonsieur Provost, whom Demessieux identifies as a friend of Dufourcq and memberof 'Les Amis de l'Orgue,' made a point of saying to her oneday, 'When [Dupré's] Symphony in G minor is played, I willwhistle.'40 Dupré, for his part, was not someone to forgive thosehe regarded as his enemies. Demessieux's account of a concert byDupré, one of a series of Bach recitals in 1945, begins as follows:

Yesterday at St. Philippe [-du-Roule]. Organ was fine.Dufourcq and Marchal were there together. A splendid concert. When Duprécame down, Duf[ourcq] and M[archal] went to him. We [Dupré et al.]turned our backs on them.41 

Gavoty was telling her nothing that she did not already knowwhen he said, 'Dupré and Marchal are enemies until death.'42

In short, Dupré by 1941 was disappointed and bitter.As successful as had been his career beyond Paris, his ideas on organ building,his style of playing and his organ compositions were the butt of spitefulcomment by a faction of Paris organists and by the students of thoseorganists.43 He also suffered the disrespect of many of his Parisian composercolleagues for being the author largely of instrumental works, particularlyworks for organ, and of no works for musical theatre, the staging of which wasde rigueur for a French composer to enter the upper echelons of repute.44 True,among Paris organists he wielded a sort of power for having succeeded Gigout asprofessor of the Paris Conservatory organ class in 1926 (a position he garneredwith the strong backing of Widor). But he subsequently suffered from the lackof respect shown to him by many of his Conservatory students, the larger partof whom naturally came from other organ teachers. Demessieux recorded in herjournal:

Calmly, Dupré again spoke to me of his enemies; [JD:]'They have not let up?'

MD: 'They are worse than ever. There is anorganization against me, like there was one against Liszt, against Chopin,against Busoni. I only have 'half-students'; they are set upagainst me. In organ concerts at the [Palais de] Chaillot, only the simplest ofmy works is tolerated . . .'45

Dupré sensed himself at a dead end: by 1941, afterfifteen years as professor of the Paris Conservatory organ class, he despairedof ever finding a young musician who was both suitably gifted and interested inhis ideas about the organ. That despair gradually lifted with the appearance ofan exceptional student.

Jeanne Demessieux

Demessieux's ambition, from her childhood, was a dualcareer as composer and concert pianist.46 At the Paris Conservatory, herpianism and interpretive flair flourished under renowned performer-teachersLazare-Lévy (1882- 1964) and Magda Tagliaferro (1893- 1986),while her theory teachers, Noël Gallon (1891-1966) and Jean Gallon(1878-1959), anticipated the day that she would carry off the Prix deRome in music composition.47 After receiving first prizes in harmony (1937),piano (1938) and fugue (1939), she entered a composition classand--originally meant to be a supplementary endeavour--the organclass.48 By the example of Dupré, she was drawn more and more to theorgan, but not without a real regret that the organ lacks such a treasure ofRomantic-era music as the piano has.49 In neither background nor temperamentwas Demessieux suited to exploring early music or early keyboard technique; butas a twenty-year-old she played neglected organ works such as Liszt'sFantasia and Fugue on 'Ad nos, ad salutarem' with amazing panacheand interpretive insight.

Barriers soon rose before her. In 1941, although flushedwith the success of her unanimous first-prize showing in that year'sParis Conservatory organ competition, she was immediately afterwarddisillusioned by the intransigence of the musical establishment on thecomposition jury: its members had derided her submissions semester aftersemester. She had reason to suspect that in the 1941 Paris Conservatorycomposition competition the women competitors were deliberately 'shutout' but, taking into account the wider situation, her own case may havehad as much to do with, first, becoming known as an organist, and second, beingknown as a favorite student of that bête-noire Dupré. By thesummer of 1941, her self-esteem as a composer had plummeted, making herlong-held career plans suddenly seem less certain.

The Grand Scheme

By 1941 Dupré had observed Demessieux's musicianshipfor five years and knew that in ability, background training and musicaltemperament she was his dream student. He saw that, beyond being the mostgifted, perfectly trained and hardworking musician he had ever known, thisyoung organist was capable of picking up where he must eventually leave off inthe continuing evolutions of organ technique and writing style for theinstrument. For five more years Dupré would be convinced of this, evenwhile he repeatedly shook his head over the irony (to his way of thinking) offinding this musician in a woman.

For her part, Demessieux had no doubts that Dupré wasthe only organ teacher with whom she would ever wish to study, and that he madeno idle promise in guaranteeing her a brilliant career as a concert organist,composer and teacher. In formal discussions Dupré receivedDemessieux's guarantee that she would dedicate her entire being to thecommon aims they shared. An agreement was struck between the two families: theDemessieux family would have to be willing to commit their daughter'stime and energies to this further period of apprenticeship; Jeanne Dupréwould play as active a role in managing the formation of Demessieux'scareer as she had taken in the management of her husband's career thusfar.

The Duprés formulated and undertook their plans forlaunching Demessieux because they had confidence in her and because MarcelDupré sincerely believed that he, and not the anti-Romantic faction oforganists, had the correct idea of how to preserve and enhance the reputationof their art. Nevertheless, Dupré was human enough that, for the calumnyand misery he perceived his enemies to have caused him, he also wantedrevenge.50 This was an aim with which Demessieux, as much his wife anddaughter, had complete sympathy. The Dupré-Demessieux expectationappears to have been that ideological disputes would be settled by theproclamation of a clear winner, this in the form of an undisputed audiencefavorite. Demessieux's debut and subsequent career were meant to provecertain points: first, the preference of general audiences for listening toBach and Romantic music (as opposed to large doses of early music),particularly when played by a first-class virtuoso and on aCavaillé-Coll-style instrument; and second, the superiority ofDupré's pedagogical principles--for Demessieux was theproduct of Dupré's organ teaching and none other's. Inshort, the debut and the career of a dynamic young French organist andcomposer, who unreservedly shared Dupré's ideals, were expected toshame his critics. Dupré would be compensated for having felt ostracizedsince the 1920s and, through their parallel careers, the honored place of theorgan in western music would gradually be restored.

How had they thought to ensure these results?

--By leaving no stone unturned in Demessieux'spreparation, of course, but also by maximizing the impact of her first publicconcert appearance.

How?

--By a strategy that alternated suppression ofinformation with information leaks.

Except for church services (where the full extent of herpowers was not evident), for nearly five years following her last appearance ina Paris Conservatory organ competition, Demessieux did not play in public.Principal organist of her own parish, Saint-Esprit (1933-62), with theresponsibility of assuring the organ-playing there, she allowed Dupré toput a word in with her parish priest because he wished that she be free fromtime to time to take his place in the more prestigious tribune ofSaint-Sulpice. Here was the instrument where, near the start of the century,Widor had convinced himself that Dupré would be his principal supplyorganist and his successor.51 Generally, it worked to Dupré'spurposes that--when he was away and Demessieux could play atSaint-Sulpice--in the tribune (as well as Madame Dupré) were bothhis admirers among the church-going laity and others who were?spying? (as Dupré regarded appearances of particularadherents of the opposing faction). According to their affiliation, thesewitnesses reported back to him or to his detractors the growing marvel ofDemessieux's improvisations in traditional forms.

In other ways, Demessieux was a mystery to Paris musiciansand recital goers. Like her peers, who played debut and follow-up recitals andmade radio broadcasts during this period, she too received invitations toperform in public venues following her Paris Conservatory first prize. (Bymodern standards, there was no lack of organ recitals taking place in Franceduring the German occupation.) She received an invitation from Dufourcq to playa recital in the series he regularly organized at the Palais Chaillot(1943-44 season)52 and another from Gaston Litaize, who, suggesting aprogram made up entirely of early music, wanted her to play for a radio broadcastand a recital at the Palais Chaillot.53 Nevertheless, she refused theseproposals, not only for ideological reasons, but to withhold revelation of herabilities as a concert organist until the day conditions in Paris were idealand European borders were open again. From the nature of invitations to performat Chaillot, and from other overtures for collegiality,54 it gradually becameevident to Demessieux that an attempt was being made to attract her into the 'orbit of Dufourcq'55 and even to gain control of her debut as aconcert organist.

The Duprés' plans for her debut dependedheavily on the existence of the right organ in the right setting--aconcert hall with a Cavaillé-Coll organ in primecondition--apparently non-existent in Paris in the early 1940s. Dupréundertook to persuade the associates of the Salle Pleyel to shoulder theexpense of restoration of its Cavaillé-Coll organ and repositioning ofthe organ console. At a crucial stage in his negotiations with the Salle Pleyelassociates, it appears that friends of the Chaillot-Dufourcq faction laid atrap for Demessieux, the falling into which--if she and JeanneDupré had not had their suspicions--would have unmaskedDupré's ulterior motive--that the Salle Pleyel instrumentshould fit his and Demessieux's ideals for her debut recitalseries--thereby ruining the impact of his arguments to the Salle Pleyelassociates.56 After being alerted by his wife, Dupré scrambled to ensurethat other possible forms of interference during his meeting with the associatesof the Salle Pleyel were also averted, with the result that his hopes for theorgan were, in time, successfully realized.

The Collaboration

What kinds of contact existed between Jeanne Demessieux andthe Dupré family during this five-year period? In addition to her ownpracticing, composing, teaching, editing, and liturgical duties, once or twicea week Demessieux spent several hours at the Dupré home in the Parissuburb of Meudon, hours that were occupied by a multitude of activities. Shegradually performed for her mentor all of the major Bach and post-Bach organrepertoire, along with a sprinkling of early music favorites and select modernworks; she listened to Dupré perform. They conferred over an anthologyfor organ students and an edition of Handel's organ concertos they werejointly preparing for publication; at other times they played and discussed thetwelve organ études that Dupré wrote during 1942-1943 tochallenge Demessieux's technique.57 In the area of organ building, they surveyedDupré's knowledge of organs in different countries along with somemajor treatises on organ building; each time a new phase of his own invention,a memory system of electric combination action, was installed on the Meudonorgan, they tested its possibilities.58 Dupré and Demessieux critiquedthe recent recitals of other organists and discussed strategies forDemessieux's career. She listened to Dupré, or Dupré andhis daughter Marguerite together, play the orchestral transcriptions he wrotefor their personal enjoyment and, in turn, the Duprés listened to anddiscussed Demessieux's organ compositions. Over a period of three years,she presented on the Meudon organ, before an audience of the Demessieux andDupré families, a series of twelve semi-formal recitals; occasionally, shewas asked to play for visiting close friends and relatives of theDuprés.59 As well, Dupré and Demessieux frequently discussed theprocess of musical composition, and theology vis-à-vis musicalcomposition. A significant amount of time was spent studying the Englishlanguage under Jeanne Dupré.

Affection, Admiration and Favoritism

Amidst all these activities, Demessieux and her parents wereaccepted en famille at meals and times of relaxation.

When members of the two families did not see each other fora couple of days, they were in contact by telephone. They attended concertstogether; when the concert was in a public recital hall, Demessieux, with orwithout her parents, might be a guest of the Duprés in their speciallyappointed box. The Duprés (husband and wife) and Demessieux'sparents treated each other as among the closest of friends. The three membersof the Dupré family bestowed on Jeanne the same formal gestures ofaffection they did upon each other. In her journal, after four years of thisrelationship, 'Madame Dupré' became 'Mammy'60(as distinct from 'Maman'); Marcel Dupré, however, shealways referred to by his complete name, his surname or, when she addressed him, as 'Master.'

While Jeanne and Marguerite Dupré were lavish in their compliments of Demessieux's musicality,61 Marcel Dupré was yet more lavish, bordering on fulsomeness in his praise.62 Nevertheless, there is no basis for doubting the utter sincerity of his remarks. The likely reasonfor their extravagance is that, being from a generation that believed it biologically impossible for the finest woman?s mind to equal the finest man's mind (as he had admittedly thought), he repeatedly found it difficult to believe his eyes and ears. The tone of his compliments of her musicianship make it evident that Dupré was overwhelmed with wonder: he was amazed byhis good fortune to have a student whose musical instincts and abilities were analogous to his; as well it was highly gratifying that, because of herconfidence in him and oneness of mind with him, she was willing to follow every detail of his instructions. Dupré was equally amazed by the combination of her appearance as a slightly-built woman, her expertise as a musician and her general intelligence. The change in atmosphere he had experienced--from artistic isolation to fruitful collaboration--created, I would argue, an elation similar to that of being romantically in love. To speculate that he also loved Demessieux in a way that amounted to disloyalty toward his spouse would seem gratuitous. Suffice it to say that Jeanne Dupré's warmth of manner toward one whom she had virtually made an adopted, second daughter,63 and her oneness of mind with her husband on the importance of Demessieux's career to the Duprés' purpose in life, hardly left room for her finding fault with her husband's rationally motivated absorption in his collaboration with a colleague. The organist Pierre Labric, who was at this time an acquaintance of the Duprés and a student of Demessieux, firmly believes that the later-rumored notion that Madame Dupré became jealous of Jeanne Demessieux is highly implausible.64

Other articles on Jeanne Demessieux:

The Legend of Jeanne Demessieux

Jeanne Demessieux American recital tours

An interview with Pierre Labric

Jeanne Demessieux's Stabat Mater

Jeanne Demessieux

Ronald Ebrecht is University Organist of Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut, and director of music at First Congregational Church, Waterbury, where his keyboard introductory programs for Waterbury schools have reached more than 22,000 young people. He studied at Southern Methodist University and Yale University in the United States, and at the Schola Cantorum and the Sorbonne in Paris, France, and his teachers include Ralph Kirkpatrick, Gerre Hancock, Marie-Madeleine Duruflé, and Jean Guillou. His performances have been recorded and broadcast by Radio Suisse, Radio France, National Public Television, Connecticut Public Radio, and also issued on the Mode and AFKA labels.

Mr. Walker studied as an undergraduate at Trinity College, Hartford, with the great Dupré student Clarence Watters. Being thus indoctrinated and equipped with an M.A. from Harvard and the F.A.G.O. certificate, when the war was over Mr. Walker became music director of the American Cathedral, in September 1948. That winter, he picked up the telephone and engaged Marcel Dupré for a Lenten recital. With that endorsement, he also lined up Maurice Duruflé, Jean Langlais, André Marchal and Olivier Messiaen for 9:00 p.m. recitals the other Fridays of Lent. The resourceful Mr. Walker was courting Janet Elizabeth Hayes, a soprano studying in Paris at the time. She was a graduate of the New England Conservatory of Music where she had served on the faculty and eventually obtained a Frank Huntington Beebe award to study abroad. Mr. Walker became engaged to her that winter and convinced her harmony teacher Nadia Boulanger to provide themes for those who would improvise to close the recitals. Mr. Walker played the opening recital and conducted the performance of the Brahms Requiem with orchestra on Good Friday to close the series, with soloists Janet Hayes, soprano, and Joseph Luts, baritone.

The success of the concerts was such that he repeated the series in Lent 1950 with Gaston Litaize in place of Dupré, but otherwise the same performers. In December of 1950, he left Paris to assume his duties at the Church of the Heavenly Rest in New York City. With this "hit-parade" of performers, the organization of this series, instrument, repertoire and impact are worthy of an assessment.

Following up on Mr. Walker's talent with the telephone, Frederick W. Beekman, Dean of the American Church of the Holy Trinity (Pro-Cathedral), augured with his pen. He sent a letter, dated February 15, seeking 1,000 franc contributions2 for patrons who were assured of reserved pews. Sixty-eight are listed in the program, including prominent Parisians as well as members of the Cathedral. Beyond the expenses of printing programs and posters, artist honorariums were 10,000 francs3 each except Dupré who received 20,000 francs. Clever Charlie Walker arranged that the professional Orchestre de Chambre de Paris was placed at his disposition for the Brahms gratis in exchange for use of the building for other concerts being organized by the director Pierre Duvauchelle. With patron contributions of 68,000 minus the artist fees of 60,000, plus Requiem soloists, printing, etc., the financial situation was quite comfortable without the free-will offering collected at each concert.

The only other comparable series in town was at Trocadero, where the Cavaillé-Coll organ was rebuilt by Gonzalez in Neoclassic style with a modern "American" console, featuring octave couplers and pistons, in the Palais de Chaillot. It reopened in 1942. Most of the famous French organists performed in concert there. Otherwise during the war there was little recital activity because fuel for heating, metal for pipe repairs and most other materials were strictly rationed. Unlike the many Parisian churches shuttered during the occupation, the American Cathedral had benefitted from its designation as the official German Protestant church and the organ and building were therefore maintained. Prior to the war, the 1887 Cavaillé-Coll III/45 56/30 was twice rebuilt by the successor companies in 1922 and 1929, thus attaining IV/62 61/32.4

Today in the USA, a presenter might assume that an audience would be attracted by a series of concerts by foreign performers since the public would find little novelty in a set of local ones, however famous. The context of these in Paris was quite different. In addition to the privations of the war which precluded recitals in churches, organists regularly improvise the voluntaries at services. Music-lovers and congregations had little opportunity to hear repertoire. Knowing this, Mr. Walker asked for a balanced program in addition to improvisations, and encouraged the composer/performers to play their most recent works. These concerts thus attracted large audiences and the press. Present-day considerations to present an encyclopedic overview, a broad sampling of national schools, diverse musical styles, etc., seem not to have been important.

A look at the precise programs in 1949, for instance, shows that in addition to programming a performance of each of the three Franck Chorals, Mr. Walker arranged that several performers played some of their most recent works. Langlais played his Suite Française (1948), Dupré, his Vision (1948), Duruflé, his Prélude et Fugue sur le nom d'Alain (1943) and Messiaen, his Nativité (1936). Nativité aside, the Lenten theme was only loosely followed. Some included works of their contemporaries: Langlais, the Litaize "Lamento," Walker, the Dupré Prelude and Fugue in G Minor, Duruflé, excerpts from the Dupré Chemin de la Croix. Only Walker and Dupré deigned to honor American composers under this rubric: Walker played the Piston Chromatic Study on B-A-C-H and Dupré, the Eric DeLamarter Prelude on a Theme in Gregorian Style (H.W. Gray, 1920).

Marchal, Langlais and Dupré improvised to close their programs. Although the themes written by Mlle Boulanger are lost, Mr. Walker recalls that they were angular and not easily retained. "What good does it do to be a master of inverted retrograde when nobody can remember the theme of your improvisation? It was a learning experience for me to realize that audiences get the most pleasure out of hearing a recognizable theme getting brilliant treatment from a master."5 Duruflé, Messiaen and Walker did not improvise.6

The 1949 programs also show the breadth of repertoire played. Mr. Walker (born 1920) opened the series on March 4 with three Bach works: Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543; Trio Sonata I, BWV 525; and Herzlich tut mich verlangen, BWV 727. He moved on to a Brahms setting of the same chorale, then the Franck E Major Choral, and the Piston and Dupré already mentioned.

On March 11, André Marchal (1894-1980), the blind organist of Saint-Eustache, played an all-French program.7 Extracts from larger pieces of Titelouze, de Grigny, Couperin, du Mage and Clérambault provided a view of the eighteenth century, and the Boëly Fantaisie et Fugue (in B-flat Major) a glimpse of the nineteenth. The program concluded with the Symphonie, opus 5, written in 1907 by Augustin Barié (1883-1915). Of Marchal's interpretation of this piece, Messiaen writes "what a joyful memory, pure and sunny, the Symphony of Barié, played in five scenes of expressive freshness."8 Mr. Marchal improvised to close his program. Marchal's historical research did not lead to an academic performance style, but informed a fluid, expressive player. The many Marchal recordings still available or in library collections can provide aural evidence of this to those who wish to know more of his playing, while some may remember his performances made during several concert tours of the USA in the 1960s.9

Jean Langlais (1907-1991), pupil of Marchal and organist of Franck's church Sainte-Clotilde, opened his program on March 18 with the Franck second Choral. This was his only nineteenth century piece, for he continued with the Tournemire "Eli, Eli, Lamma Sabacthani" from his Seven Last Words, Litaize "Lamento" in memory of his friend and Conservatoire classmate Jehan Alain who was killed during the war, and the "Final" from the Sixth Symphony of Vierne. The Langlais pieces that followed were "Cantilène" from the Suite Brève, "Chant Héroïque" from Neuf Pièces, and the premiere of sections of his Suite Française. He also concluded with an improvisation. Langlais was in his prime at this time, and Mr. Walker reports a thrilling performance, which readers may investigate through the many recordings Langlais made or may recall from his American recitals.

Marcel Dupré (1886-1971), pupil of Guilmant and Vierne and successor to Widor at Saint-Sulpice, played on March 25. His was not at all a light program, for he opened with the Fantasy and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542, of Bach, and continued with Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Sagen of Liszt, and "Allegro Maestoso" from Symphonie Gothique of Widor. Prelude on a Theme in Gregorian Style, written by the American organist Eric DeLamarter, was the quiet interlude before the Dupré works that would close the concert. First, from the very recent iMr. Dupré played "And the light shineth in darkness," then Prelude and Fugue in C Major. He closed with an improvisation. Performances not just of the master but of these specific works exist in recordings to satisfy the curiosity of those interested in his playing style.

Mr. Walker asked Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992) to perform his La Nativité du Seigneur on the April 1 program.10 Messiaen was a harmony student of Duruflé and organ student of Dupré at the Conservatoire. Mr. Walker found Messiaen the most careful registrant. Messiaen asked that Charlie play passages on various registrations in order to assess their effectiveness as he walked around the cathedral. As mentioned earlier, neither Messaien nor Duruflé improvised to close their programs. Providing a reference as for the other performers, Mr. Messiaen made a recording of the Nativité.

Though Mr. Walker came to Paris intent to study with Dupré as Clarence Watters wished, Dupré recommended that he work with Duruflé instead, but Charlie's schedule precluded any lessons. He was surprised that Duruflé arrived for his practice by bicycle, but this was the harmony professor's standard conveyance to Conservatoire classes and around Paris.11 Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986), organist of Saint-Étienne du Mont,12 opened his concert on April 8 with the Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor, BWV 582, of J. S. Bach. Three other Baroque works followed: "Récit de tierce en taille" and "Basse de trompette" from the Convents Mass of Couperin, and Concerto in B-flat Major (op. 4, no. 2) of Handel. He then played Choral 3 of Franck. His contemporary works were the "Andantino" from Pièces de Fantaisie of Vierne, four movements from Le Chemin de la Croix of Dupré,  and the Duruflé Prélude et fugue sur le nom d'Alain.

The next Friday was Good Friday, and featured a performance of Brahms Requiem with orchestra, the cathedral choir, and soloists, Mr. Walker conducting.

The constellation of players at important parishes in Paris in 1949/1950 is interesting to compare with the performers' roster at the American Cathedral. Though these were the most famous known to Mr. Walker, others may have selected eminent musicologist Norbert Dufourcq who was at Saint-Merry; the important music critic Bernard Gavoty who was at the Invalides; long-lived ladies and Dupré students Rolande Falcinelli and Suzanne Chaisemartin who were at Sacre-Coeur and Saint-Augustin; Baroque revival champion Michel Chapuis who was at Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois; and rising star Pierre Cochereau who was at Saint Roch13 in waiting for the position at the cathedral, Notre-Dame, where Vierne's successor Leonce de Saint-Martin served. Of these, Mr. Walker only remembers meeting Pierre Cochereau at the American Cathedral recitals. He came to a program with Jean Langlais, who was the most regular in attendance at the recitals of his colleagues. One may  note the absence of women from the roster and  the representation of blind organists, which increased in 1950 when Litaize replaced Dupré.

The review in The Diapason, presumably by its Paris correspondent Hugh McAmis, is interesting enough to be quoted in its entirety.14

Recitals by Noted Men at the American Cathedral in Paris

Americans in Paris, as well as native Parisians, are enjoying a treat at the American Pro-Cathedral church of the Holy Trinity, where a Lenten recital series has been arranged by Charles Dodsley Walker, cathedral organist and choirmaster. On the list of recitalists are André Marchal, Jean Langlais, Marcel Dupré, Olivier Messiaen and Maurice Duruflé.

The series of Friday evening recitals began March 4 with a program by Mr. Walker, after which came the recitals of the five great French organists. The programs contain a wide variety of French music of all periods. Especially well represented was the contemporary school of French organ composition, as each organist-composer had been asked to include some of his own compositions. Improvisations, for which the themes were provided by Nadia Boulanger, concluded the recitals of Marchal, Langlais and Dupré.

Concluding the series will be a Good Friday choral concert by the cathedral choir singing the Brahms Requiem under Mr. Walker's direction, with Janet Hayes, soprano; Joseph Luts, bass; and Marthe Bracquemond, organist. Both soloists for the performance, which will be in English, are young Americans in Paris for vocal study. Miss Hayes, who is from Evanston, Ill., is a former member of the faculty of the New England Conservatory in Boston and of Boris Goldovsky's New England Opera Theater. Mr. Luts, a New Yorker, has been active in church work and opera in the New York and Philadelphia areas.

The privilege of hearing the performances was considerably enhanced by the fact that the church is heated and the organ kept tuned--both of which conditions are found infrequently in Paris.

The cathedral organ, one of the finest in France, was constructed originally as a three-manual tracker action instrument by Cavaillé-Coll in 1887. In 1922, it was enlarged and modernized somewhat and in 1930 it was completely rebuilt, further enlarged and equipped with electro-pneumatic action and an up-to-date four-manual console of the American type. Charles Dodsley Walker has been organist and choirmaster of the American Pro-Cathedral since September, 1948.

Of perhaps equal interest to the review is the stoplist of the cathedral organ, which was as mentioned built by Cavaillé-Coll as a three-manual in 1887. Cavaillé-Coll/Pleyel enlarged the instrument by seven stops, increased the pedal compass to 32 notes and electrified the action in 1922. In 1929/30 it was enlarged again under Convers, with a fourth manual, Solo. This new division and the Positif were enclosed (in addition to the Récit). In the new console, the manual compass increased from 56 to 61, with 73-note chests to accommodate the super-couplers in all but the Great division. These renovations were carried out during the tenure of the flamboyant Lawrence Kilbourne Whipp as organist of the cathedral.15

PÉDALE

                  32'          Soubasse

                  32'          Violoncelle

                  16'          Contrebasse

                  16'          Soubasse

                  16'          Bourdon (GO)

                  16'          Violone

                  102⁄3'   Quinte

                  8'             Flûte

                  8'             Bourdon

                  8'             Violoncelle

                  4'             Bourdon

                  32'          Bombarde

                  16'          Bombarde

                  8'             Trompette

                                    Cloches

GRAND ORGUE

                  16'          Diapason

                  16'          Bourdon

                  8'             Diapason

                  8'             Montre

                  8'             Flûte

                  8'             Bourdon

                  8'             Violoncelle

                  4'             Prestant

                  4'             Flûte

                  22⁄3'      Quinte

                  2'             Doublette

                                    Plein Jeu III

                  16'          Basson

                  8'             Trompette

                  8'             Tuba (Solo)

                  4'             Clairon

                                    Tremolo

POSITIF (Enclosed)

                  16'          Quintaton

                  8'             Diapason

                  8'             Principal

                  8'             Bourdon

                  8'             Salicional

                  8'             Dulciane

                  4'             Flûte Douce

                  22⁄3'      Nazard

                  2'             Doublette

                  13⁄5'      Tierce

                  8'             Clarinette

                  8'             Trompette

                                    Cloches

                                    Tremolo

RÉCIT (Enclosed)

                  16'          Quintaton

                  8'             Diapason

                  8'             Flûte

                  8'             Gambe

                  8'             Voix Céleste

                  4'             Flûte Octave

                  4'             Gambe

                  2'             Octavin

                                    Cornet III-V

                                    Plein Jeu III-V

                  16'          Bombarde

                  8'             Trompette

                  8'             Basson Hautbois

                  8'             Voix Humaine

                  4'             Clairon

                                    Tremolo

SOLO (Enclosed)

                  8'             Philomela

                  8'             Viole

                  8'             Voix Céleste

                  8'             Tuba

                  8'             French Horn

                                    Tremolo

Notes

                  1.              I am very grateful to Edward Tipton, the present Director of Music of the American Cathedral, who found the correspondence, program and poster for this series while searching the cathedral archives for material related to Maurice Duruflé, and to Charles Dodsley Walker for his kind replies to several letters and calls about this series he directed more than fifty years ago.

                  2.              The rate of exchange being 350 francs for one dollar, this was approximately $3.00 in 1949 dollars.

                  3.              To put this fee in perspective, at the time Langlais was paid approximately $12 per month at Saint-Clotilde.

                  4.              Ronald Ebrecht, Maurice Duruflé, 1902-1986, the Last Impressionist (Lanham, MD, and London: Scarecrow Press, 2002), p. 172n.

                  5.              Charles Dodsley Walker letter to Ronald Ebrecht, June 2002. Private collection.

                  6.              While it was not Mr. Walker's custom to improvise at services, I remember both Duruflé and Messiaen as engaging improvisers during masses in the early 1970s. They are not around now, however, to explain why they chose not to improvise for these concerts.

                  7.              Then he returned in 1950 to play all Franck. His 1959 recording of the Franck twelve major works later won him a Grand Prix du Disque.

                  8.              L'Orgue, Cahiers et Mémoires, #38, p. 104. Ebrecht translation.

                  9.              He also inaugurated many restored historic organs in France, including on April 24, 1966, the Lefebvre/Muller IV/50 built for Saint-Pierre, Caen in 1753 and moved to the Collégiale de la Madeleine, Verneuil-sur-Avre in 1779. This is the church where I served in 1977-79.

                  10.           I presume not as an April fools' joke.

                  11.           Duruflé lost the benefit of this healthy life-style in his catastrophic injuries in a 1975 automobile accident.

                  12.           Though the main organ at his church was removed in 1939 and not reinstalled until 1956 and he was thus playing the small organ in the choir, Duruflé uses his title "Organiste du Grand Orgue de Saint-Étienne du Mont."

                  13.           Cochereau was Duruflé's harmony student at the Conservatoire in 1944-45, and it seems that Mlle Chevalier's first evening social engagement with Duruflé was a trip to a recital by Cochereau at Saint-Roch in 1945. Ebrecht, p. 42.

                  14.           Reprint of article from The Diapason, April 1, 1949, p. 21.

                  15.           The recitals were not Duruflé's only involvement at the cathedral, which included his serving as examiner for a renovation of the organ in 1953, and continued until his death. His wife, Marie-Madeleine, played the inaugural recital following the 1992 renovation of the organ by Dargassies. She heard the Requiem there in 1996, for her last time. Ebrecht, p. 172 and pp. 192, 193.

September 29–October 2, 2013

Thanks to Gale Kramer for his review of the student recital on September 30.

Marijim Thoene, a student of Marilyn Mason, received a DMA in organ performance/church music from the University of Michigan in 1984. An active recitalist, her two CDs, Mystics and Spirits and Wind Song, are available through Raven Recordings. She is a frequent presenter at medieval conferences on the topic of the image of the pipe organ in medieval manuscripts.  

Gale Kramer, DMA, is organist emeritus of Metropolitan United Methodist Church in Detroit, Michigan, and a former assistant professor of organ at Wayne State University. A graduate of the University of Michigan, he is a regular reviewer and occasional contributor to The Diapason. His article, “Food References in the Short Chorales of Clavierübung III,” appeared in the April 1984 issue of The Diapason.

Marilyn Mason—legend in her own time, musician and teacher of international renown, torchbearer for composers, organ builders, and students, ground breaker, and pioneer—was honored in this year’s 53rd Conference on Organ Music. Mason has been consumed by a magnificent obsession, and has shared her mantra “eat, sleep, and practice” with hundreds of students at the University of Michigan. The Victorian writer Walter Pater encapsulated her life: “To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.” 

The principal business of this annual conference was the celebration of Marilyn Mason’s 66 years at the helm of the organ department of the University of Michigan. Following this year of furlough she will say goodbye to the full-time employment that has occupied her since her organ teacher, Professor Palmer Christian, hired her on to the faculty of the School of Music. Over the course of the conference many of her attributes came to the fore: loyalty to the University of Michigan, excellence in performance all over the world, practical concern for scholarships and employment for her students, and perseverance in making things happen, not just once, but over many years. The organ conference itself embodies one of many events she saw a need for, initiated, and perpetuated over time, in this case for 53 years. Other long-term projects to which she devoted her energies include a large repertoire of commissioned organ works, and 56 Historical Organ Tours sponsored by the University of Michigan, which she initiated in order to enable students to experience the sound and touch of historic European instruments.

Sunday, September 29, 2013

The music of the first event of the conference, “A Grand Night for Singing,” featuring all of the choral groups at the University of Michigan—the Chamber Choir, the Orpheus Singers, Men’s Glee Club, and Women’s Glee Club, totaling 357 young singers—took place in Hill Auditorium and was filled with energy and beauty. The concert—the perfect way to begin a celebration of Marilyn Mason’s life’s work—was the first of the season, and also celebrated the one-hundredth anniversary of Hill Auditorium. The singers entered from the back of the auditorium and the audience of over a thousand fell silent as hundreds of singers walked briskly down the aisles and took their places on the risers. The repertoire ranged from secular to sacred: from scenes from Rossini’s The Barber of Seville to Sondheim’s A Little Night Music, from Baroque to contemporary, from a cappella to that accompanied by the Frieze Memorial Organ, Steinway, or Baroque ensemble. The level of performance of these choirs was truly remarkable, especially since they had been prepared in only nineteen days. Vocal blend, whether from a small ensemble or a choir of over three hundred, was rich, the range of dynamics was kaleidoscopic, attacks were precise, phrases were controlled, but most impressive was the power to communicate deep emotion that transported the audience. This was apparent especially in the University Choir’s performance of Stephen Paulus’s The Road Home, conducted by Eugene Rogers and featuring soprano soloist Shenika John Jordan. Ms. Jordan became an actress and transported us with her soaring voice.  

Several works were accompanied on the Frieze Memorial Organ and harpsichord played by Scott Van Ornum, former student of Professor Mason. In both Benjamin Britten’s Festival Te Deum and Ralph Vaughan Williams’ O clap your hands we heard a sampling of the vast color palette of the organ, from soft flutes to thundering reeds. Van Ornum deftly exploited the dramatic power of the organ to soothe, exhilarate, and transport. The hosts of the concert, Melody Racine and Jerry Blackstone, reveled in the music, especially in the grand finale, It’s a grand night for singing, during which they danced and sang. The audience was invited to join in singing with all the choirs directed by Blackstone, and accompanied by organist Scott Van Ornum and pianists Samantha Beresford and David Gilliland. 

In the evening, Andrew Herbruck played music by Leo Sowerby for his Master of Music recital at Hill Auditorium, offering an interesting survey of Sowerby’s forms and styles. Comes Autumn Time reflected Sowerby’s fascination with blues and his preference for solo reeds. It was a treat to hear movements two and three from the seldom-played Suite for Organ. In the second movement, Fantasy for Flute Stops, Herbruck played the repeated motif (which sounded much like a forerunner of Philip Glass) with amazing dexterity and control. The third movement, Air with Variations, showed Herbruck’s careful phrasing of the passages for solo clarinet. He played the Passacaglia from Symphony for Organ with a combination of restraint and gusto and made the performance electric.

Festival Musick (I. Fanfare, II. Chorale, and III. Toccata on “A.G.O.”)filled the second half of the recital and provided a glimpse into Sowerby’s ability to combine unusual timbres in dialogue with the organ. 

Monday, September 30, 2013

The conference opened with a program by pupils of James Kibbie: Andrew Lang (Praeambulum in E Major, LübWV 7, Lübeck), David Banas (Premier Livre d’orgue: Récit de Tierce en taille, Offertoire sur les grands jeux, de Grigny), Mary Zelinski (Prelude and Fugue in G Major, BWV 550, Bach), Paul Giessner (Organ Trio, no. 1, Lucas Grant), Elliot Krasny (his own Ascension, Descention), and Jenna Moon (Sonata IV in B-Flat Major, Mendelssohn). They brought out the best in the Marilyn Mason Organ, conceived by Charles Fisk and others in collaboration with Marilyn Mason in the years just before 1985.

Department Chair Kibbie introduced Dr. Karl Schrock, Visiting Faculty Member in Organ for the 2013–2014 academic year, and announced the appointment of Vincent Dubois and Daniel Roth as Visiting Artists, one in each of the two academic terms. They will each teach private lessons to all organ students and present a public masterclass and recital.

The afternoon session, featuring the students of Marilyn Mason, was held at the First Congregational Church, home of the 1985 Karl Wilhelm organ, Opus 97. When Marilyn Mason entered the church everyone spontaneously rose to their feet and clapped. She introduced Andrew Meagher, saying, “I admire Andrew a lot. He is the only student I have ever had who studied Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative with me and memorized it. I watched the score and he played it right!” (Schoenberg consulted with Mason during the writing of this work.) Meagher is a DMA graduate and played Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543, from memory. The other students are currently enrolled and played the following pieces with conviction and energy: Regan Chuhran, Prelude in F Minor, BWV 534; Renate McLaughlin, Le petit pêcheur rusé—Air and three variations from Air and Variations for Pedal Solo by Flor Peeters; Joshua Boyd, Jubilate, op. 67, no. 2, and Recessional, op. 96, no. 4, by William Mathias; Glenn Tucker, Trio Sonata No. 1 in E-flat Major, BWV 525 (played from memory); and Kipp Cortez, Fantasie and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542.

The recital was immediately followed by Stephen Warner’s discussion of the history of the organs at First Congregational Church, with special emphasis on the current Karl Wilhelm organ. He gave some practical and useful advice on organ maintenance. 

Next we heard repertoire for organ and other instruments. Sipkje Pes-nichak, oboist, and Tim Huth, organist, performed Aria by Jehan Alain. We also heard music for organ and handbells directed by Michele Johns and performed by Joshua Boyd and ringers from St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church. 

The evening festivities began in the banquet hall of the Michigan League, packed with well-wishers whose lives have been profoundly touched by Marilyn Mason. She was congratulated and paid tribute to by David C. Munson, master of ceremonies and dean of engineering and computer science; Lester P. Monts, senior vice provost for academic affairs; and Arthur F. Thurnau, professor of music (ethnomusicology). The Reverend Dr. Robert K. Livingston, senior minister at the First Congregational Church in Ann Arbor where Marilyn Mason is organist, praised her, saying: “Her life is a model of a life lived with compassion and loving kindness, and dedication and desire to help mentor. She has followed the advice of Stephen King, ‘Make your life one long gift to others—the rest is smoke and mirrors.’ She has made a lasting difference to each one of us and the world.” Short reminiscences were given by some of her former students, including Michele Johns, adjunct professor of organ and church music. Carolyn Thibideau, dean of the Detroit AGO chapter, quoted Mason’s sayings: “A recital date always arrives” and “If you have a task that needs to be done, just do it and get it over with!” Tim Huth, dean of the Ann Arbor AGO chapter, said he thinks of the organ conference as “soul juice.” He thanked her for enriching his life, commenting that she helped found the Ann Arbor AGO chapter, which now offers scholarships in her name and has made her an honorary member. In thanking her, Tim quoted Meister Eckhart: “If the only prayer you say in life is thank you, that will suffice.” Mary Ida Yost, professor emerita of organ at Eastern Michigan University, recalled Mason’s raucous laughter, and jokes from her little black book. She remarked how Marilyn Mason is one of the most celebrated performers and teachers of the world. She is larger than life. She has changed the world of organ music for life. She is a living example of unending generosity, genuine respect, and kindness. Her greatest legacy is about the future and not the past—through former students of hers who play in churches and teach, generation through generation. 

She quoted Mason’s sayings: “Miss one day of practice and you notice, miss two and your friends notice, miss three and the whole world notices.” 

Closing remarks were offered by Christopher Kendall, Dean of the University of Michigan School of Music, Theatre, and Dance: 

Throughout her career she has shattered many glass ceilings. She was the first American woman to play a concert in Westminster Abbey, the first to play in Latin America and Egypt. She has concertized on five continents. On one sabbatical she consulted with Fisk on the building of the facsimile of a Gottfried Silbermann organ for the Blanche Anderson Moore Recital Hall. She has made definitive recordings, consulted with Arnold Schoenberg, commissioned seventy-five organ works, and mentored hundreds of talented students. Her studio will be named the Marilyn Mason Organ Studio.

We were serenaded with a carillon recital as we left the League for Hill Auditorium to hear a concert to be performed by former doctoral students of Marilyn Mason. The joyous music announced the celebration like a high feast day. Patrick Macoska played Menuet Champetre Refondu by Ronald Barnes, Triptich: Intermezzo-Fantasy, and Slavic Dance by John Pozdro, Happy in Eternity (passacaglia) by Ronald Barnes, and Evocation by John Courter. 

At Hill Auditorium, James Kibbie, professor of organ and co-chair of the organ department at the University of Michigan, began his remarks by saying, “Look around and you will see the legacy of Marilyn Mason.” He pointed out that she has brought the best students and helped place them in jobs; led organ tours throughout Europe; created the Organ Institute; built the Scholarship Endowment Fund; and found and unlocked her students’ potential. He noted that the greatest tribute of all is to hear great music performed by her students. “Her greatness was immediately recognized by Palmer Christian, her teacher at the U of M. Upon meeting her he announced that a ‘buzz bomb’ just arrived from Alva, Oklahoma.” 

The concert’s emcee was the witty and loquacious David Wagner, professor of organ at Madonna University and director of the classical music station in Detroit. He regaled us with his unforgettable and hilarious story of his first encounter with the University of Michigan Organ Conference. Sixteen-year-old David read about it in The Diapason, a gift given to him as a reward for a good lesson by his organ teacher in Detroit. David persuaded a pal to borrow his uncle’s Buick and drive around Ann Arbor until they found Hill Auditorium. He had no idea where it was, but was convinced they could find it. They did find it. When David got back to Detroit, the police were ready to arrest his pal for grand theft, because his pal had not told his uncle they were borrowing the car. Such is the lure of the organ conference! 

All of the performers without exception played brilliantly. Each selected masterworks calculated to mesmerize and enthrall. Shin-Ae Chun (2006), a native of Incheon, South Korea, also holds a bachelor’s degree in nursing science. She is an international concert artist, represented by Concert Artist Cooperative, and organist at the First Baptist Church in Ann Arbor. She played Miroir by Ad Wammes and Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H by Franz Liszt. Thomas Strode (1981), founder of the Ann Arbor Boy Choir in 1987, teacher of music at St. Paul Lutheran Middle School, is director of music at St. Paul Lutheran Church in Ann Arbor. He played Gaston Dethier’s Christmas (Variations on ‘Adeste Fideles’). Thomas Marshall (1975) has been a member of the music faculty at the College of William and Mary since 1981 and has played harpsichord in an early music ensemble at Williamsburg since 1977. He played Praeludium et Fuga in h, BWV 544 by J.S. Bach and a commissioned work for this concert, Dance of Celebration (“Mambo for Marilyn”) by Joe Utterback. Joseph Galema (1982) received his BM from Calvin College and his MM and DMA from the University of Michigan. He has been organist at the U.S. Air Force Academy since 1982. In 2008, he became an instructor in the Milan Academy in Denver. He is in Who’s Who in America and has toured throughout Europe and the Baltic states. He played Marcel Dupré’s Prelude and Fugue in B Major, op. 7, no. 1, and Allegro Deciso from Evocation, op. 37. 

Interspersed among the music were tributes offered by Professor Larry Schou of the University of South Dakota; Eileen Guenther, president of the AGO; and Professor Emeritus Gale Kramer of Wayne State University in Detroit. Larry Schou teaches organ and world music, and as dean of the School of Humanities oversees a faculty and staff of forty-seven. He recalled Marilyn Mason telling him to “Work hard. See life as others might not.” He remembered with fondness her workshops on Alain and Duruflé, and Almut Rössler’s performances and lectures on Messiaen. He thanked her for inviting his father and his colleague to her house for lunch, and for her work of sixty-six years. “Your performances, sense of humor, and prayers have helped so many people—they are to me a living legacy.”

Eileen Guenther’s letter was read. The president of the AGO expressed her congratulations to Mason, saying the lives she touched bear witness to her dedication to education. She thanked her for all she has done for the AGO.

Gale Kramer described Mason with words, varying in number of syllables from six to one, which poignantly captured her essence. 

Six syllables: “Marilyn Mason is indefatigable. Part of being indefatigable means doing something carefully many times without getting tired, whether practicing, repeating a joke, or commissioning an organ work. She has said a good teacher tells a student the same thing over and over in as many different ways as possible. Part of being indefatigable is coming back after a rest—on a pew, in the back of a bus—then climbing to the top of a spiral staircase.”

Five syllables: “Marilyn Mason is multifaceted, a performer, teacher, church musician, bon vivant, tour leader, raconteur, and friend.”

Four syllables: “Marilyn Mason is a visionary, evidenced in 53 organ conferences, 56 historic organ tours, and 70 commissioned works.”

Three syllables: “Marilyn Mason is practical. She realized it takes money to refurbish and maintain the Frieze Memorial Organ and to build and maintain the Fisk organ; it takes money to fund scholarships. And she is concerned that her students find jobs. At the breakfast table on her Historic Organ Tours, she would say, ‘Take some bread for a snack later on, you paid for it!’”

Two syllables: “Marilyn Mason is loyal to her students—that’s why we are here. And she is loyal to the University of Michigan. She belongs to a group of individuals who used their careers to bring esteem and glory to the university, not to people who used the university to further their own careers.” 

One syllable: smile. “We remember her smile, her exuberance.” 

At the end of the concert, Marilyn Mason was surrounded by students past and present whose lives have been profoundly touched by her teaching, joie de vivre, compassion, and kindness. 

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

We were privileged to hear Michael Barone of Pipedreams lecture on the topic “As Years Fly By.” It is always illuminating to hear Barone comment on recordings of organ music. He focused on composers whose birthdates can be celebrated in 2013. First on his list was Jean Titelouze (1563–1633) of the French Classical School. 

With the birthday of Johann Ludwig Krebs (1713–1780) we celebrate (maybe) The Little Preludes and Fugues. Barone suggested we check out other of Krebs’s works, including a Fugue in B-flat, which has been recorded by Irmtraud Krüger at Altenburg Cathedral. 

Barone also mentioned Charles-Valentin Alkan (1813–1888), whose set of virtuosic etudes for pedal piano has been recorded by Olivier Latry on Art of Pedal Piano: Alkan, Boëly, Brahms, Liszt, Schumann, issued in 2011. Kevin Bowyer, an English organist, has recorded the music of Alkan in Salisbury Cathedral. 

2013 marks the 150th birthdays of American composer Edgard Varèse (1883–1965), who studied with Widor at the Paris Conservatory, and Horatio Parker (1863–1919), several volumes of whose concert pieces, including the 21 Recital-Pieces, have been reissued. 

2013 also marks the hundredth anniversary of the births of Benjamin Britten (1913–1976), composer of War Requiem and only one organ piece, Prelude and Fugue on a Theme by Vittoria (1946), and Robert Elmore (1913–1985), much of whose music—reminiscent of Sigfrid Karg-Elert and Max Reger—is out of print. His Come to the Holy Mountain and Beneath the Cross of Jesus offer a richly emotional landscape, yet easily approachable. Norman McKenzie has recorded Elmore’s Sonata, written in 1975.

It was fitting that Michael Barone, one of the most informed critics of our time of organ repertoire and its discography, be invited to celebrate the accomplishments of Marilyn Mason. He began by saying: “Marilyn Mason has been with us through the ages. We are all her children, celebrators, and her debtors.” He pointed out that she has performed the music of contemporary composers: Searle Wright, Leo Sowerby, Robert Crandell, Virgil Thomson, Normand Lockwood, and Paul Creston (to name only a few) and has commissioned many to compose music for her. Mason was the first to record Arnold Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative and has recorded the freely composed works and partitas of Pachelbel on the Fisk organ. Barone played excerpts from her recordings, which included her program performed at the International Congress of Organists in London in 1957: the one solo piece, Concerto by English composer Matthew Camidge (1758–1844) as well as Sowerby’s Classic Concerto and Seth Bingham’s Connecticut Suite, both with orchestra. Barone concluded by playing her recording of a trumpet fanfare by José Lidon (1752–1827). He said: “To Marilyn Mason who has taken us around the world, and given us reason to practice, and given us an example for us all to follow.” With these words we all stood and clapped and cheered while Marilyn Mason gave us one of her unforgettable smiles.

James Hammann, DMA, former Mason student, concert artist, recording artist, scholar, former chair of the music department at the University of New Orleans, and former president of the Organ Historical Society, gave a presentation entitled “History of Farrand & Votey Organ with Videos, Recordings, and Commentary.” He prefaced his lecture saying that “This work was done for my DMA document and was encouraged by Marilyn Mason.” Hammann detailed the mechanical developments during the organ’s transition from mechanical action to electro-pneumatic, pointing out that the Detroit organ company of Farrand & Votey was the first to use intermanual couplers with tilting tablets. Farrand & Votey built Opus 700, now known to us as the Frieze Memorial Organ in Hill Auditorium, for the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago. It had 63 speaking stops and the same façade that it had when it was placed in University Hall in 1898. University Hall was torn down and replaced with Angell Hall and the organ was moved to Hill Auditorium in 1913. It was considered one of the largest and finest instruments in the country. Farrand & Votey built small organs as well as large; Detroit in the 1890s was an innovative organ-building center.

As we left Hill Auditorium we were treated to a carillon concert: Kipp Cortez, doctoral student of Marilyn Mason,  played Preludio V by Mathias Vanden Gheyn, Chorale Partita IV: ‘St. Anne’ by John Knox, two movements from Gregorian Triptych by John Courter, Image no. 2 by Emilien Allard, and Movement III from Serenade by Ronald Barnes. 

The final round of the Second Annual Organ Improvisation Competition was held at the First Presbyterian Church. Each contestant was given a theme to study for 30 minutes and was then required to improvise a three-movement suite no more than 15 minutes long. Judging criteria included thematic development, form, stylistic consistency, rhythmic interest, and use of the instrument. The judges were Michael Barone, James Hammann, and Christine Clewell. Each contestant played with virtuosic technique, and grasped instantly the possibilities of colors and timbres at their disposal. It was exciting to hear “new works” spun from their imaginations and to hear them played with such passion. It was no wonder the judges deliberated for almost 45 minutes.  

Devon Howard, private teacher and organist at First Presbyterian Church in Longmont, Colorado, and Douglas Murray, professor of English at Belmont University, Nashville, Tennessee, were runners-up. Aaron Tan, organ scholar at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Detroit, received third place. Alejandro D. Consolacion II, director of music and organist at Whitehouse United Methodist Church in Princeton, New Jersey, received second place. Richard Fitzgerald, associate director of music at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, D.C., received first place.

Richard Fitzgerald received his undergraduate degree from Westminster and his MM and DMA from Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore; his dissertation was entitled “Method for Improvisation and Pedagogy.” He has studied improvisation with John Walker, Donald Sutherland, Mark Anderson, Ronald Stolk, Rachel Laurin, Jeffry Brillhart, and Peter Latona. 

Special thanks are due to Tom Granum, Director of Music Ministries at First Presbyterian Church for his gracious hospitality, and to Michele Johns, organizer of the competition, and her committee, Marcia Van Oyen, Gale Kramer, and Darlene Kuperus. 

As we approached Hill Auditorium for the final concert of the conference, we were welcomed by Joshua Boyd’s carillon recital: Summer Fanfares by Roy Hamlin Johnson, Music for Carillon, op. 107 by Lowell Liebermann, Reflections from the Tower by Emma Lou Diemer, and Easter Dawning by George Crumb. 

The closing recital was played by Tom Trenney who, from my vantage point, looked like a teen-ager. His recital was icing on the cake—played with intensity, gusto, sensitivity, and passion. One was dazzled by his flawless technique and the beautiful spirit that shone through each piece: Variations on America by Charles Ives, Scherzo, op. 2, by Maurice Duruflé, Air by Gerre Hancock, six movements from The King of Instruments by William Albright, Fugue in E-Flat Major, BWV 552 by J.S. Bach, Deuxième fantasie by Jehan Alain, and an improvisation on two submitted themes (Now Thank We All Our God and a newly created abstract theme). At the end of his performance Trenney was given thunderous applause and a standing ovation. 

After the first half of Tom Trenney’s recital, a surprise appearance by William Bolcom and Joan Morris paid tribute to Marilyn Mason with a lively and heartfelt performance of Black Max and (I’ll Be Loving You) Always.  

The 53rd Conference on Organ Music honoring Marilyn Mason’s sixty-six years of teaching was organized by Michele Johns. It offered performances and lectures of the highest quality that informed and inspired, and offered tribute to a beautiful life dedicated to performing, teaching and learning. Marilyn Mason’s energy, enthusiasm, sense of humor, and compassion are the qualities that have drawn hundreds of students to her from all over the world, and throughout the United States. 

The final photo is of Gordon Atkinson, a resident of Windsor, Australia, and an eminent composer and organist, who, of all of her former students, traveled the farthest to celebrate her lifetime achievement. He reminisced saying: 

I heard Marilyn Mason play at Westminster Abbey in 1957 for the International Congress of Organists. She played at the Abbey when it had only one general piston! The program was hailed as one of the great recitals of the Congress. Who would have guessed I would study with her for my master’s degree at the University of Michigan?

Marilyn Mason has been a Svengali, and an organistenmacher. Her countless students are literally everywhere there is a pipe organ to be played. Each person attending the conference was given a CD that included works from some of her performances with the Galliard Brass Ensemble, works played at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, and Pipedreams premieres.  In this gift we have a reminder of her virtuosity and artistry. In conclusion we say thank you to Marilyn Mason for “burning with a hard, gem–like flame,” and for sharing your radiance with the world and us.

The Technical and Aesthetic Legacy of Carl Weinrich

In 1960, in an article about Glenn Gould for The New Yorker
magazine, Joseph Roddy harnesses Nietzsche's terms to describe a dichotomy he
perceives in the composition and the playing of piano music. Eighteenth-century
keyboard compositions "are Apollonian, adhering to classical formality and
reserve; those of the nineteenth century are Dionysiac, being notable for
poetic mood and emotional thunder." Keyboard compositions of the twentieth
century, "for all their involutions, have shown a tendency to return to
the Apollonian ideal."2 Rather than providing a clear example of either
Apollonian or Dionysiac tendencies, Glenn Gould's life and art enclose a
mesmeric opposition of both classical and romantic components: Dionysiac
frenzies during performance, behavior for which he became legend, and
Apollonian compositions and interpretations which are "essentially
dispassionate." It was Gould's interpretation of Bach's "highly Apollonian"
Goldberg Variations which established the young Canadian as a top-ranking
pianist. Playing the Variations, Gould accomplishes his technically flawless
performance, "lean, aloof and fleet," in ten minutes and twenty-one
seconds less than it took Wanda Landowska to complete her highly Dionysiac
performance of the same work.3

Joseph Roddy's description of Glenn Gould and his music
suggests a startling similarity to the Apollonian style and taste of Carl
Weinrich, organist and choirmaster of Princeton University from 1943 to his
retirement in 1973. There are, of course, many significant differences between
the two men.  Gould the pianist was
famous for his histrionics, swaying and singing and conducting himself as he
played. Weinrich the organist was just as known for a calm, classical manner,
an almost unnerving physical control which he exercised even during the music's
most intense passages.4 But, as we shall see, when Carl Weinrich compiled his
own canon of organ music, his choices were very like what the younger Gould
came to champion:  the music of
Sweelinck, of Bach, of Hindemith, of Krenek. In addition, few words could
better describe Carl Weinrich's playing than those applied to Glenn Gould:
"lean, aloof, fleet." And if Gould had his Van Cliburn, so, too,
Weinrich had his artistic antipodes. From his own era sprang the Dionysiac
Virgil Fox, whose preconcert foreplay, cavalier treatment of the printed score,
and wild technical high jinks asserted a violent contrast to Weinrich's
Apollonian creed. Most often compared with Weinrich was his exact contemporary,
E. Power Biggs, whose playing, though technically less precise than Weinrich's,
could hardly be called Dionysiac. Biggs's dedication to popularizing the organ,
however, eventually bred in him a Dionysian's taste, music of uneven artistic
merit from all periods, chosen because it appealed to the untrained listener.
In our own era, Anthony Newman, Simon Preston and Diane Bish are only a few of
the many outstanding Dionysiac recitalists.

Carl Weinrich's importance in American organ music, however,
reached far beyond the university where he made his home. Weinrich was both a
traditionalist and a revolutionary, the former because he chose to concentrate
his energies on the works of Bach, the latter because he was one of a group of
American organists who in this century thoroughly altered American practices of
organ playing and building.5 But what was Weinrich's method and how did he
acquire it?

Lynnwood Farnam: Beauty with Discipline

When Carl Weinrich began in earnest his study of organ in
the 1920s, instruments, the technique of playing, and attitudes toward organ
literature differed greatly from today's prevailing notions. Mechanically
sluggish consoles and the romantic organ's preponderance of 8¢ diapasons
and strings made intricate passages, particularly in the music of J.S. Bach,
difficult to hear and hence not rewarding to master.  Indeed, Bach's famous remark, "you need only to hit the
right notes at the right moment and the instrument does the rest"6
alleged, when Carl Weinrich began his career, not irony and understatement, but
impossibility. Lists of organ stops from those years read like a romantic
orchestral fantasy: flauto amabile, tuba mirabile, philomela. Weinrich was one
of a group of energetic, musically dissatisfied young organists who gathered
about the great teacher and player, Lynnwood Farnam, organist at the Church of
the Holy Communion in New York City until his death in 1930. Together they
reformed and refashioned American organ playing.7

As the first step toward unlocking music's subjective
components or its effect upon the soul, Lynnwood Farnam directed his students'
physical dexterity to the technical components or skeleton of organ music.8 To
approach music's aesthetic ends, Farnam first insisted upon absolute mastery of
the score, careful planning of fingering, endless practice of difficult
passages. Moreover, Farnam demanded an end to the physical pyrotechnics and
theatrical body thrusts which organists often affected at the console. Clear,
clean, precise playing soon brought a predictable dissatisfaction with the
sluggish, muddy sounds of romantic organs and led to an interest in Baroque
techniques of organ building, a return to the principles of construction,
design and stop selection practiced in Bach's era. Farnam's followers, then,
embarked upon a dual quest: more responsive instruments and clearer sounds to
convey more precise playing. Their vision for organ study proclaimed forcefully
the link between technical and aesthetic dimensions of music, the objective and
subjective components of art. And in his own practice, Lynnwood Farnam left
little to chance; before playing a recital, he insisted upon a minimum of
fifteen hours to prepare himself at the instrument he was to play.

In addition to his insistence upon technical perfection,
Farnam's notions of repertoire were built around the music of Bach. He
especially condemned the nineteenth-century custom of including transcriptions
or arrangements of piano music in organ recitals: études of Chopin or
Schumann, pieces such as Debussy's Clair de lune, Rachmaninoff's Prelude in
C-sharp Minor, and overtures and arias from opera. In a series of twenty
recitals, Farnam performed the complete organ works of Bach, a monumental
statement of his musical vision and a feat which his student, Carl Weinrich,
was to repeat many times. Weinrich's appointment as Farnam's successor at the
Church of the Holy Communion, following the latter's death in 1930, indicates
the high regard which Weinrich's playing enjoyed in Farnam's circle.

Weinrich's legacy to his students, and hence to all
musicians who followed him, is three-fold. First, he adopted, practiced, and
passed on Lynnwood Farnam's uncompromising standard of technical excellence as
the foundation of aesthetic satisfaction. Second, having at his disposal the
whole of organ literature, he offered to his students his own special views
concerning repertoire and its use. Third, Weinrich fostered in those about him
an artistic awakening, a refined musical judgment, the unerring aesthetic
sensibility which Plato attributes in the Republic, Book III, to a proper
education in music. Throughout his life, Carl Weinrich stubbornly refused to
practice or to perform any but the very best music composed for the organ.
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> 

Legacy 1: Technique, Organ Design and Artistry

It is the first of these three legacies, Weinrich's efforts
to rescue organ playing from technical lassitude, which remains his most
difficult, his most heroic and his most far-reaching musical gift to us. To
begin with, Weinrich's Apollonian style rested upon an intense scrutiny of the
notes. His scores included extensive notations of fingering, and much of his
time with students was given over to searching carefully and slowly for the
best possible execution of difficult passages. Impatient with older theories of
fingering, Weinrich was an outspoken proponent of employing, whenever possible,
"the strong fingers," the thumb, index and middle finger of each
hand. He insisted that, especially in the works of Bach, one could always
devise a comfortable fingering for even the most difficult passages. He often
commented that "if the fingering of a particular passage isn't comfortable
when you practice it, the tension of a public performance will probably cause
you to stumble at that spot. A musical composition is like a string of
pearls--one weak knot, and the necklace breaks; one flubbed measure can destroy
the beauty and perfection which you achieve in all the others."

To be sure, a difficult measure or passage, properly fingered,
might require scores of repeated attempts to master. One should know a work
well enough to play each part separately, he insisted, and should practice a
piece for at least one year before performing it in public.
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  As if to follow Bach's famous attribution
of his own success to hard work,9 Weinrich the student practiced at least eight
hours per day. At the time of his retirement, he still considered five hours
per day a minimum practice schedule for an active organist.

Weinrich's concern for precision even extended to noting
pedal passages with a "P.N." to remind himself which was the
"pivot note," the moment at which the body should shift its angle to
execute comfortably the pedal lines. 
And then, like Farnam, he allowed himself no other movement at the
console.  He was willing to discuss
diverse possibilities for phrasing, and hence for interpretation, only after a
student had demonstrated undisputed mastery of the work's skeleton. He liked to
say that his first concern was to help a student get the notes firmly in hand,
into the "strong fingers." "After that," he once said,
"we can discuss phrasing at our leisure.  My first job is to see that you can play these notes
correctly and with the same good fingering each time you approach this
piece."

It is natural that, following Lynnwood Farnam's first steps,
Carl Weinrich's tireless zeal to perfect the technique of organ playing led
him, as it had led Bach before him, to a careful evaluation of the instrument
itself, to the impact of organ design upon technical and aesthetic
considerations. Determined that musical lines must be clear to the ear,
Weinrich was an early proponent of spare use of the 8' registers, of eliminating
the heavy Diapason stops and of developing a full Rückpositiv division for
proper registration of the music of Bach. Together with G. Donald Harrison of
the Skinner Organ Company, Weinrich toured the organ lofts of Europe in the
summer of 1936 and studied carefully the instruments whose design and sound he
admired. While head of the organ department at Westminster Choir College
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  (1934-1940), he designed a Baroque
instrument for his studio, the celebrated "Praetorius Organ"
installed in 1939, one of the first instruments in this country built to
recover the clear tonal capacity and clean sounds necessary to the technical
perfection Weinrich sought.

After taking up his post at Princeton in 1943, Weinrich
began with Harrison a rebuilding of the University's enormous Chapel organ,
disconnecting many of the old, useless stops and adding the bright sounds of a
Baroque instrument.10 In later years, Weinrich collaborated with Walter
Holtkamp, Sr. in pioneering efforts to design organs following Baroque models.
The thirty-four stop, three-manual Holtkamp organ at General Theological
Seminary in New York, completed in October, 1958, is a monument to their
labors.11  Weinrich proudly used
this instrument for all of his later recordings with RCA Victor.

Improved technical articulation and improved organ sound
generated new possibilities for interpretation. Both inspired and enabled by
new instruments, Carl Weinrich began to play Bach's works at a far greater
speed than had been the custom. One need only compare Weinrich's early
recordings of Bach with those of Albert Schweitzer, a formidable Bach scholar
but a technically mediocre performer, to understand the very pleasing aesthetic
implications of superior technique, clear sounds and brisk tempi. Throughout
his life, Weinrich remained keenly interested in the relationship between tempo
and music's aesthetic effect. He checked himself regularly with a metronome to
ensure an accurate rhythmic rendering of each passage. He was forever warning
of the danger of rushing the sixteenth notes, even when playing with the
metronome. The margins of Weinrich's music, particularly his Bach scores,
contained a fascinating record of the diverse organs upon which he had
performed and recorded, and the tempi appropriate to each.
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  But the happy marriage of superior
technique and intelligent organ design gave birth to unexpected musical
problems, unanticipated artistic discoveries.

In 1959, Carl Weinrich dedicated a new Holtkamp organ for
the First Presbyterian Church, now Nassau Presbyterian, in Princeton. Conceived
as an instrument similar to the organ at General Theological Seminary in New
York, the Princeton Holkamp included a complete Rückpositiv division,
three manuals and twenty-nine stops.12 Organist of the church for forty years,
Mary Krimmel was also Weinrich's brilliant student from his earliest days of
teaching, and she was determined that her congregation should enjoy the fruits
of Weinrich's research into organ design. But upon completion of the organ, a
problem which neither Weinrich nor Mrs. Krimmel foresaw quickly began to
manifest itself. Unlike the New York organ, First Presbyterian's instrument is
housed in an acoustically challenged space. Because First Presbyterian stands
approximately 150 yards from the Princeton Chapel, with its immense Aeolian
Skinner and endless echoes, the several organists who often performed on both
instruments experienced a technical, then aesthetic dichotomy. Detached, crisp
playing necessary for musical clarity in the cavernous chapel produced a
crumbly, thin, and altogether uninteresting effect in the church; stately tempi
suited to the chapel's great masses of sound became tediously slow in the
church. Each setting was an exaggerated circumstance: few rooms could be as
acoustically alive as the Princeton Chapel or as tonally unresponsive as the
First Presbyterian Church.

Efforts to find a technical solution to the aesthetic
dilemma surrounding these two fine organs led Carl Weinrich and Mary Krimmel to
undertake a search for improved articulation, an approach which would finally
produce aesthetically pleasing music in both the chapel and church. For
Weinrich, the subject was not a new one. Questions of how to achieve the best
articulation of a musical line began during his days under Farnam. Carl
Weinrich the student marvelled at his teacher's ability to play a legato line
as though there were tiny spaces of air between each note.13 In later years,
Weinrich often commented to his own students that he learned from Farnam the
secret of how to execute a singing legato without loss of definition and
clarity. Under no circumstances was the listener to sense a staccato touch.

The problem of fitting articulation to the instrument and to
its environment remained a matter of great interest to both Carl Weinrich and
Mary Krimmel to the end of their professional lives. It was my great good fortune
to be the student of both Weinrich and Krimmel and to prepare for many years a
weekly lesson on each instrument. What they learned and I absorbed from this
experience proved the most exciting and complete instruction possible in organ
articulation. Their endless discussions of articulation, of technical
exactitude, of how to execute the notes, would not have been novel in piano
pedagogy. For organ study, it was revolutionary. The following principles
slowly emerged.

First, neither strict legato nor detached, non-legato
playing satisfied the listener in either setting.  On both organs, a sensible alternation between detaching and
connecting notes produced the best effect.  Second, step-motion generally required a legato line, while
skips could be detached.  In the
church, the slightest change from a legato to a detached line produced an
immediate effect; in the chapel, only very pronounced, exaggerated articulation
reached the listener's ear. What in the chapel seemed to the performer a
slightly detached articulation became a singing legato as the sound moved out
to fill the nave. Finally, and most important, the same piece had to be
executed very differently on each organ. In the chapel, Bach's heroic Toccata
in F major had to be played at a tempo deliberate enough to allow an
appreciation of the work's massive chords punctuated by octave leaps and
cadenzas in the pedal. In the church, the Toccata had to move at much brisker
pace; sections following the second pedal cadenza unfolded most effectively if
the organist conceived of one beat, not three, to a measure.

Handel concerti proved to be the most difficult works of all
to tackle. In the chapel, a clearly detached line in all parts produced an
exciting interpretation; in the church, one had to cultivate a very slight
detachment, an articulation midway between staccato and legato, one which
obliged the organist to remain precariously perched on the edge of the keys.
Carl Weinrich, having thoroughly adjusted to the very live acoustics of the
Princeton Chapel, continued to employ a crisp, detached articulation; Mary
Krimmel, confronted with the dry environment, moved to a firm, legato style
made vital by a careful detaching of skips. The lesson is a clear one:
organists must approach each instrument, able to make even radical adjustments
in articulation to suit the organ's setting.

Legacy 2: Components and Uses of Repertoire

As he carried forward Lynnwood Farnam's technical legacy,
Carl Weinrich, like Farnam before him, exercised a formidable influence upon an
entire generation's notion of worthy repertoire for a superior organist.
Weinrich's clearest statement concerning organ literature came in 1950-51, when
Harvard University named him the Lamb Visiting Lecturer in Music, an honor
previously accorded Gustav Holst, Béla Bartók, and Aaron Copland.
For the first time, this prestigious post went to a performer, and the
compositions Weinrich chose for his series of eight recitals form what might be
called the Great Works for the organ.14 Weinrich's Apollonian tastes are never
more apparent: not one single work chosen for the eight recitals comes from the
nineteenth century.

It is here that the history of organ playing records an
accident, an irony, and an amusing juxtaposition. At the same time the
Apollonian Carl Weinrich was playing the eight Lamb recitals in Harvard's
Memorial Church, E. Power Biggs was continuing his custom, begun in the 1940s,
of broadcasting organ recitals from Boston's Symphony hall and Harvard's
Busch-Reisinger Museum. It would be an exaggeration to assert that these two
famous pioneers in organ study and building shared no common ground. As is
well-known, Biggs, like Weinrich, collaborated in the 1930s with his fellow
English ex-patriot, G. Donald Harrison, in the design and building of tonally
improved organs.  Biggs supervised,
in 1937, the construction of one of Harrison's early instruments, an organ for
Busch Reisinger Museum much like the "Praetorius Organ" Harrison
installed at Westminster Choir College for Weinrich. It is this instrument
which Biggs used for his famous broadcasts which began in 1942.15

Operating independent of both church and school, however,
Biggs's turf lay in the concert hall. Sensitive to that environment, he
cultivated a Dionysiac's taste and repertoire unlike Carl Weinrich's chosen
restraint. His programs, which contended with Weinrich's for announcement space
in the Harvard University Gazette of 1950-51, did include Bach, but also a
heavy offering of nineteenth-century music: Franck, Strauss, Schumann, and the
twentieth-century warhorse, Alain's Litanies. Biggs's Dionysiac programming was
conceived to make organ music accessible to untrained listeners, and to widen
organ repertoire to include all manner of popular and classical works.
Weinrich's Apollonian attitude gave no thought to popular taste or preference.
He was delighted with the environment which Princeton's chapel provided for his
recitals: absolute silence before the music began, and no applause at its
conclusion.

Among those Bach chorale preludes Weinrich played most often
were, from the Eighteen Organ Chorales, "O Lamm Gottes"; the
celebrated, double pedal composition on "An Wasserflüssen
Babylon"; and from the third part of the Klavierübung, a spectacular
little fugue, "Dies sind die heilgen zehn Gebot," and Bach's only
six-voice composition which has come down to us for the organ, "Aus tiefer
Not."

Perhaps the double pedal lines of "Aus tiefer Not"
and "An Wasserflüssen Babylon" appealed to Weinrich.
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Only an organist of superlative
technical accomplishment can handle these complex pedal parts, and at the same
time convey the sadness and deep feelings which pervade each piece. And his
playing of much smaller works reliably captured the same mystical quality of
more extended compositions; from the Orgelbüchlein, he often chose for a
recital's encore "In dir ist Freude," "In dulci jubilo" and
"Herr Gott, nun schleuss den Himmel auf"; each in his hands became a
small, flawless jewel.

Of Bach's great preludes and fugues, Weinrich played often
the Fugue in E-flat major ("St. Anne"), the Toccata and Fugue in F
major, the extremely popular Toccata and Fugue in D minor, the Prelude and
Fugue in A minor, the Fantasie and Fugue in G minor, the Toccata, Adagio and
Fugue in C major, the Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor, the Toccata and Fugue
in D minor (the "Dorian"), the Fantasie in G major, the Prelude and
Fugue in B minor, the Prelude and Fugue in G major and, curiously, the
strangely hybrid Pastorale in F. His playing of both the pedal and manual
ornaments in Bach's Toccata in F, the piece which for Mendelssohn "brought
down the roof of the church,"16 and his introduction of complex
ornamentation in Bach's subject for the Fugue in F major, perfectly executed
each time the subject appears, were spectacular examples of his technical
prowess.

Another of his favorites was the Concerto in A minor, Bach's
arrangement for organ of Vivaldi's double concerto for two violins.
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Weinrich performed the spare,
ravishingly beautiful middle movement at a very gentle, meditative pace,
employing a mournful reed for the solo passages, and then fell suddenly,
unexpectedly, with piercingly bright sounds upon the descending scale passages
which open the last movement. His breathlessly exciting tempo of this final
movement, notes spectacularly detached and perfectly articulated, formed a
thrilling contrast to the middle movement's careful legato touch and languid
mood. In addition, for the last movement of the concerto, Weinrich exploited
his talent for innovative registrations and the Princeton organ's resources,
employing two divisions located on opposite sides of the chancel; the result
accentuated the dazzling series of echoes and imitations for which Vivaldi's
music is famous, all played at a speed which no organist could match.

Weinrich regularly included movements from Bach's Trio
Sonatas in chapel services and on recital programs, and described playing these
most difficult of all pieces for the organ as "walking on eggs for twenty
minutes." He was, moreover, wonderfully inventive in selecting music for
the special needs of a university community. For the long academic processions
at all official university functions in the chapel, Weinrich chose, rather than
insipid voluntaries or marches, Bach's elaborately extended chorales and
chorale preludes on "Komm, heiliger Geist," from the Eighteen Organ
Chorales, and "Kyrie, Gott Vater in Ewigkeit" and "Kyrie, Gott
heiliger Geist," from the third part of the Klavierübung. Weinrich's
choice of Bach's most ornate four-part chorales for processionals at university
functions meant filling the chapel's nave with what are perhaps music's most
majestic chords, most ordered voices. It is hard to imagine a more perfect
blend of reason, sensual splendor, and art: the four musical lines moving
flawlessly toward their cadences as scholars of all ages and academic colors
process ponderously by.

While his primary interest and preference always lay with
the music of J.S. Bach, Carl Weinrich often commented that his favorite piece,
one which he played in public at least once each year, was Buxtehude's chorale
prelude on Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern!  And Weinrich's unbending fidelity to the score did not imply
monochromatic or uninteresting choices of registration. His daring, unexpected
use of reeds in Buxtehude's Wie schön leuchtet, preserved in a recording
made on the Holtkamp at General Theological Seminary, is a truly ingenious
interpretation of a masterpiece. He frequently performed Sweelinck's echo
fantasies and variations on Mein junges Leben hat ein End', Cabezón's
Diferencias sobre el canto del caballero, the preludes and fugues of Buxtehude
and Bruhns, Lübeck's Prelude and Fugue in E major, Noël #10 from
Daquin's book of twelve noëls. He recorded the Handel organ concertos,
Mozart church sonatas, and the Haydn organ concerto with Arthur Fiedler and the
Boston Pops orchestra. In addition, Weinrich released recordings of Baroque
Christmas music and organ music of the Bach family.

Although not as a group his favorite works, a few pieces
from Romantic composers appeared each year on his programs and among his
recordings; reviewers and concert goers frequently commented that it was
surprising to hear the organist famous for definitive renditions of Bach bring
such precision and sensitivity to later works.17 He played Mendelssohn's Sonata
I, Franck's Pièce Héroïque, and Brahms's chorale preludes
and Fugue in A-flat minor. The modern period received his enthusiastic study,
especially Hindemith's First Sonata for organ, Messiaen's Dieu Parmi Nous, and
Marcel Dupré's Cortège et Litanie, copied down when Weinrich was
a student of the great Frenchman. And Weinrich was very proud to have offered
the first public performance of Schoenberg's "Variations on a Recitativ,"
op. 40, a work which he edited for publication.

Weinrich's improvisations, or, rather, what we might call
Weinrich's theory of improvisation, deserve special mention. No Princeton
student interested in music could ever forget Carl Weinrich's spectacular
modulations and improvisations spun out between the organ's offertory and the
congregation's singing of the Doxology which followed.
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Retaining the theme from his offertory
piece, Weinrich slipped adroitly through a succession of keys, adding ranks of
pipes with each phrase. Three special pieces reveal how he planned his
modulations or "improvisations," for in truth, Carl Weinrich was too
much a student of the classical principles of form, too Apollonian, to attempt
an unplanned or uncharted improvisation. 

The last movement of Mendelssohn's first organ sonata and
Bach's "St. Anne" fugue, two master works he especially favored for
offertories at Princeton, possess unmistakable, famous musical tropes which he
used to begin the improvisation and to establish its structure. The thundering
arpeggios of Mendelssohn's finale to his first sonata, the "St. Anne"
theme and the subject of the third movement's fugue--each became the germ for
an improvisation.  If the offertory
happened to include an anthem or composition by Mozart, Weinrich quoted the
great chords, dissonances, and dotted rhythms of Mozart's Fantasie in F minor,
K. 608.   Listeners awaited
the inevitable, climactic arrival of the dominant seventh chord, and then the
resolution in G major on which note the singing began. Because Weinrich never
played a preparatory phrase from the Doxology, one was obliged to listen
intently as the downbeat of an emerging tonic chord drew nearer and nearer.
Organists who must provide an improvisational bridge between an anthem and
doxology would do well to remember Weinrich's secret.  One should choose a theme or motif of the piece just
completed, and make that theme or motif the unifying idea of improvisation.

Legacy 3: Aesthetic Sensibility and a Life in Music

Carl Weinrich's third great legacy to organ study and
performance evolved from his decision, taken early in his career, to invest his
energy and effort in only those works he considered the very best compositions
for the organ. Having little patience with Romantic warhorses which merely
exploit the organ's capacity to sustain loud, rushing noise, Weinrich
withstood, in Apollonian fashion like Bach before him, many years of censure
from mediocre musicians and critics who felt him excessively inflexible,
narrow, and rigid in his adherence to Bach.

But Carl Weinrich's early recognition of those compositions
of greatest artistic value, and his fidelity to their study and performance,
widened his place in musical history from that of master performer to master
teacher. His dual authority, first over organ music's technical, then its
aesthetic, dimensions pointed students' interest and organists' labors toward
those composers and compositions capable of capturing one's imagination
forever. His life's work answers not only the question of how to realize the
full beauty of organ literature, but which portions of that literature merit
first, our endless technical effort to play accurately, and then, a lifetime of
sensitivity and reflection to interpret.

Perhaps because as a weekly performer for the Princeton
community, Carl Weinrich had to reclaim and defend his mastery of the organ
each time he sat down at the console, he retained throughout his professional
life both a student's wonder at the act of playing and a student's uneasiness
before the demands of the art. One could say without fear of overstatement that
Carl Weinrich remained, forever, frightfully respectful of the perils of
performance. It is not possible to over-practice great music or to arrive at a
definitive interpretation of its beauty, he liked to observe, nor does one ever
tire of returning "to polish once again an exquisite diamond."

As a teacher, 
Weinrich set before his students a three-pronged challenge which he
himself had answered: to identify within one's self a passionate devotion to
one field of inquiry and to remain forever its restless student; to train
discriminating eyes and ears to direct the efforts of imperfect hands and feet;
to recognize that mastery of a discipline is achieved only when one understands
that it is in the details of construction, in the skeleton, that all great art
is made. The process of intense scrutiny required to master a work's skeleton
teaches us that all art is not equal, all compositions not of a quality to
command one's study for life.

It is not surprise, finally, to discover that in his thirty
years at Princeton University's center, Weinrich's approach to the study of
music practiced the fundamental principles of a liberal arts college.
Princeton's president Robert F. Goheen, in his address to the Freshman Class at
Opening Exercises in the fall of 1965, insisted that a liberal education is not
merely to prepare one to earn a living, but also to open the mind to a field of
inquiry, a body of knowledge or learning capable of engaging the spirit and
intellect throughout life. In order to realize any of the great ends of
education, students must give themselves to a discipline, an intellectual and
artistic task which will command their life's attention, effort, and passion.

In music, a regrettable emphasis, often encouraged by
teachers, upon pursuing "what hasn't been done" occasionally leads
students to invest their time and talent in works or ideas too shallow for
repeated scrutiny, too jejune to sustain a mature spirit. By stating
unequivocally that organists should look to Bach, that the Master's greatest
works require a lifetime to execute and to interpret, that a life spent with
J.S. Bach is a life well spent, Weinrich's legacy can still spare all who will
listen from the sa