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A Brief for the Symphonic Organ (Part One)

Part one of two

Jack M. Bethards

Jack M. Bethards is President and Tonal Director of Schoenstein & Co. Organ Builders. A San Francisco Bay Area native, he holds bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of California at Berkeley. He has been a professional musician and is currently active in the American Guild of Organists. He is past president of the Associated Pipe Organ Builders of America and member of the American Institute of Organbuilders, the International Society of Organbuilders, the Organ Historical Society and the Association Aristide Cavaillé-Coll. He serves on the advisory boards of several organ preservation societies. In his 43 years of pipe organ work and research, Mr. Bethards has been a frequent lecturer and contributor of articles to professional journals. A major thrust of his study, including work abroad, has been romantic organ building in France, Germany, England and America. Schoenstein & Co. is the oldest and largest organ factory in the Western states. The Schoenstein family has been building distinguished instruments for five generations. The firm was started in the Black Forest of Germany in the mid-19th century and in 1877 in San Francisco. In addition to organ building, Schoenstein & Co. does restoration work specializing in historic organs including the Salt Lake Mormon Tabernacle Aeolian-Skinner organ.

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I.

By the time the romantic era concluded in the 1930s, the organ, at its best, after centuries of progress, had achieved a level of musical expressiveness and technical sophistication that placed it in the mainstream of musical life. Its versatility in both accompanimental and solo roles earned it recognition as a standard and accepted medium not only for sacred and art music, but also in the commercial sphere where the theatre organ was a dominant voice. This is a condition of musical life hard to picture today since most of us grew up seeing the organ removed from the main stage and placed in the museum of early music. Even in the church, the accompanimental and emotional qualities of the organ often have been sacrificed on the altar of limited solo repertoire. I submit that the time is past due to pick up the traces where the great innovators of organbuilding left off and continue the development of the organ’s expressive qualities.  If the organ is to retain its centrality in the church and regain general acceptance elsewhere, the symphonic organ, which successfully addresses issues of performance flexibility common to other mainstream musical media, must again become a serious pursuit of organbuilders.

An analysis of the several decades’ cessation in the evolution of the organ should be the subject of another article save for two points. First, it must be admitted that one of the most compelling reasons for the success of the organ reform movement was the sheer number of bad romantic organs. I refer to those bereft of any connection with the age-old traditions of the craft--those either poorly designed or poorly made that only drew a caricature of romanticism. Second, the voluminous research into our glorious past has produced many superb and delightful instruments and a wealth of scholarship that most likely would not have resulted without time out for reflection. Therefore, it is safe to say that the value from this hiatus in the evolution of the organ offers enough positive points to balance the damage done to romantic organs in the wake of revision. It also has set the stage for what may be the greatest period in the organ’s history, a time when symphonic organs will flourish along with organs dedicated to interpretation of specific solo repertoire, each type serving in the appropriate context. In fact, in the last few years such a trend has begun to emerge. Among the younger generation of organ scholars, there is great interest in all types of music and all types of organs. It is even possible that the days of academic judgment of organs and organists based on style will change to that based on musicianship and quality.

The Symphonic Ideal

Putting musical concepts into words is nearly impossible, certainly so without commonly accepted definitions. I selected the word “symphonic” to describe both the most sophisticated developments of the romantic era and their further development today. Many have used the term “orchestral” to describe organs of the late romantic period, but this is misleading. It implies imitating the orchestra, and, in the case of a theatre organ, replacing it. This is not what the organ can or should do. The term “symphonic” implies certain musical qualities. If it can describe a type of orchestra it should be able to describe a type of organ as well. Few will disagree that the modern symphony orchestra is the most expressive of all instrumental media. To be fully expressive a medium must be able to transmit faithfully the intellectual ideas and subjective moods of the composer to the listener in the most minute detail. This is accomplished through form, rhythm, melody, harmony, dynamics, tone color, articulation, accent, and phrasing. Other things being equal, the best medium will provide the most precise rhythm, the greatest clarity of melody and harmony, the widest dynamic range, the greatest variety in tone color, and the most responsive control to provide articulation, accent, phrase, and form. Certainly our fine symphony orchestras have these qualities. Most organs do not. This is a shame, because the organ has the ability to surpass the orchestra in certain ways. First, the organ has a wider frequency range stretching octaves below and above orchestral instruments. Second, the organ has a unique tone color, the diapason chorus, an element of nobility and grandeur unsurpassed. Third, the organ has the sometimes dubiously applied ability for unlimited sostenuto. Used properly, this makes it possible to execute extremely long phrases (the grand line) as well as dramatic crescendi and diminuendi and exceptionally long ppp chords. The strings of the orchestra can come near this quality, but the winds and the human voice cannot. Fourth, and by far most important, the organ is under the control of one artist. No matter how great the orchestra or the conductor, different musical minds are at work. A skilled artist in control of a responsive organ can infuse a work with single-mindedness that is impossible with any group musical effort. Obviously, this advantage is even more important to the rendering of subtle accompaniments.

What great promise for expanded musicality the organ offers! This is certainly what drove organbuilders of the past to develop ever more expressive instruments. This quality is also what attracted huge audiences to the organ. But the challenges of realizing the full potential of the organ are great; perhaps some are insurmountable. The organ is, after all, a machine--sometimes a very large and complex one. No other instrument is less personal. Even on a modest instrument, the organist is separated from the pipes by enough mechanism to give the feeling of working by remote control. Consoles are often placed where it is impossible to hear balance and difficult to maintain rhythm. These and so many other roadblocks to musicianship lead one to believe that the organ is a monster daring people to tame it. Certainly the organist faces the most demanding challenge among all instrumentalists. Although it is deceptively easy for an amateur to make sounds of pompous grandeur and cheap sentiment, only an artist of great technical ability and depth of understanding can bring out the full expressive capabilities of the organ. If the organ is to become more accessible, it is important not only to develop its expressive range to symphonic proportions but to increase its flexibility and ease of control. 

Having briefly discussed the application to the organ of the term “symphonic,” meaning an instrument of greater expressive range than one designed for a specific part of the solo repertoire, we turn to the word “accompanimental,” which is equally important in this context. Most organs are in churches and most churches value accompaniments over solos. A good accompanimental organ requires all of the above-mentioned symphonic qualities. Actually, the requirements for accompaniment are greater than those for the romantic and modern repertoire. The organist is asked to accompany full congregations, professional choirs, children’s choruses, small ensembles of instrumentalists and singers, as well as soloists--all of these in music of every conceivable style, sometimes written for orchestra. The ideal accompanimental organ can provide any tone color or blend of colors at any dynamic level. An organ dedicated to early music and without effective enclosure cannot do it. How many times have we heard conductors say, “That’s a nice sound, but it must be louder,” or “You have the right volume, but can’t it be of a different quality?” Often the organist is at a loss to comply and must resort to adding or subtracting upperwork for loudness, and awkwardly transposing octaves to achieve a satisfactory tone color. Usually these and other tricks fail to satisfy the conductor who can only regret that he didn’t hire an orchestra in the first place. The best accompanimental organ must have the resources to make instant adjustments to fill the conductor’s requests in rehearsal and adjust to acoustical changes in performance. Without a well-placed and thoughtfully equipped console, this is often impossible. Many organs do not even have the wherewithal to accompany congregational singing, which requires an especially strong and prompt-speaking pedal bass to maintain tempo, and a dominant 8¢ line to lead melody. Most organs fail to deliver the most thrilling choir accompaniment effect the organ has to offer: that of full diapason and reed choruses under perfect dynamic control to match the level of any ensemble. Service playing often requires certain special effects as well, such as the heroic solo Tuba, the whisper-soft celeste, and quiet 32¢ tone. These effects are not strictly necessary on an organ dedicated to solo repertoire, but they are vital in church work. Musical scope is also important in church work because the organ must maintain the interest of musicians, clergy and parishioners week after week and year after year.

The need for expressive flexibility in accompaniment is perhaps the most important argument in favor of the symphonic organ, but there are others as well that apply in both sacred and secular venues. As a portrayer of the organ solo repertoire, the symphonic organ is obviously far more versatile than the repertoire-specific instrument. It is easier to fit pre-romantic repertoire to the symphonic organ than it is to fit romantic and modern repertoire to the classical or baroque organ. There is a direct comparison in the orchestral world: It is easier to give a musically convincing performance of a Mozart symphony with a modern symphony orchestra than it is to attempt a Mahler symphony with a classical ensemble of early instruments. Admittedly, an intriguing reproduction of what Mozart might have heard in his day is only possible with the classical orchestra, but a first rate performance by a modern orchestra should be every bit as musically satisfying.

The quality and architecture of tone can be loosely compared to the accent and grammar of language. If the structure (architecture or grammar) is solid, the color (quality or accent) can vary to a great degree and still preserve meaning. For example, Franck often requires an equally balanced duet between flute and trumpet. A neo-classic organ with a piercing Schalmey and a soft Rohrflöte cannot do justice to the music because the balance is wrong. However, a good Victorian organ with Cornopean and Claribel Flute can. A listener with an open mind can enjoy the performance with a different quality of tone because the architecture is in place. The Flûte harmonique and Trompette are ideal, but the English accent can be equally interesting and musically valid. By the same token a Bach trio sonata can be musically effective without a North German accent if the balance among stops is correct.

Being a vehicle for improvisation and an inspiration for new compositions are two related imperatives for the symphonic organ. The greater the range of expressive possibilities, the greater the desire to stretch one’s creative skill. Is it possible that a resurgence of inventiveness in symphonic organbuilding could ignite a burst of compositional brilliance and improvisational creativity as did the symphonic organ of Cavaillé-Coll? Since the end of the romantic period, most mainstream composers have ignored the organ. Could this be because of so many limitations and quirks? 

Finally we come to the question of solo transcriptions. Some argue that transcriptions deserve no place on organ recitals because the proliferation of symphony orchestras and the universal availability of recordings and broadcasts have eliminated the need for the organ to bring symphonic music to the masses. This is true; and it is good news because it releases the organ from the onerous task of performing music that is ill-suited to it. With performers free to select only that music which translates best to the organ, transcriptions can be presented as an art form in their own right. There are two good reasons to do this. First, hearing familiar music in a different medium is often enlightening. Sometimes aspects of the music are made more clear and benefit from a greater range of expression. Second, the organ, being under the control of one artist, can often render a more convincing performance than can an orchestra. There are pieces that I, for one, would prefer to hear in transcription. There is, however, one cautionary note. Transcription should only be attempted by the very finest artists. Of late there has been a bit of a transcription fad. Inferior performances of unsuitable repertoire have further bolstered the arguments of transcription naysayers. Therefore, since there is no need for solo transcriptions, they should be strictly limited to repertoire that is organistic in nature. (By the way, the same could be said of much contemporary church music: it is simply not organistic.) The only point to transcriptions in this day and age is to create an artistic result that is in the same league as the organ’s own repertoire. Even some very good musicians select poor material because in their mind’s ear intricate rhythms and the voicing of complex, dissonant chords are perfectly clear, even though they are not the slightest bit clear to the listener, who is without a score and hears only the sound produced. It is obvious that an orchestrator has a great deal more freedom than even the finest organist on the finest organ in voicing complex harmony throughout the range of an orchestra. Pieces that require this kind of orchestration should be left to orchestras. (Of course, even symphony orchestras have their limits, which are clearly shown when they attempt swing music at pops concerts.) There is a wealth of beautiful material available that is truly adaptable to the organ, and therefore broadens the organ’s repertoire.

Is there a single test of an organ’s symphonic qualities? Certainly the ultimate test is its usefulness and beauty in everyday work, but there is one quick trial that never fails to uncover holes in the fabric--the improvised build-up. If an organ can sustain interest over a long crescendo from ppp to fff, one which exhibits absolute smoothness with no gaps as tone colors merge, as patterns of rhythm, articulation and accent change, and as new pitches are introduced, the organ is likely to be able to perform well in a great range of solo and accompanimental roles.

Symphonic Design

There are seven characteristics that an organ must possess to be considered symphonic: variety of vividly differentiated tone colors; balance, both horizontal (tone) and vertical (pitch); clarity to define form and harmonic structure; wide dynamic range under effective control; a wind system that aids in rhythm and accent; an action system that facilitates accuracy, articulation, phrasing, and accent; comfortable, easy, and minute console control of all the organ’s resources. Note the conspicuous absence of imitative orchestral voices on this list. The symphonic ideal has nothing whatsoever to do with imitating an orchestra; it has everything to do with giving the organ the same power of expression that the symphony orchestra has. An organ can be symphonic without any of the voices that imitate orchestral instruments. The foundation and, indeed, the glory of the organ is its family of diapasons and other tones unique to the organ. The diapason chorus is to the organ as the string section is to the orchestra. It is its signature. The other tonal families add immeasurably to the organ, but without fully developed diapason tone, a symphonic organ is a failure.

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A Brief for the Symphonic Organ (Part Two)

Part two of two

Jack M. Bethards
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II.

The balance of this article will explore some of the methods used by Schoenstein in designing symphonic organs.

Tonal Variety

In planning a symphonic organ, no tone color that might be useful is excluded from consideration, and if something new seems appropriate we will develop it. We see no problem in combining individual sounds from French, German, English and American traditions of different periods in one instrument. This may seem like a dangerous approach, and it is . . . for those who must follow only established rules. If, on the other hand, a designer has in mind a well-formed image of the tonal architecture and its end result, the freedom to include elements of rare beauty handed down to us by the great builders of the past can open new avenues of creativity. This approach is only successful when applied with the strictest of discipline. Anything that does not blend and pull its weight in the ensemble or serve in a variety of solo or accompaniment roles should not be included. Collecting multiple elements of different traditions in an attempt to combine two or more repertoire-specific instruments into one is usually disastrous. The once-popular procedure of building an organ with a German Great and Positiv and French Swell or adding a romantic Solo to a neo-classic design are ideas that have, fortunately, lost their appeal. The goal should be to create an ensemble that has integrity in its own right and is able to acquit itself musically in a number of different styles with such conviction that there is no need to claim “authenticity.”

An equally important rule of design is to avoid making an instrument any larger than necessary or practical. No organ should have more stops than it needs to get its musical job done. No organ should be so large that it becomes unseviceable or acoustically chokes on its own bulk. When too much organ is squeezed into too little space and/or spread hither and yon, maintenance and tuning problems are sure to result. An organ should be of adequate size to be considered symphonic, but that size is much smaller than one might think. The smallest organ we have made that can qualify is the 15-voice, 17-rank instrument in the chapel of the University of St. Thomas, Houston, Texas (see stoplist). Certainly 40 to 50 voices provide ample opportunity for design freedom and 60 to 70 voices are all that should be required even for very big buildings. An example of our approach in a large symphonic plan is at First Plymouth Congregational Church in Lincoln, Nebraska (see stoplist). Note that this instrument has 73 voices if the separate gallery organ is not included.

Our stoplists show how we combine various tone colors, but a few explanatory notes may be in order. When combining individual stops into groups, we think of them in these categories: first, traditional choruses of diapasons and reeds; second, stops of moderate power from all tonal families serving in both accompanimental (manual and pedal) and in solo roles; third, ethereal stops--the extremely soft and delicate tones of the flute, string or hybrid type; fourth, bass stops of exceptional depth and power; and fifth, heroic solo stops. Some stops, of course, can fit into more than one of these categories but the classification is useful in reviewing whether or not the organ has all of the tonal characteristics common to a good symphonic ensemble.

Since the diapason is unique to the organ and the tone most often used, we seek to provide several (with appropriate chorus development), each of distinct character, on organs of even modest size. They vary not only in scale, but in mouth width, slotting, etc. We like to include stops of the echo diapason class (dulcianas, salicionals, etc.) as well. During the organ reform movement, open flutes, particularly at 8’ pitch, were not in vogue. We tend to include more open than stopped flutes. Stops of genuine string tone have not been popular either. This is a sad omission and certainly an organ without them cannot be considered symphonic. We like to include a family of strings and celestes from very narrow to very broad scale, all with true string quality rather than the geigen principal type that served as string tone in neo-classic organs. We try to include at least one of each of the color reeds (Clarinet, Oboe, Vox Humana and, where possible, horns, and specialty stops such as the Orchestral Oboe) as well as a complete chorus of trumpet tone (in large schemes, those of both closed and open shallot type). To broaden both dynamic and color ranges, very soft flue stops (often of the hybrid, tapered types) and bold solo stops (usually of the trumpet or tromba class) are important. In small schemes these effects can be had with stops doing double duty through effective expression.

We have developed several new voices. Some of these are variations on long established styles such as our Celestiana, which is a very narrow scale, quarter-tapered hybrid of clear but very soft flute tone; the Cor Seraphique with its Vox Angelique celeste is a larger scale version. Our Corno Dolce and Flute Celeste are brighter renditions of the E. M. Skinner Flauto Dolce and Flute Celeste. We find this bright character more generally useful in smaller instruments. The Voix Sérénissime is a small scale string of extremely keen intonation but of soft volume. The Silver Flute is a narrow-mouth, non-harmonic version of our large Harmonic Flute. It may be thought of as a metal Claribel Flute. 

The Symphonic Flute is a new development, also called Bœhm Flute, incorporating many different pipe constructions throughout its compass to achieve an interesting effect found in the orchestra’s family of transverse flutes. The flute of the symphony orchestra is bright and reed-like in its lower register with a full, increasingly powerful and pure, bell-like treble. These tone qualities are carried downward to the alto, bass and contra-bass flutes and upward to the piccolo. The Symphonic Flute was realized after extensive studies with flute players and manufacturers, as well as a careful review of Bœhm’s treatise. The tonal character is achieved, as in real flutes, by maintaining nearly the same diameter from bass to treble. The diameter progresses unevenly to achieve particular effects, but it does not reach the half-way point until the 48th pipe. The pipes in the bass therefore are of string scale progressing through principal, moderate flute, a wide flute, to very wide flute at the top. Pipe construction is of five varieties: slotted; non-slotted; harmonic; double mouth harmonic; and double mouth, double harmonic. This new solo color for the organ is both powerful and beautiful.

We employ high wind pressure for beauty, precision, or smoothness of tone where it is required. Solo flutes and strings and all closed shallot chorus reeds certainly have benefited from this treatment. Loudness can be achieved by other means, but carrying power without harshness is most perfectly achieved through heavy pressure.

A final note on tone is perhaps the most important point in this essay: Beauty of tone trumps all else in organ design. Beauty is perhaps too simple a term. Organ stops of great character can be quite bold and assertive, colorful and mysterious, languid and wistful. They are all forms of beauty to my ear. The secret is committed voicing. By that I mean making tone that has something to say, not simply playing it safe with blandness. Anyone who studies organ tone knows what I mean. Great voicing imparts something extra to energize a tone and make it appealing. A single diapason of beautiful quality will outplay a 100-rank organ that is all bluster and blandness. An organ may look symphonic on paper, but if the character of tone is not beautiful, it cannot qualify. An organ of any type with beautiful tone will surpass a poor symphonic one. However, if beauty of tone can be combined with all of the flexibility promised in the symphonic ideal, the result can be sublime.

Balance

To achieve balance there must be a center of gravity and in the symphonic organ it is at 8’ in the manuals. Each division should lay its foundation at the 8’ level. This, after all, is where the music is written. In our symphonic concept, upperwork is considered a coloring agent, a way of adding a distinctive character to the 8’ line. Therefore, in chorus design, as a general rule, scales decrease as pitch levels increase. Where we have the luxury of two mixture stops in a division, we vary them in color and dynamic rather than pitch: for example, one at mf and another at ff or one with a tierce and one without. Sometimes the mixture is enclosed separately. We avoid flutiness and overemphasis of off-unison pitches in upperwork; pure, clear diapason tone is the goal. Most 8’ stops, particularly those that must blend with related upperwork, have high harmonic content, a satisfying brilliance in their own right. Eight-foot stops are also regulated in a treble-ascendant fashion to emphasize the melody line; pipes become progressively slightly louder as they ascend the compass from the middle of the keyboard.

Horizontal balance is equally important and we believe that all of the manual divisions should be of adequate power to balance one another; the Swell and Great approximately equal and the Choir only slightly below. Reeds and flues should be equally balanced, but in certain acoustical situations the reeds should dominate. In dealing with chambers or in rooms of dry acoustic, open flute, string, and chorus reed tone are far more effective in producing tone of noble and powerful character than is diapason upperwork.

Clarity

One only has to see the density of a Reger, Widor, or Elgar score to realize that clarity is vitally important in romantic and modern music--as much as in early music. Many organs just present great blocks of sound. This may be titillating, but it is not music making. The notes must be heard if the intent is to be expressed. Most of the burden for clarity rests on the organist, who must judge his instrument and his acoustic; but the organ must not stand in his way. Clarity is achieved in an organ by many means including steady wind, precise action, voicing for prompt, clean attack and clear tone that is steady and free of irritating chiff, wild harmonics, and white noise.

Enclosure

There are vital qualities of freshness and presence associated with unenclosed pipework, but we believe that having pipes unenclosed is a luxury that can only be afforded in a scheme that also has a full range of resources, including Pedal stops, enclosed in at least two boxes. In smaller jobs the entire organ should be under expression, although sometimes circumstances dictate otherwise, for example where the Great must be placed forward of the Swell. In very large jobs it is good to have tones of similar character enclosed and unenclosed so that each class of tone can be used in its full range of expressive beauty. The best enclosure is masonry. Hollow brick faced with cement is the preferred construction and this points out the advantage of organ chambers in some situations. If an organ is primarily used for accompaniment where dynamic control and atmospheric, ethereal effects are of utmost importance, a properly designed and located chamber is ideal. An enchambered organ is as different from an encased free-standing one as a piano is from a harpsichord. Each has its advantages and each must be designed differently. The enchambered organ requires a stoplist emphasizing stops scaled and voiced for exceptional projection and carrying power, higher wind pressure, and a layout taking maximum advantage of the opening and preventing echoes within the chamber. In recent years chambers have been thoughtlessly despised. It is time to recognize their value as a means of increasing the range of musical options offered by the organ.

Dynamic Control

The symphonic organ must provide the organist with three distinct types of dynamic control: continuous, discrete-terraced, and sudden. These are all qualities common to the symphony orchestra, but often illusive on the organ. The continuous dynamic is achieved on the organ only through the use of the expression box and shades. A good expression box when fully open should not rob the pipes of clear projection and presence to any great degree, but when closed should reduce loudness from at least ff to p. To achieve this, a box must be reasonably sound proof with adequate density to control leakage of bass and must be well sealed when closed: Gaps are anathema to good expression box control. The shades cannot be too thick because their bulk will not permit a full use of the opening. Shades should be able to open 90 degrees. They must be fast acting and silent. Achieving smooth, continuous expression control is one of the greatest challenges in organ building.

To achieve a continuous dynamic range from fff to ppp we have developed a system of double expression, placing a box within a box. (See drawing.) The inner box is placed at the rear of the outer (main) box so that there is a large air space between the two sets of shades. When both sets of shades are closed, the space contained between them provides a very effective sound trap. We place the softest and most powerful sounds inside the inner box of the division. For example, a pair of ethereal strings and the Vox Humana; the high pressure chorus reeds and a mixture. A balanced expression pedal is provided at the console for each box. On large instruments a switching system allows the organist to select conveniently which shades are to be assigned to each balanced pedal. With the shades not quite fully open, the stops within the inner box are at a normal volume level to balance the rest of the division. With both sets of shades fully closed the soft stops in the inner box are reduced to near inaudibility and the chorus reeds are reduced to the level of color reeds. With all shades fully open, the chorus reeds and mixture are slightly louder than those of the Great. The Vox Humana usually has its own shades with a console switch to shift from pp to mf. There are many expressive possibilities with this system. For example, a crescendo may be started using the ethereal strings with both boxes closed, opening the inner box until the level is equal to the soft stops in the outer box, which are then added. The outer box is opened, adding stops in the normal manner while closing the inner box. The chorus reeds and mixture are drawn and the inner box reopened to complete the crescendo. This is done with ease after a bit of practice. During the installation of our organ in Washington, D.C. at St. Paul’s Church, music director Jeffrey Smith accompanied the Anglican choral service with nothing more than the Swell organ for over a month. It was the double box arrangement that made this possible.

The discrete-terraced dynamic requires having an adequate number of stops of similar or related tonal quality at different dynamic levels so that increased power is achieved in increments by adding stops. This effect is realized by hand registration, pistons, or a well-arranged crescendo pedal.

The third character of dynamic--sudden change--is usually done with manual shifts, second touch, very fast-acting expression shades, or a silent, fast and uniform stop action controlled by either the combination action or the Crescendo pedal and backed up by a steady, responsive wind system. Without this, a symphonic approach to organ playing is impossible. Clattery mechanism is annoying under any circumstances but especially so when sudden changes are required in the midst of a phrase, for example, to underscore an anthem or hymn text. We have introduced a device that adds another means of accent: the Sforzando coupler. It is a simple device wherein a coupler, for example Solo to Great, is made available through a momentary-touch toe lever. A fff combination can be set on the Solo and added to a ff combination on the Great at a climactic point with a brief touch of the toe to create a sforzando effect.

Wind System

There has been much discussion in recent decades about the virtue of flexible or “living” wind. If the wind supply were under the direct control of the player to be manipulated at will, there might be some point to argue. Since it is not, unsteady wind has no place in the symphonic organ. The whole point of the symphonic approach is to seek absolute control by the organist of all resources. So-called flexible wind is set in motion according to the design of the system and the demands being placed upon it. The organist can strive to achieve a reasonably pleasant effect, but he cannot have full control over the result. We believe in providing absolutely steady wind using a multiplicity of regulators, not only to make available different wind pressures, but to assure consistent response from all pipes under all playing conditions. Most chests are fed by at least two steps of regulation, each with spring control, so that the final regulator in the system does not have too much differential for which to compensate. A moving bass line should not upset the treble; intervals and chords should not de-tune when wind demand is high. It’s also important for the wind system to have more than adequate capacity to handle any demand and to have quick refill response so that staccato tutti chords will sound firm and full as they do in the orchestra. All too often, organs with great nobility of sustained tone turn into gasping caricatures when the forward motion of the music goes beyond their limits.

Another important wind system effect is a beautiful vibrato. We have developed a Variable Tremulant device, which allows the organist to control the speed of the beat from a balanced pedal at the console. We employ this normally on solo stops such as our Symphonic Flute. The normal, completely metronomic tremulant of the organ seems a bit unnatural when applied to lyrical passages. The Variable Tremulant allows the organist to simulate the more subtle vibrato used by first class instrumentalists and singers. The Vox Humana is also provided with a slow/fast tremulant switch, to fit both general and French Romantic repertoire.

Action

Speed and precision of both key and stop action are critical to the success of a symphonic organ. Key action must be lightning fast on both attack and release and respond uniformly from all keys regardless of the number of stops or couplers employed. Stop action must be fast and clean, i.e., without any hesitation or gulping on draw or release. Again, the entire action system must be silent. To meet these requirements we use electric-pneumatic action with an individual-valve windchest. (See illustration.) The expansion cell provides a cushioning effect similar to that of a note channel in a slider chest. It also allows placement of all action components near one another on the bottom board to reduce action channeling and increase speed.

The most important musical advantage of individual valves is to eliminate interdependence of pipes. With the exception of mixtures, where all pipes of a given note always speak together, we consider it a serious musical defect to place pipes on a common channel where the wind characteristics are different depending on the number of stops drawn and where there is a possibility of negative interaction within the channel. This is especially true, of course, with combinations of reeds and flues on the same channel and/or several large stops using copious wind. Each pipe should produce the same sound each time it is played no matter how many others are combined with it. As with flexible wind, the organist loses a degree of control over his instrument if random changes in pipe response can occur.

The most important reason for absolute uniformity of chest response under all conditions is the fact that pipes do not have the flexibility to adjust for variations in attack, wind supply, and release as do other wind instruments. A trumpet player, for example, can adjust attack, tone color, and release to an amazing degree of subtlety through precisely coordinated changes in breath, diaphragm, throat and mouth shape, tongue motion and position, embouchure, mouthpiece pressure, etc. In an organ, all of the analogous elements of control are set in place permanently by the voicer with the sole exceptions of wind regulator (diaphragm) and pipe valve (tongue motion). The pipe cannot change to accommodate variations in valve action and wind supply. As described before, wind supply cannot be controlled by the organist. This leaves the valve as the only means of control—and that control is limited even on the best mechanical actions. I submit that this element of control is actually a negative because variations in valve action, being different from the one experienced by the voicer, will be more likely to degrade pipe speech than to enhance it. If the key touch can affect attack and release but not all the other elements of tone production, then it follows that the organist is placed in the position of devoting his thought and energy toward avoiding ugly effects instead of concentrating on elements of performance that can be under precise and complete control. By maintaining absolute uniformity the performer knows what will happen every time a pipe is played.

Rather than searching for the elusive quality of touch control on the organ, we believe it is best to enhance speed of response and accuracy. The best way for an artist to achieve lyrical phrasing, clear articulation, and accent is through absolute control of timing. This is facilitated by keyboards with an articulated touch, providing a definite feel of the electric contact point, and an action that is immediately responsive both on attack and release. A sensitive player can then realize the most intricate and subtle musical ideas on what is essentially a large machine. The more the mechanism gets in the way of performance, forcing certain techniques, the less artistic freedom one has and the further the organ strays from the mainstream of instrumental and vocal music.

Flexible Control

We seldom acknowledge that the organist assumes the roles of orchestrator, conductor and instrumentalist—a daunting task to say the least. In effect, he is given nothing more than the kind of three-stave sketch that a composer might give to an orchestrator. The decisions an organist must make about registration are directly analogous to the orchestrator deciding on instrumentation, doubling, voice leading, chordal balance, etc. Since the organ is really a collection of instruments, the organist also has the conductor’s job of balancing the dynamic levels of individual sounds, accompaniments, inner voices of ensembles, counter melodies, and so on. As an instrumentalist he must have virtuoso keyboard technique. To achieve all of this requires great flexibility of control. The temptation is to load the console with a bristling array of playing aids. However, it is easy to pass the point where complexity becomes self-defeating. Here are some of the guidelines we use in designing consoles. First, the console must be comfortable. Dimensions should be standard and then, as far as possible, adjustable to conform to different organists. In addition to the adjustable bench, we have on several occasions provided adjustable-height pedalboards. We use a radiating and concave pedalboard and also non-inclined manual keys on the theory that when changing from one keyboard to another it is important that they be uniform. Controls must be placed in positions that are easy to see, memorize and reach. The combination action should be as flexible as possible providing the organist the opportunity to assign groups of stops to a piston at will. For example, on our combination action with the Range feature the organist can, while seated at the console, change divisional pistons into generals and vice-versa, assign pedal stops to a manual division, rearrange reversibles, etc. Multiple memories, of course, are now standard and of great value.

In addition to the multiple, assignable expression boxes, Variable Tremulant, and Sforzando coupler mentioned elsewhere, we like to include three special Pedal accessories on larger instruments. The first is a coupler bringing the Pedal to the Choir to facilitate fast pedal passages in transcriptions of orchestral accompaniments. The second is a Pedal Divide which silences the Pedal couplers in the low notes and silences the pedal stops in the upper notes. This allows the simultaneous playing of bass and solo lines on the pedalboard. The third is Pizzicato Bass, with a momentary-touch relay activating pipes of the Pedal Double Open Wood at 8¢ pitch. This provides a clear, pointed attack to the bass line reminiscent of divisi arco/pizzicato double bass writing for orchestra. This effect has been very useful in articulating bass lines, which on the organ are otherwise clouded rhythmically. The octave note is hardly noticeable, but the increase in buoyancy of the pedal line is quite amazing.

The most valuable and perhaps most controversial flexibility device is unification (extension). Certainly nothing other than tracker action has caused more argument over the last 50 years. The individual valve system obviously makes unification both simple and economical. Unification offers several musical advantages as we will see, but there are great dangers as well and it is most unfortunate that it has been so misused that some cannot see any of its advantages. We employ unification in symphonic organs, large and small, wherever a positive musical advantage can be achieved. Unification is, after all, merely coupling of individual stops rather than entire divisions. Whereas coupling is generally accepted, unification is not despite the fact that coupling of individual stops can offer a far more artistic result.

Perhaps the most interesting use of the unification is in creating new sounds. For example, to produce the stunning orchestral effect of trombones, tenor tubas, or horns playing in unison, we developed the Tuben (III) stop. This converts a chorus of 16’, 8’, 4’ tubas or trumpets into a unison ensemble by bringing the 4’ stop down an octave, the 16’ stop up an octave, and combining these with the 8’ stop. The three tones of slightly different scale but similar character create a most appealing unison effect and can be further combined with other stops of similar color at 8’ pitch. We have done the same with 16’, 8’ and 4’ Clarinet stops creating unison ensemble Clarinet tone, a common orchestrator’s device and most valuable to the organist for accompaniment and improvisation.

A traditional use of unification is in pedal borrowing from the manuals. We use this device extensively based on observation that one of the most difficult tasks facing an organist is finding a bass of suitable volume and color. We sometimes also borrow stops from one manual to another so that a stop may be used without tying up another manual with a coupler. A common application is transferring the Choir Clarinet to the Great so that it may be played against the Choir mutations. In some cases we derive an entire third manual on a moderate size organ from stops of the Great and Swell. This manual may either contain solo stops selected from both of the other manuals or a combination of solo stops from one manual and a secondary chorus from the other. A recent example is at Spring Valley United Methodist Church, Dallas, Texas. We occasionally extend stops—commonly downward to 16’ in the manuals and occasionally upward. Stops so treated must not be considered substitutes for primary chorus material. In other words, the organ must stand on its own as a completely straight design before any unification is employed. Stops extended upward must have a character of tone such that if a straight stop were to be employed, the scale would be the same or nearly so. Thus, extensions of string stops are much more likely to be successful than extensions of diapason stops.

Unification should not replace the ensemble of straight voices; it should simply make them available in different ways. If a stop can be useful also in another place or at another pitch and if this does not compromise the integrity of the organ’s design then we believe it is wrong not to include the unification. Failure to do so limits the organist’s musical options. The real point of the straight organ design concept is having all of the necessary independent voices even if one must give up some attractive ones to assure good ensemble. Once this is achieved, there is nothing wrong with making the voices you have do double or triple duty. It is interesting to note that in organs of a century ago a solo stop might be contrived through the use of couplers. A stop name would appear on a combination piston, the function of which was to draw a stop, a unison-off coupler, and an octave coupler thus making a 16’ reed, for example, available at 8’ as a solo stop. One can conclude that the earlier builders were not against unification, they simply did not have the practical means to do it. Unification and other devices to enhance flexibility need not be used by organists who do not like them, but to leave them out of the specification is to deprive others the full use of the costly resources the organ offers. Players of other instruments are always searching for ease of control so that their energy can be concentrated on musicianship. Organists might be a happier lot by doing the same instead of idolizing the organ’s ancient limitations.

Conclusion

We may be entering the greatest era in the fascinating life of the organ. The improvement in substitute electronic instruments has released the organ industry from the burden of making cheap pipe organs for customers with low expectations. Builders are working more and more for those with cultivated taste who appreciate an artistic approach to the craft. Organs are seldom purchased as a piece of church equipment as they were in days past. Now there is a place for all types of high quality pipe organs from antique reproductions to historically informed eclectic schemes to modern symphonic instruments. If the organ is to progress musically, it will be through the further development of its expressive—symphonic—qualities and the realization that the organ is a wind instrument ensemble with great potential, not merely a sometimes-awkward member of the early keyboard family.

Reprinted with permission from the Journal of The British Institute of Organ Studies, Vol. 26, 2002. Peter Williams, chairman; Nigel Browne and Alastair Johnston, editors. Positif Press, Oxford.

Reverberation: serving sound or serving music?

An heretical view of acoustics

by Jack M. Bethards
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In the world of music at large the organ is often considered an outcast, a curiosity, or at best an antique. One reason is that much of the organ world is thought to be more concerned with sound for its own sake than with music. This characterization may be unfair, but it is partly our own fault. Organ builders and organists are notorious for demanding acoustics with exceptionally long reverberation times. True, much choral and organ music (often that written for the church) sounds best in a resonant environment, but this fact has often clouded our thinking . . . and the music! A great deal of music played on the organ is not served well by overly long reverberation because clarity is lost. Too much reverberation can blur form, harmonic structure, rhythm, articulation, and dynamic contrasts. Although it is hard for organ devotees to admit it, a resonant acoustic that is excellent for orchestral and other music can also serve the organ well.

 

There are two reasons for the dogmatic insistence on long reverberation times. First, it is a natural reaction to the discouraging trend toward studio-like acoustics in modern church architecture. In order to gain any reverberation at all, we have become used to asking for the moon. Ask for five seconds and be happy with one and a half is the usual formula. Unfortunately, however, this strategy often backfires, leaving organ advocates with little credibility among architects, acousticians and those who pay for buildings.

The second reason is that organs in highly reverberant rooms make a spectacular sonic effect. It is said that any kind of noise sounds well in a stone cathedral. But what does this mean? Does it mean that the overall result is musical? Or does it mean only that the sound itself is exciting, dramatic, rich with color? All too often the latter is the answer. Likewise, amateur singing sounds fine in the shower as does student trumpeting in an empty gymnasium. But these, of course, are illusions. What is being perceived as music is often nothing more than exaggerated sound. More is required of an acoustical environment to make satisfying music.

What is a good acoustic for the pipe organ?

It is commonly believed that all organs are enhanced by a very long reverberation time. We must differentiate among general types of organs (and the music played on them) and their acoustical environments. First, consider the cathedral organ. Although no music is successful when all clarity is lost through excessive reverberation, certain branches of the organ and choral repertoire--particularly that written for grand churches--require a reverberation time that is greater than that required for other forms of music.

At the other extreme is the high pressure theater organ. This type of instrument is far more successful in a studio or heavily draped theater. Otherwise the detail is lost. Their unique ability to create accent and to carry complex rhythmic patterns is partially defeated if reverberation is too great. Special purpose venues for these two extremes of the spectrum are not our concern here. This article deals instead with acoustical requirements for organs in the middle ground that are required to perform an eclectic repertoire in typical American churches and in multi-purpose concert halls.

Amount of reverberation

Too much is just as bad as too little. The lower limit of reverberation is easy to determine. It is the point at which music sounds dry, dull, and lifeless. This lower limit is higher for organ than for other instruments primarily because organ pipes are simply on or off. There is little that can be done to shape their tone. Some organ builders strive to improve the flexibility and responsiveness of the pipe organ; however, it seems unlikely that this can be achieved to the degree it is found in other instruments or in the human voice. Therefore a reasonably resonant acoustic is necessary for the church or concert pipe organ.

It is more difficult to determine the upper limit of reverberation. When does reverberation stop adding warmth and grandeur and start adding confusion? There are five determinants:

* When there is so much overlap of sequential sounds that musical line and structure lose definition despite the most careful articulation by the player; in other words, when the player's ideas get lost in the process of transmission to the audience. At that point the performance becomes an impression of sounds rather than a projection of musical ideas. (Those satisfied only with impressions of sounds are much like the early Hi-Fi enthusiasts who favored recordings of locomotives!)

* When the player loses control of rhythm.

* When it becomes impossible to create accent, which on the organ is accomplished more through durations of silence and sound than it is by increase of loudness.

* When sudden changes of dynamic level are obscured.

* When sharp contrast in tone color is clouded.

All of these musical situations, and others, caused by excessive reverberation are not tolerated by most musicians. Unfortunately, however, they are sadly disregarded by many in the organ profession, much to the detriment of their credibility in musical circles. We are sometimes willing to sacrifice ten minutes of music to get five seconds of sound at the end of the last chord!

Quality of reverberation

Frequently, the total amount of reverberation time is the only consideration in specifying ideal organ acoustics. But we should be far more interested in the quality of reverberation than in its duration. There are three qualitative elements that seem most important to me as an organ designer:

* The intensity (power curve) must be as high as possible. I was first made aware of this in visiting some of the great churches of France. There was a quality of reverberation there quite different from even the best reverberant rooms in this country. Why this is so must be the subject of another enquiry; however, the nature of this quality is vitally important. What I found was that the intensity of sound stayed quite high throughout the reverberation period and then trailed off rather quickly. This produced a most satisfying, rich, warm sound. In other buildings with an equal duration of reverberation, but with quickly decreasing intensity, the result is a disturbing confusion. I attribute this to the changing nature of the sound during the reverberation period. My conclusion, based upon much observation, is that it is far better to have a short, intense reverberation period than to have a long, weak one. The charts below show this concept.

      A measurement which may be more valuable than reverberation time (RT) in expressing this quality of intensity is early decay time (EDT). This is the time it takes a sound to decay by 15 decibels, whereas RT measures the sound until it decays by 60 decibels. Obviously EDT is measuring the first and most intense part of the reverberation. A high sound level during the first seconds and a total reverberation period extending very little longer than the EDT describes my ideal reverberation characteristic in a more precise way. Exact numbers, of course, vary with each situation; however, the idea of a           ratio of EDT to RT is true in all cases.

* The decay of sound should be smooth. A series of fast echos (much like clapping one's hands at the top of a deep well) are called flutter echos. These often occur in buildings with parallel walls located close together or with domes and barrel vaults which have a focal point at a sound source. These are extremely deleterious to musical effect. They can be so serious as to confuse performers while irritating the listeners. Sometimes they can be sensed throughout the room, but often they are localized. This characteristic of reverberation, a yodeler's delight, is ruinous to music, or for that matter, clarity of speech. The quality of reverberation that we seek is a sound dying away, not a sound being reiterated.

* The room should sound the way it looks. The eye leads the ear to expect a certain amount of reverberation. When it is either more or less, even the amateur listener detects that something is wrong.

Frequency response

Reverberation time is such an issue that other related characteristics are sometimes overlooked in specifying acoustical design. Frequency response is one of the most important of these. I find it far easier to work in a building with a smooth frequency response than one where there are peaks and valleys along the spectrum. The amount of reverberation should progress evenly through each frequency range. The bass should have slightly more reverberation than the mid range and the treble should have slightly less. One of the great faults of most buildings is the inability to support the deep bass of the organ. The unfortunate tendency of many buildings to also exaggerate treble makes bass seem even weaker. Bass is, after all, one of the characteristics that makes the organ the king of instruments. However, if low frequency reverberation is overemphasized, the heavy, often slightly slow speaking bass of the pipe organ becomes ill-defined. Similarly, if there is an overbalance on the high end, it is difficult to avoid shrillness.

Dispersion

The sound producing area of a pipe organ is large. Sounds of different color and intensity emanate from various places within the organ case or chamber. If a room is shaped in such a way that sounds coming from different points are focused to particular listening areas, it is impossible to achieve good ensemble. The ideal acoustic disperses sound evenly throughout a room. Acousticians and architects can achieve this through the application of various shaped dispersion elements.

Distribution

Sound should be distributed evenly throughout the listening area. Organ builders encounter many rooms which have hot spots and dead spots. Some of these may involve loudness, others may emphasize certain frequencies. The first concern in good distribution is correct placement of the organ. Whether free-standing or in a chamber, an organ must have adequate communication with the listeners. Once that is achieved, the architect and acoustician can eliminate sound traps and provide proper reflective surfaces.

Presence

Reverberation that appears to be happening at a distance is not very satisfying. The listener should be immersed in the reverberant field, otherwise the effect is similar to listening to music coming from the next room. It is most often desirable for the organ to sound as though it is located in the same room as the listener, even if it is in a chamber. Many points of organ design are involved in this issue but acoustical factors are important as well. The chamber opening to the listening room should be as large as possible. The chamber should not be overly deep nor wider or taller at the back than it is at the front. Finally, the organ should occupy enough space so that the chamber does not possess its own reverberant field. If the sound being projected into the listening room comes with a built-in echo or hollowness, the result is more confusion. It must be noted that in some liturgical settings the opposite of presence, a sense of mystery, is valued. It is much easier to produce this quality in a chamber than in a free-standing case. Thus, a chamber can, in some circumstances, be advantageous. 

Background Noise

Because the organ is a "sostenuto" instrument lacking the percussive attack possibility of most other instruments, control of background noise is especially important since most background noise is also of a sustained nature. I refer especially to air handling equipment. Many types of organs have as one of their great virtues an extremely wide dynamic range. If background noise is not under control, the softer end of the organ's range is lost.

Loudness

Obviously, all of the qualities listed above which contribute to a warm, resonant sound require adequate loudness. This is a question of organ design. If an organ does not have the sonic energy to excite the reverberant field of the room, all of the efforts of acousticians and architects will be to no avail. The organ builder must design the instrument to fit the acoustical size of the listening room without being overbearing. All too often acoustical size is confused with the number of stops. Sound output has a great deal more to do with stop selection, layout, scaling, wind pressure, voicing, and finishing. In most cases, it is best to keep the organ as small as possible to achieve the musical and acoustical results desired.

Placement of the Organ

Placement of organ pipes is a critical element in acoustical design. If sound is not projected properly from its source, even the finest acoustic will not save the instrument. Proper placement and the tonal design of organs to fit various placement situations should be the subjects of a lengthy article, however a few summary comments are in order here. Although high, side organ chambers are often very successful in churches where the organ's role is primarily accompanimental, it is generally true that the best placement for an organ is directly behind and above the other performing forces. The organ should speak down the central, long axis of the room. This often poses a problem especially when inserting a pipe organ into an existing space. Usually, the difficulty is finding height for the organ. The lowest point of the sound opening should start one to two feet above the heads of the farthest "upstage" row of choristers when standing. This is often as much as 15¢ above floor level. The top of the tone opening should be a minimum of 18¢ above that. For some types of organs it should be more. If adequate height is not available, there arises the challenge of how to present the organ visually. Traditionally, organs are narrow and tall. Short, squat ones tend to look ridiculous. Since the organ is known as the king of instruments and produces a fittingly noble sound, a "Punch & Judy" pipe display is inappropriate. There are no easy solutions. If a compromise must be made, the musical result must always be favored over the visual one. Sometimes it is best not to show pipes at all and let the instrument speak through grilles.  A smaller instrument is often the best solution. It will open far more options for good placement than a larger one. A well placed organ is an acoustically efficient organ.

Summary

Over the years I have found it most comfortable to work in buildings with a moderate acoustic. It is depressing to face a totally dry environment where the organ's tone is given no help at all; however, it is equally frustrating to deal with an overly live building where all of one's efforts in careful tone regulation are lost in a musical muddle. Approximately two and one-half to three seconds of intense, smooth reverberation (when the room is occupied) combined with even frequency response, good dispersion, distribution, and presence, as well as limited background noise yields the ideal atmosphere. A few examples from my experience that come quickly to mind are Old South Church in Boston, First-Plymouth Congregational Church in Lincoln, Nebraska, the University of Arizona (Holsclaw Hall) in Tucson, Severance Hall in Cleveland, the Boston Symphony Hall, and many of the famous 19th-century town halls throughout England. In other words, this writer's ideal for organ sound is the same as that for a first class symphony hall of the more reverberant type. Such an environment provides warmth for organ tone combined with clarity of musical line.

 

Jack Bethards is president and tonal director of Schoenstein & Co., Organ Builders of San Francisco. This article is based on a paper he presented in a forum with acoustical engineer Paul Scarbrough at the 136th meeting of the Acoustical Society of America, Norfolk, Virginia, in October, 1998.

Graphs by Paul Scarbrough, Acoustical Engineer, Norwalk, CT

University of Nebraska-Lincoln

Organ Conference 2000

by William Dickinson
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For twenty-two years George Ritchie and Quentin Faulkner have developed and presented a wonderful series of organ conferences at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Musicians throughout the United States and abroad have come to expect a superb conference with clinicians, artists and teachers who are among the most respected people in their fields. (See sidebar for a brief retrospective history of the Nebraska Organ Conference.)

 

The twenty-second conference was no exception to the rich history of this event. Sixty-two organists from 16 states and Canada converged on Lincoln September 14-16, 2000, to experience a very different type of symposium entitled "The American Symphonic Organ." Because Lincoln possesses one of the most unusual new organs built at the end of the last century--the Schoenstein symphonic organ in First-Plymouth Congregational Church--the event was held entirely off-campus. All sessions were held at First-Plymouth Church and were led by four people prominent in their repsective fields of endeavor. David Briggs, director of music and organist at Gloucester Cathedral; Frederick Swann, organist in residence at First Congregational Church in Los Angeles; Jack Bethards, president and tonal director of Schoenstein & Co.; and John Levick, director of music and fine arts at First-Plymouth Church.

The conference opened on Thursday afternoon with an introduction to the First-Plymouth symphonic organ, which comprises the Lied chancel organ and the Ruth Marie Amen gallery organ. Jack Levick began this session by playing a transcription of "Nimrod" from Elgar's Enigma Variations (arr. William Harris). This piece very ably demonstrated two unusual features of this organ: the double enclosed divisions of  the Solo-Celestial and the Gallery-Ethereal, and the variable tremulant control that can be assigned to the crescendo pedal.

Jack Bethards, with the able assistance of Thomas Murray (who dedicated the chancel organ in October of 1998), then introduced the organ with an in-depth discussion and demonstration of the many unique features that Schoenstein has been developing in its series of "American Romantic" instruments. While acknowledging that one can cite many an example of poor Romantic organs from the early 20th century--with their wooly diapasons, imitative voices, and heavy concentration on celestes--the "Neo-Baroque" emphasis in organ building that began in the middle of the last century, while producing many splendid examples of the best in American organ building, caused the wanton destruction of some very great examples of the Romantic organ. It has been only within the last few years that the E.M. Skinners, Kimballs, and even an Aeolian or two have once again been recognized for the magnificent instruments that they are.

To begin with, Jack Bethards expanded on what makes the symphonic ideal. First, the true symphonic organ must possess a wide variety of tonal colors to enable the organist to have the same registrational capabilities as the symphonic orchestrator. Second, the ideal organ must have clarity, which is critical to playing the romantic repertoire. Next, the symphonic instrument must possess maximum dynamic range to enable precise control, either by building on a "terraced" basis without the use of the swell box, or by using normal and double-enclosed swell boxes and by providing for suddenly accented changes. This last requirement has resulted in the development of one of the more interesting features on this organ. By devising a Sforzando coupler that routes a Swell-to-Great or Solo-to-Great coupler through a momentary touch-toe lever, Schoenstein provided a simple way to give an accent to the first beat of a measure played on the Great manual. The fourth requirement is to have a wind system that is absolutely steady and of adequate capacity. Finally, the organ must have an action that is lightning fast in both attack and release, to provide for proper articulation, accenting, and fluid response.

All of these requirements add up to an instrument that is extremely flexible--as flexible as a symphony orchestra. Bethards feels that the symphonic organ can be even more expressive than a symphony orchestra because it is under the complete control of just one artist. He also feels that the symphonic organ concept has nothing to do with slavishly imitating orchestral voices. Rather, it provides a symphonic range of musical tools to the performer.

The First-Plymouth organ possesses an astonishing spectrum of tonal colors, ranging from a wealth of diapason choruses (for Bethards, the diapason chorus is to the symphonic organ what the string section is to the orchestra), to the four tubas on 15≤ wind, to an ensemble of four unison clarinets, to two oboes on the Swell (a capped English Oboe and a piquant French Oboe). One final note about the organ: the gallery organ is really an independent instrument with its own two-manual console, and served as the principal organ at First-Plymouth during the installation of the chancel organ. Though only of twelve stops, the gallery organ is robust and, with its double expression system, is an instrument of wonderful dynamic range that can hold its own against the chancel organ, as was demonstrated later in the evening in the "Kyrie Eleison" from Vierne's Messe Solennelle.

The question inevitably arises: why resurrect a concept that for years was considered woefully out of date and out of step with current trends in organ building? The heyday of the symphonic or romantic organ was in the 1920s when it was difficult, if not impossible, for most people to hear live orchestral performances. The symphonic organ installed in numerous civic auditoriums across the country as well as in the homes of some very wealthy individuals presented the opportunity to experience live performances of the great orchestral repertoire via transcriptions. And experience and enjoy they did! It was not unusual for crowds of 5,000 or more to turn out for these concerts.

Jack Bethards stated that there are some very good reasons for the symphonic organ to co-exist today with historic organ-building practices. First, since the main role of the organ in church is to accompany both the choir and congregational singing, the symphonic organ provides the required variety of tone colors at all dynamic levels, including the important effect of full organ, under complete dynamic control. Powerful, clear bass is equally important for promoting congregational singing. And fast key-action is imperative for making the accompanist's job as stressless as possible. Second, the wide array of tone colors also can help to relieve boredom among musicians and their congregations. Third, much of the currently-used organ repertoire continues to be from the romantic period; the symphonic organ can interpret that literature, Bethards asserts, as well as interpreting earlier literature in a musically satisfying (if not "authentic") way. Finally, the symphonic organ presents, as no other form of organ building can, a venue for the resurgence of the transcription, which is once again captivating enthusiastic audiences on the concert circuit.

Following Jack Bethards's and Thomas Murray's introduction to and demonstration of the Schoenstein symphonic organ, British concert organist David Briggs concluded the Thursday afternoon session with "The Art of Symphonic Organ Registration with particular Reference to the Performance of Transcriptions." There are few concert organists as well versed in this subject as Briggs. He became a Fellow of the Royal College of Organists at age 17, and was the youngest cathedral organist in England when he was appointed master of the choristers and organist at Truro Cathedral in 1989. A brilliant improvisateur (as we were to hear for outselves in his sold-out recital Friday evening), he is just as well known today as a master of the organ transcription.

Briggs noted that the use of transcriptions in concert programming is once again in vogue, the pendulum having swung back. The movement back to transcriptions was led by Thomas Trotter, and heralded by such artists as Thomas Murray and David Briggs. The renewed interest in the use of transcriptions is an attempt to rekindle audience appreciation and interest in the organ. When registering a transcription, a goal is to use "acoustic coupling" to achieve a bigger spread of sound. By adding 8' stops in succession and by beginning to use the swell box in one division and then adding the unenclosed division while closing the swell, it is possible to achieve seamless registration, very similar to what the conductor obtains from a symphonic ensemble. Briggs concluded this session by playing the second movement from his compact disc recording of Mahler's Fifth Symphony, a transcription that took him 300 hours to produce and another 300 hours to learn.

The Thursday evening event was a concert by the Abendmusik Chorus with organist Fred Swann. The chorus performs weekly as part of the worship services at First-Plymouth Church, and has been conducted by Aaron Copland, Randall Thompson, Daniel Pinkham, John Rutter, and Sir David Willcocks. The chorus has presented both well-known choral masterpieces and            some seldom-heard choral works such as Horatio Parker's Hora novissima (now available as a CD on the Albany label). The Thursday evening concert was the first in the Abendmusik-Lincoln 2000-2001 series and was co-sponsored by Abendmusik, The University of Nebraska-Lincoln School of Music, and the Lincoln Organ Showcase. The Abendmusik-Lincoln concert series was begun by Jack Levick in 1972 and has become one of Lincoln's premier subscription concert series, having won the Governor's Arts Award.

The music ranged from Andrew Carter's "Hodie Christus natus est" to "I Was Glad when They Said unto Me" by Parry. The program included a lovely piece entitled "Alleluia" by First-Plymouth organist emeritus Myron Roberts. For this writer, the highlights of the evening were "In the Year that King Uzziah Died" by David McK. Williams and the "Kyrie Eleison" from Vierne's Messe Solennelle. The latter piece utilized the gallery and chancel organ to splendid effect. Fred Swann, whose name is synonymous with sensitive and fluid organ technique, accompanied the chorus with playing that was stunning. For the concert's organ solo work, Swann chose Introduction, Passacaglia, and Fugue by Healey Willan. The Schoenstein organ proved itself to be every bit the ideal instrument for accompanying an ensemble of the size and quality of the Abendmusik Chorus.

After experiencing Fred Swann's talents as accompanist on Thursday evening, the conference participants eagerly awaited the Friday morning session with Fred Swann on the topic "Meeting the Challenges of Accompanying at the Organ." Swann began by elaborating on a number of points that are integral to being a successful accompanist. One must be a true partner with the choir, must know when to be subservient and when to be assertive, must be sensitive not only to the particular piece of music but also to abilities and limitations, if any, of the group, must be supportive and have an intuitive sense of what a particular piece of music is calling for, must become "one" with the individual or choir, and must accompany in as colorful a manner as possible. Swann then gave a few hints for adapting piano scores to the organ:

1. Play in the center of the keyboard, avoiding extremes of range.

2. Leave out unnecessary doubling of octaves, but be alert to places where coupling will enhance the sound or is actually called for in the orchestral score.

3. For arpeggios, hold a chord with one hand and play the running figure on another manual within as small a range as possible.

4. For triplet figures, do not repeat every note unless the tempo, text, and organ action make it viable. Again, one might sustain a choir on a second manual with one hand or hold certain notes in the choir while repeating others.

5. At all times preserve the rhythm, especially important rhythmic figures. Also, observe phrasing and accents which can be achieved by touch.

6. Play all fast bass passages, except for notes on strong beats, with the left hand on the manual. Be careful to avoid a "peg-leg-Pete" effect in the pedal.

7. Play tremolos as you would on the piano, depending upon the responsiveness of the action.

8. Preserve the integrity of the bass line at all times, playing in the proper octave of the pedal.

9. Match your touch and registration to the style and period of music, just as you would in performing an organ solo.

10. When possible, consult an orchestral score for clues to registration and for lines that may have been omitted in the piano reduction but which are possible on the organ. Recordings are helpful if orchestral scores are not available.

An additional suggestion is to utilize four hands, if possible, in oratorio accompaniment. This will help in adding orchestral voices to the keyboard reduction. Swann noted that Brahms first scored the Requiem for piano four-hands, and this score could be played to advantage with organ four-hands. He also recommended turning parts of Handel's Messiah into a "trio." Above all, the accompanist must practice as assiduously as one would practice a solo piece. Fred concluded this session by demonstrating the various accompanying techniques that he recommends for successful and stressless performances. The participants were shown annotated scores and recommended registrations for Joseph Clokey's A Canticle of Peace and Randall Thompson's The Last Words of David.

After a lengthy lunch break in which the conference participants were encouraged to visit some significant organs in the area by builders such as Bedient, Casavant, Aeolian Skinner, and a recently restored 1875 Kilgen in the First Church of Christ Scientist, Fred Swann continued with the afternoon session entitled "Creative Hymn Playing."

He began by reminding everyone that hymns are truly the music of the people. As such, good hymn playing demands a strong sense of creativity and vitality. A cardinal rule is to use plenty of organ. It nearly always follows that good, solid organ playing results in optimum congregational response. To answer the question of what is the preferred phrasing to use, Swann usually follows the textural phrase. When there is no punctuation, he recommended then using the musical phrase.

The tempo will vary with different occasions. Here an intuitive sense is important. In terms of touch, legato may not always be best in successful, creative hymn playing. Clear articulation is really key to providing the most support to the congregation, as is maintainence of proper rhythm. Eighth notes should be given their due, and Swann recommends, if anything, lengthening them. When registering the hymns, he suggests using a principal chorus of one kind or another. It is often advantageous to solo out the melody with interesting, colorful stops, perhaps even using chimes on occasion. As Swann said, "More souls have been saved by chime notes than all of the mixtures in captivity."

It is important to be sensitive to the situation when determining the length of an introduction. In accompanying the congregation, it is helpful to hold the final chord of each stanza for an extra measure. Interludes should utilize the same basic rhythm as the hymn and should begin on the last sung measure of a stanza. There should be a clear indication to the congregation of the beginning and ending of an interlude. Free accompaniment of hymns can be very effective but can often be equally as annoying, particularly if used too often. The only ritard should come at the end of the last stanza of the hymn.

The conference continued Friday evening with an organ recital by David Briggs. This recital was also a part of the Abendmusik-Lincoln Concert Series. As was the case on Thursday evening, there was a sold-out crowd for this event. The first half of the program was devoted to transcriptions, beginning with three by Bach--"Sinfonia" from Cantata 29 (arr. Arthur Wills),  "Badinerie" from the Second Orchestral Suite (arr. David Briggs), and "Komm, süsser Tod" (arr. Virgil Fox). Outside of the Wanamaker organ, one can't think of a better instrument on which to hear this last piece than the First-Plymouth organ.

Briggs continued with his transcription of the "Hungarian March" from the Damnation of Faust by Berlioz, followed by pieces by Debussy and Rimsky-Korsakoff. The first half ended with another of Brigg's wonderful transcriptions, Richard Strauss' Death and Transfiguration. The first half of this recital was eclipsed by the second half, which was entirely devoted to a series of improvisations entitled Suite improvisée. There were nine movements, each in homage to a great composer and/or artist: "Blockwerk" (in homage to our Medieval predecessors); "Tierce en taille" (François Couperin); "Ricercare" (Bach); "Andante" (Mozart); "Passacaglia" (Brahms); "Elegie" (Vierne); "Danse infernale" (Stravinsky); "Scherzo symphonique" (Pierre Cochereau)  ; and "Sortie" (Phillipe Lefebvre, Notre-Dame de Paris). This was a brilliant performance and utilized all of the vast resources of the Schoenstein organ to full advantage, including the double expression system, the split pedalboard and the Sforzando couupler.

The conference concluded on Saturday morning with David Briggs' second session, entitled "Balancing a Recital Program . . . How to Educate and Excite Your Audience." The goals of an exciting concert program are "to move people" (Louis Vierne); to give the audience the same feeling that they get when attending a symphony concert; and to never, ever be boring.

In terms of program planning, Briggs feels that there are five types of concerts to consider:

1. A lunchtime recital, usually of 45 minutes duration.

2. An evening concert, which is more formal and usually with an intermission.

3. A specialty presentation; i.e., for a conference such as this.

4. A dedicatory recital intended to show off the instrument.

5. A recording session.

Whatever type of program is being considered, the most important goal is to have great variety in the program. Include one or two well-known pieces along with some which will be new to the audience. There should be a nice balance between giving the listeners a good time and giving them a certain degree of education. Of course, the specifications of the particular instrument are key to developing an appropriate program. Variety in the program is achieved by not programming two pieces back to back that are of the same mood, using a great deal of color in the registration, and varying the dynamic range and the tonalities.

In developing the program format, the opening number should be a piece that is probably familiar to the audience and is rather easygoing, a piece that lets the listener "settle back and enjoy the flight." Then it should be on to something that is much more brilliant. The program should speak to the audience and not be too long. If one addresses the audience regarding the program content, one should do so before the program begins, preferably using some humor. It is a good idea to have the second half of the recital shorter than the first. Briggs maintains that the use of transcriptions is a wonderful way to reach a wide audience, as is the use of other instruments such as the trumpet or even the flute (the Poulenc Flute Concerto, for example). The recital should obviously end by sending the audience away on a very high note. If there are to be encores, they should be short and contrast with the end of the formal program. David Briggs' encore on Friday evening was an improvisation on a Ragtime theme, which contrasted perfectly with the brilliant "Sortie" that concluded the formal part of his recital.

In developing a program for a compact disc, it is important to consider the instrument's versatility, your versatility, the commercial viability of the music performed, and a program that will hold the listener's attention.

No concert can exist in a vacuum--a thorough and wide-reaching public relations program must be developed and implemented. Paid advertising is the sure way to get the message out and  best promote a recital. But, paid advertising can be cost prohibitive; therefore, we must rely upon public service announcements and listings in both the broadcast and print media.

Briggs touched briefly on the art and use of improvisations in a recital. Cochereau called improvising "an illusionist art." Though it doesn't always happen, when the spark is ignited, a good improvisation can produce an element of excitement that no written piece can attain, according to Briggs. This final conference session ended with Briggs playing his recording of his transcription of The Sorcerer's Apprentice by Paul Dukas.

Following a panel discussion with all of the artists and clinicians, another memorable University of Nebraska-Lincoln Organ Conference came to an end. Many thanks to the clinicians and artists: Jack Bethards, Thomas Murray, Jack Levick, Fred Swann, and David Briggs. And, once again, thanks to George Ritchie and Quentin Faulkner for presenting a dynamic theme for the conference and for being gracious hosts for the event. Special thanks to Dr. Otis Young, Senior Minister at First Plymouth, the Abendmusik Chorus and the entire staff at First-Plymouth Congregational Church for their wonderful hospitality.

No report on the 2000 UN-L Organ Conference would be complete without a word or two about the venue in which it was held. First-Plymouth Congregational Church is perhaps one of the most unusual churches in the country from an architectural standpoint. It was designed by a noted New York architect, Harold Van Buren Magonigle. Dedicated in 1931, First-Plymouth was his first and only church commission in a long and distinguished career that included designs for the Main Memorial in New York's Central Park, the famous Liberty Memorial Tower in Kansas city (currently undergoing a major renovation after years of neglect) and the U.S. Embassy in Tokyo. When the congregation (a merger of First Congregational and Plymouth Congregational) began planning for a new larger church in the middle 20s, the thought was to have a building of Gothic or New England Colonial design. But, as time wore on, this thinking changed and the pastor at the time (Dr. Ben Wyland) wrote, "I wish that some master architect in classic architecture would give us a church that would fit America and be called an American type of church architecture." For this building, the architect went back to the early Basilican church and the Greek Forum for basic styles and then proceeded to design a church that is unique--not only to Lincoln but to the rest of the country as well. The dominant feature of the building's exterior is the Carillon Tower, which contains the largest and only true carillon in Nebraska. The glory of First-Plymouth is the sanctuary, a stunning space with the acoustical properties of a great concert hall. The acoustics in this space enhance not only the organ but choral and congregational singing as well. Even with a full house on both concert nights, the sanctuary provided a rich resonance and clarity of sound.

 

Cover feature

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Schoenstein & Co.,
Benicia, California
Schermerhorn Symphony Center,

Nashville, Tennessee

Music City’s New Symphony Hall Organ
In its February 1982 issue, The Diapason published an article that challenged conventional wisdom. (See reprint of the article on pages 27–28 of this issue.) In it, Calvin Hampton made a convincing argument that an organ designed to be an instrument of the symphony orchestra must be radically different in many respects from a church organ or even a concert organ intended for solo use. A “normal” organ, even a fine one, could not pass his audition for symphony hall use. This really caught my attention. Since my background had included playing in and managing symphony orchestras, I was keenly aware of the uneasy relationship between orchestras and pipe organs. To managements, the organ was a headache. It used up too much space and too much money. Stagehands didn’t like the extra hassle of set-ups and working out quiet time for maintenance. Musicians didn’t like tuning to the organ or listening to its quinty mixtures and other thin, shrill sounds. Conductors never seemed satisfied with either the tone color or volume produced. Comments heard over and over again were: “I like that tone, can it be louder?” “Good balance, but I’d like a fuller, darker tone.” “Please(!)—keep with my beat!” The organist’s answers usually provoked frustrated and sometimes colorful comments about the inflexibility of the organ. The poor organist had even more problems than these: scarce rehearsal time, balance problems if the console was attached to the organ, poor sightlines if the console was on stage but too large or placed off in a corner.
The biggest problem of all was disappointment for the audience. The power of a modern symphony orchestra is so immense that most concert hall organs could not add to the drama of a fortissimo tutti. Against the gravity of the full orchestra, an ordinary organ can sound pathetically thin and upside down in balance, with trebles screaming out over the top of the ensemble. I had wondered for a long time why no one had attempted to solve all of these problems with an innovative approach. Calvin Hampton’s article gave me hope that someone would. About ten years later the tide began to turn. The musical issues were being addressed and many of them quite successfully. However, as a former instrumentalist and symphony manager, I thought that a more radical approach was needed.

Solving problems
Most of the behind-the-footlights practical problems can be solved by adopting an obvious, but, in some quarters, unpopular guideline: employ the fewest stops necessary to get the musical job done. This means an instrument that takes up less space, is less costly to purchase and more efficient to maintain. The case or chamber can be shallow for best tonal egress. Layout can be arranged for temperature—and thus tuning—stability; for example, all chorus work on one level, all reeds on one level. The console can be more compact, promoting sightlines and ease in setting and striking. The concept is easy enough to adopt, but what is that magic number of stops? What is the musical job to be done? How can we produce adequate power that will satisfy the audience?
First, it should be established that we are considering an instrument primarily for the Romantic and Modern repertoire. A properly equipped symphony hall should have one or two mechanical action stage organs to take care of the earlier repertoire. Previous experiments to include a “baroque” division with a small console as part of a large instrument have not been successful.
The primary use of the organ will be with orchestra. As a solo instrument, it might be used on occasion for choral accompaniment, silent movies as part of a pops series, and some special events. The solo organ recital has turned out to be a rarity in symphony halls. This is also true of other instrumental or vocal recitals. The reasons are simple: economics and scheduling.
If this musical job description is accurate, then an instrument in the size range proposed by Calvin Hampton (46 voices) would be ideal. Certainly any well-designed instrument of that size should also be able to render a very convincing recital program when needed. The key to a great performance is great tone, not great size.
If client and builder have the discipline to follow this Multum in Parvo plan rigorously, the question of tonal design becomes a matter of selecting stops that are absolutely essential and living without those that would be nice to have. Several classes of stops can be excluded with ease because they are duplicated in the symphony orchestra. Certainly there is no need for multiple strings and celestes or for orchestral reeds such as French Horn, English Horn, and Orchestral Oboe. The organ does not need items that would be considered necessities in a comprehensive church organ or in one specialized for some branch of the organ solo repertoire or for transcriptions.
What, then, are the elements that a symphony hall organ must have? Understanding what musical value the organ can add to the orchestra leads us to the answer. There are three characteristics of the organ that differentiate it very clearly from the orchestra. First, its frequency range is far greater. It can extend octaves below and above the orchestra. Extending the bass range has been the feature most appreciated by composers and orchestrators; however, increasing the treble range can be attractive, provided that it doesn’t get too loud! The second special characteristic of the organ is its unique tone—the diapason. This is a tone that cannot be produced by the orchestra and should, therefore, be the backbone of the organ when heard with the orchestra. The third element that should be most intriguing to composers is the organ’s ability to sustain indefinitely. This feature is most artistically displayed in connection with good expression boxes. A long, continuous diminuendo or crescendo can be most effective.

Four vital design points
Since there is a general understanding of basic organ tonal elements common to composers who write for orchestra as well as for the organ, a good symphony hall organ must include the minimum architecture of a normal three-manual traditional Romantic organ: diapason choruses and chorus reeds on each manual, representatives of stopped, open and harmonic flutes, a string with celeste, flute mutations, and the most common color reeds (Oboe, Clarinet, and Vox Humana). To make the organ capable of working in partnership with a modern symphony orchestra, the following tonal elements must be incorporated into this traditional scheme:
1. Profound Pedal. This is the most important element an organ can add to a symphony orchestra—bass one or two octaves below the double basses, bass tuba and contra bassoon. There must be at least one stop of such immense power that it will literally shake the floor. Stops of varying colors and dynamics with some under expressive control complete the Pedal.
2. Solo stops unique to the organ. These may be tones not found in the orchestra such as a diapason, stopped flute, and cornet or imitative stops that can be voiced at a power level not possible from their orchestral counterparts, such as solo harmonic flutes, strings, clarinets, and high pressure trumpets and trombas.
3. One soft stop capable of fading away to a whisper. Perhaps best in this role is a strongly tapered hybrid (or muted) stop.
4. An ensemble of exceptionally high power under expression. This cannot be raw power. It must be power with beauty, centered in the 8′ and 4′ range to give a sense of solidity and grandeur. Since symphony halls are generally drier acoustically than the typical organ and choral environment, it is even more important that this power be concentrated in the mid-frequency range and be of warm tonal character. The false sense of power created by excessive emphasis in high-pitched tones should be avoided. Orchestras don’t rely on a battery of piccolos for power, why should the organ? Piccolos can dominate an orchestra and so can mixtures, but that doesn’t make either effect beautiful. The kind of power needed comes from moderate to high wind pressures and stops voiced with rich harmonic content for good projection. Upperwork should be for tonal color rather than power. At least one diapason chorus should include a very high pitched mixture, a tone color unique to the organ, but it must not be loud. Eight-foot diapasons, chorus reeds, open flutes and strings should work together to create an ensemble capable of standing up to a full symphony orchestra. As someone who has sat in the midst of a symphonic brass section, I have a clear idea of the kind of power that is generated by trumpets, trombones and horns at fff. To compete without sounding shrill and forced requires high pressure diapasons and reeds, including a 32′ stop—all under expression to fit any situation.

Good tonal design must be supported by a mechanism that helps the organist solve all the performance problems mentioned above—an instrument that is as easy as possible to manage. The organ builder should employ every device at his command to give the organ musical flexibility so that it can take its place as an equal among the other instruments of the orchestra.

The Nashville project
We were given an opportunity to demonstrate the effectiveness of these ideas in our project for the Schermerhorn Symphony Center in Nashville. This was one of those projects that went smoothly from beginning to end, with everything falling into place and no road blocks in the way. Of the greatest importance to the success of this job was the client’s clear musical goal and realization that a really great organ can’t be all things to all people. We had a well-defined mission: to build an instrument that is a member of the orchestra. To this end we worked from the beginning with Andrew Risinger, organ curator and symphony organist and also organist/associate director of music at West End United Methodist Church in Nashville.
We were appointed, at the very beginning of the project, to the design team that included acoustician Paul Scarbrough of Akustiks in Norwalk, Connecticut and design architects David M. Schwarz, Architectural Services of Washington, D.C. I had worked with both as organ consultant for the Cleveland Orchestra in the renovation of Severance Hall and its E. M. Skinner organ. The design team, under the skillful management of Mercedes Jones, produced a hall that could not be more perfect from our point of view. Seating 1,872, it is beautiful in its traditional design, excellent proportions, and fine materials. It is of the traditional “shoebox” shape that everyone knows is perfect but that few architects are willing to employ. Since, under the direction of Paul Scarbrough, all of the traditional acoustical rules were followed, the result is, indeed, perfect.
Reverberation time is controlled by dampening material that may be added or subtracted at will. There is excellent balance, clarity, and pleasing resonance even in the lowest reverberation setting. With all dampening material lifted out of the way at the press of a button, the hall is ideal for most organ and choral repertoire. In addition, there is one very unusual and practical feature that has an added impact for the organ. The orchestra seating section can be converted to a flat open floor for pops concerts and special events. Most of the transformation is accomplished automatically through a labyrinth of gigantic machinery in the basement. The huge expanse of polished wood flooring adds significant reverberation. This feature also, interestingly enough, increases the usage of the organ. The hall is often rented for weddings. This is perhaps the only symphony hall organ in the world that has a reason to play the Mendelssohn and Wagner marches!
The organ is in an ideal position just above the choral risers at the rear of the stage. The casework was designed in close cooperation with the architectural team and Paul Fetzer whose company, Fetzer Architectural Woodwork of Salt Lake City, built the façade along with the other woodwork of the hall. It affords full tonal egress from the open front chamber behind it, which is shallow for accurate unforced projection. The organ is arrayed on three levels. Most flues are on the first level. Reeds, celestes, some flutes and offsets are on the second, and Pedal on the third, with the exception of the Trombone and Diaphone, which occupy a space extending all three levels. The bass octave of the 32′ Sub Bass is in a most unusual spot—located horizontally underneath the patron’s boxes to the left and right of the stage apron! These large scale pipes produce a soft 32′ tone that is felt as well as heard throughout the entire auditorium. The 32′ Trombone is in its own expression box, and the Swell includes our double-expression system, wherein the softest and most powerful voices are in a separate enclosure at the rear of the Swell with shades speaking into the Swell. The Vox Humana is in its own expression box inside the double expressive division of the Swell and so is, in effect, under triple expression. Accurate climate control has been provided, keeping the organ at constant humidity and temperature. The blower room in the basement has its own cooling system to neutralize the effects of blower heat build-up. Intake air is filtered.
The instrument employs our expansion cell windchests and electric-pneumatic action. This allows uniform, fast and silent action for all pipes no matter their pressure as well as easy console mobility and the borrowing of stops for maximum flexibility. Obviously borrowing is employed heavily in the Pedal, but it is also used on the Great, where the high pressure diapasons 8′ and 4′, string, stopped flute, Cornet and Solo reeds are all available independently. It also makes practical the extension of Pedal stops into the Solo and facilitates an interesting effect, the Tuben stop, which borrows the Swell reeds onto the Solo at unison pitch (Posaune up an octave at 8′ and Clarion down an octave at 8′ along with the 8′ Trumpet).
The console has the usual playing aids, but has been kept as simple and straightforward as possible to facilitate efficient rehearsals. There is a record-playback system—helpful for rehearsals and also for house tours; the playback mechanism can be remotely controlled by tour guides. With the press of a button they can start the blower and select a demonstration piece to be played for public tours, which are a popular attraction in Music City.

Tonal design
The two pillars of tone are diapasons and trumpets. The manual diapason choruses contrast in tonal color and power. The Swell chorus (Manual III) is based on a slotted 8′ Diapason of moderate power with a slightly tapered 4′ Principal and a 2′ Mixture, which is under double expression. The Great (Manual II) has a large scale 8′ Diapason with upperwork through 1⁄3′ Mixture and a slotted, smaller scale double. The Solo (Manual I) has the largest scale and most powerful chorus, all under expression and at 10″ pressure. Its mixture can be drawn with and without a tierce. The trumpets range from closed, tapered shallots on 10″ wind in the Swell to open parallel shallots on 5″ wind in the Great to open parallel shallots on 15″ wind in the Solo, where tromba-type tone is added by the Tubas and Trombone. Built around these pillars is an ensemble of stops with color, definition and sinew that project well to produce power in a manner similar to the orchestral instruments and centered at the orchestra’s pitch. Note that 64% of the stops are at 8′ and 4′ pitch. A most rewarding comment on this subject came after the opening concert in Nashville from the visiting executive director of one of the world’s leading orchestras, who remarked that he didn’t know that it was possible for an organ to be so powerful and at the same time so beautiful.
There are several special tonal features including a newly developed stop—the Diplophone. We wanted to include solo stops of heroic power from each family of tone. Our usual solo Gambas, Symphonic Flute (which employs five different types of pipe construction throughout its compass including double mouth and double harmonic pipes), Tibia Clausa, Corno di Bassetto and Tuba Magna represented the string, open flute, stopped flute, color reed, and chorus reed families, but we needed a solo diapason of equal power. We tested normal stentorphone pipes and then double-languid pipes without achieving the character of tone and power we were after. We then tried a double-mouth diapason. Mouths on either side of the pipe allow a greater mouth width than is possible with a single opening. This, combined with high pressure, produces tremendous power with smoothness and beauty. Finally, we included a powerful mounted Cornet (unusual for us) because it is a tone color completely outside the range of the orchestra and should offer interesting possibilities to contemporary composers.
For a stop that can fade away to nothing, we added our Cor Seraphique and Vox Angelique. These are very strongly tapered stops of the muted (or hybrid) variety. They are neither strings nor flutes and have a mysterious quality that is very attractive, with a harmonic structure that promotes projection when the Swell boxes are open, but is soft enough to disappear with both boxes closed. This stop is extended to 16′ to provide the same effect in the Pedal.
The Pedal includes all classes of tone at 16′ pitch: open wood, open metal, string, hybrid, stopped wood, and two different weights of chorus reed tone, both under expression. One of the most important 16′ voices is the Violone, which gives a prompt clear 16′ line to double and amplify the basses of the orchestra. The most unusual, and in some ways most important, stop of the organ is the 32′ Diaphone. Diaphones have a tone quality that ranges from a very dark, almost pure fundamental to a slightly reedy quality. Since this organ is equipped with a 32′ Trombone under expression, the Diaphone is voiced for pure fundamental tone of magnificent power. It produces more solid fundamental bass than a large open wood diapason and it speaks and releases promptly.
Our Pizzicato Bass stop, which gives a clean pointed bass line when added to other stops playing legato, is included because of its value in choral accompaniment. There is a special Sforzando coupler that is engaged only when the Sforzando lever, located above the swell shoes, is touched. It allows Solo stops to be momentarily added to the Great for accent. The Solo has a variable speed tremulant.

Installation and debut
The organ was installed in several phases, which went very smoothly due to the outstanding cooperation and support of the symphony staff, led by president and CEO Alan D. Valentine and general manager Mark F. Blakeman, as well as the excellent building contractors, American Constructors, Inc. The atmosphere was collegial and, yes, there is such a thing as southern hospitality. The casework, display pipes, blowers and large pedal pipes were installed in February–May 2006. We completed the mechanical installation of the organ during the summer of 2006. Tonal finishing was carried out during the summer of 2007. The leisurely and well-spaced schedule avoided the conflicts and last minute scrambles that usually cut tonal finishing time.
The organ was presented to the public at the opening night gala of the 2007–08 season with Leonard Slatkin, conductor, and Andrew Risinger, organist. The program included the Bach Toccata and Fugue in D minor, Duruflé Prelude and Fugue on the Name Alain, Barber Toccata Festiva, and the Saint-Saëns Symphony No. 3. It was recorded for broadcast on SymphonyCast. The exceptionally active Nashville chapter of the AGO has co-sponsored events starting with a lecture-demonstration evening and including the “International Year of the Organ Spectacular” recital featuring Vincent Dubois. The orchestra has presented several programs including a “Meet the Organ” demonstration for students, a “Day of Music” free to the community, a series of noontime recitals, and Thomas Trenney playing accompaniments to the silent films Phantom of the Opera at a Halloween program in 2007 and The Mark of Zorro in 2008. The organ has been used to accompany the symphony chorus in concert and also in several additional orchestra subscription concerts including works by Elgar and Respighi. The 2008–09 season has already presented Andrew Risinger in the Copland Symphony for Organ and Orchestra with new music director Giancarlo Guerrero conducting, the noon recital series continues, and more programs are on the way.
The instrument has been greeted with enthusiasm from the artistic staff of the orchestra and the musicians. The public has embraced it warmly and we look forward to the 2012 AGO convention, where it will be one of the featured instruments.
Jack M. Bethards
President and Tonal Director
Schoenstein & Co
.

On behalf of Louis Patterson, V.P. and Plant Superintendent; Robert Rhoads, V.P. and Technical Director (retired); Chuck Primich, Design Director; Mark Hotsenpiller, Head Voicer;
department heads Chet Spencer, Chris Hansford and Mark Harter;
and technicians David Beck, Filiberto Borbon, Peter Botto, Dan Fishbein, Oliver Jaggi, George Morten, Humberto Palma, Tom Roberts, Dan Schneringer, Patricia Schneringer, Donald Toney, William Vaughan and William Visscher.

Cover photo by Louis Patterson

Schoenstein & Co.

The Martin Foundation Organ
The Nashville Symphony Orchestra
Schermerhorn Symphony Center
Nashville, Tennessee
47 voices, 64 ranks
Electric-pneumatic action

GREAT – II (5″ wind)
16′ Double Open Diapason 61 pipes
8′ Diplophone (Solo)
8′ Grand Open Diapason (Solo)
8′ First Open Diapason 61 pipes
8′ Second Open Diapason 12 pipes
8′ Gamba (Solo)
8′ Tibia Clausa (Solo)
8′ Harmonic Flute 61 pipes
8′ Salicional (Swell)
8′ Bourdon (metal) 61 pipes
8′ Lieblich Gedeckt
(borrow with Bourdon bass)
8′ Cor Celeste II (Swell)
4′ Octave (Solo)
4′ Principal 61 pipes
4′ Lieblich Gedeckt 61 pipes
2′ Fifteenth 61 pipes
11⁄3′ Mixture IV 200 pipes
1⁄3′ Mixture III 146 pipes
8′ Trumpet 61 pipes
4′ Clarion 61 pipes
8′ Cornet V (Solo)
8′ Tuba Magna (Solo)
8′ Tuba (Solo)
8′ Corno di Bassetto (Solo)

SWELL – III (enclosed, 5″ wind)
16′ Lieblich Bourdon (wood) 12 pipes
8′ Open Diapason 61 pipes
8′ Stopped Diapason (wood) 61 pipes
8′ Echo Gamba 61 pipes
8′ Vox Celeste 61 pipes
8′ Salicional 49 pipes
(Stopped Diapason bass)
4′ Principal 61 pipes
4′ Harmonic Flute 61 pipes
22⁄3′ Nazard 61 pipes
2′ Harmonic Piccolo 61 pipes
13⁄5′ Tierce 54 pipes
8′ Oboe 61 pipes
Tremulant
Stops under Double Expression†
16′ Cor Seraphique 12 pipes
8′ Cor Seraphique 61 pipes
8′ Voix Angelique (TC) 49 pipes
2′ Mixture III–V 244 pipes
16′ Posaune 61 pipes
8′ Trumpet 61 pipes
4′ Clarion 61 pipes
8′ Vox Humana†† 61 pipes
†Flues and Vox 6″ wind; Reeds 11½″
††Separate Tremulant; separate expression box

SOLO – I (enclosed, 10″ wind)
8′ Grand Open Diapason 61 pipes
8′ Symphonic Flute† 61 pipes
8′ Gamba 61 pipes
8′ Gamba Celeste 61 pipes
4′ Octave 61 pipes
2′ Quint Mixture IV
2′ Tierce Mixture V 270 pipes
8′ Tuba† 61 pipes
8′ Harmonic Trumpet† 61 pipes
8′ Tuben III††
8′ Corno di Bassetto† 61 pipes
Tremulant
Tremulant (variable)
Unenclosed Stops
8′ Diplophone 29 pipes
(ext Pedal Open Wood)
8′ Tibia Clausa 29 pipes
(ext Pedal Sub Bass)
8′ Cornet V (TG, 5″ wind) 185 pipes
16′ Trombone 5 pipes
(ext Pedal Trombone)
8′ Tuba Magna† 61 pipes
†15″ wind
††Swell Posaune, Trumpet and Clarion at 8′ pitch

PEDAL (4½″, 5″, 7½″, 10″, 15″ wind)
32′ Diaphone 12 pipes
32′ Sub Bass 12 pipes
16′ Diaphone 32 pipes
16′ Open Wood 32 pipes
16′ Violone 32 pipes
16′ Diapason (Great)
16′ Cor Seraphique (Swell)
16′ Sub Bass 32 pipes
16′ Bourdon (Swell)
8′ Open Wood 12 pipes
8′ Open Diapason (Swell)
8′ Principal 32 pipes
8′ Violone 12 pipes
8′ Gamba (Solo)
8′ Flute (Great)
8′ Sub Bass 12 pipes
8′ Bourdon (Swell)
4′ Fifteenth 32 pipes
4′ Flute (Great)
8′ Pizzicato Bass†
32′ Trombone†† 12 pipes
16′ Trombone†† 32 pipes
16′ Posaune (Swell)
8′ Tuba Magna (Solo)
8′ Trombone†† 12 pipes
8′ Posaune (Swell)
4′ Trombone†† 12 pipes
4′ Corno di Bassetto (Solo)
†8′ Sub Bass with Pizzicato Relay
††Enclosed in its own expression box

Couplers
Intramanual
Swell 16, Unison Off, 4
Solo 16, Unison Off, 4

Intermanual
Great to Pedal 8
Swell to Pedal 8, 4
Solo to Pedal 8, 4
Swell to Great 16, 8, 4
Solo to Great 16, 8, 4
Swell to Solo 16, 8, 4
Solo to Swell 8

Special
Pedal Tutti to Solo
Solo to Great Sforzando
All Swells to Swell
Manual I/II transfer piston with indicator

Mechanicals
Peterson ICS-4000 system with:
256 memory levels
62 pistons and toe studs
programmable piston range for each memory level
Piston Sequencer
10 reversible controls including Full Organ
Four balanced pedals with selector for expression and Crescendo
Record/Playback system with remote control
Adjustable bench

Mixture Compositions
Great IV
C1 A10 D15 A#35 G#45
19 15 12
22 19 15 12
26 22 19 15 12
29 26 22 19 15

Great III
C1 A10 D15 C25 A#35 G#45 B48 F#55
33 29 26
36 33 29 26 22 19 15 12
40 36 33 29 26 22 19 15

Swell III–V
C1 C#14 B24 A#47 D#52
15 8 8
19 15 12 8
22 19 15 12 8
22 19 15 12
22 19 15

Solo V
C1 A46 C#50 F#55
12
15 12
17 15 12
19 17 15 12
22 19 17 15

Solo IV derived from Solo V, without tierce

Tonal Families
Diapason† 17 36%
Open Flutes 7 15%
Stopped Flutes 4 9%
Strings 5 11%
Hybrids 2 4%
Chorus Reeds 9 19%
Color Reeds 3 6%
47 100%

†Includes Diaphone and Salicional

Pitch Summary
Sub
32′ 3 6%
16′ 6 13% 19%

Unison
8′ 22 47%
4′ 8 17% 64%

Super
22⁄3′ 1 2%
2′ 4 9%
Above 3 6% 17%
47 100% 100%

Aspects of French Symphonic Organ Music: L’Organiste Liturgique, L’Organiste Moderne, L’Organiste Pratique?

Joris Verdin

Joris Verdin studied both organ and musicology. This combination is the reason for his preference of reviving forgotten music at the same time as he creates contemporary compositions. He has recorded over 30 CDs as a soloist, spanning many musical eras and styles. After various activities as accompanist, arranger and producer, he now focuses on the organ as well as the harmonium, and has become internationally reputed as a specialist. He teaches at the Royal Conservatory of Antwerp and the University of Leuven. Master classes, musical editions and articles are an important part of his activities—among them, the first complete edtion of César Franck harmonium works and the first handbook of harmonium technique. The Spanish town Torre de Juan Abad (Ciudad Real) appointed Joris Verdin as honorary organist of the historical organ built by Gaspar de la Redonda in 1763. He obtained the Diapason d’Or and Cecilia award from the Belgian Press in 2001, was named Musician of the Year of the Flanders Festival 2002, and is artist in residence at the Fondation Royaumont, France 2008. The author gratefully acknowledges the assistance of Chris Bragg, Amersfoort, Holland/Perthshire, Scotland, in translating this article.

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Introduction
We can no longer refer to the 19th century as the “last century”; it belongs now, definitively, to history. As a result, 19th century music has become “early music.” Whether this is a positive or negative development I cannot say, but as a consequence of this music becoming ever more distant from our own time, the importance of collecting and preserving as much knowledge as possible increases. Such insights are essential for an accurate assessment of the surviving scores, texts and other sources.
This article will deal with several aspects of 19th-century French symphonic organ music, each of which can influence our appreciation and performance of this literature. Our perceptions of the repertoire in question are colored by such typically 20th-century ideals that it is now high time for the 21st century to contribute its own. As well as the currently typical philological (“musicological”) approach to the score, one should now evaluate the bigger picture. The context of French symphonic organ music as a part of 19th century music in general is an important concept for those who approach it creatively.

“Mon orgue c’est mon orchestre”
“French” is not difficult to define. It indicates, in general, the areas where the French language defined the culture in the 19th century: France, Belgium, parts of Switzerland and Spain, but with influences felt throughout Europe.
“Symphonic” has more or less the same clear meaning for everyone: we speak about symphonic music, a symphony orchestra, a symphonic suite, etc. Symphonic organ music, then, refers to symphonic music played on the organ, or music played on a symphonic organ. The first definition, in the sense of musical structure, requires no further comment. It is self-explanatory that the typical forms of symphonic music could also be applied to organ music. The second explanation describes the ensemble playing of different groups of instruments resulting in a cumulative sound-concept: that of the orchestra. This is nothing new, but still this idea has an essential importance for the sound of the organ.
The term “romantic” is often used in this context within the organ world. But what IS romantic? Is it a synonym for tempo rubato? For legato? Ad libitum? Senza rigore? In any case it has little to do with symphonic music, but refers rather to the evoking or expressing of extra-musical feelings. In this regard 19th-century music is no different than the music of any other period. An O Mensch bewein dein Sünde gross is at least as “romantic” as a Scherzo Symphonique. A Toccata per l’elevazione conjures at least as many images above the altar as a Prière à notre Dame. In fact, what we have here is one of those 20th-century ideals that color our view of 19th-century music: the term “romantic” was used in the 20th century to distance itself from the previous century, but today we are hardly aware of this. We would rather, therefore, speak about symphonic music and symphonic organs.
Of course some organs, mainly from the early 19th century, were “romantic.” However, the stops that were introduced at the time to imitate colorful instruments were intended as “decoration,” without influence on the sound of the ensemble, and therefore not symphonic. The “real” symphonic organ came about when the ensemble-ideal began to determine the direction of organ-building development. Solo stops remained important, but only on the condition that their function within the ensemble was of primary importance.
What would we think of a colorful Cor Anglais without the necessary Hautbois, just as in an orchestra? This is why one finds a minimum of solo stops on small organs. Not for nothing did Lefébure-Wely describe the harmonium as a “symphonic instrument”: an instrument with a compact and flexible ensemble made up of strongly differentiated colors. One of the consequences is as follows: In the context of the orchestra it is normal practice to hold sectional rehearsals. Why not then for the organ? Because an organist only has one head? But the conductor also has only one head and he allows the different groups to play beautifully together.
Symphonic organ music does something similar. The “symphonic organist” is comparable with the conductor; it is up to him to decide whether the oboe solo works with the accompaniment of the strings, for example. It is not the oboist’s problem in the first instance. The two hands of the symphonic organist behave in exactly the same way as the orchestra. The soloist determines his own expression while the accompaniment gives the framework wherein the soloist’s freedom comes to life. In other instances, where the orchestra sounds as one instrument to illustrate power and rhythm, for example in the scherzo or finale of a symphony, then it is the responsibility of the conductor to ensure that everything sounds together. In short, the organist must be able to adapt his way of playing to every musical situation. Insight, when referring to a symphonic score, is not limited to the study of the notes—insight dictates which voices may have freedom, and which may not.
The connotations of the term “symphonic” with regards to the organ changed substantially around the beginning of the 20th century. Initially it referred to the sound-concept it shared in common with the orchestra. However, with the reform movement in church music, and especially in organ philosophy, the term gradually began to become separated from its direct reference to orchestral instruments. The symphonic organ became “elevated,” even “spiritualized.”
Widor explains it as follows:
The possibility to enclose a complete organ in an opened or closed prison (at the will of the player), the freedom to mix sound-colors, the means by which to louden or soften, independence of rhythm, certainty of attack, equality of contrasts, and, finally, a complete expansion of colors; palette full of the most varied sounds, harmonic flutes, strings with beards, English horns, trumpets, Voix Célestes, foundations and reeds of an until then [until the organs of Cavaillé-Coll] unknown quality and variety. This is the modern organ, essentially symphonic.1
This has consequences for performance practice:

This is the way in which the organ symphony is different from the orchestral symphony. Confusion of the styles is not possible. One shall never again write in the same manner for organ as for orchestra . . .2
In other words, we see here a clear line of separation between the secular symphony and organ repertoire. Only the structural element remains important within the context of the symphony; the performance elements become different. They become adapted to the demands of the “modern” organ—distant and monumental.

It is not necessary to require the same precision and co-ordination of the hands and feet with the release as with the attack.3

. . . whereby Widor indicates that such an approach was considered sound.

L’Orgue Moderne
The French classical organ of around 1700 also had orchestral associations, referring to the orchestra of the time. Trompettes, cromornes and flutes were typical colors, but without the concept of ensemble being of importance. The irreplaceable Plein Jeu can be considered the most characteristic organ sound in this context. But the Plein Jeu is of course decidedly non-orchestral, far less symphonic. It remains a Blockwerk, a massive pyramid of sound. The Plein Jeu is also the first element that disappears in the 19th century. (The Plein Jeu as registration remains in use only in the liturgy, to accompany plainchant.) Of course the Jeu de Tierce also disappears; the sound is too nasal, and reminded the listener too much of old instruments with more overtones than fundamental. As a result it was less useful for the ensemble registrational ideal.
Now, an important difference between the classical and the symphonic organ can be found in the pitch basis of the basses, specifically in the pedal. The classical organ is based completely on the 8?. In the case of the Plein Jeu, a 16? stop can be used, but the tonal basis remains the 8?. The pedal specification is based on the 8? flute or trompette, not the 16?. The classical French organ shares this feature with the French baroque orchestra where no (or at least very few) double basses were used.
The great change happened around 1750 with the so-called “Concerts Spirituels,”4 where double basses were indeed introduced. From this time onward, French organs began to feature 16? stops in the pedal. This didn’t make the organ symphonic, but it can at least be considered a condition for an organ to be deemed symphonic. The pedal department of the symphonic organ is then just an expansion of the flutes and reeds at 8? and 4? with the corresponding 16? stops. The essential implication is that the “symphonic” pedal completely takes over the bass function.
One can see this in the music of Lefébure-Wely and his colleagues, for example Franck or Batiste. If one then considers that the pedal represents the basses of the orchestra, this leads of course to implications for the way in which the pedal must be played. The double-basses are of course played with bows, while the bass trombones, and tubas (or ophicleides in this musical context), represented in the organ by the reeds, are dependent on the human breath, with all the implied consequences for the initial sound. Total legato is, then, unthinkable, just as in the symphony orchestra.
This original symphonic manner of playing, that is to say not absolutely legato, is mirrored by the construction of the organs. Basses, by definition, sound low—in the lower regions of the pedal, easily accessible by the left foot. This leaves the right foot free to manipulate the cuillère swell box, which is found on the right hand side of the pedalboard. Legato playing in the pedal finds its origins when the organ began to become considered “sacred” or least disassociated from its human elements. It receives, then, an endless, eternal breath, more of which anon. From that moment the swell box and its position also changed: it became balanced and centrally located in the console.

La Peste de l’orgue
The swell box brings us to the following essential element of the symphonic style: dynamics.5 In the context of the importance of control and flexibility of volume in the symphonic “language,” it must be recognized that the increase of intensity, in the strings as well as in the brass, is reflected in the specifications of the organs. As a direct consequence comes the desire to be able to completely control the sound using a flexible mechanical system.
In order to be able to understand this better, we turn our attention briefly to the principles of expression in this period. The main factor when considering expression is dynamics. The normal shape of the dynamics is determined by the content of the musical phrase. A normal curve describes a rise-and-fall movement: an “opening out” from the point of departure, a climax, and a return to the initial point. To work against the gravity requires a certain energy—in other words, a general crescendo-diminuendo pattern is the basis for a normal musical phrase. The beginning and end of the phrase are determined by rests, or by slurs. If this was indeed the normal dynamic pattern, then its notation by composers was not necessary. It was only when the composer wished to indicate another expression that the change in intensity was expressed in symbols or words.
Over this basic curve are added the accents of a phrase. These accents were classified into three types, each of which has a consequence for the dynamic.6 The first is the metrical accent: this places the emphasis on the strong part of the bar. The metrical accent determines how the listener experiences the bar, and also determines the basic character of the piece. (In the current performance practice of early music, the metrical accent is omnipresent.) The second accent is rhythmic: it determines the rhythms or figures, further illustrated by upbeats, syncopation, subdivision of the beat, etc. The rhythm of the phrase requires a dynamic indication whereby the meter no longer follows a straight line, but instead follows an interesting and varied course. The third accent is pathetic: the feeling of the performer, or the transmission of this feeling to the listener giving rise to additional strong accents, independent of those already discussed. These accents can be notated in the score, but this is not necessarily the case. The essence of this accent is the experience of the performing artist who transmits the expression of his emotions through dynamics.
This phenomenon was already recognized, by Rousseau for instance, but it becomes a parameter of primary importance in the middle of the 19th century. A hierarchy of accents begins to develop. The pathetic accent becomes more important than the rhythmic, which in turn is more important than the metrical. The “virtuosity” of the swell box must be seen within this context. If one, as a consummate artist, wishes to able to express the whole gamut of feelings, then one must have complete control over the dynamics. Therefore the right foot spends ever more time on the swell pedal. (It goes without saying that this clarifies the great success of the harmonium.) In this way the organ gains the power of expression of any other instrument. This was essential to bring the organ out of the historical low-point it had found itself in.
The old joke that French organists could only play with the left foot was simply the truth! They were “left-foot virtuosi” and “right-foot virtuosi,” but the right foot remained on the swell pedal (certain Hammond virtuosi still have this technique). This is evidenced by an astonishing comment from Lefébure-Wely writing in L’Organiste moderne (2ème Livraison, Offertoire): “It is better to abandon the swell pedal and to play the pedal with both feet.” Dynamics therefore are incompatible with legato in the bass: with the “left-foot virtuosi,” expression always took priority over legato.
December 31, 1869 (the day Lefébure-Wely died) can be seen as the symbolic end of the left-foot virtuosi. The swell box became abandoned and both feet were now available for the performance of legato passages. The arrival of Widor as titulaire of St. Sulpice pushed the organ in a totally new direction. Widor’s succession of Franck at the Conservatoire further strengthened his grip on the organ culture.

Musica Sacra
The turmoil of the revolution and everything that followed severely affected not only the church, but of course everything associated with it. To recover from such a low point the church had to “pull out all the stops.” One of its best weapons was music. The up and coming bourgeoisie had set the tone as far as music was concerned. Musical culture was not only blossoming in the concert hall, but also at home. Those who wished to attract these people to the church were duty-bound to offer music that reflected that of the secular world. For those from the lower echelons of society, the church offered the only possibility to come into contact with the musical fashion of the time. This is the reason that Boëly was so unsuccessful—his music was simply too reminiscent of the Ancien Regime—and why Lefébure-Wely was seen by the parish authorities as a hero. This fashionable music brought the extremes of dynamic flexibility into the church. This was one of the most important aspects objected to by the opponents of the new church music. The problem, of course, was nothing new. Berlioz describes it well in his Traité d’Instrumentation (1844):

Without wishing to again stir the debate about the endless issue of expression in spiritual music, which above all should be simple (without a hidden agenda), we do allow the advocates of “plain” music, plain chant, and the non-expressive organ, to express their admiration when the performing choir, singing a spiritual work, delights with its sophisticated nuances of crescendo-diminuendo, light-dark, swelling, exalted sounds. They clearly contradict themselves; at least by their asserting (which they do very well) that the, in essence, moral, liturgical and Catholic expressive possibilities of the human voice, when applied to the organ suddenly become immoral, not fit for liturgical use, Godless.7
Berlioz was not the only figure to discuss the problem. One of the leading figures in church music, Joseph d’Ortigue, was very much against this increase of expression. He cited the swell box as the defacing of the godly instrument:
. . . all the attempts today to corrupt the organ from its origins and to rid it of its Christian roots, are no less reprehensible.
The ensemble of the organ—even, continuous, plain—determines, precisely because of these properties, the character of the plain-chant. The orchestral instruments, which, in a certain context speak to our feelings, have, in the church only a contrived and caricatured expression, but the organ, whose keyboard is cold and insensitive, has, in the same house of God, a grandiose expression full of majesty . . . It is barely more than 160 years ago that people tried to rid the organ of the majestic character it had, due to the equality and “planitude” of its accents, in order to introduce the nuances and convolutions of secular music which imposed themselves on the expressing . . . of the sentiments of man in his most earthly worries . . . some were not able to resist this fatal impulse, and, as a result the power of secular music has tried to impinge on spiritual music for nearly two centuries . . .
The organ is “monotone,” it is distanced from all earthly basis. But church music is just as “monotone,” that is to say plain, distanced from earthly expression, full of a calm and heavenly expression, and of the human breath; I say again, the organ and church music have the same character, just as they share the same goal, and one can say that the circumstances of the origins of both are just as sacred as each other . . .8
. . . this expression, which we view as destructive for the character of the instrument.9

The successors of d’Ortigue such as Joseph Regnier attack the “persistent allowing of the mouth of the public to fall open” through the “persistent swelling of the sound.” To quote him, “Your box is the plague of the organ.”10 Adrien de La Fage, the other authority on the subject of church music, stuck resolutely to a position against the opinions of d’Ortigue:

The expression gained through such a simple method as a box with louvers is a very useful improvement made available to organists and one which has long been desired.11
Over the question of whether all the manuals of an organ should be enclosed, Ply offers the following pragmatic answer:

Recently Cavaillé-Coll and Merklin have applied swell boxes to all the manuals of an organ, at the request of organists . . . is this a positive development? Or a negative one? The critics have not yet clarified the official position. As far as we are concerned we can not reject it in an organ intended for concert use. On the other hand we would not see it as useful should all stops of a church organ be under expression.12

The tendency against dynamic expression becomes more important from the middle of the 19th century. One of the most notable results can be seen in organ building: the cuillère became gradually superseded by the centrally placed balanced pedal. A protagonist of this static conception of dynamics was Charles-Marie Widor, of whom more anon. Lefébure also followed this trend to a degree: L’Organiste moderne (1867) contains few dynamic indications, certainly much fewer than earlier in his works, like the Meditaciones religiosas (1858); there are a considerable number of pieces without indications and his notated crescendi are discreet. What a difference from his earlier publications!
Incidentally, it is worthwhile to compare the sacred music of Lefébure-Wely with his secular works. One sees from the outset a differentiation with regards to dynamics: the church music is, in general, less flexible. A good example of this is to be found in the Suites pour harmonicorde. The second piece from the first suite “Roma,” contains a footnote that reads: “This Prayer can be performed, if desired, without expression (NB: Lefébure means the dynamic changes), as long as one takes care to pump softly where ‘p’ is indicated”—and at the end of the piece: “played by the composer on the organ of the Madeleine Sunday 17 May 1857 during the High Mass.” This teaches us two important things: First, that good composers made the distinction between church and concert; second, that Lefébure-Wely within this context created for himself a clear line of separation. His music is also clear evidence of the ongoing evolution of church music. A comparison of the dynamics of L’Office catholique, op. 148, with Vademecum de l’organiste, op. 187, shows a sobering of the crescendi and diminuendi.
This trend becomes more and more common in church music; and in organ building: less flexible swell boxes; in organ-playing: the increasingly common use of absolute legato; and the new organ schools that were founded under the influence of Palestrina and Cecilia: École de Musique Classique et Religieuse (École Niedermeyer, Paris), Kirchenmusikschule (Regensburg), École de Musique Religieuse (“Lemmensinstitute,” Mechelen), Schola Cantorum (Paris). The development is noted in the French edition of Riemann’s Dictionnaire de Musique:

About the real crescendo, comparable to that of the orchestra, that is today certainly not applicable to the organ. Maybe this is a good thing, as it led to the loss of the organ’s majestic “impersonality” and also, without doubt to the era of sentimental and pathetic organ playing.13
It is reported, incidentally, that Tinel, director of Lemmens Institute, solved the problem on behalf of that institution, by rephrasing the French term for “swell pedal” thus: “La pédale faussement appelée expressive” (The falsely named expressive-pedal).14

L’Ecole du Choral
The banning of expression of feeling in the form of dynamics is not the only way to improve church music. Another element is rhythm. During the first decades of the 19th century cheerful and driving pieces made a substantial impact: the polka, mazurka, boléro, march, fanfare are interspersed with light and restful cavatinas, serenades, nocturnes and romances. The musical elements of these pieces were used in order to bring a picture of the prosperity of the outside world into the church. In some parishes these pieces entirely dictated the mood, in others their application was limited to certain moments in the service. The believers arrived and departed to a march, during the collection the public were treated to a brilliant offertoire, in order, of course, to encourage their generosity! The versets and communions reminded the listener of the cozy Soirée musicale of the day before.
However, a reaction against such music also manifested itself, particularly from those who considered the churches only to be full of believers attracted by the mundane music. These figures went back to the sources of church music, such as Gregorian chant and early polyphony, preferably before Monteverdi and the “seconda prattica”—in other words, Palestrina. This aesthetic can be recognized by its simple rhythm, preferably made up of long note values: half notes or quarters.
Via this “side door,” the Protestant chorale made its entry. It answered musically the requirements of “real” church music; the associated text can be left out or replaced. The vertical harmony with its, ideally, affiliated melodic movement brings forth a new genre, the choral. A typical example is Gounod’s edition of a selection of Bach’s chorales. Their titles have disappeared, but each is commented upon from a harmonic viewpoint, such as le Ré bémol, c’est de la démence (the d-flat is insane) in no. 130 (Vater unser im Himmelreich).
The rhythmic characteristics of the chorale and of counterpoint became an element of good Catholic church music. Rhythmic sobriety, simple meter, and absence of whimsical interjections are typical. The real church music is differentiated from the mundane not only by the rejection of lively accents, but also through the rejection of clearly profiled rhythmic figures (such as in a boléro). This is clearly evident if one compares Guilmant’s L’Organiste Liturgique with his sonatas, or Lefébure’s L’Office catholique with his Soirées Napolitaines, or even Lemmens’s organ school and the songs written for Helen Sherrington. An amusing example can be found in the Messe Solennelle of Rossini: the Prélude religieux consists of a 120-bar-long string of eighth notes. Truly religious!
But we can also see this phenomenon in L’Organiste Moderne: the “strophes” on a Gregorian melody exhibit a uniform picture of equal note values with the comment “dans le mouvement du plain chant.” This trend is officially recognized in Catholic church music in the encyclical Motu Proprio, 1903. Among organists, it was Widor who, above all, explored and forwarded it. His early symphonies are firmly rooted in the brilliant style, but the Romane and Gothique are classic examples of the new religious style; inspiration from Gregorian chant, rhythmically calm, classical registrations without extreme effects, sober dynamic indications.
Another nice example of this differentiation comes from Edgar Tinel, not only an important representative figure through his position. He was the successor of Lemmens, after the latter’s untimely death just after the foundation of the École de Musique Religieuse in Mechelen. As its director he was in the midst of Catholic church music in a country which, at the time, provided a model in a number of fields for its southern neighbors. Because of this, Tinel had an important influence on the following generation of organists. His legendary speech to the Societé Saint-Grégoire in 1883 was published in Musica Sacra, the magazine of the episcopacy.

How does one create a good organist? . . . it comes down to determining what is good taste and to educate . . . what is appropriate to perform in this context . . . Some works written in a somewhat concertante style . . . are easily recognizable because of their joyful worldly style, of their lively spiky rhythms, their military tempi, dancing or overly fast. Sometimes it suffices just to survey which stops the composer indicates . . . Piccolo 1? and Bourdon 16? on the Grand Orgue, Hautbois with tremulant and dynamics on the Positif or Récit . . . these works—sometimes composed by famous people—are certainly not appropriate for use in the church, whether performed before, during, or after the service. The good taste of the pupil is formed by his study of the great masters of the 16th and 17th centuries: Frescobaldi, Asola, Pitoni, Fasolo, Hassler . . . also Palestrina . . . works where calm majesty and serene beauty are ideal encouragement for silent reflection. But these masters alone are not sufficient.
J. S. Bach and his school are also necessary . . . not the complete Bach of course, but the “Catholic” Bach . . . in one word, the Bach of the chorale. This “Bach of the chorale” has already been, several years ago, brought to the attention of Catholic organists, to their benefit. Mr. Ferdinand Kufferath . . . has published a book entitled “The school of the chorale,” a volume containing the purest teaching of the organ-playing style of the church.15

Their tempi
The separation of church and concert music manifests itself in another area, also noted by Tinel. Tempo plays an important role in the character of 19th-century music in general, and of organ music in particular. Here, we must differentiate between two levels, the basic tempo of a piece and the flexibility of the basic tempo during the course of the piece, the agogics. As a general rule, the tempo of concert music is fundamentally quicker than that of church music: “their tempo” speaks volumes. This of course should hardly surprise us, but it is interesting to bear in mind that this is reflected in the tempo markings notated by Lefébure-Wely, Guilmant and Lemmens. A typical example from Guilmant is a Marche for harmonium and piano: 69 for the half note; Marche Religieuse: 60 for the quarter—in both pieces the smallest note value is a 16th note. A comparison of the metronome indications of Lefébure-Wely in his Meditaciones religiosas with his opera indicates even more pronounced differences.
The question of tempo was then a vexed one in the 19th century. The review of the organ exams of the Lemmens Institute in 1882, written by Kanunnik Van Damme, one of the founders of the school, tells us that the public criticized the tempi of the performed works. Van Damme agreed that “certains artistes” had made the listeners accustomed to quicker tempi, but states firmly that such dizzy speeds often obscured clarity, and, moreover, were not appropriate for the church. In other words, in the church music school, a moderate tempo was taught as an essential quality in a performance:

through them [the pupils], the listeners admired the incomparable qualities of the Master, perfection in fingering, excellent use of the pedal . . . and, above all, the extremely steady rhythm that lends greatness to organ playing, is indeed for the organ, what the claw is for the lion.16
Here, the agogic aspect is highlighted. Worthy church music is as firm and immovable as the rock on which one can build. This tallies exactly with a review of Lemmens’s piano playing, cited by Duclos.17

Just like all great musicians he has, at the highest level, the feeling for rhythm, and his expression is not reliant, as with many talented famous artists, on freedom of tempo. That feeling for rhythm is so strong that he never, even in the quickest passages, hurries, and in slower passages never drags, a rare skill, which is at no time a hindrance to the warmth of feeling, or the unexpectedness of the poetry.18

Later we will see how Widor used these ideas of Duclos in his manifesto for the new organ culture. Widor liked to see himself in the famous line which, via Lemmens eventually leads back to Bach himself, but forgot to mention that, as far as is known, Lemmens himself never cited this link.
This brings us, inevitably, to the tempo problems of Franck. One statement we can make immediately: Franck’s “great” organ works are concert music; not a single title refers to the church. After his death, his works were saved from certain obscurity by their “declaration,” as it were, as church music. Pious tempi and discreet nuances elevated Franck to the “worthwhile” composers of the 19th century, and neatly to tally with Lenoir’s statue of Franck in the garden by St. Clotilde.19

Le Génie du Christianisme
The sacred character of the organ can only convincingly be accounted for by laying its origins in religion.
Just as with Christian architecture, the Christian instrument is an anonymous and collective discovery, just as a learned figure once said (M. Boyer, Notice sur l’orgue et l’organiste), the person prompted by the Holy Spirit to worship the supreme Lord.20
The literary source for this idea can be found in the manifesto of the revival of the Catholic Church in France: Le Génie du Christianisme (1802). In his short chapter about music, De Chateaubriand sets the basis for the purification of church music. He refers to Plato in order to determine the true basis of music:

Music is, in fact, an imitation of nature—art is cited in the same way. Her perfection is then the most beautiful possible manner in which to depict nature.21

The “real” music, produced by religion, contains the essentials of harmony: beauty and mystery. It goes without saying that these are lost through all human disturbances—“le trouble et les dissonances.” The closing sentence of the last paragraph would later be endlessly quoted: “Christianity discovered the organ and gave it breath.”22
D’Ortigue would also use this sentence at the beginning of his extended chapter about the organ. He goes on to add to it:

Indeed, the religious genius alone was able to make of the organ the wondrous instrument that we know, and with it the most complete and perfect expression of the Christian life, in art envisaged in the form of liturgy . . . antiquity, continuation, universality, unity, authority. As a monumental instrument, it represents the unchangeable elements in the structures of liturgical singing, in this art which develops independently.23

The Christian architect . . . with help from the organ and the suspended bronze, has attached as much to the Gothic temple himself, as the sound of wind and thunder, which rolls in the depth of the forest. The centuries summoned by these religious sounds, let their ancient voices sound again from the heart of the stones, their breath in the enormous basilica.24

Chateaubriand of course wasn’t alone. Victor Hugo (Chants du Crepuscule, about the “suspended bronze”) and Lamartine added their voices:

One cannot hear his deep and lonely voice/ mixes itself, outside the temple with the idle sounds of the earth ( . . . )/
( . . . ) But he directs himself to God in the shadow of the church/ his great voice which swells and hurries like a breeze/ And with voices raised unto God/ The song of nature and humanity.25
Finally, Ply published the text of the inaugural speech of the pastor of Clermont-Ferrard Cathedral, at the consecration of the new organ. Here, the ideas of “Le Génie du Christianisme” go rather in the direction of Widor’s “calme des choses définitives.” The text quotes “un auteur très-compétent” (and should you, the reader, know who this author is, I should be grateful to know).

There is in the thousand voices of the organ, in that smooth, supporting, enduring static mass of sound, something of the restiveness of the Cathedral, vast and calm like the ecstasy and adoration; something that flies as a “Hosanna” in an enormous heaven, something as unchangeable as God, a knowledge, a meditation of the unknown being, indestructible, from an eternal Word, the unending story of him who is.26

Widor had, just as did all his contemporaries, read all these books. The “organ-vision” of Widor fits precisely within the ideal of “Le Génie du Christianisme.” Therefore, the organ, and the way of playing it, had to become independent from human attributes (read “inadequacies”). There is in this context no place for the expression of personal feelings which have anything to do with sensuality, in the most literal sense of the word. As a result, no strong accents, no passionate crescendi, no excited agogics. In their place came a musical architecture with clear, straight lines, just as in the structure of cathedrals:
The great voice of the organ must have the calm of definite things: she was made for stone arches, and is reliant on natural proportions. Where orchestral instruments search for more or less neurotic virtuoso affects, the organ gains its maximum strength through the simple chord of C major, and with it the sound which seems to have neither beginning or end.27
Orgue is continuously written with a capital O, the supremely worthy instrument. Hereby the organ departs the mortal world and the organist depicts a new mysticism. In the early 1930s when Widor himself was rather closer to his own passing, he wrote in his preface to Felix Raugel’s Les Maitres français de l’Orgue aux XVIe, XVIIe, et XVIIIe Siècles, Recueil de 50 Pièces d’orgue ou harmonium:

When . . . the sound of this pipe shall become lost under the high arches of our Cathedral, taking with it our soul to the eternal, only then shall the organ truly be “The mystic instrument.”
The organist, due to the nature of his instrument, is elevated to the universe of the almighty.

When one can receive a note of unlimited duration under one’s finger, in all freedom, without the need to spare the performer’s lungs, when one feels, so to say, the master of time and power, then one has realized the true character of the instrument; of the language which it must speak, and of the style to which it belongs.28
How far away the 1850s seem now! The predecessors of Widor, whether Berlioz, Lefébure-Wely, or Franck, lived in another world. The ideal organ of their time is flexible, and is suited, just as an orchestral instrument, to the translation of the most refined nuances of the artistic sentiment. The organ and its music in that time really represented an attempt to break free of monumentality and stardom. In order to entice people into church, the organ had not to remind them of God, but had rather to reflect the human, the artistic, the refinement of the circles in which good was to be found, the earthly paradise. Dizzy luxury, blinding colors, sumptuous decors, all within easy reach of the man in the street. He who wishes to play Lefébure or Franck is best advised to read first a book by Zola, as this would give better results than reading a book about organ music or reading this article. The exuberance of this time and its music were banished by Widor and his generation. The technical means came first, the artistic consequences became sidelined:

She wants to sing in strict rhythm, this great voice needs rhythm, phrasing, a desire. Let us admire the cadences in Bach’s works which here and there break up the flow of the text, so that we may enjoy a minute rest. Whatever the movement, the Master shuns all suggestion of restlessness, and of hurrying. He never loses his calm and keeps his listeners with him.29
We find ourselves again at the rythme imperturbable, of Lemmens, elevated and stable, like a Grand Orgue. The accents described by Lussy are limited to the metrical and the rhythmic, with the resolute exclusion of the dominant pathetic accents. However, and precisely because of this, the organ gained its allure of greatness and eternity:

What string and brass instruments, the piano and the human voice gain through the bursting forth of the accent and the unpredictability of the attack, the organ gains as a result of its own majesty, speaking as a philosopher; it alone can display such an eternally unchanging volume, that it creates a vision of the religious and of the eternal. Surprises and accents are strangers to it; one lends them out, they are “adopted” accents.30

Through these words, Widor sets himself, for example, against the opinions of Berlioz regarding expression in religious music. Moreover this is completely in accordance with his rejection of Berlioz’s ideas about the organ: “Who informs Berlioz, which organist did he so unfortunately seek advice from?” (Widor, Technique, p. 176) This regarding the instrumental aspect, but it becomes immediately clear that this fits completely into a broader concept of the organ, which is resolutely against that of Berlioz. Though the citing of accents, and, as a result, expression, as being against the true nature of the organ, one must consider tempo and flexibility of agogics within this same context. The rigid structures of Roman and Gothic architecture are reflected in modern organ playing:

Rhythm itself will be influenced by modern tendencies: it shall become a sort of elasticity of the bar, though the essential elements shall be preserved. It will allow the components of the musical sentence to breathe when necessary and be phrased, assuming that it keeps hold of the reins, and that it keeps pace . . . And when the essential qualities of the style are defined by the words purity, clarity and precision, then we regard them as the basis of organ music.31

Provisional conclusion: the term “symphonic organ music” can be defined in very different ways. The whole spectrum of musical genres in 19th century music is represented. The repertoire is unique in its amalgam of profane and sacred ingredients. The performer must, therefore, continually make decisions. The listener can either follow him, or not.

Notes
1. Charles-Marie Widor, Symphonies pour Orgue, ed 1901, Preface.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid.
4. Nicolas Gorenstein, L’Orgue post-classique français, Chanvrelin, Paris, n.d., pp. 7–11.
5. Joris Verdin, “The Organ: fit for expression?” in Het Orgel 2000/5, pp. 15–22.
6. Mathis Lussy, Traité de l’expression Musicale, Paris, Heugel et Cie, 1877, and: idem, Le Rythme Musical, Paris, 1884.
7. Hector Berlioz, Traité d’Instrumentation, Paris, 1844, p. 169.
8. Joseph d’Ortigue, Dictionnaire liturgique, historique et theorique de Plain-Chant, et de musique d’église, au moyen age et dans les temps modernes, Paris, 1853–1860; “Orgue.”
9. Ibid., “Expression.”
10. H.J. Ply, La Facture moderne etudiée à l’Orgue de St-Eustache, Paris 1878, facsimile Leonce Laget, Paris, 1981, p. 18.
11. A. de La Fage, Le Plain Chant, 2nd year, no. 7, quoted from Ply, p. 19.
12. Ply, op. cit., p. 19, note 1.
13. Hugo Riemann, Dictionnaire de Musique, entièrement remanié et augmenté par Georges Humbert, Lausanne, 1913, p. 235.
14. Musica Sacra, 6th year, no. 2, 1886, p. 11.
15. Musica Sacra, no. 12, p. 99.
16. Kanunnik Van Damme, cited by Joseph Duclos, “Essai sur la vie et les travaux de l’auteur,” in Du Chant Grégorien, ouvrage posthume de Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens, Gent, 1886, p. XXXVI.
17. Duclos, op. cit., p. XXXIV.
18. Recent research has revealed the anonymous reviewer to be none other than Fétis; see Annelies Focquaert, Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens: leven en werk van een organist, unpubl. dissertation at the Orpheusinstitute, Gent, 2006 (2 vol., 314 + 181 pages).
19. Joris Verdin, “Discussions on César Franck,” in Het Orgel 2001/2, pp. 5–9.
20. Ply, op. cit. p. 309.
21. François-René de Chateaubriand, Oeuvres Completes, Tome Premier, Bruxelles, 1852, p. 251.
22. Ibid., pp. 252–253.
23. D’Ortigue, “Orgue.”
24. Chateaubriand, op. cit., p. 262.
25. Ply, op. cit., p. 311.
26. Ibid., p. 306.
27. Charles-Marie Widor, Technique de l’Orchestre Moderne, faisant suite au Traité d’Instrumentation et l’Orchestration de H. Berlioz, Édition Revue et Augmentée, Paris, Lemoine, 1925, p. 188.
28. Ibid.
29. Ibid.
30. Ibid.
31. Ibid.

Addenda: summaries of the mentioned articles in Het Orgel
“The organ: fit for expression?” (Het Orgel 2005/5)

Dynamic and agogic aspects play a major role in 19th-century expression. In this article the first one of these is explored. Based on investigation of period literature we conclude that expressiveness, dynamics and the term “expression” cannot be separated, even are quite inseparable. The importance that is attributed to dynamics is not only documented in general publications about musical aesthetics (Lussy, Riemann), but also, and in the first place, in harmonium methods (Lickl, Lefébure-Wely, Mustel). This makes completely sense, as the harmonium is, among the keyboard instruments, particularly suited to control the parameter of volume. Several quotations from the above-mentioned literature show that there are general “rules” with respect to the dynamic curve of a musical sentence (the up- and downwards movement of crescendo and diminuendo), and that individual musicians, on the other hand, differ from each other, so each of them can individualize his playing.
With regard to the organ we conclude that Charles-Marie Widor represents a school with another point of view: the nature of the instrument, its location and its repertoire demand a less flexible, more objective kind of expression, which is described by Widor as “architecture.” Sigfrid Karg-Elert develops the notion of expression into an idea of transcendent art, in which controlling of dynamics is regarded as the most important individual means of expression.

“Discussions on César Franck” (Het Orgel 2001/2)
The discussions on the “correct” interpretation of Franck’s organ works are mainly a result of the difference between a certain a priori concept of Franck and musicological investigation. Whereas this concept is patently based on unverifiable “testimonies,” the musicological investigation, led by Joël-Marie Fauquet, results in a coherent whole. A very important aspect is the difference between church and concert music. Interpreting Franck’s organ works as religious music requires accepting some assumptions that are contradictory to the entire context of organ playing in France, as well as to the objective indications of Franck himself.

 

A conversation with Stephen Tharp

Catching up with a well-traveled recitalist

Joyce Johnson Robinson

Joyce Johnson Robinson is associate editor of THE DIAPASON.

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Advocate and proponent of new organ music as well as transcriptions of older works, Stephen Tharp is one of today's most active concert organists, having already made over twenty intercontinental tours throughout North America, Europe, Asia, and Australia since 1987. He has held positions at New York City's St. Patrick's Cathedral and St. Bartholomew's Church, but at present forgoes a church position in order to focus exclusively on performing, recording and teaching. As a champion of new music, he commissions and premieres numerous new organ works--many of which are dedicated to him--including compositions by Thierry Escaich, Jean Guillou, Anthony Newman, Martha Sullivan, and Morgan Simmons. Stephen Tharp also promotes the transcription, having adapted, and often recorded, works from a variety of styles and eras, from Bach and Handel to Shostakovich and Stravinsky. The most recent of his six recordings, made at St. Sulpice in Paris, was the first commercially released recording by an American organist on that instrument. Stephen Tharp is represented by Karen McFarlane Artists.

We recently spoke with Stephen as he was preparing for another trip abroad.

JR: How did your interest in the organ begin? What was your early training?

ST: I first "responded to" music at the age of three, playing Christmas carols by ear on the piano from the radio and records. It was finally church music, however, that sparked the interest in the organ. I recall hearing this colorful, powerful instrument and thinking about how I absolutely had to learn to play it. Of course, my first teacher started me on the piano, which I think made me a little unhappy at the time. That was at the age of six. By age eight, the same teacher started me on the organ, and the two of us worked together on both instruments for the next several years, mostly at my home in Chicago.

JR: Age eight is an early start! --I'm thinking of the pedals here.

ST: I spent two years in piano. At age six I couldn't reach the pedals. By age eight, it was still a bit of a challenge, but I could start. My organ playing improved along with the piano playing. The transition time from doing one to doing both was actually kind of short. And at eight years old I was just barely able to reach the pedals too!

JR: So what things were you playing? Were you playing any repertoire, perhaps really easy things where you just had a pedal note here and there?

ST: I think the first real pieces of music were the Eight Little Preludes and Fugues, and not all of them. I've never practiced right hand, then left hand, then pedal, then do right hand and pedal, then left hand and pedal--because then you leave one out. You have to develop all three together. So I never did part practicing. No matter how long it took or how slow I did it, it was always everything at one time. Another thing was that I never went through method books per se, doing scales and things like that. There should be a musically relevant reason to attack any given technical issue. So if you have a particular technical challenge you want to hit, find a piece that targets it so that musically there is relevance to it.

By age eleven, I switched to a teacher named James C. Thunder, the director of music at Christ Church in Des Plaines, Illinois, again studying both organ and piano with him. It was Thunder who introduced me to a great deal of the mainline organ composers and their music, recordings of their music, and so on. After working with him for a few months, he made me a sort of "music assistant" at Christ Church, and in this capacity I learned and played on the organ many major anthem and oratorio accompaniments--Handel's Messiah and the Brahms and Mozart Requiems were among the first.

I stayed with James Thunder and Christ Church through 1985 when, at age fifteen, I became a private organ student of Wolfgang Rübsam at Northwestern University, perhaps to this day the person who, for many reasons, has had the greatest influence on my artistic temperament. It was Rübsam who introduced me to the discipline of intricate fingerings (somewhat ironic now, as I rarely ever write in fingerings at all), stylistic awareness and articulation in Baroque music and, most powerfully, the kinds of phrasing, rhapsodic gestures and rhythmic idiosyncrasies possible in Romantic music. I returned to Rübsam to do my graduate studies at Northwestern University in 1993, after four years at Illinois College in Jacksonville, Illinois for my B.A. in music. There I was very lucky to work with two wonderfully musical, insightful and imaginative teachers: Rudolf Zuiderveld in organ and Garrett Allman in piano, accompaniment and conducting. So many of my thoughts on lyricism, projecting musical structure and balance, etc., come from my time with them, and I must say that at a small liberal arts school I had access to perhaps a wider range of study than might have been the case elsewhere. This proved to be invaluable later, especially as I began traveling more and more to Europe. It was also at Illinois College that my interest in new organ works began. I had many opportunities to play a lot of music that was unpublished at the time. One particular performance at Illinois College of William Albright's 1732: In Memoriam Johannes Albrecht for Organ and Narrator, with Albright himself narrating, stands out. Jean Guillou's Hyperion and William Bolcom's Gospel Preludes Book IV are two further examples. There are many others.

JR: You were based in Chicago and then moved to New York and held positions at both St. Patrick's Cathedral and St. Bartholomew's Church, respectively, over the course of seven years. You then made the decision to "fly solo" as an artist without any church job. What prompted this?

ST: My move to New York City came in 1995, when I was appointed associate organist and director of cathedral concerts at the Cathedral of St. Patrick, where I stayed for two years in a prestigious but very busy position. I decided to leave there when my own career became busier and busier, at that point maybe two or three trips to Europe per season interspersed with U.S. concerts. I can honestly say, however, that much of what really boosted the success I was having already in Europe to another level was the position at St. Patrick's, and the people I met while I was there. Booking all the solo organ recitals was part of my duties as concerts director; there were occasions when organists would reciprocate by extending to me performing invitations overseas, and it was then that perhaps three tours a year began turning into five and six, a schedule that I maintain to this day. In late 1997, I became the associate organist at St. Bartholomew's Church, but only in a part-time capacity, which allowed me to continue my concert schedule. Of course, as the church continued to grow, so did the size of the position, and eventually I became full-time. Altogether, I was at St. Bartholomew's for just over four years. The music program there--everything from Praetorius and Carissimi's Jephthe, to Christmas concerts with The American Boychoir and Jessye Norman, to the U.S. premiere of James MacMillan's Cantos Sagrados and the N.Y. premiere of Howells' Hymnus Paradisi--is truly staggering for a church of its size. Therefore, when I made the decision to leave there in 2002, it was far from an easy one. But my performing schedule became simply too large to manage alongside a full-time position. It came time for me to focus all of my artistic (not to mention physical!) energies in one direction instead of several.

JR: These days it seems your career is based more in Europe than in the United States. Is this by choice? How did it come about?

ST: It is ironic that, as an American organist who plays about 60 concerts a year, the majority of them are elsewhere in the world. This was never really intended, but strangely enough, it has turned out that way. For one thing, I began playing publicly on a large scale much earlier in Europe than I did here. My first European concert was in London in 1989 at The Royal Albert Hall. Subsequent trips to England, then The Netherlands, then Germany, then France, really got things going, and they continued like a domino effect.

There is also what is known as an "association factor." I think that without having something like a major competition prize or a well-known teaching post, you don't necessarily get the same kind of attention for what you do. In an ideal world, this should not be such an important factor, but marketing is never that simple. Thanks to JAV Recordings and the Organ Historical Society, especially their websites, all six of my commercial recordings are very easy to find and obtain. And it goes without saying how wonderful it has been with Karen McFarlane Artists since 1998. Of course, we live in an era when massive amounts of information are bombarding you from all sides.

JR: How much are you on the road? What kind of performing schedule do you keep?

ST: It really depends. There are factors such as how many concerts are a part of any given tour, how many different tours are planned close together, how much travel is happening back and forth from the U.S., and what is going on in between--in other words, is there "down time."

Let me give you an example of how extreme it can become by describing my activities during the fall of 2002. Fall seems to be the heaviest time for traveling and playing. Following late August recording sessions at St. Luke's in Evanston, Illinois, I began in early September (four days after the recording) by playing an organ and orchestra concert in Krakow (Bielsko-Biala), Poland, consisting of the Piston Prelude and Allegro for Organ and Strings, and the Jongen Symphonie Concertante. This was followed by a few concerts in the Czech Republic and Germany with a more "mixed" general program, including Mendelssohn, Handel, and Karg-Elert. Next was a concert at St. Laurent's Church in Diekirch, Luxembourg (the oldest church in Luxembourg) on a beautiful new North German-style instrument by the builder Seifert of Kevelaer, Germany. That concert consisted of Bach, Bruhns, Buxtehude, and Murchhauser. Three days later were two concerts as part of the Merseburg Organ Festival, but with all American music, which they requested. This particular invitation arose at the last minute, while I was in Chicago recording at St. Luke's. Karel Paukert, who had been scheduled to play but had to withdraw at the last moment, graciously recommended me as his replacement for the concerts. I was lucky because these two dates, back-to-back, happened to be within a gap between Luxembourg and the other concerts that followed Merseburg elsewhere in Germany, although it was now necessary to "cram" in music that, in a few cases, I had not actually played in quite a while, and with only two days to prepare before the first of the concerts. Those consisted of Buck, Paine, Parker, Hurd, Newman and Sowerby. The rest of the tour (which spanned three and a half weeks altogether) meant a great deal of train travel and concerts roughly every two days as far north as Norden and as far south as Frankfurt.

During October, I went back to Europe with a second fall tour that began at the Passau Dom, which houses the largest organ in Europe. The highlights there were the premiere of my newest commission at that time, Thierry Escaich's Trois Poèmes, and a superlative work by Jean-Louis Florentz called The Cross of the South. Two days later at the Arcore (Italy) Organ Festival, I played my organ adaptation of Bach's Goldberg Variations. Thereafter came more of the Passau program in Innsbruck, several cities in southern Germany and then Strasbourg. To conclude this trip, I was in residence for a week at the Hochschule für Musik in Trossingen, Germany, at the invitation of organ professor Christoph Bossert, not only teaching his students in masterclasses on Vierne, but then performing as part of a theatrical concert of live improvisational dance with the dance department students, featuring live organ improvisation as the incidental music "in reaction to" the stage improvisation.

In November, I made my second trip to Australia, playing in Sydney and Adelaide, and concluded everything with a December Christmas concert at Spivey Hall in Atlanta, the last of several U.S. performances between the trips to and from Europe and Australia. In addition, I have been "guest teacher" at the Hochschule in Stuttgart when in Europe but not actually playing somewhere, and also at Yale University when in the States for a longer stretch.

This is not always the norm, but when it rains, it pours, and my upcoming calendar already indicates that this kind of agenda will happen more frequently. A lot of that has to do with the freedom with which I can now plan my concerts without a regular church job. Usually, larger tours are put on the calendar as far in advance as two years, and so a festival or organization will say, "Oh, this is your date and concert? Well, this is our theme, so you will play this and this and that." Put enough of those close together for when you are in Europe at one time, and your schedule fills very quickly! But, I love it.

JR: Do you find any differences between American and European audiences? You've said that they are larger in Europe.

ST: Right. In general that's true.

JR: Can you talk about European attitudes and their appreciation of your playing the organ, and how you plan your programs for a European audience versus here?

ST: It's very interesting. Of course, everything you do has to be accessible to your audience, but I don't believe that we're beyond being able to educate someone or at least spark their interest in hearing things that otherwise they wouldn't have considered. You know, when you push envelopes, other people who want to do something similar don't necessarily stretch themselves as far as you might, but they'll stretch themselves farther than they would have otherwise, just because they see a bigger realm of what's possible. I think more of that is ingrained earlier on in European audiences. Consequently, I have found that overseas you can get away with a lot more experimentation, and that allows you to be somewhat more adventurous with new music or transcribing.

Transcribing can mean so many things; I've seen people do transcriptions of Schoenberg on organ. I saw someone--Bernard Haas, from Stuttgart--do a transcription of one of the Five Orchestral Pieces of Schoenberg at St. Eustache the same week I was in Paris doing my St. Sulpice recording, which was October 2001. And he did it from memory, with double pedal, triple pedal playing, all of these things that were so intricate, yet he kept the dynamic level very contained and small, based on the chamber quality of the original piece. And people just ate it up, and in a sense it was the most adventurous thing on the program, and while there were many organists present, there also were a lot of people who came because it said "organ concert"--but it was a very intensive 20th-century program, with some Webern transcriptions, and some of Jean Guillou's pieces, and then the Schoenberg in the middle, and people were just perplexed by it. But there were more comments, questions, and curiosity about that work than anything else on the program, and it certainly was the most envelope-pushing piece.

To try to do something like that over here, it depends on how you present it and how you talk about it first to your audience. But it seems that certain kinds of transcriptions are much more popular here than 20th-century music and yet in some ways 20th-century music, especially in certain circles in Europe, has always been more popular than transcriptions. You hear a lot against transcriptions with these kinds of dogmatic black and white ideas about what a transcription should be: is it necessary, why are we doing this if you have all this music of Bach, is a transcription anything compared to that? I've found that I can introduce a transcription to a skeptical European the way you try to do the same thing with modern music for an American audience, and if you do it the right way, I think you can sell something new or at least get people curious.

JR: Tell us your thoughts on commissioning new organ works.

ST: I had a very special experience while I was still in high school. My earlier studies, both organ and piano, engaged fewer pieces for longer periods of time than would be the case later as my technique advanced. So, when I worked on a piece, I really lived with it for a long time before it went before anyone except my teacher.

At one point, I had spent about a year with James Thunder on Aaron Copland's Piano Variations when, one day, after a lesson, Thunder said to me, "You know, Copland is coming to Chicago to give a lecture at the Cultural Center downtown. I made some arrangements this morning on the telephone--do you think you'd be up to playing this for him next week?" Well, I was not about to be stupid and say NO (which Thunder knew), although the idea scared me to death (which Thunder also knew). Even at that age, I could grasp what it meant to play something important for the composer himself, much less Aaron Copland! After six more days of polishing my memorization, I attended the lecture at the Cultural Center and was introduced to Copland afterwards by my teacher. A half an hour later, I sat down in a private piano studio some blocks away at Roosevelt University and, nervous as a ninny, played the work for Copland. He was extremely kind, complimentary enough that I still enjoy talking about it, especially about the fact that I was, as he put it, "crazy" enough at my age to have memorized it, insightful on tempi, some phrasing, and so on. But, the one major awakening was how incredibly inspiring it is to sit down with the source of a creation and share thoughts on it, the ideas that sparked it, concepts and such related things. That was a turning point for me, as it also spawned a real hunger for more music that was new, different, fresh, and intense, sometimes vehemently intense.

At that age, I found pieces that were off-the-wall, learned them, and played them in recitals because I felt a need to do so. What I began to learn was that, when you present something "dicey" to an audience, even knowing that all or many of them may be hearing it for the first time, you get further with that audience by talking to them about what they will hear and why they would want to hear it, even again and again, than you do by just handing them written program notes. Once you do this, the audience feels that there are good reasons for being curious about something that will be not only unfamiliar, but also likely push a few envelopes too, and that this is a positive and enriching thing! If you play down to your listeners, especially with your choice of programming, like they're dumb, then they will respond that way a lot of the time. If you show them that you trust their minds and ears enough to KNOW that they can be interested in what you are offering them, people tend to be more open-minded for you. Despite a lot of thinking these days to the contrary, when it comes to "modern music," I still find this to be unmistakably true, if you as the presenter handle it the right way.

Put all of this together with the opportunities to meet and work with more and more living composers that really began at Illinois College, and the result is a list of varying and remarkable works that I feel privileged to play as often as I can. There is a very challenging three-movement pedal solo work called Sequentia Pedalia by Chicago composer Morgan Simmons, which he gave me in manuscript just prior to my appointment to St. Patrick's in New York; Anthony Newman, one of my best friends in the world, and one of my most devoted supporters, has written three very large but different works for me of brilliant intricacy (these get played perhaps the most frequently and are always very well received); there is Jean Guillou's massive and intense seven movement symphonic poem called Instants (his second largest solo organ work), improvisational but thematically interwoven, written for my concert at King's College, Cambridge; and a jazzy, witty piece based on Bulgarian folk rhythms for organ, percussion and women's chorus called Slingshot Shivaree, composed for a program at St. Bartholomew's called "Organ Plus" by my friend Martha Sullivan. She is an especially talented composer whose star is on the rise, with her works being performed all over the U.S.; there is the haunting and nostalgic 4-movement Sinfonietta by Philip Moore of York Minster, England; and the most recent to date, the Trois Poèmes by Thierry Escaich, works of pure genius, contained electricity with balance and proportion. There are more to come, the next being in 2004 from Bruce Neswick.

JR: About your championing of transcriptions: You've recorded a number of transcriptions, including a good half-dozen of your own.

ST: Right.

JR: What originally got you on the transcription bandwagon? And how do you prepare these? Do you write them down note for note, or do you just sketch them out for yourself? Would you consider having any of them published?

ST: There are several issues here. I have not actually written down anything per se; there's nothing that exists in any formatted way. Usually the bigger transcriptions are the most complicated ones that would take the most work--things that are orchestral versus piano, like a symphony, the Shostakovich 5, or the Petroushka dances, which are all marked from the full scores. You go through and find the things that are more important in the texture, and then find out by process of elimination what you have to take out, because obviously with two hands and two feet there's only so much you can play. So you must decide what to keep and what has to go--and how to eliminate things in an orchestral score so that you can play it on the organ without changing the piece or leaving out something important.

Through looking at a score that I've marked up, I work it up slowly and memorize it, and then essentially play the transcriptions from memory. So none of them are actually written out; they're just marked-up adapted full scores.

In the end, as crazy a process as that sounds, it ends up being easier come performance time, because there's too much to follow and certainly to have an orchestral score in front of you, to have someone try to page-turn that would be crazy. It's very distracting to try to read ten lines of a score while playing and doing registrations and keeping your focus in front of an audience. Anything that limits other senses is more focused--in other words, by playing from memory, the other senses become more acute, because the visual distraction of looking at a page and reading something takes away from the ear, takes away from things that are tactile. So playing from memory certainly hones in on what you feel under your fingers, what you listen to, in a different way. This is never more important than in a very complicated transcription. That's one reason I've never actually written anything down.

Another reason is that a lot of the repertoire is not really of interest to publishers; they don't think it's mainstream enough to sell. So, no, at this point, nothing is published. I think at some point, if either a publisher decides they would like something specific or if I could get a couple of players who were interested in a certain transcription, then I would take the time to write something down.

JR: Your repertoire is very diverse and you strive to present each piece with a sense of stylistic awareness. What then are your thoughts on organ transcriptions vs. organ repertoire, and on performance practices? As a performer, how do you strike a balance among these?

ST: I have some very specific and passionate thoughts on this. To start with, I think that the art of transcription is very important, and it is ironic that it gets both incredible support and simultaneously a great deal of criticism nowadays.

Realize that when we say transcriptions, we are not just talking about Danny Boy, Ave Maria and Flight of the Bumblebee. We are also talking about large-scale, often mainstream repertoire that demands as much care and subtlety from an organist as it would from a pianist, a singer or an orchestra. Art at a very high level transcends its chosen medium. It is not just a matter of whether or not the organ becomes an orchestra, a piano, or anything else.

A successful transcription should not sound like it is a transcription, but rather be idiomatically adapted to the new medium while preserving the soul and stylistic context of the original in a carefully struck balance, and this is why transcribing is such an art form and anything but trite. I would challenge those who flippantly dismiss transcriptions as circus tricks as not understanding these ideas on a very profound level, nor having experimented with transcriptions enough personally to see what is really possible, and how. Consider the Bach-Vivaldi Concerti, several Liszt works that began on piano or organ and then went the other way, in the composer's own hand nonetheless, or the most obvious example, Mussorgsky's piano work Pictures at an Exhibition (transcribed later by other composers for a medium of immense color possibility, and now part of the standard orchestral repertoire). So, ultimately, we do accept transcriptions--we always have. Moreover, awareness of style must be applied here too--transcription does not always mean swell boxes, string divisions and tubas. Take for instance Bach's Italian Concerto or his Goldberg Variations. I have had as much musical satisfaction from playing these on organs by Fritts, von Beckerath, Gabler, Fisk and so on, as I have had sitting at a great E.M. Skinner with the Liszt B-Minor Sonata or something as monumental as the Shostakovich Symphony No. 5.

For me, all of this leads to a larger issue, and that is how we often see performers "mixing menus," which just confuses everything. I once heard an organist pull out stops at 8', 4'and 2' on a neo-Baroque organ and make his way through Elgar's Nimrod on that one sound, and briskly at that, like it was just this pretty piece to play for the audience, and that was enough. It was evident that the player did not understand anything about the intimacy of this music, or that perhaps this was not the right organ for it. On the flip side, I recently heard a Bach prelude and fugue played with all the swell shades flapping around like window blinds in a storm, with as many pistons as there were notes and Romantic rubato everywhere. Although the result was extremely musical in its own way, the total change of esthetic was so foreign to the score tha

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