Buried beneath a pipe organ: Anton Bruckner, organist (1824–1896)

Nicholas Halbert

Nicholas Halbert is director of music at the Cathedral Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. He holds degrees from the Eastman School of Music (Bachelor of Music), Southern Methodist University (Master of Music, PhD) and Arizona State University (Doctor of Musical Arts).

Hans Fährmann, Dresden’s organ composer

Hans Fährmann’s fourteen sonatas for the organ make up one of the most compelling bridges between organ music and the mainstream German Romantic musical world, and yet they remain largely forgotten. There has been a surge in interest over the last two decades, with several volumes of a complete cycle by Dietrich von Knebel and a recording of the Sonata No. 8 by David Fuller having been released. Several scholarly works have also appeared, most notably the summaries of Fährmann’s life, context, and work written by Stefan Reissig and Hans Böhm. James Garratt has recorded Sonata No. 12 and written about this and several miscellaneous works in connection with his study on organ music and World War I. Nevertheless, energy around Fährmann’s music remains stagnant, and his music is far from being heard live with any frequency.

How did it come to be that such a significant set of large-scale sonatas have been nearly entirely forgotten? Fährmann was certainly not unknown in his own time. As both the cantor of a large Dresden church and a lecturer, director, and professor of the Royal Conservatory of Dresden, he was well regarded in the Saxon capital. In his own time, he was referred to as the “Richard Strauss of the organ.”^{1, 2} An article in a British music journal of 1912–1913 about chorale-preludes mentions three such works in the genre by Fährmann immediately after discussing Max Reger and writes that these are well known in Germany.³ And yet, in the same year J. Hennings writes in his special printing for the readers of Die Harmonie that he has undertaken the essay on Fährmann because he remains relatively unknown and blames it on the composer’s modesty with the press.⁴ Fährmann was evidently pleased with Hennings’s pamphlet about his music, because he dedicated his Sonata No. 10 to him in 1913. While Hennings is probably right, Fährmann’s new works were at least well-advertised in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik.

Probably far more significant is Fährmann’s lack of a famous interpreter who was promoting his music. Unlike Reger, whose music was championed by the formidable Karl Straube, Fährmann promoted his own music. What Straube did for Reger solidified his reputation; not only did he edit Reger’s music and perform it frequently, he also included it in the repertoire of his students, cementing the legacy of the composer. Straube only performed Fährmann—the Introduzione e Fuga triomphale—once during his time at Saint Thomas Church in Leipzig (in the period of 1903–1918).⁵ Speculatively, Straube may not have had much interest in Fährmann’s thoroughly Romantic music; Reger’s music carries far more of Bach’s influence. Straube would eventually become an important proponent of Orgelbewegung ideals, a movement that would have further rejected the Dresden composer’s music. Fährmann’s disappearance from the musical landscape was all but guaranteed when the publishing house of Otto-Junne-Verlag in Leipzig was destroyed during the 1943 bombing and with it all the printing plates of his works, some of which appear to be permanently lost.⁶

These works are worthy of performance and study. They are of high craftsmanship and musical interest. More importantly, they contain compelling narrative arcs capable of creating real emotional response. And they offer the organist something that is missing from the canonic repertoire: organ music written in dialogue with the massive Austro-Germanic symphonic tradition at the turn of the century. The late German Romantic music currently considered canonic tends to be valued for its synthesis of conservative and progressive musical aesthetics; this is not the case with Fährmann. This is music unabashedly written in the style and form of Johannes Brahms, Richard Wagner, Richard Strauss, and Gustav Mahler. For so many musicians, it is exposure to the music of these composers in the symphony hall that sparks their deep love of the art. How wonderful it is then that we have these organ sonatas that take part in that genre and allow us to engage with it. This essay will lay out a basic image of Fährmann’s musical context and the organs he would have known, and will then discuss this in relation to his Sonata No. 1.

Böhm and Reissig have both written excellent, short biographical sketches of Hans Fährmann. He was born on December 17, 1860, in Beicha, Saxony.⁷ The composer told his student, Böhm, that he had not had a sunny childhood,⁸ and a contemporary musical chronicler, Franciscus Nagler, remembers the composer as a stubborn and determined young man, hardened by an overly strict household.⁹ Fährmann’s musical teachers at the Dresden-Friedrichstadt included pianist Hermann Scholtz, organist Carl August Fischer, and composer Jean Louis Nicodé.¹⁰ The latter, also largely forgotten today, was a first-rate composer and conductor in Dresden during the latter portion of the nineteenth century, whose magnum opus was a massive symphony lasting over two hours named Gloria! Ein Sturm- und Sonnenlied Symphonie in einem Satze für Grosses Orchester, Orgel und (Schluss-) Chor. This maximalist work demonstrates the influence of the New Weimar School in Dresden. Also living in Dresden at the time was Felix Draeseke, a Wagnerian who wrote four symphonies. These Dresden composers, fusing more structured forms with the freedom and expressivity of the Liszt/Wagner camps, had obvious influence on Fährmann.

In 1884 Fährmann went to Weimar and performed his own Piano Sonata, opus 7, for Franz Liszt, who encouraged him to continue his career in music.¹¹ Upon graduating he held the position of cantor at the Johanneskirche from 1890 to 1926. He began as a lecturer in organ at the conservatory in 1892 and would hold a number of positions there, retiring at the rank of professor in 1939.¹² During his time at the church he held an extremely successful recital series at which he would perform and lecture on music from all historical periods and national schools. This occurred over eight years, from 1892 to 1900 in thirty separate programs; Johann Sebastian Bach was the centerpiece of the series, including performances of all six trio sonatas.¹³

In 1900 Fährmann suffered an apparent nervous breakdown as a result of the demands of his heavy concert schedule and turned his focus to composition and teaching while maintaining his church position.¹⁴ On retirement from the Johanneskirche position in 1926, Fährmann moved to a house in a forested suburb of Dresden in order to focus on composition.¹⁵ It is noteworthy that two contemporaries, Rost¹⁶ and Hennings,¹⁷ both describe the composer as a deeply committed and passionate man who was immune to any vain desires for fame or popularity and instead remained thoroughly true to himself and his musical convictions. Fährmann was married twice and had five children.¹⁸ He died in Dresden on June 29, 1940.¹⁹

The German Romantic organ sonata and Hans Fährmann

As might be expected of a musical landscape dominated by the legacy of Ludwig van Beethoven, the sonata was of central importance to nineteenth-century German organists. The genre of the organ sonata began in the High Baroque, with the works of Johann Sebastian Bach and his son, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, generally constructed in the fast-slow-fast, three-movement layout. Felix Mendelssohn’s sonatas for organ are collections of voluntaries. The effect of Franz Liszt’s Fantasy and Fugue on the Chorale “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam,” S. 259, in 1850 was profound. This single-movement work in a modified monothematic sonata-allegro form became the inspiration for dozens of similar pieces, most famously Julius Reubke’s Sonata on the Ninety-Fourth Psalm and August Gottfried Ritter’s Sonata No. 3 in A Minor. From 1865 the organ sonata trended toward the classical three- or four-movement format.²⁰ Rudolf Kremer’s incredibly useful index of German organ sonatas counts a total of 158 sonatas by forty-six composers in the final three decades of the nineteenth century.²¹ This set the stage for music increasingly influenced by the post-Beethovenian conception of the sonata and symphony. Ironically, Fährmann’s organ sonatas bear much more formal similarity with the sonata-forms of Beethoven than of Liszt—even though the contemporaneous iteration of the genre developed thoroughly from the New Weimar School. This speaks to the influence of Brahms, Josef Rheinberger, and the generally conservative nature of the Dresden School.

Music written by nineteenth-century German composers often looks like a symphonic reduction on the page, with some virtuosic passagework borrowed from the piano. While music of the French School (as it always has been, from the French Classical period) is married to the timbres on which it is being played, German Romantic organ music is conceived usually for choruses, often with no more instruction than the desired dynamic level. Only occasionally are specific solos or combinations of color required. This is mirrored in the orchestrations of Beethoven, Robert Schumann, and Brahms in which the strings play most of the time and carry the bulk of the musical content, with the addition and subtraction of winds and brass for dynamic and color contrast.

This relationship between orchestration and organ registration is also true of the French; for instance, compare the music of César Franck, Louis Vierne, and Charles-Marie Widor with the work of Hector Berlioz, and then compare Olivier Messiaen’s organ music with his orchestral music. German organ music tends to be focused on thematic development, dense counterpoint and harmony, and the formal outline of a composition, often instead of writing idiomatic and virtuosic keyboard passagework.

Hans Fährmann’s organ music meets this description aptly and is even more symphonic in conception than other canonic organ repertoire of the time. Rheinberger’s sonatas, predecessors to Fährmann’s oeuvre, feature idiomatic keyboard writing similar to Liszt’s approach to the instrument with the presence of pianistic figurations borrowed from nineteenth-century practice. This is true of the many German Romantic organ sonata composers influenced by Liszt: Reubke, Ritter, Gustav Merkel, et al. Fährmann’s most famous direct contemporaries nearby in Leipzig both wrote extremely idiomatic keyboard music for the organ. Max Reger’s music, so marked by the legacy of Bach, is built of constant, dense, and intricate counterpoint that is nevertheless decidedly keyboard music. His virtuosic explosions of chaotic figurework contrasted with sudden, hushed stillness show the influence of the Baroque stylus fantasticus and of Liszt and other piano improvisers of the nineteenth century. Sigfrid Karg-Elert, influenced by the Impressionists, uses registration and figuration to develop colors and textures in kaleidoscopic progressions and contrasts. This is to say: these now-canonic German Romantic composers wrote organ music that was fundamentally keyboard music, not orchestral music as translated to the organ. Even as these composers’ music is “orchestral” in the sense of color, it is not in a formal or stylistic sense.

Fährmann is distinct from all of the afore-mentioned composers in that he generally eschews non-motivic passagework (with some key exceptions) and writes with consistently thick textures echoing the dense symphonic writing common throughout the nineteenth century seen most characteristically in Wagner and Anton Bruckner. In further contrast with contemporary German organ composers, Fährmann’s work is characterized by an endless stream of melodic content. His resourcefulness with and the constant presence of motivic material is clearly indebted to the Beethovenian/Wagnerian tradition. Even in his fugal writing his subjects are often marked by forgoing conventional sequences and figurations in favor of idiosyncratic intervals, contours, and rhythmic shapes, which then entirely shape the subsequent fugue.²² Where virtuosic figuration does occur, it is not in the style of keyboard music, where often it is used to expand the harmony and build a sonorous and energetic texture, but tends to look like the type of runs assigned to strings in symphonic movements. This is in no small part due to the way in which his fast figuration usually interrupts and contrasts with the normal texture of a section of music, and the intervallic shapes of that figuration, which take on motivic significance in themselves.²³ All of these traits place Fährmann’s music solidly in the late-Romantic symphonic school, and characteristics like this can be easily found in the music of Richard Strauss, Gustav Mahler, and Sergei Rachmaninoff.²⁴

Arguably, Fährmann was the German Romantic composer who most explored the possibility of the organ as a vehicle for symphonic writing. His harmonic and melodic language is heavily influenced by late-Wagnerian music, particularly the sound world of Parsifal and Die Meistersinger. Fährmann’s harmony is dominated by constant extensions and suspensions paired with the generous use of all common-practice chord types. This results in an extremely colorful style that seems to carry maximal tonal tension within every phrase. He frequently uses chromatic voice-leading to result in surprising modulations and extreme harmonic distances being contained within musical units. However, this rich harmonic language is always subverted to the melodic content, usually in the soprano voice. As a result, much like Wagner, he is able to make extreme harmonic motions sound logical. Of note in his melodic writing is the frequent appearance of appoggiaturas, grace notes, and turn figures (these especially point to Wagner), which are all borrowed from Romantic string writing.

A few specific musical examples will illuminate this connection between Fährmann and Wagner. Examples 1 and 2 are excerpts from the famous “Transfiguration Music” in Act One of Parsifal. These are ideal models because they contain several key characteristics of late-Wagnerian style in the space of a few bars. Example 1 shows chromatic voice leading in the inner voices, the use of melodic contour to set up frequent suspensions in the melodic parts, and the upbeat triplet figure which is so essential to Wagner’s melodic language. Notice how the chromatic voice leading and suspensions allow Wagner to naturally incorporate a wide variety of chord types in a small space. Now looking at Fährmann’s application of these musical ideas, Example 3 (see page 15) shows the cadence of the main theme of Sonata No. 1. Here he resolves the first suspension in the tenor with a chromatic descending line in an identical way to Wagner, and here too it creates rapidly changing colors of harmony. Note how the melodic contour of the soprano allows Fährmann to naturally approach an augmented harmony on the downbeat of the second bar where it will be perceived as a suspension over a dominant. The incorporation of augmented sonority into moving contrapuntal textures is a major color of late Wagnerian writing. Example 4 depicts the beginning of the secondary thematic area of Sonata No. 1 and shows Fährmann adapting the lyrical upbeat triplet figure.

One of the most innovative harmonic devices in late Wagnerian music is the combination of chromatic voice leading and suspension to evade functional harmonic resolutions. Example 2, the climax of the “Transfiguration music,” is an excellent example of this technique. The fortissimo is reached on a clear tonic C-sharp minor chord with root in the bass. Wagner shifts two voices down by half step and sustains the C-sharp to create a German augmented-sixth harmony, but, rather than moving to the dominant, he moves those top two voices down another half step to arrive at a half-diminished sonority over G-sharp in the bass. Another chromatic motion resolves this into a C-sharp-major seventh chord and thoroughly destabilizes the tonic announced just a bar earlier. Example 5, an excerpt from the development of Fährmann’s Sonata No. 7, uses a similar technique in combination with a rising sequence to create a progression full of rich, functional sonorities that evade their natural resolution. This passage is also melodically similar to how Wagner moves out of the Tristan chord at the beginning of the “Prelude.” The rising half steps are identical in contour and rhythm. The harmonies, however, do not match the Tristan chord. Example 6, the final cadence of his Sonata No. 10, shows an absolutely spectacular utilization of this method to create a prolongation of the tonic. It is worth noting that this passage almost looks like Impressionist chordal planing, but the careful use of suspended voices (even if re-attacked) keeps this solidly within the tradition of counterpoint and its rules. The effect of this technique, present in Wagner and Fährmann, of denying conventional harmonies their functional resolutions creates a dizzying web of harmonic tension that stretches the boundaries of tonality.

On the other hand, his approach to form is significantly more conservative. Here the influence of Brahms and the Dresden School, including Draeseke, Nicodé, and of course Strauss, should be noted. As a result, Fährmann’s music does not contain the type of free-flowing modulation from section to section that can be found in Wagner and Franck. Instead it is fundamentally governed by the motion from tonic to dominant and back again. Fährmann’s harmonic language is used to embellish and develop tension over the basic tonal plan. He tends to write in relatively Classical phrase models built symmetrically. In this way his music is quite similar to that of Strauss in the 1880s.³¹ Gotthold Frotscher remarked that Fährmman’s music is built from Liszt’s harmonies with the thematic development of Brahms.³²

Fährmman’s primary similarity to Reger is in his skill as a composer of counterpoint, which was celebrated by contemporary musicians. His student Richard Rost observed in a notice in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik honoring Fährmann’s seventy-fifth birthday that his polyphony is never abstract but always meant to convey an expressive meaning.³³ In his important survey of Fährmann’s musical work, J. Hennings also remarks that he is a contrapuntist of the highest level.³⁴ He adds that the comparison to Richard Strauss is undoubtedly true but that Fährmann’s musical sensibility is firmly rooted in the Classical style and that this was influenced by the modern Zeitgeist. Fährmann always remained true to himself, Hennings says, and this speaks to his individuality as an artist “favored by God.”³⁵ What makes Fährmann a compelling composer is that his music surpasses direct imitation of any of these influences and becomes a unique prism reflecting them into a novel musical language.

The German Romantic organ

The development of writing for the organ has always been paralleled by developments in the instrument, and the German Romantic period is no exception to this. The connection between the instruments of Cavaillé-Coll and the French symphonic school has been well documented, but the influence of modern instruments on the German Romantic school is no less profound. In fact, differences in their design led to profound differences in the respective utilizations of the instruments. The first German instruments to be considered modern Romantic installations were those of Friedrich Ladegast and Adolf Reubke built in the middle of the nineteenth century. Some of the later organs of the High Baroque built by Silbermann and his students already pointed in the direction of future instruments with their substantial increase in the number of 8′ ranks. Ladegast and Reubke expanded in this direction with more foundations available at 16′, 8′, and 4′ pitches that were voiced with full, warm timbres emphasizing the fundamental. The powerful mixtures and mutations of the Baroque are preserved in these organs, giving them an unusual blend of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century characteristics. Reeds remained in their position as color stops, never becoming the dominant chorus color as they were on contemporaneous French organs.

The second half of the nineteenth century saw builders developing from the aesthetic concept of Ladegast and Reubke: the blending of the Baroque plenum sound into a modern idiom of weighty foundations that emulate the orchestra. In the organs of Wilhelm Sauer and E. F. Walcker & Cie., the mixtures and mutations are folded into the foundations more convincingly, leading to an incredibly rich plenum that is built from nearly every rank on the instrument. These well-developed overtones made the German Romantic organ very capable of performing counterpoint. Its ability to perform in an orchestral style is enhanced by the wide variety of colors available in the foundations. Both tendencies make these instruments ideal vessels for the music written by German Romantic composers. Just as the nineteenth-century compositional school continually referenced the music of Bach, so the instruments constantly bear the signature of the Baroque plenum.

This was particularly true in the Saxon School of organbuilding that, surrounded by extant installations by Silbermann, tended to be more conservative than other regions of Germany. Jiri Jocourek, of the Eule Orgelbau, has written an excellent summary of the types of instruments that Hans Fährmann would have known during his musical development—these would have included the legendary Silbermanns of Dresden, a Hildebrandt and a Wagner organ, two mid-century Romantic organs by Friedrich Nicolaus Jahn, and then later in life some very large installations by the Jemlich firm.³⁶ But most significantly, Fährmann would have been influenced by the instrument over which he presided at the Johanneskirche in Germany.³⁷ This church stood in the Pirnaische Vorstadt, just east of Dresden’s Aldstadt, and was split off from the Kreuzkirchgemeinde, the main Lutheran church in the Saxon capital.³⁸ Built in a wealthy parish, it was one of the first neo-Gothic structures in the city. The building and instrument were destroyed by the fire bombing of Dresden in February 1945, and nothing of the church remains on the site.³⁹

The Eule organ at the Johanneskirche was unusual for the firm. Hermann Eule was a thoroughly Romantic organbuilder, using large numbers of ranks at the fundamental and rich voicing characteristic of the nineteenth century.⁴⁰ However, the disposition at the Johanneskirche is significantly more conservative and more influenced by the Saxon organ building tradition having fewer 8′ foundation ranks and substantially more upperwork than usual for the builder. This instrument had neither a swell enclosure nor playing aids.⁴¹ In 1893 after the Sonata No. 1 had already been published, Fährmann had a swell installed.⁴² In 1909 a large overhaul took place, which created a Romantic instrument of fifty stops spread over three manuals.⁴³ Jiri Kocourek points out the absence of a 16′ rank on the third manual and the unusual selection of 8′ and 4′ ranks in the Pedal.⁴⁴ The latter almost certainly informs us that the pedal couplers were used consistently with any larger choruses. There is no record of the playing aids available on the 1909 instrument, as the next available record dates from work undertaken by his successor, Gerhard Paulik, and this documented a reduction in the number of console aids. Kocourek lists the playing aids available on a similar instrument, the Bautzen Cathedral organ, which include a walze, fixed combinations for various dynamic levels, and three free combinations.⁴⁵ If the Johanneskirche organ indeed contained these mechanisms, it would have been a thoroughly modern instrument. It is important to note that Fährmann’s scores do not call for as dynamic a use of the walze as was present in music by Reger or Karg-Elert. This is in line with his more orchestral conception of the use of the pipe organ.

Organ Sonata No. 1 in G Minor

The Sonata No. 1 in G Minor, opus 5, demonstrates, as Hennings says, that Fährmann was “predestined to become an organ composer.”⁴⁶ The reviewer draws the listener to the “originality of thought,” “fine thematic work,” and “skilled polyphony” of the sonata, along with the cyclical structure in which the main theme of the first movement is connected to the second theme of the closing double fugue.⁴⁷ This work holds a relatively early opus number; it was published in 1891 when the composer was thirty-one years old and after his appearance before Liszt. Though it is his debut organ sonata, it really should be considered a mature work and an intentional debut of his compositional skill in the genre of the organ sonata. The sonata contains three movements: “Moderato maestoso,” “Andante religioso,” and a Doppelfuge.

The first movement is in a straightforward sonata form with an appended “Cadenza” making up a substantial coda section. The main theme is heard clearly at the beginning (in many of the later sonatas Fährmann would write a lengthy introduction), and from its outset the richness of harmonic color is evident. The secondary theme is in the relative major of B-flat and is marked by numerous appoggiaturas giving it a longing lyrical character and reflecting the Wagner/Strauss influence (Example 7). The development section manipulates only the primary theme; it is a standard Beethovenian development moving among many tonal areas. After a normative recapitulation, the cadenza is the most obviously Wagnerian section of the sonata, having violin-like figurations very similar to those at the climax of the Meistersinger “Prelude,” with the strings continually beginning downward scales and arpeggios on the upper neighbor of the correct harmonic pitch (Example 8). A profoundly dissonant harmony over a pedal trill leads into a final statement of the main theme on full organ.

The second movement is an Andante in ternary form quite similar in structure to the slow movements found in early Beethoven piano sonatas. It opens with a chorale-like theme in the soprano, which is repeated immediately with more elaborate counterpoint. From there a cadence is evaded, and free material is introduced that destabilizes the key over a prolonged dominant pedal point and leads to the conclusion of the first section with a final statement of the first melody. The second section is in C minor with a darker chromatic quality (in this one might hear shades of Mahler). Another pedal point returns to E-flat major, and the main theme returns with a new obbligato flute-like solo line over it. Fährmann writes a fairly extended canon based on free material emerging from this solo and points the performer’s attention to it with a footnote. The final statement of the theme concludes with an increasingly chromatically inflected progression oscillating around several harmonies containing C-flat (Example 9). In the penultimate measure the music seems to land securely on a minor subdominant chord preparing the cadence, but only arrives at the desired E-flat by moving through a German sixth chord—again, one may hear a shade of Mahler in this closure.

The final Doppelfuge begins in the pedal, and the four voices enter from bottom to top until a fifth voice is added in the alto during a pedal point. The first subject begins unusually with a grace note followed by an ascending minor sixth, the inversion of the opening descending major third interval of the first movement. It is an idiosyncratic subject, full of chromaticism and strange leaps and changes of direction (Example 10). This is the type of fugue subject that Fährmann favored throughout his compositional career; one in which the subject dictates the harmonic and melodic content of the form, unlike the subjects chosen by Reger or even Karg-Elert, which, though often characteristic in their own right, are tonally open enough to be manipulated in numerous ways throughout the course of a movement. After a complete exposition of the theme, the subject is heard thrice through⁴⁸ in inversion before the conclusion of the first thematic area of the fugue. It is worth noting Fährmann’s incredible skill at writing imitative counterpoint, which interweaves with the fugal content, creating a dense polyphonic texture insistent on its horizontality.

The second subject is more obviously a quotation of the first movement, containing the initial four pitches of the main theme at its head (Example 11). The second countersubject is a chromatic scale, which leads to extremely chromatic counterpoint throughout the entire section. The second subject also contains more eighth-note motion, building momentum toward the fortissimo return of the first subject. The combination of these two is paired with a crescendo that arrives at the climax of the fugue, a restatement of the two subjects together now accompanied by rapid triplets­—here counterpoint dissolves into virtuosity. Another pedal point builds to a triumphant G major, with the second subject now appearing transformed. Though it is still accompanied by the chromatic countersubject, Fährmann has reconfigured it into a chain of secondary dominants that solidify the arrival of the major mode. The music goes through free, ecstatic progressions with characteristic Wagnerian harmonies into one final pedal point, which brings the music to its conclusion with a truly glorious restatement of the main theme of the first movement in G major, completing the cyclical construction of the sonata.

This work demonstrates many of the compositional elements that Fährmann would use throughout his career, and as such, makes an ideal starting point for any student delving into his oeuvre. Many of the issues of performance practice are similar to those found in other Romantic works of the same period: Brahms, Schumann, Reger, Franck (before Marcel Dupré’s influence on the interpretation thereof), and the like. This includes issues of rubato, large-scale tempo relationships (of flexible pulse throughout the course of a movement), legato touch, the use of agogics, etc.

What should be discussed here specifically regarding Fährmann is registrational practice. Most of Fährmann’s directions are communicated with dynamic markings alone, but the second movement has specific stops listed. These are a hint to understanding the work because they line perfectly with the specification of the Johanneskirche organ in 1891.⁴⁹ In the second movement, he switches colors between each phrase (similar to how one might perform English organ music of the same time), telling us that the change of color was for him a way of further increasing variance between sections—this could be applied to other slow movements of his. But this hint is helpful in another way; it makes it clear that this score was in some way a performance copy for himself. His instrument in 1891 would not have had a swell box, so we can safely conclude that the marked crescendi and diminuendi are not manipulations of the expression shoe but the addition and subtraction of ranks. This conclusion is bolstered by the fact that there are nearly none of the hairpin markings associated with subtle manipulation of the boxes.⁵⁰ This instrument almost surely did not have any playing aids, so the changes must have been executed by assistants.

The exposition of the first movement shows how Fährmann combines clever manual terracing with the implied manual addition of stops one-by-one over extended crescendi to nearly replicate the walze mechanism with which he would have been familiar. Nevertheless, given the specification of his instrument at the Johanneskirche at the time, it is hard to imagine that these dynamic changes were convincingly seamless. There is no reason for the modern performer to not embrace the full possibilities offered by combining the walze⁵¹ with the expression box and generate the orchestral ideal present in the score. The performer should always seek to create as seamless and orchestral a crescendo as possible, but in the German way—through the addition of one rank at a time, one dynamic step after another.⁵²

Notice that nowhere in this score does Fährmann call for the type of dramatic dynamic contrast that was so common down the road in Leipzig. Consider how this might influence interpretive decisions about tempo development across extended dynamic build ups and tear downs. The organ student might consider listening to famed Austro-Germanic conductors of the older tradition like Wilhelm Furtwängler or Willem Mengelberg or the player-roll recordings of Reger and Straube to develop a sense of how pulse relationships operate over the course of entire movements in this style.

Conclusion

The Hans Fährmann repertoire is a rich landscape just waiting to be explored. Even as pioneering organists are beginning to dig into this music, it is beautiful to think that it will take a generation or two for this music and the interpretation of it to become canonized and thus crystallized. Every student should spend time working on non-canonic music to better develop their interpretive sense and their ability to think outside of the box and radically reconsider the handed-down interpretations of beloved works. It is important, of course, to study non-canonic music about which one is passionate, but also to find complementary works in each era and national school that can contextualize and shed light on the familiar. Furthermore, the scholarly study of non-canonic works always provides an opportunity to reconstruct the history of the literature. As the “story” of organ music settles in, it is easy to lose sight of all the many non-organ influences playing out in parallel and interacting with the organ literature in favor of studying the chain linking one organ work to another. It is unusual that Fährmann, a composer so influenced by the orchestral composers around him, wrote primarily for the organ, while for many of the composers heard more frequently today, the organ made up only a fragment of their total output.

This music is perfect for any student interested in organ music and the late Romantic symphony. Fährmann’s sonatas offer these musicians a synthesis of organ and orchestral style in a repertoire that has been neglected. As modern-day organists explore the sound world of turn-of-the-century Dresden, may they become the advocates that eluded Fährmann during his lifetime.

Notes

1. J. Hennings, Hans Fährmann: Eine Studie von J. Hennings (Hamburg: Hermann Kampen, 1912), page 8.

2. Fährmann’s Wikipedia page claims that the first appearance of this comparison was by Otto Schmidt in the Dresdner Journal in 1905. Unfortunately, the citation is no more detailed than this, and without complete searchability of the paper it is difficult to find the issue of the daily containing this. Interestingly, Reissig relies on Böhm for the citation of this quote, and Böhm leaves it uncited. However, in Hennings’s 1912 study, he says that it is “often said,” assuring us that the comparison was not original to him.

3. Charles MacPherson, “Chorale-Preludes: Ancient and Modern,” Proceedings of the Musical Association 39th Sess. (1912–1913), page 166. https://www.jstor.org/stable/765497.

4. Hennings, page 4.

5. Christopher Anderson, Max Reger and Karl Straube: Perspectives on an Organ Performing Tradition (New York: Routledge, 2016), page 331.

6. Hans Böhm, “Hans Fährmann, Organist at St. John’s Church: Organ Virtuoso–Composer–Teacher,” in Die Dresdner Kirchenmusik im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, ed. Matthias Herrmann (Dresden: Laaber-Verlag, 1998), page 323.

7. Böhm, page 323.

8. Böhm, page 323.

9. Franciscus Nagler, Das Kligende Land: Musikalische Wanderungen und Wallfahrten in Sachsen (Leipzig: J. Bohn & Sohn Verlag, 1936), page 238.

10. Böhm, page 324.

11. Böhm, page 324.

12. Böhm, pages 324–325.

13. Richard Rost, “Hans Fährmann. Ein Dresdner Jubilar. Zu Seinem 70 Geburtstag,” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, Jg. 97 (1930), pages 1030–1032.

14. Rost, pages 1030–1032.

15. Rost, pages 1030–1032. Böhm writes that this move occurred in 1896, but this must be incorrect, as the move occurring in conjunction with his retirement is more logical.

16. Rost, pages 1030–1032.

17. Hennings, page 8.

18. Böhm, page 326.

19. Böhm, page 324.

20. Robert C. Mann, “The Development of Form in the German Organ Sonata from Mendelssohn to Rheinberger,” PhD diss. (University of North Texas, 1978), page 27.

21. Rudolph J. Kremer, “The Organ Sonata Since 1845,” unpublished doctoral dissertation (Washington University, Saint Louis, Missouri, 1963), page 7, quoted in Robert C. Mann, “The Development of Form in the German Organ Sonata from Mendelssohn to Rheinberger,” PhD diss. (University of North Texas, 1978), page 30.

22. Ibid.

23. A good example of this can be found in the main theme of the first movement of the Eighth Sonata. This can be found at the “Allegro risoluto.” The explosion of virtuosic writing in the sixth bar is juxtaposed with the harmonic and rhythmic stability of the first half of the theme, heard over a tonic pedal point. While it begins as a straightforward rising flourish, it takes on a turning shape marked by unusual intervals that give it a distinctive identity.

24. Even a quick comparison shows that Fährmann’s sonatas bear more resemblance in stylistic language and form to the Edward Elgar Organ Sonata, which is effectively an orchestral transcription, than to the chorale fantasies of Reger.

25. Richard Wagner, Parsifal, arr. Karl Klindworth (Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne, 1902), page 63.

26. Wagner, page 63.

27. Hans Fährmann, Organ Sonata Number 1 (Leipzig: J. Rieter-Biedermann, 1891), page 2.

28. Fährmann, Organ Sonata Number 1, page 3.

29. Hans Fährmann, Seventh Sonata for Organ (Leipzig: Otto Junne, 1904), page 10.

30. Hans Fährmann, Tenth Sonata for Organ (Leipzig: Rob. Forberg, 1913), page 20.

31. For instance, the Piano Quartet, opus 13, or the Violin Sonata, opus 18.

32. Gotthold Frotscher, Gesichte des Orgelspiels und der Orgelkomposition (Berlin: Verlag Merseburger, 1959), Band 2, pages 1211, 1246, 1255.

33. Richard Rost, “Hans Fährmann zu Seinem 75 Geburtstage,” in Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, Jg. 102 (1935): pages 1384–1385.

34. Hennings, page 8.

35. Hennings, page 8.

36. Jiri Kocourek, Hans Fährmanns Orgeln an der Johanniskirche Dresden, Eule Orgelbau, Bautzen, 2012, page 1.

37. Kocourek, page 1.

38. Joachim Winkler, “Die Johanneskirche,” in Verlorene Kirchen: Dresdens zerstörte Gotteshäuser. Eine Dokumentation seit 1938, ed. Stadt Dresden (Dresden: Stadt Dresden, 2018), page 27. http://www.dresden.de/media/pdf/denkmal/verlorene-kirchen-2018_web.pdf

39. Kocourek, page 5.

40. Kocourek, page 2.

41. Kocourek, pages 2–3.

42. Kocourek, page 3.

43. Kocourek, page 4.

44. Kocourek, page 3.

45. Kocourek, page 4.

46. Hennings, page 9.

47. Hennings, page 9.

48. The careful observer will note that the first appearance of the inverted subject in the soprano contains an E-flat where there should be a repeated D. It is impossible to know if this intentional, though the E-flat certainly enhances the harmonic drama of the following leap. I play it as printed.

49. The fact that the work clearly matches the Johanneskirche organ and that it was published in 1891 suggests that he may have written it in conjunction with his appointment to the church.

50. With one major exception—the conclusion of the slow movement. The hairpins here are surely included for instruments that do have expression, though they also serve plausibly as rubato markings in the absence of the mechanism.

51. Or the Sequencer set up with one stop added at a time.

52. As opposed to the English-American approach, involving careful addition of rank and manipulation of the swell boxes.

53. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 3.

54. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 8.

55. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 13.

56. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 14.

57. Fährmann, First Sonata, pages 15–16.

Bibliography

Anderson, Christopher. Max Reger and Karl Straube: Perspectives on an Organ Performing Tradition. New York: Routledge, 2013.

Böhm, Hans. “Hans Fährmann, Organist an der Johanneskirche: Orgelvirtuose—Komponist—Pädagoge.” In Die Dresdner Kirchenmusik im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, edited by Matthias Herrmann, pages 323–331. Dresden: Laaber-Verlag, 1998.

Fährmann, Hans. “Op. 24 6. Sonata für die Orgel; Op. 25. 7. Sonate für die Orgel.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, Jg. 71, 1904. Page 620.

Fährmann, Hans. “Op. 40, 6 Charakterstucke für Orgel; Op. 42 Fantasia e fuga tragica b moll für Orgel.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, Jg. 77, 1910. Page 176.

Fährmann, Hans. Organ Sonata No. 1. Leipzig: J. Rieter-Biedermann, 1891.

Fährmann, Hans. Organ Sonata No. 7. Leipzig: Otto Junne, 1904.

Fährmann, Hans. Organ Sonata No. 10. Leipzig: Rob. Forberg, 1913.

Frotscher, Gotthold. Geschichte des Orgelspiels und der Orgelkomposition. Berlin: Verlag Merseburger, 1982.

Garratt, James. “‘Ein gute Wehr und Waffen’: Apocalyptic and redemptive narratives in organ music from the Great War.” In Music and War in Europe: from French Revolution to WWI, edited by Étienne Jardin, pages 379–411. Turnhout: Brepols, 2016.

Hennings, J. Hans Fährmann: Eine Studie von J. Hennings. Hamburg: Hermann Kampen, 1912.

Koldau, Linda Maria. “Fährmann, Hans.” MGG Online, edited by Laurenz Lütteken. RILM, Bärenreiter, Metzler, 2016. Accessed November 11, 2023. https://www-mgg-online-com.ezproxy1.lib.asu.edu/mgg/stable/13649.

Kocourek, Jiri. “Hans Fährmanns Orgeln an der Johanniskirche Dresden.” Eule Orgelbau Bautzen, 2012.

Kremer, Rudolph J. “The Organ Sonata Since 1845,” unpublished PhD dissertation, Washington University, Saint Louis, Missouri, 1963. Quoted in Mann, Robert C. “The Development of Form in the German Organ Sonata from Mendelssohn to Rheinberger.” PhD diss., University of North Texas, 1978.

MacPherson, Charles. “Chorale-Preludes: Ancient and Modern.” Proceedings of the Musical Association 39th Sess. (1912–1913): pages 153–182. https://www.jstor.org/stable/765497.

Mann, Robert C. “The Development of Form in the German Organ Sonata from Mendelssohn to Rheinberger.” PhD diss., University of North Texas, 1978.

Nagler, Franciscus. Das Kligende Land: Musikalische Wanderungen und Wallfahrten in Sachsen. Leipzig: J. Bohn & Sohn Verlag, 1936.

“Organ Music.” The Musical Times vol. 38, no. 657 (November 1, 1897): page 744.

“Organ Music.” The Musical Times vol. 38, no. 658 (December 1, 1897): page 815.

Reissig, Stefan. “Zur Orgelmusik Hans Fährmanns.” In Orgelbewegung Und Spätromantik: Orgelmusik Zwischen Den Weltkriegen in Deutschland, Österreich Und Der Schweiz, edited by Birger Petersen and Michael Heinemann, pages 83–89. Studien Zur Orgelmusik. Sankt Augustin: J. Butz, 2016.

Rost, Richard. “Hans Fährmann. Ein Dresdner Jubilar. Zu Seinem 70 Geburtstag.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, Jg. 97, 1930. pages 1030–1032.

Rost, Richard. “Hans Fährmann zu Seinem 75 Geburtstage.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, Jg. 102, 1935. Pages 1384–1385.

Wagner, Richard. Parsifal, arr. Karl Klindworth. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne, 1902.

Winkler, Joachim. “Die Johanneskirche.” Verlorene Kirchen: Dresdens zerstörte Gotteshäuser: Eine Dokumentation seit 1938. Ed. Stadt Dresden. Dresden: Stadt Dresden, 2018. http://www.dresden.de/media/pdf/denkmal/verlorene-kirchen-2018_web.pdf

 

Sample YouTube recordings of Fährmann works:

Sonata No.1 in G minor, op. 5

Sonata No. 12 (War Sonata), op. 65

John Bishop

That ingenious business

Great Britain’s King George III (1738–1820), whose oppressive rule over the American colonies led to the American Revolutionary War, has resurfaced in public conversation as a character in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s brilliant musical, Hamilton. In the king’s featured song, “You’ll be back” (in the style of The Beatles), the crazy king addresses the colonists, singing,

Why so sad? Remember we made an arrangement when you went away? Now you’re making me mad. Remember, despite our estrangement, I’m your man. You’ll be back, soon you’ll see, you’ll remember you belong to me. . . . And when push comes to shove, I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love. . . .

Wendy and I were fortunate to see Hamilton in the first months of its run on Broadway and were thrilled by the whirling, swirling singing and dancing from the first moments. Sitting to my right was a curmudgeonly man who looked like Winston Churchill (though thankfully not as large) who did not crack a smile until King George made his mincing appearance.

The American pipe organ industry started in the eighteenth century before the birth of “Mad King George.” Johann Gottlob Klemm (1690–1762) was born in Dresden, Germany, where he apparently apprenticed with the great organ builder Gottfried Silbermann (1683–1753). Silbermann was nearly an exact contemporary of Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750), who was a great champion of Silbermann’s organs, though a little skeptical of the pianofortes Silbermann built late in his life. Klemm built the first organ for the church now known as Trinity Church Wall Street, New York (in a previous building at the same location), and lived in New York City’s Moravian community until 1757, when he learned that the Moravians in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, needed an organ.¹

David Tannenberg (1728–1804) was born in Germany, moved to Zeist, the Netherlands, in 1748, and emigrated to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, in 1749. He first worked as a joiner, and when Klemm arrived in Bethlehem in 1757, he became Klemm’s apprentice and assistant. After Klemm’s death in 1762 Tannenberg did no organ work for three years, but between 1765 and his death in 1804 he was involved in building more than forty organs.² As he grew older and became concerned that he had no apprentice who could carry on his work, Tannenberg obtained permission from the Moravian elders in Lititz, Pennsylvania, to write to elders in Herrnhut, Germany, asking them to send a suitable candidate. In response, Johann Philip Bachmann (1762–1837) arrived in Bethlehem on February 17, 1793. Two months later he married Tannenberg’s daughter, Anna Maria. Tannenberg and Bachmann worked together building organs until 1800 when tensions between them following Anna Maria’s suicide in 1799 led to their parting ways.³ While installing the organ in the Lutheran church in York, Pennsylvania, seventy-six-year-old David Tannenberg fell from a scaffolding on May 17, 1804, and died two days later.⁴

While most of David Tannenberg’s organs were built in Pennsylvania, he also built instruments for destinations in Albany, New York; Frederick, Maryland; and Salem, North Carolina. It is almost 500 miles from Bethlehem to Salem. I can drive that far in less than seven hours in air-conditioned comfort. It must have been a rough slog to transport an organ such a distance on eighteenth-century roads. There are only a few Tannenberg organs extant, notably the 1798 “Single Brothers’ House” organ restored by Taylor & Boody and installed in a new concert hall at the Museum of Early Southern and Decorative Arts in Old Salem, North Carolina.

Philip Bachmann built organs under his own name until 1821. An organ built by Bachmann in 1819 has been restored by Paul Fritts & Company in Tacoma, Washington, and is now available for installation in a suitable historic and architectural home. You can read the prospectus and see photos at the Fritts website: frittsorgan.com/opus_pages/galleries/bachmann_reconstruct/bachmann_prospectus.html.

Consider these dates. Klemm’s career in America started in the late 1730s—his organ at Trinity Church Wall Street was built in 1741, nine years before Bach’s death. Tannenberg’s career was in full swing in the 1770s, concurrent with the American Revolutionary War. Bachmann died in 1837 when Felix Mendelssohn was twenty-eight and Johannes Brahms was four years old. Klemm, Tannenberg, and Bachmann were all German-born American immigrants who built dozens of organs for the Moravian communities in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and North Carolina during America’s Colonial period. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart lived from 1756 to 1791; he was twenty years old at the start of the American Revolution.

Three important books

Orpha Ochse (born 1925) received a Master of Music degree from the Eastman School of Music in 1948 and a PhD in 1953. She is ninety-eight years old. The University of Indiana Press published her masterful The History of the Organ in the United States in 1975. The worn and be-scribbled hardcover copy on my desk in Maine is inscribed with my name and “Oberlin, 1975.” I purchased it from the Co-op Bookstore in Oberlin the year it was published. I was nineteen.

Ochse’s book includes the histories of hundreds of American organbuilders, both companies and individuals. She traces the connections between personalities telling us who worked and apprenticed for whom, who influenced whom, and who formed and dissolved partnerships. The book is organized by regions and eras (“Rural Society,” “Expanding Society,” “Industrial Society,” “the Twentieth Century”). The comprehensive index includes thousands of entries making it a necessary first tool for someone like me who spends each day in the office considering and discussing dozens of organs. Many of the biographical details I am including here came straight from Ochse’s book.

The History of the Organ in the United States was released in paperback in 1988 and is still available from the University of Indiana Press, Barnes & Noble, and other retailers. If there is an organist in your life who does not own a copy, here is a great gift suggestion. Tell them I sent you.

Organbuilder Raymond Brunner (1949–2020) lived and worked around Lititz and Lancaster, Pennsylvania, home of many organs built by David Tannenberg and the other Moravian-Pennsylvania Dutch organbuilders. He wrote the authoritative history of that era of American organbuilding under the title That Ingenious Business, published by the Pennsylvania German Society in 1991. It includes technical and mathematical information of interest to the sophisticated organbuilder and portrayal of daily life at the end of the eighteenth century, such as a drawing of a Sunday morning at Christ Lutheran Church in York, Pennsylvania, with main floor and balcony packed with worshippers, the Tannenberg organ, a preacher gesticulating from the pulpit, and an usher with a stick chasing a dog. ’Twas ever thus. I last saw Ray at breakfast in New York during early planning for the restoration of the organ at Old Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. I am sorry he did not live to see it.

Stephen L. Pinel’s The Work-list of Henry Erben, Organ Builder in Nineteenth-Century New York was published by the OHS Press, the Organ Historical Society, in 2021. It is a 624-page monster with appendices and indices that include many historical photographs, timelines, and detailed descriptions of most every Erben organ, alongside contemporary descriptions, reviews, often accompanied by newspaper articles. Its six pounds of minutia about one of America’s most influential organbuilders means that it is not a book for everyone, but a carefully researched, exhaustive tome of immense value.

An urban Erben

Henry Erben (1800–1884) was a premier organbuilder in New York City who built hundreds of organs for locations in New York, New England, and as far away as Texas and California. Imagine the logistics of moving an organ from New York to San Francisco in 1858. Calvary Church (Presbyterian) in San Francisco was formed in 1854 and commissioned an organ from Erben shortly after. The organ was completed in 1858 and loaded onto the clipper ship Caroline Tucker, which left New York on May 13, 1858, and carried the organ around Cape Horn “west about” to San Francisco.⁵

Erben’s father Peter (1771–1863) built organs and pianos and was organist at Trinity Church, New York (known now as Trinity Church Wall Street), into the 1840s. Thomas Hall (1791–c.1875) was an organbuilder who started working in Philadelphia around 1812. In that same year he installed an organ in Saint John’s Chapel in New York and was assisted by twelve-year-old Henry Erben. Hall moved to New York in 1817, and Henry became his apprentice. They formed the partnership Hall & Erben in 1821, which was dissolved in 1835.⁶ Between 1824 and his death in 1884, Henry Erben produced 1,333 organs, 250 of which were built between 1856 and 1860, the firm’s busiest five years.⁷ That’s more than an organ a week. In 1846 Erben built a new four-manual organ for Trinity Church Wall Street (replaced by Hook & Hastings Opus 2168 in 1907), where he quarreled publicly with the church’s organist, Dr. Edward Hodges, who had succeeded his father.

The Erben workshop was located on a corner of Canal and Centre Streets in lower Manhattan, in the neighborhood now known as Little Italy, one mile from Trinity Church. Erben’s largest intact extant organ was built in 1868 for what is now the Basilica of Saint Patrick’s Old Cathedral at Prince and Mulberry Streets in NoLIta (north of Little Italy), just six blocks north of the workshop. As I write, the Organ Clearing House is completing the dismantling of the organ at Old Saint Patrick’s and shipping it to Brunner & Company in Pennsylvania for restoration. I was in the city last week as the project started and walked between those two churches. It was fun to imagine running into Mr. Erben as he walked the streets between his workshop and two of his important clients. Maybe I would treat him to a fruit smoothie, ubiquitous in the neighborhood today. I wonder what would amaze him most about modern organbuilding? Perhaps electric blowers?

Another Erben afloat

In 2006 the Organ Clearing House sent an Erben organ halfway around the world when the Order of Saint Lazarus of Jerusalem in Wellington, New Zealand, purchased a one-manual, six-rank organ built in 1847 from Saint Dunstan’s Episcopal Church, Ellsworth, Maine. The Clearing House crew crated the organ and delivered it to the docks in Elizabeth, New Jersey, where it was loaded into a container for its 9,000-mile journey.

The organ’s specifications are 8′ Open Diapason (18–56), 8′ Stopped Diapason (18–56), 8′ Stopped Diapason Bass (1–17), 8′ Dulciana (18–56), 4′ Principal, 4′ Flute, and 2′ Fifteenth. There is a permanent coupler from the manual to the seventeen-note pedalboard.

That was the second time that organ traveled by boat. Ellsworth is a small coastal town with a population of about 8,400 located to the northeast of Penobscot Bay in a series of bays and waterways that defines Down East Maine. In the late 1840s there were about 4,000 people living in Ellsworth, and the town boasted nine sawmills, two gristmills, one tannery, eight brickyards, and thirteen shipbuilders, along with several other industries.⁸ There was plenty of work in Ellsworth. To drive there today, one winds along US Route 1, which crosses many bridges over water as it navigates Maine’s legendary rocky coast. It would have been an arduous trip by land in 1847, and traveling by sea was the most efficient and economical way to transport passengers and freight.

The Erben workshop was less than a mile from the docks in New York City, and the Episcopal church in Ellsworth is barely a block from the Union River. The Ellsworth organ traveled only slightly farther by land than the great organs at Old Saint Patrick’s and Trinity Church in New York, mere blocks from the workshop.

§

One of the highlights of visiting an organbuilder’s workshop is the fine woodworking that is such an integral part of the product. Hardwood frame-and-panel doors are as integral to a modern organ case as they were in centuries past, and many internal components sport dovetails and other classic joinery. We identify what variety of wood is being used by the smell in the milling room. There is no mistaking the difference in smell between sawing poplar or white oak.⁹

The same is true with boat building. Several of the coastal Maine towns with shipbuilding heritages are now home to small shops that build wooden pleasure boats by hand, and while organbuilders typically strive for perfectly square corners and straight lines, you hardly find any in a wooden boat. The bow comes to a point, midships swells to the maximum “beam” (width) and tapers back to a narrower stern. The hull often bulbs out a little from the top rails and tapers to a narrow keel below. Viewed from the side, the fairing line of the hull sweeps upward toward the bow. Every line and surface is a complex curve, which means the interior spaces are also full of curves and odd angles.

To start building a boat, the layout of the hull is drawn on the workshop floor looking something like a topographical map with increasing curved lines showing elevation. The keel is placed, and ribs are constructed according to the curves of the hull. The completed keel and ribs look something like a whale’s skeleton turned upside down. The outside of the hull is formed by “planking,” steaming and bending the planks, also called strakes, and fastening them to the ribs. The process reminds me of my years as an apprentice to John Leek in Oberlin, Ohio, when we steamed boards until they were flexible and clamped them to a frame to form the bentside of a harpsichord. We had built a box just big enough to enclose the piece of lumber with a goofy rig using tea kettles on hot plates to produce the steam and the flexible tubing we use in organs to conduct the steam to the box. It was one thing to fire up that cute contraption and handle a piping hot board six feet long, one foot wide, and three-quarters of an inch thick. It is quite another to steam and bend a twenty-footer that is two inches thick and bend that around the ribs of a boat.

I witnessed this process on a large scale at the Mystic Seaport Museum in Mystic, Connecticut, where the 110-foot whaling ship Charles W. Morgan was being restored in the museum’s shipyard. Watching the workers fastening those massive thick boards to the ribs with wood pegs and bronze spikes was a glimpse back into the time when all ships were made of wood and no ships had engines.

Our boat, a Marshall catboat, had a reliable diesel engine in a spacious hold below the deck that I was happy to use when approaching a dock or mooring. I remember once watching a single-handed sailor leave a crowded mooring field in a large two-masted schooner under full sail. He let go of the mooring line, walked some forty feet back to the wheel, and away he went, weaving through the fleet as if he was rowing a skiff, harking back to the days when diesel engines were not an option, so seamen had to have real skill. Shortly after we bought our boat, I wrote an essay for Catboat Journal about the adventures Wendy and I had sailing her from the boatyard in Padanaram, Massachusetts (near New Bedford), to our house on the Damariscotta River in Maine, 250 miles in six days and five nights. I received an email from a fellow in California who would be teaching a course on handling catboats at the Wooden Boat School in Brooklin, Maine, not far from Ellsworth, saying if we happened to be near Brooklin he’d love to have us address the class. We “happened” to be near Brooklin at the stated date because we arranged our summer around it and had a week-long cruise that took us there.

He invited another catboat sailor to share stories with the class, a veteran single-hander who sailed an older version of the same model boat. The important difference was his boat didn’t have an engine. Fogged in, sit and read. Bad weather coming, sit and read. Need to get ashore for emergency or otherwise, but no wind? Sit and read. We were having dinner at a pub after the class, chatting about our boats, and I told Bill how much I admired his career of sailing single-handed without an engine. His response, “Where do you keep the wine?”

 

Notes

1. Orpha Ochse, The History of the Organ in the United States (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1975), page 15.

2. Ibid, page 52.

3. Ibid, page 62.

4. Ibid, page 53.

5. Stephen L. Pinel, The Work-list of Henry Erben, Organ Builder in Nineteenth-Century New York (Villanova, Pennsylvania: OHS Press, the Organ Historical Society, 2021), page 165.

6. Ochse, page 151.

7. Pinel, page 18.

8. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellsworth,_Maine.

9. The smell of sawing ivory or cow bone reminds me of the worst day at the dentist.

Michael McNeil

Michael McNeil has designed, constructed, voiced, and researched pipe organs since 1973. Stimulating work as a research engineer in magnetic recording paid the bills. He is working on his Opus 5, which explores how an understanding of the human sensitivity to the changes in sound can be used to increase emotional impact. Opus 5 includes double expression, a controllable wind dynamic, chorus phase shifting, and meantone. Stay tuned.

Many of the organ compositions of Dieterich Buxtehude (c. 1637–1707) and Nicolaus Bruhns (1665–1697) contain bass accidentals that are not playable on the short-octave manual and pedal basses of the late-seventeenth-century organs of Lübeck. The bass octave of Buxtehude’s organs contained just eight notes—C, D, E, F, G, A, A-sharp, and B—a consequence of meantone tuning. It is impossible to imagine that these wonderful and dramatic compositions were not played in some manner on those organs, but that is the extraordinary claim of at least one modern researcher.¹

A solution to this problem might lie in its history. The original scores of the organ works of Buxtehude and Bruhns were written in tablature, an older form of notation that looks nothing like modern notation. Figure 1 shows an example of tablature and modern notation for the same composition. And here is the key point: none of the tablature originals have survived. All extant versions in tablature are copies, and copies often contain errors. Our modern scores are transcriptions from tablature to modern notation. Transcriptions may contain errors, not the least of which is that the intended octave in tablature is often ambiguous.^{2, 3, 4} Figure 2 shows an example of a tablature copy of Bruhns’s Praeludium in E Minor (the smaller of the two E minor praeludia).

What might have motivated eighteenth- and nineteenth-century musicians to modify the original tablature manuscripts to be unplayable on the organs for which they were composed? The musicians who later copied or transcribed the originals were familiar with later organs that had full-compass basses, or perhaps only a missing low C-sharp. We should also note that the later shift toward equal temperament eliminated the intense gravity of meantone’s pure major thirds, whose resultants sound a full two octaves lower in pitch. The disappearance of this gravity may have influenced the desire to shift tenor accidentals and the phrases in which they were embedded to the bass octave. The ambiguity of the intended octave in tablature may have also provided the rationalization to do so. Equal temperament’s loss of gravity was a strong motivation for eighteenth-century organ builders to include deeper and very costly pitches in their stoplists.⁵

Meantone, unlike equal temperament, has intense key color. Modern-received wisdom relates that the strong dissonances in meantone were avoided in practice; history teaches us otherwise. Dom Bédos argued that meantone was more musical than equal temperament because it presented the composer with useful tensions between the purity of its eight major thirds and the dissonance of its four Pythagorean thirds. Bédos was explicitly referring to quarter-comma meantone.⁶ Restoring bass accidentals to the tenor heightens their dissonance (beat rates will double), setting up tension for later resolution with meantone’s pure thirds.

The short bass octave is an essential feature of the great meantone organs of Lübeck on which the compositions of Buxtehude and Bruhns were most logically composed and played. The short octave with its four missing accidentals has an unusual key order:

         D     E     A#

C  F     G     A     B

This indicates the use of an original form of meantone, i.e., quarter-syntonic comma, not the later and much less colorful versions like Gottfried Silbermann’s fifth-comma meantone. Dissonances were used to good effect, but dissonances in quarter-comma meantone also supported the elimination of accidental bass pipes, saving space in their layouts and considerable cost. Later versions of meantone in the eighteenth century reduced both the dissonances and the purity of meantone; this supported the use of more accidentals in the bass of new organs, often omitting only the C-sharp in a normal order of the bass keys:

           D#          F#      G#     A#

C     D     E   F       G        A       B

We know that the organ compositions of Buxtehude and Bruhns were composed when the large organs of Lübeck had short bass octaves, and there is evidence that those organs were not retuned from their original meantone in Buxtehude’s time.⁷ This suggests that the presence of any bass accidentals other than A-sharp in the organ works of Buxtehude and Bruhns very likely denotes deliberate changes in modern transcriptions to accommodate later organs with more complete bass octaves and much less colorful temperaments.

We will never know if any of our reconstructions are faithful to the originals—they are all lost. But we can use our knowledge of meantone’s inherent dissonant tension and majestic purity to aim for a reconstruction that heightens the emotional impact of these compositions. This is completely in character with the stylus phantasticus, a term coined for the freely composed organ works of Buxtehude and Bruhns—works that speak to modern ears with emotional intensity and dramatic rhythms. These works perfectly express the unique sound of a pipe organ’s principal chorus and thundering pedal bass. And unlike modern compositions, these works feature the musicality and gravity of seventeenth-century meantone.

I am an organbuilder, not a musician skilled in composition. I built my Opus 5 for, among other things, the purpose of showcasing the effect of quarter-comma meantone on the works of Buxtehude and Bruhns, only to discover that many of the modern scores are deeply flawed. Finding no one willing to address this problem, I have evaluated and restored the following scores:

Dieterich Buxtehude: Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 137, restored; Toccata in D Minor, BuxWV 155, restored; Toccata in F Major, BuxWV 157, no issues; Ciaccona in E Minor, BuxWV 160, no issues; Fuga in C Major, BuxWV 174, no issues;

Nicolaus Bruhns: Praeludium in E Minor (“Little”), restored.

At the end of this article you will find my suggested corrections, all of which are in the pedal, noting the editions I used. If a reader objects that others are much more qualified to make these corrections, I could not agree with you more, and I wholeheartedly welcome those with more skill to propose solutions that are playable on historically correct, short-octave organs.

We can debate how much of a phrase containing bass accidentals needs to be moved to the tenor. We can debate whether the bass accidentals are themselves errors that represent different notes. But if we accept that Buxtehude and Bruhns created their compositions on the organs of their time, we must also accept that the accidentals C-sharp, D-sharp, F-sharp, and G-sharp in the bass octaves of modern scores are not faithful to the original compositions.

Claiming that these compositions were not meant to be played on the large and grand late-seventeenth-century organs of Lübeck is analogous to saying that the Scherer family and Friedrich Stellwagen made and maintained beautiful organs with wonderful sounds, but those short-octave organs were not meant to be played—they were just exercises in thought.

Notes

1. Ibo Ortgies, Die Praxis der Orgelstimmung in Norddeutschland im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert und ihr Verhältnis zur zeitgenössischen Musik, Göteborgs universitet, 2007, page 2, Abstract: “An analysis of payments to bellows pumpers as recorded in church account books shows that the organs of St. Marien, Lübeck, were not retuned during the tenures of Franz Tunder and Dieterich Buxtehude. Thus, some of their organ works could not have been played on the organs available to them during their lifetimes.” [translated by John Brombaugh]

2. organscore.com/buxtehude-complete-organ-works, accessed June 2022. “Editing Buxtehude’s organ work is a delicate task because we do not have access to any holographic source of these works. The available manuscripts are all copies by eighteenth- and nineteenth-century organists, mostly written in modern notation system—the originals were probably in German organ tablature—and contain transcription errors such as missing notes, confused voices, incorrect note heights or accidentals, and poorly placed bars. In places where the music is obviously corrupted and no complementary source is available, the editor must reconstruct the music by guessing at the original idea. Because of this, no modern edition can claim to be the genuine composer’s text.”
3. en.opera-scores.com/O/Dieterich+Buxtehude/Herr%2C+ich+lasse+dich+nicht%2C+BuxWV+36.html, accessed June 2022. “Copies made by various composers are the only extant sources for the organ works: chorale settings are mostly transmitted in copies by Johann Gottfried Walther, while Gottfried Lindemann’s and others’ copies concentrate on free works. Johann Christoph Bach’s manuscript is particularly important, as it includes the three known ostinato works and the famous Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 
137. Although Buxtehude himself most probably wrote in organ tablature, the majority of the copies are in standard staff notation.

“The nineteen organ praeludia form the core of Buxtehude’s work and are ultimately considered his most important contributions to the music literature of the seventeenth century. They are sectional compositions that alternate between free improvisation and strict counterpoint. They are usually either fugues or pieces written in fugal manner; all make heavy use of pedal and are idiomatic to the organ. These preludes, together with pieces by Nicolaus Bruhns, represent the highest point in the evolution of the north German organ prelude and the so-called stylus phantasticus. They were undoubtedly among the influences on J. S. 
Bach, whose organ preludes, toccatas, and fugues frequently employ similar techniques.

“Occasionally the introduction will engage in parallel thirds, sixths, etc. For example, BuxWV 149 begins with a single voice, proceeds to parallel counterpoint for nine bars, and then segues into the kind of texture described above. . . . [Note the reference to writing in parallel thirds and sixths. This works extremely well with meantone’s pure thirds. All of equal temperament’s major thirds are very, and equally, dissonant.]

“Buxtehude’s other pieces that employ free writing or sectional structure include works titled toccata, praeambulum, etc. A well-known piece is BuxWV 146, in the rare key of F-sharp minor; it is believed that this prelude was written by Buxtehude especially for himself and his organ, and that he had his own way of tuning the instrument to allow for the tonality rarely used because of meantone temperament.” [The key of F-sharp minor in Pietro Aron’s quarter-comma meantone, with the wolf placed on the interval G-sharp to D-sharp, is very useful; its minor third is much less dissonant than an equal temperament minor third. Furthermore, the minor third beats at exactly twice the rate of the fifth. This is a sonorous key in meantone. (See the beat rate chart on page 131 in The Sound of Pipe Organs, Michael McNeil, 2012.) As there were no pedal F-sharp bass keys on Buxtehude’s organs, this note would have been played in the tenor.]

4. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Organ_tablature, accessed June 2022. “. . . The feature of organ tablature that distinguishes it from modern musical notation is the absence of staves, noteheads, and key signatures. Pitches are denoted by letter names written in script, durations by flags (much like modern notation), although in early notations durations were shown using mensural indications, and octave displacement by octave lines drawn above a letter. There was some variation in the notation of accidentals, but sometimes sharps were specified by the addition of a loop to the end of the letter. B-natural and B-flat were represented by h and b respectively. Naturals are not indicated, as accidentals do not carry through the entire measure as in modern notation. Key signatures are not specified; they are implied by the indicated sharps.

“. . . Repertoire originally written in tablature has been translated into modern notation. However, this translation carries a risk of error. In German script an A and an E can become confused, as can an F and a G. Likewise, an octave line over a series of notes can begin or end ambiguously. Different solutions are given by different editors, and this is one manifestation of the improvisatory tradition of organ performance of the period.”

5. Michael McNeil, “The elusive and sonorous meantone of Dom Bédos,” The Diapason, September 2020, pages 14–17.

6. John Brombaugh analyzed Bédos’s tables of meantone intervals, and McNeil found the result was virtually identical to Pietro Aron’s equal-beating quarter-syntonic-comma meantone (see Owen Jorgensen, Tuning the Historical Temperaments by Ear, Northern Michigan University Press, 1977, pages 173–177).

7. Ibo Ortgies. See quotation in Note 1.

 

 

Restorations for performance on meantone organs with short bass octaves, C, D, E, F, G, A, A-sharp, and B

All examples are in the bass clef in the pedal.

 

Edition Peters 4855, Nicolaus Bruhns, 1968

Nr. 3, Praeludium und Fuge e-moll (“Little”), pages 20–24. See Examples 1 and 2.

Edition Renaud Vergnet, D. Buxtehude, Volume 1, 2018

Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 137, pages 5–7. See Examples 3 through 16.

 

Edition Renaud Vergnet, D. Buxtehude, Volume 2, 2018

Toccata in D Minor, BuxWV 155, pages 2–5. See Examples 17 
through 19.

Olena Matselyukh

Olena Matselyukh is an organ performer for the Lviv Organ and Chamber Music Hall, as well as a soloist of the Lviv and Rivne Philharmonic orchestras. She has concertized throughout Ukraine, as well as continental Europe. In 2017 Olena Matselyukh opened the Bach Festival in Brno, Czech Republic, and Wrocław, Poland. In Poland, she has performed at several other festivals, including “Music in Old Kraków.” Matseliukh has recorded CDs—Benedictus and Amazing Grace—as well as recordings of the works of composer Bohdan Kotyuk—Reflections and Mood and Spirits—and the compact disc Syrinx with Ihor Matselyukh on the pan flute.

Matselyukh is trained as a musician and a scientist, and her research in the domain of the organ is regularly published in Ukrainian and foreign journals. As a doctoral student of the oldest university in the Czech Republic, Moravian Palacký University in Olomouc, she has researched her doctoral dissertation on “The Sacred and profane in the organ creativity of the composers of Ukraine and the Czech Republic.”

Olena Matselyukh was artistic director of the VI. and VII. International Festivals of Organ Music “Diapazon,” which took place in the Lviv Organ and Chamber Music Hall in October 2016 and July 2017. For the Lviv Philharmonic, she is the founder and director of the international summer festival “Pizzicato e cantabile” and the international festival “Music in Old Lviv.” She is the producer and co-organizer of the international festivals of organ music in Rivne and Chernivtsi—“Musica viva Organum 2018.”

The origin of the organ and organbuilding in Lviv, Ukraine

Christianity played a fundamental role in the formation and development of Ukrainian society. The existence of an organ in Ukraine is noted on a fresco in Saint Sophia’s Church, founded in 1037 by Prince Yaroslav the Wise.¹ In western Ukraine, the organ and instrumental music played a major role in the church.

In 1240, Kyiv was destroyed during the Tatar-Mongol invasion, and the grandson of Yaroslav the Wise, Prince Roman, united the Halychyna and Volyn principalities into a new unified state, which became Kyivan Rus. Thus, western Ukraine became a center of the cultivation of Christian artistic and musical traditions. The son of Roman, Danylo Halytskyi, founded the city of Lviv, which he named after his son Lev. In Dorogychin (Polissya Volyn), Prince Danylo received the royal crown, which was subsequently inherited by Leo.

Historians associate the introduction of the organ to Lviv with the reign of King Lev and his wife, Hungarian Princess Constance. Queen Constance invited monks of the Dominican order to Lviv, and the Dominicans brought an organ to the city.

The first mention of Lviv organist Peter Engelbrecht is found in the archives of the Latin Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in 1405. The organ tablature of Lviv musician Luke (d. 1532), dated 1530, is the oldest example of organ music notation in Eastern Europe. The tablature is now kept in an archive in Warsaw, Poland. Leszek Mazepa, a researcher of Lviv music history, lists the names of twenty-two musicians from the fifteenth to the first half of the sixteenth centuries, pointing out that in Lviv at that time organists were also virginalists, harpsichordists, and musicians playing all manner of keyboard instruments, including the regal and positive organs.²

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, court organists Bartholomew Cavinsky, Jakob Leydens, and the brothers Stanislav and Jan Kindlarsky were also organbuilders. They created instruments not only for Lviv and the Lviv Kingdom, but also exported them abroad.

According to researcher Jerzy Golos, Mykhailo Sadkovskyi built a new organ for the Dominican Church of Corpus Christi in Lviv between 1765 and 1766. This is one of the most prominent names in Lviv organbuilding of the eighteenth century.³

Lviv organ builders of the nineteenth century

The leading Lviv organbuilder of the nineteenth century was Jakub Kramkovsky (18th century–ca. 1840). He built the three most prominent organs of the era for Lviv, found in the Franciscan Church (25 stops, 1806), the Dominican Church (26 stops, 1808), and the Bernardine Church (33 stops, 1812).

Roman Dukhenskyi (ca. 1800–ca. 1870) started a career as an organbuilder in Warsaw and Krakow, and by the 1830s he had already built organs for the Jesuit monks in Stanislav and Lviv. Among the most interesting instruments he built was a two-manual organ for the Carmelite Church.

The Church of Saint Mary Magdalene was founded in Lviv in 1615. It was built on Holy George Mountain outside Renaissance Lviv and was regularly strengthened, rebuilt, and expanded as a defensive stronghold. While it is known that the church housed organs, no information about the first organs has survived.

Today this Baroque edifice functions in a twofold manner: as a Catholic church and as an organ hall. Lviv organist Antony Clement (ca. 1837–ca. 1897) built an organ in 1863 in the old village of Vovkiv (14 miles from Lviv), which was moved to St. Mary Magdalene Church in 1930. Subsequently, this organ was moved to the Catholic church of the town of Bohorodchany. In its place in 1936, the firm Rieger Kloss installed its Opus 3375, which remains the largest in Ukraine.

Among the Lviv organbuilders who worked at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were Romuald Bochensky, Jan Grocholsky, Tomasz Fall, and Bartholomew Zemiansky. All of them were professionally trained in either Leipzig, Vienna, or Kraków.

There is also a close connection between Lviv and Czech organbuilders, as evidenced not only by the organ of Saint Mary Magdalene Cathedral, built in the Moravian Krsno, but also by the presence of students of the most prominent Lviv organbuilder, Jan Sliwinsky—in particular, Rudolf Haase and Franciszek Gajda, who came from the Czech Republic.

Among the Lviv organbuilders is the family of Zebrovsky,⁴ with the last generation represented by the brothers Aleksandr and Kazymyr. Notable instruments include the organ of the Bernardine Church (33 stops, 1898), which was destroyed in the 1960s by Communists, though the façade still serves as a decoration of the church interior.

Among Kazymyr’s notable work is the organ of the Armenian Catholic Church, as well as an instrument in the Dominican church. With the advent of the Communist regime after the Second World War, this organ was destroyed. The pipes and the façade were saved thanks to the efforts of young enthusiasts. Now they decorate the concert hall of Stanislav Liudkevych, home to the Lviv Philharmonic.

Jan Sliwinsky (1844–1903) and his organ factory in Lviv

Little reliable information about Jan Sliwinsky’s early years has survived.⁵ He was born in the town of Pistyn in Pokuttia and at the age of nineteen went to Warsaw and participated in the January uprising of 1863. It is likely that the repercussions that befell the perpetrators of the anti-Russian uprising forced the young man to flee Warsaw. At first Sliwinsky headed to Vienna and then moved to France, returning to his homeland thirteen years later. From advertisements that he later published for the sale of organs, one can make a fairly integral picture of the life of the most prominent Lviv organbuilder.

From his earliest years as a child, his sphere of interests included organ construction. In his printed catalog, he wrote, “My love and enthusiasm for the organ arose at a very early age. From my youth I tried to learn as much as possible about the structure and function of the organ. I constantly felt the need to acquire knowledge in this profession.” Elsewhere in the same catalog, the master recalled his woodworking and joinery training.

Such a way to approach building organs was quite natural for a beginner. Woodworkers and joiners have long been highly valued for their skills in construction of musical instruments. After finishing an elementary education in his homeland (most likely in Lviv), young Sliwinsky went abroad, which meant leaving Halychyna. From documents describing the participants of regional organ exhibitions, one can infer that natives from Halychyna who worked outside their homeland participated in the exhibition process on an equal footing with the local masters of organbuilding. Most often, these were Halychyna natives who worked in France or in Vienna.

There is no information as to where Jan Sliwinsky continued his studies, but there is evidence that he worked for Aristide Cavaillé-Coll for several years. Between 1872 and 1876, Sliwinsky worked at Le Vigan (in the department Gard), where he independently built a twelve-stop organ for the Church of Saint Pierre.

The acquired experience allowed him to become a manager of one of the offices of the Cavaillé-Coll firm outside Paris for a few years. After his marriage, Vincent Cavaillé-Coll, Aristide’s brother, left the leadership of the office of the company in the city of Nîmes in the south of France, and Jan Sliwinsky was subsequently appointed manager.

Most likely, Jan Sliwinsky’s business in France was not successful, because in a year and a half, his branch sold only two organs. Jan Sliwinsky thus returned to Halychyna and started his own business in Lviv.

From its inception, Jan Sliwinsky’s firm was popular both in Lviv and throughout Halychyna. Some of the first organs he built for Lviv were located at Saint Mary Snizhna and Saint Kasimir Under the High Castle. Another important work for the firm was the radical restructuring of the organ in the Garrison Church of Saints Peter and Paul in the center of Lviv, which was under the leadership of Jesuit priests. In his price lists, Sliwinsky identified the following: four-stop organs were sold at 650 zloty, and large ones—up to thirty stops and three-manuals—for 12,000 zloty. Each instrument was custom designed and built. The acoustics of the church in which it was to be installed were studied as well.

Organ factories were highly successful around this time. Whether Roman Duchensky’s firm was still functioning is unknown, but the firms of Romuald Bohensky and Antony Clement, which worked simultaneously with the factory of Jan Sliwinsky, never achieved any such scope nor such publicity in their activities.

Around 1888, Jan Sliwinsky bought a house at Copernicus St., 16 to serve his growing business. It was rebuilt for the new owner by one of the most famous Ukrainian architects of Lviv, Ivan Levinskyi (1851–1919).

Organs built by Sliwinsky were installed relatively far afield: from Leipzig to Tbilisi, from Chisineu to Vilnius. But, of course, the vast majority of orders came from regional Halychyna parishes. In 1900, for the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Stanislav (now Ivano-Frankivsk), a two-manual and pedal, twenty-four-register instrument was installed.

Among Jan Sliwinsky’s seventy-four organs built for installation in Eastern Halychyna, only two instruments function today: one is in the Latin Roman Catholic cathedral in Lviv, and the other is in the city parish church in Sambir. Together with the ones in Western Halychyna, where the instruments were much better preserved (particularly in Krakow, Tarnow, Rzeszów, and Zamość), Jan Sliwinsky built more than 110 organs.

In the 1890s, this organbuilder also started selling pianos, with plans to eventually manufacture his own. The realization of this plan was thwarted by an accident he suffered in 1903. While tuning an organ he fell from the scaffolding and never recovered. He died in pain and was buried in the Lychakiv cemetery (field 51) in Lviv.

Jan Sliwinsky’s organs were notable for their quality construction. Selected varieties of wood were chosen that naturally dried well. The winding mechanism of the instruments was simple and reliable, and each register received copious air. For his large organs, the master used pneumatic machines similar to the Barker system, which allowed the easy coupling of manuals and registers with each other.

In his catalog, Jan Sliwinsky wrote: “The mathematical dimension of each pipe (the organ labial tube) has been brought to such perfection that it is possible to get the desired tone at once. This is my secret, which I learned during years of long studies.”

Music education in Lviv

With the arrival of the first organs in Lviv came the issue of how to train organists to play them. Again the initiative to teach organ performance was undertaken by the Dominican Fathers. In 1495, in the town of Belz, 62 miles north of Lviv, was founded a school for organists. As early as the beginning of the sixteenth century, the students of this school worked as organists in Lviv churches.⁶ Leszek Mazepa, who has carefully studied the documents of available archival collections, states: “At the end of the sixteenth century, the best music program was found at the chapel of the Dominican Church, where in the years 1587–1595 several organists and several trumpeters worked simultaneously, and from 1623 there was also a church choir.”⁷ A new Lviv school for organists was founded in 1841 by Franciszek Bemm. The instruction was expected to last two years, and the school was designed to house fifteen to twenty students.

The Halychyna Society of Saint Cecilia, founded by Franz Xavier Mozart, brought about a change in the music school system in Lviv. The youngest of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s sons, he dedicated twenty-eight years of his life to the musical culture of Lviv. The Society of Saint Cecilia supported professional activities of Lviv musicians and created an organization of mutual aid for organists,⁸ initially led by Father Leonard Soletsky. These two societies became the initiators of the founding of the Halychyna Conservatory.

The Golden Age of organ art in Lviv

Lviv was the only Ukranian city that could boast of organ art and organbuilding at a rather high level in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Fifty different organs sounded daily in Lviv churches. Lviv factories and individual workshops were busy building organs not only for Halychyna, but also for sacred edifices in various European cities. Along with the daily use of organs at Mass in Lviv churches, organ concerts were frequently presented. There were concerts by international artists in the Catholic churches of Saint Elizabeth and Saint Mary Magdalene. Saint Elizabeth’s organ was larger, though Saint Mary Magdalene had excellent acoustics and housed a more technically advanced instrument.

Organ music in Lviv is inseparable from the Catholic liturgy. At the end of the eighteenth century Lviv’s Protestants began to encourage use of the organ, and in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the Evangelical church, located at the beginning of Zelena Street, began to host organ recitals. At the same time, Lviv composers who created music for the organ began to skillfully combine deep spirituality with secular elements in their compositions.

Formation of the Lviv Organ School

As organbuilding in Lviv began to flourish in the middle of the eighteenth century, Lviv organs were sufficiently sophisticated to satisfy the performing needs of organ literature as well as improvisation. The best-known composers of the Lviv Organ School were educated in European capitals, primarily in Vienna, Prague, and Paris. The influence of French composition is particularly noticeable in the creative work of Mieczysław Sołtys and Tadeusz Mahl. One can also note the influences of post-classical Viennese masters and the German Leipzig school. In addition, there are influences from Warsaw and Kraków.

Piano technique of the nineteenth century provided a significant foundation for the curriculum of the modern Lviv Organ School and its representatives in particular. Notable is the role of piano virtuoso Karol Mikula, and later, composer, pianist, and teacher Tadeusz Majerski. Lviv organist and composer Andriy Nikodemovych as well as pianist and organist Samuel Daych started their performance careers as pianists.

The creativity of Lviv composers who wrote music for the organ during the second half of the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth centuries is less known to the general public. Unfortunately, it is still weakly promoted in Ukraine, and this problem still continues for modern Ukrainian organ composers.

Mieczysław Sołtys (1863–1929)

Mieczysław Sołtys played a special role in Lviv’s music milieu. He was born and died in Lviv, although his years as a mature professional musician and composer were connected with Vienna and Paris.^{4, 9} Sołtys was a composer, conductor, pianist, organist, teacher, and publicist. He began his music career at the Conservatory of the Halychyna Music Society, where his mentor was the founder and director of the Society and the Conservatory, virtuoso pianist, composer, conductor Karol Mikuli (1819–1897).

According to Halychyna tradition, Sołtys simultaneously received another education, studying at the Faculty of Philosophy of the Jan Kazimierz Lviv University. Beginning in 1887, he studied music composition at Vienna Conservatory (Das Konservatorium der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Wien) and later at the Paris Conservatory, where he mastered organ and counterpoint with Eugène Gigout and composition with Camille Saint-Saëns.

After his completion of studies, Sołtys returned to Lviv in 1891 and became professor at the Conservatory of the Halychyna Music Society. He taught musical forms and conducting, as well as piano and organ. At the same time, his reputation as a music critic and publicist grew. Sołtys became the editor of several Lviv periodicals, such as Artistic News, Our Art, People’s Diary, and Lviv Courier.¹⁰

The formation of public opinion in the musical sphere of Lviv in the early twentieth century was based on the unsurpassed authority of Professor Sołtys. He was not only a notable composer and organist, but also a researcher of organ art. One of his most famous essays was the article, “The New Organ in the Bernardine Church.”

Tadeusz Majerski (1888–1963)

Another teacher, composer, and pianist who associated with Lviv was Tadeusz Majerski. A Lviv native, he studied philosophy at the university, and at the Lviv conservatory (1905–1911) studied piano and composition under Ludomir Różycki (1883–1953). In 1920 at the Conservatory of the Halychyna Music Society, Tadeusz Majerski was named a professor of piano. In 1927 he founded the Lviv Trio, with which he toured Europe, and he acted as a critic and publicist in the Lviv press. In the 1930s, Majerski was one of the first avant-garde composers to use dodecaphonic technique.

In 1931 Majerski founded a society of music and opera admirers in Lviv, and in 1939, with the arrival of the Soviets, he became one of the first professors of the Lviv State Conservatory. Majerski is referred to by Andriy Nikodemovych, who recalls: “When I was studying composition, I was assigned to the piano class of Professor Tadeusz Majerski. Getting to know this great personality and musician was a turning point for me. Piano classes with him helped me cure my injured arm, and I started playing again. A few years later, I finished my piano course and, thanks to my professor, started to perform as a pianist.”¹¹

Majerski did not betray Lviv even in the Soviet era when communist ideologists accused him of formalism, for which he was persecuted and subjected to political repression.¹² Majerski concentrated his compositions on purely instrumental, non-programmatic music. Along with avant-garde features in some of these works, folkloric inspirations are also found. Among Majerski’s compositions are Four Works for Organ, recorded on compact disc by Valery Korostelyov of Lviv in 2007.

Tadeusz Mahl (1922, Lviv–2003, Kraków)

Organist and composer Tadeusz Mahl combined the sacred and profane in a flexible and convincing way. Mahl lived in Lviv from birth until 1946, but he never stopped loving the city of his youth throughout his life. Here his aesthetic views and his maturity as a composer were formed. In Lviv, he wrote his first works, among which the oratorio Stabat Mater (1945) stands out. His love for Lviv was evident throughout his life, so much so that he dedicated his symphonic poem My City (1991) to Lviv, and his Sixth Symphony (1997) was in a sense inspired by Lviv. Evaluating the role and significance of Tadeusz Mahl’s creativity, Polish scholars refer to him as a representative of the group of Lviv-Kraków composers.¹³

Mahl’s works for organ solo and ensemble with organ occupy the most prominent place in his compositional output. Undoubtedly, the impetus of the formation of Mahl as an organist and composer was studying at the Lviv Music School (in particular under Adam Sołtys), as well as his time as organist at Saint Elizabeth’s Church in Lviv.

At the end of the Second World War, Mahl moved first to Szczecin and then to Kraków. French musical culture exerted a decisive influence on Mahl’s compositional style. At the end of the 1950s, as a scholarship grantee, he left for Paris. But he faced a choice: either follow the fashion of the avant-garde (which then prevailed in Poland) or seek his own way.¹⁴ Mahl’s choice did not fall on the rejection of traditions through a radical renewal of musical language, but on a renewed comprehension of post-Romanticism in organ sound. In his Parisian studies he focused on César Franck, Camille Saint-Saëns, Charles-Marie Widor, Louis Vierne, Gabriel Fauré, and, of course, Johann Sebastian Bach.

Among the creative corpus of Mahl’s works are six symphonies, four symphonic poems, and nine concertos for various instruments with orchestra. This includes Concerto No. 6 for organ and two orchestras—a big band and a string orchestra. Nevertheless, his seven organ concertos, twenty-two works for organ solo, and a Requiem for mezzo-soprano, baritone, mixed choir, and organ (1981) stand out among Mahl’s output.¹⁵

The creative life of Tadeusz Mahl can be divided into three periods:

1. The neoclassical period (1940s–1950s), including his first Concerto for Organ and Symphony Orchestra (1950). This work, according to Bronisław Rutkowski, is a vivid example of how difficult it is to combine a multi-timbral organ palette with orchestral sound. Only in tutti sections are these self-sufficient antipodes found in a common language. Therefore, the critic even suggests titling this work Sinfonia Concertante;¹⁵

2. The sonoristic period (1960s–1970s), in which Mahl refers to various musical instruments in the genre of concert, but again the organ holds a central place. Among his works of this period is a triple concerto for two pianos and organ (1971);

3. The postmodernist period (after 1975), in which Mahl gives preference to religious motives or to the elements of Podhale folklore. During most of this period, he composed for organ alone. In these works, one can detect a maneuvering between profane essence and sacred spirituality.

According to researchers, Mahl’s creativity in organ composition takes its roots in improvisation.¹³ “His concertos are marked by an unconstrained narrative, contrasts between quick passages and meno mosso, which are most often associated with ritardandi and accelerandi, the contrast of sequences of toccata-like or fast sequences, recitative ad libitum, and cadenza constructions”—a professional characteristic of the formal and structural layout of this composer’s language given by the researcher of organ music R. Koval.¹⁵

The creativity of Mahl occupies a very special place in contemporary music and is important not only for Ukrainian and Polish cultures. Critical notes of Tadeusz Mahl, as well as his publications on the development of organ art, have been published in Lviv and Kraków. This is mentioned in the publication Society of supporters of Lviv and the south-eastern lands. The latest information on this subject was published in Kraków in 1995.¹⁶

Andriy Nikodemowych (January 2, 1925, Lviv–January 28, 2017, Lublin, Poland)

Ukrainian-Polish composer, teacher, pianist, and organist Andriy Nikodemovych was a leading creator of religious music among Eastern European contemporary composers.^{17, 18} He was born in Lviv, where he lived, worked, and composed until 1980. His compositional output includes choral, orchestral, and chamber music, as well as works for organ and various ensembles. He composed nearly forty spiritual cantatas.

Andriy Nikodemovych spent half of his creative life in a country that led a ruthless and irreconcilable struggle against religion. He counted Lviv architect and professor of the Polytechnic Institute Marian Nikodemovych (1890–1952) as a relative. Prior to the Second World War, Nikodemovych studied piano and organ and was organist at the Carmelite sisters’ chapel from 1939 to 1940. From 1943 to 1947 he simultaneously studied chemistry at Lviv University and music subjects under the guidance of leading Lviv musicians—composition with Adam Sołtys and piano with Tadeusz Majerski. From 1947 to 1950, Nikodemovich was organist at the Church of Saint Mary Magdalene, and from 1951 to 1973 he taught composition, music theory, and piano at the Lviv Conservatory.

The first recognition of his compositional talent came in 1961, when he was awarded the third prize at the All-Union Composers’ Competition in Moscow. In the 1970s Nikodemovych was noted as one the most prominent composers according to UNESCO. However, having refused to renounce his religious beliefs, he was dismissed from his work at the conservatory in 1973 by Communist authorities and deprived of any livelihood, and the composer’s entire output was banned.

During the next seven years he earned his living giving private lessons. He moved to Lublin, Poland,¹⁶ and taught at University of Maria Curie-Skłodowska and at Lublin Catholic University (KUL). His creative achievements were acknowledged by the Award of Saint Brother Albert (1981), President of the City of Lublin (1999), the Polish Composers’ Union, and the Minister of Culture and National Heritage (both in 2000). In 2008, Andrzej Nikodemowicz [Polish spelling] became an honorary citizen of Lublin.

Eventually, the independent Ukrainian State fully rehabilitated the name and work of this Lviv citizen. In 2003, the Lviv Music Academy gave Nikodemovych the title Professor honoris causa. His works are once more heard in the concert halls of Lviv and other cities of Ukraine. He returned to Lviv several times to participate in concerts. In April 2016, the fourth festival of classical music “Andrzej Nikodemowicz – czas i dźwięk” (“Andriy Nikodemovych – Time and Sound”) was held in Lublin.¹⁸ His religious works were performed for five evenings. The festival opened with his cantata for alto solo and small orchestra Słysz, Boże, wołanie moje (Hear, my God, my appeal). Sacred music remained an integral feature of his creativity until the end of his life.

Organ music by Bohdan Kotyuk

Bohdan Kotyuk (b. 1951) is a versatile and creative sacred music composer.^{19, 20} Kotyuk started writing music as a schoolboy, and his first mentor was a friend of his parents, Andriy Nikodemovych. At the Lviv Conservatory, he studied with Stanislav Lyudkevych (form, analysis, and folk art), Roman Simovich (instrumental study and instrumentation), Anatoly Kos-Anatolsky (polyphony and dramatic opera), Stephania Pavlyshyn (music history and musical-theoretical systems), and Desideriy Zador (composition).

For Kotyuk, spiritual music and sacred themes occupy a significant and prominent place, conditioned by family traditions and family members. Among the influential people in his life are Archbishop Samuel Cyryl Stefanowicz (1755–1858); doctor of philosophy, historian, ethnographer, and one of the founders of the Prosvita Society in Lviv, Julian Tselevych (1843–1892); Father Ivan Huhlevych; religious scholar, historian, doctor of philosophy, professor Hryhoriy Yarema; and the grandmother and teacher of Kotyuk, opera singer Olha Huhlevychivna-Yarema.

From Kotyuk’s first attempts at composing, spirituality and religious rites formed an inseparable integrity. He has written a variety of vocal and instrumental compositions, among which is the church cantata Chiesa, as well as spiritual songs and psalm settings. In the last decade he has turned to organ compositions for use in the church.

However, his spiritual works are not interpreted by the composer in a ritual-religious sense, but rather as a musical embodiment of the ideology of a biblical text. The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung has noted, “Spiritual music of Ukrainian composer Bohdan Kotyuk is a new word in the contemporary interpretation of the role of music in the church.”²⁰

In many cases, Kotyuk supplies brief essays to explain his concepts to his audience. This approach is followed in his collection of music pieces for wind and string instruments, Aulos and Kithara, as well as in his concert pieces, Monaco, Drive, Pit-Stop, and DJ. The composer has added his comments to his symphonic poems for organ, Sanctus, Bethlehem (with narrator or children’s choir), and Lauda nostra, as well as to organ works, Benedictus, Jericho – Fanfare, Adagietto “Tet-a-Tet,” Alleluia Prayers, and the epitaph, Way to Heaven.

The organ works by Bohdan Kotyuk can be divided into five groups:

1. The first group consists of purely sacred music, corresponding to the requirements of religious rituals. These works, though performed in concert, can be quite legitimately incorporated into liturgy. These include Sanctus, Benedictus, Alleluia (or “Praise to the Lord”), Laudatis (or “You are Lord of Honor”), and Ave Maria for pan flute and organ;

2. The second group is programmatic religious music: Jericho – Fanfare and the symphonic poem for solo organ Bethlehem; as well as works for soloists and ensemble accompanied by organ, Queen of the Angels, Christmas Carols for Joseph, Rejoice, Jordan, and Behold the Heart. To the same group can also be conditionally attributed the work for pan flute and organ, Mysteries of Dionysus;

3. The third group consists of works that, though deprived of a specific program, call forth certain associative allusions. First of all there is a collection for organ pedals Step by Step, which consists of four pieces: “The Step of the Faraoh,” “Canzona di Venezia,” “Sema –
The Dance of the Sufi-Dervish,” and “The Slalom – Zugspitze.” To this third group might also belong Adagietto “Tet-a-tet” for organ and celesta (ad libitum), as well as the trio for the pan flute, harp, and organ, Eolian Harp;

4. His concerto for organ Dona nobis pacem is in a classification of its own. The work is in three parts, which is rooted in the composer’s thoughts and feelings on the aggression and war in the East of Ukraine. These are contemporary philosophical reflections about the eternal theme of war and peace;

5. His transcriptions for organ include fragments from Richard Wagner’s operas published as a separate collection; W. A. Mozart’s operatic arias for soprano and organ; and Carnival of Animals by Camille Saint-Saëns for organ solo.

Kotyuk’s traditional Missa solemnis consists of six parts. Mentioned above, Sanctus and Benedictus, respectively, constitute the fourth and fifth parts of the Mass. Kotyuk interprets these texts as an impulse to the formation of independent organ compositions. Therefore, in concert performance Sanctus and Benedictus are stand-alone compositions.

Benedictus is lyric and at the same time an elevation of the “Song of Gratitude” the Prophet Zechariah sang at the birth of his son, Saint John the Baptist. Kotyuk’s Benedictus is a psalm of gratitude composed for the organ.

Bohdan Kotyuk’s Sanctus for organ is not just the words taken from Isaiah 6:3: “Holy Lord God of Sabaoth, the whole earth is full of your glory!” This is the viewpoint of a person in the twenty-first century for whom “the holiness and glory of the Lord” penetrate both the spaces of the universe and the elementary particles of the nucleus of the atom. They are also in the secret depths of human consciousness and subconsciousness. According to its emotional charge and deep essence, Kotyuk’s Sanctus is very similar to the poem “Deus Magnificus” from the collection by Bohdan-Ihor Antonych, Great Harmony (1932).

Laudatis (or “The Praised One”) for solo organ is a hymn in which the composer first of all addresses the Creator. Lauda Nostra (or “Our Song of Praise”) is a symphonic poem for solo organ, a majestic composition in which the author skillfully combines the principles of symphonic development with purely organ-related techniques.

In his creativity the composer provides historical and religious content through music. Kotyuk’s attention is attracted to those historic places that have an important bearing on the history of Christianity. Among the different themes are distinguished two: the first one is connected with the Old Testament and the city of Jericho, which became the final destination of the Israeli people led by Moses to the Promised Land. And the second one is the city of Bethlehem, in which the Savior, Jesus Christ, came into the world.

Jericho is the oldest city in the world and has been continuously populated for eleven thousand years. In the Bible, this city is referred to as a symbol of majestic achievements. In these events, fanfares on the ritual Jewish shofar played a special role. By means of the loud fanfares of Joshua, the commander crumbled the impenetrable walls of the city of Jericho, the first fortification on the West Bank of the Jordan River in the Promised Land, to which Moses brought his people (Joshua 6:1–27).

The fall of the walls of Jericho has symbolic significance. The composer seeks to draw a parallel between Biblical history and the symbolism of the influence of music (in particular, organ fanfares) on the destruction of stereotypes and misunderstandings between people with the help of sacred music.

In the New Testament, Jericho is the symbol of “all the kingdoms of the world and their glory” (Matthew 4:8). The Holy Spirit led Jesus after his baptism in the Jordan River through the desert to Mount Qarantal, overlooking Jericho. In one of the caves of this rock in solitude, praying and reflectioning on his mission on earth, Jesus spent forty days fasting and standing against the temptations of the devil. Mount Karantal (Mons Quarantana in Latin, Quaranta meaning forty) is also called the Mount of Temptation (Luke 4:12). Kotyuk’s Jericho –
Fanfare is a sonic attempt to convey the greatness of spirit and man’s faith in the triumph of the Lord’s intentions through the organ.

Kotyuk composed a symphonic poem for organ entitled Bethlehem (with narratator or children’s choir). Bethlehem was the royal seat of King David. It was from this royal family that came Joseph, the spouse of the Virgin Mary and guardian of Jesus in his youth. After the accession of Judea to Syria, the emperor Octavian Augustus (63 BC–14 AD) ordered the governor of Rome in Judea Quirinium to carry out a census. This took place in the Holy Land just at the time when Jesus was born. The path of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem became a journey that was conditioned by the regulations of the census. God’s great love of mankind manifested itself in the birth of his Son, Jesus, and the long-awaited message about the Savior: “Today, in the city of David, the Savior, who is Christ the Lord, was born to you” (Luke 2:11).

The impressive symbolism lies in the name of the city of Bethlehem: ית‭ ‬לחם [Beth-lehem] is a “bread house” in Hebrew; بيت لحم [Beit-Lahm] is a “house of meat” in Arabic. The difficult path through the Jewish desert to Bethlehem, the lack of accommodation for the pregnant Mary, and the birth of the Savior in the manger, the rise of the leading star in the sky, showing the way for the shepherds to the newborn Son and the Three Magi—this dramatic biblical history was drawn by Kotyuk into the program of Bethlehem.

The work has distinct dramatic sections. The texture of the first fast section with the highlighted tonal foundation that should be associated with the Arabic east is an image of a desert, but the composer also puts into this image a deep philosophical content. This is not only the desert symbolizing the compulsory wanderings of the Holy Family, but also a desert that overwhelms human souls in their inability and reluctance to give an adequate assessment of their own sinfulness. It was to reveal the essence of people’s sin that the Lord sent his Son among people for the sake of enlightenment and for the redemption of their sins. And these sins Christ took upon himself through his crucifixion.

The second image, contrasting with the melismatic briskness of the desert image, is the pompous grandeur of the cities and temples built by the hands of the people. The symbolism of this image in the symphonic poem is in excessive haughtiness and inaccessibility for the common man of Jerusalem’s strongholds, which the Holy Family was passing by, and the closed doors of Bethlehem’s buildings, which failed to open before the mother of the future Savior.

The vivid contrast in Bethlehem is the episode of the birth of the Savior. The optimistic nature of this episode is the bright hope of mankind for the possibility of salvation. However, anxiety and doubt overwhelm this composition; the desert continues to be the devouring trap from which it is so difficult for mankind to break through for millennia. The deep sacral content of Bethlehem is a kind of philosophical credo of Kotyuk, a composer for whom the Spirit, spirituality, and high moral values form a single whole.

All of the above-mentioned works have been written by Bohdan Kotyuk during the last ten years in his creative collaboration with organist Olena Matselyukh. They constitute part of her repertoire and are performed at organ concerts at the Lviv Hall of Organ and Chamber Music, in the Lviv Regional Philharmonic, and when she tours Ukraine and abroad. They are also performed at the concerts of touring organists from different countries of the world.

§

The names and achievements of composers and organists of the Lviv Organ School should rightly occupy a worthy place not only in Ukrainian musicology, but also in the history of world music and culture. This is especially true of the depth of sacredness and its interpretation in the conditions of modern innovative technologies and textual multi-interpretations.

Modern Ukrainian organ art has only recently begun to regain its rightful status. Ukrainian musicology still lacks specialists in religious ritualism, which provides an insight into the world of the sacred. It is this factor of sacredness that greatly inspires composers’ music for the organ. Such professional knowledge would allow many contemporary Ukrainian composers to better understand the boundaries of the sacred and profane in organ music. Using these important categories in the analysis of organ music must become an integral part of the apparatus of the musicologist-researcher.

Notes

1. Kiev History website: https://web.archive.org/web/20071109205908/http://oldkyiv.org.ua/data/s….

2. Mazepa, Leszek. “Muzycy i muzykalia w miejskich księgach kasowych Lwowskiego Magistratu w XV–XVII wiekach, Musica Antiqua IX, Vol. 1. Acta Musicologica, Bydgoszcz, 1991.

3. Gołos, Jerzy. “Polskie organy i muzyka organowa, Instytut wydawniczy “PAX,” Warszawa, 1972, p. 512.

4. Babnis, Maciej. Kultura organowa Galicji, Słupsk: Akademia Pomorska, 2012, p. 674.

5. Мацелюх О. Ян Сливінський і його фабрика органів у Львові // Українська музика. Щоквартальник. – Число 2 (24). – 2017. – С. 59 – 67.

6. Мазепа Л. З. Шлях до музичної Академії у Львові [у 2 т.] / Л. З. Мазепа, Т.Л. Мазепа. – Львів : СПОЛОМ, 2003. – Т. 1. – 288 с.

7. Mazepa, L. “Szkolnictwo muzyczne we Lwowie (XV-XX w.), Lwów–miasto, społeczeństwo, kultura, Kraków, Poland, 1996.

8. Mazepa, Leszek. “Życie muzyczne Lwowa od końca XVIII st. do uyworzenia Towarzystwa Św. Cecylii w 1826 r.,” Musica Galiciana. Tom V. / Red. Leszek Mazepa. – W-wo WSP, Rzeszów, 2000, pp. 97–118.

9. Blaszczyk, L. Zycie muzyczne Lwowa w XIX wieku / Leon Blaszczyk // Przeglad Wschodni, Warszawa, 1991, p. 197.

10. Sowiński, Wojciech. “Słownik muzyków polskich dawnych i nowoczesnych,” Paryż, Drukarnia E. Martinet, 1874, Biblioteka Śląska, Katowice, Poland, p. 436.

11. Nikodemowicz, A. “Tadeusz Majerski,” Ruch Muzyczny, 1964, nr. 23.

12. Nikodemowicz, A. “Zapomniany kompozytor lwowski,” Ruch Muzyczny, 1989, nr. 12.

13. Kostrzewa, Krzysztof. “Grupa kompozytorów Lwowsko-Krakowskich: T. Machl, K. Moszumańska-Nazar, B. Schaeffer,” Musica Galiciana. «Музика Галичини». Tom VI. Наукові збірки ЛДМА ім. М. Лисенка. Випуск 5. – Львів, 2001. – С. 141–147.

14. Rutkowski, B. “Koncerty na organy i wielką orkiestrę symfoniczną Tadeusza Machla, Muzyka, 1952, nr. 1–2.

15. Kowal, R. “Koncerty organowe i twórczość organowa Tadeusza Machla,” Krakowska szkoła kompozytorska 1888–1988, Red. T. Malecka, Kraków, Poland, 1992. «Zeszyt Naukowy Pol. Instytutu Muz.» V, Łódź, 2003, p. 76.

16. Machl, T. “Towarzystwo Miłośników Lwowa і Kresów Południowo-Wschodnich, oddział w Krakowie,” Informacje nr. 23., Kraków, Poland, 1995, p. 14.

17. Kosińska, Małgorzata. “Andrzej Nikodemowicz: Życie i twórczość,” Polskie Centrum Informacji Muzycznej, Związek Kompozytorów Polskich, 2006, http://culture.pl/pl/tworca/andrzej-nikodemowicz.

18. Bojarski, Jerzy Jacek. “Andrzej Nikodemowicz: profesor znany i nieznany,” MOL czyli Miejskie Okienko Literackie, 2002, www.niecodziennik.mbp.lublin.pl/images/stories/archiwum/niecodziennik_0….

19. Баран Т. Інструменталізм Богдана Котюка у світлі тріади «композитор–виконавець–слухач»//Студії мистецтвознавчі.–Ч. 6 (10): Театр. Музика. Кіно.–К., 2005.–С. 27–32.

20. Гулянич Ю. Композитор Богдан Котюк. Грані творчої особистості. – Львів, Афіша, 2008. – 159 с.

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10. Kostrzewa, Krzysztof. “Grupa kompozytorów Lwowsko-Krakowskich: T. Machl, K. Moszumańska-Nazar, B. Schaeffer,” Musica Galiciana. «Музика Галичини». Tom VI. Наукові збірки ЛДМА ім. М. Лисенка. Випуск 5. – Львів, 2001. – С. 141–147.

11. Kowal, R. “Koncerty organowe i twórczość organowa Tadeusza Machla,” Krakowska szkoła kompozytorska 1888–1988, Red. T. Malecka, Kraków, Poland, 1992. «Zeszyt Naukowy Pol. Instytutu Muz.» V, Łódź, 2003, p. 76.

12. Kosińska, Małgorzata. “Andrzej Nikodemowicz: Życie i twórczość,” Polskie Centrum Informacji Muzycznej, Związek Kompozytorów Polskich, 2006, http://culture.pl/pl/tworca/andrzej-nikodemowicz.

13. Mazepa, Leszek. “Muzycy i muzykalia w miejskich księgach kasowych Lwowskiego Magistratu w XV–XVII wiekach, Musica Antiqua IX, Vol. 1. Acta Musicologica, Bydgoszcz, 1991.

14. Mazepa, L. “Szkolnictwo muzyczne we Lwowie (XV-XX w.), Lwów–miasto, społeczeństwo, kultura, Kraków, Poland, 1996.

15. Mazepa, Leszek. “Życie muzyczne Lwowa od końca XVIII st. do uyworzenia Towarzystwa Św. Cecylii w 1826 r.,” Musica Galiciana. Tom V. / Red. Leszek Mazepa. – W-wo WSP, Rzeszów, 2000, pp. 97–118.

16. Machl, T. “Towarzystwo Miłośników Lwowa і Kresów Południowo-Wschodnich, oddział w Krakowie,” Informacje nr. 23., Kraków, Poland, 1995, p. 14.

17. Nikodemowicz, A. “Zapomniany kompozytor lwowski,” Ruch Muzyczny, 1989, nr. 12.

18. Nikodemowicz, A. “Tadeusz Majerski,” Ruch Muzyczny, 1964, nr. 23.

19. Rutkowski, B. “Koncerty na organy i wielką orkiestrę symfoniczną Tadeusza Machla, Muzyka, 1952, nr. 1–2.

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Photo: Cathedral of Saint Mary Magdalene, Lviv, Rieger Kloss Opus 3375