Celebrating Hugo Distler: 100 Year Anniversary of the Birth of a Genius

Larry Palmer’s first article for The Diapason in November 1962 was “Hugo Distler: 20 Years Later.” Appointed Harpsichord Editor in 1969, he continues to write, record, play, and teach: since 1970 as Professor of Harpsichord and Organ in the Meadows School of the Arts, Southern Methodist University, Dallas.

Entartete—“degenerate”—was a derogatory term used in Nazi Germany to characterize art works deemed to be “un-German” or “impure.” The word itself originated as a biological term to describe a plant or animal that has changed so much that it no longer belongs to its species.
In 1937 a large exhibition of entartete paintings and graphic arts was mounted in Munich, birthplace of the National Socialist movement. Works by Max Beckmann, Marc Chagall, Wassily Kandinsky, Paul Klee, Max Ernst, Oskar Kokoschka, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Emil Nolde and many others were displayed to show the degradation of modern art by artists unacceptable to the regime: Nazi-denounced “Jews, Bolsheviks, persons of color, and perverts.”
As contrast, directly across the plaza, there was another exhibition, many of its pieces chosen by Adolph Hitler himself. This show demonstrated “true German art”—realistic representations of heroic blond Aryan figures by the Führer’s favorite sculptor Arno Breker, and his “court painter” Adolf Ziegler.
That music, too, could be degenerate was a concept put forward as justification for denying performances of works by such contemporary masters as Arnold Schoenberg, Paul Hindemith, and Kurt Weill. For the most part, the creators of these works were forced to flee Hitler’s oppressive totalitarian regime or face incarceration in concentration camps. To find a score by Distler among those deemed modernist and unfit for German ears seems unimaginable to present-day auditors, but such a travesty did occur.
During October of that same year, 1937, a week-long Festival of German Church Music took place in Berlin. Among a plethora of new music, several of Hugo Distler’s compositions were heard. In addition to the choral and organ music that had secured his reputation as one of the most talented composers of his generation, Distler’s secular magnum opus, the Concerto for Harpsichord and Strings, opus 14, was given a prominent place in a Sunday concert at the Philharmonic Concert Hall, with the composer’s Lübeck colleague, Marien-organist Walter Kraft, as soloist. The conductor was none other than Dr. Peter Raabe, president of the Nazi music regulatory board (the Reichsmusikkammer), so one might have expected that the official press would use only superlatives to praise the concert.
Not so! Here is an excerpt from one of the more scathing reviews:

. . . there was the general aggravation of Hugo Distler’s Concerto for Harpsichord, an “in-your-face” example of degenerate art. The delicate domestic harpsichord was utilized in an unnatural way—like a piano. At the Finale the young composer seemed to be driven by the devil! This motoric noisy music chattered endlessly on . . . Listeners could only laugh. Perhaps it would have been better had they whistled and pondered the biblical quotation: He mocked only himself . . .1

An earlier description of the Concerto’s 1936 premiere in Hamburg, read:

Stuttering rhythms, fractured mood and brutal background sounds fulfill the intellectual aspect of the formal side . . . only to a very limited extent. It appears to be difficult for some people to break loose from the idolatry of an outgrown, stereotypical [Kurt] Weill era. Distler must—in our opinion—change a great deal at the human level in order to properly exploit his considerable abilities.2

Distler’s music degenerate, brutal, diabolic? Possibly, perhaps, to ears deafened by militaristic brass bands or the loud general cacophony of the government propaganda, but otherwise, unlikely.
How did church composer Hugo Distler come to write a major composition for harpsichord, a far from ubiquitous keyboard instrument in the 1930s? As Wanda Landowska remarked (about J. S. Bach), to understand the greatness of a master composer, one needs to place it in the context of music by his contemporaries.
Urged by Leipzig professor Hermann Grabner to base his composition studies on music of the past, specifically that of the Baroque, and influenced further by his organ teacher, Günther Ramin, one of Germany’s pioneering harpsichordists during the 1920s,3 Distler was evidently drawn to the instrument. In addition to Ramin’s public performances, there was new music for harpsichord being created during Distler’s student days. In 1927 Carl Orff (who was to become a household name ten years later with his wildly successful choral/orchestral work Carmina Burana) composed a Kleines Konzert nach Lautensätzen for winds, harpsichord, and percussion. Based on lute pieces by Vincentio (Vincenzo) Galilei and Jean-Baptiste Besard, the work is a 13-minute precursor to a similar work by Francis Poulenc, the Suite Française (1935), also based on Renaissance dance music (by Claude Gervaise), and scored for the same instrumental forces.
Forced by economic necessity to leave the conservatory course before completing his degree, Distler auditioned for and won the position of organist at the Jakobikirche in the north German city of Lübeck, a position he assumed on January 1, 1931. There he began a brilliant career as composer of choral and organ music, with the smaller of the church’s two baroque instruments as his special muse and guide.4 Somehow, despite a meager salary, Distler managed to acquire a two-manual Neupert concert harpsichord in November of that same year5 and used it on November 29 for the first performance of his Kleine Adventsmusik, opus 4.6 Through the succeeding years of his tenure at St. Jakobi, Distler frequently employed his harpsichord for a series of vesper concerts, as well as for chamber music in other Lübeck venues.
Distler actually began writing an extended harpsichord concerto during the early 1930s, a fact that went unnoticed until I discovered fair-copy segments of it in a trunk of musical manuscripts recently found and sent from Lübeck, then stored beneath the guest bed at Frau Distler’s post-war home in Bavaria.7 The physical remnants of this work explained a seeming time discrepancy in his letter to Hermann Grabner (dated 17 April 1931): “Work on my harpsichord concerto, which would have soon been finished, was unfortunately interrupted by another task [a Luther Cantata for a Lübeck Reformation Festival] . . .”
In another communication dated 17 August, this one to Gerhard Schwarz, the young composer wrote, “I have also completed a Concerto for Harpsichord and Eleven Solo Instruments that I have given to Professor Ramin to look over; so far as I can tell, he would like to perform it this winter, perhaps even in Berlin. In addition, Frau Mann-Weiss wants to do it in Hamburg for the New Music series, also this winter.”8
However, it was more than additional commissions that prevented the first performance, expected in March of 1933. The presumptive dedicatee and soloist of the Chamber Concerto for Harpsichord and Eleven Solo Instruments, Günther Ramin, did not like the score as it was presented to him, and asked for extensive revisions. In a letter to his fiancée, Waltraut Thienhaus, Distler expressed anger at his former teacher’s request. The work, missing many pages by the time of its rediscovery in 1968, was not performed until 1998. Although it is now available in a performing edition by Michael Töpel, I find it a flawed and unpleasant work.9 Score one for Professor Ramin!
Further annoyance for the young composer may have been triggered by the fact that Ramin DID play a Chamber Concerto for Harpsichord and String Orchestra in the spring of 1933, but it was a work by Distler’s exact contemporary Kurt Hessenberg,10 later to be associated in Frankfurt with another Leipzig fellow student, the blind German organist Helmut Walcha. Although I have not seen a score of Hessenberg’s Concerto, if it holds as much musical charm as several of the Zehn Kleine Präludien für Klavier oder Clavichord, opus 35 (published by Schott in 1949), it may be a work worth searching for.
Hessenberg, too, endured the political idiocy of the 1930s. He recounted,

My Second String Quartet . . . has a special “history”: its premiere by the Lenzewski Quartet was on the program of a concert [sponsored by] the Reichsmusikkammer in Berlin [1937]. However, because I was still very much unknown, the piece was performed before a board from the aforementioned institution in my absence for approval, and provoked the displeasure of that body. So the piece, which in spite of its adherence to tonality reveals the influence of Hindemith, perhaps also of Bartòk, was dropped from the program. This decision was criticized at that time in a music journal, as a result of which more attention was directed toward me than probably would have been the case if a public performance had taken place. The Quartet was premiered soon after in Frankfurt by the Lenzewski Quartet, excellently, and with success, and not much later in an independent concert of this ensemble in Berlin as well.11

Hessenberg apparently had a more sanguine outlook than Distler (whom, he wrote, he had met only twice, despite the fact that both were students at the same time in the same city). Balanced and genial in character as in music, Hessenberg adapted well to pre- and post-war necessities, living until 1984.
Other harpsichord offerings from the Germany of the 1930s include Music for 2 Violins and Cembalo 1932 by Heinrich Kaminski (1886–1946), composed in post-Regerian thick texture by a favorite composer of Thomaskantor Karl Straube, and the appropriately spare 1934 Spinettmusik by Rudolf Wagner-Régeny (1903–1969), composer, pianist and clavichordist of Romanian origin, perhaps historically shunned because he was one of two approved surrogates who wrote pure “Aryan” alternative music to replace the banned Midsummer Night’s Dream music of Felix Mendelssohn (for performance at the 1935 Reichstagung of the Nazi Kulturgemeinde in Düsseldorf).12
Wagner-Régeny’s seven short pieces compare favorably with Distler’s Dreissig Spielstücke of 1938,13 and since Distler, too, joined the Nazi party on May 1, 1933, perhaps one need no longer cast neither aspersions nor stones at either composer for such ancient political miscalculations. At least in Distler’s case, it is evident that he became increasingly unsympathetic with the government authorities, and finally committed the ultimate act of civil disobedience by removing himself from earthly existence altogether.
Unquestionably the compositional high point encountered thus far among examples of Third Reich harpsichord music is Distler’s (Second) Harpsichord Concerto, with its vivacious Stravinskian first movement; hauntingly lovely, lyrical second movement featuring arching solo violin lines above percussive, insistent rhythmic figures from the harpsichord; and culminating with a rollicking third movement based on Samuel Scheidt’s four-part harmonization of the folk song Ei, du feiner Reiter. Distler’s variations on this sturdy German tune certainly display wit and good humor, especially in a solo harpsichord parody of the mechanistic technique-building keyboard exercises of Carl Czerny. Two further keyboard solo variations (six and twelve) show an idiomatic variety of texture. The note C held over by the second violin serves as a breathtaking common tone modulation for the A-flat major return of the theme, set as a phrase by phrase dialog between strings and harpsichord, concluding with a whimsical employment of ever-longer periods of silence, à la Haydn, from which the final expected answer by the harpsichord never occurs at all. This lengthy silence is ended when the exasperated strings plunge, pall-mall, into a repetition of the wildly motoric tenth variation to provide a vigorous finale. Quirky, or even sarcastic, yes, but scarcely degenerate!
At the first performance of this Concerto the work had an additional movement, Allegro spirituoso e scherzando, expanding by more than six minutes a work that already clocked in at more than half an hour! Several critics suggested pruning the composition by deleting this extra movement, and the composer took their advice. Subsequent performances utilized only the three movements described above, and the printed score presents this three-movement version. The additional movement works as a stand-alone piece with strings, the manner in which I played its modern premiere during the 1980 American Guild of Organists national convention in Minneapolis.14
That the composer found the harpsichord to his liking was shown in one further extended work, until recently known only as a reference citation, the Schauspielmusik zu Ritter Blaubart [Theatre Music for Knight Bluebeard]. Parts for this incidental music assembled for a cancelled Berlin production of Ludwig Tieck’s play were among manuscripts turned over to the Bärenreiter-Verlag by Waltraut Distler, a few years after the end of the war. Since there were other items both complete and more marketable to bring into print, the stage music was basically overlooked. Reassembled and organized by Michael Töpel, the score was published, at last, at the turn of the new millennium, and given a first performance in 2002. Now there is a recording (Musicaphon M 56860), issued early in 2008.
Distler recycled quite a lot of his Harpsichord Concerto for this incidental music, with very interesting additions of wind instruments to the original strings. Three short, newly composed vocal insertions have secco harpsichord accompaniments. One movement [War Music] is an orchestral version of two pieces from Distler’s Eleven Piano Pieces, opus 15 [Fanfare; With Drums and Pipes]. Most appealing is the sarabande-like Overture to the Second Act (arranged for harpsichord and strings from the second movement of String Quartet in A minor, opus 20/I), truly one of the loveliest of Distler’s instrumental works. (The recorded performance, however, has the harpsichord consistently anticipating the strings!) A welcome bonus of the recent disc is the digital remastering of the first recording of the opus 14 Concerto, made in 1964 by the superbly musical French harpsichordist Huguette Dreyfus and the Deutsche Bach Solistin, conducted by Martin Stephani.
Concerning his Concerto Distler wrote to a pupil: “It is an angry piece . . . If it is so ‘modern’, then it is not because I wanted to appear really ‘modern’ for once, but because I am such a dislocated puppet.”15 As his last sacred motets demonstrate, he was willing to disregard the government’s strictures against writing new church music. Published after the war as part of his cycle of Sacred Choral Music, opus 12, the two motets conceived as opening and closing choruses for a planned St. John Passion, never to be completed, showed the composer’s increased mastery of form and expanded use of chromatics. (The fugue subject of the last motet, Fürwahr er trug unsere Krankheit [Surely He hath borne our griefs], contains ten of the twelve pitches found in the chromatic scale.)
Five years after the Concerto performance so stigmatized by the Nazi press, the composer’s mounting dread of military conscription fueled his descent into depression, and led him to turn on the gas in the Berlin apartment where he ended his life on November 1, 1942. Ironically, only a few days later his name appeared on the Führerliste—a register of those individuals permanently exempted from the military draft, persons deemed to be more important at home than in the armed forces.
Hitler’s much-vaunted “thousand year Reich” survived Distler by only three years, falling 988 years short of its self-proclaimed longevity. But as we celebrate the composer’s centenary, his music continues increasingly to move and beautify our musical life. Political movements are transient; artistic worth endures.

Hugo Distler’s compositions
for (or with) harpsichord
Opus 4. Kleine Adventsmusik [A Little Advent Music], Breitkopf und Härtel 4967. First performed 28 November 1931, using harpsichord as the keyboard instrument. English edition (Concordia Publishing House).
Opus 6/I. Christ, der du bist der helle Tag [Christ Who Alone Art Light of Day], Bärenreiter 636. First performed 26 Februrary 1933, with harpsichord. English edition (Concordia).
Opus 9/I. An die Natur (1933). First performed 16 August 1933 at the Nationalsozialistischen Musikfest in Bad Pyrmont. Bärenreiter 683.
Opus 11/I. Choralkantate Wo Gott zuhaus nit gibt sein Gunst, harpsichord or organ. Composed 1933, published 1935. Bärenreiter 758.
Opus 14. Konzert für Cembalo und Streichorchester (1935–1936). First performed 29 April 1936, Hamburger Musikhalle, Hugo Distler, harpsichordist, Dr. Hans Hoffmann, conductor. Published October 1936; Bärenreiter 7393. An additional movement, deleted from the original published edition Allegro spirituoso e scherzando is now available as Bärenreiter 7393, edited by Michael Töpfel.
Opus 17. Geistliche Konzerte für eine hohe Singstimme [Three Sacred Concertos for High Voice and Keyboard: Organ, Harpsichord, or Piano]. Composed in 1937, published 1938. Bärenreiter 1231. English edition (Concordia).
Opus 18/I. Dreissig Spielstücke für die Kleinorgel oder andere Tasteninstrumente. 1938. Published June 1938. Bärenreiter 1288.
Opus 21/II. Kleine Sing- und Spielmusik: Variations on “Wo soll ich mich hinkehren?” (Piano or harpsichord). Composed 1941 (doubtful according to Lüdemann), published 1952. Bärenreiter 2046.

Without opus number
Kammerkonzert für Cembalo und elf Soloinstrumente (1932). Mss incomplete. First performed 28 November 1988, Martin Haselböck, harpsichordist and conductor. Published 1988. Bärenreiter 7687.
Ritter Blaubart (1940)—Theatre music for Ludwig Tieck’s play. Chamber orchestra includes harpsichord (prominently). First performed 29 September 2002. Bärenreiter 7711, published 2001.
Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her. Kleines Konzert and Choral. Neue Weihnachtsmusik für Klavier, Orgel, und andere Tasteninstrumente. Bärenreiter Collection (1935), edited by Reinhard Baum.

A basic bibliography
Books
Larry Palmer: Hugo Distler and his Church Music. St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1967. (Out of print; often available through Amazon.com or Alibris.com).
The most comprehensive (and recent) book on Distler is available only in German, Winfried Lüdemann: Hugo Distler—Eine musikalische Biographie. Augsburg: Wissner-Verlag, 2002 [ISBN 3-89639-353-7]. An exhaustive biography based on all available letters and archival holdings. Complete listing of Distler’s works, analysis of the music; many photographs and musical examples.

Periodical literature in English
Jan Bender: “Hugo Distler and his Organ Music” [An interview conducted by William Bates], The American Organist, December 1982, 42–43.
Mark Bergass: “Hugo Distler’s First Vespers at St. Jakobi in Lübeck,” The American Organist, April 1982, 174–177.
Larry Palmer: “Hugo Distler’s Harpsichord Concerto,” The Diapason, May 1969, 12–13. “Hugo Distler: Some Influences on His Musical Style,” The American Organist, November 2002, 50–51. “Hugo Distler: 60 Years Later,” The Diapason, November 2002, 22.

Discography
The most satisfactory way to “know” Hugo Distler is through his music. The following compact disc recordings are recommended:

Organ works
Complete Organ Works (two discs, also included are works by Bach, Buxtehude, and Scheidt). John Brock plays two Brombaugh organs. Calcante Recordings, Ltd CD022 (1998).
Of historic interest (primarily for the instruments—Distler’s house organ and the Jakobi instruments, all of which have been changed since Distler played them): Complete Organ Works played by Armin Schoof. Thorofon CTH2293 and CTH2294.
Also of “historic” interest: Larry Palmer plays the large partitas and several smaller chorale works: Musical Heritage Society LP 3943 (out of print). Robert Sipe organ of Zumbro Lutheran Congregation, Rochester, MN (1978).

Choral works
Liturgische Sätze (selections from opus 13, opus 5, opus 11, and opus 6/2). Thorofon CTH 2420.
Choralpassion, opus 7. Kammerchor der Universität Dortmund, conducted by Willi Gundlach. Thorofon CTH2185.
Totentanz, opus 12/2 (same choir and conductor), plus Motet and Organ Partita on Wachet auf. Thorofon CTH 2215.
Die Weihnachtsgeschichte, opus 10. Thomanerchor Leipzig, Hans-Joachim Rotzsch. Berlin Classics 0092462BC.
Totentanz und Mottetten, opus 12 (including the opening and closing choruses for the never-completed St. John Passion). Berliner Vokalensemble, conducted by Bernd Stegmann. Cantate C 58007.

Instrumental works
Harpsichord Concerto, opus 14, and Incidental Music to the Play Ritter Blaubart. Musicaphon M 56860 (issued 2008).
Harpsichord Concertos, Martin Haselböck, harpsichord and conductor, with the Wiener Akademie. Both early and late concerti, plus the deleted movement from opus 14. Thorofon CTH 2403.

Special appreciation to my former organ student Simon Menges (Berlin) for sending the Musicaphon compact disc before it became available in the United States.

Larry Palmer, harpsichord contributing editor since 1969, has worked with every editor of The Diapason except founder S.E. Gruenstein.

Major information to be added to the short biographical sketch presented in the first brief article of four decades ago, is Distler's membership in the Nazi party, an affiliation that has been explored in several German sources (among them Hugo Distler im Dritten Reich: papers presented at a Symposium held in the Stadtbibliothek Lübeck on 29 September 1995 [Osnabrück: Universitätsverlag Rasch, 1997]; and Roman Summereder's far-reaching discussion of the Orgelbewegung, Aufbruch der Klänge [Innsbruck: Edition Helbling, 1995]).

Distler joined the NSDAP on May 1, 1933; his party-affiliation number, 2.806.768. In a photograph taken at a parade on that date the young composer is shown marching with local Lübeck politicians, apparently conversing with his Marienkirche colleague Walter Kraft. Behind the two musicians is the pastor of St. Jakobi, Axel Werner Kühl with several ministers from the Aegidienkirche. [Symposium Papers, p. 58.]

Following the death of Distler's 86-year-old widow Waltraut [June 29, 1998], the respectful silence concerning the composer's Nazi connection came to an end. Frau Distler's burial in the cemetery of her post-war residence, Marquartstein in Oberbayern, meant that, even in death, her body would remain far apart from that of the husband whose reputation and legacy she had protected throughout so many years. For future Distler scholars the open acknowledgement of his political affiliation should allow a more honest assessment of the composer's life and creative struggles.

More important, however, to our understanding of Distler's place in the musical life of 20th-century Germany is the number of fine recordings of his music made available in recent years.  Most of the major sacred choral works are now available on compact disc, including the a cappella Chorale Passion, opus 7 [Thorofon CTH 2185]; the Christmas Story, opus 10 [sung by the Leipzig Thomanerchor on Berlin Classics 0092462BC]; and the superb motets of the Sacred Choral Music, opus 12, including the Dance of Death, with its interspersed theatrical texts [Cantate C 58007 and Thorofon CTH 2215]. In addition, half of the 48 compositions comprising the Mörike-Chorliederbuch, opus 19, Distler's finest unaccompanied secular choral work, may be heard in an exemplary performance [Thorofon CTH 2231].

The complete organ works are available in two versions: one, played by Armin Schoof, was recorded in Distler's own Jakobikirche, using the (altered) instruments for which they were composed, including the composer's much-loved "small" Stellwagen organ (dating, in part, from 1467), and his 1938 Paul Ott house organ, now re-installed in Lübeck [Thorofon CTH 2293/2294]. American organist John Brock's recording fills out two discs with favorite Baroque works (by Bach, Buxtehude, and Scheidt) often played by Distler, using two organs built by John Brombaugh for Central Lutheran Church, Eugene, Oregon, and Christ Church Parish, Tacoma, Washington [Calcante Recordings, Ltd. 022].

The Harpsichord Concerto(s) [Thorofon CTH 2403] include Michael Töpel's editorial completion of the early Chamber Concerto for Harpsichord and Eleven Solo Instruments [1930-32] (first noted in print in my May 1969 Diapason article "Hugo Distler's Harpsichord Concerto"), as well as the better, and better-known Concerto for Harpsichord and String Orchestra, opus 14, the work branded as "degenerate" by official state reviewers at its performance during the Festival of German Church Music (Berlin, October 10, 1937). Both works are lovingly played by Martin Haselböck. An earlier LP recording of the work by the unforgettable harpsichordist Huguette Dreyfus with the Deutsche Bachsolisten [Bärenreiter Musicaphon, Rote Serie BM 30 SL 1204] still remains, for me, the preferred interpretation, but it does not include the "extra" middle movement [Allegro spirituoso e scherzando], deleted by the composer after the 1936 premiere in Hamburg, and not heard again until it was included as a "stand-alone" movement for my concert at the American Guild of Organists national convention in Minneapolis (1980). Compact disc format allows one to program or omit this rare movement.

Harpsichord is employed as concertante keyboard instrument in the Cantata, opus 11/1 Wo Gott zu Haus nit gibt sein Gunst, heard on a disc of Liturgical Settings [Thorofon CTH 2420]. Among the 21 works in this compilation it is a special joy to encounter again the Nürnberg Great Gloria, one of the loveliest of Distler's occasional pieces, and one of the works that most captivated my ears when I first heard it on a recording made by Wilhelm Ehmann and his Westfalian Kantorei in the late 1950s [Cantate T72714 LP]. Here the composer has notated the fourth tone Gloria plainsong chant for a solo soprano, and superimposed it above the chorale Allein Gott in der Höh' sei Ehr. The result is a lovely, impressionistic shimmer of sound, "pure Distler." Also welcome on this disc are several of the three-part motets from Der Jahrkreis, opus 5, composed for the composer's own children's choir at St. Jakobi.

Indeed at this time the only often-performed choral work not yet available on disc would appear to be A Little Advent Music (opus 4), my first English-language Distler score to be published in this country by Concordia Publishing House (St. Louis). A recording of the composer's String Quartet, opus 20/I (and its alternate version for two pianos, opus 20/II) also would be welcome.

A few previously-unknown works by Distler have surfaced during the past 40 years. Four additional short organ works--chorale preludes and chorale harmonizations--are included in the complete recordings. An incomplete third partita, Jesus Christus, unser Heiland, exists as a 14-page fragment in the Distler-Archiv; part of this 1933 work was used as the Ricercar for the three-movement work on the same chorale published in the composer's collection of shorter chorale-based works, opus 8/III.

Among the more significant works to be added to the canon of Distler compositions is a work for solo flute Es ist ein Schnitter, heisst der Tod, a German folk song theme with twelve variations intended to serve as instrumental pitch "reminders" during performances of the Totentanz motet. The work had been hidden away in a trunk, forgotten since a 1934 performance in Kassel. Rediscovered in 1976, it was published by the Bärenreiter Verlag, Distler's publisher for all works after opus 4.

There are no known recordings of the composer playing his own music, but his performances of organ works by Michael Praetorius (O lux beata trinitas), Johann Pachelbel (Fantasie in G), and Froberger (a Ricercare, mislabeled on the disc as a Frescobaldi Canzona) were preserved on May 10, 1935 during sessions at the Gothic organ in Kiedrich. These rarities were reissued as the eighth side of four LPs comprising all of Distler's published organ works, played on Ott organs by organist Arno Schön-stedt. The boxed set was released by Berlin publisher Uwe Pape (Das Komponistenportrait 1001: FSM 83781, Pape 8101) in 1978. An accompanying booklet, lavishly illustrated, contains extensive material about Distler, his organ works, his 15-stop house organ, and the organ builder Paul Ott (including a complete chronological listing of his instruments).

In 1992, fifty years after Hugo Dist-ler's suicide, the German government honored him with a 100 Pfennig postage stamp. Framed in lavender, the design features a 1936 charcoal sketch of the composer imposed on the autograph score of his chorale setting Wir danken dir, Herr Jesu Christ for three children's voices.

In 2002, "sixty years later," we honor Hugo Distler by continuing to program his haunting, individual music. Celebrate the composer by listening to the utter simplicity of Lo How a Rose (The Christmas Story), the consoling purity of Blessed are the Dead (Jahrkreis), or the blazing exultation of the ending to the Organ Partita on Wake, Awake. Distler's music, rather than our words, provides both memorial and continuing legacy.n

Jeffrey K. Chase is a practicing attorney in Ann Arbor, Michigan, with a concentration in the area of estate planning. He is a member of the bar of the United States Supreme Court. Prior to becoming an attorney, he earned a bachelor’s degree in music literature and a master’s degree in musicology. He has been a published feature writer and music critic for The Michigan Daily and The Detroit Free Press and has also written for High Fidelity magazine. Currently he also reviews classical music compact discs for All Music Guide, an online music reference source.

What a special trip the Marilyn Mason University of Michigan Historic Organ Tour 54 this past July 9–22 was, tracing the cities and churches limning the lives and careers of J. S. Bach and Buxtehude and, among others, the organ builders Silbermann, Schnitger, Trost and Marcussen! Entitled “In the Footsteps of Bach and Buxtehude,” it included visits to historic organs in Mühlhausen, Weimar, Eisenach, Arnstadt, Altenburg, Frauenstein, Freiberg, Dresden, Leipzig, Wittenberg, Hamburg, Lübeck, Århus, Odense and Copenhagen. Much was learned and experienced by its fortunate participants.
After arriving in Frankfurt at approximately 7:30 a.m. and after having collected all of the participants flying in from various locations, we boarded a beautiful, very modern bus to commence our journey of exploration.

Mühlhausen, Weimar, Eisenach, and Arnstadt
Our first stop was at St. Blasiuskirche in Mühlhausen, where Bach had worked from 1707–1708 (this year being the 300th anniversary of Bach’s arrival there from Arnstadt). While there, Bach submitted plans for rebuilding the organ.This organ, however, was replaced in the 19th century with a new instrument. But turnabout is fair play, and from 1956–1958 the 19th-century organ was removed; the Alexander Schuke company built a new organ based upon Bach’s plans, but with the addition of five new registers to support the performance of modern organ literature. The casework of this Schuke organ exemplifies the industrial style of the former East German regime and its banal aesthetic.
Then on to Weimar where Bach spent ten years as a musician to the Grand Duke; where Bach was imprisoned in 1716 for requesting to resign from his position to take another; and where, in 1717, Bach was first mentioned in print, being called “the famous Weimar organist.” After checking into the outstanding Elephant Hotel, next door to the building in which Bach lived from 1708–1717 and where his sons Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philip Emmanuel were born, we took a short stroll in the rain to visit the Parish Church of Sts. Peter and Paul, where, beginning in 1707, Bach’s relative and colleague Johann Gottfried Walther was organist.
Early the next morning we boarded the bus and departed for Eisenach, where J. S. Bach was born on March 21, 1685. He was baptized at St. George’s Church, where Luther had sung in the choir and had also preached. That baptismal font, which has a pedestal carved like a wooden basket, is still in use today. At that church, located on the Market Square (that day it was market day), we were treated to an organ recital (well attended by the public) performed by the young Denny Philipp Wilke, an organist from Nürnberg, who studied with Latry and van Oosten. Wilke performed Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in D, the Scherzo from Vierne’s Organ Symphony No. 2 and the Franck A-minor Choral on the 1982 Schuke of Potsdam organ. This fall Wilke was scheduled to record a recently discovered transcription by Dupré of Liszt’s Ad nos, ad salutarem undam.
After lunch we visited the Bach Museum (Bach’s birth house), where we heard a talk describing and demonstrating two small period organs, a spinet, a clavicembalo and a clavichord, and in which a crystal drinking cup, the only item remaining from the Bach household, is displayed. One of the rooms is set up as Bach’s composition room in Leipzig presumed to have looked.
Then back in the air-conditioned bus for a drive to Arnstadt to visit St. Boniface Church, containing a 1703 Wender organ (reconstructed by Hoffmann in 1999) on the fourth level. It was to test this organ that Bach came to Arnstadt in 1703. He was so appreciated that he was hired as organist and remained employed here until 1707, when he took his 200-mile walk to Lübeck to hear and learn from Buxtehude, a trip that resulted in his dismissal and move to Mühlhausen. Marilyn Mason’s friend Gottfried Praller demonstrated this Wender/Hoffmann instrument with performances of Buxtehude’s Ciaconne in d and Bach’s Fugue in d. On the third level of this church, now referred to as the Bachkirche, is a 1913 Steinmeyer organ, also reconstructed by Hoffmann in 1999.
Our last stop in Arnstadt was the nearby New Bach Museum containing, inter alia, the console Bach played upon in St. Boniface and some historic holographic music manuscripts.

Altenburg, Frauenstein, and Dresden
The next day, after breakfast, we departed for Dresden, but with two intermediary stops. The first was in Altenburg to view and play the 1735–1739 Tobias Heinrich Trost (1673–1759) organ in the castle church (“One of the great organs of the world,” says Marilyn Mason). Bach played this organ in September 1738 or 1739 and again in October 1739, when Bach’s pupil Krebs was the organist, as he was for the last 25 years of his life. This fine organ was also played by Weber, Liszt, Agricola and Schütz. Today Felix Friedrich, who has edited and published several volumes of Krebs’s work, is the organist. Altenburg is known as the playing card capital of the world, because playing cards are made here, and the castle museum contains an interesting collection of both old and new cards.
The second stop was in Frauenstein, the birth city of the revered organ builder Gottfried Silbermann (1683–1753) and the site where Werner Mueller established the Gottfried Silbermann Museum, which contains, among other things, a reproduction of a one-manual, no-pedal organ in Bremen, and upon which we each shared playing a theme and variations by Pachelbel on Was Gott thut, das ist wohlgetan. While there, we learned that the property has recently been sold to developers, so most likely the museum will be removed to another building.
Now in Dresden, we visited the Dom or Hofkirche (the Dom was the main church in a town) containing a 1755 Silbermann organ, his largest and last, with three manuals and 47 registers, and which was last restored by Jehmlich in 1971. Then we walked past the porcelain mural of the kings of Saxony on the street leading to the Frauenkirche, which, however, we could not visit due to the late time of day. So on to a fine dinner at one of the outside restaurants.

Freiberg, Leipzig, Rötha, and Stürmthal
The next day we traveled to Leipzig via Freiberg to visit Silbermann’s Opus 2 (1714) with three manuals and 44 registers and last restored by Jehmlich in 1983. We also visited the Jakobikirche, just outside the old city wall, where we played a two-manual Silbermann. This church is an old, very plain building but with an active congregation. The priest, rather than an organist, let us in and explained that the congregation can’t afford an organist. Can you imagine: a church with an historic Silbermann organ and no organist! Any volunteers?
In Leipzig we lunched on the Nikolaistraße before entering the Nikolaikirche, whose congregation was a leader in the democratic movement before the fall of the Berlin Wall. This church has a very ornate interior decorated with sharp pointed simulated foliage. We played an 1862 five-manual Ladegast organ reworked over the years by Sauer and by Eule. Currently part of its electronic stop action is by Porsche, whose name is prominently displayed on the beautiful wood of its art deco-like console. From the Nikolaikirche it was a short walk to the legendary Thomaskirche, originally part of a 13th-century monastery and the other main city church, and the one at which J. S. Bach was cantor from 1723 until his death in 1750 and with which he is most closely associated. Because this church is such a tourist attraction, all we could do was look around; the organ here is not a relic of the days of Bach’s tenure, but an 1889 Wilhelm Sauer instrument last restored in 1993. It is here that Bach is buried.
No University of Michigan organ tour to this area would be complete without a stop in Rötha to view the 1721 G. Silbermann organ in the Georgenkirche, because this instrument was chosen by Charles Fisk and Marilyn Mason as the model for what is now known as the “Marilyn Mason Organ” in the University of Michigan School of Music, Theatre and Dance—Fisk and Mason thought it, of all known G. Silbermann organs, best suited to the U-M space.
Next, an unscheduled visit to Stürmthal to tour a country church, where a funeral was in progress. Zacharias Hildebrandt (1688–1757), a protégé of G. Silbermann, built this organ, a one-manual with pedal, but got into trouble with Silbermann because of Silbermann’s perceived competition. Hildebrandt invited Bach to play this bright, high-pitched instrument and Bach wrote Cantata 194 for Hildebrandt.

Wittenberg, Lüneburg, Hamburg, and Neuenfelde
The next day, Saturday, began with a long drive to Hamburg with a first stop along the way in Wittenberg, birthplace of the Lutheran Reformation, to visit the revered Martin Luther sites. We did not play the organ in the castle church, another major tourist attraction and which now has Luther’s 95 statements immortalized in bronze on its doors (the doors upon which Luther nailed his 95 Theses on 31 October 1517 have long since been replaced).
The second stop on the Hamburg journey was in Lüneburg to visit the Michaeliskirche, where Bach had matriculated in the choir school. This triple-naved, Gothic, red-brick hall church with drastically leaning pillars contains an organ with a typical North German case and with pipes from many eras. This was originally the church for a Benedictine monastery, and thus the private church and sepulchral vaults for the reigning families of the Billungs and Guelphs. Tobias Gravenhorst is the current choirmaster. The organ here consists of an old case with new contents last reworked in 1999–2000 by Sauer, which used to be a large firm but now is only a small company. One might speculate whether Bach, as a young boy in the choir school gazing up at the organ case, got the idea of putting “Soli Deo Gloria” at the end of his compositions from the “Soli Deo Gloria” inscription at the top of the organ case. Sunday mornings are, of course, the time when churches are fulfilling their main function as houses of worship for their congregations, so for us Sunday morning is free time.
Sunday afternoon we visited the famous Jakobikirche in Hamburg, where we were hosted by a friendly female organist who knows English well. Reinken was on the city committee in 1693 when the organ was built by Arp Schnitger. Reinken didn’t want this church’s organ to have a 32′ stop because he wanted his church to be the only one in town to have a 32′ stop, but Schnitger foiled him by building two 32′s—a Principal and a Posaune. Bach applied for the organ post here in 1720, but he would have had to pay a fee to get the job. Instead a wealthy man with the money to pay (bribe!) was hired.
This was the organ whose pipes were removed to safe storage during WWII, thus saving this organ when the church and loft were subsequently destroyed. This Schnitger organ, which used to hang higher on the wall, was eventually restored by Jürgen Ahrend in 1950 and again in 1993. It was Schnitger’s habit to reuse pipes, so pipes from the 1500s were incorporated by Schnitger. (This in contrast to Silbermann, who used only new material.) Its temperament is between meantone and Werckmeister III (modified meantone). The faces of its donors are immortalized on the original stopknobs of the original console, which is displayed on a balcony but is not part of the currently functioning instrument. Albert Schweitzer has played this organ, and Marilyn Mason has proclaimed it one of the great organs of the world.
We also visited the Michaeliskirche in Hamburg, the main city church, a rococo room with curved balconies. The gallery organ was built from 1909–1912 by E. F. Walcker of Ludwigsburg. With its five manuals and 163 stops, for a time it was the largest organ in the world. We played music including French pieces that work well on it. The restored organ in the side gallery we did not play, nor did we play a small organ in the choir space. There were many visitors coming and going in this church.
St. Pankratius, a small church with a rural setting in Neuenfelde, is the burial place of Arp Schnitger (1648–1719) and was his home church for a number of years. He built this high baroque-style, two-manual, 34-stop organ for this church in 1688 and the bulletin board invites people to worship on Sunday to the accompaniment of the Schnitger organ.

Lübeck
On Monday, our last day in Germany, we journeyed to Lübeck, the first German city bombed in World War II (in response to the Germans’ bombing of Coventry, England), where we visited four important churches. The first was the Marienkirche, where Ernst-Erich Stender, organist, was our host. This is the church where Buxtehude had worked from 1668 to 1707. Its historic Schnitger organ and the Totentanz organ (named after a painting in the church) were destroyed by bombs in 1942.
The Domkirche, founded by Henry the Lion in 1173, today makes modern use of space. Its Romanesque towers survived the war, but its Gothic portions fell. Its contemporary (1960) stained glass window in the west end is especially beautiful. The 1699 Schnitger organ, originally built here but burned during the war, had been played by Handel, Mendelssohn and Mattheson. A 1970 Marcussen instrument now sits on the north wall. There are raised auditorium seats on the west end where the organ used to be and a small positiv organ is in the choir space. Here also is a charming Baggio di Rosa 1777 Italian one-manual portative organ with pull-down pedals and a bird stop, which has been restored by Ahrend in the Netherlands.
The design of the 13th-century Aegidiankirche is unusual because its pews face the preacher and not the altar. It has a choir screen from the Renaissance with eight panels depicting the life of Christ. Its original organ dated from 1629 and was built by Scherer of Hamburg. The case, not in baroque style, but with small, refined details suggestive of earlier times, was created by a famous Lübecker carver. This is one of the few organs built during the Thirty Years War, in which the independent northern German cities were not obliged to fight. Now, the old cabinetry with its intricate light and dark inlaid wood figures is more interesting than the 1992 Klais instrument it contains.
The Jakobikirche is where Hugo Distler—who had a good sense of history and resisted romantic modifications to the great organ, built by Joachim Richborn in 1673 and last restored by Schuke/Berlin in 1984—was the organist from 1931 to 1937. This organ contains pipes from a Blockwerk from the 1400s; Schuke added a Swell as part of his restoration in 1984. This organ is approximately 20% original and includes an 18th-century pedal division. Interestingly, there are two matching organ cases, north and west, both in swallow’s nest design. The main case is in Renaissance style and the Positiv case is in Baroque style.
The Jacobikirche three-manual, 31-register smaller organ by Stellwagen, built in 1637 and based upon an anonymous builder in 1515, was last restored by Brothers Hillebrand in 1978. With this organ being 70% original, today one hears what would have been the sounds of 1637 and of 1515. The Werckmeister temperament is tuned one step above A=440. Distler had this organ in mind when he composed Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland.

Ulkebøl, Sønderborg, and Aabendraa
The Ulkebøl Lutheran Church was our first stop in Denmark. Although this church has housed an organ continuously since the beginning of the 16th century, its current organ is a Marcussen & Søn dated 1888 set in a Jürgen Hinrichsen angel façade dated 1790. From 1864 to 1920 this part of Denmark had been part of Germany, and during World War II this church’s bells were removed to Hamburg to be melted down for munitions manufacture, but were fortunately rescued just at the end of the war before being melted. Danish churches have ships suspended from the ceiling to as a symbol recalling that human life is sustained by God; the nave is called the church ship. The patron of this church was the Duke of Augustinborg.
From there we bussed to the Sønderborg Castle; however, when we arrived the streets were blocked. We soon learned that this was for the security of the visiting Queen Margrethe, who had arrived in her royal yacht to visit this coastal castle. However she left promptly at 2 pm, and we were granted entrance to hear a recital on this reconstructed Renaissance organ by its organist. Originally there was a 1570 Rottenstein-Pock instrument, which was enlarged to two manuals with nine and five stops, respectively, in 1626; each manual has a slightly different compass. The present instrument is a 1996 Mads Kjersgaard reconstruction set in the original 1570 façade; D-sharp and E-flat are separate pitches because of the (probably) meantone tuning.
From there we were treated to a Marcussen factory tour. Founded in 1806, this firm celebrated its 200th anniversary last year. Still in the ownership of Marcussen’s descendants, it has been in this location in Aabendraa since 1829. Our tour was conducted by a Marcussen relative. We concluded this day in Århus.

Århus, Odense, and Copenhagen
The first stop the next morning was at the Århus Domkirke, the largest church in Denmark. Originally containing a Schnitger organ, the current instrument is a 1928 Frobenius, which has been placed behind the 1730 Kastens console and is the organ on which Gillian Weir recorded the complete works of Franck, Messiaen and Duruflé. Its 8′ Voix humaine is modeled after that in Ste. Clotilde in Paris (César Franck’s church).
After lunch we left for Odense, the birth city of Hans Christian Andersen, and visited St. Canute’s Cathedral, located next to a beautiful city park. This cathedral contains three organs: the smallest and oldest is the Jens Gregersen instrument built c. 1843; the second oldest is the main organ built by Marcussen & Søn in 1965 and using the façade of its 1756 predecessor; and the newest, in the east end of the cathedral, was built by Carsten Lund in 1999. Then on to Copenhagen for a visit to the Church of the Holy Ghost with its 1986 Marcussen & Søn organ; the opulent Jesuskirken, built by the Carlsberg brewing family and containing in front one of the last Cavaillé-Coll organs (dated 1890) built and, in the rear, a 1993–1994 Jensen & Thomsen instrument; and a city tour.

Roskilde
On the penultimate day we visited the impressive Roskilde Cathedral containing a 1991 Marcussen & Søn three-manual, 33-rank organ. We were granted special access to the upper gallery from which to view this magnificent edifice, which is the burial place of many Danish kings and queens and with its wonderful trompe l’oeil paintings of heroic exploits on various side chapel walls.
From there we visited the environmentally friendly chapel organ, an 1882 A. H. Busch & Sønner rebuild at Ledreborg Castle. The resident organist (from Tennessee!) gave a demonstration of this unusual single-manual instrument to which the pedal is always coupled, which has not been electrified and requires an assistant to work the bellows. We returned to Copenhagen to give a public recital at St. Andreas Church.
On Saturday, our last day together, many spent the day shopping and enjoying the city, while others visited the Trinity Church with its three-manual, 53-rank, 1956 Marcussen & Søn organ rebuilt by P. G. Andersen in 1977 and the Garnisonkirche. Our communal dinner, at an historic local restaurant, was a bittersweet gathering, knowing that the camaraderie created by this tour’s participants was a unique organism and never to be duplicated.
Unlike any other instrument, no two organs are the same and, to be fully understood and appreciated, should be personally touched and experienced. Thus, one of the primary values of these tours is to acquaint oneself with the famous historic organs of the world to experience what it is about each that makes it so revered. And on this two-week, multi-city tour of northern and eastern Germany and Denmark, the participants “experienced” approximately 43 organs dating from the 16th through the 20th centuries. But it’s not just about the organs. It’s about the camaraderie with organ aficionados, too.■

Ronald J. Swedlund is a specialist in German romantic music. He earned the DMA degree in organ performance from the University of Michigan and the MMus and BMus degrees from Wichita State University. His principal organ mentors have been Robert Glasgow, Marilyn Mason, and Robert Town. Additional keyboard study has been with Edward Parmentier (harpsichord) and Robert Hamilton (piano).

Arnold Schoenberg (1874–1951) began composing his Variations on a Recitative, op. 40 for organ on August 25, 1941 and completed the work forty-eight days later on October 12. The work was premièred by Carl Weinrich at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in New York City on April 10, 1944. It was published by the H. W. Gray Co. in 1947, after six years of quarrelsome negotiations.

Altogether Schoenberg wrote seven sets  of variations. Four of these are relatively brief movements in larger works; the other three are self-contained pieces of substantial length. The movements in larger works are the Litanei of String Quartet No. 2, op. 10 (1908); the passacaglia titled “Nacht” in Pierrot Lunaire, op. 21 (1912); the Variationen from Serenade, op. 24 (1923); and the Thema mit Variationen from Suite, op. 29 (1926). The independent pieces are Variations for Orchestra, op. 31 (1928); Variations on a Recitative, op. 40 (1941); and Theme and Variations, op. 43a for band (1943). These sets traverse Schoenberg’s four stylistic periods, moving from the tonality of the second string quartet to atonality (or, as Schoenberg would say, “pantonality”1) in Pierrot Lunaire, to serialism in the serenade and the suite, and finally returning to tonality in the organ variations and the band variations.2 The Variations on a Recitative is Schoenberg’s final and most extensive keyboard work, and his only completed work for organ.

The primary sources for a study of Schoenberg’s organ variations are the composer’s personal correspondence, articles by Robert Nelson and Marilyn Mason, two recordings of the work by Mason, and a letter from Max Miller to Paul Hesselink. The items from Schoenberg’s personal correspondence pertaining to the organ variations are published in an article by Paul Hesselink, which appeared in the Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute; a review and abridged version of this article later appeared in The American Organist. Hesselink’s articles both present a single paragraph from an important letter Schoenberg wrote to René Leibowitz on July  4, 1947—the full text of this letter appears in Arnold Schoenberg Letters, edited by Erwin Stein. The Nelson article summarizes the content of six two-hour lectures presented by Schoenberg early in 1949 (and attended by Nelson) which dealt with Schoenberg’s variation sets. Marilyn Mason writes,

during the summer of 1949 I was privileged to have several lessons with Mr. Schoenberg at his home in Beverly Hills, California. Three lessons, in composition and in an analysis of the Variations, were so inspiring and stimulating! One of his special requests was that he hear the Variations on the organ, so I made arrangements to play them for him at a Los Angeles church. He was transported by car and  wheelchair to the church, where he heard, as he told us afterwards, the work performed for the first time on the organ. To my knowledge this was the last time too, for in two summers he had died.3

Mason’s article describes her session with Schoenberg at the Los Angeles church and reports Schoenberg’s wishes regarding the performance of his piece. Mason recorded the variations in 1951 and again around 1968.4 Hesselink’s first  article presents an excerpt of a letter to him from Max Miller5 who, as a graduate organ student in the fall of 1950, took a lesson with Schoenberg for “help . . . on interpretation” and “tempi, etc.”6 in the organ variations.

An important secondary source for a study of Schoenberg’s organ variations is an article by Martha Foltz, which presents a detailed analysis of the piece.7 The purpose of the present study is to present data from primary sources relating to the performance of Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative, op. 40. This data will address the areas of 1) edition choice, 2) articulation and phrasing, 3) tempo and rhythm, 4) registration, and 5) instrument choice.

Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative is available in two editions, the first published by the H. W. Gray Co., Inc. in 1947 and the second published by Belmont Music Publishers in 1975. Edited by Carl Weinrich, the first edition is written in conventional organ music notation and contains copious registration suggestions intended for the large, early 20th-century organ at Princeton University. The second edition is purged of Weinrich’s editorial suggestions and is written in Schoenberg’s original music notation, in which the pedal part is notated at actual (16¢) pitch instead of one octave higher.

Prior to the initial publication of his organ variations by the H. W. Gray Co., Schoenberg wrote the following comments concerning the forthcoming edition:

Now there is another problem: You know probably that since 1917 (when I published my Four Songs for Orchestra, Op. 21 [8]: “Vereinfache [sic] Studier-und Dirigier-Partitur, mit Vorwort”) I have excluded every transposition of my scores, even that of double bass, contra bassoon [sic] and piccolo.

Now I would like to publish also this work in the same manner. That is, writing exactly how it must sound and leaving it to the player to know how it has to be played. But as I do not want to produce this time more difficulties than those produced by the artistic conditions of my style, I am ready to allow this time to use the old fashioned notation. I know, organ players belong to the most conservative group among instrumentalists, and I assume they would not even try to play this.

I leave the decision about the problem to the publisher.9

[Letter to Donald Gray of the H. W. Gray Co.] There are now in my belief two possibilities how you could publish it:

(1) Without editorial additions, exactly as my original manuscript was written, which is quite possible because Mr. Weinrich . . . who has played it recently was able to do it without such remarks.

or

(2) Ask Mr. Weinrich whether he can edit it.10

The H. W. Gray Co. chose to ask Weinrich to edit the score. Upon Weinrich’s acceptance of the task, Schoenberg wrote to him:

I am also glad that you are going to edit the piece for H. W. Gray Co. . . .

I do not know whether my friends, Mr. Steuermann and Mr. Kolisch informed you about the one peculiarity of my writing, which might have seemed unusual to you at first: I write always the pitch which I want to hear: never transpositions are used, also not in the upper or lower octave; not in the manuals, nor in the pedal.11

After the publication of his organ variations in 1947Ï, the tone of Schoenberg’s comments changed:

Through the registration of a Mr. Weinrich, who has an unusually large organ in Princeton, the whole picture of my music is so confused that most people cannot make it out: but Mr. Stein has promised to give me a list which shows my original version. I will send it. The registrations by Weinrich I absolutely cannot judge. They appear to be invented entirely by an “organ churn.”12

[Letter to Donald Gray] . . . Mr. Weinrich’s registration is not understandable for other organists than himself.

I think it was not very good that my work was published in his version. . . . I must ask you to do something in this respect. I don’t want this work to be suppressed by such a mistake. Will you please tell me what you consider doing. I would say the best thing would be to have a second version without any registration and deliver this to the organist.

Complaints which I receive stem from prominent German, French and American organists.13

The registration of my organ variations is apparently perfectly designed for the Princeton University organ. This does not suit me at all and so many people have complained about it. I have also asked my publisher to bring out an unregistered edition so that each player can make his own registration. For me, an edition in which the bass is often higher than the tenor is really unreadable. It seems unmusical to me, and, besides, I believe that a well-educated musician doesn’t need this at all.

In my original draft, I included an occasional indication of sonority. But the point was to say whether something should be played tenderly and contabile [sic], or more roughly and staccato, or energetically—nothing more than that.14

. . . This Mr. Gray seems to be a hard-boiled man and he seems to be also very insolent. . . . . . . he charges so much . . . because he includes the fee which he has probably paid to Mr. Weinrich for his terrible registration . . . I had many complaints from Germany and from England and from France about this registration—all say that it is unuseable [sic], it seems to be made for a special organ and this is the organ of Princeton.

. . . I want . . . absolutely Mr. Weinrich’s registration to be taken out and my own version restored, with a remark that I give only the sound and every organ player might register it according to his own organ.15

[Letter to Donald Gray.] Weinrich made his registration exclusively for his Princeton organ. I have received many complaints about that, and questions whether American organs are different from European. And I have also heard a record made by an organist . . . [whose playing was based] on Weinrich’s ideas, and I tell you, it’s terrible. This fact that this version is not applicable to other organs, might be the reason why Weinrich himself, in an organ recital here in Los Angeles, did not play this piece; he, the editor!16

The 1974 Belmont edition apparently would fulfill Schoenberg’s wishes.17

According to Marilyn Mason, the phrasing indications in the H. W. Gray edition correspond exactly to the original manuscript. She writes that one of Schoenberg’s chief dictums to a performer of his music was “strict adherence to the score, especially regarding phrasing—all phrasing indications were to be strictly observed.”18 She notes that Schoenberg “was especially interested in clarity of performance, and this colored all his remarks to me.”19 During 1936 and 1937, the Kolisch Quartet recorded Schoenberg’s four string quartets under his coaching and supervision. Eugene Lehner, the quartet’s violist, writes that

one word was constantly repeated by . . . [Schoenberg]—clarity, clarity, clarity. For him, that was the alpha and omega of music making. His dictum was that you must play music so that the last person in the hall should be able to write up in the score what you do.20

A letter of Schoenberg to the conductor Fritz Stiedry describes how to achieve clarity in phrasing. Schoenberg writes,

phrasing is not to be used ‘emotionally’ as in the age of pathos. Rather it must

1. distribute the stresses correctly in the line

2. sometimes reveal, sometimes conceal the motivic work

3. take care that all voices are well-balanced dynamically, to achieve transparency in the total sound.21

Schoenberg observes that “an outstanding soloist (Kreisler, Casals, Huberman, among others) has a way of working at his part; he tries to make even the tiniest note sound, and to place it in correct relationship to the whole.”22

Consider for a moment the three soloists cited by Schoenberg. All were string players. Pablo Casals’ playing, compounded equally of fire and tenderness, “was memorable as much for beauty of tone as intellectual strength.”23 Time factors were

consciously chosen, avoiding a robotic pulse. Casals instinctively understood the dramatic value of delay—if only by a millisecond. He would speak of “posing” a note. He would “sculpt” every note dynamically . . . Casals’ playing [was] distinct from the unguency of a cello-playing dedicated to a seamless flow of beguiling sound.24

Bronislaw Huberman’s playing was, according to Flesch,25 “the most remarkable representative of unbridled individualism.”26 Huberman was “a towering personality who could fuse glowing intensity and visionary sensitivity into a grand design. His tone had a haunting quality, particularly in infinite shades of pianissimo.”27

Fritz Kreisler played without exertion, achieving a seemingly effortless perfection without

conscious technical display. The elegance of his bowing, the grace and charm of his phrasing, the vitality and boldness of his rhythm, and above all his tone of indescribable sweetness and expressiveness were marvelled at. Though not very large, his tone had unequalled carrying power because his bow applied just enough pressure without suppressing the natural vibrations of the strings. The matchless color was achieved by vibrato . . . Kreisler applied vibrato not only on sustained notes but also in faster passages which lost all dryness under his magic touch. His methods of bowing and fingering were equally personal.28

Kreisler had an unconventional bow arm: he disregarded the traditional . . . spun-out long bow, considered an important tool in a violinist’s technique; instead, he preferred short, intense bow strokes, changing the bow frequently and holding his right elbow rather high. He also tightened the bow hair far more than customary.29

According to Flesch in the mid-1890’s, Kreisler’s cantilena “was an unrestrained orgy of sinfully seductive sounds, depravedly fascinating,  whose sole driving force appeared to be a sensuality intensified to the point of frenzy.30 A photograph also taken about 1895 shows Kreisler and Schoenberg (the latter playing ’cello) as members of a whimsical instrumental ensemble called the “Fröhliches Quintett.”31

Hence, the artists Schoenberg admired, while noted for their clarity, were far from being the faceless automatons one might imagine from a superficial knowledge of Schoenberg’s style and aesthetic. To the contrary, each approached the rhetorical art of articulation and phrasing with blazing originality harnessed to intense communicative power.

These “outstanding”32 performers also played with beguiling rhythm and pronounced, individualistic rubato. Concerning rhythm and tempo, Schoenberg in 1948 wrote that

today’s manner of performing . . . [art] music . . . , suppressing all emotional qualities and all unnotated changes of tempo and expression, derives from the style of playing primitive dance music. This style came to Europe by way of America, where no old culture regulated presentation, but where a certain frigidity of feeling reduced all musical expression. Thus almost everywhere in Europe music is played in a stiff, inflexible metre—not in a tempo, i.e. according to a yardstick of freely measured quantities. Astonishingly enough, almost all European conductors and instrumentalists bowed to this dictate without resistance. All were suddenly afraid to be called romantic, ashamed of being called sentimental. No one recognized the origin of this tendency; all tried rapidly to satisfy the market—which had become American . . .

. . . As an expression of man it [music] is at least subject to such changes of speed as are dictated by our blood. Our pulse beats faster or slower, often without our recognizing it—certainly, however, in accommodation to our emotions. Let the most frigid person be asked a price much higher than she expected and feel her pulse thereafter! And what would become of the lie-detecting machine if we were not afflicted by such emotions? Who is able to say convincingly “I love you” or “I hate you,” without his pulse registering? . . .

Why is music written at all? Is it not a romantic feeling which makes you listen to it? Why do you play the piano when you could show the same skill on a typewriter?33

Schoenberg continues,

Change of speed in pulse-beats corresponds exactly with changes in tempo. When a composer has “warmed up” he may feel the need of harmonic and rhythmic changes. A change of character, a strong contrast, will often require a modification of tempo. But the most important changes are necessary for the distribution of the phrases of which a segment is composed. Over-accentuation of strong beats shows poor musicianship, but to bring out the “centre of gravity” of a phrase is indispensable to an intelligent and intelligible presentation of its contents . . . To people who have never heard  those great artists of the past who could venture far-reaching changes of every kind without ever being wrong, without ever losing balance, without ever violating good taste—to such people this may seem romantic.

It must be admitted that in the period around 1900 many artists overdid themselves in exhibiting the power of the emotion they were capable of feeling; artists who considered works of art to have been created only to secure opportunities for them to expose themselves to their audience; artists who believed themselves to be more important than the work—or at least than the composer. Nothing can be more wrong than both these extremes. Natural frigidity or artificial warmth—the one not only subtracts the undesirable additions of the other, but also destroys the vital warmth of creation, and vice versa.

But why no true, well-balanced, sincere and tasteful emotion?34

As one might expect, Schoenberg admired the conductor Furtwängler. Sounding slightly jaded by conductorial egos, Schoenberg writes that Furtwängler “is certainly a better musician than all these Toscaninis, Ormandys, Kussevitzkis [sic], and the whole rest. And he is a real talent, and he loves music.” 35 What sort of musician was Furtwängler?

He has been described

as “an ambassador from another world, a world holding him firmly in its power; he broke free of it only because he had a message to impart” (Kokoschka). “In listening to him, it is the impression of vast, pulsating space which is most overwhelming” (Menuhin). Such language is an attempt to put into words the almost mystical effect that Furtwängler’s conducting had on those who experienced it. He seemed to be searching for music’s essential being at a deeper level than anyone else. As Neville Cardus put it, “he did not regard the printed notes as a final statement but rather as so many symbols in an imaginative conception, ever changing and always to be felt and realized subjectively.”

. . . Furtwängler was a product, perhaps the supreme expression, of the interpretive tradition of Wagner and von Bülow. In Germany his conducting was regarded as the synthesis of Bülow’s spirituality and Nikisch’s improvisatory genius and sense of colour. Furtwängler’s performances combined in an extraordinary way lofty thought and spontaneity, impulsiveness and long meditation. Nothing for him was fixed and laid down. Each performance was a fresh attempt to discover the truth; rarely was one like another, or even like the rehearsal that had just preceded it. He deliberately cultivated an imprecise beat, so as to achieve a large, unforced sonority, growing from the bass. (The improvement of the cello and bass section, with the consequent enrichment of the whole body of string tone, and the introduction of continuous vibrato into German and Austrian orchestras, were among his important contributions to the development of orchestral playing.)

The freedom of tempo that he allowed himself was the opposite pole from Toscanini’s insistence on the sanctity of the printed score as a medium of the composer’s intentions (the interpretative tradition of Berlioz), in the light of which Furtwängler’s fluctuations of tempo struck many as arbitrary and unacceptable. Yet they were an inevitable concomitant of Furtwängler’s method, his constant quest for music’s inner meaning and hidden laws. He aimed at achieving, at the profoundest level, an organic unity which should be the result not of conformity but of a concentration on each particular expressive moment within a deeply considered general idea of the work. He was a master of transition, of the art of moulding musical phrases and periods into a spacious design, varied but grandly coherent . . . [his conducting had] a sweep, an urgency and tragic intensity that silenced objections.36

Schoenberg often paradoxically suggested in his compositions—through note values, changing meters, metronome markings, and tempo indications—the rhythmic freedom of a Furtwängler, Huberman, Kreisler, or Casals. The performer thus creates the impression of such freedom by taking fewer liberties in a Schoenberg work than in the work of an earlier composer.37

In the fall of 1950 Max Miller, then a graduate organ student at the University of Redlands, took a lesson on the performance of Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative with the composer. Concerning tempo and rhythm, Miller writes that Schoenberg

was upset by a too prolonged hold on the fermata on page 11 [m. 88] . . . It was clear that he wanted the variations grouped into larger sections as the music itself shows. In general, his whistling of the music was slower than his indicated tempo markings.38

For Schoenberg, as noted above, the most important concern of a performer of his organ variations was clarity. “Regarding actual sounds, he was interested in having clearness and precision above everything.”39 Schoenberg states that

the highest principle for all reproduction of music would have to be that what the composer has written is made to sound in such a way that every note is really heard, and that all the sounds, whether successive or simultaneous, are in such relationship to each other that no part at any moment obscures another, but, on the contrary, makes its contribution towards ensuring that they all stand out clearly from one another. . . . [This clarity] is the precondition of all music making.40

Elsewhere Schoenberg states, “If I was doing the registration [of the organ variations], I should work it out only in such a way that all the voices come out clearly.”41

How does Schoenberg achieve clarity of timbre? To answer this question, one must turn to his orchestration. In 1925, Schoenberg transcribed J. S. Bach’s chorale preludes “Komm, Gott, Schöpfer, heiliger Geist,” BWV 63142 and “Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele,” BWV 65443 for orchestra; in 1929 he transcribed as one piece J. S. Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in E-flat, BWV 55244 for orchestra. In 1937, Schoenberg transcribed Brahms’ Piano Quartet in G Minor, op. 25 for orchestra. Speaking of the Bach prelude and fugue, Schoenberg writes,

I have, so to speak, modernized the organ, replaced its slow, rarely occurring change of colours with a more richly varied one that established precisely the rendition and the character of the individual passages, and I have given attention to clarity in the web of voices.45

Speaking of Brahms’ op. 25, Schoenberg writes, “I wanted once to hear everything, and this I achieved.”46 Schoenberg discusses in more detail his reason for transcribing the Bach chorale preludes:

the purpose of the colours is to make the individual lines clearer, and that is very important in the contrapuntal web! . . . Our modern conception of music demanded clarification of the motivic procedures in both horizontal and vertical dimensions. That is, we do not find it sufficient to rely on the imminent effect of a contrapuntal structure that is taken for granted, but we want to be aware of this counterpoint in the form of motivic relationships. . . . [Otherwise] our powers of comprehension will not be satisfied . . . We need transparency, that we may see [the motivic procedures] clearly!47

Thus, Schoenberg achieves clarity of timbre by placing timbre in the service of motivic and contrapuntal delineation. Urging players of Bach’s instrument to strive for such clarity, Schoenberg commands: “The organist must use all registers and change them frequently.”48

Marijim Thoene received a D.M.A. in organ performance/church music from the University of Michigan in 1984. She is an active recitalist and director of music at St. John Lutheran Church in Dundee, Michigan. Her two CDs, Mystics and Spirits and Wind Song, are available from Raven Recordings. She is a frequent presenter at medieval conferences on the topic of the image of the pipe organ in medieval manuscripts.
Lisa Byers received master’s degrees in music education and organ performance from the University of Michigan, and a J.D. from the University of Toledo, Ohio. She is retired from teaching music in the Jefferson Public Schools in Monroe, Michigan, as well as from her position as organist/choir director at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Tecumseh, Michigan. She subs as organist in the Monroe area.
Photo credit: Bela Fehe

The University of Michigan 49th Conference on Organ Music was dedicated to the memory of Robert Glasgow, brilliant organist and much loved professor of organ at the University of Michigan. The conference was truly a celebration of his life as a scholar, performer, and teacher. His raison d’être was music—organ music of soaring melodies and transcendent harmonies. He shared his passion with his students and has left a legacy that can be kept alive through generations of students who instill in their students his ideas.
During the conference, a wide variety of lectures were presented that reflected years of research, along with performances of four centuries of organ music. The conference was international in scope, with lecturers and performers from Germany, Italy, Hungary, Canada as well as the U.S. The themes of the conference focused on the influences of J. S. Bach and Mendelssohn’s role in arousing public interest in Bach’s music.

Sunday opening events
The initial event was an afternoon “Festival of Hymns” presented by the UM School of Music, Theatre, and Dance and the American Guild of Organists Ann Arbor chapter. Led by organist-director Michael Burkhardt, it featured the Eastern Michigan University Brass Ensemble, the Detroit Handbell Ensemble, and the Ann Arbor Area Chorus. Special care was taken to choose, coordinate, and connect music by Bach, Mendelssohn, and Charles Wesley. Many hymn verses and arrangement variations kept the presentation musically interesting and enjoyable. Dr. Burkhardt was masterful in his organ solos, accompaniments, improvisations, conducting, and composing. His leadership from the console was met with great enthusiasm from the appreciative, participating audience. (Review by Lisa Byers)
Sunday evening’s organ recital program featured music of Spain and France performed by musicians from the University of Michigan’s Historic Organ Tour 56 to Catalonia and France. Janice Feher opened with an excerpt from a Soler sonata. Gale Kramer performed the “Allegro Vivace” from Widor’s Symphony V, followed by Joanne V. Clark’s rendering of the “Adagio” from Widor’s Symphony VI. Mary Morse sang the versets of a Dandrieu Magnificat for which Christine Chun performed the alternate versets. Timothy Huth played a section from Tournemire’s In Festo Pentecostes, and Paul Merritt closed the program with the Dubois Toccata. The various composition styles, registrations, and favorable interpretations performed excellently and sensitively on the Hill Auditorium organ were well received and greatly acknowledged by the audience. (Review by Lisa Byers)

Monday, October 5
Jason Branham, a doctoral student of Marilyn Mason, set the stage for celebrating not only Mendelssohn’s two hundredth birthday but also his profound influence in bringing the forgotten music of J. S. Bach to the attention of Berlin and consequently to Western society. Branham’s program was a reprise of Mendelssohn’s Bach recital presented at St. Thomas-Kirche in Leipzig in 1840, performed to raise money to erect a monument to Bach in Leipzig: Fugue in E-flat, BWV 552; Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele, BWV 654; Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543; Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor, BWV 582; Pastoral in F Major, BWV 590; and Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, BWV 565. Branham’s performance was exciting and earned him thunderous applause.
Christoph Wolff, Professor of Musicology at Harvard, eminent Bach scholar, and author of Johann Sebastian Bach: The Learned Musician, gave four illuminating lectures during the conference. In his first lecture, “J. S. Bach the Organist—Recent Research,” he presented arguments supporting Bach’s authorship of the D-minor Toccata and Fugue, BWV 565, dated 1703. Peter Williams, who questioned Bach’s authorship in the 1980s, maintained that such a piece could not have been composed by Bach before 1730. Wolff presented convincing arguments based on an analysis of both the oldest manuscripts and the music itself. He also drew a connection to the discovery in 2008 of Bach’s Wo Gott der Herr nicht bei uns hält, BWV 1128, in the library of Halle University. The work is a large free fantasia dated ca. 1705, with compositional features shared by the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. Wolff maintained that Bach, whose organ technique was formidable at an early age, composed the D-minor Toccata and Fugue to dazzle his audience with improvisatory passages borrowed from pieces like Buxtehude’s D-minor Toccata. Wolff concluded that this work was written as a showpiece for Bach himself and not intended to be circulated and copied by his pupils; hence only one copy exists, in the hand of Johannes Ringk, dated 1730.
Michael Barone’s handout listing Mendelssohn recordings was a testimony to his impressive knowledge of recorded organ music. Of the many Mendelssohn pieces he played, the most compelling was a 1973 recording of Mendelssohn’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in G Minor, op. 25, played by Robert B. Pitman, piano, and George Lamphere, organ, at the Methuen Music Hall (Pipedreams CD-1002; live performance). The playing was stunning in its youthful exuberance and virtuosity.
Professor Wolff showed images of historical organs and churches connected to Bach, many of which unfortunately no longer exist, in his lecture “Silbermann and Others—The World of Bach Organs.” The most riveting information regarding performance practice of the organ in Bach cantatas came from a view of the original Mülhausen balcony. The balcony was large enough to accommodate strings, woodwinds, brass, and choir; kettle drums were fixed onto the railings overlooking the audience. The choir stood below the instruments. The large organ was used—not a little Positiv. A performance incorporating this practice is on John Eliot Gardner’s recording, Bach Cantata Pilgrimage, using the Altenburg organ in Cantata 146.
James Kibbie, Professor of Organ at the University of Michigan, announced that his recordings of the complete organ works of Bach, performed on historical instruments in Germany, can be found at the website <blockmrecords.org>. The project is supported by a gift from Dr. Barbara Sloat in honor of her late husband J. Barry Sloat. Additional details are available at <www.blockmrecords.org/bach&gt;.
Istvan Ruppert is Dean and Professor of Organ in the Department of Music of the Szechenyi University in Gyor, Hungary, and is also an organ professor at the Ferenc Liszt Academy of Music. His program included music by Mendelssohn, Karg-Elert, Max Reger, Liszt, and three Hungarian composers. He has formidable technique and played with great energy and abandon. It was refreshing to hear intriguing and unknown compositions by Frigyes Hidas, Zsolt Gárdonyi, and Istvan Koloss. The humor in Gárdonyi’s Mozart Changes was appreciated. Ruppert is a real enthusiast in sharing music by Hungarian composers by graciously offering to send scores to those who wished to have them.

October 6
Prof. Wolff pointed out in his lecture “Bach’s Organ Music—From 1750 to Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy” that Bach’s Clavier Übung III offered a textbook of organ playing. Wolff lamented that Mendelssohn’s inclusion of historical music by Bach, Handel, Mozart, and Haydn into the Gewandhaus concerts had unfortunate consequences in our concert programs today. While only five percent of his concerts were devoted to “historical composers,” the remaining works were by contemporary composers, himself, Liszt, Schumann, and Schubert. Today our programs are mainly old music, with five percent devoted to new music.
Susanne Diederich received a PhD from Tübingen University. Her dissertation, “Original instructions of registration for French organ music in the 17th and 18th centuries: Relations between organ building and organ music during the time of Louis XIV,” represents some of the ground-breaking research on French Classical organs; it was published by Bärenreiter in 1975. In her lecture, “The Classical French Organ, Its Music and the French Influence on Bach’s Organ Composition,” Diederich pointed out that the French Classical organ was complete by 1665, and Guillaume Nivers’ First Organ Book of 1665 contained the first description of all the stops. Her handout was especially informative in showing how Bach’s table of ornaments in his Klavierbüchlein für Wilhelm
Friedemann reflected his assimilation of ornament tables by Raison, 1688, Boyvin, 1689, and Couperin, 1690. Robert Luther, organist emeritus of Zion Lutheran Church in Anoka, Minnesota, played movements from Guilain’s Second Suite, and Christopher Urbiel, doctoral student of Marilyn Mason, played movements from de Grigny’s Veni Creator, Marchand’s Livre d’orgue Book I, and Bach’s Fantaisie, BWV 542, to illustrate features Bach borrowed from the French Classical repertoire.
Seth Nelson received his DMA in organ performance from the University of Michigan in 2003; he is organist at the First Baptist Church in San Antonio, Texas, and accompanist for the San Antonio Choral Society and the Trinity University Choir. His lecture/recital, “Music of the Calvinist Reformation: Introducing John Calvin’s Theology of Music,” included an explanation of why Calvin did not approve of the use of the organ in services. The reasons were many: the Old Testament mentioned its use, thus it is not appropriate to use an old instrument in the new age; it is wrong to imitate the Roman Church; it is an unnecessary aid; it is too distracting; it is against Paul’s teaching, “Praise should be in all one tongue.” The highlight of the program was hearing Seth Nelson’s spirited playing of Paul Manz’s introduction to Calvin’s setting of Psalm 42 and Michael Burkhardt’s introduction and interlude to Calvin’s setting of Psalm 134.
The evening concert featured Mendelssohn’s six organ sonatas played by James Hammann, chair of the music department of the University of New Orleans. It was a rare treat to hear these technically demanding pieces all played at one sitting. Dr. Hammann’s years of investment in this music is apparent. His recording of Mendelssohn’s organ works on the 1785 Stumm organ in St. Ulrich’s Church in Neckargemünd is available on the Raven label.

October 7
Tuesday morning began with the annually anticipated narrated photographic summary of European organs presented by Janice and Bela Feher. This year featured the UM Historic Organ Tour 56 to Northern Spain and France. The PowerPoint presentation included at least 600 photographs of organs in 35 religious locations and the Grenzing organ factory in Barcelona. The organs dated from 1522 to 1890 and included builders Dom Bedos, François-Henry, Louis-Alexandre, Clicquot, Cavaillé family, Cavaillé-Coll, Moucherel, and Scherrer. The photos showed views of cases, consoles, mechanical works, stained glass windows, altar pieces, sacred art, and other enhancements. The Fehers provided a written list with detailed information for each picture. Their first book, with Marilyn Mason, is available by mail order from <Blurb.com>. (Review by Lisa Byers)
Stephen Morris is a lecturer in music at Baylor University, Waco, Texas; organist-choirmaster and director of music ministries at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Spirit in Houston, Texas; and maintains a studio as a teacher of singing, largely concentrating on early adolescent female voices. His presentation, “Acclaim, Slander, and Renaissance: An Historical Perspective on Mendelssohn,” incorporated visual images and music. Among the lesser-known facts is that Mendelssohn was admired and befriended by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. They chose Mendelssohn’s March from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” for their daughter’s wedding. It became a favorite for productions of Shakespeare throughout Europe. However, due to anti-Semitism fueled by Richard Wagner, Mendelssohn’s March was banned by Nazi Germany, and ten other composers were commissioned to replace it. Ironically, the Nazis preferred Bach above all composers, yet they never would have known about him without Mendelssohn. Morris noted that there is a great wealth of information on Mendelssohn research at <www.
themendelssohnproject.org>.
Professor Wolff concluded his Bach-Mendelssohn lectures with a fascinating presentation, “The Pre-History of Mendelssohn’s Performances of the St. Matthew Passion.” He described Sarah Itzig Levy, Mendelssohn’s maternal great aunt and a famous harpsichordist, as the moving force who began the revival of
J.S. Bach’s music. She introduced family members and friends to many of Bach’s works. She studied with W.F. Bach and commissioned C.P.E. Bach to write what turned out to be his last concerto: one for harpsichord, fortepiano, and orchestra. She regularly performed in weekly gatherings in her salon as soloist with an orchestra from 1774–1784. In 1823 Mendelssohn was given a copy of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion by his grandmother, Bella Salomon, Sara Levy’s sister. It took Mendelssohn five years to persuade his teacher, Carl Friedrich Zelter, to have the Singakademie of Berlin perform it. The 19-year-old Mendelssohn conducted Bach’s St. Matthew Passion to a packed audience that included the Prussian king. This performance enthralled the audience and thus began J. S. Bach’s reentry into the hearts of German people and to the world at large. Mendelssohn continued conducting performances of the St. Matthew Passion when he became director of the Gewandhaus in Leipzig in 1834, at the age of twenty-six. He re-orchestrated it, shortened some pieces, omitted some arias, and introduced the practice of having the chorale Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden sung a cappella. That score and the performing parts are now in the Bodleian Library.
Eugenio Fagiani, resident organist at St. Michael the Archangel Catholic Church in Bergamo, played a recital at Hill Auditorium featuring Italian composers Filippo Capocci, Oreste Ravanello, Marco Enrico Bossi, and four of his own compositions. His playing was impeccable, and his compositions reflect the influence of one of his teachers, Naji Hakim, in style and use of exotic sounds and feisty, driving rhythms. His Victimae Paschali Laudes, op. 96, has a wide variety of striking timbres, ranging from a clarinet plus mutation stops to a big-band sound. His creativity as a composer was undeniable in his Festive Prelude, op. 99b, composed for this conference. Here the pedal occasionally sounded like percussive drums. The work sizzled with energy and ended in a fiery toccata. Fagiani played “Joke,” another of his compositions, as an encore. The audience enjoyed his quotations from J. S. Bach and John Lennon. More can be learned about this impressive composer/organist at his website:
<www.eugeniomariafagiani.com&gt;.
Michele Johns, Adjunct Professor of Organ at the University of Michigan, presented an interesting lecture on the changes of taste reflected in hymnals from four denominations over the past forty years. She noted that the texts have become more gender inclusive, hymns in foreign languages are included (“What a Friend We Have in Jesus” appears in four languages in the Presbyterian Hymnal), and there is greater variety in styles from “pantyhose music”—one size fits all—to Taizé folk melodies; she proved her point that in today’s hymnals there is “Something Old, Something New.”
One of the most exciting recitals of the conference was played by Aaron Tan, a student of Marilyn Mason and a graduate student in the School of Engineering at the University of Michigan, organist/choirmaster at the First Presbyterian Church in Ypsilanti, and director of the Ypsilanti Pipe Organ Festival. His memorized recital shimmered with grace and energy: Alleluyas by Simon Preston; Prelude and Fugue in G Minor, op. 7, no. 3, by Marcel Dupré; Sicilienne from Suite, op. 5, by Maurice Duruflé; Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543, by J. S. Bach; Moto ostinato from Sunday Music by Petr Eben; Naïades and Final from Symphony No. 6 by Louis Vierne. The audience gave him a standing ovation.
The concluding recital was played in Hill Auditorium in memory of Robert Glasgow by some of his former students. The program was a beautiful tribute to his life—a life devoted to the study, performance and teaching of organ music, especially the music of Franck, Mendelssohn, Vierne, Widor, Schumann, Liszt, and Brahms. The performers brought with them some of his spirit, some of his light, some of his joy in creating something that puts us in another dimension. His attention to the minutest detail of the score, his total commitment to breathing life into each phrase was mirrored in these performers:
Mark Toews, director of music, Lawrence Park Community Church, Toronto, past president, Royal Canadian College of Organists, Variations de Concert, op. 1 by Joseph Bonnet; Ronald Krebs, vice president, Reuter Organ Company, O Welt, ich muss dich lassen, op. 122, no. 11, Fugue in A-flat Minor, WoO8, by Johannes Brahms; David Palmer, Professor Emeritus, School of Music, University of Windsor, organist and choir director, All Saints’ Church, Windsor, Ontario, L’Apparition du Christ ressuscité a Marie-Madeleine by Olivier Messiaen; Joanne Vollendorf Clark, Chair of the Music Department, Marygrove College, Detroit, minister of music, Hartford Memorial Baptist Church, Detroit, Pastorale, op. 26, by Alexandre Guilmant; Charles Miller, minister of music and organist, National City Christian Church, Washington, D.C., Pièce héroïque by César Franck; Joseph Jackson, organist, First Presbyterian Church, Royal Oak, Michigan, “Air with Variations” from Suite for Organ by Leo Sowerby; and Jeremy David Tarrant, organist and choirmaster, the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Detroit, Andantino, op. 51, no. 2, and Carillon de Westminster, op. 54, no. 6, by Louis Vierne.
Professor Marilyn Mason made the 49th Conference on Organ Music at the University of Michigan a reality. She invested countless hours of planning and organizing into making it happen, because she has an insatiable thirst for learning and thinks “we all need to learn.” She has brought brilliant scholars and performers together for 49 years to teach and inspire us. The list includes such figures as Almut Rössler, Umberto Pineschi, Martin Haselböck, Todd Wilson, Janette Fishell, Madame Duruflé, Catherine Crozier, Guy Bovet, Peter Williams, Lady Susi Jeans, Wilma Jensen, Gordon Atkinson, and Marie-Claire Alain (to name only a few). We thank her for such priceless gifts.

Robert August is director of music/organist at First Presbyterian Church of Fort Worth, Texas. Previously he was assistant university organist and choirmaster at The Memorial Church at Harvard University, during doctoral studies at the New England Conservatory of Music. A native of the Netherlands, he has an extensive background in historical performance. August has served as carillonneur at Brigham Young University, and as organist and conductor at churches in the Netherlands and the United States. In addition to collaboration with artists such as Yo-Yo Ma, Christopher Hogwood, and Simon Carrington, he has performed in Europe and the United States as a solo artist and accompanist, including tours and CD recordings with the Harvard University Choir and the Harvard Baroque Chamber Orchestra. Robert and his wife, flutist Dolores August, often collaborate on modern and period instruments.

This is a work that has occupied
me for the whole of the previous year in an effort to make it worthy of the lofty name it bears. It is also a work which, I believe, is likely to outlive my other creations the longest.”1 This was Schumann’s description of the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH, op. 60, in a letter to his publisher, after completion of the final fugue. Schumann took great care and pride in the six fugues, but his prediction could not have been more off target as the fugues are rarely performed anymore. Rather, they have become the topic of ongoing discussions about Schumann’s mental state in relation to the quality of his output.
The notion that the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH are of lesser quality than the majority of Schumann’s oeuvre seems to be based on largely subjective analyses. Such subjectivism is not uncommon in art and music, as is evident in Albert Schweitzer’s discussion of J.S. Bach’s Passacaglia in C Minor, BWV 582: “He [Bach] saw clearly, however, that on the whole the incoherency of this kind of work was not suitable to the greatest organ music, and he ventures upon the experiment only with this colossal theme.”2 In Schweitzer’s opinion, the Passacaglia was a compositional failure that did not compare to Bach’s other organ works.
Robert Schumann was of a different opinion: “After a pause, these [organ compositions] were followed by the Passecaille in C Minor (with 21 variations, intertwined so ingeniously that one can never cease to be amazed) admirably handled in the choice of registers by Mendelssohn.”3 Schweitzer’s and Schumann’s remarks, published roughly sixty years apart, could not be more contradictory.
Why is it that the Passacaglia can render such opposing views, especially by two men known for their deep respect and understanding of Bach’s music?4 With regard to Schweitzer, we cannot be sure if his comments were the result of a somewhat subjective analysis, but he undoubtedly would not have published his findings unless he believed them to be correct.5 Schumann’s opposing remarks are fascinating as well. They not only provide us with his opinion of the Passacaglia but also unveil his often-overlooked understanding of the organ.
Tragically, Schumann’s organ works, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH, op. 60, have often been deemed ‘unworthy’ and are repeatedly criticized or, perhaps worse, omitted from Schumann biographies. Op. 60 is systematically neglected and misinterpreted, often as a result of careless research. It is undoubtedly the most disputed cycle Schumann ever composed. Despite a number of favorable articles, a flow of negative writings remains consistent.6 Numerous articles on the six fugues are based on flawed research and, in some cases, pre-existing articles. Biographers often use Schumann’s mental condition to explain the lack of quality in the six fugues, conveniently ignoring the fact that Schumann produced some of his best works during the same period, including the Symphony in C Major and the Piano Concerto in A Minor.7

A musical cure
A general misconception of Schumann’s organ works seems to have carried well into the 20th and 21st centuries, as several of even the most recent Schumann biographers merely reference the fugues rather than opening up a dialogue or deeper discussion. Schumann’s organ works are neglected in several “comprehensive” Schumann biographies. Alan Walker, e.g., speaks favorably of the 1845/46 compositions in general, but omits op. 60 altogether.8 George Dadelsen describes the six fugues as “appallingly monotonous” while trying to compete with Bach’s Art of Fugue.9 Other biographers carelessly mislabel op. 60; Marcel Brion describes the Four Fugues on the name of Bach, op. 72,10 while John Worthen writes: “In April he began writing his Six Fugues for Organ on B-A-C-H (op. 60), a sequence interrupted only by the arrival of a rented pedal-piano which allowed him to write works for keyboard and pedal which did not require an organ.”11 Schumann, in fact, did not interrupt his fugal writing. Instead, a pedal attachment for the piano was hired to practice organ.12 Eric Jensen makes a similar mistake: “Schumann rented a pedal piano—a piano fitted with pedals for the feet like an organ—in order to become familiar with the technique involved.”13
Although Schumann was by no means an accomplished organist like Mendelssohn, he did have a deep understanding of the instrument, as is evident in numerous sources.14 Robert Schauffler claims that the fugues were mere play: “To Schumann at the height of his career, such exercises [contrapuntal studies] were mere play. While diverting him, they used up so little of his true creative power that, with the approach of warm weather, he was able to throw himself into making two of his chief masterpieces: the Piano Concerto and the C Major Symphony.”15 Schauffler continues:

Schumann must have felt in his bones that fugal writing was not in his line; for not until 1839 did he compose his first published attempt, that unsuccessful experiment, the Fughette, op. 32, no. 4. He gave out nothing more of the sort until the nervous collapse of 1845, during which he wrote works that look passing strange in a catalogue of his music.16

After a short description of Schumann’s contrapuntal works of 1845, Schauffler writes:

The composer’s nervous collapse had been aggravated by the too intense labor and excitement of his years of song, symphony, and chamber music. One suspects that when, as he wrote Mendelssohn on July 17th, 1845, ‘an onslaught of terrifying thoughts’ had brought him to try his hand at fugal writing, very much as we of today would cajole a nervous invalid into doing crossword puzzles, to take his mind from his troubles. The very fact that Schumann’s intensely subjective nature made it almost impossible for him to give of his best in this formal, objective style allowed him to play with these contrapuntal forms without expending too much energy.17
Peter Ostwald too, believes that the contrapuntal works of 1845 were exercises to improve the composer’s mental condition:

Despite his physical and psychological complaints, Schumann was beginning to do some composing again, but it was mainly the sort of counterpoint exercises he had relied on, as a way of settling his mind, during earlier depressive episodes. He rented a special musical instrument, called a pedal piano, that “has an extra set of strings and hammers, making it easier to play fugues, and worked on Bach for a while.”18

While Ostwald does not stand alone in his opinion of Schumann’s mental state in relation to the compositions of the contrapuntal year of 1845, one cannot but wonder why they, in particular the organ works, have methodically been deemed inferior. Ostwald also writes:

Before the trip with Clara, in August 1845, Schumann had composed several fugues based on the name BACH, and he published an impressive amount of contrapuntal work later that year and the next. The six BACH Fugues in particular must have required enormous concentration, since not only are they based on a musical relationship between Bach’s name and the notes of each fugue subject, but they also incorporate an intricate mathematical system, the so-called Bach numbers, which Bach himself had used to provide cohesion in his contrapuntal work.19

With all due respect to Mr. Ostwald, his findings are based on pre-existing, flawed research. Though Schumann indeed incorporated certain Baroque principles in his organ works, Peterson’s attempt to attribute “Bach numbers” to the fugues holds no ground. Similar misguided assumptions have been applied to Bach’s music as well, claiming for example, that Bach had left clues in his music in regards to his own date of death.20 Despite his intrigue with Bach numbers, Peterson’s opinion of the fugues as a whole is less than favorable: “Schumann’s fugal writing seems, in spite of his studies, to have been a contrivance which he discarded when he felt hampered by it, even in a work entitled ‘fugue’.”21 Stephen Walsh provides us with a similar statement: “Even in the finest passages of op. 60 one is aware of a certain impersonal quality about the writing.”22
A recent biography by John Worthen reads: “This [study of counterpoint] was, after all, a musical cure; one that involved creating music on the page, after the enforced dry period of the autumn of 1844.”23 Worthen continues with some blatant assumptions:
Such music insisted on structure and pattern, rather than on the harnessing and expression of emotion and melody which had made the work on Faust so exhausting. The fugal music could be worked out logically and tunefully, within its own very narrow confines. Its very limitations offered freedom from excitement.24
What Worthen exactly means by ‘tunefully’ remains uncertain. As an analysis of the fugues will demonstrate, his claim that the fugues are confined or free from excitement could not be farther removed from the truth. Worthen’s next statement too, is completely false: “At any rate, the ‘quiet’ neo-Baroque music that engaged Schumann in the spring and early summer of 1845 may have been a rather narrowly focused sequence of works to occupy the composer of the Finale zu Faust, but it had served the purpose of getting him back into composing.”25 As we will see in the following discussion, the perception of Schumann’s contrapuntal studies as mere therapeutic tools has remained a common yet flawed assumption for over a century.

Schumann and Bach
An aversion to the organ works is routinely linked to Schumann’s mental illness, while some scholars maintain that Schumann simply was not a real contrapuntist, and that his knowledge of counterpoint was quite moderate. Though the number of unfavorable commentaries seems perhaps overwhelming, it is interesting to make the comparison with—at least as many—complimentary testimonials. Schumann’s studies in counterpoint commenced well before composing the six fugues. The numerous entries in the diaries and household books depict Schumann as a prodigious student of Bach works and contrapuntal techniques (see Appendix 1). Schumann seems to have taken a natural liking to Bach’s music, perhaps enhanced by the Bach revival of the early 19th century. Leon Plantinga writes:
He [Schumann] subscribed to a rather deterministic view of history in which a central tradition in music could be expected to develop in certain orderly and predictable ways. For him this tradition, for all practical purposes, had its beginning in Bach, the first in a series of monumental composers whose personal contributions comprised the locus of an inevitable line of progress leading to his own time. This line extended through Beethoven and Schubert to Schumann’s own contemporaries.26
This ‘extended line’ manifests itself in the organ fugues as Schumann reaches back to older forms while engaging in a new kind of fugal writing. Though Schumann was not the first composer to incorporate the famous BACH theme, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH comprise the first significant cycle of organ works of its kind, soon to be followed by Liszt, Reger, and many more. For Schumann, studies in the Art of Fugue were crucial in the genesis of the organ fugues. As Gerhard Weinberger writes:
The overall conception, the thematic material and the extremely high quality of the writing all derive from Bach; this fugue cycle represents the end of a developmental phase which culminated in Schumann’s study of Bach’s music (the six fugues may be viewed directly as modeled in the Art of Fugue) and of the fugue per se.27
Weinberger continues: “Nevertheless, the fugues are by no means derivative stylistic copies, but effective ‘character fugues’ in the romantic vein.”28 An interesting detail is the fact that Schumann, despite his admiration of Bach, deemed the Art of Fugue too intellectual. His view in this matter may be explained by his famous quote:
The best fugue will always be the one that the public takes for a Strauss waltz; in other words, a fugue where the structural underpinnings are no more visible than the roots that nourish the flower. Thus a reasonably knowledgeable music-lover once took a Bach fugue for a Chopin etude—to the credit of both! Thus, too, one could play for many a maiden the last part of one of the Mendelssohn fugues and call it one of the Lieder ohne Worte. The charm and tenderness of the figures are such that she would never be reminded of churches and fugues.29
This last comment is fascinating. “Never be reminded of churches” is a telling statement that says a lot about the Zeitgeist, since churches and fugues are so strongly connected here, and in such a harsh way.
Schumann’s interest in the organ was steeped in a deep admiration for Bach. In the April 1842 issue of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik he wrote: “ . . . At our next meeting, a volume of well-executed fugues would please us more than another one full of sketches. At this royal instrument, the composer must have learned the value of clearly defined artistic form, such as that given to us by Bach in the largest as well as smallest works.”30 Three years earlier Schumann wrote: “But it is only at his organ that he [Bach] appears to be at his most sublime, most audacious, in his own element. Here he knows neither limits nor goal and works for centuries to come.”31 Schumann’s organ fugues, thus, are not a byproduct of mental exercises. They are carefully crafted works, based on a long tradition.
Approaching fugal composition from a new (Romantic) perspective, Schumann felt that he had created works that were truly unique. Like Bach himself, Schumann united the old and new, resulting in six spectacular character pieces. After all, according to Schumann, “Most of Bach’s fugues are character pieces of the highest kind; in part truly poetic creations,”32 and Schumann’s fugues were no different. In the diaries Schumann refers to Bach’s compositions repeatedly. He seemed to be concerned with preserving and reviving Bach’s legacy, which, according to Hans T. David, “. . . by invoking the name of Bach again and again, helped gain for Bach’s work a secure place in the minds of educated musicians.”33 In addition to the Bach legacy, Schumann was concerned with preserving his own legacy. His preferred medium in this—the fugue—is easily explained by his lifelong admiration of Bach’s keyboard fugues. Charles Rosen gives a second reason for Schumann’s choice: “In the nineteenth century, the fugue had become a demonstration of conventional mastery, a proof of craftsmanship. Besides competing with Beethoven, Schumann conforms to the standard pattern of fugue laid down by Cherubini.”34
In addition to Bach’s keyboard fugues, at least two more sources play an important role in Schumann’s contrapuntal output: Marpurg’s Abhandlung von der Fuge (1753) and Cherubini’s Cours de Contrepoint et de Fugue (1835). Federhofer and Nauhaus write:

The composer’s concern with counterpoint began during his ‘apprenticeship’ with Heinrich Dorn (1804-1892) in the years 1831/32, and bore its first fruits in his exercise books. Schumann subsequently turned his attention to F.W. Marpurg’s Abhandlung von der Fuge [Treatise on Fugue], parts of which he studied again, albeit reluctantly, in the autumn of 1837, along with Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. This independent study is reflected, in an artistically transmuted form, in the book of Fugengeschichten [Fugal matters] (November 1837) which is at present held at the Robert Schumann Haus in Zwickau.35
According to the Haushaltbücher, the Schumanns’ studies of Cherubini’s treatise commenced April 6, 1845, the same month Robert finished the first two organ fugues. Cours de Contrepoint et de Fugue is largely based on Bach works and clearly serves as a point of departure for Schumann’s organ fugues. Two and a half weeks later, on April 24, Clara describes the rented pedal board for their piano: “. . . we obtained on hire a pedal to be attached below the pianoforte, and from this we received great pleasure. Our chief object was to practice organ playing.”36 Both Robert and Clara enjoyed the organ, but it seems that the intent was to study organ rather than becoming concert organists like Mendelssohn. Clara by then was a renowned concert pianist, while Robert had given up keyboard playing some fifteen years earlier, due to his numb finger.
A combination of counterpoint studies, a deep admiration for Bach, and a great appreciation for the organ finally resulted in the counterpoint episodes of 1845. In regards to Schumann’s organ compositions, Joachim Draheim writes, “The exceptional importance and originality of these fugues were long insufficiently appreciated, although they belong to the very few truly distinctive organ compositions from the first half of the 19th century, together with Mendelssohn’s Organ Sonatas, op. 65, to which they owe certain impulses.”37 Besides generating an artistic legacy, Schumann may have anticipated commercial success from his contrapuntal output; works for pedal piano were hardly available, and Schumann made sure he was among the first to write for the instrument, ensuring a ‘head start’ in any possible financial gain. The six fugues were, like Mendelssohn’s organ sonatas, among the very few serious organ compositions of their time, and the first large cycle of organ fugues on the name of BACH. And as Schumann himself points out, the organ fugues can also easily be performed on piano (four hands). Schumann cleverly published opp. 56, 58 and 60 as works for pedal piano or organ, most likely to enhance sales. However, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH lacked (financial) success, and remain Schumann’s only attempt at organ composition. Schumann, however, was very pleased with his contrapuntal endeavors. A letter of 8 February 1847 to his friend Carl Ferdinand Becker illustrates Schumann’s satisfaction with the six fugues: “I have never polished and worked so long on any composition of mine as on this one in order to make it worthy of the illustrious name which it bears.”38

Mendelssohn
Like Mendelssohn, Schumann favored a modern fugal type steeped in the Bach tradition, yet combined with a poetic flavor. As Plantinga points out: “It was the particular genius of Mendelssohn, Schumann said, to show that successful fugues could still be written in a style that was fresh and yet faithful to its Bachian and Handelian models; these fugues hold to the form of Bach, he felt, though their melody marks them as modern.”39 Already a famous conductor, composer and organist, Mendelssohn wrote his Three Preludes and Fugues, op. 37 in 1836–37. Later, in 1844–45, he wrote the Six Sonatas, op. 65. As Klaus-Peter Richter points out, the motivic resemblances between Mendelssohn’s and Schumann’s organ works are more than obvious.40 In reference to Mendelssohn’s fugues of the six sonatas,41 Schumann writes: “I do not wish to indulge in blind praise, and I know perfectly well that Bach made fugues of quite a different sort. But if he were to rise from the grave today, he would, I am sure—having delivered himself of some opinions about the state of music in general—rejoice to find at least flowers where he had planted giant-limbed oak forests.”42
Mendelssohn’s organ works were well received by critics43 and may have generated Schumann’s contrapuntal aspirations, though Schumann may have chosen a slightly different path to avoid comparison with Mendelssohn’s compositions; in addition to writing the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH he wrote a set of canons and sketches for the pedal piano.44 Schumann hoped to be among the first to publish works for this relatively new instrument, ensuring financial and artistic gain. Including the piano as an optional instrument for performance of the fugues, sketches, and canons aided Schumann in several ways; it bypassed the archaic reputation of the organ while marketing the music for the most widely used keyboard instrument of that time. An advertisement in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik states:

Some Studies and Sketches for the pianoforte with pedal will shortly be published from Robert Schumann. We would like to remind our readers that in our opinion, when once this combining of instruments finds general acceptance, performers will have the opportunity not only to return to the earlier art and bring classical organ works into private homes, but also discover many different uses for the pedal piano and accomplish new effects.45

Alas, the pedal piano never became the widely used instrument Schumann was hoping for, and none of the contrapuntal studies of 1845 were a financial success.

Schumann and the organ
The rise of the Enlightenment caused a great shift in the use of instruments in churches, the court, and at home. The new, galant style called for instruments capable of immediate and subtle changes in timbre and dynamics; hence, the piano became the new keyboard instrument of choice. The organ, as Schumann wrote, reminded people of “churches and fugues,” and was considered an archaic and static instrument. Despite its tainted status, Schumann proceeded to compose for the instrument, a decision that may be partially attributed to a long tradition; many post-Renaissance composers wrote larger works to preserve their name in history. Several of Bach’s sacred compositions, for example, were simply too long to be included in church services.46 Similarly, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Schumann were not employed by the church, yet their output includes a large quantity of sacred works.47
Scholars have often blamed Schumann’s limited knowledge of the organ for the so-called poor quality of the organ works. However, Schumann knew the organ well, and his understanding of the instrument was in fact greater than most of his contemporaries. Russell Stinson recently uncovered an important document in regards to Schumann’s perception of Bach, as well as the organ. The Clara Schumann Bach Book offers a detailed list of Bach keyboard works from Schumann’s library and contains numerous detailed markings (corrections, registrations, etc.) in Schumann’s hand (see Appendices 2 and 3 on page 26).
The source is very specific and provides us with a list of Bach’s keyboard works that Schumann owned before the contrapuntal year of 1845. In one particular example Stinson points out: “In the case of the Clavierübung setting of ‘Vater unser, im Himmelreich,’ Schumann bracketed every phrase of the canon on the chorale melody, similar to how he analyzed fugues from the Well-Tempered Clavier.”48 The Vater unser chorale prelude is a compositional tour de force and one of Bach’s most complex organ works. Based on the many markings, this work must have had a great impact on Schumann. Schumann also corrected typographical errors and gave detailed descriptions about the use of stops, manual changes, as well as pitch designation, all of which demonstrate more than basic knowledge of the organ.49 As Stinson points out:
Just consider how Schumann annotated, from Part 3 of the Clavierübung, the manualiter setting of “Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir,” a work in which Bach subjects each phrase of the chorale tune to a complex fugal exposition before stating the melody in augmentation in the soprano voice. Following Bach’s constant use of inversion and stretto, Schumann bracketed, in addition to each phrase of the chorale proper, every one of the roughly forty fugal statements.50

The Clara Schumann Bach Book is an invaluable source, and for once and for all does away with the general misconception of Schumann’s limited knowledge of the organ. The evidence in Schumann’s personal library discloses both his interest and knowledge of Bach, the organ and counterpoint.

A new approach
Schumann was known to compose rather fast, but it took him from April to November to write the fugues. In the Diaries, Schumann writes:

I used to write most, practically all of my shorter pieces in [the heat of] inspiration; many compositions [were completed] with unbelievable swiftness, for instance, my First Symphony in B-flat Major [was written] in four days, as was a Liederkreis of twenty pieces [Dichterliebe]; the Peri too was composed in a relatively short time. Only from the year 1845 on, when I began to invent and work out everything in my head, did a completely new manner of composing begin to develop.51

This new manner of composing resulted in works that were based on a thorough, perhaps more intellectual approach. Schumann’s keyboard compositions of 1845 are often said to be more objective than his earlier compositions.52 That in itself is a subjective statement, and should be taken with a grain of salt. Traits of the younger Schumann can be found in any of the collections written in 1845, but they also expose a maturing composer. These are indeed contrapuntal works based on models by Bach, Marpurg, and Cherubini, but Schumann remained true to himself as a person and artist by combining the new with the old. The fugues exhibit a blend of sentiment (third fugue), restriction (fifth fugue), and excitement (second and sixth fugues). Schumann, as Weinberger says, “demonstrates the highest skill in contrapuntal writing, using all sorts of complicated polyphony culminating in the concluding double fugue. But at the same time he produced expressive compositions which he himself termed character pieces, but in the strict style.”53 Charles Rosen was right when he wrote, “Throughout his short musical life, Schumann produced his most striking works not by developing and extending Classical procedures and forms, but by subverting them, sometimes undermining their functions and even making them momentarily unintelligible.”54
The six fugues remain among the most unique works in the organ repertoire, and Schumann was well aware that these compositions differed from his earlier output. Having given up his old habit of composing at the piano, Schumann felt liberated. Daverio sheds more light on Schumann’s new manner of composing: “. . . it is perhaps better understood as a logical outgrowth of his approach to large-scale instrumental composition in the earlier 1840s rather than as a radical break.”55 Scholars have maintained the notion that Schumann’s oeuvre reflects several distinctly different compositional periods. Daverio’s opposing view, however, “explains” the six fugues in a nutshell:

Perhaps Schumann intermingled ‘subjective’ and ‘objective’ qualities throughout his career, but with varying degrees of emphasis, a hypothesis implying that the passage from a ‘subjective’ to an ‘objective’ phase was hardly abrupt. To insist on a hard and fast demarcation of style-periods in time is to miss the point, namely, that Schumann’s oeuvre unfolds in a series of sometimes parallel and sometimes overlapping phases. The products of his imagination may thus be viewed as points where divergent or complementary trends intersect.56

Von Wasilewski agrees with this view, pointing out the combination of strict form and a Romantic, poetic spirit:
Of the two sets of fugues (ops. 72 and 60), the latter, consisting of six fugues on the name of Bach, is of extraordinary merit. The first five fugues especially display so firm and masterly a treatment of the most difficult forms of art, that Schumann might from these alone lay claim to the title of a profound contrapuntist. They show variety of plastic power with four notes only. The tone of feeling varies in all six pieces, and is always poetic, which, in connection with a command of form, is the main point in composition. These are serious character pieces.57
Though the Canons and Sketches display a more intimate, subjective side of Schumann, the six fugues demonstrate a stronger balance between head (Eusebius) and heart (Florestan). Daverio’s and Von Wasilewski’s points of view are supported by the great variety of character in Schumann’s mid-1840s compositions.

Six Fugues on the Name of BACH
Schumann’s Six Fugues on the Name of BACH are the product of a carefully planned blueprint. Modeled after Bach’s examples, one might expect various Baroque elements in these pieces. Indeed, the fugues were conceived as a set of six, similar to many of Bach’s cycles (including many of his organ works).58 Such systematic arrangement of cycles containing six pieces was common in the Baroque era and, as Piet Kee points out, is rooted in numerology that goes back as far as Pythagoras.59 The use of number symbolism in music diminished substantially after the rise of the age of the Enlightenment, and despite Schumann’s use of ciphers (on several occasions) there is no evidence that points to the composer’s knowledge or intentional use of number symbolism. Schumann’s fugues, however, do reveal a consistent observance of the Golden Ratio. This number (0.6180339887…) is found in nature, music and art.60 Schumann’s knowledge of the Golden Ratio is not recorded anywhere, but based on the many examples found in his and his contemporaries’ music, it seems plausible that he was familiar with the concept. The use of the Golden Ratio though, so closely related to nature, seems to have prevailed through the Romantic period into our time.61 A close examination of the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH unveils Golden Ratio (G.R.) proportions (often multiple times) in each of the six fugues. These examples are often found within a measure of the exact G.R. When applying the G.R. to the number of measures in each fugue we see the following outcome:
Fugue I. The first fugue totals 64 measures. When we apply the G.R. to these 64 measures, we come to 64 x 0.61 = 39, or measure 39. This measure contains two consecutive subject entries in the pedals. A ‘reversed’ G.R. (counting 39 measures from the end) is found in m. 25, located between two more subject entries (the second being a false entry) in the pedals. NB: this fugue only contains two such double-pedal entries, each clearly defined by the Golden Ratio. In addition, the apex (c3) is reached first in m. 40 (one measure after G.R measure 39).62
Fugue II. The second fugue is 174 measures long; 174 x 0.61 = 106. In m. 106 new material is presented (ascending octaves/scales). A reversed G.R. leads us to m. 68, where the subject appears in the pedals (in its entirety) for the first time. Like several Bach compositions, this fugue contains Golden Ratios within Golden Ratios. The second fugue can be separated into three separate divisions: At m. 74 we see a clear separation in the music; there is a sudden dynamic change (from forte to piano), while the texture changes from chordal homophony to strict polyphony with the BACH motive in stretto. An inverted G.R. within that section highlights m. 29, where the exposition is stirred up by a repeat of the subject in the alto voice. This entry starts on B-flat, similar to the very first entry (slightly modified for harmonic purposes), but then suddenly shifts from a dux to a comes entity; the first four notes of the subject appear in dux form, while the remainder of the entry is presented in comes fashion. It is the only fugue in the cycle where Schumann applied (uniform) dynamic markings to each voice entry in the exposition, as to point out the exposition’s irregularity. Federhofer and Nauhaus point out that “. . . Schumann probably regarded the treatment of the ‘comes’ (different in each case) as depending on the character of the subject.”63 Mm. 75–121 mark the second division of the fugue, totaling 47 measures; 47 x 0.61 = 29 = m. 102, which is marked marcato while presenting new material. The fugue’s third division comprises mm. 123–174, totaling 53 measures. This section contains a reversed G.R. (counting 32 backwards) at m. 143. The score reveals a significant change in m. 143 as the music changes from a thin, three-part polyphonic to a full, chordal and homophonic texture.
Fugue III. The third fugue is the shortest one of the cycle, counting only 59 measures; 59 x 0.61 = 36. The G.R. is found in m. 36, where the music moves to the sub-mediant, E-flat major. A reversed G.R. points to m. 23; the end of the exposition. This five-voice fugue does not combine all five voices until close to the end, after the third (and final) pedal entry. Schumann uses the pedals to single out the Golden Ratio.
Fugue IV. The fourth fugue is 116 measures long; 116 x 0.61 = 71. M. 72 is marked fortissimo, the loudest dynamic marking in the fugue. Here the music also has a strong sense of forward motion (see endnote 64). The drastic change at m. 72 divides the piece into two sections. The second division, totaling 45 measures, unveils one more reversed G.R. at m. 92, where the music changes from a homophonic to a polyphonic texture.
Fugue V. The fifth fugue in the cycle totals 124 measures; 124 x 0.61 = 76, the beginning of the pedal tone F. When looking at that first section separately (mm. 1–76), we find yet another striking place; 76 x 0.61 = 46; in m. 46 the subject appears in the middle voice, while the BACH theme (in sustained note values) are presented—in stretto—in the bass and soprano voices. NB: this is the only time the BACH theme is played in the pedals. The fugue’s second part (mm. 76–124) contains one more G.R.; 49 (number of remaining measures) x 0.61 = 30, which appears exactly at the pedal point in m. 104. Additionally, the original subject appears in retrograde.
Fugue VI. 155 x 0.61 = 95. Measure 95 presents a clear statement of the subject in the pedals. A reversed Golden Ratio (95 from the end, rather than the beginning) leads us to m. 60. Schumann writes a clear break in the music at measure 59, immediately before introducing the second subject of this double fugue; the fugue’s two sections are separated by a quarter note rest and a double bar line, as well as a dynamic increase (più f). In addition, Schumann writes lebhafter (livelier). When we apply the G.R. formula to the first part of the fugue (the first 58 measures) we come to 58 x 0.61 = 35. One measure earlier the subject is first introduced in the relative minor key (G minor). Similar Golden Ratio divisions are found in the second part of the fugue (97 measures long): 97 x 0.61 = 59 (m. 117). In m. 116, just one measure earlier, Schumann clearly defines the break in the music after two (!) four-measure pedal points, when the BACH motive is re-introduced—this time in block chords. A reversed G.R. is found at mm. 95/96. In m. 95, after a three-measure pedal point, the fugue’s first subject appears first in the second part of the (double) fugue. Other changes involve a dynamic increase and the introduction of both subjects simultaneously.
The number of Golden Ratios in Schumann’s fugues is overwhelming, yet the question remains if they were intentionally ‘placed’ or if they are a mere compositional byproduct. Schumann’s organ compositions are an unusual blend of styles, which could easily generate an over-analytical approach. Peterson’s and van Houten’s previously mentioned findings are prime examples of such “determined research,” and one needs to be careful not to attribute music’s every single detail to a genius mind. In regards to Golden Ratio, perhaps the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Regardless of Schumann’s intentions, the number of G.R.s is remarkable and cannot be denied.

Styles
Schumann’s organization of the cycle reveals a fascinating blend of Baroque and Romantic principles. Burkhard Meischein points out the cycle’s sonata-like layout:
Fugue 1: Slow introduction
Fugue 2: Faster section
Fugues 3 and 4: Cantabile, slower section
Fugue 5: Scherzo
Fugue 6: Exciting, intensely growing finale64

Interestingly, Schumann’s Classic outline is not unlike Bach’s symmetrical organization of larger collections.65 Notice, for example, the symmetry in time signature, tempo, dynamics and texture (see Appendix 4).
The six fugues are based on the famous BACH theme that Bach himself had used in the final (incomplete) fugue of The Art of Fugue. As Daverio points out, “Though all the fugues incorporate the BACH theme, some of them use this theme merely as a starting point for a larger subject (see the subject of the second and fifth fugues).”66 Stinson discusses the many motivic similarities between Schumann’s opp. 56 and 60 and Bach’s organ works. The second fugue on BACH, for example, has occasionally been ridiculed for its elongated subject, but is analogous to BWV 575, which was published by Schumann in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in February 1839.67 In Abhandlung von der Fuge, Marpurg discusses the proper treatment of fugue subjects:
I myself once heard him [Bach], when during my stay in Leipzig I was discussing with him certain matters concerning the fugue, pronounce the works of an old and hardworking contrapuntist dry and wooden, and certain fugues by a more modern and no less great contrapuntist—that is the form in which they are arranged for clavier—pedantic; the first because the composer stuck continuously to his principal subject, without any change; and the second because, at least in the fugues under discussion, he had not shown enough fire to reanimate the theme by interludes.68
While some of the subjects are indeed rather lengthy, Schumann seems to adhere to Bach’s examples, avoiding redundant (complete) repeats of fugue subjects. Similarly, rather than following conventional compositional techniques, Schumann used existing forms as a starting point for a more modern idiom. Thus, the amalgamation of old and new techniques generated compositions that were (and still are) anomalies in the organ repertoire, and may in part explain their unfortunate fate. A closer examination of the fugues reveals some very interesting patterns:
Fugue I. The first fugue initially follows the conventional exposition pattern, as each of the voices is introduced in the right order. However, when the fifth voice is introduced in m.12 (in the pedals), the alto part drops out, leaving a four-part texture before finishing the exposition. In fact, the five voices never appear together in contrapuntal passages. Schumann, undoubtedly aware of this atypical approach, applied the idiosyncrasy in five of the six fugues (the fifth being the exception). Throughout the cycle, both the core subject (the BACH motive) and the complete subjects appear in many different forms. Klaus Jürgen Sachs points out the repeatedly changing order of emphasized notes of the BACH motive.69 In the first fugue, for example, the motive appears straightforward in four half notes, with B-flat and C being the emphasized notes (B-flat and C appear on beats one and three in a 4/2 time signature). In m. 5 the same motive is presented in the alto voice, starting on the second beat rather than the first. This metrical displacement is typical of Schumann and is employed throughout the cycle.
Fugue II. In the second fugue we see a continuation of metrical shifts; starting in m. 3, the running sixteenth notes suggest a duple (2/4) rhythm in a 3/4 time signature. In m. 48 the first fugue’s subject is introduced in the pedals, combined with the second fugue’s main subject in the manuals. Schumann takes great liberty in the intervallic relationship between the first and second parts of the subject. The first part of the subject (BACH) starts on B-flat, while the second part (continuous sixteenth notes) follows at the sixth, on G.
This relationship remains consistent until m. 30, where Schumann separates the two motives by abandoning the intervallic connection. The two motives still appear together throughout the fugue, but the second part of the subject (its starting pitch) is modified for harmonic purposes.70
Fugue III. The third fugue appears to be a double fugue, but the second subject is never fully developed. Derived from the main subject, it might be conceived as a melodically and rhythmically weak countersubject. ‘Undermining’ the second subject may have been intentional, as Schumann’s focus seems to be mainly on the principal subject. Whereas the first two fugues were written in the key of B-flat major, the third is written in G minor. Bound by the initial BACH motive (centered around B-flat), Schumann may have used the countersubject as a means to establish the fugue’s tonality. This thought also explains the countersubject’s lack of development, as Schumann’s focus is on the principal subject. Of the six fugues, the third maintains the strictest counterpoint throughout, and never resorts to a homophonic texture.Fugue IV. In the fourth fugue Schumann for the first time deviates from the established BACH motive. Though still citing the same motive, the notes are ordered in a new manner, incorporating the interval of a sixth. There are a number of similarities between the fourth fugue and Schumann’s second symphony, which was written 1845–1846. The symphony’s Adagio exhibits chromatic elements similar to the BACH motive used in the six fugues,71 and even incorporates a (semi) exposition, starting at m. 62, using two subjects. The Adagio’s harmonic progression of m. 82 also appears in m. 100 of the fugue. Schumann must have been fond of the chord progression, repeating it several times (consecutively) in both pieces. Like the fugue, the Adagio reveals a striking G.R. (130 measures x 0.61 = 80) at m. 82, where the music—marked by a double bar line—suddenly shifts from C minor to C major.
Fugue V. The fifth fugue, the scherzo of the cycle, maintains a strictly polyphonic texture. The independent voice leading, combined with fast-moving eighth notes, makes for some daring harmonies. Similar writing is found in the second Duetto of Bach’s Clavierübung III, of which Schumann owned a copy. Schumann again takes some liberties in the exposition, as the fourth entry of the exposition starts on E-flat rather than F. In addition, the pedal entry consists of two short, repeated motives rather than the entire subject.
Fugue VI. Schumann ends the cycle with a majestic, five-part double fugue. Simultaneous use of duple and triple meter, combined with a gradual buildup of tension and grandeur, creates a strong sense of completion. Stinson claims that the fugue is based on Bach’s Fugue in E-flat Major, BWV 552, pointing out the similarities between the two fugues.72 Schumann, however, once again deviates from the Bach models and moves towards a thinner texture before the end of the exposition. In the second exposition (starting at m. 59), Schumann’s approach is unconventional too, but not without reason. As the second theme is introduced, Schumann holds off on the expected pedal entry of m. 67. Instead, he omits the pedals until much later, in m. 92, where a three-measure pedal point adds gradual tension, leading to the first pedal statement of the fugue’s first subject. As the pedals introduce the first subject, the second subject is played in the manuals, thus combining the fugue’s two themes. Towards the end of the fugue, starting at m. 116, the fugue shifts suddenly from a polyphonic to a homophonic texture. Daverio points out the motivic resemblance in Schumann’s second symphony: “Culminating in a chordal peroration on the B-A-C-H theme, the fugue’s coda at the same time prefigures a climactic passage in the Final (mm. 343ff.) of the second symphony.”73 Just like the first fugue, the final fugue concludes with a coda. In the first fugue, at m. 34, Schumann indicated: “gradually faster and louder.” In the final fugue he specified: “Moderate, gradually faster.” While a thinning in the texture of the first fugue’s coda seems to suggest a sudden quieting down of the music, the sixth fugue’s coda undoubtedly calls for full organ, ending the cycle in a grand, majestic manner.

Schumann and the pedal piano
As discussed earlier, Schumann’s main purpose for hiring a pedalboard was to practice playing the organ. He found, however, that the pedal piano had much potential and that it might develop as an independent instrument. It seems plausible, then, that Schumann’s output of 1845 was conceived for pedal piano, organ, or both. Though opp. 56 and 58 are clearly written for the pedal piano (Studies for the Pedal Piano and Sketches for the Pedal Piano, respectively), there seems to be a discrepancy in regards to op. 60, which is labeled Six Fugues on the Name of B-A-C-H without any further specification in regards to the instrument of choice. The cover of the 1986 Henle Urtext edition of opp. 56, 58 and 60 reads Works for Organ or Pedal Piano without any further specification. In its preface, Gerhard Weinberger explains that in the first publication op. 60 is referred to as an organ work.
Interestingly, in the 2006 Schott edition the three cycles are published as Schumann Organ Works. In the preface, the editor, internationally renowned organist Jean Guillou, writes: “Schumann composed these masterpieces as a pianist and he wrote them for the piano, allowing for the possibility that they might be performed on the organ, but not really envisaging the precise manner in which an organist might ‘translate’ them for the instrument.”74 Guillou’s edition provides the performer with registration and tempo markings that go well beyond the original. As useful as a performer’s edition may seem, one needs to keep in mind that such is the interpretation of one person, and one needs to be mindful of the composer’s intentions. Notwithstanding the usefulness of such an edition, Guillou seems to have overlooked a most important issue; unlike the Studies and Sketches, the Six Fugues on the Name of BACH were written for the organ, not for the piano.
In the preface of the Henle edition Weinberger explains that the first edition refers to the six fugues as organ works.75 As we will see, the fugues are stylistically quite different than the other cycles. They lack, for example, the very pianistic approach, as found in the second and third canonic studies. Also, there is a drastic difference in the use of dynamics. Rather than the pianistic crescendos and decrescendos of opp. 56 and 58 (see the beginning of the fourth sketch), Schumann employs practical dynamic changes, easily realized through registration or manual changes.76 A compelling piece of evidence lies in the treatment of pedal points; Schumann frequently employs pedal points in both the piano and organ cycles. In the piano cycles Schumann repeats the pedal points every so often to ensure a continuous sounding of the bass note. Pedal points are never sustained longer than two measures.77 In the organ fugues Schumann writes pedal points for as long as twelve measures.78 Also, unlike opp. 56 and 58, op. 60 never exceeds the compass of the typical German Baroque organ, which may give us an idea of Schumann’s favored organ type. Hermann J. Busch points out that Mendelssohn preferred older organ types. For his first performance of the Six Sonatas for Organ, Mendelssohn chose an older instrument (Franz and Johann Michael II Stumm, 1779), while a modern instrument (a large Walcker organ) was available.79 Mendelssohn’s influence on Schumann as a composer and organist suggests that Schumann too may have favored older organ types, as is evidenced in Schumann’s comments in the diaries.80 Busch also points out that the majority of the organs known to Schumann were from the 18th century. These instruments were generally not equipped with a swell box. Crescendos therefore were realized by manual changes and/or adding stops.

Schumann the organist
It is obvious that Schumann took great pride in the six fugues. Rooted in a long tradition, stemming from his primary example, Bach, Schumann felt that he had contributed an important work that could stand the test of time. As Larry Todd points out: “Thus, Bach was memorialized in Schumann’s penchant for learned counterpoint, culminating in that erudite fugal compendium for organ, the Six Fugues on BACH, Op. 60 (1845).”81 How ironic then, that the cycle he had worked on for so long was received with such little approval. Perhaps Schumann would have been more successful if he, like Mendelssohn, had written organ sonatas rather than fugues. Rejcha perhaps explains the early 19th-century Zeitgeist best, saying “Since Handel and Corelli’s time, everything in music has changed two or three times, both in inner, as well as outer form. Only the fugue remains unaltered; and therefore—nobody wants to hear one.”82 Schumann, who “maintained with equal conviction that slavish imitation of older models was to be avoided,”83 must have thought that his organ works were indeed a breath of fresh air, as he expected them to outlive his other creations the longest.84 Notwithstanding their unfortunate fate, Schumann masterfully combined the old with the new. As Heinrich Reimann writes:

. . . the best proof of how deeply Schumann had penetrated, in thought and feeling, into the spirit of the Old Master. Everywhere the fundamental contrapuntal principles of Sebastian Bach are recognizable. They rise up like mighty pillars; but the luxuriant tendrils, leaves, and blossoms of a romantic spirit twine about them, partly concealing the mighty edifice, partly enlivening it by splendour of colour and varied contrast and bringing it nearer to modern taste. The most obvious proofs of this are:—The second fugue with the characteristic Schumann rhythmic displacement (2/4 time in triple rhythm); the fifth, with its subject on quite modern lines; and the last, with its romantically treated counter-subject.85

Though Schumann is perhaps remembered foremost as a composer of homophonic music, it is no coincidence that, as Nauhaus and Federhofer point out, Werner Krützfeld used two examples of Schumann’s Kreisleriana in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart as examples of counterpoint.86 The Six Fugues on the Name of BACH mark an artistic high point in Schumann’s career, and one can only hope that these erudite compositions will eventually become part of the standard repertoire. A deeper understanding will perhaps spark a renewed interest in these wonderful pieces.