Forgotten Symphonies: Hans Fährmann and the Late German Romantic Organ Sonata

Ludger Lohmann

As one of the most renowned organ virtuosos and organ pedagogues Ludger Lohmann has exerted a lasting influence on organ culture. His career as a recitalist, which has brought him to many churches, cathedrals, and concert halls all over the world, started with awards at important international competitions, such as the competition of the German Broadcasting Corporation in Munich 1979 and the Grand Prix de Chartres 1982.

Born in Herne, Germany, in 1954 he studied organ with Wolfgang Stockmeier and harpsichord with Hugo Ruf at Cologne Musikhochschule. While writing a musicological doctoral thesis on “Articulation on Keyboard Instruments of the 16.–18. Centuries,” he received important artistic stimuli from Anton Heiller in Vienna and Marie-Claire Alain in Paris. The dedication to this artistic legacy motivated him to regard his own pedagogical work as equally important in his recitalist career. In more than forty years, first at Cologne Musikhochschule, and since 1983 as professor at Stuttgart Musikhochschule, he has educated numerous talented young organists from all over the world, many of whom are now doing remarkable artistic and pedagogical work themselves. A central concern was always striving for an interpretation of musical works according to the stylistic conventions of the times of their origin, departing from the insights gathered in his doctoral dissertation, which became standard reading, and later broadened by many publications concerning the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Musically they are documented in his numerous CD recordings.

His artistic and pedagogical impact has led Ludger Lohmann throughout the world as guest professor, teacher of masterclasses, and jury member of international competitions. He was part of the organ research project GOArt of Göteborg University as senior researcher. As organ consultant he has led organbuilding and restoration projects in several countries. To honor his manifold activities the British Royal College of Organists awarded him its first honors medal. In 2023 he received the prestigious German “Prize of European Church Music.”

Editor’s note: the scores to works mentioned in this article may be found online for free access.

Max Reger, Zwölf Stücke, opus 59

Reger, Introduction, Passacaglia, und Fugue in E Minor, opus 127

Reger, Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46

Reger, Organ Sonata No. 2, opus 60

Franz Liszt, Präludium und Fuge über B-A-C-H, S. 260

J. S. Bach, Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542

The sesquicentennial of the birth of Max Reger (1873–1916) has given new life to the reception of his enormous oeuvre. Among the many works of this astonishingly productive composer, only the organ pieces—the number and importance of which are rivaled only by Johann Sebastian Bach’s organ works—have enjoyed a constant presence in public concerts. This fact is not the least due to the efforts of Karl Straube (1873–1950), Reger’s closest friend and arguably his most important advocate during his short life. As the most influential German organ pedagogue of the first half of the twentieth century, Straube motivated generations of the most talented young German organists to become avid Reger performers. Their influence, in turn, can still be felt today particularly regarding certain parameters of Reger performance, since they tended to emulate Straube’s teaching method, which relied heavily on the principle of copying the master, usually starting to learn a new piece by literally copying all indications (fingering, articulation, and phrasing) from the teacher’s personal copy. Thus many details of Straube’s personal performance style, which sometimes are not consistent with Reger’s own indications, are still firmly entrenched in what might be called mainstream Reger performance practice. Straube’s students never, at least not in principle, questioned their validity but regarded them with a kind of Biblical faith, given the fact that Reger always heaped high praise on his friend’s performances of his music.

Straube’s ideas became a second layer of performance indications, sometimes overriding those given by the composer. As the authority that he was in German organ culture, Straube might even have contributed inadvertently or intentionally to the canonization of his ideas. We will never know whether Reger, in cases of conflicting indications, really preferred Straube’s ideas over his own. This must remain in doubt, particularly since Straube did not preserve Reger’s letters from the Weiden years, i.e., Reger’s most productive period regarding organ music, ostensibly because he did not want future generations to get an insight into an intimate exchange touching many aspects of the genesis of Reger’s music—possibly also not due to potential disagreements on matters not only of composition but also of performance practice.

In his monumental doctoral dissertation, “Reger, Straube, and the Leipzig school’s tradition of organ pedagogy: 1898–1948,”¹ Christopher Anderson has described the Straube-Reger relationship with its many positive but also problematic aspects in detail. The new and definitive biography Max Reger: Werk Statt Leben² by Susanne Popp touches this subject only briefly. Some basic problems of Straube’s style of Reger performance have been commented upon by Wolfgang Stockmeier in a volume, Max Reger 1873–1973—Ein Symposion,³ published on the occasion of Reger’s 100th birthday. Some of Stockmeier’s observations will be further developed in the present article, the aim of which is not in the first place to criticize Straube but to point out some very common clichés of present-day Reger performance, some—but certainly not all—of which might have originated in Straube’s practices. These practices can be learned from Straube’s editions of some Reger pieces published during the composer’s lifetime and also from listening to recordings made by some of Straube’s students.

When looking at the editions, some blatant contradictions, particularly regarding dynamics and agogics, can be noted. They expose some fundamental differences of opinion about how to deal with certain musical phenomena like the preparation of a culmination point. Here the name of Hugo Riemann (1849–1919), the most influential German music theorist of the late Romantic period and Reger’s composition teacher, comes into play.⁴ Reger very closely adheres to Riemann’s performance recipes, which can be found in his various treatises,⁵ whereas Straube, while generally being in agreement with Riemann’s theories, sometimes appears to come from a different school of thought. The fact that a performer would change a composer’s detailed performance indications in an edition of his own seems almost unthinkable today, but was all too common a century ago.

Certainly Straube’s aim in the first place was to make some of Reger’s best-known pieces more accessible; he might even have seen a justification for his interventions in Reger’s compositional process, or at least in his way of preparing a final fair copy of his works as the basis for an edition. Reger first wrote the musical text proper in black ink and later added all instructions pertaining to performance in red ink. Of course, it would be naive to assume that the genesis of a piece’s overall musical structure did not already include at least a rough concept of dynamics and movement, but details were probably determined only during this late “red ink stage,” thus easily leading to the impression that they were accessories rather than essential elements of the composition.

As a concert organist who has regularly played Reger’s works all over the world throughout a fifty-year career, I had many opportunities to observe typical problems of the reception of Reger’s music, problems that might have led a majority of colleagues mainly in English- and French-speaking countries to reject this music altogether. According to my experience the single biggest problem, apart from listeners’ difficulties of following Reger’s often over-complex musical textures, is what I would call a lack of coherence. This is first of all due to Reger’s tendency to compose free works like preludes or fantasias in a patchwork style: rather short musical phrases in certain textures are separated from each other by concluding chords. Even when the player goes from one passage to the next in an organic way by letting the listener feel a continuous metrical flow (albeit shaped by rubato twists and turns), the danger is that the piece falls apart, the all-too-frequent “stop and go” effect, tiring the listener and preventing an effective emotional buildup.

“Toccata in D Minor,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 5

Looking at “Toccata in D Minor,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 5, will illustrate this problem.⁶ The first part of this short tripartite composition consists of only twenty measures that contain, depending on how one counts, between four (in measures 4, 7, 15, and 20) and seven (the additional ones in measures 10, 11, and 12) such subdivisions. If the dynamic culminations in Organo Pleno reached at the end of all of the dynamic waves always starting at ff are any clue Reger would have regarded measure 12 as one of the important breaks in spite of the fact that the sixteenth-note triplet movement continues. Among the four clear breaks, all indicated by a large quarter-note chord, the one in measure 20 is marked by a fermata, the one in measure 4 by a fermata with the word kurz, or short. The other two breaks do not bear any indication. The common way of realizing these four transitions, experienced in dozens of performances by students and competition participants without exception, is holding the respective chords for about two beats instead of one as notated. While this is obviously acceptable for the chords marked by a fermata it is clearly not correct in the other two cases.

Apart from the resulting lack of stringency there is a consequence for the dynamic perception of harmonies, which prevents the buildup of tension as probably intended by Reger. The A-major seventh chord in measure 7 is followed by a D-minor harmony on the next beat, by the way a harmonic concept (a traditional dominant-tonic cadence) that Reger employs in a vast majority of formal transitions, even major ones (see measures 20–21: the B-major dominant seventh chord in measure 20 is followed by an E-minor harmony implied at the beginning of the soft middle section of the piece). Since the A-major seventh chord is in an accentuated metrical position (beat 3), holding it for a half note will inevitably give the ensuing D-minor harmony a metrical accent, particularly if the player gives it a strong dose of initially hesitating rubato, a gradual speeding up, with the aim of making his performance expressive.

Both player and listener are satisfied with an accent on the tonic, which might be the reason for this metrical misreading in the first place. If, however, the A-major chord is given its proper value, the D-minor harmony can be perceived as an upbeat to the much more interesting chord on the following beat 1, which consists of a double suspension (B sharp and D sharp) before an A-major sixth chord, thus keeping up the harmonic tension of the A-major seventh chord in measure 7 by preventing the succession of A major and D minor to be perceived as a definite cadence. It goes without saying that this is extremely consequential with regard to the perception of form, in other words to coherence or a lack thereof. The situation in measure 15 is different but comparable: the F-major 3-4 chord is continued chromatically by the implied bass line of the ensuing broken chords.

The question is why Reger notated fermatas in measures 4 and 20, but not in 7 and 15. The answer for measure 20 is clear: in measure 21 the middle section of the piece starts. In measure 4 the fermata marks an E-major chord that is followed by a new statement of the toccata’s opening passage in A minor, the dominant. This fact gives the E-major chord a higher formal relevance than the chords in measures 7 and 15, but not of the same degree as in measure 20, which is why Reger cautioned the player with kurz in measure 4. Since the opening passage starts on beat 4 (and should consequently be played with an upbeat feeling, not easy to achieve particularly when too much initial rubato is involved, as is very common) the “short” fermata should still allow the listener to perceive the value of the E-major chord as one (quarter note) beat in order to maintain the upbeat feeling for the new beginning. Even in measure 20 it is to be recommended to keep the B-major chord only for one beat (albeit somewhat longer than the E-major chord in measure 4, by means of a larger ritardando preparation) in order to clarify its upbeat metrical position.

This upbeat position, the first of its kind after so many seemingly comparable chords concluding phrases in downbeat positions, is undoubtedly a formal ploy to bridge the most incisive formal transition of the whole piece, another example of Reger striving for formal coherence.

“Benedictus,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 9

It should by now be clear that Reger’s notation of transitional places is by no means accidental but highly differentiated and precisely responding to the formal structure. The question is now whether the consequences for the dynamic or metrical perception of harmonies were also on his mind. This can be answered more easily by looking at the equally famous “Benedictus” from the same collection, opus 59, number 9.

This piece is based on two motives, both exposing the interval of a fourth, the second of which outlining the fugue subject (which could easily be sung to “Hosanna in excelsis”) with two ascending fourths, the first with two descending fourths, thus probably meant to be the inverted idea. In its first appearance with the notes D flat, A natural, B flat, F, it enters three times alla stretta, the entrances always coinciding with the fourth note of the preceding entrance. As a consequence the entrances occur on different beats of the first two measures: 1, 4, and 3. The listener might be misled into assuming that the piece is in 3/4 rather than in the 4/4 that Reger notated. Another misunderstanding—this will immediately show its relevance—is that the listener will understand the first two notes as C sharp and A, i.e., a falling major third in A major.

This strange opening has to be viewed in light of Riemann’s teachings. Riemann develops his ideas about the dynamics of phrases, so crucial for his theories, starting with motives of two or three notes.⁷ According to his principles static dynamics are unthinkable: a melodic line always moves either in crescendo or decrescendo. Accordingly a two-note motive can be crescendo or decrescendo.⁸ For a three-note motive there is a third possibility: first crescendo, then decrescendo9 (the fourth theoretically possible variant, decrescendo-crescendo, is not really considered). This is also his favorite dynamic shape for any musical phrase: starting with a crescendo, which leads to a dynamic climax, then relaxation in decrescendo. Though Riemann generally opposes the late Baroque system of metrically oriented accentuation he still maintains the primate of beat one, in his musical examples always placing the dynamic climax on beat one. Hence we may assume that Reger’s dynamic thinking also respects bar lines.

This explains the opening of the “Benedictus.” Reger’s intention probably is to present his central motive in various possible dynamic shapes: the first entrance is thought decrescendo throughout. This can easily be accepted by the listener who de facto hears a falling major third.

The problem here is that the player knows that this interval is supposed to be a diminished fourth, and that the second note is longer than the first, so he will intuitively intend these two notes rather to be felt as a crescendo. In fact a trained ear can identify the player’s respective intention. The motive’s second entrance places the first note in an upbeat position, leading to the second note in crescendo. The third entrance uses still another option: here the dynamic climax is meant to be on the tied-over part of the second note. Since this is not really communicable on the organ Reger employs the swellbox, ending the crescendo sign exactly at the bar line and thus underlining the harmonic tension of the chord on the following beat one, which converts the originally consonant A natural into a dissonant suspension.

According to general compositional principles the moment has come where the composer should change the motive at the very latest: the fourth entrance starts one note higher on E flat, and thus is the loudest entrance. (Note that in the final short part of the piece, in measure 51, the corresponding entrance on the high E flat arrives after the swellbox has been closed, another dynamic-motivic refinement!) Straube¹⁰ displaces the dynamic indications: his crescendo sign starts not on the first note of the third entrance (D flat), but on the second, and continues till the end of the following measure, resulting in a dynamic climax on the first beat of measure 4 on a totally consonant B-flat major chord. He obviously did not see the refinement of Reger’s dynamic strategy and probably also did not understand Reger’s intention to present the motive in three different dynamic versions, an intention very essential to late Romantic musical thinking.

The first appearance in this piece of a solo line on the second manual (measure 8, beat 3) reveals another misreading of Reger’s intentions: Reger continues a diminuendo throughout the first solo notes, which start in a tonality of D major, finishing it on the lowest note of the solo when the tonality has returned to the tonic of D flat (measure 9, beat 4). Straube, however, lets the solo line begin at the end of a diminuendo, which on the first glimpse seems to be more convincing, but Reger’s concept is clearly motivated by considerations both melodic and harmonic and thus certainly more logical from a composer’s perspective.

This excursion into the “Benedictus” was supposed to demonstrate Reger’s refined dynamic intentions and to underscore the importance of playing the transition in measure 7 of the “Toccata” in a metrically correct way. In his edition¹¹ Straube does not add a fermata to the respective A-major chord, but his rallentando covering the first three beats of this measure and the sudden dynamic drop from forte to piano (including switching to another combination and moving back the Rollschweller device quite considerably), which he prescribes, clearly result in an interruption of the metric flow. The same can be said about the transition in measure 13: whereas Reger goes from Organo Pleno to a mere meno ff Straube goes from fff to p. Additionally already in measure 10 he prescribes Sostenuto, eighth note equals 84, and ritenuto in measure 12, thus probably resulting in a tempo only half of the initial eighth note equals 120, which he again suddenly prescribes in the middle of measure 12. This is obviously not the uninterrupted flow of sixteenth-note triplets, which is implied in Reger’s notation, but a clear break.

It might be said in defense of Straube’s apparent handling of these transitions that it separates sections and thus clarifies the structure of the piece very efficiently. However, the question is whether Reger’s way of writing is not structurally clear enough anyway, even considering possible acoustic issues with reverberation, which should be negligible in light of the limited dynamic contrasts, except for measures 20–21.

Looking into a piece by a different composer will show a similar problem. In Straube’s edition of some of the major organ works by Franz Liszt¹² the diminished seventh chord at the end of measure 12 in Präludium und Fuge über B-A-C-H is enlarged from six to eight notes, followed by a manual change,¹³ implying a break between this seventh chord and the ensuing sixth chord of G-flat major. This is a crucial moment in the piece that may be interpreted as a reference to a strikingly similar harmonic adventure in measures 20–21 of Bach’s Fantasia in G Minor, BWV 542i. Since this harmonic progression is a correct but totally unexpected resolution of the seventh chord it is important for the player to present the seventh chord as leading to the following chord. Liszt’s notation of a fermata on the sixteenth-note rest on beat one probably intends to give the listener a moment to digest the surprise, and Bach’s soprano tie across the bar line clearly aims to connect the chords.

It thus appears that Straube’s style of performance had a tendency of accentuating formal incisions of a piece rather than bridging them for the sake of holding together larger sections or the piece as a whole. Whether the motivation for this is purely musical or the result of resignation in the face of technically difficult registration manipulations (some of these self-inflicted by his disrespect for the composer’s dynamic indications) is impossible to decide.

Returning to Reger’s “Toccata in D Minor,” looking at the final two pages will reveal another problem with respect to Straube’s treatment of the musical form, but even more with respect to what might be called the emotional curve. Reger marks the broken-chord passage starting in measure 29 stringendo. The latter continues up to the A-major 6/5 chord in measure 33, which is followed by a dynamic drop to meno ff and an ensuing diminuendo until measure 35. In the middle of measure 35, while the chordal sequence of measures 33–35 still continues for a half measure, Reger turns the diminuendo into a crescendo, thus dynamically bridging the transition to a totally different figurative pattern.

Straube’s concept of the same passages is drastically different. Instead of an accelerando he prescribes an allargando; instead of meno ff plus diminuendo in measure 33 he prescribes pp and then a sudden and quick crescendo starting in measure 36. While on the first glimpse his solution seems to be more convincing than Reger’s rather surprising, in fact counterintuitive one, a second look leads to the conclusion that Reger’s concept might actually be considered artistically superior, at least more interesting, since instead of underlining the formal incisions it rather blurs them, resulting in a far more stringent ending of the piece.

The arpeggiando passage is not majestic (Straube writes sostenuto plus ritenuto) but breathless, the A-major 6/5 chord does not become an opportunity for a satisfied rest (Straube gives it a fermata), but spills over its accumulated energy into the ensuing chordal passage, which because of its falling bass line should rather be diminuendo, during which this energy is gradually spent. Obviously this concept is much more dramatic than Straube’s; it also shows a clear intention to keep the whole third part of “Toccata” coherent.¹⁴

“Kyrie,” opus 59 (Zwölf Stücke), number 7

In replacing Reger’s stringendo of measures 29–33 with sostenuto/ritenuto Straube shows an attitude toward preparing a dynamic climax that is fundamentally opposed to Reger’s own. In fact he seems to adhere to a different school of thought in this respect since he does exactly the same thing in measures 17–18 and 31–32 of “Kyrie,” opus 59, number 7, and in measures 41–46 of “Benedictus,” or in a totally different musical situation, in measures 35 and 98 of the first movement of Reger’s Second Organ Sonata, opus 60, where the crescendo and accelerando of the short transition between what might be called the second and third main thematic ideas is replaced by diminuendo and ritardando, separating the respective sections rather than connecting them as is clearly Reger’s aim.¹⁵ Reger follows his teacher Riemann’s recipe: a crescendo is naturally accompanied by an accelerando (correspondingly a diminuendo by a ritardando);¹⁶ a dynamic climax is reached with an accelerando, holding back the tempo briefly on the climax itself before the energy is released a tempo, the ensuing diminuendo eventually accompanied by a ritardando.¹⁷ Straube’s approach can be found in some late Romantic organ treatises, for example, Karl Matthaei, who states that an agogic dwelling causes an increase of intensity; when playing in forte registration it may even been extended to longer stretches.¹⁸

Perhaps this fundamentally different approach to presenting climactic moments of a composition reveals differences between the respective personalities: Reger’s radical, dramatic pushing forward versus Straube’s more civilized (if not to say more bourgeois), relaxed basking in a glowing Organo Pleno sound.

Passacaglia in E Minor, opus 127, and Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46

Different opinions about separation/contrast versus blending/overlapping may occasionally work the other way. In measure 64 of Passacaglia in E Minor, opus 127, Reger originally closed a variation in diminuendo and pp and abruptly began the new variation in f, as can be seen in his extant autograph manuscript. The first edition, which was already informed or influenced by Straube’s first performance of this work, commissioned for the inauguration of the world’s then largest organ, built by W. Sauer Orgelbau of Frankfurt/Oder, in the Breslau (Wrocław) Jahrhunderthalle on September 24, 1913, replaces this dynamic contrast by a more modest beginning of the new variation in p;¹⁹ again an example of Straube’s diplomatic mollifying of an emanation of his friend’s more radical personality?

The comparison of autograph manuscript and first edition of opus 127 sheds light on a possible practical explanation of some of the two men’s differing opinions. The original tempo indication for the fugue was quarter note equals 66–84. The first edition indicates eighth note equals 116–132. Though the two indications meet at 66/132 (actually a fairly realistic tempo), the edition’s indication is generally considerably slower. This, however, is not the main point. When listening to performances of the piece it can usually be recognized whether the player feels a quarter-note or an eighth-note pulse, in the latter case resulting in a loss of the dance-like character probably on Reger’s mind, even when there is not a large difference in metronomic tempo. Considering the fact that Straube had to learn this long and difficult piece on rather short notice it may very well be that his studies were in a phase when he was still thinking in an eighth-note pulse, as would be typical for a player facing such a daunting task. The player’s way of thinking will affect the listener’s reaction: thinking in a quarter-note pulse will point his perception toward the larger picture more easily and will consequently lead to a better formal coherence of the piece.²⁰

A comparable problem of learning a difficult piece quickly may have led to two famous instructions Straube used to give his students concerning two short passages of Reger’s “Fantasie” from Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46: Straube recommended to play the chordal diminuendo passage from measure 19, beat 4, to measure 20, beat 2, twice as slow as notated, in spite of the fact that Reger, knowing that this would be difficult to achieve, prescribes Vivace assai, and to the contrary, the four final chords (measure 55, beat 4 onwards) twice as fast as notated, which means that the concluding chords of the fantasia, notated in eighth notes, are performed at the same speed as the chords preceding the eighth-note rest (measure 55, beat 3).

As I could observe numerous students (almost without any exception) doing the same at the end of the fantasia without having the slightest idea of a corresponding tradition, my suspicion has grown that Straube’s recommendation was the eventual result of an original miscounting that he codified, possibly as a face-saving ploy. Notwithstanding the possibility that the resulting performance of the fantasia’s end might be considered as more natural than the one indicated by the composer’s notation, a miscounting would be a very human error that can easily happen even to a distinguished musician like Straube.

A similar mistake might have occurred in measure 10 of the “Toccata in D Minor” where Straube suddenly reduces the tempo to almost only fifty percent. The same can be observed in most students’ performances of the second half of measure 14, there (unfortunately) also in an otherwise quite convincing performance by Straube’s famous contemporary Alfred Sittard (1878–1942), who by the way, makes fine distinctions concerning the transitions in measures 4, 7, 15, and 20. He does, however, keep the first fermata quite long so that the perceived note value becomes something like a half note, whereas his A-Major seventh chord in measure 7 can be perceived very well as a quarter note. Otherwise he generally respects Reger’s indications quite precisely; only his phrasing caesurae are rather too long, possibly a reaction either to the large acoustic of Saint Michael’s Church in Hamburg or to the difficulties of handling registration on its huge Walcker instrument.²¹

As can be seen from the example of Sittard’s performance of this ostensibly “small” piece, Reger’s refined dynamic and agogic indications, certainly at least partly conceived with the aim of guaranteeing formal coherence and a stringent emotional curve of the piece, presents the player with many technical and musical difficulties. The changes that Straube made in his edition eliminate some of these difficulties; additionally they are easily acceptable to a musical player or listener. In fact some of them seem to be more natural than Reger’s original indications. The question of whether they are musically superior may have to be answered individually by anybody experiencing the piece. For Reger his friend Straube was the ultimate authority concerning organ performance in general. His belief in his friend’s opinions went far enough to accept Straube’s suggestions regarding questions of composition proper, the most unfortunate example of this being Reger’s Requiem, which remained unfinished. It should not be forgotten, however, that at least during Reger’s lifetime Straube was active and renowned only as an organist, whereas Reger himself had an enormous reputation as an orchestral conductor and as a pianist, particularly in chamber music and Lied accompaniment. Thus we have to accept that his meticulous performance instructions were informed by vast experiences gained during a very busy and successful career as a performing musician, and that these instructions deserve to be taken seriously despite the inherent difficulties.

Reger’s oeuvre is the fruit of a short, busy, and stressful life taken anything but easily. As responsible performers we should honor his efforts with a matching respect for detail.

Notes

1. Ann Arbor (UMI), 1999.

2. Wiesbaden (Breitkopf & Härtel), 2015.

3. Ed. Klaus Röhring, Wiesbaden (Breitkopf & Härtel) 1974, pages 21–30.

4. See “Hugo Riemann and the Development of Musical Performance Practice,” Ludger Lohmann, in Proceedings of the Göteborg International Organ Academy 1994, edited by Hans Davidsson and Sverker Jullander, Skrifter fran Musikvetenskapliga avdelingen, Göteborgs universitet, Göteborg 1995, pages 251–284. Riemann’s ideas are also to be found in Orgelschule zur historischen Aufführungspraxis, Teil 2, Romantik, Jon Laukvik, Carus, Stuttgart, 2000. The respective passages seem to be quite dependent on my Göteborg article.

5. The two most important ones are: Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, Breitkopf & Härtel, Hamburg/Leipzig/St. Petersburg, 1884, and System der musikalischen Rhythmik und Metrik, Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzig, 1903.

6. Since the scores of Reger’s organ works are easily accessible and probably present in many organists’ libraries I have refrained from giving musical examples. The measure numbers refer to the Breitkopf edition, but other editions may as well be used since they differ only in small textual details not relevant here.

7. Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, pages 11ff.

8. According to his terminology “anbetont” or “abbetont.”

9. “inbetont.”

10. Zwölf Stücke für die Orgel von Max Reger. Op. 59. Hieraus in Einzel-Ausgabe: No. 9. Benedictus. Im Einverständnis mit dem Komponisten herausgegeben von Karl Straube. Leipzig: Peters 1913; London-Frankfurt-New York: Peters, 1949.

11. Präludien und Fugen für die Orgel von Max Reger, herausgegeben von Karl Straube, Leipzig: Peters 1912, Nr. 1. I thank Mrs. Ursula Wild of the library of the Hochschule für Musik Freiburg for providing me with a scan.

12. Orgelkompositionen von Franz Liszt, herausgegeben von Karl Straube. Band II, Leipzig: Peters 1917, pages 55–56.

13. In the first (1855) version of the piece Liszt also indicated a manual change, the right hand moving to the Oberwerk. This does not necessarily result in a dynamic break since the Oberwerk of the Merseburg organ for which the piece is intended is as powerful as the Hauptwerk. It is also interesting to see that the manual change was omitted in the second (1869) version. Additionally the fact that the lowest note of the right-hand chord has a shorter value than the rest of the chord, allowing the left-hand passage to interfere with it, implies that the manual change was not Liszt’s original intention anyway. Whether Straube knew the first version at all is doubtful, his edition concerns the second version, of course.

14. Reger seems to have liked the effect of overlapping musical passages, as can be seen on a smaller scale, e.g., on the last page of his Second Organ Sonata, opus 60. The numerous entrances alla stretta of at least the fugue subject’s opening motive are rarely marked by the beginning of new slurs. Reger once (measures 87–88) places a new slur on the two notes preceding the first thematic note, and more frequently on the second note of the subject, thus indicating respectively that the subject is prepared by a short upbeat, or that the initial note has the double function of ending the preceding phrase and starting the new phrase. In any case his clear intention is that there should be no break in the legato—as most players would do, reacting intuitively to the notation—in accordance with Riemann’s advice that phrasing does not necessarily have to be shown by articulation, but sometimes only by slight rubato nuances in order not to interrupt the longer legato line in the sense of a Wagnerian “infinite melody:” “Es ist etwas ganz bekanntes, dass die Schlusstöne der Phrasen oder wo die Verkettung loser ist, auch der Motive, zumeist abgesetzt, d.h. nicht in ununterbrochenem Tonflusse zu den Anfangstönen der folgenden Phrasen oder Motive fortgeführt, sondern von diesen durch kleine Pausen geschieden werden. Vielfach sind diese Pausen nicht anders, als durch das Ende eines Bogens oder auch gar nicht angedeutet und müssen also ad libitum, d.h. nach Massgabe des guten Geschmacks, durch Abzüge vom Werthe der letzten Note gewonnen werden; Gesichtspunkte, welche mangels einer Andeutung von Seiten des Komponisten dafür entscheidend werden können, ob man überhaupt die Phrasen- resp. Motivtrennung durch wirkliches Absetzen oder aber nur durch eine unbedeutende Verlängerung der letzten Note bewirkt, werden wir weiterhin kennen lernen.” (Riemann 1884, 145)

This way of indicating what Riemann would call “Phrasenverschränkung” (roughly to be translated as “joining of phrases”) or “Phrasenverkettung” is a bit unusual; Reger almost never uses the more conventional notation of letting two slurs meet on one note.

15. The described handling of this transition is not documented anywhere, but I clearly remember it from a radio recording of the piece by Michael Schneider, one of Straube’s most important students, to which I listened several times years ago.

16. See Reger’s footnote on page 8 (first edition, Aibl, later republished by UE) of the Choralfantasie über Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele, opus 30: “Die < > beziehen sich auf den Gebrauch des Jalousieschwellers; doch kann man auch im Tempo bei < etwas string. u. bei > etwas ritard. (Tempo rubato),” which is the practical implementation of a passage in Lehrbuch der musikalischen Phrasirung auf Grund einer Revision der Lehre von der musikalischen Metrik und Rhythmik, Hugo Riemann, page 11: “Mit dem crescendo der metrischen Motive ist stets eine (selbstverständlich geringe) Steigerung der Geschwindigkeit der Tonfolge und mit dem diminuendo eine entsprechende Verlangsamung verbunden.” Reger’s remark even goes one step further, giving an important hint to situations where no Swell division is at hand: dynamic inflections may be replaced by agogic ones.

17. “Die merkliche agogische Schattirung der Werte, nämlich eine gelinde Beschleunigung im Hineinlaufen in die Schwerpunktsnote, merkliche Dehnung der auf den Schwerpunkt selbst fallenden kurzen Note und abnehmende Dehnung der weiter bis zu Ende folgenden Werte.” Hugo Riemann, System der musikalischen Rhythmik und Metrik, Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzig, 1903, page 17.

18. “Die agogische Stauung, eine bewußt herbeigeführte Verbreiterung des Grundtempos, bewirkt auf der Orgel, dem Instrument unendlichen Atems, eine Verdichtung der Intensität, welche bei stärker registriertem Spiel sich sogar auf längere Strecken auszudehnen vermag.” Vom Orgelspiel. Eine kurzgefaßte Würdigung der künstlerisch orgelgemäßen Interpretationsweise und ihrer klanglichen Ausdrucksmittel, Handbücher der Musiklehre XV, Karl Matthaei, Breitkopf & Härtel. Leipzig, 1936, page 52. Matthaei was a Straube student; his remarks on rubato otherwise follow Riemann’s teachings.

19. A similar contrast mp–f is to be found measure 80, which in the first edition is changed to the f being prepared by a crescendo ending of the preceding variation.

20. I do not want to address tempo questions in general, which in the case of “Benedictus” would be quite interesting. See my article in the Festschrift for Wolfgang Stockmeier.

21. The recording is accessible on YouTube. It has been described in detail by Hans Martin Balz in an article in Ars Organi 1/2017 (journal of Gesellschaft der Orgelfreunde), pages 50–52. I thank Dr. Balz for providing me with the link.

This article originally appeared in Ars et Usus Musicae Organicae: Juhlakirja Olli Porthanille (Essays in Honour of Olli Porthanille), edited by Jan Lehtola and Peter Peitsalo, Sibelius Academy, University of the Arts Helsinki, Finland, 2020, and is reprinted here with permission.

Colin MacKnight

Colin MacKnight is a C. V. Starr Doctoral Fellow at The Juilliard School, New York City, where he also received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees. He is in the studio of Paul Jacobs and is working on his dissertation entitled “Ex Uno Plures: A Proposed Completion of Bach’s Art of Fugue.” He currently serves as associate organist and choirmaster at the Cathedral of the Incarnation in Garden City, Long Island.

A frequent competition prizewinner, MacKnight holds the Fellow and Choirmaster certificates from the American Guild of Organists (having won the prize for top score for the latter) and is a member of The Diapason’s “20 Under 30” Class of 2019. Upcoming performance highlights include recitals in Ingelheim, Germany; Kingston, Jamaica; and at Saint Matthew’s Cathedral in Washington, DC. Colin MacKnight is represented in North America by Karen McFarlane Artists, Inc. For more information, media, and a calendar of performances, visit colinmacknight.com.

“Miss no opportunity to practice on the organ; there is no instrument that takes such immediate revenge on the impure and the careless, in composition as well as in the playing, as the organ.”¹ This description from Schumann was likely referring to the organ’s ability to execute—one might even say affinity for—complex counterpoint. It is only fitting then that his only organ work would be a set of six fugues on Johann Sebastian Bach’s surname, a homage to music’s greatest contrapuntist, one of Schumann’s principal influences, and the composer who dominates the organ repertoire to a degree that no other composer dominates any other repertoire. Schumann stated, “What art owes to Bach is to the musical world hardly less than what a religion owes to its founder.”² He also acknowledged the influence that Bach exerted on his own music; Schumann’s compositional style was unusually motivic, and he attributed his disdain for what he called “lyric simplicity” to his study of Bach and Beethoven.³

In German musical parlance, B is B-flat and H is B-natural, allowing one to turn Bach’s surname into the motive B-flat, A, C, B-natural. By composing a set of fugues based on the theme
B-A-C-H, Schumann was participating in a long tradition of composing pieces (particularly for the organ) that include the B-A-C-H motive.

This tradition began with Johann Sebastian Bach himself and continues to the present. Two notable examples of Bach encrypting his own name occur in the Toccata in F Major for organ, BWV 540i (in transposition), and Contrapuncti 8, 11, and 14 of Die Kunst der Fuga, BWV 1080. Felix Mendelssohn was the next composer of a substantial body of organ music to encrypt the B-A-C-H motive into one of his pieces. In measure 56 of the first movement of his Sonata IV in B-flat from the Six Organ Sonatas, op. 65, he prominently includes the B-A-C-H motive in the pedal, transposed down a whole-tone (Example 1).

Schumann was close friends with Mendelssohn and even wrote a glowing review of the organ sonatas in his journal, Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, so Mendelssohn’s encryption may not have been unnoticed by him. Perhaps it is not coincidence that Schumann composed his set in 1845—the year in which Mendelssohn’s organ sonatas were published.⁴ In addition to Mendelssohn’s organ sonatas, Mendelssohn’s Six Preludes and Fugues for Piano, op. 35, and Three Preludes and Fugues for Organ, op. 37, were almost certainly strong influences on Schumann’s B-A-C-H fugues.⁵

Schumann was, however, the first composer to write a large work based on this theme. This proved to be influential; other composers who would later write substantial organ works based on B-A-C-H include Franz Liszt (Prelude and Fugue on the Name B-A-C-H, S. 260, versions of which exist for piano and organ), Sigfrid Karg-Elert (Passacaglia and Fugue on B-A-C-H, op.150), Max Reger (Fantasy and Fugue on the Name B-A-C-H, op. 46), Ernst Pepping (Three Fugues on B-A-C-H), etc. Schumann’s set is the longest of these works.

The year 1845 is often called Schumann’s contrapuntal year because of his and Clara Schumann’s intense study of counterpoint, resulting in such compositions as the Six Studies in Canonic Form, op. 56, and Four Sketches, op. 58, both for pedal-piano; Six Fugues on B-A-C-H for organ, op. 60; and Four Fugues for piano, op. 72.⁶ During this year of “Fugenpassion,”⁷ to use Schumann’s own term, they studied Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg’s Treatise on the Fugue and Luigi Cherubini’s A Course of Counterpoint and Fugue.⁸ Schumann also studied counterpoint intensely from 1831 to 1832 under Heinrich Dorn and from 1836 to 1838, a period which yielded more contrapuntally complex and rich works such as Kreisleriana.⁹

Schumann finished the first fugue on April 7 and the second on April 18.¹⁰ Soon after the second fugue was completed, a rented pedal-piano arrived at the Schumann house.¹¹ This would have been a useful tool for composing the Sketches, Canonic Studies, and Fugues, but, surprisingly, this is also around the time Schumann began to eschew the use of the piano as a compositional tool.¹² Perhaps, then, the pedal-piano was mainly used to assist in pedal-writing.

After the second fugue, progress on the set slowed for a variety of reasons including illness, work on the latter movements of the Piano Concerto in A Minor, op. 54, and organization of an orchestral concert series in Dresden.¹³ By the end of September, Schumann had drafted the third, fourth, and fifth fugues¹⁴ and in late November, Schumann completed the set.¹⁵ The influence of the B-A-C-H project can also be seen on his next opus, Symphony No. 2 in C Major; the second trio of the scherzo uses a theme beginning with the B-A-C-H motive, and the adagio contains a fugato (Example 2).¹⁶

Schumann’s set of six fugues is in many ways similar to and likely inspired by Bach’s The Art of the Fugue since both are thorough explorations of the contrapuntal potential of one musical idea. Schumann was, however, somewhat disdainful of The Art of the Fugue for being excessively cerebral.¹⁷ Part of this is probably due to what Schumann may have perceived as a lack of variety in The Art of the Fugue. Since The Art of the Fugue is based on a single subject and the Schumann B-A-C-H fugues are only based on a motive, Schumann has considerably more flexibility in his thematic material. (Interestingly, this is not unlike Bach’s use of the B-A-C-H motive in The Art of the Fugue. In Contrapunctus 8, the motive is masked with repeated notes and inversion; in Contrapunctus 11, he un-inverts it but retains the repeated notes. It is not until Contrapunctus 14 that Bach plainly reveals the motive, a technique of which Schumann surely would have been proud.)

Schumann, like Bach, derives several distinct fugue subjects from the B-A-C-H motive. The first, third, and sixth fugues, for example, all plainly feature the motive as the main substance of the subject. The fifth fugue, however, treats it just as the starting point for further elaboration. The fourth fugue also uses the motive overtly but changes its contour by leaping down a sixth from A to C, instead of up a third. By modifying and developing the theme, Schumann reveals and incorporates one of his favorite compositional genres: the character piece. John Daverio describes this important difference between fugues and character pieces by saying, “If the essence of a fugue is a fixed subject, then that of the character piece is the transformation of an eloquent motive.”¹⁸ By combining elements of these two genres, Schumann is not just taking a neo-baroque diversion but is “updating” the fugal form to include the most modern musical trends.

Each of Schumann’s fugues also has specific tempo and dynamic indications to contrast the movements. The work is framed by two large accelerando, crescendo fugues; the second fugue is a virtuosic allegro; the third, serene and lyrical; the fourth, a more austere study; and the fifth, a charming scherzo. In this way, the work is not just a compilation of fugues but also a suite of complementary movements. Schumann also provides tonal variety by including G minor and F major movements into an overarching B-flat major—something The Art of the Fugue does not do despite its much greater length. Additionally, there is greater variety of texture in Schumann’s set than The Art of the Fugue. Schumann is not averse to devolving to homophony as he does in all but the third fugue. He also frequently composed in what looks like a “lazy” five-voice texture by writing five-voice expositions but not maintaining a strict five-voice texture (until the last fugue). This is, however, more likely another attempt at textural variety than contrapuntal ineptitude on Schumann’s part; by moving the bass line between the pedal and left hand, he is varying the sound and texture even while maintaining the same number of voices.

As previously stated, the first fugue is an accelerando, crescendo fugue. The quintessential example of this, and likely inspiration for Schumann, is the first movement of Mendelssohn’s Sonata No. 3 in A Major from his Six Organ Sonatas, op. 65. Schumann’s subject comprises two bars, the first of which is the B-A-C-H motive plainly stated, and the second of which includes the B-A-C-H motive in retrograde in its first, second, fifth, and sixth pitches (Example 3). At the point at which Schumann indicates to begin crescendoing and accelerating, he combines the B-A-C-H motive (or a variant thereof) in the pedal with a two-voice stretto of the diminished form of the subject in the manuals (Example 4).

The piece builds to a very exciting homophonic climax, particularly when the performer has accelerated enough (Simon Preston starts at 92 beats per minute and comes close to doubling the tempo, reaching 168 beats per minute at the fastest), with double-pedal before a five-bar coda that returns to a polyphonic texture, although without the B-A-C-H subject. Because of the lower register and reduction in texture, it is not uncommon to decrescendo through the coda, even though this is not indicated in the score.

The second fugue is the allegro movement and the most unabashedly virtuosic. It is also the only fugue in a triple meter, a trait of which Schumann takes full advantage through the use of hemiola. Its subject begins with a quick dotted B-A-C-H before beginning a sequence that is almost certainly taken from the fugue from Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor for organ, BWV 565. Schumann would have known this work from Mendelssohn’s famous Bach recital at the Thomaskirche in Leipzig, which he enthusiastically reviewed in his Neue Zeitschrift für Musik (Examples 5 and 6).¹⁹

In measure 48, Schumann combines the subject with its augmentation in the pedal. Then in measure 74, there is a rest for performer and listener alike when Schumann quietly strettos the augmented B-A-C-H motive with occasional interruptions from the BWV 565 motive. (These fragments of the BWV 565 motive make the connection to Bach’s fugue even more obvious.) This motive gradually takes over the texture while crescendoing until the piece devolves into a virtuosic toccata, complete with double-pedal, arpeggios, octave doublings, and no hint of B-A-C-H. He then briefly alludes to the quiet B-A-C-H stretto passage again—this time with neighbor-tones on the B-flat—before a passage of triumphant homophony. There is one more fugal interruption before the chorale-style writing returns and a hemiola passage with sforzando chords every two beats. The movement ends with a coda over a B-flat pedal that continues to use the BWV 565 motive while eschewing the B-A-C-H motive, a final confirmation of this fugue’s inspiration.

The third fugue is the only one that is entirely quiet; there is a piano indication at the beginning with the description “Mit sanften Stimmen”—with gentle stops—and no further performance instructions. This is the only fugue that begins in two voices with the counter-subject present from the beginning. It is also the simplest and technically easiest fugue. The B-A-C-H theme only occurs in one form, and the emphasis is on lyricism rather than intellect or virtuosity. It is also the only fugue in a minor key, G minor, but ending in a tranquil G major.

The fourth fugue is the most austere and perhaps the least accessible of the set. This is clear from the outset when Schumann uses a jagged version of the B-A-C-H motive; instead of an ascending minor third between A and C, he writes a descending major sixth, meaning the subject outlines a pungent diminished octave. This is one of Schumann’s cleverest techniques: to utilize the B-A-C-H motive as a collection of pitch classes with no specific contour rather than a traditional theme with a set shape.   

Schumann further adds to the complexity and austerity of this movement by introducing the retrograde of B-A-C-H for the first time and immediately combining it with the subject’s normal form. The retrograde form of the subject almost always has staccato markings on the first and third notes to draw attention to itself, retrograde being among the more obscure contrapuntal techniques (Example 7).

This movement continues to use retrograde pervasively and eventually transitions into loud chordal writing with flashy pedal scales. Like the second fugue, it alternates between passages of strict counterpoint and homophony. The passagework and homophony bring what was an ascetic contrapuntal exercise—perhaps worthy of Schumann’s own questionable criticism of The Art of the Fugue—to a dramatic and exciting close. The climax in measures 96 to 99 is particularly thrilling and one of the highlights of the whole work, as if to apologize for the trials through which he has just put the listener.

As an additional conciliatory gesture, Schumann placed his charming scherzo-fugue next. The presence of a scherzo—an unusual template for a fugue—in this set is further proof that Schumann conceived this set as a suite of complementary pieces and not just miscellaneous movements based on the same theme. The fifth fugue is the only movement in F major and the shortest of the set. This movement’s subject begins with a fleeting B-A-C-H that sounds almost like a perfunctory after-thought—or pre-thought. It is a refreshing relief after the previous four movements which all employ the B-A-C-H motive so plainly.

Nevertheless, the scherzo is still a contrapuntal tour de force. It includes augmentation, inversion, retrograde, and retrograde augmentation, and combines the augmented form of the subject with the original form and the augmented retrograde form with the plain retrograde, an astonishing amount of artifice for a movement of less than three minutes. The technique, however, never hinders the charm. This fugue demonstrates well Schumann’s outlook on fugal composition: “Anyway, this will always be the best fugue the public for instance regards as a waltz by Strauss—in other words, where the artificial rootage is covered like the roots of a flower so that we can see just the flower.” For Schumann, artifice and contrapuntal ingenuity were always subservient to beauty and emotion.²⁰

The sixth and final fugue, the longest of the set, is another accelerando, crescendo fugue. It is also the only double fugue in the set, giving it more in common with the first movement of Mendelssohn’s Sonata No. 3 in A Major, op. 65, which, as previously mentioned, is also a crescendo, accelerando, double fugue. The three-bar subject begins with the B-A-C-H motive and ends with a short descending scale that is the source of the second subject. The first section also prominently features a five-note motive as a counter-subject, beginning in measure 16. This motive, intentionally or not, sounds like a quotation of the main motive in Bach’s chorale prelude on Valet will ich dir geben, BWV 736. The descending scale that closes the first subject becomes the second subject in measure 58 and begins a new section that is marked Lebhafter and più forte. This section does not use the B-A-C-H motive but instead develops the second subject, including stretto and inversion, and uses the same five-note countersubject.

In measure 95, Schumann finally combines the subjects and countersubject signaling the third and final part of this fugue, the only instance of strict five-part counterpoint in the entire set (Example 8).

The strict counterpoint continues until measure 116 when Schumann switches to grand, fortissimo, chorale writing with a few quasi-contrapuntal interruptions. The homophonic texture allows him to compose abrupt and distant modulations that are unusual in strict fugal textures: most notably, the modulation to G major in measure 139 and back to B-flat in measure 142. As in the second fugue, Schumann eventually eschews the B-A-C-H motive (after measure 144 in the sixth fugue), choosing instead to close the entire work not with either of the subjects but with the counter-subject.

As previously mentioned, Schumann “updates” the fugal form by incorporating elements of the character piece, which he does by developing and transforming the B-A-C-H motive. By examining the different transformations of B-A-C-H, as well as other motives, one can see certain relationships between movements beyond the obvious thematic unity of a monothematic work. Specifically, the movements can be organized into three related pairs: movements one and four, two and three, and five and six.

The first fugue is related to the fourth by merit of the fact that it utilizes a countersubject, itself derived from the B-A-C-H motive, which prominently features leaps of sixths, the same interval that is so characteristic of the fourth fugue’s subject (Example 9). 

While this relationship by itself may seem somewhat tenuous, Schumann retroactively confirms it with what is probably the most shocking harmony of this fugue: the false ending at measure 60, in which an F dominant-seventh chord resolves to a secondary-dominant ninth of the subdominant. What sounds like a dramatic change in register is actually the jagged contour of the fourth fugue’s subject in the soprano! The soprano and tenor lines also continue to prominently feature leaps of sixths through the coda of this movement (Example 10).

The second and third fugues are also connected by an allusion in the second fugue to the third fugue’s subject. In measure 48 of fugue two, the B-A-C-H motive appears in the pedal in augmentation with three extra notes that together with B-A-C-H will form the third fugue’s subject (Examples 11 and 12).

Just like in the first fugue, the relationship between fugues two and three may seem weak, but Schumann once again confirms it by developing the tail of the third fugue subject in the tenor and bass voices later in the second fugue (measure 135) (Example 13).

The connection between the fifth and sixth fugues is perhaps the most obvious. The fugue subject of fugue five has a five-note figure that occurs in the second (C, B-flat, A, B-flat, C) and third (G, F, E, F, G) measures of the subject (Example 14).

Schumann later inverts this theme, so it also occurs in an up-down shape. The inverted form of this motive (the aforementioned quotation of Valet will ich dir geben, BWV 736) then becomes the countersubject to the final fugue and is combined with both of the last fugue’s subjects. It is introduced in the first exposition in measure 16 and is combined with both subjects in measure 95 (see Example 8).

On the surface, nothing could have been more conservative in nineteenth-century music than a set of six fugues for organ. Further examination reveals, however, how progressive Schumann’s B-A-C-H fugues were. They were likely the first set of pieces to be based entirely on Bach’s name, they constitute a complementary “suite” of fugues—not just a collection of movements—and there are connections and developments between the movements that foreshadow Brahms’s developing variation. Schumann himself wrote, “I worked on this set for the whole of last year in order to make it somewhat worthy of the exalted name it bears; [it is] a work that will, I believe, long outlive my other works.”²¹ His prediction that his reputation would be based largely on these fugues did not prove to be accurate, but it was surely right of him to hold them in such high regard.

Notes

1. Helga Scholz-Michelitsch, “Robert Schumann and the Organ,” trans. Susanne Weber, The Franz Schmidt Organ Competition, http://orgelwettbewerb.kitz.net/Franz-Schmidt-OrganCompetition/Robert_Schumann.html. 

2. Eric Frederick Jensen, Schumann (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 145.

3. Ibid., 145–146. 

4. Scholz-Michelitsch, “Robert Schumann and the Organ.”

5. John Daverio, Robert Schumann: Herald of a “New Poetic Age” (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 308.

6. Daverio, Robert Schumann, 306.

7. Ibid., 307. 

8. Scholz-Michelitsch, “Robert Schumann and the Organ.”

9. Daverio, Robert Schumann, 306.

10. Ibid., 307.

11. Ibid.

12. Jensen, Schumann. 284.

13. Daverio, Robert Schumann, 307.

14. Ibid.

15. Ibid., 308.

16. Jensen, Schumann, 289.

17. Ibid. 144.

18. Daverio, Robert Schumann, 309.

19. Scholz-Michelitsch, “Robert Schumann and the Organ.”

20. Ibid.

21. Daverio, Robert Schumann, 308.

Bibliography

Daverio, John. Robert Schumann: Herald of a “New Poetic Age.” New York: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Jensen, Eric Frederick. Schumann. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.

Scholz-Michelitsch, Helga. “Robert Schumann and the Organ.” Translated by Susanne Weber. The Franz Schmidt Organ Competition. http://orgelwettbewerb.kitz.net/Franz-Schmidt-OrganCompetition/Robert_Schumann.html.

David Lim

David Lim is a doctoral organ student at the University of Oklahoma, Norman, studying under Damin Spritzer and Adam Pajan, and previously studied at Gustavus Adolphus College, Saint Peter, Minnesota, and the University of Iowa, Iowa City. He is also director of music at Saint Philip’s Episcopal Church in Ardmore, Oklahoma, and a shop technician with Red River Pipe Organ Company, Norman, Oklahoma.

The Organ Sonata on Psalm 94 of Julius Reubke (1834–1858) is perhaps the best example of programmatic music in the organ repertoire—wholly unusual for a mid-nineteenth-century composition in multiple regards. Firstly, composers and performers exploited the expressive and virtuosic capabilities afforded by the piano. The use of the piano in solo and collaborative works was undoubtedly a hallmark of nineteenth-century composition. In contrast, relatively few major compositions for the organ were produced during this period. The Romantic perspective noted the “organ’s expressive and dynamic possibilities were deficient, falling far short of those of the piano . . . .”¹ Just as the organ was the tenor² of north-German keyboard literature of the eighteenth century, the piano was likewise in nineteenth-century composition. Secondly, period composers frequently used contemporary literary works as programmatic, extra-musical bases for their compositions.³ Ecclesiastical associations and the archaic nature of the organ were certainly not aligned with the growing secularization of the enlightenment and emphasis on innovation and modernity at the beginning of the industrial revolution.

Reubke’s substantial contribution of an organ composition based on a religious program was somewhat countercultural for the mid-1800s. This novelty provides a landmark, revolutionary composition in organ literature, demonstrating great sensitivity towards the program and virtuosity previously unseen. The piece reflects several important characteristics of Psalm 94, namely the personal and human perspectives of the psalmist and the literary structure of the psalm.

Several influences in Julius’s short life make his unusual organ sonata appear to be a natural outgrowth of his experience. His childhood was undoubtedly formative. Born in Hausneindorf, he was baptized and educated in the village’s Evangelical (Lutheran) Church and received instruction from the parish cantor. One can presume that education in religious matters was taught, though no sources cited mention curriculum. The village was insulated from the effects of the 1848 revolution.⁴

Julius was exposed to the cutting edge of music throughout his life. He was a child prodigy, having studied with many notable teachers, and quickly gained a reputation as a regarded pupil, performer, and composer. As the son of an organ builder, Julius was undoubtedly exposed to the organ world in his youth⁵ as his father, Adolf, was completing notable projects in the style of organ building prevalent at that time.

Reubke’s later studies with Franz Liszt (1811–1886) in Weimar coincided with Liszt’s development of the symphonic poem. His influence on the young Reubke was profound.⁶ Liszt began to realize, explore, and exploit the possibilities that modern German Romantic organs afforded in compositions such as his Fantasie and Fugue on the Chorale “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam” (written 1850, premiered 1852) and the Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H (premiered 1855).⁷ Organs built during this time reflected larger trends in music. Large instruments were constructed in Germany and France, facilitated by technological innovations. Greater emphasis on unison (8′) color stops and increasing tonal resources allowed new and rebuilt organs to accommodate the gamut of dynamic and color possibilities previously unavailable to organists. The organs of Friedrich Ladegast and Adolf Reubke defined this modern style in north Germany.⁸ Julius’s musical experiences from early youth to developing composer culminate in his Organ Sonata.

Liszt and Reubke “strove to emancipate the organ, to raise it to the level of the piano,”⁹ by exploring and exploiting the new avenues of modern organs. “Liszt set new standards for handling the instrument,”¹⁰ and Reubke followed Liszt’s orchestral approach to the organ.¹¹ Such efforts solved one problem and created another. Their organ works were revolutionary, but the technical demands exceeded the abilities of most organists of the time. Any progressive traits in their organ compositions were negated by the relative unavailability of suitable organists to perform and promote such innovations.

Discrepancies surround the initial relationship and presentation of the program and music at the sonata’s premiere performance at the Merseburg Cathedral on June 17, 1857,¹² with Reubke performing. Franz Brendel notes in a review: “The work is not titled as a sonata, quite the contrary, the 94th Psalm was printed as the program, a procedure of which I completely approve.”¹³ Daniel Chorzempa interprets this to mean the entire text of Psalm 94 was included in the program.¹⁴ However, only select verses were included in Otto Reubke’s (Julius’s brother) 1877 edition of the sonata (Figures 1 and 2). Michael Gailit comments that Brendel likely would not have realized if the full psalm text was actually present in the program, considering its “rather long and very rarely used” nature.¹⁵ In contrast, Choonhae Kim Lee understands that “The 94th Psalm” was printed as the title, not the program.¹⁶ Programs from the premiere performance are not known to exist. No sources determine whether the work was based on the psalm text from its inception or if it was added as a program after the sonata was completed.

Existing discussions focus on direct text-music relationships and sectional comparisons. All have used the verses appearing in Otto’s edition of the sonata, despite the ambiguity surrounding Reubke’s use of the psalm text. The writings of Chorzempa (1971), Lee (1989), Manwarren (1994), Nieuwkoop (1995), and Gailit (1992) emphasize different aspects of the sonata. References to its programmatic and formal analysis are included to varying degrees in all papers. Chorzempa’s interpretation in part revolves around the Baroque idea of Affektenlehre, whereby specific musical characteristics elicit emotional responses. He extends this into a Romantic notion that the inclusion of programmatic music, according to Wilhelm Wackenroder, allows the written word to take on fuller meaning, as music is the “completion of philosophy.”¹⁷ He also mentions the general “atmosphere” in particular sections. Lee’s dissertation approaches the sonata from the perspective of the psalmist in the first two movements and later God’s presence in the final. She conjectures specific text-music relationships, “double function” formal structure, and includes an analysis of rhythmic treatments of the principal theme (Figure 3A). Manwarren offers the most objective analysis of the sonata, relating the organ sonata to the piano sonatas of Liszt and Reubke. Psalm 94 itself is mentioned only briefly, aside from his formal and harmonic analysis. In contrast, the analysis offered by Nieuwkoop distinctly relates text and music, describing Reubke as a “master of musical depiction.”¹⁸ His commentary on the music’s textual representation is undergirded by specific musical features. Gailit’s journal article (which later evolved into a book) is dominated by detailed motivic analysis with the occasional comment referencing programmatic meaning. Lee, Manwarren, and Gailit all cite Chorzempa’s dissertation and draw upon his interpretation.

Direct correlations are commonly made when discussing program and sonata. Nieuwkoop describes measures 16–21 as

. . . an impressive musical rendering of another key word from verse 1: “. . . erscheine (. . . shew thyself).” It is an imperative exclamation, which Reubke represents by means of the following musical techniques: 1. dotted rhythms, 2. a sequential treatment, 3. an increased number of voices (from 3 to 10), 4. a large ambitus.

Similarly, Lee describes, “The second verse ‘Rise up’ is portrayed immediately after the repetition of the opening phrase in the full organ. The music builds with the sequence of rising phrases.”²⁰ Numerous similar descriptions are routine in existing literature. These descriptions portray Reubke’s treatment of the psalm text as “Mickey Mousing” (to borrow a phrase from film music scholars), wherein musical gestures intend to describe, reinforce, and clarify specific on-screen actions; or, in our case, a specific word, phrase, or mood from the psalm text. Nonetheless, each interpretation offered is informative and provides different perspectives.²¹ Curiously, while the importance of the program has been highlighted to varying degrees in the sources detailed below, none cite any scholarly resources pertaining directly to the psalm text itself.

Psalm 94 features a distinct three-part construction, as reflected in the commentaries of Clifford, Howard, Kraus, and Limburg. Clifford’s analysis is more microscopic but is consistent with the larger sectional division of the others (Figure 2). The opening and closing sections are laments for the community and individual respectively. The middle introduces wisdom literature. This “wisdom interlude” is one of the defining features of Psalm 94, as it interrupts the psalm’s otherwise lament form. In verses 1–7, the psalmist writes of the injustice and violence occurring in the world. Frustrated with God’s inactivity, he invokes God to action in hopes that the numerous atrocities cited will end and the oppressors see justice. Verses 1–2 directly invoke God to be present and act in the world. Concern for the larger community is expressed. The middle section (verses 8–15) employs wisdom poetry, which is often used to describe human nature²² and the education of humankind. The teachings of an all-knowing God are “supremely strange,” as God is better known as a creator and judge in Old Testament Judaic thinking.²³ The resulting advantages are described in verses 12–15, where those who accept such teachings are happy²⁴ and assured of God’s faithfulness to humanity.²⁵ The lament returns in the concluding section; however, focus shifts now towards the psalmist’s relationship with and reliance on God. Clifford notes several statements of trust and confidence: God is referred to as “rock” and “refuge.” Howard mentions Kraus’s interpretations of the last section as “a prayer of an individual.”²⁶ Thoughts expressed about God’s interaction with the world are constantly developing in the psalm, as the psalmist is quick to find comfort in God despite the terrible circumstances of his present condition.

The human, earthly, and personal perspective of the psalmist is readily noticed in Psalm 94. Personal pronouns are found throughout. Questions and petitions are offered to God. The general affect of Reubke’s Organ Sonata is one of bewilderment and chaos. Such a setting is most appropriate as the psalmist is likewise perplexed and angered by the world’s “wicked” state. The very nature of God is questioned. This confused and seemingly illogical state of both the psalmist and the world are musically portrayed. Harmonic stability is rare and definitive cadences are lacking throughout much of the sonata. The introduction establishes this confused state with the first thematic entrance (measures 1–7) cadencing in D-flat major and the second (measures 8–15) cadencing in C major—neither establishes nor alludes to the work’s tonic of C minor (Figure 4).²⁷ This “veiled” and “amorphous” tonality²⁸ in conjunction with the rapid shifts in both dynamics and tempo preclude predictability, anticipation, and order. Just as the psalmist is left to the mercy of God for a response to his dire situation, so, too, must the listener wait for musical answers and conclusions. The laws of God and of conventional western music theory seem to be abandoned to some extent.

Monothematicism offers the only possibility of reliable predictability as the entire work revolves around a single, two-part theme. Gailit’s analysis and nomenclature refers to the “falling melody line” as the main theme. This theme consists of two-halves: a head motive consisting of a “semitone + third” (measures1–2) and a descending chromatic scale (measures 3–4) (Figure 3A).^{29, 30} Principal and secondary themes first appear in the Grave and Larghetto sections of the first movement, respectively (P1, S1). The themes of the second movement (Adagio) are derived from those of the first. Although different, these two themes are simply in altered guise (P2, S2). The fugue of the third movement is a distinct but not exact return of the principal theme from the first movement (Figure 3).

Thematic variation of both main theme, especially the head motive, and descending scale is present throughout and comprises repetition and fragmentation.³¹ The distinctive rhythmic and melodic qualities of the head motive, in particular, permeate virtually every section of the piece.³² This incessant use of the head motive represents the psalmist’s similarly frequent address and reference to God. Titles such as “Lord,” “God,” and “He” appear in several verses of Psalm 94. Divine names are distributed equally in all the three parts of the psalm.³³ Hence, the head motive is a musical address of God, just as the titles mentioned are verbal addresses. The psalmist is constantly invoking God in both text and music. This may be a simple side effect of the sonata’s cyclic, monothematic construction; however, it is an undeniable commonality between text and sonata.

Moreover, thematic variation further reinforces the personal view exhibited by the psalmist. Each address of God is framed differently—petition, questioning, trust, confidence. The principal themes of each movement demonstrate this. The precise rhythmic (as examined and described by Lee) and melodic characteristics of each iteration are different, yet each retains the essence of the original. Respective iterations are likewise harmonized differently and presented in the context of different textures, all in addition to motivic alterations themselves. The head motive’s distinctive nature readily identifies it in various textures. Voices throughout the sonata resemble the theme’s scalar portion making distinctive identification thereof challenging—the temptation of over-identifying such sections is very possible.

The third movement’s fugue subject (Figure 3E) is clearly derived from the principal theme (P1), and the descending scale of P1 is now inverted. Gailit offers that this scalar ascent “could be taken to symbolically represent the portion of the text which speaks of hope and trust in the Lord.”³⁴ Indeed, this programmatic correlation bears more significance as this literal change in direction reflects the psalmist’s changed attitude towards and opinion of God. Compared to the damning accusations of the psalm’s opening, he reverses his position by placing trust and confidence in God. The programmatic function of the scale seems to represent the psalmist’s general attitude towards the Divine.

The juxtaposition between sections of Psalm 94 bears elements of plot archetype. For the psalmist, confusion and question leads to trust and understanding. A musical trajectory of chaos to order can be found in harmonic and phrase structures, paralleling the psalmist evolving understanding of God’s nature. Chorzempa comments on the first movement’s Larghetto that “a measure for measure analysis reveals no governing system or imposed order. Harmonic color is exploited for its own sake.”³⁵ Manwarren undergirds this statement, mentioning a “shifting chromatic nature” and later states that Reubke “avoids tonicizing the key outright.”³⁶ Harmonic chaos continues in the second movement (Adagio) as three keys are established in a five-measure section (measures 237–242).³⁷ Phrase structure seems to have little regularity, though some can be found. Unlike the sonata’s first two movements, the final movement is harmonically and structurally stable. The fugue is stricter as a tonal center and phrase structures are overtly present. Manwarren notes a “traditional tonic-dominant relationship” between subject and answer, mentioning a “firm grounding” in the tonic.³⁸ Lee identifies a constancy of the C-minor tonality (Figure 5).³⁹ Gailit observes regular four- and eight-bar phrases in episodic and developmental sections of the fugue; subject statements are consistently seven bars.⁴⁰ The fugue is unambiguous and goal-orientated. The sonata and program establish clear musical and textual dichotomies respectively that are placed in parallel. Such transformations, however, do not extend to the sonata’s mode. One expects or desires a “happy,” triumphant ending with minor giving way to major. Curiously, the sonata’s conclusion is not consistent with aspects of a plot archetype model, as Reubke defies any such expectations and concludes the sonata with a dramatic, defiant conclusion in C minor using the fullest resources of the organ. This inconsistency is justified when considering items absent from the music and its program.

Parallels between music and program support and reflect each other. Likewise, these may be extended to elements that are not present. Gailit states,

It is of great importance to understand that the second theme does not show the regular contrast to the first theme. It does not use another (major) key, it stays in C minor. Those contrasting, “friendly” themes are very often used for the triumphant ending of the composition. The lyric themes are, so to speak, the germ of redemption. . . . In his organ sonata, Reubke does not “program” the redemption. When listening to the second theme one can already guess that the piece will not have a happy ending!⁴¹

Reubke’s compositional style is understandably influenced by the works and teachings of Liszt. Manwarren’s analysis of Liszt’s and Reubke’s piano sonatas finds similar treatment of the second theme, describing them as “lyrical” and mentions their “even phrase structures.”⁴² The second theme from Reubke’s
Organ Sonata does not conform to this description. Gailit notes that Reubke seems to purposefully “avoid regular bar numbers,”⁴³ consistent with the initial presentation of the primary theme. This supposed intention of developing a clear, non-contrasting second theme is supported by Reubke’s exposure to Liszt’s lyrical second theme of and creation of his own in the Piano Sonata, as Manwarren’s dissertation demonstrates.

The closest thing to a “redemptive” theme is a soloed melody in measures 81–86, beat 1, intended to be played on an 8′ Trompete (Figure 6). Reubke specifies several other instances where lines are to be soloed on different registrations. For example, Reubke prescribes “Man. I Viola da Gamba 8′” for the second statement of first movement’s secondary theme (S1) (measure 64) with the melody to be “very prominent.”⁴⁴ Several other similar prescriptions for soloing are found in both first and second movements and always solo thematic material. This solo Trompete line is curious as it bears little, if any, resemblance to any of the primary or secondary themes, with the exception of the ubiquitous head motive (measure 82). Reubke makes clear that it should be understood as a thematic statement, considering its soloed distinction, yet it is intrinsically athematic. The listener is intended to hear this as important and substantive (especially when played using the prominent, distinct Trompete color), despite its content being contextually unrelated. This contradiction is confusing. Such an oddity is explained if labeled as the sonata’s “redemptive theme.” Such a label is further justified as it aligns with the typical “lyrical” and “evenly phrased” qualities previously mentioned, in particular the slur markings within each bar, routine use of eighth notes, and stepwise and tertian motion. However, its singular appearance in the whole sonata disqualifies it as thematic material. Rather, it seems Reubke intends this to be a fake theme, presented as authentic but without credentials. Any true redemptive theme is simply not present in the organ sonata—an imposter offers false hope. The lack of a true contrasting second theme appears to have basis in the program’s own lack.

It is precisely the wisdom interlude of Psalm 94 (verses 8–15) that is excluded from the sonata’s program as listed in Otto Reubke’s edition. The program thus unites the two lament sections of Psalm 94 into a more unified whole. The single-movement and monothematic structure of the sonata reflect this. The absence of text focusing on education and human behavior precludes any chance for a musical depiction of redemption in the world. Without accepting and understanding the wisdom, teaching, and guidance through God’s presence in the world, humankind has little chance of achieving a just world. The psalmist does not desire the wicked to return to a righteous lifestyle, nor does he intercede on their behalf. Rather, the psalmist concludes by expressing desire for God’s justice and retribution in the form of eradication of the unjust. Redemption is denied to this demographic in the psalm, just as a redemptive theme is denied in the sonata. Gailit’s comment about the lack of a “redemptive” secondary theme foreshadowing and fulfilling a “bad ending” therefore stems from the program itself. This is yet more sinister when realizing the intentionality inherent in both text and music.

Reubke demonstrates a more profound understanding and realization of Psalm 94’s text, extending beyond the straightforward “depiction” as described by others’ analysis identifying, relating, and explaining the sonata’s affect with specific musical features. He seems to offer the listener something more akin to a critical reading, one that helps us understand, sympathize with, and participate in the emotions and thoughts of the psalmist. Reubke’s Organ Sonata on Psalm 94 offers a visceral musical experience, whether one is performer or listener. His virtuosic and highly technical writing in combination with a religious program places the sonata in a unique position as it engages performer and audience sonically and theologically as found in few other compositions in the organ repertoire.

Notes

1. Hans van Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” in Proceedings of the Göteborg International Organ Academy 1994, trans. Rechard van der Hart, ed. Hans Davidsson and Sverker Jullander, 383–402 (Göteborg: Novum Grafiska AB, 1995): 383.

2. In the Latin sense of “holder.”

3. J. Peter Burkholder, Donald J. Grout, and Claude V. Palisca, A History of Western Music, 8th ed. (New York: W. W. Morton, 2010), 606.

4. Daniel W. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke: Life and Works” (Ph.D. diss., University of Minnesota, 1971), 14–15.

5. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 384.

6. Michael Gailit, “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part I,” The Diapason, 83, no. 1 (Jan. 1992), 12–14.

7. Ibid., 13.

8. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 384.

9. Ibid., 384.

10. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part I,” 13.

11. Matthew C. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor on Julius Reubke: A Study of Reubke’s Sonata in B-flat Minor for Piano and the Sonata on the Ninety-fourth Psalm for Organ” (DMA diss., University of Cincinnati, 1994), 91.

12. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 101.

13. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 102.

14. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 252.

15. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part II,” 10.

16. Choonhae Kim Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm: Synthesis of conservative and progressive styles, A lecture recital, Together with three Recitals of Selected works of J. S. Bach, C. Franck, A. Heillerds, M. Reger, L. Sowerby, M. Widor, and Others” (DMA diss., University of North Texas-Denton, 1989), 24.

17. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 250.

18. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 394.

19. Nieuwkoop, “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm,’” 388.

20. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 26.

21. Music scholarship prior to 1971 was not examined as research presented by Chorzempa corrects previous errors and misunderstandings.

22. Richard J. Clifford, Psalms 73–150, Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003), 113–114.

23. Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 60–150: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1989), 241.

24. Clifford, Psalms 73–150, 114.

25. Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 241.

26. David M. Howard, Jr., The Structure of Psalms 93–100 (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 49.

27. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 41.

28. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 224.

29. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part II,” 10.

30. Gailit includes the rising chords in mm. 4–7 in addition to the head motive, creating a “Main Idea.” I do not find this useful in my analysis.

31. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 312.

32. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 206.

33. Howard, The Structure of Psalms 93–100, 50.

34. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part IV,” 13.

35. Chorzempa, “Julius Reubke,” 232.

36. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt,” 47.

37. Ibid., 67.

38. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt,” 80.

39. Lee, “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm,” 42.

40. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part IV,” 14

41. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part III,” 12.

42. Manwarren, “The Influence of Liszt,” 37.

43. Gailit, “Julius Reubke: Part III,” 12.

44. “Melodie sehr hervortretend.”

Bibliography

Extra-musical:

Clifford, Richard J. Psalms 73–150: Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003.

Gillingham, Susan. Psalms through the Centuries. Singapore: Blackwell, 2008.

Howard, David M., Jr. “Psalm 94 amongst the Kingship-of Yhwh Psalms.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 61, no. 4 (Oct. 1999): 667–685.

______ . The Structure of Psalms 93–100. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997.

Kraus, Hans-Joachim. Psalms 60–150: A commentary. Translated by Hilton C. Oswald. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1989.

Limburg, James. Psalms. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000.

Musical:

Chorzempa, Daniel W. “Julius Reubke: Life and Works.” Ph.D. diss., University of Minnesota, 1971.

Gailit, Michael. “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part I.” The Diapason, 83, no. 1 (Jan. 1992): 12–14.

______ . “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part II.” The Diapason, 83, no. 2 (Feb. 1992): 10–11.

______ . “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part III.” The Diapason, 83, no. 3 (March 1992): 12–13.

______ . “Julius Reubke and His Organ Sonata: The 94th Psalm, Part IV.” The Diapason, 83, no. 4 (April 1992): 12–14.

Klotz, Hans, and Daniel Chorzempa. “Reubke.” Grove Music Online, accessed March 7, 2016, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.

Lee, Choonhae Kim. “Reubke’s The 94th Psalm: Synthesis of conservative and progressive styles, A lecture recital, Together with three Recitals of Selected works of J. S. Bach, C. Franck, A Heillerds, M. Reger, L. Sowerby, M. Widor, and Others.” DMA diss., University of North Texas-Denton, 1989.

Manwarren, Matthew C. “The influence of Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor on Julius Reubke: A study of Reubke’s Sonata in B-flat Minor for Piano and the Sonata on the Ninety-fourth Psalm for Organ.” DMA diss., University of Cincinnati, 1994.

Nieuwkoop, Hans van. “Interpretation of Reubke’s ‘Sonate der 94 Psalm.’” In Proceedings of the Göteborg International Organ Academy 1994, translated by Rechard van der Hart, edited by Hans Davidsson and Sverker Jullander, 383–402. Göteborg: Novum Grafiska AB, 1995.

Reubke, Julius. Orgelwerke. Edited by Günther Kaunzinger. Vienna: Wiener Urtext Edition, 2004.

Reubke, Julius. Der 94ste Psalm für die Orgel. Edited by Otto Reubke. Leipzig: J. Schuberth & Co., 1871.

Alexander Meszler

Alexander Meszler is a doctoral student of Kimberly Marshall at Arizona State University. He currently lives in Versailles, France, on a Fulbright award where he is investigating secularism and the organ as well as continuing organ studies with Jean-Baptiste Robin. A strong advocate of music by living composers, he serves as a member of the American Guild of Organists’ Committee on New Music. He is a member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2019.

Elements of old and new make for fertile ground in organ composition; Klaus Huber (1924–2017) built his organ works on this ground. Although even the most recent organ works can hardly be considered new, they still stand outside of the standard canon of repertoire, and thus, sound refreshing.

Music historians have already begun to specialize in classical music of the last decades of the twentieth century. Varying interpretations of historical periods and styles among musicologists have emerged, but the lasting impact of post-war music is still up for debate. In writing about Huber, I intend to introduce a composer who I believe deserves a place in the organ repertoire.

Apart from his work as a composer, Huber is best known as a teacher. Two of his most significant teaching positions were as professor of composition at the Académie de Musique (1964–1973) in Basel, Switzerland, and later, at the Fribourg Musikhochschule (1973–1990). He won numerous awards and prizes for his work in orchestral and chamber genres. The depth of Huber’s influence as a composition teacher cannot be overstated; his name is found prominently in the biographies of composers such as Brian Ferneyhough, Toshio Hosokawa, Michael Jarrell, Younghi Pagh-Paan, Wolfgang Rihm, André Richard, Hans Wüthrich, and Hans-Ola Ericsson. Many of his students went on to write their own organ works.

I became interested in the music of Klaus Huber for three reasons: (1) a desire to explore music of the twentieth century that is underrepresented; (2) Huber’s historically influenced approach to composition for the organ; and (3) the fact that most of his works are relatively short and can be performed on a wide variety of instruments, making them easily programmable. Currently, the only article related directly to Huber’s organ works is a similar introduction from 2010 in La Tribune de l’Orgue, in French, by Guy Bovet.¹ This article combines my observations with Bovet’s and explores aspects of the difficulty, style, and programmability of each of Huber’s organ works. As a supplement, interested readers should consult Bovet’s article, Huber’s Oxford Music Online entry,² the composer’s thorough website (www.klaushuber.com),³ and finally, the Institute for Research and Coordination in Acoustics/Music (IRCAM) contemporary music database, “B.R.A.H.M.S.” (Base de documentation sur la musique contemporaine, http://brahms.ircam.fr).⁴

Huber’s style

Huber’s early compositions exhibit a combination of influences that is paradoxically both conservative and progressive—for instance, Franco-Flemish polyphony, harmony and counterpoint of the Baroque and Classical eras, serialism, and non-Western music.⁵ On the one hand, his initial resistance to the progressive (but standardized) serial developments of the Darmstadt School made him seem unadventurous and attached to the past. On the other hand, the application of his unique voice to the music of the past is remarkably postmodern. In many ways, he anticipates some later styles that, early in his life, were yet to emerge.

Des Engels Anredung an die Seele, his 1959 chamber cantata, unified serial structures with consonant intervals that launched him onto the world stage and won him first prize in the International Society for Contemporary Music (ISCM) competition. Huber loved texts, especially old ones, even medieval. Though opera is not a significant genre in his compositional output, the oratorio and other vocal genres are. Later in life, Huber wrote experimental compositions that use unusual techniques such as having multiple temporal planes that differ in tempo. Finally, perhaps an influence from his students, he eventually turned drastically away from traditional Western styles toward non-Western musics where he used non-Western pitch constructions, instruments, and styles.

Organ works

In general, Huber’s organ works date from his early professional decades (after his student years) and are representative of a more conservative aesthetic, not necessarily typical of all his compositions. Metanoia, however, was not composed until 1995. Though he has written only five solo pieces for organ, a significant number of chamber and choir pieces use organ. I will not discuss these, except one, Sonata da chiesa (1953), for which the organ part is particularly prominent and marks his first exploration of the instrument’s capabilities. Since Huber was a proficient violinist, a composition that combines the unfamiliar territory of the organ with the expressive potential of the violin, an instrument Huber was intimately conversant with, seems an appropriate starting point. Guy Bovet has compared it to a better-known piece by the same name and similar instrumentation, Sonata da chiesa (1938) of Frank Martin (1890–1974). Huber’s piece comprises three movements: Poco Allegro, Allegro, and Largo. Until 2004, this piece remained in manuscript, but now that it is available in print, it will hopefully find its way into the repertoire.

It is a strange coincidence (and, to my knowledge, only a coincidence) that the first organ work of György Ligeti (1923–2006), Ricercar (1953), was conceived only one year before Huber’s first solo work, Ciacona per organo (1954). Both works have thin textures and are in relatively antiquated forms. It is notable that despite vast political separation, two significant postwar compositions, for an instrument virtually forgotten to the Second Viennese School, share much in common. Huber’s chaconne is influenced by a repeated figure that is difficult to identify since it appears in so many modified forms. Ciacona’s form is, in loose terms, ABA. The first large section marked Allegro molto starts with an alternation of chromatic passages (Example 1) with sections marked subito tranquillo (Example 2). The same section culminates in a passage marked agitato with a thicker chordal texture (Example 3). The B section is scored as a trio with the first entry in the pedal. Huber’s fascination with the organ’s capability to play trios continues and develops throughout his other compositions. Following this rhythmically challenging trio section, the composer requests a twenty-second pause (Example 4) before returning to the material of the A section presented in quasi-imitation. Registration suggestions are generally limited to pitch levels, but dynamic markings are supplied liberally. Thus, the piece should transfer easily to organs of many styles.

In memoriam Willy Burkhard (1955), Huber’s second piece for the organ, is dedicated to the passing of his former teacher at the Zürich Conservatory. Burkhard, like Huber, had written solo works for the organ and featured it in his other chamber works. The structure of the piece is in two movements, Molto sostenuto and Adagietto. The harmonic content is strongly tertian but includes hints of quartal harmonies. Unfamiliar harmonies in Huber’s early works can usually be accounted for as expressive, dissonant, but resolving, albeit unconventionally, non-chord tones. Bovet compares the singing quality of the first movement (Example 5) to Hindemith’s Trauermusik, but I am inclined to go a step further and argue that this singing quality even extends to parts of Hindemith’s organ sonatas, particularly the slow movements. The second movement is again written as a trio. In the decades surrounding 1950, Huber is not alone in his fascination with the trio texture—Vincent Persichetti’s sonata of 1960 (and his first harpsichord sonata from 1951), or earlier, Distler’s Organ Sonata of 1938/9. Huber’s second movement is technically a chorale trio since it features Vater unser im Himmelreich on a 4′ reed in the pedal. The composer achieves a great deal of harmonic and rhythmic interest though having only two free voices over the chorale (Example 6). It is important that performers, despite the rhythmic complexity, not lose sight of the compound triple meter that is crucial to the gentle, lilting character. Bovet has argued that this piece is suitable for liturgical use as well as concert use. In total, both movements are only around seven minutes long.

After about a ten-year hiatus from writing for solo organ, Huber returned to the instrument with In te Domine speravi (1964). It was around this same time that he composed Des Engels Anredung an die Seele, which, among other pieces, confirmed his fame and solidified his compositional identity. In te Domine speravi was composed for a three-manual Merklin organ in Basel and was awarded first prize in the Kulturwerk Nordhessen composition competition for organ. It is a short fantasy followed by a quieter section in compound meter. Though the piece seems intimidating since it includes irregular and challenging rhythms, prominent double pedal, and four staves, the piece is significantly easier than it appears (Example 7). Bovet humorously writes, “Despite the complicated appearance of the score upon first look, the piece is not difficult (One does not even need to know how to count since the composer indicates ‘senza misura’!).”⁶ The dense beginning may mark a definite change in style from his earlier organ works, but in the second section, Huber returns to a tranquil trio texture in compound meter. The piece concludes with a rapid crescendo returning to the opening material. This work is around six minutes long, making it even shorter than the previous works.

Cantus cancricans (1965) was composed the following year. Though the title seems to indicate the presence of a crab canon, Huber does not provide a strict one. However, the opening is mirrored at the end. Cantus cancricans, unsurprisingly, is scored as a trio. It was composed for “Schweizerischen Arbeitskreises für Evangelische Kirchenmusick,” a church group in Zurich. Originally, it was to be played after the reading of John 3:30 on the feast of Saint John the Baptist. The piece also includes a short congregational song that should be sung at the fermata on page five before continuing. By this point, Huber’s writing style had become much more complex, both harmonically, but especially rhythmically (Example 8). Logistically, to follow Huber’s dynamic markings, it is necessary to either utilize two expression boxes or frequently change registrations. The former is probably preferable since it would allow the colors to remain intact even though operating two boxes can often be cumbersome. Cantus cancricans is only about four minutes in length, yet is likely the hardest of his works, excepting Metanoia.

Following Cantus cancricans, Huber took an even longer hiatus from solo organ but returned in 1995 to write his longest and by far most complex work for the instrument, Metanoia (1995). The work is a meditation that lasts slightly under thirty minutes. The score consistently has five staves that, though difficult to read, accurately and helpfully portrays the intended colors by manual and register. The work has been published only in manuscript facsimile that, although adequately clear, still makes it more challenging to learn. Metanoia I, from the same year, is the same composition reworked for organ, alto trombone, two boy sopranos, and some simple percussion. It received its first performance, despite being written later, earlier than the original score. The Greek title literally means repentance or penitence and is a reference to the fundamentally Christian admittance of sin. The score calls for an organ in a non-equal temperament.

Metanoia begins by alternating stacked harmonies broken up by various colors and rhythms and frequently changing densities (Example 9) with sections of fast polyrhythmic passagework (Example 10). When these passages include a pedal part, they can be dauntingly challenging. At other times, similar passagework is presented over pedal tones. After the third fast passage, the texture returns to broken harmonies as expected (as in Example 9), but the dynamic suddenly changes to fortissimo and it introduces double pedal. Following this, Huber returns to quieter dynamics and presents a new texture. The work then returns to the newly introduced fortissimo section of broken chords with double pedal. At the end of this section, only about halfway through the piece, Huber changes again and does not return to any of the opening material. From here to the end of the piece (around fifteen minutes), Huber presents alternating chords on different manuals. He calls for alterations of pitch by various degrees of a semitone that are not possible when restricted by equal temperament.

Bovet describes the overall aesthetic of Metanoia: From the listeners’ perspective the experience is not truly musical: it is more like a musical-theatrical happening, or a long meditation; in short, the experience is total. Time is abolished; the sonorities inspire dreams. In the end, Metanoia is a large dream: a moment when the listener gives himself or herself the time, where life stops in a sort of parenthetical reflection on eternity. In our time when no one has time for anything, this can be pure happiness.⁷

A harpsichord work

Though not an organ work, readers may be interested in La Chace (1963) for solo harpsichord. The Diapason has enough harpsichord readers that I believe interest in this work is probably self evident. The piece was written for and dedicated to Antoinette Vischer, though she did not premiere it. It is scored in four staves, two for each manual, which, though complicating the notation, displays his specific intentions related to the use of each keyboard. His registration markings are clear and useful. Interested harpsichordists will find this a technically challenging and musically satisfying piece of music.

Conclusion

Huber’s organ works are rarely recorded or performed. Given his influence on the world of twentieth-century composition, it is curious that he seems to have almost no place in the organ literature. Several of his pieces, as Bovet has pointed out, could be used in more exploratory church music programs. Concert organists should take note of the relatively short duration of most of Huber’s pieces, making them programmable. If nothing else, I hope that organists will take note of Huber, not only for his works, but also for the extent of his influence elsewhere. Having passed only recently in 2017, we should take stock and remember the significance and beauty of the music of Klaus Huber.

Notes

1. Guy Bovet, “L’œvre pour et avec orgue de Klaus Huber (né en 1924),” La Tribune de l’Orgue – Revue Suisse romande, 62/3 (2010): 3–11.

2. Max Nyffeler, “Huber, Klaus,” Grove Music Online, Oxford University Press, 2001, accessed June 6, 2017, www.oxfordmusiconline.com.

3. “Klaus Huber,” accessed June 6, 2017, www.klaushuber.com.

4. “Klaus Huber: Compositeur Suisse né le 30 novembre 1924 à Berne,” Ircam-Centre Pompidou, accessed June 6, 2017, http://brahms.ircam.fr/klaus-huber.

5. Nyffeler.

6. Bovet, 8.

7. Ibid., 11.

Scores by Klaus Huber

Cantus Cancricans. Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Kassel (5486), 1968.

Ciacona. Kilchberg: Sinus-Verlag (10016), 1954.

In memoriam Willy Burkhard. Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Kassel (4462), 1965.

In te Domine speravi. Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Kassel (4463), 1966.

La Chace. Mainz: Edition Schott (5429), 1965.

Metanoia. München: G. Ricordi & Co., 1995.

Sonata da chiesa. München: G. Ricordi & Co., 2004.

Photo credit: Harald Rehling

Dr. Yumiko Tatsuta Ding is full-time faculty in the music department of Kwassui Women’s University in Nagasaki, Japan, where she also serves as the university organist. She is an internationally active performer, scholar, and educator who was the first Asian female to receive the doctoral degree from the organ department at Indiana University Jacobs School of Music, Bloomington, under the tutelage of department chair, Janette Fishell.

Dr. Tatsuta received numerous international awards and grants, such as the Japanese Upcoming Artist Award (sponsored by the Japanese Government, Agency for Cultural Affairs), for which she was also named as an exchange artist in the United States/Japan friendship program in 2017 and 2018, and was selected as the recipient of DAAD scholarship sponsored by the German government for her graduate study at the Hochschule für Musik in Stuttgart.

Yumiko Tatsuta

Introduction

The Phantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H (1900), opus 46 of Max Reger (1873–1916), is one of the composer’s crowning achievements for the organ written during a career that has given us more than 200 organ works that are widely performed. In this article, the author will look at the question of registration for performing opus 46. This will take into consideration the historical registration and components of the Walze (Rollschweller) of the Sauer organ, Opus 650, on which opus 46 was premiered by Karl Straube (1873–1950), a champion of Reger’s music. The author will provide a solution for reproducing German Romantic registration on the Maidee H. and Jackson A. Seward Organ,
C. B. Fisk, Inc., Opus 135, in Auer Hall of Indiana University’s Jacobs School of Music, Bloomington, Indiana, as a model for general solutions on various modern instruments. It is hoped that the solutions and ideas presented will not only promote performance of Reger’s opus 46, but will be useful as well in performing both the remainder of his repertoire and music by such composers as Joseph Rheinberger (1839–1901), Sigfrid Karg-Elert (1877–1933), Franz Schmidt (1874–1939), and other members of the German high-Romantic tradition.

Historical registration

Registration of Reger’s organ music has been a controversial issue since the composer did not provide clear indications of what stops he preferred. Another reason is the general lack of familiarity with the German Romantic organ as compared with its French or English counterparts among American organists. In general, Reger provides either dynamic markings (with a wide range from pppp to fff, and Organo Pleno) or rather vague suggestions such as “dunkel” (“dark” in German). He sometimes provides pitch indications for stops, but if one blindly follows the pitch instructions on modern organs, the result will most likely be far from the sound Reger desired. I propose a registration combination based on data¹ that were kindly provided by the German organ builder Christian Scheffler and his colleagues, experts of Romantic German organ restoration, particularly with Sauer organs.²

Phantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46, was premiered on Wilhelm Sauer’s organ, Opus 650, built in 1895 for Willibrordi Cathedral in Wesel (Rhein), Germany, where Straube held his first full-time church organist position, starting in 1897.³ The event occurred in summer 1900, several months after the completion of the composition in February of that year.⁴ The specification of the organ is provided in Table 1. (The cathedral was heavily damaged, and the organ was destroyed during bombing raids in 1945.)

The organ features three manuals and pedal, six unison couplers, one octave coupler, one preset piston for reeds, one Rollschweller, one expression shoe for Manual III, and three kinds of preset pistons for mf, f, ff that affect all the manuals and the pedal simultaneously. This specification can be a great guide for recreating the sound of Reger’s music. Moreover, what I consider to be the key to making appropriate registrations and crescendos can be learned by the study of those three preset pistons and in the Rollschweller at each stage. I am grateful to Christian Scheffler and colleagues for their assistance and for providing me previously unpublished information about these registration devices of the Sauer organ.

The components of the Walze (Rollschweller) are provided in Tables 2.1 and 2.2. The levels are numbered from 1 to 73, in the order in which they are added as one turns the Rollschweller.

Tables 3.1 and 3.2 demonstrate the components of the preset pistons. “Werk” indicates manual, and “P” stands for pedal. The principal manual of the organ is Manual I, the bottom keyboard.

Reger’s sound world

In German Romantic organs such as those built by Sauer or Walcker, there are many soft stops of various colors. These would include Voix céleste, Aeoline, Lieblich Gedackt, Geigen Principal, Dolce, Dulciana, Harmonika, Fugara, etc., some of which are not often found in modern American organs or instruments built in different traditions. These stops create a very special quality at the beginning stage of the Walze, and they are the foundational sound of German Romantic organ registration.⁵ As important as they are, the key for reproducing an authentic Reger registration on Fisk Opus 135 lies in finding equivalence for them.

As can be seen from the order of stops being added in the Walze, the Sauer organ offers a wider variety of inflections within the ppp to mp range than it does from mf to fff. From levels 1 to 13, there are only 8′ stops used in manuals and 16′ and 8′ stops in the pedal, and those stops are flutes or strings. From levels 14 to 27, principal stops are introduced, including in the pedal. From level 28, 4′ pitch stops are found. Beginning at level 44, stops higher than 2′ are drawn, including mutations. Level 49’s 8′ Vox humana and level 50’s Oboe 8′ are the first reed stops to be added. From that point, the crescendo is made rather abruptly toward the end, which is level 73, with mixtures and relatively loud reed stops added to each division. In short, levels 1 to 49 cover the range of pppp to mf, and levels 50 to 73 range from f to fff.

As we examine opus 46, the greatest dynamic level short of Org Pl indicated by the composer is più fff, not ffff, while his softest indication is pppp. This tells us that he might have found the range of pppp to mf more important in his music. Moreover, according to Reger’s piano performance reviews, we find many descriptions regarding his frequent use of pianissimo.⁶ Given the nature of his scores, this might seem surprising, but there is clear evidence for this.

In addition to composing, Reger had been an active collaborative pianist since his youth at the conservatories in Sondershausen and Wiesbaden beginning in 1890. At that time, he was mostly playing accompaniment for soloists’ exams or concerts.

After his well-received performance of the premiere of his Violin Sonata in A, opus 41, in Munich in December 1900, the frequency of his activity as a performer gradually increased beginning in 1901, especially after moving to that city. In later periods of his life when he was most active as a performer, the frequency of his piano and conducting performances exceeded one hundred per year.⁷ Therefore, it can be an important key to understanding the performance practice of Reger’s organ music by considering the kind of music making Reger had been engaged in with other instruments.

There are critics who described Reger’s piano performances in a positive light, utilizing terms such as “soft touch,” “a pianist who can draw songs from the piano at his own will,” “thoughtful accompaniment cradles the singer,” and “very sustainable (ausdauernd) touch,”⁸ while others more critically stated “extreme pianissimo,” “because of his almost constant admiration of pianissimo, it was hard to hear the harmonic foundation,” or “we could not hear anything at all no matter how closely we paid attention to, or it was too little and unclear, so the singer’s part was often heard as floating in the air without any harmonic support.”⁹ One notices many pianissimo indications in his compositions both for piano and organ as well as his vocal and chamber music.

As for his conducting, similar opinions are found in the concert reviews such as, “As a conductor, his interpretation is also sensitive and precise. Here again, it is obvious he is fond of that mysterious pianissimo. But this is not because he is seeking for the effect of it, but it is rather something special that is already with his soul.”¹⁰ Or, “The unshakable chamber music performance tradition, whose foundation was established by Bülow, has pianissimo sound quality just as Reger’s characteristic, and it never collapses no matter how flexible it becomes. It resonates soft and sensitive, just as Reger’s daydreaming pianissimo accompaniment.”¹¹

In contrast, descriptions about his f or ff are relatively rare: “It is obvious that Reger is an attractive pianist. His pianissimo has a smell of magic, and his fortissimo is never too loud, but has the power of the orchestra.”¹² Another critic wrote, “All he needs to do is just place his fingers on the keyboard, and then there will be soft and fulfilling sound in the room. In the soft pianissimo, it is as spirited as singing. In the lively fortissimo, there will be a substantial and comfortable sound.”¹³

From noting the frequent appearance of fff in his organ scores among multitudes of written notes, one could be led to a misunderstanding that Reger asks for extremely loud or tutti registrations, but his specialty was creating expressive and tender pianissimos. This would seem to echo the very gradual and colorful range of the initial stages of the Walze, in which a nuanced differentiation of soft dynamics is clearly available.

There is also an interesting description of his piano performance in one of the reviews, mentioning “Reger’s tenderness (zartheit), as he was drawing the Voix céleste sound of the organ from the piano.”¹⁴ From this review, we can assume that Reger was trying to express the Voix céleste or equivalent sound of the organ in terms of volume and characteristic.

Practical suggestions for registration

In light of this knowledge of Reger’s organ sound world, one can apply this to registering an American instrument. C. B. Fisk, Inc., Opus 135 is a worthy model for our discussion.

Although most of the crescendos are considered to have been made with the Walze at that time, I assume there must have been performance assistants to accomplish some of the registration changes, as well. For example, there are numerous places when both of the performer’s feet are completely occupied but the music asks for a crescendo or a decrescendo, as in bar 24 in the “Phantasie” (Example 1).

Dynamics, tempo, and rubato all combine in creating the large-range phrases in this music. A crescendo marking means more than just changing the volume; it means increasing the energy of a phrase, which can be accomplished by accelerating the tempo or including various kinds of accented articulations depending on the musical textures. The same varieties of approaches (tempo ritardando, more over-legato, etc.) can be applied when making a decrescendo, implying the loss of energy. This is accomplished not merely through one dimension, but can also engage several aspects of the music.¹⁵ The organist must employ several different techniques regarding tempo and articulation in addition to simply drawing more sound out of the instrument. Lastly, changing volume alone can be undertaken through a combination of means, including the use of expression shoes, the Rollschweller, or changing manuals.

Also, on the third beat of measure 25, Reger asks for a sudden registration change to ff from the decrescendo in measure 24. In principle, the Walze is a device for making crescendos and decrescendos by rolling it upwards or downwards, so it cannot be used for a sudden registration change such as Reger asks for here. One can assume it was done by a combination button, ff specifically for this case; however, there are also places that the music requires a sudden change to pp or p with a specific indication of coupler(s) off. The instrument on which it was premiered did not have a combination button for this action (with Sauer Opus 650, all six unison couplers are on by level 12 of the Walze). Therefore, there must have been the combined use of the Walze, preset combination buttons, and registration assistants in order to perform the required registration changes.

In correspondence with Christopher Anderson, a noted Reger scholar, he suggested that while Straube could readily play these large-scale works of Reger without assistants, there is evidence that he did indeed work with assistants on occasion.¹⁶ Furthermore, Dr. Anderson suggests that Straube was very much involved in projecting his reputation and abilities for performing this music without registration assistants.

In registering this work on Fisk Opus 135, I decided to use the sequencer in order to reproduce fine-grained differentiations available by means of the sort of Walze found in the Sauer organ, in order best to approximate the sound of the instrument with which Reger would have been familiar. In order to best capture the effect of this now unavailable technology, I used assistants to aid the registrations during my performance. It would be fascinating to perform this work on an instrument with a sophisticated Rollschweller in place.

What follows is the procedure I used to devise my own Walze.

Determine what resources are available on the organ.

In order to produce the Walze crescendo as closely as possible to the original Sauer Opus 650, I needed to determine what equivalent or nearly equivalent stops are available on Fisk Opus 135 and what are not. For this step, Steven Dieck, now president emeritus and chairman of the board of C. B. Fisk, Inc., lent me great support and advice. 

Table of equivalent stops

Manual I (C–f3)

Sauer: Fisk:

16′ Principal—16′ Montre

16′ Bordun —

16′ Gamba —

8′ Principal—8′ Montre

8′ Hohlflöte —

8′ Viola di Gamba—8′ Gambe

8′ Doppelflöte —

8′ Gemshorn—8′ Spire Flute

8′ Traversflöte—8′ Flûte harmonique

8′ Quintatön —

8′ Geigenprincipal —

8′ Gedackt —

5-1⁄3′ Quinte —

4′ Octave—4′ Prestant

4′ Spitzflöte —

4′ Fugara —

4′ Rohrflöte—4′ Chimney Flute

2-2⁄3′ Rauschquinte II —

3-1⁄5′ Gross-Cymbel III —

2′ Piccolo —

Mixture V—Plein jeu harmonique II–VI

Scharf V—Plein jeu VI

Cornett III–V —

16′ Trompete—16′ Trommet

8′ Trompete—8′ Trommet

Manual II (C–f3)

16′ Geigenprincipal —

16′ Bordun—16′ Quintaton

8′ Principal—8′ Principal

8′ Rohrflöte —

8′ Salicional—8′ Viole d’amore

8′ Flûte harmonique —

8′ Spitzflöte —

8′ Harmonika —

8′ Gedackt—8′ Gedackt

8′ Dolce—8′ Flute Celeste

4′ Octave—4′ Octave

4′ Flöte—4′ Hohlflöte

4′ Gemshorn—4′ Violina

4′ Flauto dolce —

2-2⁄3′ Rauschquinte II—2′ Quarte de Nasard

Mixtur IV Mixture IV

Cornett IV —

16′ Fagott—16′ Clarinet

8′ Tuba—8′ Cornopean

8′ Oboë —

Manual III (C–f3, Schwellwerk)

16′ Salicional —

16′ Lieblich Gedackt—16′ Bourdon

8′ Principal—8′ Diapason

8′ Konzertflöte—8′ Flûte traversière

8′ Schalmei —

8′ Lieblich Gedackt—8′ Bourdon

8′ Aeoline —

8′ Voix céleste—8′ Voix céleste

8′ Dulciana—8′ Viole de gambe

4′ Praestant—4′ Dulciane

4′ Traversflöte—4′ Flûte octaviante

4′ Violine —

2-2⁄3′ Gemshornquinte—2-2⁄3′ Nasard

2′ Flautino—2′ Octavin

Harm. aetherea III —

8′ Clarinette —

8′ Vox humana—8′ Voix humaine

Pedal (C–d1)

32′ Contrabass —

32′ Untersatz—32′ Principal

16′ Principal—16′ Montre

16′ Violon —

16′ Subbass—16′ Soubasse

16′ Gemshorn —

16′ Bassflöte—16′ Bourdon (Sw)

10-2⁄3′ Quintbass—10-2⁄3′ Quinte

8′ Oktavbass—8′ Octave

8′ Violoncello—8′ Violoncelle

8′ Gedackt—8′ Bourdon

8′ Viola d’amour—8′ Spire Flute

4′ Flöte—4′ Octave

Cornett III —

32′ Contraposaune—32′ Contre Posaune

16′ Posaune—16′ Posaune

8′ Trompete—8′ Trommet (Gt)

4′ Clairon—4′ Clairon

One will notice that there are a number of stop equivalents missing on Fisk Opus 135 in Auer Hall. To compensate for this, I made some adjustments by using both Swell and Positive expression shoes and using alternative stops case by case in the music.

Apply the stops we have according to the components of the Walze of Sauer Opus 650.

Now we apply the stops one by one with Tables 2.1 and 2.2 (see page 12).

1) Sauer: II/I, III/I, III/II, III/P, 8′ Aeoline (III), 16′ Bassflöte (P); Fisk: II/I, III/I, III/II, III/P, 8′ Viole de gambe (III), 16′ Bourdon (P), both expression boxes shut

2) 8′ Liebl. Gedackt (III); Fisk: 8′ Bourdon (III)

3) 8′ Dolce (II); Fisk: 8′ Flute Celeste II (II)

4) 8′ Gedackt (II), 16′ Subbas (P); Fisk: 8′ Gedackt (II), 16′ Soubasse (P)

5) 8′ Dulciana (III), II/P; Fisk: II/P, 8′ Flute Celeste II (II), open Swell box slightly

6) 8′ Salicional (II); Fisk: 8′ Viole d’amore (II)

7) 8′ Gemshorn (I), 8′ Gedackt (P); Fisk: 8′ Spire Flute (I), 8′ Bourdon (P)

8) 8′ Rohrflöte (II), 16′ Gemshorn (P); Fisk: open Positive box slightly

9) 8′ Spitzflöte (II); Fisk: open Positive box a bit more

10) 8′ Konzertflöte (III); Fisk: 8′ Flûte traversière (III)

For levels 11 through 17, since most of the equivalent stops are missing on Fisk Opus 135, one can open both of the expression boxes up to half to compensate in the crescendo.

11) 8′ Gedackt (I); Fisk: —

12) 8′ Schalmei (III), I/P; Fisk: I/P

13) 8′ Quintatön (I); Fisk: —

14) 8′ Principal (III); Fisk: 8′ Diapason

15) 8′ Hohlflöte (I); Fisk: —

16) 8′ Flute harmonique (II); Fisk: —

17) 8′ Harmonica (II), 16′ Violon (P); Fisk: —

18) 16′ Lieblich Gedackt (III); Fisk: 16′ Bourdon (III)

19) 8′ Principal (II), 8′ Viola d’amour (P); Fisk: 8′ Principal (II), 8′ Spire Flute (P)

20) 8′ Geigenprincipal (I); Fisk: —

21) 8′ Traversflöte (I), 8′ Cello (P); Fisk: 8′ Flûte harmonique (I), 8′ Violoncelle (P)

22) 16′ Bordun (II); Fisk: 16′ Quintaton

23) 8′ Viola di Gamba (I); Fisk: 8′ Gambe

24) 16′ Salicional (III); Fisk: open Swell box slightly

25) 16′ Bordun (I); Fisk: open both boxes slightly more

26) 8′ Principal (I); Fisk: 8′ Montre (I)

27) 8′ Octavbaß (P); Fisk: 8′ Octave (P)

28) 4′ Traversflöte (III); Fisk: 4′ Flûte octaviante (III)

29) 16′ Geigenprincipal (II); Fisk: open Positive box slightly

30) 4′ Flauto dolce (II); Fisk: open Positive box a bit more

31) 16′ Principal (P); Fisk: 16′ Montre (P)

32) 4′ Violine (III); Fisk: open Swell box slightly

33) 8′ Doppelflöte (I); Fisk: open both boxes slightly

34) 4′ Flöte (II); Fisk: 4′ Hohlflöte (II)

35) 4′ Rohrflöte (I); Fisk: 4′ Chimney Flute (I)

36) 4′ Flöte (P); Fisk: 4′ Octave (P)

37) 4′ Gemshorn (II); Fisk: 4′ Violina (II)

38) 16′ Principal (I); Fisk: 16′ Montre (I)

39) 4′ Spitzflöte (I); Fisk: open both boxes slightly

40) 4′ Prästant (III); Fisk: 4′ Dulciane

41) 8′ Doppelflöte (I); Fisk: open both boxes slightly

42) 4′ Octave (II); Fisk: 4′ Octave (II)

43) 4′ Fugara (I); Fisk: open both boxes slightly

44) Gemshornquinte 2-2⁄3′ (III); Fisk: Nasard 2-2⁄3′ (III)

45) 2′ Flautino (III); Fisk: 2′ Octavin (II)

46) 4′ Octave (I); Fisk: 4′ Prestant (I)

47) Quinte 5-1⁄3′ (I); Fisk: fully open Positive box and open Swell box to 90%

48) III Harm. Aetheria (III); Fisk: fully open Swell box

49) 8′ Vox humana (III); Fisk: 8′ Voix humaine (III)

50) 8′ Oboe (II); Fisk: 8′ Hautbois (III)

51) II Rauschquinte (II); Fisk: 2′ Quarte de Nasard (II)

52) II Rauschquinte (I); Fisk: —

53) III Cornett (P); Fisk: —

54) 2′ Piccolo (I); Fisk: 2′ Doublette (I)

55) IV Mixtur (II); Fisk: 2′ Doublette (II)

56) 8′ Trompete (P); Fisk: 8′ Trommet (P)

57) V Mixtur (I); Fisk: II–VI Plein jeu harmonique (I)

58) 10-2⁄3′ Quintbass (P); Fisk: 10-2⁄3′ Quinte (P)

59) V Scharff (I); Fisk: VI Plein jeu (I)

60) 8′ Tuba (II); Fisk: 8′ Cornopean (II)

61) 16′ Fagott (II); Fisk: 16′ Clarinet (II)

62) IV Cornett (II); Fisk: IV Mixture (II)

63) 8′ Clarinette (III); Fisk: —

64) 16′ Posaune (P); Fisk: 16′ Posaune (P)

65) 32′ Untersatz (P); Fisk: 32′ Principal (P)

66) III–V Cornet (I); Fisk: —

67) III Groß Cymbel (I); Fisk: —

68) 8′ Trompete (I) Fisk: 8′ Trommet (I)

69) 16′ Trompete (I); Fisk: 16′ Trommet (I)

70) 32′ Contrabaß (P); Fisk: 16′ Contrebasse (P)

71) 4′ Clairon (P); Fisk: 4′ Clairon (P)

72) 32′ Contraposaune (P); Fisk: 32′ Contre Posaune (P)

73) Octavkoppel; Fisk: Octaves graves coupler

Regarding the couplers, I followed Reger’s original indications in the score, since organs by different builders have different Walze components. The coupler indications included in the Walze vary from instrument to instrument. For example, the Walze components list of the Ladegast organ in the cathedral of Schwerin, Germany, does not have any coupler indications, although one can assume all couplers must have been on from the beginning.17 On the other hand, there may be opposite cases as well.18

Here I provide some excerpts with explanations:

In Example 2, I have marked with red circles the coupler indications (K=koppel) that are designated by Reger. The opening registration includes only the II/P and III/P pedal couplers. At più fff, one adds I/P, following the indication. The Walze levels I chose here are 65, 68, and 72 for each step of greater dynamics, starting from fff to Org Pl. Since Org Pl represents the highest dynamic level in this piece, I applied level 72 for whenever one sees that dynamic level indication. (Level 72 is the second highest dynamic in the Walze, and the highest level 73 is achieved by adding the octaves graves coupler. I have reserved this for the end of the fugue.) Since Reger uses the fff indication frequently, I used level 65 as a guide for level number mapping.

In this section, there are dynamic levels from Org Pl to fff to pppp in four measures. Just as at the beginning, I have set level 65 as fff and level 72 as Org Pl. Since both the crescendo and decrescendo do not have much room for gradual increase or decrease of the sound, I have set the goal for each end first and filled in with the Walze level with most appropriate octave levels (16′, 8′, 4′, 2′). For example, since I wanted to create the softest sound at the end of measure 10 (Example 3), I set level 2 with the Swell box closed. In the beginning of measure 10, there is an indication of ppp with nur 8′, meaning only 8′ pitch stops. So I located level 17 there, which is the highest Walze level without any pitches other than 8′ for the manuals. However, I did not always follow Reger’s octave indications. For example, in the beginning of measure 11, he indicated +4′, but I decided not to follow that immediately since the dynamic gap between level 2 with box closed versus +4′, which is level 28, is too great and sounds abrupt. Instead, I used level 18 in the beginning of the bar, and as I open the Swell box gradually, go to level 28, which is the first level that includes a 4′ stop. Again, the goal of this crescendo is toward fff at the end of the measure, which is level 65, so I tried to fill in the levels between as smoothly as possible by using both logical thinking of octave doubling included in the levels and using my own ears to experiment in Auer Hall through repeated playing.

Regarding the pedal couplers, although I followed Reger’s indications by taking them off one by one toward ppp in measure 10 in the first half of the excerpt, I decided to add III/P once we start the crescendo in measure 11, so the pedal line can also make a crescendo as I open the Swell box. This particular spot in the piece offers several interesting challenges for registration. From the middle of measure 24 to the beginning of measure 25 (Example 4), there is a decrescendo from Org Pl to p in a very short span. This type of crescendo or decrescendo is found frequently in Reger’s music, which can be effectively performed by using the Rollschweller or the Walze concept. For the sake of practicality, instead of using all levels from 72 to 41, I chose nine levels to make it work effectively to my ears. I have located the numbers mostly on beats and more frequently towards the end of the decrescendo.

Other interesting elements in this section are the dynamic, manual, and coupler indications in measure 25. There is +I/P indicated on the third beat, but the same coupler is to be taken off on the next beat. Also, the decrescendo indication is written from p towards the third beat, which is ff. Although they all seem to be Reger’s original indications since this information may be found in the manuscript, first printing, and current edition, after conducting several experiments, I made the decision not to make any specific registration change nor use an expression shoe, but only to create a dynamic change by following the manual change indication.

Conclusion

One of the greatest challenges in performing the organ music of Max Reger is developing an approach to registration. I have focused on this, beginning with a study of a historically informed disposition of the Sauer organ, Opus 650, on which Reger’s opus 46 was premiered. I paid particular attention to the components of the Walze for Sauer Opus 650 as a strategy for registration. This was the key for understanding what the music was expected to sound like.

The characteristic of the crescendo created by the Walze runs through an enormous range of soft registrations from pppp to p, which matched Reger’s own sound world as exemplified by contemporary descriptions19 of his piano playing. The wide variety of soft registrations in this Sauer Walze encourages us to pay close attention to the shaping of Reger’s softer dynamics in all of his organ music, not only opus 46.

Using the dynamic profile suggested by the Sauer Walze, we can begin to imagine how we might register Reger’s organ music on contemporary American instruments. In contrast to the example of the high German Romantic instruments, many American instruments do not have quite the same range of softer stops. It would seem that the breadth of soft stops in these German instruments is greater than what is found in most organbuilding traditions. In the process of providing a model of the Sauer Walze for Fisk Opus 135 in Auer Hall, I undertook certain adjustments using Swell and Positive expression shoes to fill in the gaps to mimic the long, finely graded crescendo from pppp to p. Using this construction and closely reading Reger’s dynamics and coupler indications enabled me to create a reasonable replication of a German Romantic instrument. I hope this exercise will provide a useful approach for others undertaking this extensive work. This approach can also underlie registration interpretations for other works by Reger and potentially other composers such as Franz Liszt, Julius Reubke, and Franz Schmidt, whose music dynamics are indicated in a similar manner and whose music was performed on similar instruments.

Notes

1. Material shared by Christian Scheffler and his colleagues via email, January 5, 2021.

2. Christian Scheffler Orgelwerkstatt website, orgelwerkstatt.de.

3. Christopher Anderson, Max Reger and Karl Straube: Perspectives on an Organ Performing Tradition (Aldershot, Hants, England: 2003), 29–30. 

4. Ibid., 360.

5. Jon Laukvik and Christopher Anderson, trans., Historical Performance Practice in Organ Playing, Part 2: The Romantic Period (Stuttgart: Carus Verlag, 2010), 158–159.

6. Kouga Higashiyama, “Study of Max Reger’s Performance Style as a ‘Pianist’ by the Analysis of his Concert Reviews コンサートレビューの分析による「ピアニスト」マックス・レーガーの演奏スタイル研究” (DMA diss., Kyoto University of the Arts, 2018), 52–61. The author identifies the following as his original source: Ottmar Schreiber and Ingeborg Schreiber, Rezensionen, Max Reger in seinen Konzerten, Teil 3 (Bonn: Dümmler,1981).

7. Ibid., 25.

8. Ibid., 43–53. 「柔らかなタッチ」「ピアノから歌を意のままに引き出すピアニスト」「声楽家にぴったりと寄り添う心のこもった伴奏」「とても持続力のある ausdauernd タッチ」.

9. Ibid., 50–53. 「極端なピアニッシモ」「ほとんど絶え間なくピアニッシモを崇拝し続けるせいで和声の土台が聞き取れず」「どんなに注意を集中していても全く何も聞こえなかったり、あるいはあまり に小さく不明瞭で、歌のパートが和声の支えも全く無く、ただただ空中に漂っているように聞こえたりす ることがしばしばあったからだ。」.

10. Ibid., 58. 「今や指揮者としての解釈でも、同様の繊細さや確実さを示している。ここでも、彼がしばしば神秘的なピアニッシモへ没入することを好んでいるのが目立つ。しかしこれは彼が効果を求め ているのではなく、彼の魂に備わった特別な素質なのだ。」.

11. Ibid., 58. 「揺るぎないアンサンブル——ビューローによってその基盤が築かれた——は、そのピアニッシモの音質が既にレーガーの特質を完全に備えている一方で、どれほど柔軟になっても、決し て崩れるような素振りを見せなかった。レーガーのピアノ伴奏の静かな夢想のように、柔らかく繊細に響 く。」.

12. Ibid., 52.   「レーガーが魅力的なピアニストだということは確実だ。彼のピアニッシモの香りには魔力があり、フォルティッシモの力は、騒がしくなることなく、オーケストラの勢いを備えている。」. 

13. Ibid., 52. 「彼はただ鍵盤に指を載せさえすればよい、そうすれば柔らかく充実した音が空間に響く。とても柔らかなピアニッシモでは生き生きと、歌うように。活気のあるフォルティッシモでは満 ち足りた心地よい音が。」.

14. Ottmar Schreiber and Ingeborg Schreiber, Rezensionen, Max Reger in seinen Konzerten, Teil 3 (Bonn: Dümmler, 1981), 330.

15. Jon Laukvik and Christopher Anderson, trans., Historical Performance Practice in Organ Playing, Part 2: The Romantic Period (Stuttgart: Carus Verlag, 2010), 258, 289, 304–305. 

16. Email exchanges with Christopher Anderson.

17. Jon Laukvik and Christopher Anderson, trans., Historical Performance Practice in Organ Playing, Part 2: The Romantic Period (Stuttgart: Carus Verlag, 2010), 158.

18. The degree to which a Walze or crescendo shoe can be reconfigured after the installation of the instrument may be variable. But for the purposes of this research project, I am working with the Walze list provided to me by the restorer of the instrument in question.

19. Kouga Higashiyama, “Study of Max Reger’s Performance Style as a ‘Pianist’ by the Analysis of his Concert Reviews コンサートレビューの分析による「ピアニスト」マックス・レーガーの演奏スタイル研究” (DMA diss., Kyoto University of the Arts, 2018), 50–58.

Bibliography

Literature:

Alain, Olivier, Masayoshi Nagatomi, and Masayoshi Ninomiya. The History of Harmony. Tokyo: Hakusui Publisher, 1969.

Anderson, Christopher. Max Reger and Karl Straube: Perspectives on an Organ Performing Tradition. Aldershot and Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2003.

———, ed. and trans. Selected Writings of Max Reger. New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, 2006.

Busch, Hermann J. “Die Orgelwelt Max Regers.” In Zur Interpretation der Orgelmusik Max Regers, edited by Hermann J. Busch, 6–28. Kassel: Verlag Merseburger Berlin GmbH, 1988.

Cadenbach, Rainer. Max Reger und seine Zeit. Regensburg: Laaber, 1991.

Falkenberg, Hans-Joachim. Der Orgelbauer Wilhelm Sauer, 1831–1916: Leben und Werk. Lauffen: Orgelbau Fachverlag Rensch, 1990.

Hayashi, Tatsuya. New Harmonies. Tokyo: Altes Publishing, 2015.

von Hase-Koehler, Else. Max Reger—Briefe eines deutschen Meisters: Ein Lebensbild des Musikers und Komponisten. Leipzig: Kohler & Amelang, 1928.

Laukvik, Jon. Historical Performance Practice in Organ Playing, Part 2: The Romantic Period. Translated by Christopher Anderson. Stuttgart: Carus Verlag, 2010. 

Piston, Walter, and Mark DeVoto. Harmony. 5th ed. New York: Norton, 1987.

Popp, Susanne, ed. Der junge Reger: Briefe und Dokumente vor 1900. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2000.

———, ed. Max Reger: Briefe die Verleger Lauterbach & Kuhn, Teil 1. Bonn:
Dümmlers Verlag, 1993.

Reger, Elsa. Mein Leben mit und für Max Reger. Leipzig: Koehler und Amelang Verlag, 1930.

Reger, Max. Beiträge zur Modulations lehre von Max Reger. Frankfurt: C. F.
Kahnt, 1904.

Schreiber, Ingeborg, and Ottmar Schreiber (ed.). Rezensionen: Max Reger in seinen Konzerten, Teil 3. Bonn: Dümmler, 1981.

Stein, Fritz Wilhelm. Max Reger/von Prof. Dr. Fritz Stein. Potsdam: Akademische Verlagsgesellschaft Athenaion, 1939.

Tournemire, Charles. Précis D’éxécution: De Registration Et D’improvisation à L’orgue. Paris: M. Eschig, 1936.

Wünsch, Christoph. Phantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H für Orgel op. 46 von Max Reger. Motivische, harmonische und formale Disposition Festschrift für Susanne Popp. Reger-Studien No.7. Stuttgart: Carus-Verlag, 2004.

Dissertations:

Adams, David. “‘Modern’ Organ Style in Karl Straube’s Reger Editions.” Ph.D. diss., Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, 2007.

Anderson, Christopher. “Reger, Straube, and the Leipzig School’s Tradition of Organ Pedagogy, 1898–1948.” Ph. D. diss., Duke University, 1999.

Harrison, Daniel. “A Theory of Harmonic and Motivic Structure for the Music of Max Reger.” Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1986.

Higashiyama, Kouga. “Study of Max Reger’s Performance Style as a ‘Pianist’ by the Analysis of his Concert Reviews.” DMA diss., Kyoto University of the Arts, 2018.

Kim, Sung Joo. “Max Reger’s Symphonische Fantasie und Fuge, Op. 57: A Study of Thematic and Harmonic Structure and Issues of Performance Practice.” DMA diss., University of Washington, 2012.

Schaffer, Mark Andrew. “The Use of Variation Principle in the Works of Max Reger.” Ph.D. diss., University of Cincinnati, 1989.

Smith, Jane Ann. “The Relationship of Max Reger’s Beitrage zur Modulationslehre to His Establishment of Tonality in Representative Organ Works.” DMA diss., University of Arizona, 2002.

Journal articles:

Anderson, Christopher. “Max Reger as ‘Master Organist’? What we think and what we know,” RCO Journal 9 (London, United Kingdom: 2015), 18–45. i.rco.org.uk/rco-journal-volume-9-2015.

Bruggaier, Eduard. “Helmut Walcha und Max Regers Orgelmusik: Eine vorsichtige Korrektur.” Ars organi: Internationale Zeitschrift für das Orgelwesen 55, no. 3 (September 2007): 167–179.

Mead, Andrew. “Listening to Reger.” The Musical Quarterly 87, no. 4 (Winter 2004): 681–707.

———. “Cultivating an Air: Natural Imagery and Music Making.” Perspectives of New Music 52, no. 2 (2014): 98–99, doi.org/10.7757/persnewmusi.52.2.0091.

Scores:

Liszt, Franz. Sämtlich Orgelwerke, Band 2. Edited by Martin Haselböck. Wien: Universal Edition, 1984.

Reger, Max, Alexander Becker, Christopher Grafschmidt, Stefan König, and Stefanie Steiner-Grage. Phantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46. Stuttgart: Carus, 2014.

Reger, Max, Dean Billmeyer, and Christopher Anderson. An Introduction to the Organ Music of Max Reger. Colfax, NC: Wayne Leupold Editions, 2016.

Reger, Max, and Gerard Alphenaar. Fantasia and Fugue On B-A-C-H. New York, NY: Edward B. Marks Music Corp., 1957.

Reger, Max. Choralfantaseien nach der Reger Gesamtausgbe (Hans Klotz) durchgesehen Von Martin Weyer: mit einer Einführung von Hans Haselböck. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1989.

———. Chorwerke a cappella; revised by Hermann Grabner Gruppenleiter. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel,1961.

———. “Fantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H, opus 46.” Selected organ works. Tokyo: Ongakuno tomo, 1990–1994.

———. Fantasie und Fuge über Den Namen Bach / Fantasia and Fugue On the Name Bach: Opus 46, Organo Solo. Wien: Universal Edition, 1928.

———. Phantasie und Fuge Für Orgel über B-A-C-H, Opus 46: Faksimile des Autographs. Wien: Universal Edition, 1984.

———. Phantasien und Fugen, Variationen, Sonaten, Suiten: I. Edited by Alexander Becker. Stuttgart: Carus-Verlag, 2011.

———. Phantasien und Fugen; Introduction, Variationen und Fuge: op. 73; Introduktion, Passacaglia und Fuge: op. 127. nach der Reger-Gesamtausgbe. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel,1987.

———. Quintett für Klavier, 2 Violinen, Viola und Violoncello, Op. 64. Liepzig: C. F. Peters, 1987.

———. Sämtliche Werke. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1954.

———. Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Mozart, Op. 132. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf und Härtel,1958.

———. Werke für klavier zweihändig. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1957–1965.

———. Zwei Romanzen, Op. 50, für Violien und Kleines Orchester. Munchen: Hoflich, 2000.

———. Zwölf Stücke. Op. 59, nach der Reger-Gesamtausgbe. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1987.

Schumann, Robert. Werke für Orgel oder Pedalklavier. Edited by Gerhard Weinberger. Detmold: G Henle Verlag 1986.

Tournemire, Charles, and Maurice Duruflé. Cinq Improvisations Pour Orgue. Paris: Durand, 1958.

Unpublished Paper (shared by the author):

Mead, Andrew. “Max Reger and the Art of Variation.” Presented at Indiana University, Jacobs School of Music, Theory Colloquium, 2017.

Online sources:

Nagley, Judith and Martin Anderson, “Reger, Max.” In Grove Music Online, Oxford University Press, 2001–. Accessed August 10, 2021. doiorg.proxyiub.uits.iu.edu/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.article.23064.

“Curriculum Vitae,” Max Reger Institut, accessed June 20, 2020. max-reger-institut.de/en/max-reger/curriculum-vitae.

“The Circle of Fifth,” Soundfly, accessed August 10, 2020. flypaper.soundfly.com/write/how-the-circle-of-fifths-can-help-your-songwriting.

“Max Reger Chronology,” Max Reger Institut, accessed August 4, 2021, max-reger-institut.de/media/max-regerchronologie.pdf.

“1884/1995 E. F. Walcker & Cie/Eule Organ,” Organ Art Library, accessed August 10, 2021, organartmedia.com/en/callido/83.html#consoles.

Click here for a recording of Yumiko Tatsuta’s performance of Max Reger’s Phantasie und Fuge über B-A-C-H in Auer Hall.

Shannon Murphy

Shannon Murphy is organist and assistant director of music at Trinity Presbyterian Church in Montgomery, Alabama. She holds a Bachelor of Music degree in piano performance from Westminster Choir College where she studied organ with Ken Cowan and a Master of Music degree in organ performance from the Manhattan School of Music where she studied with Kent Tritle. Ms. Murphy is also an active recitalist. Recent appearances include programs at Saint Ignatius Loyola Church and the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York City. An advocate for new music at the organ, Ms. Murphy has commissioned and premiered several works, including pieces by Aris Antoniades, Lydia Wayne Chang, Jonathan Posthuma, and Sarah Rimkus. Find more information at www.shannonmurphyorganist.com.

In nineteenth-century Russia, secular and sacred music had very little to do with each other, due to a separation in large part imposed by the Orthodox Church. Musicians of the West are familiar with this divorce of musical spheres, having endured a similar division in musical culture from the Middle Ages through the sixteenth century. However, there is a clear difference between the two experiences of division; this can be seen in the role of the organ.

In Europe, the organ and its repertoire developed mainly in the sacred realm, playing an integral role in church services both in the Medieval Roman Catholic Church as well as in the multiple denominations born in the Protestant Reformation. But in Russia, instruments were not allowed to be a part of Orthodox church services. According to the church, the voice was the only instrument necessary and worthy of use in liturgical settings.¹ While the organ was used at times in church services of minor outlying denominations, there was most definitely a dearth of liturgical organ music compared to the concurrently flourishing sacred traditions of western countries. Some may view this as a deficiency, but in another sense, the Russian repertoire for the organ in the nineteenth century provides a unique secular perspective on general musical trends. It is fascinating to consider the connections among the European organ traditions as specifically represented in music from the nineteenth century.

The oldest surviving record of pipe organs in Russia can be seen in the fresco of skomorokhi at Saint Sofia Cathedral in Kiev,² which dates to the eleventh century. The church outlawed these troubador-like figures, deeming them disciples of the devil.³ Regardless of the Orthodox Church’s antagonism towards amusement of any kind (even private musical activity in the home), the skomorokhi were in very high demand by various wealthy aristocrats and merchants.

Through the centuries, the organ gained ground outside of the church on its own merits as an instrument suitable for court entertainment, especially in the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries. Organ builders from Poland and the Netherlands were invited to establish firms; these as well as some minor Russian builders functioned, for the most part, on the whim of the tsar.

In the nineteenth century, the instrument had so grown in social status that it attracted the notable personage Prince Vladimir Odoyevsky (1804–1869) to become the first documented composer of organ music in Russia. He also commissioned a singular instrument for his home from the Saint Petersburg builder Georg Mälzel. It was modeled after Baroque organs of North Germany and nicknamed “Sebastianon.”⁴ While the instrument has not survived, its specifications are provided here:

Manual I

8′ Dulciana

8′ Gedackt

2′ Octavina

Sesquialter

Manual II

8′ Flauto traverso

4′ Fugara

8′ Melodicon

Pedal

16′ Subbass

 

Melody coupler

Pedal coupler

The 8′ Flauto traverso stop had a so-called “espressivo” effect, i.e., its volume varied with the pressure on the key.

Odoyevsky often held musical gatherings where musicians such as Mikhail Glinka improvised on the instrument. The prince himself was known for occasionally improvising fugues based on themes from Russian folksongs. In addition to an active performing life, he is also reputed to be the first Russian musicologist,⁵ having copied out music from the Italian Renaissance and organ works of Johann Sebastian Bach, collected Russian folksongs, and published articles discussing musical trends of the past and of his time.

In Odoyevsky’s organ pieces, there are characteristics that reflect some aspects in the Russian ethos of music making in the nineteenth century, namely a sensitivity to color (in registration) and a disregard for Western traditions of composition. For instance, in measures 4–7 of Prayer Without Words, opus 73, number 2, the player (or registrant) is required to add and take away the Nazard every two beats, a purely coloristic effect.

In a later portion of the same piece, Odoyevsky uses octaves in a way that would baffle any western organist. Since he was in possession of stops at 8′ and 4′ pitches as well as manual and pedal couplers, it would at first seem that the doubling in measures 13–21 (Example 1) is entirely unnecessary.⁶ Yet, it is possible that the melodic octaves in measure 13 might be inspired by the znamenny chant, which developed from the ancient Byzantine tradition of the Eastern Orthodox Church. Yet the doubling in measures 14–15 is inconsistent with that thought and seems to come more from a pianistic style of composition.

There are other subtle instances of Western influence here. In the title Prayer without Words, there is an echo of Felix Mendelssohn’s character pieces Songs without Words for the piano. And in the simple lyricism of this piece, one sees the influence of Irish composer John Field, the inventor of the nocturne, who taught and inspired Odoyevsky, Glinka, and Frederic Chopin.

In 1833, Mikhail Glinka studied composition with German composer Siegfried Dehn. Glinka wrote (of Dehn), “He . . . not only put my knowledge in order, but also my ideas on art in general.”⁷ Out of this productive period came the opus 93 fugues for the organ: E-flat major, A minor, and D major. The influence of Germanic contrapuntal training is obvious in the treatment of the subjects, with use of parallel minor key, inversion, and stretto. Resisting imitation, Glinka did not write a Baroque fugue. The expressive leaps of the A minor fugue subject (Example 2),⁸ the motivic development of the codas, and the dynamic markings all point to a Romantic sensibility particular to Glinka.

It is interesting to consider this work in light of what Richard Taruskin has written about Glinka:⁹

What makes Glinka a founding father [of Russian music] has mainly to do not with his being the “formulator of Russian musical language,” whatever that may mean, but rather with the fact that he was the first Russian composer to achieve world stature. In short, with Glinka, Russian music did not depart from Europe but quite opposite—it joined Europe.

While the organ repertoire expanded, so did interest in the instrument; this can be seen in the establishment of organ departments of the first conservatories in the country. The Saint Petersburg (founded 1862) and Moscow (founded 1866) conservatories, headed up by the Rubinstein brothers, included organ study in their course offerings. Remaining consistent with the emphasis of their curriculum, the professors hired hailed from Europe. The first organ teacher appointed in Saint Petersburg was Heinrich Still, a German organist who studied at the Leipzig Conservatory. Jacques Handschin, another professor of organ in Saint Petersburg, was of Swiss descent, but born in Russia. Having studied with organists Charles-Marie Widor, Max Reger, and Karl Straube, Handschin provided a direct link to some of the greatest luminaries of the European organ world. It is interesting to note that Pyotr Tchaikovsky was one of the first students in the organ classes at the Saint Petersburg Conservatory, graduating with a minor in organ studies.¹⁰

Despite its restricted use in the Orthodox Church, it is evident that in nineteenth-century Russia, the organ was thriving as a salon instrument, piquing the interest of composers and gaining respect in the academic field. Yet another aspect of the Russian organ world is its concert life. Franz Liszt’s recital of 1843, performed at the church of Saints Peter and Paul in Moscow, astounded and impressed. The frequent programs of music by Bach, presented by Johann Wilhelm Hassler in the early part of the nineteenth century, had an unprecedented cultural as well as academic influence. Widor himself gave the dedication recital in 1899 for the Cavaillé-Coll organ in Moscow.¹¹

Another development of the organ world reflective of the Russian musical scene at large can be seen in the instruments acquired by the conservatories. There was an organ built by Eberhard Walcker at Saint Petersburg and two Ladegast organs in Moscow. But the grandest statement of all is found in the last opus of Aristide Cavaillé-Coll, the world-renowned organ innovator, which was installed in Bolshoi Hall at the Moscow Conservatory in 1899. This symphonic instrument undoubtedly had a huge influence in the performance and compositional direction of organ works in Russia. Its specifications are found here.¹²

Grand Orgue (Manual I, C–g3)

16′ Montre

16′ Bourdon

8′ Montre

8′ Flûte harmonique

8′ Violoncelle

8′ Bourdon

4′ Prestant

2-2⁄3′ Quinte

2′ Doublette

Plein jeu V

Cornet V (c–g3)

16′ Bombarde

8′ Trompette

4′ Clairon

Positif (Manual II, C–g3)

16′ Quintaton

8′ Salicional

8′ Flûte harmonique

8′ Cor de nuit

4′ Principal

4′ Flûte douce

2′ Doublette

Cornet V (c–g3)

8′ Trompette

8′ Cromorne

8′ Basson

Plein jeu IV

Récit (Manual III, C–g3)

16′ Bourdon

8′ Diapason

8′ Flûte traversière

8′ Viole de Gambe

8′ Voix-céleste

4′ Flûte octaviante

2′ Octavin

Plein jeu IV

16′ Basson

8′ Trompette

8′ Basson et Hautbois

4′ Clairon harmonique

Tremblant

En chamade (Manual III)

8′ Trompette

4′ Clairon

Pédale (C–g1)

32′ Flûte

16′ Contrebasse

16′ Soubasse

8′ Flûte

8′ Bourdon

4′ Flûte

Plein jeu IV

16′ Bombarde

8′ Trompette

4′ Clairon

Pédales de combinaison

Tirasse du Grand Orgue (I/P)

Tirasse du Positiv (II/P)

Tirasse du Récit (III/P)

Anches Pédale

Anches Chamade

Anches Grand Orgue

Anches Positif

Anches Récit

Octaves grave Grand Orgue

Octaves grave Positif

Octaves grave Récit

Expression Positif

Expression Récit

Grand Orgue sur Machine

Positif au Grand Orgue

Récit au Grand Orgue

Récit au Positif

Octaves grave du Récit au Grand Orgue

Sonette

dans Buffet d’orgue:

8′ Flûte, 8′ Violoncelle (Pédale), 16′ Montre, 8′ Montre, 8′ Flûte harmonique, 8′ Violoncelle, 4′ Prestant (Grand Orgue)

Mechanical key action (with Barker lever)

Mechanical stop action

An organ so fully equipped with a French reed chorus as well as string stops on every division is uniquely suited to perform symphonic repertoire. Unsurprisingly, there was already a significant representation of pieces inspired by the organ symphonies of French composers like Louis Vierne and Charles-Marie Widor. One fine example is the Prelude and Fugue in D Minor, opus 98,¹³ by Alexander Glazunov, which can be played convincingly only on an organ such as this (Example 3).

Here one encounters a far more technically advanced composition than either the character piece or fugue mentioned above. In the first place, there is double pedal, which poses a certain physical challenge for the performer. There is also a complex registration scheme: symphonic in nature, with flutes and strings working as separate ensembles, and contrasting dynamics achieved by means of adding octaves above and below 8′ pitch. Following the fugue, in measure 196 comes the classic French symphonic organ sound of full foundation stops (strings, flutes, principals) along with mixtures and reeds (labeled anches). Yet he does not stop there, as he adds even more 8′ reeds in measure 200,¹⁴ and 4′ reeds for the final chord (Example 4).

However technically advanced, there is also a marked difference in character between this and the works of composers such as Glinka, Odoyevsky, and César Cui. These all belonged to the generation of “The Mighty Five,” a group centered around the charismatic Mili Balakirev, who stood staunchly against the Germanic tradition of music making fostered by the conservatories. Richard Leonard says of Balakirev:¹⁵

[His] teaching methods, his disdain of textbook instruction in harmony and counterpoint, his insistence that learning should come instead from the study of great works, and above all his despotic handling of his pupils’ efforts, have all been the subject of endless debate.

This debate polarized the community and the musical conversation in Russia for much of the nineteenth century. While Balakirev’s free-spirited group was highly idealized, almost utopian in its philosophy, it did have one mark against them. They did not include organ study in their “Free School,” set up in opposition to the academic conservatism of the Moscow and Saint Petersburg schools. In the end, the Mighty Five gave way to a new group known as the Belyayev Circle, which aligned itself with the more academic aspirations of the conservatories. While the scholastic emphasis brought the advantage of consistent technical growth through systematic study, Leonard points out the weaknesses of this group:¹⁶

Inevitably, the strong academic influence brings with it a prevailing conservatism . . . . They lack the pioneering spirit, the urge towards enterprise, which had set in motion Glinka, Balakirev . . . . They are competent but unadventurous.

One sees this contrast exemplified in the music of composers César Cui and Sergey Liapunov. César Cui was part of Balakirev’s Circle, mainly remembered now for his articles written in various musical journals. After attending a concert where music of the Belyayev Circle was featured, Cui wrote an article entitled “Fathers and Sons” (the Mighty Five being the fathers, and Belyayev’s Circle the sons). In that article, he calls on the younger generation to “abandon this false path” and to “absorb the idea that the purpose of music is not to astound but to attract and captivate, that everything great is usually simple[;] that one cannot make oneself original by one’s own wish.”¹⁷

In Cui’s delicate and graceful salon piece, Prelude in G Minor,¹⁸ there is much influence from folksong, especially in measures 17–30 (Example 5), where the theme takes on a more simple and earthy quality than the opening section. The pianistic writing, seen especially in the arpeggiation of measures 16–20, somewhat detracts from its overall effectiveness. Even so, there is a certain warmth and personality to this small piece that lends a value all its own.

However, Cui’s prelude lacks motivic development and harmonic complexity in comparison to Liapunoy’s Prélude Pastoral, opus 54. Structured in variation form, this piece is much more advanced from a technical standpoint. Here we see the main thrust of the difference between the Balakirev and Belyayev groups. Although Liapunoy has a technical familiarity in writing for the organ, his music lacks the inspiration of even a small character piece by Cui, who is reputed to be one of the weakest composers of the Mighty Five.¹⁹

Take measures 126–135 (Example 6),²⁰ for instance. The whole piece centers around this moment. In the thirty bars prior, the registration and rhythmic pulse have all been building towards this point. In typical French fashion, the Grand jeux (reed chorus) is indicated here, and yet (in the author’s opinion) there is something supremely unsatisfying about this climax. The simplistic sequence, followed by stepwise motion and ending with octave arpeggiation does not seem worthy of the technical mastery of this piece or of the musical suspense that anticipated this turning point. The piece is practically finished at this point, though there are a few more variations that spin out the theme and gradually diminuendo towards a gentle close.

So, there is organ music that represents a synthesis of style between the technical forms and tools used in Western traditions and the various aims of Russian musicians throughout the nineteenth century. Perhaps the most interesting examples of this integration can be seen in the pieces that expressly intend to convey a Russian character. For instance, Reinhold Glière’s three-voice Fugue on a Russian Christmas Song²¹ does not seek to emulate either the French symphonic style or the Germanic tendencies of fugue. He uses the form merely to develop and express the theme to its utmost. His aim being such, the result is a piece entirely determined by the syncopated rhythmic profile and folk-like character of the subject (Example 7).

Although there seems to be much disparity in approach between the passionate idealism of Balakirev’s school of thought encouraged by Glinka and the technical and historical prowess of the Belyayev Circle, both generations eventually give way to a new method of composing, which incorporates emphases of both camps. Sergey Taneyev did his utmost to articulate this new vision when he wrote:²²

The task of every Russian composer consists in furthering the creation of national music. The history of western music gives us the answer as to what should be done to attain this: apply to the Russian song the workings of the mind that were applied to the song of western nations, and we will have our own national music. Begin with elementary contrapuntal forms, pass to more complex ones, elaborate the form of the Russian fugue . . . . The Europeans took centuries to get there, we need far less. We know the way, the goal, we can profit by their experience.

From the Choral-Varié of Sergey Taneyev, to Glazunov’s Fantasy, opus 110, and finally into twentieth-century organ works by Rachmaninov and Khatchaturian, one sees an even more pronounced integration of Western technique and form and the Russian spirit—a realization of Taneyev’s vision.

Notes

1. “An Overview of Russian Organ Music,” American Guild of Organists 2014 National Convention, Boston, Massachusetts, last modified September 2013: http://www.agoboston2014.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Russian-Organ-Music-Katya-Gotsdiner-McMahan.pdf.

2. “Mosaics and Frescoes of St. Sofia Cathedral in Kiev.” Sofia Cathedral website, accessed May 8, 2018: http://sofiyskiy-sobor.polnaya.info/en/sofia_cathedral_mosaics_and_frescoes.shtml.

3. Victor Seroff, The Mighty Five: The Cradle of Russian National Music (New York: Allen, Towne & Heath, Inc., 1948), 5.

4. Victoria Adamenko. “Russia,” in The Organ: An Encyclopedia, ed. Douglas Bush and Richard Kassel (New York: Taylor & Francis Group, LLC, 2006), 479.

5. “Prince Vladimir Fyodorovich Odoyevsky (1803–1869) and Music.” RISM, last modified September 14, 2017,  http://www.rism.info/home/newsdetails/select/rism_a_z/article/64/prince-vladimir-fyodorovich-odoyevsky-1803-1869-and-music.html.

6. Alexander Fiseisky, ed., Organ Music in Russia, v. 1 (Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Karl Vötterle GmbH & Co. KG, Kassel, 1997), 10.

7. Richard Leonard, A History of Russian Music (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1957), 43.

8. Fiseisky, Organ Music in Russia, 4.

9. Richard Taruskin, On Russian Music, (California: University of California Press, 2009), 29.

10. Adamenko, The Organ: An Encyclopedia, 479.

11. Fiseisky, Organ Music in Russia, XXII.

12. Fiseisky, Organ Music in Russia, XVI.

13. Fiseisky, Organ Music in Russia, 40.

14. Fiseisky, Organ Music in Russia, 46.

15. Leonard, A History of Russian Music, 69.

16. Leonard, A History of Russian Music, 202.

17. César Cui, “The Results of the Russian Symphony Concerts: Fathers and Sons,” in Russians on Russian Music, 1880–1917, ed. Stuart Campbell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 137.

18. Fiseisky, Organ Music in Russia, 2.

19. Leonard, A History of Russian Music, 66.

20. Fiseisky, Organ Music in Russia, 12.

21. “Les Maitres Contemporains de L’orgue,” IMSLP, last modified March 26, 2012, http://ks.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/c/cd/IMSLP193273-PMLP332253-Glière,_Reinhlod,_Fugue_sur_un_thème_de_Noel_russe._EdJoubert,_Sibl.FE.pdf.

22. Alfred Swan, Russian Music And Its Sources in Chant and Folk-Song (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1973), 132.

Bibliography

Adamenko, Victoria. “Russia,” in The Organ: An Encyclopedia, edited by Douglas Bush and Richard Kassel, 480. New York: Taylor & Francis Group, LLC, 2006.

American Guild of Organists 2014 National Convention, Boston, Massachusetts. “An Overview of Russian Organ Music.” Accessed May 8, 2018. http://www.agoboston2014.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Russian-Organ-Music-Katya-Gotsdiner-McMahan.pdf.

Cui, César. “The Results of the Russian Symphony Concerts: Fathers and Sons.” In Russians on Russian Music, 1880–1917, edited by Stuart Campbell, 137. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

Fiseisky, Alexander, ed. Organ Music in Russia, vols. 1–3. Basel: Bärenreiter-Verlag Karl Vötterle GmbH & Co. KG, Kassel, 1997.

Leonard, Richard. A History of Russian Music. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1957.

Petrucci Music Library. Les Maitres Contemporains de L’orgue. Accessed May 9, 2018. http://ks.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/
c/cd/IMSLP193273-PMLP332253-Glière,_Reinhlod,_Fugue_sur_un_thème_de_Noel_russe._EdJoubert,_Sibl.FE.pdf.

Répertoire International des Sources Musicales. “Prince Vladimir Fyodorovich Odoyevsky (1803–1869) and Music.” Accessed May 8, 2018. http://www.rism.info/home/newsdetails/select/rism_a_z/article/64/prince-vladimir-fyodorovich-odoyevsky-1803-1869-and-music.html.

Ritzarev, Maria. Eighteenth Century Russian Music. Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2006.

Seroff, Victor. The Mighty Five: The Cradle of Russian National Music. New York: Allen, Towne & Heath, Inc., 1948.

Swan, Alfred. Russian Music And Its Sources in Chant and Folk-Song. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1973.

Taruskin, Richard. On Russian Music. California: University of California Press, 2009.