Harpsichord News

Larry Palmer

Pedaling the French: 

A ‘Tour de France’ of Revival Harpsichordists 1888–1939

 

I. Near-death and slow rebirth

“Make what you want: this upstart piano will never replace the majestic claveçin!” Thus began my 1989 book Harpsichord in America: a Twentieth-Century Revival with these combative words from the composer Claude-Bénigne Balbastre (1727–1799). Looking back from our historical perspective, we all know how that prediction turned out! Even for Balbastre himself: his capitulation was a work for the new “upstart” keyboard instrument, a Marche des Marseillois, “arranged for the Forte Piano by Citizen Balbastre, and dedicated to the brave defenders of the French Republic in the year 1792, the first of the Republic.” At least Citizen [Citoyen] Claude-B B survived!

Following a very few antiquarian-inspired appearances throughout the piano-dominated 19th century, the harpsichord’s return to the musical scene as a featured instrument occurred during the Paris Exhibition of 1888 at the instigation of Louis Diémer (1843–1919), a piano professor at the Paris Conservatoire. Diémer was able to borrow a 1769 Pascal Taskin harpsichord to play in several concerts comprising concerted works by Rameau and solo pieces by various French claviçinistes. Of the latter the most popular composer was Louis-Claude Daquin, whose Le Coucou became one of the most-performed works during the early harpsichord revival period.

Diémer and his concerts must have inspired the salon composer Francis Thomé (1850–1909) to write a Rigodon for this most recent French harpsichordist, and thus provide history with the very first new piece for the old instrument. Inspired by Daquin, but also meant as a tribute to Diémer’s “legendary trilling ability,” Thomé’s pièce de claveçin was published by Lemoine in 1893. Around the middle of the 20th century this work was discovered and later recorded in 1976 by harpsichordist Igor Kipnis on a disc of favorite encores. After being captivated by its simple antiquarian charm, I too was able to acquire an original print of the work, thanks to my German friend and European “concert manager” Dr. Alfred Rosenberger, who found it at Noten Fuchs, Frankfurt’s amazing music store, where, apparently, the yellowed score had been on their shelves ever since its publication date. 

As a somewhat-related aside, the probable first harpsichord composition of the 20th century, or at least the earliest one to appear in print, is a Petite Lied by French organist/composer Henri Mulet (1878–1967). This aptly titled work of only 17 measures in 5/4 meter was issued in 1910. (See Harpsichord News, The Diapason, January 2011, p. 12, for a complete facsimile of the score.)

The solo harpsichord works of François Couperin, in a fine 19th-century edition by Johannes Brahms and Friedrich Chrysander, also found some popularity among pianists. From the musical riches to be found in Couperin’s 27 suites, came the lone musical example to be included in the 20th-century’s first harpsichord method book: Technique du Claveçin by Régina Patorni-Casadesus (1886–1961), a slim volume of only eight pages, most of them devoted to stop-changing pedal exercises (thus the genesis of my title—“Pedaling the French”). This one tiny bit of Couperin’s music is the oft-performed Soeur Monique from his 18th Ordre, a work admired and used by many church musicians—some of whom doubtless would be shocked to read in the authoritative reference work on Couperin’s titles, written by Historical Keyboard Society of North America honorary board member Jane Clark Dodgson, that “Sister Monica” may not be a religious “sister,” but refers instead to girls of ill repute, as in a “lady of the night,” according to the definition of the word Soeur by the 17th-century lexicographer Antoine Furetière (1619–1688), “our sisters, as in streetwalkers, or debauched girls.” (See Jane Clark and Derek Connon, ‘The Mirror of Human Life’: Reflections on François Couperin’s Pièces de Claveçin, London: Keyword Press, 2011, p. 170.)

 

II. Early recorded sounds

Beyond printed music and pedagogical writings, how did the classic French keyboard repertoire fare in the newly emerging medium of harpsichord recordings?

After giving a historical salute to the 16 rare 1908 Berlin wax cylinders that share surface noise with some barely audible Bach performed by Wanda Landowska, the earliest commercial recording of a harpsichord dates from about 1913 and was issued on the Favorite label. It preserves an anonymous performance of a work with at least tangential connections to France: the Passepied from J. S. Bach’s French Overture in B Minor (BWV 831). (See Martin Elste, Meilensteine der Bach-Interpretation, reviewed by Larry Palmer in The Diapason, June 2000.)

More easily accessible today are the earliest harpsichord recordings made in 1920 for the Gramophone Company in England by the Dolmetsch-influenced harpsichordist Violet Gordon Woodhouse (1871–1948). Her repertoire included Couperin’s L’Arlequine from the 23rd Ordre (as played on Great Virtuosi of the Harpsichord, volume 3, Pearl GEMM CD 9242) and Rameau’s Tambourin, from his Suite in E Major. Mrs. Woodhouse became something of a cult figure among British music critics (George Bernard Shaw), upper-class society (the Sitwells), and adventurous musicians (including the avant-garde composer Kaikhosru Shapurji Sorabji [1892–1988]), who wrote of Violet’s powerful musical presentations that her playing was “dignified, moving, and expressive, and of a broad, sedate beauty, completely free from any pedagogic didacticism or stiff-limbed collegiate pedantry.” (Quoted in Jessica Douglas-Home: Violet, The Life and Loves of Violet Gordon Woodhouse, London: The Harvill Press, 1966, p. 228.) This should put many of us in our rightful places, although Sorabji’s own excursions into keyboard literature lasting from four to nine hours in performance (example: a Busoni homage with the title Opus Clavicembalisticum) just might call his own authority into question.

Eight years younger than Woodhouse, the better-known Wanda Landowska (1879–1959) made her first commercial recordings for the Victor Company in 1923, just prior to her American concert debut with the Philadelphia Orchestra. These six sides included short pieces by the three 1685 boys (Handel, Bach, and Scarlatti) as well as the Rigaudon and Tambourin from Rameau’s Suite in E Minor, and what might be considered the first recording of a contemporary harpsichord work, Landowska’s own Bourée d’Auvergne #1. 

Lesser-known players got recorded, too: Marguerite Delcour recorded Couperin’s Le Tic-toc-choc [Ordre 18] in 1924. The following year, 1925, one of Landowska’s Berlin students, Anna Linde, recorded the ubiquitous Rameau Tambourin and the even more ubiquitous Coucou by Daquin. If you recognize Linde’s name it might well be for her edition of Couperin’s L’art de toucher le Claveçin—with its translations into English and German offered side by side with the original French, and the printed music made unique by her Germanically precise “corrections” to the composer’s picturesque (but occasionally unmathematical) beaming of some quick roulades in his preludes. Both of Linde’s recorded legacy pieces sound amateurish enough that I seriously doubt that Sorabji would have enjoyed hearing these performances.

As a matter of history, however, it is quite possible that Anna Linde’s 1925 disc was the first harpsichord performance to be recorded electrically (rather than acoustically), and the difference in sound quality became even clearer in the years immediately following. A 1928 Woodhouse performance of Bach’s Italian Concerto sounds surprisingly present even today, and the performance shows—perhaps best of all her recorded legacy—what her admirers so rightly admired. Indeed her artistry is such that I have thought, often, that had Mrs. Woodhouse needed to earn her living as Landowska did, she could have eclipsed the divine Wanda as a concert harpsichordist. However, as the wife of a titled Englishman she could not make a career onstage for money . . . and that was that! It would have been fascinating to have had two such determined women competing for the title of “the world’s most famous harpsichordist.” 

Realistically, however, Landowska’s tenacity, as well as her superb musical knowledge and sensitivity, should not be denigrated in any way. The 1928 recording of her own second Bourée d’Auvergne (Biddulph LHW 016) especially highlights the rhythmic dimension of her exciting artistry.

In the United States, where Landowska was a welcome visitor during the 1920s, there were several earlier players of the harpsichord; and, not too surprisingly, all of them attempted at least some pieces by French composers. Some of these participants in harpsichord history are nearly forgotten: one of more than passing importance was the Princeton professor Arthur Whiting: a well-received artist in nearby New York City and a campus legend at Princeton, he was known for his ability to attract huge crowds of undergraduates for his popular recitals on both piano and Dolmetsch-Chickering harpsichord. I have not located any recordings by Professor Whiting. The New York Times did mention his concert at Mendelssohn Hall (NYC) on December 11, 1907, which included a Gigue and Rigaudon by Rameau. The unnamed reviewer praised Whiting’s playing as “clear, beautifully phrased, and skillful in ‘registration’ if that term may be used to denote the employment of the different timbres that the instrument affords.”

Writing a letter to the editor of The Times on January 11, 1926, the prominent music educator Daniel Gregory Mason offered a response to a letter from Landowska in which she made the statement that she had “single-handedly [!] restored the harpsichord to its rightful position in the world of music.” In this correspondence Professor Mason called attention to some other “‘Harpsichord Pioneers’—among whom he named the Americans: Mr. Whiting, Miss Pelton-Jones, Miss Van Buren, and Lewis Richards.”

The two ladies differed greatly: Frances Pelton-Jones was one of those wealthy women who could afford to pursue her artistic ambitions (rather similar to the would-be soprano Florence Foster Jenkins). Her recitals in New York were of the club-lady variety; baffled critics most often mentioned the stage decoration and the beauty of Pelton-Jones’s gowns. Lotta Van Buren, however, was a thoroughly professional player and harpsichord technician whose work with Morris Steinart’s instrument collection at Yale was very beneficial, as was her association with Colonial Williamsburg and its program of historical recreations, including musical ones. 

As for Lewis Richards, Mason proceeds: “Mr. Richards, who has played the harpsichord throughout Europe as a member of the Ancient Instrument Society of Paris, was, I believe, the first to appear as a harpsichordist with orchestra (the Minneapolis Symphony) in this country, and contributed much to the interest of Mrs. F. S. Coolidge’s festival in Washington . . .” 

Richards did indeed precede Landowska as the first known harpsichord soloist with a major symphony orchestra in the U. S. He was one of the few American musicians to record commercially in the 1920s. His Brunswick 10-inch discs of The Brook by Ayrlton, Musette en Rondeau by Rameau, Handel’s Harmonious Blacksmith, and the Mozart Rondo alla Turca were played for me by Richards’ daughter, whom I was able to visit in her East Lansing, Michigan, home (on the day following an organ recital I had played there). The sound is somewhat compromised, for I was recording a scratchy 78-rpm disc that spun on an ancient turntable in a garage; but one gets the impression that Mr. Richards was a charismatic and musical player.  

These discs went on to make quite a lot of money in royalties, and Richards actually taught harpsichord at the Michigan State Institute of Music in East Lansing, which almost certainly certifies him as the first formally continuing collegiate teacher of harpsichord to be employed in the United States in the 20th century.

All of these players played early revival instruments. All have, therefore, used their pedal techniques to obtain a more kaleidoscopic range of colors than we may be used to. Of great interest (at least to me) is the recent emergence of curiosity about, and interest in these revival instruments and their playing techniques, frequently demonstrated by questions received from students. One of the finest concert figures of the “pedal” generations was the distinguished Yale professor Ralph Kirkpatrick (now more knowable than previously, courtesy of his niece Meredith Kirkpatrick’s recently published collection of the artist’s letters; see our review in the April 2015 issue). In his early Musicraft recordings, especially those from 1939, we are able to hear the young player show his stuff, just before his 1940 appointment to Yale, displaying superb musical mastery of his Dolmetsch-Chickering harpsichord. From Kirkpatrick’s program that included four individual Couperin pieces, culminating in Les Barricades Mistérieuses, and five movements from Rameau’s E-minor set, I ended this essay with the Rameau Tambourin (as played on The Musicraft Solo Recordings, Great Virtuosi of the Harpsichord, volume 2, Pearl GEMM CD9245). Kirkpatrick’s mesmerizing foot-controlled decrescendo gives a perfect example of his skill in “pedaling the French.”

(From a paper read in Montréal, May 23.)

 

HKSNA 2015 International Conference in Montréal

Hosted by McGill University’s Schulich School of Music, the fourth annual conclave of the Historical Keyboard Society of North America (May 21–24) offered lectures, mini-recitals, and evening concerts, far too many events for any single auditor to encompass. Two papers that followed mine, Elisabeth Gallat-Morin’s beautifully illustrated “The Presence of French Baroque Keyboard Instruments in New France” and Graham Sadler’s innovative “When Rameau Met Scarlatti? Reflections on a Probable Encounter in the 1720s” attested to the depth of innovative scholarship.

McGill’s instrument roster includes the superb Helmut Wolff organ in Redpath Hall and 15 harpsichords. One third of these came from the workshop of the Montréal builder Yves Beaupré; among the other ten instruments is a 1677 single-manual Italian instrument from the collection of Kenneth Gilbert. This unique historic treasure was available for viewing and playing for small groups of attendees.

The Vermont builder Robert Hicks was the only harpsichord maker who brought an instrument for display. Max Yount demonstrated this eloquent double harpsichord in a masterful recital presentation of Marchand’s Suite in D Minor. Clavichord took center stage for Judith Conrad’s program. Karen Jacob’s thoughtful memorial tribute to Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society founder George Lucktenberg was enhanced by several solicited remembrances from others whose lives had been touched by the late iconic early keyboard figure.

Evening concerts were presented by harpsichordist/organist Peter Sykes and six former students who organized a tribute to McGill organ professor emeritus John Grew. Saturday’s concert brought the final stage of the ninth Aliénor international competition for contemporary harpsichord music. Six winning works (selected by a jury from nearly fifty submitted pieces) were performed by HKSNA President Sonia Lee (Laura Snowden: French Suite), Larry Palmer (Sviatoslav Krutykov: Little Monkey Ten Snapshots), James Dorsa (Ivan Bozicevic: If There is a Place Between, and his own composition Martinique), Andrew Collett (playing his own Sonatina for Harpsichord), and Marina Minkin (Dina Smorgonskaya: Three Dances for Harpsichord). Following an intermission during which the audience submitted ballots naming their three favorite works, Aliénor presented world premieres of two commissioned works for two harpsichords: Edwin McLean’s Sonata No. 2 (2014), played by Beverly Biggs and Elaine Funaro, and Mark Janello’s Concerto for Two (2015), played by Rebecca Pechefsky and Funaro.

And the three pieces chosen by the audience? Smorgonskaya’s Three Dances for Harpsichord, Collett’s Sonatina, and Dorsa’s Martinique. Bravi tutti.

 

Comments, news items, and questions are always welcome. Address them to Dr. Larry Palmer, e-mail: [email protected].

Larry Palmer

Recent recordings of Bach’s Goldberg Variations

Now universally known as the Goldberg Variations, Johann Sebastian Bach’s self-financed 1741 publication of his most extensive set of diverse variants on a simple theme bears this title on its cover: Keyboard Exercise Comprising an Aria and Differing Variations for a Two-Manual Harpsichord, composed for Amateurs by Johann Sebastian Bach, Composer at the Courts of Poland and of the Elector of Saxony, Chapel Master and Choir Master in Leipzig. Published in Nuremberg by Balthasar Schmid (translated from the original German).

Following the 1933 first recording of the complete masterwork by pioneering harpsichordist Wanda Landowska (a weighty 78 rpm recording project that has been reissued in every successive record format) the “Goldbergs” have been consigned to disc by a widely varied list of keyboardists, a tradition that continues, seemingly without any ritardandi. Indeed, while writing this report on recent compact disc releases, I have noted at least two more new recordings advertised for sale.

Just as I look at my extensive collection of books and think about the immense amounts of time and energy that are required for each publication (having been a writer all my adult life), I feel a similar empathy for the effort and dedication required when we consign our musical performances to disc (having done a fair number of these, as well). Thus, I try not to be overly critical in my reviews but rather hope that I may serve primarily as a reporter: one who gives enough information about the new offerings so that a reader may decide to seek more information, or even, perhaps, wish to acquire the item being discussed.

In alphabetical order, I present for your consideration three recent recordings of Bach’s magnum opus as performed by Diego Ares (born 1983) [Harmonia Mundi HMM 902283.84]; Wolfgang Rübsam (born 1946) [Naxos 8.573921]; and, as an archival reissue, a legacy from the renowned German organist and teacher, Helmut Walcha (1907–1991) [the last disc in a boxed set of thirteen compact discs comprising all of the major Bach solo harpsichord works, Warner Classics 0190295849618]. To make matters even more interesting, it so happens that I have had personal connections with each of these three keyboard artists.

 

Diego Ares

I met this brilliant harpsichordist in November 2009 and was blown away by his virtuoso performance of the Manuel de Falla Concerto for Harpsichord and Five Instruments at the opening event of the Wanda Landowska Exhibition organized by Martin Elste of the Musical Instrument Museum in Berlin, Germany. On my way to offer congratulations to the young artist, he met me halfway, as he wished to speak with me. At that time Diego was a student in Basel, and we both expressed our regrets that he had to return immediately to Switzerland for his semester end examinations, especially since we each had a special interest in contemporary harpsichord music.

We have, however, kept in touch since that brief encounter, and Diego has been generous in sending me his compact discs as they are produced. The immediate predecessor to his Goldberg Variations offering, his 2015 premiere recording of previously unknown Soler harpsichord sonatas (discovered in a manuscript now owned by the Morgan Library in New York City) won international acclaim, garnering both a Diapason d’Or and the German Record Critics’ first prize. I suspect that this latest two-disc set may well do the same.

In eloquent notes to the recording, Ares writes of his daily ritual that begins with a complete play through of the entire set of variations, but also he expresses his feeling for the need of a prelude to precede Bach’s opening statement of the Aria. For this recorded performance, Ares made a clever choice: Bach’s own transcription of an Adagio (BWV 968) based on the composer’s Violin Sonata (BWV 1005). It is indeed a lovely piece, but, since Bach left us only this one movement which cadences in the dominant key, it is a difficult work to program. As the desired prelude it makes a perfectly logical opener, connecting smoothly to the Aria in G Major.

Ares’s performance, with the added prelude, spans 1 hour, 29 minutes. He performs on his two-manual harpsichord by Joel Katzman (2002) based on a Taskin instrument from 1769.

 

Wolfgang Rübsam

Appointed to succeed the far-too-early-deceased James Tallis as harpsichord and organ professor at Southern Methodist University, I moved to Dallas, Texas, in late August 1970, to join the music faculty of the Meadows School of the Arts. Wolfgang Rübsam was, at that time, a stellar student in Robert T. Anderson’s organ class, and he went on to prove his stature by winning the first prize for interpretation at the 1973 Chartres organ competition. He also played a superb organ recital during the dedication year of SMU’s Fisk Opus 101 installation, and we continue to meet at various organ events throughout the United States.

Following a successful set of Bach recordings on the modern piano, Rübsam has turned his considerable musical insights to performing the Goldberg Variations on an instrument known to have been of interest to J. S. Bach: the lautenwerk or “lute harpsichord” of which a postmortem inventory of Bach’s belongings included two examples. Unfortunately, neither instrument is known to have survived the passage of time.

The proud owner of the fifth such instrument to be built by the highly respected American harpsichord maker Keith Hill, Rübsam provides a totally different sound picture for Bach’s variations. The constant arpeggiation certainly gives a different aura to the work, while the gentler plucked tones produced from this single-manual instrument soothe the ear. To record the entire work on one disc with a total timing of 78 minutes and 24 seconds, the artist confided that he made his own choices as to which of the variations would be played with the indicated repeats and which ones would not. I find his selections well made and actually agree totally that not all of the arbitrary double dots at the conclusion of each section need to be observed in any performance. I especially dislike the carbon-copy reruns of the B sections once one has made that trip from dominant cadencing back to the tonic. Most of the time one traversal is quite enough for my ears.

Amazing as it may seem to those of us who require two manuals as specified by the composer, Glenn Gould, Rübsam, and some other players seem quite able to negotiate the crossing of hands and notes, as well as the general awkwardness of compressing such acrobatics to one keyboard only. Bravo to all involved. 

 

Helmut Walcha

I first experienced a concert by the legendary professor of organ at the Hochschule für Musik und Darstellende Kunst of Frankfurt, Germany, during the unforgettable summer trip that followed my year at the Salzburg Mozarteum as an Oberlin Conservatory junior (1958–1959). In Letters from Salzburg
(Skyline Publications, Eau Claire, Wisconsin, 2006) I mentioned Walcha’s organ recital at the Frankfurt cathedral, with its eight-second reverberation, and noted that the organist was “an inspired player.” While visiting the Hochschule I met its harpsichord teacher, Frau Maria Jäger, and did not realize that Walcha was also a harpsichordist. 

During many summer trips to Europe in the earlier years of an academic career, my German friend and “European manager” Alfred Rosenberger and I often would attend Saturday Vespers at the Dreikönigskirche where Walcha was organist. There we could marvel at his expressive hymn playing and masterful improvisations, while also enjoying both the intimate beauty of the rather sparsely attended afternoon services as well as the post service opportunities to speak with the genial organ master.

Still there was no mention of the harpsichord; so, imagine my surprise when I discovered that the present thirteen-disc set comprising all the major solo harpsichord repertoire of J. S. Bach had been recorded starting in the spring of 1958 in Hamburg, continuing for the next several years, and culminated during March of 1961 with the 75 minutes and 38 seconds of Walcha’s interpretation of Goldberg Variations. And, for one further surprise, the recording engineer for all these sessions was none other than Hugo Distler’s brother-in-law, Erich Thienhaus! 

The two-manual harpsichord used for Walcha’s recording sessions was built at the Ammer Brothers factory located in Eisenberg in the eastern German province of Thuringia. What nostalgia that inspired! My first harpsichord teacher, Isolde Ahlgrimm, made her famous Bach recordings playing an Ammer instrument. My first harpsichord was a small double built at the Passau factory of Kurt Sperrhake, who also provided a larger two-manual model instrument during our Mozarteum year. (Ahlgrimm’s comment: “I’ve slept in smaller rooms than this instrument!”) While I would not want to return to these well-built, but heavy, leather-quilled factory instruments, there is a certain nostalgia for that youthful time of discoveries and the blooming of my first love for the harpsichord.

Would I recommend the Walcha recordings? Perhaps. It is remarkable that he could play absolutely perfectly since he had been struck blind at age nineteen, most likely from a reaction to his vaccination for smallpox. I do not hear any mistakes or smudged notes at all, but I also do not hear much in the way of personality or nuance either. It has somewhat the same effect as reading a dictionary—but as a source for checking the notes as they appear in the original Bach-Gesellschaft Editions there would likely be no deviations from that urtext.

And what a tribute to the human spirit! Every note required for thirteen compact discs full of music was retained in that brilliant memory! One of Walcha’s prize students, my SMU colleague Robert Anderson, told many tales of being summoned to visit his mentor for the purpose of following a score while his teacher played through the complete Art of the Fugue or some other complex set of organ pieces. And, said Bob, “There was hardly ever even one wrong note!”

Larry Palmer

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON.

Remembering Irma Rogell

“Walks with Wanda,” the only English-language essay in Martin Elste’s lavishly illustrated volume Die Dame mit dem Cembalo [The Lady with the Harpsichord] published by Schott in 2010, consists of five pages—Chapter Four—from an otherwise-unpublished memoir by harpsichordist Irma Rogell, in which she reminisces about her four summers of lessons with Landowska, beginning in 1955 and ending with the pioneering harpsichordist’s death in 1959. The following year, at age 40, Ms. Rogell made her well-received solo recital debut at Boston’s Jordan Hall and during the next five decades she continued to pursue a solid career of recitals, recordings, and teaching. On February 9, 2013 Irma Rogell died in Newton, Connecticut, at the age of 94. 

Alerted to the news of her passing by the ever-vigilant harpsichord enthusiast Robert Tifft, I read Irma Rogell’s obituary, which, strangely enough, did not mention the harpsichord at all. At first a little uncertain that the subject of the notice was indeed “our” Irma Rogell, I checked several tributes written for the funeral home’s guest book; words from Teri Noel Towe and Peter Watchorn, both distinguished members of the harpsichord community, confirmed a relationship with our instrument, and led to correspondence with these gentlemen.

In notes to her recordings it was customarily noted that Rogell had remained faithful to Landowska’s preferred Pleyel concert harpsichord; her own Pleyel instrument built by the Parisian firm was acquired in 1958. However Peter Watchorn’s tribute to Rogell noted that “. . . shortly after arriving in [the USA] to join the staff of the Frank Hubbard Harpsichord Workshop in Waltham, MA . . . one of my first jobs was to work on a new instrument for Irma, and we came to know each other well over the next 25 years.” To my request for clarification about Rogell’s harpsichord(s), Peter responded: “We built a Hass copy for her in 1989—with seven pedals (like the Pleyel). She also had one of Eric Herz’s big Model F instruments—the one with 16-foot. She also had her Pleyel. I’m not sure how long she kept the Hass—she couldn’t tune, so it didn’t see all that much use, I think” [E-mail communication 25 February 2013].  

In an interview with alumna Rogell for the Harvard Magazine (May-June 2005), Emer Vaughn mentioned that “she is writing a memoir of her studies with Landowska . . . ,” the source, obviously, for the excerpt published in Dr. Elste’s book. Trying to ascertain just how much more of this memoir might exist led to correspondence with Teri Towe, Christine Gevert, and Martin Elste, who kindly searched his Landowska files and responded with an additional chapter not included in his published book.  

The first paragraphs from Rogell’s “Chapter Three” immediately show her to be a captivating writer:

 

“What is she like?” The question came unexpectedly that first time and I heard myself say spontaneously, “She is just like your grandmother—that is, of course, if your grandmother also happened to be Empress of the World.”  

That first imperious “madame” with which she had greeted me at our first meeting was the last such greeting. Always thereafter I was “little one.” She surrounded me with love, exactly, in fact, as my beloved great-grandmother had done. Which is why she was “Mamusia,” the Polish word for little mother, which is what she preferred to be called.

I hope this short excerpt will whet the appetite for further reading in the published chapter from Irma Rogell’s memoir. On her walks with Landowska many topics familiar to Landowska aficionados were covered. One puzzling bit of history—the story of Landowska’s husband Henri Lew and his sudden demise after being hit by an automobile—is set in Paris rather than the usually cited city of Berlin. The correct venue, Berlin, is listed in Martin Elste’s comprehensive chronology of Landowska’s life, so it must be that memory—whether Landowska’s, as she related an oft-told anecdote, or Rogell’s, as she remembered a conversation from fifty years earlier—simply transposed the site in which the event actually happened.

By all means, do not allow the lack of a reading knowledge of German to deter you from acquiring Die Dame mit dem Cembalo. The pictorial feast assembled for this 240-page, coffee-table-sized book includes 306 images, many not seen previously in print. These include record labels and album covers, two pages of finger exercises from a notebook belonging to St-Leu student Lily Karger, a Bach Invention score with Landowska’s fingerings, numerous witty caricatures, and, as an exceptional labor of love from Dr. Elste, his own recent photographs of the current state of places Landowska called home in Paris, Berlin, St-Leu-la-Forêt, New York, and Lakeville, as well as her final resting place in the cemetery of Taverny (France), where her urn is placed next to that of her brother Paul Landowski.

Of Landowska’s “last student,” Irma Rogell, Emer Vaughan chose these words to end his 2005 Harvard Magazine profile “A Musical Education”:

 

Now, after years of touring, recording . . . and teaching, Rogell again plays mainly for her own enjoyment .  .  .  she listens to her old tapes (“Hard work!”) for new recording projects, “because I’d like to share my belief that the harpsichord can be a very expressive instrument, which is at the core of what I learned from Landowska.”

 

To hear an example of Rogell’s keyboard artistry, access her performance of the Sarabande from Handel’s Suite in D Minor, HWV 437, as recorded on the 33-1/3 rpm disc La Tomba di Scarlatti (1982), the fourth item in the section illustrating the sounds of the Pleyel harpsichord on Robert Tifft’s website devoted to Janos Sebestyen and other 20th-century harpsichordists of note: http://jsebestyen.org/harpsichord/audio.html#Pleyel. 

If any reader has further information about Irma Rogell and her unpublished memoir, please share it with the Harpsichord Editor at [email protected] or write to Dr. Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas 75275.

Larry Palmer

According to Janus

The ancient Romans worshipped many gods. Janus, who provided the name for our first month of the year, had two faces, which allowed him to look in both directions: back to the past and forward to the future. Thus, a Janusian column seems appropriate for the first month of a new year.

 

Looking Back: Topics of the
2016 Harpsichord News
Columns

January: Buried Treasures: The Harpsichord Pages in Retrospect (2006–2015); Something New: Mysteries with Musical References

March: William Bolcom’s Compositions for Solo Harpsichord

April: More Duphly; Two Additional Mystery Novels; Semibrevity Website

May: Historical Keyboard Society of North America Conference at Oberlin College: Duphly, Skowroneck, Leonhardt, and Kreisler—A Twisted Tale

June: Tempi in Early Music from Beverly Jerold Scheibert; Two Clavichords at the Oberlin HKSNA

July: In Memoriam: Drawings by Jane Johnson (A Retrospective Feature Article)

August: Broadening a Harpsichordist’s Horizon: The Fifth East Texas Pipe Organ Festival Continues Tradition

September: Striking Gold: Some Thoughts on Performing Bach’s Goldberg Variations

October: Well-Tempered: Lou Harrison and the Harpsichord

November: Some Thoughts on Programming

December: Christmas Musings: Joseph Wechsberg’s The Best Things in Life; Recordings of the complete harpsichord works of Marchand and Clérambault on compact disc and 21st-century solos on another from the British Harpsichord Society; plus a Christmas Vignette (excerpted from Palmer: Letters from Salzburg).

 

Two Vignettes from 2016 East

Texas Pipe Organ Festival
(November 6–11)

The most recent pipe organ fest in November followed its traditional, successful schedule, albeit with a bit more time allowed for dining and socializing. After the brilliant Sunday evening opening organ recital by Richard Elliot on Kilgore’s prized Roy Perry-designed Aeolian-Skinner organ (Opus 1173, First Presbyterian Church), Christopher Marks (new to the artist roster) began the first full day of the festival on Monday with a recital on the same instrument. His well-designed program devoted to music by Seth Bingham (1882–1972) showed the conservative American church musician to be a composer consistent in craftsmanship, and one indebted to the French school of organ music as well. Nostalgia welled up when, for the first time since high school, I heard again two pieces from Bingham’s organ suite Harmonies of Florence (1929): Savonarola, and one that was in my repertoire in those youthful years, Twilight at Fiesole. These pieces brought back memories of another outstanding advocate for French music, Oberlin professor of organ Fenner Douglass, with whom I had the great privilege of studying during my senior year. Douglass played French organ music ranging from Titelouze to the most recent works of Messiaen, but an American whom he admired and whose music he performed was none other than . . . Seth Bingham. 

 

Vignette Two: In Janus-Speak,
Ave atque Vale (Hail and 

Farewell)

I was not particularly looking forward to the fourth organ concert of our annual “day in Shreveport” even though the program was to take place on the grandest of the festival organs (Aeolian-Skinner opus 1308) in the most accommodating acoustic: St. Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral. Replacing the indisposed Marilyn Keiser as recitalist was the winner of the 2016 Longwood Gardens Competition, Joshua Stafford. His stylishly eclectic program comprised Leo Sowerby’s Comes Autumn Time, Seth Bingham’s Roulade (heard for the second time at this Festival), Lemare’s transcription of Dvorák’s Carnival Overture, a quiet Lied (Douze Pièces) by Gaston Litaize, and, following intermission, Liszt’s lengthy Fantasie and Fugue on the Chorale “Ad nos” from Meyerbeer’s Le Prophète. From the opening notes until the final strains of his patriotic encore, it was apparent that this young man is a stellar musician with a seemingly effortless technique that could encompass anything. But more than that, he demonstrated music-making of the highest order, delivered without affectation, obviously played with delight and musical intensity. At the conclusion of this amazing recital, before the final chord had died away in the reverberant cathedral, the audience, as one, rose to its feet, shouting “Bravo.” My own word choice was “Bravissimo!” Welcome to the company of outstanding artists, Joshua Stafford. I can scarcely wait to hear more from your talented fingers, feet, heart, and soul.

The closing event of the festival on Thursday evening was a recital by Frederick Swann at Kilgore’s First Presbyterian Church. Announced as the veteran artist’s final organ concert (he will continue to play church services), this repeat of the program he had given as a rededication concert for Aeolian-Skinner Opus 1173 following its 1966 revision by Roy Perry, capped Swann’s career of some 3,000 recitals with graceful, intense playing, always offered to the benefit of the music. In a class act that will be remembered for a very long time, the acclaimed organist did not play a traditional “encore” to acknowledge the continuing ovation of the large crowd; instead he instructed us to open our hymn books and sing, supported by his inspired accompaniment, “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation.” These two unforgettable musical events receive my vote for best in show, ETPOF VI. 

 

The Future: Hello 2017

Billing itself as “the world’s best-selling classical music magazine,” BBC Music is a very good journal. Each monthly copy has affixed to its cover a compact disc, custom-produced to form part of the month’s offerings. For the December 2016 issue the featured composer is Johann Sebastian Bach. Articles discuss “the secret of his genius in ten masterpieces,” attempt to make sense of the extensive Bach family tree, and generally aid the reader/listener in various musical discoveries. This issue also contains 110 reviews of classical music discs by knowledgeable critics. The accompanying CD is of JSB’s final masterpiece, The Art of Fugue, in an orchestration devised by harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani for a substantial baroque instrumental contingent made up of two violins, viola, cello, viola da gamba, violone, two flutes, recorder, oboe, oboe d’amore, oboe da caccia, bassoon, cornetto, and two harpsichords (the players are members of the Academy of Ancient Music). This baroque chamber orchestra version is an attempt to suggest the type of coffee-house performance that Bach might have put together. With some moments of solo harpsichord, but many more with the instrumental band, it is indeed a colorful and unusual performance.

To suggest something for the future, I would like to reference a BBC Music “last page”—one of its “Music That Changed Me” series. In the September 2005 issue, the featured musician was the brilliant, energetic British harpsichordist (and conductor) Richard Egarr. I have been an admirer of his nimble-fingered, exciting playing for quite some time, and a part of what nourishes this spirited musical drive surely could be traced, in part, to the choices he makes for his own listening. Egarr cites six recordings, and I note with interest that only two of them comprise music for a solo keyboard. Both of these discs are historical testaments from unique and path-breaking musical artists. I suspect that many of Egarr’s own savvy musical instincts come from his “listening outside the [keyboard] box,” something I have long advocated, and that I recommend to our readers as a sure path to continuing aural adventures during this new year. My own choices nearly always include vocal works, for listening to good singers or choral ensembles helps incredibly in learning to make our own phrases breathe naturally (a benefit that is also attained by playing, or listening to, wind instruments).

So, for the record (as it were), here are Egarr’s six choices: Music of the Gothic Era (David Munrow); Early Violin Music (Musica Antiqua Köln); Mahler, Symphony I (Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein); Moritz Rosenthal (historical recording of piano music issued by American Columbia’s Biddulph label); Tchaikovsky, Marche Slav (London Symphony Orchestra, Leopold Stokowski); and, as the second keyboard item: Bach’s Goldberg Variations (Glenn Gould, piano), which he cites as a performance style that he has had to overcome in his own study of the monumental work.

Finally, dear readers, a few hints of some developing columns that may appear during the first half of 2017: from a group of colleagues who perform contemporary harpsichord music, some listings of their favorite works; an in-depth examination of a Bach prelude and fugue from the WTC; a guest article about some legendary French harpsichordists; an article on harpsichord pedagogy. Any suggestions for other topics of interest?

Larry Palmer

 

Lessons from Couperin

It was not until my first academic sabbatical semester in the late 1970s that I took the time to learn all eight of the preludes published in the remarkable method, L’Art de toucher le Clavecin (1716–1717) by François Couperin “le Grand,” organist, harpsichordist, and Ordinaire de la Musique at the Court of France’s Louis XIV. My scholastic harpsichord study had not been lengthy: a year of intense lessons with Isolde Ahlgrimm (with as much practice as possible) at the Salzburg Mozarteum (1958–59) followed by two of the revelatory three-week summer courses with Gustav Leonhardt in Haarlem (1964 and 1967) comprised the sum total of formal guidance at the instrument.

Ahlgrimm was an inspiring mentor: fluent in many languages, at the time learning baroque dance from Vienna State Opera ballerina Rikki Raab, and fresh from her path-breaking Bach cycle for Philips, the Dutch recording company. My first repertoire assignments from her included a few pieces by the English Virginalists, several short selections by the Austrian composer Paul Hofhaymer (rushed into the schedule when I was tagged on extremely short notice to fill in as harpsichordist for a 500th anniversary celebration in Radstadt, the composer’s birthplace), and signature pieces by Couperin (Les Baricades mistérieuses and B-minor Passacaille), plus, for the year’s finale concert, Bach’s A-minor English Suite. The Mozarteum’s harpsichord was a tank-like Maendler-Schramm double, joined at the end of the year by a new Sperrhake, its size, as Frau Ahlgrimm noted, larger than many of the rooms in which she had slept!¹

Leonhardt’s seminars covered more repertoire: multiple suites by Louis Couperin and Johann Jakob Froberger, plus the big Bach masterpieces, as well as other German and Dutch pieces, all offered with a great deal of mind-changing ideas about number symbolism, rare manuscript variants, and the valuable lessons gained from his Martin Skowroneck two-manual harpsichord, my first encounter with an historic copy instrument, an experience that determined my future preferences and resulted in my first William Dowd instrument, completed in December 1968.

By the time of that first sabbatical leave I had moved to Dallas to take over the harpsichord program begun by James Tallis (who, sadly, died in 1969 at the beginning of his second year on the Southern Methodist University faculty). Our harpsichord class had blossomed: students were legion; majors and minors filled my load, which also included teaching ten organ majors. Organist colleague Robert Anderson had a full studio of twenty major students. As I look back at those years of vibrant organ and harpsichord enrollments I reflect on the irony of it all: while trying to hone my teaching skills I was besieged with candidates, but by the time I was experienced and, hopefully, had something valuable to teach them, the number of students in these majors had begun its national downward trajectory.

During the years when organists made up the majority of harpsichord students (two semesters of harpsichord study were required for the master’s degree in organ) one could expect some level of knowledge about Baroque performance practice, legato playing, and other organistic skills. With the decline in number of majors, but aided by the welcome encouragement of my colleague, superb pianist Joaquin Achúcarro (who encouraged his brilliant piano students to study harpsichord and/or organ, thus following the Maxims of the composer Robert Schumann), one was required to introduce most basic Baroque stylistic concepts and techniques, and here we arrive at the discussion of these remarkable Couperin examples.

I adopted the eight preludes as the required foundation for harpsichord study. Every subsequent harpsichord student began with Prelude One (C major). Many of the advanced players found it extremely difficult to make music of something they regarded as a simple exercise. Couperin’s fingerings, promoting his new-found style of finger substitution as a basis for producing a fine legato, are relevant today, although getting a contemporary player to forego the constant use of a pivotal thumb is a difficult task for both student and teacher. (I do not forbid thumb use, but make its use less “ordinary.”) 

Prelude Two (D minor) seems light years advanced in difficulty. (I continually wonder how Couperin’s students fared? Probably they had a better teacher!). So, instead of assigning it next, I move to Prelude Four (F major), which seems a more logical successor to Prelude One. (It even begins with the same mordent and follows that with a similar bass note one octave lower). This piece, however, adds a wonderful introduction to the sliding of the second finger from A-flat to A-natural (as in the penultimate measure’s bass line).

I then move back to the Third Prelude (G minor), which provides a lesson in listening. There is one totally wrong note in the original engraving of this piece, a note not corrected in the 1717 second printing. It is the unique rare example in which one can prove that the note is incorrect! (I had, in my devotion to the text, played it wrong for quite a long time before I was led to the truth at a Bernard Lagacé masterclass.) The proof that the bass B-flat on beat four of measure 16 should be C, a whole step higher, is shown by the guide note in the original print which clearly indicates a C. Perhaps this is the reason that the composer and engraver did not bother to change it in the subsequent edition? Engraving another whole copper plate, after all, would have been extremely tedious and expensive.

But what a lesson this makes: nearly all of us are far too bound by the printed notes in a score. It is rare, in my experience, that any piece of music is totally accurate. Printing errors, human errors—they do exist. So, by using this splendid example during lessons, I assign the piece and wait to hear what will ensue. Will the student hear an ugly sound on that beat, note the sequence deviation in the bass pattern, and at least question it? Or not?

Usually “or not” wins! And what a teaching moment that becomes, when I can simply say, “Use your ears! If it sounds wrong, it probably IS wrong, especially for music of this tonal style!” Having the original printed error to buttress the argument (and sometimes it did turn into an argument: “How could you be sure?” “Change a note in the score? How awful,” et cetera)—that was both valuable and necessary. Then we point out the offending measure and bless the fact that the incorrect note came at the change of staves (quite possibly because of this change, in fact). Lesson learned: listen and be vigilant, even when playing from Ur- or Ur-Urtexts!

Finally, in the ordering of the first half of these eight pieces, the Second Prelude in D minor provides a triumphant conclusion and a well-earned sense of achievement when its technical challenges are mastered.

Usually from that point on I leave it up to the student to select an order for the “final four” pieces, having often wondered why Couperin put them in his chosen printed sequence? The pieces do increase in difficulty, but my reaction to the order of the final two usually leads me to play Number Eight (E minor) before Number Seven (a stately French Ouverture Prelude in B-flat Major), especially if I am programming all of the pieces and interspersing them with quotations from the lively dialogues the composer has provided in his Observations. Of these bon-mots my absolute favorite is typical: “A reflection: Men who wish to attain a certain degree of perfection at the harpsichord should never do any rough work with their hands. Women’s hands, on the contrary, are generally better for harpsichord playing . . . .”

What a wonderful response should your significant other try to shame you into doing yard work or other (non-practicing) manual labor!

About editions: I prefer the Alfred Masterwork Edition, edited by Margery Halford. It provides the full text in French with an English translation in a printing that has no obvious errors (save for Couperin’s, as noted above), and one that is refreshingly both “Made in America” and inexpensive. Performance suggestions, printed in light gray, may be helpful for some ornaments, but Mrs. Halford and I have had a long-term disagreement about the performance of the so called “passing appoggiatura”—basically a passing note, especially in the figure of the descending third. The editor once admitted that she likes my interpretation of these petite notes as unaccented passing tones, but asserted that there was no documentary evidence for performing them in that manner (i.e., before the beat, not on it).

About the time that I was learning these pieces, that is, the late 1970s, a number of players, independently, began treating these notes as passing tones. Among them were Leonhardt (several years after the classes with him) and other luminaries; all of us just happened to start doing it independently. I am pleased to share with our readers that the world did not come to an end (at that juncture), and that Robert Donington, in the second revised edition of his The Interpretation of Early Music (W. W. Norton, 1992) clarified the “passing-ness” of those little notes with his Postscript to Chapter 18 (page 228), as well as his citing of Leopold Mozart and a French writer, Jean-Jacques Rousseau (Dictionaire de musique, Paris, 1768), who clinches the argument with his native authority (page 227). 

Other than that, and not warning of the wrong note in one of her many footnotes, the Halford edition is a fine one. A caution: one to avoid is the 1930s German Breitkopf edition of L’Art (edited by Anna Linde), in which many of the fast note groupings have been changed to reflect correct mathematically barred patterns, but thereby lose their graphic, semi-improvisatory visual invitations to “play fast, and fit them in as you are able.” If you want a true 18th-century feeling, choose one of several facsimile editions, but only if you wish to deal with soprano and alto C-clefs. Both Broude Brothers and Fuzeau have published reprints of the original 18th-century copper engravings.

I continue to love Couperin’s exceptional contributions to harpsichord pedagogy and frequently play them as the warm-up musical pieces they were intended to be. In retirement from academe, I continue to instruct several mature students; even those who are currently teaching music themselves are required to traverse François-le-Grand’s stylistic and basic introduction to their new and unfamiliar instrument. Only after they have learned to control these beautiful sounds are they permitted to proceed on to other Baroque and subsequent pieces that drew them to the harpsichord in the first place.

 

In Memoriam: Paul Wolfe 

(1929–2016)

The last of Wanda Landowska’s American students passed away in Santa Fe, New Mexico, on Christmas Day. I am gathering material for a more detailed memoir of this gentle man and fine musician. If any reader has information, vignettes, or pictures of Paul, I would appreciate receiving your contributions for a memorial tribute to be published next month.

 

Notes

1. For more information on Ahlgrimm’s teaching, see Kim Kasling: “Harpsichord Lessons for the Beginner,” The Diapason, March 1977 (also reprinted in Peter
Watchorn’s fine book, Isolde Ahlgrimm, Vienna and the Early Music Revival, Ashgate Publishing, Burlington, Vermont, 2007).

Jonatan B. Hall and Joyce Johnson Robinson

Jonathan B. Hall writes frequently for The American Organist, THE DIAPASON, and The Tracker. He teaches music theory and music criticism at New York University and is music director of Central Presbyterian Church in Montclair, New Jersey. He serves on the American Guild of Organist’s Committee on Professional Certification. He is the author of Calvin Hampton, A Musician Without Borders (Wayne Leupold Editions).

 

Joyce Johnson Robinson is editorial director of The Diapason.

The American Guild of Organists 2016 National Convention was held in Houston, Texas, June 19—24. The hot, humid weather in Houston was not an issue indoors—all venues were air-conditioned, as were the buses that transported attendees. This year’s program book was much slimmer and trimmer (only 3/8” thick); many details were handled via an app for mobile devices (neither of the reviewers used it), and concert programs were provided at the venues. We were unable to attend every performance, but present here an account of those we did.

 

Sunday, June 19

Opening convocation, 

St. Martin’s Episcopal Church

The church is magnificently imposing—really, a Gothic cathedral-sized edifice. I sat in the rear balcony, near a window of St. Francis of Assisi with the Wolf of Gubbio and Julian of Norwich and her cat Isaiah. The convocation was impressive, and the only musical issues I had concerned the prelude and some of the choral singing. The prelude, which was most of the Third Symphony of Vierne (the finale was the postlude) and the Feierlicher Einzug of Richard Strauss, was suitable in terms of size and mood, but the music was persistently rushed. Especially in the first movement of the Vierne, the rising anacrustic figures needed much more space. The postlude suffered the same problem. The Gloria Dei Organ, Schoenstein & Co. Opus 145, is a grand four-manual, 80-rank instrument dating to 2004. It produced an imposing and impressive tone and did sonic justice to the French literature, not least in the reed department. The organist was not credited, though two were listed as “participants:” parish organist David Henning and Moseley Memorial Organ Scholar Grant Wareham.

The combined choir (St. Martin’s own choir plus that of St. Thomas) occasionally suffered from balance issues, at least from where I sat. In particular, the familiar I Was Glad displayed these. The anthem, With a Shining Like the Sun by David Ashley White, was exciting and effective, and the hymn arrangements by Craig Philips were energetic. White’s anthem was commissioned for this convention.

 

Monday, June 20

David Goode, 

Foundry United Methodist Church

David Goode’s recital was performed on a three-manual, 62-rank Wolff & Associates, the firm’s opus 45, installed in 2001. The organ has a strong French influence, though the keyboards are not (as Americans say) “reversed.” The organ makes an imposing appearance, classic towers and flats in a streamlined modern case. It harmonized well with the spacious neo-traditional architecture.

Goode opened with the Bach Toccata in E major, BWV 566, an early work showing the influence of the North German praeludium. Goode turned in a clean and convincing performance, the instrument’s clear plenum and lightly flexible wind showing the piece to advantage. The performance was stylishly conservative—not used as an occasion of display—and the result was very musically engaging. Next was a piece by Nancy Galbraith, Sing With All the Saints in Glory, commissioned for the Bayoubüchlein, a compilation created for the convention. This was an attractive piece, full of energy and zest, and featuring an episode on the Swell reeds, which showed them off extremely well. Goode ended with full organ and the obligatory dramatic final stop-pull. 

Next came the Mathias Partita, a difficult and complex work in three movements. The first movement was restless, featuring a recurring rapid figure in dotted rhythm. The second movement displayed Goode’s mastery of registration and especially use of the swell, as the piece beautifully built up and then down. The final movement was the most approachable, full of energy and a splashy ending. 

The Reger Ave Maria came next, and here the soprano ascendancy of the voicing was both noticeable and effective. A soft-spoken zimbelstern developed at one point, then vanished—a lone star on a misty evening. The final offering was the Dupré Variations on a Noël and was played with tremendous musicality; the most difficult variations always managed to sing. This, despite a tempo that few organists should attempt—very appropriate to the music but at the upper end of advisability. Goode’s performance of this piece was thrilling.

The room had decent acoustics, but I felt it would be an intimidating place to play. There was no room to hide; every seat was a front-row seat. In this laboratory-clean acoustical space, Goode handled the organ musically and convincingly. A first-rate job all around.

 

Monday evening

Michel Bouvard, 

Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart

This recital was designated the St. Cecilia Recital, endowed by the late Marianne Webb. 

As the organ console was in the loft and not visible, there were several screens in the nave. The camera work for these was the best I’ve ever seen, with several different angles in use. Michel Bouvard began with a transcription of Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses, op. 54, a piano work transcribed by Reitze Smits. Bouvard gave a very clean and professional performance, featuring a fine tempo and warm and room-filling registrations. The tone was continually varied: we heard reeds, mixtures, and flue work in continuous and effective alternation. Bouvard’s reading, essentially Apollonian, managed to release a Dionysian spirit from these elegiac, “serious” variations. After one tumultuous passage, a single high note was set aloft to die slowly. As the solstice had occurred only minutes before, I thought of a single firefly on the first evening of summer. 

Two branles—a branle is a Renaissance dance—came next, one by Claude Gervaise and one anonymous. I like this genre, and found these pieces attractive and representative. We then heard two French Classic organ pieces: the Récit de tierce en taille of de Grigny and the big Couperin Offertoire sur les grand jeux. I would not have minded the omission of either piece on this program, if only because the performances were so matter-of-fact. The former utilized a very penetrating cornet, and the latter was registered with taste and discretion. Ultimately, though, both pieces were exercises in great music played very accurately.

Much more interesting was the next work, Variations sur un noël basque, composed by the performer’s grandfather, Jean Bouvard. This was a very imaginative and wide-ranging piece, by turns mystical and extroverted, pungent and crunchy, flowing and busy. It was played with conviction. I would enjoy hearing it again.

The spirit of poetry had flitted in and out during this program; it was out during the next piece, the “Serene Alleluias” from Messiaen’s L’Ascension. I do not mean to suggest, by any means, that a “poetic” interpretation must include gimmicks such as excessive rubato or the like. On the contrary, it is an indefinable quality—a je ne sais quoi—that takes a correct performance (always the foundation) and makes it speak to the heart as well as the ear. As was the case with the de Grigny and Couperin, the Messiaen was played very accurately and with fine registration, but little more.

Joan Tower is a major name in American classical music. The next piece on the program was commissioned by the Houston convention and was titled Power Dance. Tower’s new piece contained much power but little dance. It consisted largely of chromatic scales in parallel and contrary motion, interspersed with furious toccata work. For me, to dance is to surrender power; the two terms are incompatible, and power won this time, with a long, argument-stopping final triad.

We then heard the Alain Trois Danses. The reeds called for at the outset were done full justice by Bouvard’s great registrational skill. The development of color continued throughout, climaxing in a terrifying roar of 32’ pedal reeds. 

There was some genuine magic in the final piece, the Duruflé Prélude et fugue sur le nom d’Alain, op. 7. I have never before heard a Vox Humana (in any language) so completely mimic wordless singing. The quiet, elegiac moments in the Prelude, especially when Litanies is quoted, were the most memorable moments of the recital. The Prelude, overall, was played rather too fast. The Fugue featured a marvelous buildup towards the final statement of the theme. 

 

Tuesday, June 21

Jonathan Rudy and Patrick Scott, Houston Baptist University 

This recital featured the 2014 winners of, respectively, the National Young Artists Competition in Organ Playing and the National Competition in Organ Improvisation. The program was accordingly devoted half to literature and half to improvisation. The venue, Belin Chapel of Houston Baptist University, is a beautiful circular space dominated by a large three-manual, 58-rank Orgues Létourneau instrument, the firm’s opus 116. Jonathan Rudy opened the program with the Bach Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543ii. I appreciate the programming choice: it is not always necessary to play “both halves” of a prelude and fugue. Rudy was a touch nervous at the outset, but quickly steadied and delivered a ringing, musical performance. He is all concentration and seriousness at the console; all of the expressiveness goes into the music. 

The next piece, the Saint-Saëns Fantasy No. 2 in D-flat, op. 101, is too long for its own good. Well constructed and studded with beautiful moments, it’s nevertheless one of those pieces that acts as its own worst enemy. Despite this, Rudy gave it a well-prepared and thoroughly musical performance. In particular, the climactic crescendo was managed very nicely. 

The first half closed with a movement from Pamela Decker’s Faneuil Hall, titled “Fugue: Liberty and Union Now and Forever.” Rudy came into his own with this piece, handling its manifold ferocities with great skill. The pedal work, in particular, was superb. The performance was seamless, thrilling, and altogether convincing. At the end, the performer graciously acknowledged the composer, who was in the audience—and without doubt, thrilled to the marrow.

Patrick Scott began his half of the program with a Triptych on Duke Street. He began with an epic statement—a tutti effect not heard from the organ yet on the program—and presented a complete piece in ABA form. The second movement, a scherzo, was quite enjoyable. Consistency shone through: he chose an idea and stuck with it, keeping on message during all of the surprising transformations of the theme. He ended with a dignified fugue on the hymn tune. The fugue waxed complicated, but he brought the music to a rousing conclusion.

The next subject for improvisation was Kathleen Thomerson’s hymn tune Houston. Perhaps chosen in part for its name, as well as for its enduring popularity, it’s worth noting that 2016 is the fiftieth birthday of this hymn, also known as “I Want to Walk as a Child of the Light.” Perhaps that was another reason it was used today. In any case, Scott gave the audience warm buttery tones and an elegiac introduction, playing a quiet reed off the harmonic flute. Canon was in evidence. He built up to a final chorus that, while it held few surprises, uplifted and celebrated the tune. 

Deep in the Heart of Texas was an exercise in theatre-organ camp, as well as the heaviest tremulants the organ offered (and they were heavy enough). More a rousing movie-house rendition than anything else, with no subtlety that I could detect, it nevertheless elicited whoops and yips from the audience members who “got it.”

The submitted themes were two: Coronation and Laudes Domini, or “All Hail the Power” and “When Morning Gilds the Skies.” I noted the possibility of a quodlibet approach—some kind of combination of two themes with an upbeat and the same meter—but Scott chose to present the two essentially in sequence, building a chorale that moved to a climax, much in the manner of Gerre Hancock. 

Both Jonathan Rudy and Patrick Scott are rapidly developing artists, and it will be a pleasure to hear from them again in the future.

 

Tuesday afternoon 

Hymn Festival with David Cherwien,

St. Luke’s United Methodist Church

David Cherwien was the organist for this festival (playing the 2001/2014 four-manual, 77-rank Schantz organ), with Monica Griffin reading Susan Palo Cherwien’s poetic reflections between several of the offerings. This was supported by the Chancel Choir of the church, a brass quartet, a flutist, and a cellist. The sight of a massed, vested choir in that space brought to mind a time that has almost vanished, when traditional forms of Protestant Christianity were almost literally the voice of America. I felt a very old power in the room, and a good one at that.

Cherwien studied with Paul Manz, and the kindly and inventive spirit of the late master was clearly to be heard in the improvisations and accompaniments today. We opened with a grand anthem by Cherwien, To God Be Highest Glory and Praise, based on the third chapter of Daniel. A dramatic segue led us into the opening hymn.

I wish that our hymn festivals, this one included, would summon up the courage to focus on the grand, popular hymns of the past, rather than to continue to cheer for loud boiling test tubes like Earth and All Stars. (Here, though, the introduction was sheer delight, playing off a Bach minuet.) Similarly, the effort to lift up a more recent hymn—in this case, Thomas Pavlechko’s tune Jenkins—fell flat to my ears. I found this hymn both didactic and sullen; thankfully, no verse began “when our song says joy.” The text was off-putting in its repeated “we will trust the song,” a vacant sentiment. (Again, Cherwien’s interpretation was first-rate, including a toccata depicting “and the world says war.”) But when we came to When Peace, Like a River, that hymn of hard-won resignation and faith, the depth of shared feeling was palpable and intense. For that moment, I was entirely merged with the community, my critical distance abandoned, my faith in flower.

Cherwien did an excellent job with Yigdal, creating a partita out of the accompaniment. There was a thrillingly unexpected decrescendo, a quiet passage on flutes against the cantus on a principal, a fugal passage leading to the last verse (I thought of the Ninth Symphony), a grand finale with brass—wonderful, all of it.

David Cherwien was in top form for this event, and Susan’s reflections were poetic and thought-provoking. All in all, a memorable hymn festival. Just more oldies next time, please.

 

Tuesday evening

Richard Elliott with Brass of the Houston Symphony, 

First Presbyterian Church

The program (on Aeolian-Skinner Organ Co. Opus 912A, rebuilt by Schoenstein & Co. in 1993, three manuals, 72 ranks) followed an interesting format: first we had brass alone, then brass with organ, then organ alone. (The concert was preceded by a Texas barbecue, which was brilliant in an entirely different way.) The opening piece, Scherzo for Brass Quintet by John Cheetham, was a charming and effective curtain-raiser, and the playing was as tight and stylish as one could hope for—polished brass indeed!

Next was a piece commissioned for the convention, Rhapsody for Brass Quintet and Organ, by Eric Ewazen. At the outset, the brass takes the lead and the organ joins in on some abrupt chordal punctuations. Here, the timing was perfect and the musicianship altogether impressive. The piece is very attractive, a classical work in a contemporary voice, and it should prove accessible and popular. A spacious and substantial composition, it is also well organized, a trait to be appreciated. The composer took a deserved bow at the end.

At this point, the brass took their leave, and the rest of the program was for organ solo. We heard first the Reger fantasy opus 40, no. 1, on Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern. Richard Elliott rendered this work extremely well; we heard a rich range of sonorities and fine, poetic playing. The pacing was just right, and the architecture of the piece was rendered clearly. The next piece, a chorale prelude on Christe, redemptor omnium by C. Hubert H. Parry, was of course dwarfed by the Reger we’d just heard, but was rendered sweetly and idiomatically. S. Andrew Lloyd’s meditation on Herzlich tut mich verlangen, composed in 2014, began with a hauntingly hollow tone (the Nason Flute of the Choir?) and then presented the tune to a rapid filigree of accompaniment. The music grew more and more energetic, ending on a note of triumph and affirmation. A fine work by a younger composer.

The recital ended with a guaranteed crowd pleaser, Lynnwood Farnam’s Toccata on O Filii et Filiae. What more can be said about this short but imposing piece? Elliott played it to perfection and brought the recital home on a familiar note.

 

Wednesday, June 22

Isabelle Demers, with Michael N. Jacobson, alto saxophone,

Rice University, Shepherd School of Music, Edythe Bates Old
Recital Hall

The program (played on C. B. Fisk, Inc., Opus 109/Rosales Organ Builders Opus 21, three manuals, 84 ranks) contained a nod to the centennial of Max Reger’s death. The five pieces on the program, bookended by Reger, were explained in the program as somehow spelling the five letters in his name, a kind of soggetto cavato.

The opening work was Bach’s Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue, BWV 903, arranged by Reger. I didn’t know what to expect, as I was struck (even intimidated) by the sheer size of the organ in comparison with the room. An organ of that size and tone could easily fill several times the cubic footage of the recital hall. Built out to the very walls and close to the high roof, the instrument looked trapped. However, when the first elegantly phrased runs of the Bach sang out, I was pleasantly surprised at the amount of acoustic the room did offer. Isabelle Demers played from memory and used a very wide variety of registrations to realize the piece—far more color than the original harpsichord would have allowed. Reger added quite a bit to the original score; the final product is almost as much Reger as Bach, and I found it convincing. The performance was a tour de force. 

The Dupré Fileuse from Suite Bretonne was next, and again Demers played from memory. She has an entirely natural and unaffected presence and focuses intensively on the music. There was a great moment of showmanship in the final, lightly rolled chord. The performance was once again thrilling.

Michael Jacobson entered at this point to play the saxophone part of Réverie: Hommage à Francis Poulenc. This composition, by Luke Mayernik, was another commission for the Houston convention. There was a problem at the outset, in that the two instrumentalists didn’t tune. Yes, the organist played a note and then the saxophonist played a note, but they were not quite the same note and nothing was done about it. The music that followed was disturbingly out of tune.

As an organist who regularly works with a classical saxophonist, I was bothered by the haste and carelessness of the tuning process. Saxophones can and should play in tune—to imply otherwise is unacceptable. My sense of the piece may have been negatively affected by this issue. I also felt there were balance issues; the saxophone has uncanny carrying power, and can often outplay full organ, but here the organ frequently overwhelmed it. There were tuneful moments in the piece, and even hints of Poulenc’s wry sweetness. Still, I heard little neo-classical detachment or intellectuality. The piece rambled pleasantly enough in a romantic vein, but was more atmospheric than substantial. Then again, perhaps it was just out of tune. I’d like to hear it again.

A premiere followed the commission: Rachel Laurin’s Humoresque: Hommage à Marcel Dupré, op. 77. Demers shone in this delightful offering. It was a lovely revisiting of the Dupré Fileuse that we’d just heard, both recognizable and stylistically apt. The final coquettish chord—identical to that of the Dupré—was greeted with delighted laughter.

The final piece, Reger’s Hallelujah! Gott zu loben, op. 52, no. 3, was played from memory. The piece was rendered magnificently, and only in the final, massive, plagal cadence did I finally feel that the organ out-played the room. There were jarring clashes of harmonics as wave crashed into wave. This was not altogether the fault of the organist, who should be able to register with a free hand. In any case, it is the only other small concern I might raise about a spectacular recital.

 

Thursday, June 23

Ken Cowan, 

Rice University, Shepherd School of Music, Edythe Bates Old
Recital Hall 

The next afternoon, I was back at Rice, this time to hear the resident organist, Ken Cowan, in another excellent recital that had definite links to Demers’. The term intertextuality, borrowed from literary criticism, is apt here. As Demers’ program featured several works that talked to one another, Cowan’s program talked to Demers’. A fascinating and very advanced programming concept.

After an exceptionally personable and self-confident introduction, Cowan began with Homage to Bach and Widor by Emma Lou Diemer, commissioned for this convention. He played from memory. The music contained feints at the Liszt BACH (if not Franck’s Choral in A Minor!) and the Air on the G String, as well as quotations from the (in)famous Widor Toccata. While the performance was excellent—filled with confidence and superb musicianship—the music itself veered toward pastiche. Some of the quotations seemed gratuitous, and a joke or two may have fallen flat. However, in context of Demers’ recital the day previous, the theme of intertextuality—Bach via Reger, Dupré via Laurin, Poulenc via Mayernik—continued with another “homage” replete with quotation, this time Bach and Widor via Diemer. The programming, not just of this recital but of the previous one considered with it, was utterly fascinating.

The Roger-Ducasse Pastorale was next, and again Cowan delivered a world-class performance. He achieved a real spatial separation in a passage of quick manual changes, a wonderful effect. Virtuosity again reigned in the Toccata of Jean Guillou, a piece one might describe by paraphrasing Alice in Wonderland: furioser and furioser! Cowan handled this vast expressionist work with ease.

After this, I heard the best Danse Macabre of my life. The oft-heard main theme was fleshed out with the rest of what Saint-Saëns wrote. Cowan opened with an uncanny chiming effect that must have been rendered on high mutations. Dawn finally came, to the sweet sounds of the Rossignol. The entire piece was played wonderfully well and made a great impression.

The final piece was by Rachel Laurin (more intertextuality!): her Étude héroïque. This is an arresting and accessible piece, dazzling to watch as well as hear. Cowan brought out its dramatic harmonic progressions and diverse moods. Though very difficult, the work is not grotesquely or impossibly so, and could certainly be performed more widely. I hope that will be its fate!

 

Thursday evening

John Schwandt and Aaron David Miller, with Melissa Givens, soprano and narrator; Houston Symphony, Brett Mitchell, conductor; video production by Stage Directions;

St. Martin’s Episcopal Church

I was very intrigued, upon arriving back at St. Martin’s (to end the convention as it had begun), to see that the opening item on the program was a greeting from Colonel Jeff Williams of the International Space Station. I was hoping for some reference at the convention to the role Houston has played in American’s space program, and I was going to get it. But I viewed the rest of the program with a little trepidation. Space station—Hildegard—something about cornfields—improvisations—concertos—! I wondered if the program had bitten off more than it could chew. My fears turned out to be groundless, literally as well as figuratively.

On the big screen in front of the chancel, Col. Williams sent us a warm, personalized message about the convention, tying it in to the beauty of the earth itself. We then saw glorious images of the Earth from the ISS—a man-made heavenly body one may easily track across the night sky. These images gave way to others from the Hubble Space Telescope. The cosmic imagery continued to play across the screen, offering a visual continuity for the entire concert. Only when the music of Hildegard was sung did the imagery switch to her extraordinary artworks. The music, including improvisations by both of the featured organists, a duet, and two concertos, all harmonized astonishingly well with the context asserted by the visuals. The convention commission was titled Interstellar: Cornfield Chase, by Hans Zimmer, arranged by Aaron David Miller as a duet. The two organists worked very well together, and the music featured one of the organ’s chimes as well as a wonderfully atmospheric (if not entirely chase-like) ambience. Hildegard’s songs, though chant-like, contained wonderfully expressive moments and some daring leaps.

It must be admitted that some of the music was soundtrack-like, reminiscent of the “two hours of cosmic music” videos one encounters on YouTube. However, it was more than that, as it featured a good deal of rigorous invention as well as a “cosmic” flavor. And frankly, I found the latter refreshing.

It would be difficult to prefer one of the improvisers over the other; both are able practitioners and did themselves credit. Both had an eye to improvising on the Hildegard theme that had just been sung, as well as accompanying the images on the screen, silent-movie-like. Likewise, both interacted with the orchestra seamlessly; Miller with the Howard Hanson Concerto for Organ, Harp and Strings, op. 22/3, and John Schwandt with the Poulenc. Both concertos were played with excellent balance and interpretation. An interesting detail involved the transitions from the improvisations into the concertos: in both cases they were handled as attaccas, the orchestra quickly tuning the instant the organ stopped. There was a lot of space but no dead air.

The Poulenc, wisely, was placed last, as it was the most intensely energetic music on the program and guided our re-entry to earth as the convention ended. To use another cosmic metaphor, the Houston AGO convention ended with a big bang.

The concluding reception was exceptional, with Tex-Mex food and the “passing of the torch” to the Kansas City team. What they will cook up, besides barbecue, one can only imagine.

—Jonathan B. Hall

Monday, June 20

Rising Stars Recitals, 

St. Thomas’s Episcopal Church

The recitals were played on St. Thomas’s three-manual, 43-rank Schoenstein & Co. organ, an instrument that could be made to sound much larger than its actual size. Madeleine Woodworth (Great Lakes Region) began, playing a memorized program of Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543, and Dupré’s Variations sur un Noël. The Bach fugue was taken at a very brisk tempo, using the same registration throughout. Woodworth had mastered the counterpoint and accents and recovered well from a minor slipup. The Dupré variations were a fine choice for this organ; especially nice was the flute in the fifth variation. 

Next up was Chase Loomer (Southeast Region), also playing from memory, beginning with Howells’s Psalm Prelude Set 1, no. 1, op. 32, no. 1. He built lovely crescendos and decrescendos and offered sensitive playing in the very soft sections. He concluded with Liszt’s Präludium und Fuge über den Namen BACH, S. 260, a complete contrast in dynamic and mood, delivered with confidence and sensitivity.

David Ball (North Central Region) began with a commissioned work by Ryan Dodge, Psalm 30: For you changed my mourning into dancing, a jazz-tinged, free-form piece that utilized higher-pitched stops against lower, thick chords, then broke out into the “dancing.” This was followed by a nicely done reading of Samuel Barber’s Wondrous Love: Variations on a shape-note hymn, op. 34. Ball finished strongly, with Mozart’s Fantasie in F Minor, K. 608; exploiting the piece’s strong contrasts and moods and most clearly demonstrating the main versus the antiphonal divisions of the organ.

Jeremy Jelinek (Mid-Atlantic Region) played a memorized program, of Alain’s Litanies (quite fast!) and Fantasmagorie (from Quatre oeuvres pour orgue), demonstrating the organ’s lovely flutes, and closing with Duruflé’s Prélude et Fugue sur le nom d’Alain, played with elegance and assurance. In the fugue, he built up a marvelous crescendo, always able to add a bit more.

Monica Czausz (Southwest Region) offered contemporary works, performed from memory: John Ireland’s Capriccio, a pleasant, cheerful piece that began on the flutes and grew dynamically; Alain’s Deuxième Fantaisie, in a wonderful, mystical reading, and Final (from Hommage à Igor Stravinsky) by Naji Hakim, in which Czausz tossed off the rapid manual changes in this difficult piece with aplomb. She certainly displayed mastery of the organ console, with an easy facility of stop and manual changes.

Tyler Boehmer (West Region) presented a refreshing mix of works. He began by accompanying a tenor singing Bach’s aria Ich habe genug, with his own transcription of the accompaniment, then performed a lovely atmospheric piece, Eden (from The Three Gardens), by S. Andrew Lloyd. The flutes and strings were on display, and the work (which I heard quoting Victimae paschali laudes), ended with a whisper. Boehmer concluded with a fine rendering of Dupré’s Résurrection (from Symphonie-Passion).

Colin MacKnight (Northeast Region) closed with a memorized program that began with the Impromptu from Vierne’s 24 Pièces de Fantaisie, Suite No. 3, op. 54, no. 2, all relaxed and pretty, followed by a very nicely done Andante espressivo from Elgar’s Sonata, op. 28. He closed the morning off with a showstopper, Rachel Laurin’s Étude Héroïque, op. 38, a multi-sectional, broadly assertive piece that opened on full organ. After backing off a bit, the piece grew more majestic, and MacKnight displayed much registrational color and rhythm. The opening bravado returned, to close the work on full organ. MacKnight made fine use of the antiphonal division.

 

Monday afternoon

Marie-Bernadette Dufourcet,

Church of St. John the Divine

Marie-Bernadette Dufourcet presented an all-French program on the five-manual, 143-rank Opus 97 (2005) Orgues Létourneau organ at the Church of St. John the Divine. I was seated in the balcony, directly in front of the antiphonal division; it was probably not the ideal location from which to hear the organ, and most every piece sounded quite loud to me. Dufourcet’s recital was bookended by works of Naji Hakim, opening with Arabesques, which exhibited rhythmic outbursts and theatre-organ stylistic elements. Next she presented one of her own compositions, Image, which opened in an impressionistic style using flute and tremolo; she demonstrated many different registrations, including gapped combinations. This was followed by a muscular performance of the Allegro vivace from Widor’s Symphony No. 5, in which the power of this immense instrument was unleashed, including the pedal division’s 64′ stops. 

Her sweet and relaxed performance of Durufle’s Scherzo, op. 2, featured lots of clear upperwork and the organ’s lovely string division. The Fantaisie from Tournemire’s L’orgue mystique, op. 55, no. 7, opened with a rumbling bass and chant snippets, and featured mixture-laden flourishes and heroic chords moving slowly in non-traditional patterns. Dufourcet concluded her program with Naji Hakim’s Fandango, commissioned for the convention; I would describe it as “a Spanish dance goes to a roller rink.” It included a touch of the Zimbelstern and was rollicking great fun—an exuberant close to the recital.

 

Monday afternoon

Ludger Lohmann, 

St. Philip Presbyterian Church

Ludger Lohmann played a mixed program ranging from Buxtehude (born c. 1637) to Chen (born 1983), demonstrating how the 48-stop, unequal temperament Paul Fritts & Company organ could successfully present repertoire of many styles and periods. Like Dufourcet’s, the program design was bookended, here via Bach. Beginning with Bach’s Fantasie und Fuge g-moll, BWV 542, played without registrational changes, he proceeded to Buxtehude’s Choralfantasie ‘Nun freut euch, lieben Christen gmein.’ The variations were solidly played and ornamented, and featured delicious registrational combinations (and chiff!). 

Next up with Chelsea Chen’s delightful commissioned work, Chorale-Prelude on Bethold, a charming piece with dancing lines that sounded lovely with the organ’s flutes. The mood changed with Brahms’s Choralvorspiel und Fuge über ‘O Traurigkeit, o Herzeleid,’ and this lovely recital closed with the matching bookend, Liszt’s Präludium und Fuge über BACH. It was certainly a different experience hearing this work on a Baroque-style organ (especially the winding system), but it was musically successful and a most satisfying close.

 

Tuesday, June 21

The Rodland Duo, 

Episcopal Church of the Epiphany

Organist Catherine Rodland was joined by her sister, violist Carol Rodland. The 23-rank, two-manual, Vallotti-temperament 1983 Noack organ was a delightful counterpart to the rich sound of the viola, in a clear and friendly acoustic. This recital was wonderfully refreshing after hearing large instruments and repertoire to match; the room and the music invited me to relax and drink in the sonorities. The program began with Bach—first the Sonata in D Major, BWV 1028, for organ and viola, including creatively playing the accompaniment on a 4′ stop (thus above the viola’s line), with the bass line on the second manual. Next was Bach’s setting of Vivaldi’s Concerto in A Minor, BWV 593, for organ only—a fine choice for this instrument, and well played. Three works by living composers followed. David Liptak’s Ballast featured high clusters on the organ, with the viola playing bouncing thirds in different ranges, after which things really took off, though still grounded by the thirds. Adolphus Hailstork’s Lenten Mourning Tears, the commissioned work, presented free-form melodies that had a folk-tune or spiritual cast to them; it was lovely and atmospheric. The program closed with John Weaver’s Three Chorale Preludes for Viola and Organ—sturdy settings of Wondrous Love, with a canon at the fifth; the lullabying Land of Rest; and a martial Foundation. 

 

Wednesday, June 22

Edoardo Bellotti, 

Christ the King Lutheran Church 

Edoardo Bellotti presented a captivating program on the two-manual, 35-rank 1995 Noack organ, of eighteenth-century pieces that sandwiched in the commissioned work. Bellotti began with his own adaptation of Vivaldi’s Concerto ‘La Notte,’ op. 10, no. 2. Following the opening Largo, the second movement, Fantasmi (“Ghosts”), demonstrated the clarity a tracker instrument could produce. Movement 3, Il Sonno (“Sleep”), chordal progressions over an arpeggiated tenor line, was played using flute and tremulant; the fourth and final movement featured a do-re-mi-re-do-re-mi melodic pattern that would link this piece to the recital’s final work, Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in D Major, BWV 532. 

The second work, Domenico Zipoli’s All’Elevazione in F, was dedicated to the memory of the late Jacques van Oortmerssen. It was followed by the commissioned composition, Hans-Ola Ericsson’s God’s Angels Are His Messengers, a setting that began dissonantly with the tune in the pedal underneath a heavy ostinato-filled texture, and proceeded to powerful chord clusters. This was followed by Bengt Hambraeus’s chorale, God’s Angels Are His Messengers, sung by the audience; the chorale, part of the Hambraeus St. Michael’s Liturgy, is a sturdy tune in F-minor that ends on the dominant. 

The mood then lightened appreciably, with Haydn’s three-movement Symphonie L’Imperiale as transcribed by J. C. Bach. The first movement was charming (one does not hear an Alberti bass often in an organ recital!); Bellotti changed registrations for the repeats, which kept things fresh. In the Andante con Variationi, he treated us to the Rossignol and high upperwork, then in the closing Minuetto, utilized a full, reedy palette for a strong conclusion. The final work was Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in D Major, BWV 532, authoritatively played at a brisk tempo. From where I sat, some of the organ’s stops were a bit sluggish in the ensemble, and their slower speech in the rapid tempo made for a bit of muddiness. But all in all, a most satisfying and delightful program and performance.

 

Wednesday evening 

The Choir of St. Thomas Church, Fifth Avenue, New York City, 

Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart 

This concert was our second opportunity to hear Martin Pasi’s four-manual, 75-stop Opus 19 (having first heard it played by Michel Bouvard on June 20). The instrument boasts versatility and glorious sound, and it is at home in the contemporary architecture of the Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart.

Surely none of those who planned this concert had any idea that at this convention the Choir of St. Thomas Church, Fifth Avenue would be led by anyone other than John Scott. Scott’s sudden passing on August 12, 2015, shocked the community of organists and church musicians, and some of this feeling still lingered in the air.

But the choir was in the best of hands, and Scott would certainly have been pleased. Benjamin Sheen, St. Thomas’s acting director of music, and Stephen Buzard, St. Thomas’s acting organist, led the St. Thomas choir in a stirring, finely crafted program (mostly chosen by Scott himself) that lacked for nothing. 

The concert began with the choir singing a cappella early music from the front of the wonderfully resonant co-cathedral. After two English works, John Sheppard’s Libera nos, salva nos (in seven parts) and Tallis’s Magnificat octavi toni, the choir took a break and Stephen Buzard played Bach’s Komm, heiliger Geist, O Herre Gott (BWV 651, one of the “Great Eighteen”), a fine, stylish performance on Martin Pasi’s Opus 19. Next was an energetic performance of Byrd’s Laudibus in sanctis, then Bach’s motet Komm, Jesu, komm (BWV 229), with an unobtrusive continuo accompaniment. 

Leaping forward into the twentieth century, the choir sang Bernard Rose’s Feast Song for St. Cecilia, with a marvelous soaring solo treble line, and the Sanctus and Benedictus from Francis Grier’s Missa trinitatis sanctae, again featuring soaring solos in treble and tenor; the blend in the “Hosanna in excelsis” was amazingly pure. 

Benjamin Sheen then switched from his role as conductor to that of organist, delivering a fine reading of Rhapsody in D-flat Major, op. 17, no. 1, by Herbert Howells that put the powerful Pasi instrument on glorious display. During this, the choir made its way up to the balcony (where they sounded even better). They performed John Ireland’s Greater Love hath No Man, then reverenced the memories of Gerre Hancock with their performance of his Judge Eternal (commissioned for the 1988 AGO convention in Houston), and of John Scott, with their performance of his Behold, O God Our Defender. And to crown the program the choir offered a muscular I Was Glad by C. H. H. Parry, with a stirring crescendo on the word “Glorious” that guaranteed goosebumps. The audience’s ovation went on and on, and only an encore would stop it: Gerre Hancock’s thrillingly quiet setting of Deep River. Rest in peace, John Scott.

—Joyce Johnson Robinson