Harpsichord News

John Collins has been playing and researching early keyboard music for over 35 years, with special interests in the English, Italian, and Iberian repertoires. He has contributed many articles and reviews to several American and European journals, including The Diapason, and has been organist at St. George’s, Worthing, West Sussex, England for over 26 years.

In 2012 there are several composers whose anniversaries can be commemorated. There are several lesser-known names here whose compositions are well worth exploring. 

Giovanni Gabrieli (1557–1612). One of the leading Venetian composers of the late Renaissance, his 38 keyboard pieces comprise a set of intonations, 12 toccatas, 11 ricercars, three fantasias, two fugas, and nine canzonas. They are edited by Dalla Libera for Ricordi in three volumes; volume three contains 13 keyboard settings of motets. Many more were made by German composers but are not available in modern editions.   

Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck (1562–1621) was organist of the Oude Kirck, Amsterdam, and a seminal influence on North German organ music in the 17th century through his pupils. His authenticated keyboard works include some 17 toccatas, 24 fantasias, one ricercar, 12 sets of chorale and psalm variations, and 12 sets of dance and song variations, with several more works in each category considered of doubtful attribution. Two recent complete editions include those by Harald Vogel and Pieter Dirksen for Breitkopf & Härtel in four volumes, and Siegbert Rampe for Bärenreiter in eight volumes. A most useful guide is Pieter Dirksen’s book, The Keyboard Music of Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck, in which the pieces are discussed in depth.      

Hans Leo Hassler (1564–1612). Primarily known today for his vocal music, he studied organ in Venice with Andrea Gabrieli and became a leading player in Augsburg. He left a substantial corpus of keyboard works of considerable scope and length, most of it preserved in the Turin manuscript, including eight toccatas, 18 ricercari, 18 canzone, 14 magnificats, an organ mass, four fugues, and two sets of variations. A good selection, as well as the variations on Ich ging einmal spazieren, was edited by Georges Kiss for Schott and Sons. The toccatas were edited by S. Stribos for the American Institute of Musicology, and the magnificats by A. Carpenè for Il Levante Libreria. A few other pieces from other manuscript sources have been included in various anthologies. Twenty-five of the 39
intabulated songs from his Lustgarten of 1601 have been edited by M. Böcker for Breitkopf & Härtel. The complete works from the Turin manuscript are available in two volumes edited by W. Thein and U. Wethmuller for Breitkopf & Härtel, but at about £200 each they will remain well outside the reach of most players.    

Wolfgang Ebner (1612–65) was organist of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, Vienna, and court organist, contemporary with Froberger. The works certainly by him include three toccatas, a courante, a Capriccio sopra L’aria Pergamasco, the Partite sopra l’Aria Favorita with seven variations, and the 36 variations divided into three groups of 12 (the second and third groups being in the form of a courante and sarabande) on an Aria in A minor composed by Ferdinand III. Works of uncertain authenticity include 56 versets encompassing various forms—i.e., toccata, capriccio, fugue—in the eight church modes (eight of which are variants of pieces by Froberger, and one by Frescobaldi), two preludes, a partita in A, and eight individual dance movements. Published by Bärenreiter in two volumes edited by Siegbert Rampe, the edition also includes keyboard works by Georg Muffat. 

Wolfgang Briegel (1626–1712). Organist in Gotha and Darmstadt, he left a few keyboard pieces in manuscript. The eight fugues in the church tones are for manuals only and were edited by Wilhelm Krumbach for Kistner and Siegel as Die Orgel: Reihe ii nr. 19.  

Lambert Chaumont (ca. 1630–1712). Organist in Huys, southern Belgium, in 1695 he published a set entitled Pièces d’orgue sur les 8 tons, each of which opens with a prelude followed by about 12  to 15 pieces in the usual French style. There are also two fine chaconnes as well as a few dance movements clearly intended for harpsichord. He also provides useful information on registration and ornamentation as well as a short treatise on accompaniment and a tuning method for the harpsichord. Jean Ferrard has edited these pieces for Heugel.    

Sebastian Scherer (1631–1712). Organist of Ulm cathedral, in 1664 he published a print in two parts, the first being a set of four versets on the eight church tones notated on a two-stave system of six and eight lines respectively; the first and third are toccata-like, the first having held pedal notes; the second and fourth are fugal. The second contains eight substantial toccatas printed on four staves, one to each “part”. Each is multi-sectional with long-held pedal notes, and shows the influence of Frescobaldi. The two parts have been edited by A. Guilmant.    

Juan Baptista Cabanilles (1644–1712). Organist of Valencia cathedral, and regarded as the greatest of the Spanish Baroque composers for keyboard, he left well over 200 tientos, including examples of falsas, contras (which utilize sequential repetition over long pedal points for the pedals), medio registro/partido (i.e., for divided registers used as a solo in one or more voices), lleno (i.e., for the same stops used for the entire compass), a number of dances, toccatas, batallas, and almost 1,000 versos. None of his works were published in his lifetime, but manuscript copies were made, mainly by Elías and his other pupils. Most of the nine volumes of his tientos so far published include a mixture of the partido and lleno tientos. The contents of volume two are more varied, with three llenos, one partido, five passacalles, five gallardas in duple time with extensive sets of variations, two batallas (one of which is by Kerll), four paseos, folias, a xacara, a pedazo de musica, a gaitilla (partido), and six toccatas (one of which is partido). The nine volumes are all published by the Biblioteca de Catalunya, Barcelona.        

Friedrich Wilhelm Zachow (1663–1712). Organist in Halle and teacher of Handel, he left some 53 chorale preludes, including a splendid set of 12 variations on Jesu meine Freude, the great majority of which are playable on one manual and do not require pedals, and 13 secular pieces including preludes, fugues, fantasia, capriccio and a suite in B minor. There are modern editions by Heinz Lohmann for Breitkopf & Härtel, and Klaus Beckmann for Schott.

Johann Hanff (1665–1712), organist in Hamburg and Schleswig. Only three cantatas and six chorale preludes survive in manuscript. Five of the six are in the Buxtehude style with highly ornamented melodies in the right hand, but in Erbarm dich mein two verses are set, the second opening with a fugue based on the descending chromatic fourth before reverting to a right-hand solo of the ornamented melody. They have been edited by E. Kooiman for Harmonia Uitgave.   

Johann-Jakob de Neufville (1684–1712). This regrettably short-lived organist in Nuremberg published one volume of keyboard pieces in 1708, the contents of which show clearly the influence of his teacher, Pachelbel. It includes five arias with variations, three of which require pedals, and a splendid Ciacona in B Minor. A Suite in G Minor is preserved in manuscript. A complete modern edition has been edited by Raimund Schächer for Pro Organo Musikverlag.  

Joseph Torner (1700–62). Organist in Trier, he published at least two collections of liturgical pieces, comprising eight sets, each consisting of Offertorium, Elevatio, and Communio in binary form, and miscellaneous toccatas, arias, and dance pieces. The 1730 print, which contained pieces in major keys, is presumed lost, but the 1735 print with the liturgical pieces in minor keys from A to G, and in A major, has been edited by Hans-Peter Bähr in two volumes for Dr. J. Butz Musikverlag.    

Johann Eberlin (1702–62). Organist in Augsburg, he published nine toccatas for organ in two movements, the second being a well-wrought fugue or double fugue, edited by Rudolph Walter for Coppenrath (now available through Carus Verlag) and two sets of versets (65 and 115) on the eight church tones, which are edited by Rudolph Walter for Verlag Doblinger. The pedal parts are limited to long held notes; these pieces make excellent material for clavichord. The 65 versets offer excellent practice in playing relatively short contrapuntal works and also include some challenging preludes and finales. Eberlin also published two sonatas, which sound well on any keyboard instrument. These are edited by Laura Cerutti for Armelin Musica. 

Pietro Chiarini (1712–77) was an organist in Cremona. Six of his pieces are found in a manuscript compiled by
G. Poffa. They include two allegros (both through-composed, the first one headed con violincello, cornetti e tromboncini in risposta), a marcia, a sinfonia in three movements, and two sonatas, the first through-composed in one movement, the second a substantial work in three movements concluding with a minuetto. Edited by F. Caporali for Armelin Musica, in Musica per Tastiera del ‘700 Cremonense; the volume also contains pieces by Calamani and Galli.   

John Stanley (1712–86). Organist of the Temple Church, he published three sets of ten voluntaries, each including examples of both the “1st voluntary” for solo stops and the “2nd voluntary” in the form of a prelude and fugue. Two sets of concerti (six as op. 2 and ten as op. 10 respectively) for harpsichord or organ were also published in versions for solo keyboard performance. Contemporary manuscripts also contain several arrangements of movements from his two sets of solos for melody instrument and also from his concerti. There are several modern editions of the three sets of voluntaries, all 30 being edited in one volume by G. Lewin for Greg Lewin Music, who has also edited (in two volumes) the six concerti for keyboard. A facsimile of the set of ten concerti has been edited by G. Gifford for Oxford University Press. In volumes three and four of English Organ Music, an anthology, published by Novello, Robin Langley has edited early versions from the Reading manuscript of some of the voluntaries that were printed in the three sets and of voluntaries in the Southgate manuscript.    

Johann Sperger (1750–1812). Organist in Ludwigslust, he was one of the leading double-bass players of his day and left many symphonies and chamber pieces. Two collections of his organ pieces preserved in manuscripts in
Schwerin have been edited in one volume by Dieter Ultzen for Dr. J. Butz Musikverlag. The first collection is actually a selection of the preludes and versets printed in 1689 in Wegweiser followed by four short fugues; the second is a series of preludes in various keys that reflect the Classical and Rococo influence; many of them consist of decorative figuration over sustained chords.        

Carlo Gervasoni (1762–1819) was Maestro di cappella in Borgotara, in which town he oversaw the construction of a fine organ in 1795. Well known in his day for his theoretical works, including notes on organ performance practice, particularly on instruments with several manuals, he also left some organ sonatas. The lezioni from the Scuola della musica of 1800 have been edited by M. Machella for Armelin.

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Additional practice techniques

This month and next month I will discuss a number of practice techniques that involve changing something in the music while practicing. This includes practicing in rhythms other than the true rhythm of the passage being practiced, and practicing passages with some of the notes actually omitted. (The former is the subject this month, and the latter next month.) Some of the techniques are generally quite familiar, although I may have my own twist on them. I have at least briefly alluded to some of them elsewhere, but I think that it is useful to bring them together here and to zero in on them in a bit more detail.

Any and all of the techniques that I will describe here are meant only to supplement the basic, solid way of practicing that I try never to miss a chance to describe: slow, careful repetition—with or without separating hands and feet, depending on the exact circumstances—with correct notes and correct rhythms, speeding up only gradually, in a way that is determined by the flow of the practicing itself, rather than by any predetermined schedule. This discussion of, among other things, practicing “wrong” rhythms comes the month after I talked about various ways of thinking about counting and the art of learning correct rhythms. Therefore it is important to remember that practicing in alternate rhythms is a technique that should have a well-focused purpose and that should be kept conceptually separate from playing the piece or passage as such. I will talk some about how to maintain this separation.

Alternate rhythms: dotted values

For me, the purpose of practicing in alternate rhythms is quite specific: it is a halfway point between a slow practice tempo and a faster tempo, which may be the performance tempo or may be even faster than that. When a rhythm is altered, some notes become faster and some slower. The faster notes are being practiced in isolation at a faster tempo than they would have otherwise; the slower notes, because they are slower than they would otherwise be, provide an opportunity to rest and regroup between fast notes. The classic form of this sort of practice is, therefore, to create pairs of practice rhythms, in each of which half the notes are fast and the other half slow, and between which all of the notes get a chance to be the ones that are being played (extra) fast. 

In turn, the classic form of that technique is to take a passage in which the note values are uniform and to make those note values dotted. So a passage that looks like that in Example 1 will be played first like Example 2, and then like Example 3.

The purpose of this, again, is technical. The first rhythm offers a chance to practice half of the movements from one note to the next quickly; the second offers the chance to practice the other half equally quickly. Because this kind of practice allows the player to stop and rest, in effect, after each fast gesture, it is usually possible to include and drill those fast gestures sooner in the process of learning the piece than it would be possible to boost the overall tempo to that same speed.

A modification of this technique that I think makes it even more useful is to replace the dotted rhythms (“regular” and “reverse”) with a kind of unmeasured over-dotting. So, in the above rhythmic templates, the dotted eighth-notes would all be replaced with fermata-ed notes to be held as long as you want, and the sixteenth-notes would be replaced with notes as short, quick, and light as you can make them. This approach creates an even more intense drilling of the quick gestures and an even more effective rest between those gestures. It also, by virtue of its being farther from any sort of regular pulse, has less ability to affect or possibly undermine the regular steady rhythm of the passage when the player returns to regular rhythm.

This sort of practicing can be applied very naturally to a line such as the opening of Bach’s Prelude & Fugue in G Major, BWV 541 (Example 4), which is in one voice only and in all or almost all one note-value. Practicing a line such as this in some version of dotted rhythm is most useful if you analyze what it is that you are gaining in each spot in the line. For example, when it is the on-the-beat sixteenth-notes that are held long, then going from the first beat to the second beat of the second measure (marked x) you will be practicing quickly moving the hand position in such a way as to reach the middle D reliably. 

In a passage such as Example 5—from the Vierne Divertissement (Pièces en Style Libre)—if a dotted rhythm is applied to the sixteenth-note line, the quarter-note chords will come along for the ride, and the practicing of those chords will also be affected. If the on-the-beat sixteenth-notes are being held long, then in spots like those marked with x’s the student must be fully ready to play the next chord, as well as the next sixteenth-note, before playing the (very fast) off-the-beat sixteenth-note. The actual gesture of moving from one chord to another will then be fast: probably faster than it will need to be in the piece. However, the student will have time, waiting on the “and of two,” to prepare that very fast gesture. The other half of the exercise—the reverse dotting—applied to this passage probably has less effect on the feel of the playing of the chords. In that case, moments like those marked with y’s will probably constitute the most intense and useful part of the exercise—playing wide intervals very quickly. 

In writing like Example 6—from the Bach Toccata & Fugue in F Major—these sorts of rhythms can be applied to one hand at a time and then to both hands together. Again, the student should analyze and pay attention to what exactly is being practiced at each moment in the passage. For example, going from the second beat to the third beat of the first measure of this excerpt, the left hand has a “stretch” or shift in hand position while the right hand does not; the opposite is true near the end of the fourth measure, or heading into the last measure. The use of the two complementary dotting patterns will highlight some of these technical details.

(Would it be a good idea to practice this passage or one like it using opposite dotting in the two hands? That is, first place the lengthened notes on the beats in the right hand and off the beats in the left hand, then reverse both of these. I have actually never tried that and I can’t recall a student’s doing it. The purely physical practice would be unchanged from the method described above, but the concentration required would be different—and it would probably be harder.)

Alternate rhythms: 

Groupings of notes

Another format for altering rhythms to create effective targeted practice strategies involves speeding up not one note at a time (every other note, as above) but clusters of notes. The classic way of organizing this is to play first all of the notes after each beat very fast, ending on and then holding the next beat, then to play all of the notes starting on each beat very fast, ending with the last off-the-beat note of each grouping. The template for doing this works as follows. For a set of notes written like Example 7, you would first play as shown in Example 8, with the notes under each slur played as fast as possible, and the notes under the fermatas held as long as necessary to feel ready to play the next cluster of fast notes; then Example 9.

In this case, the notes under the slurs should again be played as fast as possible. Then the last note of each grouping can be held until it feels comfortable to execute the next cluster of fast notes, or the note can be released, and the waiting can take place while not actually holding any notes: in effect a fermata in the gap between groups of notes. In the latter case, of course, it is a good idea not to let the hands or feet move too far above or away from the keys.

(As it happens, I myself have recently used the fast-cluster approach myself on this Buxtehude harpsichord passage, from the La Capricciosa Variations, which I have always found extremely hard—harder than I had originally expected [Example 10]. This measure is full of funny changes of direction and unexpected intervals. I was eventually able to get comfortable with it—and to get it to be reliable—and I believe that the fast-cluster practicing was the most important part of the process.)

How to use alternate rhythms

Practicing in “off” rhythms is, as I said above, a technical practice. The purpose is not to learn something about rhythm or any other artistic or interpretive aspect of the piece. It is to drill isolated gestures at a fast tempo in a focused way that does not demand that the fast tempo be kept up for very long. Therefore, it only makes sense to practice a passage this way (that is, in one of these ways) once the fingering and/or pedaling has been worked out and is indeed fairly well learned. If the fingering or pedaling is uncertain, then the fast moments in the rhythmic patterns are not going to work: they will be hesitant or actually fall apart. It also makes sense to practice this way only with a complete texture or with a part of the texture that involves the same fingering and pedaling as the complete texture. That is, it is fine—very useful in fact—to apply different rhythms to one hand at a time or to the feet alone, but not to separate voices extracted from a contrapuntal piece.

Since the technical purpose of this sort of practice is focused on the fast moments, the slow moments, whether they amount to every other note or to one note in a larger grouping, can be held for as long as the player wants. There does not need to be an overall tempo. Since every gesture—moving from one note to the next—takes its turn at being the fast gesture, everything gets practiced effectively regardless of how long—how slow—the held notes are. The less regular the timing of the held notes—the more the student simply waits on those notes until he or she feels ready to play the next fast gesture—the less this kind of practice will have any tendency to interfere with normal rhythm, because it will not be presenting an effective alternate rhythm.

It is easiest to apply this kind of practicing to passages in which rhythm is more or less even, as in all of the examples so far. In a passage such as Example 11, from Buxtehude’s Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 136, the rhythm is less regular. There are beats in which the surface rhythm is two eighth-notes, in which it is four sixteenth-notes, and in which it is mixed. In the second beat of each of the first two measures of this excerpt, for example, if all of the notes within that beat are being played fast, then it would be conceivable either to try to maintain the rhythmic relationships within the beat, or just to play all of the notes as fast as possible and, therefore, as fast as one another, whether they are in fact eighth-notes or sixteenths. Either approach could be fine, as far as I can tell, and they would both amount to effective practicing. In fact, students can be encouraged to create their own short clusters of notes for very fast practicing, and to figure out how they would like to deal with rhythms within those clusters. As long as the clusters are not very long, and as long as they overlap by a note or two, the practicing should work well. 

Next month I will talk about a sort of practicing that is, in a sense, the opposite of what I have been discussing here, namely playing some notes of a passage while leaving the other notes out. The reasons for doing this are usually not technical, but rather about developing the ears’ relationship to the music in a way that enhances understanding of structure, rhythm, and pulse.

Gavin Black is director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center

Hard pieces and 

recalcitrant passages

This month I am writing about the phenomenon of pieces being difficult and the related phenomenon of specific passages being hard to learn: either difficult by any standard or surprisingly difficult—for reasons that may seem elusive—for a particular student. This is not a very systematic or methodological discussion: just a few ideas—almost just random thoughts—that I think are interesting or that may help some students or teachers. 

We all believe that some pieces are harder to learn or to perform than other pieces. This—just as a basic fact—is probably as close to uncontroversial as anything gets in the field of music and music teaching in general, or of organ-playing and organ teaching in particular. We don’t necessarily all agree as to which pieces are more difficult and which less so. Most of us, from our own experiences as players and from what we have seen with our own students or other performers, know that different pieces or sorts of pieces are more or less difficult for different players, and at different times in one player’s career.

Repertoire in order of difficulty

When I first acquired copies of one or two volumes of the Peters edition of the Bach organ music—in about 1971, at the age of about fourteen—I noticed that the separately bound Preface included a listing of all of the (non-chorale based) pieces arranged according to difficulty. I was excited about this, since it seemed both useful and authoritative. I allowed it to influence what pieces I chose to work on—though not in a logical or consistent way. Sometimes I would choose a piece because I thought it was easy enough to be within my grasp, sometimes I would spurn and reject pieces that were described as being “easy,” because I thought that working on them would be sort of embarrassing, classifying me as “not very good.” Needless to say, this was all rather silly. 

I did continue for a long time—after my studying had become at least a bit more systematic and effective—to cast sneaky glances at the list out of the corner of my eye. I would pat myself on the back just a little a bit whenever I put in some work on a piece in the top half or so of the difficulty scale. I pretty much stopped doing this when Eugene Roan, with whom I had by then started taking lessons, mentioned casually to me one day that an eminent recitalist he know thought that piece x was much more difficult than piece y—the opposite order from the Peters list. This introduced me to the idea that this whole difficulty thing could be relative, though at that point in my career I couldn’t have said how or why this might be so. 

Reger and Straube

Another way that the concept of difficulty as a kind of independent variable in pieces of music came to my attention when I was first getting interested in organ was through hearing the story of Max Reger and Karl Straube. The idea was that Reger had made his organ pieces more and more difficult in the hope of writing something that Straube, his good friend who was also the leading German organ virtuoso of the time, would be unable to play. It was also said that he never succeeded: that Straube “won.” There are a couple of interesting things about this. One is that, of course, it is trivially easy to write a piece that is unplayable, if that is really all that you want to do. All that you need to do is to write notes that are too far apart in compass to reach.  The music does not have to be particularly complex or intricate or fast. However, a piece that is really unplayable will, in fact, not be played. That is never in any composer’s interest. Not surprisingly, composers—whether they are writing for Karl Straube or not—tend to approach daringly close to that “unplayable” line, and then to decide not to cross it. This is as true of a composer like Beethoven, who stated bluntly that he didn’t care what performers could or couldn’t do, as it is of composers like Bach or Franck, whose keyboard compositions arose out of their own work as performers and improvisers. 

It is also interesting that Straube—as a student, before he had met Reger in person—was in fact drawn to Reger’s music in part because it was first presented to him as being too difficult to play. Straube’s teacher Heinrich Reimann showed him Reger’s then very recently published Suite in E Minor, op. 16, telling him that it was unplayable. This seems to have motivated Straube to learn it, which may or may not have been Reimann’s intention all along. I myself, when I was still more-or-less a student, occasionally started to work on a piece because someone had said to me that I could not learn it. (This was never, in my case, one of my own teachers.) I always learned something valuable from the attempt, although it did not necessarily result in my mastering the piece in question at that time.

Aspects of difficulty 

When we talk about a piece’s being very difficult, we are almost always talking about the learning and reliable playing of the notes: the right notes, in the right order, at a suitable tempo. That is not to say that anyone denies that other aspects of playing a piece can be difficult. In fact, performing even a simple piece in such a way that it is extraordinarily compelling, beautiful, interesting, thought-provoking, disturbing, whatever we want it to be, is probably as hard and (at least) as rarely achieved as playing a difficult piece competently. However, that is indeed a different thing. When students ask whether the Goldberg Variations or the Dupré Prelude and Fugue in G Minor is too hard for them, they are rarely inquiring about whether the teacher thinks that they can project the deepest meaning of the piece effectively. Of course, there is always this relationship between what might for the sake of simplicity be called the two types of difficulty: that the better-learned the notes of a piece can become for a given player—the closer the piece can come to feeling easy once it has been learned—the more of a chance there is that a performance can also be musically effective.

The piece that I happen to have been practicing the most in the week or so before I sat down to write this column is the “In Nomine” by John Bull that is found in volume 1 of The Fitzwilliam Virginal Book. The makers of a list like the Peters Bach organ repertoire list would probably put this piece at the easy end of “moderate” or the somewhat high end of “easy.” It is in three voices throughout, but none of the voices is very busy or intricate. For much of the piece the middle voice lies in such a way that it could be taken by either hand, so there is a fair amount of fingering flexibility. It is (though this is obviously subjective) not a piece that many people would think should go very fast: certainly not fast enough to make playing it into an athletic challenge—which some of Bull’s pieces are. This is a piece that I used to play a lot and, as best I can remember, I did indeed initially choose it because it was not too athletic. Bull’s Walsingham or King’s Hunt would have seemed beyond me many years ago. However, it occurs to me that this piece is a good illustration of the relationship between note-learning difficulty and tempo. There is—literally—a set of tempos at which this short Bull piece would be harder to play than the Reger Opus 16: that is, a mind-bendingly fast tempo for the Bull and a glacial tempo for the Reger. In order to achieve my inverting of the difficulty of these two pieces, the tempos would have to be so extreme that they would both be well outside what anyone would ever do. However, within a more realistic range of performance tempos, the Bull can become a virtuoso challenge of its own, and the Reger can move from the “impossible” all the way down to the “very hard.”

Difficult passages

Many pieces that have a reputation for being very hard are as difficult as their reputations suggest only in spots. For example, the Bach F-major Toccata is considered one of his hardest organ pieces. It earned a very high place on “the list”—maybe at the very top, certainly close. However, long stretches of the piece are really not hard at all. The opening has nothing going on in the pedal, and the two manual lines are somewhat intricate, but not remotely beyond the bounds of the “intermediate” for anyone. Then there is a pedal solo, which is also quite learnable. The following two pages are essentially a recap of this opening: carefully designed by the always pedagogically aware composer to be a bit longer and a bit trickier than the opening itself, but similar in nature. Then, beginning at about the fifth page, the hands and feet start moving together, and things get more complex. Still, however, the notes fall into place quite naturally. Most players I know who have worked on this piece report that this section yields nicely to practicing and is not more difficult than other Bach prelude-type pieces. It is the three brief passages that involve the return of the opening motif of the piece, this time in manuals and pedal together, that seem really hair-raising to many of those who work on the piece. This is not everyone’s experience, but it is a common one. Other very difficult pieces can be analyzed this way as well: perhaps most of them. In the Goldberg Variations, for another example, probably about eighty percent of the writing is no more difficult than the average for The Well-tempered Clavier or Handel harpsichord suites. That is not, by any standards, “easy.” But it is the remaining fifth or so of the work that gives it its reputation as “only for advanced players.”

One source of difficulty in working on pieces of music is unfamiliarity with a particular style or the technical tendencies of a particular type of music. Ralph Kirkpatrick, in his preface to his edition of sixty Scarlatti sonatas, first outlines a set of rigorous ideas about how to work on the sonatas, both as to analysis and as to practicing. Then he says that if a student approaches six sonatas this thoroughly he or she will not have to do the same with the next sonata or later ones. The particular shapes of a given kind of music become ingrained. I myself, as a player who has worked more on Baroque music than on anything else, find it much easier both to sight-read and to learn Baroque pieces—even complex and difficult ones—than music from a later era. To me this suggests patience. If a student is working on his or her first piece from a particular genre or style or time period, then that piece is going to be harder than the next one will be. That should not be surprising.

Practice strategies

If a student is interested in working on a piece that seems too hard, I am extremely committed to letting him or her do so and to making it work. The first step for me is to try to figure out whether the difficulty is found in a few spots or more or less throughout. This affects learning strategy. In the first instance, I will suggest to the student that we break the piece up and completely abandon any thought that it is one unified piece—just for the time being of course, but with a lack of impatience as to how long that time will be. Then the easier—more “normal”—parts can be practiced and learned in a “normal” way, systematically and carefully, along the lines that I have written about before. The extremely hard passages can be treated as intensive exercises: analyzed, taken apart, put back together and practiced to within an inch of their lives. 

A piece that is quite difficult—perhaps too difficult for the student—and of much the same difficulty throughout simply needs to be taken apart and practiced well. The key here is to make sure that the student understands what the process will feel like. Anyone can practice anything effectively if it is kept slow enough. In this context, the meaning of a piece’s being “too hard” is simply that working on it correctly will take a long time. Would the student rather work on this piece for a very long time, or postpone it, work on other pieces in the meantime, and wait to work on the proposed piece later? This is simply a matter of what the student prefers: either approach is fine for helping him or her to become a more accomplished player. 

In fact, it can be perfectly useful and helpful for a student to work on a challenging piece even if he or she never really learns it—assuming that the failure to learn it is of the right sort. If the goal is to perform a piece then, by definition, that piece must be practiced until it is learned and secure and ready to go. However, if the goal is to use the process of working on a piece to become a better player in the long run, then it doesn’t matter whether the time put in practicing that piece is followed by more time with that same piece (eventually leading to its being learned) or by practicing a new piece. The choice to practice a hard piece up to a certain point and then let it go is perfectly acceptable, assuming that the student is happy with it, and understands that it is a process, not a failure. And of course, that same piece will be there for the student to come back to later. In fact, the first round of work on the piece will leave that piece in very good shape to be picked up again later: it will probably even get better during any time that the student takes off from it. It will be sinking into the subconscious mind. The only technical requirement for this approach to be fruitful is that the work done on the piece—or any section of it—be accurate and technically sound, but below tempo. If the piece is put aside in this way, it should be put aside at a slow tempo but otherwise exactly as it should be.

Gavin Black is director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected]. A selection of Gavin Black’s organ performances can now be heard on YouTube by searching on his name at the YouTube website.

Robert Tifft is Evening Circulation Supervisor for the Bridwell Library at Southern Methodist University. His 28-year friendship with János Sebestyén arose from lifelong passions for the harpsichord and record collecting. In 2000 he created the János Sebestyén webpage at www.jsebestyen.org.

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON

János Sebestyén (1931-2012)

by Robert Tifft

There were many sides to János Sebestyén. Few people, even among his friends, knew them all or were aware of his many accomplishments. To record collectors he was an enigmatic figure whose name appeared on often-obscure recordings. In Hungary, concert audiences knew him from decades of performances on harpsichord and organ. For others he was a familiar presence on radio and television. His students often knew him only as their professor. I was privileged to experience first-hand his work in all these areas. 

János Sebestyén was born in Budapest on March 2, 1931. Both parents were musicians—his father Sándor a cellist and mother Rózsi a pianist. His musical education began with his mother and continued at the Liszt Ferenc Academy of Music, where he studied organ, piano, and composition. He graduated with an organ diploma in 1955, a student of János Hammerschlag and Ferenc Gergely. His association with the harpsichord came about purely by chance. In 1957 he was asked to play the instrument for a performance of Frank Martin’s Petite Symphonie Concertante. The harpsichord was unfamiliar to many in Hungary and this performance awakened an interest with both the public and a number of composers. Sebestyén soon established himself as the only concertizing harpsichordist in Hungary.

At the same time he worked at the Hungarian Radio. His career there began in 1950 and by 1962 he was writing and hosting his own programs. These broadcasts continued for 45 years and dealt not only with music, but also politics and history. He was a true reporter, never without camera and tape recorder. His most famous program, The Diary of a Radio Reporter, was a monthly broadcast that documented in sound the cultural and political events that had taken place fifty years previous to the air date. The radio was his lifelong passion.

Sebestyén’s performing career outside Hungary began in 1958 with a tour of Scandinavia. Russia followed in 1961, then Holland the following year. A tour of Italy in 1963 was pivotal in many respects and this country would become his second home. It was in Rome that he first met composer Miklós Rózsa, resulting in a lifelong friendship. In Milan he was reunited with former Hungarian Radio colleague Thomas Gallia, a sound engineer now working as studio director at the Angelicum, an important cultural center with a permanent orchestra and recording studio. 

Sebestyén’s discography may be divided into two parts: the recordings made in Hungary, and those in Italy. Most of the recordings in Hungary were for the state label Hungaroton, while those in Italy were published by a number of labels in Europe and the United States. His association with Vox in New York came about after Gallia and Rózsa suggested him to George Mendelssohn, owner of the label. Mendelssohn, famous for his frugality, provided little money and expected his artists to work quickly. Sebestyén was rarely happy with the results; the recordings in Italy were rushed and the instruments he played were far from ideal. He said these recordings pursued him like phantoms, disappearing from one label, only to be resurrected on another. Some remained available for decades. 

It was his collaboration with violinist Dénes Kovács for a 1970 recording of Corelli’s sonatas that led to the establishment of the harpsichord department at the Academy of Music. Kovács, then rector of the Academy, charged Sebestyén with the task of leading the department. While Sebestyén was never part of the early music movement, he provided every opportunity to expose his students to the newly emerging historical approach to the harpsichord, inviting prominent harpsichordists from throughout Europe for concerts and workshops. He encouraged his students to explore works outside the standard harpsichord repertoire and insisted they play new music. He wanted them to be as flexible as possible—to feel comfortable also at the piano or organ, and thus not limit themselves. He never considered himself a specialist, relying instead on his musical instincts to navigate the entire keyboard repertoire.

Sebestyén’s personal life was as passionate and varied as his professional activities. His circle of friends included actors, artists, pilots, doctors, and diplomats. It is no exaggeration to say that visitors flocked to his home, seeking knowledge and advice, or simply to enjoy his dark yet playful sense of humor. No one in Budapest was as well-connected—he knew everyone and had the ability to get things done. His accomplishments were many and there is no doubt he secured for the harpsichord a permanent place in Hungarian musical life and achieved near-legendary status at the Hungarian Radio. He was loved by his students, friends, and colleagues, and for me, our friendship was both unexpected and rewarding. János Sebestyén died in Budapest on February 4, 2012.

News items and comments for these pages are always welcome. Address them to Dr. Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas 75275. E-mail:

[email protected]

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June 27-July 2, 2011, Washington, D.C.

Frank Rippl holds a BM degree from Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin, where he was a student of Miriam Clapp Duncan and Wolfgang Rübsam, and an MA degree from the University of Denver. He has been organist/choirmaster at All Saints Episcopal Church in Appleton since 1971, is co-founder of the Appleton Boychoir, and coordinator of the Lunchtime Organ Recital Series. Photos by Len Levasseur

In the immortal words of Charles  Dickens, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Now, please don’t be alarmed by those words, because the convention itself was really wonderful: terrific organs, organists, many and varied venues displaying the remarkable depth available in and around our nation’s capital—from the National Cathedral to a former convent chapel. The hotel, the food, the displays and the well-researched Atlas were just fine and highly commendable.

The only bad thing, that “worst of times,” which nearly brought the convention to its knees, was an inept bus situation that seemed to conspire against us each day by being hours late, not showing up at all, sending buses with not enough seats, or by being utterly confused as to how to get from point A to point B. It was frustrating, and many an oath was uttered. But we still had a good time in spite of the craziness. Because of the buses, I did miss one of the recitals on the last day, and I truly apologize to the performer. But enough of that. Let’s get on to the good things and the music!

The convention headquarters was at the Holiday Inn at Reagan National Airport—not far from Crystal City and Old Town Alexandria, and near the Pentagon. Coming in for a landing at Reagan Airport gives one a stunning view of the National Mall with the Capitol, the White House, and all the famous monuments. But, for organists, it is probably the sight of the National Cathedral that causes the heart to skip a beat or two. Checking in at the hotel, greeting old friends, and visiting the displays are familiar rituals of these conventions. It made it all seem very comfortable.

Opening event 

The first event of the convention was the recital that Monday night at the National Cathedral by Nathan Laube. The buses were hopelessly late with inadequate seating, so some of us jumped into cars and raced across town to the cathedral, which stands on the city’s highest hill, Mount St. Alban, making it easy to find. It never fails to impress. I sat in the Great Choir just in front of the console and enjoyed the view in this massive Gothic church. I was surrounded by pipes on three sides. Cathedral organist Scott Dettra greeted us and introduced the performer. Laube began with Cathedrals from Vierne’s Pièces de Fantaisie, op. 55, no. 4. He plumbed the depths of the huge stone space and the massive
E. M. Skinner foundation stops in a wonderful piece well suited to the occasion. Next was Pierre Cochereau’s Berceuse à la mémoire de Louis Vierne, transcribed by Frédéric Blanc. Like the first piece, it moved through the vast room at a majestic pace—quietly at first, then bringing in the gorgeous Skinner strings. Laube slowly added the reeds, culminating in a solo on the Tuba Mirabilis. He pulled back to the strings, along with what I believe was an 8′ flute and a nazard in the right hand, and clarinet in the pedal. It was a brilliant demonstration of this organ’s huge range of orchestral color.

Laube then explored the neo-classic sounds of this instrument with Two Fantasies by Jehan Alain. He closed the first half of the program with a wild, neo-classic-style piece Dupré wrote in memory of his father—a Tutti that was astonishing in its power. Following intermission he offered salutes to two gentlemen associated with this cathedral: Leo Sowerby and Richard Wayne Dirksen. Sowerby’s Requiescat in Pace used the “subtle colors” of Skinner’s “Sowerby Swell”—lovely strings, solo stops, and chimes. The hymn was Rejoice, ye pure in heart to the tune Vineyard Haven by Richard Wayne Dirksen. Our “Hosannas” made a joyous roar that matched the organ. 

Laube ended with his own transcription of Liszt’s Les Préludes. Great salvos of sound were hurled through the arches of the cathedral. The familiar melodies, both loud and soft, fell on our ears like the voices of old and dear friends. We heard the Trumpet-en-Chamade (which is mounted above the reredos) and the 32′ Bombarde for the first time. At other times, the Harp “plucked” away. For an encore he played Messiaen’s L’Ascension: II – Alléluias sereins—a perfect end to a truly extraordinary recital.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The first full day of the convention dawned bright and sunny with an amazing blue sky, making the sight of our first stop in Alexandria, Virginia, even more outstanding than it might have been. Standing atop Shuter’s Hill was the George Washington Masonic Memorial—a massive, tall, white stone structure, designed to resemble the ancient lighthouse of Alexandria, Egypt. The tower, completed in 1932, is capped with a pyramid. Inside was a great semi-circular hall lined with columns behind amphitheater-style seating. A large portrait of George Washington, dressed in his Masonic apron, hangs at the back of the stage. The three-manual Möller, Opus 8540 from 1953, was designed by Ernest White and Richard O. Whitelegg. The Atlas stated that White’s contribution was a Choir division with independent mutations and a Cromorne. The console was on the floor and against the stage, while the pipes were in the ceiling, speaking through an elaborate Art Deco grille.

Charles Miller, organist at National City Christian Church in Washington, D.C., opened with Marche aux Flambeaux by Frederick Scotson Clark, complete with trumpet fanfares. Next came Introduction and Fugue in D Minor by John Zundel. The introduction had alternating ff and mp sections, and the fugue moved along with zeal. I was struck by this organ’s strong bass sounds. Then Sowerby’s Chorale Prelude on Picardy showed off the softer side of this organ, especially the lovely Möller strings and flutes, and a rather thin Cromorne. 

Miller then played Mendelssohn’s Sonata II in C Minor. He drew dark and ponderous sounds for the Grave section, and the Adagio featured many opportunities for solo stops. The Allegro maestoso was brought off with just the right amount of style, as was the fugue. Dudley Buck’s Scherzo (from the Grand Sonata in E-flat) worked very well on this organ, as did Buck’s Variations on the Star Spangled Banner. The hymn was O Beautiful for Spacious Skies, a very moving song to sing in our nation’s capital. 

We were divided into two groups because the next venues were small. My group went to Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Collington, Maryland, where we heard Phillip L. Stimmel, an authority on Estey organs, play an Estey: Opus 655 (1908), two manuals, eight ranks, with tubular-pneumatic action. The Praeludium in A Minor by Clarence Eddy was a nice demonstration of the warm foundation stops. Ballade in D Minor by Joseph Clokey began on the Swell Stopped Diapason plus tremolo, with alternating passages on a particularly sweet Great Dulciana. An agreeable solo on the Swell reedless Oboe preceded a buildup to full organ; it then came back down to the opening sounds. In Beach’s Prelude on an Old Folk Tune, “The Fair Hills Of Eire, O,” Stimmel explored all the colors and registrations of this eight-rank organ, making it seem like a much larger instrument. Next was a favorite, Will o’ the Wisp by Gordon Balch Nevin. The hymn was O holy city, seen of John (Morning Song). Stimmel closed with Gardner Reed’s Once more, my soul, the rising day (Consolation, same tune as Morning Song), another good choice for this organ.

My group then went to St. Paul Moravian Church in Upper Marlboro, Maryland, to hear the church’s E. & G. G.
Hook & Hastings Opus 702 (1873), which has been enlarged and rebuilt by David M. Storey, Inc. between 1985 and 2010. Built for the temporary home of Trinity Episcopal Church in Boston, it was used until the present sanctuary was constructed. At some point it was moved down to the D.C. area. St. Paul’s first church was dedicated in 1972, and a second in 1985. The Hook organ was purchased in 1986. It sits in a transept of sorts to the right of the altar in this smallish modern red brick church, whose proud members welcomed us warmly.

Kevin Clemens, of Aberdeen, Maryland, opened with Tone Poem in F, op. 22, no. 1, by Niels Gade. Next was Arioso in the Ancient Style by James H. Rogers, which used the Oboe with tremolo. Then came Caprice by Cuthbert Harris, charming and well played, and Elevation from Messe Basse by Louis Vierne, in which we heard the rather nice Celeste, which was actually the former Great Dulciana. Next, The Cuckoo (Scherzino) by Powell Weaver, which featured the Oboe and the Melodia. The hymn was Sing praise to God who reigns above (Mit Freuden Zart). We were asked to sing harmony on the middle verse, but alas, our printed harmony was not what was played; we sang out with gusto, nonetheless. Clemens closed his program with Sousa’s Liberty Bell March. 

The next stop was St. John’s Episcopal Church, Broad Creek, King George Parish, Fort Washington, Maryland to hear Peter Crisafulli play the beautiful little Jacob Hilbus organ from 1819. Hilbus, born in Westphalia, Germany, was the first organbuilder in Washington. I would encourage the reader to see Michael Friesen’s excellent article in this convention’s Atlas on Hilbus’s work, and on this particular organ, as well as the fine article by convention chair Carl Schwartz. It is a lovely instrument to behold, with delicately carved pipe shades, one manual and no pedal. The sound was sweet and gentle. Crisafulli began with General Washington’s March by an anonymous composer. Cornet Voluntary by John Travers followed. We heard the Principal 4′ (played an octave lower) for the first time. Crisafulli is also an excellent composer, as we heard in his next selection: Greensleeves (from In Sweet Jubilee—A Suite of Carols for Harpsichord), played on the lovely 8′ Stopped Diapason. He next played Adagio by Mozart on the Flute 4′, which alternated with the exquisitely soft Dulciana Treble. We then heard the first Samuel Sebastian Wesley works of the convention: Choral Song—elegant, graceful music—followed by the livelier Prelude and Fugue. I enjoyed his adding the Sesquialtera in the fugue, giving a bit of bite. The hymn was From all that dwell below the skies (Old 100th). A wonderful recital on a beautiful and very historic instrument—Crisafulli did a masterful job demonstrating its many charms!

Late in the afternoon, we arrived at the Old Presbyterian Meeting House in Alexandria, Virginia, for a recital by Samuel Baker, director of the D.C. AGO Foundation. The 1849 one-manual (no pedal) Henry Erben organ stands at the front of the church behind the pulpit. In the Voluntary by William Croft, the 8′ Open Diapason alternated with a bright solo combination. Next, Festival Overture from Cutler & Johnson’s American Church Organ Voluntaries (1856). The hymn was As with gladness men of old (Dix), followed by David Dahl’s Variations on the Hymn Tune Dix. We heard a clear 4′ flute, flutes 8′ and 2′, a lovely Dulciana, a jaunty 8′ and 4′, and a fine Trumpet 8′. Stephen Schnurr presented the church with an OHS Historic Citation to encourage the preservation of this very good organ. Baker then went to this church’s other organ, which stood in the rear gallery: a Lively-Fulcher (1997) of two manuals and pedal, with mechanical key action and electric stop action. He performed Gerre Hancock’s beautiful Air (1963)—lovely sounds played with great feeling. The program ended with another hymn: Ye watchers and ye holy ones (Lasst uns Erfreuen).

The evening concert took place at Capitol Hill United Methodist Church. The building is modern in style, tall and narrow with red brick walls. It stands on the site of the birthplace of J. Edgar Hoover—the large “west end” window commemorates that historic fact. The organ, a large and sumptuous 1936 Möller, was built for Covenant-First Presbyterian Church, which later became the National Presbyterian Church. David Storey is the hero in the restoration of this priceless gem, once considered old fashioned. The organ originally had been voiced by Richard O. Whitelegg, who came to Möller from England, where he worked for Harrison & Harrison, August Gern, and Henry Willis. The Atlas states that he voiced the powerful flue stops for the Liverpool Cathedral organ. 

The organ is in the front of the church, with chambers on either side of the chancel and a smaller chamber in the left wall of the nave for the solo division. The walls of the brick nave are windowless at the clerestory level, but a large window in back has the image of the risen Christ in chunks of colored glass embedded in concrete. 

Ken Cowan began his recital with Marche héroïque by Herbert Brewer. A gutsy opening gave way to a majestic and expansive tune; at the close, the melody was played on full organ. The Soul of the Lake, op. 96, no. 1 (Pastels from the Lake of Constance) by Karg-Elert followed—a marvelously impressionistic piece, deliciously played. Next came a thundering reading of Mozart’s Fantasia in F Minor, K. 608. The hymn was Songs of thankfulness and praise (Salzburg). Cowan leads and supports in perfect proportion—ever aware of the text, the music, and the singers. The first half closed with Prelude to Act III, Parsifal, by Wagner in an arrangement by Frederic Archer. The Solo division’s French Horn stop got a workout. Cowan is a master colorist.

The second half opened with Henry Martin’s Prelude and Fugue in B Minor, a piece commissioned by Michael Barone. This was fairly tempestuous music. The fugue began in the pedal and quoted the theme of the prelude. Next was Schumann’s Canon in B Minor, Canon in A-flat Major, and Fugue on B-A-C-H. We heard the variety of reed and foundation tone on this fine organ. I especially enjoyed the A-flat Major, the end of which employed the large Tromba 8′ on the Solo, and then pulled back to the lovely Swell strings. 

We then heard Cowan’s transcription of Danse macabre by Saint-Saëns. The whole church seemed to sway back and forth to this wonderful music. Cowan made good use of the percussion on the organ: Chimes, Harp, and Celesta. He closed with Dupré’s Deux Esquisses, op. 41—totally virtuosic and muscular playing. He treated us to an encore: Roulade by Seth Bingham, a perfect bonbon to follow a concert that was like an incredibly rich and hearty meal.

Wednesday, June 29

We began the day on Capitol Hill at the towering St. Joseph R.C. Church, whose cornerstone was laid in 1868. It was intended to be used by the German-speaking Catholics of Washington, D.C., and architect Michael Stegmeier used his hometown’s cathedral (Cologne, Germany) as its model. The neo-gothic structure has a very high ceiling painted blue with gold stars. But the real gem for us was the magnificent three-manual, 29-rank Hook & Hastings organ, Opus 1491 from 1891. It has been restored/rebuilt many times, most recently by Bozeman-Gibson, Inc. in 1986. David Storey now tends to this highly regarded instrument.

George Bozeman Jr. entitled his program “Christmas in June.” He began with Reger’s Weihnachten, op. 145, no. 3, which began softly with the strings. The church’s air conditioning, though welcome, was terribly noisy, making much of the music nearly inaudible. The piece incorporated four different carols, ending with Stille Nacht. Bozeman played with a wonderful sense of feeling and sensitivity. Dudley Buck’s attractive Prelude (from The Coming of the King, Cantata for Advent and Christmas) incorporated “Silent Night” and “Adeste fideles.” The hymn was Adeste Fideles, which we sang powerfully in the resonant acoustic of this beautiful church.

Next was a wonderful Allegro by Katherine E. Lucke (1875–1962), which demonstrated the light and agile flute sounds of this fabulous organ. Bozeman closed with his own fine transcription of Four Fleeting Pieces, op. 15 by Clara Schumann. It was a good tour of the organ’s solo stops, and he played all very well; each musical line was beautifully shaped and controlled. We all enjoyed this recital and were quite smitten with this fantastic organ.

The second recital of the morning was at St. Martin of Tours R.C. Church, an attractive building completed in 1939 in the Florentine Renaissance style. A sign was tied between the two pillars on either side of the central door: WELCOME ALL SINNERS. I didn’t know what to make of that, but I certainly felt accommodated. The organ—Möller Opus 6809, three manuals, 22 ranks—stands in the rear gallery and speaks into a most favorable acoustic. There is reason to believe that Möller’s Richard O. Whitelegg worked on this organ. The Atlas states, “Most pipework was old and of unknown origin.” The Clarinet stop was terrific!

Carolyn Lamb Booth opened with a strong reading of Guilmant’s Grand Triumphal Chorus in A Major, op. 47, no. 2. The powerful sounds of this organ filled the space evenly; I liked the Trumpet. Next, Edward Bairstow’s Evening Song, registered perfectly. The hymn was “Christ, be our light.” Organ and organist led it convincingly. After that, the beautiful Elegy by George Thalben-Ball showed the many lovely solo stops and was nicely played. (I noted the Catholic Church in its current state of transition: the confessionals were used to store old kneelers.) The closing piece was Saint-Saëns’ Prelude and Fugue in E-Flat Major, op. 99, no. 3, perfectly suited to this fine organ and organist.

The final stop of the morning was at the lovely St. Gabriel’s R.C. Church in Washington, D.C., to hear its Lewis & Hitchcock, Opus 165 (1930) of two manuals and pedal, 21 ranks. It stands in a divided case on either side of the rear gallery of this English Tudor-style building, whose cornerstone was laid in 1930. We were greeted with the sound of bells—extra points! Upon entering, we encountered the smell of good incense—more extra points! Stephen J. Morris began his program with a hymn, Sing to God! Lift up your voices (Alchester). Robust OHS singing matched the organ very well in that great acoustic! 

Morris’s first selection was Mendelssohn’s War March of the Priests, which showed the strength of this organ’s sound as we enjoyed this cruciform church with its beautiful glass and elegant appointments. Next was Andante ‘Choeur de Voix humaines’, op. 122, no. 7, by Lefébure-Wély. The Great’s very beautiful Gross Flute made bubbly sounds against the Swell’s equally fine Vox Humana. Then Seth Bingham’s Rhythmic Trumpet (from Baroques, op. 41), followed by another character piece, The Squirrel by Powell Weaver—an entertaining bit of whimsey played with good humor. 

Next was Liszt, Introduction and Fugue (after Johann Sebastian Bach, from Cantata 21, Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis), played with broad authority and featuring the organ’s fine plenum. That was followed by a little composition that featured the Oboe: Allegretto in E-flat, op. 17, no. 2 by William Wolstenholme (1865–1931)—cute music. Then came the beautiful Claire de Lune from Karg-Elert’s Trois Impressions, op. 72—lovely music well chosen for organ, space, and audience. Morris played it exquisitely right down to the last ppp on the Aeoline. The recital ended with the March upon a Theme of Handel, op. 15, no. 2, by Guilmant. A fine performance and concert, which demonstrated the organ most admirably.

Following a box lunch, my group made its way to the Armed Forces Retirement Home, founded in 1851. It sits high on a hill overlooking the city of Washington. Abraham Lincoln spent a lot of time there escaping the heat of summer. The rolling grounds are extensive, tranquil, and very green with lots of trees and grass. The organ was in Stanley Hall, a facility built for recreation and entertainment, but now used a chapel. The organ, a two-manual and pedal instrument built by Stevens & Jewett (ca. 1855), is interesting for its 18-note pedalboard. The 16′ Double Open Diapason has only 12 pipes. The Atlas states: “From second C the pedals simply repeat the pipes in the bottom octave.” The instrument was acquired through the Organ Clearing House, having come from the former Universalist Church in Mechanics Falls, Maine. David Moore did the restoration. 

Rosalind Mohnsen opened her program with Allegro moderato maestoso by Mendelssohn, which had a fine majestic march feel to it. Then came John Stanley’s Voluntary in A, op. 7, no. 1, Adagio—Allegro. The Adagio was played on the Great Open Diapason—a warm and widely scaled sound. The Allegro used some lovely softer but bright stops on the Swell. Next, Gavotte Pastorale by Frederick Shackley (1868–1937). The Swell alternated with the Great Diapasons, then some of the Swell 8′ stops with tremolo—a good piece that showed some of the many colors of this organ. The hymn was, appropriately, Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord (Battle Hymn of the Republic). Mohnsen always chooses hymns and pieces with great care so that they are well suited to the instrument and place at hand. Her next selection was Abraham Lincoln’s Funeral March, op. 7 (1865), “In memory of a Country’s Martyred Father” by William Wolsieffer. Paul Marchesano hand pumped the organ. The piece showed more of the organ’s color, the fine reeds in particular. 

Next came Melodie (Homage to Grieg) by George Elbridge Whiting (1840–1923), which carefully demonstrated more solo stop combinations. Mohnsen closed with Marche militaire by Scotson Clark (1841–1883), a snappy number in which we heard more of the reeds. 

We next visited St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church, Riverdale, Maryland, which possesses a sweet little Jardine organ, originally built in 1853 as a one manual, and enlarged to two manuals in 1890. After several church “homes”, it had been purchased by OHS member Carolyn Fix, who sold it to St. John’s in 1988, and was rebuilt and enlarged by James Baird. It stands at the rear of this smallish cement block structure. Lawrence Young began with four selections from The Green Mountain Organ Book by Charles Callahan. In Prelude and Fugue we heard the lovely 8′ foundation stops. Rondeau used Great 8′ and 4′ in the A section, while the B sections used the Swell 4′ and 2′ with shades closed. It ended with Procession, which closed quietly. The next selection was Mendelssohn’s Prelude and Fugue in G Major, op. 37, no. 2, which started on the Great 8′ and 4′ Principals. The fugue was solidly played. Following that, Young played Daniel Pinkham’s Be Thou My Vision: Partita on Slane, a good demonstration piece. We then sang the hymn on which the partita was based. It was all very enjoyable.

For the afternoon’s last recital, our buses climbed up the hill to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Crypt Church, to hear the 1987 Schudi organ (two manuals, 23 stops, 25 ranks) built in the style of Gottfried Silbermann. The organ stands in a wide transept to the right of the altar.

Peter Latona, director of music at the shrine, began with Buxtehude’s Praeludium in F-sharp minor, BuxWV 146. In that acoustic, the effect was splendid; clean, clear sound, emanating from the polished tin pipes, filled the space. It was a superb performance, full of life, grace, and vigor. Then the Andante from Bach’s Trio Sonata IV, BWV 528, using an 8′ flute on each manual and 16′ and 8′ flutes in the pedal—a warm and inviting sound. Next, O Gott, du frommer Gott, op. 122, no. 7, by Brahms, showed the rich 8′ foundation stops. Then Latona played Joseph Jongen’s Petit Prelude, soloing out the tune on the Swell Schalmey, showing more of the romantic side of this organ. 

Then came a special treat: a series of improvisations creating a Suite on Rendez a Dieu. I. Trompette en taille; II. was the hymn itself, which we all sang; III. was a trio with the Cornet in the left hand; IV. was a Grand jeux complete with a duo in the middle. Very skillful improvisation founded securely in the French Baroque style. Latona made me wish that I lived in Washington, D.C. so I could hear him play every Sunday. 

Following a most tasty buffet dinner at the Pryzbyla Center, Catholic University of America, buses took us to Immaculate Conception Church in Washington, D.C. to hear Bruce Stevens play the evening recital on the church’s 1879 Steer & Turner organ, Opus 131 (two manuals, 25 stops). The church is a large sort of Tudor Gothic with tall windows. The program opened with Festive Prelude on the Chorale ‘Lobe den Herren’ by Niels Gade (1822–1890), which started with long chords and then led into a more “festive” reading of the melody going from manual to manual. That led to the hymn, Praise ye the Lord, the almighty (Lobe den Herren). Our “Let the Amen!” in that acoustic was something to hear!

Stevens then played Partita sopra Aria della Folia da Espagna by Bernardo Pasquini (1637–1710). I was amazed at how well this very 19th-century organ could sound in this music. Next, an Allegro by João de Sousa Carvalho (1745–1798).Then Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543. The fugue was especially fine—masterful and profoundly musical playing! We then heard George Shearing’s setting of Amazing Grace, which was not in the program. Next was Saturnus (from The Planets: Suite of Seven Pieces for Organ) by Bent Lorentzen (b. 1935); lots of repeated chords accompanying a melodic line—wild music! 

Stevens then closed this fine program with Rheinberger’s Sonata No. 9 in B-flat Minor, op. 142. I especially enjoyed the second movement, Romanze, which was a good demonstration of the exquisite flutes on this instrument, as well as the quiet foundation stops. Movement three, Fantasie und Finale–Fuga, showed the clarity of the plenum. This is a very fine organ. The Fantasie contained Buxtehude-like runs, and the very well-conceived Fuga was performed with clear and refined style that comes with a long association with this music. It was a glorious evening!

Thursday, June 30

Lorenz Maycher began this day for us on a nearly mint-condition E. M. Skinner, Opus 744, from 1928, at the Church of the Pilgrims (Presbyterian) in Washington, D.C. It has three manuals and about 30 stops and stands in the rear gallery divided on either side of the window. Maycher is a specialist with Skinner organs. He played an entire program of music by Richard Purvis, beginning with Toccata Festiva. It was exciting music and playing—the organ filling the space nicely. The hymn was There’s a wideness in God’s mercy (In Babilone). He then played the popular Melody in Mauve, which sounded wonderful on this beautiful organ. Next was another popular piece, Les Petites Cloches, which featured the chimes and harp. Then, Idyl, with the lovely Flute Celeste II accompanying the Concert Flute, followed by the Vox Humana. 

Repentance was the next piece and showed the softer foundation stops, followed by the strings and then the larger foundation stops; the Tutti came on, but the piece ended with the softest strings. Maycher ended this lovely program with Thanksgiving, which began with the Great Tuba blasting out a fanfare in dialogue with the Swell reeds. A quiet B section, featuring the Clarinet, led us back to the beginning. Wonderful music, brilliantly played on a gorgeous American organ! 

The next stop was Epiphany R.C. Church in Georgetown to enjoy its two-manual, 11-stop Hook & Hastings, Opus 1623. Built in 1894 for a music room in Boston, it eventually found its way to this small and charming church. David M. Storey Inc. restored the organ in 2003. It stands in the rear balcony, its pipes painted in warm yet bright colors. Convention chair Carl Schwartz described this organ brilliantly in the Atlas: “This musical instrument reveals its charms in subtle ways, much like a fine wine unfolding before the senses. As with most Hook & Hastings organs of this modest type, it proves to be far more than the sum of its parts.” 

Kimberly Hess opened with Buxtehude’s Toccata in F Major, BuxWV 157, which worked very well on this 1894 organ. The hymn was I sing the mighty power of God (Mozart). She then played no. X from 23 Préludes liturgiques by Gaston Litaize. We heard the beautiful and careful voicing of the smaller sounds on this lovely organ; each stop is satisfying in every way. Then C.P.E. Bach’s Sonata in D Major, Wq 70/5, which showed refined 8′ and 4′ sounds in the Allegro di molto. In the Adagio e mesto she used the Swell Stopped Diapason with tremolo to good effect. The Allegro was cheerful and bright with good dialogue between the manuals. Hess ended her fine concert with two selections from Arthur Foote’s Seven Pieces for Organ, op. 71. Cantilena in G featured a solo on the organ’s gorgeous Oboe. The melody was spun out for us with warmth and just the right amount of flexibility. Toccata moved well in the opening A section, coming to a restful B section. It finished big, using the sub and super couplers from the Swell. First-rate playing on a first-rate organ. 

The last stop of the morning was at the sprawling and beautiful Washington Hebrew Congregation, begun in 1856. The present building was completed in 1955. The organ, a large three-manual Aeolian-Skinner, Opus 1285, was installed in 1956. The organ stands in front of the room, although the pipes (and organist) are hidden. There is beautiful tone and balance within the divisions. Two well-known organists have served this congregation: German composer and scholar Herman Berlinski, and B. Michael Parrish, a student of Herbert Howells and George Thalben-Ball. Mr. Parrish began with very soft flute sounds in Sabbath Eve by Robert Starer (1924–2001). Next a piece by one of his teachers: George Thalben-Ball’s Elegy—a great piece that built to a fine roar. Then a piece by another of his teachers: Herbert Howells’s Master Tallis’s Testament, with a beautiful solo sound from the Choir. Next was a very moving In Memoriam by Herman Berlinski (played in memory of Sina G. Berlinski). That was followed by “Rosh Hashana” from Funf Fest-Preludien, op. 37, by Louis Lewandowski, and then the hymn The God of Abraham praise (Yigdal). A very beautiful and meaning-filled program.

We then made our way to Washington’s National City Christian Church, a building designed by John Russell Pope, who also designed the National Archives, the Jefferson Memorial, and the National Gallery—so one can imagine that it is indeed an imposing structure fronted with a huge sweeping staircase. It opened circa 1929. The first organ was by the Skinner Organ Company, Opus 824 (four manuals, 55 ranks). Like many of those grand old E. M. Skinner organs, it was deemed old fashioned by mid-century, and in the 1960s it began to be greatly enlarged by the Möller Company and others until it reached its present size of five manuals and 141 ranks, including a large Antiphonal division in the rear of the church. The main organ stands in the front of this basilica-like structure behind the apse and four huge granite columns—all of this in a building smaller than several of the larger Catholic churches we had visited. It is the third largest organ in the city, but it is in a building smaller, it seemed, than of one of the National Cathedral’s transepts. Perhaps E. M. had the right idea about proportion for the space. This is a very loud organ, and too big for the church.

The legendary and brilliant organist, composer, and teacher John Weaver gave a terrific program. He opened with Bach’s Wir glauben all an einen Gott, S. 680 (Clavierübung Part III). It was a bit of a shock to hear this Möller with its 1975-era mixtures after two and a half days of more subtle mixture sound. Next was Mozart’s Adagio and Allegro in F Minor, K 594. The Adagio was lovely, but the Allegro was a bit over the top with the power and aggressiveness of the registration choices. Weaver played it very well with good attention to detail, but it was just too loud. I found myself wondering if he had trouble judging the level of the sounds as the pipes spoke over the player’s head, sending all the sound into the nave. 

Then Karg-Elert’s Five Chorale Improvisations from opus 65. 1. Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern used the lovely strings and soft foundation stops. 2. O Gott, du frommer Gott used several levels of foundation tone. 3. Herr Jesu Christ, dich zu uns wend was quite loud and seemed to demand Christ’s presence among us—brilliant playing with a wild pedal part! 4. Herzlich lieb hab ich dich, o Herr—gorgeous music with a gentle echo after each phrase; we heard the famous Handbells stop on this organ—interesting, but I wasn’t crazy about them. 5. Nun danket alle Gott was the well-known piece often played at weddings. It was another case, however, of over-use of the loud sounds. This organ is simply too big for this room.

Next came one of Weaver’s own compositions, Carillon (2002), which used the Handbell stop. The bells were accompanied by gurgling flutes—very nice music. The hymn was Surely the Lord is in this place to the tune Madison Avenue by Weaver. He then played a piece he wrote based on his hymn tune Meyers Park, following by the singing of the hymn. Weaver closed with his famous Toccata for Organ (1958). It was very exciting, but, with this instrument, it was painfully loud. One longed for the old E. M. Skinner organ that first graced this church.

The bus caravan deposited us at the lovely All Souls Unitarian Church in Washington, D.C. The congregation traces itself back as far as 1815, but the present church, styled after St. Martin in the Fields, London, was built in 1923. The organ was built by Rieger in 1969, a tracker of four manuals, 60 registers, and 96 ranks. It was an important instrument in its time and attracted quite a bit of attention, with a Rückpositiv and an enclosed Brustwerk that has glass shades. It also was the first, it is said, to have computerized combination action with multiple memory levels. To our ears it sounds dated, but in its day I’m sure it was a revelation. There is still much to admire in this instrument. 

Eileen Morris Guenther opened with Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in C, BWV 547 (“the 9/8”). I would have liked to hear more articulation in the playing, which seemed rushed with many dropped passing tones. All the drama in that wonderful fugue was lost. Next, Prelude for the Organ in G Major by Fanny Hensel (née Mendelssohn-Bartholdy). The mid-20th century mixtures got in the way of an otherwise good performance. Then Robert Schumann’s Sketch in D-flat, which used the 8′ foundations and flutes. Staying in the Schumann family, we heard Clara’s Prelude and Fugue for Organ, op. 16, no. 3, played very well. Two spirituals by Joe Utterback (b. 1944) followed: Swing Low, Sweet Chariot (blues for manuals) and Balm in Gilead. I enjoyed her fine performance of them, which showed the pretty soft string sounds. The hymn, a new setting of “A Mighty Fortress” by Emma Lou Diemer (Reformation), was not the easiest thing to sing. This was an instructive recital that showcased the transitional state of organ building midway through the last century.

The evening program was Solemn Evensong and Benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, K Street in Washington. D.C. My bus got lost and we barely made it on time. Since all the pews were occupied, I got to sit in a row of chairs set up in front of the front pew—a great view of all the proceedings. The church was founded in 1866, but the present building dates from 1948. It is very traditional, with all the high church trimmings, great acoustics, and a four-manual Schoenstein & Co. organ of 52 voices and 65 ranks. The organ and choir are divided on either side of the chancel, and there is a Tuba Mirabilis mounted on the liturgical west end (the pipes stand vertically). The volunteer choir was superb in every way, led by director of music and organist Robert McCormick, and accompanied by assistant director of music John Bradford Bohl. 

The pre-service voluntary was Rhein-berger’s Introduction and Passacaglia from Sonata No. 8 in E Minor. It was marvelously played, but I could not tell by whom. The responsory was by Hancock, the preces were by Philip Radcliffe, and the psalms were sung to Anglican chants by Stanford and Thalben-Ball. The organ was perfect for the proper accompaniment of Anglican chant; amazing effects could be created by the swell boxes within swell boxes. Each line of the psalms was carefully prepared by the organist, and the choir sang with proper style and grace. 

The office hymn was All praise to thee, for thou, O King divine (Engelberg). Now, if you have never been to an OHS convention, the hymn singing is amazing. So it was with a certain amusement that I noted a few of the choir members looking out at us with widened eyes as if to say “Who are these people?” We fed each other as congregation, choir, and organ raised the song from our collective hearts to amazing heights—it was an unforgettable moment! The Magnificat and Nunc dimittis came from Evening Service No. 2 in E-flat Major by Charles Wood. It was a powerful sound—McCormick drew astonishing sounds from his forces. After the prayers, they sang the Salve Regina, and then one of my favorite anthems, Te Lucis ante terminum by Henry Balfour Gardiner. That was followed by Benediction. The closing voluntary was a stunning improvisation. It was an unforgettable evening, both musically and spiritually.

Friday, July 1

Our day began at the beautiful National Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C. with a recital by that church’s organist, William Neil. The church was established in 1947, but has connections dating back to 1780. The present building was opened in 1969. The organ was one of the last Aeolian-Skinner organs, and has been altered many times since then. A Solo division was added in 2010 using several E. M. Skinner ranks. The organ has four manuals and seven divisions. It was featured at the AGO convention in 2010 in a concert by Nathan Laube. I was eager to hear the Skinner Solo division ranks, as they were not playing for that recital. Neil’s fine recital began with Mendelssohn’s Sonata in F Minor, op. 65, no. 1. In the first movement we heard the clear and never overwhelming plenum, with echos on an 8′ reed. The beautiful Adagio showed the lovely strings along with several excellent solo stops including the French Horn. The Andante used the Antiphonal 8′ and 4′ flutes against a reed chorus on the main organ in front. The Antiphonal is at the back of the room, while the main organ is behind a screen on the front wall. The Allegro assai vivace burst forth with extraordinary energy and power. This was one of the most exciting performances I’ve ever heard of this piece. 

In Elgar’s Nimrod (from Enigma Variations, op. 36), the organ’s gorgeous and lush strings were on full display; the clear Clarinet uttered its plaintive cry. The marvelous crescendo began building seamlessly to full organ, then tumbled gently back down to a breathless ppp—it was brilliantly achieved. Next came J. S. Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor. Neil began on quiet flutes. His trills were flawless, and the calm pedal was unruffled by the increasingly busy manual parts. This was a fabulous performance of one of the great monuments of western civilization. My only criticism of this concert was that there was too much loud music. Our ears needed more variety. Stunning though this performance was, we had a long day ahead of us. The hymn was O Lord, You are my God and King (Jerusalem).

We made our way through the tree-lined streets of Washington, D.C. to St. Columba’s Episcopal Church in a quiet neighborhood. A handsome church, it looks as though it would be right at home in an English village. Built in 1926–1927, its first organ was a Lewis & Hitchcock that was replaced in 1981 by the present organ, a two-manual, 25-rank Flentrop that the company enlarged in 2003, adding three stops to the pedal. It stands majestically in the liturgical north transept. 

Mark Steinbach began with Philip Glass’s Mad Rush (1981), which worked well on this organ. Next, Bruhns’s Kleine Praeludium in E Minor, played freely and skillfully. This piece provides good opportunity to vary registration—a plus at an OHS convention. There were a few inner rhythmic patterns that were hurried, but he got the big overall shape of this piece quite nicely, and the organ was lovely. Then came Buxtehude’s chorale prelude on Nun komm’ der Heiden Heiland in a beautiful demonstration of the Hoodfwerk Cornet—played with wonderful sensitivity and flexibility. Keeping with that same chorale, the hymn was Savior of the nations, come. The organ held its own leading our vigorous singing—good playing!

My teacher in college, Miriam Clapp Duncan, was Anton Heiller’s second American student. So I was eager to hear the next piece, Nun Komm’ der Heiden Heiland—Eight Variations (1972), by Anton Heiller. (Steinbach has recorded a forthcoming CD of the music of Anton Heiller’s music.) He used the full range of this organ. I especially liked the Borstwerk 4′ Roerfluit, which seemed to chirp. Steinbach closed with more Philip Glass: Satyagraha, Act III, Conclusion (1980). While it was interesting to hear, for me, at least, it soon wore out its welcome. He did build a fine crescendo. This is a very good organ, and Steinbach gave an excellent tour of it. 

The next organ was a major historic treat: a nearly intact three-manual Henry Erben organ from 1850—very rare, and very exciting for us OHS’ers. This was at Trinity United Methodist Church in McLean, Virginia. The congregation can trace its beginnings back to 1820. They built their present Georgian-style church in 1961. The organ was originally built for Monumental Episcopal Church in Richmond, Virginia. In 1926 they replaced it with a Skinner, keeping the Erben façade, which was silenced. The Erben pipes went to another church. James Baird managed to put the Erben back together between 1975 and 1997. It now stands rather proudly in the front of this sanctuary. Nearly all the pipework has been restored, with three rare Erben reed stops. The organ has a painted white case with gold trim. There are dentils adorning the tops of the towers. The capitals at the tops of the towers have carved flowers painted colorfully. The church created needlepoint kneelers using the case designs. Convention chair Carl Schwartz, in introducing the concert, called the organ “a national treasure.” 

Before the recital began, we had the annual meeting, which included the introduction of the four E. Power Biggs Fellows to this convention. The Fellows get an all-expense-paid trip to the convention. Many eventually become performers at subsequent conventions and go on to great success in the organ world. We also had a delightful preview of next summer’s convention in Chicago.

Kevin Birch began his program with Concerto in G Major, BWV 592 (after Ernst) by J. S. Bach. In the Allegro he used the Great 8′ 4′ 2′ in alternation with the Swell. The second movement, Grave, used flutes 8′ with tremolo, a beautiful sound. The Presto was played with secure rhythm and nicely shaped phrases. Next, William Boyce’s Voluntary I in D. The Larghetto featured the very attractive 8′ Open Diapason; the Vivace featured the delicious Great Trumpet; I loved that sound—full bodied and true. Next, Muffat’s Aria sub elevazione (aria, three variations, aria), which worked quite well on this organ. Then, Mendelssohn’s Sonata No. 1 in F, op. 65. I especially enjoyed the fourth movement, when he added the thrilling 16′ Trombone in the Pedal. It was all good, solid playing on a really fine and certainly historic instrument! 

The hymn was Ye servants of God (Hanover). Guilmant’s Prière et Berceuse followed the hymn, beginning on a very quiet string. The Berceuse began with a solo on the Oboe. It was a gorgeous call from the past that made one long for the many organs that are lost. Thanks be that this one has come down to us virtually intact. The piece ended with the sweet sound of the Swell Dulciana and tremolo. Birch ended this marvelous recital with Grand Choeur in G Major by Théodore Solomon. After a sturdy beginning, a fugue started, using 8′ foundations and the Oboe, sounding very French. The Mixture came on with full organ, bringing the piece to an end—very good playing on a remarkably versatile organ!

And so we came to the final evening recital of the convention. Following a delicious meal at the American Indian Museum, we walked to St. Dominic’s R.C. Church, just a few blocks off the National Mall. It is a large gray granite church completed in 1875. It has seen several fires in its history. The church’s Hilborne Roosevelt Opus 290 dates from 1885: three manuals and 47 ranks. Originally a tracker, after various fires and rebuilds it is now on electro-pneumatic action. It enjoys a fantastic acoustic, is just the right size for the building, and stands in the rear gallery. 

Thomas Murray began with Rheinberger’s Sonata in G, op. 88, no. 3. The first part featured the fine plenum. Later we heard the beautiful Cornopean on the Swell. The closing movement was all fire and bravura. Then, Bossi’s Ave Maria, showing the lovely strings and flutes with tremolo, and Bossi’s Divertimento en forma de Giga—immaculate playing. Next, Guilmant’s Communion on Ecce panis angelorum on quiet 8′ and 4′ flutes, then the soft 8′ foundations. Guilmant’s Caprice in B-flat was a nice contrasting bit of whimsey, with chords tossed out into the great nave of this church—a charming sense of fun. Then, Grand Choeur on “Benedicamus Domino” (1934) by Guy Weitz. The Great and Swell reeds called back and forth. A fugue followed on the very good plenum—all very lively and yet grand. The hymn was There’s a wideness in God’s mercy (Blaenwern). 

Following intermission, Murray played Alfred Hollins’s Concert Overture in C Minor (1899). Bold, strong, and large chords were flung through the nave. The Swell reeds had a solo or two before returning to the Great. The piece gave voice to several solo stops and a fugue before returning to the opening material. Liszt’s Epilogue (from Années de Pèlerinage, Suisse) worked very well on the organ. Murray closed with Dupré’s Prelude and Fugue in G Minor, op. 7, no. 3, which made one want to get up and dance. It was a brilliant performance! 

Saturday, July 2

This was an “extra” day, with just three recitals. About half the convention attendees chose to go home following the Friday night recital. A few elected to stay, wanting to hear the Pomplitz organ that was on the schedule. However, the buses confounded our best intentions. The company only sent one bus, but we needed two. We all lined up in the usual manner behind the hotel. The first ones in line got on that bus. The rest of us waited for nearly two hours. It really was frustrating. But finally one came after several frantic phone calls. We missed the recital at St. Patrick’s in the City R.C. Church with its large three-manual 1994 Lively-Fulcher organ built in a French manner. The recitalist was Ronald Stolk. My apologies to all concerned that I was unable to review that recital. 

We did get to hear the August Pomplitz organ, No. 140, built in 1869 for Grace Episcopal Church in Alexandria. The organ was believed to have come to St. Vincent de Paul R.C. Church in Washington, D.C. about 1905—two manuals, 16 ranks with mechanical key and stop action. Carl Schwartz called it “a lovely instrument and a survivor.” It stands in the rear gallery of this little church. Philip T.D. Cooper started with Voluntary VII in G Major (from Ten Organ Voluntaries, op. 6) by John Stanley. Next, Flute Piece in F by William Hine. The flutes on this organ possess a rare beauty. Cooper handled the sounds with deftness and clarity. In Voluntary in A Minor by Lucien H. Southard (1827–1881), we heard the foundation stops, which ended in a fine fugal section.

Cooper’s own Fuga I tertii tone was a hit with the audience. The hymn was Jerusalem, my happy home, sung to Cooper’s tune, Kenny Dawson’s Mighty Hymn. We then heard this organ’s elegant strings in Tantum Ergo by John Henry Wilcox. The program closed with Postlude in A Major by George J. Webb.

The final concert of the convention was at St. Mary Mother of God R.C. Church in Washington, D.C., founded in 1845 for the German-speaking Catholics. The organ, which is in the rear balcony, is George S. Hutchings’ Opus 239 from 1891: two manuals, 27 ranks; it is nearly intact with its original tracker action. Timothy Edward Smith began with Bonnet’s Fantasy on Two Noels. A hymn followed: Sing of Mary, pure and holy (Raquel). Next, two selections from Seth Bingham’s Sixteen Carol Canons in Free Style. In Gabriel’s Salutation, which had  six canons, he demonstrated all manner of sounds small and great. Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabelle had three canons. These were great organ demonstration pieces, with many refined colors.

Next was Myron Roberts’ Improvisation on God Rest You Merry. I loved the sweet little 8′ Dolcissimo stop on the Great. Then, Harvey Gaul’s The Christmas Pipes of County Clare. The flutes had their day in this charming and wonderful music. Get this music—your congregation will love you! A second hymn followed: Hark! the herald angels sing (Mendelssohn), then Balbastre’s Joseph is a good husband. The fine reeds on this organ were well displayed making a mighty Grands Jeux. The final piece, and the finale to the convention, was Fantasy on Two English Carols. The First Noel was nicely articulated. Good King Wenceslaus was heard on the Swell reeds, and then on the soft flues and flutes. The First Noel returned triumphantly! A grand conclusion to a grand convention.

This was another outstanding OHS convention. Carl Schwartz and his committee are all to be congratulated for an exceptional effort. The organs were in great shape, the venues were spectacular, the scholarship we saw in the Atlas, the Convention Handbook, and the Hymn Book evidenced their thoroughness and affection for the organs of the communities in which they are so blessed to live. And, of course, the beauty of our nation’s capital seemed to grace and welcome us at every turn. 

The 2012 OHS national convention takes place July 9–13 in Chicago. For information: www.organsociety.org.

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Leaving notes out

Last month I wrote about using altered rhythm as a practice technique. This month I am writing about another way of practicing that also involves changing the note picture away from what is actually on the page for the purpose of playing what is on the page better. Purposely leaving notes out of the texture of a piece at certain stages of practicing is very different from using altered rhythms. However, both techniques involve changing the notes—and both, therefore, are departures from “regular” practicing. The philosophy behind normal practicing at a keyboard instrument is, as I see it, simply that accurate repetition of a physical gesture will, in due course, lead to that gesture’s becoming second nature. Most of what I have conveyed about practicing is more or less a gloss on that idea. Therefore, I think it is worth pointing out when the physical gestures being suggested are actually not those that will directly lead to playing the passage or piece accurately. 

The positive effect on the learning process is less direct. Any student who is interested in altered rhythms as discussed last month, or in the technique discussed this month, must always remember that these techniques only supplement basic, regular practicing and cannot replace it. It is important to employ these unusual practice techniques in small doses, alternating with regular practicing of the same passages, so that the connection between the specialized practicing and the feeling of actually playing the passage being practiced is clear and vivid.

Expression through timing 

and articulation

At the organ—and also at the harpsichord—we cannot create accent, shape, phrasing, or rhythm by playing certain individual notes louder or softer than other notes. That is basic: in fact, for many pianists first coming to study organ or harpsichord it is almost the definition of those instruments. However, we can create accent, shape and so on at the organ or harpsichord—we do so by using, generally speaking, timing and articulation. (An interesting way to think of those two concepts, by the way, is this: that timing concerns initiating notes, and articulation concerns their release. This is also basic and perhaps obvious, but a good way of organizing thinking about execution of notes.) 

It is possible to spell out certain principles about the relationship between timing and articulation on the one hand, and accent, rhythm, phrasing, etc., on the other. For example, in general, notes that are held a bit longer than the metronome would suggest come out subjectively louder, notes that are preceded by a space—an articulation—likewise seem louder or accented, and so do notes that are delayed a little bit. Notes that are reached through strong legato often seem softer or unaccented, as do notes that are a bit shorter than the metronome would suggest, assuming that they are not so staccato as to draw attention to themselves. And so on: all of this is a bit over-simplified, though generally valid. None of it, however, is unfailingly true: a lot depends on the subtleties of the exact situation.

There is a lot that can be done, in any situation, to plan out the use of articulation and timing to create accent and shape, and doing so is important. However, there is also a danger. Schemes of articulation that are carefully thought out and mapped out can become stiff and lifeless. The act of thinking consciously about those schemes while actually playing can lead to stiff playing or can be a kind of distraction that decreases security and accuracy. I am deliberately somewhat overstating this problem: it happens sometimes to most of us; it is probably more of a problem for students. They often are vividly aware of their teachers paying attention, and they may be implementing articulation schemes and other performance ideas that the teacher helped to create or, in some case, just created. However, it is something that can happen to any player.

The point is this: if a player learning a passage can train the ears to hear more prominently those notes that are supposed to be in some way more prominent—accented notes, points of arrival, “louder” notes, notes that should seem to bloom or grow, as if a string player or singer were leaning into them after the initial attack—then the player’s subconscious mind will find ways to make those notes more prominent. This process can both supplement and to some extent bypass or replace the process of logically working out what notes should be longer or shorter and how exactly the timing should be adjusted to give the desired effect. This phenomenon—the direct link between hearing prominent notes and projecting them as prominent—has an intuitive, improvisatory feel to it, which is intrinsically non-stiff and which serves as an antidote to stiffness.

It was Professor Eugene Roan who first mentioned this idea to me—somewhat cryptically. He said that “if you can hear it, it will move through your elbows to your hands” (or something like that) and invoked the idea of “magic.” Whether it is magic or, as I suggested above, something to do with the subconscious—or both—I have found it very effective. From Prof. Roan’s remark I have developed some specific techniques. I routinely use these myself with most of the pieces that I learn. 

Practice procedures

Some musical lines lend themselves to the technique of leaving notes out in a way that seems almost too obvious, too easy—usually lines in which the rhythmic hierarchy of the notes is the clearest. The fugue subject from the Bach D-minor Toccata BWV 565 is such a line (Example 1).

The repeated A’s—all off the beat—are notes that almost everyone analyzing this line would agree should be lighter, less accented, than the (changing) on-the-beat notes. If the theme were being played by a violin, the player would almost certainly make those notes quiet. Leaving those lighter notes out gives a line that looks like Example 2 or perhaps a line that should be thought of as that in Example 3, with variably detached eighth notes.

Notice that I have made the judgment that the first three sixteenth notes of the theme form a three-note upbeat and should not be stripped down. Someone else might see that differently and render the beginning of the theme as Example 4 and so on. This would be fine. The exercise is not about right or wrong: it is about thinking about what you want to hear, and then moving your ears closer to being able to hear it.

Once you have made a decision about which notes to leave out, the procedure for practicing is something like this: 

1) Play the rewritten line several times. There is probably no reason not to use the fingering or pedaling that will be used for those notes when the whole thing is put back together. It is also not terribly important to do so. It is extremely important to keep the touch light—the success of this technique depends on that.

2) Put the missing notes back, and play the passage several times. At this stage (and always) it is still important to keep the touch light and fluid. Let your ears follow, as much as possible, the notes that you played in step 1. Don’t pay too much attention to the notes that you have added back.

3) Repeat 1) and 2) a couple of times if you wish.

4) Now do something else: practice another passage—this way or “normally”—or have supper or go for a walk. When you next play the passage that you have worked on this way, it may feel or sound a bit different—more vivid, or more relaxed, or both. You don’t have to scrutinize it or analyze it. If you happen to notice a difference, that is wonderful; if not, no harm done. The extra attention that you have paid to the passage will help solidify the learning of it in any case.

In the case of this Bach fugue subject, another step is putting the theme back together with the rest of the texture of the piece, or, to put it another way, continuing to use this technique as other voices come in. This immediately highlights the relationship between the fugue subject and the various eighth-note countersubjects. This piece is full to the brim of passages that can be approached this way—for example, the measures immediately following the second entrance of the fugue subject (Example 5).

In this passage, leaving out the off-the-beat sixteenth notes in the lower voice—both with and without also playing the upper voice—is a good way to explore the rhythmic relationship between the voices. It should clarify the interaction between the implied detached eighth notes of the lower voice and the actual eighth notes in the upper voice.

In the opening of the famous Widor Toccata there are all sorts of possibilities for leaving notes out (Example 6). Any of the following might be illuminating:

1) Play the first three sixteenth notes of each beat in the right hand and leave out everything else; play the left hand as is.

2) Play the notes found on the first and fourth eighth notes of each half-note beat, in both hands, and leave out everything else. (These are the places where the pedal plays when it comes in.)

3) Play the right hand as is, and in the left hand only play the chords that fall on half-note beats.

4) An idea that is quite specialized and geared to this passage: play the right hand as is on a loud sound, and in the left hand—on a softer sound—play the chord on each half-note beat, and hold it for the entire half note. When you restore the written rhythm and texture, this will perhaps guide you towards hearing all of the off-the-beat left-hand chords as growing out of the reverberation or bloom of the on-the-beat chords.

There are probably many more possibilities as well. The process of figuring out what scheme of omitting notes might make sense is itself a good learning opportunity.

In a passage whose rhythm is less regular, or in which the hierarchy of beats is less clear, it might take more analysis to discover what pattern of omitting notes makes sense, if any. It is also probably true that the less clear it is what notes might be omitted to create an exercise of this sort, the less compellingly useful the exercise will be. However, it never hurts to try it out. 

In the Franck Choral in A Minor, for example, there are several unusual ways of applying this idea. I like to hear each half of the opening measure as having a diminuendo to it, or, perhaps more accurately, I like to hear the last three sixteenth notes of each half measure as being an “after-beat” to the second or fourth quarter note. Therefore I would play the opening a few times like Example 7.

I like to think of the first note of measure 7 as being quiet: a diminuendo coming off the suspension over the bar line (Example 8). I would consider trying this phrase leaving the C#’s out. This would be jarring and unsatisfying harmonically, but might train the ears to play the notes “quietly.” In various passages that have writing like that in the right hand part here (Example 9) I would try leaving out the off-the-beat sixteenth notes. And in this passage (Example 10) I would try leaving out the (double) pedal sixteenth notes. In this case, it is important to release the octave E’s, which have temporarily become repeated notes, smoothly and in plenty of time, so that when you add the D#’s back in, your feet will not have grown accustomed to being stuck on the E’s.

There are, in any piece, many possibilities for leaving out notes that you think of as being quieter. As I am suggesting, there is nothing wrong with simply trying such things out. Even if a particular practice pattern ends up seeming not to have made much difference, the process of working on it still has not been wasted. As I alluded to above (and elsewhere), anything that makes you notice more of what is going on in a piece will contribute to the learning of the piece and to its becoming increasingly solid. Students—and teachers—can play around with the idea.

It is worth mentioning one more time the importance of light touch in this particular context. In order for the magic to work—or for the subconscious to guide the hands and feet to do subtle things, too subtle to describe analytically—it is important that there be no tension. Tension or tightness will make it much harder for the subtleties heard by the ear to express themselves in the fingers—perhaps impossible.