Hugo Riemann, Karl Straube, and problems of structural coherence in the performance of Max Reger’s organ works

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

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

Yumiko Tatsuta

Introduction

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

Historical registration

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

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

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

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

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

Reger’s sound world

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Practical suggestions for registration

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Determine what resources are available on the organ.

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

Table of equivalent stops

Manual I (C–f3)

Sauer: Fisk:

16′ Principal—16′ Montre

16′ Bordun —

16′ Gamba —

8′ Principal—8′ Montre

8′ Hohlflöte —

8′ Viola di Gamba—8′ Gambe

8′ Doppelflöte —

8′ Gemshorn—8′ Spire Flute

8′ Traversflöte—8′ Flûte harmonique

8′ Quintatön —

8′ Geigenprincipal —

8′ Gedackt —

5-1⁄3′ Quinte —

4′ Octave—4′ Prestant

4′ Spitzflöte —

4′ Fugara —

4′ Rohrflöte—4′ Chimney Flute

2-2⁄3′ Rauschquinte II —

3-1⁄5′ Gross-Cymbel III —

2′ Piccolo —

Mixture V—Plein jeu harmonique II–VI

Scharf V—Plein jeu VI

Cornett III–V —

16′ Trompete—16′ Trommet

8′ Trompete—8′ Trommet

Manual II (C–f3)

16′ Geigenprincipal —

16′ Bordun—16′ Quintaton

8′ Principal—8′ Principal

8′ Rohrflöte —

8′ Salicional—8′ Viole d’amore

8′ Flûte harmonique —

8′ Spitzflöte —

8′ Harmonika —

8′ Gedackt—8′ Gedackt

8′ Dolce—8′ Flute Celeste

4′ Octave—4′ Octave

4′ Flöte—4′ Hohlflöte

4′ Gemshorn—4′ Violina

4′ Flauto dolce —

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

Mixtur IV Mixture IV

Cornett IV —

16′ Fagott—16′ Clarinet

8′ Tuba—8′ Cornopean

8′ Oboë —

Manual III (C–f3, Schwellwerk)

16′ Salicional —

16′ Lieblich Gedackt—16′ Bourdon

8′ Principal—8′ Diapason

8′ Konzertflöte—8′ Flûte traversière

8′ Schalmei —

8′ Lieblich Gedackt—8′ Bourdon

8′ Aeoline —

8′ Voix céleste—8′ Voix céleste

8′ Dulciana—8′ Viole de gambe

4′ Praestant—4′ Dulciane

4′ Traversflöte—4′ Flûte octaviante

4′ Violine —

2-2⁄3′ Gemshornquinte—2-2⁄3′ Nasard

2′ Flautino—2′ Octavin

Harm. aetherea III —

8′ Clarinette —

8′ Vox humana—8′ Voix humaine

Pedal (C–d1)

32′ Contrabass —

32′ Untersatz—32′ Principal

16′ Principal—16′ Montre

16′ Violon —

16′ Subbass—16′ Soubasse

16′ Gemshorn —

16′ Bassflöte—16′ Bourdon (Sw)

10-2⁄3′ Quintbass—10-2⁄3′ Quinte

8′ Oktavbass—8′ Octave

8′ Violoncello—8′ Violoncelle

8′ Gedackt—8′ Bourdon

8′ Viola d’amour—8′ Spire Flute

4′ Flöte—4′ Octave

Cornett III —

32′ Contraposaune—32′ Contre Posaune

16′ Posaune—16′ Posaune

8′ Trompete—8′ Trommet (Gt)

4′ Clairon—4′ Clairon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

11) 8′ Gedackt (I); Fisk: —

12) 8′ Schalmei (III), I/P; Fisk: I/P

13) 8′ Quintatön (I); Fisk: —

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

15) 8′ Hohlflöte (I); Fisk: —

16) 8′ Flute harmonique (II); Fisk: —

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

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

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

20) 8′ Geigenprincipal (I); Fisk: —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

36) 4′ Flöte (P); Fisk: 4′ Octave (P)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

52) II Rauschquinte (I); Fisk: —

53) III Cornett (P); Fisk: —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

63) 8′ Clarinette (III); Fisk: —

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

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

66) III–V Cornet (I); Fisk: —

67) III Groß Cymbel (I); Fisk: —

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

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

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

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

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

73) Octavkoppel; Fisk: Octaves graves coupler

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

Here I provide some excerpts with explanations:

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

Notes

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

2. Christian Scheffler Orgelwerkstatt website, orgelwerkstatt.de.

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

4. Ibid., 360.

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

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

7. Ibid., 25.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

16. Email exchanges with Christopher Anderson.

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

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

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

Bibliography

Literature:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dissertations:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Journal articles:

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

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

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

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

Scores:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unpublished Paper (shared by the author):

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

Online sources:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael McNeil

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

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

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

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

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

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

         D     E     A#

C  F     G     A     B

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

           D#          F#      G#     A#

C     D     E   F       G        A       B

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7. Ibo Ortgies. See quotation in Note 1.

 

 

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

All examples are in the bass clef in the pedal.

 

Edition Peters 4855, Nicolaus Bruhns, 1968

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

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

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

 

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

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

Nicholas Halbert

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

Hans Fährmann, Dresden’s organ composer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The German Romantic organ sonata and Hans Fährmann

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The German Romantic organ

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

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

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

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

Organ Sonata No. 1 in G Minor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

Notes

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

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

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

4. Hennings, page 4.

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

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

7. Böhm, page 323.

8. Böhm, page 323.

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

10. Böhm, page 324.

11. Böhm, page 324.

12. Böhm, pages 324–325.

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

14. Rost, pages 1030–1032.

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

16. Rost, pages 1030–1032.

17. Hennings, page 8.

18. Böhm, page 326.

19. Böhm, page 324.

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

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

22. Ibid.

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

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

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

26. Wagner, page 63.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

34. Hennings, page 8.

35. Hennings, page 8.

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

37. Kocourek, page 1.

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

39. Kocourek, page 5.

40. Kocourek, page 2.

41. Kocourek, pages 2–3.

42. Kocourek, page 3.

43. Kocourek, page 4.

44. Kocourek, page 3.

45. Kocourek, page 4.

46. Hennings, page 9.

47. Hennings, page 9.

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

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

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

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

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

53. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 3.

54. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 8.

55. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 13.

56. Fährmann, First Sonata, page 14.

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

Bibliography

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Sample YouTube recordings of Fährmann works:

Sonata No.1 in G minor, op. 5

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

Michael Gailit

Michael Gailit graduated from the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna with both performance and pedagogy diplomas in organ as well as in piano. Teaching piano at this institute since 1980, he has also conducted the organ studio at the Musik und Kunst Universität in Vienna since 1995. As church organist he served at St. Augustine’s Church, 1979–2008; in 2011 he was appointed organist at the Jesuit Church (Old University Church).

Both in his performance and teaching repertoire, Gailit includes all style areas on the base of their individual performance practices. He toured with solo recitals on both instruments in Europe as well as in North America and appeared with leading orchestras and renowned conductors. Recordings, masterclasses, invitations to juries, musicological publications, editing sheet music, compositions, arrangements, supporting the piano-organ duo repertoire, commissioned works, first performances, and finally occasional trips into the theatre and silent movie repertoire should be noted.

Particular attention was received in 1989 for the first performance of the complete piano and organ works of Julius Reubke, the performance of the complete organ works of Franz Schmidt the same year, as well as in September 2005 a series of six recitals with the trio sonatas of Johann Sebastian Bach, the organ sonatas of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, and the organ symphonies of Louis Vierne. Currently Gailit is working on a book The Enigma BWV 565, a study elucidating new answers and new questions.

Editor’s note: Part 1 of this series appeared in the June 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 18–19.

The analysis of the first twelve measures revealed a compositional technique that can most aptly be described as metamorphosis. The list of the motives that appear in BWV 565, given in detail in the first part of this article, shows how one motive becomes the other (Example 15). In the last consequence, the mordent motive creates all others. This evolutionary style of composition appears on all levels. The mordent creates what we called a nucleus idea, which in turn creates the next two phrases. A part of the nucleus idea creates the ascending triplets, which in turn develop into the descending triplets. The closing section varies measures 1 and 2 and ends with the mordent motive.

From three to four

The second section, measures 12 through 30, continues this concept, only that the focus changes from three-note motives to four-note ones. In order to achieve a smooth transformation, the section starts with an upbeat to a trichord. The following tetrachords are rhythmically shifted in the same way, so that they appear as trichords with upbeats. The passage also prepares the fugue theme that shows a very similar structure of four consecutive tetrachords. Pitch notation of the opening phrase of the first part had assisted to discover the 3 x 3 form of the nucleus idea. Pitch notation of the current phrase now reveals a 4 x 4 structure (Examples 16 and 17). Both lines add another 4 x 4 notes as inserted repetitions of the dominant tone.

Simultaneous notation of the immanent two voices in measures 13 through 15 helps to understand the process. Edition Peters gives the original text of the earliest manuscript. Bärenreiter and Breitkopf & Härtel in their Urtext editions align measures 14 and 15 by substituting measure 14 with the octave transposition of measure 15. As we observe now, this contradicts the overall concept of continuous transformation. Measure 14 quotes the nucleus idea; measure 15 prepares the next section by changing the ending with the surprise of an eighth-note rest on beat one of measure 16 (Example 18).

In 1845–1846, the complete organ works by Johann Sebastian Bach appeared in print for the first time. This release by Edition Peters is considered a milestone, due in part to the editorial policy of Friedrich Conrad Griepenkerl (1782–1849), which abstained from any amendments. The eighth-note rest at the beginning of measure 16, however, obviously came as too great a surprise to the editor. He replaced it with a manual D31 without any reference to a manuscript source. In view of the preceding three-fold thundering D2 on the pedals, the eighth-note rest is only one of the many skillfully calculated effects in BWV 565.

The motivic substance of measures 16 through 20 consists of the tetrachord and the turn motive. Both textures, the figurations as well as the syncopated chords, follow a harmonic progression commonly known as the Phrygian cadence.2 This harmonic pattern is frequently inserted after a slow movement in order to prepare the listener for a finale. The transition from Adagio to Allegro in a voluntary by John Stanley (1712–1786)—with quite similar motives as BWV 565—demonstrates this function (Example 19).

The Phrygian cadence in BWV 565 comprises four chords consisting of four motives, two tetrachords and two turn motives (Example 20). The middle voice can count for two as the doubling of these notes in the thirty-second-note figurations suggests.

The syncopated chords appear four times, with a different pedal phrase each time (Example 21). The evolutionary concept of motive metamorphosis in BWV 565 requires abstention from the editorial practice of unification, in this case to replace phrase 2 by phrase 1. In measure 17, the bass and tenor notes are exchanged. The tenor varies the tetrachord E–D–C–B-flat in a new way by placing the first note at the end and an octave lower.

Whereas the Phrygian cadence aims to the last note in measures 16 through 18, its third and fourth appearances in measures 19 and 20 shifts the accented beat to the second note. This gives room for another chord on the last eighth-note beat in measure 20. On this beat, the new note of a G-sharp surprises; it gives the base for another diminished seventh chord. The G-sharp descends to the dissonance G-natural of the dominant seventh chord that spans over five more measures to be resolved only in measure 27.

Pitch notation shows that the run in measure 18 is a variation of measure 11, with some added notes (Example 22). It consists of a collection of the prime suspects—three tetrachords, a mordent, and a turn motive. Also, the arpeggio appears, this time following the tonic chord.

The passage ends in measure 19 with a scale comprising the complete tone material including the B-natural. This run is repeated in measure 21 without the passing notes (Example 23).

Four descending tetrachords run into a halt on the diminished seventh chord, before a prestissimo tremolo breaks loose. The toccata returns here to triplets and the mordent, whose intervals are stretched to thirds, with alternating upper and lower neighbor notes. The pedal surprisingly takes on a melodic role, worthy of the designation Recitativo. With the exception of the final cadence, the pedal lines up ten seconds, the last one repeating the first (Example 24).

Probably just a coincidence: we discover the first six notes of the pedal line in the Advent hymn, Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (Example 25). More striking is that the pedal line cites the nucleus idea in the form of the second phrase in measure 1 (Example 26). The manual parts, note repetitions, and voice doubling omitted, consist only of seconds, which in turn are condensed tetrachords (Example 27).

The purpose

On the second page of Ringk’s manuscript, the last four staves are left blank. The fugue begins on a new third page. Ringk wrote, “Verte. Fuga.” (in Latin: Turn! Fugue.) below the final cadence on page 2. So before we turn the page and continue with the fugue, let us look at what has happened so far. BWV 565 is a work that undoubtedly attracts attention. So what was the purpose of the composition; why was it created? We need to leave the objective path of note-by-note analysis here. The meaning of a text cannot be grasped comparatively by counting the letters or discussing grammar and spelling.

Measures 16–17 and 19–20 were the first to open a new perspective. As mentioned earlier, we often find the harmonic pattern of the Phrygian cadence by default as a bridge between a slow movement and the following finale, as a musical announcement, and to increase the tension that a finale or something similar is to be expected. In measures 16 and 17, the Phrygian cadence is repeated four times, but it remains without consequence. After an extended run, the cadence is repeated again, a full three times, and it again remains without consequence. Is this a joke? A prank?

The impression is reinforced by the inverted echos of the section. It is in the nature of an echo that the return sounds weaker. However, in the Phrygian cadential measures in BWV 565, the reverse is true. The harmonic pattern is introduced with a thin texture of broken chords, only to be answered with heavy chords above a pedal line, plus hammering syncopations. Is this a provocation?

Flawless part-writing includes avoidance of parallel octaves and fifths. Let us imagine a student, required to submit a clean four-part piece, presenting the strict teacher something hitherto unheard like BWV 565. Seated at the organ console, the teacher begins to play. On the first page parallel octaves as far as one can see. The first note isolated, nailed with a mordent and a fermata, immediately followed by a rest. Short phrases, constantly interrupted with more rests. Laughter in the background, when the teacher has to take note that his organ is missing the bottom C-sharp. Broken chords are based on parallel fifths. In the pedal, there are only three roaring Ds, above them long-held quadruple dissonances. Then one finds a run pointing to a D, but silence instead. The inverted echoes startle. The Phrygian cadence remains without consequence, sounding seven times in vain.

There is no evidence whatsoever that BWV 565 was intended as a joke or prank, just as a joke does not have the caption, “This is a joke.” The nature of a text can be discerned from its content and setting alone. The amazing thing about this theory is, however, that it can answer all hitherto raised questions, among them:

• Only one copy of the autograph survived, some of the notation is only sketched: BWV 565 was intended only for private use and not for publication.

• All compositional features described as problematic: deliberate violations of the rules to show a new style.

• Bach named as author on the title page, the work possibly not by Bach: the most plausible explanation for this contradiction.

• The wrong key signature on the title page “ex . d . # .:” one cannot seriously claim that someone copied a multi-page piece in D minor and the same person mistakenly writes D major on the title page. Furthermore, Ringk notated minor keys adding a flat to the key letter, major keys adding a natural, not a sharp. The sharp could be a hint pointing to the unusual content, which is so-to-speak not natural, but sharp. In German, the word for sharp is Kreuz, which conveys the saying, ein Kreuz haben, having problems with something or someone.

• The simple composition style: simplified overdrawing as a device of parody.

• The low C-sharp in measure 2 being a rare key on organs of the time: deliberately pointing to the deficiency of a missing key.

• The late Peter Williams’s theory of a lost piece for violin: an allusion to J. S. Bach’s skills as a string player.

Following this theory, somewhere at an early stage someone took the piece as serious. The consequences are outrageous and at the same time incredibly humorous. It is singular that BWV 565 beats any other organ work in popularity. Then there are also all the discussions about the deliberately composed “misbehaving” features, if they can be credited to Bach or not. It is a work brilliant on several levels: as a provocation, fun, or a prank with a highly skillful compositional technique not common in Baroque music, but pointing to the future.

This theory may or may not be the case, but the journey into the unknown of BWV 565 is far from over. We now turn the second page of the manuscript and explore not only the fugue, but also lift the anchors on some findings that are considered certain. Stay tuned.

To be continued.

Notes

^1. Note designations in scientific orthography: C2-C3-C4-C5-C6 (= traditionally C-c°-c′-c′′-c′′′).

^2. The Phrygian church mode has the half-tone step between the first and second and the fifth and sixth scale degrees. Church modes, however, are melodic, not harmonic entities.

Markus Rathey

Markus Rathey is the Robert S. Tangeman Professor of Music History at Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut, where he teaches at the Institute of Sacred Music, the School of Music, the Divinity School, and the Department of Music. Not only a leading Bach scholar and author of several books on Johann Sebastian Bach, he has also published numerous articles on the history of organ music and organbuilding from the seventeenth to the twentieth century.

Organ recitals usually do not create a lot of drama. Even less so are rehearsals for organ recitals the stuff of dramatic tales. However, it was a rather dramatic practice session that marked the first public performance of Györgi Ligeti’s (1923–2006) most famous organ work, Volumina. The memorable event involved smoking pipes, a failing electrical system, and an exasperated organist who had to find a different church in which to perform. But more about these spectacular events in a moment.

The Hungarian composer Györgi Ligeti was one of the most influential and revolutionary composers in the second half of the twentieth century. Born on May 28, 1923, in Dicsőszentmárton (today as Tîrnăveni, part of Romania), Ligeti studied at the conservatory of Koloszvár (Klausenburg) and, after a short interruption due to the war, finished his studies in Budapest where he graduated in 1949.

In later comments about his training, Ligeti lamented that the Cold War had made it impossible to stay abreast of the musical developments in the West and that he was mostly expected to compose vocal works in a folk style that had been dominated by Hungarian national composer Zoltan Kodáli. Ligeti made early compositional experiments and developed a unique personal style; however, most of these innovative compositions had to remain in his desk until he was able to flee Hungary and move to Vienna in 1956. Soon after arriving in the Austrian capital, Ligeti not only absorbed the new developments in post-war Western European music, but he also contacted some of the leading avant-garde composers.

Already in 1958, Ligeti began teaching at the Darmstadt International Summer Courses for New Music, one of the hotbeds of musical innovation in the 1950s and 1960s. Working with Karl-Heinz Stockhausen, Iannis Xenakis, and others expanded Ligeti’s style, and his musical visions became more and more innovative. Ligeti experimented with clusters, composed electronic music, and challenged established conventions of musical sound. His revolutionary approach to music was often paired with an ironic sense of humor, which is reflected in works such as Trois Bagatelles (1962) for piano or the satirical Fragment (1961).¹

It might come as a surprise that Ligeti formed an interest in organ music. The organ, often viewed as an instrument stifled by its own traditions, was not particularly involved in the musical innovations during the twentieth century. Several factors contributed to Ligeti’s decision to write organ works.² The earliest root of his interest in the instrument dates back to his music studies in the 1940s. As he later reports, he studied organ for a few years at the conservatory of Koloszvár, and he proudly describes that his skills were sufficient to play Bach’s Sonata in E-flat Major, BWV 525.³ He abandoned his organ studies when he left Koloszvár during the war, but we have a few traces of his organ playing in later years. Most importantly, he played his own organ work Volumina on a small, mechanical-action organ in Vienna in 1962,⁴ even before the disastrous rehearsal for the first public performance took place. Ligeti did not play the piece in public (so it does not count as an official performance), but it demonstrates that he was still able to play the instrument twenty years after he had taken his first organ lessons.

Musica Ricercata

Ligeti had even composed a small organ work when he still lived in Hungary. This composition grew out of a cycle of contrapuntal and experimental pieces with the name Musica Ricercata.⁵ Written in Budapest between 1951 and 1953, the eleven movements, originally composed for piano, document Ligeti’s search for a new musical style. As the political separation of Eastern Europe had cut him off from the latest developments in the West, Ligeti fundamentally re-envisioned the musical material with which he was working.

In Musica Ricercata, each of the movements is based on a limited set of pitch classes. Movement I only features two pitch classes (A and D), movement II expands this to three (E-sharp, F-sharp, G), and each of the following movements adds another pitch class until in the eleventh movement, all the twelve pitches of the chromatic scale are included. In a way, the collection traces the path from simple musical models to complex twelve-tone music. As a nod to history, Ligeti based the last movement of Musica Ricercata on a chromatic subject from Girolamo Frescobaldi’s “Ricercare cromatico post il Credo” from the collection Fiori musicali (1635). Ligeti expands Frescobaldi’s chromatic subject into a complete dodecaphonic row (Example 1). The composition, however, does not slavishly follow the restrictions of dodecaphony but rather treats the material more freely.

While originally composed for piano, Ligeti soon reworked the final movement for organ. The composition remained unpublished during the composer’s lifetime, and it would take until 1990 before it finally appeared in print. The texture of the piece and the musical techniques employed remain still very conventional. Only toward the final measures does Ligeti show his budding interest of unusual textures by requesting a registration that was reduced to a 32′ stop in the pedal and only 4′, 2′, and 1′ stops in the manual. The result is that the highest and lowest notes are nine octaves apart while the middle range remains empty. This is a far cry from Ligeti’s revolutionary compositions of the 1960s, but it already shows that the composer wanted to expand the conventions of the organ sound. He just did not know yet how to do it. Even Ligeti himself saw the composition more as an experiment. He commented, “The piece is intentionally monotonic: I wanted to balance the polyphonic technique with a monotonic rhythmical structure, [and thus] almost eliminates the polyphony.”⁶

While Ligeti’s own organ studies and his first organ work remain within the realm of tradition and only hint at the wish to break the mold, the later 1950s brought new creative impulses. After fleeing Hungary, Ligeti witnessed (and participated in) numerous musical innovations. Several avant-garde composers in the late 1950s and early 1960s had become interested in composing for the sound of the organ in innovative manners. While neoclassical styles were still abundant in central and northern European organ music (France saw a different development), and the Organ Reform Movement (Orgelbewegung) with its focus on Baroque models dominated the discourse, several composers found ways to break out of this tradition and to explore new paths. The Swedish composer Bengt Hambraeus (1928–2000) started composing with clusters, manipulated pipes, and other musical and technical innovations in the late 1950s; other composers and organists adopted his ideas and built on them.⁷

Volumina

In 1961 the north German public radio station Radio Bremen commissioned a series of new organ works that showed the possibilities of the old instrument in a new musical context. Instrumental for the commissions was the composer, organist, and head of the music department at the radio station, Hans Otte (1926–2007). Otte commissioned three of the most innovative composers of his time to write new works: Bengt Hambraeus (1928–2000), who has already established himself as a revolutionary in the realm of the organ; the German-Argentinian composer Mauricio Kagel (1931–2008); and Györgi Ligeti. Hambraeus wrote the piece Interferenzen and Kagel composed Improvisation Ajoutée, while Ligeti contributed his Volumina.⁸

While Ligeti had some experience with the organ, he relied heavily on the advice and the inspiration of Hambraeus, and he especially consulted with the Swedish organist Karl-Erik Welin. It is not a coincidence that Ligeti composed Volumina during a stay in Stockholm during the winter of 1961–1962. Welin took him to his church and demonstrated ways to manipulate the sound of the organ and how to incorporate new techniques. He was a trusted advisor throughout the process of the composition. Welin’s suggestions helped Ligeti envision a new type of organ composition that left behind traditional parameters such as melody, theme, and harmony, and instead focused on sound-colors and textures. Ligeti had already explored these musical ideas in his orchestral work Atmosphères (1961),⁹ and the exchange with Welin provided him with the technical knowledge to adapt these ideas for the organ.

Ligeti operates with clusters of notes that take different shapes, move across the keyboard, and create ever changing sonic colors. In his performance instructions, the composer differentiates between three types of clusters:

• Chromatic cluster—depress all keys (or as many as possible) between the indicated limits;

• Diatonic cluster—depress all the “white” keys between the indicated limits;

• Pentatonic cluster—depress all the “black” keys between the indicated limits.¹⁰

The clusters are manipulated in different ways: they can move up and down the manuals (and pedal); the clusters can have internal movement (while the outer margins remain fixed); and they can expand and contract, thus creating crescendo effects. To notate these musical details, Ligeti decided to abandon classical notation and to use a graphic notation instead that indicated the qualities and movement of the clusters.

The idea of using graphic notation had its roots in Ligeti’s own compositional process. He had been employing graphic sketches as a tool when planning his large-scale works such Atmosphères. These sketches served as an orientation for his compositions, which he then wrote down in classical notation. In Volumina, however, Ligeti decided that the graphic representation captured his musical intentions much more precisely than any traditional notation would have been able to. As a result, Volumina is the only work by Ligeti that features graphic notation. In later comments about this decision, Ligeti points out that he does not want the graphic elements to be understood as being random or just a prompt for improvisation. Instead, he states that the graphic notation (in conjunction with verbal performance instructions) captured precisely his intentions for how the composition should sound.¹¹

In addition to the graphic notation and the consistent use of clusters, Volumina also features several techniques that are intended to manipulate the sound of the instrument. One way is the manipulation of wind pressure while pulling the stops. Ligeti writes:

. . . by pulling out or pushing in the stopknobs slowly, fluctuations in intonation and “intermediate sounds” can be created. The tone-colour transitions should be realized as delicately and continuously as possible. The player and/or his assistants can take their time, leaving the stopknobs in intermediate positions ad lib.¹²

The result is, of course, a reduced wind pressure, which leads to fluctuations of the sounds of the pipes. Ligeti will return later to this idea when he composes his organ etudes towards the end of the 1960s.

A second, even more effective technique of manipulating the sound of the organ, is the use of the organ motor. Volumina begins with a broad cluster that ideally encompasses the whole keyboard. The organist presses down all the keys with their arms, while the organ is still turned off. Only then, one of the registrants starts the organ, and we hear not only a crescendo but a wild combination of overtones, pipes that start sounding at different times, and a wall of sound that slowly builds up. Like the manipulation of the register stops, this only works on a mechanical-action organ, where the stop controls and keys work independently from the electric motor. In 1967 Ligeti published a revised version of Volumina that also includes suggestions for other organs.¹³

The organ motor becomes a dominant part of the performance again at the end of Volumina. The piece ends on a high, chromatic cluster of notes when the organ motor is turned off, and the sound slowly fades away, again with the typical fluctuations in sound that come with a decreasing wind pressure and the different ways in which the individual pipes respond to this. Ligeti’s comments from the revised (1967) score, which also include the instructions for organs with electric key action, show not only the sonic ideal the composer wants to accomplish, but they also hint at other new ways for how to manipulate the sound of the organ, some of which are later picked up by Ligeti himself or by other composers:

The marking “Blower off” does not apply to those organs with electric key action, on which the wind is immediately discharged from the pipes as soon as the current is cut off. On these organs, however, the gradual fading out of the sound, together with the typical pitch fluctuations which are created by the decrease in wind pressure, can be accomplished by other means. First the full cluster . . . is sustained for a while; then the keys are slowly released one by one from the lower to the upper extreme, lingering on some keys longer than on others, so that the cluster gradually becomes narrower and softer, and ultimately disappears. To complete this process, several small pipes may be removed from the organ in advance, these are blown by mouth very softly by the player and his assistant . . . . This produces a “denatured,” “out-of-tune,” and extremely delicate sound, which may continue for some time after the played cluster has died away.¹⁴

We can see how Ligeti aims at manipulating the traditional sound of the instrument in a way that considers the mechanical (and electrical) features of the organ. These manipulations involve technical changes of the instrument, which some organists (and church councils) might frown upon. This brings us to the memorable rehearsal I mentioned at the beginning. Karl-Erik Welin, with whom Ligeti had cooperated during the composition of Volumina, was asked to play the premiere of the piece in Bremen Cathedral in 1962.

After Ligeti had completed the composition (and played through it on a small mechanical-action organ in Vienna), Welin tried to practice the piece at an organ in Gothenburg, Sweden. The rehearsal did not go as planned, as Ligeti reports:

Already the opening cluster was too much for the electrical system of the church. The moment the motor was started (with the notes of the cluster pressed down), smoke rose out of the organ pipes and the smell of burning rubber filled the church. The insulation of the electrical wires had melted, and it turned out that the mechanical parts that were made out of softer materials had also melted. The insurance of the church refused to pay for the costly repair of the instrument because, as it turned out, somebody had replaced a missing fuse with a sewing needle.¹⁵

Needless to say, the authorities at the Bremen Cathedral were shocked at the destructive effects of Ligeti’s composition (even though it was not his fault) and withdrew their permission to perform the piece (and also the two other pieces commissioned by Radio Bremen) in the cathedral. Karl-Erik Welin quickly found another church in Stockholm where he was allowed to record Ligeti’s piece. However, the tape provided by Swedish Radio was too short for the performance, and only a part of Volumina was recorded. Only a last attempt, now at the Westerkerk in Amsterdam, was successful, and Volumina was finally successfully recorded to be broadcast by Radio Bremen.

Etudes

Welin remained one of the most active interpreters of Ligeti’s organ work. In the mid 1960s, he was joined by the German organist Gerd Zacher, who not only played Volumina frequently but who also advised Ligeti in the revised version of 1967. Out of the collaboration between Ligeti and Zacher grew the plan to write four more organ works, etudes, that would further expand the musical vocabulary of the organ. Of the four projected etudes, only two were eventually executed.¹⁶ The first one was Harmonies. Composed in 1967, it requires the organist to play a dense chord in which all ten fingers are in constant contact with the keys. Gradually, one finger shifts to the next key, while the other fingers remain in place. The result is a slow-moving, almost static sound (Example 2).

Although the harmonic progressions are not random (Ligeti notates it very precisely), the sequence of harmonies does not follow a specific, goal-oriented plan. Instead, it is determined by the adjacent keys to which one of the ten fingers is able to glide. As an additional feature, Ligeti again requires the organist to mechanically manipulate the sound of the organ. As earlier in Volumina, the registrants are asked to pull and push the knobs of the registers slowly, thus creating inconsistent wind supply. Ligeti also suggests that the organist can press the keys slowly, which also leads to an inconsistent supply of wind for the individual pipes.

In addition to these techniques that can be accomplished from the console of the organ, Ligeti (on suggestion of Zacher) asks to reduce the wind pressure by manipulating the organ motor. The preface lists a number of suggestions, which were devised by Zacher and other contemporary organists:

• by using a weaker motor like that of a vacuum cleaner, inserting the hose into the reservoir (Gerd Zacher);

• by adjusting the valve in the chief wind-receiver between the fan and the reservoir (Gábor Lehotka);

• by opening the windchest (Gerd Zacher);

• by reducing the rotation of the speed of the fan by loading the circuit (installing an adjustable resistance in the circuit, for instance);

• by removing some low pipes from a pedal reed register so that some of the wind escapes (Zsigmond Szathmáry).¹⁷

Most remarkable, and Zacher’s original suggestion, is probably the use of a vacuum cleaner instead of an organ motor. Shortly after composing Harmonies, Ligeti gave a talk at an organ builder symposium wherein he advocated for organs in which the power of the motor could be reduced electronically, so that there would be no need to bring a vacuum cleaner up to the organ loft.

The second etude, composed 1969, presents Ligeti’s interest in the organ from a different perspective. In Coulée, the organist plays alternating eighth notes at a rapid tempo, creating the impression of an almost static sound. Ligeti had already used a similar idea in his harpsichord composition, Continuum, written the previous year. Like Harmonies, the intervals only change gradually, and the organist is again in constant contact with the keys throughout the whole piece. The alternating eighth notes then transition gradually into short ascending (left hand) and descending lines (right hand), before Ligeti returns to the alternation between lower and higher pitches.

The intervals gradually become smaller until we hear short chromatic lines played in contrary motion between the left and right hand. The intervals expand to major seconds and thirds until the etude closes with sequences of thirds in contrary motion. The last note is to be played very short, as Ligeti comments: “last tone in both hands very short and fleeting”¹⁸ (Example 3).

While this second etude does not rely on technical manipulations of the instrument, Ligeti has a very precise vision of the sound he wants the organist to create. As in Continuum, where the natural timbre of the harpsichord already creates a transparent, somewhat sharp sound, Ligeti asks in Coulée for a registration that keeps the individual notes distinguishable, even at a very high tempo and in a reverberant space. He writes:

Dynamics of the two manuals must be balanced (the manuals are of equal importance), while the tone colours may differ. To preserve the continuous character of the piece, it is recommended that the same registration is kept throughout. The selected registration in both manuals should be sharp and colourful, so that the striking of the keys is audible and that the extreme speed of the piece evident (a registration that is too weak would create a static continuum, which is not desired; as stated, the individual tones must not be distinguishable as such, but the key action—despite the enormous speed—must have the effect of a very fast time-grid).¹⁹

The second etude is not only a direct sister work to the harpsichord piece Continuum, but it also reflects Ligeti’s interest in mechanical processes, which can be found in many of his works from the 1960s and early 1970s. The same “pattern-meccanico” technique²⁰ can also be seen in chamber music works, such as his Ten Pieces for Wind Quintet (movement 8) or the final movement of his Second String Quartet. Ligeti’s interest in mechanical patterns correlates in an interesting way with his interest in the organ as a large-scale machine. While the second etude does not include experiments with wind pressure or unusual registrations, its mechanical motion fits well into Ligeti’s fascination with the mechanical and technological side of the organ.

We find Ligeti’s own reflections on organ sound and organbuilding in a paper he read at a conference of the Walcker-Stiftung in 1968 (subsequently published in print).²¹ The paper reads like a commentary on the ways Ligeti had manipulated the sound of the organ in Volumina and in his two later etudes. He explains the significance of wind pressure, the possibilities of manipulating the pressure through different means, and his particular fascination with lower pressures that make the organ sound “sick.” From there, Ligeti speculates about ways to construct organs that invite similar and additional manipulations—electronic dials that can regulate the wind pressure of the organ, technologies that change the intonation of individual pipes while playing, etc. Ligeti envisions a Baukastenorgel, an organ consisting of building blocks that can be easily reconfigured depending on the piece that is being played. Ligeti’s paper reflects the innovative spirit of the 1960s and the attempts to include new technologies (including computers) in the process of music making.

At the same time, it is important that Ligeti does not want to replace the pipe organ. Computers and other technological aids are used to support, modify, and expand the sound of the traditional organ. But as in his other instrumental works (with the exception of his earlier experiments with electronic music in the late 1950s), Ligeti saw the future of his own music within the realm of traditional instruments, which were pushed to new limits to create new and revolutionary sounds.

As far as I know, Volumina has not caused another organ to go up in smoke or an electrical system to fail. Ligeti’s composition, while played by few organists, has become a milestone in the history of organ music in the second half of the twentieth century.

 

Notes

1. For these compositions see Benjamin R. Levy, Metamorphosis in Music: The Compositions of György Ligeti in the 1950s and 1960s (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), pages 132–134.

2. See also Kimberly Marshall, “György Ligeti (1923–2006),” in Christopher S. Anderson (ed.), Twentieth-Century Organ Music (New York/London: Routledge, 2012), 
pages 262–285.

3. György Ligeti, “Orgelwerke,” in G. Ligeti, Gesammelte Schriften II, ed. by Monika Lichtenfeld (Mainz: Schott, 2007), page 184.

4. Ligeti, “Orgelwerke,” page 185.

5. See Sean Rourke, “Ligeti’s Early Years in the West,” The Musical Times 130, no. 1759 (September 1989), pages 532–535.

6. György Ligeti, “Über Musica ricercata,” in G. Ligeti, Gesammelte Schriften II, ed. by Monika Lichtenfeld (Mainz: Schott, 2007), page 155.

7. See the excellent study of Hambraeus’s and Ligeti’s work by Per F. Broman, “Back to the Future”: Towards an Aesthetic Theory of Bengt Hambræus (Göteborg: Göteborgs Universitet, Avdelningen för Musikvetenskap, 1999).

8. See the overview of these three pieces in Ulrich Schmiedeke, Der Beginn der Neues Orgelmusik 1961/62 (München: Katzbichler, 1981).

9. A good introduction to Ligeti’s Atmosphères can be found in Levy, Metamorphosis in Music, pages 113–127. For the relationship between Atmosphères and Volumina see also Jan Lehtola, “György Ligeti—Traditional Reformer or Revolutionary Discoverer? Ligeti’s Organ Music and its Influence on Organ-Playing Technique,” TRIO 1–2/2019, pages 99–100.

10. György Ligeti, Volumina, “Instructions for Performance,” page 1.

11. György Ligeti, “Bemerkungen zu Volumina,” in G. Ligeti, Gesammelte Schriften II, ed. by Monika Lichtenfeld (Mainz: Schott, 2007), page 188.

12. Ligeti, Volumina, “Instructions for Performance,” page 2.

13. For performance practice and interpretation of Volumina see Beth Loeber Williamson, “Performing New Music: Ligeti’s ‘Volumina’,” The American Organist 13/10 (October 1979), pages 32–36.

14. Ligeti, Volumina, “Instructions for Performance,” page 4.

15. Ligeti, “Orgelwerke,” page 185.

16. For the two remaining pieces, see György Ligeti, “Was erwartet der Komponist der Gegenwart von der Orgel?,” in G. Ligeti, Gesammelte Schriften I, ed. by Monika Lichtenfeld (Mainz: Schott, 2007), page 227; see also Lehtola, “György Ligeti,” page 102.

17. György Ligeti, Etude No. 1, “Harmonies,” page 4.

18. György Ligeti, Etude No. 2, “Coulée,” page 5.

19. Ibid.

20. Cf. Levy, Metamorphosis in Music, page 244.

21. Ligeti, “Was erwartet der Komponist der Gegenwart von der Orgel?,” in G. Ligeti, Gesammelte Schriften I, 217–230.

Marilyn Biery

Marilyn Biery is keyboard acquisitions editor at Augsburg Fortress. She is Bridge Director of Music Ministry at Kirk in the Hills in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. She holds bachelor and master of music degrees in organ performance from Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois, and the Doctor of Musical Arts degree in organ performance from the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis.

One of my great delights as a church musician is getting to work with instrumentalists—amateurs, professionals, and students. Therefore, I am always on the lookout for music for them. When I have someone coming to play an obbligato for a work with the choir, I search for repertoire for them to play for preludes or postludes. I discovered that there is a wealth of material available for violin and flute, but not as much for the oboe, particularly for oboe and organ.

Six years ago, I made the acquaintance of Stephanie Shapiro of Ann Arbor, Michigan, who is currently on the faculty at Wayne State University in Detroit as well as the principal oboist for the Lansing Symphony. Since then, Stephanie and I have become devoted friends as well as musical collaborators—we have played numerous concerts and worship services together, and we have found a wealth of repertoire for oboe and organ as well as some pieces for English horn and organ.

During the pandemic, when we were isolated, it occurred to me that there might be music on the International Music Score Library Project (IMSLP) site (imslp.org) that we could transcribe for publication. A year later we had so much music compiled that we decided to split it into separate volumes. We are currently finishing our second volume, and the third has been sketched out. In 2021 GIA Publications published our first collection: Melodies for Two: Music for Oboe, Violin, or Flute, and Organ or Piano, Book One, Composers of Scandinavia, edited by Stephanie Shapiro and Marilyn Biery.

This article will list and briefly discuss the repertoire that we found that was already available and then list and discuss the repertoire in Melodies for Two. For purposes of brevity, I will limit the list to pieces we have either played or rehearsed enough to be able to speak about effectively.

Jacques Berthier (1923–1994): Pastorale, GIA Publications (1987). This lovely pastorale was written for Sherri Batastini, the daughter of Robert Batastini, retired vice president and senior editor at GIA Publications. Sherri was fifteen at the time and already proficient enough to play this piece. Jacques Berthier (1923–1994) was a French composer who wrote most of the liturgical music used at Taizé. Pastorale is in ABA form—two pages of score with a repeat for the A section. The language is modern but very listenable. Of moderate difficulty, it is not hard, but there are numerous accidentals, and the B (“animato”) section has sixteenth-note patterns and wide skips for the oboe. (Examples 1a and 1b.)

Marguerite Roesgen-Champion (1894–1976): Berceuse pour l’enfant Jésus pour Hautbois et Orgue (1956), befoco music; Deux Nocturnes pour hautbois et piano (or orgue), Alphonse Leduc (1950). Berceuse is a perfect lullaby for Christmas Eve or Day, another ABA form with repeat using gentle chromaticism. The first of the Deux Nocturnes is our absolute favorite of all the pieces we discovered, due to the composer’s rich sonorities—fabulous on the 8′ foundations, especially if you add 16′ ad lib pedal. Each piece is about four minutes long, and they make wonderful choices for concert or worship. Roesgen-Champion was a Swiss-born composer who spent much of her life in Paris. These works are of moderate difficulty.

Max Reger (1873–1916): Canzone für Oboe und Orgel, opus 65, number 9, befoco music. Compared to other Reger pieces, this one is not too difficult, but unfortunately our score is missing the last page. Efforts to obtain a score without the defect were not successful. We read it through, and I liked what I saw, but we decided not to pursue it. Canzone is a transcription of a solo organ work, with the oboe taking the top voice; sections with thicker (typical Reger) texture are played by the organ alone. The transcription was done for befoco by Markus Ewald and is of medium difficulty.

Josef Rheinberger (1839–1901): Andante Pastorale und Rhapsodie für Oboe und Orgel, edited by Klaus Hofmann for Carus. “Andante Pastorale” is from “Intermezzo” of the Sonata in A Minor for organ; “Rhapsodie” is from “Andante” of the Sonata in F Minor for organ. This is typical Rheinberger writing. “Andante Pastorale” is another of our favorites; “Rhapsodie” is more challenging. The two make a good set for concert programming and are medium to difficult.

Jan Koetsier (1911–2006): Partita pour Corno Inglese e Organo Manualiter, opus 41, number 1, was published in 1954 by Muziekgroep Nederland, Donemus, Amsterdam. This piece is in five short movements, and some of these could be used individually. The fourth movement is a two-page organ solo that is followed by the last movement, in which the oboe plays Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern. Koetsier was a Dutch composer and conductor. This music is of moderate to medium difficulty.

Henk Badings (1907–1987): Canzona per Oboe ed Organo was published in 1938 by Donemus, Amsterdam. The score is in manuscript form but is clear and readable—about five minutes long. We loved it, but the ending is a bit inconclusive, and we programmed it as the ending of the first half of our recent concert, which left the audience a bit puzzled as to whether it had ended (we were not visible). Badings was an Indo-Dutch composer, and his harmonic language evokes shades of Paul Hindemith. This is medium to difficult.

Piotr Grinholc (b. 1966): Toccata na obój I organy (2010) is available on IMSLP. This piece is great for ending a concert of oboe and organ works. It has brilliant toccata-like passages for the organ, with a lyrical middle section. My efforts to contact him were unsuccessful—we wanted to let him know how much we enjoyed this piece. Grinholc is a Polish organist and sound engineer from Warsaw, Poland. This work is difficult.

Philip Orem (b. 1959): After Reading Mary Oliver—A Suite for Oboe and Organ (2016) and Lullaby for a Bull Moose for English Horn and Organ (2016) are available from the composer: https://po4musik.wixsite.com/website. Lullaby is a delightful little ode to my favorite animal, the moose, a nod to fun and silliness (Example 2). Orem is a graduate of Northwestern University with degrees in piano performance. These works are easy to medium in difficulty.

Daniel Pinkham (1923–2006): The Seven Days, Divertimento for Oboe and Organ, 2002, is published by ECS Publishing: “Flowing,” “Serene,” “Quick,” “Pensive,” “Questions and Answers,” and “Playful Quickstep.” Playing time for this set is about twelve minutes—we have performed it several times, sometimes excerpting some of the movements for a shorter set. The movements are of medium difficulty.

David Evan Thomas: Psalm and Dance (2007) for flute and organ is found in The Minnesota Organ Book: New Music for Organ and Solo Instruments, published by Augsburg Fortress. This piece was commissioned by the American Guild of Organists for its national convention in Minneapolis in 2008 (Example 3). It is equally playable on the oboe with only a few minor adjustments. Thomas is a Minneapolis composer whose organ works are published by Augsburg Fortress. This work is medium to difficult.

James Hopkins: Partita on Cranham for Oboe and Organ (2002) is published by E. C. Schirmer. This piece is trickier than the Pinkham, but well worth learning. It was commissioned for the twenty-second annual Baroque Music Festival in Corona del Mar, Burton Karson, artistic director, by Jerry and Roberta Dauderman. If you know James Hopkins’s organ writing, you will see the same characteristics in this piece—innovative writing with colorful and unique organ registrations. This is medium to difficult.

Calvin Hampton (1938–1984): Variations on Amazing Grace for English Horn and Organ is published by Wayne Leupold Editions. Stephanie and I have looked at this piece several times, but we have not performed it. It is a concert piece with ten variations—we simply have not had the opportunity to program it. The variations flow into one another, so taking one or two out to play would not really be an option for worship. Still, this is worth looking at, especially for lovers of Hampton’s music. The music is difficult.

Melodies for Two: Music for Oboe, Violin, or Flute, and Organ or Piano, Book One, Composers of Scandinavia, edited by Stephanie Shapiro and Marilyn Biery. This book presents works of composers from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Some are household names, such as Grieg and Sibelius, while others are not well known—Laura Netzel, Amanda Röntgen-Maier, and Elfrida Andrée. Some selections were composed for solo piano (Grieg, Sibelius), others were composed for oboe and piano (Carl Nielsen), one for vocalist and piano (Netzel, Ave Maria); the rest were written for violin and piano (Röntgen-Maier, Andrée, Frederik Matthison-Hansen, Netzel). We included parts for flute and violin, which are available as a free download with the purchase of each book.

My paternal grandmother emigrated from Sweden in the early part of the 1900s. My father always loved anything Scandinavian. When I was searching for music to transcribe, the piano pieces of Edvard Grieg (1843–1907) came to mind, and I found four pieces that work beautifully for oboe and organ: “Elegie,” opus 38, number 6; “Elegie,” opus 47, number 7; “Grandmother’s Menuet,” opus 68, number 2 (Example 4, page 15); and “In der Heimat,” opus 43, number 3. These are easy to moderate in difficulty.

Jean Sibelius (1865–1957): Another transcription from a piano piece is Impromptu Number 6 in E Major, opus 5, by Sibelius, a Finnish composer and violinist, widely regarded as his country’s greatest composer. His seven symphonies are regularly performed in his home country and internationally. Some of his works were inspired by nature, some by Nordic mythology. This example is moderately difficult (Example 5, page 15).

Frederik Matthison-Hansen (1868–1933) was a Danish organist and composer who came from a musical family, as his father, grandfather, and uncle were all organists and composers. His father and uncle were his first teachers. He worked as an organist and singing teacher—most of his music was written for the church. His Cantilena makes a perfect prelude for any level player—easy enough for a student and well worth playing for a professional. It is easy to medium.

Carl Nielsen (1865–1931): Fantasistykker, opus 2, consisting of “Romance” and “Humoresque,” was written for oboe and piano, and it makes for a wonderful transcription for organ. Nielsen was a Danish composer, conductor, and violinist, considered to be one of his country’s most prominent composers. He attended the Royal Danish Academy of Music, after which he became a second violinist in the Royal Danish Orchestra, a position he held for sixteen years. In 1916 he began teaching at the Royal Danish Academy, a post he held until his death. The movements are medium to difficult.

Three Swedish women are featured in this collection: Elfrida Andrée (1841–1929), Laura Netzel (1839–1927), and Amanda Röntgen-Maier (1853–1894). Andrée, an organist, conductor, and composer, was the first woman to graduate in organ studies (1860) from the Royal College of Music in Stockholm, where she also studied composition. She was the first woman appointed a cathedral organist in Sweden. Her position as organist at Gothenburg Cathedral began in 1867 and continued until her death. She was active in the Swedish women’s movement and worked to bring about the revision of a law to allow women to hold the position of organist in Sweden. We included her Två Romanser (“Larghetto” and “Allegro”) in the volume, works that are medium to difficult.

Netzel, a composer, pianist, conductor, and concert arranger, was born in Finland into the family of Georg Fredrik Pistolekors, a nobleman and high-ranking civil servant. Her mother died a few months after her birth, and the family moved to Stockholm shortly thereafter. It was not considered proper for high-born ladies to seek a career as a musician, so she studied piano and voice privately. She studied composition with Wilhelm Heintze in Stockholm and Charles-Marie Widor in Paris, where many of her works were published and performed. Like many other women of her time, she wrote under a pseudonym, “N. Lago.” She was active in social causes, supporting poor women, children, and workers.

We included four of Netzel’s pieces in this book. Three were originally for violin and piano: Andante Religioso, opus 48; Berceuse, opus 28; and Tarantelle, opus 33 (Example 6); the fourth, Ave, Maria, opus 41, was written for voice and piano. These pieces are medium to difficult.

Röntgen-Maier, a violinist and composer, was the first woman to graduate with a degree in music direction from the Royal College of Music (1872), where she also studied violin, organ, piano, cello, composition, and harmony. She continued her composition and violin studies in Leipzig, where she met and married the composer Julius Engelbert Röntgen, the son of her violin teacher in Leipzig. The marriage ended her performing career, but she continued to compose. She contracted tuberculosis in 1887 and died at the age of forty-one. We included two movements from her set Six Pieces for Violin and Piano, “Allegretto con moto,” and “Tranquillamente” (Example 7). These are of moderate difficulty.

§

Our second collection of Melodies for Two includes music of the Baroque and Classical periods. There are instrumental parts for oboe, flute, and cello/continuo. These pieces have the degree of difficulty that you would expect of pieces from the Baroque and Classical periods.

• “Siciliano,” from Flute Sonata in E-Flat Major, H. 545, by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (formerly attributed to J. S. Bach as BWV 1031);

• Air in E-flat Major, attributed to Johann Christian Bach;

• “Allegretto” and “Andante grazioso,” from Violin Sonata in G Major, opus 16, number 2, by Johann Christian Bach;

• Ich steh mit einem Fuß im Grabe, BWV 156, by Johann Sebastian Bach;

• Sinfonia/Arioso, from Orchestral Suite Number 3 in D Major, BWV 1068, by Johann Sebastian Bach;

• Fantasia in F Minor for Oboe and Organ, Krebs-WV 604, by Johann Ludwig Krebs (transposed from the 
original key);

• Violin Sonata in G Minor, HWV 364a, opus 1, number 6, by George Frideric Handel;

• “Andante,” from Oboe Concerto in C Major, attributed to Joseph Haydn/Ignaz Malzat;

• “Largo,” “Presto-Tempo giusto-Presto,” “Andante,” and “Allegro,” from Sonata for Oboe and Continuo, TWV 41g6, by Georg Philipp Telemann, from Tafelmusik, part 3.

There is a wealth of music available to transcribe. We will continue doing so—the third volume is in initial stages and includes nineteenth- and early twentieth-century music from Central Europe.