Inspired by Italy: Encounters with Italian Historical Organs, Their Surroundings, and Their Music

Sarah Mahler Kraaz, DMA, is Professor of Music and Chair of the Department at Ripon College in Ripon, Wisconsin, where she teaches organ, piano, and music history, and directs the Collegium Musicum. She is an active composer and has performed recitals in the U.S.A., Scotland, and Italy. She is a frequent contributor of reviews and articles to The Diapason. Dr. Kraaz spent several weeks this spring researching and playing historic organs in Italy and Spain during a sabbatical leave.

  In a perfect world, we organists would always be able to play music on the instruments for which it was written. Putting music and organs from the same time and place together produces a beautiful synchronicity, the closest thing to time travel we can experience. Happily, this was recently my fate. What follows is a description of some music and instruments that have expanded my understanding of a particular musical tradition. They will continue to inform my performances.

On March 6, I played a recital of Italian music on the Vespers Series of the Giuseppe Gherardeschi Organ Academy in Pistoia (www.accademiagherardeschi.info). Pistoia is a small city in Tuscany approximately 30 miles northwest of Florence. The remains of a medieval wall circumscribe the old town whose Cathedral of San Zeno houses a silver altar dedicated to San Jacopo, thereby putting it on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. The cathedral, the former Bishop’s Palace, the Baptistry, and the Town Hall, all dating from the 13th–15th centuries, surround a central piazza that even today dominates the center of Pistoia. An open-air fruit and vegetable market, shops, restaurants, and cafes spread out from there in a web of narrow cobblestone streets. Wednesday and Saturday mornings are market days, when stalls appear in the centro selling everything from clothing to kitchenware. Bells from the many churches in the city mark the passage of time. Pistoia is off the beaten track for tourists. It’s a great place to visit if you want to mingle with Italians who live comfortably in the present while surrounded by the past. The city and neighboring towns are also home to a number of historic organs, most of them from the 18th and early 19th centuries.¹

Giuseppe Gherardeschi

A brief biography in the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians² states that Gherardeschi was an organist, composer, and eventually maestro di cappella at the cathedral; except for a brief period of study in Naples, he spent his entire life in Pistoia. He began his musical studies with his father, Domenico (1733–1800), who was maestro di cappella at the cathedral, and continued with his uncle, Filippo Maria (1738–1808). The latter, also a Pistoia native, had been a pupil of Giovanni Battista (a.k.a. ‘Padre’) Martini³ in Bologna from 1756 to about 1761, when Filippo was admitted to the elite Accademia Filarmonica. Giuseppe completed his formal studies with Nicola Sala at the Conservatorio di Santa Maria della Pietà dei Turchini, one of three music conservatories in Naples. Upon returning to Pistoia, he married, fathered seven children, and became organist at the church of Santa Maria dell’Umiltà. When Domenico Gherardeschi died in 1800, Giuseppe inherited his position as maestro di cappella at the cathedral, a post he held until his death. In the tradition of the Bachs and Couperins and other families of musicians at the time, Giuseppe’s son, Luigi (1791–1871), and grandson, Gherardo (1835–1905), succeeded him. The Gherardeschi men all composed sacred vocal and instrumental music, much of which survives in the cathedral archives. Giuseppe did not confine himself to music for the church, however; five symphonies, all in the three-movement fast-slow-fast pattern favored by Giovanni Battista Sammartini and other 18th-century Italian composers, survive, as do numerous arias, chamber music, and oratorios.⁴

Umberto Pineschi’s edition of 

Gherardeschi’s organ works

That we know anything at all about the life and music of Giuseppe
Gherardeschi—and consequently, about the contemporary Tuscan organ—is due to the almost single-handed efforts of Umberto Pineschi. Organist, teacher, scholar, founder of the Gherardeschi Organ Academy, and now in “retirement” Director of the Scuola Comunale di Musica e Danza “Teodulo Mabellini” in Pistoia, Pineschi has worked tirelessly to locate, preserve, and restore organs in and around Pistoia. He edited the organ works of Gherardeschi for publication beginning in 1978. The first collection was followed by a second, third, and fourth, but as he confesses in the foreword to the newest edition (in Musiche Pistoiesi per Organo, published by the Fondazione Accademia di Musica Italiana per Organo in 2009), there was “no organized plan, since every time only the pieces considered interesting at the moment were selected.” Further, he adds, “Their context, often crucial for their understanding, was not taken in[to] account. Such a fragmented presentation of the Gherardeschi organ works did not allow one to fully appreciate both their lesson on the Pistoiese organ and the artistic relevance of the composer.”⁵ Pineschi here refers to the symbiotic relationship between organ music and the instruments for which it was written, in this case Pistoiese organs of the 18th and early 19th centuries. These deficiencies are addressed in the new edition, which is the basis for the discussion that follows.  

The present volume brings together all of Gherardeschi’s known compositions for organ, including some that have never been published. The pieces appear in the same order as in the manuscripts. Pineschi identifies several groupings by genre: 1. Sonatas; 2. Masses in C and D (Offertorio, Elevazione, and Postcommunio) and a Mass in E-flat that has versets for alternatim performance with the Ordinary; 3. Collections of versets; 4. Miscellaneous short pieces, including a colorful Sonata per organo a guisa di banda militare che suona una Marcia, two pastorales, and a fugue in G minor. Each piece has been assigned an opus number (a P followed by a number). Strict classification according to this scheme is impossible, however, since two of the sonatas (P.IV [1787]) are rondos and a number of the Mass movements (the Elevazione in D, P.I,5; the Offertorio in C, P.I,7) are sonatas. Elements of secular genres, including the concerto, aria, and symphony, also define and shape these pieces in a manner surely intended to entertain as well as sanctify the listeners.

Since the purpose of this article is to present an overview, rather than a comprehensive discussion, of Gherardeschi’s works, representative examples from each of the categories above will highlight important stylistic features of the music and the organs for which they were written, beginning with the sonatas. These all conform to the binary form and tonal design of the 18th-century keyboard sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti and others.

Offertorio, Mass in C: 

a representative work

The Offertory in an organ Mass is generally longer and more elaborate than other movements because it provides music during the preparation of the Eucharist. Gherardeschi takes advantage of these large dimensions by writing the Offertorio from the Mass in C as a sonata. The movement begins assertively with strong tonic chords in the left hand against clearly articulated right-hand rhythms in a 4-bar phrase. This antecedent phrase is answered by a consequent phrase in a reduced texture and registration, much like a dialogue between the tutti and solo parts of a concerto (Example 1). Indeed, Gherardeschi’s registration directions support this impression: initially, he calls for ‘[ri-]pieno con Trombe (trumpet)’ and ‘Timp[ano]’ in the pedal, which would be the equivalent of a full orchestra. The second phrase is labeled ‘p[ieno] senza ripieno [i.e., without the Trombe] e senza ped[ale]’. Without the trumpet (soloist) and pedal + timpani, the effect is of an echo. This alternation continues throughout both sections of the Offertorio. The texture is open, treble-dominated, and non-contrapuntal; occasional octaves in the manuals add a bit of dramatic emphasis at times. Harmonically, the music is predictable, with the first (A) section ending in the dominant key of G major. The B section opens in G minor, however, and moves to d, a, and F before returning via the dominant G to C.  

The energy, rhythmic drive, clear tonal design, and concerted style of the Offertorio reveal how steeped
Gherardeschi was in the music of Corelli, Vivaldi, and Sammartini. Written at the end of the 18th century, as Vienna and Paris were eclipsing Italy in the development of instrumental music, these pieces remind the listener of the connections among the various schools.

The concerto and symphony are not the only models for this music, however. Pineschi observes that the influence of opera and the theatre is clear in the Masses: “Indeed, the Offertori show the influence of the overture, the Elevazioni and the Benedizioni that of the romanza, while the Postcommunio echoes the always attractive spirit of the cabaletta; all, however, display whimsy, balanced proportions, and, above all, good taste.”⁶  

In fact, two of the three Masses in the collection, those in D and C, consist of exactly these movements, that is, Offertorio-Elevazione-Postcomunio. In modern usage, these may stand alone or be played in concert as a group of fast-slow-fast movements. The remaining Mass, in E-flat, is more complex because of versetti that alternate with chant. The Table of Mass movements summarizes the shape and content of the Messa in Elafá. One observes immediately the variety of tempos, meters, and registrations Gherardeschi uses in the versetti. The last aspect is the most important, for it tells us a great deal about the late 18th-century and early 19th-century Tuscan organ in general and the Pistoiese organ in particular. In this regard, the Mass resembles the other sets of versetti in the collection, all of which specify different stops as solos or in combinations.  

Registration

Gherardeschi frequently calls for “organo aperto” in his music. This means the complete Ripieno (Principale 8′, Ottava 4′, Decimaquinta 2′, Decimanona 11⁄3′, and two or three high-pitched ranks combined, the Vigesima seconda e sesta [1′, 2⁄3′] or seconda, sesta e nona [1′, 2⁄3′, ½′]), plus the Trombe (trumpet) 8′ and Cornetto.⁷ This combination, the equivalent of a full organ without flute stops, produces a clear and brilliant but not overpoweringly loud sound. “Pieno” refers to the complete or partial (i.e., 8′, 4′, 2′) Ripieno (Gherardeschi does not specify which). All the other combinations in the Messa call for specific principal and ‘da concerto’, i.e., solo, stops, including some divided stops (Musetto treble 8′; Clarone bass 4′; Trombe bass 8′). Stops divided between bass and treble registers have been a feature of Italian organs since at least 1664, when the Flemish Jesuit, Willem Hermans, built an organ for the church of Sant’Ignazio di Loyola (known in later times as “Spirito Santo” and since 1 February 2011, again as Sant’Ignazio) in Pistoia.⁸ They are advantageous on a small organ. In Pineschi’s words, “Gherardeschi’s clever use of the divided stops allows one to casually move from the bass section of the keyboard to the treble section and the other way round in such a way that the listener has no time to realize that.”⁹ He might have added that Gherardeschi must have possessed uncommon dexterity, given the lack of mechanical aids for registration changes and the fact that many of these occur in the middle of a piece. Perhaps he employed an assistant, maybe his son Luigi as organist-in-training. Pineschi suggests that these directions to change or add divided stops (which always occur at cadence points) reflect spontaneous changes made by Gherardeschi when he was improvising, as experienced organists did; the written version is for organists who were not as skilled or experienced in the art of improvisation.¹⁰

Of course, Gherardeschi’s registrations reflect and reinforce the character of individual versetti in the Messa; rhythms, tempos, and styles complete the picture. The first and last Gloria verses are of particular interest because they are cast as marches in duple meter with an abundance of dotted rhythms, repeated chords, triadic openings, trumpet-like solo lines, and liberal use of a “special effect” Timpano stop (from two to six wooden pipes, out of tune in such a way as to give a kettle-drum effect, operated by a pedal played by the right foot). The first Gloria verse begins with a fanfare in the manual accompanied by pedal and Timpano. In measure 5, another special effect (also played with the right foot), the Usignoli (Nightingale) stop, appears alternately with the timpani to simulate the trills of a clarinet¹¹ (Example 2a). Marches, whether for military bands or in concert music, were a common and popular musical genre in the 18th century.¹² As such, they connoted heroism, vigor, cheerfulness, and manliness.¹³ Gherardeschi was not the first composer to set the “Et in terra pax” couplet to a march; François Couperin had done that 100 years earlier in his Messe pour les couvents.¹⁴ Undoubtedly, the triumphal, affirmative nature of the text is a determining factor in the choice of musical style, but in the Messa there is more to the matter. Napoleon invaded Italy in 1790, defeating the Austrian army. The next 15 years were tumultuous ones in all the regions of the Italian peninsula, when French-initiated political and social reforms met with strenuous opposition from many Italians and the Church. The return of Austrian rule in 1815 after the Congress of Vienna, repressive as it was, was hailed as a return to order and normality.¹⁵ Gherardeschi composed his music against this backdrop of political turbulence amid constant reminders of a military presence. The Sonata . . . a guisa di banda militare even includes the “Janissary style” derived from Turkish military bands, a type of march in which cymbals, bass drum, and triangle are implied in the instrumentation (Example 2b, see page 28). Marches figured prominently in operas, symphonies,¹⁶ and secular keyboard music in the late 18th century, so it is not surprising to find them in organ music as well.

Versetti

In the preface of this volume, Pineschi lists the versetti as a third group after the sonatas and Masses. These works, though individually brief, are the most numerous and perhaps the most important for what they tell us about the Pistoiese organ of the time. There are two types of versetti, distinguished by their registrations. Versetti a pieno require the
[ri-]pieno, or full, sound, with only a tempo indicated at the beginning (the registration is implied) (Example 3a); versetti concertati require use of the ‘da concerto’ stops and have specific registrations provided at the beginning of each piece (Example 3b). From these, we learn the tonal design of the organs for which
Gherardeschi wrote his music.¹⁷ The ‘da concerto’ versetti are also labeled ‘solenni’, referring to their intended liturgical use in the Mass or other services, especially the Office of Vespers (e.g., the Magnificat). Versetti are written in all eight psalm tones, as one would expect. Interestingly, the versetti a pieno, P.II, are only figured basses; the organist must realize them in performance. Obviously this Baroque musical shorthand was still proving useful at the beginning of the 19th century.

Organs

Specifications for four organs that
Gherardeschi would have known appear in the preface to the Opere per organo. The first, by Hermans, was the prototype for the rest, which were built in the 1780s and ’90s by Antonio and Filippo Tronci and Pietro Agati. These instruments have been preserved and restored in Pistoia and Lucca. A similar organ built by Luigi and Benedetto Tronci in 1793 has been in the Cathedral in Pistoia since Pineschi rescued it from the chapel of the Rucellai villa, Campi Bisenzio (a small town between Prato and Florence), in 1998.  This is the instrument I played every day for five days in preparation for the Vespers performance. It is, amazingly, in its original condition. The specifications are as follows (For photos and audio clips of the Hermans and Tronci organs, visit The Diapason website,
Diapason.com>.):

Ripieno stops

Principale 8′ (first eight pipes are wood and play without drawing a stop because they are placed on a separate chest; the remaining pipes are tin, with C2 the major pipe of the façade)¹⁸

Ottava 4′

Decimaquinta 2′

Decimanona 11⁄3′

Vigesima seconda e sesta (1′, 2⁄3′)

‘Da concerto’ stops

Flauto 4′ (from C2)

Cornetto I (soprano 4′, 13⁄5′)

Cornetto II (soprano 22⁄3′)

Voce languente (the same as the Voce umana, soprano 8′)

Special effects: Timpano, Usignoli

Manual compass: 47 notes, C1–D5 with short octave at the bottom)

Pedals: eight notes (C–G), short octave, always coupled to manual

Divided registers between E3 and F3

As other writers have observed, having the ranks of the ripieno available as single stops (rather than as a multi-rank mixture stop) presents a multitude of registrational choices, many of which are subtly different. I enjoyed getting to know the sounds of all the stops individually and in various combinations. The Tronci keyboard has a uniform and light touch perfectly suited to the lively, graceful lines of 18th-century music. Using the short octave on both manual and pedal requires re-patterning of both cognitive and muscle memory. (What usually feels like a fifth is now a second, for example.) The short pedals are also quite different; one hardly needs organ shoes to play them, since only toes are used—heels remain on the floor. To sum up, playing an instrument like this, so different from a modern organ, requires total concentration, since all the senses—visual, auditory, kinesthetic—are involved in sometimes unfamiliar ways.

I hope this brief introduction—to the music of a composer who, in his own lifetime, was well known and highly respected in Tuscany, and to one of the organs he could have known—will encourage interest in both topics. This delightful, lively, and lovely music deserves to be better known on this side of the Atlantic. At present, the Opere per organo is only available from the editor, Umberto Pineschi, at . It is well worth the effort to obtain the book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joseph E. Robinson received his B.A. from California State University at Long Beach and his M.A. from Occidental College in Los Angeles. He studied piano with Charles Shepherd, and organ with Clarence Mader, Paul Stroud, and Robert Prichard. He studied choral conducting with Frank Pooler and Howard Swan. During 1970–71 he was an organbuilding apprentice with the Schlicker Organ Co. under the direction of Herman Schlicker. He was organist at the University United Methodist Church in Buffalo, New York, and later St. James’ United Methodist Church in Pasadena, California. Now a retired business systems analyst, he is currently organist for the Mission Lake Ward, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. His interest in pipe organs and their music was sparked years ago when, as a sixth grade student, his class was taken on a field trip to a recital on the Mormon Tabernacle Organ. He has been married 35 years to his wife Pat, who has given her support for the large pipe organ in their home. One day during construction Pat said, “You need help, and I have found just the help you need—G. Donald Harrison.” She had found a golden retriever named Harrison on a rescue site. Harrison is now a happy member of the family.

I meet Herman Schlicker  

After completing a master’s degree, I talked over options with my teacher, Robert Prichard. Since I was very interested in all things related to pipe organs, a career in organbuilding looked promising. Mr. Prichard was well acquainted with Herman Schlicker, and broached the subject of my joining his firm as an apprentice. Schlicker was not interested. He said that the best apprentices come right out of high school and he had bad luck with those who had master’s degrees.   

Herr Schlicker flew to Southern California on business, and so it was arranged that while he was here I would be his chauffeur. One stop that I remember was at what is now the Crystal Cathedral. Their first building contained a small Wicks organ, which was to be replaced with a substantial instrument. Schlicker was among the contenders. At another stop, I was disgusted with the way they treated Mr. Schlicker—didn’t they realize they were talking with a great man?

After our final stop, Schlicker said to come on to Buffalo, and I would be their newest apprentice. I drove my red Corvair across the country and rented a room from Mrs. Herbst, who had rented to many a Schlicker apprentice. She asked us to keep our stereo playing of organ music down—it reminded her of her husband’s funeral. 

The factory

The factory is described in sales literature from the late 1960s:

From a modest beginning, the company has expanded to include 65 persons at the Buffalo factory-office, as well as sales and service representatives throughout the United States. The construction of the present modern factory was begun in 1947, and since that time six additions have been made to the building, giving a total working area of over 36,000 square feet, and including a spacious erecting room. 

That there was no master plan for this expansion from the beginning was obvious. For example, there was a large room devoted to lumber, that in most respects functioned well. However, there was no loading dock, or even a door to the outside. When a lumber truck came, Herr Friedrich (foreman) would announce “LUMBER!” and we would all drop what we were doing and rush to the truck to unload the lumber piece by piece and feed them through a window in the lumber room. On a cold winter day, that was a very unpleasant task.

Factory tours

Occasionally music committees or groups of organists would tour the factory. I was among those selected to conduct the tours. At first I would meet visitors at the door and then physically take them through the building, saying this is where we do this, and this is where we do that. Then I witnessed a tour led by Manuel Rosales, who was then at Schlicker Organ Co. He started at the melting pot in the pipe shop, went step by step in the construction of an organ, ending in the erecting room. Even though there was some crisscrossing in that method, it explained the organbuilding process better, and I changed my approach accordingly.  

Organization chart

When Schlicker described the apprentice position to me, he said that I would work in all aspects of organbuilding and eventually be able to do any task. In fact, his factory was full of workers that could do any task. He was proud of that. So, organization was simple: Herman Schlicker, President; Ken List, Vice President; Herr Friedrich, Foreman; organ builders, and apprentice, with a few exceptions such as the accountant. In practice, however, people would tend to gravitate to that which they did best. Take Don Bohall, for example. In many organizations, he would be referred to as Service Manager. He could quickly diagnose and fix problems, clearly the best man to call if an organ under the ten-year warranty experienced an unexpected malfunction. I asked Don how he managed to be exempt from the lumber calls. He told me that after I had been there a few years and made myself valuable in a particular operation I could announce that I was no longer going to do lumber. But I would have to be sure I was valuable enough. Some who tried that too soon were no longer doing lumber or anything else at the firm.  

Apprentice duties

The apprentice program at Schlicker’s was more typical of the German apprentice system than what we are used to in the USA. The view at the Schlicker Organ Company was: we pay you for this time and so you do whatever we ask of you, be it sweeping, cleaning messes, painting walls, or shoveling snow! So this, I thought, is why people who have worked so hard for a master’s degree don’t like it here. I was told a story of one such, who after driving from California worked one day, got in his car and drove back home. One unhappy apprentice had given the place a nickname “Stalag 15-30” [the address was 1530 Military Road]. Stories of this nature were a kind of unofficial initiation exam. 

Information on a need-to-know basis

At graduate school, you are filled with information and encouraged to ask questions and find answers. There were many things I wanted to know. For example, on most three-manual Schlicker organs, the pedal contains a unit 16–8 principal rank, but the 16 and 8-foot stopped flutes are always separate ranks. How come? I learned that awhile before my arrival, some former employees had stolen plans, records, scalings, and materials—everything they needed to make copies of Schlicker organs. So Mr. Schlicker was now cautious in sharing information, and an apprentice is at the bottom of the totem pole in need-to-know. 

I got my lecture in Schlicker organ design in a most unexpected way. One holiday season, there was in the factory a 32′ Bombarde, which was to be placed in an organ previously finished with that stop prepared for. Schlicker had placed a small two-rank unit organ in a Buffalo bank for publicity purposes. Since I could play, I was assigned to play Christmas music on the little organ while the bank was open. One day after the bank closed, I returned to the factory, where I was greeted by Ken List. Ken said, “So how is Merry Christmas on the Gedeckt?” I responded, “Well, it’s OK, but that little organ really lacks a proper foundation. Too bad we could not have hooked up that 32′ Bombarde with it.”  

Schlicker overheard the conversation, and while I thought anyone would recognize that I was being outlandishly facetious, Schlicker thought I was serious that the third rank in an organ should be a 32′ Bombarde. “You are there representing the Schlicker Organ Company,” he said. “You know nothing. A lot has to happen in an organ before you include a 32′ Bombarde.” So I heard all about small to medium to large organs in a very informative lecture, though I could have done without the frequent “You know nothing” comments.  

A wiring error

An electro-pneumatic organ was being set up for testing. There was a testing wiring harness used for such purposes. I said, “I have never done this before; there are surely a lot of wires here.” I was told, “There is nothing to it, just start here at the end, and take each wire in sequence.” So I did, but it was the wrong end. Final result was that low C sounded from the highest note on the keyboard and vice versa. I started to play a hymn. “What on earth are you doing?” “I thought I might never again have the opportunity to hear music inverted and wanted to see what it sounds like.” “You idiot, why don’t you just broadcast to the world what a fool you are!” So I stopped abruptly. Fortunately this was the testing wiring harness and not the organ’s permanent wiring.

A bright and dim bulb

Sometimes my education was of use. When something unusual came along, such as “What the heck is an 8/9 None?,” I would know the answer. There was a fine older gentleman, whose name I unfortunately no longer remember, who was in charge of Schlicker consoles. He would review with me console layouts, controls, order of stops, etc. He said, “You know much more than those guys. You should be recognized for your knowledge and taken off the lumber run.” Obviously I liked him. On the other hand, as the wiring example shows, in construction matters I was a rookie. One day I was assigned to a task and heard rumblings, “I don’t know why they assigned HIM this task. HE doesn’t even know how to use a HAM-MER.” The speaker usually got this task. Since in this case it was an overtime task, I was robbing him of time-and-a-half pay. Welcome to the world of office politics. I did not like it, and was a rookie there as well. Fortunately for future employment I learned 1) never be cruel to someone and 2) never be the company scapegoat. 

Organ pipes

Most flue pipes were manufactured in the pipe shop. Reed pipes built to Schlicker specifications were imported from Europe. For flue pipes it was considered that for the vast majority of cases, such things as tuning scrolls, pipe slotting, and tuning collars were detrimental. Take tuning collars, for example. A tuning collar means that at the top of the pipe there is a sudden increase in scale. On bass pipes that were nearly cut to length, the effect is minimal. But on treble pipes, the distortion of pipe shape is considerable. Thus Schlicker organs had pipes cut to length and were cone tuned. This practice was one reason why Schlicker mixtures had outstanding cohesion with the principal chorus.  

The Schlicker sound

Open-toe voicing, low wind pressure, low cutups, etc. are only part of the story. It is well known that some Aeolian-Skinner contracts, such as the Mormon Tabernacle and Grace Cathedral, specified that G. Donald Harrison do the final voicing. It is the artist who does the finishing that gives an organ its distinctive sound; thus organs of the same manufacturer may sound different depending upon who does the finishing. At the Schlicker Company, we had two superb voicers who finished at least the more important instruments. Wally Guzowski voiced with a bold, fresh, exciting sound. I decided that someday I would like him to voice my residence organ when I could afford such. Louis Rothenberger Jr. had a more elegant, refined sound. [We always specified the Jr. because LR senior had also been a voicer.] 

They were aware that their styles were different, and Wally told me that they worked together to try and make a uniform result. There should be a specific sound quality associated with the brand. These men produced some instruments of distinction. As voicers, they would physically adjust pipes. As finishers in the final location, they would sit at the console, playing through a rank of pipes, pick a note and shout a command to someone like me in the pipes: “Lower the languid,” “Pull the upper lip forward,” “Narrow the windway,” “Increase the cutup,” and so forth.

Deterioration of the Schlicker sound 

As years have passed, I have noticed that some of my favorite instruments no longer have the magic they possessed when they were new. More is involved than just my ears getting older; recordings of the original instruments captured the magic. Here is what I think may have happened. Schlicker instruments were cone tuned and were very stable in tuning within themselves, but the whole instrument goes flat in winter and sharp in summer.

Take a fictitious organ service man Sam Cifodelance, for example. Sam gets a customer who has a Schlicker organ. He orders some tuning cones from a supply house. In winter, when the organ goes flat, he pounds the pipes with the pointed end of the tuning cones to bring the pitch up to A440. In summer, he pounds the pipes with the other end to bring the pipes down to A440. Over time this attention alters pipe mouth dimensions slightly, and what was an outstanding sound becomes an ordinary sound. 

This theory is an educated guess, but I do know that who does the servicing makes a huge difference, is a concern of organbuilders, and improper servicing deteriorates an organ’s sound. It saddens me that some of my favorite instruments have deteriorated. 

Schlicker’s bias

Bad for Aeolian-Skinner, but providential for Herman Schlicker was the rise in popularity of the Orgelbewegung. With his strong German accent and experience in German organbuilding, he was in an ideal place to be the foremost American builder in that style. I discussed with Schlicker a trip to Europe I was going to take. We went through the German instruments I was going to see. “Yah, you must see that,” he would say. For Holland, “There are some good things there.” For France, “A waste of time.”  

The good consultants

One of the first things you do as an apprentice is to rack pipes on a windchest. Here were some pipes that looked like a double row of little milk cans with their lids soldered on top. This experimental rank had been specified by Paul Manz. Louie Rothenberger Jr. was having a very difficult time getting the pipes to speak at all. I made the comment, “I don’t see why we need organ consultants at all. A church should just choose a builder and let their expertise do the job.” Louie responded, “You are new here. You will eventually have the opportunity to visit many organs. When you do, compare those that were built under consultants such as Paul Manz, your teacher Clarence Mader, Paul Bunjes, E. Power Biggs and so forth, with those that had no consultant. I think you will find that our best organs had consultants such as these.” He was right!

When I was at Occidental College, I played among other things French Romantic organ music that I liked. I commented to my teacher Clarence Mader how well the Schlicker played that music. He replied, “Yes, you need French reeds to play that music and I requested that Schlicker include them in the Swell One division.” I bring this up because on his own, Herman Schlicker would not have given the Swell One division a French flavor. Somehow they managed to do that and yet have it integrate beautifully with the rest of the instrument, resulting in far greater versatility. The very best instruments somehow achieved a result of being more than the sum of their parts, a joy to play and to hear. 

The not-so-good consultants

These are the ones who think they know more about organbuilding than the organbuilder, specifying scales, wind pressures, mouth widths, voicing techniques and so forth. One such organ had so many conditions that the final result did not have the distinctive Schlicker sound. Herman Schlicker summed it up thus: “It might as well have been built by ———.” [I don’t know if ——— would want to claim it either.]

In finishing an organ, Wally Guzowski explained to me, “You have to be very diplomatic with the organists. When they tell you what they want, smile and nod your head like you agree with them.  When they are gone, disregard everything they said. Organists know nothing about organ finishing.” A quite common occurrence in finishing an organ would be the arrival of the organist with some last requests for what was going to be his instrument. At that time, it is too late. A successful finishing process brings out the maximum beauty a pipe was designed to give. An organist’s request to now make a German Principal more like a French Montre, for example, robs the instrument of its potential. That decision should have been made long before.¹

Insubordination

I was given two rules, which probably came about due to prior difficulties with employees who were also organists: 1) When you are on an assignment do not play the organ, even during a break or after you are done. Customers are charged by the hour and we don’t want them to think they are paying for you to play the organ. 2) Because you may be called at any time to travel, do not accept a church organist position. It is not fair to the company, the church, or yourself. Rule 1 was difficult to manage; we worked on some beautiful instruments. But I did manage this rule in spite of working on some instruments I longed to play. 

 After arriving in Buffalo, each Sunday I visited various churches to see and hear organs and get a feeling of that particular church. One Sunday, I visited the University United Methodist Church. While certainly not the finest organ in town, the people were very friendly and when they discovered that I was from California and knew no one in town, they invited me to meals and made me feel at home and said, “You have friends here.” Shortly thereafter their organist moved away. “Do you play, Joe? Would you mind substituting for a while till we find a permanent organist?” A few Sundays later, “We want you to be our organist.” “Impossible—I can be called out of town at any time without notice.” “We can have someone fill in on the piano when that happens. Please be our organist.” It seemed like this would work; they knew I would leave without notice when Schlicker called. I would fulfill my obligation to him, and what he did not know would not hurt anyone. This happy arrangement continued for many months. 

I have a couple theories of how Ken List found out about this arrangement. “Joe, you have to tell Schlicker.” I dreaded that conversation, but I was caught, so I set up a time to meet with him. Schlicker told me he understood after all the time I had put into learning to play the organ that I would not want to just let the talent die. So he instructed me to resign and he would arrange for me to have practice time at his church, which had a very nice organ. As a naive young person, I thought as long as I can do my job, he has no business telling me what I can and can’t do on my own time. And there were many around me who encouraged that thinking. Perhaps more than the mundane tasks, this kind of thing is the reason Schlicker had trouble with master’s degree organists. In subsequent employment ‘my own time’ would be redefined by being on call 24/7 with aids such as beepers and later, cell phones. One boss would even follow me into a restroom stall. So now I see that Schlicker was at least trying to meet me half way. 

Money

Perhaps because organs are very expensive instruments, money is a problem in organbuilding. Herman Schlicker was a master of finance. We did not look forward to his daily rounds at the factory. “Robinson, why don’t you gold-plate it while you are at it?” That comment translates to the work is very good, but your progress is too slow and we can’t afford it. So I would speed up. Then, “Robinson, what is this? It will never do! The Schlicker organ is a quality instrument.” While making us employees stressed out during his rounds, he did achieve the right balance, getting us to do good work with enough production speed to be cost effective and keep the firm in business. After he died, that balance was lost and the firm eventually went bankrupt, as have far too many organbuilding firms.²

As an apprentice I made very little. One day I got an unexpected raise. Congress had just passed an increase in the minimum wage, and the salary I was making was below the new minimum. Schlicker added an extra five cents an hour because he did not want to be seen as paying minimum wage. As an apprentice, I rented a room. Most full-fledged organbuilders lived in apartments. I wanted to live in a house in the suburbs and I did not see that happening at any time in the future if I stayed on my current path. Many things I loved about organbuilding—your part in making a thing of beauty. But there were other important things to me that were either denied or out of reach. So my house in the suburbs was financed by leaving organbuilding and becoming a business systems analyst. And I am quite happy with my self-built 22-rank residence organ. Unfortunately, lack of space in my residence made it impossible for the third rank to be a 32′ Bombarde.

The author wishes to thank Justin Matters for permission to use the photographs of Schlicker organs.

Cathryn Wilkinson holds an Associate certificate from the American Guild of Organists and a Ph.D. from the University of Iowa School of Music. She has published articles on opera and hymnody of Slovakia, where she worked as a U.S. Peace Corps volunteer, and most recently on American and Slovak hymnody in Companion to the Lutheran Service Book (Concordia Publishing forthcoming). From 2004–2011, she was the organist at First United Church of Oak Park, in the 1917 building of First Congregational Church on land from the Scoville family of Oak Park.

A musical village on the edge of a metropolis

From 1920–1940, the organists at churches in Oak Park, Illinois distinguished themselves, certainly by talent, but also by hard work and a vision that went beyond playing hymns for their congregations. With the resources of Chicago just a few miles away, Oak Park might not be classified as a typical town. But recounting the contributions of a generation of Oak Park’s organists shows the extent of the opportunities that were open to professional musicians of this era. In small ways, their legacy lives on in today’s churches; in larger ways their musical accomplishments are an inspiration for our generation.  

In the mid-nineteenth century, visitors journeying across Illinois by horse and wagon often overnighted in Oak Ridge, about 15 miles from Chicago’s bustling commercial district. At this crossroads, on the site that grew into the village of Oak Park, the welcoming home of Joseph Kettelstrings had served as an impromptu tavern and hotel from the mid 1830s. Beginning in the 1840s Chicago emerged as a mecca for city dwellers, who could obtain the latest innovations from the east coast on the edge of the prairie via the city’s burgeoning freight networks. In a pattern that retraced itself all across the Midwest, the Kettlestrings family gradually divided and sold off property to new settlers. In the case of Oak Park, sales were restricted to those “people who were against saloons and for good schools and churches.”¹ By 1851, the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad line connected Chicago southwest to Joliet and soon extended on to the Mississippi River. Hospitality and convenience steadily attracted more residents with a can-do spirit to Oak Park, with the population reaching 4,600 in 1890.   

In the early years of the 20th century, Oak Park mirrored the progress that swept across the quickly industrializing North American landscape. By 1940 the village population had reached a high of 66,000, growing more than 100% in the years between the wars. The former settlement earned the nickname “The World’s Largest Village,” and it could have been, in political jurisdiction and in mindset. However, these villagers were not a common lot; among them are counted many innovative and enterprising scions: Frank Lloyd Wright, Ernest Hemingway, Doris Humphrey, and Ray Kroc. In the economic recovery after the Great Depression, a euphoria of success seemed to waft all across American society, spurring innovation and business growth. The aura of achievement was embodied in Chicago’s centennial celebration in 1933 with a hugely popular and privately financed world exposition, “A Century of Progress.”

Chicagoans formed and supported an extensive variety of professional and amateur musical organizations. Some were based on ethnic identities, such as the Chicago Welsh Male Choir, and others on business connections, such as the Illinois Bell Telephone company chorus. Organists were connected through the Chicago Choir Directors’ Guild, the local Organists’ Club, the Chicago Club of Women Organists, and the Illinois AGO chapter, founded as the Western Chapter in 1907.  

Although overshadowed by Chicago’s museums, cultural centers, performing arts, and industry, Oak Park developed a significant cultural identity in its own century of progress. The Scoville family donated land along the main thoroughfare and funds to construct a public library in 1888. William Corbett conducted a village orchestra in the 1880s, and at about that time, the Congregational Church hosted concerts by the Rubenstein Club. Dr. Methven, as president, and Mrs. Clarence Hemingway, conductor and mother of Ernest, produced concerts with the Oak Park Choral Society in 1897. Oak Park and its eastern neighbor Austin formed a local chapter to support the vision of Edward and Marian MacDowell’s newly conceived colony in Peterborough, New Hampshire. By 1935, 100 years after its settlement, Oak Park boasted a semi-professional Civic Symphony Association, the Warrington opera house, several movie theaters open even on Sundays, and a Civic Music Association organizing local concerts.   

Home to good churches

Central to Kettlestrings’s vision and the community-building ethic that shaped the village was the establishment of churches. The first makeshift church building was an unassuming 1855 frame structure known as “Temperance Hall,” shared by several dozen worshippers of varying denominations. Dora Kettlestrings, the daughter of Joseph, led a cappella singing for services in this hall. A memoir of early days recounts that Mr. Blackner ran a New England-style singing school in Oak Park and his wife played a parlor organ in Temperance Hall.² The first denominational building constructed in Oak Park was Emmanuel Lutheran Church in 1867, a German congregation. 

With the construction of the landmark stone edifices of First Congregational Church in 1873 and First United Methodist in 1874, several congregations anchored Oak Park’s central commercial district, just two blocks from the train line to Chicago. The saying went, “When you get where the saloons stop and the churches begin, you are in Oak Park.”³ Modeled on European cathedrals, these buildings accommodated several hundred worshippers and symbolized the key role that religion played in the village. By the 1930s, at least seven congregations in the village registered memberships above 1,500. Perhaps largely due to the immigrant population, which in the 1920s and 30s hovered around 50% non-natives mainly from northern Europe, a commitment to maintaining churches in the European style was unquestioned.  

Fine pipe organs were de rigueur in these churches. E. M. Skinner, Austin, and Casavant each installed large showcase instruments in Oak Park in the first decades of the 20th century. Many of these organs served well into the 1980s. The organists who played them, along with school and private music teachers, provided musical experiences for the whole village. Some of the organists were heard nightly at Oak Park’s movie theaters as well as Sundays at the church.  

Radio is king for the 

King of Instruments

Edwin Stanley Seder (1892–1935), First Congregational Church

Seder served as organist at First Congregational Church in Oak Park from 1921 to 1935. This congregation built on the site of the Scoville family’s apple orchard in 1873 and in the 1890s they hosted the MacDowell Society’s concerts. By Seder’s time, the first church had been replaced with a spacious English Gothic revival building.  

Seder held a music degree from the University of New Mexico, where he also taught before moving to the Chicago area. His musical accomplishments show him to have a broad command of organ and choral repertoire. At First Congregational, he maintained a choir skilled and balanced enough to present Bach cantatas and Messiah. He also accompanied the Chicago Bach Chorus in many Bach cantatas. With this group he performed the Christmas Oratorio at Orchestra Hall on Michigan Avenue. In one program of extreme dimensions, the Chicago Bach Chorus performed the Magnificat, five cantatas, and the Actus Tragicus, according to the Tribune’s Douglas, “both ardently and with respect.” Seder played Bach’s Prelude in E-Flat and the St. Anne Fugue at one Bach Chorus concert. For the Chicago
Singverein he accompanied Bruch’s Das Lied von der Glocke, op. 45. He frequently accompanied his wife, soprano Else Harthan Arendt, in recitals of Baroque music, both in Oak Park and throughout Chicago venues. Upon Seder’s untimely death in 1946, Arendt became the music director at the church.    

A regular feature of The American Organist in the 1920s and 1930s was a listing of service music submitted by members. There is no indication on what basis these lists were selected; many of the submissions are from the same organists on a regular basis. They worked in congregations with some of the country’s better-known music programs, such as Lynnwood Farnam at Holy Communion in New York and Ray Hastings at Temple Baptist Church in Los Angeles. From a review of several of the service music submissions, character music and opera excerpts from concert venues were quite commonly heard during worship services, and hymn-based voluntaries only on occasion.

In 1922, Seder reported having played Festival Toccata (Fletcher), Allegro in F (Guilmant), Largo from the Ninth Symphony (Dvorák), Grand Choeur Dialogué (Gigout), Sunset and Evening Bells (Federlein), and “March” from Tannhäuser (Wagner) at First Congregational Church. On Palm Sunday in 1923, he performed “The Palms” (Faure), “Jerusalem” (Parker), Prelude to Parsifal (Wagner), and “Palm Sunday” (Mailly). He performed these works on the church’s 4-manual Skinner organ (Opus 274) of 69 ranks, which was situated in the front of the nave high above the altar with the console hidden by a carved wooden screen.    

Seder played, not only behind this screen on Sundays, but also out of sight for many radio listeners. The advances in broadcasting and electronic technology in early 20th-century America strongly impacted the organ world. Chicago radio station WLS, funded by Sears, Roebuck (the World’s Largest Store), began broadcasting in 1924 and from day one employed theatre organist Ralph Waldo Emerson. Early rival WGN (the World’s Greatest Newspaper) was financed by the Chicago Tribune. The Tribune’s reviewer Elmer Douglas wrote a daily review of radio broadcasts, which were the new sensation. The public considered musical broadcasts on the airwaves just as much a performance as a live concert. Douglas was particularly enamored of the playing by organist Edwin Stanley Seder, who began playing for WGN radio broadcasts in 1924. Douglas wrote in great detail about each work—for example, singling out some of Seder’s improvisations and the beautiful Sanctus from Gounod’s St. Cecilia Mass, presumably transcribed by Seder for organ. On nearly any given day at 6:30 p.m., listeners throughout Chicago could tune in to WGN and hear a live organ recital by Seder.  

Seder performed upwards of 1,000 concert broadcasts, first on an Estey organ at the station, and later on a Lyon & Healy organ constructed specifically for the WGN live broadcast studio in Chicago in 1924. The radio organ was played in a studio designed by acousticians with walls covered in silk brocade to provide optimal tone quality. Reportedly in December 1925 Seder reached the mark of having broadcast his 1,000th piece without ever having repeated a work on the air.

His radio presence certainly brought recognition. He had gained the post of professor in the organ department at Northwestern University in Evanston in 1919 and also taught at Chicago’s Sherwood Music School. In 1934, he joined the music faculty at Wheaton College Conservatory, in the far western suburbs of Chicago, where he taught history, organ, and conducting.   

In addition to his teaching, broadcasting, and service playing, Seder earned the FAGO certificate and became president (dean) of the Chicago AGO chapter. During his tenure he led the chapter in planning for a series of weekly noonday recitals in Chicago venues. He concertized frequently in Oak Park and Chicago. He was once presented by the Chicago AGO chapter in recital at St. James Cathedral. He was invited to perform at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Evanston, home to a 4-manual Skinner, Opus 327, and at the dedication of the 121-rank Kimball organ at New First (Union Park) Congregational Church of Chicago in 1927. Two representative recitals at First Congregational in Oak Park reveal that much of his repertoire showed off the orchestral organ through recent character music and opera transcriptions:  

Concert Overture in B Minor (Rogers)

“Allegro” from Sonata I (Guilmant)

Danish Song (Sandby)

March of the Gnomes (Stoughton)

Serenade (Rachmaninov)

Rhapsody (Cole)

A second program opened with a repeat performance of Stoughton’s March of the Gnomes, followed by:

Overture to Der Freischütz (Weber)

Minuet (Zimmerman)

Bells of St. Anne (Russell)

Brook (Dethier)

Concert Overture (Hollins)

Seder’s concerts often featured complex works by Bach, such as Komm Gott, Schöpfer from the Leipzig chorales, which he played along with one of the few works he composed, The Chapel of San Miguel, on a program in Winnipeg in 1929.⁴  

Music for the masses

Edgar A. Nelson (1882–1959), First Presbyterian Church

Philip Maxwell of the Chicago Daily Tribune wrote often about Edgar Nelson’s many performances for very large audiences in Chicago. He mentions that one of Edgar Nelson’s favorite passages in the Bible was “Sing unto him a new song:  play skillfully with a shout of joy” (Psalm 33:3).⁵ Maxwell did not document Nelson’s shouts of joy, but Nelson’s skillful playing is well documented. His career was centered around First Presbyterian Church in Oak Park, in the “church corridor” of the city’s commercial district, but his impact went far beyond.  

Nelson was born into a musical family of Swedish heritage and followed in his father’s steps as a church musician. Beginning in 1909 and continuing for 47 years, he was music director at First Presbyterian Church, playing an organ by the Hall Company, with whom he may have consulted on the design. Hall had also installed an organ for the Bush Temple of Music, a well-known piano store in Chicago.  

While he was working at First Presbyterian in Oak Park, Nelson was also a student at the Bush Conservatory in Chicago, one of several prominent private music schools established in the early 20th century. Nelson later joined the faculty there. As church music director, he presented organ concerts and conducted musical revues, such as a musical arrangement of The Thurber Carnival. He also directed children’s and adult choirs and composed incidental music for the church’s Christmas pageants, which were remembered later by church members as being fabulous. The church music budget provided for a paid quartet of local professional singers, which Nelson conducted for Sunday services. Not until the early 1950s with new pastoral leadership was a volunteer choir and a handbell ensemble formed.  

Dr. Nelson played Sunday mornings in Oak Park for a congregation of 1,600 and then for 40 years headed into Chicago each afternoon to Orchestra Hall, where he conducted a choir of 125 voices at the Chicago Sunday Evening Club until 1956. The club was a source of pride for the greater metropolitan area and eventually drew a national audience through radio broadcasts. Every Sunday night local businessmen and travelers would fill the 2,000-seat concert hall for a nondenominational Christian service featuring prominent religious speakers such as Henry Sloane Coffin from Union Theological Seminary and W.E.B. DuBois from Atlanta University. Founded in 1908, the Chicago Sunday Evening Club still produces a weekly cable TV broadcast. “30 Good Minutes” is aired on WTTW, where production moved from Orchestra Hall in the 1960s.

The club’s leaders, who included Rev. Clifford W. Barnes, an internationally known church activist and Chicago philanthropist, offered an additional level of status to the CSEC, as did Daniel Burnham’s beautiful Orchestra Hall venue from 1904. Dr. Nelson played the Lyon & Healy organ there, Opus 164 also from 1904, which at 4 manuals and 56 ranks was reported to be the largest instrument the Chicago-based company ever built. The CSEC services included performances by the club’s own chorale, which pre-dated the Chicago Symphony Orchestra’s resident chorus by several decades.    

Dr. Nelson was respected and well known in Oak Park through his long tenure at First Presbyterian Church. Also, due to his post as conductor, and from 1938 until shortly before his death, general choral director for the annual Chicagoland Music Festival, his reputation extended much further. Beginning in 1930, the Chicago Tribune Charities sponsored this event annually for 35 years, reportedly attracting more than 10,000 singers at a time to Soldier Field. The outdoor stadium was usually home to the Chicago Bears football team, but for a few days each August, in Chicago’s sweltering summer heat, a musical crew headed by Nelson organized singing contests and performances for choral ensembles from as many as sixteen states. On one occasion, more than 80,000 people were expected in the audience, purchasing tickets at $1.50 each. Participating choirs were auditioned because the number of choirs that wished to perform was far greater than the organizers could accommodate. The festival presented not only classical choirs, but also represented Chicago’s varied ethnicities with African-American gospel choirs, accordion ensembles, and popular country vocalists as well.   

When he was only 28 years old, Nelson was honored by King Gustaf V of Sweden with the Order of Valhalla, during a tour of Scandinavia with the Swedish Choral Club of Chicago, which he directed.⁶ In 1930, he became president of Bush Conservatory of Chicago. Two years later, when the Bush Conservatory was subsumed under Chicago Musical College, Nelson continued on as president of the merged school. His legacy was such that the Chicago Conservatory of Music dedicated a concert hall in his honor after his death, naming it the Edgar A. Nelson Memorial Hall.  

In addition to his teaching and administrative roles, for 44 years Nelson conducted the 200-voice Marshall Field Chorus, associated with Chicago’s landmark department store on State Street. For more than ten years, Nelson was the accompanist for the prestigious Apollo Musical Club. This independent auditioned chorus of about 80 voices sold standing subscriptions to its concerts of oratorios, cantatas, passions, and other large choral works such as Bach’s B-Minor Mass in Orchestra Hall. A Chicago Tribune reviewer referred to Nelson’s accompanying there and for numerous vocal recitals as consistently ideal. The Apollo Musical Club’s director in the early 20th century was Harrison Wild, notably also a founding member of the American Guild of Organists in 1896 and the Chicago (originally the “Western”) chapter in 1907. When Wild retired from the Apollo Club in 1928, Nelson took on the role of conductor and held that post until 1951.  

In 1937, living in the technological age that followed the century of progress, Nelson was among the musical experts chosen by the Federal Trade Commission for a panel to review the issue of a new organ. The panel was to advise on the validity of claims by the Hammond Clock Company of Evanston, Illinois that its electronic instruments were organs. No doubt many organists saw the clock company’s invention as a threat. Nelson joined the majority opinion of the panel, which concluded that the so-called electronic organ did not meet the accepted definition of an organ. This verdict did not hold back the Hammond Clock Company, nor did it intrude on Nelson’s indefatigable musical activity or impeccable musicianship.

Casavant makes their mark 

in Oak Park

George H. Clark, Grace Episcopal Church

In the early years of the 20th century, Mrs. Linda Holdrege Kettlestrings, who married into Oak Park’s founding family, served as organist at Grace Episcopal Church. The building was a gracious English Gothic revival structure completed in 1905 on the “church corridor.” Mrs. Kettlestrings also accompanied silent movies at Oak Park’s Lamar Theater two blocks away.⁷ In 1922, just a few years after the firm of Casavant Brothers of St-Hyacinthe, Quebec celebrated their 40th anniversary, they installed Opus 940, a 65-rank, 4-manual organ for Grace Episcopal Church. Chicago was already home to a dozen organs by Casavant, but this was only their third in Oak Park, and by far the largest in this village, which The Diapason had declared to be a prominent organ center. The Chicago Tribune reported the cost of Grace’s new instrument at $50,000.⁸ In 1947, Marcel Dupré performed a solo recital to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the instrument. 

At the time of its installation, the church’s organist was George H. Clark. Born in England, Clark was raised in the English choirboy tradition of London’s smaller parishes. He studied with Joseph Bonnet—for how long and where is not known, but Clark often included works of Bonnet on his recital programs.  

Clark kept good company. He was chosen to be one of three organists performing for a festival AGO service on April 24, 1928 in celebration of the new Möller organ, Opus 5196, at nearby Austin Congregational Church. The other performers were William H. Barnes, the noted author, organ designer, and past dean of the Chicago AGO chapter, and Harold B. Simonds, organist of St. Chrysostom’s Church in Chicago.  

Clark had a 2-manual organ installed in his Oak Park home in 1926. Opus 1162 was the fourth Casavant organ in Oak Park and featured a 16′ Bourdon in the pedal division. Whether Clark was duly impressed with Casavant’s work or due to some other circumstance, he became Casavant’s Chicago sales representative in 1932. His first instrument was purchased by Saint Catherine of Siena Roman Catholic Church in Oak Park. This was Opus 1467, a 3-manual instrument of 24 ranks. Clark played the inaugural organ recital featuring repertoire that frequently appeared on concert listings of the period: an excerpt from
Tannhäuser, Borodin’s “At the Convent,” an unnamed work by Guilmant, and a transcription of the “Hallelujah” chorus. 

A dean and director from 

Chicagoland’s best  

Raymond Allyn Smith and Theodore Kratt, First Baptist Church

Just two blocks from the principal church corridor of Lake Street stand the First Baptist and First United Methodist churches. The Methodist congregation was Oak Park’s first, formally organized in 1872 as the First Methodist Episcopal Church. In 1925 the present building, designed by noted Oak Park architect E. E. Richards, was completed and the Skinner organ company installed a pipe organ in the same year. This was Oak Park’s third Skinner, Opus 528, with four manuals and 43 ranks—all three organs within three blocks of one another.  

The nearby First Baptist congregation housed the second Skinner in the village, a 4-manual organ of 38 ranks, Opus 358, dedicated on April 25, 1923. This organ replaced the small pump organ that had been donated to the Baptist church by the pastor in 1882. In 1922, the congregation, which had grown to a membership of nearly 1,600, called Raymond Allyn Smith as organist. Smith was a graduate of the University of Chicago and conductor of glee clubs at both Beloit College and the University of Chicago. A native of Ohio, he studied organ, piano, and composition, first at Oberlin College and then with organist Robert W. Stevens in Chicago.⁹ Smith most likely would have been close to the installation of Skinner’s gargantuan 110-rank organ in Rockefeller Chapel on the University of Chicago campus. He consulted with William H. Shuey, who had preceded Edwin Stanley Seder as organist at First Congregational Church and knew its 1917 Skinner organ well, on the specifications for First Baptist in Oak Park.  

According to the account of the organ’s installation in The American Organist, First Baptist Church completed its red brick building with English Gothic features, purchased the organ, and installed ten tower chimes, all without carrying forward any debt.¹⁰ The chimes were a memorial in honor of George H. Shorney, some of whose descendants are still active in this congregation today. Smith planned a series of recitals and choral events throughout the year to celebrate the acquisition of the new organ. He collaborated with Theodore W. Kratt, the church’s music director. Kratt had graduated from the Chicago Musical College in 1921, later joining the faculty at Maine Township High School, and serving First Baptist Church until 1928. He conducted a Sunday choir of sixty voices at First Baptist. He founded an Oak Park choral society of 100 augmented with approximately fifty singers from a junior choral society for special concerts, given in the sanctuary that seated nearly 1,000.¹¹ The choir’s repertoire included cantatas and oratorios, one example being Elijah by Mendelssohn.  

A celebratory program one month after the organ’s installation, most likely with Kratt conducting and Smith accompanying, included a mix of vocal, choral, and piano repertoire by contemporary composers (Amy Cheney Beach, Sergei Rachmaninov, Camille Saint-Säens), chorus excerpts by Gounod and Sullivan, an organ work by the ever-popular Pietro Yon, and the “Hallelujah Chorus,” which frequently appeared on concerts during this era. The final work was an organ transcription of the March from Verdi’s Aida.  

Smith not only performed in the Chicago area; he was invited elsewhere as a soloist. His program in 1923 for the ongoing recital series at the University of Illinois, home to a 4-manual, 59-rank Casavant, follows:

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (Bach)

Sonata No. 4 in D Minor (Guilmant)

Echoes of Spring (Friml)

Notturno (Mendelssohn)

Am Meer (Schubert)

Au Convent (Borodin)

Toccata from Symphony No. 5 (Widor)¹²

Smith’s colleague and music director at First Baptist, Theodore Kratt, completed his Mus.D. at the Chicago Musical College in 1932. He moved on to other positions, first as orchestra conductor at Miami University of Ohio, incidentally a position organist Joseph W. Clokey had formerly held, and then as Dean of the School of Music at the University of Oregon. Later music directors at First Baptist of Oak Park were Herbert Nutt (1930–34) and Robert MacDonald (1935–39).  

Let the organist do it!

Miss Etta Code (d. 1953), St. Edmund’s Catholic Church 

This Catholic parish, one of two established in 1907 in Oak Park, was served for 49 years by its founding priest, Monsignor John Code, with the help of his sister Etta Margaret, who played the organ. Miss Code, after 46 years as organist, was remembered at her funeral for her love of God and her zeal for His church. She is quoted on her guiding philosophy as having said, “The purpose of church music is to pray in song, not to entertain. It is an office once entrusted to priests. To make it an occasion for mere artistic display is to insult the God who is on the altar.”¹³ 

As a child, Etta grew up with John and five other brothers in a musical family in Chicago’s St. Columbkille parish, one of many Irish enclaves that yielded generations of successful Americans. The matriarch of the family was Mary Code. With her children, she formed a family ensemble in the home, playing mandolins, harps, and guitars for the neighborhood.  

Miss Etta Code studied piano, harp, and organ at the Chicago Musical College. After graduating, she moved to Oak Park in 1907 to help her brother John nurse along the new Catholic parish in the village’s commercial district. The congregation first met in a barn on the old Scoville property in the center of town and then in 1910 moved into a stately English Gothic building about three blocks from Oak Park’s “church corridor.” Miss Code’s duties included managing the parish office, teaching at Chicago’s historic Ogden School, directing the catechism classes for the parish school, and helping the needy callers who appeared at the rectory. In a more unusual role, at an outdoor parish fundraiser on the lawn of one of Oak Park’s baron-era mansions, Miss Code was described as one of the “Oak Park beauties” who set up the “cigar booth” for entertainment on the lawn.  

The parish Mass schedule found Miss Code at least once a day in the organ loft, playing for the liturgy and singing the solo parts while accompanying herself on the church’s Casavant organ, and sometimes on harp. The size of the parish, which grew beyond 2,000 in the 1930s, dictated that there would be frequent named Masses and on many weekdays the organist had to accompany as many as three of them. When the church acquired a 16-rank Casavant pipe organ in 1913, Miss Code most likely consulted on this project. That year the church made a partial payment of $1,155 on the instrument. Casavant installed two instruments in Oak Park in 1913. The other, at 53 ranks, was built for the First Congregational Church but sadly lost when lightning struck the church’s steeple four years later. St. Edmund’s Casavant, now the oldest remaining in Oak Park, was refurbished in 1952, just one year before Etta Code’s death.

Miss Code organized a number of ambitious musical celebrations to commemorate events in the parish’s life. She was frequently noted as an accompanist and organ soloist outside of regular Masses. In honor of a parish member who donated extensive decorations for the building’s interior in 1920, she arranged a sacred concert, featuring William Rogerson and Vittorio Arimondi, soloists from the Grand Opera Company (later the Chicago Lyric Opera). Other performers came from the Theodore Thomas Orchestra in Chicago (later the Chicago Symphony Orchestra) and St. Edmund’s choir of 34 voices. Miss Code accompanied and played a “Finale” by Guilmant, presumably from an organ sonata. The male chorus of the Catholic Casino Club sang sacred excerpts in Latin by Gerasch and Kreutzer. The repertoire spanned from Mozart and Haydn to Gounod. A reviewer in the local Oak Leaves reported that the church was packed that evening, and “not the least convincing contribution was Miss Etta Code’s organ accompaniment of the intricate and exacting scores and her rich and voluminous interpretation of Guilmant’s organ recessional.”  

Miss Code seemed to show an affinity for opera, having directed at the Warrington Opera House in Oak Park, where there was a resident orchestra. The Warrington billed itself as “the only legitimate theater outside of the Chicago Loop” and it was large enough to seat 1,500 people. The following year, since the first sacred concert was so well received, Miss Code organized a repeat performance, again with Messrs. Rogerson and Arimondi of the Chicago Grand Opera Company, and noted Chicago organist Adalbert Hugelot. Hugelot played Gesu Bambino by Pietro Yon, many of whose works are frequently found on recital programs of this era. Several vocal solos from Handel (“Where’er You Walk”) to Verdi (Ave Maria) contrasted with Grieg and Tchaikovsky transcriptions played by a string quartet from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.  

The sacred concerts did not continue on this scale in future years. The church’s annual expense for parish music was $415 in 1921, on a par with the amounts given for European sufferers and Irish relief. This was sufficient to sustain a choir, which met regularly every Friday night, even throughout Oak Park’s hot summers. During the school year, students at the parish school presented musical plays and concerts by the student band. Miss Code served both students at the school and friends throughout the parish and the village. Father Code referred to her as his “first assistant” at St. Edmund’s. At her death, 95 parishioners and local church and community groups requested memorial masses for her. 

Value added

The careers of Edwin Stanley Seder, Dr. Edgar Nelson, George Clark, Raymond Smith, Theodore Kratt, and Miss Etta Code spanned an era in which the organ’s standing was as solid as the pillars surrounding their churches. In spite of economic hardships and the staggering scale and speed of world events from 1920–1940, these musicians held on to a constant discipline of planning, practice, and performing that enriched their communities with live music. They may have worked in a village, but they worked at a level that rivaled larger urban centers like Chicago. Their legacy shows that the society that heralded the era of radio, streetcars, Gershwin, and Guthrie also valued the centuries-old tradition of organ-playing in its churches.

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

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON

János Sebestyén (1931-2012)

by Robert Tifft

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[email protected]

.

Jonathan B. Hall is music director of Central Presbyterian Church in Montclair, New Jersey. His first book, Calvin Hampton: A Musician Without Borders, is available from Wayne Leupold Editions. He is past dean of the Brooklyn AGO Chapter.

While a junior or senior in high school, I found a newish LP in the local public library: Fugues, Fantasia and Variations—Nineteenth-Century American Concert Organ Music (New World Records, NW280). Dated 1976, it was no doubt intended as part of the vast tribute to the Bicentennial that many of us remember. Richard Morris was the organist, and he played the 1876 Hook & Hastings instrument in St. Joseph’s Old Cathedral, Buffalo, New York.

Dubbed the Centennial Organ because it had stood in the eastern end of the huge Main Building of the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, the four-manual instrument has been in Buffalo since 1877. It underwent change when it was electrified in 1925, but is substantially in conformity with its original design. Most recently, in 2001, it was restored by Andover and rededicated by Thomas Murray.

The Hook was the perfect organ for the repertoire, and the performance brought out the character of the instrument convincingly. But I was instantly captivated by the first piece. Taking up the whole of Side A was the Grand Sonata in E-flat, opus 22, by Dudley Buck. I was already a devotee of Bach, and to my ears the opening strains of the Buck were improbably sweet, heavy with a Victorian lyricism, very like a forbidden fruit. I was hooked.

Since then, I have treasured my own copy of this LP, and often re-read Barbara Owen’s comprehensive accompanying essay, which expanded the record jacket from single to double format. But my appreciation of the Grand Sonata has matured from a slightly guilty Victorian pleasure to serious musical appreciation. The work, in fact, bears hallmarks of advanced compositional techniques, and, indeed, points a way forward in American musical composition.

Cyclical structure

In 1982, Jerome Butera (editor of this journal) successfully defended a thesis at the American Conservatory of Music in Chicago for his DMA degree. This thesis was devoted, in large part, to the Grand Sonata. He gives a clear, detailed account of the piece, situating it in nineteenth-century European practice. The thesis remains the most complete account of the work written to date.

But I am not aware of any study that points out the cyclical nature of this sonata. That is to say, each of its four movements begins with some reference to a particular shared musical idea. It is a simple idea, to be sure; but its presence adds luster to the first major organ sonata composed in America. It links the Buck piece, on a technical level, to the symphonies of Vierne, albeit on a more modest scale. At the same time, it places it on a more elevated architectonic plane than the early Widor symphonies.

The piece’s stated key is E-flat major. Buck begins with a rising E-flat major scale (Example 1). Then he colors the scale with the lowered chromatic neighbors of scale degrees 3, 5, and 6 (Example 2).

These color-tones are commonplace in Romantic music, simply ornamenting the third of the tonic and subdominant harmonies, and hinting at the V/V. With these extra notes, we can form these typical gestures of Victorian parlor music, both of which are common in the Grand Sonata (Example 3).

Nor does this scale, of itself, form a motif that is exactly repeated through the piece. However, as we shall see, its presence is subtly pervasive. The rising chromatic scale is basic to every movement of the Grand Sonata and contributes to the listener’s conviction that the piece hangs together, and thence to the work’s enduring popularity.

First movement

The motif is heard at the very outset of the work, in the first movement, marked allegro con brio. Here, one must respectfully disagree with the liner notes in the Morris album: the movement is neither especially a “virtuoso” one nor, most definitely, “in free form.” It is a textbook example of sonata-allegro form, and (in my opinion) at the high end of moderately difficult¹ (Example 4).

Note that the scalar material is in the tenor. This motif is echoed throughout the movement (Examples 5 and 6). Meanwhile, as mentioned, the movement hews closely to classical sonata-allegro form. The opening theme modulates to the dominant key of B-flat, whereupon we hear a second theme in a contrasting, lyrical style. (Here, we do not hear the cyclical material.) Energetic closing material rounds out the exposition. The development bandies the subsidiary ideas around in more or less remote keys, eventually leading us to the expected retransition and recapitulation in the tonic key. Note, as we end, the reappearance of motivic pitches in the pedal (Example 7).

Second movement

The second movement, an andante espressivo in the subdominant key of A-flat, prominently features the cyclical scalar material in both hands (Example 8). Cast in a spacious ABA song form, this movement not only calls to mind one of Beethoven’s “hymnic adagios,” but also the songs of Stephen Foster (who died in 1864) as well. It also reminds us of what made Buck so popular in his day. 

The secret of his success lies in his feeling for the voice, for he is a vocal writer par excellence. This is a gift. One may study the range of the voice and try to master its capacities, but without the intuitive sensitiveness to that which is vocal, the results are but poor; the music may be good but it does not fit the voice. This intuition is his in the highest degree, and his songs are rich, varied, picturesque, and stirring . . . [H]e does this so simply that we are unconscious of the mechanism, but feel the beauty and fitness of the whole.²

I agree in particular with the last sentence; to this day, we are likely to be “unconscious of the mechanism”! But we are not likely to miss Buck’s rich lyricism; and the theme of this movement is the very quintessence of nineteenth-century American song, at least of a certain popular variety.

Third movement

The third movement of the Grand Sonata, marked vivace non troppo, is a well-known scherzo and trio, which is reprinted (minus its trio) in the second volume of A Century of American Organ Music, edited by Barbara Owen. It is in the relative-minor key of C minor; the trio is in the parallel key of C major. Here, the cyclical theme is visible in the rising scale with sharp fourth (Example 9), and elsewhere.

Last movement

The final movement, aptly described as a “rollicking fugue” in the Morris liner notes, begins with a strong evocation of the cyclical theme. I have always very much enjoyed these measures, but never understood why Buck chose to begin the way he did. I suggest that the notion of the cyclical theme solves this problem neatly (Example 10).

And of course, the “rollicking” fugue subject repeats the very same pitches of that long-ago tenor line in the first movement (Example 11). This theme is an elaboration of the patriotic song “Hail Columbia” (Example 12). 

And we do not end this wonderful fugue—and sonata—without a final farewell to the motif in the last measures (Example 13). Note that this grand Victorian coda uses both of the little musical gestures shown at Example 2.

As mentioned earlier, this basic cyclical motive is not especially exciting. A rising major scale, wherein 3, 5, and 6 are colored by their lower neighbors, is not an innovation by any means; certainly it is not as historically important as the Tristan chord! But I think the evidence in the musical text is convincing. Dudley Buck consciously built his Grand Sonata with reference to that motif.

European influences

In retrospect, it is hardly a surprise. Buck went to Europe in 1858; he studied in Leipzig, Dresden, and Paris; his teachers included Beethoven’s protégé Ignaz Moscheles, as well as the then-current Thomaskantor, Ernst Richter, and others. This kind of motivic composition was hardly new at that time; there had been Beethoven, for a start, with his Pathétique sonata and Fifth Symphony; there had been Berlioz, Liszt, Reubke. (Speaking of Tristan, Wagner completed that opera in 1859, having laid aside his work on the Ring cycle in 1857.) Buck returned to the States in 1862, and accepted a job in Hartford. He composed the Grand Sonata in 1865. So, although he would not have been in Europe for the premieres of the Ring operas, there is no doubt that motivic composition was au courant and made an impression.

In his doctoral thesis, Butera points to the Grand Sonata as combining formal procedures of German Romanticism with “sentimental Victorian” parlor music.³ These turn out to be two sides of the same coin: the “parlor” idea of a chromatically inflected scale pervasively influences the entire work in a decidedly Germanic fashion.

It is thus most worthwhile to point out the modest, but effective, use Buck made of this principle. He would continue to do so: in 1880, he composed Scenes from Longfellow’s “Golden Legend”: A Symphonic Cantata, where the Leitmotiv system is very much in evidence.⁴

In 1877, Dwight’s Journal of Music published a favorable review of Buck’s Second Sonata, opus 77, premiered by Clarence Eddy in Chicago in November 1877. It praised the work in part by drawing favorable parallels to the Grand Sonata, which the reviewer found “ . . . somewhat too American in tone, uneven, and almost crude in places.” He also questions whether the classical sonata form is necessary, especially in light of Beethoven’s opus 111 and the six Mendelssohn organ sonatas.⁵ I do not question the youthful ebullience of the piece, its extroversion, cheeriness, and, in places, obvious lightness. However, such evaluations as “too American . . . uneven, and almost crude” should not daunt us. Further study of this composer—this cosmopolitan, lyrically gifted, all-American classic—is very much in order.

Conclusion: looking forward

Whatever its faults, Buck’s Grand Sonata has staying power. Very popular in its day, it has enjoyed high visibility wherever there is interest in Victorian or 19th-century American organ music—this, despite the frequent reaction that the piece is “too American,” mere “parlor music,” or, in a word, corny.

But what do we have, at the end of the day? Do we have a monument to a departed esthetic—a period piece—a curious and lovely heirloom? Do we have something like an amiable and slightly eccentric uncle? I think not—definitely not. The Grand Sonata is altogether more important than that. I am indebted to an old friend and colleague for expressing this insight so clearly. Joshua Banks Mailman, who recently completed a Ph.D. in music theory at Eastman, listened to me play the opening bars of the piece over the phone during a wide-ranging conversation. His reaction was swift. “My gosh,” he said. “Did Scott Joplin ever hear that piece?”⁶

Ragtime. Of course! It is so far to the foreground that it has gone unmentioned. The spirited, syncopated, mildly chromatic opening fits the style admirably. It is important to remember that ragtime and jazz both have roots, in part, in the idioms of 19th-century parlor music and popular song—idioms also very much in evidence in the Grand Sonata. And, as for the chromatically inflected scale on which the piece is based, the blues scale is easily extracted from it.

Granted, there are features of ragtime, blues, and jazz that are not present: what Joplin calls the “weird and intoxicating effect”⁷ is absent, among many other things. The piece is an ancestor, nothing more; it represents one of the streams of influence of these later styles. It seems to me that we organists have tended to overlook this.

Butera’s thesis accurately points out many salient features of this work, including both “conservative” and “progressive” elements. Among the former, he points out the use of sonata-allegro form; the four-movement plan of fast-slow-scherzo-fast; the employment of ternary forms; and a learned fugue to conclude. On the progressive side, he notes (inter alia) chromaticism in harmony and melody; tertian key relationships; dramatic exploitation of virtuosity (à la Reubke or Liszt); freedom of fugal treatment (ditto); and so on.⁸

To this good list we can add the choice of a style that would prove the ancestor of some of America’s most distinctive music; music that—like the war that ended in the year the Grand Sonata was composed—would fight to unite the “varied carols” of America’s singing. The result was to be a convincing, and world-transforming, musical idiom. This is surely quite a feather in the cap of a twenty-six-year-old composer. I say we should let him be as American as he likes.