A Performer's Guide to Schoenberg's Opus 40, Part 2

by Ronald J. Swedlund

Ronald J. Swedlund is a specialist in German romantic music. He earned the DMA degree in organ performance from the University of Michigan and the MMus and BMus degrees from Wichita State University. His principal organ mentors have been Robert Glasgow, Marilyn Mason, and Robert Town. Additional keyboard study has been with Edward Parmentier (harpsichord) and Robert Hamilton (piano).

Arnold Schoenberg (1874–1951) began composing his Variations on a Recitative, op. 40 for organ on August 25, 1941 and completed the work forty-eight days later on October 12. The work was premièred by Carl Weinrich at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in New York City on April 10, 1944. It was published by the H. W. Gray Co. in 1947, after six years of quarrelsome negotiations.

Altogether Schoenberg wrote seven sets  of variations. Four of these are relatively brief movements in larger works; the other three are self-contained pieces of substantial length. The movements in larger works are the Litanei of String Quartet No. 2, op. 10 (1908); the passacaglia titled “Nacht” in Pierrot Lunaire, op. 21 (1912); the Variationen from Serenade, op. 24 (1923); and the Thema mit Variationen from Suite, op. 29 (1926). The independent pieces are Variations for Orchestra, op. 31 (1928); Variations on a Recitative, op. 40 (1941); and Theme and Variations, op. 43a for band (1943). These sets traverse Schoenberg’s four stylistic periods, moving from the tonality of the second string quartet to atonality (or, as Schoenberg would say, “pantonality”1) in Pierrot Lunaire, to serialism in the serenade and the suite, and finally returning to tonality in the organ variations and the band variations.2 The Variations on a Recitative is Schoenberg’s final and most extensive keyboard work, and his only completed work for organ.

The primary sources for a study of Schoenberg’s organ variations are the composer’s personal correspondence, articles by Robert Nelson and Marilyn Mason, two recordings of the work by Mason, and a letter from Max Miller to Paul Hesselink. The items from Schoenberg’s personal correspondence pertaining to the organ variations are published in an article by Paul Hesselink, which appeared in the Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute; a review and abridged version of this article later appeared in The American Organist. Hesselink’s articles both present a single paragraph from an important letter Schoenberg wrote to René Leibowitz on July  4, 1947—the full text of this letter appears in Arnold Schoenberg Letters, edited by Erwin Stein. The Nelson article summarizes the content of six two-hour lectures presented by Schoenberg early in 1949 (and attended by Nelson) which dealt with Schoenberg’s variation sets. Marilyn Mason writes,

during the summer of 1949 I was privileged to have several lessons with Mr. Schoenberg at his home in Beverly Hills, California. Three lessons, in composition and in an analysis of the Variations, were so inspiring and stimulating! One of his special requests was that he hear the Variations on the organ, so I made arrangements to play them for him at a Los Angeles church. He was transported by car and  wheelchair to the church, where he heard, as he told us afterwards, the work performed for the first time on the organ. To my knowledge this was the last time too, for in two summers he had died.3

Mason’s article describes her session with Schoenberg at the Los Angeles church and reports Schoenberg’s wishes regarding the performance of his piece. Mason recorded the variations in 1951 and again around 1968.4 Hesselink’s first  article presents an excerpt of a letter to him from Max Miller5 who, as a graduate organ student in the fall of 1950, took a lesson with Schoenberg for “help . . . on interpretation” and “tempi, etc.”6 in the organ variations.

An important secondary source for a study of Schoenberg’s organ variations is an article by Martha Foltz, which presents a detailed analysis of the piece.7 The purpose of the present study is to present data from primary sources relating to the performance of Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative, op. 40. This data will address the areas of 1) edition choice, 2) articulation and phrasing, 3) tempo and rhythm, 4) registration, and 5) instrument choice.

Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative is available in two editions, the first published by the H. W. Gray Co., Inc. in 1947 and the second published by Belmont Music Publishers in 1975. Edited by Carl Weinrich, the first edition is written in conventional organ music notation and contains copious registration suggestions intended for the large, early 20th-century organ at Princeton University. The second edition is purged of Weinrich’s editorial suggestions and is written in Schoenberg’s original music notation, in which the pedal part is notated at actual (16¢) pitch instead of one octave higher.

Prior to the initial publication of his organ variations by the H. W. Gray Co., Schoenberg wrote the following comments concerning the forthcoming edition:

Now there is another problem: You know probably that since 1917 (when I published my Four Songs for Orchestra, Op. 21 [8]: “Vereinfache [sic] Studier-und Dirigier-Partitur, mit Vorwort”) I have excluded every transposition of my scores, even that of double bass, contra bassoon [sic] and piccolo.

Now I would like to publish also this work in the same manner. That is, writing exactly how it must sound and leaving it to the player to know how it has to be played. But as I do not want to produce this time more difficulties than those produced by the artistic conditions of my style, I am ready to allow this time to use the old fashioned notation. I know, organ players belong to the most conservative group among instrumentalists, and I assume they would not even try to play this.

I leave the decision about the problem to the publisher.9

[Letter to Donald Gray of the H. W. Gray Co.] There are now in my belief two possibilities how you could publish it:

(1) Without editorial additions, exactly as my original manuscript was written, which is quite possible because Mr. Weinrich . . . who has played it recently was able to do it without such remarks.

or

(2) Ask Mr. Weinrich whether he can edit it.10

The H. W. Gray Co. chose to ask Weinrich to edit the score. Upon Weinrich’s acceptance of the task, Schoenberg wrote to him:

I am also glad that you are going to edit the piece for H. W. Gray Co. . . .

I do not know whether my friends, Mr. Steuermann and Mr. Kolisch informed you about the one peculiarity of my writing, which might have seemed unusual to you at first: I write always the pitch which I want to hear: never transpositions are used, also not in the upper or lower octave; not in the manuals, nor in the pedal.11

After the publication of his organ variations in 1947Ï, the tone of Schoenberg’s comments changed:

Through the registration of a Mr. Weinrich, who has an unusually large organ in Princeton, the whole picture of my music is so confused that most people cannot make it out: but Mr. Stein has promised to give me a list which shows my original version. I will send it. The registrations by Weinrich I absolutely cannot judge. They appear to be invented entirely by an “organ churn.”12

[Letter to Donald Gray] . . . Mr. Weinrich’s registration is not understandable for other organists than himself.

I think it was not very good that my work was published in his version. . . . I must ask you to do something in this respect. I don’t want this work to be suppressed by such a mistake. Will you please tell me what you consider doing. I would say the best thing would be to have a second version without any registration and deliver this to the organist.

Complaints which I receive stem from prominent German, French and American organists.13

The registration of my organ variations is apparently perfectly designed for the Princeton University organ. This does not suit me at all and so many people have complained about it. I have also asked my publisher to bring out an unregistered edition so that each player can make his own registration. For me, an edition in which the bass is often higher than the tenor is really unreadable. It seems unmusical to me, and, besides, I believe that a well-educated musician doesn’t need this at all.

In my original draft, I included an occasional indication of sonority. But the point was to say whether something should be played tenderly and contabile [sic], or more roughly and staccato, or energetically—nothing more than that.14

. . . This Mr. Gray seems to be a hard-boiled man and he seems to be also very insolent. . . . . . . he charges so much . . . because he includes the fee which he has probably paid to Mr. Weinrich for his terrible registration . . . I had many complaints from Germany and from England and from France about this registration—all say that it is unuseable [sic], it seems to be made for a special organ and this is the organ of Princeton.

. . . I want . . . absolutely Mr. Weinrich’s registration to be taken out and my own version restored, with a remark that I give only the sound and every organ player might register it according to his own organ.15

[Letter to Donald Gray.] Weinrich made his registration exclusively for his Princeton organ. I have received many complaints about that, and questions whether American organs are different from European. And I have also heard a record made by an organist . . . [whose playing was based] on Weinrich’s ideas, and I tell you, it’s terrible. This fact that this version is not applicable to other organs, might be the reason why Weinrich himself, in an organ recital here in Los Angeles, did not play this piece; he, the editor!16

The 1974 Belmont edition apparently would fulfill Schoenberg’s wishes.17

According to Marilyn Mason, the phrasing indications in the H. W. Gray edition correspond exactly to the original manuscript. She writes that one of Schoenberg’s chief dictums to a performer of his music was “strict adherence to the score, especially regarding phrasing—all phrasing indications were to be strictly observed.”18 She notes that Schoenberg “was especially interested in clarity of performance, and this colored all his remarks to me.”19 During 1936 and 1937, the Kolisch Quartet recorded Schoenberg’s four string quartets under his coaching and supervision. Eugene Lehner, the quartet’s violist, writes that

one word was constantly repeated by . . . [Schoenberg]—clarity, clarity, clarity. For him, that was the alpha and omega of music making. His dictum was that you must play music so that the last person in the hall should be able to write up in the score what you do.20

A letter of Schoenberg to the conductor Fritz Stiedry describes how to achieve clarity in phrasing. Schoenberg writes,

phrasing is not to be used ‘emotionally’ as in the age of pathos. Rather it must

1. distribute the stresses correctly in the line

2. sometimes reveal, sometimes conceal the motivic work

3. take care that all voices are well-balanced dynamically, to achieve transparency in the total sound.21

Schoenberg observes that “an outstanding soloist (Kreisler, Casals, Huberman, among others) has a way of working at his part; he tries to make even the tiniest note sound, and to place it in correct relationship to the whole.”22

Consider for a moment the three soloists cited by Schoenberg. All were string players. Pablo Casals’ playing, compounded equally of fire and tenderness, “was memorable as much for beauty of tone as intellectual strength.”23 Time factors were

consciously chosen, avoiding a robotic pulse. Casals instinctively understood the dramatic value of delay—if only by a millisecond. He would speak of “posing” a note. He would “sculpt” every note dynamically . . . Casals’ playing [was] distinct from the unguency of a cello-playing dedicated to a seamless flow of beguiling sound.24

Bronislaw Huberman’s playing was, according to Flesch,25 “the most remarkable representative of unbridled individualism.”26 Huberman was “a towering personality who could fuse glowing intensity and visionary sensitivity into a grand design. His tone had a haunting quality, particularly in infinite shades of pianissimo.”27

Fritz Kreisler played without exertion, achieving a seemingly effortless perfection without

conscious technical display. The elegance of his bowing, the grace and charm of his phrasing, the vitality and boldness of his rhythm, and above all his tone of indescribable sweetness and expressiveness were marvelled at. Though not very large, his tone had unequalled carrying power because his bow applied just enough pressure without suppressing the natural vibrations of the strings. The matchless color was achieved by vibrato . . . Kreisler applied vibrato not only on sustained notes but also in faster passages which lost all dryness under his magic touch. His methods of bowing and fingering were equally personal.28

Kreisler had an unconventional bow arm: he disregarded the traditional . . . spun-out long bow, considered an important tool in a violinist’s technique; instead, he preferred short, intense bow strokes, changing the bow frequently and holding his right elbow rather high. He also tightened the bow hair far more than customary.29

According to Flesch in the mid-1890’s, Kreisler’s cantilena “was an unrestrained orgy of sinfully seductive sounds, depravedly fascinating,  whose sole driving force appeared to be a sensuality intensified to the point of frenzy.30 A photograph also taken about 1895 shows Kreisler and Schoenberg (the latter playing ’cello) as members of a whimsical instrumental ensemble called the “Fröhliches Quintett.”31

Hence, the artists Schoenberg admired, while noted for their clarity, were far from being the faceless automatons one might imagine from a superficial knowledge of Schoenberg’s style and aesthetic. To the contrary, each approached the rhetorical art of articulation and phrasing with blazing originality harnessed to intense communicative power.

These “outstanding”32 performers also played with beguiling rhythm and pronounced, individualistic rubato. Concerning rhythm and tempo, Schoenberg in 1948 wrote that

today’s manner of performing . . . [art] music . . . , suppressing all emotional qualities and all unnotated changes of tempo and expression, derives from the style of playing primitive dance music. This style came to Europe by way of America, where no old culture regulated presentation, but where a certain frigidity of feeling reduced all musical expression. Thus almost everywhere in Europe music is played in a stiff, inflexible metre—not in a tempo, i.e. according to a yardstick of freely measured quantities. Astonishingly enough, almost all European conductors and instrumentalists bowed to this dictate without resistance. All were suddenly afraid to be called romantic, ashamed of being called sentimental. No one recognized the origin of this tendency; all tried rapidly to satisfy the market—which had become American . . .

. . . As an expression of man it [music] is at least subject to such changes of speed as are dictated by our blood. Our pulse beats faster or slower, often without our recognizing it—certainly, however, in accommodation to our emotions. Let the most frigid person be asked a price much higher than she expected and feel her pulse thereafter! And what would become of the lie-detecting machine if we were not afflicted by such emotions? Who is able to say convincingly “I love you” or “I hate you,” without his pulse registering? . . .

Why is music written at all? Is it not a romantic feeling which makes you listen to it? Why do you play the piano when you could show the same skill on a typewriter?33

Schoenberg continues,

Change of speed in pulse-beats corresponds exactly with changes in tempo. When a composer has “warmed up” he may feel the need of harmonic and rhythmic changes. A change of character, a strong contrast, will often require a modification of tempo. But the most important changes are necessary for the distribution of the phrases of which a segment is composed. Over-accentuation of strong beats shows poor musicianship, but to bring out the “centre of gravity” of a phrase is indispensable to an intelligent and intelligible presentation of its contents . . . To people who have never heard  those great artists of the past who could venture far-reaching changes of every kind without ever being wrong, without ever losing balance, without ever violating good taste—to such people this may seem romantic.

It must be admitted that in the period around 1900 many artists overdid themselves in exhibiting the power of the emotion they were capable of feeling; artists who considered works of art to have been created only to secure opportunities for them to expose themselves to their audience; artists who believed themselves to be more important than the work—or at least than the composer. Nothing can be more wrong than both these extremes. Natural frigidity or artificial warmth—the one not only subtracts the undesirable additions of the other, but also destroys the vital warmth of creation, and vice versa.

But why no true, well-balanced, sincere and tasteful emotion?34

As one might expect, Schoenberg admired the conductor Furtwängler. Sounding slightly jaded by conductorial egos, Schoenberg writes that Furtwängler “is certainly a better musician than all these Toscaninis, Ormandys, Kussevitzkis [sic], and the whole rest. And he is a real talent, and he loves music.” 35 What sort of musician was Furtwängler?

He has been described

as “an ambassador from another world, a world holding him firmly in its power; he broke free of it only because he had a message to impart” (Kokoschka). “In listening to him, it is the impression of vast, pulsating space which is most overwhelming” (Menuhin). Such language is an attempt to put into words the almost mystical effect that Furtwängler’s conducting had on those who experienced it. He seemed to be searching for music’s essential being at a deeper level than anyone else. As Neville Cardus put it, “he did not regard the printed notes as a final statement but rather as so many symbols in an imaginative conception, ever changing and always to be felt and realized subjectively.”

. . . Furtwängler was a product, perhaps the supreme expression, of the interpretive tradition of Wagner and von Bülow. In Germany his conducting was regarded as the synthesis of Bülow’s spirituality and Nikisch’s improvisatory genius and sense of colour. Furtwängler’s performances combined in an extraordinary way lofty thought and spontaneity, impulsiveness and long meditation. Nothing for him was fixed and laid down. Each performance was a fresh attempt to discover the truth; rarely was one like another, or even like the rehearsal that had just preceded it. He deliberately cultivated an imprecise beat, so as to achieve a large, unforced sonority, growing from the bass. (The improvement of the cello and bass section, with the consequent enrichment of the whole body of string tone, and the introduction of continuous vibrato into German and Austrian orchestras, were among his important contributions to the development of orchestral playing.)

The freedom of tempo that he allowed himself was the opposite pole from Toscanini’s insistence on the sanctity of the printed score as a medium of the composer’s intentions (the interpretative tradition of Berlioz), in the light of which Furtwängler’s fluctuations of tempo struck many as arbitrary and unacceptable. Yet they were an inevitable concomitant of Furtwängler’s method, his constant quest for music’s inner meaning and hidden laws. He aimed at achieving, at the profoundest level, an organic unity which should be the result not of conformity but of a concentration on each particular expressive moment within a deeply considered general idea of the work. He was a master of transition, of the art of moulding musical phrases and periods into a spacious design, varied but grandly coherent . . . [his conducting had] a sweep, an urgency and tragic intensity that silenced objections.36

Schoenberg often paradoxically suggested in his compositions—through note values, changing meters, metronome markings, and tempo indications—the rhythmic freedom of a Furtwängler, Huberman, Kreisler, or Casals. The performer thus creates the impression of such freedom by taking fewer liberties in a Schoenberg work than in the work of an earlier composer.37

In the fall of 1950 Max Miller, then a graduate organ student at the University of Redlands, took a lesson on the performance of Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative with the composer. Concerning tempo and rhythm, Miller writes that Schoenberg

was upset by a too prolonged hold on the fermata on page 11 [m. 88] . . . It was clear that he wanted the variations grouped into larger sections as the music itself shows. In general, his whistling of the music was slower than his indicated tempo markings.38

For Schoenberg, as noted above, the most important concern of a performer of his organ variations was clarity. “Regarding actual sounds, he was interested in having clearness and precision above everything.”39 Schoenberg states that

the highest principle for all reproduction of music would have to be that what the composer has written is made to sound in such a way that every note is really heard, and that all the sounds, whether successive or simultaneous, are in such relationship to each other that no part at any moment obscures another, but, on the contrary, makes its contribution towards ensuring that they all stand out clearly from one another. . . . [This clarity] is the precondition of all music making.40

Elsewhere Schoenberg states, “If I was doing the registration [of the organ variations], I should work it out only in such a way that all the voices come out clearly.”41

How does Schoenberg achieve clarity of timbre? To answer this question, one must turn to his orchestration. In 1925, Schoenberg transcribed J. S. Bach’s chorale preludes “Komm, Gott, Schöpfer, heiliger Geist,” BWV 63142 and “Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele,” BWV 65443 for orchestra; in 1929 he transcribed as one piece J. S. Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in E-flat, BWV 55244 for orchestra. In 1937, Schoenberg transcribed Brahms’ Piano Quartet in G Minor, op. 25 for orchestra. Speaking of the Bach prelude and fugue, Schoenberg writes,

I have, so to speak, modernized the organ, replaced its slow, rarely occurring change of colours with a more richly varied one that established precisely the rendition and the character of the individual passages, and I have given attention to clarity in the web of voices.45

Speaking of Brahms’ op. 25, Schoenberg writes, “I wanted once to hear everything, and this I achieved.”46 Schoenberg discusses in more detail his reason for transcribing the Bach chorale preludes:

the purpose of the colours is to make the individual lines clearer, and that is very important in the contrapuntal web! . . . Our modern conception of music demanded clarification of the motivic procedures in both horizontal and vertical dimensions. That is, we do not find it sufficient to rely on the imminent effect of a contrapuntal structure that is taken for granted, but we want to be aware of this counterpoint in the form of motivic relationships. . . . [Otherwise] our powers of comprehension will not be satisfied . . . We need transparency, that we may see [the motivic procedures] clearly!47

Thus, Schoenberg achieves clarity of timbre by placing timbre in the service of motivic and contrapuntal delineation. Urging players of Bach’s instrument to strive for such clarity, Schoenberg commands: “The organist must use all registers and change them frequently.”48

by Earl Holt

Earl Holt is a graduate of Elon College, the University of Michigan, and Arizona State University, where he recently completed the D.M.A. degree in organ performance with Robert Clark. Dr. Holt served on the music faculty of San Jacinto College North in Houston from 1982-90, and is currently a full-time Visiting Assistant Professor of Music Theory at ASU. His article, "Interpretive Suggestions for Four American Organ Works," appeared in the August and September 1995 issues of The Diapason; and his article, "Interpretive Suggestions for Modern Swedish Organ Works," appeared in the January and February 1996 issues of The Diapason.

Subjugated by the Soviet Union after World War II, Czechoslovakia became a socialist state in 1948; Czech arts organizations were systematically dismantled by the Communist government. Music was subject to the Doctrine of Socialist Realism, whose tenets dictated socialist content and readily comprehensible language, to achieve the ideological goals of the government. Late Romantic and folk styles were encouraged; Western avant-garde styles were deemed morally decadent. In addition, the atheistic stance of the Czech government made artistic association with the Church a liability, as summarized in The New Grove: "Along with the musical societies and their network, the function of church music in the life of society was destroyed."4

Despite the restrictions, Czech composers sought renewed international contact in the early 1960s, and were allowed to attend international music festivals. Active organ composers of this period were Petr Eben, Karel Janecek, Miloslav Kabelác, Otmar Mácha, Karel Reiner, Klement Slavicky, and Milos Sokola. The Czech government, reflecting the Soviet Union's relaxation in the enforcement of the socialist realism doctrine, began to encourage the composition of contemporary organ music by providing state subsidies, encouraging composition and interpretation competitions, and allowing international publication and dissemination of the most successful works. Nevertheless, the official atheism of the communist party government undoubtedly influenced the composition of secular organ compositions by its continuing authority to prevent publication of liturgical works. Historian Marilou Kratzenstein writes:

With the exception of Eben, none of these [composers] has written extensively for the organ, but each has written at least one or two very fine works. All of them, excepting Kabelác, have relied heavily on folk melodies and rhythms and have worked in a style which is an outgrowth of post-Romanticism. In general, Czech organ compositions are meant for concert, not liturgical, use. They are often virtuoso pieces, often symphonic, and can best be realized on an organ which is able to accommodate Romantic literature.5

Since the end of the Soviet Union's domination of eastern Europe in the late 1980s, and the Soviet Union's subsequent disintegration in 1991, Czechoslovakia has separated into two autonomous regions, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, in 1993.

An important outlet for international distribution of Czech organ works during the last two decades has been Panton's series, Nuove Composizioni per Organo, a six-volume set of contemporary organ works. The pieces included in the set were all prize-winning compositions at the annual Prague Spring International Music Festival.6 Of the four Czech works selected for this article, three are published in the sixth volume of Nuove Composizioni.

 Editors of the fourth, fifth, and sixth volumes stated Panton's editorial policy toward registration data in the respective prefaces. The editor of the fourth volume, Alena Veselá, writes:

In revising this miscellany I first of all respected the registration data of the composers. As far as an author has not written his composition with a completely real conception of sound, I thought it right to leave inventive freedom to the interpreter and not to add registration suggestions of my own.7

Otomar Kvech, the composer of Prazské Panorama, one of the selected works in this article, served as editor of the fifth volume of Nuove Composizioni. In its preface, he writes:

All these compositions require a modern instrument with rich possibilities of registration. Their scores contain only such registration data that have been mentioned in the authors' manuscripts. An interpreter may use all his creative freedom in application [of] the rich scale of colour possibilities of [the] organ.8

In volume six, editor Václav Rabas comments further on registration, and the desired instrument:

Having revised the particular works I therefore respected composers' datas [sic] of manuals and registration that however are mostly general. For this reason it is above all the task of every interpreter to register and interpret the work in a creative way, according to his possibilities and possibilities of particular instrument. As far as an indication of manuals is mentioned, the organ under discussion is a three-manual instrument, the type most common today.

I. manual--great organ

II. manual--choir organ

III. manual--swell organ9

This article surveys four selected secular organ works by modern Czech composers and compiles relevant performance information in an attempt to make the compositions more comprehensible and accessible to recitalists, teachers, and students.

Fantasia by Jozka Matej

Background

Jozka Matej, born in Brusperk, Moravia in 1922, had his first music studies with Frantisek Míta Hradil in Ostrava at the Masaryk Institute of Music and Singing. He then studied organ with J.B. Krajs and composition with Emil Hlobil and Zdenek Hula at the Prague Conservatory from 1942 to 1947. Further composition study was with Jaroslav Rídky at the Prague Academy of Musical Arts from 1947 to 1951. He taught courses in music for drama students at the academy from 1952 to 1954, but retired from teaching to become a full-time composer.10

Matej has composed two symphonies, orchestral and chamber works, a fully orchestrated cantata, and widely known educational music for winds. His composition is heavily influenced by Moravian folk music of his native Lach region. Liner notes to a recording of the Concerto for Trumpet, French Horn, and Trombone describe Matej as "experienced in all types of music, with a firm, definitely established niche in Czech music."11

Besides the work selected for this article, Fantasia (Fantasy), no other organ works of Matej were found. The premiere of Fantasia took place at the Prague Spring International Music Festival in 1984.12

Structure

Mid-twentieth-century Czech composers often used the names of traditional polyphonic forms, including the chaconne, toccata, and fantasy, as carriages for their works.13 Such titles usually bear only a superficial relation to formal structure, however, and might have been arbitrarily selected for their ability to earn government imprimaturs as secular works appropriate for publication.

Fantasia exhibits a modern harmonic idiom, as other arbitrarily titled modern Czech works do. The work is comprised of five continuous sections, delineated by rhythm, tempo, and dynamic changes. The main rhythmic figure in sections 1, 3, and 5 contains continuous, four-voice triplets. Sections 2 and 4 have simple beats, primarily, although a few supertriplets occur in section 4. Passages at the ends of sections 2 and 4 are related motivically, but the two sections begin differently: section 2 begins contrapuntally, with two rhythmically imitative voices, whereas section 4 (religioso) begins as a four-voice, atonal chorale.

Matej uses simple meter, despite the extended sections of triplets that could be more easily scored in compound meter. Sections 1, 3, and 5 are in 2/2 meter, except for a few measures of 3/2 and 4/2 in sections 1 and 5. Sections 2 and 4 are in 4/4 meter, except for two measures of 5/4 in section 4.

Tempo changes also occur between sections. Sections 1, 3, and 5 are fast, and sections 2 and 4 are comparatively slower. Within each section, however, the tempo does vary slightly. Sharp dynamic changes occur between sections, except between sections 2 and 3, where the change is from pp to p. Table 1 is a structural outline of the piece.

Registration

The score is marked for a three-manual organ, although a two-manual instrument is adequate. The manual compass is Eb to f''', and the pedal compass is C# to c', so the work is accessible on virtually any instrument. Expressive divisions are not required. The frequent dynamic changes can be made by an adjustable combination action or with the help of a console assistant. The numerous stop changes make it difficult for the performer to handle registration and maintain continuity at the same time.

The score names only one specific stop--a 16' Pedal Bombarde in m. 35. All other registration changes are indicated by numerous dynamic markings that range from ppp to fff, a practice that permits the performer considerable freedom in stop selection. Table 2 presents registration suggestions based on the dynamic markings indicated for each manual in the score.

Interpretation

The most difficult interpretive challenge in Fantasia is to accommodate the constant rhythmic change that creates the molto drammatico character of the work. Changes in tempo, for example, occur thirty-eight times. Most of the changes in tempo within each of the five main sections are small, subito adjustments of four to six beats per minute. Larger tempo changes occur between the five main sections. A note at the beginning of the score addresses tempo: "Resulting tempo will be dependent on possibilities of particular instruments. Only the quick passages can be slowed down, however by not more than 4 speeds of [the] metronome."14 Exactly what constitutes a "quick passage" is unclear, but the fastest tempos occur in the first, third, and fifth sections of the work (mm. 1-47, 94-143, and 177-235).

Besides changing tempo frequently, Matej uses arrows of varying lengths to indicate gradual accelerandos ( ----------> ) and gradual ritardandos ( <---------- ). While the use of such arrows is not unique, they occur ubiquitously, effectively eliminating the perception of a regular pulse in many passages. Besides the ritardando arrows, allargando and ritardando markings occur at the ends of many phrases. Although distorted by the various compositional techniques presented above, the rhythmic pulse should reflect the composer's choice of meter: the half note gets the beat in sections 1, 3, and 5, and the quarter note gets the beat in sections 2 and 4, as shown in Table 1.

Matej precisely marks articulation, too. Slurs indicate phrasing, and accents (agogic and dynamic) are used liberally. Staccato articulation is not marked anywhere in the score, although some passages must be played detached, either for acoustic clarity or because of fingering in dense textures. Traditional Italian terms are used at tempo changes and might also suggest the character of the articulation--sostenuto, amabile, giocoso, agitato, pesante, leggierissimo, and marcato, for example.

Optional cuts, or vide passages, occur at mm. 42, 62-93, and 218. The cuts at mm. 42 and 218 are, in each case, a single chord held for four beats. Although the long chords serve as cadences, their omission creates a heightened dramatic effect, and those two cuts are recommended. The long optional cut in mm. 62-93, however, would reduce the second section of the work from forty-six to only fourteen measures, leaving it significantly shorter than, and thus out of balance with, the other four sections. Such a large cut is recommended only if time considerations are paramount.

No commercial recordings of Fantasia were found. The performance time is nine minutes and thirty seconds, if no optional cuts are made.

Improvviso by Jirí Dvorácek

Background

Jirí Dvorácek was born in 1928 in Vamberk, eastern Bohemia. He studied organ at the Prague Conservatory from 1943 to 1947. After graduation, and two years as an organist and music teacher, he began studies in composition with Jaroslav Rídky and Václav Dobiás at the Prague Academy of Musical Arts from 1949 to 1953. In 1953 Dvorácek was appointed as a professor of composition at the academy, and he became head of the composition department in 1979. The Czech government named him an Artist of Merit in 1983. He also served as president of the Union of Czech Composers and Concert Artists from 1987 to 1989.15

Dvorácek has composed a large number of works for orchestra, chamber ensemble, piano, and voice. His vocal works often have patriotic or political themes. For example, Male Choirs, sung often at Czech public concerts, was composed in 1955 for the tenth-anniversary celebration of the World War II liberation of Czechoslovakia. Another work, From the Diary of a Prisoner (1960) for mixed choir, is set to Vietnamese poems by Ho Chi Minh.16 The chamber music and instrumental music form the largest body of Dvorácek's works. Although his compositions require modern performance techniques, most are tonally based; even his dodecaphonic compositions are constructed to avoid atonality.17

Besides the work selected for this article, Improvviso (1982), Dvorácek has composed a Sonata for Organ (1979), performed at the Prague Spring International Music Festival in 1980, and Violin and Organ Play (1984). The premiere of Improvviso took place in the Prague Rudolfinum by organist Milan Slechta on March 19, 1983.18

Structure

Improvviso (Improvisation), as the title suggests, is a free work. Dvorácek writes: "By the title Improvviso I wanted to express spontaneity of the music development and non-complicated image in accordance with the thematic material."19 The work, which lacks an identifiable formal structure, has four continuous sections that are delineated by tempo changes. Structural unity is primarily created by rhythm--the use of a constant metronomic pulse of eighty beats per minute--and by repetition of specific compositional techniques (gradually piling up notes into clusters, or the extensive use of trio texture, for example).

Compound meter occurs throughout the work--all 6/8, except for four measures of 9/8 (mm. 145 and 187-89). The basic pulse of eighty beats per minute applies to the dotted quarter note in sections 1 and 3, and to the dotted half note in sections 2 and 4. The tempo therefore doubles in sections 2 and 4, but nevertheless retains the basic pulse. There is no discernible tonal center in the work. Large chords are often based on intervals of a perfect fourth, perfect fifth, or tritone. Table 3 is a structural outline of the work.

Registration

Improvviso is written for a three-manual instrument, labeled I--Great, II--Choir, and III--Swell, although it can be played on two manuals, if quick stop changes are made. The manual compass for the work is C to bb.''' The pitches a''' and bb.''' occur only in the right-hand part in mm. 269-72, however. Those four measures could be played an octave lower, allowing the work to be performed on a 56-key instrument. The pedal compass is C to g', requiring a 32-note pedal clavier. The highest pedal note, g', only occurs in m. 315, but there does not appear to be an acceptable way to alter the pedal part to eliminate the g'.

No expression pedal markings occur in the score. The performer or a console assistant can make all stop changes; an assistant would be especially helpful if no adjustable combination action is available. The score lists no specific stops or traditional ensemble registrations. Stop changes are primarily indicated by numerous dynamic markings that range from pp to ff. Occasionally, though, an organ stop pitch designation is given. Table 4 presents registration suggestions based on organ stop pitch designations and dynamic markings in the score.

Interpretation

The chief interpretive challenge for the performer of Improvviso is to maintain rhythmic pulse and dramatic intensity throughout. During passages with long note-values, constant internal counting of eighth notes will be necessary (mm. 269-81, for example).

Sections 2 and 4 are technically challenging because of trills in the manuals, and occasional pedal trills. All trills in the work begin on the principal note, as indicated by a footnote in the score.20 The pedal solo in mm. 289-318 is marked tutti, but 32' stops should be omitted because of the fast tempo. The long trill at the end of the pedal solo (mm. 319-35) must be played by the right foot, because of the double-pedal part. If the performer cannot sustain the trill, however, the ossia--which has manual and pedal parts, but does not require the extended pedal trill--may be substituted. Pedal trills elsewhere must be played by a single foot, because the pedal part is so active and the feet are so far apart.

Not only do the bar lines in Improvviso serve as an organizational convenience but they also imply regular rhythmic accents on strong beats. Phrasing is meticulously indicated by slurs. Staccato dots (pp. 6, 8, 12, and 15) and agogic accents (pp. 5, 7, and 8) indicate articulation. The term pesante occurs in mm. 73, 288, and 385; besides emphasis on each note, Dvorácek also uses the term to imply a ritardando, since the following measures are marked a tempo.

Dynamic changes occur often and are carefully marked. The final dynamic marking in the work occurs in m. 282; because this ff dynamic lasts for 119 measures, however, the registration must not be overbearing.

Dvorácek confirms that there are no notation errors in the Panton score. He also writes that Panton produced a live recording of the first performance (stereo 8111 0357).21 The work has a performance time of six minutes.

 

 

Notes

                        1.                  Marilou Kratzenstein, Survey of Organ Literature and Editions (Ames, Iowa: Iowa State University Press, 1980), 164.

                        2.                  Corliss R. Arnold, Organ Literature: A Comprehensive Survey, 2d ed., vol. 1 (Metuchen: Scarecrow Press, 1984), 251.

                        3.                  Felix Aprahamian, brochure notes for Concert Pieces for Organ, Hyperion Records, CDA66265, 2.

                        4.                  Stanley Sadie, ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London: Macmillan and Co., 1980), s.v. "Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, §IX, 1: Russian SFSR, Russian art music, (iv) The political background to the Soviet period," by Rita McAllister; Ibid., s.v. "Czechoslovakia, §I, 1: Art Music, Bohemia and Moravia, (v) Since 1945," by Oldrich Pukl.

                        5.                  Kratzenstein, 165.

                        6.                  Václav Rabas, ed., Nuove Composizioni per Organo, vol. 6, trans. Jana Kuhnová (Prague: Panton, 1983), preface.

                        7.                  Alena Veselá, ed., Nuove Composizioni per Organo, vol. 4, trans. Jan Machac (Prague: Panton, 1974), preface, 7.

                        8.                  Otomar Kvech, ed., Nuove Composizioni per Organo, vol. 5, trans. Jana Hanusová (Prague: Panton, 1979), preface, 6.

                        9.                  Rabas, preface.

                        10.              Sadie, s.v. "Matej, Josef;" Cenek Gardavsky, ed., Contemporary Czechoslovak Composers (Prague: Panton, 1965), s.v. "Matej, Josef," by Cenek Gardavsky; Nicolas Slonimsky, ed., Baker's Biographical Dictionary of Musicians, 8th ed. (New York: Schirmer Books, 1992), s.v. "Matej, Josef.

                        11.              Gardavsky, s.v. "Matej, Josef;" Milan Kuna, liner notes to Josef Matoj: Concerto for Trumpet, French Horn, and Trombone, Panton 110456-F.

                        12.              Rabas, preface.

                        13.              Arnold, vol. 1, 251.

                        14.              Josef Matej, Fantasia, ed. Václav Rabas, in Nuove Composizioni per Organo, vol. 6 (Prague: Panton, 1983), 2.

                        15.              Gardavsky, s.v. "Dvorácek, Jirí;" Slonimsky, s.v. "Dvorácek, Jirí."

                        16.              Gardavsky, s.v. "Dvorácek, Jirí."

                        17.              Sadie, s.v. "Dvorácek, Jirí."

                        18.              Jirí Dvorácek, Improvviso, ed. Václav Rabas, in Nuove Composizioni per Organo, vol. 6 (Prague: Panton, 1983); Id., Letter to this writer, November 9, 1993.

                        19.              Dvorácek, Letter to this writer, November 9, 1993.

                        20.              Dvorácek, Improvviso, 4.

                        21.              Dvorácek, Letter to this writer, November 9, 1993.

by Earl Holt

Earl Holt is a graduate of Elon College, the University of Michigan, and Arizona State University, where he recently completed the D.M.A. degree in organ performance with Robert Clark. Dr. Holt served on the music faculty of San Jacinto College North in Houston from 1982-90, and is currently Director of Music at the First United Methodist Church of Gilbert, Arizona.

Introduction

In Organ Technique: Modern and Early, George Ritchie and George Stauffer summarize the contribution of American composers to organ music of this century:

If the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries belonged to Europe as far as organ building and composition are concerned, the twentieth century belongs to the United States. For it has been America, with its extraordinarily eclectic culture, that has set the standard for the Modern Era.1

Organ building in the United States since the late 1960s has returned, more and more, to seventeenth- and eighteenth-century principles of design and construction; the interest in the tonal resources of these instruments may account, in part, for some American composers' renewed interest in the organ. Another contributory reason for interest in organ scoring is the possibility of early public performances, in comparison to the relative improbability of having large-scale modern orchestral works performed. Logistical difficulty and expense of paying multiple performers, combined with a lack of acceptance of modern art music by aging concert audiences, make orchestral conductors reluctant to program such works. In contrast, compositions for solo instruments or small ensembles are more likely to receive an early hearing. Some composers have written works for organ in combination with other instruments, particularly percussion; an important example of the genre is William Bolcom's 1967 work, Black Host for organ, percussion, and electronic tape.

In her book, Survey of Organ Literature and Editions, Marilou Kratzenstein attributes renewed interest in American organ composition to the Hartt College Annual Contemporary Organ Music Festival, held during the 1970s and early 1980s. She writes that "it is at least partly due to the efforts of this festival that an impressive number of composers not formerly associated with the organ have begun to view the organ as a viable vehicle for expressing contemporary ideas."2 Commissions have undoubtedly played a major role in the creation of new organ works, too. In particular, all four of the American compositions examined in this article resulted from commissions.

Viktor Lukas writes in A Guide to Organ Music that modern American composers "have recognized and been encouraged by the organ's diversity today, but that diversity along with, in the minds of some, the instrument's association with liturgical functions seems to have discouraged many gifted composers from writing on a scale similar to their output for other instruments."3 Lukas cites only Igor Stravinsky and Norman Dello Joio as examples, however, and his observation is more characteristic of the first sixty years of this century than of the last several decades. Lukas's comment has validity, nevertheless; it is questionable, for example, whether the sole organ works of George Crumb or Ellen Taaffe Zwilich would have been composed without commissions.

Major American organ composers of the past two decades have turned increasingly to programmatic, secular subjects. They have also incorporated modern performance techniques into their writing (tone clusters and cluster glissandos, for example), most of which are unassociated with past or present church usage. As a result, works that display these techniques are often inappropriate for church services. Even Bolcom's Gospel Preludes, based on church hymns, are at present more suitable for concerts than for church services. If western-European trends in organ composition are a paradigm, the secularization of the organ is likely to continue in the United States.

This article surveys four selected secular organ works by modern American composers and compiles relevant performance information in an attempt to make the compositions more comprehensible and accessible to recitalists, teachers, and students.

Mysteries by William Bolcom

Background

William Bolcom, born in Seattle, Washington in 1938, attended Mills College, the University of Washington, and Stanford University. At Stanford, he studied composition with Leland Smith; Bolcom also studied composition at the Paris Conservatory with Olivier Messiaen, Darius Milhaud, and Jean Rivier in the 1960s. Bolcom's career has included piano performance and composition; he has written organ, piano, choral, vocal, and orchestral works. In the 1980s he completed his fifth symphony and a violin concerto. The premiere of his first opera, McTeague, was at Chicago's Lyric Opera in October, 1992. Since 1973 Bolcom has taught at the University of Michigan, where he is a professor of music composition.4

Bolcom's organ works are Black Host for organ, percussion, and tape (1967), Praeludium for vibraphone and organ (1969), Chorale Prelude on "Abide with Me" for organ solo (1970), Hydraulis for organ solo (1971), Mysteries for organ solo (1976-77), Humoresque for organ and orchestra (1979), Three Gospel Preludes for organ solo (1979), Gospel Preludes, Book Two for organ solo (1980-81), Gospel Preludes, Book Three for organ solo (1981), and Gospel Preludes, Book Four for organ solo (1984). In all, the Gospel Preludes comprise four books of three pieces each. The third and fourth books, previously available only in manuscript, were published in 1994. The publication of the third book of Gospel Preludes also includes the 1970 Chorale Prelude on "Abide with Me" as an extra piece.5

The work selected for this article is Mysteries.6 Organist and composer William Albright, professor of music composition and associate director of the electronic music studio at the University of Michigan, played the premiere. The performance took place at the University of Hartford's Hartt International Contemporary Organ Music Festival, held July 21-25, 1980.7 Walter Holtkamp Jr. commissioned the work for the festival; it was subsequently published in 1981.8

Structure

Mysteries is a suite of four through-composed movements that are unrelated in motivic material. The movements are "The Endless Corridor," "Eternal Flight," "La lugubre gondola," and "Dying Star." In a note to the player, Bolcom states his preference that "the four movements be played together as a set, for cumulative effect."9

"The Endless Corridor" is a trio, and is the only movement with changing meters. Little stepwise motion occurs in the three voices of the trio, which move almost entirely by leaps of fourths, fifths, sixths, or sevenths. The voices are not imitative and the rhythm of individual beats is varied, so the same rhythm rarely appears simultaneously in two voices. This compositional technique makes each voice appear to move independently. Although the form of the movement is not ABA in the traditional sense of repeated motivic material, the registration does create that impression; one registration in mm. 1-9 and 20-32 flanks a differently colored registration in mm. 10-19, the central one-third of the movement.

"Eternal Flight" is a pointillistic movement with spatial rhythmic notation. It is in three continuous sections: (1) staccato figures and clusters that increase in frequency, tempo, and dynamic; (2) whole-note clusters that increase in texture and dynamic to full organ, and then reverse the process; and (3) staccato chords and short figures that decrease in frequency, tempo, and dynamic.

Viktor Lukas writes that the third movement, "La lugubre gondola," "suggests a gently rocking gondola through soft dynamics and an emphasis on lower registers and gently moving chord changes."10 Except for one short section (11/2-11/3), the movement is unmetered; that section is marked "all values relative," however.11 As in "Eternal Flight," this movement has three continuous sections: (1) low-pitched arpeggios with long note values; (2) overlapping, ascending melodic figures that lead to a few seconds of eighth-note figuration; and (3) another (abbreviated) section of long note values to end the work. Characteristic of this movement is the frequent use of pauses of various lengths that serve as sound objects.

"Dying Star" begins with rapid, scherzo-like figuration in spatial rhythmic notation. A pedal citation of the chorale melody An Wasserflüssen Babylon then joins the texture. Later, a fragmented version of J.S. Bach's harmonization of the same chorale, in 3/4 meter, alternates with the spatially notated figuration, which gradually becomes more widely dispersed. To heighten the effect of disintegration, which Bolcom describes as "floating in and out, like a radio signal from a distant star," he uses dramatic pauses ranging from seven to thirteen seconds.12 The movement ends with a pppp chorale fragment, and a final pause.

Registration

In a note to the player, Bolcom writes about the desired instrument for Mysteries: "The object is that this music should be equally effective on any type of organ, large or small, Romantic or Baroque--even on electronic organs."13 Each movement can be performed on a two-manual instrument, although a three-manual instrument is optimum. Because the score rarely indicates crescendos or diminuendos that require expression shades, the work can be performed adequately on an instrument without expressive divisions.

Although a large list of specific stops is not required, two movements recommend registrations that are often unavailable on small instruments. First, "La lugubre gondola" requires a 32' pedal Bourdon, but a footnote indicates that a 16' stop may be substituted if a suitable 32' stop is unavailable. Second, "Dying Star" requires a pp 16' and 2'  stop combination for the Bach chorale harmonization.

Bolcom writes that "registration is largely left to the organist, except for a few suggestions here and there."14 Because of the wide latitude given to the performer, and the variety of acceptable instruments, there are many possible registrations. Table 1 has an appropriate registration for a three-manual instrument.

The beginning of "The Endless Corridor" requires a "cool-sounding" 8' pp stop for each manual and a pp 16' pedal stop.15 The upper voice (right hand) requires a "different color" in m. 10 and the middle voice (left hand) requires a similar substitution in m. 14. The change in timbre can result from substituting a different 8' stop, adding a soft mutation, or substituting a 4' stop and playing an octave lower. It is important to maintain the pp dynamic; therefore stops of significant dynamic contrast should be avoided. The two manual voices return to their original registrations in mm. 18-19, and continue to the end of the movement.

No specific stops are indicated in "Eternal Flight." The opening section (5/1-7/2) requires at least two manuals, one with a pp registration, and the other somewhat louder for the sf material. If three manuals are available, the pp material is divided at random between two of the manuals, as indicated in the score.16 The pedal has to alternate between pp and sf dynamics in the opening section; this switch can be accomplished by quickly coupling soft pedal stops to the Great manual for the sf spots only. The middle section (7/2-8/2) is played on the Great manual alone. For the crescendo to fff and the subsequent diminuendo to pp, the crescendo pedal and other expression pedals may be used; if neither is available, a console assistant can add or remove stops. Registration for the final section (8/2-9/4) is the same as at the beginning, with the exception that the Great manual is not used.

The registration shown in Table 1 for "La lugubre gondola" is specified in the score. For the two manuals, Bolcom wants stops of "different but related color."17 In the pedal, a 32' flue is best, although the piece can be performed with a 16' pedal stop.

"Dying Star" requires an "8' soft flute with much 'chiff'''  for the flute figuration that continues throughout the movement.18 On a large instrument, a combination of 8' flute stops, instead of a single stop, is often necessary for sufficient dynamic. Registration for the harmonization of An Wasserflüssen Babylon (16/1), is "2' and 16' only--with a distant, otherworldly registration."19 Because of the ppp dynamic, there is often little choice of stops, however. On a large instrument it may be possible to couple manuals together for the desired pitch combination and timbre. The same chorale registration is coupled to the pedal, because the chorale cannot be played on manuals alone. The 4' pedal stop that was added for the "subliminal" chorale melody at the beginning of the movement (13/1-15/1) is removed before the chorale harmonization begins.

Double pedal technique is necessary for all movements except the first. In addition, pedal clusters are in "Eternal Flight" and "La lugubre gondola." Because of the slow tempos, however, the clusters are easy to play. The pedal clusters in "Eternal Flight" have to be carefully practiced, nevertheless; some require awkward positions--the C to E-flat interval played by the left foot in 8/4, for example.

Interpretation

Because of the programmatic theme of Mysteries, each movement should be interpreted in a way that is consistent with the text associations. For example, in the trio "The Endless Corridor," Bolcom creates the aural impression of three slowly moving, endlessly drifting voices. No tonal, motivic, or rhythmic relationships exist between the voices, no suggestion of cadence or phrase structure occurs, and the angularity of the voices discourages melodic perception.

The rhythm of "The Endless Corridor" is played precisely as written; because the irregular motion of the voices has been created rhythmically, further rubato is unnecessary and contrary to the character of the movement. Legato articulation further enhances the intentional monotony. Selection of thinly voiced, distant-sounding stops is consistent with the "cool-sounding" stops mentioned in the score. Slight shading with expression pedals is appropriate at locations indicated in the score.

In contrast to the precisely notated rhythm of the first movement, the spatial rhythmic notation in "Eternal Flight" allows considerable freedom in rhythmic interpretation. Creating a sense of immense space is important at the beginning, with a certain unpredictability when the pointillistic staccato clusters are played. Near the end of the opening section (6/3-7/1), the clusters and figuration become more densely packed, as if drifting closer and closer in space; the increased density should not be perceived by the listener as an increase in tempo, however. Bolcom indicates short accelerandos at irregular intervals by using arrows (----> ).

A series of ritardando arrows ( <----) reduce the tempo at the beginning of the middle section of "Eternal Flight" (7/2). The middle section has the broadest tempo, the thickest texture, the longest note values, and the loudest dynamic of the movement. The legato, parallel clusters in this section require a considerable amount of finger substitution, but the long note values allow sufficient time.

The third section of the movement (8/2-9/4) reverses the motion of the first section in a gradual process of disintegration: (1) clusters that are at first close together become spaced farther and farther apart; (2) the dynamic decreases; (3) pitch becomes gradually lower; and (4) texture thins to single notes. The performer helps to communicate the disintegration by allowing playing gestures to become gradually slower, to the point that notes in the final few systems are gently pressed down. If the console is in view of the audience, it is vital that the performer not relax his/her body posture, so that intensity is maintained during the increasingly longer periods of silence between the final notes.

"La lugubre gondola" has a stifling, airless quality created by the long note values, low pitches, and pauses of various lengths. Although the movement is almost entirely unmetered, the note values are relative, and must be played precisely in rhythm. Because of the difficulty in counting the long note values, the performer can count quarter notes, at the rate of one per second, as a basic pulse, and write the number of quarter-note pulses over each note in the score as listed in Table 2.20

The comma symbols used for the long pauses of varying lengths are unexplained in the score. The same symbols appear, however, in a previous Bolcom work, Hydraulis, and are defined in a foreword as "pauses, ranging from long to very short, depending mainly on context of the passage." In a recent letter, Bolcom confirmed that the Hydraulis pauses also apply to Mysteries.21

The eighth-note figuration that appears in the metered middle section of the movement (11/2-11/3) is played with light, elegant articulation. In the unmetered final section (11/3-11/4), playing gestures become increasingly slower; intensity must be maintained during the pauses, though.

The title "La lugubre gondola" is from an 1882 piano piece of the same name by Franz Liszt. Liszt had the inspiration for the piece while watching funeral processions by gondola through the Venetian canals, when he was staying with Richard Wagner and Cosima (Liszt's daughter, who had married Wagner) in Venice. Anecdotally, Liszt abruptly quit working on his final oratorio and wrote two versions of La lugubre gondola in December 1882, after he had a strange presentiment--presumably of Wagner's impending death. Irrespectively, Wag-ner died in Venice two months later, and his body was borne by gondola in the funeral procession.22 Although not widely performed, several pianists have recorded the piano piece La lugubre gondola, No. 1; listening to such recordings is helpful in establishing the mood of the Bolcom movement, because the central, metered section of the Bolcom movement quotes the Liszt work.

"Dying Star" begins with thirty-second-note flute figuration marked "legato, even throughout."23 A more detached articulation is appropriate, however, if the room is acoustically live or if the selected flute does not have enough chiff for articulative clarity. Nevertheless, the articulation should not be a mechanical staccato.

The thirty-second-note figuration in the right-hand part continues to the end of the movement, and it is impossible to play all four voices of the An Wasserflüssen Babylon chorale fragments (beginning at 16/1) in the left hand alone. It is therefore necessary for the pedal, coupled to the manual, to play the tenor and bass voices of the chorale. Articulation for the chorale is molto legato for both manual and pedal parts. Bolcom commented on the significance of An Wasserflüssen Babylon to this movement: "That chorale prelude always gave a chilling intimation of eternity; I could imagine a dead Earth with some eternal record[ing] of it [An Wasserflüssen Babylon] playing (or a ghostly organist)."24

During the long blocks of silence (beginning at 16/4 and continuing to the end of the movement) it is important to follow Bolcom's instructions: "These pauses are exactly timed--be sure to remain physically suspended during them so that the tension is not lost."25 As in the second and third movements, the fourth also ends with a gradual disintegration of musical texture in space and time.

No errata were discovered in the score, and Bolcom confirms that he knows of none. Mysteries has not been commercially recorded. Bolcom lists a performance time of seventeen minutes and ten seconds for the entire work, broken down by movement as follows:

The Endless Corridor  [3:35]

Eternal Flight   [2:40]

La lugubre gondola     [5:45]

Dying Star       [5:10]26

Pastoral Drone by George Crumb

Background

George Crumb, born in Charleston, West Virginia in 1929, studied composition at Mason College of Music and Fine Arts (B.M., 1950), the University of Illinois (M.M., 1953), and the University of Michigan (D.M.A., 1959), where his principal composition teacher was Ross Lee Finney. His compositions include chamber, orchestral, vocal, and instrumental works, and he has received many honors, including the 1968 Pulitzer Prize for the orchestral work Echoes of Time and the River. Since 1965 Crumb has been professor of music and composer-in-residence at the University of Pennsylvania.27

The work selected for this article, Pastoral Drone, is Crumb's only solo organ work.28 David Craighead, professor emeritus of organ at the Eastman School of Music, played the official premiere at First Unitarian Church in San Francisco on June 27, 1984, at the national convention of the American Guild of Organists, which had commissioned the work for the occasion.29

Structure

Crumb wrote the following notes about Pastoral Drone in Don Gillespie's book, George Crumb: Profile of a Composer:

Pastoral Drone, commissioned by the American Guild of Organists and composed in the summer of 1982, represents my first essay in the solo organ genre (my Star Child of 1977 included organ as an addition to the orchestral resources).

Pastoral Drone, cast in one continuous movement, was conceived as an evocation of an ancient "open-air" music. The underpinning of the work is provided by relentless drones executed on the organ pedals. The periodical "bending" of the basic drone sound (a lower D-sharp and a higher G-sharp, spaced as an interval of the 11th) announces the principal structural articulations of the work. The drone is overlaid by strident, sharply etched rhythms in the manual parts and the dynamic throughout is sempre fortissimo ("boldly resounding"). The characteristic sound of Pastoral Drone will suggest a kind of colossal musette.30

In the Gillespie book, theorist David Cope writes about Crumb's works from the early 1980s, including Pastoral Drone:

These later works show a progressively more inclusive use of tonality and interesting new approaches to formal organization. Although Crumb's stylistic "fingerprints" are indelibly impressed on every page, one also perceives an ongoing tendency toward new modes of expression.31

Two drones are in Pastoral Drone: a pedal drone based on a perfect eleventh (D-sharp to g-sharp), and a manual drone based on the perfect fifth. The pedal drone continues from beginning to end, interrupted at times by chromatic movement, but always returning to the same interval. The manual drone changes pitch six times, however. These pitch changes delineate the seven main sections of the work.

Each section contains the same three parts: (1) simultaneous pedal and manual drones with ff chromatic clusters constructed from neighboring tones to the drone; (2) a double pedal solo during which the feet move chromatically; and (3) a freely composed part, consisting of rapid manual figuration over the drone bass in the pedal. In sections 2-6 the three parts are presented exactly in that order. In section 1, however, the pedal solo is delayed, occurring in the middle of the manual figuration part. Section 7 is differently ordered, too; it begins with alternating pedal solos and manual figuration, and then concludes with a ff chromatic cluster in both manuals and pedal. Table 3 is a structural outline of the work.

As shown in Table 3, the manual drones, built on the pitches G-sharp, B, D, and F, outline a diminished-seventh chord. The symmetrical structure outlined by these tonal areas forms an arched rondo, with the distinctive manual drone, punctuated by clusters, serving as a ritornello. Besides using the tonal shifts of the manual drone, Crumb emphasizes the symmetrical structure in other ways: (1) quasi danza triplets in sections 3 and 5 flank the central section; (2) the parallel pedal movement from the first section returns, expanded, in the last section; and (3) the order of the parts is skewed in sections 1 and 7, as noted above.

The freely composed parts of each section are improvisatory in character. Each part is based on a unifying rhythm, headmotive, or harmony, and the end of each phrase is dovetailed. For structural material, Crumb uses tritones, perfect fourths in parallel motion, pentatonic sequences and clusters, and both whole-tone scales in simultaneous parallel motion.

The work is in changing compound meter, with only two exceptions to regular compound beats: (1) a single simple beat at m. 44, beat 2; and (2) pedal stop additions that occur on the second half of the simple beat in m. 72, beats 2 and 3, and m. 75, beats 2 and 3. Crumb uses traditional notation for the work, except in mm. 68-69, where a single enlarged accidental affects all five notes of each pentatonic cluster.

Registration

A three-manual instrument is necessary to perform Pastoral Drone. Because the manual compass is F-sharp to c'''', 61-key manuals are recommended. The score indicates three ossia passages (mm. 40-48, 56-58, and 78-84), marked come sopra, that are intended to make the work playable on an instrument with 56-key manuals by playing the passages an octave lower. A 56-key instrument's top key is g''', however, and the pitch a'''--requiring a 58-key compass--occurs in m. 66. In a recent letter, Crumb acknowledges that the pitch a''' was overlooked. He writes: "I was unaware that one note was outside the 56-key range. Perhaps the 56-key notion should be abandoned!"32 Although less common than 56-key instruments, 58-key organs can encompass all pitches, if the performer follows the octave displacement directions in the score.

The same ff registration, listed in the score at the beginning of the work, is needed each time the manual drone ritornello occurs:

            Gt.--full

            Sw.--full with 16'

            Pos.--full

            Ped.--32'16' 8'4'

            No couplers--Sw., Pos./Gt.

At the ritornello, a 16' reed plenum with mixtures is appropriate for the Great manual, with full registrations on the Swell and Positive manuals, too. The pedal drone is marked f sempre. Because the same pedal registration sounds, unaltered, through the first seventy-one measures, it should balance the Swell and Positive manuals, and must not be oppressively loud.

The registration direction "No couplers--Sw., Pos./Gt." is ambiguous at first glance, but apparently refers to the continuous alternation between coupled and uncoupled manuals: the Swell and Positive manuals are coupled to the Great manual during the ff introduction to each section, and then uncoupled for the rest of the time.

Manual changes are clearly marked and should be followed exactly. Additions to the pedal in mm. 72 and 75 are on simple divisions of the compound beat. Table 4 lists an appropriate registration for each section.

If the ossia passages are taken (on an instrument with manuals of fewer than sixty-one keys), the registration must be adjusted to mask the jump to one octave lower (mm. 40-48, 56-58, and 78-84). A footnote in the score that gives directions for this adjustment is unclear, however: "Ossia: play this passage (concluding at *) down one octave without 16' or 8' (come sopra)."33 What it should state is that (1) if 16' stops and couplers are the lowest-pitched stops used in the measure before the ossia, those 16' stops and couplers are removed for the duration of the ossia; or (2) if 8' stops and couplers are the lowest-pitched stops used in the measure before the ossia, those 8' stops and couplers are removed for the duration of the ossia.

Because of the large number of registration changes within the work, an instrument with an adjustable combination action is optimal. Otherwise, the performer will need a console assistant for stop changes.

Interpretation

Clean articulation clearly aids the "precise and sharply etched rhythm" that Crumb prescribes.34 Crisp articulation is particularly necessary in the rapid thirty-second-note figuration that occurs throughout the work. Furthermore, the dynamic, which is never less than f, creates a level of sound that takes time to disperse, particularly in a room that is acoustically live.

Except for the quasi danza parts, the freely composed parts are always introduced by an articulative element that imitates the percussive attack of bagpipes or musettes. Grace notes serve this purpose in sections 1 and 4, mordents in section 2, quintuplets in section 6, and arpeggios in section 7. The grace notes are played before the beat of the principal note; all other figures are played as written. In section 3, a distinction exists, and should be observed, between the dotted and triplet rhythms.

In the final cluster that ends the work, the right thumb has to play three notes at once: f-double-sharp, g-sharp, and a. The tip of the thumb plays the g-sharp, and the base of the thumb plays the two white keys. This maneuver is made more difficult by the position of the hand that is necessary to play seven notes at once.

A tenuto marking occurs at the pentatonic clusters in section 6 (mm. 68-69) and at the arpeggios in section 7 (mm. 73, 76, and 78). The tenuto causes a temporary broadening, and not a dramatic slowing, of the tempo; the passages that flank the tenuto passages are a tempo.

The pedal part is simple; throughout most of the piece, the organist merely holds down the two-note drone. Nevertheless, because of the wide distance between the two notes (a perfect eleventh), the length of time that they must be sounded, and the fact that they must be played by the toes, it is imperative that the organ bench be low enough that relaxed leg weight can be used to maintain the drone. Chromatic movement in the pedal part is marked legatiss. sempre, as opposed to the articulative clarity that is necessary in the manual parts.

C.F. Peters has published two versions of Pastoral Drone. The earlier version is an excellent-quality manuscript reproduction and the later version is typeset. Both are dated 1984, and both have the same cover, title page, and catalog number. Nevertheless, minor revisions in pitch, notation, registration, performance directions, dynamics, and scoring were made for the typeset version.35 Asked about the differences in the two versions, Crumb writes: "The typeset version is the definitive version. I checked the typesetting very carefully (I prepared it myself!)--so I hope there are no errata."36 Table 5 contains a comparison of differences in the two versions.

At the beginning of the manuscript version there are also two short instructions that are not in the typeset version: (1) the beginning registration has the direction "Sw. and Pos. balanced dynamically;" and (2) a footnote on the first page states "All long notes should be full value!"37

Pastoral Drone has not been commercially recorded. Gillespie lists a performance time of eight minutes, but the work is actually only six minutes and twenty seconds in length when played at the tempo indicated in the score.38

Praeludium by Ellen Taaffe Zwilich

Background

Violinist and composer Ellen Taaffe Zwilich, born in Miami, Florida in 1939, graduated from Florida State University and the Juilliard School. Her composition teachers were John Boda, Elliott Carter, and Roger Sessions. Besides becoming the first woman to take a composition D.M.A. degree at Juilliard, Zwilich was also the first woman to receive the Pulitzer Prize in music, which was awarded in 1983 for Symphony No. 1. Most of her compositions are chamber and orchestral works, including two symphonies. She has accepted numerous commissions from major orchestras.39

The work selected for this article, Praeludium, is Zwilich's only solo organ work.40 It was commissioned by the Boston chapter of the American Guild of Organists and published in 1987. Organist James David Christie played the premiere at the Church of the Advent in Boston, Massachusetts on May 1, 1988.

Asked in 1993 if she were planning any other organ compositions, Zwilich wrote: "YES! I will be writing a work for chorus and organ for next season, and I'd love to write more--I love the instrument."41 The work, A Simple Magnificat for SATB chorus and organ (1994), has now been completed and published. The premiere was recently performed at the Yale Institute of Sacred Music, which commissioned the work.42

Structure

In the preface to the score of her first symphony, Zwilich describes her approach to composition:

First, I have long been interested in the elaboration of large-scale works from the initial material. This "organic" approach to musical form fascinates me both in the development of the material and in the fashioning of a musical idea that contains the "seeds" of the work to follow.

Second, in my recent works I have been developing techniques that combine modern principles of continuous variation with older (but still immensely satisfying) principles, such as melodic recurrence and clearly defined areas of contrast.43

This organic approach to the composition of Symphony No.1, whose premiere was in 1982, is similar to the organization of Praeludium, published five years later. The opening Maestoso of Praeludium contains the compositional techniques that shape the work: (1) complex harmonies and dense textures that result from piling up thirds; (2) distinctive articulative elements, or headmotives, used to begin melodic lines; and (3) frequent changes in texture.

Brochure notes in a 1986 recording of Zwilich's Symphony No.1 describe the first movement of the symphony, but they also accurately describe the genesis of Praeludium:

Everything in the work arises from the melodic and harmonic implications of the first fifteen bars, music Zwilich says she felt compelled to write. These [evolutions] work up to a sustained allegro that ultimately subsides into an ending as quiet as the beginning. All the most complex harmonies come from piling third upon third upon third.44

Praeludium develops according to the same construct. It contains four continuous sections: Maestoso, Più mosso, Allegro moderato, and Tempo I. Material from the Maestoso is later developed in both the Più mosso and the Allegro moderato. Both the tempo and dynamic increase gradually until the climax (mm. 168-73). The final section, Tempo I, has the tempo and dynamic of the Maestoso. The structural organization of the four sections of Praeludium is illustrated in Table 6.

Registration

In a note to the player, Bolcom writes about the desired instrument for Mysteries: "The object is that this music should be equally effective on any type of organ, large or small, Romantic or Baroque--even on electronic organs."13 Each movement can be performed on a two-manual instrument, although a three-manual instrument is optimum. Because the score rarely indicates crescendos or diminuendos that require expression shades, the work can be performed adequately on an instrument without expressive divisions.

Although a large list of specific stops is not required, two movements recommend registrations that are often unavailable on small instruments. First, "La lugubre gondola" requires a 32' pedal Bourdon, but a footnote indicates that a 16' stop may be substituted if a suitable 32' stop is unavailable. Second, "Dying Star" requires a pp 16' and 2'  stop combination for the Bach chorale harmonization.

Bolcom writes that "registration is largely left to the organist, except for a few suggestions here and there."14 Because of the wide latitude given to the performer, and the variety of acceptable instruments, there are many possible registrations. Table 1 has an appropriate registration for a three-manual instrument.

The beginning of "The Endless Corridor" requires a "cool-sounding" 8' pp stop for each manual and a pp 16' pedal stop.15 The upper voice (right hand) requires a "different color" in m. 10 and the middle voice (left hand) requires a similar substitution in m. 14. The change in timbre can result from substituting a different 8' stop, adding a soft mutation, or substituting a 4' stop and playing an octave lower. It is important to maintain the pp dynamic; therefore stops of significant dynamic contrast should be avoided. The two manual voices return to their original registrations in mm. 18-19, and continue to the end of the movement.

No specific stops are indicated in "Eternal Flight." The opening section (5/1-7/2) requires at least two manuals, one with a pp registration, and the other somewhat louder for the sf material. If three manuals are available, the pp material is divided at random between two of the manuals, as indicated in the score.16 The pedal has to alternate between pp and sf dynamics in the opening section; this switch can be accomplished by quickly coupling soft pedal stops to the Great manual for the sf spots only. The middle section (7/2-8/2) is played on the Great manual alone. For the crescendo to fff and the subsequent diminuendo to pp, the crescendo pedal and other expression pedals may be used; if neither is available, a console assistant can add or remove stops. Registration for the final section (8/2-9/4) is the same as at the beginning, with the exception that the Great manual is not used.

The registration shown in Table 1 for "La lugubre gondola" is specified in the score. For the two manuals, Bolcom wants stops of "different but related color."17 In the pedal, a 32' flue is best, although the piece can be performed with a 16' pedal stop.

"Dying Star" requires an "8' soft flute with much 'chiff' for the flute figuration that continues throughout the movement.18 On a large instrument, a combination of 8' flute stops, instead of a single stop, is often necessary for sufficient dynamic. Registration for the harmonization of An Wasserflüssen Babylon (16/1), is "2' and 16' only--with a distant, otherworldly registration."19 Because of the ppp dynamic, there is often little choice of stops, however. On a large instrument it may be possible to couple manuals together for the desired pitch combination and timbre. The same chorale registration is coupled to the pedal, because the chorale cannot be played on manuals alone. The 4' pedal stop that was added for the "subliminal" chorale melody at the beginning of the movement (13/1-15/1) is removed before the chorale harmonization begins.

Double pedal technique is necessary for all movements except the first. In addition, pedal clusters are in "Eternal Flight" and "La lugubre gondola." Because of the slow tempos, however, the clusters are easy to play. The pedal clusters in "Eternal Flight" have to be carefully practiced, nevertheless; some require awkward positions--the C to E-flat interval played by the left foot in 8/4, for example.

Interpretation

Because of the programmatic theme of Mysteries, each movement should be interpreted in a way that is consistent with the text associations. For example, in the trio "The Endless Corridor," Bolcom creates the aural impression of three slowly moving, endlessly drifting voices. No tonal, motivic, or rhythmic relationships exist between the voices, no suggestion of cadence or phrase structure occurs, and the angularity of the voices discourages melodic perception.

The rhythm of "The Endless Corridor" is played precisely as written; because the irregular motion of the voices has been created rhythmically, further rubato is unnecessary and contrary to the character of the movement. Legato articulation further enhances the intentional monotony. Selection of thinly voiced, distant-sounding stops is consistent with the "cool-sounding" stops mentioned in the score. Slight shading with expression pedals is appropriate at locations indicated in the score.

In contrast to the precisely notated rhythm of the first movement, the spatial rhythmic notation in "Eternal Flight" allows considerable freedom in rhythmic interpretation. Creating a sense of immense space is important at the beginning, with a certain unpredictability when the pointillistic staccato clusters are played. Near the end of the opening section (6/3-7/1), the clusters and figuration become more densely packed, as if drifting closer and closer in space; the increased density should not be perceived by the listener as an increase in tempo, however. Bolcom indicates short accelerandos at irregular intervals by using arrows (----> ).

A series of ritardando arrows ( <----) reduce the tempo at the beginning of the middle section of "Eternal Flight" (7/2). The middle section has the broadest tempo, the thickest texture, the longest note values, and the loudest dynamic of the movement. The legato, parallel clusters in this section require a considerable amount of finger substitution, but the long note values allow sufficient time.

The third section of the movement (8/2-9/4) reverses the motion of the first section in a gradual process of disintegration: (1) clusters that are at first close together become spaced farther and farther apart; (2) the dynamic decreases; (3) pitch becomes gradually lower; and (4) texture thins to single notes. The performer helps to communicate the disintegration by allowing playing gestures to become gradually slower, to the point that notes in the final few systems are gently pressed down. If the console is in view of the audience, it is vital that the performer not relax his/her body posture, so that intensity is maintained during the increasingly longer periods of silence between the final notes.

"La lugubre gondola" has a stifling, airless quality created by the long note values, low pitches, and pauses of various lengths. Although the movement is almost entirely unmetered, the note values are relative, and must be played precisely in rhythm. Because of the difficulty in counting the long note values, the performer can count quarter notes, at the rate of one per second, as a basic pulse, and write the number of quarter-note pulses over each note in the score as listed in Table 2.20

The comma symbols used for the long pauses of varying lengths are unexplained in the score. The same symbols appear, however, in a previous Bolcom work, Hydraulis, and are defined in a foreword as "pauses, ranging from long to very short, depending mainly on context of the passage." In a recent letter, Bolcom confirmed that the Hydraulis pauses also apply to Mysteries.21

The eighth-note figuration that appears in the metered middle section of the movement (11/2-11/3) is played with light, elegant articulation. In the unmetered final section (11/3-11/4), playing gestures become increasingly slower; intensity must be maintained during the pauses, though.

The title "La lugubre gondola" is from an 1882 piano piece of the same name by Franz Liszt. Liszt had the inspiration for the piece while watching funeral processions by gondola through the Venetian canals, when he was staying with Richard Wagner and Cosima (Liszt's daughter, who had married Wagner) in Venice. Anecdotally, Liszt abruptly quit working on his final oratorio and wrote two versions of La lugubre gondola in December 1882, after he had a strange presentiment--presumably of Wagner's impending death. Irrespectively, Wag-ner died in Venice two months later, and his body was borne by gondola in the funeral procession.22 Although not widely performed, several pianists have recorded the piano piece La lugubre gondola, No. 1; listening to such recordings is helpful in establishing the mood of the Bolcom movement, because the central, metered section of the Bolcom movement quotes the Liszt work.

"Dying Star" begins with thirty-second-note flute figuration marked "legato, even throughout."23 A more detached articulation is appropriate, however, if the room is acoustically live or if the selected flute does not have enough chiff for articulative clarity. Nevertheless, the articulation should not be a mechanical staccato.

The thirty-second-note figuration in the right-hand part continues to the end of the movement, and it is impossible to play all four voices of the An Wasserflüssen Babylon chorale fragments (beginning at 16/1) in the left hand alone. It is therefore necessary for the pedal, coupled to the manual, to play the tenor and bass voices of the chorale. Articulation for the chorale is molto legato for both manual and pedal parts. Bolcom commented on the significance of An Wasserflüssen Babylon to this movement: "That chorale prelude always gave a chilling intimation of eternity; I could imagine a dead Earth with some eternal record[ing] of it [An Wasserflüssen Babylon] playing (or a ghostly organist)."24

During the long blocks of silence (beginning at 16/4 and continuing to the end of the movement) it is important to follow Bolcom's instructions: "These pauses are exactly timed--be sure to remain physically suspended during them so that the tension is not lost."25 As in the second and third movements, the fourth also ends with a gradual disintegration of musical texture in space and time.

No errata were discovered in the score, and Bolcom confirms that he knows of none. Mysteries has not been commercially recorded. Bolcom lists a performance time of seventeen minutes and ten seconds for the entire work, broken down by movement as follows:

The Endless Corridor  [3:35]

Eternal Flight   [2:40]

La lugubre gondola     [5:45]

Dying Star       [5:10]26

lists stops suggested in the score for a three-manual organ.

Because the Trompette en chamade 8' is used as a solo stop against the full Great manual, the stop is most convenient on a secondary manual or floating division. If a chamade is unavailable, another loud trumpet or combination of reeds can be substituted. For the last pedal notes in the work, a 32' Bourdon is effective, although a footnote in the score indicates that a 16' Bourdon may be substituted, if necessary.46

Interpretation

 

In the preface to the score, Christie writes: "Praeludium was conceived in the spirit of the 17th-century North German 'Stylus phantasticus' and is to be performed as a fantasia with interpretive spontaneity and much freedom. The articulations are indicated to encourage clarity in all lines and textures."47 Besides working for clarity, the performer should observe the tempo markings in the score. As illustrated in Table 6, the tempo increases at major structural posts until the climax of the work (mm. 168-72).

A vocal 16' principal is specified in the score for the short pedal solo at the beginning of the Maestoso; if the principal is unavailable, 16' and 8' flutes are substituted. The pedal voices should be articulated cleanly, with attention paid to agogic accents that are marked above or below some of the notes. The molto legato marking in m. 3 applies to stepwise movement in m. 3 and mm. 8-10. Because of the wide leaps in double- and triple-pedal textures, an entirely legato articulation is impossible.

The pedal solo is followed by a section of densely textured harmonies that arise gradually out of piled-up thirds. The aural effect of piling up thirds is one of individual melodic lines coalescing into a chord; this recurrent compositional technique serves as a unifying characteristic of the work. During the process, the gradual change from Choir manual to Great manual in mm. 15-18 requires the left hand to "thumb up" to the Great manual while simultaneously holding three notes on the Choir manual. Depending on the instrument and the location of the manuals, it may be possible during this section to "thumb down" to the Great manual from the manual above, thus making this manual change less difficult.

The pedal motive at the beginning of the Più mosso is marked non legato, but the sixteenth notes should be given sufficient length for the pedal reeds to speak. The low pedal thirds in mm. 34-47 can be played by the left foot alone. In mm. 50-55, the accel. poco a poco increases the tempo to 112; restraint is necessary, however, because of a natural tendency to accelerate too much during the long note values. The right-hand part in mm. 62-64 is played one octave lower if the instrument has a short upper octave.

The climactic section, Allegro moderato, is a fugato that contrapuntally combines its subject with motives from the first two sections of Praeludium. Articulation of the staccatos and slurs in this section should be observed exactly as marked in the score. At m. 153 the Trompette en chamade may be coupled to the Great manual to achieve the fff dynamic. Alternatively, additional intramanual couplers or a sfz mechanism can be used.

Three short passages in the third section (mm. 131-34, 153-56, and 160-63) are marked: "Omit upper notes if not available."48 Even if the upper notes are available, though, it may be necessary to omit them if the sound is too overbearing. The extreme dissonance, in combination with full organ and high register, is excessively loud on some instruments.

At the climax in mm. 168-72 it is necessary for the left thumb to take the top two notes of the left-hand chord, because of the thirteen-voice texture at that point. Also, a meter change from 4/2 to 4/4 occurs in mm. 171-74; the note values remain constant, however. At m. 174 the pedal has to be reduced quickly from fff to subito mp.

Finally, the short closing section, Tempo I, serves as a soft codetta to Praeludium. In m. 185 the final pedal interval, a perfect octave, has the instruction: "32' Bd. alone or play the lowest 'A' on Bd. 16' only."49 Another possibility, however, is to play the pitches A and e on the 16' Bourdon; the resultant harmonic produces the desired 32' tone.

The score has one error: Page 6, Measure 81, Beat 2: the sharp in the bass clef should precede the F, not the A.

Praeludium has not been commercially recorded. The performance time is approximately eight minutes, if played at the score tempos.   

Notes

 

            1.         George Ritchie and George Stauffer, Organ Technique: Modern and Early (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1992), 304.

            2.         Marilou Kratzenstein, Survey of Organ Literature and Editions (Ames, Iowa: Iowa State University Press, 1980), 190.

            3.         Viktor Lukas, A Guide to Organ Music, 5th ed., ed. Reinhard G. Pauly, trans. Anne Wyburd (Portland, Oregon: Amadeus Press, 1989), 229.

            4.         John Woodford, "His Night at the Opera," Michigan Today 24, no. 4 (December 1992): 1-3.

            5.         Michael Lawrence Mazzatenta, "The Gospel Preludes of William Bolcom" (D.M.A. diss., Arizona State University, 1991), 95; William Bolcom, Letter to this writer, October 20, 1993; Id., Gospel Preludes, Book Three (New York: Edward B. Marks, 1994).

            6.         William Bolcom, Mysteries (New York: Edward B. Marks, 1981).

            7.         "Hartt Contemporary Organ Music Festival," The American Organist 14, no. 7 (July 1980): 22.

            8.         Bolcom, Mysteries, 1.

            9.         Ibid., 2.

            10.       Lukas, 238.

            11.       The symbol 11/2-11/3 refers to page 11, system 2 and page 11, system 3 of the score. All score references to movements 2, 3, and 4 of Mysteries, which are unmetered, will use this system.

            12.       Bolcom, Mysteries, 16.

            13.       Ibid., 2.

            14.       Ibid.

            15.       Ibid.

            16.       Ibid., 5-6.

            17.       Ibid, 10.

            18.       Ibid., 12.

            19.       Ibid., 15.

            20.       A footnote on page ten of the score defines a stemmed double whole note as two times as long as a double whole note.

            21.       William Bolcom, Hydraulis (New York: Edward B. Marks, 1976), 2; Id., Letter to this writer, October 20, 1993.

            22.       Stanley Sadie, ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London: Macmillan and Co., 1980), s.v. "Liszt, Franz," §4: Rome and the last years, by Humphrey Searle.

            23.       Bolcom, Mysteries, 12.

            24.       Bolcom, Letter to this writer, October 20, 1993.

            25.       Bolcom, Mysteries, 16.

            26.       Ibid., 2.

            27.       H. Wiley Hitchcock and Stanley Sadie, eds., The New Grove Dictionary of American Music (London: Macmillan Press, 1986), s.v. "Crumb, George," by Edith Borroff.

            28.       George Crumb, Pastoral Drone (New York: C.F. Peters, 1984).

            29.       Byron Belt, "AGO National Convention San Francisco 1984," TAO 18, no. 8 (August 1984): 29.

            30.       George Crumb, "Annotated Chronological List of Works," in George Crumb: Profile of a Composer, ed. Don Gillespie (New York: C. F. Peters, 1986), 112.

            31.       David Cope, "Biography," in George Crumb: Profile of a Composer, 14-15.

            32.       Crumb, Letter to this writer, Oct. 14, 1993.

            33.       Crumb, Pastoral Drone, 9.

            34.       Crumb, Pastoral Drone, 4.

            35.       References to the score in the text of this article are to the later, typeset version.

            36.       Crumb, Letter to this writer, Oct. 14, 1993.

            37.       Crumb, Pastoral Drone (manuscript version), 3.

            38.       George Crumb, "Annotated Chronological List of Works," in George Crumb: Profile of a Composer, 112; Two hundred seventy-nine total beats divided by forty-four beats per minute equals 6.34 minutes.

            39.       Hitchcock, s.v. "Zwilich, Ellen Taaffe."

            40.       Ellen Taaffe Zwilich, Praeludium (Hillsdale, New York: Mobart Music Publications, 1987).

            41.       Zwilich, Letter to this writer, October 21, 1993.          

            42.       Zwilich, Telephone conversation with this writer, April 24, 1995.

            43.       Richard Dyer, brochure notes for Ellen Taaffe Zwilich: Symphony No. 1, New World Records NW336-2, 4.

            44.       Ibid., 5.

            45.       Zwilich, Praeludium, 2.

            46.       Ibid., 11.

            47.       Ibid., 2.

            48.       Ibid., 9-10.

            49.       Ibid., 11.

This article will be continued.

by Earl Holt

Experimentation in a radical, theatrical style has
characterized much contemporary Swedish organ composition over the last twenty years, and Swedish organ composers have been prominent in the movement toward
secularization of the organ. 
Marilou Kratzenstein writes:

One should remember that Swedish churches no longer play
much of a role in the spiritual life of the people, but rather concentrate on
being a cultural force. Organ concerts are encouraged in the churches, which
are viewed primarily as concert halls. 
Major organ composers generally write little music for use in the church
service, but focus on concert works devoid of religious significance.1

A number of modern Swedish composers have found the organ's
array of tonal colors and wide dynamic range particularly useful for the
expression of musical thought in a modern idiom. As a result of the Orgelbewegung (Organ Reform Movement), the resurgence of interest in instruments with mechanical action has offered the possibility for greater expressive control and a greater range of performance techniques than were previously available on instruments with some form of remote  action.

Swedish composer and organ virtuoso Hans-Ola Ericsson wrote
recently of modern composition:

The tendency is the same everywhere, in Sweden, too: it
seems that the 1980s mark the beginning of a new musical era. The composers are
striving for objectivity, diversity, and structural density or airiness. A new
æsthetic is growing up, far from the experimenting expressionism of the
1970s.2

If young Swedish composers now find themselves to be
innovators, they have come to the forefront of avant-garde composition as a
result of influential forebears, including Bengt Hambræus, one of the
first organists to introduce avant-garde techniques. Douglas Reed writes:

Following Hambræus' lead, a school of Swedish
contemporary organ music sprang up; it includes Arne Mellnäs (b. 1933: Fixations, 1967), Jan W. Morthenson (b. 1940: New Organ Music, 1961-73), and Bo Nilsson (b. 1937: Stenogramm, 1959).3

These Swedish composers and their contemporaries studied or
collaborated with György Ligeti, who began regular visits to the Stockholm
Academy of Music in 1961 to teach composition as a visiting professor.4 Under
Ligeti's tutelage, they pioneered new techniques in their organ compositions,
including virtuoso clusters, stop-knob manipulation, and switching the blower
on and off to produce a gradual sound decay. They have taken advantage of the
increased availability of tracker actions and have experimented with bending
pitch by playing or releasing the keys very slowly, sometimes assisted by
rubber mats placed under the keys. The works are clearly unintended for
liturgical use:

The new organ music of Ligeti and the Swedes is firmly
secular, having few if any religious connotations. It continues, perhaps
completes, the process of secularization started by Franck and Liszt in the
nineteenth century.5

Hambræus wrote recently about his intense
collaboration with Ligeti in the early 1960s:

When [Mauricio] Kagel, Ligeti, and I got a commission each
for an organ work to be performed in Radio Bremen in 1962, we decided between
us to apply different notations to achieve similar results; Ligeti selected the
"graphical" method, partly developed from what he had learnt from my Constellations (Ligeti worked in Stockholm at that time, and we knew each other very well!). His Volumina looks different than my Interferences, or Kagel's Improvisation Ajoutee.6

This article surveys four selected secular organ works by
modern Swedish composers and compiles relevant performance information in an
attempt to make the compositions more comprehensible and accessible to
recitalists, teachers, and students.

Befria mig ur friheten! All denna frihet! by Sven-David Sandström

Background

Sven-David Sandström, born in Borensberg, Sweden in
1942, studied composition with Ingvar Lidholm at the State College of Music in
Stockholm, where he was Lidholm's teaching assistant until 1974. Sandström
also studied composition with György Ligeti and Per Nørgård,
and has worked since 1974 as a composer. Since 1981 he has taught composition
and improvisation at the State College of Music in Stockholm, where he was
appointed professor of composition in 1986.7 He has also been an administrator
in the Society of Swedish Composers since 1979, and was chairman of the Swedish
section of the International Society for Contemporary Music (ISCM) in 1983. He
received the Christ Johnson Prize in 1974 and the Nordic Council Prize in
1984.8

Sandström's works are primarily for orchestra or
chamber ensemble, although he has also composed solo instrumental and choral
works, including several operas. His music often involves serial and
post-serial techniques, microtones, and aleatoric procedures.9

The work selected for this article, Befria mig ur
friheten! All denna frihet! (Liberate me
from freedom! All this freedom!), is the second movement of a three-movement,
large-scale organ work, Libera me.10 Befria mig can be performed successfully as an independent work, however. The title comes from the Tobias Berggren text, "replete with sadistic obscenities and pornographic proclamations," to Sandström's Requiem: De ur alla minnen fallna (Mute the Bereaved Memories Speak), which Sandström composed at the same time as Libera me.11 The Requiem is "a graphic and expressionistic tonal painting, an indictment of the Nazi murders of children during the Second World War."12 Besides Libera me, Sandström has composed two other solo organ works: The Way (1973) and Openings (1975).13

Befria mig was
composed in January 1981 and dedicated to organist Hans-Ola Ericsson; the
premiere took place in Zurich at Grossmünster on December 25, 1981.14 The
score, published in 1984, is a legible photocopy of the original manuscript.

Structure

In Biographies of Modern Swedish Composers
style='font-style:normal'>, Hans-Gunnar Peterson writes about the philosophy
and design of Sandström's compositions:

Desperation--security: these opposite relationships dominate
his thoughts on composition and make his works unusually existentially
orientated [sic]. The fact that music has the power to bring about great mental
changes or to create inner peace interests Sandström. Formally, his music
is concentrated, often with complicated schemes as bases of his works.15

Although Befria mig
has highly concentrated notation, the piece has a simple scheme as its basis: an
extended crescendo. Little by little, the texture thickens, the dynamic
increases, the tempo broadens, the range widens, and the key modulates from G
minor to C minor. Ericsson describes the evolution in brochure notes to the
recording:

The course of events is simple: a slow, almost unendurable
culmination, which alternates the whole time between major and minor, and which
does not reach its goal until the ecstatic C-minor chord of the final bar. The
movement--in 10 parts [voices]--is unbelievably complex in its inner
structure.16

The dense texture restricts the melodic movement of
individual voices, so chromatic or stepwise movement predominates. The
intricate writing suggests choral polyphony, and the stylistic influence is
unquestionably Ligeti.

Befria mig, composed
in 4/4 meter solely as a structural convenience, has five continuous sections,
or stages, that are delineated by tempo changes. Although the texture varies
within each section, it is usually ten voices. The incremental changes in
texture, dynamic, and range take place gradually from beginning to end, but the
tempo changes occur in terraces--not as a gradual ritardando. Table 1 is a
structural outline of the piece.

Registration

The manual changes and couplers in the Libera me
style='font-style:normal'> score are marked for a four-manual instrument;
indeed, a performer playing the entire work does need a large instrument for
the intended effect. As a single movement, however, Befria mig can be performed on any instrument with sufficient dynamic range and enough stops for the gradual crescendo, since the piece is played entirely on one manual, the Hauptwerk.

The manual compass of the piece is F-sharp to g''' and the
pedal compass is C to a-flat'. The pitch a-flat' is unlikely to exist on any
pedal clavier, and probably results from Sandström--who is not an
organist--forgetting the pedal range of the instrument. Fortunately, it occurs
only once (m. 55, in eleven-voice ffff texture), and can be omitted
inconsequentially. In addition, the pedal pitch g', which also occurs only in
m. 55, might also have to be omitted to accommodate a 30-key pedal clavier. An
alternate solution is to have a console assistant play one or both notes on the
Hauptwerk.

The long crescendo, a six-minute, fifty-seven measure
crescendo from ppp to fffff, is created mainly by incremental stop additions,
which can be made by a console assistant, by an adjustable combination action,
or by using the crescendo pedal. The stop additions occur nine times, and are
marked "reg. cresc." (register crescendo) in the score.17 Two
"reg. cresc." markings also coincide with tempo changes (mm. 24 and
48) for heightened dramatic effect. If a crescendo pedal is used for the stop
additions, additional stops and couplers can still be added by thumb pistons or
a console assistant. The score does not indicate expression pedal usage,
although it is effective to open available expression pedals gradually
throughout the piece. 

Sandström marks dynamics in the score, as illustrated
in Table 1, but individual stops or timbres are unspecified. Therefore,
registration for the piece, within the dynamic bounds indicated, is left to the
discretion of the performer. Pedal coupler additions are marked at four points
in the score:

                  Measure
style='mso-tab-count:1'>               Coupler

                  24
style='mso-tab-count:1'>            Sw./Ped.

                  36
style='mso-tab-count:1'>            Bw./Ped.

                  48
style='mso-tab-count:1'>            Rp./Ped.

                  57
style='mso-tab-count:1'>            Hw./Ped.

These coupler additions signal a louder pedal, whether
accomplished by the specific couplers (if available) or by the addition of
pedal stops.

The registration in the score has all secondary manuals
coupled to the Hauptwerk from the beginning of the piece, so that stop
additions from any division affect timbre and dynamic immediately. This
arrangement works well on a large, orchestrally conceived instrument, but might
be disadvantageous on a smaller instrument. On a two-manual instrument, for example, it might be better to begin the piece on the Hauptwerk alone, and then to couple the other manual to the Hauptwerk later, as part of the crescendo.
Another possibility is to begin the piece on a secondary manual and move to the
Hauptwerk later. Three rests in mm. 14, 27, and 43, respectively, provide
opportunities for the hands to change manuals. The last practicable opportunity
to move to the Hauptwerk is at m. 48, beat 4, where both hands must shift down
almost an octave; the hands can easily change manuals in the process. Whether
or not a console assistant is necessary for stop additions, an assistant must
play three chords in mm. 56-57.

Interpretation

Relentless tension characterizes Sandström's works, as
described in Musical Life in Sweden:
"In the case of Sven-David Sandström, it would be no exaggeration to
speak of an incessant struggle between constructive and destructive powers,
with constant reminders of the existence of other worlds."18

The Befria mig score
gives no performance directions or interpretive suggestions, perhaps because
the challenge of the piece is largely technical, not interpretive. It is a
major technical obstacle to play four contrapuntal voices per hand--and two to
four pedal voices--for nearly six minutes, while creating an aural effect of
continuously weaving lines. Despite the dense textures that tend to lock the
wrists in position, it is necessary to keep the wrists flexible and relaxed.
Light articulation will help to combat a tendency to become mired in a
continuous, overlapping legato. Moreover, a live acoustic is a virtual
necessity.

The steadily increasing tension inherent in the piece
exacerbates the tendency toward tension in the wrists. Frequent finger
substitution is neither advisable nor practical in this texture. The pedal
texture is from two to four voices; pedal articulation is legato, whenever
possible.

Complex rhythmic units include supertriplets and
superquintuplets, played in various cross-rhythms between the manual and pedal
voices. To keep the tempo steady, the performer must maintain a strong internal
beat. As noted in Table 1, subito decreases in tempo occur four times in the
work. A metronome is helpful in learning to judge the relative tempos.

Curiously, the word "Affettuoso" is placed over m.
39, although it is unclear how a tender mood can be produced in ten-voice
texture at ff dynamic. The piece ends in m. 57 with "General tutti sempre
al fine." A sforzando mechanism, if available, can be engaged on the long
C-minor chord that ends the work. A sixteen-note cluster (m. 57, beat 4)
effectively serves to disintegrate the C-minor chord (and symbolically,
perhaps, to liberate the listener from tonality), but the cluster is omitted in
the only commercial recording of the piece that was found, a compact disc
recording by Ericsson at Katarina Church in Stockholm on February 24, 1986.19

Performance time for Befria mig
style='font-style:normal'> is seven minutes and thirty-two seconds on the
recording, but Ericsson's performance tempo is quite broad in comparison with
the performance time of five minutes and forty-five seconds listed by
Sandström in the score. Sandström's time agrees exactly with the
tempos marked in the score, but a broader tempo might be appropriate in a live
acoustical setting. Performance time for all three movements of the
fifty-three-page Libera me is
twenty-three minutes.

Champs by Bengt Hambræus

Background

Born in Stockholm in 1928, Bengt Hambræus first
studied organ performance with Alf Linder and later with Swedish musicologist Carl-Allan Mo-berg at Uppsala University. Hambræus completed his dissertation in medieval studies at Uppsala, and then taught there from 1947 to 1956. After joining the music department of Swedish Radio in 1957, he became director of the chamber music section in 1965 and its production manager in 1968.

Some of Hambræus's early compositions paralleling the
work of György Ligeti first earned major recognition in the 1960s. Known
as a musicologist specializing in medieval and baroque studies, Hambræus
has composed for stage, orchestra, chorus, solo voice, various ensembles, and
organ, and was the first Swedish composer to work in the field of electronic
music. As a result of work at electronic studios in Cologne and Milan, he has
also produced a number of works on magnetic tape. He has been a member of the
Royal Swedish Academy of Music since 1968. In 1972 he left Sweden to become a
professor of composition at McGill University in Montreal, where he has
remained to the present.20

Hambræus's organ works are Toccata och Fuga
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1946), Chorale Partita: In
Dich hab' ich gehoffet, Herr for organ solo
(1946-48), Fantasia for organ
solo (1947), Chorale Partita: Puer natus in Bethlehem
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1947), Concerto for organ
and harpsichord (1947-51), Concerto for Organ and String Orchestra (1948), Koralförspel
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1948), Orgeltrio
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1948), Toccata pro tempore
pentecostes for organ solo (1948), Introitus et Triptychon for organ solo (1949-50), Musik för Orgel for organ solo (1950), Liturgia
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1951-52), Permutations and
Hymn: Nocte surgentes for organ solo (1953),
Psalmus CXXI for soprano and organ (1953), Psalmus
CXXII for soprano and organ (1953), Konstellationer
I for organ solo (1958), Konstellationer
II for organ and tape (1959), Konstellationer
III for organ and tape (1961), Interferenser
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1961-62), Tre Pezzi
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1966-67), Nebulosa
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1969), Toccata: Monumentum
per Max Reger for organ solo (1973), Ricercare
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1974), Continuo a partire
de Pachelbel for organ and orchestra
(1974-75), Icons for organ solo
(1974-75), Extempore for organ
solo (1975), Advent: Veni redemptor gentium
style='font-style:normal'> for organ, brass, and percussion (1975), Antiphonie
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1977), Konstellationer IV
style='font-style:normal'> for organ and percussion (1978), Livre
d'orgue for organ solo (1980-81), Voluntary
on a Swedish Hymn Tune from Dalecarlia for
organ solo (1981), Sheng for oboe
and organ (1983), Variations sur un thème de Gilles Vigneault
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1984), La Passacaille
errante-autour Haendel for organ solo
(1985), Pedalexercitium for organ
solo (1985), Canvas with Mirrors
for organ and tape (1987-90), Après-Sheng
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1988), Cadenza
style='font-style:normal'> for organ solo (1988), Missa pro Organo:
In memoriam Olivier Messiaen for organ solo
(1992), Organum Sancti Jacobi for
organ solo (1993), and Meteoros
for organ solo (1993). A Ph.D. dissertation by musicologist Per F. Broman at
Göteborg University, Sweden, is currently being prepared in consultation
with Hambræus; it contains a comprehensive list of Hambræus's
works, and a complete discography.21

The work selected for this article, Champs
style='font-style:normal'> (Fields), is the ninth movement in Volume I of Livre d'orgue, published in 1981. A foreword to the score describes the movement as a piece in which "the performer is exposed to one kind of cluster notation which has been rather common in contemporary organ music after 1960."22 Livre d'orgue exemplifies Hambræus's well-known preoccupation with timbre to a greater degree, perhaps, than any of his other works. Modeled after the livres d'orgue of the Classical French period, whose movements were often named for the organ colors specified, the Hambræus work adheres to Classical French tradition in retaining the integrity of typical classical registration, which he indicates clearly in the score, and in requiring no dynamic changes by means of the expression pedals.

Livre d'orgue uses a contemporary harmonic idiom, however.
The work comprises four separate volumes containing twelve pieces each, and is
graded from the easier pieces of Volume I to the more difficult in Volume IV.
Even though Hambræus describes Volume I as "easier," its pieces
nevertheless require advanced technique. The preface to Livre d'orgue states that although each volume can be considered a complete suite, it is unnecessary to play all the pieces from the volume, and it is permissible to mix pieces from one volume with those from other volumes.23 This practice of selecting pieces is consistent with common practice in the Classical French tradition.

Hambræus composed Livre d'orgue
style='font-style:normal'> for the installation of the Hellmuth Wolff organ in
Redpath Hall at McGill University, Montreal, in 1981. On May 26, 1981, John
Grew played three pieces from Livre d'orgue
style='font-style:normal'> at the Montreal Symposium, a three-day series of
recitals and panel discussions on historical organ construction held to
inaugurate the new instrument; however, Hambræus does not recall whether
Champs was performed. He writes that he has heard the work performed only
once--in Redpath Hall on a 1982 or 1983 exam recital by Josée April, a
student of Grew.24 Livre d'orgue
is dedicated to Hambræus's son Michael, who first conceived of the
project, and to McGill University, which made it possible.25

Structure

Champs is a moderately
difficult study in cluster technique, the most challenging technical aspect of
the piece. Hambræus writes that the piece is related to other pieces from
Livre d'orgue:

There are internal relations between corresponding pieces in
the respective volumes [of Livre d'orgue]; somebody who has played the more easy items in volume I has got acquainted with my music language (harmony, texture, momentum, density, etc.) and can easily understand how basic ideas develop; compare, for instance, the first movements in volumes I and IV! Regarding Champs--"Fields"--it is a link between other pieces in Livre d'orgue: what is in other movements notated with pitches in dense clusters has just been notated differently here.26

As shown in Table 2, registration changes punctuate major
sections of the piece, illustrating Hambræus's characteristic use of
timbre as a compositional element. Champs
is formally constructed from two double periods and a four-measure ending. In
the first double period, the Grand Orgue and Positif bourdons are set in
contrast to each other. In the second, parallel stops on each manual are added
to the bourdons at major structural posts. In the final measure, however, the
sound is reduced by removing the two stops added last, thus serving to taper the
crescendo shape of the piece.

Registration

Hambræus composed Livre d'orgue
style='font-style:normal'> with a specific instrument in mind: the Hellmuth
Wolff organ in Redpath Hall at McGill University. Completed in spring, 1981,
the large tracker instrument was built "in accordance with the detailed
descriptions in Dom Bédos de Celles's important treatise L'art
du facteur d'orgues (1766-78)."27 The
inside back cover of each volume of Livre d'orgue
style='font-style:normal'> has the complete stop list for the instrument.

Since Champs is a manualiter piece for Grand Orgue and
Positif, pedals are not used. As illustrated in Table 2, the two manuals
maintain dynamic balance by the simultaneous addition or removal of stops from
both divisions at major structural posts. The specific registration for the
Wolff instrument, listed in the score, is helpful in selecting stops of the
same pitch and timbre on a different instrument. The following stops are
specified in the score:

Grand Orgue

                  8'
style='mso-tab-count:1'>             Bourdon

                  22/3'
style='mso-tab-count:1'>      Nazard

                                    Cymbale
III

                                    Fourniture
IV-III

                  2'
style='mso-tab-count:1'>             Doublette

Positif

                  8'
style='mso-tab-count:1'>             Bourdon

                  22/3'
style='mso-tab-count:1'>      Nazard

                                    Cymbale
II

                                    Fourniture
III

                  2'
style='mso-tab-count:1'>             Quarte
de Nazard

All stop changes occur at rests, so it is possible for the
performer to add or remove the stops without assistance. Expression pedals are
not used.

Interpretation

The main challenge of Champs is the interpretation and performance of graphically notated
pentatonic, diatonic, and chromatic clusters, as well as cluster glissandos.
Some pentatonic or diatonic clusters also develop into chromatic ones.
Hambræus defines pentatonic clusters as black-key clusters and diatonic
clusters as white-key ones; chromatic clusters involve both black and white
keys.

Hambræus notates each pentatonic and diatonic cluster
as a geometric figure that outlines the cluster's position on the staff. The
geometric figure encloses either the letter P, for pentatonic clusters, or the
letter D, for diatonic ones. If there is insufficient room for the letters to
be placed inside narrow clusters, the letters are placed directly above. Both
chromatic clusters and chromatic cluster glissandos are notated as filled-in
geometric shapes. Small notes at the beginning of each cluster indicate its
precise span.

The pentatonic black-key clusters found in Champs
style='font-style:normal'> are played either with the fingers or with the top
of the palm and the fingers, if the fingers alone cannot span the cluster. In
either situation, it is easier to play such clusters with the fingers held at a
right angle, instead of parallel, to the keys. Diatonic white-key clusters can
either be played by the fingers or with the thumb placed at a right angle to
the keys. When a diatonic cluster expands to a chromatic cluster, the length of
the thumb and the inside base of the palm are used to play the white keys,
while the fingers are held above the black keys for the expansion, as
illustrated for the left hand in mm. 8-9. The process is immediately repeated
in a mirror-image inversion for the right hand in mm. 10-11.

Hambræus indicates the correct realization of his
cluster notation in a footnote, but provides no physical description of the
techniques needed, except to write that "in order to execute cluster
glissandos, the performer must use all of the hand in different positions, in
addition to the fingers!"28 Two distinct kinds of chromatic cluster glissando occur in Champs: an hourglass-shaped cluster glissando in mm. 25-26, and common cluster glissandos that span a
specific interval (mm. 26-28, for example). Both kinds of glissando begin on a
C-sharp to G tritone and end on a G to c-sharp tritone.

The left hand plays the hourglass-shaped cluster glissando
in mm. 25-26. It is begun with the back of the fingers sustaining all possible
keys within the C-sharp to G tritone; the palm is facing up, at this point. The
thumb-side of the hand is then gradually raised until the hand is perpendicular
to the keys, with the back edge of the hand (little finger) resting on G and on
surrounding notes. Finally, the palm is gradually lowered onto all possible
keys within the G to c-sharp tritone.

The common cluster glissandos in mm. 26-28 occur in both
hands simultaneously. They are played entirely with the palms down. The middle
finger pivots on the pitch G as the fingers and part of the hand to the left of
the middle finger play all possible keys within the C-sharp to G tritone. Then,
as the wrist moves gradually from left to right, the fingers and part of the
hand to the right of the middle finger gradually play all possible keys within
the G to C-sharp tritone. It is helpful to flatten out the hand and to place
the middle, pivot finger near the back of the G key--between F-sharp and
G-sharp, if possible. This procedure allows all of the hand to be used
effectively, and achieves a consistent texture throughout the glissando.

The tempo (quarter note = 56) is maintained by carefully
counting beats throughout the piece. Constant, internal counting is the
performer's only rhythmic guideline, since clusters begin and end at irregular
intervals, and structural posts rarely occur on a discernible beat.

Volume III of Livre d'orgue was recorded by John Grew (McGill University Records, LP 85024, now
out of print), and volume IV by Hans Hellsten (MAP CD 9236, currently
available). Two pieces from volume IV, Ouverture and Récit de Nazard,
were recorded by Erik Lundkvist (MAP CD 9026). Marilou Kratzenstein recorded
selections from volume I (WMC LP 4593) approximately twelve years ago, but the
record was not located; it is therefore unknown whether Champs was on the
album.29  Performance time for
Champs is two minutes and thirty-five seconds.    n

Notes

                  1.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Marilou
Kratzenstein, Survey of Organ Literature and Editions (Ames, Iowa: Iowa State
University Press, 1980), 147.

                  2.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Hans-Ola
Ericsson, brochure notes for Organo con Forza, Phono Suecia PS CD 31, 2.

                  3.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Robert
Douglas Reed, "The Organ Works of William Albright: 1965-1975"
(D.M.A. diss., The University of Rochester, Eastman School of Music, 1977), 21.

                  4.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Paul
Griffiths, György Ligeti, ed. Nicholas Snowman (London: Robson Books,
1983), 39.

                  5.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Reed,
22.

                  6.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Hambræus,
Letter to this writer, November 23, 1993.

                  7.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Ericsson, 9-10.

                  8.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Hans-Gunnar
Peterson, Swedish Composers of the 20th Century: Members of the Society of
Swedish Composers (Stockholm: Svensk Musik, 1988), s.v. "Sandström,
Sven-David," by Hans-Gunnar Peterson.

                  9.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>              Stanley
Sadie, ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London: Macmillan
and Co., 1980), s.v. "Sandström, Sven-David."

                  10.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Sven-David
Sandström, Libera me (Munich: Edition Modern, 1977), 12-15.

                  11.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Nicolas
Slonimsky, ed., Baker's Biographical Dictionary of Musicians, 8th ed. (New
York: Schirmer Books, 1992), s.v. "Sandström, Sven-David;"
Ericsson, 10.

                  12.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Lena Roth, ed., Musical Life in Sweden, trans. Michael Johns (Stockholm: Norstedts Tryckeri AB, 1987), 55.

                  13.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Sadie; Slonimsky.

                  14.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Ericsson, 10.

                  15.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Peterson.

                  16.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Ericsson, 10.

                  17.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Register crescendo is the German Rollschweller, a type of crescendo pedal.

                  18.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Roth, 55.

                  19.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Ericsson, Organo con Forza recording.

                  20.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Sadie, s.v. "Hambræus, Bengt."

                  21.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Brian Morton and Pamela Collins, eds., Contemporary Composers (Chicago: St. James Press, 1992), s.v. "Hambræus, Bengt;" Per F. Broman,
"Bengt Hambræus: Work List and Discography," (supplied by
Hambræus from Ph.D. diss. in progress, Göteborg University, Sweden).

                  22.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Hambræus, Livre d'orgue, vol. 1, preface, 3.

                  23.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Ibid., 4.

                  24.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Hambræus, Letter to this writer, November 23, 1993.

                  25.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Peter
Williams, "The Organ in Our Time: Montreal Symposium," The American
Organist 15, no. 9 (September 1981): 58; Hambræus, Livre d'orgue, vol. 1,
title page.

                  26.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Hambræus, Letter to this writer, November 23, 1993.

                  27.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Hambræus, Livre d'orgue, vol. 1, preface, 2.

                  28.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Ibid., 8.

                  29.
style='mso-tab-count:1'>           Hambræus, Letter to this writer, November 23, 1993.

This article will be continued.

by Peter Hardwick

Basil Harwood was born on April 11, 1859, at the family estate called Woodhouse, near Almondsbury, Gloucestershire, England. He received an education that was broader than that of most British organists of the day. In his teens, he studied piano with J. L. Roeckel at Clifton College and organ with George Riseley at Bristol Cathedral, then, after attending Charterhouse School, Godalming, Surrey, took theory and composition with C. W. Corfe while an undergraduate at Trinity College, Oxford. The youngest son of a wealthy Quaker banker, after graduation from Oxford and working briefly in the Bodleian Library there, he followed in the footsteps of other well off young British musicians, like Hubert Parry and Charles Stanford, taking lessons in composition briefly at the Leipzig Conservatory of Music, Germany. His professors there were Carl Reinecke (who had been a pupil of Mendelssohn and Schumann), and Salomon Jadassohn (a past student of Liszt), of whom Harwood said "he taught me much."1 He then began his career as a church organist, occupying posts at St. Barnabas' Church, Pimlico, London (1883-87), Ely Cathedral (1887-1892), and Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford (1892-1909). His father died in 1907, and, being the sole surviving son, two years later he retired from church work in order to assume responsibility for running the Woodhouse estate, and so as to devote his undivided attention to composition. After his death in London on April 3, 1949, his ashes were buried beneath a memorial tablet in the church where his career began, St. Barnabas', Pimlico, London.

 

By the end of his long life, a significant body of solo organ music had been created, but most of it quickly fell out of fashion after his death. Thanks to Stainer & Bell's 1991 six volume The Complete Works for Organ Solo by Basil Harwood, edited by Kenneth Shenton, organists now have another chance to evaluate this music. Admittedly, some of the pieces have an old-fashioned air, but many of them, arguably retaining a timeless freshness and eloquence, may speak to many of us today.

Prior to examining his output, it might be helpful to mention the backdrop against which the compositions were written. When Harwood began to compose in the 1880s, two main influences were dominant in Victorian organ music. One of these was a home-grown quality, which might take the form of a familiar melodic turn of phrase derived from sources such as popular ballads or hymn tunes, or one might detect an indefinable Victorian atmosphere inherited from one or more of such older contemporary organ composers as Samuel S. Wesley (1810-76), William Best (1826-97), Henry Smart (1818-79) and John Stainer (1840-1901). The other influence frequently found was 19th-century Austro-German style, principally that of Mendelssohn, Rheinberger and Brahms, but also, occasionally, Wagner, Reger, and Karg-Elert.

Furthermore, British organ composers in Harwood's youth tended to write music that fell into two broad genres. One genre appealed primarily to the senses. Pieces in this group might have titles like toccata, postlude, grand choeur and fantasia, and were emotionally highly charged and flashy. Others in this category were in more moderate tempos and were sentimental, with names such as nocturne, andante cantabile, and cantilène. Pieces in the other genre--with such titles as sonata, prelude and fugue, and passacaglia--were more highbrow and reserved in tone. In both genres, but more often in the second, late Baroque or Classical forms and idioms might be blended with more recent features. Many composers did not restrict themselves to writing music in only one of the style groups.

Before he began to compose, the very well educated Harwood had had ample time to become well versed in both the native organ repertoire and in the Continental composers. Perhaps partly because of his upper-class family background, and partly through his being organist in High-Church cathedrals, he adopted a highbrow, stylish, often reserved tone in his music for the instrument.

Harwood established his reputation as a composer of organ music with his very first two works for the instrument, Sonata No. 1 in C-sharp minor, Op. 5, and Dithyramb, Op. 7. While the Sonata bears the hallmark of the composer's individual style, it also shares a number of features found in earlier works in the genre that were popular in Britain, including features of Mendelssohn's sonatas, but especially those of Gustav Merkel (1827-85) and Josef Rheinberger (1839-1901). Harwood's three-movement conception was favored by Merkel and Rheinberger.  Similarly, the contents of various sonata movements by them anticipated the Englishman's: a preludial first movement, marked Allegro appassionato, with affinities to sonata form; mono-thematic, song-like Andante second movement; and Maestoso introduction and con moto double fugue finale. Like Merkel and Rheinberger's sonatas, Harwood's work is pervaded with religious fervor. It calls for a large three-manual Romantic organ with a tuba stop,2 and, to pull it off, requires a first class organist like the dedicatee, Walter Parratt (1841-1924),  whom Harwood admired greatly.

Parratt was the champion of "orthodoxy" and "legitimate organ playing,"3 a school that stressed the playing of works originally written for the instrument, fastidious accuracy of the part-playing, clean phrasing, and simple registration. As a corollary of the "legitimate" approach to organ performance, Parratt argued that those who made the instrument an imitator, "a mere caricature of the orchestra" were corrupt,4 a view that led to heated exchanges in 1891 and 1892 with his chief adversary in this matter, Best.5 He would have approved of Harwood's Sonata, as would Merkel and Rheinberger, who were also not interested in writing for the instrument as an imitator of the orchestra.

The Sonata was completed in 1886, near the end of his tenure of the organistship at St. Barnabas', Pimlico, London, but the young composer, being unknown, had to wait until 1890--by which time he was organist at Ely Cathedral--before he could pursuade Schott to publish the whole work.6 It is still generally regarded as probably his best piece for the instrument, and, until about 1950, was seen as possibly the "finest organ sonata written by an Englishman."7 Was this a reasonable claim? British music critics of the day were not prone to make such extravagent claims for a new, native sonata,8 so one might well ask if there were any grounds for applying "finest" to the work. Probably not, unless one were to add certain qualifications. Thus, it might be tenable to assert that the work was the greatest organ sonata that was endowed with Christian conviction by a native son9 in the last two decades of the 19th century--with Elgar's Sonata in G (1895) possibly being its secular counterpart.

The composition is cyclical, the plainsong hymn tune Beata nobis gaudia,10 which is heard in the first and third movements, binding the work together. In the first movement, following the C-sharp minor first theme and second subject in the relative major, the ancient preexistent theme is heard in the unrelated key of B minor in place of the usual sonata-form development section. The sacred theme reappears as the second fugue subject in the finale, first in E major, then, at the end of the movement, in D-flat major (the enharmonic major form of the work's tonic, C-sharp minor).11 While the five-voice, technically polished, double fugue suffers from being a trifle academic and dull, this may soon be forgotten with the maestoso, fortissimo chordal entry of the Beata nobis gaudia plainsong hymn tune in the manuals, over the first fugue subject in the pedals, at bar 106. Harwood's religous fervor injects into this regal passage, and the coda that follows, such conviction that it is hard to imagine any spiritual person remaining un-moved by such a close.

The satisfaction one may feel from experiencing Sonata No. 1 in C-sharp minor's conclusion is in no small part due to the journey that we are taken on by Harwood. At the outset, he successfully juggles the uneasy mix in the first movement of the predominantly capricious, improvisatory style--that results in several inspired harmonic sparks--with Classical sonata form. Delicately balancing these disparate elements contributes to the troubled, pessimistic, dark mood of the minor-mode opening movement, which leads irresistibly along a Romantic path to the jubilant, brilliant light that shines out in the tonic-major close of the score.

 Dithyramb, Op. 7 (composed 1892; published 1893), was also widely admired12 for many decades after its appearance. In the 19th and 20th centuries, the title "Dithyramb" has tended to be applied to music of a passionate, Dionysian character. Harwood's composition is passionate at times, but not Dionysian. Indeed, it had never been his intention to write a wild "Bacchanalian hymn."13 It was to have been the first movement of a second sonata, with the Interlude, Op. 15, No. 2, and Paean, Op. 15, No. 3, being the second and third movements. On the advice of Parratt,14 the composer published the three pieces separately instead.

As in the first movement of the Sonata, Harwood uses Classical first-movement form loosely in Dithyramb. There is an exposition with motivic, fragmented F major first theme and lyrical, legato second group of themes in D flat (bar 24); a development section (bar 65) which is concerned with the first theme and only one theme of the second group; and recapitulation with second themes now in tonic. The character of Dithyramb, however, is not related to the Viennese Classical molds. Almost Lisztian in character, there are Romantic vascillations between loud bombastic passages, and soft, tenderly prayerful ones, with the transitions often improvisatory recitatives or cadenzas that are studied with fluctuating tempo and dynamic markings. Thick-textured sections are juxtaposed with transparent, the latter with many rests and two-part writing. The work's rich ornamentation, and pianistic passage-work and high tessituras, not features of Sonata No. 1, are prophetic of the composer's manner over the middle years of his career.

At the time of its publication, Harwood announced that Dithyramb was to be the first of Twenty-four Original Compositions for the Organ, and he carried out this goal.  Completed in 1931 and filling 245 pages, the 24 pieces are as follows:

1.              Dithyramb, Op. 7 (1893).

2-7. Six Pieces, Op. 15 (1903).

Communion

Interlude

Paean

Short Postlude for Ascensiontide

Requiem Aeterna

Andante Tranquillo

8.              Capriccio, Op. 16 (1904).

9.              Two Sketches, Op. 18 (1905).

No. 1 in A major

No. 2 in F major

10.           Concerto in D major for Organ and Orchestra, Op. 14(1910).15

11.           Three Cathedral Preludes, Op. 25 (1911).

No. 1 in B flat

No. 2 in E

No. 3 in C

12.           Sonata No. 2 in F-sharp minor, Op. 26 (1912).

1st. mt. Lento ma non troppo

2nd mt. Allegretto serioso

3rd mt. Allegro moderato

13.           Christmastide, Op. 34 (1920).

14.           In an Old Abbey, Op. 32 (1923).

15.           Rhapsody, Op. 38 (1922).

16.           Wedding March, Op. 40 (1924).

17.           Three Preludes on Anglican Chants, Op. 42 (1925).

No. 1 On a Chant by Benjamin Cooke (1734-1793)

No. 2 On a Chant by Matthew Camidge (1758-1844)

No. 3 On a Chant by Lord Mornington (1735-1781)

18.           Voluntary in D flat, Op. 43 (1926).

19.           Processional, Op. 44 (1926).

20.           Three Short Pieces, Op. 45 (1928).

No. 1 in D

No. 2 in A minor

No. 3 in A flat

21.           In Exitu Israel, Op. 46 (1928).

22.           Toccata, Op. 49 (1930).

23.           Lullaby, Op. 50 (1930).

24.           Prelude, Larghetto and Finale, Op. 51 (1931).

Before his death, Harwood wrote five more works. Four of these were published in his lifetime:

Two Preludes on Old English Psalm Tunes, Op. 52 (1932).

I. Salisbury

II. Old 132nd

Two Meditations, Op. 57 (1935).

1. The Shepherd on the Mountainside

2. The Pilgrims nearing the Celestial City

Album of Eight Pieces, Op. 58 (1935).

                  I:              Invocation

                  II:            Eventide

                  III:          Communion

                  IV:          Rest

                  V:            Prelude for Lent

                  VI:          Diapason Movement

                  VII:        Benediction

                  VIII:      The Shepherds at the Manger

A Quiet Voluntary for Evensong, Op. 70 (1946).

The fifth work, Reverie, had been written in 1926 for the Canadian virtuoso organist, Lynnwood Farnam, and was planned for publication in Canada.  It underwent revision in 1931, but remained unpublished until its inclusion in Stainer & Bell's 1991 Complete Works edition. This Reverie and the Sonata No. 1 were the only Harwood works for organ not originally published by Novello.

The composer was at the peak of his career as a Cathedral organist at the beginning of the 20th century, and some regard, with justification, the Six Pieces, Op. 15 (1903) as the high point of his organ output. The collection is a miscellaneous collection stylistically, there being pieces indebted to the Baroque, and others reminiscent of Brahms. Well settled into his organistship at Oxford by 1903, the stops specified in Opus 15 correlate almost exactly with those found on the Christ Church Cathedral Father Willis, four-manual instrument, so there seems no reason to doubt that he wrote with that organ in mind. The Oxford Cathedral instrument was a medium sized British cathedral organ, with 39 speaking stops, half of which were 8-foot stops; only two mixtures, three 2-foot ranks, and one mutation rank.17 Registrations for the Six Pieces, typical of his entire organ output, are mostly of a rather general nature, though there are a few registration features that might be singled out, because they appear in the Six Pieces and in many of the subsequent works. Harwood is precise in his indications as to the manual(s) to be utilized at any given place in a score, but only occasionally indicates where 8, 4, and 2-foot ranks (never mutations or mixtures) should be used. Full swell was marked, and fluctuations in dynamics were indicated by the appropriate symbols, so that he clearly looked for a fair amount of swell-box expression. Solo tuba lines were always indicated, while solos for clarinet and oboe, accompanied unobtrusively on another manual supported with pedal, remained a favorite combination in the ensuing years.

Four of the Six Pieces are based on sacred preexistent melodies. Nos. 1 and 4 are chorale preludes in the Bach tradition at a time when the German composer's music in the genre was not widely known in Britain,18 due partly, perhaps, to their being based on German hymn tunes that were hardly ever sung in Britain. In choosing hymn tunes with which native congregations were familiar, therefore, Harwood improved the chances of his two chorale preludes being appreciated. In No. 1, Communion (On the Hymn Tune "Irish"), the composer places the melody in a slightly embellished form in the soprano, and brief interludes separate the tune phrases. The simple approach is that taken by Bach in his Orgelbüchlein, but, while the hymn tune has Bachian embellishments here and there, Harwood's lower voices are essentially chordal, instead of polyphonic like Bach's. Again, Bach is the distant ancestor of Harwood's Short Postlude for Ascensiontide On the "Old 25th" Psalm Tune, the fourth of the set, in its pervasive counterpoint and presentation of the melody in the soprano in long tones like an ancient cantus firmus, but the rich late 19th-century harmonies and general style are pure Brahms.19

The last two of the Six Pieces are also founded on preexistent sacred themes and are also built on the chorale prelude principle. Harwood had been pleased with the use of plainsong at St. Barnabas, Pimlico,20 and this influence in his formative years led to his using the ancient themes from time to time in his music.  The first occasion was in the Fifth of the Six Pieces, titled Requiem Aeternam, where three musical phrases from the Introit of the Roman Catholic Missa pro defunctis are quoted in the central section.  A reflective work, suitable for performance on solemn occasions such as All Saints' and All Souls' Day, the composer wrote the piece after witnessing a Requiem in the church at Dinant, Brittany, France.21 Later, the composer tried to capture his impressions of this funeral service in Requiem Aeternam, including his recollections of the massive bells producing many harmonic effects in the cavernous Dinant church, and the priest singing the plainsong melody accompanied in unison by a euphonium. Harwood does not follow the centuries old tradition of converting the ancient chant into a barred, metric, tonal version. Instead, he leaves it untouched, to be played senza tempo, in an ethereal, atmospheric setting.22 Encompassing the central plainsong section are a solemn prelude and postlude, which are built over a pedal line that seems to be vaguely derived from the Gregorian chants of the middle. A repeated pedal E-flat resounds like funereal muffled drum beats, and the work closes with a reference to the opening of the Requiem aeternam chant in the tonic E minor. The last of the Six Pieces, the Lenten Andante Tranquillo on the Hymn Tune "Bedford," is, again, based on a Baroque chorale prelude form, but is Brahmsian in idiom.

Interlude, Op. 15, No. 2, marked Lento con espressione, has echoes of Bach and Mendelssohn. It is pervaded with syncopations and grace notes, and features a sweet clarinet solo that is similar in its shapely lyricism to an oboe solo at the end of No. 5. Modest in utterance, this meditation is perhaps as sublime as anything he wrote for the organ.

In Harwood's 19th-century organ music, notably the outer movements of Sonata No. 1, and Dithyramb, the composer demonstrated a taste for brilliance and bravura. The same characteristics are found in the third of the Six Pieces, Paean. Parratt premiered the work at the reopening of the newly rebuilt J. W. Walker organ at York Minster on April 15, 1903, having been handed the manuscript of the as yet unpublished work as he was leaving Windsor for York on the day of the recital. There does not appear to have been an eye witness report of the performance,23 but, when W. Henry Goss-Custard24 played Paean at the dedication of the new Henry Willis 168 speaking stop instrument in Liverpool Cathedral on October 18, 1926, a writer observed that:

In this work many tonal combinations were displayed; contrasts of one department with another; and a gradual working up of tone towards the exciting finale, until the cathedral was ringing with joyful sound; when, suddenly, the ear was arrested by a new tone. The mighty tuba magna, with its colossal and glorious voice, was heard for the first time.25

 

In 1949, Harwood's head boy chorister and soloist between 1900-02 at Christ Church Cathedral, recalled the composer playing Paean, which was composed in 1902, from manuscript.  "One could hardly imagine that such a quiet and gentle person," who was affectionately nicknamed "Billy" behind his back by the boys in the choir, "a shortish man with sandy-coloured hair, a well-kept beard and a sprightly walk . . . could have produced and performed [as he did] such fiery music for the organ." He remembered Harwood more for his "reverent and devotional playing . . . his humility and charming old-world courtesy."26 This observation sums up fairly well Harwood as an organist. Despite the difficulty of a number of his organ works, it should not be assumed that this was a reflection of the composer's own technical prowess.  Not a virtuoso, "Harwood was apt to be uneven though on occasions he could be very fine."27 From innumerable instances in the oeuvre, and because he was a cathedral organist where such ability is a sine qua non, one might guess that he was an excellent improviser.

In loose sonata form, Paean is characterized by the Harwoodian liking for chromaticism,28 in both terms of extensive modulation and coloring of common chords with chromatic embellishing tones. Like Wagner, however, he often accentuates the great moments by a return to diatonicism,  as, for example, at the triumphal start of the Brahmsian first theme at the beginning of the piece, the recapitulation (bar 89), and its last appearance at the entry of the solo tuba at the close of the coda (bar 162). Symphonic in concept, Paean  ideally calls for a Romantic, orchestral organ such as most British cathedrals possessed at the time of its composition. 

Capriccio, Op. 16 (1903) was perhaps an expression of the composer's romantic feelings towards the dedicatee, his wife of four years, Mabel Jennings, who was, incidentally, an accomplished pianist and composer.29 The high flown, agitated, troubled  atmosphere of the D minor thirty-second-note manual broken chords, to be played Tempo irresoluto, over a slower-moving pedal line in the opening and third sections, perhaps recapture the din of the mighty bells reverberating around the Dinant church mentioned above. Are these sections the outcome of Harwood's poetic improvising? Certainly this would account for the dramatic surprise at the end of the opening section, a quasi cadenza (bars 30-35). The passage passionately rises sequentially, stringendo, from the home key of D minor to a fortissimo tonally ambiguous pivot chord, which may be either seen as the supertonic chromatic ninth chord with the root omitted, or the dominant minor ninth with the root omitted in A major (the dominant of the D major next section). This dramatic effect finds release, after a general pause, in a lyrical, sunny, joyous, slower second section. After a return to the D minor flurry of the opening, Harwood's calm after the storm is a peaceful F major chorale prelude setting of Orlando Gibbons' hymn tune Song 13 .

Although Harwood was a church organist for less than a third of his long life, in his music for the instrument he never seems to have left the cathedral organ loft, at least in spirit. This may be seen in the Three Cathedral Preludes, which illustrate Harwood's church service prelude style at it best, it might be argued. Their composition was the result of his happy associations with southwest England. Born on the family estate in Gloucestershire, the composer's association with the Three Choirs Festival was lifelong, especially the Gloucester Festival, where first performances of several of his major choral works were given.30 In 1911, as a token of respect and gratitude for their friendship and assistance in his career, Harwood dedicated the Three Cathedral Preludes to the three Cathedral organists of the day, A. Herbert Brewer of Gloucester, G. R. Sinclair of Hereford, and Ivor Atkins of Worcester, respectively, There is nothing programmatic in them,31 except that they convey the impression of a cathedral organist improvising in a dignified, spacious building before a service.

No. 1 in B-flat is a microcosm of Harwood's peaceful, reflective type of prelude. Example 1 shows the theme on which the piece is based as it is enunciated at the outset.  The composer's musical fingerprints here include a) triplets within the duple meter; b) expressive use of dissonance, as, for example, the suspension in bar 3 (F suspension in the solo clashing against G flat in the accompaniment), and cross relations in bars 3 and 4 (involving E naturals and E flats). (See Example 1.)

Two other characteristics of the first Prelude might be pointed out. First, there is extensive chromatic coloring. See, for instance, the use of the minor triad on the subdominant in a major key in bar 10, and the quite Wagnerian serpentine, chromatic unaccompanied solo cadenza at bars 12 and 13, marked with a series of indications for tempo and dynamics (poco accel. a piacere; rall. e dim.; lento; pp). Second, a keen sense of effective organ sonorities. In Example 2, a Brahmsian sense of nostalgia, and autumnal coloring, is partly the result of the low tessitura of all the parts, with crossing of hands and the final chord's top voice being played by the right foot.

The second of the Three Cathedral Preludes is also peaceful and reflective in atmosphere. The third gradually rises to a resounding fortissimo close. Like the first two, the principal theme of the last Prelude is heard at the start, and there follow several variations on the material, which are interspersed with bridge passages that continue to develop the theme. Harwood builds up from a restrained start to a coda in which he releases a torrent of noble, grandiose emotion that rises to a tense, forceful climactic close.

To believe that the Sonata No. 2 in F-sharp minor, Op. 26 (1912), dedicated to Harwood's predecessor at Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, Charles Harford Lloyd, was composed for the thirteen-stop, three-manual instrument built by Bishop and Son for Harwood on his retirement home at Woodhouse defies reality, despite words to that effect printed in parenthesis under the title in the score.32 The lush harmonies and melodies, romantic moods, and symphonic demands of this sonata ideally call for a four-manual instrument along the lines of the Christ Church Cathedral organ, with which he was very familiar. The work, in four movements, the last two played without break, show his characteristic fondness for triplets and grace notes, which had first appeared in Dithyramb. What is new for Harwood in Sonata No. 2, especially in the monothematic sonata form first movement, though cropping up also in the other movements, are perhaps an excessive use of pianistic features associated with Chopin and Schumann, such as complex ornamental filigrees and extended right-hand octave passage-work. These, and Chopinesque frequent detailing of tempo changes that Harwood calls for in the shaping of phrases, may be seen in Example 3.

Other features of the work are the Romantic yearning in the Brahmsian first movement, the gentle, transparent-textured second movement, an Allegretto serioso scherzo in 7/4, and the slow fourth movement, Arietta. This last movement is placid except for a turbulent cadenza near the end, may remind one of the Brahms of the late Intermezzi, in the tonic major.

Eight years passed before the next organ work appeared. This was Christmastide, Op. 34, a fantasia written for the reopening of the Gloucester Cathedral organ in 1920.33 A large-scale programmatic piece that depicts parts of the Christmas story, the score is interspersed with Biblical and liturgical quotations. The first half, in which the text "What joy shall be in the midst of affliction"34 is expressed, is newly composed.  The start of the second half is based on the plainsong Sarum Sequence for Christmas Day, much of which is unmetered, like his treatment of the plainsong in Requiem Aeternam, Op. 15, No. 5. The close of the work is based on the Office Hymn for Candlemas. There are the usual Harwood musical fingerprints. For example, there is writing for the instrument along lines similar to that of the contemporary symphony orchestra--fondness for soloing of melodies played on oboe and clarinet stops, and dramatic shifts in dynamics, sometimes involving crescendos achieved by skillful manipulation of the swell box, and, at climaxes, sometimes involving judicious use of the tuba stop. Another characteristic of the composer in Christmastide is the classical balance in the tonal scheme. He modulates from minor at the start to major half way through--F minor; B-flat minor; A-flat major; F major; B-flat major; F major--the music mirroring the uncertainty of the Old Testament prophecy of Christ's coming giving way to New Testament joy when the Messiah is born.

In an Old Abbey was first conceived for cello and organ in 1919, then arranged for cello and piano, before being finally arranged for organ in 1923.  The dedication of the organ version, to Henry Ley, Harwood's friend and successor at Christ Church, Oxford, suggests that perhaps the "Abbey" the composer had in mind is the medieval monastery priory that became Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, in the 16th century.35 Perhaps he is inviting his listener to envisage the sturdy Norman arches, the fan tracery of the choir vault, and lovely stained glass of the east-end rose window of an ancient church of which he is very fond, Oxford Cathedral?  Be this as it may, there is nothing archaic in the music:  this is late Victorian soiree music.

A sentimental, idealistic mood characterizes In an Old Abbey. Sentimentality pervades the introduction (bars 1-14), which opens in the "wrong" key of E major (the work is in E-flat). Expressiveness in these opening bars is achieved mainly by means of embellishing tones and a chromatic, modulating, developing sequence. In bars 1 and 2, the sequential phrase features the major common chord on the flat submediant in the major key, approached by, and resolving to, the dominant seventh chord in E major. The next step of the sequence, in C-sharp minor, is approached by means of a common-tone modulation. Finally, after several more steps in the evolving, chromatically unstable sequence, tonal bearings are finally established, and expectations are aroused, with dominant preparation beginning at bar 7. The noble principal melody is long (bars 15-30) and, reflecting its cello origins possibly, is wide-ranging, with big romantic leaps. Harwood yanks one from the E-flat of the main theme to the opening B major of the middle section (bar 31) by means of another common-tone modulation, and follows this almost immediately with another abrupt modulation using the same technique in moving from B major to B-flat minor (bar bar 33). In the 1920s, the composer's pursuit of new chromatic colorings led to tolerance of greater, fleeting dissonances that are usually explained by his emphasis of horizontal consideration, of voice leading, rather than vertical outcomes. Such is the case at bar 35, where B-natural, C-sharp, G-sharp and both E-natural and E-sharp, collide simultaneously.  Similarly, at bar 60, there is a harsh crunch when E-flat, C-natural, D-natural, and F-natural are heard together.   Direct quotations and reminiscences of the work's introduction and principal theme, replete with suspensions, appoggiaturas, and upper and lower neighboring tones, make up the nostalgic coda of In an Old Abbey.

The inception of Rhapsody took place when Harwood was examining at the Royal College of Music, London, in 1922 with Walter Alcock (1861-1947)   and Parratt.  Themes that were used by the composer in the examinations were incorporated into the work, and it was dedicated to Alcock, who was already known for his magnificent performances of Harwood's organ music.36 Although a follower of Brahms in style, he does not follow the German's sonata form of the two famous piano Rhapsodies, Op. 79, as Harold Darke had done in his organ Rhapsody, Op. 4 (1908). Nor is there any apparent indebtedness to Herbert Howells' three organ Rhapsodies, Op. 17 (1919), which are loose in form but centered around one principal theme.  Instead, Harwood casts his work in the style initiated by Liszt's 19 Hungarian Rhapsodies (1846-86) that was more commonly adopted by a number of European composers for subsequent 19th- and early 20th-century rhapsodies.37 Thus, Harwood's is in a loose, episodic form; has exaggerated mood contrasts; and quotes a preexistent theme, an untitled  hymn tune by Thomas Tallis.38 Written only four years after the conclusion of the terrible loss of life in World War I, one might hypothesize that Harwood's Rhapsody is an elegy for that carnage. Harwood avoided talking in public about his music, and we know nothing of his thoughts on the matter.  In any case, the work is funereal. A section near the beginning labeled Funeral March returns for a lengthy development later.  Tallis' solemn hymn tune appears in a dignified, forceful manner in the second of three trio sections, with Joseph Addison's text, "When, rising from the bed of death," inscribed parenthetically under the melody in the score, and this melody reappears in the final bars of the piece. Although Harwood's craftsmanship is as fine as ever, one may wonder if it is,  in fact, an artifice, a collage of six unrelated melodies used by the three examiners at the Royal College in 1922.  This impression may be felt, for instance, when, near the end, out of the blue, a three-voice fugal exposition emerges on a thematic idea not heard before.

Among the people that Harwood met at the regular concerts and soirees held at his country home of Woodhouse shortly after 1909, was a highly gifted, young, likable pianist and organist named Douglas G. A. Fox. Shortly after completing distinguished studies by means of organ scholarships at the Royal College of Music College and Keble College, Oxford, Fox tragically had his right arm amputated just above the elbow in a battle in France in late August, 1917, during World War I. For this cocourageous musician, Harwood composed Voluntary in D-flat for left hand and feet.39

Among the remaining Harwood compositions for the instrument, it is harder to find works that rise above the bland.  Was the well of inspiration running dry? Whether or not this is true, one may detect with assurance a change in Harwood's style at this time.  Following the general trend in British organ music in the 1920s, and starting with the Three Preludes on Anglican Chants, he returned to the simpler, less chromatic voice leading of the First Sonata.

This may be seen in the Album of Eight Pieces, which were written between November, 1934, and March, 1935. Programmatic, technically easy miniatures, at the top of each, the title and a line or two from a hymn points to what Harwood is portraying. No. 3, Communion On a French Hymn Melody, cites the opening lines, "Therefore we, before Him bending, this great Sacrament revere," of the fourth verse of Thomas Aquinas' hymn text "Now, my tongue, the mystery telling" and is a chorale prelude on the hymn tune Grafton. First, the preexistent melody is presented in straightforward half and quarter notes as a baritone solo for the left hand, with equally unembellished right-hand and pedal accompaniment. Then the preexistent theme is soloed, slightly ornamented, in the treble register. It is in this varied treatment of the theme that Harwood rises, perhaps, above the average. Here, he captures  exquisitely the Holy Communion sentiments associated with the text and melody, not the least through frequent expressive use of dissonance--appoggiaturas, suspensions, and chromatically inflected tones either singly or in combination--and eloquent little melodic twists in the soprano line. In No. 6, Diapason Movement, we catch a glimpse of the old noble, ebullient side in Harwood's response to the opening line of Henry F. Lye's hymn text based on Psalm 103, "Praise, my soul, the King of heaven," which he achieves without any reference to John Goss' famous hymn tune usually associated with this text. As with No. 3, though the mood in No. 6 is different, there are the same fleeting dissonant crunches created mostly by bold suspensions, appoggiaturas, and numerous cross relations. Unlike the third work, however, chromatic coloring is achieved quite frequently through secondary dominants and common-tone modulations.

The organ pieces of the later years have occasional moments of intuitive truth such as one may detect in Diapason Movement of the Album of Eight Pieces. By and large, though, Harwood, now over seventy years old, was unable, or unwilling, to break free of his Victorian/Brahms roots. Unfortunately, this left his last music sounding dated, at a time when the works of post-Victorians, such as Herbert Howells and Percy Whitlock, were emerging.           

 

Notes

                  1.              Lancelot G. Bark, "Basil Harwood, 1859-1949," The Musical Times, XC (May, 1949), 165.

                  2.              Harwood's sole registration indication in the whole work is for a tuba on the last page of the score.

                  3.              Walter G. Alcock, The Organ (1913), p. 101.

                  4.              Walter Parratt, Music in the Reign of Queen Victoria (1887), Vol. 2, p. 604.

                  5.              Recorded by Henry C. Lahee, The Organ and Its Masters (1902), pp. 219-22. See also W.T. Best's letter of May, 1892, printed as "Organ Arrangements," in The Organ, I (July, 1921), 58-61.

                  6.              In 1887, Schott published the middle movement under the title Andante Pour Orgue.

                  7.              Lancelot G. Bark, op. cit.

                  8.              See William S. Newman, The Sonata Since Beethoven (2nd edition, 1972), pp. 575-92.

                  9.              His use of a preexistent hymn tune here was the first of a number of times that he quoted hymn tunes in his organ works.

                  10.           The melody is from a Constance Psalter titled Psalterium Chorale, printed at Mainz, Germany, in 1510. See Hymn 185, The English Hymnal (1933).

                  11.           Harwood was clearly attracted to hymn tunes old and new. He wrote a number of them--the best known being Thornbury--and was editor of The Oxford Book (1908), he quoted them in several of his organ works.

                  12.           Henry Ley, Harwood's successor as organist at Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford (1909-1926), said that Elgar much admired the work and wished to orchestrate it. See William H. Harris, "Basil Harwood--1859-1948 (sic)," English Church Music, XXIX, No. 2 (June, 1959), 44.

                  13.           Wilfrid Mellers, "The IAO Jubilee at York," The Musical Times, CIX (October, 1978), 886.

                  14.           Henry Ley, "Basil Harwood, 1859-1949," English Church Music, XIX, No. 3 (July, 1949), 40.

                  15.           Omitted from this discussion, because it is not for organ solo. The work was performed at the Three Choirs Festival at Gloucester that year with Harwood as soloist. For an account of it, see [no author] "Dr. Basil Harwood's New Organ Concerto," The Musical Times, LI (October, 1910), 641. The score calls for an orchestra of strings, brass, percussion, harp and celesta, but no woodwinds. Harwood does not write for soloist and orchestra as protagonists, as is usual in the genre, but requires both entities to play almost the whole time. There is a glissando on the pedals.

                  16.           The last work published in his lifetime.

                  17.           For the complete specification, see Andrew Freeman, "Organs of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford," The Organ, XI (July, 1931), 35-42.

                  18.           Nicholas Temperley, Music in Britain: The Romantic Age 1800-1914 (1981), p. 448. As late as 1922, Ivor Atkins, "British Organ Music," The Musical Times, LXIII (October, 1922), 685, asserted that Bach's chorale preludes for organ appeared to have been "practically unknown to all but the most adventurous of Bach's English followers."

                  19.           Over fifty years later, Healey Willan was still composing organ chorale preludes like these in his three sets of ten Hymn Preludes.

                  20.           A Tractarian parish built on the edge of the parish of St. Paul's Church, Knightsbridge, London, and consecrated in 1850.

                  21.           R. Meyrick Roberts, The Organ at Liverpool Cathedral (1926), pp. 36-37.

                  22.           George Oldroyd (1886-1951) was to follow this approach for his Three Liturgical Preludes (1938) and Three Liturgical Improvisations (1948).

                  23.           Vernon Blackburn, "York Minister," The Musical Times, XLIV (May, 1903), 302, appends Parratt's program, but no critical commentary.

                  24.           Organist of Liverpool Cathedral (1917-55).

                  25.           R. Meyrick Roberts, The Organ at Liverpool Cathedral (1926), pp. 36-37.

                  26.           Claude Williams, "Basil Harwood 1859-1949," English Church Music, XIX, No. 3 (July, 1949), 41.

                  27.           Bark, op. cit., p. 166.

                  28.           See C.V. Stanford, Interludes: Records and Reflections (1922), p. 96.

                  29.           Harwood was to dedicate Wedding March to Mabel. It was written in 1923 and revised for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary the next year.

                  30.           They included Inclina Domine (1898), Love Incarnate (1925), and Ye Choirs of New Jerusalem (1928).

                  31.           Such as was the case with Richard Hall's Three Cathedral Voluntaries (1936), which bear the sibtitles York, Ripon and Durham.

                  32.           For the instrument's specification, see Kenneth Shenton, "The Organ Music of Basil Harwood," The Organ, LXX (October, 1991), 208.

                  33.           The work was, according to the note in the score, "composed for the reopening of the organ at Gloucester Cathedral, 1920." However, the Cathedral Organist, Herbert Brewer, to whom the work is dedicated, played Harwood's First Sonata at the dedication service on November 19.  See [no author] "Gloucester Cathedral Organ," The Musical Times, LXI (December, 1920), 825. William Faulkes (1863-1933) had composed an organ piece along similar lines in 1907, Fantasia on Old Christmas Carols, Op. 103. Faulkes' style is fairly unsophisticated, and he focuses on three carols, rather than mainly reflecting on Biblical texts, like Harwood.

                  34.           The text is not, in fact, a part of the Bible, but a prefatorial phrase provided by the translators of the King James Version (1611) for 28 Isaiah, IX.

                  35.           There is no evidence, however, that Harwood had any specific church in mind.

                  36.           Harris recalled Alcock playing "magnificently" the Sonata No. 1 around 1900 at Holy Trinity Church, Sloane Street, London. See William H. Harris, "Basil Harwood--1859-1949," English Church Music, XXIX, No. 2 (June, 1959), 44.

                  37.           For example, Vaughan Williams' orchestral Norfolk Rhapsody No. 1 (composed 1905; published 1925).

                  38.           No. 92, The English Hymnal (1906), which Vaughan Williams had used for his Fantasia on a Theme by Thoms Tallis (1910; revised 1925) for strings.

                  39.           For a full obituary tribute to Fox, see David Willcocks, "Douglas Fox," Royal College of Music Magazine, Vol. 74, No. 3 (October, 1978), pp. 119-21.

by Joseph Horning

Johannes Brahms, who died 100 years ago on April 3, 1897, composed the final installment of his musical legacy--the Eleven Chorale Preludes, Opus 122 --during the last year of his life. They were written during his summer holiday at Ischl, where Brahms had vacationed annually from 1889. But his final visit was clouded by Clara Schumann's recent death and his own illness, cancer of the liver, which had taken his father twenty-five years earlier and the symptoms of which he likely would have recognized.1

 

When considering Op. 122, it is valid to ask: "Are these works all that special?"--because no composer created an endless string of pearls. Indeed, Peter Williams revealed his reservations in a review in The Organ Quarterly:

[While] the stature of the man makes all his works interesting in some way or another, there is something depressing about this music.  I do not mean merely the death-centered theme of Op. 122 but the general tenor of the musical idioms found here, the kind of organ sound most suitable for them and the weird absence--considering who their composer was--of melodic flare or that dramatic sense of sonority and rhythmic impetus we know from the composer's symphonies.2

As these works are chorale preludes, Mr. Williams' mention of "melodic flare" is peculiar. And his comparison to the "sonority and rhythmic impetus" of Brahms' symphonies is irrelevant, as these are clearly miniatures, each wonderful and satisfying when played in an empathetic manner. But it is perhaps unfortunate that the complete organ works of Johannes Brahms--his four early works dating from 1856-7 and the "Eleven"--fit so conveniently on one CD, for they are becoming the most frequently recorded set of organ works, second only to Boëllmann's ubiquitous Suite Gothique. Unlike the latter, however, Brahms' "Eleven" are a collection rather then a suite, and their effectiveness is diminished when heard all at one sitting. I feel they have far more impact and are more enjoyable inserted one or two at a time into an eclectic program.

Clearly, what can be a small masterpiece in the hands of one can be tedious in the hands of another--and even more so for Op. 122.  For with these works, Brahms has hidden eleven treasures inside a maze. In this essay, we will examine the "Eleven" and discuss ways to make these treasures come alive.

Form of the Chorales

To begin, see Table 1 for a survey of the forms Johannes Brahms used in Op. 122.  In addition to simple harmonized treatments, Brahms embellished some chorales into aria form, extended some with interludes, or used each phrase as a motif for the accompanying parts (Pachelbel style), or surrendered to a free fantasy form in which the original melody is almost totally lost.3

One can see from Table 1 that half are on Passiontide or requiem themes.  But only number 10, based on the "passion" chorale, expresses the depths of the emotions implied by the text: "My heart is ever yearning for blessed death's release." Of those based on other themes, numbers 5 through 8 are warm, lovely and contemplative and number 4 is an outburst of joy. Even O Welt, ich muss dich lassen, the last of the "Eleven" and Brahms' final composition, is a gentle farewell to life. E. Power Biggs summed up these works very well in the Preface to his edition of Op. 122:

Composed in memory of his dearest and most faithful friend, Clara Schumann, at the same time the Preludes are a revealing document of Brahms' thoughts on his own life. One biographer, Niemann, points out that most of the Preludes are: "A retrospect and an epilogue, a salutation to youth and its ideals, and a farewell to this world which is, after all, so fair." Somber as many of the Preludes are, they yet have a warm, autumnal quality that is all Brahms' own.4

Baroque or Romantic?

Since the "Eleven" are cast in the traditional German form of chorale preludes, and since Brahms had applied himself diligently to the rediscovery of early music, in particular Bach with whose music he was quite conversant,5 there is the question of whether the interpretation should reflect performance practice of the late 19th century or early 18th century. The great body of Brahms' compositions show that he was a thoroughly Romantic composer of great power. His Classical inclinations, however, restrained him from some of the delicious excesses of, say, a Tchaikovsky. Brahms' "Eleven" require the performance practice of Brahms' age, not the Baroque. When Villa-Lobos' Bachianas Brasileiras, or Dupré's "Chorale in the Style of J. S. Bach" (Fifteen Antiphons), or Franck's Three Chorales are performed--all of which took their inspiration from Bach --the interpretive style should be that of the composer's age, not the 18th century.  So also with the "Eleven." Robert Schuneman makes a key point when he says:

One should not be deceived by the brevity of the chorale preludes, nor with an initial reaction to the printed page which makes them look like chamber music. Their religious nature, the sacredness, otherworldliness, the transcendental quality--all of this is expressed by Brahms (as in other Romantic music) with grandeur, monumentality, and weightiness in terms of organ sound in acoustic space.6

An initial look at the printed page has misled many an organist to think that the "Eleven" are as easy to play as they are short, but Brahms sophisticated writing often seems to jig where the hand wants to jog. Simply learning the notes is the organist's first task.  But it is remarkable how many organists confide that these works are often poorly played even if the notes are correct.  Indeed, Schuneman decried " . . . the stiff, unyielding, ungraceful and ragged performances which are so often heard . . . "7

A Romantic Framework

For idiomatic interpretations of Brahms' "Eleven," it helps to consider them within the context of the 19th century. Born in 1886 in Belgium, the renowned organ virtuoso Charles M. Courboin provides a link with that sensibility. His pupil, Richard Purvis, discusses Courboin's approach:

Courboin always returned to three elemental principles in the consideration of any piece. First, one had to consider the architecture of the work; second was texture; third was emotional content. The architecture was most important. "Where are the high points," he would ask, "and how are you going to do them justice? Where are the transitional points, at which you leave one mood and go to another?"

If the architecture defined the parameters of the piece, the texture was the actual landscape for which Courboin often used visual imagery as might describe an oil painting, an etching or a watercolor.  At other times he would discuss texture in more strictly musical terms: was it contrapuntal, harmonic, a combination of the two?  And what tools were you going to use to emphasize the texture rather than obscure it.  Once you had the architecture and had done justice to the texture, you could then afford to explore the fine points of the emotions you were trying to communicate.  Courboin constantly asked, "What emotions does the piece involve, conjure up, portray?"8

The Brahms Organ

Brahms did play the organ to some degree in the 1850s when he wrote the four early compositions. But as he was never a professional organist associated with a specific organ, there has been an active debate over the years concerning the ideal Brahms organ sound. For example, registrations recommended by Walter E. Buszin and Paul G. Bunjes reveal their ideal Brahms organ to be a Baroque affair on which one should draw no more than one 8' stop per division.9 The result is far from weight, grandeur and monumentality.

A key year in this discussion is 1833, the year of Brahms' birth and the year in which E. F. Walcker completed his first major achievement, a 3-manual, 74-voice trendsetter for the Paulskirche in Frankfurt.10 The Oberwerk had five 8' flues and the Schwellwerk had six. The structure of the 23-voice Hauptwerk was as follows: 32,16,16,16,8,8,8,8,51/3, 4,4,4,31/5,22/3,2,2,13/5,1,V,IV,V,16,8. Walcker built hundreds of organs based on similar principles throughout the 19th century, including a 3-manual, 61-voice instrument built in 1878 for the Votivkirch in Vienna,11 an organ which was certainly known to Brahms as he had settled permanently in Vienna in 1868.  The Oberwerk of the Votivkirch organ had four 8' flues and the Schwellwerk five. The structure of the 23-voice Hauptwerk is: 16,16,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,51/3, 31/5,4,4,4,22/3,2,2,VI,III,V,16,8,4.12 Franz Ebner, who recorded the "Eleven" on this organ, stated:

The instrument on which Brahms' art can most suitably be realized is not the Baroque organ but that type in which the endeavors of the 19th century to attain a full, warm, immediately arresting tone found fulfillment.13

However, a "Brahms organ" does not have to be huge or even large.  As Max Miller pointed out in his article, "The Brahms Chorale Preludes--Master Lesson," the small instruments in every organ culture aspire to the effects of large instruments and thus clearly indicate the idealized sound of the time.14 He offers this 1869 German stoplist in which 60% of the manual voices are of 8' pitch:

Hauptwerk: 16,8,8,8,4,III

Oberwerk: 8,8,8,4

Pedal: 16,16,8.

For a fuller discussion of organ design in 19th century Germany, see Robert Parkins' series of articles in The Diapason: "Rediscovering the German Romantic Organ" (January, February and March, 1989).

Registrations

Robert Schuneman devoted a full page of his Brahms article to excerpts from Hugo Riemann's Catechism of the Organ, which gives an insight into German organ playing from the period 1845 to 1895. This is most valuable reading for those who play Brahms. One of the key concepts is horizontal registrations.  That is, one first combines a succession of 8' stops--from the softest to the Diapason--to create a bed of unison sound to which one adds the Octave, the 16', the 22/3' Quinte, the reed, the 2' and the Mixture in that order. The manuals are coupled to achieve fuller effects, and "gap" registrations like 8'+2' are to be avoided unless the composer has specified it.15

In "Some Thoughts on the Sound of the Organ," John David Peterson offers valuable insights into the ideal Brahms "sound":

Brahms' orchestrations call for a rich blend of dark colors. His favored instruments were the horn, viola, violoncello and clarinet, and his piano works challenge the player to call forth half- and counter-melodies from the tenor register of thick textures. It is not surprising that his organ works share the same sense of musical color.16

The key word which sums up registrations for Op. 122 is "warmth." Thus it is surprising that Robert Schuneman would have said: "Strings, as we know them today [1972], and especially celestes, are not appropriate."17 German 19th century stoplists had many a Gemshorn, Salizional, Fugara and Viola da Gamba and the celesting stops Unda Maris and Voix Celeste were to be found.  If these sounds were part of the organ culture of Brahms' time, and if one of his favorite orchestral effects was massed cellos and violas, what better way can there be to realize Op. 122 than by including strings in the registrations? The quieter chorales--Nos. 5, 6, 8 and 11--are excellent candidates for a celeste. If one has a broad Violoncello Celeste, it might be just the thing for the pedal cantus in No. 10. And how better to let the final notes of No. 11 O Welt, ich muss dich lassen float up into heaven than with a quiet celeste?

Brahms' Markings

While Brahms didn't indicate registrations, he left dynamic indications which, coupled with the precepts in Riemann's Catechism, may well amount to the same thing (see Table 2).

The dynamic markings and performance indications would seem to be clear enough, with the possible exception of "dolce." In Dynamics in the Music of Johannes Brahms, Imogen Fellinger says that dolce implies a weakening of the given preceding dynamic strength, just as expressivo is an intensification of the predominant dynamic strength.18 This may well be so where the dynamic marking is forte. Thus "forte ma dolce" in numbers 1, 3, and 11 would translate "loud but sweetly" or "loud but not strident." However, it seems a bit of a stretch to say that "dolce" in numbers 5 and 8 actually implies a dynamic slightly softer than the indicated "piano." It probably calls for a "sweet" or "gentle" interpretation and has nothing to do with dynamics. In support of this, note that only numbers 2, 7, 9 and 10 are without the "dolce." What is different about them from the rest? Both 2 and 9 are sturdy and forthright (the latter remarkably so), number 7 is a combination of urgency and melancholy, and number 10 is characterized by great pathos.

Tempo

In preparing this article, I studied fourteen organ recordings of Op. 122 and two of the Busoni piano transcriptions of Nos. 4-5 and 8-11. The range of tempi is remarkable. The slowest interpretations of the complete "Eleven" take 42 minutes whereas the fastest last but 21 minutes--half as long, or twice as fast.  The median19 duration was 321/2 minutes. See Table 3.

It is easier and clearer to discuss the tempos of these works, which as Romantic works are subject to considerable rubato, using the duration of the piece rather than metronome indications. The player who wishes to play Brahms musically would be well advised to avoid the extremes of tempo. Speeding through these works with the fastest tempos renders them meaningless and trite, but performances with the slowest tempos lacked energy and were often boring and stultifying. I found it of passing personal interest that the tempos at which I play these pieces are, in most cases, pretty close to the median. These median durations would seem to be a good starting place for those attempting to discover the ideal tempos.

Rubato

In his essay, "Playing Around With Tempo," Robert Schuneman describes tempo rubato:

Most music is mechanical without it in some form. On the other hand, the same music may turn into a caricature of its own intent and content with too much of it poorly applied. It is the most difficult of all musical terms to describe in words, and it takes an extremely sensitive player to use it well.20

As rubato is so difficult to describe in words, I would recommend Arthur Rubenstein's renditions of the Chopin Nocturnes as a most exquisite example of rubato in 19th century music.21

One might divide music into two types: objective and subjective. With objective music, of which Brahms' early a-minor and g-minor Prelude and Fugue are two good examples, if you play all the notes in a reasonably steady tempo, you achieve 80% of the composer's intent.  With subjective music, of which the "Eleven" are an excellent example, if you simply play all the notes in a reasonably steady tempo you realize absolutely none of the musical content the composer put into the work. The worst performances (with the notes played correctly) one will ever hear of Op. 122 are those in which, to paraphrase the popular song, "the beat goes on."

Schuneman makes an excellent point which is quite relevant to Op.122:

With the emergence after 1830 of free forms, program music, salon music, and the seeking out of emotional content over form, declamatory expression (free tempo rubato) became much more indispensable to good performance.  Furthermore, as the 19th  century progressed, tempo rubato became increasingly tied to dynamics. Accelerando means crescendo and vice-versa; ritardando means diminuendo and vice-versa.22

The most important performance points here are that in Op. 122, the beat itself is modified, which is a considerably further modification of tempo than the 18th century notion of rubato, where the melody in the right hand was subject to rubato but the beat in the left hand was not.23

Chorale No. 5, Schmücke dich, provides a clear illustration of the above points. Consider Figure 1, which is a harmonization of the chorale, as it would be sung. The added crescendo and decrescendo markings--not to be overdone, of course--simply indicate what any good choir would do intuitively. This music, all music, for that matter, is meant to be performed expressively. So apply this dynamic pattern to Brahms' realization of the chorale in Figure 2 (expression marks added to the Henle edition). If played on the Swell 8' flues, subtle opening and closing of the swell box is no problem. Per the above discussion of rubato, a subtle accelerando would accompany the crescendo and a ritardando comes with the diminuendo. One might alternatively describe this as a slight increase and decrease in intensity. Then there is the syncopated rhythmic pattern in the left hand which Brahms notated as shown in Figure 3, the way George Bozarth would have preferred to notate it in the Henle edition.24 Then there are the delicious dissonances, Brahms beloved major seconds, which Samuel Swartz always said "Brahms put there to linger over." And finally, there are the notes here and there to which, in expressive playing, one gives agogic accents. Integrate all of this into a performance and one has a small masterpiece. Play it straight on through ignoring these factors, on the other hand, and one has a very trite rendition.

Another excellent example of the necessity for rubato is in Chorale No, 11, O Welt, ich muss dich lassen. The structure of the work has a forte section followed by a piano section followed by a pianissimo section--which is repeated six times. Whether Brahms is simply using a series of echos or is referring to the vigor of youth, the mellowness of middle age and the weakness of old age we cannot know. But all of the pianissimo sections need to end with a ritard and a pronounced pause before beginning the next forte section. It is truly amazing that many play this work as if a metronome were clicking inside their heads, rushing past the pianissimo to get at that forte just in the nick of time. See Figure 4 for the interpretation marks I would suggest, and heed Max Miller's advice:

The variables of building and organ will dictate how much time is to be allowed and how freely the echoes should be taken. The non-harmonic tones require spaciousness and breadth in performance.  Time, for Brahms, has with this last composition ceased its hurry and its very meaning.25

Yet another reason for rubato is to give meaning to one of Brahms' favorite rhetorical gestures, the sigh motiv.  Consider the first four bars of O Gott, du frommer Gott (Figure 5), where the sigh motives are indicated by a bracket.  They are descending in mm. 2-3 and inverted in mm. 4-5.  Played in a metronomical tempo, these gestures are as musical as the regular clicks and whirs of factory machinery.  Played with a slight relaxation of tempo, they define the essence of Op. 122.

Indicated Phrasing

In addition to the dynamic and tempo markings, Brahms indicates a wealth of phrasing. Consider the first four bars of No. 1 in Figure 6. Brahms clearly and deliberately sets out a phrasing pattern which leaves little doubt of his intentions. In No. 3, however, there may be some question about the two-note slurs (see Figure 7). Some organists misinterpret these slurs as phrasing marks, and play the two eighth note figures as an eighth and a sixteenth, with a sixteenth rest before the next group begins. This misguided approach gives a jerky, frenetic sound which is the antithesis of the feeling of the chorale, O Welt, ich muss dich lassen. What Brahms meant by these markings was to give a slight stress to the first note of the groupings of two eighth notes. If strings played this piece, there would be the slightest, almost infinitesimal, pause in the sound as the bows changed direction between the eighth-note groupings. And this is precisely how it should be played on the organ.

It is in the very pianistic No. 4 that the precision markings in the Urtext Henle edition clearly communicate Brahms' intentions--markings which are changed or omitted in some other editions. See Figure 8 for the first four bars of No. 4. The quarter notes in the alto voice form a melody in which some notes are held longer than the precise note values, as indicated by the secondary slurs. In bars 1 and 3 the notes marked A are held for two beats,26 in bar 2 the note marked B is held for five beats, and in bar three the note marked C is held for three beats. This is consistent with 19th  century piano practice.

Leslie Spelman, who has spent a good bit of his extraordinarily long career promoting the "Eleven" in both recital and masterclass, sees a parallel to the above technique in No. 10 (see Figure 9). The notes with the horizontal bars added above them form a melody, and Dr. Spelman suggests holding them beyond their indicated value. The notes with the added slurs are to be held even longer. All the while, observing Brahms' molto legato indication and keeping the pulse nicely articulated in the bass.27 This exquisite chorale is also very pianistic and, in fact, is marvelously realized on the piano with a cello playing the cantus. Organists have been ending this piece with an a minor chord for nearly a century, and the A Major ending in the new editions--correcting an error in reading Brahms' autograph by the original editor Mandyczewski--sounds very strange to ears accustomed to the minor ending. But Henle edition editor George Bozarth points out that all of the minor-key preludes in the "Eleven" do, in fact, end with a Picardy third.28 A pronounced ritard in the penultimate measure and a generous observance of Brahms' indicated Adagio in the final bar does "set up" the A Major chord.

Soloing Out Melodies

In several of the Chorales, Brahms allows a clearly discernible melody in the soprano to move moments later to an inner voice where it can be obscured by the accompaniment above it. For example, this happens in measures 5-6 and 14-16 of Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen and measures 28-31 and 38-41 of O Gott, du frommer Gott. There are two schools of thought on this challenge.  Vernon Gotwals feels it is wrong to solo out melodies because this:

. . . shows an unawareness of the abstract nature of Brahms' conception.  It is wrong to emphasize any voice in the manner of the piano in these organ pieces, as Brahms knew that the melody would be lost when it dipped into the tenor in No. 7 or climbed from tenor to alto in No. 8. His subtle conception is destroyed by those who cannot forebear going beyond his precise registrational directions simply because it is physically possible to do so.29

Of course, this implies that in Op. 122 Brahms' conception was a total departure from almost everything he had written before. In his previous compositions, the pianists, instrumentalists and vocalists were able to emphasize and bring out musical lines in a way most suitable for the performance. I find it very unlikely that Brahms would prohibit emphasis of these obscured melodic lines--in fact, he probably would find the very question incomprehensible.

There are two ways to treat these lines. One can choose "solo" stops of exactly the same character as the accompaniment so that the principal difference between solo and accompaniment is volume, or one can choose a contrasting tone color. The former approach is probably more characteristic, although I must confess that the temptation to solo the tenor portions of Es ist ein Ros' on a Clarinet is very strong. The Clarinet was one of Brahms' favorite instruments, and if one has a nice one it may serve quite well. One doesn't have to play these works exactly the same way each and every time. The tenor melody in Es ist ein Ros' can be played on the pedals as suggested in the Biggs' edition (see Figure 10). But an alternative solution, which Leslie Spelman learned from Joseph Bonnet, is to play both the bass and tenor on the pedals starting on the third beat of m. 5, leaving the left hand free to solo the melody (see Figure 11).30

O Gott, du frommer Gott is one of the longest and most graceful of the chorales. One can very easily play the cantus on the Pedal 4' Chorale Bass. Draw 8' stops (at least the 8' Diapason and flute) on both the Great and Swell and couple them. Thus in the forte sections played on the Great, the Swell box can give an arch to the line. And in the piano sections played on the Swell, the box allows expression and perfect balance whether the solo soars out above or is buried within the accompaniment. The timbre of the Chorale Bass would be quite similar to the Diapason and flute of the Swell, with just a boost to the volume (see Figure 12). For emphasis one can add the Swell 4' Octave in measures 22-26, 50-54 and during the final five bars, but there is no indication that the forte section with which the work concludes should be significantly louder than the forte section with which it begins.

Repeated Notes

In the slower of Brahms' chorales, repeated notes in the soprano and bass should always be articulated, but there are some decisions to make about the inner voices. No. 11 O Welt, ich muss dich lassen is an excellent case in point. Though instances occur throughout the piece, the final three bars with their implied molto ritardando are critical. One might very well separate all the repeated notes in a room with five seconds reverberation. But see Figure 13 for a suggestion of adding ties on the inner voices to have the feeling of repetition without choppiness. This is not to say that Brahms should "ooze." In mm. 24-25 of the same chorale are two instances where added phrasing marks in the left hand and pedal can help set up the ending (see Figure 14).

Conclusion

Brahms' Chorale Preludes are very special compositions. As Fenner Douglas once observed, it's too bad for organists that Brahms didn't have a church job for a while, so that we might have more works from this master. I would urge those interested to seek out the cited articles by Bozarth, Gotwals, Miller, Peterson and Schuneman for a broader scope and fuller understanding of the problems and possibilities these works present. Playing these works expressively on the piano is also very helpful, as is experimenting with legato and super legato touch on the organ. Those who unlock the secrets of Op. 122 will not just have gained eleven lovely pieces for their repertoire--they will have learned things of inestimable value which they can apply in countless other works. n

Appendix: Survey of Opus 122 Recordings

The Early Recordings

Of the four late '50s and early '60s recordings, the best are by Robert Noehren and Franz Eibner, but none of them leaves you wishing for a reissue on CD. Dr. Noehren's Brahms (Lyrichord LLST 7123) is well played with sufficient rubato and convincing transitions between sections. But both of the Noehren organs he recorded on were totally unenclosed 2-manual organs with Positiv rather than Swell. The lack of a swell box and absence of registrational variety limited this recording.

Franz Eibner (Teldec SLT 43018-B) had the best organ of the early LPs. The 3-manual, 61-voice Walcker in Vienna's Votivkirche dates from 1878 and was certainly heard by Brahms. The organ's sound--with its rich palette of flutes, strings and principals--is most appropriate to Brahms. Eibner's playing, though consistently a bit stiff, borders on satisfactory, with suitable rubato at times but some awkward transitions. Some chorales, like Schmücke dich, he trots through with no regard to musical subtleties.

The other two early recordings are very disappointing. Karl Richter's recording on the Steinmeyer in the Herkules-Saal in München (Deutsche Grammophon 138906 SLPM) features a most unattractive organ sound. His registrations overemphasize screechy upperwork and de-emphasize the fundamental, sometimes creating a "music box" effect. Richter's playing is completely insensitive to the music, charging right through Opus 122 from start to finish.

Kurt Rapf's recording on the organ of Vienna's Ursulinenklosters is even worse, with an organ sound lacking fundamental but featuring prominent chiff on the manuals and a loud, deep and murky pedal sound. The plenum on No. 11 has searing mixtures, snarly reeds, booming bass and no "middle." Rapf's playing displays the fastest tempos at which these pieces have ever been recorded. All of the notes are there, but none of the music.

The Best of the Modern Recordings

(Note: All the CDs except Arkay include the complete works of Brahms.)

One of the most satisfying recordings to date is by Carole Terry on the 4-manual Flentrop of St. Mark's Cathedral in Seattle (Musical Heritage Society MHS 512523M). Blessed with a rich palette of principals and flutes in a gorgeous acoustic, the organ has a fine sound although the pair of Gemshorns on the Swell are a far cry from real strings. This recording was made before the recent rebuild added a wonderful 32' Posaune to the Pedal and an 8' Trumpet to the Great, plus enabled the 32' Prestant to actually speak. Ms. Terry's playing is simply elegant. She has a real empathy with Brahms and uses rubato and phrasing to create a truly musical result. The two settings of Herzlich tut mich verlangen are the high point of the recording: No. 9 is quite virile on a big registration and No. 10 is the essence of sensitivity.

Another fine recording on LP, unfortunately out of print, is by Bernard Lagacé (Titanic TI-38).  He recorded Opus 122 on the 1977 2-manual 23-voice Wolff organ in New York's Eighth Church of Christ Scientist. The neoclassic design has its limitations for Brahms, but Lagacé uses it fully and well. His playing is inventive, lively and sensitive.  Hopefully this recording will be reissued on CD.

Nicholas Danby made an elegant recording on the organ of the Church of the Immaculate Conception in London (CRD 3404). This 3-manual 44-voice organ is of some historical interest, having been built by Anneesens in 1876, rebuilt by Bishop in 1914, and completely remodeled in 1926 by Henry Willis III to the designs of G. Donald Harrison and Guy Weitz (organist from 1917 to 1967). Its virile plenum (with tierce mixtures), typically English reeds, rich foundations and colorful flutes make for a varied listening experience. Unfortunately, Danby failed to use the two sets of strings, but his playing is imaginative, solid and sensitive. A high point is an attractively up-tempo rendition of Herzlich tut mich erfreuen with well handled transitions between the forte and piano sections, and a sensible (that is to say, slight) volume differential between the sections. All in all, a rewarding experience.

The Interesting Middle Ground

Georges Athanasiadès has made a charming recording on the huge 103-stop Jann organ of 1989 in the lush acoustics of the wildly Baroque Basilica of Waldsassen (Tudor 790). It missed the first tier only because of a severe lapse of taste on the chorale No. 1, where the cantus in the pedal is registered on flue stops plus a set of tubular bells--the effect is ghastly. But in the remaining ten chorales, Athanasiadès proves to be a resourceful player who provides the most tasteful registrational variety of all the recordings. In Herzliebster Jesu and O wie selig he goes to an extraordinary effort to solo out the melody--unnecessary, but interesting and not at all unpleasant. He makes tasteful use of the tremulant on the pedal cantus of the second Herzlich tut mich verlangen and on a splendid rendition of Es ist ein ros'. In the final chorale he exhibits a sensitive balance between the forte, piano and pp sections, with a very attractive string celeste based pp section. Clearly Mr. Athanasiadès has many good ideas and much to offer on this CD.

Jean-Pierre Leguay, one of the four titular organists of Notre Dame in Paris, has made an impressive recording on the monumental 4-manual 1890 Cavaillé-Coll at the Abbey of Saint Ouen in Rouen (Euro Muses 590073 AD 184).  This organ--lavishly equipped with diapasons, a great variety of flutes, several sets of strings and reeds galore--is actually not far from what one might consider an "ideal" Brahms organ. All the stops are colorful, and there is a great amount of variety in the 8' range. The massed unison stops, which are exhibited in Herzliebster Jesu, sing beautifully. For a climactic effect, nothing in the recorded literature of Opus 122 quite matches the final section of the first chorale, where Mr. Leguay adds the 32' Bombarde to an already grand plenum. Some of the chorales, Nos. 4-6 and 11 for example, are given a rather indifferent treatment, but O Gott, du frommer Gott sparkles in a high-energy high-volume treatment with reeds in both the forte and piano sections. A tasteful Es ist ein Ros' alternates a beautiful string celeste with a quiet flute. Opting for contrast and clarity, Mr. Leguay gives the pedal cantus in Herzlich tut mich verlangen to a Trompette. This recording is recommended for generally excellent playing and a quite stupendous sound.

Jacques van Oortmerssen chose the 1906 Setterquist organ of the Kristine Church in Falun, Sweden for his recording of the works of Brahms (BIS-CD-479). This 2-manual 30-stop instrument is based on the French Romantic organs of Cavaillé-Coll, but the sound is a far cry from St. Ouen. There are some lovely individual stops, but the plenum with pedal is murky and a 2' Octava sticks out rather than blending. Oortmerssen's usually elegant playing is uneven, with one chorale singing and soaring and the next plodding quirkily along. He does observe the implied crescendo in O wie selig and builds to a satisfying forte.

Herman Schäffer chose a 4-manual 92-stop 1911 Steinmeyer at the Christuskirche in Mannheim for his Brahms recording (Motette CD 10711). This instrument offers generally attractive sounds and great variety, but Schäffer's playing is uneven. Herzliebster Jesu has no energy and a painfully slow O Welt, ich muss dich lassen (No. 3) falls flat, but these are followed by an energetic and stylish Herzlich tut mich erfreuen.  Schäffer loves contrast, and solos the melody in Schmücke dich on an oboe, the pedal cantus in Herzlich tut mich verlangen (No. 10) on a trumpet, and the melody in O wie selig on a Nazard combination (with the bass played on a heavy and murky 16' pedal). In Es ist ein Ros', Herzlich tut mich verlangen (No. 9) and O Welt, ich muss dich lassen (No. 11) the contrast between the forte and piano sections is far too great. Within these works, however, there are registrations of great beauty, including some luscious string celestes. In sum, the playing and interpretations are uneven and the largely original historic organ is of interest.

Recordings Of Lesser Merit

One might think that recording Brahms on a 1965 4-manual 56-stop Marcussen organ would give a thin, chiffy and uncharacteristic sound (Nimbus NI 882 286-909). On the organ at the Odense Domkirche this is not so, although the upperwork (used only in the first chorale) is too intense. Kevin Bowyer's registrations prove that this instrument can give an appropriate sounds to Opus 122. His playing is another matter, though--tempos seem either to be too fast or too slow. For example, he makes a race out of Herz-lich tut mich erfreuen. But whether the tempo is fast or slow, he doesn't offer much more than the notes. In O Welt, ich muss dich lassen (No. 3) he misinterprets the slurs over the two eighth note groups for a very choppy result. His favorite chorale would seem to be Herzlich tut mich verlangen (No. 10), as he gives a very sensitive performance of it (at 4:38 the slowest of all the recorded performances) with a lush sound and a lovely articulate solo flute with tremulant for the cantus solo. Would that the other ten chorales had had this degree of attention.

Jonathan Dimmock recorded Opus 122 on a 2-manual 26-stop Frobenius at St. Stephen's Episcopal in Belvedere, California (Arkay AR 6113). A visceral involvement with the music seems to be missing, and there are some note problems. Dimmock followed a basically conservative approach to registration, passing on the opportunity for a true forte even for No. 9 Herzlich tut mich verlangen. Although he did make good use of the Gambe Celeste in two chorales, it was an unfortunate choice to solo the melody in O Gott du frommer Gott on the Swell Oboe, because this precluded a significant contrast between the forte and piano sections, a key element of the work.  Whereas O wie selig is satisfying with a nice Oboe combination, No. 11 O Welt, ich muss dich lassen receives a perfunctory performance without the crucial implied ritards between the pp and forte sections.

Robert Parkins recording on the large Flentrop in the Duke University Chapel would seem to have a lot going for it (Naxos 8.550824). A lush acoustic, large organ, talented performer. Large as the Flentrop is, however, is has no expressive divisions and no strings--one wonders how Opus 122 would have fared on the spectacular Aeolian at the front end of Duke Chapel. Parkins gets around this limitation well, however, and the massed 8' tones provide needed warmth. His tempos are the key problem--Nos. 1, 2, 3, 7 and 9 are or are among the slowest tempos on record. The energy of these pieces drains away and you are left wanting to shout "Get on with it!" Balance this criticism with artful performances of No. 4, 6, 10 and an especially sensitive rubato in No. 11. Interesting though flawed, but at a bargain price.

Rudolph Innig's performance of Opus 122 has little to recommend it (Dabringhaus and Grimm MD+GL 3137). The 3-manual Klais organ at St. Dionysius in Rheine is a lightweight neoclassical design with lots of mutations which Innig, unfortunately, uses.  His interpretations feature separated pickups, which are decidedly un-Brahmsian, and a general lack of sensitivity to the music.

 

Notes

                  1.              Heinz Becker, "Johannes Brahms," The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 1980, Vol. 3, p. 161.

                  2.              Peter Williams, Review in The Organ Quarterly.

                  3.              Anonymous essay on "Brahms' 11 Chorale Preludes" on Lyrichord LP (LL 123).

                  4.              E. Power Biggs, Preface, Brahms' Chorale Preludes, Mercury Music Corporation, 1949, p. 2.

                  5.              Becker, op. cit., pp. 173-174.

                  6.              Robert Schuneman, "Brahms and the Organ," Music/The AGO-RCCO Magazine, September, 1972, p. 34.

                  7.              Schuneman, op. cit., p. 34.

                  8.              Jonathan Ambrosino, "Lessons with Dr. Courboin--A Conversation with Richard Purvis," The Erzähler, Volume 4, Number 3, January, 1995, pp. 3-4.

                  9.              Brahms' Complete Organ Works, ed. by Walter E. Buszin and Paul G. Bunjes, Edition Peters.

                  10.           Peter Williams, The European Organ 1450-1850, published by The Organ Literature Foundation, 1967, pp. 94-95.

                  11.           Vernon Gotwals, "Brahms and the Organ," Music/The AGO-RCCO Magazine, April, 1970, p. 42.

                  12.           Günter Lade, Orgeln in Wien, Austria, 1990, p. 184.

                  13.           Franz Ebner, Program Notes to Teldec LP: SLT 43018-B.

                  14.           Max B. Miller, "The Brahms Chorale Preludes Master Lesson," TAO, April, 1979, pp. 43-46.

                  15.           Schuneman, op. cit., pp. 32-33.

                  16.           John David Peterson, "Some Thoughts on the Sound of the Organ," The Diapason, April, 1981, p. 16.

                  17.           Schuneman, op. cit., p. 34.

                  18.           Imogen Fellinger, Uber die Dynamik in der Musik von Johannes Brahms, (Berlin and Wunsiedel: Hesse 1961), p. 20. Translated by and cited in Schuneman, op. cit., p. 34.

                  19.           The "median" is the middle value in a distribution of data--half of the times are shorter and half are longer than the median.

                  20.           Robert A. Schuneman, "Playing Around With Tempo," The Diapason, May, 1970, p. 16.

                 21.           Arthur Rubenstein, The Chopin Nocturnes, RCA 5613-2-RC (two CD set).

                  22.           Schuneman, "Tempo," op. cit., p. 16.

                  23.           Peter Hurford, Making Music on the Organ, Oxford University Press, 1990, p. 67.

                  24.           George S. Bozarth, "Brahms Organ Works: A New Critical Edition," The American Organist, June, 1988, p. 56.

                  25.           Miller, op. cit., p. 46.

                  26.           Less a brief "lift" on the first quarter note in measure one, so it can sound again on beat three.

                  27.           Leslie Spelman, in a February, 1995, masterclass.

                  28.           Bozarth, op. cit., p. 57.

                  29.           Gotwals, op. cit., p. 48.

                  30.           Masterclass, February, 1995.

Permission to reproduce segments from Werke für Orgel granted by G. Henle Verlag.

 

Other articles of interest:

Franz Liszt and Johann Gottlob Töpfer: A Fruitful Relationship in Weimar

Théodore Dubois and César Franck at Sainte-Clotilde

Brahms Opus 122 in score