Purcell's Tercentenary in Print: Recent Books - I

Henry Purcell: The Origin and Development of His Musical Style, by Martin Adams. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. xiii + 388 pages. $59.95.

Purcell Studies, edited by Curtis Price. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. xii + 305 pages. $64.95.

The Purcell Companion, edited by Michael Burden. Portland, OR: Amadeus Press, 1995. xiii + 504 pages, 16 b/w illustrations. $39.95 hardcover plus $6.50 s&h, $19.95 papercover plus $4.50 s&h. Available from the publisher, 133 S.W. Second Ave., Portland, OR 97204-3527.

Performing the Music of Henry Purcell, edited by Michael Burden. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. xvii + 302 pages. $85.00.

The books under review here comprise a second group of works published in recognition of the 300th anniversary of the death of Henry Purcell in 1695. Those in the first group--Henry Purcell by Robert King, Purcell Remembered by Michael Burden, Henry Purcell by Peter Holman--that were reviewed in the November issue of this journal (pp. 15-17), are general in outlook: they present the historical background of Purcell's time, provide a picture of his life from scattered sources, and establish a credible context for his compositional genres. The books now to be discussed, which include three collections of essays, are more closely focussed: they deal with specific aspects of the development of Purcell's musical style and performance practices, then and now. All of these works contribute much to deepening our appreciation of this 17th-century master from these diverse viewpoints, ranging from the social and musical setting in which he worked to the opinions of critics and musicians across the centuries.

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Martin Adams is at Trinity College, Dublin; his first book, Henry Purcell, The Origin and Development of His Musical Style, is a comprehensive exploration and analysis of Purcell's musical style. Unlike Peter Holman's study, which often discusses the same compositional genres within the broader context of Purcell's musical world, Martin Adams deals more closely with the influences of other composers, both within England and abroad, on Purcell's compositional development, particularly in the newly emerging ode and English opera. His declared intention is to demonstrate that, in spite of surface changes in Purcell's style during his lifetime, "he was a deeply conservative composer who had to struggle to reconcile the tide of the times--which he helped so strongly on its way, and which he identified primarily with Italian music--with the compositional priorities of his early music" (p. ix). In spite of the complex web of both native and foreign influences surrounding Purcell, Adams aims to identify those distinctively Purcellian musical traits common to the composer's output in diverse genres.

The evidence for these claims is presented in two separate but interdependent sections. Part One, "Stylistic development and influences," covers Purcell's lifespan in five chapters: his early years at court and home around 1680; the years of experiment between 1680 and 1685; the three-year period of progress, synthesis, and consolidation from 1685; the time of public recognition between 1689 and 1691; and the concluding period from 1692 to 1695, when Purcell was at the height of his compositional powers and public reputation. Part Two, "Analytical and generic studies," retraces Purcell's compositional life in greater depth and selectivity in ten chronologically ordered chapters dealing with the main genres: instrumental music, sacred music, independent songs, odes, and dramatic music. Considerable attention is devoted to identifying specific English and continental stylistic influences. Throughout the book, Adams notes Purcell's struggles to retain certain traditional stylistic elements while attempting to expand their expressive possibilities into new forms. Even so, he remarks on facets of Purcell's inherent conservatism, "not in the sense of being old-fashioned, but in that he seems to have been dissatisfied by modern developments which abandoned that polyphonic and motivic rigour characteristic of those earlier styles which interested him" (p. 14). 

The primary influences on the eighteen-year-old Purcell, as a precocious composer at the Chapel Royal, were the compositional models of his contemporaries, particularly John Blow and Matthew Locke; his later songs and odes exhibited indebtedness to Blow, and some of his instrumental pieces to his mentor, Locke. In Purcell's early experimental years, his vocal works evidenced the development of techniques suitable to the English language and the amalgamation of complex polyphony with modern structural methods; in later years he exceeded any of his predecessors in the development of musico-dramatic contexts in his operas.

As for continental influences, although Purcell may have encountered North European sonata manuscripts, and a number of Germanic composers were active in London in the 1690s, there is little indication of any direct dependency on German sources. Purcell's adoption of French models, on the other hand, is more evident in his songs, in his treatment of the instrumental chaconne, and in the stylistic features of other more elaborate works, such as Dido and Aeneas, King Arthur, The Fairy Queen, and Dioclesian. In spite of the prevalence of French practices, the more innovative Italian style appealed both to Locke and Purcell.

The extent and significance of Purcell's fondness for Italianate style can be appreciated by the fact that Adams refers to this matter in about one quarter of the pages of his book. In the introduction to the 1683 Sonnata's of III Parts: Two Violins and Bass: To the Organ or Harpsichord, a highlight of his experimental period, Purcell wrote that their dominant inspiration was the attempt to achieve "a just imitation of the most fam'd Italian masters." The reference may have been to any number of Italian composers, perhaps including Corelli, but particularly the works of Lelio Colista (1629-1680), whose compositional characteristics Adams compares with Purcell's in search of evidence of the tension between the latter's conservative and modern tendencies. Adams later identifies similar Italianate tendencies both in Purcell's instrumental music and in his vocal music, where specific techniques were adapted to forceful expressive and dramatic ends; they are to be found in such diverse contexts as operatic aspects of Dido and Aeneas, the musical processes of most movements of King Arthur, instrumental sonatas in The Fairy Queen and elsewhere, trumpet-style pieces from Italian sonatas in Dioclesian, choral and orchestral textures of the odes, and in the vocal and instrumental idioms of his music for the drama.

Adams' enthusiasm for Purcell's music is not confined to the master's most well-known works, but covers less-familiar pieces as well. At the same time, his even-handed treatment also notes occasional weaknesses and shortcomings, such as structural lapses, lack of organic unity and connectedness in large-scale processes, overpredictable repetition techniques, unfocussed internal cross-relations, surface flamboyance, and other misjudgments. Nevertheless, Adams makes a convincing case for Purcell's brilliant imagination, resourceful technique, and wide range of expressiveness that have contributed to his unparalleled reputation for mastery of text and music. This book, with its 151 musical examples and select bibliography of 116 references, is an invaluable companion in the search for a deeper understanding of the stylistic and expressive revelations of Purcell's extraordinary musical genius.

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In 1959, a collection of nine essays edited by Imogen Holst was published in recognition of the tercentenary of Purcell's birth; they dealt with some of the practical problems of editing Purcell's works for performance, and three appendices considered the manuscripts, their location, and their authenticity as autographs.1 Purcell Studies, a new collection of twelve specially commissioned essays, edited by Curtis Price, now principal of the Royal Academy of Music, London, is intended to complement the earlier collection. The majority of the essays incorporate recent research on Purcell's compositional techniques through a study of his manuscripts; other more specialized articles explore the relationship between Purcell and John Blow, and examine Purcell's court odes, performance practice, and the anatomy and subsequent revivals of King Arthur.

The articles dealing specifically with manuscript-related topics (Robert Thompson, Robert Shay, Rebecca Herissone, Curtis Price, Peter Holman) are a music historian's delight, with their meticulous consideration of dating and chronology, handwriting, ink color, paper quality and watermarks, and other physical evidence. In general, they attempt to ascertain the practical function of autograph manuscripts in Purcell's working life by reconstructing the compositional evolution of his scorebooks, along with his treatment of literary texts, revision techniques, and changes in musical language from the early to the later works. The discovery in 1993 of an autograph manuscript of Purcell's keyboard music generates speculation about the teaching function of the haphazard remainder of similar pieces, some of which might have been arranged from orchestral sources. Another newly discovered autograph score of an anthem by the temperamental cathedral musician Daniel Roseingrave raises questions as to why Purcell would have copied out, for teaching purposes, this interesting but imperfect work.

There is a topical affinity between one essay dealing specifically with Purcell's relations with John Blow (Bruce Wood), another analyzing Purcell's odes (Ian Spink), and a third connecting Purcell, Blow, and the English court ode (Martin Adams). Although the fact of the long relationship between Purcell and Blow is generally accepted, the essays in this book provide a deeper understanding of common structural links in their respective works, perhaps the closest between Blow's Venus and Adonis and Purcell's Dido and Aeneas. Their mutual interest in Italian music, similar orchestral techniques, and other imitative affinities point to a mutual and friendly rivalry in the interchange of musical ideas, although Purcell was the bolder innovator of the two. The particular consideration of Purcell's odes deals with poetic and literary models, the welcome songs, birthday odes, the St. Cecilia odes, and other miscellaneous odes. Taken together, although they contain much of Purcell's best music, the stilted and bombastic verses of the welcome songs and birthday odes in particular are full of political as well as classical allusions, and they often served as propaganda tools for monarchical legitimacy. It is claimed that the mutual influence between Blow and Purcell emerges most clearly in the court odes, which was a recognized poetic genre in England by the 1660s. The discussion of their respective musical treatments of these text-sensitive and flamboyant entertainments indicates that while Blow's technically imaginative search for new stylistic methods was a stimulus for Purcell, the latter's command of formal and stylistic elements accounted for his lead as a technical innovator by 1683.

Two paired articles deal with the elusive problem of the relation between musical time and expressiveness. The first (A. Margaret Laurie), which considers the matter of continuity and tempo in Purcell's vocal works, deals with the linking of movements through the logical succession of keys, common pulse, and transitional tempos. A possible connection between music and technology is behind the speculation that Purcell's fascination with new developments in clock- and watch-making in the 1670s might explain the introduction of clock timings into performance instructions--perhaps intended only for beginners--of some collections of pieces. Even so, Purcell did offer some explanations of time words, such "quick," "brisk," and "slow," to supplement given time signatures and to clarify his intentions. The complementary essay (Katherine Rohrer) on poetic metre, musical metre, and dance types in Purcell's vocal works seeks to demonstrate that his choice of particular musical metrical frameworks was dictated by poetic stresses in opening lines of the text. Moreover, his choices of rhythmical outlines often relied on contemporary French dance models, and many compositional decisions were highly rule-bound responses to various verse types. Nevertheless, Purcell's genius lay in his ability to transform these conventional forms into highly expressive works uniting text and music.

The two concluding essays on King Arthur deal with the anatomy of this work and its 18th-century adaptions, respectively. The first (Andrew Pinnock) deals with the collaboration between two foremost figures of the time: Dryden the dramatic poet and Purcell the composer. Tantalizing but unresolved questions about the dramatic opera concern the date of the original draft of the 1691 production, ambiguous satirical or allegorical allusions to royalty, subsequent revisions, mismatches between the poets's libretto and Purcell's compositional style, and the authenticity of both the text and the setting of some of the songs. The second article (Ellen T. Harris), after touching on parallels with Shakespeare's Tempest, analyzes several of the opera's later revivals, particularly the one in 1770 by the poet David Garrick and the composer Thomas Arne, a collaboration that was not without tensions regarding both the text and the music, disputes that perhaps reflected changing contemporary taste. Later revivals were marked by compressions, cuts, additions, and other "improvements," all of which fuel the contemporary controversy between coexisting revisionist and authentic viewpoints on the preservation of the original works.

Prelude and postlude: while Curtis Price shares the frustration of other Purcell scholars who have lamented the lack of direct information concerning the personality of the man himself, in an opening introduction he speculates that "a more general appreciation of his music will not arrive until that personality is better fixed in the public imagination" (p. 1). His tentative personality reconstruction of Purcell, derived both from those who knew him and from emerging knowledge about his compositional habits, points to a proud man, confident of his talent, sometimes brooding and irritable, who may have had a certain contempt for the inability of a tune-loving public to fully appreciate the subtleties of his music. The author of a concluding afterword (Janet Snowman) on the origin of a small watercolor portrait of the young Purcell, dating from the 18th century and now in the collection of the Royal Academy of Music, London, wisely avoids drawing any psychological character inferences from the picture, whose exact origin remains unknown.

The twelve essays in this book (including one by its compiler) are arranged in a sequential grouping of topics, proceeding from the general to the specific, that supplies a desirable continuity seldom achieved in edited collections of articles. While there is some overlapping content, this has been allowed to exist in the interest of completeness and internal coherence within the individual pieces. At the same time, the coverage of all of Purcell's major compositional genres adds to this overall survey of recent research on his work, a valuable supplement to the first such collection devised by Imogen Holst almost forty years ago.

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Michael Burden, Lecturer in Music at New College, Oxford, and director of the New Chamber Opera, has written widely on 17th- and 18th-century music and 20th-century musical theater. His compilation of selections from original sources, Purcell Remembered, was discussed in the preceding series of reviews about the composer. The Purcell Companion, a collection of articles by contributors of diverse backgrounds--university lecturers, scholars, music directors, editors, musicologists, radio producers--united in their interest and expertise in Purcell, cover all aspects of his work. The eleven essays are arranged in five divisions that deal with introductory matters, background issues, church and chamber compositions, the theater, and performance practice.

The introductory essay on the Purcell phenomenon (Andrew Pinnock) explains how Purcell acquired his reputation in his own lifetime and how his successors preserved it, particularly through such societies as the Purcell Club (1836), the Musical Antiquarian Society (1840), the Purcell Society (1876, still going strong), the work of biographers, notable performances, the marketing techniques of today's recording industry, and increasingly specialized musicological studies, as well as the tercentenary celebrations of 1959 and 1995.

The first of the three background essays (Jonathan P. Wainwright) deals with Purcell and the English Baroque, and advocates a recognition of the interconnections between the political, religious, and literary trends of the time. The recurrent question of foreign influences on Purcell is summarized in the judgment that Purcell's heterogeneous and versatile musical style is a synthesis of English (Matthew Locke, in particular), French, and Italian elements. A complementary essay (Graham Dixon) on Purcell's Italianate circle does not consider specific musical influences, but notes the publication of Italian music in London, the presence of Italian musicians and composers living in London, visiting Italian singers, and the approval of the literary figure Samuel Pepys, all of which could be taken as indicators of public taste. Even Purcell's reference to the unidentified "fam'd Italian masters" in his introduction to his Sonnata's of III Parts might be understood as a marketing ploy catering to the current vogue for Italian music. The concluding essay (Michael Burden) in the background series looks at Purcell's contemporaries: indigenous English composers of the time from the forgotten (Henry Cooke, William Child, Pelham Humphrey) to the remembered (Matthew Locke, John Blow), along with other minor composers and singers who performed in Purcell's works. There is even some speculation about Purcell's sociable drinking pals, for whom the published texts of the composer's bawdy catches had a certain risqué appeal.

The article on Purcell's music for the church (Eric Van Tassel)--the longest in the book: 99 pages and 26 musical examples--considers the various genres (full anthem, full-verse anthem, verse anthem, symphony anthem, and concerted anthem) and their chronological phases. Taken together, the analysis of these types is an intricate exploration into Purcell's transformation of musical language through the use of dramatic devices, linking of chorus movements, symbolism, word painting, imagery, the shaping of vocal lines, imitation and pictorial gestures, stylistic integration, and other richly expressive techniques through which Purcell transformed commonplace texts into works of artistic imagination unequalled in English church music. In a similar fashion, the reappraisal of Purcell's odes (Bruce Wood) attempts to provide a full picture of Purcell's musical development in this long-neglected genre. The poetic hack-work, feeble doggerel, and general poverty of the literary texts--one was written by a school pupil--have detracted from an appreciation of the musical qualities of the court odes, which include sumptuous orchestral writing, resourceful tonal plans, and assured counterpoint. Yet, Hail! Bright Cecilia! remains the grandest of 17th-century English odes; the less exalted Come Ye Sons of Art Away is no less fine in its musical illumination of ideas in the text. Purcell's creative vitality in the odes perhaps exceeds that in his anthems.      

The assessment of the little-known genre of consort music (Peter Holman) reveals different traditions, problems, and ambiguities, beginning with the term itself. Examples discussed here include overtures, chaconnes, pavans, fantasias, trio sonatas, and ayres, all of which are examined with respect to their scoring, musical language, harmonic style, and formal patterns. Remarks on the early history of these forms are supplemented by accounts of the role of the chamber organ and the introduction of the violin. The lack of success of the sonatas in their day is attributed to their serious contrapuntal nature, intended more for the player than the listener; the breezy, tuneful Ayres for the Theatre, on the other hand, gained popular status as they were reshuffled for later concert use.

The first of two essays on the theater (Edward A. Langhans) reconstructs the social context in which Purcell's music was performed by describing the two public London theaters and the varied audiences that attended the spectacles staged there. Detailed descriptions are given of their architectural features, the placement of musicians, illumination, audience behavior, stage design, scenery, and other elaborate technical mechanisms that contributed to the world of visual make-believe. The account of Purcell's theater music (Roger Savage) covers his career at the playhouse that occupied the last five years of his life, during which he was involved in the production of 40 shows at Drury Lane and Dorset Garden. His ayres and songs served small-scale preluding and interluding functions, while the overtures performed a framing or mood-mirroring function. The description of the interplay of ceremonies, masques, and magic in these musical spectacles, often involving supernatural elements and sacred rites, is supplemented by a close examination of Dido and Aeneas, in which Purcell contributed graphic musical sequences in support of these dramatic aspects. The connections in subject and treatment between this opera and Purcell's other dramatic works are also outlined in some detail.

Purcell in performance is the subject of the two concluding essays. The first (Andrew Parrott) focusses on several critical issues, with reliance on performing materials: keyboard tuning systems and their implication for continuo performance, the harpsichord and the viol as continuo instruments, theorbo-lutes and guitars, orchestras on the French model, expressive vibrato, woodwinds, pitch, and aspects of vocal resources and performance, all of which contribute to a greater understanding of the craftsmanship involved. The second essay (Roger Savage) returns to Dido and Aeneas through a consideration of a variety of production problems that confront present-day conductors, designers, and choreographers, for example: programming the short piece, the appropriate performing edition, the connection with Virgil's Aeneid, visual decor, the chorus, portrayal of the dramatic characters and main events, and unification of visual and musical stylistic elements. It is recommended that the attempt should be to produce a memorable event for contemporary audiences, not copies of an unknowable first performance at a boarding school for girls in 1689.

Like the preceding collection of essays edited by Curtis Price, the unity of Michael Burden's compilation is aided by the topical grouping of the essays. While the general reader will find the exacting level of detailed analysis difficult to assimilate, and even specialists and researchers may not want to attempt a cover-to-cover encounter with this book, the essays will repay repeated consultation in areas of particular interest. The editor's comprehensive bibliography of 284 items is an added scholarly bonus, and 16 black-and-white illustrations provide visual enrichment.

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Michael Burden's third contribution to the recognition of Purcell's tercentenary is another edited collection, but with a different origin and focus. As he explains in the preface, the fifteen constituent essays originated from a conference on the topic "Performing the Music of Henry Purcell," held in Exeter College, Oxford, in 1993. In this case it was the idea of a collection of essays that produced the conference, not the other way around. Even so, this collection does not represent the complete conference proceedings, for some of the papers presented have been omitted and others have been added. The result is a wide-ranging compilation of articles on diverse subjects, some of which do not focus directly on Purcell's music, but enlighten the reader on relatively obscure but nevertheless fascinating aspects of the social-cultural environment of the composer's time. Among the practical skills of the scholars responsible for these essays are those of violin maker, organ builder, choirmaster, musical director, stage designer, tutor of dramatic art, and stage producer--all of which add an aspect of authoritative, hands-on experience to their academic presentations.

The book is divided into two parts: eight essays on "Performing the Music" and seven on "Staging the Operas." An opening essay (Peter Holman) considers the evidence in existing Oxford manuscripts for reconstructing the conditions of the performance of Restoration music for voices and instruments; although the Oxford ode was a standardized type of composition, the scoring practice appears to have been quite diverse. A discussion of the features of the English organ in Purcell's lifetime (Dominic Gwynn) focuses on sounds and stops (the reception of imitative sounds), layout (location and casing of the main divisions), compass (ranging from 49 to 52 notes), and pitch (low and high, including the preferences of Robert Dallam, Thomas and Renatus Harris, and Bernard Smith). Violin-making in England is the topic of an essay (John Dilworth) that touches on both Italian and English design and construction practices in a time when "English violin making dragged itself from the dark ages to the renaissance during the short lifetime of Purcell" (p. 48).

The essays in the remainder of the first section deal with matters of historical performance. The discussion of Purcell's "Ekotick" trumpet notes (Peter Downey) reveals how the performance of nonharmonic pitches was assisted by the invention of a telescopic slide mechanism. An attempted reconstruction of the first performance of Purcell's music for the funeral of Queen Mary (Bruce Wood) confronts a number of problems relating to the choral music, the march, the drummers and what they played, instrumental textures, and the organization of the burial. An analysis of keyboard ornamentation (H. Diack Johnstone) subjects the influential "Rules for Graces," published in the third (1699) edition of Purcell's keyboard collection, to close analysis. Two complementary essays relating to vocal matters conclude the section on performance: the first, on Purcell's stage singers (Olive Baldwin and Thelma Wilson), yields insights into both the teaching and performance of singing at the time, with detailed references to leading personalities and their activities in the field; the second (Timothy Morris) focusses on voice ranges, voice types, and pitch in Purcell's concerted works, but shuns conclusive pronouncements in the face of inadequate evidence.

The first essay in the second part of the book that deals with staging the operas (Michael Burden) confronts the issue of dramatic integration (or its lack) by documenting varieties of "debauchery" ("corruption, debasement, or contamination of the original work") of past performances that departed from the original texts. The relentless attack examines instrumental arrangements, rearrangements of scenes and scores, extraneous music, costume designs, and various illogical versions; the condemnation extends even to the productions of such major Purcellian protagonists as Charles Villiers Stanford, Gustav Holst, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Constant Lambert, and Benjamin Britten. Next, a departure into the nonmusical world of allegory (Andrew R. Watling) provides a useful background for understanding topical or political allusions found in 17th-century dramatic texts and how audiences of that time might have unlocked their hidden meanings (specific reference is made to Dido and Aeneas). The place of dancing and the types of dance music also receives scholarly attention (Richard Semmens), with particular consideration of the French influence and the linking of music and choreography. The question of what Purcell's operas may actually have looked like is addressed in a discourse on costume and etiquette (Ruth-Eva Ronen) that describes wardrobe fashions of the time and the way people behaved. In the absence of other surviving evidence, the assembled recollections of two of Purcell's contemporaries, the lawyer-critic Roger North and the singer-actress Charlotte Butler, are suggestive of the reception accorded Purcell's stage works (Roger Savage). In particular, a reconstruction of the performance of Purcell's Dioclesian (Julia and Frans Muller) provides technical information about the scenery and staging of the production. The concluding essay (Lionel Sawkins) speculates on the question of a plausible shivering tempo in the music Purcell wrote for the Frost Scene in King Arthur, described by an 18th-century critic as "that exquisite piece called the freezing piece of musick."

Four appendices include a catalogue of surviving original parts of Restoration concerted music at Oxford, a list of 34 English viol- and violin-makers working in London in the second half of the 17th century, a documentary list of Purcell's stage singers, and a list of dances in Purcell's operas. Twenty-eight black-and-white plates relate exclusively to the staging of dramatic productions of the time.

This collection of essays, like the other two anthologies, has its own distinctive qualities: impeccable scholarship on the part of the authors, logical selection and organization by the editor, and much fascinating content for the readers, generalists and specialists alike. While there is little actual duplication of content among the three edited collections, there is enough subtle reinforcement on certain topics to provide a sense of literary déja vu for readers who have both the interest and persistence to explore all of them.

 The concluding remarks of the Introduction to Performing the Music of Henry Purcell provide an fitting conclusion to this series of books, along with a speculation on the future of Purcell studies and performances:

There are many hopeful signs that the Purcell tercentenary will not just have been an exploitation of the things we know best about the composer. . . .

This collection of performance studies represents not a final stage but a continuing process of exploration of Purcell's music and its present-day realization. It would be boring indeed if we ever reached a conclusion about these endlessly fascinating subjects. Every new performance must go on creating a different idea of the music, and Purcell's compositions, with their inexaustible possibilities, will make us rise to the challenge.2

In short, in Shakespeare's phrase, "Whereof what's past is prologue."3      

Purcell postscripts

Now that the 300th anniversary of Henry Purcell's death has
been celebrated throughout 1995, one may reflect on what was gained by such a
commemoration. Obviously, increased opportunities to hear a wider selection of
music by England's greatest composer was a plus, as was the extended repertoire
found on some programs which included previously-unknown or underrated works by
his contemporaries John Blow, John Eccles, Pelham Humphrey, and G.B. Draghi.
Just as Wanda Landowska wrote concerning 
J.S. Bach, " . . . it is impossible to play and love Bach when one
has little knowledge of those he loved and played and with whom his works are
tied intimately . . . " (Restout and Hawkins, Landowska on Music, New
York, 1964, p. 84), so both understanding and respect for Purcell's
achievements are enhanced by familiarity with the music created around him by
other composers.

An abundance (one might even say, a surfeit) of books,
magazine articles, and recordings has given us expanded resources for further
study and enjoyment of the 17th-century English repertoire.

Among the books, one of the best is also one of the least
pretentious: Henry Purcell by Peter Holman (Oxford University Press, 1994;
available in a paperback edition). Six chapters fill 250 pages. Beginning with
an essay on Purcell's musical world, Holman continues with studies of Purcell's
works genre by genre--domestic vocal music, instrumental music, church music,
odes, and theatre music. The text is illustrated with a generous number of
musical examples. The latest manuscript discoveries and recent scholarship (as
of 1994) are noted in Holman's account.

One of these important recent discoveries was the
Purcell/Draghi manuscript of keyboard pieces auctioned at Sotheby's in 1994,
and now safely housed in the British Library (as reported in The Diapason for
June 1995). The entire manuscript, including its nine previously unknown
pieces, has been recorded by Davitt Moroney for a Virgin Veritas compact disc
(CDC 5 45166 2). Playing three historic instruments from the Cobbe Collection
housed at Hatchlands Park, Surrey (a virginal by John Players, 1664; a single
manual harpsichord by Andreas Ruckers, 1636, enlarged to a double by Henri
Hemsch, 1763; and a single-manual harpsichord attributed to Girolamo Zenti of
Viterbo, 1622) Moroney gives elegant life to the Suites in A minor, C major,
and miscellaneous pieces by Purcell, a prelude by Orlando Gibbons, and four
suites by Draghi.

Another disc which affords much pleasure is Sweeter Than
Roses, a Purcell song recital offered by American countertenor Drew Minter on
Harmonia Mundi 907035. With the collaboration of Paul O'Dette, archlute; Mitzi
Meyerson, harpsichord and organ; and Mary Springfels, viol, Minter offers
probing, loving, and beautiful performances of nineteen Purcell songs,
including such favorites as "I Attempt from Love's sickness to fly in
vain," "If Music be the food of love," "Hark the echoing
Air," "Music for a while," and the title song, "Sweeter
than Roses."

If one wants to try some of these pieces with a favorite
singer, an excellent resource from Oxford University Press is Thirty Purcell
Songs in two volumes (available in editions for high or medium voice), edited
by Timothy Roberts. All of the titles mentioned above (with the exception of
"Hark the echoing Air") plus "An Evening Hymn on a Ground,"
the movingly-expressive "Blessed Virgin's Expostulation" (a dramatic
cantata concerning the Virgin Mary's rapidly changing emotions at the
disappearance of the twelve-year-old Jesus before he is rediscovered in the
Temple), "Dear, pretty youth," "Lord, what is a man?"--and
twenty-two additional songs--are offered with stylistic, clean accompaniments,
realisations of the figured or unfigured basses which enable the keyboardist to
see the suggested harmonies at once, but which still allow room for tasteful
elaborations or deletions, should one choose to make them.

"Music in Purcell's London" is the theme explored
in the quarterly journal Early Music for November 1995 (Volume XXIII/4). The
cover, a reproduction of an anonymous oil painting from around 1700, shows the
interior of Westminster Abbey, including the only known representation of the organ
Purcell played (discussed in a short essay by Dominic Gwynn). Other articles of
interest include "Music on the Thames in Restoration London" (Julia
K. Wood); "Music for the Lord Mayor's Day in the Restoration"
(Michael Burden); "Manuscript Music in Purcell's London" (Robert
Thompson); "From Barnard to Purcell: the copying activities of Stephen
Bing" (Sarah Boyer and Jonathan Wainwright); and "Continuo lutes in
17th and 18th-century England" (Lynda Sayce). Eric Van Tassel reviews the
eleven compact discs comprising the complete sacred music of Purcell (Robert
King and the King's Consort, issued by Hyperion)--a unique and enduring
achievement of the anniversary celebration.

It has been announced that a new edition of Purcell's
keyboard music is in preparation from the Purcell Society. (I have not yet seen
a copy, but the volume is scheduled to include the "new pieces" from
the Purcell autograph manuscript, also to be issued in a facsimile printing.)
Of the presently-available publications, the best remains Howard Ferguson's
exemplary edition in two volumes for Stainer and Bell. The Eight Suites
(S&B 5598) and Miscellaneous Keyboard Pieces (S&B 5606) are presented
with Dr. Ferguson's usual good musical sense (and taste). His discussion of the
very real problem with Purcell's ornament signs remains convincing (for
example, the ornament table, printed posthumously in the 1696 edition of the
Suites, may not show the proper formula for the mordent [beat]). Having the
alternate readings from various divergent sources makes this an excellent
resource, should one wish to make informed choices amongst differing versions
of a piece.

The inexpensive Henry Purcell: Keyboard Works
style='font-style:normal'> from Dover publications is a reprinting of a 1918
edition from J. & W. Chester (London). There are many divergences from
Ferguson's later, preferred reading of the sources. The volume does include
several works not included in the Ferguson edition: especially lovely is the
Voluntary in G Major for organ (Z. 720)--an Italianate work reminiscent of a
Frescobaldi elevation toccata, filled with exquisite slow-moving harmonies and
pungent dissonances; and the spurious Toccata in A (Z. D229), at various times
attributed to Purcell and also published as a work by J. S. Bach in the
original Bach Gesellschaft edition of that master's compositions.

The Toccata, probably an anonymous north-German piece, is a
worthy edition to the harpsichord repertoire (by that ubiquitous composer,
"Anonymous"). It sounds even better if the following notes are
changed: m. 18 last note, sop c-sharp; m. 51 first note, sop g-sharp; m. 53
last note, beat 3 soprano e-sharp; m. 81, last note, sop e-sharp. I have found
it helpful to add various ties, just as one would do in other 17th-century
toccata-style pieces.

When Martin Neary succeeded Simon Preston as Westminster Abbey's Organist and Master of the Choristers in 1988, a distinguished career reached its logical (if dizzying) pinnacle. From his early years as a boy chorister at the Chapel Royal, Saint James' Palace, through an organ scholarship at Cambridge and several subsequent prestigious appointments (notably St. Margaret's, Westminster and Winchester Cathedral), Neary's achievements are the stuff of which church musicians dream. His numerous honors include a Fellowship from London's Royal Academy of Music; and from 1988-90, he was President of the Royal College of Organists.

But to paint a picture of Martin Neary as the prototypical English cathedral organist would truly miss the mark.  For he has cast his net far beyond the narrow confines of the organ loft, championing early and contemporary music both within and without the walls of the Church. In addition to a thorough musical apprenticeship and solid academic background, he trained on both sides of the Atlantic as a conductor. An active and well-travelled concert artist, he won second prize in the first St. Albans organ competition, and has garnered considerable acclaim for his many recordings as soloist and conductor.

The following conversation took place at Westminster Abbey.

Mark Buxton: As we sit here discussing your life and work, it strikes me there that is a pleasing symmetry to your career. As a boy, you sang in Westminster Abbey under Sir William McKie at the 1953 Coronation. Today, over forty years later, you yourself are in charge of the Abbey's music. What recollections do you have of those early years?

Martin Neary: Well, I began my musical life at the Chapel Royal, where I was a chorister for some seven years. (Incidentally, that was an unusually long tenure.)  When I arrived, Stanley Roper was in charge of the music, although he was later succeeded by Harry Gabb, who also held the position of Sub-Organist "down the road" at St. Paul's Cathedral.

As a Chapel Royal chorister, I was fortunate enough to sing at the Coronation. This was a truly memorable occasion, with a magnificent program of music directed, as you mentioned, by Sir William McKie--one of my many distinguished predecessors here. And in a way, yes, the wheel has indeed turned full circle, as I have just recorded a CD of music from the 1953 Coronation with the Abbey Choir.1

MB: After your secondary education at the City of London School, you went up to Cambridge on an organ scholarship at Gonville and Caius College . . .

MN: Yes, although I began by reading theology, not music. The Professor of Music at the time was Patrick Hadley, a name familiar to many Diapason readers as the composer of the anthem "My beloved spake" and the carol "I sing of a maiden."2 Hadley was Precentor of my college, Gonville and Caius, and encouraged me to change from theology to music. In retrospect, this was a good move, as I'm sure that I would have been too frustrated in the pulpit, not being involved in the musical side of things.

MB:The theological training must have been useful to you in your work as a church musician.

MN: Actually, it has been of immeasurable help to me over the years. As a theologian, I was required to learn Hebrew, which has given me a greater understanding of the Psalms. Wonderful as it is, Coverdale's translation of the Psalter does obscure the meaning of the original text on occasion. The opening of Psalm 121 is a prime example--"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills: From whence cometh my help." This is often taken to mean that the psalmist looks to the hills for his help, and finds it there; in fact, no help is to be found in the hills. The psalmist's help comes from the Lord, of course, as indicated in the following verse: "My help cometh even from the Lord, who hath made heaven and earth."

On another, more practical level, learning Hebrew was an extremely valuable exercise. Reading from right to left developed an independence and mental agility which served me well when it came to playing trio sonatas!

MB: Prior to Cambridge, you studied organ with Douglas Fox and Harry Gabb. During your university years, you were a pupil of Geraint Jones, one of England's foremost Bach exponents of the period, and a teacher of great repute.

MN: Geraint Jones was indeed a great pioneer in the field of early music--Bach in particular. He was also a marvellous teacher; in fact, it was he who really taught me how to play. He had a remarkable knack for knowing just what to do with a piece, even one that he himself didn't play. For example, I remember taking Ibert's Musette to one of my lessons. I'm sure that he didn't know the piece but his comments were so perceptive as to suggest intimate acquaintance with the music. My success at St. Albans would not have been possible without his expert guidance and instruction.

MB: That was in 1963?

MN: Yes--at the end of my Cambridge studies, in fact. In many ways, 1963 was of tremendous importance in terms of my subsequent career. During my last year at Cambridge, I started doing much more choral conducting, and was awarded a conducting scholarship at Tanglewood after a rather unusual interview at London's opulent Connaught Hotel . . .

MB: Unusual?

MN: The "interview" itself consisted of nothing more than a conversation over tea . . . with no less a personage than Aaron Copland.  Without any doubt, this was the most useful cup of tea I have ever had!

Tanglewood was, of course, a thrilling and stimulating experience, especially since 1963 was Erich Leinsdorf's first year with the Boston Symphony. And thanks to Peter Hurford's good offices and introductions, I was able to play a fair number of concerts in the United States.

MB: And you pursued these interests-- playing and conducting--when you returned from America?

MN: When I arrived back in London, I was appointed Assistant Organist of St. Margaret's, Westminster--here in the shadow of the Abbey--under Herbert Dawson, who had himself been an Abbey chorister under Bridge. When he left in 1965, I succeeded him as Director of Music. I also taught at Trinity College of Music in London, while continuing my own organ studies.

MB: With Geraint Jones?

MN: Yes, and also with André Marchal in Paris. Marchal was a great source of inspiration, with his legendary legato and supreme skill in "placing" notes. He was a marvellous teacher, too.

Additionally, I pursued my interest in conducting by going on one of Sir Adrian Boult's courses, something which proved to be extremely beneficial.  Boult's approach was very direct: he believed that the best training for a conductor was, quite simply, to conduct. By this, he meant that the body must convey the musical mind, with the musical thought clearly articulated through the conductor's movements. The same goes for choir training too. At first, one just holds things together, but later, one must shape the performances. A conductor must be much more than a musical traffic cop!

MB: This must have been an exciting time to have worked in London, what with the rapidly growing interest in performing early music with a critical eye to historical detail.

MN: The early music scene was indeed burgeoning at the time. In addition to well-established exponents such as Raymond Leppard, unusually lively musical minds such as John Eliot Gardiner and Roger Norrington were beginning to rise to prominence. As you can imagine, the atmosphere was conducive to new developments and experiments.  I started various things myself, such as performances of Baroque passions with early instruments--something very new at the time.

MB: Who influenced you in this work?

MN: Walter Emery and Arthur Mendel, mainly. I had always been interested in their scholarly writings, and they were a major source of guidance and inspiration.

MB: The crop of new tracker organs, generally designed for a more sympathetic rendition, shall we say, of earlier repertoire, must have been an important stimulus too . . .

MN: Very much so. Of course, as musicological research continued to break new ground, conventional wisdom as to what was the "ideal" organ varied greatly. Thus it was that some organs came to be regarded as old-fashioned within a few years of their installation.

MB: Could you give us an example of one such instrument?  

MN: The Flentrop at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall [QEH]. This was a good organ, designed for playing earlier repertoire, yet its equal temperament and its pitch (A440) made it almost out-of-date after only a few years. Naturally, this caused no end of trouble whenever the organ was used with period instruments at their original pitch. I shall never forget playing Handel's B-flat Organ Concerto [Op. 4, No. 2] at the QEH, and discovering to my horror that the organ pitch clashed with the Baroque ensemble.

MB:  What did you do?

MN: I had to transpose the entire piece down a semitone. (You can imagine how much extra work that entailed!)  Since that time, I have always thought of that concerto as being in A . . .

MB: 1971 saw your appointment to Winchester Cathedral as Organist and Master of the Music. This is undoubtedly one of England's most coveted positions, and one which owes much of its lustre to what you achieved during your tenure there. At the time, however, did you ever feel that you might be sacrificing something by moving away from London's thriving musical life?

MN: In some ways, yes, I did realise that I would have to forfeit certain things, in particular playing with the London orchestras. On the other hand, I moved to Winchester with a very open mind. I was only thirty-one at the time, and went there with an "anything is possible" attitude.

MB: What possibilities did you discover (or create) there?

MN: It was clear that there was ample scope for extending the musical horizons. For example, none of the Bach motets had ever been sung by the Southern Cathedral Choirs (Winchester, Salisbury and Chichester), so that was an ideal starting point. At Winchester, we did a good deal of earlier repertoire, including the first British performance of Bach's St. Matthew Passion with period instruments. On such occasions as these, our top line would be augmented by a group of hand-picked singers from the Winchester area.

MB: But you don't do this at the Abbey.

MN: No, we use the choristers only.  In this way, the forces employed are more in keeping with those used by Bach. Our complement of men is smaller than Bach's, but the Abbey men are older and have stronger voices, thus compensating for what we lack in numbers.

MB: At Winchester, you were an ardent advocate of contemporary music too, with  performances and commissions of works by composers such as Jonathan Harvey--some of our readers will know his exquisite anthem "I love the Lord"-- and John Tavener. Of course, your affinity for the latter's output continues to this day, with the 1988 première (and 1994 recording, I might add) of Akathist of Thanksgiving.3

MN: I have conducted a fair number of Tavener premières, starting with the Little Requiem for Father Malachy Lynch in 1972. That work is very typical of the composer, inspired as it is by vast spaces. I think that this in turn both influences and inspires choirs which perform it.

As you say, Jonathan Harvey was another "Winchester" composer. (His son sang in the Winchester choir, incidentally.) My first contact with Harvey's work came when I played his Laus Deo for organ. There's an interesting story behind this: it takes only four minutes to perform and Harvey wrote it in a mere twelve hours. I spent more than thirty hours learning it!

Regarding "I love the Lord," he gave us this anthem in memory of his mother. It is a very simple, straightforward work, but worthy of Britten, I feel.

In my early years at Winchester, the new Bishop asked me to write a work for his enthronement using the text "TheDove Descending."4 I decided to ask a "real" composer instead, and approached Jonathan Harvey, who was teaching at Southampton University. (Southampton is situated in the Diocese of Winchester.)  He responded by writing a fascinating piece--"The Dove Descending"--although it posed some problems . . .

MB: Because of its technical challenges?

MN: Not only that, but also because there was considerable resistance to contemporary music. It was very unfamiliar terrain at the time, and the music was too difficult for many choirs. Today the situation is very different, because choirs have achieved a greater fluency in contemporary performance. The boys learn the music very quickly--a far cry from the early 1970s--and our men are able to read it at sight.

MB: That must be a prerequisite for professional men in cathedral choirs . . .

MN: Yes, especially here, given the sheer volume of music the Abbey Choir has to perform.

Incidentally, I should add that one of the gripes about "The Dove Descending" was the leap of a major tenth (E flat to top G) at the beginning of the piece.  Not to be dissuaded, I reminded the trebles of a Mozart piece in their repertoire which required negotiating an even larger interval--that of a twelfth!

MB: Before continuing our Winchester discussion, might I digress--since you've mentioned trebles--and ask you about the training your boys at the Abbey receive?

MN: We have regular daily rehearsals.  Nowadays, the training of choirboys proceeds with rather more vigor and liveliness than before, due in no small part to our greater understanding of how to work with a chorister's voice. Each boy receives individual training from myself and a voice coach, and we give them regular "check-ups." In my work at Winchester and Westminster, I have delighted in the challenge of working with boys aged 8-13. It is fascinating to see just how far one can take their voices, and I regard this aspect of my life as a great opportunity and blessing.

MB: As you look back on your time at Winchester, are there any special highlights?

MN: I think that 1979 was a banner year for us, signalling as it did the 900th anniversary of the Cathedral. One of my projects for 1979 was to arrange the first North American visit by an English cathedral (as opposed to collegiate) choir for twenty-five years. We were privileged to sing at several prestigious venues, such as the National Arts Centre in Ottawa, Washington's Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall in New York.

Now thereby hangs a tale. Carnegie Hall had an electronic organ which gave out on us just before the concert was due to begin. This necessitated a radical revision of our program, and our tour manager was dispatched in haste to search out suitable repertoire at our hotel.  Luckily, we had a piano at our disposal, and it gave suitable service in several pieces--Mendelssohn's "I waited for the Lord," for example. However, piano accompaniment is considerably less suited for Purcell's "Jehova, quam multi"!  We all felt that the opening words of the anthem--"Lord, how are they increased that trouble me"--were very appropriate that evening!

Fortunately, we received good reviews for the New York concert, and the tour itself was a great success. As a learning experience, it proved invaluable for future visits.

MB: You appear to have enjoyed your good musical relationship with North America.

MN: Oh, very much so. I spent a sabbatical in the United States--at Princeton--in 1980, and was Artist in Residence at the University of California/Davis in 1984. I have done some guest conducting in North America and have always enjoyed playing recitals during my visits there.

MB: Towards the end of your Winchester period, the Choir took part in the first performance and recording of another contemporary work: the Requiem by a certain Andrew Lloyd Webber . . .

MN: Our participation in the Lloyd Webber brought us a great deal of press and media coverage. The exposure was very good for Winchester, of course, but I hope that it was also beneficial for cathedral music in general. Likewise, our tours and appearances at the Proms.  Events such as these bring cathedral music to a wider audience--and that cannot be a bad thing, after all!

MB: Earlier, we talked about your contribution to contemporary music at Winchester. How are you pursuing this interest at Westminster?

MN: I have set myself certain goals for my time here, one of which is to commission ten new masses with today's liturgies in mind. By that, I mean that the Sanctus and Benedictus must be concise.

MB: How is this project progressing?

MN: Well, Jeffrey Lewis has written a fine mass for us, and Francis Grier's contribution, Missa Trinitatis Sancte, is a winner in every way.5

MB: And a commission from John Tavener.

MN: Yes. In 1995, we celebrated the 750th anniversary of Henry III's substantial contribution to the Abbey's fabric. He enlarged the building in 1245 in memory of its founder, Edward the Confessor. To mark this, a major work  was commissioned from John Tavener. Entitled Innocence, it is a work for all humankind, using Jewish, Christian and Muslim texts.6

MB: 1995 was very much an annus mirabilis at Westminster Abbey, with the 300th anniversary of Purcell's death. The Abbey marked the tercentenary in grand style; but that is material for an article in itself . . .

MN: . . . We would have enough material for a series of articles, I'm sure!

MB: What a good idea. . . .

Mention of Purcell brings us back to your long-standing advocacy of early music. What is your approach to maintaining and nourishing the tradition of earlier repertoire here?

MN: I agree with the truism that tradition depends on maintenance. So, in order to perform this repertoire with greater stylistic fidelity and conviction, we now have a chamber organ by Kenneth Tickell. It will be of great use not only in Purcell, but also in English music of the 17th-18th centuries.

MB: A useful supplement to the renowned Harrison & Harrison . . .

MN: Indeed. The Abbey now houses two splendid examples of British organbuilding. The Harrison & Harrison instrument was built for the 1937 Coronation, and has undergone certain modifications since its installation. The most recent work was carried out under my predecessor, Simon Preston, and included the addition of an unenclosed Choir, some new mixtures and the Bombarde division. This has resulted in a superb accompanimental organ which is very rewarding to play.

For obvious reasons, the Harrison is less at home in music of a "chamber" nature, so our new organ fills what was a noticeable gap. It plays at various pitches - 415, 440 and 465 - and comprises Flutes at 8' and 4'; Principals at 4' and 2'; and a Sesquialtera beginning at Middle C.  As you can see, Cornet Voluntaries are possible.  There's also a device enabling the player to cut off the stop, permitting echo effects. Kenneth Tickell has voiced the instrument according to our express wishes, and it is a much-valued addition to the Abbey's musical resources.

MB: Tickell is an organist himself, of course.

MN: And a very fine one at that: an FRCO, no less!

MB:  I see that there's some controversy in British organbuilding circles at present, stemming from the fact that non-British companies have been awarded several recent contracts of note.  (I daresay that a similar situation on this side of the Atlantic would occasion vociferous comment from our North American builders.) Yet in some respects this is nothing new in British organ circles: after all, European firms have been building organs in the United Kingdom for several decades now.  Do you have any comments?

MN: Well, I welcome the work of what are sometimes referred to as "foreign" builders  Many of these organs are eminently superior when it comes to playing the repertoire, although they do not always meet every demand made of them. I do believe that the importation of instruments from abroad has, in some way, encouraged native builders to cast aside the insularity that was so prevalent in their ranks some thirty years ago.  This is heartening, I must say.

MB: Before we end our conversation, would you be good enough to share some thoughts on current North American organbuilding with Diapason readers?

MN: I always admire what the best North American builders have achieved, especially when faced with unhelpful acoustics. Fisk's instruments have always given me great pleasure, as have those by the Canadian firm of Karl Wilhelm. I haven't yet seen the Meyerson Symphony Center Fisk in Dallas, but am greatly intrigued by the excellent reports I hear.  I certainly look forward to playing it one day!

The writer wishes to thank Martin and Penny Neary for their gracious hospitality and generous assistance in preparing this article.

Notes

                        1.                  Music from the Coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Westminster Abbey Choir; Martin Baker (organ); London Brass; English Chamber Orchestra/Martin Neary (Cantoris Soundalive CSACD 3050).

                        2.                  Highly recommended too is Hadley's (unjustly) neglected symphonic ballad for baritone, chorus and orchestra, The Trees so High.

                        3.                  Akathist of Thanksgiving. James Bowman, Timothy Wilson (Counter-Tenors); Martin Baker (Organ); Westminster Abbey Choir & BBC Singers; BBC Symphony Orchestra/Martin Neary (Sony SK64446).

                        4.                  This work was commissioned by the Dean & Chapter of Winchester Cathedral, and first performed there at the enthronement of the Bishop of Winchester, the Rt. Rev. John Vernon Taylor, on February 8, 1975.  The text is taken from T.S. Eliot's "Little Gidding" (Four Quartets); the anthem was published by Novello & Co. in 1975.

                        5.                  Francis Grier's Missa Trinitatis Sancte is included on Westminster Abbey Choir's recording A Millenium of Music (Sony SK66614).

                        6.                  Innocence was premièred on October 10, 1995. It is featured on the Abbey Choir's latest recording, Innocence and other works by John Tavener (Sony SK66613).

When Martin Neary succeeded Simon Preston as Westminster Abbey's Organist and Master of the Choristers in 1988, a distinguished career reached its logical (if dizzying) pinnacle. From his early years as a boy chorister at the Chapel Royal, Saint James' Palace, through an organ scholarship at Cambridge and several subsequent prestigious appointments (notably St. Margaret's, Westminster and Winchester Cathedral), Neary's achievements are the stuff of which church musicians dream. His numerous honors include a Fellowship from London's Royal Academy of Music; and from 1988-90, he was President of the Royal College of Organists.

But to paint a picture of Martin Neary as the prototypical English cathedral organist would truly miss the mark.  For he has cast his net far beyond the narrow confines of the organ loft, championing early and contemporary music both within and without the walls of the Church. In addition to a thorough musical apprenticeship and solid academic background, he trained on both sides of the Atlantic as a conductor. An active and well-travelled concert artist, he won second prize in the first St. Albans organ competition, and has garnered considerable acclaim for his many recordings as soloist and conductor.

The following conversation took place at Westminster Abbey.

Mark Buxton: As we sit here discussing your life and work, it strikes me there that is a pleasing symmetry to your career. As a boy, you sang in Westminster Abbey under Sir William McKie at the 1953 Coronation. Today, over forty years later, you yourself are in charge of the Abbey's music. What recollections do you have of those early years?

Martin Neary: Well, I began my musical life at the Chapel Royal, where I was a chorister for some seven years. (Incidentally, that was an unusually long tenure.)  When I arrived, Stanley Roper was in charge of the music, although he was later succeeded by Harry Gabb, who also held the position of Sub-Organist "down the road" at St. Paul's Cathedral.

As a Chapel Royal chorister, I was fortunate enough to sing at the Coronation. This was a truly memorable occasion, with a magnificent program of music directed, as you mentioned, by Sir William McKie--one of my many distinguished predecessors here. And in a way, yes, the wheel has indeed turned full circle, as I have just recorded a CD of music from the 1953 Coronation with the Abbey Choir.1

MB: After your secondary education at the City of London School, you went up to Cambridge on an organ scholarship at Gonville and Caius College . . .

MN: Yes, although I began by reading theology, not music. The Professor of Music at the time was Patrick Hadley, a name familiar to many Diapason readers as the composer of the anthem "My beloved spake" and the carol "I sing of a maiden."2 Hadley was Precentor of my college, Gonville and Caius, and encouraged me to change from theology to music. In retrospect, this was a good move, as I'm sure that I would have been too frustrated in the pulpit, not being involved in the musical side of things.

MB: The theological training must have been useful to you in your work as a church musician.

MN: Actually, it has been of immeasurable help to me over the years. As a theologian, I was required to learn Hebrew, which has given me a greater understanding of the Psalms. Wonderful as it is, Coverdale's translation of the Psalter does obscure the meaning of the original text on occasion. The opening of Psalm 121 is a prime example--"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills: From whence cometh my help." This is often taken to mean that the psalmist looks to the hills for his help, and finds it there; in fact, no help is to be found in the hills. The psalmist's help comes from the Lord, of course, as indicated in the following verse: "My help cometh even from the Lord, who hath made heaven and earth."

On another, more practical level, learning Hebrew was an extremely valuable exercise. Reading from right to left developed an independence and mental agility which served me well when it came to playing trio sonatas!

MB: Prior to Cambridge, you studied organ with Douglas Fox and Harry Gabb. During your university years, you were a pupil of Geraint Jones, one of England's foremost Bach exponents of the period, and a teacher of great repute.

MN: Geraint Jones was indeed a great pioneer in the field of early music--Bach in particular. He was also a marvellous teacher; in fact, it was he who really taught me how to play. He had a remarkable knack for knowing just what to do with a piece, even one that he himself didn't play. For example, I remember taking Ibert's Musette to one of my lessons. I'm sure that he didn't know the piece but his comments were so perceptive as to suggest intimate acquaintance with the music. My success at St. Albans would not have been possible without his expert guidance and instruction.

MB: That was in 1963?

MN: Yes--at the end of my Cambridge studies, in fact. In many ways, 1963 was of tremendous importance in terms of my subsequent career. During my last year at Cambridge, I started doing much more choral conducting, and was awarded a conducting scholarship at Tanglewood after a rather unusual interview at London's opulent Connaught Hotel . . .

MB: Unusual?

MN: The "interview" itself consisted of nothing more than a conversation over tea . . . with no less a personage than Aaron Copland.  Without any doubt, this was the most useful cup of tea I have ever had!

Tanglewood was, of course, a thrilling and stimulating experience, especially since 1963 was Erich Leinsdorf's first year with the Boston Symphony. And thanks to Peter Hurford's good offices and introductions, I was able to play a fair number of concerts in the United States.

MB: And you pursued these interests-- playing and conducting--when you returned from America?

MN: When I arrived back in London, I was appointed Assistant Organist of St. Margaret's, Westminster--here in the shadow of the Abbey--under Herbert Dawson, who had himself been an Abbey chorister under Bridge. When he left in 1965, I succeeded him as Director of Music. I also taught at Trinity College of Music in London, while continuing my own organ studies.

MB: With Geraint Jones?

MN: Yes, and also with André Marchal in Paris. Marchal was a great source of inspiration, with his legendary legato and supreme skill in "placing" notes. He was a marvellous teacher, too.

Additionally, I pursued my interest in conducting by going on one of Sir Adrian Boult's courses, something which proved to be extremely beneficial.  Boult's approach was very direct: he believed that the best training for a conductor was, quite simply, to conduct. By this, he meant that the body must convey the musical mind, with the musical thought clearly articulated through the conductor's movements. The same goes for choir training too. At first, one just holds things together, but later, one must shape the performances. A conductor must be much more than a musical traffic cop!

MB: This must have been an exciting time to have worked in London, what with the rapidly growing interest in performing early music with a critical eye to historical detail.

MN: The early music scene was indeed burgeoning at the time. In addition to well-established exponents such as Raymond Leppard, unusually lively musical minds such as John Eliot Gardiner and Roger Norrington were beginning to rise to prominence. As you can imagine, the atmosphere was conducive to new developments and experiments.  I started various things myself, such as performances of Baroque passions with early instruments--something very new at the time.

MB: Who influenced you in this work?

MN: Walter Emery and Arthur Mendel, mainly. I had always been interested in their scholarly writings, and they were a major source of guidance and inspiration.

MB: The crop of new tracker organs, generally designed for a more sympathetic rendition, shall we say, of earlier repertoire, must have been an important stimulus too . . .

MN: Very much so. Of course, as musicological research continued to break new ground, conventional wisdom as to what was the "ideal" organ varied greatly. Thus it was that some organs came to be regarded as old-fashioned within a few years of their installation.

MB: Could you give us an example of one such instrument?  

MN: The Flentrop at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall [QEH]. This was a good organ, designed for playing earlier repertoire, yet its equal temperament and its pitch (A440) made it almost out-of-date after only a few years. Naturally, this caused no end of trouble whenever the organ was used with period instruments at their original pitch. I shall never forget playing Handel's B-flat Organ Concerto [Op. 4, No. 2] at the QEH, and discovering to my horror that the organ pitch clashed with the Baroque ensemble.

MB:  What did you do?

MN: I had to transpose the entire piece down a semitone. (You can imagine how much extra work that entailed!)  Since that time, I have always thought of that concerto as being in A . . .

MB: 1971 saw your appointment to Winchester Cathedral as Organist and Master of the Music. This is undoubtedly one of England's most coveted positions, and one which owes much of its lustre to what you achieved during your tenure there. At the time, however, did you ever feel that you might be sacrificing something by moving away from London's thriving musical life?

MN: In some ways, yes, I did realise that I would have to forfeit certain things, in particular playing with the London orchestras. On the other hand, I moved to Winchester with a very open mind. I was only thirty-one at the time, and went there with an "anything is possible" attitude.

MB: What possibilities did you discover (or create) there?

MN: It was clear that there was ample scope for extending the musical horizons. For example, none of the Bach motets had ever been sung by the Southern Cathedral Choirs (Winchester, Salisbury and Chichester), so that was an ideal starting point. At Winchester, we did a good deal of earlier repertoire, including the first British performance of Bach's St. Matthew Passion with period instruments. On such occasions as these, our top line would be augmented by a group of hand-picked singers from the Winchester area.

MB: But you don't do this at the Abbey.

MN: No, we use the choristers only.  In this way, the forces employed are more in keeping with those used by Bach. Our complement of men is smaller than Bach's, but the Abbey men are older and have stronger voices, thus compensating for what we lack in numbers.

MB: At Winchester, you were an ardent advocate of contemporary music too, with  performances and commissions of works by composers such as Jonathan Harvey--some of our readers will know his exquisite anthem "I love the Lord"-- and John Tavener. Of course, your affinity for the latter's output continues to this day, with the 1988 première (and 1994 recording, I might add) of Akathist of Thanksgiving.3

MN: I have conducted a fair number of Tavener premières, starting with the Little Requiem for Father Malachy Lynch in 1972. That work is very typical of the composer, inspired as it is by vast spaces. I think that this in turn both influences and inspires choirs which perform it.

As you say, Jonathan Harvey was another "Winchester" composer. (His son sang in the Winchester choir, incidentally.) My first contact with Harvey's work came when I played his Laus Deo for organ. There's an interesting story behind this: it takes only four minutes to perform and Harvey wrote it in a mere twelve hours. I spent more than thirty hours learning it!

Regarding "I love the Lord," he gave us this anthem in memory of his mother. It is a very simple, straightforward work, but worthy of Britten, I feel.

In my early years at Winchester, the new Bishop asked me to write a work for his enthronement using the text "TheDove Descending."4 I decided to ask a "real" composer instead, and approached Jonathan Harvey, who was teaching at Southampton University. (Southampton is situated in the Diocese of Winchester.)  He responded by writing a fascinating piece--"The Dove Descending"--although it posed some problems . . .

MB: Because of its technical challenges?

MN: Not only that, but also because there was considerable resistance to contemporary music. It was very unfamiliar terrain at the time, and the music was too difficult for many choirs. Today the situation is very different, because choirs have achieved a greater fluency in contemporary performance. The boys learn the music very quickly--a far cry from the early 1970s--and our men are able to read it at sight.

MB: That must be a prerequisite for professional men in cathedral choirs . . .

MN: Yes, especially here, given the sheer volume of music the Abbey Choir has to perform.

Incidentally, I should add that one of the gripes about "The Dove Descending" was the leap of a major tenth (E flat to top G) at the beginning of the piece.  Not to be dissuaded, I reminded the trebles of a Mozart piece in their repertoire which required negotiating an even larger interval--that of a twelfth!

MB: Before continuing our Winchester discussion, might I digress--since you've mentioned trebles--and ask you about the training your boys at the Abbey receive?

MN: We have regular daily rehearsals.  Nowadays, the training of choirboys proceeds with rather more vigor and liveliness than before, due in no small part to our greater understanding of how to work with a chorister's voice. Each boy receives individual training from myself and a voice coach, and we give them regular "check-ups." In my work at Winchester and Westminster, I have delighted in the challenge of working with boys aged 8-13. It is fascinating to see just how far one can take their voices, and I regard this aspect of my life as a great opportunity and blessing.

MB: As you look back on your time at Winchester, are there any special highlights?

MN: I think that 1979 was a banner year for us, signalling as it did the 900th anniversary of the Cathedral. One of my projects for 1979 was to arrange the first North American visit by an English cathedral (as opposed to collegiate) choir for twenty-five years. We were privileged to sing at several prestigious venues, such as the National Arts Centre in Ottawa, Washington's Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall in New York.

Now thereby hangs a tale. Carnegie Hall had an electronic organ which gave out on us just before the concert was due to begin. This necessitated a radical revision of our program, and our tour manager was dispatched in haste to search out suitable repertoire at our hotel.  Luckily, we had a piano at our disposal, and it gave suitable service in several pieces--Mendelssohn's "I waited for the Lord," for example. However, piano accompaniment is considerably less suited for Purcell's "Jehova, quam multi"!  We all felt that the opening words of the anthem--"Lord, how are they increased that trouble me"--were very appropriate that evening!

Fortunately, we received good reviews for the New York concert, and the tour itself was a great success. As a learning experience, it proved invaluable for future visits.

MB: You appear to have enjoyed your good musical relationship with North America.

MN: Oh, very much so. I spent a sabbatical in the United States--at Princeton--in 1980, and was Artist in Residence at the University of California/Davis in 1984. I have done some guest conducting in North America and have always enjoyed playing recitals during my visits there.

MB: Towards the end of your Winchester period, the Choir took part in the first performance and recording of another contemporary work: the Requiem by a certain Andrew Lloyd Webber . . .

MN: Our participation in the Lloyd Webber brought us a great deal of press and media coverage. The exposure was very good for Winchester, of course, but I hope that it was also beneficial for cathedral music in general. Likewise, our tours and appearances at the Proms.  Events such as these bring cathedral music to a wider audience--and that cannot be a bad thing, after all!

MB: Earlier, we talked about your contribution to contemporary music at Winchester. How are you pursuing this interest at Westminster?

MN: I have set myself certain goals for my time here, one of which is to commission ten new masses with today's liturgies in mind. By that, I mean that the Sanctus and Benedictus must be concise.

MB: How is this project progressing?

MN: Well, Jeffrey Lewis has written a fine mass for us, and Francis Grier's contribution, Missa Trinitatis Sancte, is a winner in every way.5

MB: And a commission from John Tavener.

MN: Yes. In 1995, we celebrated the 750th anniversary of Henry III's substantial contribution to the Abbey's fabric. He enlarged the building in 1245 in memory of its founder, Edward the Confessor. To mark this, a major work  was commissioned from John Tavener. Entitled Innocence, it is a work for all humankind, using Jewish, Christian and Muslim texts.6

MB: 1995 was very much an annus mirabilis at Westminster Abbey, with the 300th anniversary of Purcell's death. The Abbey marked the tercentenary in grand style; but that is material for an article in itself . . .

MN: . . . We would have enough material for a series of articles, I'm sure!

MB: What a good idea. . . .

Mention of Purcell brings us back to your long-standing advocacy of early music. What is your approach to maintaining and nourishing the tradition of earlier repertoire here?

MN: I agree with the truism that tradition depends on maintenance. So, in order to perform this repertoire with greater stylistic fidelity and conviction, we now have a chamber organ by Kenneth Tickell. It will be of great use not only in Purcell, but also in English music of the 17th-18th centuries.

MB: A useful supplement to the renowned Harrison & Harrison . . .

MN: Indeed. The Abbey now houses two splendid examples of British organbuilding. The Harrison & Harrison instrument was built for the 1937 Coronation, and has undergone certain modifications since its installation. The most recent work was carried out under my predecessor, Simon Preston, and included the addition of an unenclosed Choir, some new mixtures and the Bombarde division. This has resulted in a superb accompanimental organ which is very rewarding to play.

For obvious reasons, the Harrison is less at home in music of a "chamber" nature, so our new organ fills what was a noticeable gap. It plays at various pitches - 415, 440 and 465 - and comprises Flutes at 8' and 4'; Principals at 4' and 2'; and a Sesquialtera beginning at Middle C.  As you can see, Cornet Voluntaries are possible.  There's also a device enabling the player to cut off the stop, permitting echo effects. Kenneth Tickell has voiced the instrument according to our express wishes, and it is a much-valued addition to the Abbey's musical resources.

MB: Tickell is an organist himself, of course.

MN: And a very fine one at that: an FRCO, no less!

MB:  I see that there's some controversy in British organbuilding circles at present, stemming from the fact that non-British companies have been awarded several recent contracts of note.  (I daresay that a similar situation on this side of the Atlantic would occasion vociferous comment from our North American builders.) Yet in some respects this is nothing new in British organ circles: after all, European firms have been building organs in the United Kingdom for several decades now.  Do you have any comments?

MN: Well, I welcome the work of what are sometimes referred to as "foreign" builders  Many of these organs are eminently superior when it comes to playing the repertoire, although they do not always meet every demand made of them. I do believe that the importation of instruments from abroad has, in some way, encouraged native builders to cast aside the insularity that was so prevalent in their ranks some thirty years ago.  This is heartening, I must say.

MB: Before we end our conversation, would you be good enough to share some thoughts on current North American organbuilding with Diapason readers?

MN: I always admire what the best North American builders have achieved, especially when faced with unhelpful acoustics. Fisk's instruments have always given me great pleasure, as have those by the Canadian firm of Karl Wilhelm. I haven't yet seen the Meyerson Symphony Center Fisk in Dallas, but am greatly intrigued by the excellent reports I hear.  I certainly look forward to playing it one day!          

The writer wishes to thank Martin and Penny Neary for their gracious hospitality and generous assistance in preparing this article.

James B. Hartman is Senior Academic Editor for publications of the Distance Education Program, Continuing Education Division, The University of Manitoba. His recent publications include articles on the early histories of music and theater in Manitoba. He is a frequent contributor of book reviews and articles to The Diapason.

                  All excellent things are as difficult as they are rare.

--Baruch Spinoza, Ethics (1677)

The organ has been a prominent feature of the musical life of Canada since the earliest days of the first European settlement. The first organs were brought from France to Québec City around 1600 and organbuilding flourished mainly in Québec and Ontario from the mid-nineteenth century onward.1 Growth in organbuilding accelerated in the years 1880-1950 following the establishment of Casavant Frères in 1879 in Saint-Hyacinthe, Québec. Therefore it is not surprising that organists became prominent around the same time.

As soon as trained musicians began arriving in Canada, usually from England, many of them opened music studios to offer private instruction in piano, voice, organ, and violin. Some were also active in community orchestras or served as church organists and choirmasters. A few took employment in local music stores to supplement their meagre income from professional duties. With the advent of silent films in the early 1900s some organists obtained positions at theaters that had installed pipe organs where they played improvised or specially arranged accompaniments to the events unfolding on the silver screen.

Although the great majority of organists were known only in their local communities, some gifted individuals achieved wider recognition by making exceptional contributions to the musical culture of the country. This article will chronicle the careers and accomplishments of seven such outstanding organists who were active in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

Frederick H. Torrington (1837- 1917) was born in Dudley, near Birmingham, England, where he received his early musical training. Later studies in piano, organ, theory, and choral music led to his position as organist at St. Ann's Church in Bewdley at the age of sixteen.

Torrington moved to Canada in 1856, first working as a piano tuner in Montréal then as organist-choirmaster at St. James Street Methodist Church. He taught privately and at several schools, and conducted instrumental and choral groups, including the Montréal Amateur Musical Union. For three years he was bandmaster of the 25th Regiment, Queen's Own Borderers. In 1869 he organized the Canadian section of an orchestra that performed in the First Peace Jubilee in Boston. In the same year he settled in Boston to become organist at King's Chapel and to join the New England Conservatory of Music as teacher of piano and organ; he also conducted various choral groups and was violinist in the Harvard (later Boston) Symphony Orchestra. He gave organ recitals in Boston, New York, and other eastern cities.

In 1873 Torrington returned to Canada to become organist-choirmaster at Metropolitan Methodist Church in Toronto and conductor of the Toronto Philharmonic Society 1873-94. His influence on the musical life of Toronto included conducting choral-orchestral works and organizing musical festivals. Other activities included director of music at the Ontario Ladies' College in Whitby, conductor of the Hamilton Philharmonic Society in the 1880s, and founder of the Toronto Conservatory of Music in 1888, serving as its director until his death.

In the late 1880s Torrington became president of a group modelled on the Royal College of Organists, founded in England in 1864, dedicated to uniting organists and raising the standards of the profession. Although his group did not last for long, it was a predecessor of the Canadian College of Organists, founded in 1909. Torrington's work with various amateur orchestras led to the formal establishment of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra in 1906. He left his organist post at Metropolitan Church in 1907 for a similar position at High Park Methodist Church.

It should be recalled that in these times the organ was regarded as a substitute for the orchestra; consequently, organ recital programs usually included a number of transcriptions. For example, one of Torrington's recitals in 1869 included Rossini's William Tell Overture and the Andante from Beethoven's Septet on the same program with Mendelssohn's Organ Sonata No. 1. Nevertheless, Torrington championed the music of Bach, and his performances of the master's works were enthusiastically received by his audiences. He composed several patriotic songs, a choral work, and some organ music.

Herbert A. Fricker (1868-1943) was born in Canterbury, England, where he received his early musical training as a chorister, and later as assistant organist, at Canterbury Cathedral. In London he studied with Frederick Bridge and Edwin Lemare. His subsequent career in Leeds included city organist, symphony orchestra founder and conductor, and festival choirmaster, along with other positions as organist in various churches and schools, and as a choral society conductor.

Fricker came to Canada in 1917 to become conductor of the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir, a position he held until 1942. His cross-border musical activities began immediately with his choir's program with the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra under Leopold Stokowski in 1918; this reciprocal association continued for seven years. Under Fricker's leadership the choir gave Canadian premieres of several major choral works by such composers as Beethoven, Berlioz, and Walton. Fricker served as organist at Metropolitan United Church, Toronto 1917-43, organ instructor at the Toronto Conservatory of Music 1918-32, staff member at the University of Toronto, and conductor of the Canadian National Exhibition chorus 1922-34. He was an active organ recitalist and adjudicated many competition festivals. He was president of the Canadian College of Organists 1925-6.

Fricker composed several organ works and made arrangements for organ, all published by various London firms. His choral pieces included both sacred and secular works. Over his lifetime Fricker accumulated an extensive library of books and musical scores that were given to Toronto libraries after his death.

William Hewlett (1873-1940) was born in Batheaston, England, where he was a choirboy at Bath Abbey before moving to Canada with his family in 1884.

In his new country he enrolled at the Toronto Conservatory of Music where he studied organ, piano, theory, and orchestration, graduating in 1893 with a gold medal for organ playing and extemporization. While in Toronto he served as organist-choirmaster at Carlton Street Methodist Church at the age of seventeen. In 1895 he moved to London, Ontario, to become organist-choirmaster at Dundas Centre Methodist Church and conductor of the London Vocal Society 1896-1902. Later he moved to Hamilton, Ontario, to become musical director at Centenary Methodist Church 1902-38; his Twilight Recitals on Saturday afternoons were a significant aspect of the Hamilton music scene for about twenty-five years. He was one of the founders of the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir and served as its first accompanist 1895-7, and he accompanied the celebrated singers Ernestine Schumann-Heink and Dame Clara Butt when they visited Canada. He was one of the co-directors of the Hamilton Conservatory of Music and served as its sole principal 1918-39; during this time he travelled widely in Canada as adjudicator and examiner. He conducted the Elgar Choir, which was frequently joined by the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra. In 1927 he conducted a 1000-voice choir in a celebration of the sixtieth anniversary of the Confederation of Canada.

Hewlett was a prolific composer in the smaller forms; he contributed to the Methodist Hymn and Tune Book (1917) and was one of the compilers of the United Church Hymnary (1930). He was one of the most respected Canadian organists of his generation and an expert on church organ installations. He served as national president of the Canadian College of Organists 1928-9.

Healey Willan (1880-1968) was born in Balham (later part of London), England, and was taught music at the age of four by his mother and his governess. At the age of eight he entered St. Saviour's Choir School, Eastbourne, where he studied piano and organ. By the age of eleven he directed the choir and alternated with the incumbent organist in playing evensong services. After private organ study in London he served as organist-choirmaster at three churches in various parts of England in succession 1898-1913. During this time he developed a reputation as an authority on plainchant in the vernacular (i.e., English, not Latin).

Willan came to Canada in 1913 to head the theory department of the Toronto Conservatory of Music and to become organist-choirmaster at St. Paul's Anglican Church, Toronto. His recital programs around this time exhibited his comprehensive repertoire, including much English music. In 1914 he was appointed lecturer and examiner for the University of Toronto and served as director of the university's Hart House Theatre, writing and conducting music for plays. He was vice-principal of the Toronto Conservatory of Music 1919-25 but his position was terminated as an economy measure and possibly on account of internal politicking involving Ernest MacMillan (see below). In 1921 he became organist-choirmaster at the Anglican Church of St. Mary Magdalene, an association that continued until his death; while there he introduced an Anglo-Catholic style of service music.

Apparently Willan possessed a facetious brand of wit: he was heard to say that the organ was a dull instrument, that organ recitals bored him, and that he was unable to play his own major compositions. On being elected president of the Arts and Letters Club of Toronto in 1923 he promptly set its constitution to music.

Willan held many influential appointments: member of the Arts and Letters Club for fifty years, president 1923; president of the Canadian College of Organists 1922-3, 1933-5; honorary president and life member of the Royal Canadian College of Organists; university organist at the University of Toronto 1932-64 and teacher of counterpoint and composition 1937-50; president of the Authors and Composers Association of Canada 1933; chairman of the board of examiners of Bishop's University; summer guest lecturer at the University of Michigan 1937, 1938; chairman of the British Organ Restoration Fund to help finance the rebuilding of the organ at Coventry Cathedral 1943; summer guest lecturer at the University of California at Los Angeles 1949; co-founder and musical director of the Gregorian Association of Toronto, 1950; founder and musical director of the Toronto Diocesan Choir School; and fellow of the Ancient Monuments Society of England. He was commissioned to compose an anthem for the coronation of Elizabeth II in 1953, the first nonresident of Britain to be so honored.

Willan's public honors included the Canada Council Medal 1961, Companion of the Order of Canada 1967, and a diploma from the Province of Ontario in recognition of his role in Canadian musical life. A group of his admirers formed the Healey Willan Centennial Celebration Committee to encourage activities marking the centenary of his birth in 1980, and the Canada Post Office issued a commemorative stamp bearing his portrait.2

Willan was a prolific composer. His works encompassed dramatic music, vocal music with instrumental ensemble, works for orchestra and band, chamber music, piano works, organ works,3 and choral works; many of the latter have been recorded by groups in Canada, the USA, and England. He also wrote twenty-four articles on church music and organ playing.4

Lynwood Farnam (1885-1930), who became a legend in the organ world, was born in Sutton, Québec, a small town southeast of Montréal. Following basic musical training he continued his studies for three years as a scholarship student at the Royal College of Music in London, England, beginning in 1900. He held several church positions in Montréal and taught at the McGill Conservatorium until accepting a post at Emmanuel Church, Boston, in 1913. The story is that he impressed the audition committee by presenting a list of 200 pieces that he had committed to memory, stating that he was willing to perform any of them; he was hired immediately.

After overseas service during the war Farnam became organist-choirmaster at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, New York, in 1919. By the time he played his last recital there in 1920 he had given 500 organ recitals. As a concert organist his performances were noted for their flawless technique, infallible memory, and profound musicianship. His reputation was consolidated among his colleagues by a dazzling performance for the American Guild of Organists in 1920. In 1925 he made organ rolls for two companies that manufactured player organs. 

Farnam's New York fame gained him an appointment in 1927 as head of the organ department at the Curtis Institute of Music, Philadelphia, where he taught weekly until his death at the age of forty-five. His pupils included a number of prominent Canadian and American organists. At the climax of his career in 1928-9 he played the complete organ works of Bach in twenty recitals in New York, repeating each program at least once in response to public demand.

Although Farnam did no improvising and composed only one piece for organ, he was one of the great interpreters of his time, introducing North American and European audiences to contemporary organ music, particularly that of French and American composers, as well as to the forerunners of Bach. Louis Vierne dedicated his Organ Symphony No. 6 (1931) to Farnam's memory.

Ernest MacMillan (1893-1973) was born in Mimico (Metropolitan Toronto), the son of a Scottish Presbyterian minister who became an internationally recognized hymnologist. He began his organ study at the age of eight with the organist of Sherbourne Street Methodist Church in Toronto and performed in public shortly thereafter. He accompanied his father to Edinburgh, Scotland 1905-8, where he had the opportunity to take lessons from Alfred Hollins, the noted blind organist, occasionally substituting for him at St. George's West Church, Edinburgh. Around the same time he enrolled in music classes at the University of Edinburgh in preparation for his first diploma. Upon returning to Toronto, now at the age of fifteen, he took an appointment as organist at Knox Presbyterian Church, where he remained for two years. He then returned to Edinburgh and London to complete his work for the Fellow, Royal College of Organists diploma and extramural Bachelor of Music degree at Oxford University, both awarded in 1911 before his eighteenth birthday. Back in Toronto he served as organist-choirmaster at St. Paul's Presbyterian Church in Hamilton, commuting on weekends.

Thinking that his piano training had been neglected on account of his concentration on the organ, he went to Paris in 1914 for private study. While visiting Germany at the outbreak of war he was detained as a prisoner of war; there he befriended other English composers (including Quentin Maclean, see below), organized a camp orchestra for musicals, and concentrated on composition, including a work later submitted as part of the requirements for his Doctor of Music degree from Oxford University.

Back in Canada in 1919 he embarked on a lecture-recital tour of the west in which he played organ pieces and described his experiences as a war prisoner. In 1920 he began teaching organ and piano at the Canadian Academy of Music, and in 1926 became principal of the amalgamated Toronto Conservatory of Music. As an examiner and festival adjudicator, he travelled extensively throughout Canada offering stimulation and encouragement for musical development in small centers. In the following year he became dean of the Faculty of Music at the University of Toronto, initially a titular position.

By this time MacMillan had moved away from the organ as an exclusive preoccupation; his new interests included education, administration, and developing systems and policies, although he continued to conduct and to compose new music and arrange old music as required. One of his unusual projects, in collaboration with an ethnologist in 1927, was recording and notating music of native peoples in northern British Columbia. In 1931 MacMillan became conductor of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, a position that enabled him to develop an unused potential. In 1935 King George V knighted him for his services to music in Canada. In the late 1930s he gained fame as a conductor in the USA, appearing in such prominent series as the Hollywood Bowl concerts and with the symphony orchestras of Chicago, Philadelphia, and Washington, DC.

1942 was a banner year for MacMillan: first, he was offered, but did not accept, an invitation to succeed Donald Francis Tovey in the Reid Chair of Music at the University of Edinburgh; second, he succeeded Herbert Fricker as conductor of the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir (see above). In 1945 he filled conducting engagements in Australia, and in Rio de Janeiro in the following year. Also in 1946 he was instrumental in establishing the Canadian Music Council and served as president of the Composers, Authors, and Publishers Association of Canada until 1969; one of his first projects was the organization of a concert of Canadian music for the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. As part of his renewed interest in the piano he performed piano concertos with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, gave recitals, and made radio broadcasts. In 1950, during a weeklong festival to celebrate the Bach bicentenary, he offered a lecture-recital on the Clavierübung, playing all of Book 3 from memory. Although he resigned as conductor of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra in 1956, and of the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir in 1957, he still accepted conducting engagements with other musical organizations, travelled throughout Canada to initiate new projects to encourage young musicians, and acted as a classical disc jockey for a Toronto radio station.

MacMillan was a productive composer of musical works for the stage, orchestra, orchestra and choir, band, chamber groups, keyboard, and choir and voice. His writings included works on music instruction, articles in music journals, and other publications. He has been the subject of numerous articles by other writers.

Recognized as Canada's musical elder statesman, in later years MacMillan served as a member of the first Canada Council 1957-63 on account of his extensive participation in the musical arts. He participated in the formation of the Canadian Music Centre, serving as its president 1959-70, and of the Jeunesses musicales of Canada, serving as its president 1961-3. He received the Canada Council Medal in 1964. He was recognized by many public tributes on his seventieth and seventy-fifth birthdays, and these events were marked by special publications and revivals of his works. In 1970 he was made a Companion of the Order of Canada.

Quentin Maclean (1896-1962) was born in London, England, and studied organ there in the early 1900s and with Karl Straube (organ) and Max Reger (composition) in Leipzig 1912-14. During World War I he was interned in Germany where he met Ernest MacMillan (see above). In 1919 he served as assistant organist at Westminster Cathedral, then toured British theaters with newsman Lowell Thomas, providing background music for a lecture-film on Palestine. He was theater organist at many English cinemas 1921-1939 and began to broadcast regularly on BBC radio in 1925.

Maclean moved to Canada in 1939 where he continued his theater organ career in Toronto for ten years. He became one of the best-known organists of his time for his frequent radio broadcasts of background organ music for plays, poetry readings, and music for children's programs. He was organist-choirmaster at Holy Rosary Church 1940-62 and taught at the Toronto Conservatory of Music and at St. Michael's College, University of Toronto.

Maclean composed concertos for organ (two), harpsichord, piano, electric organ (two), harp, and violin; works for solo organ (eight), pieces for orchestra and other solo orchestral instruments, a string quartet, piano pieces, a cantata, and other choral works, among others. He was noted for his diverse musical interests, technical skills, musical memory, and high standards in the composition and performance of serious music, secular and liturgical.

*

Two features are noteworthy with respect to the individuals surveyed here. With the exceptions of Farnam and MacMillan they were born in England and received their early musical training there, which undoubtedly influenced their later musical orientation. Two of them lived for some time in the USA: Torrington 1869-73 and Farnam 1919-30, periods in which their careers flourished. The wide range of the experience and achievements of the seven organists is impressive. Taken collectively, they exhibited exceptional competence in a broad variety of activities: church musician, concert recitalist, teacher, lecturer, composer, arranger, conductor, festival organizer and adjudicator, examiner, writer, academic administrator, academic staff member, president of a professional organization, and expert on organ installation. At least one became a recognized authority in a specialized field (Willan, plainchant). All of them can be counted among those who have contributed significantly, in their specialized fields, to the musical life of Canada. 

Notes

                  1.              For a brief history of organbuilding and the major manufacturers, see James B. Hartman, “Canadian Organbuilding,” The Diapason 90, no. 5 (May 1999): 16-18; no. 6, (June 1999): 14-15.                 

                  2.              With Canadian soprano Emma Albani (1847-1930), who was commemorated in the same way at the same time, Willan was the first Canadian musician to be honored in this fashion.

                  3.              Willan made significant contributions to music for the organ. His monumental Introduction, Passacaglia and Fugue (1916) was described by Joseph Bonnet as the greatest of its genre since Bach. Other works combine Englishness and European chromaticism reminiscent of Reger and Karg-Elert. After 1950 his works became more contrapuntal, and chorale preludes became his most frequent form of expression.

                  4.             See, for example, “Organ Playing in its Proper Relation to Music of the Church.” The Diapason 29, no. 10 (October 1937): 22-23. He discusses the different--but sometimes overlapping--functions of concert organists (excelling in technique) and church organists (beautifying the liturgies or verbal forms, supporting the congregation, accompanying the choir, and welding the entire service into an appropriate whole). “As a general rule, I do not like large organs, large choirs or large noises of any sort, but there are occasions when grandeur is not only appropriate, but positively necessary . . .” (23). 

The biographical information in this article is derived from the Encyclopedia of Music in Canada, Second Edition, and is used by permission from the University of Toronto Press.

Larry Palmer is a contributing editor of THE DIAPASON.

Edward L. Kottick: A History of the Harpsichord.

"There may be those whose knowledge of the harpsichord encompasses the whole of its six-hundred-year history, but I am not among them." Thus begins Edward Kottick's 557-page magnum opus, now handsomely in print, courtesy of Indiana University Press. Such modesty, both courteous and engaging, brought an immediate reaction, "If not Kottick, who?" With his outstanding career as music historian and university professor, his successful sideline of harpsichord making, and the writing of two earlier books, one an invaluable guide to the instrument's care and maintenance, the other (with George Lucktenberg) a guide to European keyboard instrument collections, who could be better qualified to write such a comprehensive survey?

And comprehensive it certainly is! Kottick divides his book into five large sections, tracing the harpsichord's story, century by century. Part I: The Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries mines the distant past ("From Psaltery and Monochord to Harpsichord and Virginal"), introducing the putative (and colorful) "inventor" of the harpsichord, Hermann Poll, Henri Arnaut's manuscript drawing and description of the instrument, and a comparison of  Arnaut's description with an actual surviving instrument, a Clavicytherium now in the Royal College of Music, London.

Part II: The Sixteenth Century deals with the development of the harpsichord in northern Europe, Antwerp harpsichord building between Karest and Ruckers, and early Italian harpsichords, virginals, and spinets. In Part III: The Seventeenth Century the story progresses via the Ruckers-Couchet dynasty of harpsichord makers to those of the later Italian style, the seventeenth-century international style, and the national "schools" of harpsichord making in France, Germany, Austria, and England.

Part IV: The Eighteenth Century, not surprisingly the lengthiest section of the book, has chapters concerned with the decline of the Italian harpsichord, the increasingly-important instruments of the Iberian Peninsula, harpsichord building in France until the Revolution, instruments of the Low Countries in the post-Ruckers era, and discussions of the harpsichord in Germany, Scandinavia, Austria, Switzerland, Great Britain, and colonial America.

Part V: The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries details the "hibernation of the harpsichord" in the 19th century, its revival from the 1889 Paris Exhibition until  World War II, and the subsequent period of the "modern" harpsichord from historically informed builders such as Gough, Hubbard, and Dowd, through the introduction of electronic instruments and the popularity of harpsichord kits.

A short postscript ("Into the Future") brings the 470 pages of text to a thoughtful conclusion. The remainder of the volume consists of a glossary, nearly fifty pages of end notes, an extensive bibliography, and the index.

Each chapter ends with a helpful "summing up" of the author's main points. The book is illustrated copiously with black and white pictures on nearly half its pages. There are 23 color plates, each one of a beautifully-decorated historic harpsichord, save for a single 17th-century painting: Andrea Sacchi's Apollo Crowning the Singer Pasqualini. Boxed "sidebars" present detailed information about many topics of interest, allowing the reader to sample various short snippets of engaging history, such as "The Guild of St. Luke," "Goosen Karest the Apprentice," "Italian Roses," "A Digression on Nonaligned Keyboards," "Raymundo Truchado's Geigenwerk," "J. S. Bach and Equal Temperament," "Kirkman's Marriage," or "The Delrin Story."

As if all this rich variety were not enough, the book comes with a companion compact disc comprising nineteen aural examples of plucked keyboard sounds from the Flemish Spinett Virginal by Marten van der Biest [1580] heard in Giles Farnaby's Why Ask You? to Landowska's iconographic performance at her Pleyel harpsichord of the first movement from Bach's Italian Concerto, and Kathryn Roberts playing Louis Couperin on a 1987 John Phillips instrument based on a 1707 harpsichord by Nicholas Dumont. All of these choices are apt; all, except for a poorly-recorded (but extremely interesting) example of a 17th-century German harpsichord transferred from a scratchy Hungaroton disc, demonstrate recorded sound ranging from good to superior. Most of the performances are winners, too, such as the arrangement and playing by Kenneth Mobbs of the 25-second Introduction to Handel's Zadok the Priest, demonstrating the Venetian swell of a 1785 Longman and Broderip harpsichord made by Thomas Culliford.

For anyone wishing to know the particulars of the two Scarlatti sonatas played by Ralph Kirkpatrick (listed only as Sonatas 35 and 36), they are K 366 (L 119)--an Allegro in F, and K 367 (L 172)--a Presto, also in F Major.

I did not find many errors in this extensive volume, but I was surprised to read Kottick's assertion that Sylvia Marlowe had used a blue William Dowd harpsichord for her engagements at the Rainbow Room Night Club in New York (note 51, page 522). This is a minor aberration, for the instrument employed was not a Dowd, but Marlowe's white Pleyel (purchased with funds borrowed from composer/critic Virgil Thomson). These well-received appearances were the real life inspiration for the fictional accounts in Francis Steegmuller's mystery novel Blue Harpsichord, published in 1949--the very year in which Frank Hubbard and William Dowd set up their first shop in Boston. Dowd did not build harpsichords under his own name until 1959.  Late in her career Marlowe did play a Dowd instrument, following many years of performing on her Pleyel and subsequent harpsichords built for her by John Challis.

A History of the Harpsichord [ISBN 0-253-34166-3] is printed on alkaline (non-acidic) paper that meets the minimum standards of permanence for printed library materials. Would that these pages could have been offered on thicker stock, for there is a fair amount of unwanted print bleed-through, especially from the illustrations. This book is priced at $75. It offers a compendium of interesting and detailed information, engagingly presented, and eminently readable. Kottick has produced a winner with this one.

Mimi S. Waitzman: Early Keyboard Instruments: The Benton Fletcher Collection at Fenton House.

Major George Henry Benton Fletcher (1866-1944) assembled a small but significant collection of early keyboard instruments in the early years of the 20th century. From the very beginning he held the view that his instruments should be restored, that they should be available to professional musicians and students, and that they should be housed in a suitable setting.

From 1934 until the building's destruction during World War II the instruments were displayed at Old Devonshire House, Boswell Street, in London. Since the collection had been turned over to England's National Trust, Fletcher's death did not result in the dispersal of his instruments. Five did not survive the war, but all the rest of them had been moved to rural England shortly before the bombing of Devonshire House. After the war Fletcher's instruments were reinstalled in a Queen Anne terraced house at 3 Cheyne Walk. From there, in 1952, the Trust moved them (together with an additional instrument --a 1612 Ruckers harpsichord belonging to Her Majesty the Queen) to Fenton House, a stately Georgian building in Hampstead. At present there are nineteen instruments dating from 1540 (the Italian virginals of Marcus Siculus) to 1925 (a clavichord built in Haselmere by Arnold Dolmetsch). Thirteen are by English builders.

Mimi Waitzman, curator of the Benton Fletcher Collection since 1984, is the author of a new, elegantly produced hardbound volume listing all the instruments, comprising virginals, spinets, harpsichords, clavichords, grand and square pianos. Beginning with a short history of the collection, the Introduction continues with descriptions of the various action types utilized in the instruments, illustrated by line drawings. Each of the instruments is given a full description, followed by listings of case materials and dimensions, compass, disposition, and details of stringing and scaling.

A companion compact disc contains appropriate musical examples played by Terence Charleston on fourteen of the instruments; these tracks are listed within the chapter for each instrument. Lavish color illustrations and high-quality duotone photographs add to the value of this publication, and the whole makes for a satisfactory "self-guided tour" or a private study in early keyboard instruments.

Published by The National Trust [ISBN 0-7078-0353-5], 112 pages, £24.99.