Skip to main content

Remembering Cor Edskes, 1925–2015: Organologe extraordinaire

John Brombaugh

John Brombaugh was a student of Fritz Noack, Charles Fisk, and Rudolf von Beckerath between 1964–68. He worked as an organbuilder in Germantown, Ohio, from 1968–77, and in Eugene, Oregon, from 1977–2005. 

Default

Cor (Cornelius Herman) Edskes, noted organologist, left this world on September 7, 2015, from his hometown, Groningen, in the northeastern corner of the Netherlands, where he was born on August 1, 1925. He is survived by two younger brothers, Herman and Bernardt, the latter who has been building organs in Switzerland for many years. Another younger brother, Bram (Hilbrand Albert), who was an optometrist and organized many organ concerts and excursions for over 60 years, passed away in March 2013.

Cor Edskes was a leader in organ building from its Romantic twilight through the Organ Reform/neo-Baroque movement of the 1920s through 1960s into the compelling search for historic authenticity in building new organs and restoring historic instruments much as his friend, Gustav Leonhardt, and others such as Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Christopher Hogwood led musicians into the historically informed performance of the music of earlier times.

Edskes received his first organ lessons from Johan van Meurs, the organist at Der Aa-kerk in Groningen who had taught many others, such as the Haarlem Bavokerk organist, Klaas Bolt. Edskes later studied with many others including Helmut Walcha. Around 1940 he became church organist on the 1700 Schnitger organ in Uithuizen, Province Groningen and moved ca. 1942 to the Mennonite church in Groningen, where he served until very late in his life, and where he had a new Marcussen organ installed in 1961. He was appointed to the Organ Commission of the Netherlands Reformed Church in 1957 and in 1963, moved on to assist Hendrik Oussoren, the organ consultant for the Netherlands national Monumental Heritage. In 1954, he began working with Het Orgel (the Dutch equivalent of The Diapason), and became that monthly journal’s chief editor from 1957 to 1963.

Living in the region surrounding the Dollart bay where the Ems flows into the North Sea put Edskes next to the largest collection of extant historic organs of any style in the world. (See https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orgellandschaft_Ostfriesland.) Because the area had lost much of its source of wealth as a medieval shipping center during the Hanseatic ascendancy, funds needed for constant upgrading as organ styles changed had not been available for centuries, so these instruments tended to be left in remarkably unaltered condition. As Germany recovered from World War II, it was ready to spend funds making necessary repairs to poorly maintained historic organs. As part of such work, the organ advisor for the Reformed churches in the Emden, Ostfriesland area asked the Jürgen Ahrend & Gerd Brunzema organ shop—newly founded in nearby Leer in 1954—to restore a late Renaissance organ in Larrelt as their first job. Living not far from Leer, Cor Edskes was to discover their seldom-found skills. This developed a productive friendship between Edskes and A&B that instigated the re-introduction of meantone and restoration of the short-octave keyboards for the first time in our modern era when they restored the 1642 Jost Sieburg organ in Westerhusen in 1955. The team continued restoring other nearby historic organs such as Rysum (1457, which was to be found the world’s oldest known organ that was in virtually original condition) and Uttum, ca. 1660. Edskes was consequently able to advance important ideas working with the small, young firm that was not hindered by resistance to change so typical of the established large, production-oriented firms. (See https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jürgen_Ahrend_Orgelbau.)

Cor Edskes and Gustav Leonhardt also became good friends early on. This influenced Leonhardt to encourage his many American Fulbright students to visit the historic organs in the Groningen/Ostfriesland region. Being able to see, hear, and play such a wealth of historic organs unlike those anywhere else had an enormous effect on their musical ideas. Edskes also worked with young organists—e.g., Harald Vogel—who were interested not only in learning to play in the historic manner, but in the construction of the historic organs. 

This prompted Vogel to encourage builders to adapt their work to the ideas found in the extant organs so prevalent in Groningen/Ostfriesland. Certainly that happened when this writer—by fate—was urged by Vogel to make his first visit to the Groningen/Ostfriesland region in May 1968. Vogel introduced me to Edskes as we went to visit the 1702 Schnitger organ in Der Aa-kerk in Groningen. Needless to say, hearing that organ with Edskes sitting at my side changed my life. But I am not unique; the same has happened with many younger builders after learning of my fate with Vogel and Edskes. Such was particularly the case when my former partners, George Taylor and John Boody, had their first visit with Edskes in Fall 1977. Realizing their skills, Edskes quickly summoned them to dismantle the Schnitger organ in Der Aa-kerk’s high brick Gothic building, which was approaching a structural collapse that could also ruin the exceptional organ in its nave. T&B moved all parts to the nearby Martinikerk. By 1990, Der Aa-kerk was completely restored and its organ could be put back to use with almost no alterations. After my first visit to Der Aa-kerk, Vogel, Edskes, and I walked across town to the Martinikerk to hear the mid-15th-century organ of Groningen origin that Schnitger revised in 1690 as his first project in the Netherlands. This muach-recorded organ is the only Schnitger that has its original pedal façade Præstant 32 pipes (which, however, begin with the 24 F with no lower bass pipes).

Cor Edskes continued working to understand the great historic organs in Northern Europe to the end of his life. As a result, he was to become the leading consultant for many significant restorations in this vast region. That included advising the Flentrop firm’s 1965 restoration of the 1671 Pieter Backer organ in Medemblik. As part of that work, Edskes required the Werckmeister’s III Well-Temperament to be reintroduced for the first time in our modern time. Upon hearing a recording soon after that work was done, this writer concluded in 1970 that this better way to hear and play organs must be used in his new work in America; that totally ended (except for his changeable-pitch continuo Positives) his use of equal temperament after finishing only one project in ET done while an apprentice in 1966. 

With Edskes’ connections with Leonhardt, he became advisor for A&B’s 1965 restoration of the 1680 Langlez/1734 Christian Müller organ in the Amsterdam Waalse Kerk where Leonhardt was organist. In 1981, Edskes supervised Marcussen’s restoration of the 1655 Schonat organ in the Amsterdam Nieuwe Kerk where Leonhardt had moved to become organist. In 1984 Edskes worked with Jürgen Ahrend on the major renewal/restoration of the Groningen Martinikerk Schnitger organ that had almost been destroyed in 1939 by conversion to electric action and unfortunate attempts at neo-baroquizing the voicing in an attempt to bring it ‘up to date’. Fortunately, with Ahrend’s skills and with Edskes’ knowledge and his good working relationship with Ahrend, this very tenuous project turned into a grand success, as the many recordings on this organ show. 

From these significant improvements to the instruments he cared for, Edskes was being recognized elsewhere, and in 1991 he worked as adviser along with support of the cathedral’s organist, Kristian Olesen, when Marcussen restored the oldest extant organ in Denmark—at the Danish National Cathedral in Roskilde where all the Danish kings and queens back to the 1100s are buried—which was built in 1555 by Netherlander Hermann Raphael Rodensteen. In the 1990s, Edskes supervised restorations on organs in the Kongsberg Kirke and Røros Kirke in Norway and others in Scandinavia. Perhaps the most significant of all historic restoration work in northern Europe occurred when Edskes worked with Jürgen Ahrend to restore the largest of all remaining Schnitger organs, the 60-stop instrument in the Hamburg Jacobikirche that Bach played in 1720. This organ was re-inaugurated on Easter 1993 to an audience coming from all over the world to celebrate its 300th anniversary. The many recordings made since demonstrate Edskes’ knowledge as an advisor, achieving the finest restoration work found on any historic organ today. 

Among those describing Cor Edskes, Dutch builder Henk van Eeken states: 

 

His manner of working in which the organ builder had a central rôle, was striking. In his still phenomenal ‘Report on the organ in the Groningen Martinikerk’ prepared in 1972, he chose to re-create the state of the Martini organ as it was in 1740 (soon after Schnitger’s son, Frans-Casper, had brought his father’s work to its present state).

 

Van Eeken adds:

 

The possibility of restoring the organ in this way, it is vitally connected with the capability of the person chosen for the restoration, who shall have to satisfy the very highest requirements. If it is not possible to choose a restorer with these qualifications, then the execution of the restoration plan will be completely illusory.

A Groningen documentation film described 

 

. . . Cor Edskes, a sprightly 85 year old whose career was devoted to the restoration of the historic organs of Northern Europe. His vast knowledge and experience makes him probably the greatest living authority on the subject, and his sparkling personality makes this subject enthralling and entertaining.

Dutch organist Sietze de Vries writes in his “In memoriam Cornelius Herman Edskes (1925–2015)”: 

 

His ‘experience’ may be understood in a most literal sense: no organ consultant has left such pioneering and guidance work as he . . . Edskes was one of the most influential art and antiques experts of his time. When he came as an advisor to the reconstruction of the choir organ in the Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam, an antiques fair was taking place. All fake glasses disappeared under the table.

Edskes often worked with Harald Vogel and others to publish important historic documentation, such as Arp Schnitger und sein Werk (Hauschild, Bremen 2009, ISBN 978-3-89757-326-0). Much more information (such as many projects not listed here that Edskes was associated with) can be found (in German) at https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornelius_H._Edskes.

Although some think Edskes tended to keep most of his important information to himself—as almost no one was permitted into ‘his’ organ world—he was never secretive when sharing so much of his knowledge with this writer. In recognizing that knowledge, the University of Göteborg, Sweden, under the guidance of Hans Davidsson, crowned Cor Edskes’ achievements with the Doctor Honoris Causa on October 19, 1996. It was also a great privilege for us Americans that he shared his knowledge with us at the Westfield Center conference in Eugene, Oregon, in April 2010, Heer Edskes’ only visit to North America. His funeral took place on September 15, 2015, in his beloved Martinikerk in Groningen with his longtime friend, Wim van Beek, playing the great Schnitger organ that Edskes helped return to greatness and took so many of us to see whenever we could visit Groningen.

Related Content

Crazy about Organs: Gustav Leonhardt at 72

Jan-Piet Knijff
Files
Diap1112p20-22.pdf (902.31 KB)
Default

This interview was first published in Dutch in Het Orgel 96 (2000), no. 5. Leonhardt had been made an honorary member (Lid van Verdienste) of the Royal Dutch Society of Organists in the previous year. Apart from small adaptations in the first few paragraphs, an occasional correction, and explanations, no attempt has been made to update the content of the article for this translation. The interview on which the article was based took place during the 2000 Leipzig Bach Festival. Leonhardt read the article before it went to the editor and was very pleased with it. I am grateful to the Royal Dutch Society of Organists and the editor of Het Orgel, Jan Smelik, for permission for its republication.*    

 

Gustav Leonhardt (1928–2012) was perhaps after Wanda Landowska—the most influential harpsichordist of the twentieth century. As Professor of Harpsichord at the Amsterdam Conservatory he introduced countless young musicians from all over the world to the interpretation of early music, especially the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. From his work with the Leonhardt Consort—with his wife Marie as first violinist—grew a limited but no less significant career as a conductor: Leonhardt’s contribution to the complete recording of Bach cantatas for Telefunken and his renditions of operas by Monteverdi and Rameau are milestones in the history of recorded music.

As an organist, Leonhardt has not become nearly as famous—perhaps because organists in general don’t tend to become famous in the way other musicians do, perhaps also because he limited himself to early music. Even among Dutch organists, Leonhardt remained an outsider. Therefore, his being made an honorary member of the Royal Dutch Society of organists in 1999 was an important recognition of a man who has helped define the way we have listened to and performed early music for more than half a century.

I spoke with Leonhardt in the summer of 2000 in Leipzig. He was chairman of the jury of the prestigious Bach competition for harpsichord; ironically, Leonhardt’s former student Ton Koopman held the same position at that year’s organ competition. I met the master after one of the competition rounds and we walked together to our hotels. Leonhardt is often said to have been formal; it is well known how he used to address his Dutch students with the formal pronoun u (pronounced [ü]; the equivalent of the German Sie); this must have come across as utterly prehistoric in the 1970s. But in fact, Leonhardt was extremely friendly; he conversed easily and openly about a host of topics. As we passed by the Thomaskirche, Leonhardt volunteered his opinion of the new Bach organ by Gerhard Woehl.1 The conversation quickly moved from Woehl to Silbermann, and Leonhardt mentioned the organ at Großhartmannsdorf, which he played in the film The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach: “You know, that Posaune 16 . . . ” His face and gestures spoke louder than a thousand words. I asked why no organbuilder today seemed to be able to make such a Posaune. “Look,” he said dryly yet firmly, “first of all, you have to want it.”

In 2000, at 72, Leonhardt was very much alive and well, still playing some 100 concerts a year. For a concert in Göteborg that year, he didn’t even have a hotel: he arrived in the morning, played a concert in the afternoon, and flew on to Portugal in the evening for a concert the next day. I asked whether he enjoyed traveling; he shrugged: “I mean, it’s simply part of it.” Leonhardt was happy to have the interview on his ‘free’ Friday, when there were no competition rounds. “But if you don’t mind, could we do it early?” What is early, 9 am? “Well, earlier would be fine too.” 8:30, 8 am? “Just fine.” It sounded as if 6:30 would have been OK too.

 

Jan-Piet Knijff: How did you become interested in organ and harpsichord?

Gustav Leonhardt: Through my parents, I think. They weren’t professional musicians—my father was a businessman—but they were enthusiastic amateurs. What was rather unusual was that, even before the Second World War, we had a harpsichord at home, a Neupert, a small one.2 My parents played Beethoven and Brahms for pleasure, but from time to time also Bach and Telemann. Apparently they thought they had to buy a harpsichord for that. I had to learn how to play the piano as a boy; I mean, had to, it was simply a part of life. I don’t remember liking it very much. When the harpsichord came, they let me play written-out figured-bass parts. I didn’t care much for it, but of course, it must have shaped my musicality. During the last few years of the war there was no school, no water, no electricity. Marvelous, of course—especially that there was no school! Moreover, I turned sixteen that year, so I more or less had to hide from the Germans. My brother and I took turns being on the lookout. It was all very exciting. During that time, I was so attracted to the harpsichord. And since there was little else to do, I simply played all the time. And of course, there was the enormous love of Bach. Dad was on the Board of the [Dutch] Bach Society, where Anthon van der Horst conducted.3 At fifteen, I started studying music theory privately with van der Horst. Yes, that I enjoyed very much. I often pulled stops for him at concerts. That’s really where my love of organs comes from.

 

J-PK: You went to study in Basel. Would it not have been logical to study in Amsterdam with van
der Horst?

GL: Maybe, but harpsichord was high on my wish list too. And the Schola Cantorum in Basel was at the time the only place in the world where one could study early music in all its facets, including chamber music and theory. It pulled like a magnet: I had to go there.

That was in 1947, only a few years after the war, and Holland was really still a poor country at the time. There was very little foreign currency, so studying in Switzerland was not all that easy. Thankfully, my father had business contacts, so from time to time, I went on bicycle from Basel to Schaffhausen to pick up an envelope with Swiss francs . . .4 I studied both organ and harpsichord with Eduard Müller, for whom I still have the greatest admiration and respect.

 

J-PK: Can you tell me more about him?

GL: He was first and foremost an excellent organist, who in addition was asked to teach harpsichord, I think. He was the organist at a terrible organ, but whenever a new tracker was built—Kuhn or Metzler in those days—we went to try it out, right away, you know.

The way people played Bach on the organ was still pretty dreadful at the time, with many registration changes, swell box, that kind of thing. But even then, Müller played completely differently. For example, he would tell you that it was common to change manuals in this-or-that bar, but that that was simply impossible, because you would break the tenor line in two! So I learned from him to analyze very ‘cleanly’ and to use that as the basis for my performance.

Harpsichord playing was still very primitive in those days. The instruments I played on in Basel were simply awful. It wasn’t until later that I came to know historic instruments. The idea that you used different types of harpsichords—French, Italian—didn’t play a role at all. I did collect pictures of historic instruments, but really without wondering what they might sound like.

Strangely enough, Müller was not at all interested in historic instruments as far as harpsichords went. On the other hand, he was very precise with articulation. You had to play exactly the way Bach wrote. Bach was the order of the day. A little piece by Froberger or Couperin every now and then, but mostly Bach, really. August Wenzinger,5 with whom I studied chamber music, was much broader in that regard. He played the whole repertoire: French, Italian, and the seventeenth century as well. We also had to sing in the choir, Senfl and Josquin, but also monody. That was a revelation. We had Ina Lohr,6 who was the first to use the old solmisation system again as the basis of her theory classes. Everything was incredibly interesting.

Look, things were kind of black-and-white at the time. On the one hand there was Romanticism, and that was horrible, so you wanted something different. The Neue Sachlichkeit played an important role. I think I actually played very dryly in those days.

 

J-PK: Many people would argue that you still played dryly many years later.

GL: Everyone is free to think whatever they want, but I personally think I have allowed much more emotion in my performances over the years.

 

J-PK: Were there still others who influenced you as a young musician?

GL: [Immediately] Hans Brandts Buys.7 We lived in Laren, near Hilversum [between Amsterdam and Utrecht—JPK]. I played cello as well, and I sometimes played the cello in cantata performances he directed. I never studied with him, but he had an enormous library, most of all about Bach. In one word: a dream. I used to spend hours there, browsing, making notes. Brandts Buys also had a two-manual harpsichord, something quite unusual at the time. He had an enormous respect for what the composer had written. I learned that from him.

After my studies I got to know Alfred Deller, the famous countertenor.8 I had heard a tiny gramophone record of his and was incredibly impressed. It showed that singing could be more than a dead tone with tons of vibrato. Diction: that was what it was all about. The tone helps the diction. Deller was a master in this regard. That is incredibly important to me. We organists and harpsichordists have to think dynamically too. We have to shape the tone.

 

J-PK: After your studies you became Professor of Harpsichord in Vienna.

GL: Well, I mean, I taught there and yes, it was called ‘Professor.’ I actually went to Vienna to study conducting, even though it did not interest me very much. I don’t even remember now why I did it. It may have been at the urging of my parents. Organ and harpsichord, how was one ever going to make a living that way? With conducting one could at least pay the bills, that kind of thing.

But the most important thing in Vienna was the library. I’d sit there all day, from opening till close, copying music—by hand of course—and making notes from treatises. I still use that material today. Much has been published since, but not nearly everything.

 

J-PK: What kind of things did
you copy?

GL: Oh, everything. Froberger, Kuhnau, Fischer . . . Tablature too, I could read that easily back then—I’m completely out of practice now. I also copied lute tablatures, just out of interest.

In Vienna I got to know Harnoncourt.9 We were just about the only people interested in early music and played an awful lot together, viol consort also. That was relatively easy for me because of my cello background.

 

But after three years Leonhardt had had enough of the Austrian capital and returned to the Netherlands, where he was appointed Professor of Harpsichord at the Amsterdam Conservatory. At the end of the 1950s he became organist of the Christiaan Müller organ of the Eglise Wallonne, the French Protestant Church of Amsterdam.

 

GL: My wife is francophone and we both belong to the Reformed Church, so we went to the French church as a matter of course. I knew the organ already, but it was in very poor condition at the time. The action was terrible and it played very heavily. So when the position became vacant, I said that I was willing to do it on the condition that the organ would be restored properly. That was fine. I knew Ahrend already, so he restored the organ, with Cor Edskes as consultant.10 

 

J-PK: How did you meet Ahrend?

GL: I don’t remember exactly. In any case, I had seen an organ they had built in Veldhausen.11 That was a revelation back then, but I have recently played the organ again and it was still a revelation. That doesn’t happen very often, that one thinks the same way about an organ so many years later.

 

J-PK: What made Ahrend & Brunzema so special?

GL: I don’t know. They just understood organs somehow. They had ears and just knew how to get the sound they wanted.

 

J-PK: Ahrend has often been criticized for imposing too much of his own personality on an instrument when restoring it, for example
in Groningen.

GL: Well, I mean, he does have a strong personality, and in the Martini [the Martinikerk at Groningen—JPK], a great deal had to be reconstructed. In such a situation one can hardly blame anybody for putting his mark on a restoration.

 

J-PK: Was that also the case in Amsterdam?

GL: No. A lot of Müller pipes had survived in excellent condition and the new pipes Ahrend provided matched the old pipes very well indeed. Yes, the Waalse [Eglise WallonneJPK] is definitely the best-preserved Müller in my opinion—not that there is a lot of choice, unfortunately.12 

 

J-PK: You made a whole series of recordings on the organ, including composers such as Froberger, Couperin, and de Grigny . . . 

GL: . . . who really don’t belong there at all. You are totally right about that and I really don’t remember why we did it. Perhaps Telefunken wanted some diversity in the repertoire. On the other hand [he continues almost triumphantly], what should I have played on the Amsterdam Müller instead?

 

J-PK: The Genevan psalter, I suppose.

GL: [He laughs, covering his mouth with his hand.] Precisely—or Quirinus van Blankenburg.13

 

J-PK: As a harpsichord teacher, you have had a tremendous influence on a whole generation of harpsichordists from all over the world.

GL: Oh, come on . . . For a long time, I was simply the only one.

 

J-PK: Have you never wanted to teach organ?

GL: I’ve never really thought about that. But even for harpsichord I never had more than five students at the same time. That was more than enough. The rest of the time I was so busy with concerts and recordings.

[The conversation moves in a different direction; Leonhardt clearly wants to discuss something else.]

I don’t know if it’s on your list, but the difference between organ and harpsichord, I wouldn’t mind saying something about that. Look, the harpsichord has in a way stopped at some point in time. The organ went on, but changed completely. In my view, organ and harpsichord are intimately connected. To a large extent, the instruments shared the same literature and performers played both instruments. That stops at the end of the eighteenth century and in my mind it’s only because of its function in church that the organ has continued to exist. In other words, without the church, the organ would have died out as well. Interest in the organ at the beginning of the nineteenth century was practically zero, really.

All right, so the organ continued to exist. But over time, it changed so much that, really, it became a different instrument, at least in my view. That is a problem for the present-day organist that really does not exist for harpsichordists. How can a man serve so many masters? I don’t believe that is possible; at least, I can’t.

The problem is, we aren’t theorists. Musicologists can study different styles—that’s not a problem. But we musicians have to take the work of art in our hands . . . [an expressive gesture] . . .
and present it. That is something completely different; it demands much more ability to empathize. I have to say, when all is said and done, the colleagues whom I admire the most tend to be those who specialize at least to some extent.

[I mention an early-music specialist who at the same time is a jack-of-all-trades. Yes, Leonhardt agrees: a great musician.] But even so, you can hear that he plays so much other music as well.14 It’s a problem, of course. Take the flute: How much literature is there from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries? Three Bach sonatas! We harpsichordists can bathe in a wealth of early music. One can easily spend a lifetime with it.

 

J-PK: Don’t you think the old composers are so far away from us that it is more difficult to empathize with them?

GL: No, I don’t. If you really study the time and the art of the period in all its facets—painting, architecture, and so forth—a composer like Froberger can come just as close as, say, Widor. And look, Widor has become early music too by now. One has to study that just as well. It’s no longer our own time; it’s not self-evident.

 

J-PK: You had to practically put yourself in Bach’s shoes when you played the lead role in Jean-Marie Straub’s film, The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach.

GL: It wasn’t acting, you know. Performing in costume, that’s all. Just because I happened to do the same things as Bach did: playing organ and harpsichord, and conducting. Well, except for composing, of course. [A gesture of profound awe.] I found it a very respectful film, it was made with a lot of integrity, and I enjoyed contributing to it, also because Bach has determined my whole career.

 

J-PK: I think Frans Brüggen once said in an interview, ‘Leonhardt is Bach.’15 

GL: [A gesture makes clear that he couldn’t disagree more.] I consider Bach the greatest composer who ever lived. But I also see him as a composer in his time, not just as some remarkable phenomenon. In that sense, I’m not a Bach man.

 

J-PK: Your career has mostly focused on harpsichord playing and conducting.

GL: Well, no, not conducting, that has always been a side path; I don’t do it more often than once or twice a year. The Bach cantata project, too, was really only one or two weeks a year. Conducting to me is in a way the same as playing chamber music, except I happen not to be playing.

J-PK: My point is that as an organist you have been relatively free to do whatever you wanted.

GL: That is true. The harpsichord is my livelihood; the organ is in a sense a luxury. It’s also a different kind of instrument. [Enthusiastically:] One can be crazy about an organ, I think. Harpsichords don’t really have that. That is because an organ usually has a much stronger personality than a harpsichord; that is part of what makes it such a fantastic instrument. On harpsichord, one has to work much harder to get a beautiful sound. A good organ does half the job for you if not more. A good organ dictates—in the best sense of the word—much more than a harpsichord.

 

J-PK: With all your interest in past centuries it seems that there is one aspect of our time that interests you in particular.

GL: I think I know what you mean.

 

J-PK: Fast cars?

GL: [Big smile—for a moment he looks almost boyish.] As the Germans say, Wenn schon, denn schon.16 If one needs a car at all, surely a beautiful one is better than an ugly one. I just got a new Alfa 166, three liters, and it really is a great pleasure. It’s a rather fiery one, you know, the kind that just wants to go out for a ride. In the city, he has to stay on the leash, but out of town . . . Yes, a real pleasure. ν

 

Notes

* I am also grateful to Hans Fidom, the former editor of Het Orgel who suggested that I interview Leonhardt. Finally, I thank my wife Brigitte Pohl-Knijff and the following colleagues, students, and friends for their comments on earlier drafts of this translation: Margaret Barger, Robert Brown, Jim Nicholls, Jodie Ostenfeld, and Paul Thwaites. For any dutchisms that remain I take sole responsibility.  

1. Gerhard Woehl built the new Bach organ (IV/61) for the Thomaskirche in the Bach year 2000.

2. The founder of the firm, Johann Christoph Neupert (who was apprenticed to Johann Baptist Streicher in Vienna) and his descendants were avid collectors of historic keyboard instruments. Still in business today, the firm built its first harpsichord in 1906.

3. Dutch organist, conductor, and composer Anthon van der Horst (1899–1965) was conductor of the Dutch Bach Society from 1931. He taught organ at the Amsterdam Conservatory, where his students included Albert de Klerk, Piet Kee, Bernard Bartelink, Wim van Beek, and Charles de Wolff. 

4. Schaffhausen, on the Swiss-German border, is some 60 miles from Basel.

5. August Wenzinger (1905–1996) was a cellist, viol player, conductor, and a pioneer of historically informed performance practice. He taught both cello and viol at the Schola Cantorum from 1933, where his most famous student (apart from Leonhardt) was no doubt viol player Jordi Savall, who succeeded him in 1974.    

6. Ina Lohr (1903–1983) studied violin in Amsterdam and theory and composition in Basel. One of the founders of the Schola Cantorum, she taught theory there on the basis of solmisation. She was also assistant conductor to Paul Sacher with the Basel Chamber Choir.

7. Johann Sebastian (Hans) Brandts Buys (1905–1959) came from a large Dutch family of musicians, which included some fine composers. A pioneer of harpsichord playing in the Netherlands, Brandts Buys was also active as a conductor. As a performer and musicologist he specialized in the music of his namesake, J.S. Bach. Brandts Buys had an unusually strong interest in historically informed performance and was the first in the Netherlands to conduct the St. Matthew Passion with a small choir and orchestra (1947). Leonhardt presumably took part in performances with the Hilversumse Cantate Vereniging (Hilversum Cantata Society), which Brandts Buys led during the war years 1943–1945.

8. The countertenor Alfred Deller (1912–1979) was central in reviving and popularizing the countertenor in the twentieth century. He founded the Deller Consort in 1948. Benjamin Britten famously wrote the role of Oberon in A Midsummer Night’s Dream for Deller (1960), who recorded it with the composer conducting.  

9. Nikolaus Harnoncourt (b. 1929), cellist, later conductor, founder of the period-instrument ensemble Concentus Musicus Wien (1953, first public performance 1957). Harnoncourt’s Concentus and the Leonhardt Consort collaborated for a recording of Bach’s St. John Passion (1965) and shared the complete recording of Bach’s sacred cantatas for Telefunken’s Das alte Werk

10. Jürgen Ahrend (b. 1930), German organ builder, active 1954–2005. In the 1950s and ’60s Ahrend and his then-associate Gerhard Brunzema (1927–1992) were perhaps the most serious, consistent, and successful in reviving the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century North-German organ style.  

11. In Bentheim county, Germany, near the Dutch border. The organ was built by Ahrend & Brunzema in 1957, and enlarged with a Rückpositiv by the Dutch firm Mense Ruiter in 1997.

12. Other surviving Müller organs include those in Haarlem, Leeuwarden, Beverwijk, and the Kapelkerk at Alkmaar. 

13. Apart from more imaginative works such as the cantata L’Apologie des femmes (The Women’s Apology, 1715), Quirinus van Blankenburg (1654–1739) published a Harpsichord and Organ Book of Reformed Psalms and Church Hymns (The Hague 1732).

14. Fortunately, I no longer recall whom I mentioned to Leonhardt.

15. The Dutch recorder player, flautist, and conductor Frans Brüggen (b. 1934) performed extensively with Leonhardt in such groups as Quadro Amsterdam and the trio with cellist Anner Bijlsma.

16. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’

In Search of the Secrets of Medieval Organs: The European Summer of 2012—A Report and Some Reflections

 

On Friday and Saturday, June 9 and 10, 2012, a concert and workshop focusing on the medieval organ were held at the Basel (Switzerland) Peterskirche; similar events were later held in and around East Friesland (Rhede), in September, and in Sion (Switzerland) in October
David Rumsey

David Rumsey44 was born and educated in Sydney, Australia. He studied with Anton Heiller and Marie-Claire Alain in Europe 1963–66, then returned to a position at the University of Adelaide. Moving back to Sydney in 1969 he established a Department of Organ and Church Music, which survives the recent Australian educational and research funding cuts. For over 25 years, until 1998, he was the regular organist with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and as such frequently presided over the Grand Organs of Sydney Opera House and Sydney Town Hall. Associations with multimedia events have included performances of the Saint-Saëns “Organ Symphony” to 100,000 people with the orchestra in the Sydney Domain, the organ via microwave link from Sydney Town Hall. In 1998, he wrote, produced, acted, and performed in a highly successful 14-hour musical and dramatic spectacle on the life of J.S. Bach, with actors in period costume from the National Institute of Dramatic Art (AUS), and musicians playing period instruments. He resigned his post in Sydney in 1998 and moved to Basel, Switzerland, where he continues working as an organist and consultant, and as a Senior Researcher at the University of Bern. Since 2007 he has been responsible for the editing and CD-production of historic organ recordings released under the OehmsClassics label using the historic Welte organ and its player-rolls at Seewen (SO-CH) and is regarded as an authority on aspects of medieval organ culture. He is organist at Herz Jesu Kirche in Laufen (BL-CH) and in-house consultant and organist to the Museum der Musikautomaten, Seewen (SO-CH).

 
Files
Default

On Friday and Saturday, June 9 and 10, 2012, a concert and workshop focusing on the medieval organ were held at the Basel (Switzerland) Peterskirche. They dealt with concepts, designs, repertoire and the medieval organ used in ensemble.1 Another symposium and series of concerts was later organized in and around East Friesland (Rhede), commencing Monday, September 3, 2012, running until Sunday, September 9, dealing with much the same topics.2 Some instruments and participants were common to both events. Elsewhere Kimberly Marshall played and held courses in Sion (Switzerland) during October 2012. Other events in Europe during the summer of 2012 dedicated to the medieval organ included one arranged by Jos van der Giessen in the Netherlands.

Kimberly Marshall’s 1989 book, Iconographical Evidence for the Late-Medieval Organ in French, Flemish and English Manuscripts,3 was of seminal influence to much of this blossoming culture. It was the most oft-quoted work at the Basel and Rhede conferences. A colloquium in 1995 at Royaumont (France), two years after an 11th-century Theophilus organ had been reconstructed there by Antoine Massoni, was a most important sequel.4 Marcel Pérès, responsible for the Royaumont Theophilus organ, also played in Basel during August 2011. The 2012 events were significant vantage points in an ongoing search for the Holy Grail of understanding medieval organs and performance practices. They continued to push back through the 15th, 14th, 13th centuries, even to the 3rd in Rhede.

 

The Phenomenon

The observant phenomenologist might well note something in the air: research into and performance of early music has now spread both forwards and backwards in time—from a “Bach-fulcrum” that began with Mendelssohn,
S.S. Wesley, et al. in the early 19th century. By the late 20th century it had reached fortepiano, early Steinway, the “real” Wagner orchestra, and even Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du printemps, where authenticity of instruments used was a measure of performance excellence. Concurrently, moving back to ever earlier eras, the music of Buxtehude, Frescobaldi, Couperin, Correa de Arauxo, and Sweelinck—among many others—has been vigorously regenerated through performance on historic organs, careful emulation of their temperaments, key proportions, wind quality, specifications, tonal and mechanical attributes, all of which illuminate performance practices.

Other 19th- and 20th-century contributions to this historical consciousness included the continuum of English choral music, the rediscovery of Palestrina, and parallel developments in Gregorian chant. In the educational arena it seeped into musical institutions such as Eugène Gigout’s 19th-century Organ School in Paris or the early 20th-century Schola Cantorum Basiliensis, not to forget the work of Solesmes and similar centers. High-profile specialist performers such as Gustav Leonhardt then came on the scene, increasingly promoting serious research, publications, recordings, and concerts. Discrete organ cultures began to be brought back to life by dedicated builders, researchers, performers, and luminaries. A veritable explosion of knowledge and activity erupted around the turn of the 21st century.

The phenomenon is now neither confined to the organ nor the 16th–19th centuries, but takes in viola da gamba, cornetto, medieval fiddle, lute, harpsichord, hurdy-gurdy, harp, bells, whole families of antique instruments, and virtually all music of any period. The ongoing challenge in the medieval arena for instrumentalists is that of surviving originals. Certainly extant and truly original 16th-century organs are scarce. Precious little material dating from before the 15th century is known—and then essentially only fragments. Iconography, contemporary descriptions, the few comprehensible early organbuilding tracts, and much circumstantial evidence taken from extant contemporary repertoire are about all that there is to go on. At the Rhede conference, Winold van der Putten, who was responsible for building many of the instruments present, added another significant factor: the experience of specialist organbuilders who have now regularly interpreted these old sources and learned how to put theories or confusing historic descriptions into practice. This is a cutting edge where artistic fringe-dwellers live dangerously by constantly expanding boundaries. It is a little like “walking the plank,” just that the board gets narrower as it seemingly extends back forever, engaging the enquirer in an ever more precarious balancing act. But the rewards are tangible, and in the past few years fully successful medieval constant-scaled ranks have been constructed and voiced. They were commonplace enough for much of medieval instrument-building history and essential to its performance.

Walter Chinaglia, from Como (Italy)5 was another of those present in both Basel and Rhede with several of his own positives and portatives built from extending what is “seen through a glass darkly” into convincing practical realities, another fruit from the experiences of these increasingly skilled specialist builders. There are others—Marcus Stahl of Dresden6 and Stefan Keppler of Kötz,7 to name but two from Germany.

 

2012—European Medieval 

Organ Summer

On Saturday afternoon, September 8, 2012, the Rhede symposium was nearing its conclusion and running rather late, since so many people had had so much to offer. The interest was exceptionally keen; most sessions had extended well beyond their scheduled times. About 15 different organs had been assembled in a kind of “grand general meeting of gothic organs.” They emulated everything from a hydraulis to 13th, 14th, and 15th-century portatives and positives. There were also some renaissance instruments, including an original 16th-century Italian organ, the most modern of the assembly, a permanent fixture in the Old Church at Rhede, nodal point of this symposium. Other venues around this East-Friesland region included Weener and Rysum. Attendees came from Germany, Netherlands, Scotland, Switzerland, Australia, Czech Republic, USA, and Scandinavia. 

At the outset Harald Vogel made the poignant observation that this unusual gathering of medieval organs was an exceptionally important event in the history of the instrument, a hitherto virtually unthinkable assembly. It was organized by the Weener Organeum, Winfried Dahlke in charge, supported by a squadron of organists, organbuilders, and others whose burning curiosity clearly motivated them strongly. 

Dr. Vogel inaugurated the “Rims” instrument, made for a German organist by Orgelmakerij van der Putten after mid-14th-century practices: constant-scaling, two 8s in parallel (effectively 8 II-ranks, always playing, no stop control) and a 6 (on a separate register, slider above the windchest). The resemblance to an organ described in the 10–12th-century Sélestat Manuscript gives its 8+8+6 specification full credibility.8

The prototypical culture that inspired the Rims instrument used lead as pipe material, constant scaling after the 11th-century Berne Anonymous MS,9 and keys as described by Praetorius for Halberstadt.10 Its Gamba-Quintadena-like bass tones with Principally-Flutey trebles were an experience all of their own. They came into good use during the symposium in Gregorian alternatims, borduns supporting chanters, and works such as medieval Redeuntes with long-held bass notes under more agile trebles. This instrument presented a left-hand cantus firmus of an early Felix namque11 with remarkable ease and complete conviction; its scaling allowing the “slow-note cantus firmus” to stand out against right-hand elaborations as if two manuals were being used. Yet no normal two-manual organ could ever achieve the effect so convincingly. An understanding of the 13th-century Notre Dame school of Léonin and Pérotin—also tried out at the conference—was clarified through performance on this instrument. All present knew instinctively that they were in the presence of a special musical integrity and masterly instrument building.12

Another organ, of an altogether different, rather later style, was the largest of several provided by Walter Chinaglia. This remarkable organo di legno brought to mind a passage in Benvenuto Cellini’s autobiography: 

 

My father began teaching me to play upon the flute and sing by note; but notwithstanding I was of that tender age when little children like to take pastime in whistles and such toys, I had an inexpressible dislike for it, and played and sang only to obey him. At this time my father fashioned wonderful organs with pipes made of wood, spinets the fairest and most excellent which could then be seen, viols and lutes and harps of the most beautiful and perfect construction.13

What could be called Chinaglia’s Cellini Principals are exceptionally fine ranks, made from a beautiful red-yellow cypress, which even contributes scent to the total experience of this organ. They run through the entire range of its keyboard at both 8 and 4 pitches. The third register, an exquisite Krummhorn-Regal with a beautifully full and rich quality in spite of its pencil-thin resonators, adds a strong and spicy finish to the tonal resources.14 He also brought along several positives and portatives, one very fine positive emulating that in the van der Goes painting in Scotland.15

Of particular interest to everybody at the symposium was a new interpretation of the ancient Roman organ finds from Aquincum (Hungary). It was built by
A. Schuke Potsdam-Orgelbau GmbH (Germany) for the Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum Mainz (Germany); research, design, and concept were by Susanne Rühling M.A. and Michael Zierenberg.16 Extra time had to be allocated, taken from later sessions, allowing a second round of discussion about this amazing but potent little replica. It stood there, like a proud Roman sentinel, on its brown hexagonal pedestal, a living and working monument, mostly in copper or bronze, to the organ belonging to Aquincum’s 3rd-century fire brigade. Its prototype ironically survived a fire by falling into the cellar. Were they all out that night? Perhaps the seemingly unanswerable question—“Was it a hydraulis or a bellows organ?”—might be given a nudge towards hydraulis, since its survival could have been the result of having water poured over it as it fell? It is doubtful that burning floors falling into cellars with highly flammable organ bellows would do anything more than increase the conflagration. Such speculations aside, this instrument looked more like something from the age of steam and polished brass. Indeed, its amazing sounds were quite reminiscent of steam whistles. Justus Willberg also tours Europe with a hydraulis,17 complete with air-pumps, water cistern, pnigeus, and Greek repertoire, but following the older, Walcker-Mayer interpretation. He was in Basel not so long before the June event, another manifestation of this fascinating phenomenon. The sounds of these Roman organs seem not unrelated to the new Rims organ when first heard from a modern perspective, although they are in reality tonally, musically, and mechanically universes apart.

Another star of both events was the two-stop, one-manual and pedal positive made for the author in 2010 by van der Putten. This instrument was also partly influenced by the van der Goes painting. The organ and I had been invited to make the trip from Basel specifically to talk, play, and be played at this conference. Much of the woodwork is Lebanese cedar, again contributing scent to the total experience. It was used in every concert and demonstration and featured twice on the cover of the flyer. (Rysum was the third.) The two Rhede flyer photos were taken at the Basel event by Jos van der Giessen where the Peterskirche appropriately provided a neatly framed, truly “Gothic” background.18 The positive was moved from Laufen (Switzerland, near Basel) to Rhede (Germany), then Huizinge (Netherlands), Rysum (Germany), Rhede (Germany), Groningen (Netherlands), Finsterwolde (Netherlands), and back to Laufen (Switzerland) during this northern sojourn—about 12 days.

The rest of the Rhede Symposium consisted of demonstrations, concerts, lectures, a church service, socializing, and networking. The invitees included Harald Vogel, Winold van der Putten, Koos van de Linde, Cor Edskes (paper read in absentia), Susanne Rühling, Winfried Dahlke, Jankees Braaksma, Tomas Flegr, and myself. Themes ranged around gothic pipe-making, wind pressures, voicing, repertoire, performance practice, the problems and advantages in the anachronous use of tuning slides in modern copies of early organs, the towering figure of Arnaut de Zwolle, medieval organ design (cases, windchests, specifications, keys), the Blockwerk, surviving literature, touch sensitivity on portatives, the use of bells with medieval organs, Pythagorean tempering, and much more.

Time simply ran out. The richness of thematic material, available expertise, the many discussion by-products, and the ravenous cultural, intellectual, and musical hunger of all gathered together for this event turned out to be quite overwhelming for the organizers. Some speakers and players had to seriously curtail their offerings. Frustrating though this was, it should be no enduring problem as long as the need for more is acknowledged.

Thus it was that, on Saturday afternoon, September 8, 2012, momentarily lacking a program, I turned to Jos van der Giessen and asked, “When does this finish?” Even the fascinating unscheduled double session by Koos van de Linde (Netherlands/Germany) ranging from Arnaut de Zwolle to the much-discussed Utrecht Nicolaïkerk organ restoration19 was not fully done. Three more speakers were impossibly scheduled in the 30 minutes before the close at 4:30 pm. My question was intended to be “When does this (session) finish”—but the response fittingly, amusingly, and intentionally misinterpreted it, summing up the spirit which had been engendered by all the 2012 events: “Never, I hope!”

For the phenomenologists, at least four medieval organ events in around four months—Basel, Netherlands, Rhede, Sion—must be something of a landmark for 2012.

Immediately following the Rhede Symposium, on Sunday, September 9, after the closing church service in Rysum, a further concert was held in Groningen’s De Oosterpoort Concert Hall. Arrangements had been made that my instrument would remain in the Netherlands for a few days before being returned to Switzerland. Jankees Braaksma (Netherlands) and Tomas Flegr (Czech Republic) played it with the group Vox Resonans, the ensemble adding that sparkle and transformed sound that has been frequently noted with this organ: those who had attended both events were still commenting on Tobie Miller’s hurdy-gurdy playing in Basel and the amazing soundscapes created when organistrum and organum are played in ensemble. The dance group, RenaiDanse,20 led by Veronique Daniels (Switzerland), and instrumentalists also featured in two of the Rhede Symposium concerts as well as this Groningen event. They all earned a double standing ovation in Groningen—one after the concert, another after the encore. The calcant (the organ’s builder), physically exhausted and suffering from a serious workshop injury incurred just before the symposium, was fittingly included with the performers in these accolades.

 

Quo vadis?

The many themes raised by these conferences can only be dealt with through an enduring continuum of instrument building, research, discussion, publication, and many more such events. This arena is a collection of musical swords that still need much more rattling in their scabbards. Basel and Rhede together were able to pose important questions, and even answer some, at least in the short term. But long-term answers are needed, since both the practice and the research is relatively recent, tends to be revelatory, and is ongoing—very much an essential part of the phenomenon.

There were questions posed about the nicknaming of the Rutland Psalter copy as a “Theophilus” organ. Of course, with hindsight we can now view this as two ends of a historical progression and clearly distinguish between them as organ types. Simple, well-intended glossing can grow into habits that become less correct as time progresses. Such expressions tend to stick, even when more recent knowledge overtakes them. Another habit of this kind began to be formed at these conferences when—rightly enough as a new venture in recreating pipe-making history—the so-called “pigeon’s egg” registers (three on the Rims organ, one on the Rumsey organ) were referred to just so: “pigeon’s egg ranks.” The term comes from the 11th-century Codex Bern (see endnote 9), where the measure of pipe diameters is explained as “the width of a pigeon’s egg.” Yet the eggs chosen were different and correctly discriminated between the eras the two instruments represented. Thus the ranks were not scaled to the same widths. The terminology really should have been “constant-scaled.” After that we might talk ancient treatises and ornithology.21 Likewise, in discussing the “wolf” in Pythagorean tempering, the interval really should have been referred to as “b to g” rather than “b to f”. And what were referred to as “pure thirds” are in fact just ever so slightly impure acoustically, since they are really Pythagorean diminished fourths, e.g., d–g, which are 384.36 cents, whereas a truly pure major third is 386.31 cents. True, normal human perception cannot distinguish between them.22 Again, strictly speaking, the hydraulis presented was closer to a bellows organ. 

These matters need little further comment here; the intention is clear in every case once the context is clarified and human nature to gloss, nickname, and abbreviate is acknowledged. Exact terminology usually sorts itself out eventually as needs arise and awareness increases—although a general tendency to slow progress is lamentable.

What needs probing now includes the following:

Medieval Tuning and Tempering: A frequent modern assumption that earlier Pythagorean temperaments mostly had the “wolf” at G–E23 seems only rarely to be hinted at in ancient sources. It has sometimes been recommended or assumed by exponents of this culture, including Mark Lindley, although often with serious reservations or caveats.24 Others, such as Adam B. Rahbee, are known to be investigating this.25 Further results are eagerly awaited from him and others. However, the most likely outcome, endemic to this medieval discipline it would seem, is that there was no single standard. One particularly fascinating development of this was how, in the half-century or so before Schlick (the work of Arnaut de Zwolle, Pietro Aaron, et al), the pure thirds/diminished fourths were shifted and came into line with four of what became mean-tone temperament’s normal eight.26

Fingering: The use only of 2nd, 3rd, and 4th fingers when playing medieval keyboard music was strongly promoted in the Rhede masterclasses. There was a claim that it was impossible to use thumb and 5th finger anyway, especially when playing portatives. Yet this was proven wrong by at least one participant, who repeatedly and comfortably used all fingers. When an octave span is required in, e.g., a 3-part Buxheim27 piece, and it can only be played by one hand because the other is too far removed to help out, then how can the thumb not be used, especially if the keys are substantially wider than modern keys and there is no pedal? (Horror of horrors: was the rule of exclusively 2nd, 3rd, and 4th fingers partly formulated by people playing relatively narrow modern keyboards?) Aside from Tobie Miller’s hurdy-gurdy playing in Basel, the finely fingered performances by Brett Leighton—who takes Buchner’s Fundamentum organisandi of c. 1520 and his Quem terra pontus as a point of departure—also linger very well in collective memory.28

Music and its structures: Much of the medieval repertoire could have been intended for constant-scaled ranks. The music of Robertsbridge29 and Faenza30 seem often to rely on the development of tension through tessitura variation and the relation of this to changing tonal qualities induced by scaling practices. Redeuntes, for example, sound wonderful on constant-scaled ranks as the figuration rises and falls. This music thrives on “intensity climaxes” that higher-pitched, fuller and flutier constant-scaled ranks produce. No modern scaling can possibly achieve this. The first Estampie from Robertsbridge has one “punctus” after another, each getting successively higher than the preceding, until the final one just blooms with the highest and most intensely flutey notes of all. It is not just constant-scaled ranks but also other scaling practices from this era—e.g., Arnaut’s “halving on the octave with addition constant”—that can produce this effect. Essentially all early scaling practices do to varying degrees, but the more scaling practice approaches modern schemes, such as Töpfer’s norms,31 the less marked this effect becomes, and the music ends up sounding relatively flat and lifeless.

Metallurgy—copper, lead, tin, and alloys—plays a most critical role. The use of wood for pipes is another question, particularly the issue of its first clearly recorded use—Italy, late 15th century?32 The Sion (Switzerland) Valeria organ has a “Copel” made from wood, now dendrochronologically dated from around early 15th century.33 Of course, wood was introduced at some stage between the hydraulis and Arnaut de Zwolle as a material replacing the earlier copper/bronze variants used in making windchests.34 Similarly, early conical metal pipe-forms and the potential confusion they cause in the iconography with wood needs investigation.35 The relics at Hamar, Norway, may eventually provide a key.

The apparently sudden change from copper/bronze to lead at the turn of the 13th century is an interesting phenomenon: that lead was far more malleable than copper may have been a driving motivation clinching change. But the tonal effect was so strikingly softer and sweeter that this was expressly noted in many contemporary tracts.36 It must have come as a profoundly exciting development, part of the Ars Nova/Ars Antiqua watershed. Notated organ music first consistently appeared just after the change—some of it might suit the sound of tin or copper but most of it plays remarkably well on lead pipework. Did the notion of accompanied voices rather than alternatim also receive some kind of stimulus here? And the desire to separate a single 8 out from a Blockwerk: was this also part of the switch to lead? Later register names, such as Doof, hint at this, for the softer tones of lead must have seemed “deaf” compared either to copper pipes or the presence of upperwork of any kind. It was mainly in the centuries after this change that the typical, relatively small, medieval organ began to share the stage with some increasingly multi-ranked Blockwerks. The facility of the larger Blockwerks to be reduced to a single, sweet foundation rank must have been very alluring, whether for accompaniment or contrast.

Blockwerk registrations were sometimes recommended for pieces played by participants in Rhede—but how many organs pre-15th century had more than about one, two, or three ranks? Two of these ranks were often enough simply a doubled unison. The most spectacular Blockwerks were reported by Wulstan at Winchester in the 10th century or Praetorius at Halberstadt in the 14th or 15th century. Were some of these chroniclers, like us, more impressed with size—or hooked on hyperbole—than with making sober inventories of what was really there? Certainly, the three-rank Rims organ was closer to many Blockwerks of that era than the concept of a “Lokaz of at least 50 ranks,” to cite Schlick at the end of the era around 1511. And the Winchester organ: did this have copper pipes? Presumably. Was that—apart from its apparently anachronistically large mixture—another reason why it was reported as being so loud? Prima facie, sources and iconography prior to the 15th century indicate the existence of relatively few large Blockwerks compared to the many Positives and Portatives.

As with scaling, pitch, keyboard design, metallurgy, and everything else about medieval organs, there were no DIN specifications. Any investigative path is flawed if standards like this are sought. A variety of options needs to be tried within known tolerances, then optimums and limits found. Assessments can then follow, which might be region-, collection- or even specific work-oriented. It would be wonderful if some day money could be found to build an entire series of constant-scaled ranks from very thin to quite wide scaling, note the true ranges available, and try out repertoire on them, for instance that spanning the era between the Robertsbridge Codex and Buxheimer Orgelbuch. If further funding were available, then some copper pipes might also be tried, not for keyboard repertoire before this, since it virtually does not exist, but for ensembles (especially those commonly iconographically represented) and alternatim.

Did some or all the music in Faenza assume copper pipes, lead pipes, tin pipes, alloys? Constant or variable scaling? Pitches equivalent to A440, A466, A520 or something else? And where to place the “wolf”? A520, lead pipes, early Pythagorean tempering, and constant scaling certainly seem to work very well. But are our criteria correct? The experience of beautifully pure major thirds from Renaissance mean-tone tempering, or major thirds ranging from pure to mistuned in the circular temperings of the Baroque era, is very enticing to impressionable musicians travelling back from an accustomed equal tempering. Yet the sober reality is that pure thirds were sometimes expressly avoided, e.g., by Bach using remote keys with dissonant thirds to represent crucifixion, or even just sheer doggedness as with Thomas Roseingrave’s self-proclaimed love of F–G rather than F–A in his deliberate choice of a “nasty” F-minor tonality. Was the Pythagorean “wolf” sought out in like manner, or studiously avoided by these earlier musicians? Probably it was avoided if the evidence of modal transpositions is taken at face value—but even here there are questions that need working through.37 In any case, there is no significant evidence in medieval music for an Affektenlehre and Figurenlehre: that was the culture of Bach, Handel, and Roseingrave.

To a degree, medieval voicing seems somewhat weather-prone: what barely works one day, might work well or not at all in the next cold snap or heat wave. And the organs of those days were only marginally protected from weather change compared to ours in air-conditioned buildings today. Thus: were their tolerances of pitch and tuning, including in ensemble, and with bells, more flexible than ours are today? Within limits, slight differences actually make these organs more interesting, as do historical voicing techniques—particularly the lack of total control with wide-open footholes. The lowest generally workable pitch from 27mm constant-scaled lead pipes is about modern (A440) tenor E. With 33mm it extends down to B, a fourth lower. Thus, pitches of organs produce differing manual compasses, or a few low pipes with ears needed to make them speak. As Winold van der Putten pointed out in Basel, “Medieval organ builders were no fools: it only takes cupping a hand around a pipe mouth to make it speak.” Iconography showing ears is, however, extremely elusive—jury out, experimentation and investigation still in. If, as seems likely, constant scaling was perpetuated well after the 11th century, whence these “pigeon’s egg” figures derive, then diameters could well have increased in time, allowing lower bass ranges and even more blooming trebles. The iconography, inter alia, suggests that this tendency could have persisted until early 15th century as diameters apparently became wider.38 A targeted study of this is overdue.

If we retain all the parameters noted above, then reduce the size of the pigeon’s egg taken to 27mm, as with the Rims organ, little of Robertsbridge and Faenza at its notated pitch can be played satisfactorily unless the instrument is higher than A440. The very low notes cannot be voiced reliably using known medieval tools and techniques. Yet Léonin, Pérotin, or the Felix Namque of the Oxford MS sound totally convincing here with their more agile trebles—everything just bringing this music to a radiant vitality. The same applies for other parameters with Buxheimer, Ileborgh,39 or various regional- or even specifically single-work instances.

Even so, did Léonin and Pérotin ever know lead pipes?

Research and experimentation not possible hitherto has now shown that constant scaling with pigeons’ egg dimensions around 33mm, and a pitch of at least A465 makes the first Estampie from Robertsbridge sound simply magnificent when transposed up a tone. That equates to A520—which should make some players of medieval instruments happy, since many project that pitch for some of their repertoire. All this, or an even higher pitch, brings “43” from Faenza truly to life in 33mm constant scaling. Lower that pitch and the bass notes of the Estampie are poor or missing, while the overall effect of “43” is relatively dull from trebles that simply do not bloom so well.

Of necessity, these assessments will always have a component of subjectivity in them. But not entirely: low pitches and constant scaling yield bass notes that do not repeat promptly, and others that will not speak properly, if at all—indicators that either pitch is too low, scaling too narrow, or later scaling practices could be appropriate. The physical limits of medieval organ compasses and pitch now need probing and defining. Any temptation to a general conformity of anything—pitch, scaling, metal alloy, tempering, fingering—must be addressed as a range or tolerance, given a specific set of parameters. This expressly includes repertoire and ensemble playing.

Standardization was a new concept that had to wait for Arnolt Schlick and later centuries. Interestingly, Schlick, relatively modern by comparison to the main thrust of these conferences, barely made it into the discussions.

 

A sequel? 

Thus, there was a consensus that intellectual and musical exchange should not simply vanish after this flush of medieval organ symposia during the European summer of 2012. Several events are already known to be foreshadowed. Of considerable interest will be a major symposium planned for the Amsterdam Orgelpark, June 6–8, 2013.40 Wherever future events are held, it would be most welcome if they were not primarily talk-fests, but also included strong performance components. One small criticism of the Rhede Symposium was its predominance of talk over music. A four-way balance will always be needed with medieval organ cultures: talk, solo organ, alternatim, and in ensemble. In a way, these instruments were born to work in alternation with speech, chanting, silence, and possibly bells. It is particularly in ensemble that the iconography, literature, and extant music seems to be signposting the way ahead. Both Basel and Rhede showed that all four are needed for a completely balanced presentation of this highly fascinating culture. Basel strongly promoted alternatim and ensemble, and so did Rhede, the latter chiefly in concerts where dance was also represented. Would the miracle or mystery plays of the era be a good suggestion for some future events?

The Mainzer Hoftag of 1184 is usually reckoned as the greatest medieval festival in history. It was here that Friedrich Barbarossa knighted his sons, Heinrich VI and Friedrich V. A contemporary description of it included these lines:41

 

Dâ was spil end gesanc

End behurt ende dranc,

Pîpen ende singen

Vedelen ende springen,

Orgeln ende seitspelen,

Meneger slachten frouden vele.

 

There was playing and song,

And pushing and shoving,

Piping and singing,

Fiddles and dancing,

Organs and strings playing,

Many joyful things mingling.

 

Epilogue

The standing ovations in Groningen mentioned above had something of a cathartic feel to them, reflecting the exegesis in medieval organbuilding and musical performance that has taken place over the past several decades, especially in the events described above. Winold van der Putten’s organs were not at all alone in this, but he and his work were at the center of two of these conferences.42 His 1999 realization of the copy of the Rutland Psalter organ was an important trailblazer. This instrument was featured at the Rhede conference, along with some portatives for Jankees Braaksma and his group, Super Librum.43 These were prototypes for most of what has followed as van der Putten and others investigated, experimented, and cracked the codes of medieval organbuilding and voicing. His recent constant-scaled ranks for myself and the Rims instrument were essayed only after much investigation and experimentation. In their own way, they alone deserved their rightful share of those standing ovations. Medieval organ scaling of this kind now seems set to be one of the next “revelations” in the performance of this music—not least in portatives where, oddly enough, it remains relatively untried.

 

David Rumsey44 was born and educated in Sydney, Australia. He studied with Anton Heiller and Marie-Claire Alain in Europe 1963–66, then returned to a position at the University of Adelaide. Moving back to Sydney in 1969 he established a Department of Organ and Church Music, which survives the recent Australian educational and research funding cuts. For over 25 years, until 1998, he was the regular organist with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and as such frequently presided over the Grand Organs of Sydney Opera House and Sydney Town Hall. Associations with multimedia events have included performances of the Saint-Saëns “Organ Symphony” to 100,000 people with the orchestra in the Sydney Domain, the organ via microwave link from Sydney Town Hall. In 1998, he wrote, produced, acted, and performed in a highly successful 14-hour musical and dramatic spectacle on the life of J.S. Bach, with actors in period costume from the National Institute of Dramatic Art (AUS), and musicians playing period instruments. He resigned his post in Sydney in 1998 and moved to Basel, Switzerland, where he continues working as an organist and consultant, and as a Senior Researcher at the University of Bern. Since 2007 he has been responsible for the editing and CD-production of historic organ recordings released under the OehmsClassics label using the historic Welte organ and its player-rolls at Seewen (SO-CH) and is regarded as an authority on aspects of medieval organ culture. He is organist at Herz Jesu Kirche in Laufen (BL-CH) and in-house consultant and organist to the Museum der Musikautomaten, Seewen (SO-CH).45

 

Acknowledgements

(*) Seemingly the only images currently available, taken here from Stein Johannes Kolnes, Norsk orgelkultur—Instrument og miljø frå mellomalderen til I dag, Det Norske Samlaget, Oslo, 1987.

Thanks to John Liddy, Jos van der Giessen, Marc Lewon, and Elizabeth Rumsey for their help with this article, and to all who contributed photos and good advice. My apologies to Walter Chinaglia for not writing more about his organo di legno—space allocation just became too acute and this instrument really belongs to a slightly later epoch than the one mainly under discussion here. A fuller report on it can be seen at http://www.davidrumsey.ch/Chinaglia.htm.

 

Notes

1. Some details are available at www.david rumsey.ch/Medieval.php.

2. www.ostfriesischelandschaft.de/1097.html

3. Kimberly Marshall, Iconographical Evidence for the Late-Medieval Organ in French, Flemish, and English Manuscripts (New York: Garland Publishing, 1989), ISBN 0-8240-2047-2.

4. A description of the background to this, including mention of an earlier instrument by Yves Cabourdin, is available in Marcel Pérès, editor, Les orgues gothiques: Actes du Colloque de Royaument, 1995 (Paris, Editions Créaphis, 2000).

5. www.organa.it

6. www.marcus-stahl-orgelbauer.com

7. Wolkenstayn Orgelbau—also represented at the Basel event—www.wolkenstayn.de. He is arranging a course March 8–10, 2013, the “13. Etappe zur Frühen Musik,” dealing with Organetto/Portative playing, to be held at Burg Fuersteneck. Details on his website.

8. www.davidrumsey.ch/Bibliography.htm (see under 11th century)

9. Anonymous of Bern(e) or Codex Bern, Anonymus Bernensis etc., excerpt De fistulis organis/De organis.

10. In Michael Praetorius, Syntagma Musicum, Volume II, Wolfenbüttel 1618 (1619/20), section V, and Volume III 1619, section 7: “Das I. und II. Diskant-klavier.”

11. Oxford Douce MS 381

12. An alternatim (Veni creator spiritus) from an ad hoc Rhede performance can be heard at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgtszdCw91o&feature=youtu.be.

13. John Addington Symonds (1840–1893), trans., The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, Chapter V. It is now available online as part of the “Gutenberg” project (see www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4028).

14. Further details at: www.organa.it/page1/page14/page41/page41.html.

15. Hugo van der Goes, Ange jouant de l’orgue (Angel playing the organ), Flemish ca. 1480, Sir Edward Bonkil, Holyrood Castle, Edinburgh collection. For a sample (second from left) see https://d30dcznuokq8w8.cloudfront.net/works/r/bal/6/8/0/399086_full_102….

16. www.schuke.com/pages/de/projects#reconstructions

17. www.hydraulis.de

18. Remains of a hydraulis were excavated in Dion, Greece, in August 1992. A reconstruction has since been toured. See Peter Williams and Jean-Paul Montagnier, eds., The Organ Yearbook #33 (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 2004), p. 163; Michael Markovits, Die Orgel in Altertum (Leiden: Brill, 2003); and websites: www.culture.gr/2/23/232/epked/en/00_standard_menu/00a_ydraulis/00a.htm and www.mlahanas.de/Greece/Cities/Dion.html.

19. See Peter Williams, ed., The Organ Yearbook #41 (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 2012), pp. 7–35. Program at www.david rumsey.ch/index.pdf, images at www.david rumsey.ch/2012/album/index.html.

20. www.renaidanse.org/page/de/act.html

21. The sizes of pigeons’ eggs are discussed in a footnote to Part II, Section 1, of Christhard Mahrenholz, Die Berechnung der Orgelpfeifenmensuren vom Mittelalter bis zur Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Bärenreiter, 1968); also in English translation (Oxford: Positif Press, 1975). 

22. See also www.davidrumsey.ch/
tempering.pdf.

23. Really not a quint at all, but a diminished sixth, which has to function as a quint on the vast majority of keyboards where no split keys provide any better-tuned alternatives. This also applies to diminished fourths, which, in the Pythagorean temperings under discussion here, more accommodatingly or even fortuitously provide a near-pure major third.

24. An important essay on this subject by Mark Lindley can be found online at http://independent.academia.edu/MarkLindley/Papers/242254/Pythagorean_i…. See particularly Table 2, page 27, and the general discussion involving Odington, Spechtshart, et al. Certainly he presents much evidence for the B–G wolf having more than a century’s demonstrable currency from 1413 to 1513 and correctly reminds us that the organ’s tuning cultures were often at variance with those of other instruments. The only significant assertion he makes for a G–E wolf is for Robertsbridge (p. 33). Another essay, by Margo Schulter, can be viewed at www.medieval.org/emfaq/harmony/pyth4.html#1. See especially around “4.5 Pythagorean tuning modified: a transition around 1400,” where she assumes a G–E wolf. In the final analysis, these do not argue very convincingly for a wolf at G–E on purely statistical grounds. Of course, this only became a pressing issue when keyboards came to be divided into 12 or more discrete notes.

25. E.g., in a series of e-mail exchanges between Rahbee and the author dating June 28 to July 22, 2012. He is particularly interested in 15th- and 16th-century tempering practices and takes such relatively new material as the Cambrai MS into account (see Patrizio Barbieri, “An Unknown 15th-century French Manuscript on Organ Building and Tuning,” in Peter Williams, ed., The Organ Yearbook #20 [Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 1989]). Rahbee is also exploring a hypothesis that meantone tempering may have come into widespread use somewhat later than is commonly believed. The apparently dual-tempered instruments of late 15th century, e.g., the Lorenzo da Pavia style of organ, may yet have much to offer on this topic. See http://www.david rumsey.ch/Iconography.pdf, pp. 7 and 8, and Marco Tiella, “The Positive Organ of Lorenzo da Pavia (1494),” in Peter Williams, ed., The Organ Yearbook #7 (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag 1976), pp. 4–15.

26. With a B–G wolf giving near-pure major thirds (really diminished fourths) on A, D, E and B as opposed to the four (from a G–E wolf tuning) quasi-pure major thirds on B, G, F, C (see also endnote 22). This awakens interest in the potential adaptation of Pythagorean/B–G tempering—seen as part of a transition to meantone—bearing, e.g., on the E-major/e-minor tuning dilemma in some Bruhns and early Bach organ works.

27. Das Buxheimer Orgelbuch, MS 3725, Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, München.

28. Leighton’s point of departure is that Buch-ner was a Hofhaimer pupil, barely outlived his master, and most likely merely codified what he had been taught. The “good” fingers are 2 and 4, with scales played on lower keys executed, r.h. ascending and l.h. descending, as 2-3-2-3 (starting on strong beats), r.h. descending and l.h. ascending as 4-3-2-3-2-3, turn figures r.h. high-middle-low-middle and l.h. low-middle-high-middle as 4-3-2-3. The hand can be turned in the direction of travel when using paired fingerings (turning the hand in the direction of movement and keeping the fingers parallel to the keys were techniques used in the outgoing 16th century, their relative employment before that is a matter of speculation; Santa Maria and Diruta were in disagreement about this). Thumbs and fifth fingers are used in both hands (especially the left) when larger intervals require them. The iconography indicates use of left thumb when that hand played longer note values in three parts. Impractical passages sometimes need rule-breaking exceptions. Prohibition of using the same finger twice in succession is not endorsed in Quem terra pontus (which seems to have been fingered by a scribe rather than Buchner) and in polyphony, finger repetition is often the best musical and technical solution. (E-mail correspondence of 12.11.2012-3.12.2012).

29. Robertsbridge Codex/Robertsbridge fragment, London, British Library Add.
MS 28850. 

30. Faenza Codex, Faenza, Biblioteca Comunale, ms. 117.

31. See J.G. Töpfer, Lehrbuch der Orgelbaukunst, in 4 volumes (Weimar, 1855, and Mainz: Rheingold-Verlag, 1955–60).

32. See www.davidrumsey.ch/Technology.htm.

33. See Friedrich Jakob et al. in Die Valeria-Orgel. Ein gotisches Werk in der Burgkirche zu Sitten/Sion (Zurich, Verlag der Fachvereine, 1991), ISBN 3-7281-1666-1 and the updates in La Tribune de L’orgue, ed. Guy Bovet (Geneva), in numbers 56/3 and 61/2. A subsidiary issue here is that many of the older metal pipes at Sion appear not to have been hammered, but retain a thick, rough—even slightly porous?—post-casting appearance.

34. As noted, e.g., by Markovits in Die Orgel in Altertum. See, e.g., pp. 342, 418, and especially p. 444, where metal scarcities in the middle ages are said to have driven the change to wood, etc. (cf. pp. 198). Note also the tin- or copper/bronze-veneered wooden plates of windchests. This book is also available for viewing online at http://books.google.ca/books?id=p7amFlH7Bg0C&pg=PA401&source=gbs_toc_r&….

35. A need to be cautious here is underscored by an illusion in some representations, such as that of the Dame à la Licorne tapestry (http://www.davidrumsey.ch/Iconography.pdf, p. 5), where the pipe tops appear cylindrical, but lower down, under the bar, seem square.

36. E.g., see www.davidrumsey.ch/index.pdf—the Jerome de Moravia quote. In that connection a question (cf. Markovits endnote 33 above) that needs raising may well be: If metal was scarce, then what drove the change to lead so strongly (and e.g., not to wood)?

37. Lindley (op. cit., p .5) for example claims that most of Buxheim seems “. . . in certain cases at least, to require some form of meantone temperament for its proper effect” but gives no clear criteria. My own experience is contrary to this, having tried both, and I am mostly very comfortable with a Pythagorean/B–G wolf for Buxheim. Criteria of this kind are difficult to formulate, save to note that resting points in the music, apart from open fifths and octaves, seem often enough to occur with the near-pure thirds of e.g., an A-major or D-major triad (a feature also noted by Lindley, pp. 42–43). We have to face the fact that medieval musicians themselves applied no consistent criteria here—a proposition that Lindley gives credence to with his quotation (p. 4) of the Spataro/Gaffurio and many other bitter contemporary conflicts around such issues. By virtue of its three additional pipes per octave, the medieval organ built by Winold van der Putten for me in 2010 is capable of playing in a variety of early Pythagorean temperings. With options of pipes to play either D or C, G or F, and A or G, this currently allows any of the following tempering configurations:

Wolf G–E: E B F C G D A E B F C G

Wolf C–A: A E B F  C G D A E B F C

Wolf F–D: D A E B F C G D A E B F

Wolf B–G: G D A EB F C G D A E B

E/D and B/A choices (not yet built 2012) would further increase these options with:

Wolf D–B: B F C G D A E B F C G D

Wolf A–F: F C G D A E B F C G D A

So far a lack of available time has allowed only limited exploration of these variants.

38. www.davidrumsey.ch/Iconography.pdf

39. Incipiunt praeludia diversarium notarum secundum modernum modum subitliter et diligentor collecta cum mensuris diversis hic infra annexis by Adam Ileborgh of Stendal, 1448 (Ileborgh: Paris, private collection [‘Ileborgh Tablature’]).

40. www.orgelpark.nl/pages/home

41. Quoted in Jean Perrot, The Organ, from Its Invention in the Hellenistic Period to the End of the Thirteenth Century (London: Oxford University Press, 1971, ISBN 0 19 318418 4), trans. Norma Dean, p. 268. Perrot is sourcing this from Th. Gérold, La Musique au Moyen Age (Paris: Champion, 1932), p. 419.

42. www.orgelmakerij.nl

43. www.superlibrum.nl

44. www.davidrumsey.ch/index.php

45. www.bundesmuseen.ch/musikautomat en/index.html?lang=en

Haarlem International Organ Festival 2012: From Sweelinck to Szathmáry’s Fukushima Requiem

In the second half of July, leading figures from the international organ world gathered again in Haarlem, the Netherlands, for the 49th edition of the Haarlem International Organ Festival

Stephen Taylor

Stephen Taylor was a chorister at Bristol Cathedral and organ scholar of Jesus College, Oxford. In the Netherlands he studied with Ewald Kooiman, Nico van den Hooven, and Jan Welmers, and was awarded the Prix d’Excellence in 1977. He was organist of the Nicolaïkerk in Utrecht for more than twenty years and is active as a soloist and continuo player and as an author and translator. Taylor joined the Haarlem Festival organization in 2007. His translation of Ton de Leeuw’s Music of the Twentieth Century was published by Amsterdam University Press. In 2006 he was awarded the St. Martin Medal of the city of Utrecht for his contribution to its cultural life. His three-volume tutor on practical harmonization, The Lost Chord, has recently been published for the first time in English.

 
Files
Default

In the second half of July, leading figures from the international organ world gathered again in Haarlem, the Netherlands, for the 49th edition of the Haarlem International Organ Festival. It was here, in this wonderfully picturesque town very near Amsterdam, that the first Haarlem improvisation competition was held in 1951. Four years later, in 1955, the summer academy was launched, and the two events were held annually until 1986, and thereafter biennially. 

 

Improvisation competition

The competition is unique in its focus on contemporary improvisation. In each round, after an hour’s preparation with pencil and paper only, competitors offer a 10-minute concert improvisation. Eight participants from France, Poland, the USA (Jason Roberts, Connecticut), and Holland were selected in the spring of 2012 by means of submitted recorded improvisations on short motifs by Louis Maillié (Lyon and Paris). In the first two rounds, all eight selected competitors showed their skills first on the monumental Müller organ in St. Bavo’s and then on the Cavaillé-Coll instrument in the Philharmonie Concert Hall. The theme in Round 1 was a melody from the 16th-century Antwerp Liedboek. Round 2 was something of a surprise: instead of a musical idea, a semi-abstract, 90-second film served to inspire the competitors! The three finalists were presented with the following theme from the hand of the Viennese organist (and Haarlem veteran!) Peter Planyavsky. 

The five-member jury (Lionel Rogg, Wolfgang Seifen, Naji Hakim, Joost Langeveld, and the Dutch composer Klaas de Vries) reflected different schools of thought. Winner of the 2012 competition was the Frenchman Paul Goussot, who competed in the grand finale against French colleague Noël Hazebroucq and the Polish organist Edyta Müller (at last, a female improviser!). The Dutch national daily De Volkskrant wrote: 

 

Although the three finalists were a good match, Goussot achieved the most convincing balance between the virtues of ‘organistic’ freedom and the binding power of the theme. He employed lucid rhythms, well-sounding harmonies, and did not shy away from adventurous harmonic progressions. Just before the end, chords erupted from the pipes like flashes of fire, but then he suddenly slowed, finishing his improvisation in a whispering coda. This winner of the 49th improvisation competition is a man who combines musical instinct and craftsmanship with a sense of theatre. 

Another leading national daily added: “With the Haarlem International Organ Improvisation Competition many great organ careers have been launched . . . ” 

 

The International
Summer Academy

The Haarlem Summer Academy 2012 offered an 11-day program of masterclasses plus a two-day symposium. In daily two-hour sessions, capita selecta from more than four centuries of organ repertory were discussed in depth. Center stage in the academy is the Müller organ in St. Bavo’s (where the gallery fortunately accommodates up to 30!) But other important historic and modern instruments in the town are also used, all within walking distance. 

Teachers at the 2012 summer academy were Harald Vogel on Sweelinck, Margaret Phillips on early English music, Ton Koopman, Jean-Claude Zehnder, Jacques van Oortmerssen and James David Christie on J. S. Bach, Olivier Latry and Louis Robilliard on French and German Romantics, Martin Sander on Max Reger, Roman Summereder on contemporary ‘keystones’, Zsigmond Szathmáry (working with young composers), Jos van der Kooy and Peter Planyavsky on improvisation, and Leo van Doeselaar on repertory for organ and strings.

This year’s academy was attended by 85 students from 27 countries and five continents. In addition to a group of young Russian players (regular guests for some years), a new group of Chinese students included young teachers from Beijing and Shanghai. Previously officially a postgraduate program, the academy now accepts undergraduate music students, reflecting the festival’s policy to attract the very best young players. Daily lectures and discussions allowed both students and the general public to meet and hear all the academy teachers. 

 

Festival symposium

Midway between the two academy weeks, the festival symposium “From Sweelinck to Bach” took the entire academy to the famous organs at Oosthuizen and Edam and to Amsterdam (Oude and Nieuwe Kerk), where lectures and recitals were given by Harald Vogel, Margaret Phillips, Jean-Claude Zehnder, and Christoph Wolff, among others. 

 

Young talents

For the second time, the Haarlem summer academy included a six-day course for young talents aged 13 to 18. After an international call, six players were selected on the basis of a written recommendation from their teachers and a submitted recording (a fast movement from a Bach trio sonata and a Pièce de Fantaisie by Vierne). In six two-hour sessions, the young players (from Holland, Germany, France, Croatia, Ireland, Portugal, and the USA) were coached by Olivier Latry and Margaret Phillips. These young organists made good use of the opportunity to attend all festival activities and to visit other masterclasses. No fewer than three of the young talents from the 2010 course returned to Haarlem to take part in other masterclasses—the Haarlem disease is highly contagious!

 

Young composers

The Haarlem young composers’ course took place again under the inspirational direction of the Hungarian-German Ligeti pupil Zsigmond Szathmáry. After an international call, three new organ pieces by young Dutch and German composers were selected for discussion during the six-session masterclass. Important considerations in the selection process were composition technique, originality, and whether a work was idiomatically suited to the organ. The new works were discussed with the composers (two of whom performed their own works) and presented to the public during a festival recital in St. Bavo’s. 

For the second time, the Leipzig Summer Academy will include this concert and a preparatory course under Szathmáry in its 2013 program. Thus young composers are assured of repeat performances of their new works at prominent international venues. 

 

New music

The festival concert programs featured many premieres: Zsigmond Szathmáry’s Fukushima Requiem was broadcast live on Dutch national radio; Dutch premieres included EOOS for organ and panpipes by Klaas de Vries, Radulescu’s Madrigali, Kagel’s Phantasie für Orgel mit Obbligati for organ and tape, Der Dom und das Meer for organ and tape by Mesías Maiguashca, and Szathmáry’s Leichte Brise—grosser Orkan. In a spectacular closing recital, Olivier Latry and Shin-Young Lee performed Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring

 

50th anniversary

The 50th edition of the Haarlem International Organ Festival will take place July 11–26, 2014. Newcomers to the festival—and Haarlem veterans—will be warmly welcomed!

Note

Many of the items referred to in this article, including competition themes (and film), academy repertoire, and audio and video recordings of recitals and concerts (including Fukushima Requiem and The Rite of Spring), are available through www.organfestival.nl, where news of the 2014 festival will appear in the coming months.

 

 

Copenhagen’s Orgelsamling: A Treasury of Danish Organ Building

Copenhagen is home to the organ collection of St. Andreas Church, nine small church organs representing various Danish organ builders

Benjamin A. Kolodziej

 

Benjamin Kolodziej holds graduate degrees in sacred music and theology from Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas, where he has served as a chapel organist since 1999. He is also organist and director of music at Lord of Life Lutheran Church, Plano, Texas, and also the current Dean of the Dallas AGO chapter.

 

Files
Default

At the north end of Copenhagen’s city center, nestled peacefully near the botanical gardens on Gothersgade, lies the Sankt Andreas Kirke. Its exterior, unassuming by European standards, belies the musical treasures harbored within its cavernous interior, namely a collection of nine small church organs built in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, all of which were collected from throughout Denmark and which represent various Danish builders. These small pipe organs, ranging in size from one to four ranks, comprise Orgelsamlingen i Sct Andreas Kirke, or “The Organ Collection of St. Andreas Church,” a cooperative collaboration between the church and the collection’s curator, Dr. André Palsgård, a Copenhagen physician. Although the first organ was renovated and installed in the gallery in May 1998, the collection was not inaugurated until February 2000, at the time comprising only four organs.1 The Orgelsamling’s growth and development during the last decade, attributable to the passion and effort of Dr. Palsgård, not only allows scholars and church musicians a glimpse into Danish organbuilding practices, but also serves as an educational, interactive museum by which the pipe organ and its music are promoted.2  

 

Historical background

Interested in music since a child, André Palsgård began acquiring and restoring modest pipe organs during the 1970s, even building a larger home to accommodate his growing collection of musical instruments, including a harmonium and a pneumatic organ that had been stored in a hen house! As Dr. Palsgård cultivated his knowledge of organ restoration, his colleagues would approach him regarding organs that had become redundant. His first such relocation project occurred in 1989 when he discovered that the I/6 organ built by Immanuel Starup (1862–1944) for the village church in Smørum was to be replaced with a new organ. Through his initiative, it was brought to Copenhagen to install in the chapel of the Sundholm, a social welfare institution. Although this idea never came to fruition, it was eventually installed as the choir organ of the Helligåndskirken, the Church of the Holy Spirit, in the medieval center of Copenhagen, undergoing a restoration by Svend Nielsen in 1998, which included the addition of significant casework and gilding.3 The redundant organs that would become available were not always the simple discards of a thoughtless church committee. That none of them have pedals and that all of them have unpretentious tonal schemes, negating the ability to play much organ literature, prompted some of their organists to campaign for their replacement with more complete, modern instruments.  

Recognizing the need for a permanent location for several historic instruments that might otherwise face destruction, Dr. Palsgård approached the pastor of the Sct Andreas Kirke, Mads-Bjørn Jørgensen, a former flight museum administrator and a proponent of organ music, with the idea of establishing a permanent home in the church’s wrap-around balcony. Having found a favorable reception, the Orgelsamling has been housed in the spacious side balcony since 1998 and has grown to seven instruments upstairs, one beneath the balcony, and one in the chancel, and all within view of the imposing Frobenius organ, the primary instrument for the church’s liturgy, in the west gallery.  

These organs must be considered in their proper historic context within the greater purview of the Northern European organbuilding tradition, Denmark being thoroughly Scandinavian, yet heavily influenced by its southern neighbor, Germany. Since its founding in 1806, Marcussen & Søn, established by Jürgen Marcussen and, at least by 1820, assisted by Andreas Reuter, has dominated the Danish organ landscape, with instruments attractive to buyers as much for their reliability as for their aesthetic ideals. Marcussen, based since 1830 in Åbenrå, found itself annexed to Prussia (and subsequently Germany) from 1864 until 1920 with all of Northern Schleswig, allowing its remaining Danish competitors room to develop, if not to flourish. And it is these competitors, some of whom specialized in the market for small church organs, or whose pipe organ building encompassed only a small portion of an output otherwise dedicated to pianos or harmoniums, whose work is represented in the organs of the Orgelsamling. In this essay, each organ shall be referred to by its place of origin.

The collection includes:

Badskær Kirke organ, 1890

Krummerup Kirke organ, 1898

Venø Kirke organ, 1900

Indslev Kirke organ, 1900

Øster Hjermitslev Kirke organ, 1902

Børglum Kirke organ, 1903

Alling Kirke organ, 1906

Øland Kirke organ, 1906

“Dr. Felter’s House Organ,” 1943.

 

Nineteenth-century organs

Frederik Nielsen (1844–1903), who had established himself as a piano manufacturer in Copenhagen before adding organbuilding to his marketable skills, established an organ fabrik in Åarhus, where he published a catalogue with nine different organ models from which to choose. The Badskær Kirke organ in the collection, built in 1890, is the first and cheapest of his nine specifications; an 1887 catalogue listed the price as 950 to 1000 kroner. Although the specification of this instrument is Principal 8, Gedact 8, and Fløite 4, Nielsen’s catalogue promoted other instruments with a Bordun 16, a practical advantage for any instrument lacking a pedal division. The keydesk is located on the side of this rather squat, square instrument, with its multiple Doric columns lending an air of neo-classicism. A number of these instruments have keydesks located on the side, a practical necessity for a small village church with minimal space and possibly no choir loft. In this case, the organ’s original location had been in the back corner on the ground floor, providing sufficient tonal egress as well as allowing the organist to see the chancel.  

The Krummerup Kirke organ dates from 1898, when it was built by Christian Anton Schuster (1850–1911) for the Johan P. Andresen & Company. Johan Andresen (1854–1926), an amateur musician, opened a furniture factory in Ringkjøbing in 1882 in which he also repaired harmoniums, giving impetus to his interest in building the musical instruments that he called “Orgel-Harmoniums.” Although his firm would build 15,000 harmoniums from 1891, Andresen apparently employed Schuster in his pipe organ division, a fact that might not have been known except for Schuster’s signature within the organ. Schuster’s exact role in the building of this instrument is not known, but the questions raised elucidate some of the common business practices in which organ firms engaged. 

Born in Denmark, Schuster apprenticed with organbuilders in Copenhagen before settling in Sweden, where his instruments are known. However, between 1896 and 1901 he seems to have built no instruments, although his address in 1898 was in Ringkjøbing, suggesting a connection with Andresen. Both Schuster and Andresen had been to Germany in 1896 to study contemporary building methods, and it is possible they entered into an agreement for Schuster to work at the Andresen factory. It is also likely that, rather than building new organs for Andresen, Schuster merely assembled them as they were shipped to Denmark from a continental builder, a fact suggested by the windchest of at least one Schuster organ, which bears a stock number, implying a larger factory than Andresen’s, ostensibly either Laukhuff or Rieger. Indeed, Rieger-Kloss factory records indicate that 19 organs were delivered to Denmark between 1900 and 1905, including one in 1902 to Ringkjøbing.4 Schuster’s role, then, seems to have been as an assembler and voicer of Rieger organs that would then bear the Andresen name.

The Krummerup organ, restored in 1995–96 by Dr. Palsgård, was the first in the Orgelsamling and contains a Violinprincipal 8, Gedacht 8, and Fugara 4, to which a Gemshorn 2 was added in 1956, in addition to an original bass and treble coupler that is activated via a pedal. As with all the organs in the collection, a modern blower has been added, even though all the original hand-pumping apparatus remains.  

 

Turn-of-the-century organs

These chronological distinctions being rather arbitrary, the Venø Kirke organ dates from 1900, only two years later, again from the Johan Andresen firm through the craftsmanship of Christian Schuster. This little organ, bearing the appellation “the smallest organ in Denmark,” contains only a Geigenprincipal 8, supplemented with a bass and treble coupler of the same mechanism as employed by contemporary harmoniums.  

The late nineteenth century was epochs removed from the outset of the century during which traditional methods of organbuilding continued much as they had for centuries prior. By the turn of the century, industrialization had been incorporated into organbuilding methods, with factories encouraging an economy of scale unimaginable to the provincial builder only decades before. Such industrialization could result in standardization of organs that could be built cheaply, efficiently, and be delivered to their ultimate destination through the clockwork reliability of the European railroad system. Social interaction, fostered by increasingly reliable forms of transportation and communication, encouraged a free interchange in which organbuilders could learn and employ new ideas. Andresen, for example, toured southern Germany during the summers of 1896 and 1897, visiting significant installations by notable builders in order “to study the new and improved design of church organs.”5 The Venø Kirke organ, having been placed in two successive churches, a museum, and finally an abbey church before coming into Dr. Palsgård’s possession in 2003, evidences in its compact simplicity the potential Andresen might have seen in the small church market. Requiring no more space than a harmonium, here was an instrument that could be constructed, shipped, and installed with economical ease.  

Technological innovation was a logical consequence of this progressive Zeitgeist, evident in the Indslev Kirke organ, built in 1900 at Roerslev Margaards Pianoforte-og Orgelfabrik at Nørre Aaby. Hans Jørgen Hansen, apparently a largely self-taught builder, studied books on pianos and organs and visited organ factories in Odense and Germany before founding the firm in 1892, building about 6,000 pianos and 70 organs before the company’s closure in the late 1920s. This organ possesses a Bordun 16 in addition to a Principal 8, Gedakt 8, and Fløite 4 on a slider windchest, boasting also an “adjustable collectiv,” a type of mechanical system reminiscent of the freikombination assists on pneumatic instruments. Each stop knob is paired with a smaller knob situated below. These small knobs may be drawn in order to prepare a new stop combination that is only engaged with the pull of a lever on the organist’s left side. The strength required to engage the adjustable collectiv, as well as its location, suggests that this would have been the task of an assistant in addition to the calcant (bellows pumper) located on the other side of the case, resulting in a four-rank organ requiring no fewer than three people to play! Dr. Palsgård posits that this rather unwieldy arrangement might have been an attempt to imitate the characteristics of pneumatic action without actually having to incorporate the new technology, which only by the turn of the century had reached southern Denmark. Unable to escape technological progress, the Indslev Kirke organ is marred by a 1929 modernization project, which installed swell shutters over the façade pipes; although the swell mechanism has been removed, a superfluous swell pedal remains.

 

Later organs

The Øster Hjermitslev Kirke organ, built in 1902 but acquired by the Orgelsamling in 2007, sits beneath the balcony. Having a Geigenprincipal 8, Gedackt 8, and Gemshorn 4, a pull-down pedalboard had been added but was removed with the restoration. Although its exact provenance is uncertain, with its conspicuous tripartite façade it bears a similarity to the organ at the Garder Church in Norway, an instrument built in 1900 by Rieger. So, too, would Rieger have built this instrument under the auspices of Andresen.
Dr. Palsgård observes that this instrument utilizes slider chests, placed in an organ case typical of Rieger’s, which normally employed cone chests (Kegellade). Interestingly and perhaps surprisingly for organs of such limited tonal resources, none of the instruments has a divided keyboard, as their American contemporary equivalents certainly would have had. A conclusion is dangerous to posit, especially given Denmark’s rather isolated and parochial organ culture, but one can surmise that, if the primary goal of these instruments was to lead the congregation in the chorales, there would be as little use for a divided keyboard as there would be for colorful solo stops.  

Gebrüder Rieger likewise built the Børglum Kirke organ as Opus 837, but the instrument was delivered and installed by the Andresen firm in the Bangsbostrand Kirke in Frederikshavn in 1903, where it remained until it was moved to Børglum in 1945. This mechanical cone chest instrument has a Rorfloite 8, Principal 8, and Octave 4, with a Bordun 16 extended from the Rorfloite. The Rorfloite is curiously double-labiated, with the mouths oriented on opposite sides of the pipe to form the equivalent of a Doppelfløte but with the ror (chimney.) The only registrational aid is a tutti pedal. The organ was restored by Dr. Palsgård in 2000 and entered the collection the following year. 

The Børglum organ demonstrates one hitherto unexplored characteristic of Dr. Palsgård’s restoration technique, namely the color scheme. Painted pink with light blue trim and green cornices, complete with faux marble on the Doric columns of the façade, the organ certainly appears more vibrant than its original oaken hues. The Venø organ is light blue, the Badskær organ is the same color with red and white trim, and the Krummerup organ is pastel pink and blue, with only the Indslev organ retaining its original varnished wood. The controversial color scheme broadly reflects some of the church’s own colors, with the pews trimmed in green and red. Additionally, the brighter colors, some of which are more reminiscent of carnival or theatre instruments than those in service to the church, lend an aura of visual excitement to the many student groups who visit the collection.  

The Alling Kirke organ, also from Roerslev Margaard Pianoforte- og Orgelfabrik in 1906, has a mechanical cone chest with an Aeoline 8, Gedackt 8 (the lower octave of which is shared with the Aeoline), and a Flöte 4. Again reflecting neo-classical casework, the organ stands only 208 cm and its flat top was flush with the flat ceiling of the choir loft in the Alling Kirke, where its façade pipes spoke only a few centimeters above the railing. Additionally, the case’s ornamental woodwork mirrors the symmetry and patterns of the original decorative patterns of the church and choir loft, suggesting an organ uniquely tailored for its location even by a “factory” builder. This distinctive character is only enhanced with a silver plaque on the keydesk, which notes that the organ was a gift in memory of Søren Lauersen and his wife Johanne Kathrine Westergaard.

In his restorations, Dr. Palsgård has retained each rank’s original voicing, revealing principals of clear but mellow character, and flutes of restrained, pure tone. Each of these organs exhibits a comparable specification based on the Principal 8 (with the occasional addition or substitution of a weighty string for a principal), their stoplists dictated by the ubiquitous practicalities of liturgical performance and hymn singing rather than by any sort of Danish national musical stylistic consciousness. Instead, the Danish musical aesthetic is present in the voicing and character of each stop, Dr. Palsgård equating these sounds with the bowing of a stringed instrument, producing a lively “singing” tone whose affinity to the human voice promotes hymn singing. Ole Oleson, researcher at the Danish National Museum, characterizes Danish organbuilding during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as producing “. . . dignified, mellow instruments with no brashness, special effects or spicy sounds, and devoid of the intense, almost indecent obtrusiveness which is also a part of the Romantic-symphonic organ’s personality.”6 None of these instruments is of sufficient size to bear a tonal palette beyond the most fundamental, yet they all exhibit that particular Danish melodious lyricism whose primary task is to support the human voice.  

The Øland Kirke organ, built by AC Zachariasen Orgelfabrikken in 1906 and an early acquisition of the collection, exemplifies the belated adoption of pneumatic technology in Denmark. Although pneumatic action had been developing for almost two decades in the German lands, Denmark had been reticent in espousing the new technology. However, a number of practical reasons had begun to mitigate the predominant use of the slider chest. The gradual installation of furnaces in church buildings, often engaged shortly before a service, resulted in abrupt changes in temperature and humidity to which slider chests were not acclimated, pneumatic action being less susceptible to leaks. Furthermore, the homophonic and colorful textures of Romantic repertoire necessitated playing aids such as octave couplers, freikombinationen, and the Walze or crescendo pedal, all of which could be easily and cheaply achieved with pneumatic action. Smaller instruments, such as those by Zachariasen, were primarily designed for liturgical, not concert use, and pneumatic action was more of a hindrance in terms of increased maintenance and a sluggish key response; in the Øland organ, Dr. Palsgård modified the keyboard slightly to generate a more responsive action.  

The Zachariasen firm traced its lineage to P. U. F. Demant (1802–1868), an Odense builder whose son J. A. Demant (1830–1878) profited from organ work in Jutland when Åbenrå, where the Marcussen firm was located, was reappropriated into German territory. After the younger Demant’s death, Frederik Nielsen took over the company, which went bankrupt in 1906 after Nielsen’s own son was unable to maintain profits. As a consequence of the bankruptcy, organbuilder A. C. Zachariasen (1877–1954) bought Nielsen’s tools and machines, eventually establishing his own organ factory in which the illustrious organbuilder Theodore Frobenius (1885–1972) was hired in 1907. A. C. Zachariasen had observed and possibly apprenticed with German builders prior to establishing his own firm. His 330 pipe organs include many in Copenhagen and even a large installation in Iceland, Zachariasen himself voicing each instrument. The Øland organ, which was electrified in 1943, has an Italianate disposition of Bordune 16, Principale 8, Salicionale 8, and Flauto 4.  

The final organ, referred to as “Dr. Felter’s House Organ,” differs greatly from the remainder of the instruments in the collection. Built by Danish builder Wilhelm Hemmersam (1909–1994) as his Opus 1 in 1943, this organ reflects the ideals of the Orgelbewegung both in terms of its façade and disposition. Its lack of non-functional casework contrasts with the neo-classical or semi-Victorian casework of the instruments dating from only four decades prior. The stoplist of Gedakt 8, Principal 4, Qvintatøn 2, and Quint 113 utilizes slider chests.  

Wilhelm Hemmersam trained with Marcussen and would build 25 organs, mostly in Sweden. This organ was built for the Jægersborg Kirke in 1944 but went through a succession of owners before it was purchased by Dr. Ralph Felter, a specialist in diagnostic radiology, as his home organ around 1971. In 2003 Dr. Palsgård, with the help of Pastor Mads-Bjørn Jørgensen, negotiated to purchase this organ for the collection from Dr. Felter’s children, Pastor Thomas Felter and Charlotte From. The organ is placed in the chancel, where it is able to serve the church as a choir instrument.

 

A living legacy

The Orgelsamling’s nine organs are supplemented by seven more instruments, including a four-rank organ built by Jens Johan Peter Schierf in 1843, which are undergoing renovation and have yet to be displayed. All stand as a testimony to those builders and musicians who supplied music to small churches over a century ago. Yet, their legacy is not merely liturgically academic or scholarly; rather, these instruments still contribute to the musical life of Copenhagen. Dr. Palsgård hospitably welcomes and demonstrates the organs to an array of visitors, including foreign performers and interested American scholars and organists. His presentation “How Do Organs Speak to Themselves and Each Other?” is aimed toward Danish schoolchildren who are captivated by the organs’ bright colors and gentle sounds. The Orgelsamling presents a busy concert schedule, featuring performances of Danish music as well as transcriptions and even jazz arrangements for these small instruments. The collection even inspired English musician Peter Lea-Cox to compose his Pièce pour cinq orgues, which was first performed on the instruments in September 2003.  

The rather esoteric focus of this collection—small organs from fin de siècle Denmark—might seem too abstruse to have much appeal in an era characterized by a fascination for that which is increasingly bigger, faster, and louder. Long ago bypassed by popular music as well as by the organbuilding world, these instruments are a tribute to a difficult but not exceedingly different time. Most are the products of an industry struggling to make a profit while attempting to integrate new technologies reflecting increased industrialization. These builders must have striven to maintain their artistic integrity while concurrently attempting to ensure their survival by advertising through new media such as printed catalogues. They reflect a conservative cultural and national identity that was being challenged by foreign interactions, which, over the next several decades, would plunge all of Europe into war. Reflecting the simplicity of the Danish Church, these instruments perhaps represent a time of ecclesiastical hegemony that the twentieth century would soon subvert. These concerns are as applicable to the present day as they were over a century ago and, for organists, it is a pleasant lesson when it can be learned from the singing tone of a well-crafted organ pipe.  ν

Notes

1. The majority of the information contained in this article was taken from an interview by the author with Dr. André Palsgård at Sct Andreas Kirke, June 10, 2010.

2. Scandinavian languages use the postpositive definite article, meaning the definite article (en or et) is placed at the end of the word. Therefore, orgelsamlingen means “the organ collection” while orgelsamling means an unspecified organ collection. Although Danish does not capitalize all nouns, this essay will consider Orgelsamling a proper noun, thus capitalizing it.

3. Ole Olesen, “Organs in Denmark.” http://orgel.natmus.dk/oversigt_oid_rammex.htm.

4. André Palsgård, Kirkeorgelafdelingen på harmoniumsfabrikken Joh. P. Andresen & Co., Ringkjøbing, 1897–1908 (Søborg, DK: Eget Forlag, 1997), p. 8.

5. Ibid, 8ff.

6. Ole Olesen, “Musical Fragrance in a Romantic Fantasy,” The Nordic-Baltic Organ Book, ed. Anna Frisk, Sverker Jullander, and Andrew McCrea (Göteborg: Göteborg Organ Art Center, 2003), 212–213.

 

 

Copenhagen’s Orgelsamling: A Treasury of Danish Organ Building

Sankt Andreas Kirke in Copenhagen is home to a collection of nine small church organs built in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, all of which were collected from throughout Denmark and which represent various Danish builders

Benjamin A. Kolodziej
Files
Default

At the north end of Copenhagen’s city center, nestled peacefully near the botanical gardens on Gothersgade, lies the Sankt Andreas Kirke. Its exterior, unassuming by European standards, belies the musical treasures harbored within its cavernous interior, namely a collection of nine small church organs built in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, all of which were collected from throughout Denmark and which represent various Danish builders. These small pipe organs, ranging in size from one to four ranks, comprise Orgelsamlingen i Sct Andreas Kirke, or “The Organ Collection of St. Andreas Church,” a cooperative collaboration between the church and the collection’s curator, Dr. André Palsgård, a Copenhagen physician. Although the first organ was renovated and installed in the gallery in May 1998, the collection was not inaugurated until February 2000, at the time comprising only four organs.1 The Orgelsamling’s growth and development during the last decade, attributable to the passion and effort of Dr. Palsgård, not only allows scholars and church musicians a glimpse into Danish organbuilding practices, but also serves as an educational, interactive museum by which the pipe organ and its music are promoted.2  

 

Historical background

Interested in music since a child, André Palsgård began acquiring and restoring modest pipe organs during the 1970s, even building a larger home to accommodate his growing collection of musical instruments, including a harmonium and a pneumatic organ that had been stored in a hen house! As Dr. Palsgård cultivated his knowledge of organ restoration, his colleagues would approach him regarding organs that had become redundant. His first such relocation project occurred in 1989 when he discovered that the I/6 organ built by Immanuel Starup (1862–1944) for the village church in Smørum was to be replaced with a new organ. Through his initiative, it was brought to Copenhagen to install in the chapel of the Sundholm, a social welfare institution. Although this idea never came to fruition, it was eventually installed as the choir organ of the Helligåndskirken, the Church of the Holy Spirit, in the medieval center of Copenhagen, undergoing a restoration by Svend Nielsen in 1998, which included the addition of significant casework and gilding.3 The redundant organs that would become available were not always the simple discards of a thoughtless church committee. That none of them have pedals and that all of them have unpretentious tonal schemes, negating the ability to play much organ literature, prompted some of their organists to campaign for their replacement with more complete, modern instruments.  

Recognizing the need for a permanent location for several historic instruments that might otherwise face destruction, Dr. Palsgård approached the pastor of the Sct Andreas Kirke, Mads-Bjørn Jørgensen, a former flight museum administrator and a proponent of organ music, with the idea of establishing a permanent home in the church’s wrap-around balcony. Having found a favorable reception, the Orgelsamling has been housed in the spacious side balcony since 1998 and has grown to seven instruments upstairs, one beneath the balcony, and one in the chancel, and all within view of the imposing Frobenius organ, the primary instrument for the church’s liturgy, in the west gallery.  

These organs must be considered in their proper historic context within the greater purview of the Northern European organbuilding tradition, Denmark being thoroughly Scandinavian, yet heavily influenced by its southern neighbor, Germany. Since its founding in 1806, Marcussen & Søn, established by Jürgen Marcussen and, at least by 1820, assisted by Andreas Reuter, has dominated the Danish organ landscape, with instruments attractive to buyers as much for their reliability as for their aesthetic ideals. Marcussen, based since 1830 in Åbenrå, found itself annexed to Prussia (and subsequently Germany) from 1864 until 1920 with all of Northern Schleswig, allowing its remaining Danish competitors room to develop, if not to flourish. And it is these competitors, some of whom specialized in the market for small church organs, or whose pipe organ building encompassed only a small portion of an output otherwise dedicated to pianos or harmoniums, whose work is represented in the organs of the Orgelsamling. In this essay, each organ shall be referred to by its place of origin.

The collection includes:

Badskær Kirke organ, 1890

Krummerup Kirke organ, 1898

Venø Kirke organ, 1900

Indslev Kirke organ, 1900

Øster Hjermitslev Kirke organ, 1902

Børglum Kirke organ, 1903

Alling Kirke organ, 1906

Øland Kirke organ, 1906

“Dr. Felter’s House Organ,” 1943.

 

Nineteenth-century organs

Frederik Nielsen (1844–1903), who had established himself as a piano manufacturer in Copenhagen before adding organbuilding to his marketable skills, established an organ fabrik in Åarhus, where he published a catalogue with nine different organ models from which to choose. The Badskær Kirke organ in the collection, built in 1890, is the first and cheapest of his nine specifications; an 1887 catalogue listed the price as 950 to 1000 kroner. Although the specification of this instrument is Principal 8, Gedact 8, and Fløite 4, Nielsen’s catalogue promoted other instruments with a Bordun 16, a practical advantage for any instrument lacking a pedal division. The keydesk is located on the side of this rather squat, square instrument, with its multiple Doric columns lending an air of neo-classicism. A number of these instruments have keydesks located on the side, a practical necessity for a small village church with minimal space and possibly no choir loft. In this case, the organ’s original location had been in the back corner on the ground floor, providing sufficient tonal egress as well as allowing the organist to see the chancel.  

The Krummerup Kirke organ dates from 1898, when it was built by Christian Anton Schuster (1850–1911) for the Johan P. Andresen & Company. Johan Andresen (1854–1926), an amateur musician, opened a furniture factory in Ringkjøbing in 1882 in which he also repaired harmoniums, giving impetus to his interest in building the musical instruments that he called “Orgel-Harmoniums.” Although his firm would build 15,000 harmoniums from 1891, Andresen apparently employed Schuster in his pipe organ division, a fact that might not have been known except for Schuster’s signature within the organ. Schuster’s exact role in the building of this instrument is not known, but the questions raised elucidate some of the common business practices in which organ firms engaged. 

Born in Denmark, Schuster apprenticed with organbuilders in Copenhagen before settling in Sweden, where his instruments are known. However, between 1896 and 1901 he seems to have built no instruments, although his address in 1898 was in Ringkjøbing, suggesting a connection with Andresen. Both Schuster and Andresen had been to Germany in 1896 to study contemporary building methods, and it is possible they entered into an agreement for Schuster to work at the Andresen factory. It is also likely that, rather than building new organs for Andresen, Schuster merely assembled them as they were shipped to Denmark from a continental builder, a fact suggested by the windchest of at least one Schuster organ, which bears a stock number, implying a larger factory than Andresen’s, ostensibly either Laukhuff or Rieger. Indeed, Rieger-Kloss factory records indicate that 19 organs were delivered to Denmark between 1900 and 1905, including one in 1902 to Ringkjøbing.4 Schuster’s role, then, seems to have been as an assembler and voicer of Rieger organs that would then bear the Andresen name.

The Krummerup organ, restored in 1995–96 by Dr. Palsgård, was the first in the Orgelsamling and contains a Violinprincipal 8, Gedacht 8, and Fugara 4, to which a Gemshorn 2 was added in 1956, in addition to an original bass and treble coupler that is activated via a pedal. As with all the organs in the collection, a modern blower has been added, even though all the original hand-pumping apparatus remains.  

 

Turn-of-the-century organs

These chronological distinctions being rather arbitrary, the Venø Kirke organ dates from 1900, only two years later, again from the Johan Andresen firm through the craftsmanship of Christian Schuster. This little organ, bearing the appellation “the smallest organ in Denmark,” contains only a Geigenprincipal 8, supplemented with a bass and treble coupler of the same mechanism as employed by contemporary harmoniums.  

The late nineteenth century was epochs removed from the outset of the century during which traditional methods of organbuilding continued much as they had for centuries prior. By the turn of the century, industrialization had been incorporated into organbuilding methods, with factories encouraging an economy of scale unimaginable to the provincial builder only decades before. Such industrialization could result in standardization of organs that could be built cheaply, efficiently, and be delivered to their ultimate destination through the clockwork reliability of the European railroad system. Social interaction, fostered by increasingly reliable forms of transportation and communication, encouraged a free interchange in which organbuilders could learn and employ new ideas. Andresen, for example, toured southern Germany during the summers of 1896 and 1897, visiting significant installations by notable builders in order “to study the new and improved design of church organs.”5 The Venø Kirke organ, having been placed in two successive churches, a museum, and finally an abbey church before coming into Dr. Palsgård’s possession in 2003, evidences in its compact simplicity the potential Andresen might have seen in the small church market. Requiring no more space than a harmonium, here was an instrument that could be constructed, shipped, and installed with economical ease.  

Technological innovation was a logical consequence of this progressive Zeitgeist, evident in the Indslev Kirke organ, built in 1900 at Roerslev Margaards Pianoforte-og Orgelfabrik at Nørre Aaby. Hans Jørgen Hansen, apparently a largely self-taught builder, studied books on pianos and organs and visited organ factories in Odense and Germany before founding the firm in 1892, building about 6,000 pianos and 70 organs before the company’s closure in the late 1920s. This organ possesses a Bordun 16 in addition to a Principal 8, Gedakt 8, and Fløite 4 on a slider windchest, boasting also an “adjustable collectiv,” a type of mechanical system reminiscent of the freikombination assists on pneumatic instruments. Each stop knob is paired with a smaller knob situated below. These small knobs may be drawn in order to prepare a new stop combination that is only engaged with the pull of a lever on the organist’s left side. The strength required to engage the adjustable collectiv, as well as its location, suggests that this would have been the task of an assistant in addition to the calcant (bellows pumper) located on the other side of the case, resulting in a four-rank organ requiring no fewer than three people to play! Dr. Palsgård posits that this rather unwieldy arrangement might have been an attempt to imitate the characteristics of pneumatic action without actually having to incorporate the new technology, which only by the turn of the century had reached southern Denmark. Unable to escape technological progress, the Indslev Kirke organ is marred by a 1929 modernization project, which installed swell shutters over the façade pipes; although the swell mechanism has been removed, a superfluous swell pedal remains.

 

Later organs

The Øster Hjermitslev Kirke organ, built in 1902 but acquired by the Orgelsamling in 2007, sits beneath the balcony. Having a Geigenprincipal 8, Gedackt 8, and Gemshorn 4, a pull-down pedalboard had been added but was removed with the restoration. Although its exact provenance is uncertain, with its conspicuous tripartite façade it bears a similarity to the organ at the Garder Church in Norway, an instrument built in 1900 by Rieger. So, too, would Rieger have built this instrument under the auspices of Andresen.
Dr. Palsgård observes that this instrument utilizes slider chests, placed in an organ case typical of Rieger’s, which normally employed cone chests (Kegellade). Interestingly and perhaps surprisingly for organs of such limited tonal resources, none of the instruments has a divided keyboard, as their American contemporary equivalents certainly would have had. A conclusion is dangerous to posit, especially given Denmark’s rather isolated and parochial organ culture, but one can surmise that, if the primary goal of these instruments was to lead the congregation in the chorales, there would be as little use for a divided keyboard as there would be for colorful solo stops.  

Gebrüder Rieger likewise built the Børglum Kirke organ as Opus 837, but the instrument was delivered and installed by the Andresen firm in the Bangsbostrand Kirke in Frederikshavn in 1903, where it remained until it was moved to Børglum in 1945. This mechanical cone chest instrument has a Rorfloite 8, Principal 8, and Octave 4, with a Bordun 16 extended from the Rorfloite. The Rorfloite is curiously double-labiated, with the mouths oriented on opposite sides of the pipe to form the equivalent of a Doppelfløte but with the ror (chimney.) The only registrational aid is a tutti pedal. The organ was restored by Dr. Palsgård in 2000 and entered the collection the following year. 

The Børglum organ demonstrates one hitherto unexplored characteristic of Dr. Palsgård’s restoration technique, namely the color scheme. Painted pink with light blue trim and green cornices, complete with faux marble on the Doric columns of the façade, the organ certainly appears more vibrant than its original oaken hues. The Venø organ is light blue, the Badskær organ is the same color with red and white trim, and the Krummerup organ is pastel pink and blue, with only the Indslev organ retaining its original varnished wood. The controversial color scheme broadly reflects some of the church’s own colors, with the pews trimmed in green and red. Additionally, the brighter colors, some of which are more reminiscent of carnival or theatre instruments than those in service to the church, lend an aura of visual excitement to the many student groups who visit the collection.  

The Alling Kirke organ, also from Roerslev Margaard Pianoforte- og Orgelfabrik in 1906, has a mechanical cone chest with an Aeoline 8, Gedackt 8 (the lower octave of which is shared with the Aeoline), and a Flöte 4. Again reflecting neo-classical casework, the organ stands only 208 cm and its flat top was flush with the flat ceiling of the choir loft in the Alling Kirke, where its façade pipes spoke only a few centimeters above the railing. Additionally, the case’s ornamental woodwork mirrors the symmetry and patterns of the original decorative patterns of the church and choir loft, suggesting an organ uniquely tailored for its location even by a “factory” builder. This distinctive character is only enhanced with a silver plaque on the keydesk, which notes that the organ was a gift in memory of Søren Lauersen and his wife Johanne Kathrine Westergaard.

In his restorations, Dr. Palsgård has retained each rank’s original voicing, revealing principals of clear but mellow character, and flutes of restrained, pure tone. Each of these organs exhibits a comparable specification based on the Principal 8 (with the occasional addition or substitution of a weighty string for a principal), their stoplists dictated by the ubiquitous practicalities of liturgical performance and hymn singing rather than by any sort of Danish national musical stylistic consciousness. Instead, the Danish musical aesthetic is present in the voicing and character of each stop, Dr. Palsgård equating these sounds with the bowing of a stringed instrument, producing a lively “singing” tone whose affinity to the human voice promotes hymn singing. Ole Oleson, researcher at the Danish National Museum, characterizes Danish organbuilding during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as producing “. . . dignified, mellow instruments with no brashness, special effects or spicy sounds, and devoid of the intense, almost indecent obtrusiveness which is also a part of the Romantic-symphonic organ’s personality.”6 None of these instruments is of sufficient size to bear a tonal palette beyond the most fundamental, yet they all exhibit that particular Danish melodious lyricism whose primary task is to support the human voice.  

The Øland Kirke organ, built by AC Zachariasen Orgelfabrikken in 1906 and an early acquisition of the collection, exemplifies the belated adoption of pneumatic technology in Denmark. Although pneumatic action had been developing for almost two decades in the German lands, Denmark had been reticent in espousing the new technology. However, a number of practical reasons had begun to mitigate the predominant use of the slider chest. The gradual installation of furnaces in church buildings, often engaged shortly before a service, resulted in abrupt changes in temperature and humidity to which slider chests were not acclimated, pneumatic action being less susceptible to leaks. Furthermore, the homophonic and colorful textures of Romantic repertoire necessitated playing aids such as octave couplers, freikombinationen, and the Walze or crescendo pedal, all of which could be easily and cheaply achieved with pneumatic action. Smaller instruments, such as those by Zachariasen, were primarily designed for liturgical, not concert use, and pneumatic action was more of a hindrance in terms of increased maintenance and a sluggish key response; in the Øland organ, Dr. Palsgård modified the keyboard slightly to generate a more responsive action.  

The Zachariasen firm traced its lineage to P. U. F. Demant (1802–1868), an Odense builder whose son J. A. Demant (1830–1878) profited from organ work in Jutland when Åbenrå, where the Marcussen firm was located, was reappropriated into German territory. After the younger Demant’s death, Frederik Nielsen took over the company, which went bankrupt in 1906 after Nielsen’s own son was unable to maintain profits. As a consequence of the bankruptcy, organbuilder A. C. Zachariasen (1877–1954) bought Nielsen’s tools and machines, eventually establishing his own organ factory in which the illustrious organbuilder Theodore Frobenius (1885–1972) was hired in 1907. A. C. Zachariasen had observed and possibly apprenticed with German builders prior to establishing his own firm. His 330 pipe organs include many in Copenhagen and even a large installation in Iceland, Zachariasen himself voicing each instrument. The Øland organ, which was electrified in 1943, has an Italianate disposition of Bordune 16, Principale 8, Salicionale 8, and Flauto 4.  

The final organ, referred to as “Dr. Felter’s House Organ,” differs greatly from the remainder of the instruments in the collection. Built by Danish builder Wilhelm Hemmersam (1909–1994) as his Opus 1 in 1943, this organ reflects the ideals of the Orgelbewegung both in terms of its façade and disposition. Its lack of non-functional casework contrasts with the neo-classical or semi-Victorian casework of the instruments dating from only four decades prior. The stoplist of Gedakt 8, Principal 4, Qvintatøn 2, and Quint 113 utilizes slider chests.  

Wilhelm Hemmersam trained with Marcussen and would build 25 organs, mostly in Sweden. This organ was built for the Jægersborg Kirke in 1944 but went through a succession of owners before it was purchased by Dr. Ralph Felter, a specialist in diagnostic radiology, as his home organ around 1971. In 2003 Dr. Palsgård, with the help of Pastor Mads-Bjørn Jørgensen, negotiated to purchase this organ for the collection from Dr. Felter’s children, Pastor Thomas Felter and Charlotte From. The organ is placed in the chancel, where it is able to serve the church as a choir instrument.

 

A living legacy

The Orgelsamling’s nine organs are supplemented by seven more instruments, including a four-rank organ built by Jens Johan Peter Schierf in 1843, which are undergoing renovation and have yet to be displayed. All stand as a testimony to those builders and musicians who supplied music to small churches over a century ago. Yet, their legacy is not merely liturgically academic or scholarly; rather, these instruments still contribute to the musical life of Copenhagen. Dr. Palsgård hospitably welcomes and demonstrates the organs to an array of visitors, including foreign performers and interested American scholars and organists. His presentation “How Do Organs Speak to Themselves and Each Other?” is aimed toward Danish schoolchildren who are captivated by the organs’ bright colors and gentle sounds. The Orgelsamling presents a busy concert schedule, featuring performances of Danish music as well as transcriptions and even jazz arrangements for these small instruments. The collection even inspired English musician Peter Lea-Cox to compose his Pièce pour cinq orgues, which was first performed on the instruments in September 2003.  

The rather esoteric focus of this collection—small organs from fin de siècle Denmark—might seem too abstruse to have much appeal in an era characterized by a fascination for that which is increasingly bigger, faster, and louder. Long ago bypassed by popular music as well as by the organbuilding world, these instruments are a tribute to a difficult but not exceedingly different time. Most are the products of an industry struggling to make a profit while attempting to integrate new technologies reflecting increased industrialization. These builders must have striven to maintain their artistic integrity while concurrently attempting to ensure their survival by advertising through new media such as printed catalogues. They reflect a conservative cultural and national identity that was being challenged by foreign interactions, which, over the next several decades, would plunge all of Europe into war. Reflecting the simplicity of the Danish Church, these instruments perhaps represent a time of ecclesiastical hegemony that the twentieth century would soon subvert. These concerns are as applicable to the present day as they were over a century ago and, for organists, it is a pleasant lesson when it can be learned from the singing tone of a well-crafted organ pipe. 

 

Notes

1. The majority of the information contained in this article was taken from an interview by the author with Dr. André Palsgård at Sct Andreas Kirke, June 10, 2010.

2. Scandinavian languages use the postpositive definite article, meaning the definite article (en or et) is placed at the end of the word. Therefore, orgelsamlingen means “the organ collection” while orgelsamling means an unspecified organ collection. Although Danish does not capitalize all nouns, this essay will consider Orgelsamling a proper noun, thus capitalizing it.

3. Ole Olesen, “Organs in Denmark.” http://orgel.natmus.dk/oversigt_oid_rammex.htm.

4. André Palsgård, Kirkeorgelafdelingen på harmoniumsfabrikken Joh. P. Andresen & Co., Ringkjøbing, 1897–1908 (Søborg, DK: Eget Forlag, 1997), p. 8.

5. Ibid, 8ff.

6. Ole Olesen, “Musical Fragrance in a Romantic Fantasy,” The Nordic-Baltic Organ Book, ed. Anna Frisk, Sverker Jullander, and Andrew McCrea (Göteborg: Göteborg Organ Art Center, 2003), 212–213.

 

 

 

Harpsichord Notes

Larry Palmer
Default

A posthumous gift from Gustav Leonardt

It is now six years since Gustav Leonhardt departed this mortal coil on January 16, 2012, but his idiomatic arrangements of J. S. Bach’s solo violin and cello suites, partitas, and sonatas have recently been published by Bärenreiter-Verlag. This new volume presents an unexpected New Year’s gift to those of us who had feared that the master harpsichordist’s transcriptions of some of the composer’s most beloved music might have been burned along with the bulk of his personal correspondence.

Issued in the familiar-looking blue Bach Edition as Suites, Partitas, Sonatas Transcribed for Harpsichord (BA 11820, ˇ39.95) the idiomatic arrangements have been prepared for publication by Leonhardt’s friend and student Sieba Henstra, who has contributed a comprehensive editorial commentary. Skip Sempé’s eloquent preface quotes Bach contemporaries Jacob Adlung and Johann Friedrich Agricola, both of whom wrote about Bach’s own keyboard performances of these works that were originally written for bowed string instruments. Sempé concludes by quoting Leonhardt’s own words from the Dutchman’s notes to a 1976 recording: “I think that Bach would have forgiven me for the fact that I have set myself to making arrangements of his works; whether or not he would have forgiven the way I have done it, remains, of course, a moot point.”

The following 135 pages of music comprise the violin sonatas in D minor, transposed from the original G minor, BWV 1001; in G major, from C major, BWV 1005; three Partitas, in E minor, from the original B minor, BWV 1002; G minor, from D, BWV 1004; and A major, from E, BWV 1006. The cello suites in E-flat, BWV 1010, C minor, BWV 1011, and D major, BWV 1012, are transcribed without a change of key; and two individual movements, an Allemande in A minor, from Bach’s Partita for Flute, BWV 1013, and “Sarabande in C Minor” from his Suite for Lute, BWV 997, are likewise both transcribed in their original keys.

It has been an unmitigated pleasure to play through these magnificent pieces and a special joy to have another musical connection to a great mentor and friend­—the opportunity to play Leonhardt’s harpsichord-friendly version of the extensive D-Minor Ciaccona for Solo Violin (which sounds magnificent in its higher G minor key) and to compare it with the thicker, more pianistic arrangement by John Challis (his 1941 manuscript found at the Library of Congress, still unpublished). I recommend this new volume to all harpsichordists who love Bach’s music, and I wish for each player the unique joy of experiencing yet another addition to our ever-expanding keyboard repertoire.

 

G. L. dubs me his “Doctor-Father”

An excerpt from a letter received from Professor Leonhardt, dated Amsterdam, June 3, 2003:

 

Dear Larry,

. . . Fond memories bring me back to Dallas’ SMU [Southern Methodist University]. Do you know that you started my series [of honorary degrees]? Followers were Amsterdam, Harvard, Metz and Padova . . .

With all best wishes,

Yours ever,

Utti L.

A lengthy backstory is involved, the culmination of many years of varied experiences with Leonhardt.  

I first visited Haarlem, the Netherlands, during the summer of 1958 when fellow Oberlin organ major Max Yount and I drove through much of northern Europe following our junior year at the Salzburg Mozarteum. We spent several days in the charming Dutch town, attending events sponsored by its annual Summer Academy. Four years later, after completing doctoral study at the Eastman School in Rochester, New York, I was hired for my first academic position at St. Paul’s College, Lawrenceville, Virginia, a small school where I taught for two years as a replacement music professor while the incumbent was pursuing his doctoral studies. Following that first year of teaching I returned to Europe during the summer break to attend the first of my two Haarlem summer academies. The year was 1964, and my purpose was to join the three-week class of intensive harpsichord studies with Professor Gustav Leonhardt.

Three years later I returned to Haarlem, full of ideas and solutions that had been developing since that first encounter with Leonhardt’s teaching. By this time I was fully convinced that his examples of number symbolism and its hidden truths in many Bach works were indeed correct as well as fascinating. We had a very full repertoire assignment for that summer of 1967, and many of the participants in Leonhardt’s classes were too reticent to volunteer as players. I was not afraid to play for him, so I was invited to do so quite frequently. And, since I was staying with a friend in Amsterdam this time around, it happened that I usually arrived at the train station about the same time as my professor. We would have coffee together as we made the short trip to Haarlem, and I came to know Leonhardt as a delightful travel companion, as well as an inspiring teacher.

After my 1970 move to teach in Dallas there were quite a few opportunities to hear Leonhardt during his various concert trips to the United States. As a member of SMU’s faculty senate for 12 years, eventually I was named chair of the Honorary Degrees Committee. Perusing a list of past recipients I noted that artists, musicians, and women seemed to be few and far between in the honors lists, so I proposed three names to the senate: Georgia O’Keeffe, Leonard Bernstein, and Gustav Leonhardt. My faculty colleagues were enthusiastic about all three of them. 

The university president, however, not so much. There was a rule that each honors recipient had to appear in person to receive the degree. Georgia O’Keeffe let it be known that she did not need the honor, but would be happy to accept it if it were bestowed in a balloon over Albuquerque. I suggested that a video could be made of such an event, one that would surely arouse far-reaching interest throughout the entire United States. The president nearly had apoplexy, and that idea was scuttled at once. Leonard Bernstein was already scheduled to be in Dallas to conduct a benefit concert in SMU’s McFarlin Auditorium on the next day following commencement. In this instance I suggested that his degree ceremony be postponed until that evening, when it would make sense to bestow Lennie’s honor during the concert’s intermission. Again, it was too radical an idea, and Bernstein’s honorary degree also was denied.

Leonhardt already had concert commitments on the date of the ceremonies for 1982, but he communicated to SMU’s administrators that he would be delighted to arrange his schedule to accept his first doctorate the following year. Thus it was that on May 21, 1983, I had the proud honor of reading Gustav Leonhardt’s doctoral citation, ending with the time-honored statement, “In recognition of his consummate artistry and service to the world of music, Southern Methodist University is proud to confer upon Gustav Leonhardt the degree Doctor of Music, honoris causa.” 

Shortly thereafter he suggested that, from henceforth, it need not be “Dr. Leonhardt” or “Dr. Palmer,” but, in friendship, the time had come for us to use first names, even the diminutive “Utti” that his close friends were invited to call him.

As part of Utti’s commencement weekend in Dallas he gave a solo recital (which included his transcription of the D-Minor Violin Partita), conducted a harpsichord masterclass for our students, and served as the much-appreciated speaker for the evening ceremony during which each School of the Arts student walked across the stage to receive the diploma signifying a degree that had been granted that morning at the all-university ceremony. Utti had found a 17th-century English poem about a hard-drinking British university student, a word picture that soon had his audience convulsed in paroxysms of laughter. We had many post-ceremony requests for that text, but we never procured a copy of it. I still wonder if, perhaps, Utti, who had a very droll sense of humor, might not have composed the poem himself?

At any rate, I found it amusing, as did he, that a student should become the “Doctor-Father” for his teacher, the whole concept of which has to do with the thesis advisor for the philosophy doctorate in German academia. It has occurred to me that, in writing this long-overdue memoir, my delight at the publication of Leonhardt’s lovely Bach transcriptions may be the final award for such a brilliant “thesis” and should require the time-honored repetition of the words, “Welcome to the company of scholars.” But of course, he had been in that company already for a very, very long time.

 

2017 Harpsichord News columns: a guide

January: According to Janus: columns published in 2016; the East Texas Pipe Organ Festival 2016: two vignettes; possible future topics.

February: The A-Team: Antoinette Vischer and her commissions of contemporary harpsichord music.

March: Lessons from (François) Couperin: hints for harpsichord pedagogy using his L’art de toucher le Claveçin.

April: Where next? More pedagogical repertory suggestions.

May: An Italian Christmas; Paul Wolfe; Glen Wilson’s Froberger CD.

June: Harpsichord maker Richard Kingston: a tribute for his 70th birthday.

July: Celebrating Scott Ross; a performance practice letter from Beverly Scheibert, Early Keyboard Journal #30; remembering Isolde Ahlgrimm.

August: Christmas in August: reviews of J. William Greene’s Christmas Ayres and Dances, Book 2, a new CD of Stephen Dodgson’s Inventions for Harpsichord, and Meredith Kirkpatrick’s book, Reflections of an American Harpsichordist, essays by her uncle, Ralph Kirkpatrick.

September: Recital programming: sample program notes by LP from a harpsichord recital at the East Texas Pipe Organ Festival, 2012.

October: From the Harpsichord Editor’s mailbox: four new keyboard scores by Carson Cooman; John Turner’s discovery of a lost cantata (with harpsichord) by British composer Alan Rawsthorne; and Mark Schweizer’s 14th Liturgical Mystery.

November: From A to Z: Aliénor retrospective in May 2018 and SMU’s Meadows Museum Zurbarân Exhibition celebrated musically at the 1762 Caetano Oldovini organ.

December: Remembering Zuzana Ru˚žicˇková by Robert Tifft.

 

Current Issue