On Teaching

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

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

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

Giuseppe Gherardeschi

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

Umberto Pineschi’s edition of 

Gherardeschi’s organ works

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

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

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

Offertorio, Mass in C: 

a representative work

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

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

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

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

Registration

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

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

Versetti

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

Organs

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

Ripieno stops

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

Ottava 4′

Decimaquinta 2′

Decimanona 11⁄3′

Vigesima seconda e sesta (1′, 2⁄3′)

‘Da concerto’ stops

Flauto 4′ (from C2)

Cornetto I (soprano 4′, 13⁄5′)

Cornetto II (soprano 22⁄3′)

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

Special effects: Timpano, Usignoli

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

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

Divided registers between E3 and F3

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

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

David Enlow is organist and choirmaster of the Church of the Resurrection in New York, where he directs a professional choir. He is a member of the organ faculty of the Juilliard School in New York and sub-dean of the New York City AGO chapter. Enlow holds both an undergraduate and a master’s degree from the Juilliard School, where he studied with John Weaver and Paul Jacobs. He also studied at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia and with John Tuttle in Toronto. He performs under the management of Phillip Truckenbrod Concert Artists. Enlow is a Fellow of the American Guild of Organists, where he won the S. Lewis Elmer Prize, and an Associate of the Royal Canadian College of Organists, where he won the Barker Prize. He has won several national performance competition first prizes, including those of the Arthur Poister Competition and the Albert Schweitzer Organ Festival USA. His choir at the Church of the Resurrection performs over fifty Mass settings each season, often with orchestra. While in Philadelphia he was sub-organist of St. Clement’s Church, and an assistant at the Wanamaker Grand Court Organ. Visit www.davidenlow.com for a concert calendar, sound files, and more.

César Franck’s organ works are part of many American organists’ repertoire, on many college or conservatory repertory lists, and on many recital programs (though some pieces are neglected without any good reason). With all that familiarity comes a sense that we all ‘know’ Franck, that we have, as American organists, developed a school of playing his music that is sensible and ‘authentic’—specifically, that we reproduce the sound and substance of the original expression as nearly through the original medium as possible. The trouble with this assertion is manifold: many organists do not know the totality of Franck’s music, for to understand him as a composer requires an approach from outside the organ literature; also, no American organ will ever be a Cavaillé-Coll; and most American churches do not appear or sound Parisian in any sense. Authenticity of expression cannot be found naturally in the instruments or settings we have here; to have a truly authentic Franck performance means that more thought and sensitivity are required, and that our criteria for authenticity must be shaken, and revised.

Franck as early music?

It almost seems that we treat Franck as ‘early music’; it is true that in the vanguard of early music performances the nineteenth century has been claimed as fertile ground for rediscovery (witness the period-instrument performances of works of Berlioz, Mendelssohn, et al.) but we largely think of nineteenth century (Romantic and post-Romantic) music as ‘our own’, a period of music that we understand readily and without being taught. There is no recording of the Franck Symphony on period instruments, no Violin Sonata, no A-Major Mass, and so on. Why then does Franck’s distinctive Cavaillé-Coll Récit division at Ste. Clotilde receive the dubious courtship of labored imitation and inspire the wagging finger of organ teachers? “No 16-foot reed tone!” they thunder, sometimes even in Franck pieces written for the Palais du Trocadéro organ, which had a massive, complete, and more useful Récit.  

The Franckian Récit

This case of the Récit particularly is one in which the approximation of the effect of Franck’s home organ can be troublesome. The Ste. Clotilde Récit was not only interesting in its specification, but in its position, distant in the rear of the case. So when the doctrinaire approach insists on registering the cantilena passages in the A-Minor and E-Major Chorals with a solo comprising the foundations and both Swell reeds, one of which is perhaps a large English-style chorus trumpet in a Swell division much more prominently placed, with the accompaniment on dull Choir stops with the box closed, the effect of such strong reedy presence and ineffectual accompaniment is not the authentic expression of the original distant, harmonically rich voice accompanied by the flutes of a Positif only half-way as far up, and therefore very present to the listener in the nave (in how many performances is the very fine and elaborate counterpoint Franck wrote in the accompanying voices of the first and third Chorals never heard! [Example 1]). In cases when the Swell trumpet and oboe drawn together are both too colorless and too loud, there is nothing authentic about it (unless of course they are out of tune!).

One solution, for example, at the American Symphonic organ of reasonable size is the Solo Corno di Bassetto 8′, or Swell Oboe 8′ if it is large enough, accompanied by the Choir Flûte Harmonique with or without the Bourdon 8′, or perhaps (if the solo is on the Swell) by an expressive Solo flute. This registration stays true to the proportion, character, and nature of the piece.

In passages when the full Récit is indicated, must we use no 16-foot stops? It is not as simple as ‘Ste. Clotilde had no 16-foot stops, so we may not use them.’ Is the effect brought across in all cases by the Swell without its Double Trumpet or Bassoon? Would Franck truly have left off the 16′ registers in all ‘full Récit’ registrations when performing his music at churches in which the Récit was large and complete? The answer cannot be categorical, at least not in the positive. To say that Franck would have emulated the Ste. Clotilde organ wherever he went is to belittle his intelligence. The parallel assertion is to say that Chopin’s piano music must always be delicate because he was slight and frail, ignoring his famous remark to an apologizing student who broke a string during the Polonaise Militaire: “Young man, if I had your strength and could play that polonaise as it should be played, there would be no strings on the instrument when I finished!” Composers’ original performances are not always the ones they hoped for, nor are they always to be emulated.

It is unique to Franck’s organ works that one original instrument is taken into such intense consideration, which is partly legitimate, given how widely organs vary from place to place, even in the work of the same builder in the same period. However, the educated pianist knows that elements of piano construction were different in the 1860s than today, and yet this is not one of the first elements he or she considers when developing an interpretation. The pianist who sits down to learn the accompaniment to the Franck Violin Sonata thinks not on refinements to double-escapement, but rather on supporting the solo line, on finding the best tempo, on form, on Franck’s intensely chromatic, constantly transforming harmony—on all the real musical material and not on the instrument the première was played upon, or the tempi of particular isolated performances.

This is not to say organists should not know everything there is to know about the Ste. Clotilde organ and French organs of Franck’s day generally, rather that the application of that knowledge must be a thoughtful, dynamic one and that the consideration of the musical material must come before all complications of the instrument. Where the form, balance, harmony, or tempo is injured by imitating the restrictions or peculiarities of the original instrument, those injuries must be overcome. Our situation nowadays is that they are not overcome, but almost reveled in.

Appropriate venues—and phrasing

There is another context in which many performers seem not to consider the circumstances of the origin of the Franck works at all: in the choice of when and where they should be performed, and which pieces. There is an air of unfortunate spectacle when the A-Minor Choral is played in a church or hall with no acoustical ambiance, on an organ of around twenty ranks. It would challenge the greatest interpreter to bring the drama and fire of the piece across in those circumstances. Plaintively, the question from the resident musician comes, “Am I never to play the A-Minor Choral on my church organ?” And the gentle but firm answer is that the instrument is not suited to it, and the wise, judicious musician will play instead the Prelude, Fugue et Variation, the Fantaisie in C, or perhaps the Prière on such an organ, and save the Chorals for instruments and settings which are equal to their demands.  

More importantly still, consideration of phrases based on their melodic and harmonic content, and their position in the larger form, is often lacking in performances of the Franck works. It is not enough to follow the dynamic indications in the Chorals, for example; they are very late works, and had not the same opportunity for revision and consideration before being published that others had. (The very odd swell action called for in the chorale statements of the A-Minor Choral can be overridden and replaced, with good justification [Example 2].) It is not thoughtful enough to play the repeated chords in the Pièce Héroïque half-value as Marcel Dupré might have indicated for a gallery organ in a church with eight seconds’ reverberation time, but their effect in the given room at the given tempo must be considered when determining how long they should be. Another common transgression of the nature of the music is in the cantilena sections of the first and third Chorals, and the C-Major Fantasy. In these, the problem is that they are played without any consideration of range. They are such vocal lines that a thorough examination of the natural high and low points of each phrase (and high and low points of whole sections) is vital (Example 3).

As it is with any revival of a work which belongs to an age now past, the truly authentic performance of Franck is the one which brings the essential substance of his expression to life. The rote learning and mimicry of stop combinations is no better in Franck than it is in the music of other great composers, and it may be worse. Rather, the ability to combine under the hands of one performer the intimate lyricism of the Violin Sonata with the overwhelming dramatic arc of the Symphony is one the organist is fortunate to possess. The organist must take up that mantle; the music demands no less.

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Continuo, Part 2

This month I am following up on the discussion of continuo playing, offering more specifics about how to read and understand continuo parts. I will wait until next month to describe my approach to the teaching of actual continuo playing at the keyboard to students who are not yet experienced in it. A combination of the approach outlined here to understanding the notation, and the approach that I will outline next month to drilling the playing can enable a keyboard player to begin to feel comfortable playing continuo on an improvised basis after something that could be described as “several hours” of study. Of course no one is fully accomplished at it after that little work, but many students are ready to apply what they have been working on to real music in that sort of time scale.

A continuo part is, as discussed last month, a bass line that is meant both to be played, in itself, and to be supplemented by other notes. A combination of the ordinary musical notes of that bass line and the numbers and other symbols written above or below that line (the “figures” in “figured bass”) guides the player in choosing what notes to add to the written line. (It makes no difference whatsoever whether the figures are written above or below the notes. Below is much more common, and I will use that style in my examples and assume it in this discussion. But everything that I say here applies equally to a continuo part in which the figures happen to be written or printed above the notes.) The first step in learning how to play a continuo line is to learn what that combination of notes and figures means. Continuo or figured bass notation is essentially simple, but it is open to various misunderstandings, and is, like so much in music, capable of seeming more complicated or mysterious than it actually is. 

The musical notes of a continuo line are, of course, normal musical notes and, being in the tradition of tonal music, have a key signature. The figures written below any note point to the pitches—or really the pitch classes—that you find by counting up from the written note by the number of steps indicated by the figures, counting the printed note as “1”, staying within the key signature. Here are some examples:

1) If there is a key signature of no sharps and no flats (that is, what we sometimes call “no key signature”), the printed note is C, and the figure is “4”, then the additional pitch being indicated is F-natural.

2) If there is a key signature of one sharp, the printed note is C, and the figure is “4”, then the additional pitch being indicated is F-sharp.

3) If there is a key signature of three flats, the printed note is C, and the figures are “6” and “3”, then the additional pitches being indicated are E-flat and A-flat.

4) If there is a key signature of one flat, the printed note is B-flat, and the figure is “4”, then the additional pitch being indicated is E-natural.

5) If there is a key signature of two flats, the printed note is B-flat, and the figures are “4” and “5”, then the additional pitches being indicated are E-flat and F-natural.

This way of describing what is going on with the figures is accurate and straightforward. Students sometimes ask, however, why we don’t describe the same thing using the terminology of intervals: that is, by saying that the figures point to the notes that are that interval above the printed note—again within the key signature. This would also be a valid way of describing what is going on. However, it is not necessary that the interval be one that we often or normally deal with as an harmonic interval, and sometimes describing it that way is just confusing or inefficient. For example, in 4) above, the harmonic interval is a tritone, or an augmented fourth. There is certainly nothing wrong with noticing this, or with describing it that way. But in practice, experience shows that it is more direct and in the end both easier and quicker—even if it is counterintuitive to some students at the beginning—just to notice that it is four steps above the printed note. (To put it more accurately, most players use some combination of these two ways of thinking about it—“this note is four notes up from the bass” and “this note is a fourth above the bass”—but it is useful at the beginning at least to emphasize the former way of describing it. It is important not to be misled, in incorporating the concept of intervals, by a sense of what an interval should be, when that is different from what the interval is. For example, in a piece in A Major, a G# with the figure “5” under it will give rise to a diminished fifth. Some students who are looking at continuo through the lens of harmonic intervals will be at least fleetingly tempted to raise the D to a D#, since the figure “5” looks, at first glance, like it should refer to a perfect fifth.)

Along with numbers, the figuring of continuo lines will sometimes include accidentals. These are used to take the realization of the continuo part out of the constellation of notes that are in the key signature. Here are some examples:

1) If there is “no key signature”, the printed note is C, and the figure is “4#”, then the additional pitch being indicated is F-sharp.

2) If there is a key signature of two flats, the printed note is B-flat, and the figure is “4#”, then the additional pitch being indicated is E-natural.

3) If there is a key signature of two flats, the printed note is C, and the figures are “3”, “5”, and “7#”, then the additional pitches being indicated are E-flat, G-natural, and B-natural.

4) If there is a key signature of three sharps, the printed note is E-flat (achieved with an accidental, of course) and the figures are “2”, “4#”, and “6b”, then the additional pitches being indicated are F-sharp, A-sharp, and C-natural.

5) If there is a key signature of two sharps, the printed note is F-sharp, and the figures are “3#” and “5”, then the additional pitches being indicated are A-sharp and C-sharp.

In 3) and 4) above, the pitches indicated, taken together, do not add up to a normal, or common, chord. This does not matter. Of course, in most Baroque chamber or vocal music, the prevailing harmonies are—most of the time—quite normal and recognizable. However, the notation of continuo parts works completely independently of any assumptions about what harmonies do or don’t make sense. Looking at it this way saves a lot of time and worry. A note in a continuo line that looked like Example 1 would indeed be inviting you to play all of the natural pitches. It wouldn’t matter that this, in some way, doesn’t make sense. I have never quite seen anything this extreme in the repertoire, but there are examples of figuring that are almost this unexpected, the chordal nature of which is hard to figure out quickly. What chord, for example, is indicated by the flat 9 and the natural 3 in this Bach cantata bass line? (Example 2)

This might take some sophistication or even inventiveness in harmonic analysis to figure out. (It is probably part of a diminished seventh chord combined with the dominant note of the tonic towards which that dominant seventh chord wants to resolve.) However, for the purpose of continuo playing, there is no need to answer the question, and the time taken to figure it out would be wasted as far as playing the continuo part was concerned. The notation is telling you that the notes available to play along with the G on the third beat of the measure are B-natural and A-flat. That is what you need to know.

I mentioned above that we are really talking not about pitches, but about pitch classes. Thus Example 3 is directing us towards E’s and G’s, not towards any specific E or G, in particular not towards the ones that are closest to the printed note. In the following example, the printed notes and their numbers are directing us towards any of the pitches where I have placed x’s. (Example 4)

It is important to remember that nothing about the notation tells us which of all the possible notes (x notes in the above example) actually to play. The decision to play any, some, most, or all of the possible notes at any give moment in a continuo accompaniment is made on the basis of a host of interpretive considerations, including texture, volume, accent, and more. Right now we are concerned just with the reading of the notation. Reading the notation fluently, and then learning to play from it equally fluently, are the prerequisites to making those interpretive decisions.

One good way to work on becoming fluent and comfortable at reading the notation—that is, just looking at it and knowing what it means—is to take a series of random bass notes and random figures and talk out in your head what those notes and figures are telling you. Here’s a place to start (Example 5).

The idea is to look at the first note and say “F”, the second note and say “A, C, and E”, the third note and say “F and C”, and so on. It is best to do this as quickly as possible without getting any of them wrong, and not to worry about what chords are made by the notes. Anyone can write out an infinite number of exercises like this. (If you write it out quickly enough, you can then do it as an exercise yourself, because you won’t have concocted them deliberately enough to have figured out the answers.) The next step is to do the same thing with various different key signatures. The point is very simply to train the mind to know instinctively what any combination of a note and some figures means. Since we already know what the notes themselves mean, this really amounts to becoming adept at quickly counting up from the note by the amount indicated by each figure. Most students will need to do only a small or medium amount of this, but it should be done until it seems trivially easy. This approach to drilling the notation ties in directly to the way of drilling the act of playing from that notation, which will be the subject of next month’s column.

Continuo notation in real life—as it was used every day in the Baroque period—involved a very large amount of abbreviation. That is, in order to save time and ink, certain conventions grew up about what figures could be left out or assumed. It is important for a student learning continuo notation not to worry about this phenomenon at first. However, once anyone has a clear and comfortable understanding of what the notation system means, the following things should be thrown into the equation:

1) Since the ordinary triad above the bass note is the most common note picture, the figuring for that note picture—8,5,3—was usually simply omitted. Therefore, when a note has no figures associated with it, it is assumed to be “8,5,3”.

2) Since most harmonies include the third, the figure “3” is often omitted and can usually be assumed. It is only incorrect to assume “3” if “4” or “2” is present. Thus, the figure “6”, for example, usually means “6,3”.

3) As a natural extension of 2), an accidental by itself means “3” plus that accidental.

4) It is usually acceptable to double the bass note itself unless the figure “6” is present. Thus the figure “8” is rarely used, and it is clear when it can be assumed.

5) If a note in the bass line is meant to be considered a passing tone and should not have any realization associated with it, or if the prevailing harmony from the previous note is meant to continue, it is “officially” supposed to have a dash written under it. This is often omitted, leaving the identification of such a passing tone to the judgment of the player.

Here is a fragment of a Handel Flute Sonata, first with figuring from the composer’s own time, then with a version of complete figuring (Examples 6 and 7). Anyone who has learned to understand the bass line and figuring from the second of these examples will, in the normal course of working on the actual playing of continuo parts, come to feel comfortable playing from the first. The two are identical in what they suggest or imply or require in performance.

In teaching the actual playing of continuo at the keyboard—the next step once the notation is basically understood—I do not ask students to write anything out, not even as a sort of transitional stage. A written part is antithetical to the art of continuo playing, even if it is an unimpeachably good realization. The whole point of continuo is flexibility, including last-minute flexibility. And the good news is that efficient learning of the art of continuo playing actually takes place best at the keyboard and at the keyboard alone. Also, oddly enough, it is possible to practice the art of continuo playing just as effectively whether you are reading the notation correctly or wrongly, and whether or not you fully understand the conventions about abbreviation. Therefore, once a student has a basic understanding of the notation, it is time to go on to playing, and we will do so next month.

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Continuo, Part 3

The core of this month’s column is a description of the approach that I suggest for drilling and learning the actual—improvised—creation of continuo parts at the keyboard. The fundamental reason that it is better to improvise continuo parts than to play from a part—a realization—written out in advance is that the most effective continuo accompaniment is one that is flexible. Even at the last minute, but certainly during any process of rehearsal and preparation, it is important to be able to make basic decisions about what notes to play in response to things that we hear from the other players: dynamics, accentuation, intonation, and so on. The earlier in the process the notes are fixed once and for all, the less flexible it is possible to be. So, in playing, unaltered, a continuo realization written by the editor of a published version of a piece, we are committing ourselves to having no flexibility whatsoever during the rehearsal and performance process. Most published realizations are very thick—four voices most of the time—and, in the judgment of many players and listeners, too busy, too noisy. (This is especially true when they are played on organ or harpsichord. At the piano the busy-ness can be made less of a problem by simply playing the part more quietly.) But any realization that is created beforehand, even a wonderfully musical and sensitive one, lacks this flexibility. A player who works out a continuo realization during preparation and rehearsal, and writes it down planning to play it as is, has the opportunity to make it a good realization. But in this approach, last-minute flexibility is still lacking. 

(Actual last-minute flexibility—the ability to change the notes of a continuo part in performance from what they were even a short time before in rehearsal—can be desirable for several reasons. Some of these are: a change in the room acoustics with the arrival of an audience; an unanticipated change in the way a colleague is playing his or her part; problems in performance that suggest that you must project the beat more forcefully; and—most happily!—the fact that a new and better idea occurs to you.)

It also turns out to be easier in the end to learn how to realize continuo parts at sight than either to write them out in advance or to edit existing, published realizations to make them suitable for a given occasion. (And “suitable” still doesn’t take the idea of flexibility into account.) My own reason for plunging into studying continuo realization in the first place—about twenty-five years ago—was not anything artistically significant, but rather extreme annoyance with the mechanics of writing out parts for myself: it was boring, and it took too long.

In the decades following the disappearance of continuo playing as a living art, the notation and technique of continuo realization—figured-bass realization—was borrowed to fill various roles in the teaching of theory, harmony, and counterpoint. It is routine, almost universal, nowadays that anyone who has studied music theory at the college level has spent time learning how to concoct and write out realizations of figured bass lines. Because this activity is done in order to further the learning of something other than actual continuo playing, the kind of realization that is being sought is very different from what is best in performance. Specifically, in theory class, or a similar setting, it is almost always considered necessary to realize in a certain number of contrapuntal voices—probably ideally four, or three to make it easier. The rules of voice leading of course must be followed, and perhaps it is expected that each voice will be kept mostly within a certain range. Often this kind of exercise is presented in two alternate versions: one with all of the added notes in what amounts to the right hand—say, middle C and above—and the other with the four voices more or less evenly distributed, creating a hymn-like texture. In any case, again, all of the rules must be followed. It is (mostly) the need to avoid parallel fifths and octaves that can make practitioners of this sort of exercise tear their hair out. 

It is often their experiences with figured-bass realization in such a context that leads students to believe that it is almost unimaginably hard to play continuo at sight. After all, if something is so difficult and awkward even when you have all day to puzzle over it, to try different things, and to write it out, study it, and think about it, then it must be effectively impossible to do it off the cuff while other musicians are actually playing and expecting you to keep up. This logic is good, but the facts are wrong. What you do when actually playing continuo bears very little relation to the “figured-bass as theory-learning tool” activity, and is in some ways directly opposed to it. The last thing that is desirable in a “real” continuo part is, of course, that the number of voices remain always the same. That immediately and utterly prevents us from using the realization process to influence rhythm, dynamics, texture, and so on. That is, it takes away the very reason for the existence of continuo accompaniment. 

The process of actually learning to play continuo, therefore, does not go through the kind of theory-oriented figured-bass study that I describe above. That kind of study can serve a purpose similar to the reading exercise that I included in last month’s column, that is, to bring a student to the point of knowing the meaning of the figures with real immediacy and ease. (It is overkill for that purpose, in the amount of time and effort that it takes, but it does accomplish it.) For every aspect of learning continuo playing after the meaning of the figures is well established, work on “continuo as theory/harmony/counterpoint” is actually taking us in the wrong direction.

If a student develops a strong sense—simultaneously conscious and instinctive—of what constellation of keys on the keyboard any given note/figure combination is pointing towards, and this sense directs the fingers towards those notes without the need to think much about it, then that student can play continuo at sight. That is, when the student who can already pick up the exercise from the last month’s column and “look at the first note and say ‘F’, the second note and say ‘A, C, and E’, the third note and say ‘F and C’” can play those notes rather than say them, he or she can take on continuo parts from real pieces with other players also playing.

The most effective way to develop that sense goes like this:

1) Find a bass line with some figures. It doesn’t matter very much what the bass line is, although lines from harmonically dense choral or orchestral music can be harder to deal with than is ideal at this stage. Handel chamber music is one excellent source, among many. (A public domain edition can be found at this address: <http://216.129.110.22/files/imglnks/usimg/4/4d/IMSLP05632-Handel_19_Son…;. There are appropriate bass lines on more or less every page.) The bass line can come from a slow or a fast movement. For reasons explained below, this doesn’t matter at all. It need not be a complete movement of a piece or any coherent section, just some notes and figures.

2) Put this bass line up on the music desk of a keyboard instrument. For this purpose it doesn’t matter what instrument: harpsichord, organ, piano, electronic keyboard—anything with at least about four octaves of normal keys.

3) Prepare to play the line very slowly. Because the tempo at which you play this bass line and do this exercise bears no relation to anything about performing the piece from which you have extracted the line, it doesn’t matter what the tempo of that piece might normally be. Each note of the bass line must come along very slowly, regardless of whether it is printed as a whole note or a thirty-second note or anything else. For someone beginning this process, the notes of the bass line should come at a rate of no more than ten or twelve per minute. But that is just a guideline: slower is always fine; faster is also fine if it works.

4) As you play the bass line very slowly, try, for each note of the line, to play (in the right hand) some version—any version—of the notes suggested by the bass note and its figuring. Do not think about anything other than playing something that counts as the right notes: the playing equivalent of what you thought or said in doing the exercise from last month. Specifically, do not worry about the spacing of chords, the part of the compass of the instrument, or the nature of the transition from what you play with one bass note to what you play with the next. Do not worry in the least about parallel fifths or octaves or whether notes resolve correctly. 

5) If you cannot—more or less in tempo—think of any notes to add above a given bass note, simply move on. Do not worry about this. If, the first time through, you only add ordinary triads above the “8,5,3” notes—or even only above some of them—and nothing “fancier”, do not worry about this. 

6) After you have played the bass line and whatever notes you have added in this way once, do it again. Don’t increase the tempo. Try to add some notes where you didn’t the first time. Then, of course, do it a few more times. If it feels natural to let the tempo increase a little bit that is all right, but by no means necessary. However:

7) Do not play the same line more than several times. If after a while (four or five times through) you have not succeeded in providing right hand notes for all of the bass line, don’t worry about this either. The effectiveness of this drill does not depend on “solving” the entire bass line, but rather on developing a sense of spontaneity with those spots that you do solve. If you play over it too many times in a row, that sense of spontaneity will be lost and replaced by excessive concern for getting it all right. 

8) Choose another bass line, and do all of the above again. This can be another section from the same movement or piece, or something completely different. Practice this way with as many bass line passages as possible. Never stay with one of them so long that you feel like you know it and are simply repeating something that you have already learned: move on to another one. Try to use lines in different keys, but you need not seek out anything too unusual: two sharps or flats is far enough along the circle of fifths for now. If most of what you use is in keys with one or no sharps or flats that is OK. Just don’t stick to only one key. That can become a rut.

All of the details above are important, but clearly step 4 is the essence of this exercise. Here are a few more specific thoughts about how to carry out that step.

a) It is perfectly all right for the tempo of the bass line not to be entirely steady. (This is certainly different from most types of practicing.) It doesn’t exactly need a tempo, but only be not too fast. If you need to draw one note out a little bit longer to think about what to play over that note, that is OK, as long as it is only a little bit. If you are really, in effect, stopping to figure something out, then that defeats the purpose.

b) You need not play all the notes that you add at the same time as the bass note or together with one another, though as you do more of this exercise you should discover that you can add the relevant notes with or close to the bass note more of the time. Initially it is perfectly acceptable to do something like this: set a metronome to 60; allow each bass note to last for eight metronome beats; expect to play the added notes on or near the fifth metronome beat; use the last beat or two to begin to look ahead at the next note. The numbers are arbitrary; the principle of keeping it slow and careful is crucial.

c) If you make certain kinds of mistakes about what the figuring means or what notes would be appropriate to add over a particular bass note, this doesn’t matter! One extraordinary thing about this exercise is that it usually leads a student to the right place even if it is done wrong. The most common way that this comes up has to do with un-figured notes. If you mistakenly assume that a passing tone is not a passing tone, and therefore add chords to bass notes that are not supposed to have anything added, this just constitutes more (fully useful) practice. If you interpret as a passing tone a note that really should have something added, and don’t add anything, that is a very minor wasted opportunity. It doesn’t mislead or do any harm. If you forget, for example, that “7” usually implies “7,5,3” and just play the pitch seven degrees above the bass note, that is still useful practice in developing the spontaneity that we are looking for. There is time to refine and fill in gaps in your awareness of what the figuring means and what the abbreviation conventions were later on. 

d) Likewise, leaving out things that are too complicated or unexpected—for example a figuring like “9, 7#, 4, 3b”—is not a problem. You have simply utilized one less practice note: no harm done. Reading really elaborate, complicated, counterintuitive figures can come later. In any case they are extremely rare. It is of course OK not to leave them out, but only if they are accurate and don’t slow the process up very much.

e) Of course, really fundamental mistakes—taking “6,3” to mean the notes one and four steps above the bass, for example, or anything else really egregious—will lead to trouble. Real misunderstanding at a fundamental level will be hard to eradicate later on. Therefore this exercise should come, as I said above, only after the student has comfortably learned the basic meaning of the figures.  

f) It is extremely important to resist the temptation to write anything down about a realization. The sole purpose of this drill is to develop the reading faculties as they apply to figured bass lines. Any time you write anything—a note or chord or a reminder perhaps expressed as a letter-name for a pitch—you have lost the opportunity to develop that reading, and in fact you are training yourself to be unable to do it. 

g) It is perfectly OK, though, to flesh out the figuring itself. The relative completeness of the figuring of the line that you happen to be using for practice is arbitrary. If you make it more complete before playing from it that is fine. (See, for example, the two versions of the Handel bass line that I included in last month’s column. Either of them is good material for this sort of practice.)

After doing a certain amount of this work, the student will be ready to begin thinking about how to shape an accompaniment for “real life” use, and to begin playing pieces with other musicians. This “certain amount” is often something like 25 or 30 bass lines, each eight to sixteen measures, each played five or six times. That is not a lot, but this method is extremely efficient. Some students will need or want to do more than that; some will be ready to move on to the next stage sooner.  

I will return to the subject of continuo playing and deal with approaches to entering that next stage in a future column. Not next month, however; I want to give readers a chance to digest what I have written about it so far and, if so inclined, to try out the drill suggested here or to have their students do so. I welcome both questions about that process as it unfolds, from anyone who is trying it, and any other feedback.

Jay Zoller is organist at South Parish Congregational Church in Augusta, Maine, where he plays the church’s historic 1866 E. & G.G. Hook organ. He holds degrees from the University of New Hampshire and the School of Theology at Boston University. A retired designer for the Andover Organ Company, he currently designs for the Organ Clearing House and for David E. Wallace & Co. Pipe Organ Builders of Gorham, Maine. Zoller resides in Newcastle, Maine, with his wife Rachel. In addition to writing several articles about Heinz Wunderlich for The American Organist, Choir and Organ, and The Diapason, he has played in all-Wunderlich recitals in Hamburg, Germany in 1999, 2004, and 2009. His article, “Heinz Wunderlich at 90,” appeared in the April 2009 issue of The Diapason.

I  had never given much thought to organs or the organ culture in South Korea. My interests, along with, I suppose, those of many organists, lay in the direction of European composers. However, a recent trip to South Korea to visit family got me thinking about this subject, about which I knew nothing. The questions swirled around my head: What was the organ culture like in South Korea? Was it anything like our own? What kinds of organs were there in Korea? What did the organists play? Was there a South Korean style of organ composition? Do they play the same repertoire as we do? In this age of instant communication, I imagined that they must play Bach and Mendelssohn, just as we do, but how was I to know for sure?

Our visit was primarily centered in and around Daejeon, a city of about two million people. With my lack of knowledge of the Korean language, I would have gotten nowhere in my quest without the help of Rosalie Bowker, who is Board Chair at the Daejeon Christian International School, an organist herself, and a missionary to South Korea for over forty years. Her help in taking me to see organs, introducing me to Korean organists, and finding resources for me, was invaluable.

I make no claim that this report is complete, since my discoveries center around Daejeon. I hope that someone more knowledgeable will write about the nation as a whole.

A brief history of Korea

Korea is the only nation in the world where Christianity first took root without priests or missionaries, but solely as a result of the written word. Bibles, which had been translated into Chinese by Jesuits, were brought back by a Korean scholar on a diplomatic trip to Beijing in 1621. Korea has had a long friendship with China, which has lasted for centuries. As a big brother to Korea, China has had a profound influence on Koreans. However, Koreans transformed those influences into their own distinctive advances in fields such as literature, art, ceramics, printing, philosophy, astronomy, medicine, and astrology. As an example, Koreans invented metal moveable type in 1230, 200 years before Gutenberg. 

Geography has played an important role in Korean history. This small mountainous country sits in a strategic area surrounded by the larger and more powerful countries of China, Japan, and Russia. During its two thousand years of recorded history, Korea has suffered nine hundred invasions and five periods of foreign occupation. Its relationship with China has seen Korean kings embracing Chinese culture and receiving some protection in return for tribute to the Chinese Emperor.

When Japan was unified in the 16th century, its leader Hideyoshi Toyotomi attacked Korea as a first phase of an invasion of the Chinese mainland. This war, which left the country devastated, resulted in keeping relations acrimonious. Korea attempted to stay isolated until western influences in opening the country to trade during the 19th century left Korea vulnerable. In 1875 Japan forced exclusive trade with Korea and then flooded Japanese advisers and military personnel into the country. 

In 1905, America and Britain felt that Japanese control over Korea would prevent Russian expansion, and so Theodore Roosevelt traded Korea’s independence for U.S. control over the Philippines. The Treaty of Portsmouth, which ended the Russo-Japanese War, made Korea a Japanese protectorate. The Japanese then forced, despite protests and student uprisings, a Protectorate Treaty, which was followed in 1910 by a forced Treaty of Annexation, which made Korea a Japanese colony. The Koreans were treated brutally until the Japanese surrender after World War II.

The end of World War II brought about the arbitrary division of the country, by the West, at the 38th parallel. This unfortunate afterthought by the major powers in the post-war period has proven to be the one blunder that has caused inordinate trouble for the North and the South as they have grappled for advantage and supremacy over each other. 

A Korean guerrilla commander, Kim Il Sung, chosen by the Soviet Union to head its regime in the North, chose, with Soviet and Chinese backing, to invade the South and unite the country under communist rule. This conflict, in a fear of communist menace, drew in U.N. and U.S. troops and savage fighting. The Korean War claimed a huge number of casualties and devastated both halves of a country that had only just begun to recover from four decades of Japanese occupation. When the fighting finally stopped in July 1953, the front line was virtually at the 38th parallel, close to where it had all begun. A demilitarized zone was created, which has remained in place to this day. The North became a dictatorship under the thumb of Kim Il Sung and later his son, Kim Jong Il, and the country closed off from the rest of the world.

In the South, anti-communist dictatorships gradually gave way to democratic reform and growing trade with the world. Under President Park Chung Hee, conglomerates were formed, which made South Korea a major economic power. It is in this period of economic growth and democratic reform that our organ story begins.

Organ culture

As one might imagine after the widespread destruction during the Korean War, organs were not a priority and as a result were slow in coming. Gradually, however, South Koreans who had an interest in music began coming to the United States and to Europe for training. Those interested in studying the organ concentrated primarily on the United States and Germany, countries that offered organ curricula and good instruments to play. 

As time went on, students who returned to South Korea wanted similar instruments to play at home and often were able to have their church buy an organ from a builder that they had become acquainted with during their studies. Since there were no Korean organbuilders, they imported organs from the United States and Germany. Seoul, South Korea’s largest city, has the greatest number of pipe organs in the country. Wicks began the Seoul imports, followed by such builders as Brombaugh, Flentrop, Schuke, Rieger-Kloss, Ruffatti, Beckerath, Karl Wilhelm, Jäger & Brommer, Bosch, Pels & Van Leeuwen, Klais, and many others. The large six-manual Klais in the concert hall is a jewel in the collection, with its case designed after the traditional Korean plucked musical instrument, the “Komungo,” giving the effect of several instruments hanging from the wall. It boasts as well 40 French bells and 32 Korean bells in addition to 270 Spanish trumpets. The organ looks very impressive, although I have only seen it in pictures. We mustn’t forget the new Fisk organ installed in 2010 at Incheon, about twenty miles west of Seoul. 

There is an interesting story about the Klais in the concert hall. When it was new, apparently the organist at the time had the mistaken impression that it didn’t need regular attention for maintenance and tuning. The organ became almost unplayable before a new professor took over and had some much-needed maintenance done on it. There are a few German-trained organ technicians in the country who take care of the pipe organs, one of whom is the husband of an organist I will mention later.

Organs in Daejeon

Although churches seem to be located everywhere, Daejeon contains only five pipe organs. Many churches have electronic imitations and most have praise bands to accompany worship. Even churches with pipe organs often have a band as well. The organs include Rieger-Kloss, Oberlinger, Flentrop, Speith, and  Paul Fritts. 

We met Eunyoung Kim at the Baptist Church where she is organist. The church contains an organ built by Speith-Orgelbau of Reitberg, Germany. Although a fine tracker instrument, it is situated in an acoustically dry room. Dr. Kim played the last movement of the first Mendelssohn Sonata for me—it was exquisitely played, but the sound was almost sucked into the walls. This led us to a discussion of acoustics in South Korean churches. This is a subject too large to go into here, but suffice it to say that with carpeting all over and acoustical tile even in the rear of the organ there is no resonance at all. Her comment was that the Korean idea of acoustics is figuring out how many speakers a room needs. It is a situation that organists are trying to correct.

After a delicious lunch at a Korean restaurant recommended by Dr. Kim, she took us to see the organs at Southern Baptist University, where she is the organ professor. Unfortunately, a class was meeting in the auditorium, so we were unable to see that organ, but in a smaller, happily much more resonant room is an organ built by Paul Fritts. The lower manual contained a Hohlflöte 8′, Principal 4′, Quint/Cornet, and Octav 2′. The upper manual had Quintadena 8′, Spielflöte 4′, Gemshorn 2′, and Dulcian 8′. A Subbass 16′ and Gedackt 8′ rounded out the pedal division. Couplers were I/Pedal, II/Pedal, and II/I, and there was also a tremulant. I played the first movement of the Mendelssohn A-major Sonata and it had a nice effect. It is a delightful practice organ and often does double duty for concerts.

Eunyoung Kim’s husband is one of South Korea’s German-trained organ technicians, and I was sorry that I did not get to meet him as well. Surprisingly, Eunyoung Kim was working on a recital entitled “The Organ Music of America since 1950,” which she played after our trip was over. It consisted of music of David Arcus (b. 1958), Memorial Festival Overture and Ancient Wonders; John Behnke (b. 1953), Three Global Songs; Derek Bermel (b. 1967), Two Songs from Nandom; and David Conte (b. 1955), Pastorale and Toccata. 

On another day, Rosalie Bowker took my wife Rachel and me to Hyechon University to meet Mrs. Min Jin O, who is the university organist and who, when we met her, was preparing four students for a required recital. I asked if they would mind playing their prepared music for us and they gave us a remarkable program all played from memory. One girl played the Langlais Epilogue for Pedal Solo. A young man, who was autistic, had none of his usual symptoms when he was playing. We were impressed by every one of them. Their playing had confidence and vigor even without music in front of them.

The organ was built by Oberlinger and was located in a large room that looked as though it served for concerts as well as for worship. The acoustics here were much better than what we had heard previously. 

Organ miscellanies

Several universities in South Korea offer doctoral degrees in organ, so that an organ student need not travel to a different country to study. However, many do decide to work on degrees beyond their own borders. I got the impression that the two favorite places were Germany and the United States, although not limited to those. Dr. Kim remarked that you could often tell where they studied by the kind of repertoire they played. Of those students who choose to return to South Korea, there is a desire to have the kinds of organs they were exposed to where they studied and a desire for improved acoustics. As more organs are imported, it is a great opportunity to spread the gospel of better acoustics. The Koreans want the best of what the world has to offer and I don’t believe it will be long before churches begin to hear the difference that good acoustics can make.

There is a Korean Association of Organists that is active in South Korea. It sponsors seminars, festivals, and masterclasses as well as hosting visiting organists from other countries, much like the AGO does in the U.S. Their journal, which contains the usual news about organs and meetings, also publishes new music written by Korean composers. I was able to discover several new pieces, many centered around hymn tunes, but one composer in particular, Ju-Hwan Yu, had written a Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H in 2005, which I found fascinating and which I played in two recitals earlier this year. As in any other country these days, Korean organ recitalists play music of many countries and different time periods.

Postscript

I very much enjoyed my visit to South Korea and only wish that it could have been much longer. I am attempting this small article in hopes that someone with much more knowledge of Korea and its organ music might take up where I have left off and fill in many more details. It is an organ culture that is growing and trying hard to catch up with the West. 

I want to thank Dr. Rosalie Bowker, organist, musician, missionary, and Board Chair of the Daejeon Christian International School, without whose help none of this would have been possible. I also want to thank Dr. Eunyoung Kim and Mrs. Min Jin O, who provided information and visits to notable Daejeon organs. n

Bibliography

Breen, Michael. The Koreans—Who They Are, What They Want, Where Their Future Lies. Orion Business Books, 1998. 

Oberdorfer, Don. The Two Koreas, A Contemporary History. Basic Books, a member of the Perseus Books Group, 2001. 

Becker, Jasper. Rogue Regime—Kim Jong Il and the Looming Threat of North Korea. Oxford University Press, 2005. 

Halberstam, David. The Coldest Winter: America and the Korean War. Hyperion Books, 2007.

Marijim Thoene received a D.M.A. in organ performance/church music from the University of Michigan in 1984. She is an active recitalist and director of music at St. John Lutheran Church in Dundee, Michigan. Her two CDs, Mystics and Spirits and Wind Song are available through Raven Recordings. She is a frequent presenter at medieval conferences on the topic of the image of the pipe organ in medieval manuscripts. Alan Knight has been music director of Ss. Simon and Jude Church in Westland, Michigan, for the past 11 years, during which time he earned the D.M.A. in organ performance at the University of Michigan under James Kibbie. There, he did research into Renaissance methods of organ improvisation and performed contemporary works of Rorem, Messiaen, Schroeder, and Kenton Coe. He has served as sub-dean of the Ann Arbor Chapter of the American Guild of Organists, organized new music festivals, and contributed to this year’s successful POE. He coaches and writes reviews freelance and has recently written a memorial acclamation for the new English liturgical texts. Photo credit: Marijim Thoene, unless indicated otherwise.

With unflagging dedication, enthusiasm, and vision, Marilyn Mason planned and organized the 51st Organ Conference at the University of Michigan. European guest artists included Jaroslav Tůma, interpreter of Czech music; Almut Rössler, artist, scholar, and teacher of Olivier Messiaen; and Helga Schauerte, interpreter and scholar of Jehan Alain. It was exhilarating to hear these three artists perform, as well to hear them instruct students and lecture. Many other outstanding performers and scholars participated in the conference, which featured the music of Franz Liszt, Olivier Messiaen, Jehan Alain, Alan Hovhaness, and others. The overarching theme of the conference was celebration—of the bicentennial anniversary of Liszt’s birth and the centennial anniversary of the births of Jehan Alain and Alan Hovhaness.  

Sunday, October 2, Hill Auditorium

The opening concerts were played in Hill Auditorium on the Frieze Memorial Organ. Joseph Balistreri, student of James Kibbie, opened the conference, with a memorized master’s degree recital that featured Bach’s Fantasia et Fuga in g-moll, BWV 542, Alain’s Aria, Duruflé’s Prélude et fugue sur le nom d’Alain, and Widor’s Symphonie Romane. His playing reflected an impressive technique and a bristling enthusiasm for each work, especially the Symphonie Romane, which he introduced by singing the chant, Haec dies (after the first reading on Easter Sunday), upon which the work is based. 

The evening recital was played by Timothy Tikker, a doctoral student of Marilyn Mason. His all-Liszt program included Präludium und Fuge über
B-A-C-H, S. 260 (1885/1870), two meditative pieces from Consolations, S. 172 (Adagio IV, transcribed by Liszt, and Adagio V, transcribed by A.W. Gottschlag), Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen, S. 180, and Fantasie und Fuge über den Choral ‘Ad nos, ad salutarem undam’, S. 259 (1850), Liszt’s first organ piece. Tikker’s careful preparation of these pieces was apparent, as was his emotional investment. His thoughtful comments described Liszt’s stages of grief in Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen, S. 180, his anger and final resignation and acceptance of God’s will expressed in the Bach chorale, Whatever God Ordains Is Right. Tikker noted that the breakdown in western tonality began with Liszt’s Weinen, Klagen.

Monday, October 3,

Blanche Anderson Moore Hall

The day began with Czech organist Jaroslav Tůma, who presented a predominantly Czech program, along with Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543, and O Mensch, bewein’ dein’ Sünde gross, BWV 622. It was a special gift to be introduced to the repertoire of Bohuslav Matej Cernohorsky, Josef Ferdinand Norbert Seger, Jan Křtitel Kuchař, Jan Vojtech Maxant, and Anonymous from Moravia by such an exuberant artist who made us want to dance. Tůma exploited every possible color on the Fisk organ. His pungent registrations and light touch were especially enjoyed in the eleven movements of Suite of Dances from the Region of Haná by an eighteenth-century anonymous Moravian composer. The reeds, cornet, and flutes shimmered in excited dialogues. Tůma ended his recital with Suite for Clavier (Organ, Harpsichord or Clavichord) by Maxant—a piece of irrepressible circus joy, filled with foot-tapping waltzes and calliopes. 

1:30 pm First Congregational Church

German musicologist and organist Susanne Diederich, who has examined over 150 French Classical organs in situ, lectured on “The Classical French Organ and its Music 1660–1719.” Her handout included a succinct summary of the specifications of an R. and J. Clicquot organ dated 1690/1794 as well as a cabinet organ dated 1671 by Etienne Enocq; tables listing the composition of mixtures for a small and large instrument; a table listing families of stops, the combination of ranks involved, and corresponding French title of the composition; and D’Anglebert’s table of ornaments, which J. S. Bach copied. 

Registration and ornamentation of the French Classical School were demonstrated on the Karl Wilhelm organ by Kipp Cortez, a first-year organ student of Marilyn Mason, and Christopher Urbiel, D.M.A., former Mason student and music minister at St. Sebastian Catholic Church in Dearborn Heights, Michigan. Both performers played with conviction and energy. Cortez played Plein jeu Continu du 7e ton by Jacques Boyvin, Kyrie from Messe du 2me Ton by G.G. Nivers, and Récit tendre from Messe du 8me ton by Gaspard Corrette. Urbiel played Fugue from Veni Creator by de Grigny, Tierce en Taille by Boyvin, and Dialogue in D Minor by Marchand.

3:15 pm Hill Auditorium

Jaroslav Tůma, with Karel Paukert acting as translator and general bon vivant, offered a masterclass in improvisation. Performers included Marcia Heirman (former student of Marilyn Mason), Joseph Balistreri, and Colin Knapp (students of James Kibbie). Tůma suggested experimenting with these techniques in developing a theme: repetition, retrograde, interval expansion, keeping the direction the same; strong rhythmic underpinning; meter change; ABA form; pedal ostinato; skeletal harmony for accompaniment or a regular scale; drone. 

4:15 pm Hill Auditorium

A recital of the music of Jehan Alain was played masterfully by students of James Kibbie. Professor Kibbie made this music especially poignant by prefacing each piece with an explanation of the piece, or reading from Alain’s diary. Each student clearly felt great empathy with Alain’s music. The recitalists and works included: Andrew Lang, Première Fantaisie; John Woolsey, Variations sur un theme de Clément Jannequin; Benjamin Woolsey, Fantasmagorie; Joseph Balistreri, Aria; Colin Knapp, Deux danses à Agni Yavishta; Monte Thomas, Choral dorien; Matthew Kim, Variations sur Lucis Creator; Richard Newman, Deuils from Trois danses; Daniel Mikat (organist) and Sara B. Mikat (soprano), Vocalise dorienne/Ave Maria. A recording of Alain’s music by Prof. Kibbie’s students is available on the U of M website, .

8 pm Hill Auditorium

It is a great privilege to hear Almut Rössler play an all-Messiaen recital. Her connection to Ann Arbor began in 1974, when both she and Marilyn Mason met as judges at the Chartres Organ Competition. In a very quiet voice, Prof. Rössler spoke about the evolution of Messiaen’s style, saying that he considered the Ascension Suite to be in his “old style” and that his true style did not begin until his Nativity Suite. He began his Easter cycle, Les Corps Glorieux, immediately before World War II. In it is the enigmatic vision of what Prof. Rössler calls “the resurrection of the successors of Christ.” She gave a brief analysis of each of the seven movements. Her assistant, Nancy Poland, a D.M.A. graduate of Michigan and former student of Marilyn Mason, read the text accompanying each work. Included here is the text that accompanies the seven movements of Les Corps Glorieux (1939), and a brief synopsis of Prof. Rössler’s analysis:

1. The Subtlety of Glorified Bodies. “It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body” (I Cor. 15:44). “For they are as angels of God in heaven” (Matt. 22:30).

A.R.: “The music is totally unaccompanied monody. It is played in alternation on three different cornet stops of varying volume.” 

2. The Waters of Grace. “For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of water” (Rev. 7:17).

A.R.: “The strangely ‘fluid’ character of the music is achieved in two ways—by polymodality and registration.”

3. The Angel of Incense. “And the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God out of the angel’s hand” (Rev. 8:4). 

A.R.: “A monodic main theme in the style of certain Hindu ragas played on clarinet and nazard.”

4. The Battle between Death and Life. “Death and life have been engaged in one stultifying battle; the Author of life after being dead lives and reigns. He has said: ‘My Father, I am revived, and I am again with you’” (Missal, Sequence and Introit of Easter).  

A.R.: “Two armies clash in battle, represented by big chords, the theme of death begins . . . ”   

5. The Power and Agility of Glorified Bodies. “It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power” (I Cor. 15: 43).

A.R.: “The ability to pass through walls and traverse space with the speed of lightning is conveyed in music of powerful vitality. Vehement and robust are the resurrected, agile and strong. This section is monodic.” 

6. The Joy and Radiance of Glorified Bodies. “Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father” (Matt. 13:43).

A.R.: “Radiance or splendor is the first attribute of glorified bodies, each of which is the source of its own light and its own individual luster, which St. Paul explains in a symbolical way when he says: ‘For one star differeth from another star in glory.’ These differences in degrees of radiance are mirrored in the shifting tone-colors.”

7. The Mystery of the Holy Trinity. “Almighty God, who with the only-begotten Son and with the Holy Ghost art one God not in the unity of one person but in three persons of one substance” (Preface for Trinity Sunday).

A.R.: “This entire section is devoted to the number 3. It is three-voiced, its form is tripartite, each of the three main subdivisions being in itself in three parts. The middle voice (the Son) has the straightforward tonal color of the 8′ flute; the other two (the Father and the Holy Ghost) mix the 16′ and 32′ with the 2′, in other words the very lowest with the very highest. The whole piece is in a remote, blurred pp, against which the middle voice stands out: by his incarnation the Son alone came visibly close to us.”

Also included in the program were Chants d’Oiseaux (IV, Livre d’orgue, 1951), and VI from Méditations sur le Mystère de la Sainte Trinité (1969), the Offertory for Epiphany, based on the text, “In the word was life and the life was the light” (John 1:4). It was a rare privilege to hear Almut Rössler, who has devoted her life to this music, present a profound expression of Messiaen’s sacred beliefs.

Tuesday, October 4, Hill Auditorium

At 9:30 am, Helga Schauerte’s lecture, “Jehan Alain: A Life in Three Dances,” reflected her life’s commitment to the study of Alain’s organ music. She was drawn to his music the first time she heard it—she had never heard anything so free. In 1983 Ms. Schauerte wrote the first English and German biographies of Alain. In 1990 Motette released her 1989 recordings of Alain’s complete organ works. The 1990 CDs were reissued in 2004 and include the addition of newly discovered recordings of Jehan Alain playing at the Temple in the Rue Notre Dame de Nazareth in Paris. Schauerte’s years of research, which led her to discover unknown manuscripts, and rugged determination culminated this year in Bärenreiter’s publication of her edition of Alain’s organ work in three volumes.

Schauerte observed that Alain’s life was mirrored in his masterwork, Trois Danses—Joies (Joy), Deuils (Mourning), and Luttes (Struggles). His youth was reflected in Joies; his grief on the death of his 23-year-old sister, Odile, who died in a mountain-climbing accident while protecting her younger brother Olivier, in Deuils; and his life in World War II as a soldier volunteering for risky missions in Luttes. Schauerte said Alain had a premonition of his tragic death, this “coincidencia” he expressed in his music, drawing, and poetry, and he, like Mozart and Schubert, crystallized his whole life’s work within a short period of time. She illustrated biographical details of his life with photographs of Alain’s parents; his childhood home; himself as a child, music student, mountain climber, and soldier; his siblings; his wife and three children; and the place where he was killed in action in Saumur. These were powerful images, filled with the beauty and exuberance of a life ended too soon. Schauerte also showed some of Alain’s whimsical drawings and read from his poetry and diary, offering intimate glimpses into his personality. She said he could be lively and wild one minute and contemplative the next. 

Schauerte stated that among her discoveries are findings from 14 autographed copies of Alain’s work owned  by Lola Bluhm and Alain’s daughter, and they are included in the new edition.  She noted that the only pieces with Alain’s own metronome markings are the Intermezzo and Suite. 

11:00 am Hill Auditorium

In Almut Rössler’s masterclass, Joshua Boyd, a freshman student of Marilyn Mason, played The Celestial Banquet. Prof. Rössler pointed out that these were early sounds for Messiaen—drops of the blood of Christ. In abbreviated form, I include her comments, which are invaluable to anyone playing Messiaen: 

The sound of water drops is achieved not by legato playing, but by movement of the leg straight down into the pedal with a sharp release. In the second edition he uses in the pedal registration 4, 22⁄3, 2, 13⁄5, a kind of cornet without a fundamental. Messiaen can be played on a North German Baroque organ, English and American organs; one must know what is adequate, what is the character, atmosphere, and emotional expression of the work. One must know the inner idea and how to achieve it. The second edition, 1960, is the most important one. Pay attention to slurs; some end at the end of the line, others go to the next line.  Always follow the slurs. Also pay attention to thumb glissandos.  

1:30 pm Hill Auditorium 

With her characteristic light touch Marilyn Mason, “the maker of organists” for over a half a century, shared her good luck “secret” with us. She said after one of her recitals at Riverside a woman congratulated her, saying that she was envious of her being so lucky to play so well. Prof. Mason replied, “Yes, and the more I practice, the luckier I get.” She continued, saying, “I always tell my students when they feel like giving up, that’s the time they need to really practice. Never give up.” She then introduced four of her former students who had received the D.M.A. and who proceeded to demonstrate that she’s right! Each of them played with dazzling technique, assurance, and passion. The performers, dates of their degrees, and their pieces follow: Shin-Ae Chun (2006), Prelude and Fugue on the name of A.L.A.I.N., Duruflé; Joseph Galema (1982), Allegro deciso from Evocation, op. 37, Dupré; Seth Nelson (2006), Troisième Choral en la mineur, Franck; and Andrew Meagher (2010), Prelude and Fugue, Jerry Bilik (b. 1933). This was the premiere performance of Bilik’s work, which was commissioned by and dedicated to Marilyn Mason. It features the Michigan fight song, Hail to the Victors (!)—the composer’s grin was as big as ours. 

3 pm Hill Auditorium

Peggy Kelley Reinburg, recitalist and Alain scholar, presented an informative lecture, “The Liturgical Potential in Selected Organ and Piano Compositions of Jehan Ariste Alain.” She demonstrated how Alain was influenced by the colors of the French Classical School by playing Clérambault’s Suite du Deuxième Ton. Her description of her visit to the Abbey where Alain played and composed his Postlude pour les Complies allowed us to absorb its stillness and peace. She quoted from his letter, “The abbey organ (Abbaye de Valloires) was beautiful especially after 9 pm,” and commented that this was his first composition written for organ. She suggested that the following pieces be used in a liturgical setting: (organ) Postlude pour les Complies, Choral Dorien, Ballade en mode Phrygien, Berceuse sur deux notes qui cornent, Le jardin suspendu; (piano) Choral—Seigneur, donne-nous la paix eternelle, Romance, Nocturne, Suite Façile—Comme une barcarolle, and Suite Monodique. Reinburg’s elegant performance of these meditative and serene pieces offered convincing support for her argument.

8 pm Hill Auditorium

Helga Schauerte’s years of researching Alain’s life and music were abundantly apparent in her recital. Not only was she at one with his music, breathing into it a deeply personal interpretation, but by playing two of Langlais’ pieces—one written in his memory and one dedicated to him—presented Alain the man, the self-sacrificing citizen. Included in her recital was Langlais’ Chant héröique, op. 40, no. 4, inscribed, “To the memory of Jehan Alain, fallen for France as a hero in the Defense of Saumur, June 1940,” and his Resurrection, op. 250, no. 4, inscribed, “dedicated to Jehan Alain.” Of all the Alain repertoire in the recital, which included Fantaisies nos. 1 and 2, Variations sur un theme de Clément Jannequin, Deux Danses à Agni Yavishta, Fantasmagorie, Litanies, and Trois Danses, for me it was in the Trois Danses that Alain’s spirit seemed to dance and leap. One of Alain’s daughters has thanked Schauerte for bringing his music to life, saying that her father lived on because of her. We all say thank you, Helga Schauerte!

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

9:30 am Hill Auditorium Mezzanine

Damin Spritzer shared her extensive research on René Louis Becker, a compilation of many published works as well as original manuscripts. As an Alsatian-born and educated musician and organist, Becker seems to have fit well into the early 20th-century American scene, first joining the faculty of his brothers’ music conservatory in St. Louis, Missouri, and then in a series of church positions in Illinois and Michigan, including his appointment as first organist of the Cathedral of the Most Blessed Sacrament in Detroit, Michigan. Spritzer is interested in studying the various organs of Becker’s experience, both in America and in Alsace, as a factor in shaping his organ compositions. It is not always possible to acquire information on these organs. Spritzer suggests his three organ sonatas, which are extended works, as a starting point to appreciate René Becker’s music. 

There are several choral works of Becker’s as well. Well-respected by his contemporaries such as Alexander Schreiner, Albert Riemenschneider, and others, Becker was one of the major organ figures of his day in America, though now largely forgotten and left to the past, even in the churches where he had ministered. However, renewed interest is beginning to flower with new recordings and publications. Becker’s works are not completely catalogued, partly due to discrepancies in opus numbers of works published in his lifetime and those in original manuscripts. Spritzer related that the selection of René Becker for research was suggested by Michael Barone. In this mammoth research task, the descendants of René Becker have lent their assistance. They were present for the lecture. 

10:30 am Hill Auditorium

Almut Rössler resumed the masterclass begun the day before on the stage of Hill Auditorium. With Nancy Deacon (Les Bergers) and Kipp Cortez (Le Verbe), she stressed counting the subdivisions of the beat to make the longer notes precise and the rhythmic texture secure as written. “‘Espresif’ does not mean ‘free’” was one of her comments. Also noteworthy was not breathing and lifting between phrases if there are no phrase marks (slurs) indicated. Always play a perfect legato with “old-fashioned” finger substitutions (from the methods of Dupré and Gleason) as well as the thumb glissando. All-important is locating the musical symbols and depictions and playing them according to their own nature, both by the manner of playing and in the registration. One must understand the titles and subtitles to execute the meaning and color of the piece, which is almost always objective. 

No matter who is on the bench in a Rössler masterclass, it is always a rewarding experience to receive her teaching, benefit from her inspiring musicianship, and to upgrade one’s awareness of Olivier Messiaen’s music, owing to her 20 years of close association and study with him. 

12:15 pm School of Public Health, Community Lounge

Brandon D. Spence performed for the audience of the Community Lounge, where those on Central Campus can enjoy an organ recital in the “Brown Bag” lunch recital series at the School of Public Health on the Létourneau organ. Included on his memorized program were Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier, BWV 731, Bach; Two Meditations, Ulysses Kay; Fuga C-Dur, BuxWV 174, and Praeludium und Fuga g-moll, BuxWV 149, Buxtehude. Spence gave helpful comments on each piece before playing.

1:30 pm Hill Auditorium

Marijim Thoene presented an in-depth and authoritative lecture/recital of Alan Hovhaness’s eight organ works, indicating which are unpublished, as well as the published works (C. F. Peters and Fujihara Music Co., Seattle, Washington). Hovhaness is perhaps known more for his orchestral (Mysterious Mountain) and choral (Magnificat) music more than for his organ works. Discouraged by the criticisms of Leonard Bernstein and Aaron Copland of his Symphony in 1943, Hovhaness took the advice of the Greek psychic and mystic painter Hermon
di Giovanno, who persuaded him to study the music of his Armenian ancestors. Hovhaness then became organist for St. James Armenian Church in Watertown, Massachusetts. There he studied his Armenian musical heritage, which was not passed down to him through his family. Thoene noted his “turn toward the East” in musical language and played a recording of the beginning of the Divine (Armenian) Liturgy as well as a few notes on the sho instrument, a handheld, Japanese pipe organ of ancient Chinese origin. Hovhaness strove to incorporate the musical idiom of Eastern peoples into his compositional style and make their modalities his own. 

Thoene performed Organ Sonata No. 2, Invisible Sun, op. 385, Ms.; three pieces from Sanahin Partita for Organ, op. 69: 2. Estampie, 4. First Whirling, and 7. Apparition in the Sky; Hermit Thrush (Sonata No. 3, op. 424); and her own commission, Habakkuk, op. 434 (1995), which is Hovhaness’s last organ work (1995). In this piece, Hovhaness was asked to reflect on Habakkuk 3:17–19: 

Even though the fig trees are all destroyed, and there is neither blossom left nor fruit; and though the olive crops all fail, and the fields lie barren; even if the flocks die in the fields and the cattle barns are empty. Yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will be happy in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength, and He will give me the speed of a deer and bring me safely over the mountains. 

Thoene performed this stirring work in an exultant manner. Hovhaness created a new harmonic language in this last organ piece to express both the despair of the prophet and of the triumph of his enduring faith. Thanks to Thoene, this piece exists.

2:30 pm Hill Auditorium Mezzanine

Michael Barone celebrated other composers with anniversaries aside from those featured on the conference. Playing recordings of at least two examples each as well as some other discs of interest, Barone offered a very humorous journey from names such as Georg Boehm, Louis Couperin, William Boyer, Jan Koetsier, Nino Rota, Jean-Jacques Grunenwald, Enrico Bossi, Gustav Mahler, Gian Carlo Menotti, and Carrie Jacobs-Bond. In addition, the radio exponent of the pipe organ made a case for Franz Liszt’s influence on music in general and organ music being more extensive than commonly thought. Liszt envisioned the organ beyond a church instrument, giving an influential “push” for the organ in the music world. As inventor of the tone poem, he took the organ (as well as the piano) into the expression of emotional extremes. Several examples of Liszt’s smaller, meditative works intended for private reflection were played, showing that his output of organ music goes well beyond the “big pieces.”

8:00 pm Hill Auditorium

Gregory Hand completed the conference, sharing his project of recording the entire corpus of William Bolcom’s Gospel Preludes. He performed Preludes 1–6 (Books I and II) with intermission, followed by Preludes 7–12 (Books III and IV) in Hill Auditorium. Adding to the delight of this performance was the presence of the composer.

This conference was a mind-stretcher in organ literature. Each of the composers—Liszt, Alain, and Hovhaness—created a special musical language of their own. Additionally, their spirituality was wedded with their musicality, often taking on a very personal expression. Thus, a huge panorama of literature, much of it from our time, was offered to the conference participants for possible exploration. At the same time, the conference was a huge dose of spiritual music of a theological bent, from the Gospel Preludes of William Bolcom to the piano pieces of Jehan Alain to Messiaen’s Les Corps Glorieux to Langlais’ Resurrection to Hovhaness’s Habbakuk and many others—attendees took in much inspiration and food for thought. Thanks to Marilyn Mason, the presenters, and the attendees for another dynamic educational event for organ music at the University of Michigan.