In the Wind: designing an organ for a space

Youthful fantasies

Saint John’s Episcopal Church in Westwood, Massachusetts, was founded as a mission in September 1953, and services were first held in the Deerfield Elementary School at the end of Deerfield Avenue. A new church building was dedicated next to the school in March 1955, and my father was appointed the first full-time rector in October 1956. I was seven months old. We lived in a rented house nearby while the rectory was built adjacent to the church. I know from personal memory and family lore that we were ensconced in the new rectory before I was two years old. My earliest memories of those days included the bulldozers that were grading the lawn and building the driveway. My wife and sons would quickly agree that must have been the genesis of my fascination with heavy equipment, admittedly alive and well today as my sixty-eighth 
birthday approaches.

The Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts established Saint John’s as a parish in 1959, and that year the church acquired C. B. Fisk Opus 31 (then the Andover Organ Company), a one-manual, six-stop, mechanical-action organ mounted on a platform with a detached, reversed console. I learned later (!) that the organ was planned as the Rückpositiv of a larger two-manual instrument that could be completed if the new parish succeeded. At three years old, I did not yet know about detached consoles, but my child’s eyes remember where it was placed in the simple new A-frame building, itself designed to accept future enhancement.

Ten years after its founding, the parish mounted a campaign to build a parish hall and complete the church interior with formal decorations and furniture. Two towers and a rear gallery were added. A full-height stained-glass wall was installed behind the altar, a chancel with steps and altar rail was added, and hardwood pews were installed replacing the metal folding chairs.

Having spent a lifetime moving pipe organs, I am amused by the memory of my first organ relocation—that tiny Fisk organ hanging from a crane, pipes and all, being lifted from the front of the original sanctuary to its permanent home in the new rear gallery before the roof was closed. If I saw that happening today, I would run toward the crane operator, arms waving like a semaphore, shouting “Stop!,” but there it was, an organ hanging from a hook on a sunny day. I was seven. That same year, when my parents were not at home, I thought it would be fun to climb the scaffolding surrounding the seventy-foot tower under construction. It was a lovely view from the top, showing my parents’ car turning on to Deerfield Avenue, heading home. I got back down before they reached the driveway, but the guilt on my face was enough to spill the story.

Saint John’s organist’s name was Donald McFeely. He had the parish on the cusp of the tracker revolution, buying an organ from Charles Fisk and the Andover Organ Company before the founding of C. B. Fisk, Inc., in 1961. The Andover Organ Company completed the twenty-three-rank instrument in 1991, including the original six-stop organ as the Rückpositiv as planned by Charlie Fisk.

I remember several of the families of Saint John’s as friends of my parents, and as I write I realize what a heady time that was for them. It must have been thrilling to start with meetings to incorporate a mission, transforming it to a parish, and taking on two building programs in ten years. Through their commitment, effort, and money, they created a church that continues to thrive over seventy years later. My father was a young priest in his second appointment, and it must have been mind-boggling and life-altering for him to be at the helm of that rocket ship. Dad has been gone almost ten years, so I will never get to chat about that with him, but the notion adds to my admiration. By the way, I attended the Deerfield School, next door to our house, from first through third grades.

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Since my first organ was a quasi-experimental dip into the early years of the Organ Reform Movement, it is ironic that the second organ in my life was built in 1905 by the Ernest M. Skinner Company at a time when Robert Hope-Jones (who grew into the genius behind theatre organs built by Wurlitzer) was working with Skinner. Dad was called as rector of the Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester, Massachusetts, in 1966, when I was ten years old. I was instantly pressed into the Junior Choir led by harpsichord builder Carl Fudge, the parish’s organist and choirmaster. As I think about it, the further irony is that Mr. Fudge as an early practitioner in the esoteric world of harpsichord building in the 1960s was saddled with an aging, wheezing, cadaver of an organ in such poor condition that my friends and I as ten-year-old choristers where well aware of its precarious state.

There was the Sunday when I heard my first cipher in the middle of a service. Mr. Fudge left the bench, crossed the chancel, reverenced the altar, returned with a ladder, reverenced the altar again, set the ladder against the impost, climbed up and pulled a pipe. He repeated the process to return the ladder, reverencing the altar twice more, wearing a black cassock through the entire sequence. I expect that his pious performance as the service progressed was calculated to draw attention to the organ’s failings, and it was only five or six years later that my father was involved in purchasing another organ from Charles Fisk, Opus 65, which was completed in 1973.

When I was twelve, I had my first organ lessons on the gleaming ten-year-old, three-manual Holtkamp organ in Saint John’s Chapel of the Episcopal Theological School (ETS) in Harvard Square, later the Episcopal Divinity School (EDS), now defunct. Though it has electro-pneumatic action, that organ was in the vanguard of experimental design with low wind pressures, classical choruses, and a Rückpositiv division (on a pitman chest) along the gallery rail. But my first experiences playing the organ during worship were on that home Skinner when Mr. Fudge allowed me to “noodle” a bit while he left the bench to receive communion, and later to play an occasional prelude or postlude.

It was not long before I went out on my own, taking a six-week gig playing on a three-manual Estey (long gone) at the Baptist church in Winchester, and then after Vatican II at St. Eulalia Catholic Church in Winchester on a Conn Artist. (You can’t make these things up.) My last high-school church organist position was at the First Congregational Church of neighboring Woburn, Massachusetts, where I played a three-manual, thirty-three-stop E. & G. G. Hook organ built in 1860, a very grand organ with real large-organ stops like 16′ Double Open Wood and 16′ Trombone with wood resonators.

Nostalgia

I am wallowing in childhood memories today because Wendy and I recently moved from Greenwich Village to Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where my grandfather had been rector of Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church, just at the time when my family moved from Westwood to Winchester and I started to take organ lessons. It has been both fun and eerie to merge into life in Stockbridge, walking past the rectory on Main Street where my grandparents lived, counting the windows, and remembering the rooms that were so familiar when I was a teenager.

Saint Paul’s first building was a wood Gothic structure designed by Richard Upjohn and consecrated in 1844. The present stone building was designed by Charles McKim and consecrated in 1884. The organ was Hilborne Roosevelt’s Opus 127, also built in 1884, but it was drastically altered in the early-1960s, a project that included the addition of mixtures and mutations, the replacement of the original principal stops with ranks of tapered pipes, the addition of a pedal division and a couple unified reeds including a Krummhorn with electric action. I wonder if Hilborne Roosevelt ever heard a Krummhorn? Today I call it a scandalous treatment of a lovely venerable instrument, but when I was twelve and thirteen years old and allowed to practice on the organ, loud and shrill as it was, I thought it was the bees’ knees. I do not remember if I ever played a service there, but I know I played a recital or two—I’m sure my grandparents were very proud.

When I was a kid, we had family holidays in Stockbridge. Thanksgiving dinner in the rectory was a great treat, and my grandparents nurtured my nascent love of music by treating me to weekends at Tanglewood, just a few miles away. Those were my first solo trips away from home—my parents put me on buses and trains in Boston and grandparents picked me up in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, quite an adventure for a thirteen-year-old.

Since I retired as a church organist when I joined the Organ Clearing House in 2000, we have not attended church regularly, but when we first moved to Stockbridge, we were quick to show up at Saint Paul’s. We went to the early service at 8:00 a.m. and were part of a congregation of five or six people. It was fun to meet a woman whose wedding had been performed by my grandfather and who had wonderful memories of him, but it was a pretty quiet affair. Shortly after, we learned that the rector had just received a call to move elsewhere, and after our first visit we went dormant.

A new rector was installed at Saint Paul’s eight weeks ago, and Wendy and I went to church there last Sunday, attending the 10:00 a.m. service along with more than forty others. It was great to hear the organ being played, though it is in terrible condition, and we were pleased with the good vibes, the singing of the hymns, and the fact that there were some people present who were younger than us. Maybe we will go back this time.

Altered states

I imagine we are all familiar with organs that have been altered, receiving new identities for better or for worse. Some are great successes. There are many organs built by the Skinner Organ Company and later modified by Aeolian-Skinner under G. Donald Harrison’s direction. Ernest Skinner hated that, but Harrison was able in many cases to retain the gravitas of the original organ while adding well-balanced choruses and mutations.

I had a long relationship with a 1906 Hutchings-Votey organ rebuilt by Kinzey-Angerstein in 1973 at Saint Mary’s Catholic Church in Holliston, Massachusetts. I joined the reorganized workshop of Angerstein & Associates in 1984, and the organ at Saint Mary’s was one of the first I tuned after taking that job. The occasion was a recital by Daniel Roth, then titulaire of Saint-Sulpice in Paris, celebrating the appointment of Saint Mary’s longtime organist, Leo Abbott, as director of music for the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Boston and the end of his tenure at Saint Mary’s. The organ retained its original 8′ and 4′ principals, wood flutes, manual reeds, and pedal stops. Daniel Angerstein had added upperwork to the Great and Swell creating two fine choruses and a smashing 16′ Pedal Trombone. It is a grand organ with lots of pizzazz, and the new tonal scheme added wonderfully to the original foundation of the organ.

The Holliston organ was so successful because the new stops were scaled and voiced to complete choruses based on the original foundations. The added pipes were purposefully constructed to exacting specifications based on the scales of the original stops, so all voices blend as if the entire instrument had been built at once. Too often, organ technicians of lesser skill add voices to an organ based on the notion of an ideal stoplist without considering the scales, construction, or even wind pressures of the new pipes.

Earlier this year I visited an organ in Texas that has small-scale Baroque choruses added in the 1960s to a nineteenth-century organ with broad scales and heavy fundamental tone. The differences in harmonic structure between old and newer pipes is striking. The tonal effect is jarring, confusing, and difficult to sing with. The firm that added the high-pitched stops must not have made any effort to create a blend between old and new. The stoplist looks fine, but the organ sounds terrible.

When the revival of classic organbuilding was getting traction in the early 1960s, many of the new organs were focused on high-pitched voices as were the “Baroque-izations” of older organs. It is ironic because the great classical instruments of Europe on which our revival was based are typically not shrill instruments. Their stoplists show fully developed choruses crowned with multiple mixtures, but their foundation stops are rich and full with thrilling harmonic development to support all that upperwork. When twentieth-century organbuilders began building new mechanical-action organs with low wind pressure and open-toe voicing, the challenge they faced, whether they knew it or not, was to figure out to deliver lots of air, not pressure but volume, to the largest pipes in the organ, and to voice those pipes so they could really sing.

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It is fun to think about the first organs I knew, how my youthful impressions compared to my current thinking after playing, working on, and listening to hundreds of organs. As a thirteen-year-old, I was enthralled by the idea that I could play music on those keyboards and fill a church building with sound. I have been around organs with serious intent for about fifty-six years, and the evolution of my understanding of organ tone is still in process. I have learned slowly how scale (diameter) and wind pressure affect what an organ pipe can do. I have learned how the shape of a pipe’s resonator (the long part) affects the harmonic structure of its tone, so it stands to reason that two stops that emphasize the same harmonics will blend well together—that is a simple glimpse of the complex structure of a Cornet, especially when a reed stop is added to it. (Think d’Aquin noëls.)

I sat in a pew at Saint Paul’s last Sunday, delighted that the organ was being played, but critical of its collection of unrelated stops, however much I enjoyed playing it fifty-six years ago. (Oof!) The church has had some hard times over all those years, but it is fun to think that we might breathe some new life into it. Wendy and I live a fifteen-minute walk from Saint Paul’s. Maybe I could help?

There have been many organs in my life that were altered from their original state and transformed into something different. Some are marvelous successes, some are unmitigated disasters, and some (perhaps most) are the transformation of a fine instrument into one that is mediocre and uninteresting. A well-intentioned local organ technician may have terrific skills, but may not have the knowledge, wisdom, and experience to “out-Skinner Skinner.” If the organ you play most regularly does not have a trumpet, you probably could add one, but it should be as close as possible to the trumpet the original builder would have included if the organ was to be one stop larger. The added stop must be heard as part of the original organ and not as irrelevant braying. It is not the stoplist that makes an organ, it is the tonal structure.

I was at dinner recently with two beloved and admired colleagues who are collaborating on an important new organ. I asked them what they hoped to achieve with that organ. One replied, “I want to make an organ that sounds beautiful so lots of people will be happy to hear it.”

John Bishop

Down front or up in the back?

My home church is the Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester, Massachusetts, where my father was called as rector in 1966 when I was ten years old. The song, “Winchester Cathedral,” written by Geoff Stevens and recorded by The New Vaudeville Band, was released in August of 1966, and Dad received several copies of the recording as gag gifts from friends (Oh voh-dee oh doh). I had three years of piano lessons before we moved to Winchester, but singing in the choir there was my first experience participating in the music of the church. The harpsichord maker Carl Fudge was the organist, and as I have written frequently, he had a lot to do with my early career choices.

The organ at Epiphany, the first I played, was built in 1905 by the Ernest M. Skinner Company (Opus 128), a very early and seriously rundown example of Mr. Skinner’s work. The church is brick, of Gothic influence, and mythically shares proportions with “the” Winchester Cathedral. There is a classic Gothic chancel up several steps from the nave, and the choir was situated in fixed carved oak pews on either side. The Skinner console was on the Epistle side nearest the communion rail, right by the little alleyway through which the congregation returned to their seats in the nave after leaving the rail. I started organ lessons when I was twelve, and my first experience playing in church was when Mr. Fudge allowed me to slip onto the bench and noodle a bit while he received communion.

The church had an ancient forced-hot-air heating system with large registers in the floor. If you were a clever choir member or acolyte, you would finagle standing on one, and your cassock would inflate like a dirigible. There must have been a history of choir members fainting because the choir pews were equipped with smelling salts. These fifty-five-year-old childhood memories bring a burst of nostalgia. I am thinking of Eleanor Banks, the burly alto in the senior choir, who wielded a hairbrush like a nunchuck as the robed junior choir filed out of the choir room. In hindsight, it was good none of us had lice—she would have spread them through the whole choir.

I left Epiphany at thirteen to begin my career as an organist, filling in at the First Baptist Church (with a three-manual Estey), then as organist at Saint Eulalia’s Catholic Church (Conn Artist—you cannot make this stuff up), and then in neighboring Woburn, Massachusetts (three-manual 1860 E. & G. G. Hook, a stupendous organ). While I was building my resumé before leaving town for Oberlin in the fall of 1974, the people of the Parish of the Epiphany were grappling with the condition of the wheezing Skinner organ. In that Boston suburb, we were in the heart and heyday of the tracker revival, and Mr. Fudge with his early music background was advocating a new tracker organ to be placed in a not-yet-built rear gallery.

 

Meanwhile, down the street . . .

The First Congregational Church in Winchester has a commanding location on a hillside above the town center and an immense steeple that leaves no doubt that the Congregationalists got the concept of “location, location, location.” Their much-rebuilt 1925 Hook & Hastings organ was replaced in 1969 by
C. B. Fisk, Inc., Opus 50, a three-manual, mechanical-action organ with twenty-seven stops. Mr. Fisk wanted to place the organ in the rear balcony, but the church insisted on a chancel installation. His solution was to build a very wide, very shallow organ on the chancel wall. In fact, the organ breaks out of the wall and looms into the chancel airspace. The keydesk is on the floor under the organ facing the opposite wall, and the mechanical action goes under the organist and up the wall to the organ. Large doors open into the hallway behind to expose the action. Originally, there was a setter-board combination action behind that door that has since been replaced with a hundred-level solid-state system.

John Skelton was organist of the First Congregational Church back in the day, and he was my organ teacher through my high school career. The church was a five-minute walk from home, and I had generous practice privileges, spending most weekday afternoons in the thrall of the music and the instrument, learning to wrap my fingers and feet around the notes. Mr. Skelton was a gentle and generous teacher who encouraged and nurtured my passion. I loved working with him, and I loved playing on that organ. In summer of 2021, my son Chris and his wife Alex bought a house near where the Skeltons live, and while I was helping Chris with some repairs and modifications before they moved in, I had a swell evening with John and Carolyn.

A new Fisk organ was installed at the Parish of the Epiphany in 1974, just as I was leaving for Oberlin. It started with twelve stops on two manuals, and seven “prepared for” voices were added in 1983. The parish made the difficult decision to move the music making out of the chancel. The new balcony cost more than the $35,000 organ (imagine, a Fisk organ for $35,000), and while some parishioners were unhappy with the change, the relatively small organ was given a commanding position in the relatively large sanctuary. Of course, people familiar with Fisk organs know that “Charlie” was not known for having trouble filling churches with sound.

I did not play as much on Opus 65 as on Opus 50, but I did play a few recitals, perhaps a dozen services, and my sister’s wedding there. I have not been in that building since my father’s memorial service eight years ago, but I will always love the place and value its role in my earliest experiences with the music of the church. I will also always cherish the privilege of playing such brilliant, responsive organs when I was a pup.

Those two organs make a terrific comparison, built five years apart by the same firm in churches a half mile apart, and placed so radically differently in their buildings. They are both vibrant presences. The chancel placement in the Congregational church is surprisingly successful, partly because the chancel is very wide, so the organ’s sound directly reaches a large percentage of the area of the nave, because the acoustics are lively, and because the organ chamber is barely three feet deep.

The people at Fisk have dubbed these organs “Winchester Old” and “Winchester New,” a tongue-in-cheek reference to the hymntunes for “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night,” and “On Jordan’s Bank the Baptist’s Cry,” respectively.

As much space as you need?

I am fond of telling clients that there are two rules about placing a pipe organ in a church today. Rule #1: There is never enough money. Rule #2: There is never enough space. I have been in scores of older church buildings in which space was no issue. Think of a Catholic church built in 1880 seating 1,200 people. The ceiling is a barrel vault eighty feet up, so even if the balcony rail is twenty-five above the nave floor, there is still fifty-five feet of ceiling height. It is not unusual to find a nineteenth-century organ that is thirty-five or forty feet tall with a footprint of twenty by thirty feet with room left for a fifty-voice choir. Think of the grand organ formerly in the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Boston, now in storage. It is a rare modern building that will accommodate anything like that. It may be that the only chance of relocating such an organ would be to build a new organ from the pipes down and save the original voicing.

Even Gothic-style cathedrals pose serious challenges for organbuilders. The builders of the ancient cathedrals never imagined that people would be finding spaces for a hundred-plus ranks of organ pipes with all the associated mechanicals. The vaulted ceiling in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City is 112 feet off the floor, but the two 32′ stops are lying down in the triforium, the Contra Bombarde along Fiftieth Street and the (Double Open Wood) Diapason along Fifty-First Street. At Durham Cathedral, there are, count them, two big Open Wood Diapasons, both standing on the floor in the aisles beside the chancel, the sixteen-footer on the south aisle, and the thirty-two-footer on the north. At York Minster, the 32′ metal Diapason also stands on the floor of the aisle by the chancel, painted to imitate the stone fabric of the wall.

It is often problematic to place pipe organs in newer church buildings. The great interior height in many older church buildings is the result of the desire for proper proportions and the lofty superstructure that supports that high ceiling. Modern construction materials and techniques allow low ceilings to span great distances, and the economics of construction say that as a building gets taller, its cost increases exponentially. Are you paying $500,000 for each additional foot of height? Many modern churches are built without any planned accommodation for an organ, and plenty of architects do not know how much space and what sort of environment an organ needs.

The most extreme experience I have had with this was when a church in Virginia asked me to advise them about placing a pipe organ in their new building. I traveled there to find that although they had asked the architect to provide space for an organ, there was no place in the building to put it. The architect was present at this meeting, and he showed me a photo of an organ façade on the wall of a church and pointed to a space on an outside wall. He blanched when I told him that such an organ would be eight- or ten-feet deep behind the façade. It was an awkward moment. Disappointed, the church bought a digital instrument.

I view the task of evaluating a church building for the placement of an organ as harvesting space. Where in the building might an organ go? Can a classroom be converted to an organ chamber? Can additional height be captured by breaking through a ceiling into attic space? Will the organ be liturgically useful and acoustically successful if we put it there? In newer church buildings, we frequently find a sacristy behind the wall behind the altar. We could harvest the sacristy, open into the attic above, open the wall behind the altar, and make a perfect place for an organ—but I sure have run into opposition when I suggest taking the sacristy.

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The people of Saint Dunstan’s Episcopal Church in Shoreline, Washington, were willing to rethink and redesign the front of their church to accommodate a new organ. I visited there in 2016 to consult with them and found an amateur installation of a relocated organ with two “flower boxes” perched on the front wall and an enclosed swell stuffed in an attic behind the wall. There was a waist-high wall separating the choir from the altar and two false walls projecting from the front, enclosing the choir in a pseudo-chancel. Jonathan Ortloff’s design for the new organ created a proper chamber front and center. All the artificial barricades were removed, leaving a wide-open, flexible space for clergy, lay leaders, and musicians.

Susanna Valleau is music director at Saint Dunstan’s, a position she has held since before the inception of the organ project. She reports that Ortloff’s design was quickly accepted by the church’s rector and wardens and embraced by the congregation. The new flexibility of the sanctuary has allowed growth in the worship life of the parish as well as opening possibilities for community outreach, especially a variety of concerts.

The chambered organ

In the beginning of the twentieth century, it became popular to place organs in remote chambers, spaces separate from the rooms in which they would be heard. This can be partly attributed to economy—you save a lot of money when you do not have to build a case. It also means that you do not have an organ cluttering up the floor of the sanctuary (if you choose to look at it that way). This would never have been possible as a wide-spread practice without electricity. Electric keyboard actions made it possible to have great distances between keyboards and windchests, and organists had to learn to play by remote control.

Electricity was also crucial in enabling organs to break the bonds of their chambers, thanks to the luxury of virtually limitless wind supplied by electric blowers. Remember, Widor wrote all ten of his organ symphonies for the hand-pumped organ at Saint-Sulpice in Paris, France. Organ builders developed techniques of voicing with higher wind pressures, producing ever-more-powerful sounds. While the wind pressure of a large organ built by E. & G. G. Hook in the 1860s might have been two-and-a-half inches or three inches, it is common to find five inches of pressure on the Great and eight inches on the Swell of a Skinner organ dating from the 1920s, not to mention solo reeds on fifteen inches or twenty-five inches. Air is the fuel we burn to create organ sound. When Mr. Skinner put his Swell celestes and Flauto Dolces on eight inches of pressure, he coaxed them out of the chamber and into the room, stepping on the gas by running more air through the pipes.

Today we can compare the experiences of playing and hearing organs in chambers and in free-standing cases. In fact, there are several American churches where you can hear both in the same room. The First Congregational Church in Columbus, Ohio, has a three-manual organ by Rudolf von Beckerath (1972) in the rear gallery and a four-manual W. W. Kimball (1931) in chancel chambers. What a wealth of organ tone to experience under one roof.

The chapel at Duke University has a four-manual, hundred-rank Aeolian located in chancel chambers and a four-manual, hundred-rank Flentrop in a high gallery on the rear wall. There is also a small Brombaugh organ tuned in meantone in a side chapel. The Organ Historical Society held a national convention in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, in 2001 during which we heard the ultimate comparison of organs with recitals on each of those organs in the same day—Mark Brombaugh played the Flentrop, Margaret Irwin-Brandon played the Brombaugh, and Ken Cowan played the Aeolian. The range of music played was profound, from Frescobaldi to Wagner and Liszt, and conventioneers got a real earful that day.

Prepare the way.

When an institution is planning a room that will include a pipe organ, it is wise to engage an organ expert in the design process. It is a rare architect who would have a deep grasp of the space needed for an organ. In fact, without real practical knowledge, planning the size of an organ is likely to be arbitrary. How many stops must it have? Would it have fewer more powerful stops, or would the tonal variety that comes from a larger number of stops serve the needs of the institution best? These questions apply both to churches and universities. If it should be forty stops, should it be electric or mechanical action? And how do you arrive at forty stops? Where should the organ be placed for best acoustical advantage and logistical usefulness? You do not want to place a mechanical-action organ with an attached keydesk alone in a gallery with choir seating on the floor under it or at the other end of the room. The independent organ consultant can help answer all these questions without the conflict of angling for the contract to build the organ.

What will be the electrical requirements? How much might the organ weigh? How are the building’s walls constructed to maximize their effective resonance? In a recent job where an organ was removed for renovation and returned to its original location, the flimsy drywall behind the organ was reinforced with new heavy material, and the effect on the organ’s sound was dramatic.

Because the pipe organ is a monumental instrument, it relies on the integrity of its building for the projection of its sound. The building must provide the organ a safe and solid home. Flimsy construction absorbs sound. Rigid construction projects it. The organ should not be placed under valleys in the roof that would be prone to leak. Witness that the Cavaillé-Coll organ at Notre-Dame de Paris miraculously survived the catastrophic fire in 2019; the peaked roof above the organ between the two towers protected the instrument during that horrible event.

In many churches, it is obvious where the organ should go. In others, not so much. When you are going to the trouble and expense of acquiring an organ, set the stage well and get it right.

Emery Brothers, Allentown, Pennsylvania; Stoneleigh, Villanova, Pennsylvania

Emery Brothers,

Allentown, Pennsylvania

Stoneleigh,

Villanova, Pennsylvania

In the Fall of 2017, the Organ Historical Society moved into its new headquarters, Stoneleigh, in Villanova, Pennsylvania, the former home of the John and Chara Haas family. At the time, an Aeolian-Skinner residence organ became available and plans were made to install it in the former living room of Stoneleigh. The organ dates from a crucial period in American organbuilding when, following the Great Depression, organ business declined more than sixty percent, and it was imperative for two of the country’s prestigious organ companies, Aeolian and Skinner, to join forces and form a new company, Aeolian-Skinner.

This instrument, which began as Aeolian Opus 1790 (the company’s last residence organ), was assigned a Skinner opus number—878—and has an Aeolian-Skinner nameplate. It is not only a remarkable example of a residence organ but has survived in as perfect condition as when it left the factory three-quarters of a century ago. It is now in an ideal setting in which to introduce new generations to the organ as well as to hear the hundreds of recordings made by the world’s great organists in the early twentieth century. The installation was accomplished by Emery Brothers of Allentown, Pennsylvania, under the supervision of Adam F. Dieffenbach, a descendent of four generations of Dieffenbach organbuilders, active in Berks County, Pennsylvania.

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In October 1931, Aeolian sold its last residence organ. The “patron,” as the company referred to its clients, was Charles Walter Nichols (1875–1963), an American chemical engineer who, with his father, William H. Nichols, organized company mergers that eventually formed Allied Chemical & Dye Corporation, a precursor of Allied Signal. Charles Nichols, a vice president and general manager, acquired forty acres in West Orange, New Jersey, that he called Pleasantdale Farm, and built a twelve-bedroom Norman-style summer house there.

As his house was under construction, Nichols signed a contract on October 13, 1931, for a 32-rank Aeolian organ, Opus 1790. According to the cost sheet, the actual price was $25,474, but Aeolian sold it for $24,775—a $700 discount—“to close the deal.” Frank Taft, Aeolian’s art director and general manager who had been with the company since 1901, handled the negotiations. Taft held a seat on Aeolian’s board of directors, would have known of the impending merger of his company with the Boston firm, and would have advised Charles Nichols that his organ would be installed by the new company.

Installation

Electricity accounted for many changes in traditional organbuilding, from pipe chests and action, to stop unification and borrowing, console design, and stop management. With electricity, the organ could be placed in multiple chambers in the front and sides of churches, moved to the opposite end of the building as an Antiphonal division, and put in a remote location as an Echo. Electricity benefited the installation of organs in private homes in the same way, allowing divisions to be placed at considerable distance from one another—the main organ in the basement, a second division over the entrance hall, the Chimes in a second-floor closet, and an Echo in the attic. The “tone chute” was devised so that the pipe chambers could be located at a distance and the tone channeled through the house, sometimes up a shaft, through a wall, across the ceiling, and down into a room.

With the private home came a new set of organ design requirements and challenges, and the Nichols organ embodied those features for which the Aeolian Company was preeminent in the residence organ field:¹

• it can be adapted to any house, large or small;

• it is unobtrusive, often occupying space not otherwise of use;

• it is built especially for the place it is to occupy;

• it may easily be made an architectural feature, or on the other hand may be entirely concealed from view;

• it is refined in quality of tone and of superior workmanship.

The organ at Pleasantdale Farm was installed in the basement with no egress whatsoever into the room in which it was to be heard. There were two organ chambers separated by a two-story shaft, roughly eight-feet square. The 26-foot high tone shaft ran to the ceiling of the vestibule, and at its right side was a 5½-foot hole in the living room wall covered by an elaborately carved wooden grille work through which the sound of the organ entered the room. The Great and Solo chambers were in a basement room to the right of the tone chute, and the Swell in a room at the left. The sound of the organ then rose to the house above and filtered into the living room. Frank Taft was aware of the potential problem with hearing the organ when he telegrammed the Aeolian-Skinner office that “Great must be voiced louder than Swell due to its location.”²

The organ

The stoplist of this, and most other Aeolian organs, was written in the “simplified” nomenclature adopted in 1907 when the company began printing registration on its player rolls. To make the names of stops as straightforward as possible for the laymen who would be operating the player mechanism, identification was reduced to tone quality. The pitch was eliminated and replaced with an adjective: a 16′ Bourdon became a Deep Flute; if it was loud, Deep Flute F; if soft, Deep Flute P. A 4′ Flute was a High Flute, a 2′ Fifteenth, an Acute Diapason. Assuming a violinist’s vibrato would be more familiar than the church organist’s Vox Celeste, Aeolian called its celeste rank a Vibrato String F or P.

Aeolian’s first organ consoles had traditional drawknobs arranged in horizontal jambs at either side of the keyboards. In 1905, stop control was changed to what has become the company’s most distinctive feature: horizontally arranged domino-shaped rocking tablets set in oblique vertical rows on either side of the keyboards. Aeolian changed their consoles in early 1924 to vertical tilting tablets set in vertical jambs at a 45-degree angle.3

Since the Nichols organ was equipped with an Aeolian Duo-Art player, the stoplist contained most of the ranks necessary for the playing of automatic rolls that reproduced the playing of live organists and controlled the registration and expression as well as all the notes. Thus, the Trumpet and Clarinet were on the Great, while the Swell had a second Trumpet (Cornopean), Oboe, and Vox Humana. The rolls did not specify either a 2′ or a mixture on the Swell (stops present on this organ), but they did call for a three-rank Echo division, and a 16′ Bassoon in the Pedal (the Echo was added five years later, and a 32′ Resultant was specified in place of a Bassoon).4 A luxurious five-rank Solo division was also provided. Aeolian economized only with the 97-pipe unit flute on the Swell, the 8′ extension of which, the Spanish Flute, was more frequently encountered as a Flute Español.5 By July 1932, when the chests were laid out, the two soft Swell strings, Salicional and Vox Celeste, had been changed to a Flauto Dolce and a tenor C Flute Celeste—the only celeste rank that does not extend full compass. This change is not reflected in the stop tablets, which still read Vibrato String P and String PP.

The five-rank Swell mixture is based on 4′ pitch, and the pipes are string scale with narrow mouths. This differs from Aeolian’s standard soft string mixture, originally called a Serafino, which was a Dolce Cornet with an 8′ (that began at tenor C) and 4′ added, and except for the Quintadena basses, were composed of Aeoline or Viol d’Orchestre pipes.6 Its composition is:

C–A 8-15-19-22-24

A#–c3 8-12-15-17-19

c#3–c4 8-10-12-15-15

From the beginning, Charles Nichols’s organ was something of a hybrid, apparently assembled from whatever was available as Aeolian-Skinner completed the unfinished installations of the two companies. The console and bench, “of Aeolian standard design,” may have already been built. The chests are Skinner, but the reservoirs are Aeolian. The swell shades are Skinner, but their motors are Aeolian. The Harp and Chimes are both Aeolian. Most of the pipework is Skinner, but we know from shop notes that the 97-pipe Swell 16′ unit flute was all Aeolian and that the first two octaves of the wooden Pedal 16′ Bourdon were Aeolian and notes 25 to 44 were Skinner.7 Not unusual, two ranks of pipes intended for other organs ended up in the Nichols instrument, in particular the Solo Gamba Celeste and Pedal 16′ Violone, both of which came from Opus 1649, owned by George Douglas Clews of South Orange, New Jersey.8 Surprisingly, the Clarinet is not the usual free reed, as specified in the contract, but a regular beating-reed rank, and the customary 1⁄4-length Aeolian Oboe is, instead, a full-length Skinner Oboe.

The organ was installed in the house at Pleasantdale Farm in late summer of 1932. It immediately became apparent that the Great division was too soft and “ineffective.” In January 1933, G. Donald Harrison ordered the wind pressure raised one inch to seven inches, four ranks replaced, and the Great Trumpet and Clarinet revoiced on the new wind pressure and made “as loud as possible.”9 The First Diapason was made the Second, with a new Diapason from tenor C (scale 40, 2⁄9 mouth), and the 4′ Octave was replaced with a new one (scale 56, 2⁄9 mouth). It was planned to change the stop wires of the Flute F and String F to make them the Flute and String P and replace them with a new Flute Harmonique and string rank, but these changes were never made.

After the 1932 volume increase, nothing further was done until five years later when, on July 7, 1937, probably at the suggestion of organist Archer Gibson who played frequently for the family, Nichols signed a contract for a four-rank Echo division: Diapason, Flute, String, and Vox Humana, plus a Tremolo. This was installed in a hall closet next to the tone chute. The three chests were stacked in order for the four ranks to fit in the cramped space, and the sound was conveyed through a two-foot by two-foot tone chute that extended some thirty feet inside the wall before exiting in the middle of the living room.

The organ received regular maintenance six times a year, every other month, until July 30, 1960, when Charles Nichols received a letter giving him thirty days’ notice that Aeolian-Skinner’s New York office was discontinuing service. “Mr. Martin Eisel of our New York staff has retired, and sufficiently-trained personnel simply is not available to handle this work.”10

After Charles W. Nichols’s death on April 26, 1963, Pleasantdale Farm became the property of Allied Signal, which used it as a corporate training retreat. In 1994, it was no longer required, and the company wanted to sell it to a developer. It being the last gentleman’s farm in Essex County, the newly formed West Orange Historic Preservation Commission tried to have the property designated a historic landmark, but Allied Signal assembled enough “authorities” to testify to the estate’s historic insignificance. At a town council hearing, Newark architect Harry B. Mahler described the house as “neo-historical eclectic with Norman overtones,” that the architect was influenced by the owner’s wishes, and that the main house lacked an overall harmony of de-sign. “It’s a mishmash or conglomeration of styles, forms, and materials which include Roman, Norman and Gothic, which are put together like pieces of a fruit salad and which the architect lost control of.”11 Failing landmark status, the property was sold to a restaurateur, who opened it as Pleasantdale Château and Conference Resort.

In the thirty-five years since Aeolian-Skinner discontinued maintenance service of the organ, the chambers had not been touched and everything remained in immaculate condition. Residence organs never had much success after the original owner died or the house was sold—if not demolished. Not only were residence organs not maintained after the house changed hands, but the console was often removed and destroyed, and the pipe chambers used as storage space, subject to water damage, and derelict. The only change at Pleasantdale was that console had been removed from the living room but stored in the basement.

Curt Mangel, the man responsible for the restoration of the great Wanamaker organ in Philadelphia, bought the Pleasantdale organ in 1995, removed it, and restored the console. He later sold it to Fred Cramer of Pittsburgh, who partially restored the organ. When Cramer decided to retire, he offered to sell it back to Mangel, at which point, negotiations were underway for the OHS to occupy Stoneleigh, and Fred Hass seized the opportunity to have Aeolian-Skinner Opus 878 installed in the family’s former residence.

Stoneleigh

The premise of Stephen King’s novel Pet Sematary is “they never come back the same” and this applies to Opus 878, but in a positive way. In its original placement, it is doubtful if twenty percent of the organ could be heard—and that at the remove of an entire floor level and a room—the tone had to make two right angles and rise 26 feet before exiting a hole in the wall. In the case of the Echo Organ, its sound was imagined traveling through a 30-foot pipe in the wall before being heard. The situation was in no way optimum for the transference of musical sound. Now, at Stoneleigh, Opus 878 is ideally situated in chambers directly under the room in which it is heard.

The installation was not without difficulties, however, and for the 81⁄2-foot-high basement to accommodate the organ chamber it had to be excavated to a depth of 141⁄2 feet. The underlying stone and granite had to be jackhammered and then the walls of the house reinforced. Each organ chamber was elegantly and spaciously laid out so that personnel can move about comfortably and all pipes are within reach for tuning. Every piece of wood was refinished and shellacked, pipes are as shiny as when new. Since its acquisition, Emery Brothers, as well as other subcontractors, did considerable restoration work to several of the organ’s components when the OHS acquired the organ. In the original installation, the metal Pedal 16′ Diapason stood upright in the Swell chamber, but at Stoneleigh the bottom octave had to be mitered, which was done by A. R. Schopp’s Sons and included reinforcing springs to reduce pressure on the joints. Schopp also mitered the wooden basses of the 16′ Violone, which are now mounted horizontally.

A large library of Aeolian Duo-Art rolls was also acquired from Curt Mangel, and the Duo-Art player has been masterfully restored by Chris Kehoe. The Concertola, the remote roll changer, is currently being restored by Kegg Pipe Organ Builders of Hartville, Ohio.

The organ is heard in the 24-foot by 36-foot living room through 4-foot by 6-foot bronze grilles in the floor at either side of the fireplace, devised by Curt Mangel. The console sits in a bay window at the right of the fireplace. Mangel also arranged for the clever installation of the Echo organ under the grand staircase in the hallways adjacent to the living room, which speaks through a grille in the side of the stairs.

Learn more about the installation of Aeolian-Skinner Opus 878 at www.emerybrothers.com.

The author wishes to thank those who assisted in the preparation of this article: Christopher Kehoe, project and site manager for the Stoneleigh organ installation; Curt Mangel, designer of the installation; and Bynum Petty, OHS archivist.

Rollin Smith is the Organ Historical Society’s director of publications and editor of The Tracker. He was awarded the Nicholas Bessaraboff Prize by the American Musical Instrument Society for his book Pipe Organs of the Rich and Famous, published by the OHS Press in 2014. The second edition of his The Aeolian Pipe Organ and Its Music has just been published.

Notes

1. Advertisement for the Aeolian-Pipe-Organ, Architecture, vol. 27, no. 1 (January 15, 1913): 22.

2. Telegram from Frank Taft to A. Perry Martin, July 14, 1932.

3. In late 1923, Aeolian had extended its pedal compass from 30 notes to what was, by then, the industry standard, 32 notes.

4. In the extant jack box, the 16′ Violone and Diapason were wired to come on together whenever the Bassoon was called for in the Aeolian Duo-Art rolls. The Violone came on alone when the Pedal String was called for. Information supplied by Chris Kehoe.

5. Its first appearance of the Flute Español was in Opus 1598, for William K. Vanderbilt, Jr., at Eagle Rock, the contract of which was signed on January 15, 1926.

6. Thanks to OHS archivist Bynum Petty for the analysis and composition of the Swell mixture.

7. Shop notes for Opus 878, July 28, 1932.

8. Ibid. George Douglas Clews (1886–1940) was treasurer of the Atlantic and Pacific Tea Co. and grandson of George Huntington Hartford, founder of the grocery chain. “He could play virtually any musical instrument, but the organ in his home received his particular attention.” “Kin of A. and P. Founder Dies,” Jersey Journal (December 6, 1940): 10.

9. Order from G. Donald Harrison, assistant general manager, to A. Perry Martin, January 25, 1933.

10. Letter of July 30, 1963, from treasurer of Aeolian-Skinner to C. W. Nichols.

11. Carlotta Gulvas Swarden, “West Orange Journal: Town and Company at Odds Over an Estate,” New York Times (November 20, 1994): 2.

 

GREAT (II, enclosed)

8′ First Diapason 73

8′ Second Diapason 73

8′ Flute F 73

8′ Flute P 73

8′ String F 73

8′ String P 73

4′ Octave 73

4′ Flute 73

2′ Piccolo 61

8′ Trumpet 73

8′ Clarinet 73

Chimes

8′ Harp (TC, 61 bars)

4′ Celesta (ext Harp)

Great Unison Release

Great 4

Great 16

Tremolo

SWELL (III, enclosed)

16′ Flute (ext 8′) 12

8′ Diapason 73

8′ Spanish Flute 73

8′ String F 73

8′ String F Vibrato 73

8′ String P 73

8′ String P Vibrato (TC) 61

4′ Flute 73

2′ Flageolet (fr. 4′)

Mixture V 305

8′ Cornopean 73

8′ Oboe 73

8′ Vox Humana 73

Swell Unison Release

Swell 4

Swell 16

Tremolo

CHOIR (I, duplexed from Gt)

8′ Diapason (Second)

8′ Flute F

8′ Flute P

8′ String F

8′ String P

4′ Flute

2′ Piccolo

8′ Trumpet

8′ Clarinet

Chimes

8′ Harp (TC)

4′ Celesta

Choir Unison Release

Choir 4

Choir 16

Tremolo

SOLO (floating, enclosed)

8′ Flute F 73

8′ String F 73

8′ String F Vibrato 73

8′ French Horn 73

8′ Tuba 73

Solo to Choir

Solo to Great

Tremolo

ECHO (III, enclosed)

8′ Diapason 73

8′ String 73

8′ Flute 73

8′ Vox Humana 73

Tremolo

Chimes (20 tubes)

PEDAL

32′ Resultant

16′ Diapason (ext Gt) 12

16′ Flute F 44

16′ Flute P (Sw)

16′ Violone 32

8′ Flute F (fr. 16′)

8′ Flute P (Sw)

Aeolian-Skinner Organ Co., Inc. Opus 878 (1931). 3 manuals, 49 stops, 37 ranks. Originally built for the C. W. Nichols residence in West Orange, New Jersey.

Klais–Fisk organ, Saint Peter’s Church, New York City

In Midtown Manhattan, at the corner of Lexington Avenue and 54th Street, stands a comparatively humble yet eye-catching edifice. Dwarfed by the iconic tower soaring overhead, Saint Peter’s Church appears grounded and approachable. From street level, the sanctuary, clad in Caledonia granite, rises to sixty feet, but the sanctuary floor lies twenty-five feet below, making for an impressive interior height of eighty-five feet. A skylight bisects the building diagonally from southwest to northeast, providing dynamic natural light and giving passersby the opportunity to see into the sanctuary. Completed in 1977, both church and skyscraper were conceived by architects Hugh Stubbins and W. Easley Hamner as a single redevelopment project, Citicorp Center.

Saint Peter’s interior, designed by Lella and Massimo Vignelli, is said to be one of the finest examples of late mid-century modernism. For the Vignellis, it was important that the space be flexible in order to serve the established purposes of Lutheran liturgy and much more. Their vision allows the sanctuary to serve as a house of worship as naturally as a place for concerts, lectures, performances, meetings, and community gatherings. Johannes Klais Orgelbau in Bonn, Germany, was commissioned to build a two-manual, 32-stop mechanical-action organ for the new sanctuary. Klais worked in tandem with the Vignellis on the case and console designs, resulting in an organ uniquely integrated into its architectural setting.

On January 4, 2021, Saint Peter’s suffered a severe trauma in the form of flood damage from the rupture of a municipal water main. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water surged into the building, causing major damage to the below-ground sanctuary and the basement-level black box theater, community spaces, and administrative offices underneath. A layer of fine muddy silt covered every surface. Mitigation efforts, including rapid dehumidification to prevent a mold outbreak, stressed all wooden furnishings, in particular the pipe organ.

Pastor Jared R. Stahler and Cantor Bálint Karosi received expert guidance with regard to their predicament, and on January 26, twenty-two days after the flood, a crew from the Organ Clearing House arrived to begin dismantling and packing the Klais for shipping. On February 5, the organ parts arrived at the Gloucester workshop of C. B. Fisk, Inc., for evaluation and, eventually, reassembly. The initial plan called for a thorough restoration of the instrument, and a strategy was developed to accomplish that. But after the organ had been standing in the Fisk erecting room for some months, giving all parties opportunity to inspect and fully grasp the organ’s condition, creative minds got to pondering. A gradual evolution in the collective mindset followed­—from that of simple restoration to one of reimagination.

At its installation in 1977, the Klais instrument was an important addition to the emergent mechanical-action organ scene in the United States. A mere sixteen years had passed since the 1961 debut of Charles Fisk’s landmark tracker at Mount Calvary Church in Baltimore. Historically informed musical instrument building and attention to early performance practice were leading edge. Now, nearly a half-century later, the tracker movement has matured; instrument builders are more and more conscious of ways to be inclusive of multiple traditions without sacrificing the central attributes of the historically informed philosophy. The Saint Peter’s flood, though unexpected and deeply disruptive, offered a compelling opportunity for artistic renascence of the Klais.

Keen to authentically perform the sacred music of Johann Sebastian Bach and his contemporaries in a worship setting, Dr. Karosi founded the Bach Collegium at Saint Peter’s in 2017. As a professional vocal and instrumental ensemble, it offers worshippers faithful re-creations of eighteenth-century Lutheran church music. Bach spent his professional career in the central German region of Thuringia, which, together with neighboring Saxony, were home to some exceptional organbuilding in the eighteenth century. Dr. Karosi, who knows these organs well, proposed adding some authentic Thuringian voices to the Klais, and he put forth a detailed plan. To accomplish his objectives, selected stops would need to be repurposed, others relocated, and a few removed. At the Fisk workshop, studies were made to determine what would be feasible in terms of windchest modifications, and pipe scaling practices of the eighteenth-century central German builders were examined in detail.

Acoustician Dana Kirkegaard advised on acoustical matters, including updates to the sanctuary’s amplification and recording systems. Preservation architect Angela Wolf Scott joined the team to guide all aspects of the sanctuary restoration, ensuring that the Vignellis’ original designs would be respected in every detail, including all visual aspects of the organ console, bench, and case. Given the integrated design of every element of the sanctuary, a new audio-visual control board as well as speaker cabinets made to look like the originals but containing state-of-the-art interior components and electronics were constructed at the Fisk shop of wood and finish to match the organ.

By June 2022, a revamped organ stoplist had been generated. Three entirely new 8′ registers—Principal, Grossgedackt, and Quintadehn—all in eighteenth-century Thuringian style, were added to the Great division. The Klais façade 8′ Principal was retained and renamed 8′ Prestant. The original Great 8′ Rohrgedackt was moved to the Pedal and rechristened 8′ Gedackt. A new 8′ Rohrflöte, scaled and voiced in nineteenth-century style, replaced the original 8′ Gedackt in the Swell. The two 4′ flutes traded places, with the Rohrflöte relocating to the Great and the wooden Traversflöte moving to the Swell. The latter, in order to fit on the Swell chest, received new metal pipes from CC–F0. Other space-management revisions included saying farewell to the Great 11⁄3′ Larigot and the Swell 2′ Principal. In the Pedal, the wooden 16′ Subbass received a new CC pipe, increasing its scale by one note, and higher cut-ups.

Due to the fact that the Klais 8′ and 4′ principals had been previously revoiced (work that included raising the wind pressure in the Great from 2.75 inches to 3.35 inches, and raising cut-ups), overarching decisions with regard to pitch and wind pressures were necessary. Having had the opportunity to hear the Klais in situ before the flood, our remembered impressions, together with Dr. Karosi’s input, guided our decision making. With regard to wind pressures, the Great was left as we found it, the Swell was increased from 2.55 inches to 3 inches, and the upper Pedal chest pressure was raised from 2.95 inches to 3.35 inches to match that of the lower Pedal. The temperament was changed from equal to Kellner. The pitch of the organ as we received it was curiously high, with pipes on the voicing jack registering between A 446–447. In order to lower it to something within reason, we were obliged to fit slide tuners to all cone-tuned flue pipes. Reed remedies were more complicated.

In contrast to the tonal breadth of the renamed 8′ Prestant, the new Thuringian Principal, of high tin content and with delicate nicking, offers an array of concentrated overtones, suitably prompt speech, and a pleasing textural quality. The Grossgedackt, constructed of hammered lead, exhibits purity, roundness, transparency, and calm. The Quintadehn, a fine example of the colorful Thuringian models, is replete with subtle harmonics, articulate speech, and an attractive buoyancy. Together, these recreated antique voices show an ability to blend with ease in various combinations. What’s more, while offering the listener a fascinating window into the organ soundscape familiar to J. S. Bach, these stops integrate well within the instrument’s overall tonal design. Without question, they enhance the organ’s potential for musical expression.

With the reeds, there were three intertwining factors to be addressed: wind pressure, pitch, and tongue curvature. The Great 8′ Trompete was given new heavier tongues throughout; from CC–B0 resonator slots were soldered shut; and from c1 up resonators were lengthened. The Swell 16′ Dulcian (small scale wood) required a new longer C0 resonator and the moving up of resonators by one note from that point. The Pedal 8′ Holztrompete (conical wood) needed a new longer CC resonator and the bumping up of the remainder by one note. The Swell 8′ Cromorne was the beneficiary of extra-long slide tuners and tongue weighting. The Pedal 4′ Schalmey, a stop with a troubled history, was replaced with a mid-1970s era Fisk Cremona at 8′ pitch. All tongue curvatures were revised to accommodate the higher wind pressures; the utterly transformative nature of this tongue work cannot be overstated. The once excessively bright Great Trompete became rounder and more foundational thanks to its heavier tongues and proper curvature. The Swell Dulcian filled out and became milder, and, though still endowed with a measure of characteristic quirkiness, is now an effective underpinning for a 16′ chorus registration. The Cromorne, once bold and sassy, now speaks as a controlled yet charming clarinet, offering versatility as both a solo and chorus register. The Pedal Posaune and Holztrompete, the only reeds on their original pressure, with tongue refinements took on more of an old-style Germanic character. The “new” Pedal Cremona is an effective 8′ solo stop, very useful for cantus firmi in the feet.

Substantial upgrades were made to the organ’s key action. The ravages of time and of the flooding/drying cycle had taken their toll. Also, there was a desire to bring the key action up to modern Fisk standards of performance, reliability, and serviceability. The original Klais wooden trackers, which had become brittle and warped, were replaced with impervious carbon fiber trackers. The manual rollerboards were rebuilt using current standard Fisk materials, including replacement of the worn felt-bushed bearings with precise, self-lubricating UHMW (Ultra-High Molecular Weight) polyethylene bearings. The coupler mechanisms were removed from inside the console, where they were nearly impossible to service and maintain. A newly designed CNC-machined aluminum coupler stack was built and placed inside the base of the organ. In this new location, the couplers are more direct, stable, and efficient, plus they are much easier to adjust and maintain. The keyboards were replaced—with motion ratios engineered to complement the new coupler mechanism—and a new Fisk pedalboard was built.

The Saint Peter’s organ stands as a shining example of how a deeply considered, disciplined, and sympathetic approach to restoration can yield a musical instrument of the highest artistic integrity. In this particular case, an opportunity resulting from truly unfortunate circumstances gave rise to a transformational effort on the part of the organbuilders at C. B. Fisk. We are grateful to Pastor Stahler and Dr. Karosi for approaching us to do this work. And finally, to the parishioners of Saint Peter’s and to the greater New York City audiences, we wish you “good listening.”

­—David Pike,

Executive Vice President, C. B. Fisk

A note of gratitude from Saint Peter’s Church

With the entire Saint Peter’s community, we are immensely thankful for all who responded in the wake of the January 4, 2021, flood, particularly C. B. Fisk, Inc. Extraordinary skill, dedication, and sensitivity helped us turn an unexpected tragedy into an opportunity most congregations spend years planning.

David Pike’s thoughtful collaboration with Bálint Karosi on the instrument’s tonal reimagination brought a level of creativity—two 8′ principals on a medium-sized instrument!—few builders would even consider. Nami Hamada’s voicing of new and old flue pipes is extraordinary. Michael Kraft and Carl Klein magically transformed Klais’s neo-Baroque reeds. The entire team worked tirelessly: from installing new piston arrangements and Bluetooth page-turning capability, to replacing electronic couplers with mechanical couplers, to addressing fissures on windchests, to constructing a new windline for the Great—all while preserving the architectural details of the instrument so deeply integral to Saint Peter’s iconic sanctuary.

We are also thankful to the performers, participants, sponsors, and donors committed to our ongoing inauguration. The events of November 4–5, 2023, included Guy Bovet’s Peep the Piper, an organ half-marathon featuring four celebrated young organists (Amelie Held, Mi Zhou, Daniel Jacky, and Jonghee Yoon), a masterful solo recital by Nathan Laube, Nicole Keller’s inspired playing of three organ concerti—including a new organ concerto by Bálint Karosi, In Memoriam György Ligeti—with Saint Peter’s Chamber Orchestra, and a presentation of Maurice Duruflé’s Requiem featuring Colin Fowler and Saint Peter’s Choir and Chamber Ensemble. February 13, 2024, features Felix Hell in what is very much a homecoming performance, and on June 4, 2024, Cantor Karosi plays a solo recital. These programs aim to showcase the tonal changes carried out by C. B. Fisk, both individually and as a whole, as well as the instrument’s versatility in a variety of contexts and pairings, including as one of the only remaining places in New York City where organ and orchestra can perform in a concert hall setting.

To learn more about the instrument and celebratory events, visit 
future.saintpeters.org/organ.

—Pastor Jared R. Stahler and

Cantor Bálint Karosi

 

Builder’s website: cbfisk.com

Church website: saintpeters.org

Cover photo: Marco Anelli

 

GREAT (manual I)

16′ Pommer 58 pipes

8′ Prestant 58 pipes

8′ Principal*** 58 pipes

8′ Grossgedackt*** 58 pipes

8′ Quintadehn*** 58 pipes

4′ Octave 58 pipes

4 Rohrflöte† 58 pipes

2-2⁄3′ Quinte 58 pipes

2′ Superoctave 58 pipes

1-3⁄5′ Terz 58 pipes

1-1⁄3′ Mixtur V 290 pipes

8′ Trompete** 58 pipes

Tremulant

SWELL (manual II)

8′ Gamba 58 pipes

8′ Schwebung (G# on) 50 pipes

8′ Rohrflöte* 58 pipes

4′ Principal 58 pipes

4′ Traversflöte*‡ 58 pipes

2′ Waldflöte 58 pipes

2-2⁄3′ Cornet II‡ 116 pipes

1′ Scharff IV 232 pipes

16′ Dulcian 58 pipes

8′ Cromorne 58 pipes

Tremulant

PEDAL

16′ Principal 32 pipes

16′ Subbass 32 pipes

8′ Octave 32 pipes

8′ Gedackt 32 pipes

4′ Superoctave 32 pipes

2-2⁄3′ Hintersatz IV 128 pipes

16′ Posaune 32 pipes

8′ Holztrompete** 32 pipes

8′ Cremona§ 32 pipes

MECHANICALS & ACCESSORIES

300 levels Solid State Organ Systems***

Mechanical balanced Swell Pedal

 

by thumb and toe

Sw/Gt, Gt/Ped, Sw/Ped

Generals 1–12

Divisionals 1–6

Sequencer Next***

Sequencer Prev***

Page turning reversible pistons with Bluetooth capability ***

 

by toe

Cymbelstern: 8 tuned brass bells in memory of Katherine and Harry Busch

Birdsong: reservoir and 7 pipes

 

2023

Console and keyboards

Carbon-fiber action

Kellner Temperament A=440

Wind (in mm) raised to 85/Gt, 75/Sw, 85/Ped

 

*** new

** new tongues

* bottom new

† previously on Swell

‡ previously on Great

§ from Fisk Opus 68

John Bishop

Thar she blows.

In the July 2023 issue of The Diapason, I shared that Wendy and I sold Kingfisher, the twenty-two-foot Marshall Catboat on whom we had more than ten seasons of special fun and adventure taking week-long cruises up and down the Maine coast, overnight sails to anchor in island coves or to friends’ houses for stayovers, and daysails with friends and family. Wendy and I worked hard with the decision because it meant giving up a special part of our lives, but we agreed to call it a wonderful chapter and move on to other things.

As it turns out, the summer of 2023 was a terrible time for sailing in Maine. People around here were joking that it had rained twice here this spring and summer, once for thirty-five days, and again for twenty-seven days. We sat watching the rain saying, “Sure am glad we don’t have a boat in the water this year.” And more profound, at least to me, in the last week of July I had surgery to repair torn rotator cuff muscles. An MRI showed two muscles separated from my shoulder, and the surgeon’s paperwork referred to a “massive tear.” My right shoulder started hurting last summer, and I know that handling the five-to-one mainsheet on Kingfisher had something to do with it.

I grew up singing a whimsical folk song based on a poem by Charles E. Carryl (1842–1920), set to music by Joseph B. Geoghegan (1816–1889). It was always close to the surface when we were sailing:
A capital ship for an ocean trip
Was “The Walloping Window Blind,”
No gale that blew dismayed her crew
Or troubled the captain’s mind.
The man at the wheel was taught to feel
Contempt for the wildest blow,
And it often appeared, when the
     weather had cleared,
That he’d been in his bunk below.

So, blow ye winds, heigh-ho,
a-sailing I will go.
I’ll stay no more on England’s shore,
so let the music play-ay-ay—
I’m off for the morning train
to cross the raging main,
I’m off to my love with a boxing glove
ten thousand miles away.
There are five more verses, each sillier than the last.

§

I am back at my desk, the fingers of my right hand poke out of the sling toward my laptop. I have recently had several conversations about large organ blowers with colleagues and clients, and I am thinking about organ wind. In July of 2021, Aug. Laukhuff GmbH, then the world’s largest supplier of pipe organ parts, went out of business. For many American organ builders, Laukhuff was the “go to” source for electric organ parts like slider motors, pallet pull-down magnets, drawknob motors, and keyboard contacts. Their catalog included thousands of widgets for building tracker actions like squares and roller arms, and Laukhuff was one of the most important sources of organ blowers.

Laukhuff blowers are found in hundreds of organs built or rebuilt in the last fifty years. They are quiet, reliable, and compact. Along with blowers built by the Swiss supplier Meidinger, they were a technological revolution. We are all familiar with the hulking subterranean roaring monsters that blow wind for organs built before 1950. I am not sure just when blowers started getting compact and quiet, but I am certain that the advances in the technology of fan blades that brought us jet engines and modern turbines are related. The legendary test pilot Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier flying the Bell X-1 aircraft on October 14, 1947. It took a decade or two for that to translate into more efficient organ blowers, but I know they were ubiquitous by the time I got into the trade in the 1970s.

Organists from Praetorius to Dupré relied on human power to operate the bellows of their instruments. While playing the music of Buxtehude, Bach, and Mendelssohn, do we forget that those masters had to round up people to pump organ bellows to play even a single chord? Max Reger died in 1916, so we can assume he played organs with electric blowers later in his short life, but much of the grand, dense, complex organ music he wrote predated the electric organ blower.

Marcel Dupré wrote of a Sunday in 1919 when Claude Johnson, the chairman of Rolls-Royce, was visiting the organ loft at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. While Dupré was playing at full organ, the crew of pumpers fizzled out, and the wind supply died. Johnson quickly offered to donate an electric blower, telling Dupré to have the firm of Cavaillé-Coll draw up plans, but adding that they had better get permission from the cardinal archbishop since Johnson was an Anglican.

I have long loved and often written about the thought that Widor was organist at Saint-Sulpice in Paris from 1870 until 1933, and while I do not know the actual date, an electric blower must have been installed there around halfway through his tenure. Imagine playing that mighty organ for thirty-five years relying on human pumpers and climbing the stairs to the storied loft for the first time to flip a switch and play the organ alone. Remember that huge body of organ literature that are his ten symphonies were written before 1900. Twentieth-century organists have been able to take the luxury of unlimited, uninterrupted practice time for granted.

Blower hygiene

It is common to find modern high-speed blowers ensconced within an organ case, which is only possible because they operate so quietly, but the old-time machines are typically located in remote rooms in basements or towers because they are so noisy. Ideally, those rooms are kept locked so unknowing, unauthorized people cannot get in, which means they get dirty and fill up with spiderwebs and other signs of critter life. The air intake for a blower should have a particle filter to ensure that no debris gets sucked into the organ’s interior. Sometimes we find that mounted on the door to the blower room. A fleck of sawdust or a carcass of a fly is enough to stop a reed pipe from speaking, to cause a cipher if it winds up on the surface of a valve, or a dead note if it clogs a windchest magnet. How would a fleck wind up there? Follow the air flow from the blower, through the regulators and wind lines, into the windchests, and up to the toes of the pipes as the notes are playing.

I once made the mistake of casually mentioning to the staff of a church that a blower room is dirty, only to find on my next visit that the sexton had taken my comment to heart and scrubbed the place. That may sound good and industrious, but he could have caused serious damage to the organ—to avoid such damage, we have protocols for cleaning a blower room. Here is mine. Shut off the power to the blower so it cannot be started accidentally. Vacuum the interior of the blower’s air intake, taking care not to push dust into the blower, and seal the intake by taping it closed with heavy plastic—a contractor’s trash bag and black Gorilla tape will do. Clean all the surfaces in the room with a vacuum cleaner, and scrub with water and detergent (be careful not to wreck the bellows leather). Wait twenty-four hours for the dust to settle. Clean the room again, and wait another twenty-four hours. Do not forget to clean the plastic seal on the blower intake. Now you can be sure that there is nothing floating around in the air so you can open the intake and start the blower. And now that I have described that process, I recommend you leave this work to your qualified organ technician.

That well-meaning guy who cleaned without protocol raised a shower of dust in the room. If the blower had been started soon after, the organ could have been wrecked by sucking dust into 
its innards.

Sometimes we find an organ blower in a hallway closet doubling as storage. You notice that the organ is suddenly all out of tune and find a stack of folding chairs on top of the static reservoir. Extra weight and higher pressure means bad tuning and spoiled pipe speech. Our rule when installing an organ is that all spaces occupied by organ components are designated “organ only” spaces. I had a Saturday emergency call from an organist reporting a wedding starting in ten minutes and the organ would not play. It took me forty-five minutes to get there, and I am guessing people were getting tired of the bagpipe on the front lawn, but it only took me a couple minutes to find a card table sucked up against the blower intake. No air, no organ. Tell that to the mother of the bride.

Biggest in the fleet

I am fortunate to have worked on some very large organs, so I have taken care of a few monster organ blowers. Aeolian-Skinner Opus 1203 was installed at The First Church of Christ, Scientist (The Mother Church), in Boston in 1952. It has about 240 ranks of pipes including nine 8′ stops in the Swell, eight ranks of 16′ flues, and over forty reeds. It is about eighty feet wide, forty feet tall, and twelve feet deep. There is more than three thousand square feet of gold leaf on the façade pipes. Most of the organ is front and center behind that façade, three stories high with an iron stairway at the left end of the organ, and a jumble of ladders to the right. The Solo division is high above the organ, behind a round grille in the pendentive to the left of the arch that contains the main organ. In the days when I was in that organ a couple times a week, I knew how many stairs I climbed to go through the blower room to the Solo, but all I remember now is that it’s a lot. We measure the capacity of an organ blower in cubic feet per minute (CFM) at a given wind pressure. One hundred CFM at ten inches of pressure is more air than 100 CFM at three inches of pressure. The blower in The Mother Church organ is the size of a minivan and produces 30,000 CFM at ten inches. There is a step-up blower that gets air from the big one and increases it to twenty-five inches for the Cor des Anges (Horn of the Angels) immediately behind the Solo grill.

Any organ blower has a motor and an enclosed fan. On most blowers, the fan is mounted directly on the shaft of the motor, but once the fan assembly exceeds a certain length and weight, the shaft is continued through the fan housing and supported at the other end by a bearing assembly something like the wheel of a car. The bearings at both ends of such a shaft have some sort of lubrication device, usually either a grease fitting or an oil bath with a bronze ring on the shaft that acts as a wick to bring oil up to the top of the bearing. The fans are big wheels fixed on the shaft with vanes fastened to them with rivets.

The French organist Pierre Pincemaille came to Portland, Maine, in April of 2004 to give a recital on the Kotzschmar Organ, the hundred-stop Austin located in Merrill Auditorium of City Hall. When he turned on the blower for one of his practice sessions, there was a series of big bangs, and the blower failed. Several fan blades had come loose inside the blower as their rivets wore out, and metal shards were everywhere. The blower received an instant emergency repair, and the show went on. It was determined that eighty years of sudden starts had eventually wrecked the rivets, so as part of the repair, the blower’s power supply was equipped with a Variable Frequency Drive (VFD), which starts the motor and brings it up to speed slowly, exerting less torque on those rivets.

Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City houses a magnificent organ, originally a Kilgen, with 142 ranks. The Choir loft is thirty feet above the floor of the nave, and the organ blower is another fifteen feet higher in a large room in the south tower. It has a forty-horsepower motor that moves enough air to produce majestic sounds in that magical, immense building.

Hurricanes

Two locally improbable things happened in Boston in 2004. The Red Sox won the World Series for the first time since 1918. Red Sox owner Harry Frazee sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees in 1918 to raise money for the first production of No, No, Nanette. That started the eighty-six-year drought known locally as “The Curse of the Bambino.” The team sponsored publicity gags like exorcizing the field, hoping for a win. In the 2004 American League Championship, the Yankees won the first three games, the Red Sox won four in a row to win the pennant, then swept the Saint Louis Cardinals in four straight games. (I thought the excitement was going to kill my father.)

And in 2004, the Aeolian-Skinner organ at Boston Symphony Hall was rebuilt by Foley-Baker, Inc. That was improbable because Seiji Ozawa, the symphony’s music director, was not a lover of pipe organs. Ozawa retired in 2002, and the organ was completed in 2004. Quick work for a large organ.

Wendy and I lived next to Symphony Hall in those days (and across the street from The Mother Church) and had series tickets with terrific seats in the first balcony above the stage. We attended the concert when the organ was first used—you guessed it, Camille Saint-Saëns’ Third Symphony. Simon Preston was the organist. When the organ entered pianissimo in the first movement with deep low notes supporting shimmering registrations, we watched the orchestra members winking, nudging, and smiling at each other, getting the chills hearing those profound bass notes, sonorities that no other instrument can achieve.

Installing the windchests for huge pedal stops like 32′ Bourdon and 32′ Double Open Wood and testing notes before the 2,000-pound pipes have been placed has taught me exactly how much wind comes out of the windchest toeholes when a note is played, enough to blow off a top knot at thirty feet, an absolute hurricane of air to make a single note sound. That controlled and regulated gale of wind makes those unique sonorities possible.

It is thrilling to stand inside a big organ when the wind is turned on. You hear the blower start to turn, air entering the organ, reservoirs filling one after another, until the whole system is charged with air pressure and the instrument fairly trembles with life and anticipation. Each reservoir is equipped with a regulating valve and weights calculated to store and deliver wind at a specific pressure. Each reservoir has windlines leading to one or more windchests. When a note is played, a valve opens to allow wind into the toe of a pipe. Play one note, and there is barely a ripple. Draw a hundred stops or more and play forty or fifty notes a measure as in a flashy French toccata, and thousands of valves are blowing thousands of pipes. It’s almost unimaginable, but the fact that it’s true is the magic of the pipe organ.

Michael McNeil

Michael McNeil has designed, constructed, voiced, and researched pipe organs since 1973. Stimulating work as a research engineer in magnetic recording paid the bills. He is working on his Opus 5, which explores how an understanding of the human sensitivity to the changes in sound can be used to increase emotional impact. Opus 5 includes double expression, a controllable wind dynamic, chorus phase shifting, and meantone. Stay tuned.

Editor’s note: The Diapason offers here a feature at our digital edition—four sound clips. Any subscriber can access this by logging into our website (thediapason.com), click on Magazine, then this issue, View Digital Edition, scroll to this page, and click on each <soundclip> in the text.

Many American organists have traveled to Europe and heard the sounds of older organs that make Bach a revelation. American organ building was for much of its history rooted in the Anglican tradition and the Romantic sounds of organbuilders like Ernest M. Skinner, and neither of those great art forms are an ideal medium for Bach. Tentative steps in the Anglican tradition were made as early as the 1930s to recreate this European sound, but they did not amount to a revelation. The revelation occurred with a British-born virtuoso, E. Power Biggs, who brought a sound to America that would convincingly play Bach in the form of an organ built by D. A. Flentrop. Biggs paid for this organ out of his own pocket and in 1958 found a home for it in the very reverberant acoustics of what was known at the time as the Busch Reisinger Museum.¹ His recordings of this Flentrop energized the budding Organ Reform Movement in the United States and inspired many American organbuilders. Listen to the end of the Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543ii <Soundclip 1>.

Dirk Andries Flentrop (1910–2003) worked in his father’s organbuilding shop and with Theodor Frobenius in Denmark, eventually taking over his father’s business. He was intensely interested in classical organ design, and he gave a lecture at a very young age in 1927 in which he promoted the use of mechanical action and slider windchests.² A conversation with Flentrop in the 1970s turned to his earlier career, and he recalled that he was traveling on a streetcar in Rotterdam when bombs started falling on that city in World War II. Everyone on the streetcar agreed there was no point in getting off, and they continued traveling to their destinations as bombs fell. The date was May 10, 1940, the year he took over his father’s business. I sailed with my parents on the SS Rotterdam in 1964 and still remember the shock of seeing upturned docks as we approached the harbor at Rotterdam and whole city blocks of uncleared rubble decades after the bombing.

Flentrop’s sound

The sound of pipe organs can be described subjectively and objectively. Subjectively, the sound of D. A. Flentrop is bright and “instrumental,” where individual pipes in the principal chorus have rich harmonic content. This is very different from what is today called vocale voicing, which emphasizes less harmonic power. Flentrop’s richly harmonic sound creates a scintillating principal chorus with clarity of pitch.

A key component of this sound, and a strong departure from the Romantic and Anglican traditions, is the expression of “chiff.” E. Power Biggs described chiff as the articulate “ictus” of a sound, adding clarity to rhythm and contrapuntal harmony. Chiff is not just percussive noise. It consists of higher natural harmonics to which the human ear is very sensitive, quickly defining the pitch. Flentrop was a master of this percussive speech, and it was always musical and fast. Chiff can be modulated with a sensitive mechanical action and low wind pressures (i.e., with little or no key pluck). Biggs was adept at this on his Flentrop, easing the pallets open for a smooth treble line while crisply opening the pallets to delineate inner voices with more chiff.

Later expressions of this articulation in what became known as neo-Baroque voicing are often heard as a slow, gulping sound. You never hear slow, gulping speech in a Flentrop organ, and as the data will show, Flentrop’s voicing exhibits no relationship to neo-Baroque voicing recipes.³

There is ample evidence that much of D. A. Flentrop’s sound is based on examination of the work of Arp Schnitger, and Schnitger’s sound is much more instrumental in character than modern vocale voicing. The similarity to Schnitger extends also to the design of the reeds, whose basses are the source of a smooth and powerful fundamental.

Flentrop organs have considerable presence, due in large part to the shallowness of the casework found in all of his organs. Flentrop related that the maximum depth of a case should be no deeper than the reach of an arm from the back doors of the case to its façade pipes. Deep cases and chambers will tend to absorb sound, especially the higher harmonics that create the sense of presence. I find it interesting that unaltered manual divisions of Cavaillé-Coll organs, while using higher pressures with Romantic scaling and voicing, almost never exceeded twelve stops and always used slider chests with mechanical action, reflecting some of the important design features of Flentrop organs.

The generosity of D. A. Flentrop

D. A. Flentrop was secure in his knowledge and very willing to share it. I was the recipient of his generosity on several occasions when he toured the United States with his senior voicer, Sijmen “Siem” Doot, to maintain and tune his organs. Doot, born in 1924, entered Flentrop’s service in 1939 and retired in 1988. Ed Lustig at Flentrop Orgelbouw confirmed that Franz Rietsch, Rob Oudejans, Johannes Steketee, and Doot assembled the Flentrop organ in Saint Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral, Seattle, Washington, in 1965, while Steketee and Doot remained to voice the organ. The voicing data in this article is a testament to their skill. I was introduced to Flentrop by Albert Campbell in 1971. After scouring the literature and finding mostly subjective opinions with very little data, I quickly discovered that Flentrop was genuinely interested in answering the detailed questions of a budding organbuilder. When I asked him if he would grant me permission to take measurements of his organs, he replied, “imitation is the finest form of flattery. Your ears will be different than mine, and you will use your observations to find your own sound.” He was right, but it took quite some time before I began to understand some of those observations, and the data continues to generate insights.

I again met Flentrop in the Campbell home after completion of my Opus 1, and by that time I had learned enough to ask deeper questions. Flentrop had nearly completed the tuning of his organ at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and in a further gesture of generosity, Flentrop said, “If you finish the cone tuning of the Hoofdwerk Mixtuur, we can answer your questions.” I agreed to finish the tuning work on the Flentrop organ, and both he and Mr. Doot spent the whole day answering my questions.

Flentrop slider windchests

D. A. Flentrop organs have exclusively featured mechanical key action and slider windchests since 1949. Stop actions were mechanical, as well, and only in his larger organs do we find electric slider motors and combination actions. Organbuilders who looked to the literature for the design principles of slider chests in the 1970s often found the effort frustrating. Flentrop willingly shared a great deal of his design practice. In Figure 1 we see a drawing made by the author from notes of a conversation with Flentrop regarding channel design. Flentrop recommended that the cross-sectional area of the key channel should have about 20–30% more area than the combined areas of all of the pipe toes it would need to wind. A small vent hole at the end of the channel served two functions—to prevent ciphering and to dampen resonances in the channel that would interfere with reeds. Reeds that are equal in length to the channel that feeds wind to them may get much louder, and those not quite equal to that length may get much weaker and more dull in timbre from channel resonance. I noted that the bottom of the key channels in the Flentrop organ at the University of California, Santa Barbara, were covered in a thick paper that had pin pricks in a few channels in various positions, likely done to reduce channel resonance.

Flentrop stated that pallets did not need to exceed 200 millimeters (about eight inches) in length, but I have found much longer pallets in Hook organs. I did not ask how to trade off key channel widths and heights for a given area, nor the flow areas of the pallets, and these tradeoffs can be complex. Suffice it to say that the flow area of a pallet is the length of its opening times the distance the pallet is pulled open by the key (an open pallet has a triangle of flow at each side, and when combined, these triangles make a rectangle). It is also interesting to note that a pallet will not flow significantly more wind to a channel when its pull is more than half of the channel width (think about the height of those triangles that flow wind relative to the width of the channel). For a given pallet pull and a key channel width that is twice the pull, only a longer pallet will flow more wind to the channel.

The 1863 Hook organ at the former Church of the Immaculate Conception in Boston, Massachusetts, has roughly 460-millimeters-long pallets feeding 406-millimeters-long flue and reed channel openings in the Great bass octave (there are two pallets per note). The Romantic voicing of the Hook organ requires a very large volume of wind to feed its very deep flueways and very widely opened toes, which are much larger than Flentrop’s. At Saint Mark’s, Flentrop likewise used two pallets for the six bass notes of the Hoofdwerk, with pallet opening lengths of 155 millimeters, flue and reed channel widths of 21 millimeters and 17 millimeters, respectively, and a channel height of 79 millimeters. Readers who are interested in comparing the differences in the voicing of Flentrop and Hook organs can find the Hook data in The Diapason.⁴

Flentrop’s patented slider

Slider windchests in ancient organs often suffered from the advent of central heating. Topboard bearers are shimmed with layers of paper for a close fit between the slider, the windchest table on which it rests, and the topboard above it. With central heating and the resulting low humidity, shrinking wood caused these sliders to leak wind and impair the tuning. Many different forms of slider seals were invented in the twentieth century, most of which worked quite well. Flentrop’s system is patented and rather complex, but it is extremely reliable. Flentrop used two sliders, separated by springs with a leather-faced conduit for the wind between the two sliders. Figure 2 (see page 15) shows this slider seal mechanism in relation to the pallets, key channels, and topboards.

An objective approach to Flentrop’s sound

If you want to discover how to achieve a certain sound, it is often educational to closely observe the organs you like and those you do not. The objective differences will teach you what matters. Readers who want some perspective on the following Flentrop data will find a description of the voicing of several historic organs in The Diapason.⁵

The absolute minimum data needed to understand the sound of an organ is:

• pipe diameters (inside);

• mouth widths;

• toe diameters;

• mouth heights (also known as “cutups”)

• flueway depths.

Complete descriptions of these parameters can be found in the article mentioned above.⁶ In a nutshell, larger pipe diameters, wider mouth widths, larger toe diameters, and deeper flueways yield more power. Mouth heights control timbre, and higher mouths reduce harmonic power and brightness. Flutes typically have much higher mouths than more harmonically rich principals.

Wider scales produce an “ah” timbre, and narrower scales will progress towards an “ee” timbre, emphasizing higher harmonics. Flentrop stated that he used a constant scale of pipe diameters and mouth widths for the principal chorus in most environments and acoustics, which meant that he wanted a specific vowel timbre for all of the pipes at the same pitch and a specific power balance across the range of frequencies from bass to treble.

For different acoustics Flentrop used different pressures and voicing, adjusting the toe diameters and cutups. Ascending trebles were achieved in the toe diameters. Figure 3 shows Flentrop’s chorus scaling written in his own hand in 1971 with numerical values he had memorized.

Flentrop reeds were often made by the firm of Giesecke to Flentrop’s specifications. A description of the data needed to understand the sound of a reed can be found in an article in The Diapason.⁷ The author’s measurements of the Saint Mark’s reeds were not taken in sufficient detail to merit showing them. Flentrop reed designs are very similar to Schnitger’s and use tin-lead plates with restricted openings soldered to wide, lightly tapered, and deeply cut shallots for powerful, smooth basses. These typically transition to open, parallel shallots without plates in the tenor.

Taking the data at Saint Mark’s

I have been fortunate that many of those who are a gate to the access to some important organs have granted me permission to measure them. In 1972 that good fortune allowed me to take measurements of Flentrop’s organ at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral, Seattle, Washington, the organ Flentrop considered his largest by virtue of its 32′ façade pipes. The stoplist of the Saint Mark’s organ is easily found on the internet.⁸

The cathedral measures an estimated 150 feet in length and width, with a flat, wooden ceiling about 90 feet high. The walls are very thick concrete, yielding an acoustical reverberation of about five plainly audible seconds in the soprano range.⁹ The reverberation drops dramatically in the tenor and bass as a consequence of the very large windows, through which the lower frequencies easily pass.

Richard Frickmann, a life-long friend, and I drove over a thousand miles to visit this organ, and upon arrival in the early morning we sat in the pews in the empty cathedral, looking back at the organ. Glenn White, who maintained the organ, noticed our interest in this magnificent Flentrop and struck up a conversation. Learning that we were eager to find scaling data of the pipes, he questioned us for about five minutes and admitted that no one had taken the time to measure the pipework. He took us to the office and gave us the keys to the Flentrop casework, the organ loft, and the cathedral, asking that we return them when we were done. This was a stunning opportunity and one rarely offered. Mr. Frickmann and I took over fifty pages of data, interspersed with trips to the local twenty-four-hour pancake house to refuel with food and coffee. I had brought with me copies of scaling sheets and measuring tools, and Mr. Frickmann wrote down the numbers as I called them out from the walkways behind the windchests. After about twenty-four continuous hours of work, we handed in the keys to the office.

A word of caution on the data is in order. I took this data in 1972, very early in my career. I had experience with Flentrop’s organ at the University of California at Santa Barbara, and I understood basic scaling and data collection. But what I did not yet appreciate at the time was the importance of measuring the depth of the flueway. My general observations of the flueways of the Saint Mark’s organ were that “they tend to be consistent throughout the organ relative to pitch, much wider than current neo-Baroque work, but narrower than the voicing of the early American builders like Johnson and the Hooks.” Later measurements of Flentrop flueways provided a generalized model of the flueways for the Saint Mark’s organ. Please be aware that these are probably in the ballpark, but they are assumptions.

I was very careful in the handling of the pipes and making sure that their mouths faced in their original directions (this affects tuning on larger pipes whose mouths can be close to other pipes and shaded by them, lowering their pitch). The measurements of these pipes will have some inaccuracy from the time constraints. For larger pipes the measurements are likely better than +/- 1 millimeter, and for the very smallest pipes, about +/- 0.2 millimeter. The data is presented in halftone deviations from Normal Scale to make the relationships clear, as tables of numbers do not easily convey their meaning. These Normal Scales were published in the author’s article, “1863 E. & G. G. Hook Opus 322: Church of the Immaculate Conception, Boston, Massachusetts,” Part 1.¹⁰ Those who want actual measurements can use those tables to convert the Normal Scale data into dimensions, or they can email the author for a copy of the Excel spreadsheet with the more accurate raw dimensional data.¹¹

The Hoofdwerk

Larger pipe diameters generate more power, and smaller diameters generate a brighter timbre. Flentrop’s principal chorus scales combine these factors into the sound he wanted. His scaling model in Figure 3 is seen as a dashed blue line in Figure 4. The model generally follows the Saint Mark’s data. As Flentrop noted, the mixtures are narrower. Flutes trend much wider as the pitch ascends.

Sound clips of the Saint Mark’s Flentrop in the digital edition of this article allow one to hear these power and timbre balances. They were derived from 1981 recordings of James Welch, organist, another life-long friend. The recording engineer, Dave Wilson, was known as one of the world’s best, and he recorded Welch on Flentrop organs. I was present in 1981 for the Saint Mark’s recordings, mostly to help with touching up the tuning of the reeds. I also made suggestions for stop registrations that ran counter to the prevailing wisdom of the time, dictating a minimal use of foundations to aid in clarity of pitch. This was not necessary on a Flentrop, whose foundations can be combined to any degree and still maintain clarity of pitch. Amassing foundations, as any Romantic organist knows well, is a source of rich chorus depth, and it is heard to great effect in Charles-Marie Widor’s “Andante cantabile” from Symphonie IV in <Soundclip 2>.

We made many experiments with microphone placement. The proper power balances of the different Flentrop divisions were finally achieved by placing microphones on very tall stands about twenty to thirty feet in front of the Rugwerk, the division that has the most presence for the congregation. Having been accustomed to the practice of using fast tempos in dry acoustics, Welch and I discussed appropriate tempos for the reverberant acoustic of Saint Mark’s. Borrowing headphones from the recording engineer to hear what the sound was like in the room at the microphones, he arrived at the tempo we hear in C. P. E. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, which takes full advantage of Saint Mark’s long reverberation <Soundclip 3>.

Late in the all-night recording session a note went dead in the Rugwerk. The organ had been in service for only sixteen years at this time, and a failure was unexpected. I pulled up the floor panels in the choir loft, which gave access to the Rugwerk trackers, and the culprit was a torn piece of weak leather that connected a long horizontal tracker at a suspension point. None of the other connectors showed the slightest sign of wear. I made a temporary fix, adjusted the action, and we continued recording well into the next morning.

Figure 5 shows the scales of the mouth widths, and these generally imitate the diameter scales. Normal Scale mouth widths are based on 1⁄4 of the circumferences of Normal Scale diameters, and as Flentrop almost exclusively used 1⁄4 mouths, we would expect a similarity to the diameter scales. Some of these mouth widths appear to be a bit wider than 1⁄4 of the circumference, and this may indicate that the pipes were slightly tapered, something I did not measure, and which is not uncommon. Inside diameters were measured at the top of the pipes. If the pipes have a slight taper, the true diameter scales at the bottom will be larger and will more closely match the Flentrop model in Figure 4, as well as the mouth scales in Figure 5.

Figure 6 shows mouth heights, or what is more commonly known as “cutups.” The cutup controls timbre. A higher mouth will reduce the harmonic content, and smooth flutes have higher cutups. These can be clearly seen in the lofty cutups of the 8′ Roerfluit. Normal Scale mouth heights are calculated as 1⁄4 of the Normal Scale Mouth Width, a common recipe in neo-Baroque voicing. In Figure 6 we see that Flentrop did not use this recipe. The Saint Mark’s cutups are much higher, and they have no relationship to the mouth width scales. They are also highly variable as a free voicing parameter. Flentrop raised the cutup until the desired timbre was achieved and the speech was fast. This is why you do not hear slow, gulping speech in a Flentrop organ.

The soaring cutups of the Roerfluit

The soaring cutups of the 8′ Roerfluit illustrate how Flentrop achieved a rich harmonic timbre in his principal chorus and a smoother, warmer timbre in the flutes. While Flentrop is noted for a brighter, “instrumental” timbre, which strongly implies lower cutups, Figure 6 clearly shows that his cutups were much higher than the neo-Baroque recipe. As an example, the cutup of the 8′ Roerfluit tenor C pipe in Figure 6 is +5 halftones, while its mouth width in Figure 5 is -5 halftones, revealing a cutup that is a stunning 10 halftones higher than the neo-Baroque recipe.

Figure 7 (see page 18) shows the relative flow of wind in the pipe toes. Larger pipe toes will flow more wind and yield more power. Received wisdom relates that Flentrop used “open toe” voicing, but Flentrop toes are in most cases quite restricted. Much more open toes can be found in Hook organs. Hook toe diameters also have high variability at a specific pitch, very unlike the more regular wind flow patterns we see with D. A. Flentrop and Gottfried Silbermann.¹³

The values in Figure 7 are toe constants, a number that represents relative flow. Flentrop suggested to me that a reasonable starting point for a toe diameter is the square root of its resonator diameter. The area of that closed toe represents a constant of “1,” and as you can see in Figure 7, Flentrop converged on that number at about 1′ pitch and increased the flow in both deeper and higher pitches. The area of the toe is proportional to the toe constant, i.e., a toe constant of “2” has twice the area of a toe with a constant of “1.” One added feature is that the toe constant compensates for mouths that are wider or narrower than the Normal Scale mouth of 1⁄4 of the circumference. For Flentrop this does not matter, because he used 1⁄4 mouths, but for a builder like Gottfried Silbermann who used 2⁄7 mouths, or Ernest M. Skinner who used 1⁄5 mouths, this compensation is critical, because wider mouths need more wind and narrower mouths need less. The toe constant allows us to compare the relative flow of wind in pipes with different diameters and different mouth widths. A good example in Figure 7 is the 8′ Roerfluit, which has slightly more wind than the 8′ Octaaf. Although it has a much smoother timbre, the 8′ Roerfluit’s slightly more powerful fundamental adds chorus depth to the much brighter 8′ Octaaf.

Toes control power, and in Flentrop organs designed for smaller acoustics I have found toe constants of 0.6 in the lowest mixture pitches, and this is a very restricted toe. A fully open toe has a toe constant of about 4, which we see in the highest pitches of the 2′ Octaaf and III Scherp in Figure 7.

Note the consistency of wind flow in the Flentrop principal chorus pipes at a given pitch, with a minimum flow of wind at about 1′ in pitch and much more flow in the bass and treble. This represents a voicing model for the Saint Mark’s acoustic. Similar patterns of wind flow exist in the 1692 Schnitger organ in the Hamburg Jacobikirche.¹⁴

The wind flow of the 4′ Speelfluit in Figure 7 is very instructive. Its lower cutups, relative to the 8′ Roerfluit, are explained by its more restricted toes. Closing the toe has the tonal effect of raising the cutup for a much warmer timbre at a lower power. The Speelfluit adds color to the more powerful Roerfluit, while restraining the power of the combined flutes as accompanimental stops.

Figure 8 data are estimated flueway depths based on observation of other work by Flentrop. In 1972 I did not have tapered wedges for measuring flueway depths. Wooden wedges are the safest material for documentation, but for a voicer, brass or steel wedges will last longer.¹⁵ The important feature of Flentrop flueways is that they are not used as a primary means of controlling power. Flentrop flueways do vary, but they vary within a restricted range at a given pitch. Neo-Baroque voicing emphasized a cutup recipe set to 1⁄4 of the mouth width with “open toes.” The result was that a voicer was often forced to use very narrow flueways to regulate both power and timbre, and the resulting sound was typically thin in fundamental warmth with a slow, gulping speech on the verge of overblowing. Flentrop used wind pressures and toes to control power, not the flueways, and he adjusted the cutup to achieve the desired timbres with fast speech.

In both modern and ancient work we will find an enormous variation in flueway depths. Although it is very rarely measured, flueway depth is of critical importance in understanding the different sounds of pipe organs. As the flueway deepens, more breathiness is heard in the sound. This is corrected by an increasing amount and boldness of nicking as the flueway depth increases. This is one of the reasons you will find many bold nicks in deep Romantic flueways. Flentrop’s voicing finds the flueway depth that will yield a tolerable breathiness with a minimum degree of nicking, and this is the optimum point for chiff. This is not a deep flueway, but it is much deeper than the razor-thin neo-Baroque flueways that resulted from arbitrarily low cutups. Both Andreas and Gottfried Silbermann used much deeper flueways than Flentrop, and their milder chiff is the result of their bolder nicking. Readers can find the flueway depths for some important historical styles in The Diapason.¹⁶

Figure 9 shows what happens when we divide the area of the pipe toe (the radius of the toe, squared, times π) by the area of the flueway it feeds (the flueway depth times the mouth width). In Figure 9 we see this data as a ratio of those areas. This tells us a great deal about the speech onset of the pipes. If the pipe toe is closed to the point where its area is less than the flueway area, the pressure will drop in both the foot and the flueway.¹⁷ We often see this in organs with higher wind pressures where the toes are strongly reduced to control power. In this situation, however, not only does the pressure drop at the flueway, the buildup of pressure in the foot is slower, and this can lead to slower speech. This form of slower speech is not immediately obvious, but a chorus with ratios above 1.0 will have a prompt attack, while pipes with ratios of 0.5 will have a noticeably slower attack, as is often heard in the smooth solo voice of the classical French cornet.¹⁸ When we look at theatre organs with extremely high wind pressures and deep Romantic flueways, we also find extremely small toes that produce ratios well below 0.5. This is why the attack of theatre organ flue pipes is much slower than what we hear in a Flentrop.

Ultra-low area ratios also explain in part why theatre organ pipes never have chiff. A fast rise in pressure in the foot and flueway is essential to the production of chiff, and we hear this when Biggs crisply opens the pallets on his 1958 Flentrop. Ratios close to 1 or above will be conducive to a fast pressure rise and the production of chiff, and in Figure 9 we can see that no Flentrop pipes have values below 1, and most pipes have values well above 1. This is a feature of Flentrop voicing in all of his organs for which I have data, and it is a significant factor in Flentrop’s fast, articulate voicing. Flentrop flueways are not deep in the Romantic style, and their areas are relatively small, with the result that even Flentrop’s more restricted toes still supply much more wind than the flueways need, and the fast pressure rise produces chiff.

Chiff can be eliminated in any ratio of toe and flueway areas by simply applying many bold nicks, but Flentrop used nicking sparingly, and when it is used, it is typically very fine in nature. Hook voicing also features relatively high area ratios, but the voicers used many bold nicks on every pipe, and no chiff is audible in their voicing. Theatre organs combine ultra-low area ratios with very bold nicking and unsurprisingly never exhibit chiff.

Figure 10 shows the mouth of a Flentrop pipe from about 1980, which is articulate, even with its two bolder nicks. The finest nicking in the center of the languid is more typical of the Saint Mark’s organ. Note that the flueway, while not deeply open in the Romantic style, is much deeper than typical neo- Baroque voicing.

The Pedaal

Figure 11 shows the diameter scales of the Pedaal. The scales of the larger pipes are consistent with the Flentrop model in Figure 3, and the diameters of the larger pipes were measured at the bottom. The Mixtuur is also consistent with the model notes. Like the Hoofdwerk, the flutes trend much wider as the pitch ascends.

The wind pressure of the Hoofdwerk is 80 millimeters, which is interestingly the same pressure found in the restored 1692 Hamburg Jacobikirche Schnitger. All other divisions at Saint Mark’s are winded on a very modest 68 millimeters of pressure, including the Pedaal. Flentrop once commented that wind pressure in a pipe organ is analogous to the tension of strings on a violin, with similar effects in the sound.

When I visited in 1972, the 32′ Prestant featured large ears at the sides of the mouths, and a few years later I observed that large wooden rollers had been added between the ears. This was perhaps an effort to make the 32′ sound more audible, as human hearing is very poor in the deep bass. At about 20 cycles per second we feel sound as much as we hear it, and a 32′ pipe resonates at 16 cycles per second. The addition of the rollers increases audible harmonic power to the sound, just as they add harmonic power to very narrow string pipes. Joseph Gabler found an elegant solution to this problem in his organ of 1750 at Weingarten: drawing the 32′ stop also draws the 16′ stop at the same time, making the sound both felt and more easily heard.

Tin was very expensive when Saint Mark’s Flentrop was constructed, the result of a powerful tin mining cartel. Many Flentrop organs utilized copper for larger façade pipes during this time as an alternative to zinc. The colorful patina on Flentrop copper pipes exhibits reddish earth tones and subtle greens. I asked Flentrop how he achieved this, and he laughed. The process was the result of long experimentation, and it involved strongly heating the pipes and applying the urine of cows to the heated metal. Flentrop smiled when he said that the smell in the shop was not at all pleasant. The lovely pastel colors of those copper pipes enhance the deep reds of the mahogany used in the casework, which Flentrop carefully selected from his supplier in Africa.

The full principal chorus of Flentrop’s magnum opus in its 1981 configuration is electrifying in the Praeludium in E Major by Vincent Lübeck <Soundclip 4>. The organ today features some wonderful additions by the shop of Paul Fritts.¹⁹

Paul Fritts and Company Organ Builders

Additions and changes to pipe organs can result in irreparable harm to the original sound. The additions and changes by the Fritts shop, however, are sympathetic to Flentrop’s original concept. They are exceedingly well executed, and Flentrop’s original voicing was left unchanged.²⁰

In 1991 the console action was replaced with a suspended action. Germanic reeds were added at 16′ and 8′ to the Hoofdwerk, and the horizontal reeds were replaced at their original pitches with designs based on the 1762 work of the Iberian organbuilder Jordi Bosch. The original Flentrop reeds have been carefully packed and stored. The addition of a 32′ Pedaal Bazuin on the back wall to the rear of the Pedaal casework is a welcome one in a room whose large windows consume a great deal of bass sound. These alterations will hopefully diminish future appetites for changes to Flentrop’s historic magnum opus.

The precarious life of historic sounds

D. A. Flentrop’s organs are probably a very good representation of the sound of Arp Schnitger, which has very rarely if ever survived in its original form. Between 1953 and 1955 Flentrop undertook a major restoration of the 1720 Schnitger organ at Saint Michael’s Kerk in Zwolle to return it to its original condition, and Biggs recorded that magnificent sound in the 1960s.²¹ History teaches us that original sounds only survive in the very rarest of circumstances, and these are often found in depressed economies where there is no funding for restorations. Historically important sounds quickly disappear with the good intentions of restorers who change wind pressures, temperaments, pitch, and voicing to suit their own ears.²² This is why early documentation is so important, and it can expose later changes.

This article features a sample of scaling and voicing data from D. A. Flentrop’s magnum opus taken in its original form in 1972.²³ It has hopefully provided readers with a better appreciation of the sound of D. A. Flentrop. Astute readers will also no doubt notice that fifty-one years elapsed before I carefully analyzed this data. I should have done this long ago. Tempus fugit, carpe diem.

Notes and references

All images are found in the collection of the author unless otherwise noted.

1. Barbara Owen, E. Power Biggs: Concert Organist (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1987), pages 128–133.

2. wikiwand.com/en/Dirk_Andries_Flentrop, accessed July 6, 2023. From their reference: Kerala J. Snyder (Spring 2005), Symposium in Honor of Dirk A. Flentrop, Resonance.

3. Michael McNeil, “The Sound of Gottfried Silbermann,” Part 2, The Diapason, January 2023, pages 13–19.

4. Michael McNeil, “1863 E. & G. G. Hook, Opus 322, Church of the Immaculate Conception, Boston, Massachusetts,” The Diapason, Part 1, July 2017, pages 17–19, and Part 2, August 2017, pages 18–21.

5. McNeil, “The Sound of Gottfried Silbermann,” Part 2.

6. McNeil, “The Sound of Gottfried Silbermann,” Part 2.

7. Michael McNeil, “Designing an Historic Reed,” The Diapason, June 2023, pages 14–20.

8. saintmarks.org/music-arts/organs/the-flentrop-organ/ accessed July 12, 2023.

9. “Plainly audible” reverberation is measured at about -26 dB. The -60 dB architectural standard does not take into account the audibility of reverberation in the context of music, and it is also a source of grave disappointment for musicians and organbuilders. The standard needs to be revised for music.

10. Michael McNeil, “1863 E. & G. G. Hook Opus 322: Church of the Immaculate Conception, Boston, Massachusetts,” Part 1, The Diapason, July 2017, page 18.

11. Email the author for Excel files with the Saint Mark’s Flentrop data and/or the Jacobikirche Schnitger data at no charge at: [email protected]. The Schnitger data is derived and graphed from: Heimo Reinitzer, Die Arp Schnitger-Orgel der Hauptkirche St. Jacobi in Hamburg (Hamburg: Christians Verlag, 1995), with restoration by Jürgen Ahrend and data measurements by Cor Edskes.

12. Ibid.

13. McNeil, “The Sound of Gottfried Silbermann,” Part 2; McNeil, “1863 E. & G. G. Hook, Opus 322, Church of the Immaculate Conception, Boston, Massachusetts,” Part 1.

14. Email the author for Excel files with the Saint Mark’s Flentrop data and/or the Jakobikirche Schnitger data at no charge at: [email protected]

15. Michael McNeil, “The Sound of Gottfried Silbermann,” Part 2, The Diapason, January 2023, see Figure 15 on page 14 for an illustration of a wedge for measuring flueway depth.

16. McNeil, “The Sound of Gottfried Silbermann,” Part 2.

17. Email the author for Excel files with the Saint Mark’s Flentrop data and/or the Jacobikirche Schnitger data at no charge at: [email protected]. The Schnitger data is derived and graphed from: Heimo Reinitzer, Die Arp Schnitger-Orgel der Hauptkirche St. Jacobi in Hamburg, (Hamburg: Christians Verlag, 1995), with restoration by Jürgen Ahrend and data measurements by Cor Edskes.

18. McNeil, “The Sound of Gottfried Silbermann,” Part 2.

19. saintmarks.org/music-arts/organs/the-flentrop-organ/.

20. saintmarks.org/music-arts/organs/the-flentrop-organ/.

21. E. Power Biggs, The Organ in Sight and Sound, Columbia Masterworks, KS 7263, ca. 1969. Many examples of Schnitger organs are included in this landmark recording. D. A. Flentrop wrote a primer on classical organ design for the twenty-eight-page book included with this vinyl recording.

22. Flentrop was right when he remarked that I would use my observations of his work to find my own sound. The temptation to modify organs to the taste of the restorer is very strong, and I have regrettably succumbed to that temptation, too. I carefully documented a Wm. A. Johnson organ and described the changes I made to it in these articles, “The 1864 William A. Johnson Opus 161: Piru Community United Methodist Church, Piru, California,” The Diapason, Part 1, August 2018, pages 16–20; Part 2, September, 2018, pages 20–25; Part 3, October, 2018, pages 26–28; and Part 4, November 2018, pages 20–24.

23. Email the author for Excel files with the Saint Mark’s Flentrop data and/or the Jakobikirche Schnitger data at no charge at: [email protected].

Sound clips

1. [00:34] Johann Sebastian Bach, Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543, E. Power Biggs, Bach, the Great Preludes and Fugues, Volume 2, CBS Records, 42648, recorded in 1964 at the Busch Reisinger Museum, Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

2. [00:30] Charles-Marie Widor, “Andante cantabile,” from Symphonie IV, opus 13, number 4 (1872), James Welch, Magnum Opus, Volume 2, Wilson Audiophile, WCD-8314, recorded in 1981 at Saint Mark’s Cathedral, Seattle, Washington.

3. [01:01] Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (often attributed to Johann Sebastian Bach, BWV 565), Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, James Welch, Magnum Opus, Volume 1, Wilson Audiophile, WCD-8111, recorded in 1981 at Saint Mark’s Cathedral, Seattle, Washington. Exhaustive research by Michael Gailit has convincingly shown C. P. E. Bach as the most likely composer of this work. See “Exploring the unknown of BWV 565,” The Diapason, Part 1, June 2021, pages 18–19; Part 2, July 2021, pages 12–14; Part 3, December 2021, pages 16–18; Part 4, August 2022, pages 15–17; Part 5, September 2022, pages 19–21; and Part 6, October 2022, pages 15–17.

4. [00:40] Vincent Lübeck, Praeludium in E Major, James Welch, Magnum Opus, Volume 2, Wilson Audiophile, WCD-8314, recorded in 1981 at Saint Mark’s Cathedral, Seattle, Washington.

—It is strongly recommended to use Sony MDR 7506 headphones for the sound clips. Earbuds will not generate bass sound.

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral website: saintmarks.org.

Flentrop Orgelbouw website: flentrop.nl.