Daniel Pinkham (1923–2006): A Memoir

James McCray

James McCray has been choral editor of The Diapason since November 1976.

In the last decades of the 20th century, Daniel Pinkham was one of the brightest jewels in America’s choral diadem of composers. His creative energy spilled into churches, schools, and concerts of all types. I knew him for over 40 years, first as a professional colleague and later as a friend. His death on December 18, 2006, was a loss to many people in the musical world; however, it may be the choral area where it will be most broadly felt. This is not to minimize his robust contributions of instrumental works, but throughout America some of his works had become standards in choral literature and were performed annually by vast numbers of singers at every level of vocal ability.

I first encountered Pinkham while teaching at a Florida university in the late 1960s. He had been commissioned by the Florida Vocal Association to write a work for their Junior High All-State Choir, which was to be performed at the state convention. He was brought there for the premiere as a guest of the convention. The work he supplied had a high degree of indeterminacy in it, which at that time was somewhat of a consternation to the junior high teachers who had to prepare their singers before the convention. As with most of Pinkham’s writing, the music was creative, clever, and performable, although there were many on the floor of the convention who disagreed. Nevertheless, the work came off well and, as was the case with so many of his choral settings, the longer people listened to the rehearsal of it, the more they appreciated the innate depth of the music.

Over the years, I wrote three articles on his choral music—the first, an interview entitled “On Composing” (The Choral Journal, March 1976). In that dialogue with him, he revealed numerous insights into his process of composing. For example, he said, “I have discovered that morning is best for me. I find the notes, which still is the most difficult, in the hours roughly 9:00 am to noon, and when I am not so clear minded, I then do those mechanical things like orchestration and score preparation.” He pointed out that he did all manuscript preparation himself and that he thought it a vital part of the composer’s craft. In fact, he said he particularly enjoyed doing that kind of work. One of my favorite pictures of Pinkham is of him sitting at a table in a dark room with a desk light shining down on the manuscript he was preparing for the publisher; his writing implements (pens, ruler, etc.) are spread around him on the table (see photo).

Happily, I own several of his manuscripts prepared in his own hand; each is a work of art that is quite beautiful and shows the personal care taken in his graphic preparation. Many composers have assistants to make the final score; many use manuscript programs on a computer.

My first personal encounter with him was as the choral director and department chairman at St. Mary’s College in Notre Dame, Indiana in 1973. Our voice faculty teacher had been a paid singer in Pinkham’s church choir at King’s Chapel in Boston, where Pinkham served as music director for over 40 years. So through her initial contact, we commissioned him to write a work for our college choir and to come to campus to do some teaching and conduct the performance of his music. (See photo of us immediately following the premiere of that new work in the spring of 1973.)

It should be noted that Pinkham was possibly the most frequently commissioned choral composer of the past few decades. That, in itself, is a tribute to his musical and personal accessibility. He said that he was always being asked in interviews how one should commission a composer, and that his standard reply was for those interested to merely pick up the phone, call him directly, and to mention the amount of money for the commission. He was always a pragmatic man. Furthermore, even his music is pragmatic, since most scores were structured so that they could be performed with various instrumental and vocal combinations. He wanted his music to be performed and was not interested in creating scores that were intellectual cul-de-sacs that were rarely performed.

That 1973 commission, for choir and electronic tape, aroused my interest, which eventually led to my researching and writing an extended article on all of his music using electronic tape. This compendium of his decade of choral/electronic tape music was published in the March 1979 issue of The Choral Journal, which brought this musical style quickly to the attention of the more than 11,000 members of the American Choral Directors Association. Pinkham later told me that the article probably was the greatest influence on this relatively unknown music being frequently performed. His gratitude was later shown when he dedicated a choral work to me, and I remain thrilled by this kind gesture.

Pinkham told me an interesting story regarding the time when he first became interested in creating choral music using electronic tape. He had attended a workshop on electronic music. As part of the requirements, each participant had to compose something as the final project, which was then given an informal reading by those in the workshop. His work explored the problems of choral singing with a tape recording that is continuous and offers no flexibility for performers. After the workshop he had forgotten all about that little exercise, but was astonished (and rightly irritated) to learn that one of the class members had pilfered a copy of it, which he then publicly performed with his choir in a concert on the west coast by duplicating the written exercise. Probably the most exasperating aspect was that Pinkham believed the conductor did not have a copy of his actual electronic tape and ultimately used something of his own creation for the performance.

His first published electronic work was In the Beginning of Creation, commissioned by Westminster Choir College and written in 1970. It became an instant hit with choral conductors due to its brevity, relative simplicity, and use of verbal and nonverbal sounds created by the choir at specific timed moments above the tape recording of unusual reverberating utterances. I conducted it with several different all-state choirs from Florida to Utah, and it was always something that gave the audience a new perspective on the poignant Genesis text. Singers loved it, and its use rapidly spread.
When I moved to positions as a chairman of music departments in Virginia and Colorado, I always found a way to commission Pinkham to write a new work for the school, which also brought him to campus to interact with the faculty and students. His charm, wit, and professional manner made him a guaranteed success in these environments. He had an elegant way of presenting material; I always found him to be a remarkable teacher and conductor who quickly made a positive difference in a rehearsal, even when his new musical score had a serrated edge of sharp dissonance.

Pinkham’s talent and interests were broad. As a harpsichordist, he regularly played with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. As organist, he was frequently heard as a guest on the E. Power Biggs program on CBS and as resident organist of historic King’s Chapel in Boston. As a student of legendary composers such as Piston, Copland, Honegger, Barber as well as the eminent music teacher of the 20th century, Nadia Boulanger, he absorbed ideas and techniques that served him well throughout his life.

A review of his compositions reveals an astounding number of published works. His long association with E. C. Schirmer clearly has been good for both parties. Knowing how much new music he had created, I was quite surprised when he told me how difficult it was for him to begin a new work, and that for extended periods of time he would involve himself in diverse projects to avoid beginning to compose. Yet, because Pinkham was so prolific, I suspect that we will continue to see more publications in the future as the publisher catches up with his numerous and frequent submissions.

So, farewell to you, Daniel Pinkham. You were always the apotheosis of dignity and intelligence; you and your musical inventiveness will be missed. Your lifelong interest in creating music that heightened the illumination of the text has been a gift to us and future generations of musicians. That the night before your death you attended a choral concert of the premiere of your newly commissioned work, seems to be a reflection of your numerous contributions to the field.
Pinkham’s writing of practical yet original music is a petard that all choral conductors hoist. We will continue to perform his choral music for many decades to come, and it will remain fresh to listeners of future generations. George F. Handel, Great Britain’s adopted musical son, once said: “I should be sorry, my lord, if I have only succeeded in entertaining them; I wished to make them better.” Somehow, I feel the same may be said for America’s indefatigable composer, Daniel Pinkham.

Daniel Pinkham (1923–2006): A Memoir

James McCray

James McCray has been choral editor of The Diapason since November 1976.

In the last decades of the 20th century, Daniel Pinkham was one of the brightest jewels in America’s choral diadem of composers. His creative energy spilled into churches, schools, and concerts of all types. I knew him for over 40 years, first as a professional colleague and later as a friend. His death on December 18, 2006, was a loss to many people in the musical world; however, it may be the choral area where it will be most broadly felt. This is not to minimize his robust contributions of instrumental works, but throughout America some of his works had become standards in choral literature and were performed annually by vast numbers of singers at every level of vocal ability.
I first encountered Pinkham while teaching at a Florida university in the late 1960s. He had been commissioned by the Florida Vocal Association to write a work for their Junior High All-State Choir, which was to be performed at the state convention. He was brought there for the premiere as a guest of the convention. The work he supplied had a high degree of indeterminacy in it, which at that time was somewhat of a consternation to the junior high teachers who had to prepare their singers before the convention. As with most of Pinkham’s writing, the music was creative, clever, and performable, although there were many on the floor of the convention who disagreed. Nevertheless, the work came off well and, as was the case with so many of his choral settings, the longer people listened to the rehearsal of it, the more they appreciated the innate depth of the music.
Over the years, I wrote three articles on his choral music—the first, an interview entitled “On Composing” (The Choral Journal, March 1976). In that dialogue with him, he revealed numerous insights into his process of composing. For example, he said, “I have discovered that morning is best for me. I find the notes, which still is the most difficult, in the hours roughly 9:00 am to noon, and when I am not so clear minded, I then do those mechanical things like orchestration and score preparation.” He pointed out that he did all manuscript preparation himself and that he thought it a vital part of the composer’s craft. In fact, he said he particularly enjoyed doing that kind of work. One of my favorite pictures of Pinkham is of him sitting at a table in a dark room with a desk light shining down on the manuscript he was preparing for the publisher; his writing implements (pens, ruler, etc.) are spread around him on the table (see photo).
Happily, I own several of his manuscripts prepared in his own hand; each is a work of art that is quite beautiful and shows the personal care taken in his graphic preparation. Many composers have assistants to make the final score; many use manuscript programs on a computer.
My first personal encounter with him was as the choral director and department chairman at St. Mary’s College in Notre Dame, Indiana in 1973. Our voice faculty teacher had been a paid singer in Pinkham’s church choir at King’s Chapel in Boston, where Pinkham served as music director for over 40 years. So through her initial contact, we commissioned him to write a work for our college choir and to come to campus to do some teaching and conduct the performance of his music. (See photo of us immediately following the premiere of that new work in the spring of 1973.)
It should be noted that Pinkham was possibly the most frequently commissioned choral composer of the past few decades. That, in itself, is a tribute to his musical and personal accessibility. He said that he was always being asked in interviews how one should commission a composer, and that his standard reply was for those interested to merely pick up the phone, call him directly, and to mention the amount of money for the commission. He was always a pragmatic man. Furthermore, even his music is pragmatic, since most scores were structured so that they could be performed with various instrumental and vocal combinations. He wanted his music to be performed and was not interested in creating scores that were intellectual cul-de-sacs that were rarely performed.
That 1973 commission, for choir and electronic tape, aroused my interest, which eventually led to my researching and writing an extended article on all of his music using electronic tape. This compendium of his decade of choral/electronic tape music was published in the March 1979 issue of The Choral Journal, which brought this musical style quickly to the attention of the more than 11,000 members of the American Choral Directors Association. Pinkham later told me that the article probably was the greatest influence on this relatively unknown music being frequently performed. His gratitude was later shown when he dedicated a choral work to me, and I remain thrilled by this kind gesture.
Pinkham told me an interesting story regarding the time when he first became interested in creating choral music using electronic tape. He had attended a workshop on electronic music. As part of the requirements, each participant had to compose something as the final project, which was then given an informal reading by those in the workshop. His work explored the problems of choral singing with a tape recording that is continuous and offers no flexibility for performers. After the workshop he had forgotten all about that little exercise, but was astonished (and rightly irritated) to learn that one of the class members had pilfered a copy of it, which he then publicly performed with his choir in a concert on the west coast by duplicating the written exercise. Probably the most exasperating aspect was that Pinkham believed the conductor did not have a copy of his actual electronic tape and ultimately used something of his own creation for the performance.
His first published electronic work was In the Beginning of Creation, commissioned by Westminster Choir College and written in 1970. It became an instant hit with choral conductors due to its brevity, relative simplicity, and use of verbal and nonverbal sounds created by the choir at specific timed moments above the tape recording of unusual reverberating utterances. I conducted it with several different all-state choirs from Florida to Utah, and it was always something that gave the audience a new perspective on the poignant Genesis text. Singers loved it, and its use rapidly spread. When I moved to positions as a chairman of music departments in Virginia and Colorado, I always found a way to commission Pinkham to write a new work for the school, which also brought him to campus to interact with the faculty and students. His charm, wit, and professional manner made him a guaranteed success in these environments. He had an elegant way of presenting material; I always found him to be a remarkable teacher and conductor who quickly made a positive difference in a rehearsal, even when his new musical score had a serrated edge of sharp dissonance.
Pinkham’s talent and interests were broad. As a harpsichordist, he regularly played with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. As organist, he was frequently heard as a guest on the E. Power Biggs program on CBS and as resident organist of historic King’s Chapel in Boston. As a student of legendary composers such as Piston, Copland, Honegger, Barber as well as the eminent music teacher of the 20th century, Nadia Boulanger, he absorbed ideas and techniques that served him well throughout his life.
A review of his compositions reveals an astounding number of published works. His long association with E. C. Schirmer clearly has been good for both parties. Knowing how much new music he had created, I was quite surprised when he told me how difficult it was for him to begin a new work, and that for extended periods of time he would involve himself in diverse projects to avoid beginning to compose. Yet, because Pinkham was so prolific, I suspect that we will continue to see more publications in the future as the publisher catches up with his numerous and frequent submissions.
So, farewell to you, Daniel Pinkham. You were always the apotheosis of dignity and intelligence; you and your musical inventiveness will be missed. Your lifelong interest in creating music that heightened the illumination of the text has been a gift to us and future generations of musicians. That the night before your death you attended a choral concert of the premiere of your newly commissioned work, seems to be a reflection of your numerous contributions to the field. Pinkham’s writing of practical yet original music is a petard that all choral conductors hoist. We will continue to perform his choral music for many decades to come, and it will remain fresh to listeners of future generations. George F. Handel, Great Britain’s adopted musical son, once said: “I should be sorry, my lord, if I have only succeeded in entertaining them; I wished to make them better.” Somehow, I feel the same may be said for America’s indefatigable composer, Daniel Pinkham.

John Weaver at 70--A Life in Music

Michael Barone

Michael Barone is host and producer of American Public Media’s Pipedreams program, which celebrates its 25th anniversary in 2007. Pipedreams can be heard on radio stations across the country, also on XM Satellite Radio Channel 133 and in Hong Kong on Radio Four. Barone is a native of northeastern Pennsylvania, a music history graduate of the Oberlin Conservatory, and a nearly 39-year employee of Minnesota Public Radio.

John Weaver, one of the America’s finest concert organists, celebrates his 70th birthday on April 27, 2007. The following interview is offered in honor of this milestone.
Dr. Weaver was director of music at Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City from 1970–2005, and served as head of the organ department at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia 1971–2003, and also chair of the organ department at the Juilliard School 1987–2004.
His formal musical studies began at the age of six, and at age 15 he began organ study with Richard Ross and George Markey. His undergraduate study was at the Curtis Institute as a student of Alexander McCurdy, and he earned a Master of Sacred Music degree at Union Theological Seminary. In 1989 John Weaver was honored by the Peabody Conservatory with its Distinguished Alumni Award. He has received honorary Doctor of Music degrees from Westminster College, New Wilmington, Pennsylvania, and the Curtis Institute of Music. In 2005 he was named “International Performer of the Year” by the New York City chapter of the American Guild of Organists.
In addition to his work at the Curtis Institute and the Juilliard School, he has taught at Westminster Choir College, Union Theological Seminary, and the Manhattan School of Music. He has written numerous articles for organ and church music magazines and has served as president of the Presbyterian Association of Musicians.
Dr. Weaver has been active as a concert organist since coming under management in 1959. He has played throughout the USA, Canada, Western Europe, the United Kingdom, and Brazil. He has performed on national television and radio network programs in the U.S. and Germany, and has made recordings for Aeolian-Skinner, the Wicks Organ Company, Klais Orgelbau of Germany, a CD on Gothic Records for the Schantz Organ Company, and a recording on the Pro Organo label on the new Reuter organ at University Presbyterian Church in Seattle. His most recent recording, “The Organ and Choral Music of John Weaver,” is available on the JAV label and features his own organ and choral compositions. His published compositions for organ, chorus/organ and flute/organ are widely performed.
He currently lives in Vermont and continues to concertize and lead workshops and masterclasses around the world. The Weavers love to climb the New England mountains, and have a tradition of an annual ascent of Mt. Washington. Marianne is an avid gardener, and John’s hobby is a deep fascination with trains, both model and prototype.
This interview took place July 11, 2005, at the Weaver home in the rolling countryside near West Glover, Vermont.

MICHAEL BARONE: How did John Weaver stumble into the world of the organ?
JOHN WEAVER: We moved away from the little town where I spent the first four and a half years of my life. I have very few recollections of that place, except one of them that’s very strong—the organ at the church where my father was the pastor had a wonderful sound on low E. Something about the 16' stop on that organ resonated in the room in a glorious way, and I fell in love with that. As soon as I learned how to play a few notes on the piano, my favorite thing was to hold down the sustaining pedal and play an arpeggio—slowly at first—and just listen to it ring like an organ. Something in me has always been attracted to that sound.
MB: With whom did you study and how would you characterize those years?
JW: My first organ lessons were with a wonderful organist in Baltimore, Richard Ross. He died at age 39 shortly after having given me a lesson on a Saturday afternoon—just failed to show up the next day at church. Ross was becoming one of the best-known and finest organists in the country. When I first went to him, at the age of 15, instead of auditioning me at the organ, he told me to go up onto the stage of the Peabody concert hall and play for him on the piano. Well, there was a big Steinway up there, but the thing that really interested me was the 4-manual E. M. Skinner. I could hear air escaping from it, and I coveted playing that instrument so badly that I can feel it still today.
Nevertheless, Ross told me that he wanted to hear me play something on the piano. So, I stumbled through my Mozart sonata that was not really very good at that point, and afterward he said to me, “I don’t want you to study organ yet. You need to study at least another year of piano and really work at it very hard.” And then he also said something that I’ve always remembered: “If in the meantime you study organ with anybody else, I will never teach you.”
Well, I took his advice, and I went back to my piano teacher and really did work for a year—then came back the next year and played for Ross again. This time I played the Beethoven “Pathétique,” and I played it pretty well. Ross said, “OK, now you can start studying organ, but you must continue to study piano as well.”
Fortunately I had a very good piano teacher, and I studied with Ross for about a year and a half, until his death. The Peabody Conservatory brought in George Markey as an interim to fill out the rest of that academic year. While I was studying with Markey, at this point as a senior in high school, he said “Where are you going to go to school next year?” I just assumed I would go to Peabody because we lived in Baltimore, and Markey said, “Well, have you considered auditioning for the Curtis Institute of Music?” And I remember asking him, “Where is that?” I was soon to find out a lot about Curtis and also about the great teacher there, Alexander McCurdy. I did audition and was accepted, and had four glorious years in Philadelphia.

MB: McCurdy is something of a legend, and the stories about him are numerous. I expect you have more than a few.
JW: I’ve described him on numerous occasions as an Old Testament figure. He was someone you both loved and feared at the same time—certainly, not one to suffer fools. If you went into a lesson unprepared, you were sure to get a dressing down that would do a drill sergeant credit. But when words of praise came, they were so precious and so rewarding that they could light you up for a whole week. He was a very liberal teacher in that he did not insist on playing any piece of music in any certain way. Within that department at that time we had about six students—there was one student who was very much a disciple of E. Power Biggs, and there were others of us who were much more in the Virgil Fox camp. That was sort of the nature of the department, but McCurdy was as enthusiastic about the fellow who was a Neo-Baroquist as he was about the rest of us. That person, by the way, is Temple Painter, who is one of the leading harpsichordists in the city of Philadelphia and still plays organ as well.

MB: What were McCurdy’s techniques to get the best out of students? What did he create in you that might not have been there before? And then how did you take what you learned from McCurdy and shape that with your own personality?
JW: McCurdy had several ways of getting the best from us. I’ll never forget my first lesson: he assigned a chorale prelude from the Orgelbüchlein, which I had not played, and he said, “Mr. Weaver, I’d like you to play this next week from memory in organ class.” Well, right away it was jump-starting; and seven, eight hours a day of practicing became the norm. At my second lesson, he assigned the Vierne Cantabile, from the second symphony, and said, “I’d like you to play that next week in organ class in front of your peers.” Well, that was really a struggle. And he did that for about three weeks at the beginning of the four years. After that, he never assigned a piece again. But he got me into the habit of learning—I knew he expected that kind of production from week to week.
That’s a Curtis tradition that was started by Lynnwood Farnam, continued by Fernando Germani and by McCurdy, and I believe is still the case—each student comes every week with a new piece memorized to play in class. This could be a little one-page chorale prelude for manuals alone, or it could be a major prelude and fugue, a big romantic work, or a modern work—you could repeat something from previous classes, but you always had to have a new piece also. It got us into the habit of assuming when you started to learn a piece that you were eventually going to play it from memory. There are some pieces that I have never been able to play from memory. I’ve memorized a fair amount of Messiaen, but with more atonal pieces, I find that I am just not comfortable playing without the score.

MB: The challenge for the organist, of course, is that each instrument is different from the next and requires its own learning process. The traveling recitalist comes to a church, gets used to the instrument, gets used to the instrument’s response in the room, and then tries to make music with the repertoire that you’ve brought to town. Perhaps it’s no wonder that fewer organists want to memorize these days, but there’s still something about a performer totally connected to and deeply involved in the music that is missing when a score is being read.
JW: There is always the problem of the page-turner—or, if one turns one’s own pages, that has its risks as well. Page-turners can sometimes pull music down off the rack inadvertently, or pull a page right out of the book, or turn two pages—there are lots of risks. Page-turners also have a tendency sometimes to hum or to tap their foot. I’ve even known some who think it’s safe to step on the pedalboard to reach a page that’s far out of the way—that really does produce a catastrophe.
I guess it doesn’t make a lot of difference if the console is completely hidden. I wouldn’t know if someone was playing from memory or not, but pianists, violinists, singers are expected to walk on stage and play from memory. It’s harder for organists, yes. I like to have 12 to 15 hours at an instrument before I’m ready to play a recital on it. If I had 20 hours it would be better still. If I had 25, I would find a few more things to make that instrument come across in the very best possible way and the music to be the best that I could do. That kind of time is rarely available, but 12 to 15 hours is a norm.

MB: I always get the sense watching you that you really enjoy playing. Now is this actually true or are you just a very good actor?
JW: If it looks like I’m having fun, I’m glad for that because in a way, I am. I also am constantly aware of the pitfalls—how many things might happen that you don’t want to happen and sometimes do. But I do enjoy playing. I love playing recitals, though it scares me, and five minutes before the recital I ask myself “Why did I ever agree to do this?” But once I start playing, why, that departs and I really do settle down and enjoy what I love about the music that I play—hoping that people will catch something of what I’m feeling about that music and my devotion to it.

MB: How did you, a former student at the Curtis Institute, come to be the head of the organ department at Curtis?
JW: One fine day Alexander McCurdy called me up and said, “Mr. Weaver, I’m going to retire from the Curtis Institute, and Rudolph Serkin would like to meet with you and see if you might be an appropriate successor.” (Rudolph Serkin at that point being the director of the Curtis Institute.) Needless to say, I went down to Philadelphia and met with Serkin, and he suggested that I play a recital in Curtis Hall—it was never called an audition recital, but I think they wanted me to clear that hurdle before giving me a green light. Curtis Hall is one of the hardest places to play. It is totally dry acoustically, with a 118-rank Aeolian-Skinner in a room that seats about 200 people—probably more pipes per person than any place else in the world. But it’s an instrument that can, if one works with it, do remarkable things. So I did play the recital and did get the job, and was there very happily for many years. I started in 1971 and retired in 2003—32 years.

MB: How would you characterize yourself as a teacher?
JW: I’ve tried to follow the McCurdy mold. When I was at Curtis we continued the tradition of the organ class—memorization and new pieces each week. I also tried to not impose my own interpretation of any given piece upon the students that I was fortunate enough to teach, both at Curtis and at Juilliard. I do believe that everyone should somehow sound like themselves, that there is some part of themselves and their own musical personality that will affect the way that they perform any piece.
I’ve had students who were extremely flamboyant and almost overdone. I’ve tried to curb that a little bit sometimes, but I certainly don’t want to squelch the enthusiasm and the very strong personal interpretations that a student like that can bring. Sometimes I find a student’s playing to be too conservative, just dull note pushing, and then we talk a lot about the music and about its nature—its liveliness or passiveness or serenity or agitation—trying to have the student project something in the music other than just the notes on the page.

MB: Who were some of your outstanding recent students?
JW: Well, without naming any priority, certainly Paul Jacobs, who succeeded me at Juilliard; Alan Morrison, who succeeded me at the Curtis Institute; Diane Meredith Belcher, who’s on the faculty at Westminster Choir College; Ken Cowan, who is on the faculty of Westminster Choir College and is now the head of the organ department there—and a whole host of others. Those are four that are under management, nationally known, and do a great deal of playing—I’m very proud of them indeed.

MB: How did you come to be at Madison Avenue Presbyterian? What are the different demands, delights, and challenges of being a church musician as opposed to being a fancy-free artist in the world of recitals?
JW: For eleven years, I was at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in New York. While there, my wife and I started the Bach cantata series that continues to this day, and we really made that church known for performances of the music of Bach. In 1970, I knew that the position at Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church was vacant. It never occurred to me to apply for it. But one day, a gentleman came into the church office unannounced, no appointment, and asked to see me. When we met he said, “We,” meaning the search committee at Madison Avenue, “were hoping that you would apply.”
Well, having the door opened by him at that point, I decided to follow through with it, and I did so with a great deal of doubt because I had grown up in a Presbyterian church, where the din of the congregational chatter before the service completely drowned out anything that could possibly be done on the organ. And I had the impression that Presbyterians generally did not place a very high value on the quality of the worship, the sermon being the centerpiece of the whole Sunday morning experience. But I met with the committee at Madison Avenue and particularly with their pastor David H.C. Reed, in whom I found a Presbyterian with wonderfully high regard for worship and high expectations for the quality of worship. My fears were allayed. I did go to Madison Avenue in the fall of 1970, and immediately we began changing the nature of the worship service there. The congregation began to sing a great deal more—four hymns every Sunday, plus they began to sing the Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei.
That progressed until the congregation tended to draw people who liked to sing, and so the congregational singing was strong and is to this day. David Reed was followed by Dr. Fred Anderson, who was a musician—his first degree was as a music major—and a great lover of music and of worship. Now one could go to Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church and the worship experience would be very ecumenical. You would not be certain if you were in a Lutheran or a Roman Catholic or an Episcopal church. It’s very much Presbyterian, but at the same time very ecumenical and very rich liturgically.
MB: Have you considered yourself an organist who composes or have you always thought of yourself as a composer who had to make his way as an organist and a teacher?
JW: Very definitely the former: I’m an organist first and foremost, but I’m an organist who loves to compose. Many composers who try to write for the organ don’t understand the instrument and therefore write pieces that get a premiere performance and are never heard again. In fact, the organ literature that does become mainstream is almost always written by people who play the instrument. One great exception is Paul Hindemith, but he of course was able to write for any instrument, and he always did his research and knew what he was doing—he wrote three wonderful organ sonatas and a concerto.
Years ago, when I was in my early teens, I started going to Vermont in the summer to a music camp for theory. No lessons were taught on piano or clarinet or violin or anything like that. There was no applied music—it was all theory. We had counterpoint classes, form and analysis, and harmony and such, and the result of it was that the students of the camp composed because we had been given the tools of the musical language.
So I’ve gone to Vermont every summer of my life to compose, and now that I live here I hope to do a lot more composing. I’ve also composed primarily things that I myself could use. Although everything I’ve composed for the last 15 years has been on commission, I’ve always written something that I could use in my own work, either in recitals or in church services. I’ve written a lot of choral music and a lot of organ solo pieces and also several pieces for organ and flute because my wife is a very good flutist and we like to be able to play those pieces together.

MB: Do you have any favorites among the pieces that you’ve written? JW: My favorites tend to be the ones that have been performed a great deal. The Passacaglia on a Theme of Dunstable—it may not in fact be by Dunstable, but it was thought to be by him, namely the tune Deo gratias—was composed for the 25th anniversary of the state trumpets at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, and I played the premiere performance there. It’s a set of variations in passacaglia form, and one variation is designated for that magnificent state trumpet at the west end of that huge cathedral. Nevertheless, the piece works on instruments that don’t have that particular kind of stop available. The piece has been recorded by a number of people and has been played all over the world—that gives me a lot of satisfaction. It’s also one of my favorite pieces.

MB: How many compositions have you’ve written up to this point?
JW: I’ve probably composed about 20 choral pieces, that is, anthem-length pieces. I’ve also composed all four gospel settings of the Passion story, and probably a dozen solo organ pieces.

MB: And other than the commission that you just received on Friday, the future is an open book at this point?
JW: Yes, actually that’s the only commission I have in hand right now, but I am trusting that others will come in. And if they don’t I’ll write anyhow.

MB: Someone wanting to commission you would do what? Do you have a website?
JW: .

MB: Do you enjoy the process of recording? You’ve made some notable recordings. It ends up sounding as though you’re having a good time, even if you might not be.
JW: No, I hate recording. [laughter] There’s something a little bit antiseptic about it. First of all, one does not get that sense of response from a live audience. You simply do the playing, and then there are people sitting around with scores and dials and they’re wanting to do this over again and that over again—or a siren will go off or there’ll be a clap of thunder; things like that can make it very frustrating. When they listen to a recording, people have no idea about how long it takes to make that, because street noises or other interruptions can destroy what otherwise would have been a perfect take. It’s very hard.

MB: You’ve been performing in Portland on the Kotzschmar organ—well, you must have been a boy in knee pants when you started.
JW: It was in 1956—at the end of my first year as a student at the Curtis Institute of Music—when I first played the instrument that had been given to the city of Portland by Cyrus H. K. Curtis, whose daughter was the founder of the Curtis Institute. So there was a wonderful connection there. And I’ve been back every year since. [Editor’s note: Dr. Weaver played his 50th recital on the Kotzschmar in August 2005.]

MB: The organ is a challenge as a musical instrument—it is this device with so many opportunities for color and dynamics, and yet is an incredibly complex machine, which even at its best seems to be intractable. Is this something that organists don’t think about, they just do? Or is making music on the organ as difficult as it might appear to a layman, seeing all of those controls to be manipulated and the separation between the console and the pipework and all of that?
JW: Michael, I believe every instrument has its challenges. For pianists, the way in which the key is struck is so critical, and a pianist’s hands must cover a large key compass, whereas organs have a shorter keyboard, 61 notes as opposed to 88; and organ music tends to stay in the middle register, so, in a way, that’s much easier. Violinists have tiny strings and a fingerboard, and it amazes me that they can play a C major scale. Violin virtuosos are just astonishing. The challenges of the organ are mastering the pedals, mastering console technique that enables you to draw upon the resources of the instrument—and then also to a very great extent, the imagination that you can bring to bear with so many different colors available. Each person will choose sounds to produce the right color, if I might use that word, for the passage that they’re playing in a way that pianists and violinists couldn’t possibly do.

MB: In the 21st century young organists face not only sustaining the presence of their instrument but actually rebuilding an audience for organ music. I see this as a real challenge.
JW: Yes, it is. Every now and then though, one sees very hopeful signs—one of those being the recent installation within the last five to ten years of a great many organs in the concert halls of this country—something that’s fairly standard in Europe; for instance, the renovation of the wonderful Ernest Skinner organ in Severance Hall in Cleveland, a new organ in Orchestra Hall in Chicago, the restoration of the organ in Boston Symphony Hall, the new Disney Hall instrument in Los Angeles. One could go on and on and name any number of places where new instruments have been installed or old instruments have been restored—to me this suggests that the organ will take, again, its place as a concert instrument and not just a liturgical instrument.
On the other hand, it must be said that concert halls are often not the most perfect, acoustically, for organs. Great organ music was written to sound its best in places with fairly substantial reverberation, such as a large stone church. So concert hall organs are wonderful, and I’m glad they’re being built, and they enable us to do organ concerti and sometimes organ solo recitals. But the church, particularly one that has a long reverberation period, is still where the organ seems most at home.

MB: How would you compare the scene for organs and organists in your day? Was this a peak of energy with that marvelous—some would say divisive, some would say energy producing—polarity between the historicists and E. Power Biggs on one side, and the theatricalists and Virgil Fox on the other? We don’t have quite that type of energy today. I daresay the man in the street, if asked to name a concert organist today, might be hard pressed, whereas back in the ’60s and early ’70s, the names of Biggs and Fox were very much in the public ear.
JW: Biggs and Fox, both of them very talented, extraordinary musicians, had a great advantage of working right at the time that the LP recording was becoming common in the American home. RCA Victor and Columbia were the big producers of LP recordings at the beginning of that time in the early ’50s. And there was Biggs and there was Fox, and these two polarities were represented in the recording industry—that did a great deal for the visibility of the organ and the popularity of organ music.

MB: It could be argued that now is both the best of times and the worst of times—there are far more organ recordings available, representing a much larger panoply of artistry and instruments both new built and historic, marvelously represented—and yet there is so much that the focus is lost to some degree.
JW: Yes, I think that’s right. When it was Biggs and Fox, you could expect to find their names in the crossword puzzle. No organist today has that kind of visibility. Another name that was right up there at the top was Marcel Dupré because of his extraordinary playing and also the fact that he had been the teacher of so many organists in the U.S. through the Fulbright program. There isn’t anyone who has really achieved that kind of star status in the organ world, which is not to say that there aren’t a great many wonderfully talented and brilliant performers. Maybe there are just too many.

MB: Yes, it could be argued that the performance quality of the 21st century is higher than it’s ever been. Do you think that it’s possible with so much talent around for someone to distinguish themselves or do they have to almost jump beyond mere artistry and do something odd in order to be discovered? JW: Perhaps it would be best to think in terms of naming names. The name of Cameron Carpenter who studied with me at Juilliard comes to mind. Cameron is extraordinarily flamboyant, both in dress and personality and in playing. His playing annoys the purists terribly, but certain people are simply mesmerized by his performances. And he is a genius—there’s no question about that. Another name that gets a great deal of visibility these days is the young German organist, Felix Hell, whom I also had the honor to teach. Felix, at first, was famous because he was so very young when he was playing recitals all over the world, literally, as he still does. But now he is taking his place among the more mature artists of the younger generation and plays very well indeed—and has made numerous recordings. So these two are a little bit like Biggs and Fox—Felix tends to be a fairly conservative player, not extremely so but more middle of the road, whereas Cameron is way out there in show biz land.

MB: Presuming it’s something different from that marvelous, resonate low “E” that had you mesmerized as a child, when you play and hear the organ, what sort of thoughts go through your mind? What is it about the instrument that still captures your heart and soul?
JW: Who could not be seduced by the instrument itself? Just the mechanics of it and this great collection of pipes, some of them enormous, much larger than most people realize, and most of them very much smaller. I think when a layman sees the inside of a pipe organ for the first time, they’re always astonished—even if it’s a small instrument, it looks amazingly big and complex. And the large ones, of course, are simply mind-boggling. So there’s something about the instrument: its bigness, its history. When I’m playing an organ, if I’m playing Bach I’m thinking about instruments I’ve played that Bach may have played—there’s this great history and great repertoire, and frankly the sound of the instrument has always seduced me.

MB: How would you characterize your playing style?
JW: Probably other people should do that. I would say that I am in the middle someplace. I probably am a little bit on the extrovert side of dead center, but I also am not one to completely disregard the knowledge that musicologists have brought to us of performance practice, of historic instruments—but sometimes I will just say “this piece that I’m playing on this particular instrument cannot be played in a good, authentic, 18th-century style.” Something must be done to make the music and the organ come together in a way that is satisfying and gratifying. And sometimes that means just throwing the rulebook out the window.

MB: Did you set out with goals? You probably didn’t begin your study imagining you would go to Curtis, and then after having studied at Curtis, you probably hadn’t thought that you might end up teaching there, or at Juilliard for that matter. You’re like a natural surfer who has swum out into the sea and found a fantastic wave and you’ve been able to ride that wave through your career with skill, with accomplishment, certainly with a sense of pride. How do you look back at your career from this point?
JW: I would have to say that as with many careers, a great deal of it has to do with being at the right place at the right time, but also having ability to do the job that is required. I’ve often thought that if I had been five years younger, the Curtis Institute would not have thought me an appropriate age to head that organ department. If I had been five years older, it’s likely that they would have chosen someone else from among Alexander McCurdy’s students.

MB: You have moved on from three prestigious positions and you’ve now settled in what used to be your summer home in rural Vermont, up in the marvelous rolling countryside in the northeast corner of the state. Somehow, I can’t think of you as retiring. What projects have you set for yourself for the future?
JW: The mail recently brought a new commission for a new organ piece—that’ll be one of the things. I do want to continue to compose. I’m playing a number of recitals this year including two that I’m extraordinarily excited about, because I will be reunited with the instruments that I had my first lessons on. One of them, the Peabody concert hall Skinner, was put in storage for about 40 years, and then set up at a big Roman Catholic Church in Princeton, New Jersey. A week later I will be playing a recital on the wonderful Skinner organ at Brown Memorial Presbyterian Church in Baltimore, where my teacher Richard Ross was the organist, and before him, Virgil Fox—a beautiful, perfectly untouched Ernest Skinner that really is quite a marvelous instrument. And I’m playing some other recitals and some dedications around the country.

MB: So, you keep your organ shoes polished and ready to go?
JW: Indeed so.
[Editor’s note: Dr. Weaver has announced that the 2007–2008 concert season will be his last for regular concert activity.]

MB: Tell me about some of your memories from being “on the road.”
JW: The wonderful occasions that I love to think back upon are two recitals that I played—one in Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, for a national convention of the American Guild of Organists, in which everything went the way I wanted it to. I loved the instrument, the audience was wonderful, the acoustic was great. And the other one was the Mormon Tabernacle—a recital I played when the Tabernacle was having a three-day symposium to celebrate the restoration of the organ there. Everything was fun, and the instrument was to die for, and of course the acoustics are world famous.

MB: Tell me about your railroad fascination. Where did you grow up? Mauch Chunk?
JW: Yes, Mauch Chunk, Pennsylvania, is a little town north of Allentown and Bethlehem, about 20 miles up into the Pocono Mountains—it’s in a ravine cut by the Lehigh River, and there was a railroad on both sides of the river that ran through the town. The town is now called Jim Thore, but its historic name of Mauch Chunk has great importance. Anyhow, it was a railroad town, and being in this mountain ravine, day or night you could hear the sound of a steam locomotive. The bells and the whistles and the smell of coal smoke were a constant feature of that place. I can remember standing by the railroad track and holding my father’s hand and counting the number of cars on a freight train as it rolled through. It became a part of my life—a very strong hobby, and we are seated right now in the midst of a model railroad that I’m creating that is 26 by 36 feet and has 390 feet of track in it. This is my last model railroad—if I live to 150 I might actually finish it.

MB: And you had one in your office at Madison Avenue Presbyterian.
JW: Yes, unfortunately when I retired from Madison Avenue that meant the end of that railroad, but all of those trains and the structures and the little people and the automobiles and all that are now a part of the railroad here.

MB: I’m sure the compositions that you created for Madison Avenue Presbyterian remain in the files there for the choirs to sing. It’s too bad that your railroad installation in the office wasn’t kept by your replacement.
JW: In the search for my replacement, a fondness for railroads had nothing whatsoever to do with their choice. So.

MB: What of your siblings and in what directions did they go?
JW: My older brother took piano lessons from the same teacher that I had, and he could see that I was making faster progress, so he switched to violin and became in his high school years a reasonably good violinist—he played second chair, first violin in what was at that time a very good high school orchestra. My younger brother is a wonderful tenor, does a lot of solo work in the western Massachusetts area, teaches mathematics at Mount Holyoke College, has an abiding passion for music and even does some composing—he has been published.

MB: And your parents’ musical backgrounds?
JW: Both of my parents played the piano, my father better than my mother. My father had also studied organ for a year or two, and could get through a hymn—knew how to use the pedals a little bit for hymn playing. My mother was an artist, did a master’s at Carnegie Tech and then studied for a year at the Sorbonne—the walls of our houses are covered with paintings that she did over the years.

MB: With your family’s church affiliation and your being a church organist, it’s maybe not surprising that some of the most lovely works that you’ve created have been fantasies on or settings of hymn tunes. You certainly do respond to the church’s song in your compositions.
JW: Well, I love playing hymns. I especially love hymns when a congregation is stirred to sing really well—that’s a wonderful experience. Very often the reason for writing pieces based on hymns has to do with the nature of a commission that I have received. In fact, almost always when I have composed a piece based upon a hymn tune, it’s been requested by the person who commissioned the composition.

MB: Did your parents live to see the honor accorded their son who went on to great things?
JW: My father was very gratified to live to see my appointment to Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church. It was one year later that I was appointed to Curtis. By that time, my mother had died, and my father was not at all well. My father did not particularly encourage my desire to be a professional organist. He, as a minister of a medium-size church, saw that as being at best a part-time job, which would mean having to do something else on the side, and that’s always a difficult life. I think he was very happy to see that I had the security of a full-time church position that was also in a church of great prominence within the denomination.

Michael Barone adds: When I first heard John Weaver play, at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco for the AGO convention in 1984, I was charmed by his physical presence (Mr. Clean in a dinner jacket!), awed by his control of the instrument (and himself), and beguiled by his musicianship. Subsequent convergences have confirmed my first impressions. John is a modest man of major accomplishments, a patrician artist and persuasive virtuoso who has fostered and encouraged the talents and individuality of an inspiring array of youngsters. He is a musician whose own playing leaves a lasting memory, and whose compositions touch the soul. He’s a guy I’ve been both honored and delighted to know. Happy birthday, John!

John Weaver will be the featured guest/topic of a Pipedreams broadcast (#0717) during the week of April 23, 2007, which will remain available 24/7 in an online audio “programs” archive at www.pipedreams.org.

Michael Barone's John Weaver interview

See the interview here.

Other items of interest:

John Weaver honored by Juilliard

John Weaver honored by Union Theological Seminary

Honoring John Weaver's 80th birthday

John Weaver dies at age 83

John Weaver honored by long time representative

American Guild of Organists National Convention 2014

Boston, June 23–27

Jonathan B. Hall and Joyce Johnson Robinson

Jonathan B. Hall writes frequently for The American Organist, The Diapason, and The Tracker. He teaches music
theory and music criticism at New York University, and is music director of Central Presbyterian Church in Montclair, New Jersey. He serves on the American Guild of Organists’ Committee on Professional Certification. Hall is the author of Calvin Hampton, A Musician Without Borders (Wayne Leupold Editions).

Joyce Johnson Robinson is editorial director of The Diapason.

The American Guild of Organists 2014 National Convention met in Boston, Massachusetts, June 23–27. The weather gods smiled favorably for the most part and the city was a delight. This was a walking convention, so it was possible to get sufficient exercise from transport on foot (and climbing stairs to use the metropolitan trains). The convention daily details (and program notes, written by the artists) were nicely packaged, with each day’s itinerary in a single booklet (all the booklets came packaged in a cardboard slipcase). Information on venues, organ specifications, and photos were presented alphabetically in a separate booklet (which one would have to remember to bring). Though we hoped to review all performances, we did not completely succeed—given the vast array of choices at our disposal, this ambition was unreasonable, but entirely understandable.

Monday, June 23

James David Christie,

Symphony Hall

Monday evening’s opening concert presented James David Christie along with the Boston Landmarks Orchestra, conducted by Christopher Wilkins, in a program of five works for organ and orchestra, at Symphony Hall in Boston. The 1949 Aeolian-Skinner organ, Opus 1134, was rebuilt by Foley-Baker in 2004, during which 32′ Diapason and Bourdon registers were added and the Bombarde division strengthened. The organ asserted itself wonderfully along with the orchestra; it added marvelous color and presence, and Christie used it to full advantage, presenting its range from whisper to roar, as both solo instrument and orchestral collaborator.

The program opened with Guilmant’s Première Symphonie, known to many of us as an organ-only sonata. It was enjoyable to begin the evening with a familiar work in a less-familiar guise, allowing us to hear well-known themes from the colors of different instruments. Christie’s deft use of the Swell pedal was noteworthy in the softer passages, and he withheld use of the Vox Humana until the end of the Pastorale. In the fiery finale, the organ’s upperwork was on display, along with great brass and percussion fanfares—quite a treat.

Marie-Louise Langlais was then introduced from the audience; her husband Jean Langlais’ Thème, variations et final, op. 28 from 1937, was next on the program. It began in the low strings, with chordal punctuation from the upper strings, and a chantlike theme from the organ. The variation techniques included descending, sliding scales (which, admittedly, stringed instruments accomplish better than the organ does), fugal passages, and presentation of the theme by the pedal and brass. The work grew ever more fevered and exploited the powerful sound that an organ with an orchestra can produce.

After intermission, a medallion was presented to AGO President Eileen Guenther, by Vance Wolverton, marking the official induction of the AGO into the American Classical Music Hall of Fame. (Besides the AGO, other recent inductees include composer Aaron Jay Kernis, educator and choral conductor Weston Noble, pianist André Watts, and the Guarneri Quartet.) How positive for the AGO to receive such recognition from the wider musical world!

Boston-area native Daniel Pinkham’s 1995 Concerto No. 2 for Organ and Orchestra opened with an Overture Concertante, which featured much percussion and a good dose of spiky and angular themes that are a feature of Pinkham’s work. The lovely Adagietto was both lyrical and insistent, and the final Rondo alla burla included a crescendo with full organ and full orchestra, brass and percussion a-blazing. Next was Walter Piston’s 1943 Prelude and Allegro; the Prelude was hauntingly beautiful, melancholy yet sweet, in which Christie sensitively blended the organ with the string section of the orchestra, while the Allegro featured lively counterpoint. The concluding work was Samuel Barber’s Toccata Festiva from 1960; from the opening thunderclap of percussion to the lyrical and lovely themes to the pedal cadenza, Christie delivered the goods in this magical work. His playing was skillful and responsive and was enhanced by his elegant console demeanor.

Programs with multiple works for organ and orchestra (rather than merely a bit of Saint-Saëns) are rare; this was indeed a feast.

Tuesday, June 24

Opening worship,

Cathedral of the Holy Cross

The convention’s opening interfaith worship service took place at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. I arrived late (having stopped with some others to assist a conventioner who had fallen), and so missed the prelude (Carol Barnett’s March to Glory: ‘Draw me nearer,’ a convention commission, in its premiere performance), the opening hymn (with Richard Webster’s descant), and AGO Chaplain Don E. Saliers’s invocation. Colin Lynch, organist for the prelude and the service, played solidly throughout, in both hymns and the imaginatively registered anthems.

Libby Larsen’s new hymn tune (another commission and premiere), for the text “Eternal Ruler of the ceaseless round,” was solid, simple to sing—all within an octave range—and yet still contained enough harmonic surprise to be fresh. Matthew Martin’s anthem, Jubilate Deo (also a commission and premiere) was a stirring setting of Psalm 100, and exhibited fine text painting. It was followed by the chant hymn The Great Forerunner of the Race (Ut queant laxis).

Rev. Barbara Cawthorn Crafton spoke of how artists working in faith communities must deal with being competitive, and how to work to be the best you can be while still containing your ego. She also addressed the challenge of striving for higher quality—if a congregation will “allow access to their foundation, we can raise their ceiling.” Crafton also touched on an issue that resonates with many of us: “Tell me that what I gave my life for was not a mistake.”

Paul Halley’s anthem, Jesu, the very thought of thee, was simply stunning; based on the hymn tune St. Botolph, it offered both a bubbling-brook accompaniment (for flute stops) and a cappella writing. The majestic concluding hymn, Coe Fen (“How shall I sing that majesty?”), with alternate harmonization and setting by Richard Webster, stirred the soul. The postlude, Daniel Roth’s Fantasie sur l’hymne à Saint Jean Baptiste (a commissioned work for this service, based on Ut queant laxis), played by Leo Abbott, covered a range of emotions, textures, and sound; it ended quietly on a small tone cluster, and we departed to begin a big day.

Tuesday morning

Scott Dettra,

Trinity Church

Scott Dettra’s recital at Trinity Church was a filling meal of meaty compositions, ably presented on the Skinner and Aeolian-Skinner organs. Healey Willan’s Prelude and Fugue in C Minor, op. 146, was a seamless release of energy throughout. Évocation II, a 1996 work by Thierry Escaich, was a delightful, colorful composition. The piece opened with a pedal ostinato (of a single note in octaves); chords of many colors then spoke from various locations in the room, like birds in dialog amongst the trees. The work ended with a surprise chord at the end. Dettra’s use of the organ, in all its locations (and stamina in playing those ostinato pedal octaves), was masterful.

Herbert Howells’s Psalm-Prelude, Set 1, op. 32, no. 2 (inspired by Psalm 37:11, “But the meek-spirited shall possess the earth”), was a quiet contemplation, sweet and comforting, that displayed the organ’s strings. In Seth Bingham’s Passacaglia in E Minor, op. 40, Dettra once again exploited the spatial elements of the organ’s divisions, as well as its colors, and offered the quietest of endings, with the audience holding its collective breath. The expressive Prière from Joseph Jongen’s Quatre pièces pour orgue, op. 37, was a contemplative whisper on the strings; the concluding work, Maurice Duruflé’s Prélude et Fugue sur le nom d’Alain (played faster than I have ever heard it, but with absolute control) was an exercise in rhythmic propulsion and a spirited conclusion to an excellent recital.

Tuesday evening

Christian Lane,

Memorial Church, Harvard

Christian Lane presented his recital at Harvard University’s Memorial Church twice in a row (with but a 25-minute break) on this warm Tuesday evening. He began on the 1930 Skinner organ, Opus 793, now comprising 45 ranks. Lane offered a swashbuckling opening with Leo Sowerby’s Comes Autumn Time, in which the themes were made wonderfully clear through the full texture. Ned Rorem’s Magnificat from Organbook II and “There is a Spirit That Delights to Do No Evil” from A Quaker Reader were sensitively played; the latter work’s final chord was topped with a single note on the chimes.

The mid-section of the recital included trumpeter Chris Gekker, professor of trumpet at the University of Maryland School of Music, and soloist on more than 30 recordings. Gekker played from the back balcony, first on Alan Hovhaness’s Prayer of St. Gregory, op. 62b, a lovely dialogue between organ and trumpet, and then the solo work Solstice Prelude by Carson Cooman (here in its first performance), a graceful work whose melodic structure featured thirds (mostly), on the heels of Christian Lane’s muscular reading of Max Reger’s Introduktion und Passacaglia d-moll.

The C. B. Fisk Opus 139 (2012) in the gallery was used for the remainder of the recital. Another convention-commissioned premiere by Carson Cooman, Solstice Sonata, now combined trumpet and organ. Take Flight featured rapid passagework by the organ topped by the trumpet, then each instrument echoed the other. The Dream of Peace offered a smooth trumpet line over thick and complex chords, while Glittering, Aglow ended the work with a frenetic and splashy 3+3+2 rhythm.

Lane then presented Jehan Alain’s Variations sur un thème de Clément Jannequin, its modal melodies sounding well on the Fisk; it was for me a highlight of the recital. Lane concluded with Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor, BWV 582, in a seamless performance that changed colors throughout but never let its energy lapse—a fresh approach to a familiar piece and a wonderful ending to a rewarding recital.

Wednesday, June 25

Rosalind Mohnsen,

St. Joseph Parish

St. Joseph Parish, Boston, is home to an 1883 Hook & Hastings organ, Opus 1168 of two manuals, which includes a 16′ Open Diapason on the Great and corpulent, mellow reeds. The room, with its beautiful stained-glass windows and generous acoustic, provided as much pleasure as did the organ and player.

Rosalind Mohnsen displayed the organ’s many colors in a creatively registered program of mostly shorter works, many of them unfamiliar to me and many by composers with a Massachusetts connection. Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel’s Prelude in F Major offered sweeping, singing lines; Mohnsen displayed the rich flutes in Tournemire’s S. Joseph Sponsi B.V.M: Prélude à l’Introït, from the Easter cycle of L’orgue mystique, op. 56. I especially enjoyed hearing the beefy Pedal division get its due in Everett Titcomb’s Toccata on ‘Salve Regina.’

Mohnsen did a fine job with two smaller works of Max Reger: Benedictus from Zwölf Stücke für die Orgel, op. 59, with a marvelous fugal section and harmonic detours, and Scherzo, from Zwölf Stücke für die Orgel, op. 65, in which the Cromorne took a turn.

The works of four Massachusetts composers came next—all either born in or otherwise identified with the Bay State, and all from the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries: George Elbridge Whiting’s Melody (Homage to Grieg) from Twenty-Four Progressive Studies for the Pipe-Organ, which displayed the flutes and Oboe; George Whitefield Chadwick’s Postlude from Ten Progressive Pedal Studies; Frederick N. Shackley’s delightful Gavotte Pastorale, with its gapped registration; and Horatio Parker’s Fugue in C Minor from Four Compositions, which featured the massive pedal reed stop. (Parker, the Yale professor and Ives’ teacher, was born in Auburndale, Massachusetts.)

Next followed German works: Johann Kirnberger’s Herzlich thut mich verlangen, a lovely chorale setting featuring the oboe with tremolo; Sigfrid Karg-Elert’s Abstraction (alla Schönberg) from Dreiunddreissig Portraits, jumpy and dissonant, over a higher-pitched drone by the flutes; Johann Krebs’s Trio in F, recalling a trio sonata of his teacher Bach.

Mohnsen ended with W. Eugene Thayer’s Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, featuring a sweet Andante, and a closing set of variations based on Austrian Hymn, the final variation containing a formidable pedal cadenza to introduce the tune’s last phrase. This was a full-bodied close to Mohnsen’s ably played and satisfying recital.

Wednesday evening

Lutheran Vespers,

Joan Lippincott & Boston Early Music Festival Chamber Ensemble

The service, held in the lively acoustic of the modern, brick-walled First Lutheran Church of Boston, was entitled “A Praetorius Organvespers for Pentecost.” It was led by Rev. Ingo Dutzmann, with organist Bálint Karosi, and the vocal ensemble Canto Armonico, conducted by Ulf Wellner and Cheryl Ryder; brass players were placed in the side gallery. The service was designed by Cheryl Ryder, Canto Armonico’s executive director. The opening pieces were all based on Come, Holy Ghost: the chant version of Veni Creator Spiritus in the Hieronymus Praetorius organ prelude, an antiphon by Franz Eler [from Cantica Sacrae, 1588], motet Komm, heiliger Geist by Michael Praetorius, and the lustily sung hymn Come, Holy Ghost (Enchiridion, 1524). Then followed choral psalmody (Psalms 113 and 104, the latter set by Schütz), readings and a responsory, the Magnificat (alternatim between chant and organ, with hymn interpolations by Michael Praetorius), and a Hieronymus Praetorius setting of Te Deum Laudamus. In the concluding organ postlude, Michael Praetorius’s Nun lob, meine seele, Bálint Karosi inspired awe with the work’s marvelous scalar passages and fiery finish, topped with a Zimbelstern.

All this made me wish that those who clamor for simplistic worship music had been present, to experience how soul-stirring traditional worship can be (even traditional from a century or two before the American Revolution!). It was so well performed and so satisfying to experience. Bravi (or wunderbar) and thanks to all.

Joan Lippincott then presented a program of three 18th-century concertos, accompanied by the Boston Early Music Chamber Ensemble, an eight-member string group led by concertmaster Robert Mealy, who stood near the keydesk for ease of interaction with the organist. The Richards, Fowkes & Co. organ spoke exuberantly into the room and put the nuances of Lippincott’s articulations and phrasing clearly on display. In Handel’s four-movement Concerto in B-flat Major, most enjoyable were the ornamented repeats (which included sweeping scales). The first movement of C. P. E. Bach’s Concerto in E-flat Major ended with a marvelous cadenza, and the second movement demonstrated the empfindsamer Stil with the melody played by flute and tremolo. Lippincott ended with a familiar friend, J. S. Bach’s Concerto in D Minor, wrapping up a satisfying evening of stylishly played works in a splendid acoustic.

—Joyce Johnson Robinson

Tuesday, June 24

Craig Cramer,

Old South Church

I hurried back from the opening service to find a spot in Old South Church, to hear Craig Cramer’s recital. The organ, at its core Skinner’s Opus 308 from 1921 (originally installed in St. Paul, Minnesota), was reworked by Casavant and Hokans-Knapp, and later by Nelson Barden. The church previously housed Skinner’s Opus 231, installed in a still-earlier Hutchings case. (For the entire complicated story of the organs in this church, see the convention booklet. Better yet, visit www.oldsouth.org for an exhaustive account.) The organ’s most notable features include its rich String division, and its 32′ Bombarde (the organ’s thirty-twos are “dotted around the landscape,” as the convention book has it—notably lining the side balconies).

To this rich, intertexual organ landscape, Craig Cramer brought excellent technique and musicianship, as well as a highly original and well-chosen program. He began with a symphonic work by August Fauchard (1881–1957), titled Le mystère de Noël. This work is in the form of variations on the plainsong hymn “Jesu Redemptor Omnium.” Each variation is also a tone-poem on a verse of the hymn, or a sentence of scripture, or a scene from the Nativity. At times brilliant and at times simply competent and assured, the work was always executed with great perspicacity by Cramer, whose registrations were always exactly right, and whose sense of phrase, tempo, and rhythm were quintessentially French.

An interesting unpublished work followed, a tribute by Toni Zahnbrecher to his wife Beate. Titled Introduction, Scherzo under Fuge über B-E-A-T-E, its soggetto cavato is B-flat, E, A, D, and E. The closing material recalled the opening. Zahnbrecher is an organist and music director at St. Willibald’s Church in Munich. The next piece on the program, a Prelude and Fugue on ‘O Traurigkeit, O Herzeleid,’ by English composer Ethel Smyth (1841–1924), was perhaps the most conventional work on the program. Hard either to object to or wax enthusiastic over, it was nonetheless executed extremely well by the performer. I may not have been converted to the cause of Ethel Smyth, but I was certainly impressed with the quality of the performance.

The final piece on the program, Reger’s Second Sonata in D Minor, op. 60, was an exhilarating conclusion to an excellent recital. Cramer made the entire work accessible, communicating the music rather than simply presenting it. The recital ended on a most satisfying high note, as it were.

Overall, the only nit I found I could pick with this recital was a minor registrational one: I felt the 32′ Bombarde, “dotted around the landscape,” to be exciting once or twice, but eventually a little tiresome. The stop is enormous, Brobdingnagian, on pressures varying from 13″ to 20″; and of course de rigueur at an AGO convention! At least once, though, it detracted a little, with an effect like unto jackhammering. Cramer is an empathetic, gifted registrant, and an admirably conservative and well-grounded artist; surely he chose to use the stop because, well, it was there! And honestly, who wouldn’t? It’s an understandable decision; many an enthusiast in the audience was visibly excited by the high-pressure cannonade. I include this observation only in the interest of balance, and to make clear that my admiration for Cramer, while profound, is not facile. Kudos to Craig Cramer for presenting one of the highlights of the convention.

Wednesday evening

Evensong and John Scott recital,

Church of the Advent

The preludes began at about 7:12 for a 7:30 service. Organist and Choirmaster Mark Dwyer played the prelude, and all hymns and service music; Associate Organist-Choirmaster Ross Wood played the psalms, Mag and Nunc, and postlude. We first heard the C. Hubert H. Parry Fantasy and Fugue in G, op. 188. It was played extremely well: note-perfect, with excellent registrations and pacing. It was just the right piece to open a high Anglican evensong in honor of St. Botolph, patron saint of Boston. The David Lasky “Prelude on Picardy” was a meditative work that hewed fairly closely to the hymn tune; a nice contrast to the Parry. It was a commission for the convention, and this was its first performance. The choir sang beautifully; the Introit (by Byrd), the Preces (by Bernard Rose), and the psalms (67, by Bairstow, and 96, by Thalben-Ball) were executed with balance, blend, clarity of diction, and a tone at once straight and warmly vibrant. The hymns, needless to say, were “belted out” by a motivated congregation. The “Mag and Nunc”were from Howells’ Gloucester Service—composed, as the program book reminded us, for the Cathedral Church of the Most Holy and Undivided Trinity, Gloucester.

After Evensong—which surely thrilled every heart in the building, Anglican or not—John Scott gave an equally thrilling organ recital. He opened with Wild Bells, a piece composed in 1986 by Michael Berkeley. This piece, especially as it settled into its thrilling Vierne-ish body and conclusion, was a great opener. It was followed by the Stanford Fantasia and Toccata in D Minor, op. 57. Scott made this formidable work sound easy; right from its soft opening, the piece was infused with a certain lyricism, even amidst its moments of tumult. It was an even-keeled, gracious reading, and even at its most passionate, it was presented devoid of ego or excess showmanship. This was followed by the Frank Bridge Adagio, in a confident and convincing reading.

Next we had a premiere by a young American composer, Nico Muhly. His suite, Patterns, was another AGO commission, and this was also a premiere performance. I was delighted to discover this young composer, who is (like your reviewer) an English major turned musician. His own comments on Patterns are a joy to read, laced with vivid expressions. We have “clumsy cousins” in the pedal; a “perpetual motion machine on its highest setting”; “hiccoughs” and other colorful turns of phrase. Mr. Muhly should write an opera! His work, which offered fascinating rhythmic whirligigs, impressions of crickets (for this reviewer), and a somewhat more orthodox toccata to finish, was well received. In a word, nifty.

The final three pieces were the Fantasie-Chorale No.1 in D-flat from 1931, by Percy Whitlock; the Peter Fricker Pastorale (1959) and the Mathias Recessional, op. 96, no. 4 (1986). The Whitlock featured beautifully-managed registrations; I heard new sounds from the organ, always a thing I listen for in a recital. The use of expression was faultless; the piece grew elegantly, inexorably. The Fricker began on a spooky (for me) note, yielding to a quieter ending. And the Mathias was a perfect light finisher. Similar in style and spirit to his well-known Processional, the piece alternates a very lively solo line with a darker middle section with new material.

Overall, John Scott played a thoroughly professional and thoroughly enjoyable recital. It was an ideal blend of old and new, centered on English organ culture and yet reaching outward. This evening’s worship/concert pairing was as perfect as one could hope for.

Thursday, June 26

Jonathan Ryan,

Christ Church Cambridge

On Thursday morning, I gave a paper at the convention hotel. I hope that future conventions will continue to offer the option of participating this way; it offered a new, enriching, and very inclusive way to experience the AGO. Afterwards, I left immediately for Cambridge and Jonathan Ryan’s recital.

Christ Church is a small, wooden, eighteenth-century structure, with a low ceiling, many pillars, tall clear windows, and virtually no room for a pipe organ. In this somewhat cramped, though richly historic, venue (George Washington worshiped here on New Year’s Eve, 1775), Jonathan Ryan presented one of the convention’s finest recitals. The program was all the more remarkable for being delivered from memory, a remarkable feat in and of itself.

During the program, I found myself struggling, not with Ryan’s excellent playing, but with the relationship of the organ and acoustic. Part of the problem was that the room was packed, and that people kept arriving—a nice problem to have! But later, I learned more: there is almost no room for an organ, and no possibility of radical restructuring of the space. The Schoenstein organ succeeds in part through very high wind pressures (Ryan spoke to me afterwards, citing pressures of about twenty inches in some cases) and even the adoption of tone chutes. None of these expedients can fully conquer an acoustic that tends toward the dead side. As a result, some of the sonorities had to be accepted as the “best possible under the circumstances” variety. This is the fault of no one.

The recital began with the Dupré Symphonie-Passion. Tempo was excellent; playing was clean, accurate, and confident. The crescendo to full organ was seamless and seemed effortless. Toward the end of the first movement, the sense of a singing line was most palpably evident. I wished for more acoustic—even a more humid day!—to give more resonance to the well-timed pauses at the end; these deserved, in Longfellow’s words, “wild reverberations, as of thunder in the mountains.”

In the other movements, Ryan used the colors of the organ to good effect, and with unceasingly varied creativity. This was especially clear in the third movement, where the dynamic and timbral range was as wide as one could hope for. Throughout, there was a sense of clear, thorough mastery of the music, and a clear vision for its interpretation.

Following the Dupré, we heard a Meditation (2005) composed by Ken Yukl, who is married to Pamela Decker. The piece centered on a sweet lyrical tune; my impression was of early American hymnody. There was a nice buildup in classic English manner, which yielded back to a quieter and dreamier mood. We then heard two of the Schumann opus 56, numbers 5 and 4. As the first began, I was struck, again, with a sense of fresh registration. Both of these were played with great skill; one never missed the canonical writing.

Ryan ended with the Sowerby Pageant. Several of Sowerby’s students in Chicago have told me that he loved the Franck Finale, op. 21, and played it often at St. James Cathedral, sometimes for private recitals. I was struck, at this performance of Pageant, by its spiritual kinship with the Finale. Ryan has spent time in Chicago and has internalized the best of what it offers. He made the ferocious difficulties of Pageant seem like minor issues. Jonathan Ryan is one of the brightest younger artists in the field today; his Cambridge recital augurs a long and distinguished career.

Thursday afternoon

Heinrich Christiansen,

King’s Chapel

After Jonathan Ryan’s recital in Cambridge, I got back into Boston for the program at King’s Chapel. This church, marked by Daniel Pinkham’s long tenure, lies a few blocks north of Boston Common and close by Paul Revere’s resting place. The organ is Fisk Opus 44 from 1964. The program was for organ and string quartet.

This church, once the symbol of royal Anglicanism in colonial Boston, today occupies about the same position in its city as St. Paul’s Chapel does in Manhattan. Though smaller than its New York cousin, King’s Chapel boasts some wonderful archaic features, like box pews throughout the space. I thoroughly enjoyed occupying one of these and facing backwards, so I could watch the performance.

Heinrich Christiansen, who has been at King’s since 2000, presented a varied and intruiguing program of music old and new. For me, the pieces that opened and closed the concert were the most enjoyable. Christiansen began with the Pinkham Sonata No. 1 for Organ and Strings, from 1943. A short work, it impressed me almost as more of a chorale, in the French Romantic sense, than a sonata per se. The organ interfaced elegantly with the strings, and the sense of ensemble was generally quite fine throughout.

This was followed by a work by Robert Sirota, titled Apparitions; it was a commission for this convention, and we heard its first performance. Sirota used four hymn tunes, and throughout the work fanned out a range of string and organ techniques. There were glassy harmonics, pizzicati, and various aliquot-rich organ registrations interacting with varied textures and ranges in the quartet. The diversity of textures was intriguing, but didn’t gel into a coherent musical statement. Sirota’s work was followed by Naji Hakim’s Capriccio, originally a commission for the 2006 Chicago convention. This piece might have done with being edited for length, but was extremely well performed by both violin and organ. It was quite amusing and easy to follow throughout—a good palate cleanser in Hakim’s whimsical style. (This is a delightful facet of Hakim’s musical personality, and I enjoyed it a lot.)

Christiansen ended with a Soler piece, the Quintet No. 3 in G Major. Its five movements projected a gracious, Mozartean spirit and seemed perfectly suited to an eighteenth-century church on a rainy New England afternoon. It made the rush-hour subway trip back to the hotel—the only awkward bit of traveling in my entire week—very bearable indeed.

Thursday evening

Unitarian Worship and Peter Sykes,

First Church in Boston

First Church was exactly that, founded by the first arrivals in Massachusetts Bay during the Great Migration, led by Governor Winthrop. From its humble beginnings in 1630, it grew in stature, eventually reclaiming the various congregations that split off from it. Cotton Mather was one of its pastors, as was the father of poet e. e. cummings. During the Unitarian controversy, it embraced the new doctrine.

Today, this nearly 400-year-old church boasts a building in modernist style from 1972 (there was a fire in 1968); its members are very active in the community and welcomed me with warmth. The event was not packed to standing room, as Jonathan Ryan’s recital had been. I regretted this, as the service and concert were certainly convention highlights, models of liturgical music and concert programing.

The prelude, or “gathering music,” was another convention premiere: Embertides by Hilary Tann. These were evocative and effective pieces, playing off the four times in the traditional liturgical calendar when Ember Days are observed. The etymology of “ember” is unclear; one theory is that the word is “ymbren,” which is Old English for “to remember.” Be that as it may, Tann’s pieces were very interesting, and worth investigating. The organ was a large Casavant, in a modern case, in the Werkprinzip fashion.

The choral music at this service was beautifully done, much of it a cappella by a small and obviously very professional choir. The “chalice lighting” motet was by Karl Henning, Love Is the Spirit of This Church, and nothing in the text would preclude its use in other traditions as far as I could see. An anthem by Leo Collins set the original church covenant of First Church; historically interesting but too particular for wider use. The major choral offering was called Prayer of Hildegard, by Edward Thompson, and again was a commission for this convention. For this, the choir came down to the chancel, and was accompanied by marimba for its three movements. The choral writing, as well as the marimba writing, were really effective; the piece was very enjoyable to hear.

Perhaps most thrilling of all, though, was the postlude, from the Liturgical Suite for Organ, op. 69, by Larry Thomas Bell. This piece was commissioned about a decade ago by Carson Cooman and Richard Bunbury; it was quite exciting, a very worthy addition to our repertoire of toccatas!

The entire service was planned and executed with intelligence and care. This extended to the sermon, which was beautifully affirmative of the value of sacred music and musicians. Delivered by the Rev. Stephen Kendrick, it should be read and prized by all organists.

This service was followed by a concert on harpsichord and virginals by Peter Sykes. One of his harpsichords, unfortunately, had been sent back to his studio in error; we were left with the Winkler harpsichord, in German style, and two virginals, an Italian and a Flemish. On this last instrument, called a muselaar, Sykes began.

His first piece, the Preludium Toccata of Sweelinck (SwWV 297) was a beautiful choice. It was captivating, thanks to the performer’s sense of form and motivic saturation. Next, on the Italian virginal (with a brighter and lighter tone) was the Toccata Prima from the Libro Primo (1608) of Frescobaldi. Here, the performer offset the brightness of the instrument with an introspective performance.

The remaining works—the Toccata Seconda (FbWV 102) of Froberger, the Praeludium in G Minor (BuxWV 163) of Buxtehude, and the Toccata in D Major, BWV 912, of Bach—were played on the two-manual Winkler harpsichord, a fine all-purpose instrument. Of these, I was most deeply struck by the Bach. What a Janus figure he is! Looking back to the multipartite works of his forebears, he also looks ahead, in a curious and prophetic way, to late Beethoven. Throughout, Sykes played with a keen sense of structure and motive, and communicated this to the audience. His performance was a revelation and a joy.

Friday, June 27

Morning Prayer,

Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help

On Friday, the convention began with Morning Prayer in honor of the patroness of this historic basilica in the Mission Hill district. It was a short ride on the T, but quite a change of scenery, moving from the polish of the convention hotel to a much grittier urban district. The church is beautiful, with a distinctive white cupola. A peaceful park adjoins, and I was able to rest there a while, having arrived early as usual.

The service was part of the Divine Office of the Catholic Church: Morning Prayer or Lauds. The music was greatly enhanced by the choir of men and boys of St. Paul’s Harvard Square. This choir is truly remarkable, as it is the only Roman Catholic choir school in the United States. The men of the choir are, according to St. Paul’s website, drawn largely from area music schools. John Robinson was the conductor, Jonathan Wessler the organist.

The Introit was the Kyrie Eleison of Ivan Božičević, the winner of the 2014 AGO/ECS Publishing Award in Choral Composition. It wasn’t entirely clear why a Kyrie would be chosen as an introit (more precisely, as an opening motet, as the Office has no introits per se), but the beauty of the setting soon banished that question. Throughout, there was excellent balance of organ and voices, due equally to the quality of the writing and the choir’s training. The choir sang serenely, with integrity and strength, as the piece moved from a hauntingly quiet opening to an energetic Christe, featuring solo work in the organ, and then back to a quiet mood. The opening hymn, “Hail, Queen of Heaven, the Ocean Star,” came from a time before my own religious formation; I had never sung it before, and cannot understand why it isn’t a standard Catholic hymn.

The psalms were largely Anglican; we heard Psalm 63 (always the first psalm on solemnities) by Henry Purcell, and then a Benedicite by Francis Jackson. The Purcell brought many smiles when it broke into its coda of alleluias to the tune we now call Westminster Abbey. The Jackson was sung to the highest standards, with the choir only pushed to its limit on the very highest notes. The organ and choir were again fully integrated, and the organ sang with a full, authoritative tone, rich in reeds. The congregation joined in the third psalm, sung in Tone V; it was prefaced by a glorious incipit en taille. The morning canticle, the Benedictus (or Canticle of Zachary), was set energetically by Scott Perkins, and was another first performance, commissioned by the convention. After the final hymn (all seven verses of “Hail, Holy Queen”) the postlude—Toccata, fugue et hymne sur ‘Ave maris stella,’ op. 28 of Flor Peeters—made perfect musical and liturgical sense. Peeters’s true skill and vision as a sacred musician were fully on display and in context during this stirring performance. All the musicians acquitted themselves expertly.

The recital following, by Thierry Escaich, was at its most arresting when the performer was playing his own works. These he presented with subtlety, flexibility, and fire. The opening work, Brahms’s early Prelude and Fugue in G Minor (WoO 10), was also dashing and exciting. It was, however, risky to program the familiar Bach In dir ist Freude from Orgelbüchlein, as there were some sketchy moments in the performance which, I assume, were unmissable by much of the audience. I was perfectly pleased with all of Escaich’s own work; in particular, his own work on Christ ist erstanden, which he played with suppleness and noble joy. Some of Escaich’s registrations were unusual, at one point reaching an apex of high brilliance, which lingered long after he released the keys; he did not carry this to excess, so it worked well. The last chords of this massive work were stunning and took a long time to die away—as did the enthusiastic applause.

The Romance and Finale from Vierne’s Fourth Symphony were both executed clearly and well; the Finale at a very fast tempo, though with great accuracy. The program concluded with an exciting improvisation on two hymns, Protestant and Catholic: “O Zion, Haste” and the Irish tune Slane. This worked up to a quintessential French toccata. The audience wanted more, so Escaich obliged with a joyful encore, presto.

Friday evening

Stephen Tharp,

The Mother Church (First Church of Christ, Scientist)

The convention’s closing recital was head, shoulders, and torso above every other event of the week. I heard much excellent, even world-class organ playing throughout, but Stephen Tharp’s program was transcendentally superior. Stephen Tharp is the best organist in America; further debate is pointless.

I might have even said this at intermission, before Tharp closed the deal with the second half, the performance of a memorized transcription that will live in the history books.

As a cool evening came on, the vast space slowly filled, including several tiers above the main floor. In front of the awe-inspiring gilded façade was a large screen, in order to project a view of the performer. The camera was situated by the left stop jamb, affording a good view of Mr. Tharp, including his feet.

The program (a Saint Cecilia recital, endowed by the late Marianne Webb) began with the Final of Naji Hakim’s Hommage à Stravinsky. This was a clever choice, bookending the program and foreshadowing the second half. I have heard this devilishly difficult piece played before, but never with such passion and authority. It was followed by an ideal lighter work, the Prelude in F Minor by Nadia Boulanger. The contrast was delightful, and the Boulanger piece, though modest, was not easy, and was not treated in anything other than a serious, professional manner. Great care was lavished on the singing lines in the piece, and they stood out from the accompaniment in three dimensions.

Then came the Persichetti Sonata for Organ (1960). Here, I felt there was a certain invitation to lyricism in the first movement, which the performer declined in favor of an energetic approach. However, the lyricism of the slow movement was brought out just right. The final movement was as fiery and virtuosic as one could hope for; Tharp burned the house down with that one. The cyclical elements of the sonata—such as the identical gesture that opened all three movements—cohered and made musical sense.

Next came the Sowerby Fantasy for Flute Stops, from the Suite. Here, again, I felt that a slightly more relaxed sense of whimsy at the opening would have been nice. However, the middle section was interpreted with a really wonderful, well-shaped singing line, and the rapid tempo of the first theme came to grow on me. Tharp knows how to make the organ sing; that was never in doubt.

The first half closed with the Max Reger Choralfantasie: Straf mich nicht in deinem Zorn, op. 40, no. 2. There was much anxiety and churning energy in this piece, as well as a spirit of genuine religiosity. The performer balanced these exactly right. The quiet, hymnic moments were absolutely sincere and paced to perfection, and the dramatic finale was extremely exciting. Lightning-fast piston changes gave seamless crescendos. My notes for the conclusion read thunderously thrilling. Much, topped with more, topped with most. It was first-rate and then some; the best Reger you’re ever likely to hear.

I spent the intermission in a state of exhilaration (not typical for me!), while eagerly anticipating the great second half which still lay before us. For this, Tharp played his own transcription of the Rite of Spring. Just a century ago, this ballet was a succès de scandale at its premiere. Tonight, while a few might have been scandalized, discerning audience members recognized the presence of musical greatness. There was no score; Tharp had worked out and memorized his arrangement from the two-piano version that Stravinsky prepared for rehearsals. He sat at the console, spent a long moment in thought, then snapped into action.

The performance combined detailed fidelity to the score with idiomatic adaptations, and extended techniques as appropriate—ferocious slappings of the bottom octave, with high-pressure reeds drawn, for example. The lyricism—the frenetic busyness—the earth-bound rage—it was all there. If anything, there was a bias towards the passionate and intense side. Throughout the performance, Tharp maintained an intent, low-key composure, entirely focused on the music. There was no ego on display. He was clearly drained by the performance, and had clearly held nothing of himself back from it.

Never previously have I found myself standing before my hands could come together in applause.

Stephen Tharp’s recital was a triumphant conclusion to a great convention. Kudos to him, and to the Boston Chapter for excellent and innovative planning, and to all the performers and presenters.

—Jonathan B. Hall

Some Sins of Commission

Larry Palmer

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON.

Each one of us surely has an individual concept of sin, generally from direct personal experience: I sometimes describe it as “anything that is more fun for the doer than for someone else!” Defining commission might be slightly more difficult. For the purpose of this narrative, I choose to define the term as “the solicitation of a new musical composition, whether or not money is involved.” In my nearly half-century of commissioning new music, much of the time I have been the recipient of extraordinary generosity: most of my composers have donated their music, while others have asked for only modest fees.

Calvin Hampton

The first time I solicited a composer to write something specifically for me was in 1957, when I asked my Oberlin classmate and fellow organ major Calvin Hampton if he would provide an offertory for a summer service at First Presbyterian Church, Canton, Ohio--my first major (if only month-long) church “gig.” His response came in the form of a lovely three-minute aria, titled Consonance. While not a major work by this important composer, it does illustrate the advantage of choosing the right friends; namely, ones who go on to become well-known, thereby considerably increasing the value of their manuscripts. Equally useful, subsequently such friendships may provide one with material for articles about “what they were like before they became well-known”--a perfectly good academic topic indeed, if one includes the proper footnotes.

Neely Bruce

In the fall of 1960 I moved to Rochester, New York to begin graduate study. There I met the next of my composer friends. On my second day at the Eastman School, as I waited in the fourth floor corridor to meet with my advisor Dr. M. Alfred Bichsel, head of the newly established Church Music Department, a striking younger student walked up to me and asked, with lilting southern inflection, if I could tell him where to find Dr. Bitch-el. I was captivated by Neely Bruce, a freshman who had come to audition for the Polyphonic Choir, a new choral ensemble established for this sacred music area. As Dr. Bichsel’s rehearsal assistant, I saw young Bruce regularly. We became friends, and Neely, a precociously talented pianist and composer, eventually supplied the concluding piece for my 1961 master’s recital Organ Compositions Based on the Kyrie fons bonitatis.

When he left Eastman after that single year to attend the University of Alabama, I was devastated. I wrote sad poems (a la Edna St. Vincent Millay and Dame Edith Sitwell)--filled with lines such as:

Our night for love designed, speeds silent on and on,

And time, which only breathless seconds since had seemed so kind,

Is gone.

Neely didn’t answer letters or write poetry. He did, however, write music, and some months later I received the penciled score of his first work for harpsichord--Nine Variations on an Original Theme. The piece held such emotional intensity for me that it was not until 1979 that I copied it out while on my first sabbatical leave, prepared it for performance, and then gave the premiere the following year. Whatever one may think now of such a youthful endeavor, the work certainly is well-crafted for harpsichord--one result of Neely’s frequent opportunities for experimenting with the instrument’s textures at the small two-manual Sperrhake harpsichord, shoehorned into the third-floor dormer room I rented at one of Rochester’s “organ student houses,” 20 Sibley Place.

During my seven years of teaching in Virginia I played a fair amount of 20th-century harpsichord music: Ned Rorem’s Lovers, the Falla Concerto, the Martinu Sonate. But there I was primarily a choral conductor and organist (and enjoyed premiering several new works written for choir or organ by St. Paul’s College colleague Walter Skolnik and New York composer Robin Escovado). My only harpsichord “commission” of this period went to the builder William Dowd, along with almost half a year’s salary, for my first truly first-rate harpsichord, one of his early Blanchet-inspired instruments, delivered to Norfolk in January 1969.

Rudy Shackelford

Shortly after moving to Dallas in 1970, an unanticipated package reached me at Southern Methodist University. This contained Virginia composer Rudy Shackelford’s piece Le Tombeau de Stravinsky. Since my SMU colleague Robert Anderson was a devoted exponent of wild and wooly new organ music, it seemed fitting for me to take on Rudy’s serialism. I also liked the work, and included it on my first Musical Heritage Society disc, The Harpsichord Now and Then, released in 1975.

Ross Lee Finney

Another challenging work, more thorny than I usually care to learn, is Ross Lee Finney’s unique essay for the instrument, Hexachord for Harpsichord. In four movements (Aria, Stomp, Ornaments, Fantasy), the 12-minute work was commissioned for me to play at a Hartt School of Music contemporary keyboard music festival scheduled for June 1984. Drawing few registrants, the event was cancelled, so I gave the first performance that fall in Dallas, not playing it in the composer’s presence until a concert in Hartford the following year.

Working with Finney was quite daunting. A most distinguished and individual composer, he basically disregarded my several suggestions as to texture, and provided me with a nearly-illegible score, the successful realization of which absolutely required a damper pedal, unfortunately not available on most harpsichords. I struggled to read his chicken scratches and tried to parlay his ideas into something that made sense on a plucked instrument. Eventually I wrote him a detailed letter filled with questions and suggestions for possible improvements, not knowing if I would be ignored, despised, or possibly even removed from the project.

Instead, this generous and intelligent man wrote back that it was all very helpful--reminding him of the careful editing his Piano Sonata had received years earlier from its first performer, John Kirkpatrick. For Hexachord’s last movement, the most unplayable of the four, he promised a revision, although current work on his opera left him little time. When the promised revision arrived, it was accompanied by this note:

I don’t know whether this is better or worse. I’ve spent the vacation week on it and now am so loaded with commitments that it’s the best I can hope for. . . . I tied my right leg to the piano stool so I hope I didn’t think in terms of pedal. . .

Responding to a tape of the first performance, Finney wrote,

I like immensely your performance . . . It seems to me that you have done a wonderful job of projecting the music and it sounds better to me than I feared it would. I like all of your revisions, particularly the ending of the last movement, and I will see that your corrections get in the copy with Peters so that when it is published, they will be included. . .

Unfortunately, this was not to be the case. The printed score from Peters does not present the preferred ending, but rather a more-protracted, rather anemic one.

Herbert Howells

A major commission from the 1970s was Herbert Howells’ Dallas Canticles, the unique Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis composed for St. Luke’s Church, where I was organist and choirmaster from 1971 until 1980. This lovely work was first performed there in 1975. The dedication and copyright of the work, basically a gift from the generous English composer, led to some early adventures in music publishing and the nurturing of professional and personal connections with the American composer, church musician, and publisher Gerald Near.

Gerald Near

Undoubtedly the most ambitious of my commissions thus far is Near’s three-movement Concerto for Harpsichord, composed for performance at the 1980 national convention of the American Guild of Organists in Minneapolis. Gerald, a Minnesota resident at that time, had not been included in the group of composers invited to provide new works for the gathering, so I asked him to write a concerted work for my program in Orchestra Hall. He took on the project, and, most generously, accepted no fee for this major work.

The performance was carefully prepared, with the composer conducting a superb string ensemble comprising players from the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra. The work was greeted with warm applause and considerable affection by the large crowd of attendees. And why not? The piece is very appealing, with memorable melodies, lush harmonies, and an appropriately balanced scoring. Critic Byron Belt, writing in The American Organist for August 1980, concentrated his remarks on the plethora of new scores heard during the convention. Of the Near he commented “ . . . its obvious popular appeal was instantly audible in a splendid performance by Larry Palmer (to whom it is dedicated) and the orchestra under the composer.” In The Diapason (August 1980), Marilou Kratzenstein opined, “The Distler [Allegro Spirituoso e Scherzando] and Near works are both very idiomatic to the medium. By skillful orchestration, the harpsichord part comes through clearly even when accompanied by a 22-piece string orchestra. Both of these attractive works were given clean, crisp performances. It was a pleasure to be present at the premiere of the Gerald Near concerto, which will likely become a favorite with harpsichordists in the near-future.” A future “for the Near” has taken considerably longer than anticipated, but, at last, Gerald’s lovely work had its second performance in October 2004, this time with the SMU Meadows Symphony under Paul Phillips.

Ever peripatetic, Near lived in Dallas for a time, where he held several church positions. When I needed a piece to conclude a program given in conjunction with the Dallas Museum of Art’s major show of El Greco paintings I turned again to Gerald. He spent some time at my house trying various ideas on the harpsichord. The resulting Triptych, completed in 1982, was first played in public at the Museum in January 1983. It certainly achieved its requisite Spanish flavor in the concluding movement, a brilliant neo-Scarlattian romp. Before that Final there are two lovely miniatures--an impressionistic Carillon, and the lyrically Italianate Siciliano (inspired by the composer’s love interest at the time). All three movements are idiomatically conceived for the instrument.

Vincent Persichetti

Dear Vincent Persichetti responded to questions concerning his then-unpublished 1951 Harpsichord Sonata by sending a copy of the manuscript. I loved the work immediately, and still find this first essay for harpsichord to be Vincent’s most arresting and accessible work for the instrument! By the time I was engaged to play a harpsichord recital for the Philadelphia gathering of the International Congress of Organists in 1977, his Sonata was available in printed form. The concert was scheduled to be played in historic St. George’s Methodist Church in the central city, so Persichetti, who lived in Philadelphia, planned to attend, but heavy rain that afternoon delayed him. (It also knocked out power to many venues, causing consternation, and cancellation, for some concurrent organ recitals.) The composer arrived at the church just as my program ended, so I offered to play his Sonata for him after the audience departed. I did so, he made cogent comments (some of them concerned keeping steady tempi and he advised playing the work exactly as he had notated it), and he autographed my printed score (“Thanks to Larry Palmer for a meaningful Benjamin Franklin performance in my own city.” [The reference to Franklin refers to the bridge bearing his name. St. George’s is adjacent to the bridge access road, allowing considerable noise every few minutes from public transit vehicles.]). Then he drove me back to the hotel.

Thus began an acquaintance, nurtured by a Sonata commission from me, occasional piquant notes, or the random, unexpected telephone call from the composer. When he published an incorrect wording of the dedication in my commissioned Sonata VI (crediting Southern Methodist University with payment of the commission fee, an error that I feared might cause problems with some of my academic colleagues), Vincent assured me that he would think of some way to make it up to me. A year or so later, he telephoned with the news that his latest piece, Serenade Number 15, would bear the inscription “Commissioned by Larry Palmer.” “To make it official,” he said, “send me a check for one dollar.” Because this was a time of high inflation, I sent him a check for two dollars, eliciting the response, “How wonderful--this is the first time I’ve ever had a commission doubled!”

It was even more gratifying for me, since I gained two works from a significant composer for a total fee of $502.

Persichetti’s concise Serenade consists of five short movements: the moody Prelude, marked desolato; a quicker Episode; the even faster Bagatelle; a gentle, cantabile Arioso; and the closing Capriccio--made up of a delicato single line, in the texture of a Bach composition for solo stringed instrument. The seven-minute work reminds that, while Persichetti was a distinguished academic, whose mind espoused complicated serial techniques, his soul remained true to the song-inspired expressivity of his Italian heritage.

Rudy Davenport

The 1990s saw a veritable spate of harpsichord writing by Texas-based composer Rudy Davenport. First introduced to me in 1992 through Fr. Tom Goodwin, a harpsichord-playing Catholic padre on Padre Island, Rudy provided me with nine unique works for solo harpsichord or small ensemble with harpsichord. His first national exposure came at the combined 1998 Southeastern and Midwestern Historical Keyboard Societies’ meeting in Texas, where a program devoted to Davenport’s harpsichord writing concluded with the haunting Songs of the Bride, the composer’s settings of texts from The Song of Solomon for solo soprano, oboe, and harpsichord. (Six of these works comprise the program for the compact disc Music of Rudy Davenport, issued by Limited Editions Recordings in 2003.)

Some of my most enjoyable concert experiences have been those involving making music with others, and none has offered more delight than performing music for multiple harpsichords (usually two prove difficult enough to nudge into some semblance of compatible tunings). A Davenport work of exceptional charm, but one not graced with a completely written-out score, is his At Play with Giles Farnaby, a set of seven variations and a fugal finale on Farnaby’s For Two Virginals (Number 55 in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book). Rudy heard this short piece when it was performed by colleague Barbara Baird and me during our 1994 summer harpsichord workshop in New Mexico. His jaunty take on it, as well as the delightful and crafty contrapuntal ending have been an audience favorite on the two occasions we played together. This duo harpsichord work was an especially intensive collaboration, in its creation as well as its performance. Since the divergence of our ways after 1999, I have missed such exuberant music making, as well as the active involvement in fine polishing and editing Rudy’s engaging works.

Glenn Spring

But that void has been filled by the reintroduction into my artistic life of the Denver-based composer Glenn Spring, first encountered at the 1990 Alienor Harpsichord Composition competition finals in Augusta, Georgia. There his William Dowd: His Bleu was one of the winning works. Eventually Spring’s composition was published in The Diapason’s February 1992 tribute to the eminent harpsichord maker. A short while later Glenn’s son Brian moved to Dallas, giving us yet another reason to “stay in touch.” After Brian’s departure from this part of Texas there were years of diminishing communication, a situation suddenly reversed by Brian’s “out-of-the-blue” early morning call from Korea, where he was employed as an English teacher. He must have told his father about this call, for shortly thereafter I received a copy of a 1999 keyboard work, Glenn’s seven-movement charmer Trifles (now a prize winner in the most recent Alienor Competition, 2004). I liked it, learned it, and began playing it in recitals here and there.

A special confluence of friends occurred when Charles and Susan Mize, having contracted for Richard Kingston’s opus 300 Millennium harpsichord, a spectacular nine-foot Franco-Flemish instrument with contemporary brushed steel stand and computer-compatible music desk, asked me to play the Washington, D.C. dedication concert on the instrument. I thought it desirable that Charles should play on his new instrument at that event, so I commissioned Glenn Spring to write a work for two players at one instrument. The pleasing result was Suite 3-D, comprising Denver Rocket, Big D[allas] Blues, and D C Steamroller (honoring the three D’s of our home cities), interspersed with two quiet, lyrical movements (Romance, Night Thoughts). For a second performance on my home concert series (Limited Editions), long-time colleague Charles Brown brought both his musical and histrionic skills to the work, serving as collaborative harpsichordist as well as creator and reader of witty verses before each movement.

The most recent sins of commission, from the year 2004, have included another ensemble work by Spring, Images from Wallace Stevens for Violin and Harpsichord, first performed February 13 in celebration of the 20th season of house concerts (program number 60). Meeting Glenn’s wife, violinist Kathleen Spring, at the Mize harpsichord dedication program, I invited her to join me in this anniversary season, and inquired about possible violin and harpsichord pieces from her husband’s catalog. He responded by offering to compose something for us. Consisting of seven movements, the Images are inspired by short bits of Stevens’ poetry, so much of which evokes musical connections.

Tim Broege

Tim Broege’s score Songs Without Words Set Number Seven, composed for the SMU Wind Ensemble’s conductor Jack Delaney and me, had its first performance by the group and mezzo-soprano Virginia Dupuy on April 16, 2004. The most notable and prominent part for harpsichord is Broege’s reworking of the famous Lachrimae Pavan by John Dowland as each section is presented by the solo harpsichord, then reprised by the full ensemble, heard as the fifth of the work’s nine movements. (This setting may be extracted and played as a solo harpsichord composition).

Simon Sargon

My 35th annual faculty recital at SMU in September 2004 featured the first public hearing of composition professor Simon Sargon’s harpsichord reworking of Dos Prados (“From the Meadows”), another lovely pavan, originally conceived for the single-manual 1762 Iberian organ in SMU’s Meadows Museum, and now, with a few changes of texture and tessitura, effectively adapted for solo harpsichord.

Involving composers in our performing lives is one of the most rewarding actions we can take. For us it provides the excitement of adding new pieces to our repertoire; for them, it is an affirmation of their necessary contributions to the ongoing vitality of our art; and perhaps not least, this is one pleasure that is neither life-threatening nor fattening! I urge each of you to join me in committing some sins of commission in the near future.

Sources

Calvin Hampton: Consonance remains unpublished; however an increasing number of his organ works are available from Wayne Leupold Editions (available through ECS Publishing).

Neely Bruce: Nine Variations is available from <[email protected]> (or 212/875-7011).

Rudy Shackelford: Tombeau de Stravinsky is published by Joseph Boonin (B.319).

Recording: The Harpsichord Now and Then (Larry Palmer, harpsichord), MHS LP 3222.

Ross Lee Finney: Hexachord for Harpsichord is published by Edition Peters (67034).

Herbert Howells: Dallas Canticles, Aureole Editions (available from MorningStar Music).

For additional information about the commissioning of this work, see my article “Herbert Howells and the Dallas Canticles” in The American Organist, October 1992, pp. 60-62.

Gerald Near: Concerto for Harpsichord and Strings 1980 (Aureole Editions 149; performance materials on rental only) and Triptych for Harpsichord (Aureole Editions 02) are both available from MorningStar Music.

Recording (Triptych): 20th Century Harpsichord Music, vol. 2 (Barbara Harbach, harpsichord), Gasparo GSCD-266.

Vincent Persichetti: his nine Harpsichord Sonatas and Serenade 15, are published by Elkan-Vogel.

For additional information see my article “Vincent Persichetti: A Love for the harpsichord (Some Words to Mark his 70th Birthday)” in The Diapason, June 1985, p. 8.

Rudy Davenport: Scores are available from the composer at <www.RudyDavenport. com>.

For additional information, see my article “Rudy Davenport’s Harpsichord Music of the 1990s” in The Diapason, April 2004, p. 18.

Recording: Music of Rudy Davenport (Patti Spain, soprano; Stewart Williams, oboe; Larry Palmer, harpsichord), Limited Editions Recordings LER 9904.

Glenn Spring: Scores are available from the composer at <[email protected]>.

Tim Broege: Scores are available from the composer at <[email protected]>.

Simon Sargon: Scores are available from the composer at <[email protected]>.

A Conversation with Composer Craig Phillips

David Kelley

David Kelley is Director of Music at Concordia Lutheran Church in Wilmington, Delaware, and Assistant Conductor of CoroAllegro, Delaware’s premier chamber choir. His compositions have been included in The Crowning Glory, a collection of hymn descants, and the Delaware Organ Book, a collection of solo organ works by Delaware composers. Mr. Kelley recently began doctoral study in organ at Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore, Maryland.

Files

webDiap0609p19-21.pdf (554.87 KB)

An increasingly popular composer of organ and choral music, Craig Phillips was born in Louisville, Kentucky in 1961. By the time he was in his early thirties, Phillips had won First Prize in the Clarence Mader Competition for organ composition (in 1994). Since then, he has published works with increasing frequency, and has completed commissions for the American Guild of Organists, the Association of Anglican Musicians, several American cathedrals, and such notable performers as the Chenaults and Tom Trenney. Phillips’s compositions are engaging and satisfying, and they demonstrate his understanding not only of the voices and instruments for which he writes, but also his audience. He recently launched a website about his work: www.CraigPhillipsComposer.com. Dr. Phillips and I spoke in February 2008.

David Kelley (DK): You have extensive musical training, including a doctorate among other things, but you were not trained as a composer.
Craig Phillips (CP): I was never a composition major; I did study composition when I was an undergrad, for two years as a minor. Then I was a theory minor at Eastman during my graduate studies. I also studied orchestration at Eastman and then coached with Byron Adams here in Los Angeles. Organ was my primary focus during my student years, but I also had been composing since the age of fourteen, and I wanted to keep it going all the time. I think I was mainly known as an organist, especially early on, and it’s just fascinating that I’ve ended up in some ways much more well known as a composer: that’s pretty much since the mid ’90s.

DK: What motivated you initially to start composing? Fourteen is a very early age to begin that!
CP: I’d been playing the piano since I was seven; I would just sit down and improvise and come up with little ditties and so forth; I decided to start writing them down on my own. Then I was encouraged a lot in that direction by the organist at the church I grew up in, a woman named Sharron Lyon, and then when I started studying organ as well, with Peter Fyfe, he also encouraged me in that direction, so that had a lot to do with it.

DK: The liner notes for your CD “A Festival Song: The Music of Craig Phillips” suggest that your theory background is a large contributing factor to the development of your style. Do you think that those studies really enabled you to grow as a composer—or do you even use theory when you compose?
CP: (laughs) You know, I don’t think about it that much at this point! It’s all in my craft, I guess, and because I studied counterpoint and all the theory courses, there is a very solid foundation.

DK: So do you use theory as a tool?
CP: As a tool? Definitely. It’s really the tool that allows you to look at and understand something of how the great masters put their scores together, which in turn can provide an underpinning and foundation for your own work. That being said, once you have that foundation, I think it ultimately frees you to “break all the rules” as it were and forge your own path.

DK: To my ear, one of the things that I admire about your style is its very fluent and mobile harmonic language. You travel very quickly to different places and move very easily.
CP: Yes.

DK: How would you describe your own style?
CP: Well, I don’t think it’s anything you could put a label on—yes, there are modal inflections and that sort of thing, perhaps a sort of romantic, lyrical leaning. I think it’s really an amalgamation of a lot of my influences: the music that I’ve loved growing up and as an organist as well. I think a lot of the organ composers influenced me to a large degree.

DK: I have often heard a little whispering of Herbert Howells, perhaps, in there; maybe a little Duruflé . . .
CP: Absolutely, others have said that as well. I play their music, I know their music—so that becomes a part of me.

DK: Are there any other composers that have been particularly influential?
CP: Of course—Bach—probably the greatest!

DK: The counterpoint?
CP: Yes, and then I’ve always loved the Romantic repertoire as well; I think that’s also a major influence on my style. And I listened to tons of pop music when I was growing up, and even that, I think, has a certain role in what ultimately makes up my style.

DK: Perhaps contributing to your ability to move from one place to another quickly?
CP: (animated) Maybe! I don’t know, because I grew up in the ’70s listening to all kinds of music, Bach, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, Mahler, Bartók, and so forth, and lots of rock/pop—even film music had an influence I would say, so . . . who knows!

DK: (laughs)
CP: You know, I don’t sit down and analyze my own music that often.

DK: There probably isn’t time for that!
CP: (laughs) This is true, and I’d just as soon leave that to others! I tend to be very instinctive and intuitive about the whole process.

DK: Your organ works are very idiomatic, and they lie under the hands quite well.
CP: I hope so! (laughs)

DK: That indicates to me that you have a performing pedigree, if you will; I have to wonder if you do your composing at the keyboard, or if you do any improvisation—certain elements of the fantasy pieces, the Fantasy on Torah Song in particular, seem almost improvisatory in style. Do you bring those types of elements into your composition?
CP: Let’s see . . . I improvise, but not on that level—I really was not trained in improvisation—I could not just sit down and improvise a piece on the level of, say, the Torah Song. I have to work these things out very carefully, and usually at the keyboard; not necessarily at the organ, but at the keyboard most of the time. But yes, I do think there is an improvisatory aspect towards the way I develop a lot of my ideas—especially the fantasy pieces such as you’re talking about. So it doesn’t bother me if these pieces come off as improvisatory, I think that is just the way my imagination tends to work.

DK: It gives them a spontaneity that is very enticing.
CP: Yes, I think that’s right, and I’ve written several pieces in that same vein actually—some recently—that aren’t yet in print. It seems to be a successful formula for me in terms of organ pieces.

DK: You compose on commission quite a bit.
CP: Yes. I am lucky to have pretty much a steady stream of commissions.

DK: How do you go about tailoring a piece for a commission? I would imagine your own technical ability might lead you astray if you’re writing for a particular audience. Is that ever a problem or something you keep in mind?
CP: Sometimes they stipulate the difficulty level of a piece or specific voicing and so forth. The commissions I’ve had don’t often put limits on me—but I think it’s great discipline to be able to write something that’s very simple if that’s what they’re looking for. I remember the Torah Song fantasy: I think the rules specified that it would be a concert piece, but of moderate difficulty, which is kind of an odd combination—I think I managed to strike a happy medium in that piece.

DK: And that one won a prize.
CP: Yes, the 1994 Clarence Mader Foundation prize in organ composition.

DK: How generalized must you be in assigning registrations to organ works, and how much leeway do you imagine your performers and interpreters having? Some composers, especially French composers, are very specific; many American composers give nothing more than dynamic indications. How do you make those types of decisions?
CP: I have typically put in registrations in most of my pieces, at least as a guideline, but I’ve always told the people I have written these pieces for that they should have leeway to do what works on their instrument, or if they feel strongly about doing something a certain way I’d like to leave a certain amount of freedom to the performer. But I usually suggest various colors or the kind of sound I’m thinking about, and a lot of my pieces do have that sort of French romantic registration ideal behind them.

DK: How much does the instrument at All Saints’ [Beverly Hills] influence—
CP: Oh, probably it does! (laughs)

DK: That’s where you spend most of your time, I imagine.
CP: So it does, I think—the colors that are on that particular instrument often influence what I indicate in my pieces—it’s a pretty comprehensive instrument, I might add! But they can be expanded on.

DK: Well, every organ’s different.
CP: Yes.

DK: I know you have been commissioned by the Association of Anglican Musicians, by Washington National Cathedral, and your works are often performed at All Saints’. Do you feel that you are part of a continuing Anglican musical tradition in the church?
CP: I think I could put myself into that category. Most of my choral commissions have been from Episcopal churches or cathedrals. And the choir that I work with here at All Saints’ is one of the best—I don’t mind saying that I think it’s one of the best choirs in the country in the Anglican tradition, so that’s had a big influence on me, and on my choral writing. We perform a great deal of the English repertoire, as well as American music that flows from that tradition, and I think my own music certainly falls into that continuum.

DK: How would you describe the essential elements of that style?
CP: In terms of the way that I write for the choir, I’m used to a straight-tone sound, and really favor that sound. In the Anglican approach to choral singing there is also a great attention to word accentuation or localized word stress, and that is something that I pay a great deal of attention to in my setting of texts. And as far as texture goes, I use a combination of polyphonic and homophonic textures that ebb and flow—and not strictly one or the other.

DK: A hybrid.
CP: It is sort of a hybrid in a way.

DK: Many English organs are designed primarily as liturgical instruments and choral accompanying instruments, and that certainly has affected many of the composers coming out of those places; do you think that that’s something that you relate to as well, or are you more in that French category where the instrument is more soloistic?
CP: I think maybe I’m a hybrid as far as that goes as well, perhaps leaning to the French side. A lot of my commissions have pretty substantial organ parts—a lot of my choral pieces in general: I like to think of the organ and choir as basically equal partners most of the time, unless specifically it’s not intended to be that way. But, generally speaking, that’s the way I like to treat the organ.

DK: Do you think that there are specifically American traits to the Anglican tradition here that distinguish it from our British counterparts, and perhaps in your works in particular?
CP: I’m sure. I think we take their tradition and make it our own in certain ways, because we have our own unique set of influences—American folk tunes, jazz, spirituals, and popular music. I’m thinking of the New York composers Calvin Hampton, Larry King, and all sorts of people . . . David Hurd and others. I think a lot of that music flows out of that Anglican tradition but is also highly original and very much American, I pretty much see myself falling into that tradition.

DK: Perhaps there’s a little more adventuresome spirit in the American style?
CP: I think you could possibly say that. (pauses) Not to say anything negative about the English at all!

DK: No, no. Well, there’s that classic Anglican restraint, which sometimes we Americans don’t do quite as well.
CP: Probably we’re less restrained. Perhaps. (laughs) I don’t know!

DK: Do you have particular favorites among your own works, pieces that came off particularly well in terms of your expectations when you sat down to write them, or perhaps an organ piece that you like to play a lot?
CP: One of my special pieces is not a solo organ work, but the Concertino for Organ and Chamber Orchestra, which was my first big commission, and it led to all sorts of other things and opened a lot of doors—I think of that as an extremely special piece. Well, I try to make every piece (laughs) something to think of in that way. The chorale preludes are in some ways among the most popular things that I’ve done, and I use those all the time. The Toccata on Antioch, for instance: I sat down and wrote that little set of pieces [Joy to the World: Three Preludes for Christmas] a few years ago, but I use them all the time, they’re very popular, they get played often. Also the Triptych [for Organ] that I wrote in the mid ’90s I use frequently. Those can be played together or separately; I use them separately all the time. They’re quite effective in the service context, and I’ve used them as recital pieces as well. Of my pieces for organ and instruments, the Suite for Organ, Brass [Quintet] and Percussion has certainly been one of the most successful for me.

DK: We spoke earlier about your Fantasy on Torah Song, which is one of my favorites; another I particularly like is your Fanfare. Can you tell me a little about the origin of that work—it was a commission, wasn’t it?
CP: It was commissioned by Pat Gillis, a parishioner at All Saints’, Beverly Hills when we installed a new fanfare trumpet on the organ. It’s a big high-pressure hooded trumpet—it’s quite a brilliant stop—and he actually was the one who paid to have it added to the organ. It was his wish to commission a piece to feature the new trumpet; also it was dedicated to his mother, who was a long-time church organist. So I designed this work to really “show off” the new trumpet stop. It’s basically a rondo with a “big tune” on the solo trumpet making several appearances, and other splashy, colorful things in between. That’s another piece that I think works extremely well as either a recital piece or in the context of a big service or what have you—if you have the right organ.

DK: So, what’s next for you? What’s on your horizon?
CP: Well, I just got today—believe it or not, it was today—confirmation of a commission for the 2010 AGO convention in Washington, D.C. This is for a new work for organ and instruments. It looks like it will be a piece for chamber organ and four winds, probably ten minutes in a single movement . . . the idea is still under development! (laughs) So, that’s kind of a big thing that’s coming up, and there are some other interesting things in the works.

DK: And I believe you told me that you’re launching a website?
CP: Yes, it’s actually up and running now, and has a complete list of my compositions, both published and unpublished, as well as a list of current commissions and other information. You can find it at
<www.craigphillipscomposer.com>.

DK: When you get a commission, how do you decide what to do? I’m sure some of these commissions can be very specific, but others may be rather general.
CP: It depends. If it’s, for instance, a choral piece like what I’ve just been working on, the primary task is to come up with a good text. The people who commission a piece are usually looking for something for a particular occasion, so [we have to find] an appropriate text; usually something in the public domain, or, once or twice, we’ve done things where the text was commissioned simultaneously. So that can be fun, too.

DK: That would be a rather rare opportunity.
CP: I wrote a big Easter anthem a few years ago called On This Bright Easter Morn, which has been very popular. The text was also commissioned and written by a poet named Janine Applegate, who lives in Portland. I collaborated on two pieces with her, which was a lot of fun. But generally speaking I tend to go with things that are in the public domain.

DK: That’s always a safe bet.
CP: It’s a safe bet—less complicated. I’ve set a couple of works to texts by more recent poets—secular pieces—whose foundations, alas, don’t yet allow their texts to be set to music for publication. But they generally specify a length of a piece, and I ponder . . . (laughs) . . . ponder the text or whatever the idea for the piece is, and then just get going. Coming up with the initial idea for a piece, I think, is always the most difficult part—once you have it, and you know it’s right, things begin to flow. With most commissions usually people have a general idea of what they’re looking for. I received one recently through a church and an arts foundation: they’re going to send me some paintings from local artists to look at and then devise a set of pieces based on probably two or three of these paintings— it will be something totally different; I don’t yet know what I’ll do with that!

DK: It will be your own version of Pictures at an Exhibition.
CP: Very much; that’s the idea they had in mind. So that will be something quite different, at least something I have not done before.

DK: Is there anything that you would communicate to a young crop of organists, given the chance?
CP: I don’t know if many of them are interested in composition or not, but I would say it’s good to stay open—to new organ compositions in general, and to the idea that being an organist and a composer is a long, long tradition. Being a performer and a composer was really the norm until fairly recently in the scheme of things, and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t still be that way, in my opinion. Being an organist and a performer and a composer . . . it all works together for me, so . . . (laughs) I think it’s a great combination.

DK: Well, it’s working for a lot of other people, too: they think it’s a good combination for you (laughs) as well!
CP: It’s a good combination for me, but others can do it!

DK: Thanks very much for speaking with me today, and keep up the good work!
CP: Well, thank you very much!

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Craig Phillips Organ and Choral Works, and Recordings
Organized by scoring and title, with publisher and catalog number

Organ Solo
Fanfare (Selah, 160-640)
Fantasia on the tune Finnian (Selah, coming soon)
Fantasia on Sine Nomine (Selah, 160-676)
Fantasy Toccata (Selah, coming soon)
Fantasy: Torah Song (Yisrael V’oraita) (Selah, 160-857)
Fantasy: Terra Beata (Paraclete Press, PPM00431)
Festival Piece (Selah, 160-860)
Glad Praises We Sing (Selah, 160-814). Four Preludes for Organ: Kremser, Hyfrydol, Nettleton, Engelberg
Joy to the World (Selah, 160-815). Three Preludes for Christmas: Divinum Mysterium, Forest Green, Toccata on Antioch
Organ Music for the Seasons, Vol. 4 (Augsburg Fortress, 9780800637507). Prelude on Richmond
Partita on Lobe den Herren (Selah, 160-691)
Partita on Veni Creator Spiritus (Selah, 160-440)
Prelude on Victimae paschali (MorningStar, MSM-10-513), from Three Plainchants for Organ, ed. Lynn Trapp
Psalm Prelude (Selah, 160-875)
Toccata on Hyfrydol (Selah, 160-675)
Tribute (A lullaby for organ) (Selah, 160-682)
Triptych for Organ (MorningStar, MSM-10-941)
Trumpet Tune (MorningStar, MSM-10-926)
Wondrous Love (Fred Bock Music Co., BG0945). 12 Preludes for Organ (includes “Aria”)
25 Harmonizations and Descants (Selah, 160.731). Volume XI of series

Organ and Instruments
A Song Without Words (E. C. Schirmer, #6750), for cello and organ
March for Trumpet & Organ (Selah, 160-970)
Night Song for Oboe and Organ (or harpsichord) (Selah, in preparation)
Pastorale & Dance (Selah, 160-975), for bassoon & organ
Prelude & Exultation for Organ, Brass Quintet, and Percussion (Selah, full score 160-985, organ score 160-986, instrumental parts 160-987)
Serenade for Horn and Organ (Oxford, 0-19-386763-X)
Suite for Organ and Brass Quintet and Percussion (Selah, full score 160-981, organ score 160-982, instrumental parts 160-983)

Unpublished Works for Organ Solo or Organ and Instruments
Concertino for Organ and Chamber Orchestra (1995) c. 13 minutes. 2 flutes, clarinet in A, bass clarinet, bassoon, horn in F, 2 trumpets, trombone, strings. Score and parts available on rental.
Sonata for Cello and Organ (2004). Score available for sale.
Sonata for Organ (1983). Score available for sale.
Second Sonata for Organ (2001). Score available for sale.
Variations on a Kyrie (1995). Concert work for organ duet. Score available for sale.

Choral
A Festival Song (E. C. Schirmer, #5440 & #5441), SATB chorus, soprano and baritone soli, and orchestra
A True Hymn (Selah, 418-624), SATB and organ (text of George Herbert)
And I Saw the Holy City (Oxford, ISBN 0-19-386712-5), SATB and organ
Antiphon: Let All the World in Every Corner Sing (Paraclete, PPM00435), SATB and organ
The Beatitudes (Selah, 410-516), SATB and organ
Benedictus Dominus Deus (A Song of Zechariah) (Selah, 410-887), SATB and organ
Christ, mighty Savior (Paraclete, PPM00538), SATB and organ (alternate version with strings and organ)
Dies Gratiae (Requiem Reflections) (Selah, 440-901), SATB, soprano and baritone soli, and orchestra
Festival Eucharist (Paraclete, PPM00624), choral score with congregational parts, with organ
Festival Eucharist (Paraclete, PPM00624FS), SATB, congregation, descant, brass quintet, timpani and organ
For God So Loved the World (Paraclete, PPM00606), SATB a cappella with solo soprano
Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken (hymn concertato) (Selah, 425-888), SAB, 2 trumpets, timpani and organ
Gracious God (Paraclete, PPM00132), SATB, organ and flute
Great Is the Lord (Paraclete, PPM00813), SATB and organ
Hodie Christus Natus Est (Trinitas, 4502), SATB and organ
The Holly and the Ivy (Paraclete, PPM00018), SATB and organ
The House of Faith Has Many Rooms (Selah, 410-691), SATB and organ
How the Grandeur of Creation (Selah, 410-639), SATB, organ (optional strings)
I Love All Beauteous Things (Trinitas, 4610), SATB and organ
Keep Watch, Dear Lord (Selah, 420-526), SATB and organ
Light’s Glittering Morn (Paraclete, PPM00427), SATB and organ
(A version with brass quintet and timpani is also available from the publisher)
Missa Brevis (Washington National Cathedral) (Trinitas, 4583), SATB and organ
Morning Glory, Starlit Sky (Paraclete, PPM00835), SATB a capella
On This Bright Easter Morn (Trinitas, 4501), SATB, organ, brass quintet
People, Look East! (Selah, 405-103), unison, organ, and optional descant
The Preces and Responses (Paraclete, PPM00211), SATB and organ
Psalm 34 (E. C. Schirmer, 5364), two-part treble and organ
Psalm 84 (Paraclete, PPM09729), SATB and organ
Psalm 103 (Trinitas, 4507), SATB and organ
Ride on in Majesty (Trinitas, 4580), SATB anthem with organ
The Risen Sun (Selah, 420-337)
Rorate Caeli (Trinitas, 4500), SATB a cappella
So Much to Sing About (E. C. Schirmer, #5365), SATB and organ
Teach me, my God and King (Paraclete, PPM00303), SATB motet, unaccompanied
Thee Will I Praise (E. C. Schirmer, #5718), SATB and organ
Version with organ and brass quintet (E. C. Schirmer, #5719 & 5719A)
There’s a Voice in the Wilderness Crying (Selah, 422-903), two-part choir and organ
Transfiguration (Selah, 405-390), SATB and organ
Two Advent Anthems (Selah, 405-146), SATB, organ and oboe
The Unsearchable Riches (Paraclete, PPM00625), SATB and organ
We Walk by Faith (Trinitas, 4611), SATB divisi and organ

Unpublished Choral Works
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life (2005), SATB motet, unaccompanied
Lord, You now have set your servant free (2006), SATB anthem, with organ, brass quintet and timpani
Magnificat (1993) c. 9 minutes, score and parts available on rental, SATB chorus, string orchestra and organ
Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis in D (2003), SATB canticles with organ
Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis in D-flat (2002), SATB canticles with organ
O Light Invisible (2003), SATB motet, a cappella
The Preces and Responses (A-flat) (2002), SATB, unaccompanied
Rune of Hospitality (2003), SATB anthem, unaccompanied
Send forth your light (2002), SATB anthem with organ, based on Psalm 43
Sweet Music, Heavenly Rare (2006), SATB motet, unaccompanied
The Passion According to St. John (2008), SATB chorus, three soloists, unaccompanied
Though every tongue shall spend its fire (2003), SATB anthem with organ
You Shall Know the Truth (2005), SATB anthem with organ

Recordings
A Choral Feast (2001) (Gothic, G-49126), The Choir of Men & Boys, Washington National Cathedral, Douglas Major, conductor. “Gloria” from Missa Brevis
A Festival Song: The Music of Craig Phillips (2004) (Gothic, G-49207), The Choir of All Saints’ Beverly Hills; Tom Foster, conductor; Craig Phillips, organist.
Song of Zechariah: Benedictus Dominus Deus
Teach Me, My God and King
Serenade for Horn and Organ
Psalm 34
Pastorale for Bassoon and Organ
The House of Faith Has Many Rooms
And I Saw the Holy City
Ride On in Majesty
Fanfare for Organ
Keep Watch, Dear Lord
A Song Without Words for Cello and Organ
A Festival Song
Be Still My Soul (2006) (Gothic, G-49251), The Choir of All Saints’ Church, Beverly Hills, Dale Adelmann, conductor. The Risen Sun, Transfiguration, We Walk by Faith
Blasts from the Past Century (2006) (Pro Organo, CD 7197), David Heller, organ. Fantasy Toccata
Burnished Bright (2006) (Paraclete, GDCD 040), Gabriel V Brass Quintet, David Chalmers, organ. Suite for Organ, Brass and Percussion
Easter (1997) (Gothic, G-49097), The Choir of All Saints’ Church, Beverly Hills, Thomas Foster, conductor. On this bright Easter morn
On A Sunday Afternoon (2005) (JAV Recordings, JAV 149), Todd Wilson, organ; Yvonne Caruthers, cello. A Song Without Words for Cello and Organ
Organ Americana (2004) (Pro Organo, CD 7196), Tom Trenney, organ. Toccata on “Antioch,” Prelude on “Kremser,” Fantasy on “Torah Song”
Seasons of Festivity (1997) (Arkay Records, AR6162), Marilyn Keiser, organ. Prelude on “Kremser”
Silence & Music (1993) (Gothic, G-49064), The Choir of All Saints’ Church, Beverly Hills, Thomas Foster, conductor. Hodie, Christus natus est
Sinfonia Festiva (2005) (Summit Records, DCD 436), Paul Skevington, organ; Washington Symphonic Brass. Psalm Prelude, Fanfare, Suite for Organ, Brass and Percussion
Small Wonder (2003) (Pro Organo, CD 7190), Christmas at St. Paul’s, K Street, Washington, D. C. The Holly and the Ivy (arr. Phillips)
Spiritual Pairs (1996) (Pro Organo, CD 7067), Marilyn Keiser, organ. If you will only let God guide you

The Evolution of American Choral Music: Roots, Trends, and Composers before the 20th Century

James McCray

James McCray, Professor of Music at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, retired after more than 40 years of teaching. He taught for 25 of them at CSU, and for 10 years he was the Chairman of Music, Theatre, and Dance Department. He has published 25 scholarly articles in various national and international journals such as The American Organist, Music Educator’s Journal, The Choral Journal, and several others. He served a two-year term as the head editor for The Choral Journal. For over 30 years he has written a monthly column on choral music for The Diapason. He is the author of three books; a fourth will be published sometime next year. As a composer, Dr. McCray has published over 100 choral works. He has had commissions from Yale University, Florida All-State Choirs, Texas Music Educators’ Association, and many other colleges, public and private schools, and churches throughout the U.S. He has received the Professor of the Year award from two separate universities (in Virginia and Florida). Dr. McCray was one of 11 Americans designated for the 1992–93 Outstanding Music Educator Award, and in 1992 he received the Orpheus Award, the highest award given by Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia. The award read “For significant and lasting contributions to the cause of music in America.”

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How did choral music start in the United States?

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear.
—Walt Whitman
Leaves of Grass1

Prologue

Unlike political history, American choral music did not immediately burst forth with significant people and events. Choral music certainly existed in America since the Colonial Period, but it was not until the twentieth century that its impact was significant. The last half of the twentieth century saw an explosion of interest in choral music unprecedented in the history of the country. American choral music came of age on a truly national level, and through the expansion of music education, technology, professional organizations, and available materials, the interest in choral singing escalated dramatically.
It is possible to trace the history of American choral music from its two most basic perspectives:
1. Music that had a functional purpose (sacred)
2. Music created for artistic purposes (secular)
In the early days of America, issues such as food, shelter, and clothing were foremost in the minds of the people. As America became more affluent, the need for greater diversions increased. Music’s purposes reached beyond the amateur, and geographical tastes dictated ever-changing styles and requirements.
Of course the true native Americans were American Indians, but their music remained localized. As an oral tradition, preservation through notation was not a major factor. They and their culture became a minority, and, in many regrettable ways, an unfortunate footnote in American music history. For a detailed account of this true American music see Daniel Kingman, American Music: A Panorama,2 and “Native Pioneers” in Gilbert Chase’s American Music.3 Their influence on the development of American choral music is negligible, although twentieth-century composers have employed some of its characteristics in selected works.
The veritable seeds of American music can be found in the religious traditions carried to the new world by transplanted Europeans. The settlers came seeking religious freedom, but, in so doing, they helped create a narrowly focused view of choral music, which took many years to nurture and broaden. In a penetrating study, The Anthem in England and America by Elwyn A. Wienandt and Robert H. Young, the authors point out:

Austerity also characterized Puritan religious musical expression. While it is true that Puritans have been unjustly accused of a general negative attitude toward the arts, it nevertheless remains that their practice of church music could be sung in unison without accompaniment, and nothing more.4

The early pioneers who came to this country brought with them two types of music: religious and folk. Both played major roles in the musical milieu, but the functional need for church music helped promote choral works. Nearly forgotten are the Huguenot settlements in Florida, which occurred almost fifty years before the landing of the Pilgrims; their music was transplanted and certainly not an original American style. The Puritans in seventeenth-century New England imported the Psalm-singing traditions of the Reformation. Since religion dominated their lives and the lives of everyone in the community even if they were not members of the church, religious music naturally took precedence over that of the secular world. Percy Scholes, in The Puritans and Music in England and New England, corrected the unfortunate stereotype of the Puritans as being universally opposed to music and the fine arts in general.5 Folk music was used on special occasions, but church music was always present. The folk music that survived continued to be transformed throughout succeeding generations, and American folk art prospered and changed during the growth and expansion of the new civilization.

Overview: the 18th century

As the eighteenth century progressed, New England established a more solid, humanized social identity, and it is here where the true “art music” had its foundations. European thinking continued to dominate the music, but because American amateurs were the creators and re-creators, a less professional posture evolved. These stalwart American composers began to create a new personality that represented their culture.
Some of these “native” American musicians are familiar to today’s choral directors, not because of the compelling quality of their music, but more often as an historical contrast to the sophisticated European music of that time. It is highly doubtful that most conductors who program early American choral music do so because they and their audiences are attracted to the beauty and ingenuity of the music, but then that is true with many types of concert music. A high quality level of this music should not be expected—these composers were “Yankee tunesmiths”,6 as labeled by H. Wiley Hitchcock, because they did not have the cultural development and training of their professional European counterparts.
Some of the early American composers whose music remains modestly present in today’s choral repertoire include:
Supply Belcher (1751–1836)
William Billings (1746–1800)
Elkanah Kelsay Dare (1782–1826)
Jacob French (1754–1817)
Christian Gregor (1723–1801)
Uri K. Hill (1802–1875)
Oliver Holden (1765–1844)
Jeremiah Ingalls (1764–1838)
Stephen Jenks (1772–1856)
Justin Morgan (1747–1798)
Timothy Olmstead (1759–1848)
Daniel Read (1757–1856), and
Timothy Swan (1758–1842).
They had professions other than music. For example, Supply Belcher was a tavern keeper; William Billings, a tanner; Oliver Holden, a carpenter; Justin Morgan, a horse breeder; and Daniel Read, a comb maker. Their music is available in performing editions because of the research and effort of musicians in the last half of the twentieth century such as Leonard Van Camp,7 Irving Lowens,8 Lawrence Bennett,9 Kurt Stone,10 and others.
Today it is William Billings whose music receives the greatest frequency of performance, and he has become a standard representative for music of this period. The year 2000 was the 200th anniversary of his death, and choral works such as Chester, A Virgin Unspotted, David’s Lamentation, Kittery, I Am the Rose of Sharon, and The Lord Is Ris’n Indeed received numerous performances in concerts by church, school, community, and professional choirs. Billings generally is acknowledged to be the most gifted of the “singing school” composers of eighteenth-century America. His style, somewhat typical of the period, employs fuguing tunes, unorthodox voice leading, open-fifth cadences, melodic writing in each of the parts, and some surprising harmonies.11 By 1787 his music was widely known across America.
Billings was an interesting personality as well. Because out-of-tune singing was a serious problem, he added a ’cello to double the lowest part.12 He had a “church choir,” but that policy met resistance from aging deacons, although by 1779 a gallery was placed in the church for “the singers”. It was Billings who proclaimed:

He who finds himself gifted with a tunable voice, and yet neglects to cultivate it, not only hides in the earth a talent of the highest value, but robs himself of that peculiar pleasure, of which they only are conscious who exercise that faculty.13
It would seem that problems often faced by today’s church choir directors were also present in the eighteenth century.
Extensive research in the music of this period has provided contemporary conductors with understanding of the style, and background for performance. Two important studies are Alan C. Buechner, Yankee Singing School and the Golden Age of Choral Music in New England, 1760-1800,14 and Dickson D. Bruce, And They All Sang Hallelujah: Plain-Folk Camp-Meeting Religion, 1800–1845.15

Overview: the 19th century

In the late nineteenth century, a group of composers came to be known as “The Second New England School.” They included George W. Chadwick (1854–1931), Arthur Foote (1853–1937), Mrs. H.H.A. Beach (1867–1944), and Horatio Parker (1863–1937). Parker, professor of music at Yale from 1894–1919, was possibly the most important American choral composer of the century. He, like many Americans, had been trained in Europe (Munich). His oratorio, Hora Novissima (1891), is a major work that established his place in the history of American music. After its 1893 performances in New York, Boston, and Cincinnati, in 1899 it became the first work by an American to be performed at the famous Three Choirs Festival in Worcester, England. This resulted in commissions for prestigious English choir festivals and the acceptance of an American compositional school by the international community.
Parker’s music is rarely performed today and exhibits Teutonic rather than American tendencies, yet his influence through his teaching of such noted composers as Douglas Moore (1892–1969), Quincy Porter (1897–1966), and the quixotic Charles Ives (1874–1954), indirectly makes him the father of twentieth-century American choral music. Parker, and to a somewhat lesser degree Dudley Buck (1839–1909), serve as transitional figures from the rudimentary choral music that preceded them, to the more solid styles and schools that came after them. In teaching Charles Ives, Parker’s conservatism proved to be more negative than positive, and Ives eventually abandoned the Romantic spirit and style of Parker to become America’s first great composer.16
Parker, a dedicated musician, wrote in a variety of genres, including orchestral and operatic; however, it is in church music where his contributions seem to be most recognized. Erik Routley boldly states that Parker’s Mount Zion is “probably one of the best hymn tunes of its age.”17 His musical style, prudent and old-fashioned, still represented an elevation in the quality level of American choral music at the end of that century. He had developed a solid craft that gave his music more depth than others of his generation or before. His ability to write in larger forms raised the appreciation of the American composer in the international forum.
The only other truly significant American choral composer between Billings and Parker was Dudley Buck. Typical of many nineteenth-century American composers, Buck studied in Europe. As with Horatio Parker, Buck wrote useful, yet conservative, anthems employing solo quartets in alternation with the full chorus. Before 1870 it was customary to write anthems for solo quartet without the choir, and Buck had a “concern for the differing characteristics of quartet and choral music.”18 He composed in all musical forms and was highly regarded in his lifetime. Wienandt and Young suggest that:

Although Dudley Buck was not a threat to the superiority of European composition, he was the best that America could then bring to the field of church music. . . . The American examples of this period are shabby at best. 19
There were, however, productive and relatively important nineteenth-century composers in other fields of music. Men such as Louis Moreau Gottschalk (1829–1869), Stephen Foster (1825–1894) and Edward MacDowell (1861–1908) were successful in their areas of interest. Gottschalk’s music is considered to be among the best of the century. As a piano virtuoso, he toured Europe extensively. His adaptation of Creole melodies brought elements of the New World into the salons and concert halls of Europe and South America. This paved the way for the acceptance of an American style, which, even today, is very elusive.20
Undoubtedly, the most prominent choral musician of this middle period was Lowell Mason (1792–1872), although his primary compositional contributions were in hymns and singing books. He helped fashion a more refined style of American hymnody, different from the popular camp meeting songs of the time. His vital gift, however, was in the development and advancement of music education. His career reached a pinnacle in 1838 when he became the Boston Superintendent of Public School Music, which was the first such position in the United States.21
For choral music, though, it was the church that continued to provide the backbone for growth. Protestant Church Music in America, by Robert Stevenson, is a brief but very thorough survey of people and movements from 1564 to the present. Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, there was a steady rise in denominations and numbers of churches in America. Each had its own perspective on what was needed musically for their services of worship. Some of the more active denominations producing music of merit were the Methodists, the Episcopalians, and the Presbyterians. Men such as James Lyon (1735–1794) and William Tuckey (1708–1781) helped develop church music through composition, but their choral contributions were not particularly important. The use of organs in churches was mildly controversial in some denominations, but eventually that came to be common practice for most. Part of the problem was finding someone who could play the organ. According to Irving Lowens,

As late as 1714, when after much discussion an organ imported three years earlier by Thomas Brattle was installed in Boston’s King’s Chapel, an organist had to be brought from England to Play skillfully thereon with a loud noise.22
As in the preceding century, Protestant church music was the primary vehicle for choral music in America during the nineteenth century. Much of the music was developed through music collections, and often these publications contained European music, which helped to make them more commercially profitable. Of the composers not previously mentioned, some of the most important were William B. Bradbury (1816–1868), George Kingsley (1811–1884), Joseph P. Holbrook (1822–1888), Thomas Hastings (1784–1872), and George K. Jackson (1745–1823).
In the first half of the century, European music dominated concert halls and other professional musical venues, but American church music flourished. Anthem collections by American composers steadily increased. However, as the sophistication levels rose, particularly in the North, there was a need to have more refined music than that in the standard “native” American repertory. Stevenson explains:

Already by 1850 the American denominations had so drawn their social lines that some ministered to the wealthy and elite in big cities, while others served the common folk on farms and frontiers. Speaking of one ‘elite’ denomination in a course of historical lectures given at Berlin in 1854, Philip Schaff claimed that the Protestant Episcopal Church had addressed itself ‘heretofore almost exclusively to the higher classes of society, and had rather discouraged the poor man from joining it.’ With such a constituency, the music published for use in Episcopal churches at mid-century sounded quite a different note from that prevailing in publications for frontier churches, or even for middle-class urban churches.23

Church repertoire
Arguments persisted regarding the function of a church choir. Some felt that it should be to assist congregational singing, while others wanted a group that had its own identity and quality. These opinions on choir function have not ceased, and even at the beginning of the twenty-first century, impassioned cries of support or lack-of-support can be heard from some denominations and/or members within them. After 1865 churches developed their own hymnals, so that styles of music associated with certain denominations became even more established. Congregational singing always was important, but stylistic differences at this time were not limited to the Protestant churches, and in the late twentieth century, even the Roman Catholic hymnals moved toward a more folk-like or gospel-style inclusion.
In most American churches today, the anthem serves as the standard vehicle for choir performances. As traced by Wienandt and Young,24 its history has been long and varied. It is not an American invention, but its development and use was an important factor in the spread of choral music. The anthem is an English derivative of the Latin motet, and as such was more musically complex than simple hymns sung by the congregation; therefore, more accomplished singers and preparations were needed for use in the service, and that concept has been in existence since ancient times.

The word may be followed back to various forms of Antiphon, a term denoting the category of plainsong sung before and after psalms and canticles. It was the function of antiphons to amplify the text of scriptural material to which they were attached. They were numerous because such scriptural sections were used several times each day. References to the antiphon have been traced from as early as the beginning of the Christian era, but the various spellings, forms and meanings in English begin much later, perhaps not until around the eleventh century.25
Of special musicological interest is the word “antine,” which was used in American music in the early years. Kingman states:

There is no such word in English usage. Baring-Gould, collector of the first versions using it, postulates that it is a corruption of the French antienne, which means “antiphon.” Since an antiphon is a piece of liturgical music, the image of every grove ringing ‘with a merry antine’ is a plausible and indeed a rather happy one.26
As stated earlier, the concept of the anthem was brought to this country. In the 1760s the publication of American anthems by “native” composers (Francis Hopkinson [1737–91] and James Lyon [1735–94]) led the way to an ever-expanding market of this genre. In most churches today, the anthem serves as the standard presentation of choir performance. It became a work of several pages’ duration based on a scriptural or poetic text that may or may not be accompanied and almost always is in English.
In European Catholic churches, complete musical Masses were at one time very common, but today they are rare and generally found only in large and very musically active churches; even then, they may only be used on special occasions. Catholic churches throughout America most often celebrate Mass with brief musical intonations by a priest and congregational singing. Those choirs may prepare special music, such as an anthem, but their primary function is to help with congregational singing.
In many Protestant denominations choral singing is used in other places in the service (introits, responses, etc.). Some do not employ the term anthem, but, even if called special music or some other term, its function is that of an anthem. Often ministers and church choir directors differ on the function of the choir. For many ministers, church choirs are, above all, a help for congregational singing, and the preparation of an anthem is a bonus; for most church choir conductors, the opposite may be true. Regardless of their intended function, church choirs that have been successful serve in both capacities, and, for most people, the blending of these functions has been beneficial.
The rise of choral music in America owes much to congregational singing. Congregational response has long been a part of liturgy. Group singing in worship has been a vital part in the development of choral music, especially in America.
The prevailing aspect of congregational singing can be found in hymnody. Briefly, hymnody was an outgrowth of plainsong and originally a monastic technique. Musical hymns were melodies that were, at first, associated with the daily offices; they most often were Psalms, but other Scriptural texts were used as well. Their use continued to expand throughout the early centuries of Christianity, and in the hands of Martin Luther (1483–1546) congregational hymnody became a major segment of worship services in the Reformation. Melodies popular with the people thrived, and it is in this context that American hymnody took shape.27
Erik Routley, in The Music of Christian Hymns, states:

The American tradition of hymnody falls into clearly defined streams which before 1900 were culturally separate, and which during the 20th century began to influence each other . . . We classify these streams as (1) the New England Style (2) the Southern Folk Hymnody (3) the Black Spiritual and (4) the Gospel Song. 28
The New England tradition of hymnody was an outgrowth of Psalm singing, especially linked to the Scottish Psalter and the Ainsworth Psalter. America’s first printed book, the 1640 Bay Psalm Book, attempted to replace those psalters, and did so for many generations. An important feature of the New England tradition was the establishment of singing schools. The intent was to improve congregational singing, but they also can be seen as an endemic factor in the development of choral music in America, because as singing improved, so did the need for music other than simple hymns. In many ways, the interest in the singing schools led the way for church choirs. For example, through diligent rehearsals in the meeting houses, congregational members grew musically proficient and sought special recognition; eventually, people with training sat and performed together in the church’s “gallery,” today called the choir loft.

Musical literacy influences

Two important early writers were Thomas Walter (1696–1725) and John Tufts (1689–1750). Walter’s pioneer book of instruction, The Grounds and Rules of Musick Explained (1721), tried to provide rules and methods for sight-reading tunes. Tufts’ An Introduction to the Singing of Psalm-Tunes in a Plain and Easy Method was also available in 1721, and he tried to instruct through letters instead of notes.29
Throughout the eighteenth century, singing schools and singing school teachers brought music to interested people. Emphasis remained on sacred music; however, the inclusion of secular tunes became more common. William Billings, the most famous of the singing teachers, produced six tune books containing the robust, energetic musical style found in his anthems. Other later significant musical missionaries who contributed to the spread of musical education were Lowell Mason (1792–1872), Thomas Hastings (1784–1872), and Virgil C. Taylor (1817–1891).

Black spirituals, white spirituals, and gospel song

In the South, hymnody progressed in different directions. Folk hymnody was a rural development that heavily relied on the shape-note tradition; this focused on assisting uneducated people to learn how to sing. George Pullen Jackson has been a leader in tracing the history of folk hymnody; he has authored three books dealing with the music and style associated with this genre.30 The white spiritual was a term sometimes used for the hymnody of white settlers in southern states. Music books for this hymnody often use “shape note” characters to assist in reading the music. There were many publications of music which helped spread the shape-note concept. Some of those that merit attention include John Wyeth, Repository of Sacred Music (1810),31 Ananias Davisson, Kentucky Harmony (1816),32 William Walker, Southern Harmony,33 B.F. White and E.J. King, Sacred Harp.34
Black spirituals were transmitted through oral tradition. The first black college, Fisk University, began in 1866. A group of student singers known as The Jubilee Singers toured America, England, and other European countries. They were responsible for spreading the knowledge and interest in Negro spirituals.35
The gospel song was, as Routley indicates:

Hymnody reduced to its simplest terms, it is cast in the form either of a solo song, or of a solo song with refrain, and this it has in common with the Black Spiritual.36

This style of hymnody grew out of the revivals that were particularly popular in the South in the nineteenth century. Evangelistic music existed in the 1730s and is associated with Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758), but the true gospel songs became a formidable style around 1859. Typically, they sustain one chord for an entire measure and remain restricted to the three basic triads of tonic, subdominant, and dominant. This permitted strong rhythmic fluctuations and improvisation, which helped generate and intensify the emotional drive, a primary feature of evangelistic denominations. Whereas the other three streams of hymnody (New England style, Southern folk hymnody, and Black spiritual) have roots in foreign cultures, gospel music seems to be an American contribution.
One of many religious groups that came to America and developed a music for their denomination was the Shakers, although this folk-like music was unison, not harmonized, and unaccompanied, and not pure choral music. Possibly the most important may have been the Moravian tradition, which dates from the fifteenth century and is rich in a choral heritage. These people settled in Pennsylvania before 1740 and established communities such as Bethlehem, Lititz, and Nazareth; by 1783 they had expanded south to North Carolina. Donald M. McCorkle, director and editor-in-chief of the Moravian Music Foundation suggests that:
Most of the early Moravian composers were clergymen who wrote music apparently as easily as they did sermons. . . . The anthems and songs created by the Moravians were influenced primarily by contemporary musical trends of Central Europe. Since most of the choral and vocal music by American Moravians is conceived for mixed voices accompanied by instruments, it is quite different both in structure and content from other sacred music written in 18th-century America.37

Their musical past has been preserved and made available through definitive editions released under the title Moramus Editions. Three of the more significant American composers were John Antes (1740–1811), Johann Friedrich Peter (1746–1813), and Johannes Herbst (1735–1812). Peter, perhaps the most outstanding of the Moravian composers, wrote over 100 anthems and arias, as well as six string quintets in 1789, which may be the earliest extant examples of American chamber music. Antes composed twenty-five sacred anthems and twelve chorales, and possibly made the earliest violin in America in 1759.

New secular directions

Less dominant influences on the growth of choral music in America may be seen in the development of secular organizations and events. A product of the singing schools, for example, was the formation of music clubs. Organizations such as the Stoughton Musical Society developed by 1786 and Boston’s Handel and Haydn Society, which began in 1815, did much to stimulate interest in choral singing. Often competitions between organizations were held, which encouraged improvements in quality.
In the nineteenth century, conventions and fairs were held, and they helped promote choral singing in America. Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore (1829–1892), through his Peace Jubilees, promoted gigantic mass performances by choirs of 10,000! These festivals involved enormous bands and orchestras; a structure was built to house an audience of 50,000. Villages and towns throughout New England filled their quotas of singers, and each had a local leader who had been instructed in the tempos so that everyone was well prepared when they met together to perform.
There were world’s fairs held in Philadelphia in 1876 and Chicago in 1893, and singing played an important part at these international events. For the centennial, new choral works were commissioned from John Knowles Paine (A Centennial Hymn, text by John Greenleaf Whittier) and Dudley Buck (The Centennial Meditation of Columbia, text by Sidney Lanier). Chicago’s 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition (which presented 36 choral concerts) featured music performed by some of the younger American composers, including G.W. Chadwick, Edward MacDowell, and Arthur Foote. Female composers were represented in a concert heralding the opening of the Woman’s Building, including music by Mrs. H.H.A. Beach.38
Another important development that fostered choral singing in America was the establishment of music schools and conservatories. Oberlin College had a Chair of Sacred Music in 1835. The first music courses at America’s oldest institution, Harvard College, were not offered until 1862. Other beginnings of note were: 1865, Oberlin Music Conservatory; 1867, New England Conservatory of Music; 1867, Cincinnati Conservatory of Music and the Chicago Musical College. These American schools did not eliminate the continuing process of seeking a European musical education, but as they grew in quality and numbers, they made a musical education more accessible.39
Social amusements were the initial reasons for the development of singing on college campuses. Glee clubs were formed, which performed local concerts for friends, and later they toured to sing for alumni. Eventually, more sophisticated groups developed; they performed the standard European favorites by Handel, Haydn, Mozart, and others. Probably the earliest official ensemble was the University Choral Union of the University of Michigan in 1879. Northwestern University, in 1906, was the first school to have an “a cappella” choir—Peter Lutkin, dean of the music school at Northwestern University, founded the Northwestern A Cappella Choir.40
Availability of music was an important factor in helping to encourage music in America. Some noteworthy landmarks in the publishing of music included the 1698 ninth edition of the Bay Psalm Book, which contained the first music printed in New England, and the 1761 James Lyon collection Urania, which was the first published setting of Psalms and hymns by a native-born American. Lyon was also active in the establishment of the first public subscription concerts in Philadelphia, and in other early musical ventures.
John S. Dwight (1813–1893) was not a composer, but his work in advancing standards of excellence was important. He was America’s first music critic and editor of the first significant music journal, Dwight’s Journal of Music (1852–1881).
Opera and instrumental music also influenced the growth of choral music in America. While these genres did not have the benefit of the church to encourage their evolution and maturation, they were able to secure ongoing support from individual citizens. Most of the music before the middle of the nineteenth century was European; orchestras had been formed, but they performed repertoire by continental composers. By 1876 subscription concerts had begun in Philadelphia. It was common for orchestras (and opera singers) from Europe to tour in this country, and they too, perpetuated the standard works by recognized European composers.
Theodore Thomas (1835–1905) was an avid young conductor who did much to advance the professional American orchestra. His Theodore Thomas Orchestra, founded in 1862, toured for many years; in Chicago, Thomas’s orchestra gained a permanent home and evolved into today’s Chicago Symphony Orchestra. His pioneering helped encourage the formation of major professional orchestras, and before 1900 there were ensembles in St. Louis, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and other large cities. Most relied heavily on benefactors who subsidized them financially. Wealthy families such as the Vanderbilts, the Rockefellers, and the Morgans were vital to the development of professional orchestras needed to provide opportunities for the performance of large-scale choral works.41
Opera also depended on the contributions of rich patrons. The public in the nineteenth century had come to opera from a background in minstrelsy, so cultivation of understanding was slow. Even today opera remains a genre that has less universal appeal than many other musical forms. By the end of the nineteenth century, however, there were major opera houses in operation. They brought European performers to the States, which helped develop an established audience. In comparison with other major musical genres such as orchestral, choral, or chamber music, the number of composers who write in this medium remains limited. Cost, technical requirements, and available performances are restrictive factors that have not successfully encouraged a corresponding growth to this vocal art form, yet it did have a modicum of influence on the growth of choral singing.

Summary
The commentary above is a brief examination of some of the events involved in the establishment and evolution of American choral music. There certainly were many other elements that could be pursued in a discussion of this type, but space does not permit a more detailed survey. America is a blend of heterogeneous cultures, and throughout the entire history of the country, people from other places have continued to come to her shores; they brought with them religious, artistic, and social elements of their past, but the most significant factor in any study on the evolution of American choral music must be the influence of the church.
Clearly, choral music began primarily because it was needed in religious ceremonies. In essence, the history of American choral music can be traced through the expansion of musical settings of liturgical words into the secular arena. The twentieth century saw a profound growth of choral singing.
The church, which was the overriding force in the development of choral singing, is now somewhat less influential. In today’s society, one of the controversial issues in the choral field is whether to include sacred music as part of the repertoire of public school ensembles; this is a reflection of that secular expansion, even though a vast majority of quality choral works are based on sacred texts. This change of attitude is a reversal of the past. Singing schools were formed to help people learn to sing religious music, but beginning in the middle of the twentieth century some school systems or administrations began forcefully working to keep music with religious texts from being performed.
Nevertheless, the church remains an important advocate for music, especially choral, yet its interest in styles has seen a rapid shift during the past few decades. That shift has reduced the quality and amount of choral singing, as may be seen in the number of people in church congregations and ultimately church choirs. The church gave impetus to choral singing in this country, and today still is responsible for a large portion of choral performances, as well as the creation of new music. The difference is that it is not the primary leader in the proliferation of choral music, only an equal partner at best.
America was founded on the need and search for freedom in both religious and secular arenas. The church continues to evolve in society, and therefore its music, which has always been an important element, will also evolve. The same may be said for the secular side of society in which music is a vital component. The confluence of the two main forces (sacred/secular) will continue to be a major factor in the development of choral music in the twenty-first century, but the swing away from significant sacred choral music probably will increase just as it did in the twentieth century.

A recording of William Billings' David's Lamentation

Other choral items of interest:

The Cathedral of St. John Celebrates Ten Years of Cathedral Commissions

Fela Sowande: The Legacy of a Nigerian Music Legend

The Carol and Its Context in Twentieth-century England

American choral music available online from Library of Congress

Daniel Pinkham (1923–2006): A Memoir

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Sources

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The Evolution of American Choral Music: Roots, Trends, and Composers before the 20th Century

How did choral music start in the United States?

Prologue

Overview: the 18th century

Overview: the 19th century

Musical literacy influences

Black spirituals, white spirituals, and gospel song

New secular directions

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