Fernando Herbella, Debora Gallegos, and Diego Adão have published a new ebook, The Secrets Behind Bach’s Notes: A fabulous biography of Johann Sebastian Bach.
The book looks to show the story of this composer through a technical text based on biographical and historical data, interspersed with an investigative novel.
The book is available for download to Kindle for $3.50 at: www.amazon.com.
Michael Gailit graduated from the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna with both performance and pedagogy diplomas in organ as well as in piano. Teaching piano at this institute since 1980, he has also conducted the organ studio at the Musik und Kunst Universität in Vienna since 1995. As church organist he served at Saint Augustine’s Church, 1979–2008; in 2011 he was appointed organist at the Jesuit Church (Old University Church).
Both in his performance and teaching repertoire, Gailit includes all style areas on the basis of their individual performance practices. He has toured with solo recitals on both instruments in Europe as well as in North America and appeared with leading orchestras and renowned conductors. Recordings, masterclasses, invitations to juries, musicological publications, editing sheet music, compositions, arrangements, supporting the piano-organ duo repertoire, commissioned works, first performances, and finally occasional trips into the theatre and silent movie repertoire should be noted.
Particular attention was received in 1989 for the first performance of the complete piano and organ works of Julius Reubke (1834–1858), the performance of the complete organ works of Franz Schmidt (1874–1939) the same year, as well as in September 2005 a series of six recitals with the trio sonatas of Johann Sebastian Bach, the organ sonatas of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, and the organ symphonies of Louis Vierne. Currently Gailit is working on a book, The Enigma BWV 565, a study elucidating new answers and new questions.
Editor’s note: Part 1 of this series appeared in the June 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 18–19; part 2 appeared in the July 2021 issue, pages 12–14; part 3 appeared in the December 2021 issue, pages 16–18; part 4 appeared in the August 2022 issue, pages 15–17; part 5 appeared in the September 2022 issue, pages 19–21.
Before we introduce the most promising candidate for the vacant position of the composer of BWV 565, the author would like to mention two of his recent discoveries.1 We have observed that the ending of the toccata section contains the second phrase of the opening in the pedal.2 It was a surprise to find that the section also contains the first phrase! Pitch notation reveals that, from the second half of measure 27 onward, the nine notes of the top voice are the nucleus, just in a different order and with larger note values (Example 79).
The second discovery concerns the upper voice of measure 98. After a chain of eighth notes with ties, not only is the E-flat repeated, but also its accidental (Example 80). Until now, this has always been interpreted as a missing tie, and editors customarily replaced the two eighth notes by a quarter note. However, it does not seem conclusive that the copyist both forgot the tie and, against custom, repeated the accidental. Changing the first E-flat to E-natural results in a complete chromatic fourth moving parallel with the lower voice (Example 81). In addition, the natural of the preceding note F in the manuscript shows how easily a clumsy natural can be misread as a flat.
Leaving aside these two recent motivic discoveries and returning now to our quest for the “Unknown of BWV 565,” let us consider a statement by Rolf Dietrich Claus:
We owe the only reference to Johann Sebastian Bach as the author of BWV 565 to [the manuscript copy of] Johannes Ringk. The only other evidence for Bach’s authorship is the “authentication by tradition” and the argument: “who else could it have been?” Since the latter two do not contribute to a factual assessment of the question of authenticity, they remain undiscussed here.3
This statement of Rolf Dietrich Claus has been the author’s primary motivation to investigate the case of BWV 565. There are only two possibilities regarding the creator. Either we already know or we do not know the composer. The latter is hardly imaginable although there are composers who sadly died early and left only one major piece to posterity. Looking for a known composer, a candidate takes the stage, whose keyboard works show an inventive approach in general and convincing similarities to BWV 565 in particular.
The Unknown now becomes a person. Our suspect surpassed his father in fame beyond his lifetime as a keyboard virtuoso, a renowned teacher, a prolific composer, an avid publisher of his own works, and an esteemed chamber musician to Frederick II. He had a tremendous influence on Joseph Haydn (1732–1809), who was to become the father of the Viennese Classical style. We are talking of course about Johann Sebastian Bach’s second oldest son, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (1714–1788). Hardly any information has survived about the relationship between C. P. E. Bach and Haydn other than this telling story:
In a happy hour, in which his cash register allowed him a small extra expenditure, he visited one of those booksellers whose treasures he had so often only been able to admire in the display windows. We will not deny ourselves the assumption that he remembered his former neighbor Binz and directed his steps to his vault at the Stephan Cemetery. At his request to present him with the best known piano works of the moment, the bookseller took out a booklet of sonatas by C. Ph. Emanuel Bach and praised them so forcefully that Haydn paid without further ado, packed up the booklet, and hurried towards his attic. “I could not get away from my piano until I had played through the sonatas.”4
At the internet website cpebach.org, the Packard Humanities Institute of Los Altos, California, recently published all of the compositions of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach in an excellent urtext edition accompanied by a critical report. Since we know the year of completion or publication of all of the more than 150 keyboard sonatas, we are able to observe and follow the compositional development of the composer.
Placed among Johann Sebastian’s keyboard works, the visual impression of BWV 565 alone is jarringly different. The opposite is true with Carl Philipp’s late keyboard works. Among them, BWV 565 gives the impression of ready-made merchandise rather than provocative haute couture. The esteemed reader is invited to browse through the nearly 800 pages of keyboard solo sonatas. It is a truly unique experience. For this article, only the most relevant examples were selected. Apart from textures similar to those in BWV 565, the guideline for the search was to look for opening themes fulfilling these three conditions:
• beginning on the dominant note;
• descent of five scale steps to the tonic note;
• ending on the mordent motive with the leading tone as the lower neighbor note.
Carl Philipp’s first keyboard sonata provides an appropriate example to get started. Indebted to the Baroque style with its imitation work in general and to his father’s Invention in F Major, BWV 779, this piece contains quite a few motives also present in BWV 565. The descending tetrachord and its circolo mezzo5 variant is reworked with genuine keyboard figurations. In measures 10 and 11, the sequences twice cite all nine notes of the nucleus of BWV 565, which also provides the substance for the opening of the second movement (Example 82).
On the other hand, in Johann Sebastian’s keyboard music, organ or harpsichord, a theme of five descending scale steps plus a closing mordent motive simply does not exist at all, with the single exception of a theme in the Pastorale in F Major, BWV 590 (Example 83).
The step-wise descending fifth can be encountered in Carl Philipp’s keyboard music numerous times and in many variations, just as we also encounter many unison passages, figurations with arpeggio chords, and sections with alternately played hands. From the very first one, all sonata movements bear tempo designations, and some movements several. The Sonata in B Minor, Wq 49/6,6 third movement, reworks a theme very similar to the BWV 565 theme. An ornamented version of its first movement resembles the beginning of BWV 565 as well, as does the first movement of the Sonata in C Minor, Wq 50/6, of 1759. The Fantasia in D Minor, Wq 114/7, shares four beats with the identical figuration in BWV 565 (Example 84).
The Sonata in A Minor, Wq 57/2, first movement, places the main idea in three different octave positions. The third movement, “Allegro di molto,” varies the motive in three descending phrases (Example 85).
Carl Philipp’s Rondo in C Major, Wq 56/1, fills sections with triad figurations in unison, strongly resembling those in measures 8 through 10 of BWV 565. The given dynamics in the Rondo passage inspires one to vary registrations and manual changes in the toccata (Example 86).
The closing of the Fantasy in F Major, Wq 59/5, resembles the beginning of BWV 565 in more than one section. The main motive appears in three different octave positions,7 followed by ascending broken chords, a unison passage, and a chord phrase in figured-bass style. The dominant-seventh chord on E-flat jumps out of the composer’s surprise box. Serving as a subdominant and pivot, it sits in the exact midpoint of the chord phrase (Example 87).
The arpeggios from the Rondo in A Minor, Wq 56/5, show the practice of repeating each harmony twice (Example 88).
In his late sonata movements Carl Philipp Emanuel also developed a certain predilection for chord tremolos, such as in the left hand of the passage from Sonata in B-flat Major, Wq 59/3, a playing style similar to the trill cadenza in BWV 565 on the diminished-seventh chord in measures 22 through 27 (Example 89).
We have no proof as to how Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach was connected with Toccata and Fugue ex d, BWV 565. The examples show, however, that there must have been some connection. At any rate, BWV 565 is still a Bach’s toccata, but the question “Who else could it have been?” strongly suggests the answer is Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Certainly, without further evidence, the field remains open for speculation. Do the similarities between BWV 565 and Carl Philipp’s keyboard pieces prove him as the innovative composer of the post-Baroque revolutionary organ piece? Or do they prove him as an avid plagiarizer? Carl Philipp burned his own works, which he did not want distributed, on a large scale in 1786.8 Did one of his students secretly copy the piece before?
BWV 565 requires a bottom C-sharp in measure 2, rarely found in organs of Johann Sebastian Bach’s time. This fact has caused some speculation about instruments possibly connected to BWV 565. Related to this question, two organs remain unnoticed thus far. They were commissioned in 1755 and 1776 by the youngest sister of Frederick II, princess Anna Amalia of Prussia (1723–1787). Both were built with full compasses on all manuals and pedal. The first one still exists and is now located in the Kirche Zur frohen Botschaft (Church of the Good News) in Berlin-Karlshorst. Kristian Wegscheider and his team completed a careful restoration of this sonorous instrument in 2010. It is hard to describe how thrilling BWV 565 sounds on this organ. The missing bottom C-sharp, however, did not stop organists from playing the piece in concert. According to reviews in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, BWV 565 was played on the organ at Saint Mary’s Church in Berlin in 18179 and 1829,10 the very first evidence of public performances—and on an instrument without a bottom C-sharp.
The quest needs to continue. The efforts of libraries and other institutions are most helpful to make sources digitally available worldwide.
• Motivic-thematic work. Far more significant than both questions of authorship and date of composition is the undeniable fact that BWV 565 is a motivic-thematic work. Until now, the development of this technique had been attributed to Joseph Haydn (1732–1809). BWV 565 is lifted now to the unique status of being the very first significant composition in music history using this technique.
• Post-Baroque revolution. The author introduced this term to compensate for a lacking general designation of the time period between the Baroque and the Viennese Classical periods. BWV 565 shows a significant number of essential features of this style.
• Cantata BWV 202. Due to divergent handwriting in comparable sources, the date of 1730, shown on the title page of the cantata, cannot be used conclusively.
• Johannes Ringk. From eighteen manuscript sources marked with the name of Ringk as the scribe, a total of eight manuscripts show conformity with the signature font and other features. This body truly represents the scribe Johannes Ringk. The remaining ten manuscripts, including that of BWV 565, have a number of congruences among themselves as well, but none of them in use by Ringk. It can be said securely that the scribe of the earliest source of BWV 565 was definitely not Johannes Ringk.
• Johann Sebastian Bach. Internal evidence suggests that the question “Who else?” turns naturally to Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Adolf Berhard Marx (1795–1866), the leading music theorist of his time, published BWV 565 under Johann Sebastian Bach’s name with Breitkopf & Härtel in 1833. He mentioned his doubts about authenticity, however, in the Berlin music journal Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung several times. Subsequently, Friedrich Griepenkerl (1782–1849) opened a wordy battle in this journal. His edition of Bach’s organ works with Edition Peters in 1845 claimed to be based on authentic sources. Regardless of this vivid dispute, both Marx and Griepenkerl had the same goal—to save a great piece for posterity that would have otherwise been lost forever. It was Griepenkerl who said:
In addition, I do not a have a bad conscience about including an inauthentic piece. One stroke through it, and the matter is settled. The buyer loses nothing, but gains another good piece.11
Marx had obviously discovered the true nature of BWV 565:
My doubt is not based on documents or their lack, but on the content of the work, which from the first to the last note does not seem to me to be written in the spirit, according to Bach’s artistic principle or system, but rather to bear the marks of the attenuated post-Bach’s period. I would not be at a loss to defend this view at length if the patience of the readers and the space of a newspaper did not impose considerations. Whoever is familiar with the many discussions of Bach in my works . . . will in any case not need any further proof. Or, if it is desired, I will give it occasionally.12
Marx was never asked for proof. Nothing stopped BWV 565 from starting its world career under the name of Johann Sebastian Bach. Unraveling the true nature of the composition indeed required an undue amount of time and space. The author is grateful to The Diapason and its editors for patience and enthusiasm in publishing this survey.
Notes
1. Pianist-musicologist Dr. John Strauss of Luther College, Decorah, Iowa, was of invaluable help in providing dedicated advice and assistance to the author in the completion of this text.
2. Michael Gailit, “Exploring the unknown of BWV 565, Part 2” The Diapason, July 2021, pages 12–14, Example 26.
3. Rolf Dietrich Claus, Zur Echtheit von Toccata und Fuge d-Moll BWV 565, second edition (Köln-Rheinkassel: Dohr, 1998), 11.
4. Carl Ferdinand Pohl, Joseph Haydn (Berlin, A. Sacco Nachfolger 1875), 131.
5. Half circle in Italian; term for a four-note figuration following the form of a half circle in stepwise motion.
6. The code Wq refers to the catalogue of works of C. P. E. Bach by the Belgian music bibliographer Afred Wotquenne (1867–1939), which was largely based on the work of the organist Johann Jacob Heinrich Westphal (1756–1825), a friend and contemporary of Carl Philipp.
7. Notated as seven 32nd notes on a quarter beat, the correct notation would be septuplets of 16th notes.
8. Siegbert Rampe, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach und seine Zeit (Laaber: Laaber 2014), 465.
9. Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, vol. 19, September 17, 1817 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel), 655.
10. Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, vol. 6, May 23, 1829, 456.
11. Quoted from Claus, p. 11.
12. Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, vol. 50, March 8, 1848, 159–160.
Michael Gailit graduated from the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna with both performance and pedagogy diplomas in organ as well as in piano. Teaching piano at this institute since 1980, he has also conducted the organ studio at the Musik und Kunst Universität in Vienna since 1995. As church organist he served at Saint Augustine’s Church, 1979–2008; in 2011 he was appointed organist at the Jesuit Church (Old University Church).
Both in his performance and teaching repertoire, Gailit includes all style areas on the basis of their individual performance practices. He toured with solo recitals on both instruments in Europe as well as in North America and appeared with leading orchestras and renowned conductors. Recordings, masterclasses, invitations to juries, musicological publications, editing sheet music, compositions, arrangements, supporting the piano-organ duo repertoire, commissioned works, first performances, and finally occasional trips into the theatre and silent movie repertoire should be noted.
Particular attention was received in 1989 for the first performance of the complete piano and organ works of Julius Reubke (1834–1858), the performance of the complete organ works of Franz Schmidt (1874–1939) the same year, as well as in September 2005 a series of six recitals with the trio sonatas of Johann Sebastian Bach, the organ sonatas of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, and the organ symphonies of Louis Vierne. Currently Gailit is working on a book, The Enigma BWV 565, a study elucidating new answers and new questions.
Author’s website: gailit.at/english/index_e.htm
Editor’s note: Part 1 of this series appeared in the June 2021 issue of The Diapason, pages 18–19; part 2 appeared in the July 2021 issue, pages 12–14; part 3 appeared in the December 2021 issue, pages 16–18; part 4 appeared in the August 2022 issue, pages 12–14.
The thorough analysis of the preceding four parts of this essay showed that BWV 565 was entirely composed on the basis of motivic-thematic work, a compositional technique developed only after the time of Johann Sebastian Bach in the second half of the eighteenth century.1 There is no widely accepted descriptor for this time period between the Baroque and the Viennese Classical eras, approximately the forty years between 1740 and 1780. Compositions of similar content have been grouped and labeled, with such descriptors as empfindsamer Stil (sensitive style), galanter Stil (gallant style), Rococo, Sturm und Drang (storm and stress), Age of Enlightenment, Early Classical, or Pre-Classical. Quite inaccurate the latter, since composers of that time did not exist solely to prepare for others yet to be born.
The truth is that fundamental stylistic changes took place during those forty years. The author recently proposed the term post-Baroque revolution to describe this time period. Although composers developed in different ways, they had something in common: a comprehensive, revolutionary break with the past. No stone was left unturned.
Basso continuo: The bass line as the fundamental of music had had its day; the top voice took precedence. The Baroque figured bass became obsolete, allowing single-voice textures to blossom in keyboard music.
Harmonic tempo: Whereas harmonic tempo had once moved quickly, the post-Baroque revolution went in the opposite direction. Harmonic changes happened at a slower pace and stayed within simple chord progressions, making a bass line less important. As harmonic tempo slowed, allowing more elaborate figuration, actual tempos became faster and faster.
Fortspinnungstypus: Omnipresent since Gregorian chant, Fortspinnungstypus had its day as well. This German term describes music that continuously gives birth to itself. The seemingly endless lines of the Baroque were replaced with their opposite; small melodic cells of a few notes, sometimes as small as a single note, were put together to create as much contrast as possible. Cinematically speaking, the Baroque documentary of rolling out a theme in long scenes was replaced by the post-Baroque action thriller with rapid scene changes. As if small music cells were not enough, rests were introduced to separate the cells even more.
Contrasts did not just happen between themes, sections, or movements, but were packed into short phrases. Rests frequently served as a means to enhance contrasts.
Perception time: Hardly anyone is aware of a phenomenon that the author calls “perception time,” defined as the time interval necessary to perceive a musical idea (Example 64).
Mozart’s phrase gives you a perception time of eight quarter notes. With the same harmonic background, Bach’s theme allows only four quarter notes of perception time. The small melodic cells of post-Baroque music require an unusually short perception time. In Wagenseil’s theme, the character changes on each eighth note, and the perception time is as short as a single eighth note! If the performer or the listener is unprepared for such a short perception time, the true nature of the music will remain hidden.
Motivic-thematic work: Instead of ongoing lines separated occasionally by cadences, small, contrasting melody cells were placed within regular bar structures. In order to achieve cohesion, pieces were based on a Hauptsatz, a main musical idea, from which other essential ideas were derived and developed. The themes did not keep their shape, but morphed and took many forms.
The term thematisch gearbeitet (thematically worked), explained as a musical term, appeared for the first time 1802 in the Musikalisches Lexikon2 by Christoph Koch (1749–1816), where it is described as an alternative compositional style to polyphonic writing.
Thematisch. Man sagt, ein Tonstück sey thematisch gearbeitet, wenn die Ausführung desselben hauptsächlich in den mannigfaltigen Wendungen und Zergliederungen des Hauptsatzes, ohne Beymischung vieler Nebengedanken, besteht.
(Thematic. A piece of music is said to be thematically worked if its execution consists mainly of the manifold changes and dissections of the main idea, without mixing in many secondary ideas.)
BWV 565 perfectly fits in the post-Baroque revolution:
• Basso continuo style only in about 50% of the fugue.
• No bass for long sections.
• The harmonic tempo is generally slow, and in the fugue slightly faster in a few sections.
• The Hauptsatz juxtaposes two contrasting elements; the opening phrase of a single note is answered by a downward run.
• Frequent texture changes.
• Frequent rests.
• Significant contrasts.
• A model example of a Hauptsatz, ready for motivic work.
• Motivic-thematic work throughout, with hardly any note unrelated to the Hauptsatz.
• Motivic work even within the Hauptsatz.
At first glance, the post-Baroque, motivic-thematic style of BWV 565 is not immediately obvious; in fact it is well-disguised. It is therefore not surprising that the text was misunderstood and criticized. Elements that contradicted the polyphonic tradition were perceived as deficiencies. Especially puzzling is the missing beat in measure 72, where a careful comparison of the theme entries proves that the theme is missing a beat. Even the scribe noticed it, and marked the omission with an x above beat 1. Instead, it became a tradition to fill beats 3 and 4 with an invention composed by a later scribe.
In view of the sparse sources and the unusual compositional style for an organ work of the time, it can be assumed that BWV 565 was rather a private study, not intended for publication. It might have been conceived as an experiment in applying new compositional techniques to the organ and to the traditional forms of the toccata and fugue.
Can BWV 565 pass as a composition by Johann Sebastian from his youthful years, when he was relatively inexperienced? Surely not! If the presumed year of composition is shifted to his youth, it does not explain why he would compose a motivic-thematic work that invented and anticipated a style of composition decades before its time. Furthermore, had he ingeniously anticipated the post-Baroque revolution, why are there no traces of additional compositions in this style, and why did he return to the polyphonic style of the Baroque?
Bach’s cantata BWV 202 occupies a unique place among musical manuscripts, due to the underlined date entry “Anno 1730” placed on the front page below the name entry “Johannes Ringk.” Dates on manuscripts of this period are rare (Example 65).
Ringk (1717–1778) is said to have copied the cantata manuscript at the age of thirteen:
Geboren am 25. Juni 1717 zu Frankenhain in Thüringen, war [Ringk] nachweislich Schüler von Johann Peter Kellner (1705–1772) in Gräfenroda, wo er—seiner eigenen Datierung zufolge 1730—im Alter von 13 Jahren die einzige heute erhaltene Kopie der Kantate BWV 202 anfertigte.3
(Born on June 25, 1717, at Frankenhain in Thuringia, [Ringk]4 was verifiably a pupil of Johann Peter Kellner (1705–1772) in Gräfenroda, where—according to his own dating of 1730 at the age of 13—he made the only copy of the cantata BWV 202 that has survived until today.)
A closer look at the handwriting, however, reveals something else.
In German-speaking countries, it was customary to use two different fonts for print and handwriting. In print media, the broken Fraktur font was set for regular German text, whereas the round Antiqua font was used for foreign-language terms. For handwriting, the corresponding fonts Kurrent and Latin were used, but also an ornamental broken font, called Kanzlei (a German word for office). Local Schreibmeister (master scribes) took care of the dissemination of literature and general education through their teaching and publications. Sample tables served as templates to practice writing (Examples 66, 67, and 68).
Among the features of calligraphy are the prescribed letter proportions of ascender : x-length : descender, as well as the slant of the letters, i.e., their inclination in degrees, where 90° stands for straight vertical, 0° for horizontal (Example 69).
The title on the front page of BWV 202 shows remarkably inexperienced copy and handwriting skills (Example 70).
• Zeiget nur, betrübte Schatten (Show only, sorrowful shadows) is not only meaningless in itself, but does not correspond to the cantata text. It should read Weichet nur, betrübte Schatten (Move away, sorrowful shadows).
• The ornamentation of an initial should embrace the letter, not stand in front of it.
• The letters are a mixture of Kurrent, Latin, and Kanzlei.
• The slant of the letters is inconsistent throughout.
• The length proportions of the letters change inconsistently between 1:1:1 and 2:1:2.
• The letter “Z” sits on the base line without a descender.
• The words Zeiget and Betrübt begin with an upper case Kurrent letter and continue in Latin letters.
• The word Schatten shows insecure Kanzlei letters throughout.
• The single character at the end resembling a lower case “g” is superfluous.
We see here an inexperienced handwriting that might be attributed to a thirteen-year-old boy. The flaws are many and in different categories such as the wording of the title, steady handwriting, inconsistency in the choice of fonts, slant, proportion, misplacement, and orthography.
On the other hand, the signature at the foot of the page is securely written in Kurrent throughout, with the required proportion 3:1:3 of ascender : x-height : descender (Example 71).
In fact the signature shows an experienced hand. The initial “R” is a perfect Kanzlei letter. The cantata texts in the score show a similar experienced Kurrent handwriting. The evidence overwhelmingly suggests that Johannes Ringk may perhaps have scribbled the title, but was not the scribe who made the copy of BWV 202.
And there is another significant piece of evidence to consider: Ringk had a completely different signature. He did not sign with Kurrent letters, but with Kanzlei letters. Among the eighteen manuscripts available online bearing the name Johannes Ringk, eight copies show matching signatures, among them three organ and three harpsichord works by Bach as well as two Telemann cantatas. These sources also contain other matching letters of characteristic forms, such as the uppercase “B” with an underscore, or the lowercase “t” with an arched top.
The overview in Example 72 lists in the left column the full signatures of these eight sources. The headings give the text as it is written on the front page with slashes indicating the line breaks. The two center columns show the letters uppercase “B” and lowercase “t” in the sources. To facilitate comparison, the right columns isolate from each signature the initials “J” and “R” as well as the last letter “k.” As much as all of the letters in the list look alike, they differ from the writing on the front page of the cantata BWV 202. The signature in Kurrent style cannot be assigned to Johannes Ringk, but only to another person. Unfortunately we have no evidence as to who that person was.
The signature on the title page of BWV 565 resembles strongly the one on the title page of BWV 202 (Example 73). Of all the signatures or name entries, only these two have an upper case “R” with two pointed tips on top. The inevitable conclusion is that Johannes Ringk was not the scribe of the BWV 565 copy as well! Both BWV 202 and BWV 565 show Ringk’s name on their front page, but not his signature.
The assertion that the thirteen-year-old Ringk was the copyist of BWV 202 and BWV 565 has been repeated so many times that it is now necessary to prove the opposite step by step. Although he cannot be credited with the title page, he might have copied the music. Evidence is required to match features in the copy of BWV 565 with other manuscripts that can be attributed safely to Ringk.
A copy. In theory BWV 565 could be an autograph. A number of markings in BWV 565, however, suggest that the scribe was dissatisfied and wished to check with an original source. Therefore the manuscript must be a copy.
A copy of a copy. The missing beat in measure 72 supports the conclusion that the scribe copied a copy, and not the original. It is highly unlikely that the composer would have forgotten a full beat of four sixteenth notes in the fugue theme. The scribe in turn noticed the missing beat and marked exactly the spot with an x.
Abbreviated notation. In measures 4 through 10, most of the octave doubling is replaced by indications such as all unison. There are also three repeats abbreviated by repetition markings. Ringk never used such abbreviations in his copies of other pieces; it is fair to mention, however, that their settings did not permit such abbreviations. So perhaps this point does not count.
Time signature. In all six Ringk copies of music by Bach we find an elaborate form of the time signature (Example 74). BWV 565 and other copies show only a simple form (Example 75). This is still another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.
Clef. In all six of Ringk’s Bach copies the clefs appear in about 60% of all accolades. As Examples 74 and 75 show as well, the soprano clef never has a break in its lines, and the bass clef is more ornamented, as is the curved bracket for the accolade. The clefs in BWV 565, to the contrary, appear only once on top of every page, that is in about only 11% of all accolades. The parallel lines of the soprano clef have a lower position throughout. The bass clefs show a simpler form. Another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.
Adagio. No matter if it is “Adagio,” “Adag.,” “adag.,” or “Adagissimo,” the scribe of BWV 565 used the two-story “g” with its loop under the base line. This “g” belongs to the Antiqua font, usually reserved for print. No such “g” or any other letter in Antiqua font from Ringk’s hand appears in the other sources. Still another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.
Quarter-note rests in BWV 565 have the form of a reverse “S” with slant and ornamented ends. Ringk’s quarter-note rests have a distinctly different shape throughout. Another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565 (Example 76 left side BWV 565, center and right side Ringk).
Sixteenth- and thirty-second-note flags. In BWV 565, single notes with more than one flag appear in an old form with both stems up and down. Ringk’s Bach copies (if there are such single notes) show this old form only for stems down/flags up, whereas for stems up/flags down the modern form is used (Example 77, left side BWV 565, right side Ringk). This is another point against Ringk as the scribe of BWV 565.
Custodes. Last, but not least, BWV 565 shows custodes at the end of an accolade whenever some room is left (Example 78). Custodes, resembling in BWV 565 a trill, are special characters that are placed at the end of the page taking the position of the very first note on the next page. We can only speculate if the scribe added the custodes, or if the scribe kept the line breaks and copied the custodes as well. At any rate, no other copy bearing the name or signature of Ringk shows such custodes.
So far our investigations have focused on the available musical text and on the relations and developments of motives. Our conclusion is that BWV 565 could not be attributed to Johann Sebastian Bach, due to the motivic-thematic nature of the work. This style of composition emerged only decades later, after Bach—and after the Baroque style—had been left behind.
Then our investigations extended to the writing style of the related manuscript sources. The different features of the preserved handwritings also revealed sufficient evidence suggesting that Johannes Ringk was not the scribe of the earliest manuscript.
Did we arrive at a dead end, without knowing both the composer and the scribe? Who created such an innovative composition? The next and last episode has evidence for a prime suspect.
To be continued.
Notes
1. Pianist-musicologist Dr. John Strauss of Luther College, Decorah, Iowa, was of invaluable help in providing dedicated advice and assistance to the author in the completion of this text.
2. “Thematisch,” in Heinrich Christoph Koch, Musikalisches Lexikon, welches die theoretische und praktische Tonkunst, encyclopädisch bearbeitet, alle alten und neuen Kunstwörter erklärt, und die alten und neuen Instrumente beschrieben, enthält [Musical encyclopedia, which contains the theoretical and practical art of sound, encyclopedically edited, all old and new art words explained, and the old and new instruments described] (Frankfurt am Main: August Hermann, 1802). 1533.
3. Rolf Dietrich Claus, Zur Echtheit von Toccata und Fuge d-Moll, BWV 565, 2nd ed. (Köln-Rheinkassel, Dohr, 1998), 51.
4. For clarification, “er” (he) has been replaced by “Ringk.”
5. Johann Friedrich Stäps. Calligraphia in usum Iuventutis accommodata, das ist: Nützliche Schul-Vorschriften. (Leipzig: Bierlig, c.1750) SLUB Dresden, http://digital.slub-dresden.de/id339649291, accessed September 15, 2021.
6. Ibid.
7. Ibid.
Notes in The Diapason: a bit of history
Siegfried Gruenstein, the founding editor of The Diapason, served for forty-eight years. The front-page tribute to him in the December 1959 issue celebrating the magazine’s fiftieth anniversary began with these descriptive words:
. . . a rare combination of competent organist and professional newspaper man, (Gruenstein) founded The Diapason in 1909 against the advice of his elders among organists, builders, and well-wishers. That it grew and prospered steadily under his guidance was due wholly to his skill, his impartiality, his integrity and his taste. . . . At first the principal purpose of the magazine was to represent the organ industry. However, it soon became evident that the organist and the organbuilder were so closely allied in their interests that the field should include both of them and that the paper would serve to bring the two more closely together.
In those early years the magazine expanded its focus in several directions, serving for a time as the official journal of the American Guild of Organists, for example. However, it was not until Frank Cunkle, Gruenstein’s successor, took over the supervision of the magazine that the organ’s sister instrument, the harpsichord, was welcomed into its pages. The first person to take charge of harpsichord matters was Philip Treggor (1920–2004) of Hartford, Connecticut, who published his first column in October 1967 (page 11). November’s column (page 13) featured the lute while a feature article by E. Power Biggs occupied the opposite page with his “Case for the Pedal Harpsichord.” Treggor’s three columns of interviews with Denise Restout, Wanda Landowska’s companion and legatee, presented valuable information about the pioneer harpsichordist’s biography and legacy (1968: March page 15, April page 23, May pages 14–15).
I had made my Diapason print debut five years earlier, in November 1962, when the magazine published the feature article “Hugo Distler—20 Years Later” based on research I was doing for my Doctor of Musical Arts thesis that I was busily writing while a student at the Eastman School of Music. My first guest contribution to Treggor’s column, published in June 1968, was “Isolde Ahlgrimm as the Widow Bach” (page 15), followed in October of the same year with my report on the second Bruges International Harpsichord Competition (pages 10–11). Meanwhile, in July 1968, Treggor’s column featured an interview with Boston-based composer Daniel Pinkham (page 8).
Treggor wrote an informative column about Arnold Dolmetsch’s collaborations with the Chickering Piano Company as they produced harpsichords and other early musical instruments (November 1968, page 12, with continuation in the December issue, pages 10–11), which proved to be his swansong, for he resigned from harpsichord column responsibilities at the beginning of January 1969.
During 1969 harpsichord news items were solicited from our readers, who were instructed to send them to the editorial staff of The Diapason. In May I submitted another feature article about Hugo Distler’s Harpsichord Concerto (pages 12–13), and in September 1969 an announcement and my picture appeared on page 25, with the information that, from henceforth, I would be “the man in charge of harpsichord items.” The following month my first column as harpsichord editor was published: “Praeludium, Allemande, and Courant: Some Notes on a European Summer” (page 12), and in December 1969 I relayed some corrections concerning the Huguenots and the city of Erlangen, as sent to me by Dr. Lowell G. Green of Boone, North Carolina, a reader who knew far more about such matters than I did. I was pleased to publish his corrections since that is how knowledge is disseminated.
So, depending on when one begins counting the years, I am either celebrating my fiftieth anniversary year as harpsichord editor or the fifty-seventh year since my first publication as a writer for this splendid magazine, which I have served by working with every editor except the founder, happy to have lasted even longer than Mr. Gruenstein, albeit with far fewer responsibilities. It will be my pleasure during 2019 to revisit some favorite pieces from this more-than-half-century collection of articles, as well as editing several guest essays, and, hopefully, sharing a few more original thoughts of my own.
2018 Harpsichord Notes: topics and page numbers
January, page 10: A posthumous gift from Gustav Leonhardt (Bach transcriptions published by Bärenreiter)
February, page 11: The Art of the Harpsichord (Two Texas Treasures: three-manual harpsichord by Keith Hill and Philip Tyre, miniature by Art Bell)
March, page 12: Handel with care (performance suggestions, recommended books, Handel House Museum, London)
April, page 10: Harpsichordist Jane Clark’s birthday
May, page 11: Seeking Haydn (new compact disc reviewed, some relevant research noted)
June, page 12: Dandrieu’s Harpsichord Music
July, pages 10–11: A glimpse into actual eighteenth-century performance practices (Beverly Jerold’s article, “Reichardt’s Review of Handel Concerts in London”)
August, page 10: Death and taxis in Vienna (Obituary of Gordon Murray), Review of Bach Violin/Harpsichord Sonatas CD (Pine and Vinikour), Communications from Readers
September, page 12: Armand-Louis Couperin Keyboard Works, edited by Martin Pearlman available for free download
October, page 14: A letter from Johann Sebastian Bach with two illustrations by Jane Johnson
November, page 16: Recent recordings of Bach’s Goldberg Variations by Diego Ares, Wolfgang Rübsam, and Helmut Walcha (from a boxed set)
December, page 11: Christmas gifts: a few suggestions (CDs, scores, books, and an anonymous Landowska caricature)
Stephen L. Pinel holds two degrees from Westminster Choir College, Princeton, New Jersey, and did graduate study in historical musicology at New York University. A church musician for forty-five years, he retired from full-time work in the fall of 2017, but immediately accepted another appointment as organist and choirmaster at All Saints Church, Bay Head, New Jersey. He held a Langley Fellowship at New York University, is a member of Pi Kappa Lambda Music Honor Society, an honorary member of the Organ Historical Society, and a past chair of the St. Wilfrid Club of New York City. He is the author of several books and regularly contributes articles on organ history both here and abroad.
During the past generation, organists have been blessed with a number of scholarly studies of the organ music of some significant composers. One has only to look at the exceptional three-volume set, The Organ Music of J. S. Bach by Peter Williams, published by Cambridge University Press (1980, 1980, 1984); Kerala J. Snyder’s Dieterich Buxtehude, Organist in Lübeck, University of Rochester Press (2007); William A. Little’s Mendelssohn and the Organ, Oxford University Press (2010); and Rollin Smith’s astonishing trilogy, Saint-Saëns and the Organ (1992), Playing the Organ Works of César Franck (1997), and Louis Vierne, Organist of Notre-Dame Cathedral (1999), published by Pendragon Press. Others could be cited, but regrettably, not even one of the recent studies is focused on the organ music of an American.
Nor has the organ fared especially well in general histories of American music. Most of the standard texts—John Tasker Howard (1929),1 Gilbert Chase (1955),2 Wilfred Mellers (1964),3 and
H. Wiley Hitchcock (1974)4—hardly mention the organ, if at all. So, dear readers, to set the record straight, here is the honest truth: before World War II, the pipe organ in the local church was the live instrumental music most Americans heard on a reoccurring basis, and most American composers of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries were not only organists who played the organ in church as a part of their livelihood, they also wrote music for it. This fact has been largely written out of the historical narrative, so isn’t the time ripe for a correction?
Distinguished author Barbara Owen and Wayne Leupold Editions have joined forces to publish Pioneers in American Music, 1860−1920, The New England Classicists, a splendid new book that examines nine organist-composers who plied their trade in and around Boston. Barbara (she is so well known that her given name alone is sufficient to identify her!) approaches the subject by discussing the figures in detail. Each receives a documented biography, a discussion of their organ works in historical context, and a complete and annotated catalog of their organ pieces. For the record, the nine are John Knowles Paine, Dudley Buck, W. Eugene Thayer, George E. Whiting, Samuel B. Whitney, Arthur Foote, George W. Chadwick, Horatio Parker, and Henry M. Dunham—a veritable “Who’s Who” of the Boston organ landscape in the decades before and after the turn of the twentieth century.
Barbara divides the figures into two generations: Buck, Paine, Thayer, Whitney, and Whiting are the seniors, while Chadwick, Dunham, Foote, and Parker are the juniors. Most if not all of these musician-composers have been the subjects of earlier monographs, but as was so often the case, any discussion of their organ compositions was cursory at best. Thus, the collaboration between Barbara and Wayne is fortuitous, because Wayne Leupold Editions has republished much of this music in practical editions. It is currently available for sale; you can buy them, study them, perform them, and add them to your repertoire. Most of this music was in print around 1900, but it quickly fell from fashion during the Baroque and Renaissance revival. It was not until the 1990s that Leupold Editions started reprinting this music for a new and younger generation of organists.
You might fairly ask: “Did any American composers write organ music worth serious consideration?” For those wearied by a thirty-fifth rendition of the Leipzig Chorales—however profound those works may be—this group of nine Americans offers modern players many opportunities for something “new” and refreshing. Be reminded that when John Knowles Paine played a recital, the crowd was often so large that part of the audience was turned away at the door for lack of seating. At the music’s best, such as the grandiose Concerto in E-flat Minor for Organ and Orchestra, op. 55, 1903, by Horatio Parker, or the delightful and studious works of Dudley Buck and George Whitfield Chadwick, modern audiences just might depart an organ recital with a twinkle in their eye. There are cheery settings of “America,” the “Star Spangled Banner,” “Old Folks at Home,” and “Annie Laurie.” Being honest, modern organ recitals could use a little mojo these days, and some novel and perhaps even pleasurable repertory based on familiar tunes might go a distance in retaining an audience for The King of Instruments.
Yet Pioneers is far more than a collection of unrelated essays. Collectively, the book portrays an intimate circle of like-minded and very gifted musicians, an energetic and fervent subgroup among New England’s high culture. Influenced by the transcendentalists—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and John Greenleaf Whittier—many of these composers worked in the shadow of the Great Organ in the old Boston Music Hall. But they were not disembodied souls, toiling apart or in competition with one another; rather, they were associates, colleagues, and friends. Several had student-teacher relationships, and many shared the common experience of European tutelage, mostly in Germany. They were keenly aware of and interested in each other’s work. They played one another’s music, attended one another’s performances, and relished in each other’s successes. Pioneers is a profound story of humanity. It is a story of affection, collaboration, interaction, and mutual respect, a narrative that is unfortunately a rarity in today’s very fractured world. And Barbara tells this narrative with a writing style that is both lucid and seamless. Plainly put: The book is a good read about some great New England musicians!
Besides colleagueship, these “Classicists” shared one other commonality. All of them were keenly focused on education—on teaching the organ to an ever-new generation of young students. And they often taught in ways that departed from the expected lessons in a studio. John Knowles Paine was a university professor and lecturer. At Harvard, he taught theory and music history. Eugene Thayer edited an organ journal, The Organists’ Journal & Review (incidentally, the first published in the United States!), that reached organists throughout the country, even in rural locations. Several of these composers were associated with the New England Conservatory and other schools of music. Most of them authored tutors and didactic works about choir directing, church music, organ playing, teaching, and theory. Organ pedagogy was more than just a living, it was a personal extension of their own backgrounds, composition, training, and professional efforts.
As an author, Barbara brings to this study a unique set of experiences and skills. She is equally competent discussing the music, the churches, the institutions, and the organs. She actually worked for decades as a builder in the organ shop of Charles Fisk (1925–1983) in Gloucester, Massachusetts. She was herself a practicing church musician at the First Religious Society in Newburyport, Massachusetts, for some five decades. She had already edited some of this music for her ground-breaking series, A Century of American Organ Music 1776–1876, published by McAfee Music Corporation. She is uniquely qualified to tell this story as she herself basked much of her life in the very organ culture she wrote about. Barbara walked these streets, heard this music in the churches, and in some cases even played the same organs as the subjects of the book. There are places in the text where her imagery is so convincing, the reader is almost transported back into the nineteenth century with her.
At the back of the book, readers will find an informative section describing the organs associated with these composers, often with stoplists and details about their construction. The instruments of E. & G. G. Hook, Wm. A. Johnson, and especially Hutchings, Plaisted & Co. are repeatedly referenced throughout the text. The book concludes with a discography, an exhaustive bibliography, and a detailed index. Perhaps it comes as no surprise that the book is affectionately dedicated to Barbara’s colleagues in the American Guild of Organists; a number of the organist-composers she wrote about were founders of the organization.
Back in 1980, Barbara wrote The Organ in New England: An Account of Its Use and Manufacture to the End of the Nineteenth Century. That volume dealt with the organs and organ builders of New England. Pioneers largely covers the same period, but instead of the instruments, this book focuses on the music. Taken together these two volumes provide about as complete a picture of this passionate organ culture we are likely to get.
If you teach organ, you need to own this book. If you study organ, you ought to read it to expand your basic knowledge of the literature. Finally, it should be in the library of every college, conservatory, or university that has offerings in music as a fundamental reference. Barbara concludes her study by quoting Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” This is not only true of the nine organist-composers, but it is equally appropriate for the author herself. This book is recommended with enthusiasm; at the same time, order the music from Leupold Editions.
Notes
1. John Tasker Howard, Our American Music: Three Hundred Years of It, New York: Thomas Y. Cromwell Co. [1929].
2. Gilbert Chase, America’s Music From the Pilgrims to the Present, Revised second edition, New York [et al.]: McGraw Hill Book Co. [1966].
3. Wilfred Mellers, Music in a New Found Land: Themes and Developments in the History of American Music, London: Barrie and Rockliff [1964].
4. H. Wiley Hitchcock, Music in The United States: A Historical Introduction. Second edition (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1974).
5. Barbara Owen, The Organ in New England: An Account of Its Use and Manufacture to the End of the Nineteenth Century, Raleigh: The Sunbury Press, 1980.
A member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2021, Curtis Pavey is a graduate of the doctoral program at the University of Cincinnati where he studied harpsichord under Michael Unger and piano under James Tocco. In fall 2023, he joined the faculty of the University of Missouri as assistant professor of piano pedagogy and performance. More information is available at www.curtispavey.com.
Johann Sebastian Bach: Partitas, BWV 825–830, Wolfgang Rübsam, Lute-Harpsichord. Brilliant Classics 2-CD set, 96464, $14.99, available from arkivmusic.com and amazon.com.
Wolfgang Rübsam, previously professor of church music and organ at Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois, recently released a new recording of Johann Sebastian Bach’s partitas, BWV 825–830. Completed at Immanuel Lutheran Church in Valparaiso, Indiana, in November 2020, the recording features a beautiful lautenwerk (lute-harpsichord) built by Keith Hill. Rübsam, internationally known for his Bach interpretations, plays on this two-CD set with a gorgeous singing touch, which allows one to hear these works in a brand new light.
The lautenwerk may be unfamiliar to many listeners, but it was not unfamiliar to Bach, who owned two of these instruments according to records from 1750. The instrument on this recording was the last of five that Hill built, each of which are different. This lautenwerk has a single manual and one set of gut strings, as well as two sets of jacks. The instrument includes a 4′ set of strings, which are used for sympathetic vibration, adding an expressive resonance to any performance. Tuned in Valotti, the instrument is captured here beautifully, allowing one to pick up on sensitive nuances in touch and color. Rübsam clearly enjoys performing on this instrument, and he shows it by savoring the plentiful resonance in the rich lower register. A demonstration of the instrument is available on YouTube in a recording from a masterclass, which was posted by the Western Early Keyboard Association. Additional details about the instrument can be discovered on Rübsam’s website, including a post directly from Keith Hill (≈).
Liner notes, originally in German by Christian von Blohn, were translated by Marjolein Thickett. The notes help to contextualize the partitas, including information about the publication order and Bach’s original intentions in composing these pieces. Although the liner notes do not significantly discuss the lautenwerk and Bach’s relationship with the instrument, they help to illuminate the works within the period they were written.
Rübsam’s performance of these pieces makes for excellent listening. After hearing the complete recording, I was frequently drawn to the slower dances, especially the allemandes and sarabandes of each partita. The style luthé textures, found for instance in the “Allemande” from the Partita in B-flat Major, come alive on this instrument in a particularly expressive manner. His sensitive approach to dissonance and the color changes he creates for dramatic harmonic shifts are especially appropriate in these pieces. Other highlights from the recording are the beautiful “Allemande” from the fourth partita and the “Sarabande” from the final partita. At times, Rübsam plays with more moderate tempos in certain dances, probably to accommodate the resonance of the instrument and to his rhetorical approach to music making. In these moments, Rübsam reveals musical details that are frequently ignored by other artists.
This recording of Bach’s partitas is truly thought-provoking and exquisite. Rübsam’s sensitive approach and bef touch make this an easy recommendation for any lover of Bach’s keyboard partitas.
Michael McNeil has designed, constructed, voiced, and researched pipe organs since 1973. Stimulating work as a research engineer in magnetic recording paid the bills. He is working on his Opus 5, which explores how an understanding of the human sensitivity to the changes in sound can be used to increase emotional impact. Opus 5 includes double expression, a controllable wind dynamic, chorus phase shifting, and meantone. Stay tuned.
Editor’s note: The Diapason offers here a feature at our digital edition—two sound clips. Any subscriber can access this by logging into our website, click on Magazine, then this issue, View Digital Edition, scroll to this page, and click on each <soundclip> in the text.
Part 1 of this series appeared in the December 2022 issue, pages 12–17.
Deductive logic is tautological; there is no way to get a new truth out of it, and it manipulates false statements as readily as true ones. If you fail to remember this, it can trip you—with perfect logic. . . . Inductive logic is much more difficult—but can produce new truths.21
In Part 1 we discovered the features of Silbermann’s pipe construction and voicing that make his sound unique. What could we learn by comparing Silbermann’s voicing to other styles? A great deal, as it turns out, and to do this we will take a much deeper dive into the voicing parameters shown in Part 1.
Toe diameters control power by limiting the flow of wind and reducing the pressure in the pipe foot. We often hear the term “open toe” voicing, but what does this really mean? And how could we compare the very different regulation of toes in Germanic and French voicing? Tables of raw pipe toe diameters do not convey the intent of the organbuilder or allow us to make meaningful comparisons.
In 1972 Dirk Flentrop advised me that a starting point for estimating the diameter of a pipe toe is the square root of its resonator diameter, and that is assuredly not the widest possible toe.22 Building on this idea I devised what I call a toe constant “c” to compare the flow of wind through pipe toes. Flentrop’s advice, the square root of a pipe’s diameter, defines a toe constant “c” of exactly 1. Interestingly, the toe constant for Andreas Silbermann’s pipe shown in Figure 2 in Part 1 is 0.97, virtually identical to Flentrop’s guidance.
Toe constants can be larger or smaller to suit the acoustics and the power balances within a chorus, and they can vary for different levels of wind pressure. For example, if we want more power at the same pressure, we will use larger toe constants and larger toes, and vice versa for less power. If we want the same power at a higher pressure, we will use smaller toe constants.
The toe constant also needs to take into account the larger or smaller flows of wind needed by different mouth widths. Mouth widths are specified as a fraction of the pipe circumference. A 2⁄7-width mouth is wider than a 1⁄4-width mouth on the same pipe, and it will need a larger toe to feed more wind to the wider flueway of that mouth. I added a term to Flentrop’s advice (he typically used 1⁄4 mouth widths) to adjust the wind required to feed wider or narrower mouths. For example, Silbermann’s toe constants in Figure 8 (page 17) have values of 1 at 2′ pitch, but those values reflect toes that are larger in diameter than the square root of their pipe diameters—those toe diameters are adjusted proportionally larger to provide the extra wind needed by the flueways of Silbermann’s wider 2⁄7 mouths. Note 23 shows the very simple equation for calculating the toe diameter from the pipe diameter, mouth width fraction, and toe constant.
The toe constant now allows us to visually compare the relative flow of wind among voicing styles and wind pressures for pipes of any scale or mouth width. While the term “open toe” is vague, the toe constant is quantifiable.
Silbermann adjusted the toes of the Freiberg Dom chorus in Figure 8 for more wind flow in the bass and treble. None of the toe constants are below Flentrop’s guidance of 1. The highest trebles at 1⁄8′ pitch have reduced wind flow, and we will soon see a very interesting explanation for this.
Note the regularity of Silbermann’s toe constants. All pipes of the same pitch have the same toe constants and wind flow regardless of where they appear in the stops or the compass. The mixtures appear to have slightly larger toes, perhaps as a compensation for their slightly narrower scale, indicating that Silbermann wanted the same power from the mixtures but with the brighter timbre of their narrower scale.
Such regularity is extremely rare, and it suggests that Silbermann calculated his toe diameters prior to voicing. These data also suggest the idea that he approached organ design from an inductive viewpoint, using data to infer the design rules with which he achieved his sound. Some might criticize this regularity, but we might also learn something from it. Let’s see how other builders controlled their pipe toes.
Figure 14 (page 14) shows the toe constants for a vast range of voicing styles, most of which represent 4′ Octave stops in the main manual division. All of these styles have toe constants entirely above a value of 1 except for two cases: the classical French voicing of the Isnards and the high treble of D. A. Flentrop’s example.
The data in the pink line are from D. A. Flentrop’s 1977 organ at California State University, Chico, voiced on a low pressure of 66 mm. This organ was built at a time when all classical voicing was considered “open toe,” but readers may be surprised to see that Flentrop’s voicing does not remotely use the most open toes in Figure 14. He deviated from his guidance (the square root of the pipe diameter) as needed, extending above 1 in the bass and mid-range, and dropping below 1 in the highest treble. The acoustically dry concert hall in which the Flentrop resides is also the smallest of the acoustics in Figure 14. His wind pressure is the lowest in Figure 14, and this might suggest the use of the most open toes, but Flentrop was willing to restrain these toes for a more restrained treble power.
The data in the orange line are from Silbermann’s organ at Großhartmannsdorf on 90 mm pressure, and the data in light blue are from his organ at Reinhardtsgrimma on 70 mm pressure. Note that Silbermann uses much more open toes on lower pressure. The Großhartmannsdorf data is virtually identical to the toe constants at the Freiberg Dom in Figure 8, evidence that these toes may have been calculated to accommodate the similar wind pressures of these organs.
The data in the dark blue line are from the 1774 Isnard organ at Saint Maximin on 83 mm pressure. Here we have mid-range toe constants that dip well below a value of 1, and with this visual graphic we can now see what is meant by “closed toes” in this French voicing example.
The individual data points in the pink boxes are from the 16′ Hauptwerk Principal in Arp Schnitger’s 1688–1692 organ at the Jacobikirche in Hamburg on 80 mm pressure, one of the largest acoustics in the Figure 14 examples.24 These are widely open toes, and they also compensate for the wind pressure drop that occurs in the conductors between the windchest and the pipe feet of these offset façade pipes. Principal pipes that sit on the windchest of the Schnitger organ have toe constants closer to those of Silbermann at Reinhardtsgrimma in the light blue line. All of the other pipes in Figure 14 from 4′ to ¼′ pitch sit directly on the windchest without pressure losses.
The data in the yellow line are from the 1863 organ by E. & G. G. Hook at the former Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Boston. This Romantic organ is voiced on 76 mm pressure, and it may surprise readers to see that it has the most “open toe” voicing in Figure 14 for pipes sitting directly on the windchest.
The toe constants in Figure 14 show us that all of these organbuilders adjusted the toe to regulate wind flow and power. The toe constant gives us the means to make meaningful comparisons.
Flueway depths control power. Flueway data are essential for understanding organ sound, but they are exceedingly rare. Figure 15 shows how flueway depths are measured. Figure 16 shows flueway depths for the same pipes shown in Figure 14. Figure 9 shows the very deep flueways of the Freiberg Dom Silbermann.
The Flentrop data in the pink line in Figure 16 explore the lower limits of flueway depths with excellent musical effect on 66 mm pressure. Figure 17 shows the bright, harmonically rich, “instrumental” voicing of a Flentrop pipe from about 1980. In addition to the two obvious deeper nicks and the extremely light nicks in the middle of the counterbevel, note the unusual bold nicks placed at the far right and left sides of the flueway, the absence of ears, and the moderate cutup. Flentrop’s harmonically rich voicing contrasts with the much less bright vocale style of voicing.
The data in the yellow line from the Romantic Hook organ explore the upper limits of musicality. These pipes are voiced on 76 mm pressure with many bold nicks. The Flentrop and the Hook data give us some idea of the range of historic flueway depths.
The Silbermann flueways in the orange and light blue lines represent the range of Silbermann’s flueway depths for the range of pressures represented by these data. Note that at 90 mm of pressure at Großhartmannsdorf, Silbermann’s flueways are virtually identical to the flueways of the Freiberg Dom chorus in Figure 9, more evidence suggesting calculation of flueways for a specific wind pressure. The treble flueways are as deep as those found in the Hooks’ Romantic voicing.
It is interesting that Silbermann adjusted his flueways shallower at lower pressure and deeper at higher pressure, an unexpected relationship. Open flueways without bolder nicking have a breathy component to their sound, and Silbermann may have adjusted his flueways shallower in smaller, more intimate acoustics to minimize that effect. The high frequencies that characterize breathiness are absorbed by the atmosphere, and distance reduces their audibility in larger acoustics.
The restorers of the Isnard organ interestingly noted that the very generous flueways in the dark blue line were more “closed up” relative to typical French voicing. As we will later see, the Isnards appear to have adjusted their flueways and toes to achieve remarkable balances.
The individual data points in the Figure 16 pink boxes are from Schnitger’s 16′ Principal on 80 mm pressure. These Schnitger flueways correlate extremely well to the deepest flueways used by Gottfried Silbermann. All of the illustrated Schnitger data were taken by Hans Henny Jahnn in 1925.
For those interested in Schnitger’s work, Figure 18 shows a subset of Jahnn’s original data (he took data on every pipe in this stop). The data in the pink font in Figure 18 are represented in Figure 16 by the pink boxes.
The single pink triangular data point well below the Flentrop data at 1′ pitch is the razor-thin flueway of the neo-Baroque pipe illustrated in Figure 3 of Part 1; it is voiced on 65 mm pressure with a very low cutup. The data clearly show that this flueway does not remotely resemble any historic voicing style in Figure 16, and the reason for that brings us to cutups.
Cutups (also known as “mouth height”) are often described as some fraction of the mouth width. While using a mouth width fraction with dividers to scribe preliminary cutup heights on upper lips has some practical value during voicing, it has been shown that the tonal effect of cutup has absolutely nothing to do with the width of the mouth.25
Cutups are adjusted to control timbre, and cutups will be higher for the same timbre at a higher level of power. We will get continuously less bright timbres as cutups are increased at any specific power. Cutups that are too low will cut the vortex in the flueway at too high a frequency for the resonator to quickly respond, and the fundamental will form more slowly.
Some neo-Baroque efforts to recapture historic voicing invoked a recipe where cutups were required to be ¼ of the mouth width and toes were vaguely required to be “open.” This recipe is a perfect example of an untested opinion based on deductive logic (which the author, too, naively embraced in his Opus 1).
Pipes voiced with deep flueways, wide-open toes, and low cutups will either screech with powerful harmonics or overblow to the octave on higher pressures. Closing the flueway takes away the strident screech, but it also strangles the power of the fundamental. Using the neo-Baroque recipe of wide-open toes and ¼-cutups, the voicer was forced to close the flueway to extremely small values. Without reducing the wind pressure, this was the only option left to the voicer. A typical compromise in this style of voicing allowed for some stridency in the timbre to preserve some modest power in the fundamental, and in this condition the pipe was often too close to overblowing. The result was the slow, gulping speech and thin fundamental so often heard in early Orgelbewegung movement voicing.
The solution to this problem is by now quite obvious to the reader—adjust the toe and/or the flueway (according to your preferences) until the desired fundamental power is achieved, and then raise the cutup to get the desired timbre and prompt speech. If Silbermann had used ¼-cutups at the Freiberg Dom, the values of his Normal Scale mouth heights in Figure 10 would look identical to the values of his Normal Scale mouth widths in Figure 5. Unsurprisingly, Silbermann’s high cutups bear no relationship at all to his mouth widths.
Figure 19 shows cutups for the same pipes shown in Figure 16. The data in the pink line are from the Flentrop organ voiced on 66 mm pressure. Cutups trend higher on higher wind pressures, depending, of course, on the regulation of toes and flueways. The Flentrop data represent the lowest wind pressure in this graph with a harmonically rich, restrained power in the smallest acoustic among these examples. The lower cutups of the Flentrop voicing are no surprise.
The data in the orange line are from Silbermann’s organ at Großhartmannsdorf on 90 mm pressure, and the data in light blue are from the Reinhardtsgrimma organ on 70 mm pressure. This is the same data we saw in Part 1 where Silbermann used higher cutups at higher wind pressures to maintain similar timbres. Again, it is no surprise that these cutups are higher than Flentrop’s lower pressure voicing. In Figure 19 the wind pressures appear just to the right of the data lines, and in the treble they progress smoothly from lower cutups on lower pressure to higher cutups on higher pressure.
The data in the dark blue line are from the Isnard organ on 83 mm pressure. The Isnard cutups follow the same wind pressure trend as the Silbermann data and lie mostly between them. We might expect the 83 mm pressure Isnard cutups to lie closer to Silbermann’s 90 mm cutups. Figure 14 tells you why they do not (hint: look at the Isnard toe constants and the implied pressure drop in the pipe feet).
The individual data points in the pink boxes are from the Schnitger example on 80 mm pressure. The treble cutups from 4′ pitch reflect significant power in this 16′ stop, as would be expected from its copiously winded toes and flueways in Figures 14 and 16.
The data in the yellow line are from the Romantic Hook organ voiced on 76 mm pressure. The highest treble data lie just above Silbermann’s 70 mm pressure data as expected. But the bass and mid-range cutups are much higher than expected, and this reflects the higher bass power of a Romantic organ, a power fed by the largest toes in Figure 14 and the deepest flueways in Figure 16. The Hook does not have the highest wind pressure in Figure 19, but it is a good example of getting more power out of larger toes and deeper flueways (and bold nicking).
Higher cutup with more wind gives us power, and a good example is the Pedal 32′ Bourdon at Saint Ignatius Catholic Church in San Francisco, California. This large room seats about 1,800 people, and as a 64′ resultant this Bourdon is able to cause visible vibrations in the pews at its 8 Hz pitch. It has a scale of 535 mm on the diagonal, a mouth width of 349 mm, a 4.0 mm flueway, a 100 mm toe, and it is winded on 203 mm (8 inches) pressure. The power of this pipe is reflected in its cutup of +20 HT (203 mm average, arched). This cutup is literally way off the top of the graph in Figure 19. You do not hear such a sound; you feel it. On his next visit to the Atlantic City organ, John Bishop might regale us with the cutup of the Pedal 32′ Contra Diapason on 20 inches of pressure!
Areas are more important in many ways than diameters and depths, and the ratio of the toe area to the flueway area strongly affects speech articulation (also known as “chiff”). Figure 20 shows these ratios for the same pipes in Figure 19. Figure 11 shows the ratios for Silbermann’s Freiberg Dom organ.
Ratios larger than 1 mean that we are trending toward more “open toe” voicing, where a pipe’s toe area is larger than its flueway area. A ratio less than 1 means that we are trending toward more “closed toe” voicing, where the toe is smaller and will flow less wind than the flueway. Examples of pipes with ratios far below 1 with very closed toes feeding especially deep flueways are common in theatre organs on exceptionally high wind pressures.
Articulation provides percussive clarity to rhythm, but lower ratios will reduce articulation. Wind pressure builds more slowly in the foot with smaller toes, and a slower buildup of pressure will make articulation more gentle and less percussive. Ratios above 1 tend to accentuate more articulate speech, and this is why we hear more articulation with “open toe” voicing. Classical French voicing, with its closed toes, deeply open flueways, and lower ratios will have much less articulation than North German voicing and less response to the touch of the key.
All of the pipes below 1′ in pitch in the entire Grand Orgue principal chorus of the Isnard organ at Saint Maximin originally had ratios so close to 1 as to suggest that it was a purposeful goal.26 It is an exception in classical French voicing with its more moderate flueway depths, and it exhibits gentle articulation. In this soundclip we hear the exquisite articulation of the Isnard Positif 8′ Montre in Louis Marchand’s Tibi omnes angeli. <soundclip 4>
From the middle of the compass to the high treble, the toe constants of this stop range from 0.6 to 1.2, and the toe/flueway ratios range from 0.7 to 1.8.27
In Figure 20 we see that Silbermann’s organ at Großhartmannsdorf has ratios that never drop below 1, and they closely parallel the French voicing of the Isnards. The ratios of the Freiberg Dom organ in Figure 11 on a similar wind pressure are virtually identical, and we might gain some insight from this data to explain why the toe constants in Figure 8 drop at 1⁄8′ pitch. The ratios in Figure 11 continue to rise right up to 1⁄8′ in pitch, and this means that the flueways in Figure 9 have increasingly more wind from the toes as the pitch rises. The toe constants at 1⁄8′ pitch in Figure 8 obviously drop in their relative flow of wind, but those toes are still feeding increasingly more wind to much smaller flueway areas (i.e., the flueway areas are dropping at a faster rate than the toe areas). This is very strong evidence that Silbermann was calculating toe and flueway areas.
Silbermann’s lower pressure organs have much higher ratios, i.e., they are much more “open toe,” and the more unmolested examples tend to exhibit more articulate speech. This is why the Orgelbewegung, which prized clear articulation, emphasized “open toe” voicing on lower wind pressures. The movement got it partly right, that more open toes will emphasize articulation, but the factor that matters more is the ratio, not the diameter of the toe. D. A. Flentrop’s voicing does not have the most open toes in Figure 14, but with the most closed flueways in Figure 16, the Flentrop ratios are generally the highest in Figure 20, and the articulation of this Flentrop is very clear.
Arp Schnitger did not use heavy nicking. His ratios in Figure 20 are high in both bass and treble, and his more unmolested pipes have clear articulation.
Fine nicking will reduce articulation, but bold nicking will eliminate it in all conditions. (Nicks likely stabilize the formation and position of the vortex on the languid edge.) About 90% of the pipes in the Isnard organ have no visible nicks on their languids. Much of the very fine nicking occurs on the separate mutations, giving them a smoother legato as a solo voice.28 French Romantic voicing evolved from the deep flueways of Classical French voicing, and it employed bold nicking to achieve a smooth Romantic legato. Nicking also has the same effect as raising the cutup, and the sound is less bright after adding nicks, i.e., nicking permits lower cutups for the same timbre. The Hook ratios in Figure 20 are high, but the bold nicking of the Romantic Hook voicing completely suppresses its speech articulation.
While on the subject of Romantic voicing we should note that this style often employs a tuning device, known as a Reuter tuning slot, which greatly reduces articulation. The tuned length is achieved by cutting a slot into the pipe that does not extend to the top of the pipe. If you want clear articulation, pipes need to be cut dead length or fitted with tuning slides that extend to the top of the pipe. Anything that makes the tuned length of the pipe indeterminate will reduce articulation. Classical French façade pipes with extreme overlengths and multiple cutouts at their backs to achieve the correct pitch have little articulation, and this is consistent with their closed toe voicing style. Articulate Germanic voicing trends toward dead-length tuning, which is also typical of Silbermann’s work.
There are more details that affect voicing in more subtle ways that are not within the scope of this article, but we should address one of them: ears. Romantic and neo-Baroque voicing make consistent use of ears because they significantly increase the power of the fundamental by about 1.5 dB. This is not trivial, and it represents a scaling increase of three halftones. But ears also come at a price with a strong increase in the power of a few discrete higher harmonics, and the resulting blend is worse. The blend of pipes with high cutups and few harmonics will be less impacted by ears. The spectral data on the change in power and timbre caused by ears is shown in the author’s book.29
We can readily grasp the Silbermann brothers’ use of deep flueways from their exposure to French voicing. But the deep flueways of Arp Schnitger’s work shown in Figure 18 are unexpected. Schnitger may indeed have significantly reduced his flueways for a more restrained power in smaller acoustics, much as we see in the data for D. A. Flentrop’s organ, but this is speculation without data on unmolested pipes. The Steinkirchen organ is reportedly the least tonally modified of Schnitger’s organs, but Rudolf von Beckerath’s documentation of that organ lamentably omits the crucial toe diameters and flueway depths.30
Perhaps of more interest, Schnitger’s Germanic voicing is not considered vocale by some American organ builders who practice that style; it is considered an instrumental style with brighter harmonic richness more like that of D. A. Flentrop. The vocale voicing I have observed trends to more open toes, more closed flueways in modern work (and very deeply open flueways in some ancient examples), varying degrees of languid counterbevels, and very high cutups in both older and modern work. Vocale cutups tread in that range of timbres between a principal and a brighter flute.31 Subjective impressions suggest that vocale voicing cuts the vortex above the height where it spins at the frequency of the tuned resonator, i.e., above the point where Coltman’s impedances match and Ising’s fundamental forms most quickly at I = 2. This is a very rough model for vocale voicing, but voicing data are virtually non-existent for pre-Schnitger vocale archetypes or their modern American practitioners. A recent YouTube video featuring George Taylor and John Boody contains an excellent discussion of vocale cutups: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NT65GJNBrU.
American classically inspired voicing has evolved. In their description of their lovely Opus 24 in The Diapason, Richards, Fowkes & Co. stated that “voicing our pipes a little slower relaxes the speech and helps them blend better.”32 “Slower voicing” does not mean that a pipe’s speech is slow to form, it means quite the opposite. With slower voicing the speech is slower to overblow to the octave when blown on higher pressure, and in that condition Ising has shown that the fundamental forms more quickly. To obtain this condition we raise the cutups and/or the languids. (Harmonic flutes will more easily overblow to their octave with languids set very low.) Gottfried Silbermann built very fast speech and “slower voicing” into his pipes with his extended upper lip, extremely high languids, and generous cutups. The blend of a Silbermann chorus is exceptional.
Bruce Shull has worked with John Brombaugh, Taylor & Boody, and Paul Fritts & Co. He has recently written a very informative article on the tonal qualities of sand-cast pipe metal. When voicing pipes made with this metal,
. . . [they] behave the best when they are rather open at their wind[flue]ways. . . . A counter bevel on the front edge of the languids is quite frequently found in antique pipework; today this can be achieved simply by abrading the front edge of the languid with a simple brass file with cross hatching scribed into one surface. The inside edge of the lower lip should remain smooth and must have a burr-free inside edge. . . . It may be that voicing styles that utilize nicking of the languid front edge will produce tonal results that are not very different between sand-cast and stone-cast pipe metal. . . . The organs [voiced with these pipes] have a solid and full sound with a very sweet character at the same time. There is a hint of breath in the sound due to the open windways and abraded languid fronts but the speech is immediate and yet gentle, and the blend is superb. The speech is such that the voicers find themselves doing less “fussing” with the pipes, and, in fact, the pipes have taken much less time to finish on site.33
Although Silbermann’s resonators had thin and very stiff walls of about 90% hammered tin, he would no doubt agree with these voicing comments.
The sound of a pipe organ can spark strong emotions, and the subject of voicing can spark fierce emotional debate. Voicing is indeed complex. We could spend a lifetime exploring its wonderful variety, but with some effort it is comprehensible.
This brings us full circle to the leading quote in this article: “Inductive logic is much more difficult—but can produce new truths.” Inductive logic requires data, and the collection of data and its analysis requires effort. Some may find the effort required by inductive logic inconvenient if they accept the idea that all opinions have equal value, an extraordinary belief that curiously took root in American public education in the 1970s. But we have known since the time of Francis Bacon’s formalization of the scientific method that Nature yields only to data and cares nothing about our opinions. The inductive models in this article represent a significant effort to understand the data, and as new data emerges these models will no doubt be refined or replaced by others with better models. This is the power of inductive logic.
The organs built at Freiberg in 1714 and much later at Großhartmannsdorf in 1741 are voiced on similar wind pressures. The regularity and similarity of the toes and flueways in these two organs establish that Silbermann devised successful models of voicing at the beginning of his career. Many organbuilders experiment with these complex variables to improve their sound over the course of their careers. Data previously published in The Diapason suggest that Silbermann’s regularity is probably unique among organbuilders. Figure 21, for example, shows that the Hooks treated toe constants as a completely free variable.34 The regularity of Silbermann’s work may imply a limited tonal palette, but his youthful brilliance in finding a set of scaling and voicing models that would work in a wide range of acoustics and wind pressures is simply astounding.
Silbermann’s data reveal an intellect that embraced inductive models. These models are not recipes from received wisdom. They are unique to Silbermann, and they exhibit the traits of inductive logic based on experimental data. Consider for a moment that Silbermann, the son of a carpenter, was not likely given a formal education in mathematics and science; this was the province of the wealthy and political elite during the time of Silbermann’s youth. Greß’s data and their implied theoretical models of voicing clearly represent an intellectual tour de force. Silbermann’s sound is indeed controversial, but Silbermann’s insights can teach us a great deal about the theoretical foundations of tonal design and voicing.
Organ literature often waxes nostalgic about the “secrets” of the old masters. The secret to their success was just the hard work of analyzing the problems they faced. Whether we are looking at the balanced ratios of the Isnards, the carefully calculated toes and flueways of Silbermann, or the Romantic sounds of Cavaillé-Coll, we see the work of analytical minds in the pursuit of artistic beauty. It may come as a surprise to know that Cavaillé-Coll and John Brombaugh were both trained as engineers. There is no gulf between art and science; they are mutually bound.
Gottfried Silbermann’s sound does not follow classical North German or French models. A typical North German chorus has a restrained power from its more closed flueways, a chorus fire supplied by its mixtures, and a strong fundamental supplied by the very wide, leathered shallots of its chorus reeds. A Classical French chorus has a restrained power from its more closed toes and a chorus fire supplied by its reeds. Silbermann combines powerful French reed fire with a powerful flue chorus derived from deep flueways, more open toes, and the widest possible mouths. Gottfried Silbermann’s sound is not a synthesis of classical French and North German organs, it is unique, and its blend and clarity make the sound of Bach come alive. Follow this YouTube link to the carefully restored Silbermann at Lebusa: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOoSkB2UVMw.35 The temperament is a form of meantone devised by F.-H. Greß.36
Gottfried Silbermann’s voicing and blend work very well in meantone. With the exception of “big city” organs such as the Frauenkirche organ in Dresden, Silbermann maintained the use of a very mild 1⁄6-comma meantone even when confronted with strong opposition from Johann Sebastian Bach. There is no dispute that equal temperament is essential to a vast range of wonderful literature, but we have also come to understand that meantone has a tonal beauty and gravity sorely lacking in equal temperament. This was a concept well understood by Bédos, who abhorred equal temperament.37 Meantone was perhaps a part of Silbermann’s French legacy.
Very few of Silbermann’s organs have survived in any form of meantone, but the lovely organ in the Freiberg Dom had organists who mostly succeeded in protecting it from the good intentions of its restorers. Here is a soundclip of the end of Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor, BWV 582, written in Bach’s early years, and played on the Freiberg Dom organ in 1980 in an approximation of its original meantone. The Picardy shift to C major at the end of the fugue resolves in a radiant third. This is Gottfried Silbermann’s sound. <soundclip 5>
Uncredited images reside in the collection of the author. Fr. Thomas Carroll, S.J., graciously suggested clarifications in the prose of this article.
Notes
21. Robert A. Heinlein, The Notebooks of Lazarus Long (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1973).
22. In 1972 I asked Dirk Flentrop for permission to measure his pipework and organs, which he graciously gave, adding that imitation was the finest form of flattery. Flentrop went on to predict that I would use my observations of his work to find my own sound (“Your ears will be different than mine”). He was a generous teacher, and secure in his knowledge. The Flentrop data shown in Figures 14, 16, 19, and 20 were taken in 1978 with the kind permission of David Rothe. The Hook data were taken in 2000 with the kind permission of Fr. Thomas Carroll, S.J. The Isnard data can be found in the original source in Note 26 and fully graphed in the source in Note 23.
23. Michael McNeil, The Sound of Pipe Organs, CC&A, 2014, Amazon.com. The toe constant equation: diameter of the toe = √ (toe constant*4*mouth width fraction*pipe diameter).
24. Heimo Reinitzer, Die Arp Schnitger-Orgel der Hauptkirche St. Jacobi in Hamburg, 1995. This is one of only three publications known to the author to include complete data for understanding the sound of an organ, i.e., its pipework, windchests, wind system, temperament, action, and layout. The other examples can be found in the author’s “The 1755 John Snetzler Organ, Clare College, Cambridge, restored by William Drake, Ltd., Joost de Boer, Director,” The Diapason, September 2019, pages 17–21, and “The 1864 William A. Johnson Opus 161, Piru Community United Methodist Church, Piru, California,” The Diapason, August 2018, pages 16–20, September 2018, pages 20–25, October 2018, pages 26–28, and November 2018, pages 20–24. I use Jahnn’s data for the Hauptwerk 16′ Principal on page 117 for Schnitger’s voicing; located in the façade, these pipes may have been the least accessible to changes in voicing. The restorer, Jürgen Ahrend, states on page 252 that the cutup, flueway, and toe hole data in this book were taken after his voicing (“. . . nach meiner Intonation”). Ahrend had to deal with previous interventions, and the current sound reflects his voicing. The toe data of the 16′ Principal taken after the restoration show extremely wide variations and some excessively open toes; Jahnn brilliantly solved this problem in 1925 by measuring the smallest diameters in the wind conduction between the windchests and the offset pipe feet—these are the values shown in Figure 14.
25. The Sound of Pipe Organs, pages 64–80.
26. Pierre Chéron and Yves Cabourdin, L’Orgue de Jean-Esprit et Joseph Isnard dans la Basilique de la Madeleine à Saint-Maximin, ARCAM, Nice, 1991. The Isnard Grand Orgue toe/flueway area ratios on page 166 are almost exactly 1 up to 1′ in pitch for the entire principal chorus including both mixtures. The 8′ Montre deviates because it was revoiced in 1885. See page 59 on “closed up flueways” and page 175 on languids, which have about 50-to-58-degree bevels and about 75-degree counterbevels that slope inwards (counterbevels are more commonly vertical). Per my on-site observations on June 24, 1995, the upper lips are aligned with the lower lips, and the languids are lower than Silbermann’s, where the top of the Isnard counterbevel is level with the top edge of the lower lip.
27. McNeil. The Sound of Pipe Organs, pages 177–182.
28. Pierre Chéron and Yves Cabourdin, L’Orgue de Jean-Esprit et Joseph Isnard dans la Basilique de la Madeleine à Saint-Maximin, pages 132–133.
29. McNeil, The Sound of Pipe Organs, page 94.
30. Richards, Fowkes, & Co. See richardsfowkes.com/5_technical/beckerath for the Schnitger data taken by Beckerath.
31. Vocale voicing has affinities to smooth Romantic English voicing with its very high cutups. None of the English Romantic chorus stops are harmonically rich, but they are intense with deep flueways; brightness is built by adding the smoothly voiced sounds of higher pitched stops. Instrumental voicing features harmonic richness in the individual stops, and those harmonics, when carefully voiced, can create a chorus of rich harmonics; this is the sound of a D. A. Flentrop. This distinction is also applicable to a reed chorus. The broad, leathered shallots of English and German reeds add smooth fundamental power. The rich harmonics of Clicqout, Callinet, and Cavaillé-Coll chorus reeds create a scintillating chorus depth. Much voicing resides in the broad range between these styles.
32. Opus 24, “Cover Feature,” The Diapason, May 2021, pages 26–28.
33. Bruce Shull, “Casting Pipe Metal on Sand,” Vox Humana, April 25, 2021.
34. See the toes, flueways, and ratios for E. & G. G. Hook, J.-E. & J. Isnard, W. A. Johnson, and J. Snetzler in “1863 E. & G. G. Hook Opus 322, Church of the Immaculate Conception, Boston, Massachusetts,” Part 2, The Diapason, August 2017, pages 18–21, “The 1864 William A. Johnson Opus 161, Piru Community United Methodist Church, Piru, California,” Part 4, The Diapason, November 2018, pages 20–24, and “The 1755 John Snetzler Organ, Clare College, Cambridge, restored by William Drake, Ltd., Joost de Boer, Director,” The Diapason, September 2019, pages 17–21. With the sole exception of Gottfried Silbermann, these are free variables for all other builders known to the author.
35. J. S. Bach, Komm, Heiliger Geist, Herre Gott, BWV 651, Christopher Lichtenstein, organist.
36. Frank-Harald Greß, Die Orgeln Gottfried Silbermanns (Dresden: Sandstein Verlag, 2007), pages 72–73.
37. Michael McNeil, “The elusive and sonorous meantone of Dom Bédos,” The Diapason, September 2020, pages 14–17.
Soundclips
4. [00:33] Louis Marchand, Tibi omnes angeli, Jean-Esprit Isnard, Couvent Royal de Saint-Maximin, 1774, Bernard Coudurier, BNL 112851 A, © SCAM/BNL 1995.
5. [00:55] Johann Sebastian Bach, Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor, BWV 582, Gottfried Silbermann, Freiberg Dom, 1714, Karl Richter, Archiv 2533 441, © Siegfried Schmalzriedt, 1980.
