Orpheus Institute acquires Ton Koopman library

Larry Palmer

Christmas gifts:
a few suggestions

Writing this column in mid-October means that I have not given much thought to Christmas shopping. Instead I have spent most working hours planning programs (and then practicing) for the second in our annual schedule of three house concerts, enjoyed the opening nights of Dallas Opera’s fall season by attending Wagner’s Flying Dutchman and Bizet’s Carmen, and preparing for the first-ever wedding to take place in our spacious music room. (After all, with a pipe organ and seating for forty guests, why not?)

However, now as you read these December Harpsichord Notes, I hope they may contain some suggestions that could be of help for all who have yet to make gift selections. So, tally-ho and read on!

• Eagle-eyed subscribers to The Diapason will have seen the notice of J. William Greene’s new compact disc Christmas Ayres and Dances in the Here & There section (page 12) of our October magazine. The disc (Pro Organo CD 7281) comprises Greene’s performances of his genial compositions played on a Gerrit Klop continuo organ and a single-manual harpsichord by Peter Fisk. The clever Baroque-style arrangements of familiar carols and secular songs of the season are sure to delight the ears of music-loving friends. Among my personal favorites is Greene’s Bell Fugue (based on Jingle Bells), sure to be a hit. For colleagues who are fellow keyboardists, why not purchase not only the compact disc, but also the printed scores for these captivating arrangements? All three volumes are available from Concordia Publishing House. Bell Fugue is the final piece in Volume II.

• An earlier publication by Edwin McLean (born 1951) bears the title A Baroque Christmas—Carols and Counterpoint for Keyboard (New Interpretations of traditional seasonal pieces for piano, organ, or harpsichord), issued in 2003 by Frank J. Hackinson (FJH Publishing Company), Fort Lauderdale, Florida. With works somewhat easier than Greene’s compositions, McLean offers a single forty-page volume of charming and useful pieces equally suited for all the instruments mentioned in his introduction, including digital keyboards. Eleven tunes are set: Noël Nouvelet, God Rest You Merry, Greensleeves, Coventry Carol, Kings of Orient, Pat-A-Pan, In dulci jubilo, Veni Emmanuel, Tempus Adest Floridum, Stille Nacht, and Adeste Fideles. I have used most of these for church and concerts and continue to enjoy them very much.

• Now for something completely different: author Mark Schweizer has made a slight deviation from the fourteen murder mysteries that began with The Alto Wore Tweed and progressed through the various vocal ranges (The Tenor Wore Tapshoes, The Diva Wore Diamonds, The Organist Wore Pumps, etc.), a series of novels that has captivated so many of us.  A fifteenth story, also set in St. Germaine (Schweizer’s fictitious small town in North Carolina), is replete with the familiar cast of characters headed by Hayden Konig, police chief and organist/choirmaster extraordinaire of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. But in the shorter novella titled simply The Christmas Cantata the author deviates slightly from the others in his series. It is available in the original paperback format (95 pages) or as a more recent hardback edition, both of which present exactly the same text, but the second edition is in a slightly smaller book format that requires 128 pages—more elegant and better, perhaps, for stocking stuffing. ’Tis a gentle tale, still filled with hilarious episodes, musical references, and sly liturgical guffaws: available from St. James Music Press (SJMP Books). You may wish to include a special handkerchief in that stocking, for the denouement is beautifully touching and may bring tears to the eyes. Also, a warning: this author’s mysteries are habit forming; I sincerely doubt that anyone can read just one! In a surprise email, received as I write this essay, Schweizer announced the fifteenth, and final, St. Germaine mystery: The Choirmaster Wore Out. Definitely a brand-new entry for acquiring and giving away!

• Thanks to my mother I began listening to operas at a tender age. Each Saturday afternoon in fall and winter, beginning when I was nine years old, my ears would be focused on our radio speaker as Mom and I listened to the New York Metropolitan Opera broadcasts in our small town of Corsica, Pennsylvania. I am grateful for this background as well as for my grade- and high-school experiences as a wind player, especially the ones after I began to play oboe. That, plus the choral directing experiences that were part and parcel of my graduate work and early professional engagements taught me a great deal about phrasing and making the music “breathe” in natural ways. I firmly believe that every keyboardist needs this type of training to become a better musician. Later these experiences engendered many a humorous moment in organ or harpsichord lessons when I would stop a student to suggest some necessary phrasing here or there, and often end with the comment, “I still can’t believe that you pay all this tuition for me to remind you to breathe and count!”

As an aid to the development of vocally informed musicality I would suggest as a Christmas gift, both to “self” and “others”—and a most unusual one, at that: ARC, which is the title of the Decca Records debut CD performed by countertenor Anthony Roth Costanzo. This artist (who has been selected as “Vocalist of the Year” by Musical America) has put together a program that demonstrates his self-admitted 50% love of Baroque music and 50% devotion to contemporary works. On this magnificent disc Costanzo performs works by Philip Glass and George Frideric Handel. This modern mastersinger of both styles convinced me of the beauty to be found in each, and I have listened repeatedly, enraptured by his musicality. Costanzo made his Dallas Opera debut on October 30, 2015, in the world premiere of Jake Heggie and Terrence McNally’s opera Great Scott. Since that magical evening I have been following Costanzo’s brilliant career. His artistry, both as singer and actor, earns him my highest recommendation and admiration.

• Another Handelian who could bring tears to the eyes with her exquisite vocalism was the mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, who began a musical career as violist, but soon was discovered to have one of the great female voices of the twentieth century. Sample her exquisite singing on the Avie CD 30, released in 2002—only four years before her untimely death at age 52. Lieberson is ably abetted by the Baroque specialist, conductor, and harpsichordist Harry Bicket, playing an Italianate single-manual harpsichord by Douglas Maple (after Zenti). This recording is another musical experience that just might be life changing.

• August 16, 2019, will be the sixtieth anniversary of Wanda Landowska’s death. The “mother of us all,” this pioneering harpsichordist still resonates through her recordings and through the memoirs contributed by her devoted friends (and occasional detractors). I was incredibly fortunate to have known Mrs. Putnam Aldrich, known universally as “Momo,” Landowska’s first private secretary during the years they spent together at Wanda’s “Temple of Music” in Saint-Leu-la-Forêt, France. I became acquainted with Momo through our mutual friend Richard Kurth, a fellow Ohioan who has spent most of his career teaching French and Spanish at the Kamehameha School in Honolulu. Richard, who drove Momo to the local Alliance Française meetings, actually accomplished our mutual introductions, and thus resulted my invitation for Momo to tell her account of those years for The Diapason. For many subsequent winters I spent my Christmas holidays visiting Richard and Momo in Hawaii (a tough choice, but someone needed to do it), interviewing Mrs. Aldrich year after year and taking notes that eventually found their way into Harpsichord in America: a Twentieth-Century Revival.

It was during one of these remarkable meetings that I, quite brazenly, asked Momo who might inherit a caricature of Wanda that was prominently displayed in each of Momo’s dwellings (she changed addresses several times during these years). That query remained unanswered until the last day of that year’s Honolulu sojourn when Momo handed me a wrapped package, approximately eight and a half inches by six and a half inches. I knew without looking what was enclosed in that brown paper, and I said, “You must keep this! I know what it means to you.” But Momo insisted, and, I confess, I did not argue with her for very long. The caricature, an unsigned watercolor, is widely considered to be the finest of all such drawings, especially in its perfect details.

When I arrived home in Dallas I immediately had some photographs made, and sent them to Momo so she would not be without that beautiful image. Eventually I loaned a professional high-decibel print of “my” Wanda portrait to Martin Elste for his 2009 Berlin Landowska Symposium and Exhibition, and it served as the signature work of that event. It also is published in Dr. Elste’s magnificent book Die Dame mit dem Cembalo [The Lady with the Harpsichord] (Schott Music, 2010, Order Number ED 20853; ISBN 978-3-7957-0710-1). The full-color print of the caricature may be found on page 98. The book’s text is entirely in German except for the four pages from the memoirs of American harpsichordist Irma Rogell: “Walks with Wanda,” on pages 146–150. Even if one is not fluent in German the comprehensive range of Elste’s illustrations (many of which are photographs that he travelled far and wide to make) places this deluxe 240-page volume at the top of the list as the most comprehensive pictorial history of our beloved “Mamusia.”

• I was tremendously moved by Martin Pearlman’s generosity with his Armand-Louis Couperin Edition, made available for all of us to download and print, free of any copyright restrictions. In a recent email Martin included a shorter URL for accessing his gift: http://tinyurl.com/ALCouperin. I pass it on to our readers as per Martin’s suggestion, and wish you, once again, a happy downloading experience.

It is with a small, Pearlman-inspired gesture that I offer my Christmas gift to our readers: free use of my Landowska caricature. Like Martin, I urge you to use it wherever and whenever you wish, copyright free. And, I would ask only that you use the credit “Larry Palmer collection, gift of Momo Aldrich.”

• As my final Christmas suggestion: if you have a friend or acquaintance who does not subscribe to The Diapason, why not present that lucky person with a year’s subscription to this journal? It would benefit your friends and help to ensure that the magazine continues in its beautiful, full-color format for many years to come. What could be nicer? And twelve times a year you make your friend(s) happy­—and perhaps more involved in your musical world.

Larry Palmer

A fascinating book by Beverly Jerold, Music Performance Issues: 1600–1900

Readers of The Diapason’s July 2018 issue most likely remember Beverly Jerold’s article about two eighteenth-century concerts of Handel’s music as reviewed by the Berlin Court Kapellmeister Johann Friedrich Reichardt, who attended the programs during his 1785 visit to London. Ms. Jerold has spent much of her life researching for period information about musical performances as reported by the persons who experienced them. One could see in the stunning color headshot of this intrepid author that she has a firm chin and twinkling eyes, ever on the lookout for authentic information about the topic that she is researching. These period verifications serve as guides for those who seek stylistic authenticity in their own present-day performances.

From the many varied essays that Jerold has published in a wide range of journals she has selected nineteen articles for her book Music Performance Issues: 1600–1900, issued in 2016 by Pendragon Press, Hillsdale, New York, as a paperback edition comprising 359 pages of useful knowledge (ISBN 978-1-57647-175-0, list price: $65, available from www.pendragonpress.com).

I would enjoy sharing many of her remarkable discoveries and observations with you, but it would be unfair for me to present you with Jerold’s discoveries, and it might rob you, the readers, of the surprises that you may have when you read the book for yourselves. I do encourage you to access the volume and to enjoy Jerold’s findings, offered with the utmost clarity and complete references to her sources. To whet your curiosities, here are the titles of the book’s chapters:

• Dilettante and Amateur: Our Evolving Language

• Bach’s Lament about Leipzig’s Professional Instrumentalists

• Choral Singing Before the Era of Recordings

• Why Most a cappella Music Could Not Have Been Sung Unaccompanied

• Fasch and the Beginning of Modern Artistic Choral Singing

• What Handel’s Casting Reveals About Singers of the Time

• Intonation Standards and Equal Temperament

• Eighteenth-Century Stringed Keyboard Instruments from a Performance Perspective [LP: You may be surprised about the clavichord!]

• The Tromba and Corno in Bach’s Time

• Maelzel’s Role in Beethoven’s Symphonic Metronome Marks

• The French Time Devices Revisited

• The Notable Significance of Common Time and Cut Time in Bach’s Era

• Numbers and Tempo: 1630–1800

• Overdotting in Handel’s Overtures Reconsidered

• Notes inégales: A Definitive New Parameter

• Distinguishing Between Artificial and Natural Vibrato in Premodern Music

• A Solution for Simple (secco) Theater Recitative

• How Composers Viewed Performers’ Additions

• The Varied Reprise in Eighteenth-Century Instrumental Music—A Reappraisal

Telemann Sonatas for Violin and Harpsichord

Totally unfamiliar music by the most prolific baroque composer Georg Friedrich Telemann (1681–1767) fills a recent compact disc featuring violinist Dorian Komanoff Bandy and harpsichordist Paul Cienniwa (Whaling City Sound, WCS 108). Originally published in Frankfort-am-Main in 1715, these six four-movement works, each comprising alternating slow-fast-slow-fast movements, were composed with the burgeoning amateur house music musician in mind. A seventh sonata of similar style and length that has survived only in the composer’s manuscript preserved in the Dresden State Library receives its world premiere recording to fill out the program.

In disc and numerical order the sonatas are in G Minor, D Major, B Minor, G Major, A Minor, and A Major; the extra seventh sonata is in F-sharp Minor. Each composition bears the TWV (Telemann Werke Verzeichnis [“work catalogue”]) number 41, followed by an indication of its individual key (in German style: g, D, h, G, a. A, fis).

I had met the harpsichordist during a long-ago Boston Early Music Festival visit. He has recently relocated to the warmer climes of Florida where (now Dr.) Paul Cienniwa is music director of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Delray. Thus it was not difficult to locate an email address for this fine artist. I especially wanted to learn who had built the harpsichord used for this recording and to ascertain whether the works were being played from a realized score or from the more probable two-line original engraving. It turned out to be the latter, which made my admiration for such beautiful collaborative musicianship ascend even several units higher. Especially an elegant solo harpsichord introduction to the “Cantabile” of the B-minor Sonata had moved me deeply, and I appreciate the sensitive musical realization of the figured bass throughout. It also pleased me that Cienniwa lists among his musical mentors Jerome Butera, a longtime editor of The Diapason and currently the magazine’s sales director. (File that in your “Small World” folder, please.)

The fine-sounding instrument, it turned out, is a single-manual 2 x 8 example inspired by the unique 1681 Vaudry harpsichord (an instrument that our readers encountered briefly last month through the illustration for Jane Clark’s article on François Couperin). It was built in 2008 by Kevin Spindler. For those who might wish to acquire this music, violinist Bandy suggests IMSLP for downloading (https://imslp.org), or, even better, a facsimile of the 1715 edition published by Anne Fuzeau Productions (http://www.editions-classique.com/en/index.php). With such a fine example of the collaborative harpsichord line for consultation, one might not be so reluctant to realize that figured bass.

Stephen L. Pinel

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.

Pioneers in American Music, 1860−1920, The New England Classicists, by Barbara Owen. Leupold Editions, a division of the Leupold Foundation, Colfax, North Carolina, 2021, xvi + 303 pages, 55 black & white illustrations, discography, bibliography, and index, $69 + postage and handling.

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.

Lost arts

The stone carvings in an ancient cathedral, the sparkles of light on Rembrandt’s tunic, the deep colors of a Tiffany lampshade, the intricacies of a Renaissance tapestry. These are all experiences available to us as we travel to ancient sites and visit museums. They are living testaments to the skills of artists and artisans, expressing their visions, observations, and thoughts in physical media. Did Rembrandt mix his paints from gathered materials as observed in artworks already old when he viewed them? Did he know that his paints would retain their colors and stay on the canvas for 350 years? Visit a modern artists’ supply store, and you will find rack upon rack of tubes of pre-mixed paints from different manufacturers. Do they expect that their products will last on canvas until the year 2352? Do the artists who buy and work with those paints trust that a glimmer of light on the nose of a subject will beguile viewers three centuries from now?

We play and listen to centuries-old organs, experiencing the same lively sounds that musicians and congregations heard over 600 years ago. We marvel at the monumental organ cases, knowing that they were built without the aid of electric milling machines. Perhaps some of us have tried to saw a board from a log by hand. I have. I can tell you it is hard work; it is tricky to produce a board that is anything like straight; and it takes a long time. We read that eighteenth-century organs took eight or ten years to build. Even so, Arp Schnitger (1648–1719) produced ninety-five new organs, forty-eight of which survive. Multiply that by the number of boards sawn by hand—case panels, toeboards, rackboards, keyboards, stop action traces, and hundreds of thousands of trackers. That many organs is a significant life’s work for a modern organ builder. And remember, delivering a pipe organ in those days involved oxcarts and rutted dirt (or mud) roads. Or did Mr. Schnitger set up a workshop in each church, casting metal and soldering pipes on site? That would simplify the logistics.

Something like 2,500 “Hook” organs were built between 1827 and 1927 by E. & G. G. Hook, E. & G. G. Hook & Hastings, and Hook & Hastings. Organs were shipped from the workshops in Boston to churches below the Mason-Dixon Line before the Civil War, to California, and throughout the Midwest. By then, steam ferries and railroads were available to make shipments easier—the tracks ran right into the workshop. During the same period, builders like Henry Erben, George Hutchings, George Stevens, and George Jardine, among many others, combined to build thousands of organs across the United States. With the introduction of electricity to pipe organ keyboard and stop actions, Skinner, Möller, Austin, Schantz, Kimball, and others combined to build as many as 2,500 new pipe organs a year in American churches during the 1920s.

Here’s to the crabgrass, here’s to the mortgage . . . .

So sang Allen Sherman in his 1963 smash hit recording, My Son the Nut, the same album that included “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh. . . .” The song was about the migration from cities to suburbs in the 1950s: “walk the dog and cut the grass, take the kids to dancing class, Jim’s little league got beat again.”1 During the 1950s and 1960s, suburban churches blossomed. The populations of towns surrounding Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, New York, and countless other cities exploded. Twenty years ago, I served a church as music director in a suburb of Boston that never had more than 2,000 residents until the circumnavigating commuter highway Route 128 (now I-95) was built around 1960. Within ten years, there were 15,000 residents, and the little country Congregational church built an impressive new sanctuary with an extensive parish house and a three-manual organ.

Many if not most of those powerful suburban congregations commissioned new pipe organs. Where I grew up, the ubiquitous New England town square had two or three competing churches. One town near home had two three-manual Hook organs built in 1860 and 1870. Another had three Aeolian-Skinners. And by the time I graduated from high school, my hometown had two organs by Charles Fisk, one of which has its fiftieth anniversary this year.

A new wave

Through the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, hundreds of American churches committed to commissioning new organs built by “boutique” builders of tracker organs, many of which replaced impressive and valuable electro-pneumatic-action organs. Of course, many of those organs had in turn replaced impressive and important nineteenth-century organs. The Andover Organ Company, then led by Charles Fisk, was among the first of the new wave of organ companies. Charles Fisk spun off to start what became C. B. Fisk, Inc., along with the founding of, in no particular order, eponymous organ companies such as Noack, Roche, Brombaugh, Bozeman-Gibson, Bedient, Taylor & Boody, Dobson, Visser-Rowland, and Jaeckel. Casavant started building tracker organs and firms like Wilhelm, Wolff, and Létourneau spun off from there in the following years.

As some of the “older” new firms began “aging out,” a new wave of impressive companies came along such as Juget-Sinclair, Richards, Fowkes & Co., and Paul Fritts, and companies like Nichols & Simpson and the revitalized Schoenstein & Co. started building new electro-pneumatic-action organs of high quality inspired both by the electric-action masterpieces of the early twentieth century and by, I believe, the increasingly high standards of the boutique organ movement. Toward the end of the twentieth century, American organbuilding was a vital, if small industry producing beautiful instruments of all descriptions at a rapid rate.

American organbuilders gathered in Washington, DC, in September 1973 to discuss formation of a new professional organization that would take the name American Institute of Organbuilders. This purpose statement was published in the program book for that gathering:

• to be the first such convention in recent times in North America and to be a model for future conventions of this type to be held regularly;

• to promote the exchange of principles and ideas among established organbuilders to aid in the improvement of the instrument while lowering its costs and ensuring the security of our future;

• to educate ourselves in potential new technologies and construction procedures, some of which are being employed by other industries and arts but perhaps not yet fully realized and exploited by organbuilders;

• to provide the many suppliers of organ parts and materials, many of which are new to our field, with the opportunity to display and demonstrate their developments and ideas where many builders may jointly view and discuss these products;

• to study some general business problems of concern to the organ industry, and to propose courses of action that might be taken by organbuilders, both individually and collectively, to alleviate these concerns;

• to enable social exchanges between organbuilders and their families; to provide families of organbuilders with the opportunity to share in the appreciation of the greater glories of the profession through mutual enjoyment of a convention environment and its program of entertainment designed for all.

The last decades of the twentieth century were very productive for American organbuilding, and we must not forget the vast number of European organs imported to the United States. E. Power Biggs famously purchased an organ from Flentrop that was installed in the Busch-Reisinger Museum (now Busch Hall) at Harvard University in 1957. He made it instantly famous with his fabulously successful series of recordings, Bach: Great Organ Favorites. Many of my friends and colleagues, myself included, cite those recordings as influential to devoting a lifetime to organbuilding. That organ was followed by a flood of Flentrops crossing the Atlantic, a wave greatly advanced by Fenner Douglas, professor of organ at Oberlin in the 1960s and early 1970s, whose influence led to at least dozens of Flentrops installed in American churches and universities, notably those at Oberlin College and Duke University. Also in 1957, Trinity Lutheran Church in Cleveland, Ohio, installed a four-manual, sixty-five-rank Beckerath organ, three years before the monumental five-manual Beckerath organ was installed at Saint Joseph’s Oratory in Montreal.

As the twentieth century came to a close, a significant decline in church attendance was well underway. Churches continue to close at an increasing rate. And toward the end of the last century, there was a dip of interest in playing the organ. When I was a student at Oberlin in the 1970s, there were over fifty organ majors in four bustling studios. Fifteen years later, there were fewer than ten. Several colleges and universities closed their organ departments, churches with traditionally active music programs began having trouble filling empty jobs, and for a while things were looking pretty grim for the American pipe organ.

I am carving time into rough blocks for my own convenience, but as the twenty-first century got underway, a fresh wave of brilliant young organists appeared. Stephen Tharp and Ken Cowan, now in their late forties and early fifties, led the pack forging virtuosic concert careers. They were followed in no particular order by Paul Jacobs, Isabelle Demers, Nathan Laube, Katelyn Emerson, and many others, raising the art of organ playing to unprecedented heights. Concurrently, especially following economic lows following 9/11 and the near collapse of the American economy in 2008, noticeably fewer churches embarked on expensive organ renovation or new organ projects. Many of us in the organbuilding trade wondered silently and increasingly out loud if we were heading toward the end of the pipe organ industry.

Convention

The American Institute of Organbuilders held its annual convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey, October 8–12, 2022. More than 300 members gathered in a convention hotel there to be immersed in the work of the Historic Organ Restoration Committee that is more than halfway through the herculean task of restoring the legendary Boardwalk Hall organ with seven manuals and 449 ranks. Built by Midmer-Losh, Inc., between 1929 and 1932 (Opus 5550), the Boardwalk Hall organ is the largest in the world, not by ranks (The Wanamaker Organ has more), but with 33,112 pipes. Many of the ranks have eighty-five pipes or more. The committee is about eight years into the project and anticipates completion in 2030. I will bet we will have another convention there then. (See the cover feature for this organ in the November 2020 issue.)

A convention of the AIO typically includes a lot of time riding buses to see organs throughout an area. Because of the huge attraction at the center of this convention, we had just one day of bus travel to visit three marvelous organs in the Philadelphia area: C. B. Fisk, Inc., Opus 150 (2016) at Christ Church, Episcopal, Philadelphia; Aeolian-Skinner Opus 948 (1936) at St. Mark’s Church, Episcopal, Philadelphia; and the instrument by Kegg Pipe Organ Builders (2014) at Bryn Athyn Cathedral, Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania. These are three very different and very distinguished organs, all beautifully demonstrated, and all terrific examples of the art of American organbuilding. At the convention hotel, perhaps the only large hotel in Atlantic City that does not boast a casino, we heard lectures about the history of the Boardwalk Hall organ, the economics of refurbishing rather than replacing damaged old organ pipes, and the art of structuring a contract to define an organ project, among others. Nathan Laube, the brilliant recitalist and teacher I mentioned earlier, lectured organbuilders about his ideal of the modern organ console—his conclusion, keep it simple.

In the past, I have written in detail about the organs we heard after attending a convention. This time, I want to celebrate the trade. I have related an off-the-cuff bird’s eye view of American organbuilding over the past century to put in context what I am observing now. In addition to our work aiding the sales of vintage pipe organs and dismantling those organs to be delivered to workshops for renovation, the Organ Clearing House is privileged to work with many of our admired companies, assisting with the shipping, hoisting, assembly, and installation of their new organs. This allows us intimate exposure to the methods and practices of a variety of firms and close associations with their largest organs.

While varying styles of worship and the proliferation of digital instruments has consumed much of the market for simple pipe organs, it is clear that we are in an age of monumental new instruments. Noack, Fritts, Fisk, Schoenstein, Richards, Fowkes, Létourneau, Buzard, and Parsons, among others, have built exceptional new organs in the last five years. All of them carry forth the 500-year tradition of organbuilding, many aided by Computer Numerical Control (CNC) routers. These expensive but efficient machines use computer programs to interpret an organbuilder’s drawings to produce repetitive parts automatically, to drill windchest tables, to make toeboards, rackboards, skyracks, and countless other organ parts with precise perfection. Ten years ago, only a few shops had them, now some have two that grind along in the corner of a shop while the organbuilders are free to do the interpretive work that a machine cannot do.

A couple important firms have recently closed. After a century of work and producing more than 2,500 organs, the Reuter Organ Company in Lawrence, Kansas, stopped most operations on December 1. While they remained profitable until the end, as the senior staff reached retirement age, other administrative staff chose not to step in to continue the business. The closure of August Laukhuff GmbH, a huge and important organ supply firm in Weikersheim, Germany, is having a profound effect on American companies. Many organbuilders have long relied on Laukhuff for organ blowers, electric parts like slider motors and pull-down magnets, keyboards, polished façade pipes, action chassis, and countless other widgets essential to the trade. Other firms are working to fill in the gaps, but this remains an important loss.

The AIO has a relatively new tradition of having a special dinner for members under thirty years old. Since the conventions in 2020 and 2021 were postponed because of covid, this year’s dinner included all members under forty, and there were more than thirty in attendance. I was thrilled to realize that in a trade heavily populated by older people, more than ten percent of those attending this convention were under forty. I had wonderful conversations with many of them and was heartened by their excitement and commitment to continuing the art.

This year’s AIO Convention was particularly high-spirited with enthusiasm for our trade abounding. Nathan Bryson, convention chair and curator of the Boardwalk Hall organ, was an enthusiastic and welcoming host. His excitement for his job is evident in the attitudes of the members of the Historic Organs Restoration Committee, both staff and volunteers. My many conversations with our younger colleagues were highpoints of the week for me. I was happy to hear their enthusiasm about their work. Some newcomers to the trade expressed to me their amazement at the rich history of the organ and the complexities of building, restoring, and repairing them. A couple of the younger participants were in the process of starting new workshops, and their excitement was infectious. Many of the younger members are women, bringing lively diversity to our gathering.

Whenever I am with colleague organbuilders, I hear stories of how they got interested in the organ when they were kids, how the first years of learning piqued their interest enough to devote their lives to the trade. I love comparing notes about solving problems. I love hearing about new materials, methods, machinery, and tools that save time and money, and I love the comeradery of spending time with like-minded people.

Above all, I celebrate what seems to be a bright future for American organbuilding. Churches are investing in large expensive projects, and many of our colleague firms have years of contracted work spreading ahead of them. Perhaps most important, I believe that American organ playing is the best it has ever been. As long as there are brilliant, compelling musicians to play on the instruments we build, there will always be new organs to build. Keep working hard, my friends. ν

Notes

1. In fact, the couple singing that song winds up fleeing the suburbs to return to the city: “Back to the crush there, hurry let us rush there, back to the rat race, don’t forget your briefcase, back to the groove there, say, why don’t we move there, away from all this sweet simplicity.”

Alexander Meszler

Alexander Meszler’s performances and research aim to inspire new perspectives on the organ. He spent 2018–2019 in Versailles, France, on a Fulbright grant to study secularism and the organ. In 2020, he completed his Doctor of Musical Arts degree in organ at Arizona State University with Kimberly Marshall. He is a member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2019.

In December 1516, Pope Leo X revoked Ottaviano Petrucci’s exclusive 1513 privilege to print keyboard intabulations. A lesser-known publisher, Andrea Antico, was awarded rights to the genre. Just one month later, January 1517, Antico delivered Italy its first collection of printed keyboard music, Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo (henceforth, Frottole intabulate). This collection is the first known publication of keyboard music in Italy, the second known keyboard publication anywhere (after Arnolt Schlick’s Tabulatur etlicher Lobesang of 1512), and the second extant collection—manuscript or published—of keyboard music in Italy (after the fifteenth-century Codex Faenza, Biblioteca Comunale 117).¹ No other collection is single-genre, and no other similar collection is almost entirely secular in content. Though future Italian keyboard collections continued to include song intabulations, no other publication represents the late-fifteenth, early-sixteenth century frottola genre.

Clearly, Frottole intabulate is special if only based on the merits of its innovative, first-of-its-kind, and in some respects, one-of-a-kind status. Yet in histories and critiques of early keyboard literature, the collection is consistently received coldly. In a textbook on historical performance, Jon Laukvik, without abridgment, writes only,

Frottole intabulate da sonare organi libro primo, published in 1517 by Andrea Antico, are the first Italian keyboard works to appear in print. These frottole, intabulations of simple songs, are in four parts throughout and contain ornamental flourishes (groppi) already familiar to us.²

Even more apathetically, Willi Apel writes: “as the title indicates, it [Frottole intabulate] contains only intabulations of frottole, and is thus of little interest for the history of keyboard music.”³ If Frottole intabulate is so unique, why has it been received unenthusiastically?

While “reevaluate” in the title of this essay might on the surface seem disingenuous given Frottole intabulate’s obscurity to today’s keyboardists, the reality remains that there is a substantial body of writing related to this collection. Reevaluate, then, is to reexamine and perhaps “re-present” the body of scholarship related to the collection, but also to reconsider its value as keyboard music for listeners and performers of today. I begin by presenting a brief overview of Antico’s life and the contents of Frottole intabulate. Next, I contextualize the keyboard collection within the framework of early print culture by considering aspects of economics, reception, genre, authorship, instrumentation, and Frottole intabulate’s famous frontispiece. Finally, I analyze the intabulation technique in Antico’s collection, proving that the difficulty and artistic merit are well-situated with other contemporaneous compositions and arrangements.

Andrea Antico

The most comprehensive secondary source on Andrea Antico, both for his life and music, is Catherine Weeks Chapman’s more than four-hundred-page Harvard University dissertation from 1964.⁴ Though not impossible to obtain a copy, her document is not widely available. Chapman’s work, though significantly dated, is thorough and is still the baseline source for the Grove Music Online encyclopedia entry on Antico by Martin Picker. Figure 1 is compiled from these sources and may serve as a reference point and visual guide to Antico’s life; this chart and the following sketch of Antico’s life and publications serve as an outline, not a comprehensive biography.

It is not uncommon that the lives of sixteenth-century figures be shrouded in a degree of ambiguity, and Antico is no exception. However, since publishers were held in high regard and typically claimed ownership of their work, the level of uncertainty related to Antico’s biography is unusual. Antico began his life sometime around 1480 in Montona, present day Croatia, then governed by Venice. Some editors and authors have confused Montona with Mantua. It is not known why or when he moved, but Antico’s first work surfaced in Rome around 1510. During this early part of his career, Antico was exceptionally prolific. Chapman states,

From 1510 through 1521, Antico actually produced more music books than Petrucci—a great many more if reprints are included. But it is less the volume of Antico’s output than his use of a printing method fundamentally different from Petrucci’s that makes him an important figure in the early history of music printing.⁵

Not only was Antico a prolific printer, but he also worked by using woodcuts instead of movable type, the method used by Petrucci. Antico was Petrucci’s first significant competitor. Although Petrucci produced the first prints of polyphonic music, Antico was the first to do so in Rome in 1510 with Canzoni nove con alcune scelte de varii libri di canto (henceforth, Canzoni nove). It was during his years in Rome that Antico produced Frottole intabulate, his only collection for the keyboard.

Between 1518 and 1520 Antico was in partnership with the Giunta family of printers in Venice. Nothing is known about why he moved north or the circumstances around why he partnered with another printer, but Antico’s name continued to be featured prominently in his work. After this, for more than ten years between 1522 and 1533, references to Antico disappear. It is likely that he continued his work in Venice with the Giunta family or some other publisher. Still in Venice, Antico resurfaces in 1533 working with the Scotto family of publishers. During this time period, he produced what might be considered his magnum opus, Mottetti di Adrian Willaert, libro secondo a Quattro voci (1539). After this publication, little more is known about Antico’s life.

Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo (1517)

The frottola (frottole, plural) is a genre of secular Italian song that was popular during the late-fifteenth and early-sixteenth centuries. It is widely considered to be a predecessor to the emerging, more complex, and now more well-known madrigal.⁶ The frottola generally contains a text with lighthearted themes and elements of humor. Frequently strophic, any discernible text painting quickly dissolves. Thus, at least in theory, the frottola can be easily accommodated by textless versions like keyboard intabulations. Intabulations are arrangements of vocal pieces for an instrument, particularly keyboard or lute.

Frottole intabulate is a collection of twenty-six frottola intabulations for keyboard. As is the case with most early music, certain aspects of performance practice are and will probably always remain unknown. Maria Luisa Baldassari suggests that there are numerous possible ways to perform the music in Antico’s collection including as an accompaniment for a solo voice or as works for keyboard alone.⁷ Until recently there were two original surviving copies of Frottole intabulate, one in Prague (National Museum, Nostitz Library) and another in Milan (Private Library Polesini), but the Milan copy (originally missing a single folio) has been lost. All but two vocal models survive in other Antico publications that predate Frottole intabulate.⁸ One of the remaining two intabulations exists in a Petrucci publication that also predates Frottole intabulate, and the other has no known vocal model.⁹

Frottole intabulate does not include the original texts other than what is provided in the title, but many of the songs would have been very well known. Even though frottola texts are generally lighthearted, the lyrics are important to a successful interpretation of the pieces because their themes still vary significantly from song to song. Despite access to almost all the texts from the original vocal models, translations are unavailable in all the modern editions of Frottole intabulate; this is most likely due to the problematic nature of translating fifteenth- and sixteenth-century poetic Italian into modern English. I have included tentative translations of the titles in Figure 2 in an effort to increase the accessibility of this music to performers and listeners.

By including partial translations in the liner notes to his Antico recording, Glen Wilson also recognized the importance of these texts. Because he only translated lyrics that he felt particularly influenced his interpretations, some of his translations only include the title while others include significant portions of text. Some of the extended texts significantly change the meaning of the title. For instance, “Fiamma amorosa e bella” (number 13) alone translates to “Flame loving and beautiful,” but with more context from the rest of the poetry, Wilson translates, “Beautiful flame of love, why have you turned to ice?”¹⁰ Still other pieces introduce elements of humor only after the initial title like in “Che farala che dirala” (number 21), which alone becomes “What will she do when she hears?” With additional context, however, it becomes something akin to “what will she do when she hears I have become a monk?”¹¹ Though the translations I provide in Figure 2 are a starting point, a future resource might work with an expert on literature of the Italian renaissance to complete full translations.

Figure 2 is a complete list of the contents of Frottole intabulate. It contains the number, title, tentative English translation of the title, a potential source for the intabulation, and possible original composers.

Contextualizing Antico’s frottole in the print culture of the early-sixteenth century

Very little is known about the culture of early-sixteenth-century music printing, and it is easy to imply inaccurate generalities. Stanley Boorman states,

We can hardly begin to say anything about the general acceptance of music, beyond the assumption that printed editions reached many more readers than did manuscripts.¹²

Boorman suggests that scholars have often arbitrarily considered smaller, less productive companies to be more important than others based on predetermined ideas about value and quality.¹³ Evaluating a print’s significance consists of studying, among numerous other factors, the success or lack of success of individual prints, how they were received, interrelationships of printers and patrons, and profitability. Because of the passing of time, trying to comprehend the cultural background of these prints can seem futile, but not doing so can make the music itself seem distant and irrelevant. Newer research into the early decades of music printing has unlocked many previously inaccessible aspects of the culture and music.

Economics

The printing process was expensive and time consuming; having a print in the early decades of the existence of printing technology brought the owner pride and prestige. Thus, just like the origins of the music that was composed and played in the first place, what was printed was largely controlled by patronage. As machinery and materials later became less expensive, demand for more publications also increased, and publishers needed to compete to stay in business. It is tempting to posit that this caused printing businesses to function within a framework similar to free-market capitalism, but Kate Van Orden maintains this competitiveness comes only from complexifying relationships of patronage.¹⁴ Even late in Antico’s life, but certainly for the publication of Frottole intabulate, privileges that limited the legal printing rights of different publishers were controlled by persons of authority, local governments, and even the pope. These privileges regulated the majority of competition among publishers. Disobeying a papal privilege for exclusive printing rights, for instance, could result in “excommunication, a fine, and confiscation of the offending copies.”¹⁵ The exclusivity of these privileges affected the publication of Frottole intabulate. Not only did Antico obtain a papal privilege in order to print his keyboard intabulations, but doing so also resulted in the inability of other publishers to print something similar, including Petrucci, his rival.

Aside from the complexities and cost of getting permission to print, the cost of carrying out the printing was astronomical; the cost of printing was so high, in fact, that it is difficult to ascertain why someone would venture to do it at all. For Boorman, financial gain could not have been a primary motive. Given these high costs, a print that was successful enough to result in subsequent prints would be one of the only conceivable ways to make a profit.¹⁶ In reprints, materials could be reused, saving the printer the time and money associated with making the materials for the initial print run. Thus, the existence of multiple editions or reprints could be evidence for profit of these early sources.

There are no extant copies from a second printing of Frottole intabulate, and it is unlikely that one ever existed. If nothing else can be said about the economics of Antico’s keyboard collection, it could not have been too successful since its subtitle, Libro primo, implies a future second volume which never came to fruition. While it is likely that economics was a factor in Antico’s failure to produce a second volume, this is far from verifiable and was certainly not the only factor.

Reception

Very little can be said about the reception of Frottole intabulate. As discussed above, multiple reprints can be considered a sign of positive reception and continued appreciation of musical repertoires, but it is unlikely that this occurred for Frottole intabulate. Almost nothing is known about the logistical dissemination of this collection, but there must have been some reason to print an edition of secular song intabulations: an audience, a patron, a desire to do something innovative? Since there was never a second volume, likely no reprints, no similar frottola or other single-genre keyboard publications in sixteenth-century Italy, the print was probably not a wide-ranging success.

Antico’s frontispiece

The publishing rivalry between Petrucci and Antico is apparent in Frottole intabulate. Not only did Antico’s papal privilege to print keyboard intabulations result in the revocation of Petrucci’s ability to do so, Antico flaunted it in the frontispiece to Frottole intabulate (Figure 3). This frontispiece, probably by Antico’s regular collaborator, Giovanni Battista Columba, has been interpreted in numerous ways in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It is likely that the monkey holding a lute represents Petrucci because he previously published two sets of frottola arrangements for voice and lute. The woman dismisses the monkey and his lute intabulations in favor of Antico’s superior arrangements for keyboard. Antico’s decision to later publish frottola arrangements for voice and lute, a style he derided in this frontispiece can be interpreted in two chief ways: first, Antico’s Frottole intabulate was unsuccessful since lute was still the primary domestic instrument, which would be further supported by the fact that there was never a second volume of keyboard intabulations. Second, his attack on lute intabulations depicted in the title page was trivial and was of no consequence to the later publication of his own collection for lute and voice. It is probably some combination of the two of these. The important element to consider from this frontispiece is not the debatable specifics of the meaning of each of its characters and features, but rather that the very concept of intabulation for keyboard might have been controversial as a starting point at all. The frontispiece demonstrates that Frottole intabulate’s publisher was self-aware; indeed, it was the first of its kind.

Genre

The frottola was a popular genre in the late-fifteenth, early-sixteenth century. Ottaviano Petrucci, for instance, produced more than ten books of frottole. In addition to the multi-voice original frottola compositions, a tradition of single voice versions accompanied by lute developed, both improvised and in print. The fewer resources needed to execute a performance with just one or two musicians instead of an ensemble of singers allowed for greater versatility and improvisation. Anthony Cummings has examined this performance practice and found evidence that the practice of playing solo versions with self-accompanied improvised lute parts was widespread.¹⁷ Unwritten music (most music in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries) influenced publishers. Both Petrucci and Antico produced volumes of frottole for single voice accompanied by lute: Antico’s Frottole de Misser Bortolomio Tromboncino & Misser Marcheto Carra from around 1520 and Petrucci’s two books from 1509 and 1511, Tenori e contrabass intabulate col sopran in canto figurato per cantar e sonar col lauto, arranged by Franciscus Bossinensis.

There is severely limited evidence for a similar improvised tradition of performing frottole on the keyboard. If there was a significant unwritten precedent for Antico’s intabulations, it is difficult to understand why Petrucci would not have printed for the medium while he had held the papal privilege to do so. It is unlikely that there was a significant precedent for Antico’s collection. Nevertheless, as I have already stated, the frottola, which often contains texts deemed “frivolous”¹⁸ and disconnected from the music, lends itself nicely to textless versions.

Authorship

Understanding authorship in the Renaissance is obscured by modern notions of intellectual property and copyright. Van Orden states,

Though the notion clashes with modern definitions of authorship, one could say that it was not composers who authored printed books, but printers, printer-booksellers, and editors.¹⁹

Composers were not able to title their own music in anthology publications and their music was “rebranded” to suit the needs of the publisher. The frontispiece of a different Antico publication, Liber quindecim missarum (1516), visually demonstrates the prominence of the publisher over the composer. While Antico provides the names of the composers in its table of contents (Figure 4), the more prominent title page shows only Antico and his audience with Pope Leo X (Figure 5).²⁰ Given the beauty of the entirety of this Antico anthology (see Figure 6), one can begin to understand the printer’s prominence.

The elevated importance of publisher over composer in the Renaissance can be seen in Frottole intabulate. Van Orden states, “once again, Antico visually claims authorship of the volume, even though it is devoted almost entirely to the Frottole of Bartolomeo Tromboncino.”²¹ In the case of Frottole intabulate, unlike Liber quindecim missarum, there is an added layer: arrangement. Many past scholars have attempted to attribute or unattribute the arrangement of the frottole in this publication to Antico himself. There is not adequate evidence for or against such an attribution. This lack of information regarding who arranged the songs for keyboard can serve as yet more evidence that musical factors were less important than the publications themselves.

Conflicting attributions among different publications with the same content are pervasive in the early decades of music printing. This further illustrates the indifference publishers had for original authorship since correct attributions were clearly a lower priority than the overall quality of the publication. For example, “Fiamma Amorosa e bella,” number 13 in Frottole intabulate, first appears as number 6 in Canzoni sonetti strambotti et frottole, Libro tertio (henceforth, Libro tertio) and is ascribed to Marco Cara (Marchetto Cara).²² In the 1520 reprint in Venice with Giunta it is anonymous and in Frottole intabulate it is attributed to Bartolomeo Tromboncino. Both Christopher Hogwood and Peter Sterzinger, editors of two modern editions of Frottole intabulate, seem to ignore this issue. Sterzinger simply keeps the attributions from Frottole intabulate, while Hogwood does not include attributions, yet provides references to all the vocal sources. Hogwood’s preface seems as though he is aware of the issue but is unsure how to approach it. Maria Luisa Baldassari, the editor of another modern edition, does not dwell on the issue of attribution, but she denotes possibilities above each individual piece.

Another type of borrowing in early print culture involves using the previously printed content of other publishers. It is common to see repeated pieces among competing publishers without noting who published it first. For example, Antico’s Canzoni nove borrowed nearly half of its contents from Petrucci, his direct competitor. A publication like Frottole Intabulate is embedded in the notion of borrowing given the nature of arrangements.

Separately, composers worked to gain their own independent identity in print. Significantly later, in 1554, for instance, Palestrina paid for the publication of a high-quality volume of his own music.²³ Similarly, one can look as far back as Petrucci’s Josquin publication, the first publication dedicated to a single composer. While it is possible that this is a humanistic turn (the rising importance of the singular creative mind associated with the Renaissance), this is likely not the case. Boorman maintains that the publication of single-composer volumes like those by Petrucci (inclusive of Josquin, Obrecht, and Brumel) are probably an attempt to gain the favor of composers or flatter them into taking a position somewhere.²⁴ When composers did finally accomplish the publication of their own oeuvre, the line of authorship remained blurred: another publisher, Valerio Dorico, took inspiration from Antico’s frontispiece to Liber quindecim missarum for the publication of Cristóbal de Morales’s Missarum liber secundus in 1544. Dorico later modified this woodcut yet again to serve as the famous title page of Palestrina’s Missarum liber primus of 1554 (Figure 7). Although Dorico modified the woodcut from the version he used from the Morales publication, the changes were minimal; the music that Palestrina is holding actually belongs to Morales.²⁵ Despite almost forty years of separation, Palestrina’s frontispiece remains strikingly similar to Antico’s (see Figure 5).

The overall lack of information is not the only reason that making an attribution to Antico himself as the arranger of Frottole intabulate is not possible: publishers were not commonly musicians. Van Orden states,

Though many [publishers] had or acquired some musical literacy, none were composers. Rather, they were inventors, printers, engravers, woodcutters, type founders, and booksellers, developers of a new technology.²⁶

Though not frequently musicians themselves, there is no doubt that publishers possessed remarkable talent. Nevertheless, Antico’s musical literacy and abilities remain ambiguous at best. There is not enough biographical evidence to draw any conclusions regarding his abilities as a musician. On the other hand, given that he signed them, it is possible that two of his own frottole appear in Libro tertio.²⁷ Kimberly Marshall summarizes,

Who actually arranged the pieces for keyboard is not known, but in the absence of precise attributions, it has been assumed that the publisher Antico was himself the transcriber.²⁸

While Marshall questions the assumption that Antico arranged the frottole, Glen Wilson, going a step further, categorically denies such an attribution:

[Antico] was also clever in his choice of arranger (it was not Antico himself, as is often thought, any more than the printer/publisher Attaingnant arranged the first lute publications in France around the same time, or than Bennett Cerf wrote Ulysses). This anonymous master, doubtless one of the countless Italian organists whose works have been lost, produced a very early example of a fully-balanced polyphonic keyboard style. In 1517 Josquin still had four years to live, and voice crossings and gothicisms still frequently appear even in frottole. In Antico’s book there is a radical change: generally keeping the all-important melody and bass lines free and intact (except for modest amounts of added ornamentation), the arranger substituted supple, idiomatic inner voices for the spiky originals, which are often mere filler. Once the notational fog is dispersed, his work turns out to deserve a place of high honour in the annals of music history.²⁹

Wilson’s ideas about the need for a skilled and creative arranger to set the idiomatic inner voices in Frottole intabulate are further supported in my analysis below. However, Wilson provides no concrete evidence for his categorical rejection of Antico as arranger. Ultimately though, the focus of who arranged the frottole is probably a misguided question in the first place—one raised by a modern perspective. If anything is to be learned from this discussion of authorship in early print culture, who arranged the frottole was inconsequential.

Instrumentation

Intended instrumentation of early keyboard music is frequently a source of mystery. The frontispiece of Frottole intabulate (Figure 3) shows the collection being performed on a stringed keyboard instrument. However, as is usually the case for early music, the pieces can certainly be performed on other keyboard instruments. In the preface to his edition of Frottole intabulate, Christopher Hogwood states,

Nothing in the style of the intabulations suggests a preference for one type of keyboard instrument over another, and the title-page illustration itself reinforces the interpretation of “organo” as meaning any keyboard instrument—a usage that was normal in Italian for several centuries.³⁰

The shorter compass of sixteenth-century organs (starting on F) that is evidenced by existing organs and treatises not only suits most of the ranges of the frottole, it accounts for the transposition of several of them; numbers 5, 11, 12, 21, 22, and 23 are all transposed up a fourth or fifth.³¹ Modern recordings have generally favored the harpsichord over the organ, but Baldassari’s recording persuasively makes the musical case for using many different instruments. While they are playable on many instruments, there are characteristics of each keyboard that favor different styles. For instance, I find that “Me lasserà tu mo” (number 24), if played slowly, is enhanced by performance on the organ to accommodate the sustained tones. A testament to the instrumentation’s flexibility, Baldassari successfully uses the spinetta for the same piece. If approached creatively and openly, there are a great many possibilities for instrumentation, including the addition of text with a singer.

Intabulation technique: an analysis

An analysis of characteristics in Antico’s keyboard intabulations and the intabulation technique itself reveals that the simplicity of this collection has been overstated. Comparing Antico’s frottole with Marcantonio Cavazzoni’s Recerchari, motetti, canzoni . . . libro primo from 1523 reveals many similarities, both in terms of intabulation technique and performance difficulty. Though the textures are different due to the frottola’s less complex contrapuntal starting structure, the technical difficulty and aesthetic results are comparable.

Through pointing out shared characteristics of Cavazzoni’s “Plus ne regres” and Antico’s “Dolce ire dolci sdegni” (number 18) and “Che farala che dirala” (number 21), Figures 8 and 9 demonstrate similarities between the Antico and Cavazzoni intabulations. In Figure 8, both examples have surface-level ornamentation in the cantus part (circled in yellow). This ornamentation is generally stepwise with few leaps, almost always in the opposite direction than the way the line was previously moving. Both examples also have non-cantus ornamentation and elements of moving counterpoint (circled in blue). While moving inner voices might seem like a given, the reception of the Antico pieces as somehow simpler or completely homophonic is not demonstrated in these excerpts. From a technical perspective, both examples include challenging left-hand position changes (circled in green). While these hand position changes hardly constitute “difficult,” they are markedly active and noticeably similar.

A comparison of different excerpts reveals another similarity. Both Antico’s “Che farala che dirala” (number 21) and Cavazzoni’s “Plus ne regres” demonstrate a consistent use of parallel thirds in one hand (Figure 9, circled in red). In addition to considering the thirds as a musical element, they also present a technical challenge of comparable difficulty.

One significant difference not evidenced by these examples is that these musical elements are almost always present in the Cavazzoni and not always in the Antico (entire Antico pieces not presented here lack these elements). Figure 9, for instance, involved using a different Antico intabulation than Figure 8, while the same Cavazzoni piece could be retained. Antico’s pieces generally mix fewer elements than Cavazzoni’s. While it is possible to attribute this difference to less artistic merit of the Antico, these differences are better explained by the type of pieces they are arranging for keyboard in the first place. The motet is a longer, more complex, and freer form than the frottola. The simplicity of some of Antico’s intabulations is symptomatic of the straightforwardness of the frottola genre as well as specific elements of single pieces. Nevertheless, in isolated examples like those provided in Figures 8 and 9, it is difficult to distinguish between the two genres.

Since there is an extant copy of almost all the original vocal models for the arrangements in Frottole intabulate, it is possible to place the intabulations side-by-side with the vocal originals to illustrate the degree of difference between the two. Using a prototype comparative graphing system, I demonstrate that the intabulations of the original vocal models are less exact than has often been assumed. This approach removes the complexities of musical notation allowing for measure-by-measure comparison between the vocal original and the intabulation. The system is temporally oriented, meaning that each column represents one voice for one measure. Measure numbers are indicated along the x-axis, and the voices from the vocal model as they relate to the intabulation are along the y-axis. Thus, there is one “cell” for each voice per measure. The shading within these “cells” represents differences between the vocal model and the intabulation. There are three degrees of shading: (1) no shading if the voice in the intabulation is identical to the vocal original; (2) light grey if a voice is embellished in an easy-to-categorize manner; and (3) dark grey if the voice is altered in a hard-to-categorize manner or does not resemble the original model. This macro level analysis leaves many details undescribed, and because of this, there is a significant degree of subjectivity. If the analysis system was refined to be more precise, this subjectivity would all but disappear, but the distillation would also necessarily be more complex.

My goal is not to design a complex analysis system, but rather to uncover general characteristics about the Antico intabulations, I have opted to keep the system simpler, sacrificing specificity that would reduce subjectivity. Since there is currently no systematic way to do an analysis of intabulation technique, a refinement of this graphing system could be useful for analyzing intabulation technique across the repertoire. However, in its current state, it gleans only the most basic information about differences between vocal originals and their intabulations.

This system is put into practice to analyze the differences between “Amor Quando fioriva mia speme,” number 1 in Frottole intabulate, with the vocal model from Antico’s second book of frottole (Figure 10).³² The comparative graphic model of “Amor Quando fioriva mia speme” reveals that it is far from a simple note-for-note intabulation of the vocal original. It seems to indicate the opposite: Antico’s setting is as complex and irregular as it is categorical. By calculating the average number of “cells” that contain alterations from the vocal original, this comparative graphic model reveals that slightly over 58% of the piece’s measures include at least one alteration from the vocal original. Because of the system’s need to define temporal units (here, one measure), this percentage indicates the number of measures that contain alterations. In other words, the 58% does not indicate the exact percentage difference between the original and the intabulation because the measure unit does not account for every note. A percentage difference that accounted for every note would result in a significantly lower number.

Out of all of the “cells” that include a difference, only 34% contain easily categorizable alterations. This seems like a very low number, but it is important to note than many of the embellishments that modern ears associate with “easy to categorize” were less common in the renaissance. Some ornamentation and embellishment in the Antico intabulations may be more categorical than this system assumed. Thus, 58% of the overall number of cells is a more useful and accurate number.

As Glen Wilson identifies in his liner notes, the inner voices of the intabulations in Antico’s collection are significantly altered: “the arranger substituted supple, idiomatic inner voices for the spiky originals.”³³ Figure 10 supports Wilson’s claim because around 75% of the interior “cells” in the comparative graphic model contain alterations, and well more than half of these are substantial.

An analysis of only the outer voices, the cantus and bassus, indicates that a much lower percentage of “cells” contain alterations. 42% of the two outer voices include changes, but this time, 63% of that 42% are easily categorizable differences. This indicates two things: (1) keeping the outer voices recognizable, either by having a lower total amount of alterations or using far fewer uncategorizable alterations, is a priority, probably to retain the essential characteristics of the original song; and (2) large amounts of voice crossing in the vocal original make it impossible to set the inner voices with a high degree of accuracy while the outer voices are easier to retain. Another noticeable but predictable element is that the bassus contains significantly fewer alterations than does the more adventurous cantus. This aligns with what was likely the performance practice of embellishing the melody.

Another piece in the collection, “Per Mio Ben te Vederei” (number 2), further demonstrates the high rate at which the cantus is altered while the bassus remains virtually unchanged (Figure 11). Around 71% of the measures in “Per Mio te Vederei” contain alterations in the cantus voice, and 63% of that 71% are not easily categorizable. Meanwhile, only around 10% of the measures contain alterations in the bassus voice.

Based on these prototype analyses, it seems safe to conclude that an experienced musician, beyond someone who has basic musical literacy, would be required to arrange a polyphonic song as skillfully as has been done in Antico’s collection. Significantly more conclusive data could be drawn if this kind of note-for-note comparative analysis was done for the entire collection of intabulations as well as if the system was further refined. However, even in its present state, these analyses demonstrate that Antico’s collection is well situated and comparable in difficulty with other contemporaneous keyboard music.

Editions, recordings, and conclusions

Given the obscurity of this collection, it is surprising that there are several modern editions of Frottole intabulate. The most extensive preface is in Christopher Hogwood’s edition published by Zen-On Music in 1984.³⁴ Although still worthwhile, its editorial practices are less consistent and some of the ideas in its preface are dated. Another modern edition by Peter Sterzinger published by Doblinger is widely available.³⁵ I highly recommend the most recent edition, which is edited by Maria Luisa Baldassari and published by Ut Orpheus.³⁶

There are also several complete recordings of the collection. Fabio Antonio Falcone performs the entire keyboard oeuvre of Marcantonio Cavazzoni and Andrea Antico in The Renaissance Keyboard produced by Brilliant Classics in 2015.³⁷ He uses the organ for the Cavazzoni and the harpsichord for the Antico. As previously mentioned, Glen Wilson has also recorded the complete collection. To affect, his recording, Animoso mio desire: 16th-Century Italian Keyboard Favourites, produced by Naxos in 2015,³⁸ is mixed with dances from manuscript sources. All his performances are on harpsichord or spinetta. My own complete recording is the only to use exclusively the organ. Experimental in nature, my unproduced recording was made in conjunction with a related research project on early secular keyboard music across Europe.³⁹ I most highly recommend Maria Luisa Baldassari’s complete recording, Andrea Antico: Frottole Intabulate, Libro Primo, 1517, produced by Tactus in 2017.⁴⁰ Her recording embraces, to great success, the instrumentation possibilities of the collection. Her performance includes the spinetta, clavichord, clavisimbalum, harpsichord, and organ. Her choices are effective, but there is no reason performers should feel obliged to adhere to her instrumentation decisions. While I generally prefer Baldassari’s interpretations, much can be learned from the varied tempi and stylistic choices of many of the other performances.

There are innumerable recordings that only include several pieces. In many ways these recordings are more successful since listening to twenty-six intabulations in the same style is not particularly captivating. While I do not intend to provide a complete list, two notable recordings of this type are Kimberly Marshall’s Sienese Splendor, produced by Loft in 2002⁴¹ and, though it only includes one of Antico’s frottole, Francesco Cera’s The Organ at European Courts produced by Brilliant Classics in 2016.⁴²

Antico’s frottole, now more than five hundred years old, still sound fresh if given the energy of a thoughtful performer. This short essay revisits two areas, cultural context and musical analysis, to inspire new interpretations of this collection. Though frequently acknowledged, Antico’s collection has been largely ignored for its contents. The only factor that seems to attract attention to Frottole intabulate is that it was innovative, but this was relatively unimportant during its time. If given the chance, the music transcends simple innovation. The song intabulations in Antico’s collection can be charming, fun, serious, emotional, and intensely beautiful. The short duration of almost all its pieces (some can be less than one minute!) make them easily programmable in a variety of modern contexts. With a little creativity and musical imagination, these pieces can come to life.

The research for this project was completed in part thanks to funding from The Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies.

Notes

1. The intended instrumentation of the Faenza collection has been debated. See Timothy J. McGee, “Once again, the Faenza Codex: A reply to Roland Eberlein,” Early Music 20:3 (August 1992): 466–68; Roland Eberlein, “The Faenza Codex: music for organ or for lute duet?” Early Music 20:3 (August 1992): 460–66; and Timothy J. McGee, “Instruments and the Faenza Codex,” Early Music 14:4 (November 1986): 480–90.

2. Jon Laukvik, Historical Performance Practice in Organ Playing: An Introduction based on selected Organ Works of the 16th–18th Centuries, trans. Brigitte and Michael Harris (Stuttgart: Carus, 1996), 113.

3. Willi Apel, The History of Keyboard Music to 1700, trans. Hans Tischler (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1997), 109.

4. Catherine Weeks Chapman, “Andrea Antico,” microfilm (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1964).

5. Ibid., 1.

6. Grove Music Online, s.v. “Frottola,” accessed January 14, 2019, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/10313.

7. Baldassari, v.

8. Antico’s second book of frottole is of questionable origins. What seems like an existing copy is missing its title page in the Biblioteca Marucelliana in Florence. This particular copy is probably a reprint from around 1520.

9. Giuseppe Radole cited a manuscript in the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze as containing the bass part to number 3. However, Baldassari has determined that this was initially incorrect and, despite being an error, has been repeated by editors who had not seen the Florence manuscript. Maria Luisa Baldassari, ed., Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo, Andrea Antico, 1517 (Bologna: Ut Orpheus Edizioni, 2016), v. In addition to existing in Petrucci’s eleventh book of frottole, Christopher Hogwood has suggested that number 19 may have been in Antico’s lost fifth book of frottole. This would make number 19 the only intabulation that was published before its vocal model, and there is no reason beyond wild speculation to assume this would be the case. Christopher Hogwood, ed., Frottole da sonare organi, Libro primo, Andrea Antico, 1517 (Tokyo: Zen-On Music, 1984), 6.

10. Glen Wilson, Animoso mio desire: 16th-Century Italian Keyboard Favourites, liner notes, Naxos 8.572983, 2015, 5.

11. Ibid., 6.

12. Ibid., 131.

13. Stanley Boorman, “Thoughts on the Popularity of Printed Music in 16th-Century Italy,” Fontes artis musicae 48:2 (April 2001): 130.

14. Kate Van Orden, “Music Books and Their Authors,” in Music, Authorship, and the Book in the First Century of Print (Berkley, California: University of California Press, 2013), 36.

15. Ibid.

16. Boorman, 132–134.

17. Anthony M. Cummings, “The ‘Great Italian Songbook’ of the early cinquecento: Arrangements of frottole for voice and lute,” Studi musicali 2:1 (2011): 25-48.

18. Grove Music Online, s.v. “Frottola.”

19. Van Orden, 30.

20. Ibid., 31.

21. Ibid., 34.

22. William F. Prizer, “Local Repertories and the Printed Book: Antico’s Third Book of Frottole (1513),” in Music in Renaissance Cities and Courts: Studies in Honor of Lewis Lockwood, 347–372, eds. Jessie Ann Owens and Anthony M. Cummings (Michigan: Harmonie Park Press, 1997), 352.

23. Van Orden, 42.

24. Ibid., 44.

25. Ibid., 58–59.

26. Ibid., 38–39. She says that Gardano (Gardane) is an exception since he was a professional musician first.

27. Grove Music Online, s.v. “Andrea Antico,” accessed January 14, 2019, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/01015. Some have posited that Andrea Antico is the same person as the composer of frottole featured in Petrucci’s publications called A. de Antiquis. Martin Picker, however, posits that Antico never signed his name this way and that it is unlikely that they are the same person.

28. Kimberly Marshall, ed., Historical Organ Techniques and Repertoire: An Historical Survey of Organ Performance Practices and Repertoire, vol. 9, Renaissance 1500–1550 (Colfax, South Carolina: Wayne Leupold Editions, 2004), 9.

29. Wilson, 3.

30. Hogwood, 8.

31. Ibid.

32. These analyses were completed using modern editions except the first book of frottole, which is readily accessible online. Baldassari.; Francesco Luisi, ed. Il Secondo Libro Di Frottole. Andrea Antico (Rome: Pro Musica Studium, 1976).

33. Wilson, 3.

34. Hogwood. See complete citation above.

35. Peter Sterzinger, ed., Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro primo, Andrea Antico, 1517 (Vienna: Doblinger, 1984).

36. Baldassari. See complete citation above.

37. Fabio Antonio Falcone, Andrea Antico & Marc Antonio Cavazzoni: Complete Keyboard Music, Brilliant Classics BC95007, 2015, compact disc.

38. Glen Wilson, Animoso mio desire: 16th-Century Italian Keyboard Favourites, Naxos 8.572983, 2015, compact disc.

39. Alexander Meszler, “Andrea Antico: Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Libro Primo (1517) (Complete Collection),” accessed January 14, 2019, https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLc8LXDy2nGngm1hmp2tNfcS2jYswvHbcT.

40. Maria Luisa Baldassari, Andrea Antico: Frottole intabulate da sonare organi, Book 1, Tactus TC480101, 2015, compact disc.

41. Kimberly Marshall, Sienese Splendor, Loft LRCD-1046, 2002, compact disc.

42. Francesco Cera, The Organ at European Courts, Brilliant Classics BC95240, 2016, compact disc.

Olena Matselyukh

Olena Matselyukh is an organ performer for the Lviv Organ and Chamber Music Hall, as well as a soloist of the Lviv and Rivne Philharmonic orchestras. She has concertized throughout Ukraine, as well as continental Europe. In 2017 Olena Matselyukh opened the Bach Festival in Brno, Czech Republic, and Wrocław, Poland. In Poland, she has performed at several other festivals, including “Music in Old Kraków.” Matseliukh has recorded CDs—Benedictus and Amazing Grace—as well as recordings of the works of composer Bohdan Kotyuk—Reflections and Mood and Spirits—and the compact disc Syrinx with Ihor Matselyukh on the pan flute.

Matselyukh is trained as a musician and a scientist, and her research in the domain of the organ is regularly published in Ukrainian and foreign journals. As a doctoral student of the oldest university in the Czech Republic, Moravian Palacký University in Olomouc, she has researched her doctoral dissertation on “The Sacred and profane in the organ creativity of the composers of Ukraine and the Czech Republic.”

Olena Matselyukh was artistic director of the VI. and VII. International Festivals of Organ Music “Diapazon,” which took place in the Lviv Organ and Chamber Music Hall in October 2016 and July 2017. For the Lviv Philharmonic, she is the founder and director of the international summer festival “Pizzicato e cantabile” and the international festival “Music in Old Lviv.” She is the producer and co-organizer of the international festivals of organ music in Rivne and Chernivtsi—“Musica viva Organum 2018.”

The origin of the organ and organbuilding in Lviv, Ukraine

Christianity played a fundamental role in the formation and development of Ukrainian society. The existence of an organ in Ukraine is noted on a fresco in Saint Sophia’s Church, founded in 1037 by Prince Yaroslav the Wise.¹ In western Ukraine, the organ and instrumental music played a major role in the church.

In 1240, Kyiv was destroyed during the Tatar-Mongol invasion, and the grandson of Yaroslav the Wise, Prince Roman, united the Halychyna and Volyn principalities into a new unified state, which became Kyivan Rus. Thus, western Ukraine became a center of the cultivation of Christian artistic and musical traditions. The son of Roman, Danylo Halytskyi, founded the city of Lviv, which he named after his son Lev. In Dorogychin (Polissya Volyn), Prince Danylo received the royal crown, which was subsequently inherited by Leo.

Historians associate the introduction of the organ to Lviv with the reign of King Lev and his wife, Hungarian Princess Constance. Queen Constance invited monks of the Dominican order to Lviv, and the Dominicans brought an organ to the city.

The first mention of Lviv organist Peter Engelbrecht is found in the archives of the Latin Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in 1405. The organ tablature of Lviv musician Luke (d. 1532), dated 1530, is the oldest example of organ music notation in Eastern Europe. The tablature is now kept in an archive in Warsaw, Poland. Leszek Mazepa, a researcher of Lviv music history, lists the names of twenty-two musicians from the fifteenth to the first half of the sixteenth centuries, pointing out that in Lviv at that time organists were also virginalists, harpsichordists, and musicians playing all manner of keyboard instruments, including the regal and positive organs.²

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, court organists Bartholomew Cavinsky, Jakob Leydens, and the brothers Stanislav and Jan Kindlarsky were also organbuilders. They created instruments not only for Lviv and the Lviv Kingdom, but also exported them abroad.

According to researcher Jerzy Golos, Mykhailo Sadkovskyi built a new organ for the Dominican Church of Corpus Christi in Lviv between 1765 and 1766. This is one of the most prominent names in Lviv organbuilding of the eighteenth century.³

Lviv organ builders of the nineteenth century

The leading Lviv organbuilder of the nineteenth century was Jakub Kramkovsky (18th century–ca. 1840). He built the three most prominent organs of the era for Lviv, found in the Franciscan Church (25 stops, 1806), the Dominican Church (26 stops, 1808), and the Bernardine Church (33 stops, 1812).

Roman Dukhenskyi (ca. 1800–ca. 1870) started a career as an organbuilder in Warsaw and Krakow, and by the 1830s he had already built organs for the Jesuit monks in Stanislav and Lviv. Among the most interesting instruments he built was a two-manual organ for the Carmelite Church.

The Church of Saint Mary Magdalene was founded in Lviv in 1615. It was built on Holy George Mountain outside Renaissance Lviv and was regularly strengthened, rebuilt, and expanded as a defensive stronghold. While it is known that the church housed organs, no information about the first organs has survived.

Today this Baroque edifice functions in a twofold manner: as a Catholic church and as an organ hall. Lviv organist Antony Clement (ca. 1837–ca. 1897) built an organ in 1863 in the old village of Vovkiv (14 miles from Lviv), which was moved to St. Mary Magdalene Church in 1930. Subsequently, this organ was moved to the Catholic church of the town of Bohorodchany. In its place in 1936, the firm Rieger Kloss installed its Opus 3375, which remains the largest in Ukraine.

Among the Lviv organbuilders who worked at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were Romuald Bochensky, Jan Grocholsky, Tomasz Fall, and Bartholomew Zemiansky. All of them were professionally trained in either Leipzig, Vienna, or Kraków.

There is also a close connection between Lviv and Czech organbuilders, as evidenced not only by the organ of Saint Mary Magdalene Cathedral, built in the Moravian Krsno, but also by the presence of students of the most prominent Lviv organbuilder, Jan Sliwinsky—in particular, Rudolf Haase and Franciszek Gajda, who came from the Czech Republic.

Among the Lviv organbuilders is the family of Zebrovsky,⁴ with the last generation represented by the brothers Aleksandr and Kazymyr. Notable instruments include the organ of the Bernardine Church (33 stops, 1898), which was destroyed in the 1960s by Communists, though the façade still serves as a decoration of the church interior.

Among Kazymyr’s notable work is the organ of the Armenian Catholic Church, as well as an instrument in the Dominican church. With the advent of the Communist regime after the Second World War, this organ was destroyed. The pipes and the façade were saved thanks to the efforts of young enthusiasts. Now they decorate the concert hall of Stanislav Liudkevych, home to the Lviv Philharmonic.

Jan Sliwinsky (1844–1903) and his organ factory in Lviv

Little reliable information about Jan Sliwinsky’s early years has survived.⁵ He was born in the town of Pistyn in Pokuttia and at the age of nineteen went to Warsaw and participated in the January uprising of 1863. It is likely that the repercussions that befell the perpetrators of the anti-Russian uprising forced the young man to flee Warsaw. At first Sliwinsky headed to Vienna and then moved to France, returning to his homeland thirteen years later. From advertisements that he later published for the sale of organs, one can make a fairly integral picture of the life of the most prominent Lviv organbuilder.

From his earliest years as a child, his sphere of interests included organ construction. In his printed catalog, he wrote, “My love and enthusiasm for the organ arose at a very early age. From my youth I tried to learn as much as possible about the structure and function of the organ. I constantly felt the need to acquire knowledge in this profession.” Elsewhere in the same catalog, the master recalled his woodworking and joinery training.

Such a way to approach building organs was quite natural for a beginner. Woodworkers and joiners have long been highly valued for their skills in construction of musical instruments. After finishing an elementary education in his homeland (most likely in Lviv), young Sliwinsky went abroad, which meant leaving Halychyna. From documents describing the participants of regional organ exhibitions, one can infer that natives from Halychyna who worked outside their homeland participated in the exhibition process on an equal footing with the local masters of organbuilding. Most often, these were Halychyna natives who worked in France or in Vienna.

There is no information as to where Jan Sliwinsky continued his studies, but there is evidence that he worked for Aristide Cavaillé-Coll for several years. Between 1872 and 1876, Sliwinsky worked at Le Vigan (in the department Gard), where he independently built a twelve-stop organ for the Church of Saint Pierre.

The acquired experience allowed him to become a manager of one of the offices of the Cavaillé-Coll firm outside Paris for a few years. After his marriage, Vincent Cavaillé-Coll, Aristide’s brother, left the leadership of the office of the company in the city of Nîmes in the south of France, and Jan Sliwinsky was subsequently appointed manager.

Most likely, Jan Sliwinsky’s business in France was not successful, because in a year and a half, his branch sold only two organs. Jan Sliwinsky thus returned to Halychyna and started his own business in Lviv.

From its inception, Jan Sliwinsky’s firm was popular both in Lviv and throughout Halychyna. Some of the first organs he built for Lviv were located at Saint Mary Snizhna and Saint Kasimir Under the High Castle. Another important work for the firm was the radical restructuring of the organ in the Garrison Church of Saints Peter and Paul in the center of Lviv, which was under the leadership of Jesuit priests. In his price lists, Sliwinsky identified the following: four-stop organs were sold at 650 zloty, and large ones—up to thirty stops and three-manuals—for 12,000 zloty. Each instrument was custom designed and built. The acoustics of the church in which it was to be installed were studied as well.

Organ factories were highly successful around this time. Whether Roman Duchensky’s firm was still functioning is unknown, but the firms of Romuald Bohensky and Antony Clement, which worked simultaneously with the factory of Jan Sliwinsky, never achieved any such scope nor such publicity in their activities.

Around 1888, Jan Sliwinsky bought a house at Copernicus St., 16 to serve his growing business. It was rebuilt for the new owner by one of the most famous Ukrainian architects of Lviv, Ivan Levinskyi (1851–1919).

Organs built by Sliwinsky were installed relatively far afield: from Leipzig to Tbilisi, from Chisineu to Vilnius. But, of course, the vast majority of orders came from regional Halychyna parishes. In 1900, for the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Stanislav (now Ivano-Frankivsk), a two-manual and pedal, twenty-four-register instrument was installed.

Among Jan Sliwinsky’s seventy-four organs built for installation in Eastern Halychyna, only two instruments function today: one is in the Latin Roman Catholic cathedral in Lviv, and the other is in the city parish church in Sambir. Together with the ones in Western Halychyna, where the instruments were much better preserved (particularly in Krakow, Tarnow, Rzeszów, and Zamość), Jan Sliwinsky built more than 110 organs.

In the 1890s, this organbuilder also started selling pianos, with plans to eventually manufacture his own. The realization of this plan was thwarted by an accident he suffered in 1903. While tuning an organ he fell from the scaffolding and never recovered. He died in pain and was buried in the Lychakiv cemetery (field 51) in Lviv.

Jan Sliwinsky’s organs were notable for their quality construction. Selected varieties of wood were chosen that naturally dried well. The winding mechanism of the instruments was simple and reliable, and each register received copious air. For his large organs, the master used pneumatic machines similar to the Barker system, which allowed the easy coupling of manuals and registers with each other.

In his catalog, Jan Sliwinsky wrote: “The mathematical dimension of each pipe (the organ labial tube) has been brought to such perfection that it is possible to get the desired tone at once. This is my secret, which I learned during years of long studies.”

Music education in Lviv

With the arrival of the first organs in Lviv came the issue of how to train organists to play them. Again the initiative to teach organ performance was undertaken by the Dominican Fathers. In 1495, in the town of Belz, 62 miles north of Lviv, was founded a school for organists. As early as the beginning of the sixteenth century, the students of this school worked as organists in Lviv churches.⁶ Leszek Mazepa, who has carefully studied the documents of available archival collections, states: “At the end of the sixteenth century, the best music program was found at the chapel of the Dominican Church, where in the years 1587–1595 several organists and several trumpeters worked simultaneously, and from 1623 there was also a church choir.”⁷ A new Lviv school for organists was founded in 1841 by Franciszek Bemm. The instruction was expected to last two years, and the school was designed to house fifteen to twenty students.

The Halychyna Society of Saint Cecilia, founded by Franz Xavier Mozart, brought about a change in the music school system in Lviv. The youngest of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s sons, he dedicated twenty-eight years of his life to the musical culture of Lviv. The Society of Saint Cecilia supported professional activities of Lviv musicians and created an organization of mutual aid for organists,⁸ initially led by Father Leonard Soletsky. These two societies became the initiators of the founding of the Halychyna Conservatory.

The Golden Age of organ art in Lviv

Lviv was the only Ukranian city that could boast of organ art and organbuilding at a rather high level in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Fifty different organs sounded daily in Lviv churches. Lviv factories and individual workshops were busy building organs not only for Halychyna, but also for sacred edifices in various European cities. Along with the daily use of organs at Mass in Lviv churches, organ concerts were frequently presented. There were concerts by international artists in the Catholic churches of Saint Elizabeth and Saint Mary Magdalene. Saint Elizabeth’s organ was larger, though Saint Mary Magdalene had excellent acoustics and housed a more technically advanced instrument.

Organ music in Lviv is inseparable from the Catholic liturgy. At the end of the eighteenth century Lviv’s Protestants began to encourage use of the organ, and in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the Evangelical church, located at the beginning of Zelena Street, began to host organ recitals. At the same time, Lviv composers who created music for the organ began to skillfully combine deep spirituality with secular elements in their compositions.

Formation of the Lviv Organ School

As organbuilding in Lviv began to flourish in the middle of the eighteenth century, Lviv organs were sufficiently sophisticated to satisfy the performing needs of organ literature as well as improvisation. The best-known composers of the Lviv Organ School were educated in European capitals, primarily in Vienna, Prague, and Paris. The influence of French composition is particularly noticeable in the creative work of Mieczysław Sołtys and Tadeusz Mahl. One can also note the influences of post-classical Viennese masters and the German Leipzig school. In addition, there are influences from Warsaw and Kraków.

Piano technique of the nineteenth century provided a significant foundation for the curriculum of the modern Lviv Organ School and its representatives in particular. Notable is the role of piano virtuoso Karol Mikula, and later, composer, pianist, and teacher Tadeusz Majerski. Lviv organist and composer Andriy Nikodemovych as well as pianist and organist Samuel Daych started their performance careers as pianists.

The creativity of Lviv composers who wrote music for the organ during the second half of the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth centuries is less known to the general public. Unfortunately, it is still weakly promoted in Ukraine, and this problem still continues for modern Ukrainian organ composers.

Mieczysław Sołtys (1863–1929)

Mieczysław Sołtys played a special role in Lviv’s music milieu. He was born and died in Lviv, although his years as a mature professional musician and composer were connected with Vienna and Paris.^{4, 9} Sołtys was a composer, conductor, pianist, organist, teacher, and publicist. He began his music career at the Conservatory of the Halychyna Music Society, where his mentor was the founder and director of the Society and the Conservatory, virtuoso pianist, composer, conductor Karol Mikuli (1819–1897).

According to Halychyna tradition, Sołtys simultaneously received another education, studying at the Faculty of Philosophy of the Jan Kazimierz Lviv University. Beginning in 1887, he studied music composition at Vienna Conservatory (Das Konservatorium der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Wien) and later at the Paris Conservatory, where he mastered organ and counterpoint with Eugène Gigout and composition with Camille Saint-Saëns.

After his completion of studies, Sołtys returned to Lviv in 1891 and became professor at the Conservatory of the Halychyna Music Society. He taught musical forms and conducting, as well as piano and organ. At the same time, his reputation as a music critic and publicist grew. Sołtys became the editor of several Lviv periodicals, such as Artistic News, Our Art, People’s Diary, and Lviv Courier.¹⁰

The formation of public opinion in the musical sphere of Lviv in the early twentieth century was based on the unsurpassed authority of Professor Sołtys. He was not only a notable composer and organist, but also a researcher of organ art. One of his most famous essays was the article, “The New Organ in the Bernardine Church.”

Tadeusz Majerski (1888–1963)

Another teacher, composer, and pianist who associated with Lviv was Tadeusz Majerski. A Lviv native, he studied philosophy at the university, and at the Lviv conservatory (1905–1911) studied piano and composition under Ludomir Różycki (1883–1953). In 1920 at the Conservatory of the Halychyna Music Society, Tadeusz Majerski was named a professor of piano. In 1927 he founded the Lviv Trio, with which he toured Europe, and he acted as a critic and publicist in the Lviv press. In the 1930s, Majerski was one of the first avant-garde composers to use dodecaphonic technique.

In 1931 Majerski founded a society of music and opera admirers in Lviv, and in 1939, with the arrival of the Soviets, he became one of the first professors of the Lviv State Conservatory. Majerski is referred to by Andriy Nikodemovych, who recalls: “When I was studying composition, I was assigned to the piano class of Professor Tadeusz Majerski. Getting to know this great personality and musician was a turning point for me. Piano classes with him helped me cure my injured arm, and I started playing again. A few years later, I finished my piano course and, thanks to my professor, started to perform as a pianist.”¹¹

Majerski did not betray Lviv even in the Soviet era when communist ideologists accused him of formalism, for which he was persecuted and subjected to political repression.¹² Majerski concentrated his compositions on purely instrumental, non-programmatic music. Along with avant-garde features in some of these works, folkloric inspirations are also found. Among Majerski’s compositions are Four Works for Organ, recorded on compact disc by Valery Korostelyov of Lviv in 2007.

Tadeusz Mahl (1922, Lviv–2003, Kraków)

Organist and composer Tadeusz Mahl combined the sacred and profane in a flexible and convincing way. Mahl lived in Lviv from birth until 1946, but he never stopped loving the city of his youth throughout his life. Here his aesthetic views and his maturity as a composer were formed. In Lviv, he wrote his first works, among which the oratorio Stabat Mater (1945) stands out. His love for Lviv was evident throughout his life, so much so that he dedicated his symphonic poem My City (1991) to Lviv, and his Sixth Symphony (1997) was in a sense inspired by Lviv. Evaluating the role and significance of Tadeusz Mahl’s creativity, Polish scholars refer to him as a representative of the group of Lviv-Kraków composers.¹³

Mahl’s works for organ solo and ensemble with organ occupy the most prominent place in his compositional output. Undoubtedly, the impetus of the formation of Mahl as an organist and composer was studying at the Lviv Music School (in particular under Adam Sołtys), as well as his time as organist at Saint Elizabeth’s Church in Lviv.

At the end of the Second World War, Mahl moved first to Szczecin and then to Kraków. French musical culture exerted a decisive influence on Mahl’s compositional style. At the end of the 1950s, as a scholarship grantee, he left for Paris. But he faced a choice: either follow the fashion of the avant-garde (which then prevailed in Poland) or seek his own way.¹⁴ Mahl’s choice did not fall on the rejection of traditions through a radical renewal of musical language, but on a renewed comprehension of post-Romanticism in organ sound. In his Parisian studies he focused on César Franck, Camille Saint-Saëns, Charles-Marie Widor, Louis Vierne, Gabriel Fauré, and, of course, Johann Sebastian Bach.

Among the creative corpus of Mahl’s works are six symphonies, four symphonic poems, and nine concertos for various instruments with orchestra. This includes Concerto No. 6 for organ and two orchestras—a big band and a string orchestra. Nevertheless, his seven organ concertos, twenty-two works for organ solo, and a Requiem for mezzo-soprano, baritone, mixed choir, and organ (1981) stand out among Mahl’s output.¹⁵

The creative life of Tadeusz Mahl can be divided into three periods:

1. The neoclassical period (1940s–1950s), including his first Concerto for Organ and Symphony Orchestra (1950). This work, according to Bronisław Rutkowski, is a vivid example of how difficult it is to combine a multi-timbral organ palette with orchestral sound. Only in tutti sections are these self-sufficient antipodes found in a common language. Therefore, the critic even suggests titling this work Sinfonia Concertante;¹⁵

2. The sonoristic period (1960s–1970s), in which Mahl refers to various musical instruments in the genre of concert, but again the organ holds a central place. Among his works of this period is a triple concerto for two pianos and organ (1971);

3. The postmodernist period (after 1975), in which Mahl gives preference to religious motives or to the elements of Podhale folklore. During most of this period, he composed for organ alone. In these works, one can detect a maneuvering between profane essence and sacred spirituality.

According to researchers, Mahl’s creativity in organ composition takes its roots in improvisation.¹³ “His concertos are marked by an unconstrained narrative, contrasts between quick passages and meno mosso, which are most often associated with ritardandi and accelerandi, the contrast of sequences of toccata-like or fast sequences, recitative ad libitum, and cadenza constructions”—a professional characteristic of the formal and structural layout of this composer’s language given by the researcher of organ music R. Koval.¹⁵

The creativity of Mahl occupies a very special place in contemporary music and is important not only for Ukrainian and Polish cultures. Critical notes of Tadeusz Mahl, as well as his publications on the development of organ art, have been published in Lviv and Kraków. This is mentioned in the publication Society of supporters of Lviv and the south-eastern lands. The latest information on this subject was published in Kraków in 1995.¹⁶

Andriy Nikodemowych (January 2, 1925, Lviv–January 28, 2017, Lublin, Poland)

Ukrainian-Polish composer, teacher, pianist, and organist Andriy Nikodemovych was a leading creator of religious music among Eastern European contemporary composers.^{17, 18} He was born in Lviv, where he lived, worked, and composed until 1980. His compositional output includes choral, orchestral, and chamber music, as well as works for organ and various ensembles. He composed nearly forty spiritual cantatas.

Andriy Nikodemovych spent half of his creative life in a country that led a ruthless and irreconcilable struggle against religion. He counted Lviv architect and professor of the Polytechnic Institute Marian Nikodemovych (1890–1952) as a relative. Prior to the Second World War, Nikodemovych studied piano and organ and was organist at the Carmelite sisters’ chapel from 1939 to 1940. From 1943 to 1947 he simultaneously studied chemistry at Lviv University and music subjects under the guidance of leading Lviv musicians—composition with Adam Sołtys and piano with Tadeusz Majerski. From 1947 to 1950, Nikodemovich was organist at the Church of Saint Mary Magdalene, and from 1951 to 1973 he taught composition, music theory, and piano at the Lviv Conservatory.

The first recognition of his compositional talent came in 1961, when he was awarded the third prize at the All-Union Composers’ Competition in Moscow. In the 1970s Nikodemovych was noted as one the most prominent composers according to UNESCO. However, having refused to renounce his religious beliefs, he was dismissed from his work at the conservatory in 1973 by Communist authorities and deprived of any livelihood, and the composer’s entire output was banned.

During the next seven years he earned his living giving private lessons. He moved to Lublin, Poland,¹⁶ and taught at University of Maria Curie-Skłodowska and at Lublin Catholic University (KUL). His creative achievements were acknowledged by the Award of Saint Brother Albert (1981), President of the City of Lublin (1999), the Polish Composers’ Union, and the Minister of Culture and National Heritage (both in 2000). In 2008, Andrzej Nikodemowicz [Polish spelling] became an honorary citizen of Lublin.

Eventually, the independent Ukrainian State fully rehabilitated the name and work of this Lviv citizen. In 2003, the Lviv Music Academy gave Nikodemovych the title Professor honoris causa. His works are once more heard in the concert halls of Lviv and other cities of Ukraine. He returned to Lviv several times to participate in concerts. In April 2016, the fourth festival of classical music “Andrzej Nikodemowicz – czas i dźwięk” (“Andriy Nikodemovych – Time and Sound”) was held in Lublin.¹⁸ His religious works were performed for five evenings. The festival opened with his cantata for alto solo and small orchestra Słysz, Boże, wołanie moje (Hear, my God, my appeal). Sacred music remained an integral feature of his creativity until the end of his life.

Organ music by Bohdan Kotyuk

Bohdan Kotyuk (b. 1951) is a versatile and creative sacred music composer.^{19, 20} Kotyuk started writing music as a schoolboy, and his first mentor was a friend of his parents, Andriy Nikodemovych. At the Lviv Conservatory, he studied with Stanislav Lyudkevych (form, analysis, and folk art), Roman Simovich (instrumental study and instrumentation), Anatoly Kos-Anatolsky (polyphony and dramatic opera), Stephania Pavlyshyn (music history and musical-theoretical systems), and Desideriy Zador (composition).

For Kotyuk, spiritual music and sacred themes occupy a significant and prominent place, conditioned by family traditions and family members. Among the influential people in his life are Archbishop Samuel Cyryl Stefanowicz (1755–1858); doctor of philosophy, historian, ethnographer, and one of the founders of the Prosvita Society in Lviv, Julian Tselevych (1843–1892); Father Ivan Huhlevych; religious scholar, historian, doctor of philosophy, professor Hryhoriy Yarema; and the grandmother and teacher of Kotyuk, opera singer Olha Huhlevychivna-Yarema.

From Kotyuk’s first attempts at composing, spirituality and religious rites formed an inseparable integrity. He has written a variety of vocal and instrumental compositions, among which is the church cantata Chiesa, as well as spiritual songs and psalm settings. In the last decade he has turned to organ compositions for use in the church.

However, his spiritual works are not interpreted by the composer in a ritual-religious sense, but rather as a musical embodiment of the ideology of a biblical text. The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung has noted, “Spiritual music of Ukrainian composer Bohdan Kotyuk is a new word in the contemporary interpretation of the role of music in the church.”²⁰

In many cases, Kotyuk supplies brief essays to explain his concepts to his audience. This approach is followed in his collection of music pieces for wind and string instruments, Aulos and Kithara, as well as in his concert pieces, Monaco, Drive, Pit-Stop, and DJ. The composer has added his comments to his symphonic poems for organ, Sanctus, Bethlehem (with narrator or children’s choir), and Lauda nostra, as well as to organ works, Benedictus, Jericho – Fanfare, Adagietto “Tet-a-Tet,” Alleluia Prayers, and the epitaph, Way to Heaven.

The organ works by Bohdan Kotyuk can be divided into five groups:

1. The first group consists of purely sacred music, corresponding to the requirements of religious rituals. These works, though performed in concert, can be quite legitimately incorporated into liturgy. These include Sanctus, Benedictus, Alleluia (or “Praise to the Lord”), Laudatis (or “You are Lord of Honor”), and Ave Maria for pan flute and organ;

2. The second group is programmatic religious music: Jericho – Fanfare and the symphonic poem for solo organ Bethlehem; as well as works for soloists and ensemble accompanied by organ, Queen of the Angels, Christmas Carols for Joseph, Rejoice, Jordan, and Behold the Heart. To the same group can also be conditionally attributed the work for pan flute and organ, Mysteries of Dionysus;

3. The third group consists of works that, though deprived of a specific program, call forth certain associative allusions. First of all there is a collection for organ pedals Step by Step, which consists of four pieces: “The Step of the Faraoh,” “Canzona di Venezia,” “Sema –
The Dance of the Sufi-Dervish,” and “The Slalom – Zugspitze.” To this third group might also belong Adagietto “Tet-a-tet” for organ and celesta (ad libitum), as well as the trio for the pan flute, harp, and organ, Eolian Harp;

4. His concerto for organ Dona nobis pacem is in a classification of its own. The work is in three parts, which is rooted in the composer’s thoughts and feelings on the aggression and war in the East of Ukraine. These are contemporary philosophical reflections about the eternal theme of war and peace;

5. His transcriptions for organ include fragments from Richard Wagner’s operas published as a separate collection; W. A. Mozart’s operatic arias for soprano and organ; and Carnival of Animals by Camille Saint-Saëns for organ solo.

Kotyuk’s traditional Missa solemnis consists of six parts. Mentioned above, Sanctus and Benedictus, respectively, constitute the fourth and fifth parts of the Mass. Kotyuk interprets these texts as an impulse to the formation of independent organ compositions. Therefore, in concert performance Sanctus and Benedictus are stand-alone compositions.

Benedictus is lyric and at the same time an elevation of the “Song of Gratitude” the Prophet Zechariah sang at the birth of his son, Saint John the Baptist. Kotyuk’s Benedictus is a psalm of gratitude composed for the organ.

Bohdan Kotyuk’s Sanctus for organ is not just the words taken from Isaiah 6:3: “Holy Lord God of Sabaoth, the whole earth is full of your glory!” This is the viewpoint of a person in the twenty-first century for whom “the holiness and glory of the Lord” penetrate both the spaces of the universe and the elementary particles of the nucleus of the atom. They are also in the secret depths of human consciousness and subconsciousness. According to its emotional charge and deep essence, Kotyuk’s Sanctus is very similar to the poem “Deus Magnificus” from the collection by Bohdan-Ihor Antonych, Great Harmony (1932).

Laudatis (or “The Praised One”) for solo organ is a hymn in which the composer first of all addresses the Creator. Lauda Nostra (or “Our Song of Praise”) is a symphonic poem for solo organ, a majestic composition in which the author skillfully combines the principles of symphonic development with purely organ-related techniques.

In his creativity the composer provides historical and religious content through music. Kotyuk’s attention is attracted to those historic places that have an important bearing on the history of Christianity. Among the different themes are distinguished two: the first one is connected with the Old Testament and the city of Jericho, which became the final destination of the Israeli people led by Moses to the Promised Land. And the second one is the city of Bethlehem, in which the Savior, Jesus Christ, came into the world.

Jericho is the oldest city in the world and has been continuously populated for eleven thousand years. In the Bible, this city is referred to as a symbol of majestic achievements. In these events, fanfares on the ritual Jewish shofar played a special role. By means of the loud fanfares of Joshua, the commander crumbled the impenetrable walls of the city of Jericho, the first fortification on the West Bank of the Jordan River in the Promised Land, to which Moses brought his people (Joshua 6:1–27).

The fall of the walls of Jericho has symbolic significance. The composer seeks to draw a parallel between Biblical history and the symbolism of the influence of music (in particular, organ fanfares) on the destruction of stereotypes and misunderstandings between people with the help of sacred music.

In the New Testament, Jericho is the symbol of “all the kingdoms of the world and their glory” (Matthew 4:8). The Holy Spirit led Jesus after his baptism in the Jordan River through the desert to Mount Qarantal, overlooking Jericho. In one of the caves of this rock in solitude, praying and reflectioning on his mission on earth, Jesus spent forty days fasting and standing against the temptations of the devil. Mount Karantal (Mons Quarantana in Latin, Quaranta meaning forty) is also called the Mount of Temptation (Luke 4:12). Kotyuk’s Jericho –
Fanfare is a sonic attempt to convey the greatness of spirit and man’s faith in the triumph of the Lord’s intentions through the organ.

Kotyuk composed a symphonic poem for organ entitled Bethlehem (with narratator or children’s choir). Bethlehem was the royal seat of King David. It was from this royal family that came Joseph, the spouse of the Virgin Mary and guardian of Jesus in his youth. After the accession of Judea to Syria, the emperor Octavian Augustus (63 BC–14 AD) ordered the governor of Rome in Judea Quirinium to carry out a census. This took place in the Holy Land just at the time when Jesus was born. The path of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem became a journey that was conditioned by the regulations of the census. God’s great love of mankind manifested itself in the birth of his Son, Jesus, and the long-awaited message about the Savior: “Today, in the city of David, the Savior, who is Christ the Lord, was born to you” (Luke 2:11).

The impressive symbolism lies in the name of the city of Bethlehem: ית‭ ‬לחם [Beth-lehem] is a “bread house” in Hebrew; بيت لحم [Beit-Lahm] is a “house of meat” in Arabic. The difficult path through the Jewish desert to Bethlehem, the lack of accommodation for the pregnant Mary, and the birth of the Savior in the manger, the rise of the leading star in the sky, showing the way for the shepherds to the newborn Son and the Three Magi—this dramatic biblical history was drawn by Kotyuk into the program of Bethlehem.

The work has distinct dramatic sections. The texture of the first fast section with the highlighted tonal foundation that should be associated with the Arabic east is an image of a desert, but the composer also puts into this image a deep philosophical content. This is not only the desert symbolizing the compulsory wanderings of the Holy Family, but also a desert that overwhelms human souls in their inability and reluctance to give an adequate assessment of their own sinfulness. It was to reveal the essence of people’s sin that the Lord sent his Son among people for the sake of enlightenment and for the redemption of their sins. And these sins Christ took upon himself through his crucifixion.

The second image, contrasting with the melismatic briskness of the desert image, is the pompous grandeur of the cities and temples built by the hands of the people. The symbolism of this image in the symphonic poem is in excessive haughtiness and inaccessibility for the common man of Jerusalem’s strongholds, which the Holy Family was passing by, and the closed doors of Bethlehem’s buildings, which failed to open before the mother of the future Savior.

The vivid contrast in Bethlehem is the episode of the birth of the Savior. The optimistic nature of this episode is the bright hope of mankind for the possibility of salvation. However, anxiety and doubt overwhelm this composition; the desert continues to be the devouring trap from which it is so difficult for mankind to break through for millennia. The deep sacral content of Bethlehem is a kind of philosophical credo of Kotyuk, a composer for whom the Spirit, spirituality, and high moral values form a single whole.

All of the above-mentioned works have been written by Bohdan Kotyuk during the last ten years in his creative collaboration with organist Olena Matselyukh. They constitute part of her repertoire and are performed at organ concerts at the Lviv Hall of Organ and Chamber Music, in the Lviv Regional Philharmonic, and when she tours Ukraine and abroad. They are also performed at the concerts of touring organists from different countries of the world.

§

The names and achievements of composers and organists of the Lviv Organ School should rightly occupy a worthy place not only in Ukrainian musicology, but also in the history of world music and culture. This is especially true of the depth of sacredness and its interpretation in the conditions of modern innovative technologies and textual multi-interpretations.

Modern Ukrainian organ art has only recently begun to regain its rightful status. Ukrainian musicology still lacks specialists in religious ritualism, which provides an insight into the world of the sacred. It is this factor of sacredness that greatly inspires composers’ music for the organ. Such professional knowledge would allow many contemporary Ukrainian composers to better understand the boundaries of the sacred and profane in organ music. Using these important categories in the analysis of organ music must become an integral part of the apparatus of the musicologist-researcher.

Notes

1. Kiev History website: https://web.archive.org/web/20071109205908/http://oldkyiv.org.ua/data/s….

2. Mazepa, Leszek. “Muzycy i muzykalia w miejskich księgach kasowych Lwowskiego Magistratu w XV–XVII wiekach, Musica Antiqua IX, Vol. 1. Acta Musicologica, Bydgoszcz, 1991.

3. Gołos, Jerzy. “Polskie organy i muzyka organowa, Instytut wydawniczy “PAX,” Warszawa, 1972, p. 512.

4. Babnis, Maciej. Kultura organowa Galicji, Słupsk: Akademia Pomorska, 2012, p. 674.

5. Мацелюх О. Ян Сливінський і його фабрика органів у Львові // Українська музика. Щоквартальник. – Число 2 (24). – 2017. – С. 59 – 67.

6. Мазепа Л. З. Шлях до музичної Академії у Львові [у 2 т.] / Л. З. Мазепа, Т.Л. Мазепа. – Львів : СПОЛОМ, 2003. – Т. 1. – 288 с.

7. Mazepa, L. “Szkolnictwo muzyczne we Lwowie (XV-XX w.), Lwów–miasto, społeczeństwo, kultura, Kraków, Poland, 1996.

8. Mazepa, Leszek. “Życie muzyczne Lwowa od końca XVIII st. do uyworzenia Towarzystwa Św. Cecylii w 1826 r.,” Musica Galiciana. Tom V. / Red. Leszek Mazepa. – W-wo WSP, Rzeszów, 2000, pp. 97–118.

9. Blaszczyk, L. Zycie muzyczne Lwowa w XIX wieku / Leon Blaszczyk // Przeglad Wschodni, Warszawa, 1991, p. 197.

10. Sowiński, Wojciech. “Słownik muzyków polskich dawnych i nowoczesnych,” Paryż, Drukarnia E. Martinet, 1874, Biblioteka Śląska, Katowice, Poland, p. 436.

11. Nikodemowicz, A. “Tadeusz Majerski,” Ruch Muzyczny, 1964, nr. 23.

12. Nikodemowicz, A. “Zapomniany kompozytor lwowski,” Ruch Muzyczny, 1989, nr. 12.

13. Kostrzewa, Krzysztof. “Grupa kompozytorów Lwowsko-Krakowskich: T. Machl, K. Moszumańska-Nazar, B. Schaeffer,” Musica Galiciana. «Музика Галичини». Tom VI. Наукові збірки ЛДМА ім. М. Лисенка. Випуск 5. – Львів, 2001. – С. 141–147.

14. Rutkowski, B. “Koncerty na organy i wielką orkiestrę symfoniczną Tadeusza Machla, Muzyka, 1952, nr. 1–2.

15. Kowal, R. “Koncerty organowe i twórczość organowa Tadeusza Machla,” Krakowska szkoła kompozytorska 1888–1988, Red. T. Malecka, Kraków, Poland, 1992. «Zeszyt Naukowy Pol. Instytutu Muz.» V, Łódź, 2003, p. 76.

16. Machl, T. “Towarzystwo Miłośników Lwowa і Kresów Południowo-Wschodnich, oddział w Krakowie,” Informacje nr. 23., Kraków, Poland, 1995, p. 14.

17. Kosińska, Małgorzata. “Andrzej Nikodemowicz: Życie i twórczość,” Polskie Centrum Informacji Muzycznej, Związek Kompozytorów Polskich, 2006, http://culture.pl/pl/tworca/andrzej-nikodemowicz.

18. Bojarski, Jerzy Jacek. “Andrzej Nikodemowicz: profesor znany i nieznany,” MOL czyli Miejskie Okienko Literackie, 2002, www.niecodziennik.mbp.lublin.pl/images/stories/archiwum/niecodziennik_0….

19. Баран Т. Інструменталізм Богдана Котюка у світлі тріади «композитор–виконавець–слухач»//Студії мистецтвознавчі.–Ч. 6 (10): Театр. Музика. Кіно.–К., 2005.–С. 27–32.

20. Гулянич Ю. Композитор Богдан Котюк. Грані творчої особистості. – Львів, Афіша, 2008. – 159 с.

Bibliography

1. The Holy Bible Containing the Old and New Testaments Translated out of the Original Tongues and with the Former Translations Diligently Compared & Revised Set forth in 1611 and commonly known as the King James Version: http://www.gasl.org/refbib/Bible_King_James_Version.pdf.

2. Encyclopædia Britannica, Eleventh Edition: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Encyclop%C3%A6dia_Britannica_Eleventh_Edi….

3. Kiev History website: https://web.archive.org/web/20071109205908/http://oldkyiv.org.ua/data/s….

4. Babnis, Maciej. Kultura organowa Galicji, Słupsk: Akademia Pomorska, 2012, p. 674.

5. Blaszczyk, L. Zycie muzyczne Lwowa w XIX wieku / Leon Blaszczyk // Przeglad Wschodni, Warszawa, 1991, p. 197.

6. Bojarski, Jerzy Jacek. “Andrzej Nikodemowicz: profesor znany i nieznany,” MOL czyli Miejskie Okienko Literackie, 2002, www.niecodziennik.mbp.lublin.pl/images/stories/archiwum/niecodziennik_0….

7. Gołos, Jerzy. “Polskie organy i muzyka organowa, Instytut wydawniczy “PAX,” Warszawa, 1972, p. 512.

8. Durkheim, E. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, Oxford University Press, , New York, New York, 2001, p. 416.

9. Jarzębska, A. “Tadeusz Machl.” Encyklopedia Muzyczna, PWM, Kraków, Poland, 2001, p. 526.

10. Kostrzewa, Krzysztof. “Grupa kompozytorów Lwowsko-Krakowskich: T. Machl, K. Moszumańska-Nazar, B. Schaeffer,” Musica Galiciana. «Музика Галичини». Tom VI. Наукові збірки ЛДМА ім. М. Лисенка. Випуск 5. – Львів, 2001. – С. 141–147.

11. Kowal, R. “Koncerty organowe i twórczość organowa Tadeusza Machla,” Krakowska szkoła kompozytorska 1888–1988, Red. T. Malecka, Kraków, Poland, 1992. «Zeszyt Naukowy Pol. Instytutu Muz.» V, Łódź, 2003, p. 76.

12. Kosińska, Małgorzata. “Andrzej Nikodemowicz: Życie i twórczość,” Polskie Centrum Informacji Muzycznej, Związek Kompozytorów Polskich, 2006, http://culture.pl/pl/tworca/andrzej-nikodemowicz.

13. Mazepa, Leszek. “Muzycy i muzykalia w miejskich księgach kasowych Lwowskiego Magistratu w XV–XVII wiekach, Musica Antiqua IX, Vol. 1. Acta Musicologica, Bydgoszcz, 1991.

14. Mazepa, L. “Szkolnictwo muzyczne we Lwowie (XV-XX w.), Lwów–miasto, społeczeństwo, kultura, Kraków, Poland, 1996.

15. Mazepa, Leszek. “Życie muzyczne Lwowa od końca XVIII st. do uyworzenia Towarzystwa Św. Cecylii w 1826 r.,” Musica Galiciana. Tom V. / Red. Leszek Mazepa. – W-wo WSP, Rzeszów, 2000, pp. 97–118.

16. Machl, T. “Towarzystwo Miłośników Lwowa і Kresów Południowo-Wschodnich, oddział w Krakowie,” Informacje nr. 23., Kraków, Poland, 1995, p. 14.

17. Nikodemowicz, A. “Zapomniany kompozytor lwowski,” Ruch Muzyczny, 1989, nr. 12.

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Photo: Cathedral of Saint Mary Magdalene, Lviv, Rieger Kloss Opus 3375