Paul Jacobs and students

The Diapason’s inaugural “20 under 30” selections came from a field that included over 100 nominations, a response that surprised and delighted us. The nominees were evaluated based upon information provided in the nominations; we selected only from those who had been nominated. We looked for evidence of such things as career advancement, technical skills, and creativity and innovation; we considered a nominee’s awards and competition prizes, publications and compositions, and significant positions in the mix. Our selections were not limited merely to organists but reflect the breadth of our editorial scope, which includes the organ, harpsichord, carillon, and church music. Here we present the winners’ backgrounds and accomplishments, and then have them tell us something interesting about themselves, and about their achievements, goals, and aspirations.

Since we had to decline multiple nominees for each one we chose, selecting only 20 from a field of very worthy nominees was quite a challenge. We do urge you to participate in the “20 under 30” awards next year—a person must be nominated in order to be selected. 

During July, 1997, Janice Beck was scheduled to play nine organ recitals in four different European countries, a recital every three days.  In fact, she played eight recitals in three countries.  This account is a detailed description of that tour, its trials, tribulations and joys.

Peterborough, England

On June 26 we left Detroit Metropolitan Airport, two hours late because of a faulty toilet that had to be repaired, arriving at Gatwick Airport, London at 10:00 a.m. the following morning.  After going through Immigration and Customs, we picked up our Britrail passes, and caught a train to Kings Cross Station in London. At 1:10 p.m. we departed for Peterborough, arriving about 2:00. Although we had specific directions to our lodging in the Cathedral Precincts, the taxi driver had no idea how to get there, so he simply dropped us off, in the rain, somewhere in the vicinity of the Cathedral. After inquiring of several helpful pedestrians, we found the bed and breakfast operated by the wife of a canon on the cathedral staff. For the next four nights we enjoyed staying in their lovely old home, part of which dates from the 15th century. Although Janice's first recital, in the Peterborough Cathedral Festival, was not until July 1st, we had arrived early in order to recover from jet-lag prior to the recital.

After a pleasant chat and tea with our hostess, we took a much needed nap followed by a good, but very expensive meal in a nearby hotel. Needless to say, we went to bed early. We awoke to a dreary morning, but feeling somewhat refreshed after a good night's sleep. The weather was, to say the least, miserable with low clouds, rain and wind, and a temperature in the 50s. Unfortunately this weather was predicted to last for a week, and it did. Following breakfast, (and what a breakfast it was: grapefruit, eggs sunny side up, ham, sausage, baked tomato, mushrooms, toast, jams and tea), we walked a few hundred yards and entered the great cathedral for the first time. Although one of the largest and most beautiful of English cathedrals, Peterborough is less well known than some others. Dating from the 14th century, it is famous for the longest painted wooden ceiling in Britain.

Janice had been promised six hours practice time, but we had hoped to arrange additional time. Although it was apparent that the cathedral was vacant each day early in the morning, the festival administrator was unable to arrange additional practice time on the cathedral instrument. He did, however, allow Janice to practice on an ancient two-manual tracker instrument in another church of which he was organist about a mile from the cathedral. So for the next two days we walked in a cold rain to All Saints Church for practice. The All Saints organ, built by Forster and Andrews of Hull in 1908, and apparently in its original state, is characterized by lovely flues and reeds, and strings of remarkably French-sounding tonal qualities. It has, however, two drawbacks: 1) The pedals are very close together, the pedal board being 6 inches narrower than typical modern pedal boards, and 2) as one might expect of a tracker instrument of this vintage, it has a heavy action. But its beautiful tonal qualities in the marvelous acoustical milieu of All Saints Church compensated handsomely for these deficiencies. Whereas the opportunity for Janice to practice in All Saints allowed her, in some ways, to maintain her program in top form, it did nothing to prepare her to use the Cathedral console, and practicing on such an unconventional pedal board may well have been a disadvantage.

On Sunday morning our hostess escorted us to the 10:30 service in the cathedral. We sat in the choir just beneath the organ which we heard for the first time. The service was beautiful. The excellent men and boys choir sang a Schubert Mass with various movements interpsersed throughout the service. The organ, a Hill, Norman and Beard, renovated in the '80s by Harrison and Harrison is an excellent service instrument, but as we knew from the specification, not a very large instrument, and equipped with only 8 generals (not duplicated by toe studs) and a capture-type combination action.

Since the theme of the Cathedral Festival was "The French Connection," Janice had been asked to play a program with an emphasis on French compositions. Whereas she had planned to play the "Communion" and "Sortie" from Messiaen's Pentecost Mass and some short works of Vierne in her tour program, she felt compelled to add another French work to this program, and she chose the Franck Choral No. 3 in A Minor.

Finally on the night before the concert, we gained access to the cathedral instrument with only four hours to register a full-length recital, and to become accustomed to the console in any time that might have been left. With only 8 generals available, registering the program became a nightmare, but by using divisional pistons and assigning me the task of some manual stop-pulling during both the Franck and Messiaen, the job was accomplished. There was no time for practice, however, that being relegated to a brief period the following day.

After the 1:00 p.m. recital we were to catch the 15:37 to London which gave us very little time to retrieve our luggage from the B & B and get to the train station. Consequently, we did not tarry long after the concert. We had expected the festival administrator to present us with the agreed-upon artist's fee, but he was nowhere to be found, much to the consternation of our B & B hosts and the cathedral organist. We received a check two months later.

We arrived at London Kings Cross station just in time for the afternoon rush hour, took the Underground to Waterloo Station, arriving into a throbbing mass of humanity, all, like us, trying to get to the proper platform for their respective trains for home or, in our case, for Windsor.  With two large suitcases, a large brief case containing scores, and a mid-sized carry-on, we finally made our way to the proper platform, boarded the 17:42 for Windsor, collapsed, exhausted, in our seats, and arrived one hour later. Our "overnight" stay in a B&B turned out to be a half-night's stay, only, since we were required to appear at Heathrow Airport two hours prior to our 6:50 departure for Copenhagen. So we pulled ourselves out of bed at 3:45 a.m., dressed, had some tea and ate a soggy sandwich. The taxi arrived on time at 4:30 for the 20 minute drive to Heathrow.

Poland

The flight to Copenhagen was excellent, with an efficient and very polite crew, and a delicious breakfast. We arrived in Copenhagen at 10:00 a.m., changed planes and left at 11:00 for Szczecin, Poland, a city of about 500,000 population. As we approached the Szczecin airport we were surprised at the lack of activity and any evidence of commercial development in the vicinity. Upon landing it became apparent that our plane was the only one there except for a few derelict World War II fighter planes parked alongside a taxi strip. And no other planes arrived during the time it took to go through customs and immigration. The small, antiquated terminal building, probably dating from the 1940s, had obviously not been improved or expanded since it was built. We had just had our first glimpse of the legacy of communist domination in Poland for over 40 years.

After being frisked with metal detection devices, we were interrogated by an official who spoke only halting English. We were taken aback when he asked, "You go to Santa Monica?" After a pause, Janice replied, "We have been to Santa Monica in California." He seemed as surprised by that reply as we were by his question. But after a few seconds and a quizzical look, he waved us on.

Kamien

We joined our hosts, Bogdan and Laura Marcinkowski, who drove us to Kamien Pomorski, about 60 kilometers away. As we approached a park-like area of the town we drove under an arch that bore in large letters, in English, the name, Santa Monica Institute. We soon learned that our lodging was a hospice where persons, many from Scandinavian countries, went to rest and recuperate from serious illnesses, or to spend their last days! Perhaps, because of our lack of sleep the previous night, we appeared terminally ill to the immigration official at the Szczecin airport. Although our room was immaculately clean, we felt somewhat uncomfortable in the Santa Monica Institute among the many ill inhabitants.

The elegant 12th-century cathedral in Kamien, built by Germans and used for many centuries by Lutherans, is characterized by an acoustical milieu of indescribable beauty. The Michael Berigel organ, of north German style dating from the latter part of the 18th century is characterized by beautiful, brilliant mixtures, glorious flues, several excellent solo stops, and reeds so terribly out of tune that their character could not be accurately assessed. The instrument was, however, very difficult to play because of a very heavy tracker action, and a flat pedal board of unusual dimensions and placement-narrow from side to side as well as from front to back, and set back at least six inches from the front of the console. To play the pedals the bench had to be placed so far from the console that it was almost impossible to reach the top manual without losing one's balance. An even greater hindrance to Janice, however, in playing the program she had planned, was the fact that, unknown to her, the entire Positiv division had been removed for renovation as had about half of the pedal pipes. With some creative registrations, however, the program was successful. And what beautiful, ethereal sounds in that marvelous acoustical environment. One would die for a Koppelflöte like that used as a solo stop in the Vierne Arabesque.

The concert in Kamien Pomorski as well as the following concert in Szczecin were part of the International Festival of Organ and Chamber Music. Each concert consisted of both organ works and works performed by a chamber group. In Kamien, the organ works alternated with works played by an excellent trombone quintet, whereas in Szczecin the organ works comprised the first half of the concert with the second half consisting of choral works by a Swedish choir. In Kamien, as well as in every other venue in Poland and Slovakia, there were large audiences, with most venues filled to capacity.

Szczecin

From Kamien, we traveled by train to Szczecin. Kamien is at the southern end of a spur, about twenty kilometers from the main rail line across northern Poland. The little train arrived about 10 minutes prior to departure time. The metal seats, without cushioning, were painted bright red. To say they were uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. The train departed on time, chugged along slowly for a few minutes and stopped at a country lane to pick up several passengers. During the next half hour the train stopped several more times for passengers who were simply standing by the track in the countryside. Once we joined the main line, however, the train continued on to Szczecin without another stop.

We were met in Szczecin by a guide from the Castle of Pomeranian Princes, driven to the castle, and escorted to our rooms--a very fine guest suite consisting of a bedroom, a sitting room and a marvelous, large and luxurious bathroom. There were no glasses, no bath mats, no telephone, and no television in our suite; and more significantly, no door key. Of these, we considered the absence of a television set an asset, but we were not prepared to leave our possessions, especially Janice's valuable scores, in an unlocked room. The concierge informed us that the last guest had failed to return the key before leaving, but since he could see the door to our suite he would keep watch on it for us. Nevertheless, we insisted, much to his consternation, on having a key. Finally, a locksmith arrived, and replaced the entire lock.

The Castle, dating from the 12th century, was the residence and site of government of the ruling princes of Pomerania until the early 17th century. By 1577 the castle had attained its present form and at that time was one of the most beautiful Renaissance castles in Europe. In 1944 it was severely damaged during air raids. Reconstructed after the second world war, it is today a center of cultural activity in Szczecin.

After lunch we visited the concert hall in the castle with its relatively new instrument built by the Kaminski firm of Warsaw. Finding someone to turn on the instrument proved most difficult, and then we had to decipher the eastern European combination action, essentially an exposed setter board consisting of four rows of different colored pins, each color representing a different division of the organ and each pin representing a stop.

This instrument is characterized by loud, raucous reeds, shrill mixtures, and tight sounding flues. The tonal characteristics of the instrument and the expressed lack of knowledge of the western organ world by the castle organist is, no doubt, a reflection of the isolation imposed on Poland under Communist domination. Other instruments that Janice played in Poland and elsewhere in eastern Europe were quite beautiful although several were in bad condition, but they had been built in the 18th, 19th or early twentieth centuries.

Tired after practicing all afternoon, we had dinner and went to bed early. As we returned from the restaurant we noticed that the courtyard of the castle had been set up with chairs and that people were filing in in great numbers. A stage backed by colorful banners occupied one end of the courtyard, and we guessed that there was to be some sort of entertainment. Shortly the entire courtyard was packed to capacity, and the concert began. From our bedroom adjacent to the courtyard the music was very audible, and we lay in bed enjoying a symphony orchestra, chorus and soloists presenting music from Mozart operas. Dead tired, we dropped off to sleep before the concert ended, and were awakened, suddenly, from a deep sleep by what sounded like a war: the loud booms and flashing lights of a spectacular fireworks display. We were treated to a repeat performance of both the concert and the fireworks the following night.

The organ recital, at twelve noon on Sunday, July 6, actually went very well, but provides examples of the unexpected with which an organist must cope. As Janice walked on stage, I as page turner trailing behind, the house lights were dimmed and very bright flood lights were turned on the organ console. These lights came from only one side of the hall, and because of the angle of the console, Janice's body cast a very dark shadow on the pedal board which, as a result, was hardly visible. Seeing the pedal board was made all the more difficult by the great contrast between the brightly illuminated score and the darkened pedal board. She played the initial work on the program, by J. S. Bach, without any problem. The second work, however, was a new, unpublished composition entitled Kairos, by Pamela Decker which contained some virtuoso pedal passages. Janice had no alternative but to ask in English that the lights be adjusted so she could see the pedal board. Fortunately, some helpful person in the audience understood, made the appropriate request to the stage hands, and the lights were duly adjusted. The performance of Kairos was going well when, unannounced, a television camera crew walked on stage and began videotaping Janice (and me) from various angles. You can imagine how distracting that could be, but Janice, undaunted, maintained her concentration and completed the performance without incident.

A lasting memory of this tour will be of the wonderful people whom we met and who in various ways assisted us. We had tried repeatedly to make several telephone calls to the United States from Kamien Pomorski without success, and in Szezecin we did not have easy access to a telephone. We informed a new Polish friend, a physician and organ buff, who had attended Janice's recitals in both Kamien and Szczecin, of our difficulties, and he most graciously invited us to have dinner in his home from which we were able to make our calls.

Gdansk

The following morning, July 7, we took a taxi to the train station to begin our journey to Gdansk. Understanding no Polish, and with no English or German directions in the railroad station, we were apprehensive about determining the platform from which to board the train. The taxi driver turned out to be another "angel" to whom we will always be in debt. Of Greek descent and speaking some English, he recognized our dilemma. Upon arriving at the station, he insisted on accompanying us into the station and onto the proper platform. Rather than leaving us there, however, he stayed with us until the train arrived, raced to the far end of the train to the correct car with Janice's luggage, took it on board, and found seats for us. Needless to say, he received a large tip from me. He also received a hug from Janice, the only time, to her knowledge, she has ever hugged an angel, or for that matter, a taxi driver.

In the Gdansk suburb of Oliwa we were housed in a seminary for priests associated with the great cathedral there. Upon arrival, a young priest escorted us to our dormitory room which, even by college dormitory standards, was spartan. We had arrived in late afternoon, and soon went to the dining hall for dinner which consisted of thin cold cuts of cheese and salami, bread and tea. We were seated at a table some distance from those occupied by the young priests, not only for this, but for all meals. None of the priests took the initiative to speak to us or to engage us in conversation. We were perplexed by this isolation and still do not know the reason. Perhaps it resulted either from a lack of knowledge of English, or a lack of confidence in speaking it by those who did know some English. We, of course, could speak no Polish, so were in no position to be critical. Furthermore, although free of Russian domination for nearly l0 years, there is still very little opportunity to interact with English-speaking people from the west. Tourism has simply not caught on, at least in Northern Poland, and we saw no evidence of any effort to encourage it. In fact during our entire stay in Poland (6 days), we saw only two or three Americans.

The following morning, breakfast consisted of cold cuts, bread and tea, identical to the previous night's supper. We were becoming discouraged, to say the least, and began to joke about what to expect for the noon meal which, fortunately, turned out to be the main meal of the day with meat, two vegetables, bread, a small dessert, and tea. But for the following supper and breakfast?: you guessed it!

Oliwa cathedral, constructed of red brick, and showing Dutch influence in its exterior architecture, is equally surprising on the interior. The long and very high nave and chancel are painted white, resulting in an unusually bright interior.

The large, 5-manual organ, dating from the last century, is contained in a dramatic case with spectacular carvings of angels holding gilded horns that can move from side to side, and two cymbelsterns. The instrument has been converted from tracker to electro-pneumatic action, and, in recent years, has been fitted with a solid-state combination action and sequencer, the only instrument we saw in eastern Europe so modernized.

The people of Gdansk are very proud of the Oliwa organ which is demonstrated every afternoon to large crowds including many children who are especially fascinated by the moving golden "trumpets" and the rotating cymbelsterns.

Janice had access to the organ only on the evening before the day of the recital and one hour on the day of the recital. Consequently, she had to take good advantage of her one evening for registration and practice time. As we arrived in the organ loft, we smelled an unusual odor. I thought it might be stale incense, but Janice demurred, saying she had never smelled incense with that "fragrance." I sat in the nave to assist with balance. After about two hours in the organ loft, Janice began to play wrong notes, and complained that she was not thinking well and was becoming dizzy. But she had to try to continue registering her program, which became progressively more difficult. We finally found the source of the odor: an unvented toilet near the organ loft from which sewer gas was escaping in large quantities. By closing the door to this lavatory and by stuffing an old, discarded flag under the door, we largely solved the problem. Unfortunately, by this time Janice was feeling quite ill, but continued to work for several more hours. By noon the following day she felt much better, and by recital time that evening she was, fortunately, back to normal.

Olomouc, Czech Republic

At 4:30 the next morning we were taken to the airport for a 6:30 flight to Prague. We arrived at the Prague airport 30 minutes early, and went directly to the train station to catch a train for Olomouc where Janice was to play a recital in St. Michael's Church. Since we had a two-hour wait, we sat in a park just outside the station and enjoyed people-watching on a beautiful, cool, sunny morning. We had purchased rail tickets in the United States. Consequently, we went directly to the platform to board our train just 15 minutes prior to departure time. The train was destined from Prague to Warsaw, via Olomouc, or so we thought. As we were looking for the coach in which we had reserved seats, I asked a member of the train crew to help us. He looked at our tickets and immediately threw up his hands and waved them back and forth excitedly as if to indicate that we could not go on that train, at the same time speaking to us in Czech which we could not understand. A train for Germany was about to depart on an adjacent track. I was literally pulled over to the conductor of the German train who said, "Der Zug fahrt nicht nach Olomouc. Olomouc liegt unter wasser." I understood, but was perplexed and obviously showed that by my puzzled expression, so the conductor repeated what he had just said, even more emphatically: "That train does not travel to Olomouc. Olomouc lies under water!" The German train left, as did the Czech train, with us standing forlornly on the platform wondering what to do.

During the entire time we had been in Poland, we had not had access to a television set, and had not purchased a paper which, of course, we could not have read. We had, therefore, heard nothing of the severe floods in southern Poland and Moravia. We eventually learned that much of Olomouc, centrally located in Moravia, was literally inundated by the flood waters, there was no electric power, and no hotels and restaurants were operating. We learned also that three railroad bridges between Prague and Olomouc had been destroyed, and thus that there was no rail service from Prague to Olomouc, or for that matter into Slovakia, the site of our next concert. If we had gotten on the train as intended, we would have gone back to Warsaw from which we had flown a few hours earlier.

Fortunately, telephones in Olomouc were still operating. We called our host there, and his wife said he had gone to Prague to meet us. Not expecting him there, we had simply walked out of the terminal without seeing him, or he us. He looked for us at the railroad station, but could not find us because we were sitting outside in the park. We found a hotel near the old city, and the following day our host again drove to Prague which required a long, circuitous route to avoid the flood waters. He thought it still possible that electricity would be restored in time for the recital. He explained the use of the Prague Metro (subway), and showed us the best way to gain accesss to the Karlovy Bridge over the Vlatava (formerly the Moldau) which leads to the Mesto (the old, central city). He also made airline reservations for a flight to Kosice, Slovakia, the nearest airport to Bardejov, our next destination. Unfortunately, the flooding became worse, power was not restored in Olomouc for many days, and the recital there had to be cancelled.

Prague

Although disappointed to miss playing in Olomouc, we were pleased to have four days in the beautiful city of Prague. The following day, after breakfast of cold cuts and yogurt, we set out to see the palace (the site of the Czech government) and St. Vitus Cathedral, nestled together on a high hill overlooking the city. The day was very hot, and we proceeded slowly up the long, steep hill to the palace and St. Vitus cathedral. Although very tired, upon entering the magnificent gothic cathedral, we knew it had been worth the climb. We rested in this stunningly beautiful church and marvelled at the golden glow of the choir and the elegant stained glass windows throughout. We bought some CDs in the Palace shop and walked back down the hill to the Malostranska Metro station. Back at the hotel, we collapsed and slept for several hours before supper, washed some clothes and went to bed.

The following day (Saturday, July 12), after finding an ATM and replenishing our funds, we visited Prague's largest music store where Janice purchased organ music by Czech composers.

Afterward, we found our way to the Mesto, the center of the old city, and what a magnificent area it is with many beautiful churches. Also thousands of tourists. Walking through the narrow streets and across the several squares, we were frequently charmed to see young people dressed in period costumes and to hear the music of Mozart floating across the area heralding a Mozart Festival. Mozart was a frequent visitor to Prague, and his opera, Don Giovanni, received its premiere here in 1787. Near the famous Tyn Church with its distinctive twin towers we had lunch in a quiet restaurant, after which we visited the beautiful baroque church of St. Nicholas across the square.

Bardejov, Slovakia

After a long day, we packed for our flight to Kosice, Slovakia, watched Bill Cosby (speaking Czech) for a few amusing minutes, and retired for the night. We arrived at the Prague Airport terminal about 9:00 a.m., picked up our tickets and were told to look for our flight number on TV monitors to determine the proper check-in desk. By 10:00 a.m. our flight number had not appeared, so becoming concerned, I enquired about the problem at an information desk. We were told to go immediately to one of the "common" check-in counters of which there were seven. All had very long lines, and we were quite apprehensive about getting to the counter in time to catch our flight. Finally, about 10 minutes before flight departure time, we were checked in and made our way as quickly as possible to the designated gate, arriving with very little time to spare.

Upon arrival in Kosice we were met by our host, grandson of Josef Gresak, the Slovak composer who is honored by the Gresak Organ Festival. A former conductor of the Slovak Symphony Orchestra in Kosice, our host now imports and distributes frozen fish. He drove us the 86 kilometers to Bardejov, located in the southern edge of the Carpathian Mountains, and only about 50 kilometers from the Ukrainian border. We thoroughly enjoyed driving through the beautiful, hilly countryside reminiscent of the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of western Virginia.

In Bardejov we were deposited in a city-owned apartment consisting of a large living room, dining room, kitchen, three bedrooms and a bathroom. This beautiful, modern facility was made even more appealing by having a high-quality stereo sound system plus a collection of CDs and cassette tapes. Before he left, our host, suggesting that we might not have any Slovakian currency, presented us the entire promised honorarium in cash! This very gracious and thoughtful gesture was most surprising, and nothing like it was repeated elsewhere.

Our apartment was conveniently located directly across the street from St. Egidius (St. Giles) Church in which Janice was to play. This gothic building, dating from the 15th century, has a fine organ installed by the Rieger firm of Budapest in 1909. This two-manual instrument of 35 registers has an eastern European style combination action with two "free" combinations and a flat pedal board of 27 keys. The combination action of this instrument differs from those of more recent instruments in having two rows of tabs instead of colored pins by which to set individual stops. These two combinations could be activated by pistons below the lower manual. Of interest to me was the original blower switch, integrated with a huge rheostat by which the voltage was increased to obtain appropriate wind pressure. The wind supply could also be provided by two men pumping a large bellows with their feet.

As in other cities in eastern Europe, ordering food here was a real problem although the one restaurant we patronized had a menu with English translations. Nevertheless, as we soon discovered, we rarely received what we thought we had ordered! By western standards, the cost of prepared food was remarkably low. We could obtain an adequate meal for two for only about $5.00. Breakfast here was a problem, however. The only place we could find open prior to 9:00 a.m. sold only submarine sandwiches, so for three days our breakfasts consisted of submarine sandwiches.

On our first full day in Bardejov Janice worked out registrations in the morning and practiced for three hours in the afternoon. We then bought a bottle of very good Hungarian red wine, some peanuts and pretzels, had a little party before dinner and went to bed early. The following day, after practice in the morning and a long nap in the afternoon, we arrived for the 8:00 p.m. recital about 7:45. As we approached the open church door we could hear none of the expected sounds of people on the interior, and were thus shocked upon entering to find a packed church, but not a sound from the audience, not even a cough. We tip-toed up to the organ loft and began the recital throughout which there was deathly silence from the audience, almost as if the people could not speak. This eerie quiet was, to say the least, somewhat disconcerting, and I hoped that Janice was not playing to an audience of deaf mutes. At the end of the program, following the Bach St. Anne Fugue, there was still no sound for a few seconds, then enthusiastic applause. As the audience departed there was still no talking in the church. To this remarkable audience in Bardejov, the church was, apparently, a sacred place, one in which to meditate, and to hear great music without the distraction of gossip or chit-chat about mundane secular events.

Bury St. Edmunds

Wednesday, July 16: we arose at 6:30 a.m., ate a submarine sandwich for breakfast, packed and were ready to leave for London at 9:30. We were driven to Kosice where we were hosted by members of the Slovak Symphony Orchestra adminstrative staff, one of whom took us to lunch and showed us beautiful St. Elizabeth's Cathedral. We left Kosice at 4:10 p.m., changed planes in Prague and arrived in London about 8:00. Getting through the immigration maze at Heathrow airport was a nightmare, with thousands of people in long queues. When finally we made it through immigration, found our luggage, and left the terminal building, it was nearly dark. Our taxi arrived 30 minutes later and delivered us, totally exhausted, to our B & B in Windsor about 10:00 p.m.

The next day we were up by 7:00 a.m., had a good English breakfast, and left Windsor on the 9:40 for London, Waterloo Station. We went by taxi to Liverpool Street Station, grabbed some sandwiches for lunch and took the 12:00 noon train to Ipswich, changing there to the 1:55 to Bury St. Edmunds, arriving at 2:30.

In Bury we stayed at the Chantry Hotel, a very nice accommodation with moderate rates that included breakfast. Since Janice had played a recital in St. Edmundsbury Cathedral in 1995, we were familiar with the town, and a lovely town it is. We met our host in the cathedral after choir practice and worked on the instrument until 11:30 p.m. On the following day, we browsed in the cathedral shop and enjoyed perusing their book collection by which we learned something about St. Edmunds and the ancient Abbey, the ruins of which are adjacent to the cathedral. The Abbey dating from the 700s, which was sacked and destroyed in the 1500s, was larger than the present cathedral. We also visited beautiful St. Mary's Church which is the largest Parish Church in the United Kingdom, almost as large as the cathedral. Although somewhat off the beaten path, Bury St. Edmunds is a lovely and interesting town very much worth a visit.

Practice in the evening was interesting, but not entirely productive. The cathedral organist and a priest heard Janice practicing Pamela Decker's piece, Kairos, and were so impressed with the work that they ascended to the organ loft to ask about it. In addition to Kairos, Janice played for them some of Dan Locklair's suite, Rubrics, about which they were also very enthusiastic. We found most interesting their expressions of dismay that they had such difficulty learning about new American compositions for organ. Because of this pleasant "interruption" Janice practiced until 12:30 a.m.

Saturday, July 19: Following the 4:00 p.m. recital, we walked to the nearby Angel Hotel bar to celebrate. We ordered Manhattans, and after carefully explaining to the bartender how to make them, we enjoyed two delicious American-style cocktails made with (very expensive) Kentucky bourbon. Later we were joined for dinner by the cathedral organist and his friend who we learned is one of only two female organ scholars in the English cathedral system.

All Saints Collegiate Church, Maidstone

The following day, Sunday, July 20, we caught a morning train to Cambridge, changing there to a train for London, King's Cross; we then went by Underground to Victoria Station where we arrived just 7 minutes prior to departure at 1:22 for Maidstone. Arriving in Maidstone at 2:25, we were met by a warden of All Saint's Church who took us to the church, showed us how to turn on the organ, took us to tea, and finally deposited us in our very nice B & B. After resting for two hours, we walked back into the center of town, had supper and went to the church for practice from 7:30 until 10:30 p.m.

All Saints Collegiate Church, Maidstone, dating from the 13th century, is very handsome, and provides a wonderful acoustical environment for organ music. Unfortunately, the organ console has only preset divisional pistons, and no generals. Although Janice had planned originally to play "Communion" and "Sortie" from the Messiaen Pentecost Mass she realized that it would be impossible to give them meaningful performances on this instrument, so she decided to replace them with several short works by Vierne.

On July 22, following supper of sandwiches and tea provided by our landlady, we dressed for the recital. The taxi was expected at 7:30. When, by 7:40, it had not arrived we called again, and another taxi finally arrived, about 7:50. By this time we were pretty tense. We arrived at the church at 7:56. The concert started, on time, at 8:00 p.m.!

Since Janice's next recital, in Westminster Abbey, was not until the 27th, we decided to stay in Maidstone until Saturday. This 3-day respite was much needed and most enjoyable. On Wednesday, we found a laundromat, Janice had her hair cut, and we took a short, pleasant cruise on the Medway river. The Medway is navigable through several locks from the English Channel to London by way of the Thames. We passed several Dutch barges on the river and others anchored alongside wharves in Maidstone, all bedecked with flowers in hanging baskets, making a beautiful sight.

On Thursday, we went by train to Canterbury to see the famous cathedral, home of the Archbishop, head of the Anglican Church. Canterbury is a very attractive town, but on this day in July it was overrun by tourists. Like most other British cathedrals the nave and choir of Canterbury are separated by a dense "screen," and at Canterbury the nave, choir and Trinity Chapel are on successively higher levels. The organ console is out of sight on top of the screen, and the Father Willis organ in the triforium is nearly invisible.

Of the many works of art, plaques, and other memorabilia in the cathedral, one plaque was especially meaningful for us. It bore the following message: "Remember the thousands of the combined allied forces who lost their lives during the invasion of western Europe on the 6th of June 1944. The assault on Normandy was launched at Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha & Utah beaches. Thus began the return of freedom to Europe. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

One of our most enjoyable days in Britain was spent at Leeds Castle, just a few miles east of Maidstone which we reached by bus on Friday. One of the most famous and certainly one of the most beautiful of all English castles, with magnificent grounds and gardens, Leeds Castle was the home of kings and queens, including Henry the Eighth as well as Lord Culpepper who was governor of Virginia and Lord Fairfax who owned 150,000 acres of land in Virginia prior to the Revolution. It is no surprise that the town of Culpepper, and Fairfax County, Virginia were named for these illustrious early residents of the state. This Virginia connection with Leeds Castle was of particular interest to us since both Janice and I are Virginians by birth.

The castle was an early site of negotiations between Egypt and Israel that led to the Camp David Accords and the beginning of the on-going peace negotiations between Israel and the Arab nations of the Middle East.

Westminster Abbey

Saturday, 26 July: Today we travelled to London for the last recital of the tour, in Westminster Abbey. We left Maidstone by train at 10:00 a.m. and arrived in Victoria Station at 11:00. We took a taxi to Hotel 176 on Old Brompton Road in South Kensington. We were shocked to learn that there was no room reserved for us although the hotel had a record of our credit card number, and we had a fax confirming our reservation. The desk clerk was most apologetic, but re-iterated that there were no rooms available. Fortunately, the Swiss House Hotel, next door, had one double room available which we were delighted to take.

After a long nap in the afternoon, we went by Underground to Westminster Abbey for practice at 5:45. We found the organ scholar without difficulty who escorted us to the organ loft atop the screen separating the nave from the choir and showed us the organ console.

The Harrison and Harrison organ, installed in 1937, includes some re-voiced pipes from an earlier Hill organ. The instrument was restored and enlarged in 1982 and 1987 with the addition of a new console. In 1994 the combination action was expanded with the addition of a sequencer.

The five-manual console by Harrison and Harrison has several unusual features. There is a separate setter button for every general and every divisional piston. Unlike other English organs which Janice had played, the general pistons are not above the top manual, but below the manual for the solo division. Since the setter buttons for the general pistons are above the top manual, Janice had to be very careful not to push a setter button when she intended to push a general piston! We worked for the allotted 21/2 hours and made our way back to our hotel, very tired and went immediately to bed.

After sleeping late on Sunday, and a long nap in the afternoon, at about 4:00 we went to the nearby Gloucester Road Underground station to catch a train for the Abbey. Unfortunately the only reasonable route was not available because of work on the line. After deciding we did not have time to take a round-about route to the Abbey, we hailed a taxi and arrived just 15 minutes prior to recital time. We were relieved to observe that all tourists, except those who were seated for the recital, had been removed from the church; how this was accomplished we do not know. Two minutes prior to recital time, the Organist and Master of the Choristers arrived to greet us--a gracious gesture on his part, but not the most opportune time for the recitalist!

Following the recital, the sub-organist and several other organists in attendance, rushed up to the organ loft to ask about the contemporary American works on the program. As at St. Edmundsbury they were very interested in both Kairos and Rubrics.

After a pleasant dinner with friends who were in the London area on vacation, we packed for our return trip to Ann Arbor. Our flight from Gatwick to Detroit Metropolitan Airport was uneventful, and it was wonderful to be met by our daughters. It is always good to return home after a trip, but after having been away for nearly five weeks, homecoming this time was an unusual pleasure.

Joyce Johnson Robinson is associate editor of The Diapason.

Paul Jacobs is no stranger to anyone who knows the organ world, and of late he is gaining exposure to a broader audience through the mass media. The subject of numerous newspaper, professional journal, and public radio interviews (The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, Choir and Organ, National Public Radio’s Morning Edition, to name just a few), Jacobs is a musician of passionate and devoted intensity. One of the first mentions of him in these pages was as the college division prize winner of the Albert Schweitzer Organ Competition (see The Diapason, November 1998); his Messiaen Marathon performance in Chicago was chronicled by Frank Ferko in The Diapason in May 2002, and his numerous achievements and honors have often been reported here. Jacobs’ current high media profile is due in part to his position as head of the organ department at Juilliard—at age 26 he became the school’s youngest department chair ever. He has also garnered attention for his Bach and Messiaen marathons, though these certainly are serious and concentrated encounters with the music of these composers and not to be considered stunts.
A native of Washington, Pennsylvania, Paul Jacobs studied organ with George Rau, John Weaver, and Thomas Murray. His teachers attest to his intelligence, great capacity for learning, and hardy work ethic; these were noticeable even as he began his organ studies. George Rau, Jacobs’ first organ teacher, remembers that even at his first lesson, his talent was obvious; he learned very quickly, and worked very hard.
I knew that his was an extraordinary talent, and also not only that, he works harder than any musician that I know; and having the two—not only this great talent, but also this great work ethic—really, you just knew that he was going to go far.1
By age 15—when he took his first church position—he had learned much of the standard repertoire and was working on larger Bach works. Jacobs studied with John Weaver at the Curtis Institute of Music; Weaver’s first impression noted the “security of his playing and the musicianship.” Weaver also commented that

Certainly one of his strengths was a great seriousness, which is still a hallmark of his playing, and of his personality. He really is deeply devoted to excellence in performance. What did he need to work on? Well, he was not at the top of his form in the social graces. Not that he was inappropriate, but I think he was a little nervous about conversing with people; and interacting with people was a skill that he had not developed terribly well at that point, but that he now has more than compensated for.2
At Rau’s suggestion, Jacobs began mastering early on the skill of memorization.

I would always tell him that it’s a skill that if developed now, you’ll have it for the rest of your life, and it’s a skill that you want to develop young, so that it becomes a natural part of your playing.3

Rau’s nudging to memorize was taken to heart; John Weaver elaborates:

The tradition at the Curtis Institute that goes back to the days of Lynwood Farnam and was maintained for many years by Alexander McCurdy, and I inherited and maintained, [was] that each student shall play a new piece from memory in organ class each week. And nothing like this exists any place else in the world, as far as I know. Paul wasn’t fazed by this at all. But after he’d been at Curtis, oh, perhaps six weeks or so into his first year, he came to me and said, “well, would it be all right”—he was very timid about this—“do you think it would matter, would people be upset, would it be all right if I were to play TWO pieces each week?” (laughter) And so I thought that would be just fine, and told him so, and so he did. From that time on, for the rest of his four years at Curtis, he played at least one new piece each week, plus another piece and sometimes repeating a piece from another time. Well the interesting thing is, it wasn’t very many weeks after that, one of his fellow students who’d become equally notorious in the organ world, Ken Cowan, wasn’t about to be upstaged. He started memorizing two pieces each week too! (laughter) It was quite a class—to have Paul Jacobs and Ken Cowan both studying at the same time.4

Following Curtis, Jacobs went on to study at Yale. His teacher at Yale, Thomas Murray, found Jacobs to be “a genuinely modest and seriously committed artist.” 5

Perhaps the greatest strength a musician can have is to be truly individual, and that surely describes Paul and the way he approaches everything. He identifies the music of specific composers as being the most enduring and ennobling, and then devotes himself to that music without reservation. In Paul’s case, that has meant Bach and Messiaen especially. By the time he left Yale with his Artist Diploma and Master of Music degree in 2003, he was adding Brahms and Reger to his agenda. With this as his core repertoire, he is fastidious about what he adds for “lighter music.” He knows how to popularize the organ in other ways. In fact, he was a very effective “pied piper” while at Yale, intentionally drawing large numbers of undergraduates and non-concert-going people to his programs. Much of that he does with a personal, one-to-one, friendly rapport. When he played his E. Power Biggs Memorial Recital at Harvard, for example, he calmly greeted members of the audience as they arrived! So in large measure, his approach has not been on the well-trod path of competitions or with showy music.6

Phillip Truckenbrod, whose agency manages Jacobs’ engagements, first heard of Paul Jacobs via his playing at an AGO convention and subsequently when Jacobs won the college division award of the Albert Schweitzer competition. Truckenbrod has mentioned how Jacobs has been noticed by the broader musical community, remarking that

A lot of the kudos which have come his way are not from organ sources, they’re from critics who don’t usually do much with organ, and people who have simply recognized a real talent—a talent comparable to some of the best talents in other fields of classical music. Resonating is one of the favorite words today—but he’s sort of resonating on that level.7

We wished to discover for ourselves a bit of what makes this fervent musician tick, and also to explore some of his views on the role of the organ and its music in the face of the popular culture juggernaut that challenges us all.

JR: In your very full life you have teaching at Juilliard, and recitals to play, which involve a good deal of travel. How do you balance these many demands?
PJ: I look to the life of George Frederick Handel for inspiration. Handel was not a man of leisure—he was very much married to his art. There are not enough hours in the day, and I feel obligated to my work, which is so fulfilling. Actually this ties in with my not owning a television, too. Who has the time? While I’m home visiting my mother and family in Pennsylvania, of course I do occasionally watch television. And you know, the more stations there are, the less that’s worthwhile. I actually have encouraged people to get rid of their television and get out there and live. Live deliberately!

JR: I’ve read that you first heard organ music when you were young, at church—a nun was playing and it inspired you. Prior to that, were you already listening to serious music? What sort of family culture do you come from?
PJ: Surprisingly, I do not come from a musical family, nor from a musical community, for that matter. As you know, I’m from Washington, Pennsylvania. My father is deceased; my mother is a nurse, and, while not musical herself, she did all that she could to support my fascination with music. She recognized early on that I possessed a very strong attraction to music. Even when I was three, she noticed that I would listen to classical music, or if there was a conductor on television, an orchestra concert, I was entranced. And I expressed interest at age five to study the piano. All of that led way to more serious study of music.

JR: And you began piano study when you were about six?
PJ: Yes, at six, and continued that through my first year at Curtis. Thirteen was when I began playing the organ. And I was fortunate in a relatively small town to have both a first-rate piano teacher and an organ teacher who nurtured my zeal for music and my musical education.

JR: Is that how your practice habits got a good start?
PJ: Yes, I would say so. For a young person to have strong feelings for classical music in the United States is generally not held in high regard by the young person’s peers.

JR: Indeed! I take it that you were not on three or four sports teams?
PJ: Not only that—I’m as unathletic as one could be. But you know, I didn’t really have any friends, growing up. I had difficulty, even through most of my time at Curtis, because I was an intense introvert. I’ve lightened my personality a bit over the last several years. And I don’t regret any of this, by the way—but I had no time for taking part in the banalities of life; and partying, or drinking, or just idle talk—it was of no interest to me. I would much prefer to be playing and studying beautiful music. Friday nights, even through Curtis, were spent practicing, late into the night, not out with friends. One has to become the music. You have to want it to become part of you, you have to go through an incredibly intense, rigorous lifestyle to get to this point, to earn the right to confidently express yourself.

JR: That’s a very interesting idea—that as an introvert you would bypass social opportunities, so that you could dig in deeper and express yourself publicly through music.
PJ: Oh, I think that’s absolutely the case. I think keyboardists tend to lead the most insular existences—pianists, organists, because our instruments are so complete. But the nature of being a serious musician demands a lifestyle that is centered around not only musical analysis but also self-analysis, and self-reflection—all of these things are intertwined. If one is to have a love affair, shall we say, with music, one must become as intimate with it as possible, and that demands many hours of the day—hours that could be spent doing other things with other people. I suppose it’s an abstract point, but it’s a very important point—musicians need that solitude. My solitude has always been very important to me, because it has allowed me to become very close with the art. It’s not necessarily loneliness—it can be, at times, but solitude doesn’t necessarily equal loneliness.

JR: Yes—alone is not equal to lonely. But I think of you as quite gracious. At the 2004 AGO convention you were at the door greeting people as they entered the church for your recital. That seemed very open and confident, not what I would associate with someone who was an introvert.
PJ: Yes, I feel genuinely obliged to thank people and to be gracious to them because they’re giving of themselves. Good musicians want to become vulnerable to an audience. You get out there and pour your heart and soul out, and you hope an audience will do the same: that they will allow the barriers to come down—emotional barriers, spiritual barriers, intellectual barriers, and just be there in the moment. It has to be this mutual vulnerability; everyone must be very giving and human and sensitive to what’s going on. So it’s important that the performer be approachable and not aloof. Again, I don’t think I’m contradicting myself. One can still have the solitude and not be aloof—you can still relate to people.

JR: Yes! Do you routinely greet people before a performance?
PJ: It varies, depending on how I feel. I like to, but not always. Quite frankly, oftentimes I like to take a walk—depending on where the venue is. One time, last season, the church was located in a wonderful neighborhood—it was very scenic. And I wanted to take a walk about an hour before. And—I got lost! I didn’t get back into the church until about two minutes before the concert. People were concerned!

JR: During your training years, what would be a typical amount of practice in a given day? I know you emphasize not merely the quantity but also the quality of it, but quantity needs to be there too.
PJ: Sure, absolutely, it does, and that’s an important point—you do have to have the quantity as well. I would like to get in between six to eight hours a day if I could.

JR: And I would imagine now that’s not as possible as it used to be?
PJ: It sometimes is not, that’s right, especially during the school year. However, this relates to organists, because we as organists often have to wear many hats—I should say those of us who are church musicians. One sometimes has to work with choirs, prepare music, and be an administrator, all of these sorts of things—and practice is neglected. And practice needs to be a crucial part. I might even say that practice needs to be THE crucial part of an artist’s life—a significant priority—every day, just as eating, sleeping, breathing.

JR: Prior to Curtis, were you musically active in your church or at that point were you focused on being an organist? Were you in your church choir?
PJ: Well, I actually became the organist of my home church when I was 15, and that was a very large church. The position was quite demanding; I had to play for six Masses a weekend, over 60 weddings a year—this was a parish of over 3500 families. And I had to accompany the choir; I was not the choir director, but I was there for all choir rehearsals, interacting with people much older than I was. But I loved it! I was in my element.

JR: Did you also have a church job in New York?
PJ: I did. And I still do. I was organist and choirmaster at Christ and St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church for two years; however, I became artist in residence beginning in the fall, mainly because I’m seldom there due to my performance schedule. I’m very fond of the people there, though, and I very much enjoy playing for services; it just is something I’m unable to do regularly. Being artist in residence and playing a few times a year seems to work well.

JR: You have done Bach and Messiaen marathons. What made you want to play their entire works for organ?
PJ: I see Bach and Messiaen as perhaps two incomparable composers for the organ. They also happen to be perhaps two of the most overtly religious composers in Western history, if you think about it. That has always been an enormous source of stimulation, and that element alone has attracted me to their music. Then on a purely compositional level they are two of the greatest composers to have lived—every note of Bach and Messiaen is in its proper place. They never waste a note; it’s music that is perfectly crafted. It is music that is as close to God as we could possibly experience in this life, and I wanted to become intimate with as much of it as I could—and that meant the entire canons of these composers.

JR: You have said that you like to just enjoy nature. That makes me think of Messiaen—what an amazing mind there, so far-reaching: Greek music, Indian modes, birdsong, other sounds in nature, that play into his concept of music. Do you incorporate any of this into your approach to Messiaen’s music?

PJ: Very much! Messiaen had the soul of a poet, there’s no question about that. And we as musicians need to have this insatiable desire, to be drawn to beauty. It’s not enough to sit down and play the organ well—and then go about life. Playing music should be an end in itself, not a means to an end. When I sit at the organ and play the Book of the Blessed Sacrament of Messiaen, the Livre du Saint Sacrement, it’s the end of the world, in the most glorious sense. One forgets about time, one forgets about all of these things—and there’s a purity of nature, a reality. As much as I adore the culture of the city, it’s artificial, on one level, because it’s all man-made. But nature is made directly by God.
You know, I did recently take one day off to go to Valley Forge Park, which I adore, and just walk and hike up the mountains and through the fields and into the woods. And it was balmy and humid and hot and quite cloudy as well. About halfway along my walk, the heavens opened up, and it started to pour. I didn’t have an umbrella, and I got soaked; but it wasn’t long before I realized that this is something to relish! It wasn’t a thunderstorm, I wasn’t in any danger of being struck by lightning; but just being showered upon, it was actually very wonderful; it was a beautiful experience. I always have a deep yearning to spend time in nature; that never ends.
Recently I was in Australia. I encountered some glorious birds and birdsong—in particular, on one SPECTACULAR occasion, I confronted a lyre-bird. My first introduction to the lyre-bird was through Messiaen’s symphonic work, Illuminations of the Beyond, the Éclairs sur l’au-delà. It’s the third movement that’s called “The Superb Lyre-Bird.” I was taking a walk with two of my hosts in a wooded area outside of Sydney; to encounter this lyre-bird, that inspired Messiaen, was an immensely moving experience.

JR: What are you working on now in terms of adding to your repertoire? What would you like to focus on in the future?
PJ: Even though I haven’t programmed much German Romantic repertoire—Brahms, Mendelssohn, Schumann—in the last few months, it’s music of the highest quality. I have become quite attracted to Reger’s music. I think that it is sorely underestimated, because it is difficult, not only for the player, but sometimes for the audience, and even music historians. It’s difficult to comprehend technically and musically, and it’s often played in a heavy-handed way that can make it unattractive, and this need not be the case.
I have broad interests in music—I play contemporary art music. I do have an interest in 20th-century music, not just with Messiaen, but also Hindemith, Langlais, Duruflé, Alain, and others. It is also important to support the creative spirit of contemporary times and I intend to commission works from several modern composers. I also delight in music earlier than Bach—Buxtehude, Couperin, De Grigny—exquisite music! I rejoice in playing the whole canon of the organ repertory. I would never want to be labeled a specialist; my interests are too extensive for that. I savor the ability to play a vast array of music.

JR: Do you read about the composers whose music you play? What do you do besides study scores?
PJ: Absolutely. Attempting to understand the personality behind the music is fascinating and illuminating. You want to understand everything you can about what you’re pursuing, not just sit down and crank out notes.

JR: Yes, and if you can understand the person and their time, it really helps shed light on the music, or the music shed light on the time.
PJ: That’s right! And not necessarily in a stylistic sense, although it can sometimes. I’m revisiting some older repertoire now, and I think I’m going to program some Franck this season or next. One of the first pieces I learned was the Prelude, Fugue and Variation—it’s a gorgeous work. And I might do some different things; I’m conceiving of the piece in a different way, perhaps with some different articulations, colors and sounds. If one were playing a Cavaillé-Coll, one could follow exactly what Franck indicated, and it’s wonderful. But there’s nothing wrong, too, with developing a different, even unorthodox concept of a piece, as long as the playing is expressive and compelling. That’s really the ultimate goal—it’s not about right and wrong, or what one should or shouldn’t do. Rule No. 1 is to MOVE the listener, and if the subsequent rules need to be broken to serve this first rule, so be it.

JR: How do you prepare a piece? Do you have any specific practice techniques? Transferring your knowledge of how to play on one instrument to another, in a very short span of time—is there anything specific you do?
PJ: Well, one needs to sleep with the score. That is to say, you need to study it away from the keyboard. Know it inside and out—live with the music. Understand what the music means on spiritual levels, philosophical levels, aesthetic levels—one needs to be able to look at music in so many ways. I do a lot of work at the piano, particularly much of the preliminary work—phrasing, or learning notes, things such as that. And sometimes one can discover new ideas about how to interpret a piece on a different instrument, then transfer those concepts to the other instrument. And one isn’t distracted, too, by all of the gadgets on the organ. When sitting at a piano or harpsichord, any instrument is sparse compared to the pipe organ. I think it is easier to focus with the piano or the harpsichord than it is with the organ, because there’s so much to consider: not only notes, but also registration, and all the other technical and mechanical aspects.

JR: But at some point, the organ’s gadgets will require your attention. How do you memorize registrational changes on an unfamiliar instrument, when you have very little time? How do you remember that on this instrument “I need to hit the Great to Pedal toe stud” and on the next instrument there is none? How do you remember all the mechanics, since you don’t use a registrant?
PJ: Well, that’s a bit of an enigma to me. Obviously, I become familiar with the instrument before the concert—then I associate the sound with my muscles—I don’t really know!
It MIGHT BE a little bit psychological, particularly if you can memorize notes. I find that students can usually do far more than they think they can. There are teachers who unintentionally beat students down, even intimidate, and have them frightened to take risks or challenges, or be creative, but I try to pull out the potential of students. Nothing is more rewarding than when they’re surprised about what they CAN do—for instance, memorization. I have some students who say, “Oh, I just can’t memorize,” and some students that it comes easy to. Well, there are ways to work at this—there aren’t short cuts, it’s difficult—but there are ways that one can improve.

JR: I remember being told that you have to practice the button-pushing as much as the key-pressing.
PJ: I focus with students on playing the organ beautifully. Not only the music, but the instrument, the console. You watch pianists or violinists—the grace with which they play! And many organists sit up there looking rather rigid and stiff. Particularly with consoles that are more visible these days, we have to physically be confident when we play. We don’t want to be overwhelmed by the organ, we want to be in perfect alignment with it. And you’re right—the idea of practicing pushing pistons, and pushing them at the right time—these technical things have to be practiced. But when you actually play them, you want the timing to be musical. You want to push them gracefully. All of these things have to serve the music; they can’t just be technical exercises.

JR: You spoke of people who are stiff sitting at the organ. Have you ever had a problem with muscle tension?
PJ: Well, I haven’t, other than maybe practicing. When one does a lot of practicing, fatigue can set in, muscles can become a little sore. There are organists who think that you have to sit completely still, that you have to be able to balance a glass of milk on your hand, you don’t want any unnecessary movements. Well, some people are naturally quieter at the console, and some people are a little freer, they move more. And that’s ok! You have to do what is comfortable.
Certainly with beginners you have to be very careful about extraneous motion and movement. At a more advanced stage, you develop your own musical personality, and your physical personality when you’re playing, and it’s ok to move. Just move the body! Just as long as you’re relaxed. And if being relaxed means being still, so be it. If it means moving, that’s fine too. But there are many organists that sit almost as if they’re frightened to move, they’re intimidated by pushing buttons, making sure everything’s right on. If you don’t revel in what you’re doing, if the technical demands of playing the organ are overwhelming you, you won’t enjoy it. And you need to enjoy! It seems so obvious and logical—you need to not only musically and mentally enjoy the music, but you need to physically enjoy the music while you’re playing. There’s nothing wrong with that.

JR: Our culture trivializes music—for the most part, it’s considered background noise, playing while one does something else. People prefer music that is short, simply constructed, and any melody must be very simple and accessible. Given this, how can we as organists reach people? Schools are eliminating music instruction; serious organ music is scarcer in churches—there are a lot of organists who can’t play it, or won’t; and fewer people are going to church. So the opportunities for exposure to things like Bach and Messiaen are fewer and fewer. How do we react to that? What can we do?
PJ: Anyone who says that he or she cares about music or values it has an obligation to take action. And what I have found is that many people do acknowledge these problems—at least those of us who play music and listen to music. So what is the next step? I see most of popular culture as extremely corrosive to what we try to accomplish as musicians. And I think we organists first need to put ourselves in a larger context, and start thinking in broader terms. I do find that our profession is far too isolated. We organists need to get out of the loft and listen to operas, listen to chamber music, go to hear the symphony—we need music, in all of its manifestations. It is, however, possible to really like music and to be intrigued by it at a high level, without being passionate about it. Those of us who are passionate about music need to challenge those who are merely intrigued by it, to make them even more sensitive. This is what we have to do: build an army of individuals who possess an unwavering commitment to the creation of a musically literate society.
Popular culture is extremely destructive to beauty because it serves the opposite purpose of what true music and art serve—and that is, it numbs us. Because music is in the background and not the foreground, one is not expected to listen to it with this full spirit, being, mind—whatever term you wish to use. And that essentially desensitizes. Art music is supposed to make one more sensitive to beauty and life. That is to say, we learn how to listen carefully and deliberately—for there are so many alluring details in the music that desire our full undivided attention.

JR: If we say we care, then we have an obligation to take action.
PJ: And that is to say, to challenge the culture. I see my obligation as an artist—I should say, one facet—is to challenge aggressively this corrosive popular culture. What does that mean? Write letters to newspapers and other organizations, make noise about what you do. If you care, do you care enough to share what you profess to care about? Do you want to share it with someone else? If we value something, and we see the good in something, isn’t it logical to want to share it? I’ve become dismayed because I see quite clearly the enormous potential of a society which truly values music—the potential is there, and we see it on an individual level; we see what happens when a young person discovers the power of music in a very real and profound way. It’s something to celebrate. I have NO faith in the popular culture, but I have boundless faith at the individual level. I think that keeps me going, keeps me inspired, and wanting to continue living.

JR: Well, all right. If an audience member heard a serious program, and wasn’t used to that, how would you respond if they said they wanted to hear something that was easier to listen to?
PJ: Well, I would have a conversation with that person, first of all. I would be very patient initially. If the person said “I don’t understand that,” or “I don’t appreciate that,” that’s a fair statement, and it’s not making a judgment. It’s even fair to say “I don’t care for that.” But judging something that you don’t understand isn’t fair, and I guess I would attempt to help the person see this.
I remember having an interview for NPR’s Morning Edition, last year before my Messiaen program. And it was very clear to me that the person who interviewed me did very little preparation for the interview. I think she knew practically nothing about the organ, knew even less about the composer. And she said to me, “There are those who don’t like the organ. I’m wondering what you might say to that.” And my feeling was, you know, we live in a culture that sits back and says, “Prove to me that this is worthwhile”—that X is worthwhile, or that this has value, or that I should do this. Prove to me, show me—and they don’t take any initiative. And my feeling is, pick up a book yourself and read. Or take an organ or piano lesson. YOU have to take some initiative. You’re right, we’re so used to diluting everything these days. I find it troubling that many organists don’t seem to possess this zeal, this call to action. They possess it at some level, there’s some awareness of it, but it doesn’t determine their behavior, or their actions, or their everyday conversations with people, I don’t know how else to say it. There’s no fire in the belly—there has to be.

JR: You mentioned that we organists need to get out and listen to other musical forms, such as the symphony. What other music do you listen to?
PJ: We could be here all night! I will say quite clearly, I do not listen to popular entertainment. I have no interest in that sort of thing. I see that as corrosive, and as an artist and a musician, I feel obligated to challenge what our culture accepts as music. What do I listen to? I listen to six centuries of music—from plainchant and Ockeghem through Dallapiccola and Debussy. Recently, I’ve been listening a great deal to Mozart, perhaps more than I ever have in my life—specifically to the piano concerti and the sonatas. This summer I’ve rediscovered this music—specifically Ashkenazy playing the piano concerti, DeLarrocha the sonatas. And I’m very fond of the great Romantic repertoire—Mahler’s symphonies, Verdi’s operas, and Brahms’s chamber music. In the twentieth century, I find Alban Berg’s music quite voluptuous. But yes, I have very broad tastes, with the exception that I’m not fond of most popular music. I maintain that Western art music is the pinnacle. But of course, that would be challenged by more and more people today.

JR: During your time at Yale and at Curtis, what were you able to learn? I have the feeling that you were already technically skilled by the time you got to Curtis, so you didn’t need to work on technique. Is that correct?
PJ: No, not really. Certainly I would consider registration part of technique. That was something that I learned a great deal from both John Weaver and Thomas Murray—with regards to console control, and how to bring out the best from an instrument. Both John Weaver and Thomas Murray allowed me to be my own musical voice; they didn’t try to impose their own style upon me. And that is something that I have taken from them, and applied to my own style of teaching. I’m very grateful to both of them.

JR: How are you enjoying teaching at Juilliard?
PJ: Very much. And I should add that with the current situations of schools—such as Northwestern and of course the New England Conservatory—the situation at Juilliard could not be any better. The president of Juilliard, Joseph Polisi, has been extremely supportive of my vision for the department. And the talent that exists in the department is formidable. During a visit last year to organ class, Michael Barone referred to the department as a “hot shop!”

JR: You have indicated that the department would not really be growing in numbers, that it would be limited to a certain size. Is that correct?
PJ: It fits in with the school, because the school itself is small. Juilliard prides itself on being a small school, and our department is the size of some of the wind departments—flute, oboe—relatively similar in size. Ten organ majors is generally a good number for the Juilliard community. It could be bumped up a little, I suppose, and it might be, but not much.

JR: Do you find any difference either in outlook or ability or approaches between your students and those that you work with in master classes?
PJ: With master classes, one can be all over the map; there’s such variety. One thing that I insist on with each of my students is that they develop their own musical signature, right from the start. We don’t want any clones in the department—and there are none. I think if one visits the school and hears the department play, one will encounter rich variety and imagination in playing and in styles. And I encourage this—I insist upon it. I believe that a teacher at Juilliard needs to be quite demanding with the students, but the students are highly motivated and always rise to the occasion. I’m very proud of them.

JR: Do you have any big projects planned? Any more marathons, any more things of that nature?
PJ: I performed the Messiaen cycle again in Los Angeles, at the end of October, at the Cathedral of Our Lady of Angels. But with regards to something different, I look forward to pursuing new repertoire. Actually I am considering offering a Reger marathon, a Reger cycle—but not in the immediate future!

JR: Will you be making any more recordings?
PJ: Oh, yes, yes! I’ve neglected recording, simply because of other projects and such. But I am very keen on recording Messiaen and Reger in the near future.
I want to concentrate on other things right now, these being performing and certainly learning other repertoire. The snowball keeps growing larger, but I love it. This work provides such joy and fulfillment in my life, and meaning.

JR: Well, Paul, I will let you go get a cup of tea! Thank you so much for your time.
PJ: It’s been a pleasure talking with you.

John Bishop is executive director of the Organ Clearing House.

Hometown loyalty
Local loyalty is legendary amongst native Mainers, those who have lived in Maine and nowhere else. There’s the story about the man from “away” who settled in a comfortable house with a backyard fence that separated his property from Eben’s (short for Ebenezer)—Eben had been born and grew up in that house. They were cordial neighbors for years, but our man was always aware that Eben continued to consider him an outsider. Forty years into their friendship, our man asked Eben, “We’ve been neighbors for forty years. Surely by now you must consider me part of the town.” Eben was quiet for a long moment, and then said quietly, “If the cat had kittens in the oven you wouldn’t call ’em biscuits.”
Some fifteen years ago I was renovating an organ in a small town in Maine. An elderly local organist was interested in the project and visited the church several times as I worked. He wanted me to see the organ in his church—an instrument built in the 1920s when his aunt was organist there. He had succeeded her some fifty years ago and was the proud steward of the little organ. I asked if he had lived there all his life. He replied, “not yet.”
I’ve lived in Boston all my life. Well, not really. I spent almost ten years in Ohio, first as an undergraduate and then as director of music at a church in Cleveland and working with organbuilder John Leek in Oberlin. Now although we vote in Boston, my wife and I divide our time between my hometown and mid-coast Maine, an area that I have grown to love. And I spend so much time away from home on Organ Clearing House projects (I’m coming to the end of five weeks in New York City) that I don’t seem to be at home for more than a few days at a time.
But I still consider myself a Bostonian. I’m proud of the city’s role in our country’s history. As a descendant of Paul Revere, I was brought up keenly aware of the sites of critical Revolutionary battles and the wealth of historic sites and buildings scattered throughout the area. We live a few hundred yards from the USS Constitution, familiarly known as Old Ironsides, the Navy’s frigate commissioned in 1797, now the oldest ship in the U.S. Navy. The Old North Church (“ . . . hang a lantern aloft in the North Church tower as a signal light; one if by land and two if by sea, I on the opposite shore will be ready to ride and spread the alarm through every Middlesex village and farm . . .”—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Paul Revere’s Ride) is in our neighborhood.
I have been an avid fan of the Boston Red Sox, where until about 1990 the team was made up largely of loyal “lifers.” Carl Yastrzemski played his entire 23-year career for the Red Sox. That seems a gentler era in professional sports when a hometown hero stayed home and was admired over the decades. Dwight Evans seemed headed for such a career until the Sox released him as a free agent in 1990 after eighteen years at Fenway Park. He retired after playing one season for the Baltimore Orioles and that apparent disloyalty on the part of the Sox was the beginning of the end of my unabashed fandom. That feeling was iced followed the thrill of the Red Sox’ long-awaited World Series victory in 2004. (They hadn’t won the World Series since 1918, the year they sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees for $100,000 so Red Sox owner and theater impresario Harry Frazee could fund the first performances of No, No, Nanette.) No sooner had the dust settled over Fenway after the 2004 Series, than Sox hero Johnny Damon was traded to the hated New York Yankees. Don’t tell me it’s just a game!

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Boston has always been an organ town. It was right around 1800 when the Puritans gave in to the evils of church music, and a small pipe organ was installed at King’s Chapel on Tremont Street in Boston. Within a few years, William
Goodrich and Thomas Appleton were building organs in Boston. In 1827, two young cabinetmakers from Salem, Massachusetts (the town famous for the witch trials of 1692) finished their apprenticeship with William Goodrich and opened their own organbuilding shop in Boston. Elias and George Hook started slowly, building fewer than ten organs a year for the first few years, but forty years later they were rocketing along at a fifty-five-per-year clip.
I love to think of the spectacle of a nineteenth-century workshop building that many organs. The instruments were shipped all over the country—how did they manage the correspondence for that many instruments without telephones and self-stick stamps, let alone fax machines and (God forbid) e-mail? How did they organize the flow of materials to their workshop? It takes tons of lumber, metal, and countless other materials to build an organ. The in-street trolley tracks that carried human passengers around Boston during the day were the routes of horse-drawn rail cars that brought rough materials to the workshop. The same carts transported the completed organs to barges, steamships, and railroads. Rural northern New England is pretty difficult to navigate today. There are few large roads, many hills and mountains, and lots of narrow bridges that cross treacherous rivers. It’s hard to imagine hauling a large pipe organ to northern New Hampshire, Vermont, or Maine when teams of horses or oxen were the engines of the day.
And picture the rural church receiving its new Hook organ. A couple workers travel from the factory with the organ. The trip takes weeks. They enlist the help of locals for the heavy lifting and complete all facets of the installation. Since the trip took so long, they must have stayed on the job until they were sure the organ was perfect. There would be no relying on a routine two-month check-up to correct anything that went wrong with the new organ.
I suppose that before the workers left the completed installation, they would visit all the other churches nearby, offering the company’s services for more new instruments. There are Hook organs built in the 1860s and 1870s all around the country, including the Deep South. Was it awkward for the Yankees from the Hook factory to cross the Mason-Dixon Line with their organ shipments in the years following the Civil War? I imagine their wives spent sleepless nights worrying for their safety. And how did the southern organists and church committees get in touch with the sales department at Hook? Did Hook advertise in newspapers all across the country? We have copies and reproductions of the Hook catalogue and sales brochures (you can purchase them online from the Organ Historical Society).

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When I was a teenager, I had my organ lessons on a new organ built by Fisk (First Congregational Church, Winchester, Massachusetts). I had organist duties at the First Congregational Church of neighboring Woburn, Massachusetts, which had a terrific organ by
E. & G. G. Hook, with around 30 stops on three manuals, built in 1860. My family had a summer home on Cape Cod in a town that was home to a small Hook & Hastings organ, and another by William H. Clark.
You may not have heard of William H. Clark. He had been organist of the First Congregational Church in Woburn, playing on the same terrific Hook organ as I. In the late 1860s he moved across the square to the Unitarian Church, where in 1870 he oversaw the installation of an even larger three-manual Hook organ. The Unitarian Hook is the instrument that was relocated to Kirche zum Heiligen Kreuz in Berlin, Germany, and so beautifully restored by Hermann Eule of Bautzen. Stephen Kinsley was the chief voicer at the Hook factory—today we would call him tonal director—and the great and good friend of William Clark—good enough that Clark was able to woo him away from Hook into an organbuilding partnership. William H. Clark Company was located in Indianapolis. They built about a dozen organs, including the one I knew so well on Cape Cod, another in Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Bethlehem, Ohio—an instrument that I helped John Leek restore in the late 1970s.
Those were all wonderful organs, but I know I took them for granted. As an incoming freshman at Oberlin, I realized that my classmates had had no such luck. One guy played a pipe organ for the first time when he auditioned at Oberlin. All his high-school experience had been on electronic instruments. I was dazzled by the then brand-new Flentrop organ in Warner Concert Hall, but quite a few of the organs I played there were much less than what I had grown up with. Growing up in Boston, I had been fortunate to hear E. Power Biggs play recitals on “his” Flentrop organ at Busch Hall (then called the Busch-Reisinger Museum) at Harvard University. I heard the dedication concert of the Frobenius organ at First Church in Cambridge. Few people knew much about the Danish organbuilder Frobenius in the 1970s, and the organ was a knockout. I heard Fisk organs at Harvard, King’s Chapel and Old West Church in Boston, and another dozen or so in the suburbs.

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You may have noticed that all the organs I’ve mentioned so far are trackers. There is no American city where the revival (I like to say Renaissance) of the pipe organ was more active than in Boston. When I was in high school, companies like Fisk, Noack, Andover, and Bozeman were building exciting and fascinating new organs at a rapid rate. My several mentors took me to workshop open houses where I first experienced the ethic and mystery of the organbuilding shop. And skillful organists populated the area’s organ benches, playing recitals followed by receptions and parties that all helped me learn to appreciate the pipe organ, not only as a musical instrument but as a community and way of life.
It wasn’t until after I graduated from Oberlin that I had any meaningful experiences with electro-pneumatic instruments. I worked with John Leek replacing leathers in a large Aeolian-Skinner organ in Cleveland and in several other smaller instruments, notably one by E.M. Skinner in original condition. When I returned to Boston after my Ohio hiatus, I took on the care of the Skinner/Aeolian-Skinner organ at Trinity Church, Copley Square, and the Aeolian-Skinner (4 manuals, 237 ranks) at the First Church of Christ, Scientist (The Mother Church). Being around those organs exposed me to some of the finest musicians and helped open my eyes to the range of tone and expression for which those organs are famous.
And those Skinner organs are products of Boston. Traveling on the Southeast Expressway (Route I-93 south of Boston) you can still read “Aeolian-Skinner” written on the wall of a large brick building, directly across the highway from the headquarters of the Boston Globe. The large erecting room at the south end of the building was sacrificed for the construction of the highway, precipitating the company’s move to Randolph, Massachusetts, and signaling the beginning of the end of the company. But in the “glory days,” Ernest Skinner himself worked in that building, developing the rich orchestral voices for which he is still famous. (Or we might say, after the tracker-action blitz of the 1970s, voices for which he is again famous!)
Skinner was fascinated by the ergonomics of the organ console—though I suppose the word ergonomics was not part of our language until after his lifetime. He watched organists as they played and perfected the dimensions and geometry of the console. He worked hard to lessen the distance between keyboards—no small feat given the need for piston buttons large enough to use easily (piston buttons that easily conflict with the sharp keys of the keyboard below). The design of the Skinner keyboard included tracker-touch springs, lots of ranges of adjustment for travel, spring tension, and contact point. The stop knobs had distinctive over-sized ivory faces, with names engraved in a font (another word that Skinner didn’t know) that was both elegant and easily legible. He was proud of his combination actions, and with good reason, as he developed them in the first years of the twentieth century—among the first mechanical machines that functioned as programmable binary computers.
He invented the whiffletree expression engine, inspired by the rigs developed to hitch teams of horses to a carriage. The horse-teams would perform better if each individual had freedom of motion, and each individual’s relative strength could complement the others. By extension, Skinner’s expression machine has individual power pneumatics for each stage that are hitched together using the same geometry as the team. Good observing, Mr. Skinner.

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I’ve mentioned several organbuilders who contributed to the culture of Boston. Others include George Stevens, George Hutchings, S.S. Hamill, Robert Roche, Nelson Barden, and the Spencer Organ Company. Extending the area to northern New England, you can add the names of Robert Waters, Jeremy Cooper, Stephen Russell, and David Moore. Extend the area to central Massachusetts and you can add Stefan Maier and William A. Johnson (later Wm. Johnson & Sons). Add them all up, from Goodrich to Fisk, from 1800 to 2010, and you get a total of something like 8,500 pipe organs built in Boston and surrounding areas. It’s a terrific heritage—a rich variety of musical imagination and creation that includes some of the finest organs ever built. But in sheer numbers, it pales in comparison to the world’s largest organbuilder, M.P. Möller, a single company that produced 13,500 organs in less than 100 years, all in the same town.

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It’s a beautiful town. The Italian North End has scores of terrific small restaurants. The Freedom Trail (United States National Park) is an organized walking tour of two-and-a-half miles that covers sixteen important historical sites. The Museum of Fine Arts has impressive collections of ancient Roman and Egyptian art as well as the expected glories of high European Art. The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum comprises the private collection of an individual, opened to the public following her death. The Boston Symphony Orchestra under the direction of James Levine is as good as a great orchestra can be, and the Aeolian-Skinner organ at Symphony Hall (right across the street from the Christian Science Mother Church) has recently been renovated.
There’s plenty to do on the water. Boston Harbor Cruises operates tours ranging from an evening hour or two to a full day whale-watch cruise. You can take a fast ferry to Provincetown and back in a day. And if you visit in the fall, you can add a couple days of coveted foliage-touring in New Hampshire and Vermont.
The website of the Boston Chapter of the American Guild of Organists
(bostonago.com) has a good listing of organ recitals and related events. Emmanuel Church (Episcopal) on Newbury Street is the only place in the United States where you can hear a complete Bach cantata with orchestra every Sunday presented as part of worship service. The music is presented by the resident ensemble Emmanuel Music, a highly respected and accomplished group of some of the city’s finest musicians. Visit www.emmanuelmusic.org to see their schedule of performances. As Newbury Street is the city’s high-end shopping district, you can count on finding an exquisite Sunday brunch to complement the wonderful music.
Come to Boston, the pipe organ capital of America.