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An Old Mexican Organ (continuation)

Edward Pepe and James Wyly

A graduate of Yale University, Edward Pepe holds master’s degrees in organ performance (New England Conservatory of Music) and photography (University of Massachusetts). He spent two years studying historic performance practice with Harald Vogel at the Norddeutsche Orgelakademie. He is co-founder of both the Westfield Center for Early Keyboard Studies in the United States of North America and the Instituto de Órganos Históricos de Oaxaca in Mexico.<br>
An organist and independent scholar living, working, and performing in Oaxaca, Mexico since 1999, he has presented talks on restoration issues in various parts of that country, and led tours to historic instruments in the States of Tlaxcala, Queretaro and Guanajuato, as well as in Mexico City for both Minnesota Public Radio and the Yale Institute of Sacred Music. He is the author of numerous articles on historic organs and viceregal music in Mexico, and is preparing a book on the subject.
<br><br<
James Wyly is an artist and independent scholar of the organ. A graduate of Amherst College, he holds doctoral degrees in music (University of Missouri) and in clinical psychology (Illinois School of Professional Psychology). He has published a number of studies of Spanish organ building practices, which include his doctoral dissertation in music. As a musicologist, organist and harpsichordist, he taught music at the college level from 1964 to 1976 (Elmhurst College and Grinnell College), and subsequently practiced psychotherapy in Chicago until 2003. He currently lives in Oaxaca, Mexico.

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The present sound of the organ’s principal chorus is generally admired as being rich, dramatic, and full of character; it is as exciting to listen to as to play. At the same time it is undeniably on the aggressive side—quite unlike the principal choruses of any other old Mexican or Iberian organ known to the authors; and given its history, it cannot be said with any certainty whether it now resembles the sound it had either at its construction, in 1735, or at any date between 1735 and the time it fell silent in the 20th century. It may, of course; but then again, it may not. The tonal esthetic certainly appears to have little to do with the character of the Lleno of the de Sesma organ built for the Cathedral of Mexico City in 1695, which contemporary descriptions call “delicate,” or with old descriptions of the sounds of the Nassarre organ built there in 1734–36. But Tlacochahuaya is not Mexico City. In the absence of any historic description of organ sounds in Oaxaca, we simply have no way to form an opinion here.

The dates 1867 and 1890 are to be found in the organ and seem to refer to repairs or changes. It would be logical to suppose that the stop action was added at one of these times, but we have no idea what else might have been done—for example, in a century of fast-changing tastes and social upheavals, attempts to make the organ louder or softer by manipulating the pipes or the bellows weights could easily have altered its character significantly. The poorly functioning reed stops fall under particular suspicion here. And lastly, we have one bit of anecdotal evidence about the organ’s sound: among the local people the organ has a longstanding reputation for being audible a long way from the church. Whether this implies a loud organ or quiet rural surroundings is anyone’s guess.

5. Summary and Conclusions

At this point it will be helpful to condense the facts we have discussed into a chronological table:



1550s: Dominican convent established and church built with gallery, in which there almost certainly stood an organ

Between 1660–1803 (1730s?): brick vaults added

1714: major earthquake

1720s and ’30s: several organs similar to Tlacochahuaya’s built for nearby churches

1735 or before: organ perhaps built as 4' instrument with no reeds?

1735: either an existing organ was rebuilt, or a new organ was constructed, adapting an existing chest to accommodate two façade reeds; 4' stopped converted to 8' stopped; case presumably painted

1735 or later: reed stops possibly added, perhaps at different dates

1737: church renovation completed, which included the west façade, new towers, and new access to the raised and expanded gallery

Probably after 1800: drawstops added

After 1850: keyboard replaced

After 1859: conflicts between church and state render many church properties derelict

1867: work of unknown scope done on organ

1890: work of unknown scope done on organ

Between 1890–1990: organ becomes unplayable, about 50% of pipework disappears

1990–91: Tattershall intervention: organ dismantled, cleaned and repaired, new bellows made, blower added, missing pipes replaced in conformity with surviving old work

So what we find is hardly surprising, yet easily lost sight of: that while there are enormous gaps in our information about the Tlacochahuaya organ, we can be certain that there have been changes made over its long history. Furthermore, some of the changes we know about significantly altered the organ’s overall sound. Whether or not it was carried through to completion, the chest was apparently first designed for a reedless 4' organ with a stopped unison rank that could have been considered part of the plenum. Its suppression in favor of the existing 8' stopped register and the provision of reeds obviously made large differences, both in the way the organ sounded and in the way it had to be played. (The impetus for providing an 8¢ foundation might have had to do with a decline in the use of traditional counterpoint and the introduction of the new-for-Oaxaca Italian basso continuo style.) In addition, we know the wind system was altered in 1990, though we cannot judge its effect; and we doubt that the reeds always sounded the way they do today. We have no way of knowing when and how the pipes’ footholes may have been adjusted; we have some evidence of altered cutups; and we have no idea what was thought to be the right wind pressure for the organ at any point previous to 1990. In short, we must admit that while the organ’s sound is generally beautiful, integrated, authoritative, and convincing (the reed stops excepted), it is a sound determined by the esthetic of our own times and our acceptance of it is a result of our own esthetic standards,31 not those of 1735 or any other point in the organ’s past; for this is all that is possible given the fragmentary state of the evidence about the organ’s past that we have.

And so it is with all of the playable old organs in Mexico—as well, we might add, as with a great many of the playable old organs in the world. When we look closely at the history of these instruments we most often find a long and imperfectly documented history of interventions and alterations, whose exact natures tend to become less clear the more carefully we examine them, and all we can finally say with certainty is that when most of these interventions were newly finished the organs probably conformed, for the moment, to the esthetic standards and musical needs of their day. But, these things being in constant flux and organs being complicated machines that often require more maintenance than they get, the “ideal” or “original” state of an organ becomes a shifting and amorphous thing about which we pontificate at our peril. This means that the reconstruction or restoration of an old organ is not to be undertaken lightly, for if it is to do more than add another layer of changes to an already much-altered instrument, both the research and the funding for the project will have to be extensive.
If there is a moral to this story, it probably has to do with the irresoluble conflict between, on the one hand, our fully understandable and respectable desire to have playing instruments and beautiful music in the sublime settings places like Mexican baroque churches afford, and, on the other hand, our sense of historical responsibility to our musical past, which demands of us the utmost in scholarship and restraint before we think of altering irreplaceable surviving artifacts—the nature of which we may well understand less perfectly than we believe. The decision of whether to rebuild, restore, repair, alter, replace, copy, throw out, or simply leave intact under a hopefully protective coat of dust (which may not prove impermeable to the ravages of weather, wood-boring insects, nesting animals, and curious tourists) is one that requires the most careful thought, from as many viewpoints and with input from as many knowledgeable people as possible. This becomes of especial concern as we continue to document the many still-little-known old organs of Central and South America, for one thing about which we can be reasonably certain is that among them we shall find instruments of great rarity, exceptional age, and extraordinary potential beauty. The temptation to hear what they might sound like can be overwhelming, and an incompletely researched, inadequately-funded “restoration” fueled more by enthusiasm than knowledge can easily result. Yet once a project has been carried out on an organ, the instrument is changed, it is not likely to be changed again any time soon, and eventually undoing the change, should further reflection find it desirable, will probably be more difficult than was changing it in the first place. Surely these kinds of considerations, which are implicit in every organ project in any part of the world, deserve our utmost conscious attention.

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An Old Mexican Organ

Edward Pepe and James Wyly

A graduate of Yale University, Edward Pepe holds master’s degrees in organ performance (New England Conservatory of Music) and photography (University of Massachusetts). He spent two years studying historic performance practice with Harald Vogel at the Norddeutsche Orgelakademie. He is co-founder of both the Westfield Center for Early Keyboard Studies in the United States of North America and the Instituto de Órganos Históricos de Oaxaca in Mexico.<br>
An organist and independent scholar living, working, and performing in Oaxaca, Mexico since 1999, he has presented talks on restoration issues in various parts of that country, and led tours to historic instruments in the States of Tlaxcala, Queretaro and Guanajuato, as well as in Mexico City for both Minnesota Public Radio and the Yale Institute of Sacred Music. He is the author of numerous articles on historic organs and viceregal music in Mexico, and is preparing a book on the subject.
<br><br>
James Wyly is an artist and independent scholar of the organ. A graduate of Amherst College, he holds doctoral degrees in music (University of Missouri) and in clinical psychology (Illinois School of Professional Psychology). He has published a number of studies of Spanish organ building practices, which include his doctoral dissertation in music. As a musicologist, organist and harpsichordist, he taught music at the college level from 1964 to 1976 (Elmhurst College and Grinnell College), and subsequently practiced psychotherapy in Chicago until 2003. He currently lives in Oaxaca, Mexico.

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1. Introduction

Recent years have seen a notable increase in interest among organists and scholars in old Mexican organs. Each year congresses, tours, and study trips of various kinds bring organists, organ historians, organ builders, and general enthusiasts to Mexico from Europe as well as North and South America. As we learn more about the old Iberian and Ibero-American organ repertory, the numerous1 old Mexican instruments surviving from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and perhaps even the seventeenth centuries, built as they are in styles closely related to Iberian organs, become ever more important to our understanding. Yet for the vast majority of organists, a study trip to Mexican organs remains impractical, especially as the number of old organs in Mexico that are actually in playing condition remains small, and of these, not a few are in relatively inaccessible locations. Therefore organists interested in this area must depend heavily on recordings.

The organist who buys a compact disc in hopes of learning something about the Iberian tradition of organ music must proceed with caution, however. The history of Mexico’s organs has been just as complex as her politics, and just because an old Mexican organ is today in a state of repair sufficient for the making of a recording does not necessarily mean that the recorded sounds will have a great deal to do with either the way the organ was originally conceived or how its sound may have evolved over time. Therefore, it seems useful to describe in some detail what is presently known about one of the old Mexican organs of which some recent recordings are available.2 As will be seen, this, the organ in the village church of San Jerónimo in San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya (also known as Tlacochahuaya de Morelos) in the state of Oaxaca, presents us with a history and a set of questions which, while they are of course specific to this particular instrument, can also be considered as generally characteristic of the kinds of issues one faces when one starts to think about how an old Mexican organ might have originally sounded and been played. As we formulate our questions we shall try to describe in some detail what is known about the history and present-day state of this instrument, which is currently one of the better-known old organs of Mexico; and this, in turn, will enable us to make a few comments about the larger picture regarding old organs in Mexico.

2. The Church Building

As is common in Mexico, we possess only fragmentary documentation concerning the Tlacochahuaya church and its organ(s). As their history is intertwined let us review what is known. Tlacochahuaya lies about 12 miles east of Oaxaca de Juárez, the capital of the state. We know that the church was originally built in the 1550s and ’60s as part of an extensive network of Dominican complexes intended to promote evange-lization in Oaxaca. The present structure conforms to the original dimensions of 11 by 45 meters. (The ratio of 1:4 is reflected in the interior, the roughly square crossing at the front, to which a shallow sanctuary is attached, and the equivalent baptistry/gallery area at the back being separated by a nave of roughly double their length.) The church’s cruciform shape is original. The present church walls are also almost certainly original3 but at least up to the 1660s they were spanned by wooden beams and a wooden roof. There are no external buttresses, which might be expected had vaulting originally been contemplated. Nevertheless, sometime between ca. 1660 and 1803 San Jerónimo was given its present brick vaults. Over apse, crossing and choir, they are domical, constructed of diminishing rings: the barrel vault of the nave is made with bricks placed on edge, set on the axis of the nave.4 It could well be that the vaults date from a major renovation during the 1730s, since in the west façade, which is not original to the church, the weather-damaged legend, se [ac]abo de renobar esta [por?]tada primero de agosto de 1737aos can still be made out above the main door. The two west towers, each of which contains stairs to the gallery (one is currently blocked off), would then seem to date from that time, as probably would the elaborate decorative painting of the interior.

This implies that the gallery at the west end of the original wooden-roofed church must have had a ceiling that was a good deal lower than the present one, especially since the walls of the choir area were raised at the time the vaulting was added (accounting for the unusual proportions of the church’s façade). The floor of the loft, likely of wood, was also lower, as is confirmed by the original bell-tower, which still stands on the south side of the nave. Halfway up its stair is a blocked-off doorway, apparently the original way to the old gallery, which would have entered the church at a level lower than the present gallery floor. Not only would this gallery have been lower, it would have been darker, for it would have lacked the present large west window. This space, by the way, must have served, until Tlacochahuaya was secularized in the eighteenth century, as a coro from which the friars sang their offices, for to this day it contains a large, four-sided lectern of the type used to hold large choir books. Perhaps it also included choir stalls, and perhaps, as in nearby Yanhuitlán, there was an indigenous choir that sang polyphony.5

It must also be noted that Oaxaca suffered a major earthquake in 1714. Perhaps there was damage to the Tlacochahuaya church that needed repair. A nearly simultaneous major rebuilding project, completed in 1733, was carried out at the largely destroyed Oaxaca cathedral6 and might have acted as an impetus towards renovations in Tlacochahuaya.

The overall layout of the Dominican complex in Tlacochahuaya is also worth mentioning here, since it tells us much about the friars’ daily routine, including musical practices. In a departure from the usual custom of placing the convent on either the south or north side of the church, the convent in Tlacochahuaya is for unknown reasons located to the east, behind the apse. As a result, it was not possible to have the usual entrance leading directly from the second floor of the convent into the choir loft,7 which gave the friars easy access to the choir area for the performance of the monastic hours. Instead, the early bell tower in Tlacochahuaya seems to have served this purpose. The two stairwells in Tlacochahuaya’s west towers,8 leading up from the main floor to the choir, can then be seen as an indication of a stronger indigenous participation in music making in the later years of Dominican control.9

3. The Organ: History

Now we may turn to what we know of the changes this organ has undergone; and while we may not possess a full record of them, it is already clear that, as with so many old organs, it may be misleading to speak of the Tlacochahuaya instrument in terms of a single date or a style that relates exclusively to one period or another. And if we are to make real use of what we know about its present state we need to know as much as we can about which parts of that state date from when, and what has happened to them over time.

We might remind ourselves that as far as the present state of the organ is concerned, we are not dealing with a “restoration” in the conservation world’s currently accepted use of the term. In fact, there is presently no organ in Mexico that can be considered to be “restored,” if restoration means that after a thorough and thoroughly documented historical study a conscious plan has been carried out to return a given organ either to its original state or to a designated moment in its history, conserving all old material, replacing irrecoverably damaged or missing old work with the best possible working reproductions of it, taking care to make all changes as close to reversible as is mechanically feasible, making available full documentation regarding the intervention, and so on.10 Rather, we are dealing with an old, working organ that has been altered many times in the process of repeatedly repairing and updating it—which is of course the way almost all work on extant organs has been carried out for hundreds of years, with the exception of a relatively few interventions in historically important organs during our own time.

Let us begin with the existing disposition of the organ. The stops are divided, those in the left column extending from C (short octave) to c1 and those in the right column from c#1 to c3 (21 and 24 notes, respectively). The names here assigned to the stops appear on paper labels from the 1990 renovation; we do not know what they were originally called. Additional information supplied by the authors appears in brackets. (See Stoplist 1 on page 25.)

The disposition exhibits a Mexican penchant for keeping pitches low. In the left hand, pitches do not rise above the twenty-second (here a 1/2'), and even that register breaks back an octave in the tenor. In the right hand, there are no pitches above the twelfth (here a 11⁄3'), and, once again, the register breaks back an octave. The absence of higher pitches may be due to the fact that the chest, and hence the phonic conception, was originally that of a 4' organ. The doublings of the Flautado and Octava in the right hand conform with a Spanish practice (as, for instance, described by Pablo Nassarre11) of strengthening pitches depending upon the acoustics of the church building. The lack of compound stops has been discussed elsewhere.12

The largest pipe of the Bardón is marked with the date 1735. This is practically the only concrete piece of evidence we have about the organ’s chronology; but even so, we cannot really be sure of what it tells us. It is often assumed that the Tlacochahuaya organ predates 1735, and that the 8' Bardón and the reed stops constitute a 1735 modification to an earlier, more compact version of the organ that perhaps sat on a table. If we start from this assumption, we will immediately note that the pipe of the Bardón rank standing on tenor c is marked with a crusader’s cross—with which Mexican builders often signified the first pipe of a rank—and we will say that the register was originally a 4' rank and that 1735 marks a moment of major change in the organ’s nature, in which its fundamental pitch dropped by an octave. It would follow that the grooved toeboard upon which the bass octave of Bardón pipes now rests, which extends out beyond the edge of the windchest, was made new at the time of the renovation. It is usually assumed that the reed stops were added at the same time, and while this certainly makes sense, there exists no external evidence in support of this idea; nor need we assume that both reeds were installed at the same time. We can say, however, that at the time(s) the Bajoncillo and Clarín were added, the present stop action was not in place and the stops were still worked by extensions of the sliders at the sides of the case, for there are slots for all the present sliders, including the reeds, plus one on the left, presumably for a now-removed Tambor (Drum), and one on the right which still holds the slider that controls the Pájaros (Birdsong). The Bajoncillo stands at the front of the chest, in the place the façade Flautado basses would have occupied had they been side by side with their treble equivalents.13

The surviving old pipework (which constitutes about half the number of flue pipes in the organ) is homogenous, and, since it coincides with the chest’s toehole spacing, there is no real reason to assume that it is anything but original, or at least contemporary with the wind-chest. The disposition previous to the hypothesized c. 1735 intervention, then, would be assumed to have been as shown in Stoplist 2.
Minus the Tapadillo, this coincides exactly with the dispositions of the table organs at San Andrés Zautla (1726) and San Pedro Mártir Yucuxaco (1740), both in the state of Oaxaca. In addition, the disposition of the organ in San Pedro Quiatoni (1729) is identical to that of Tlacochahuaya, except for the reeds.14 Indeed, Quiatoni’s Tapado also started out at 4¢ pitch and was changed at some unknown time to 8' pitch. We shall return to the implications of these and other similarities among these organs.
Nonetheless, the notion that the 1735 date marks a modification to a pre-existing table organ, rather than the date of the organ’s original conception, raises some difficult questions. As we have noted, there are miters on the sides of the case, which indicate that extensions of the sliders once passed through them and served as the stop action. While old table organs were often so arranged, this neither demonstrates that the original construction was much before 1735 (the organ in San Dionisio Ocotepec, Oaxaca, of 1721 was built with such extensions) nor that at one time it sat on a table (the Ocotepec organ’s case extends to the floor). An examination of the Tlacochahuaya case also shows that the configuration of miters constitutes an adaptation of the case, since they are cut not into the case itself, but into boards that were themselves inserted into the case. When this was done is also unclear.
The type of key action in the Tlacochahuaya organ is also relevant to our thinking both about the date and the type of the hypothesized original organ—that is, whether it was built as a table organ or as a freestanding positive. We are dealing with two possible actions here: on the one hand, the actual key action, which is a suspended action without a rollerboard (no table organ with a rollerboard is currently catalogued in Mexico); and on the other hand, a pin action.15 Essentially, a pin action allows the keyboard to be placed above the pallets, more or less at the level of the sliders, so it can be seen as a height-saving measure. Table organs with pin actions would seem to be particularly suitable to Oaxaca, then, in two regards: first because frequent earthquakes required that churches be built relatively low to the ground; and second, because in Oaxaca’s villages resources were limited, so churches and their organs were often small.

What are the odds, then, of the Tlacochahuaya organ’s originally having had a pin action? Among the eleven existing table organs in the state of Tlaxcala, six have rollerboard-less, suspended actions like Tlacochahuaya’s, and five have pin actions.16 In Oaxaca, however, the pin action definitely dominates: only one (Santa María Peñoles) of the fourteen known table organs certainly had an action like Tlacochahuaya’s. On the other hand, there are no known floor-standing organs with pin actions in Oaxaca, or anywhere else in Mexico (supporting the idea that pin actions were meant to save height). Given that the conversion of a pin action to a suspended action would have required an extensive and complicated reworking of the fundamental structure of the organ, it would seem likely that the Tlacochahuaya organ today contains the type of key action with which it was first built, and that the odds therefore do not favor its having been first built as a table organ. Here, the floor of the original choir loft being lower means that, in spite of there having been a lower choir ceiling before the 1730s renovation, a floor organ could still have fit in the space.

If we turn to the two reed stops, the notion that they were added to the organ also implies some serious work to the windchest. Indeed, an ingenious construction in Tlacochahuaya does allow the grooveboard for the Clarín to pass in front of and under that of the Flautado. But this means that if the organ had a previous incarnation without the Clarín, accommodating the new stop meant not only making a new toeboard and slider, and drilling out the table, but the grooveboard of the façade Flautado also would have had to be rebuilt. Accommodating the Bajoncillo would have been a little easier since there could easily have been empty space beside the treble pipes of the Flautado, but the table still would have had to be drilled and a slider made.

From the point of view of organ construction, then, to achieve the present version of the Tlacochahuaya organ from the hypothetical earlier one, whether table- or floor-standing, would have required some very elaborate rebuilding. But other factors also speak against an earlier version of the organ. The similarities among the Oaxacan instruments we have mentioned extend to the design of their upper cases, suggesting that they were all built in the same shop, or at least belonged to a “school” of organbuilding practices. It is quite possible that the organs are all variations on a basic “model” that was produced in quantity: indeed, various parts of the Quiatoni organ are labeled “San Pedro,” which could suggest that the builder was constructing several similar instruments at one time. Thus, even if the Tlacochahuaya organ had an earlier version, it would seem to have been originally built only a few years before its rebuilding in 1735. This is possible, though such a thoroughgoing revision of a nearly new instrument would have required unusual circumstances.

But there are other possibilities. Perhaps the Tlacochahuaya organ was rethought as it was being built, employing roughed-out components that were semi-mass-produced and kept ready to finish in the shop. Or, maybe the organ was ordered “like that in San Pedro Quiatoni, but with a Clarín in the façade and a Bajoncillo.” In either case, we could suppose that the builder made some clever adaptations using a stock model of a 4' windchest already on hand, and the organ was delivered as a new organ that already had its 8' foundation and reeds. And perhaps the organbuilder fitted the new organ into an already framed-up case that had to be raised to accommodate the façade Clarín, which might account for the inserted boards that have the slider miters, as well as for the double row of ornamental cartouches above the keyboard (unusual for an organ this size). In the end, all we can say is that there are several plausible scenarios here, and at present we lack sufficient evidence to make a firm choice among them.

It is worth pointing out that the Tlacochahuaya organ is the only one of the above-mentioned group of organs to have a basic but complete Iberian-style reed ensemble. The placement of a Bajoncillo inside the case is likewise unusual (the more common interior reed in Oaxaca—either just in the bass, or in both bass and treble—is a Trompeta Real, invariably at 8¢ pitch). We do not know enough about Mexican organ music from the period to say whether this was due to budgetary or esthetic considerations. The first documented occurrence of façade trumpets in Mexico seems to be the Jorge de Sesma organ that was built in 1689 in Madrid for the cathedral of Mexico City. Façade trumpets, then of relatively recent invention, might have taken some time to reach a place like Tlacochahuaya, in which case the right-hand reed stop would date at the earliest from shortly before 1735; but, if we assume the organ was reconstructed from a complete, reedless original, either or both reeds could have been added at any point between 1735 and the installation of the existing stop action, as well. Whenever they were installed (in an adaptation of an existing almost-new organ, as original to an organ built in 1735, or as a modification to the organ after 1735), the reeds would have marked a dramatic change in the sound of the music, and the impulse that caused them to be included represents a change in the local musical esthetic—the dating of which carries large implications for our understanding of the history of this organ and the way music of a given period was played on it.

As we have mentioned, the slots in the sides of the case suggest that the present stop action postdates the reed stops; and we have demonstrated that there existed in Oaxaca freestanding organs with a lower case that used extensions of the sliders protruding through the case as the register action. In fact, if, as is often assumed, the organ case was painted at the time the church was vaulted, then we have additional evidence that the stop action came later, for the scribe marks for the stop action’s miters are still visible—on top of the case painting.

Having been fitted into a pre-existing case, the stop action occupies insufficient space and its parts are too small to develop leverage enough to move the sliders easily. To compound the problem, the connections between the traces and the (too short) levers on the rollers are secured simply by loose-fitting nails. All of this results in so much resistance and slack in the system that changing the position of a stopknob in no way guarantees that the corresponding slider will have budged. Everything about the stop action suggests improvised workmanship, which is inconsistent with the rest of the organ, as well as with surviving eighteenth- and nineteenth-century stop actions in other Oaxacan organs.17 It would seem reasonable to assume that the stop action is a relatively recent, cosmetic addition and that it may well represent the last major alteration the organ endured before the Mexican Revolution of 1910. The nails, which are inclined to fall out at inopportune moments, could be later still.

With Mexico’s war for independence from Spain (1810–1821), political events began to exercise significant influence on the history of the organ in Mexico. Since independence, Mexican politics have been characterized by frequent periods of instability punctuated by civil wars, not to mention political and military incursions from Europe and the United States. Such an environment was hardly conducive to the culture of the organ, for which the most important single political event of the period is probably the suppression of religious orders and the nationalization of ecclesiastical property that began in 1859. For the organ in general, this meant less funding for new building as the relationship between church and state as well as the ownership of church properties remained unresolved through the third quarter of the nineteenth century as chaotic governments quickly succeeded one another. While organs of first-rate workmanship were sometimes built and older instruments were repaired after 1859, an irreversible slide had begun, fueled by political and ecclesiastical conflicts, lack of funds, shifts in spending priorities towards more secular projects, and social instability; and the coup de grâce was delivered in the form of the 1910–1920 revolution, during which many organs, reportedly including that of Tlacochahuaya, having become increasingly decrepit from lack of maintenance, were rendered unplayable by occupying armies and subsequent vandalism.18 Changes in liturgical practice since Vatican II (1962–65) have established tastes unsympathetic to the revival of older forms of ecclesiastical music, and today in the overwhelming majority of Mexican churches the organs, whether functional or not, are regarded as mere curiosities—where they are recognized as organs at all.

4. The Organ: Renovation

Such was the state of the Tlacochahuaya organ until 1990–91, when the organ was disassembled, cleaned, and thoroughly rebuilt. The project was under the direction of the North American organ builder, Susan Tattershall. The Mexican builders José Luís Falcón and Joaquín Wesslowski collaborated. We need only focus on two aspects of this work as Tattershall has published a fuller account of it.19 We need to think, however, about what happened to the pipework and the bellows.

Luckily, about half of the pipework in Tlacochahuaya is old (in the Tapado, for instance, 20 of the 45 pipes are new, and all but one of these is in the treble). The extant pipes were repaired and the ranks were completed with new work by Joaquín Wesslowski.20 The new pipework in Tlacochahuaya was finely made to replicate the old, which has not always been the case with modern-day interventions in Oaxaca’s organs. The Oaxacan habit of numbering all pipes from 1 to 45 facilitated the relocation of pipes that had been moved. Notwithstanding that pipes are sometimes reused (and lengthened or shortened) and can carry several numbers, and that the presence of breaking registers can complicate the reconstruction of an organ’s disposition, similar organs in the area confirm Tattershall’s conclusions in this regard.

Naturally the question arises as to what alterations the pipework may have endured over the years. The organs at San Andrés Zautla and San Pedro Quiatoni provide a useful comparison, for both organs are practically complete (the Quiatoni organ is unplayable), including almost all their pipework, and the Quiatoni organ gives every evidence of being largely in its original (1729) state.21 As we have noted, both are in many ways similar to the Tlacochahuaya instrument. In all three organs all the principal ranks are of almost the same scale and have mouths 1/4 of their circumference. Cutups vary and some in the Tlacochahuaya organ show signs of adjustment, but it is safe to say the originals averaged around 1/4 in the bass, increasing to 2/5 in the treble. The similarities are apparent in the following table, which compares the diameters of the 4¢ façade ranks at Tlacochahuaya, Quiatoni, and Zautla, to which, for interest’s sake, we have added the Yucuxaco organ’s 4¢ façade rank.22 The Yucuxaco organ is about two pipes narrower than the other three, though its scales follow a similar pattern; again, we wonder if all of these organs could be by the same builder.23 (See Scale chart 1.)

There is every indication that at least in terms of its grosser measurements, the Tlacochahuaya pipework reflects early practice and that pipes were not substituted after “classical” (i.e., derived from Iberian baroque practice) organ building ceased to be practiced in Oaxaca around 1900. Furthermore, the principal chorus stands substantially as it was designed, and the proportional strength among its ranks probably does not deviate far from the classic-period organbuilders’ intentions.

Not enough study of Oaxacan reed stops has yet been made to determine whether the present duckbill shallots and tongues (in both stops) reflect local 18th-century practice. Their similarity to Spanish and Mexican reeds of the time, however, suggests that they do. Admittedly, neither of the reed stops at Tlacochahuaya works very well; the quality is uneven and the pipes speak far more slowly than do 18th-century Spanish and Portuguese examples. Indeed, they speak so slowly and irregularly that playing the kind of fast passages and repeated notes called for in Iberian Tientos de clarínes, Tientos de batalla, etc., is virtually impossible.

As we have noted, the stopped 8' rank was rebuilt from a 4' one; both of the two lowest octaves are numbered as if they were the first octave, so presumably the lowest octave was added to a pre-existing stop—which just possibly could have come from another organ, or from an existing supply of pipes in the builder’s shop. (An extension was built on the topboard to hold the lowest eight pipes.) It conforms in mouth shape, scale, etc., with other similar eighteenth-century Mexican stops. The diameters of the C-pipes are compared with those of the similar stop at San Pedro Quiatoni in the following table. (See Scale chart 2.)

Tattershall describes making what was essentially a newly built bellows to replace the pre-1990 winding system, which, unless something happened after Fesperman and Kelemen photographed the organ, must have been intact, although not functional, at the time of her work; and she suggests that this older winding system had in turn replaced one that had been behind the organ. This of course assumes an altogether different earlier location for the organ, the bellows of which then would have been rebuilt when the organ was given its present location at the side of the gallery. She bases the theory that the bellows was once behind the organ on the claim that the old right-hand stops, which protruded through the side of the case, could not be reached had the bellows been at the side; but this is not true, for experimentation demonstrates that the miters on the right of the case are perfectly accessible to anyone standing at the organist’s right (the Pájaro stop is still worked this way). There is really no evidence to suggest that the bellows was ever behind the organ. Most importantly, Tattershall believes the pre-1990 bellows to have been of 19th-century construction and she did not preserve it. She describes it as “a set of internal frames, onto which an enormous hand-sewn bag of cowskin had been tacked with upholstery nails. . . . When open, it looked like an enormous smithy’s bellows, though rectangular . . . A tell-tale strip of white fuzz and old glue around the rim of the bellows covers made it clear that the cowhide arrangement was a later creation . . .”24 But later than when? For, as nobody knew in 1990, this is neither a smithy bellows nor a 19th-century type of organ bellows, but a kind of organ bellows that was in use at least from the early 16th century (a Spanish example of which was recently documented by Gerard A. C. de Graaf in a little organ from the 1520s in Salamanca Cathedral’s Capilla Dorada).25 It is not impossible that the old Tlacochahuaya bellows was revised in the 19th century, but nevertheless it represented a type of Iberian bellows with a long history and it could have been made at any time during the organ’s existence—or earlier, given that it could have been brought from another location during a revision in the Tlacochahuaya organ. As only its weights are preserved, we are unlikely ever to resolve the questions about the old bellows’ date and provenance, which are raised by de Graaf’s description of the Capilla Dorada organ. Bellows of the Capilla Dorada type survive in other locations in Oaxaca,26 however, and study of them could help to clarify the issue.

This in turn opens the question of the organ’s earlier windpressure(s). Today the organ speaks on 84mm, achieved by two 1990 wedge bellows weighted by the old but undatable weights.27 Some people have suggested this may be too high, and the organ at San Andrés Zautla, whose principal pipes are virtually identical to those at Tlacochahuaya, and which was rebuilt by Tattershall in 1998 with newly made wedge bellows, speaks on only 73mm.28 But the matter of Tlacochahuaya’s wind pressure remains speculative, for if it were lower than 84mm the reed pipes would behave even less satisfactorily than at present; so all we can say about the pre-1990 winding system is that it was of the Capilla Dorada type, its provenance is undeterminable, and it may have endured several revisions over at least the past 280 years.

Another factor influencing the organ’s sound is that the case presently has no back, and in 1990–91 the organ was voiced on the assumption that this was the way it had always been. However, most old organ cases in Oaxaca have backs, and a pre-restoration photograph of the organ by John Fesperman’s Smithsonian Institution team29 shows a panel, unfastened at the top, leaning against the wall behind the organ. At least one performer has experimented with installing temporary backs, and whether the back of the case is open or closed makes a discernible difference in the organ’s sound. The age of the panel in the Fesperman photograph is of course indeterminable.

The organ’s keyboard is evidently not original. The keys are stamped with numbers in the manner of a pre-fabricated keyboard of the 19th century. That it was not built specifically for Tlacochahuaya is made completely clear by its numbering: the lowest key begins with the number 5. The keys for C, C-sharp, D and E-flat were discarded in adapting it to the short-octave chest. Accordingly, the highest key is numbered 49. The octave span, 165mm, is characteristic of late 19th-century pianos and harmoniums.30

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The Oaxaca Congress 2001: &quot;The Restoration of Organs in Latin America

by James Wyly

James Wyly is an organ historian and holds a doctorate in music from the University of Missouri. He also holds a doctorate in clinical psychology, and practices psychotherapy in Chicago. He performs on the organ and harpsichord with Ars Musica Chicago.

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It is paradoxical in the organ world that the most widely-researched and famous old organ type, the north European baroque, is represented by relatively few examples that have survived in unaltered condition, while the most widely-diffused and perhaps the commonest old organ type, the Ibero-American organ, remains relatively strange and unknown, even among organists and organ historians. In fact, organs in the style of Spanish and Portuguese baroque instruments were built throughout Latin America from the seventeenth to the first part of the twentieth century. No one knows how many of these organs survive today, but it is increasingly obvious that there are a great many. As of today, several hundred have been documented in Mexico alone, though many parts of that country remain to be investigated. Very old organs (some apparently from the sixteenth century) have been found in Perú and now instruments are appearing in Bolivia, Ecuador, Brazil, and other countries. Most of these organs are unplayable and in total disrepair; but on the other hand, a large number of the known examples appear never to have been significantly altered from their original states. The result is an immense repository of historic instruments which only now are beginning to be recognized as supremely important parts of their national patrimonies. Restoration projects are beginning to be undertaken, concerts are played, old music is discovered, and the history of the organ and its literature is turning out to be very different from what it was imagined to be even fifteen years ago. Naturally, with the increased attention comes increasing risk that precious instruments will be thoughtlessly altered in the name of restoration, while the urgency grows daily of saving important instruments in imminent danger of being junked or of succumbing irreversibly to decay.

It is against this background that nearly a hundred organ historians, organ builders, restorers, curators, organists, and officials of cultural institutions convened in the Mexican city of Oaxaca from November 29 to December 3, 2001, for a congress, "The Restoration of Organs in Latin America." Organized by the Instituto de Organos Históricos de Oaxaca (known as "IOHIO", pronounced "yo-yo") under the direction of Cicely Winter and Edward Pepe, the meeting centered around the old baroque-style organs of the state of Oaxaca, of which fifty-one have presently been discovered and six restored to playable condition.

The congress felt to all the participants like a very important event, both from the standpoint of defining issues and proposing solutions relating to preservation of this organ heritage and from the standpoint of establishing an international community of experts and interested parties concerned with the Ibero-American organ. Connections were made and projects discussed which will be influential in the preservation of organs all over the Americas. There follow some highlights and impressions from the congress's proceedings.

The congress

The congress opened at the IOHIO offices on Thursday afternoon, with welcoming speeches by representatives of IOHIO (Cicely Winter and Ed Pepe) and of the sponsoring Mexican cultural institutions. These included the National Institute of Anthropology and History and the Cultural Foundation of Banamex, which has underwritten a number of organ restorations and research projects. The remainder of the sessions were held in a beautifully restored hall of the Biblioteca Burgoa, which houses an enormous collection of Oaxacan colonial archives in a former Dominican convent next to the spectacularly decorated church of Santo Domingo (the two organs of which disappeared in the last century). Everywhere careful planning, attention to detail, and concern for the comfort and enjoyment of the participants were evident; clearly this congress was a major item on the agendas of all the sponsoring institutions, which were fully aware of the cultural importance of its concerns.

Friday, Sunday, and Monday were devoted to presentations and discussions while Saturday was given over to an all-day field trip in two luxuriously appointed buses which took us to five villages with five organs--three restored and two derelict but reasonably complete. Evenings were given over to concerts, while the midday breaks involved long lunches and a crash course in the justifiably famous Oaxacan cuisine. There was plenty of time at meals, on the buses, and in the delightful cafés that surround Oaxaca's main square for intense informal discussion. It is hard to imagine that any participant could have left Oaxaca without a lot of new friends and a head spinning with music and new information--and an enormous sense of gratitude to IOHIO and all its hard work in putting together such a congenial, successful and glitch-free event.

The participants

Participants came from thirteen European and American countries and included many internationally-known names among the organ builders, performers, and experts. Among the foreign organists, organ builders, and organ scholars were Federico Acetores (Spain), Michael Barone (U.S.A.), Guy Bovet (Switzerland), Lynn Edwards (Canada), Henk van Eeken (Netherlands), Elisa Freixo (Brazil), Roberto Fresco (Spain), Cristina García Banegas (Uruguay), Enrique Godoy (Argentina), Gerhard Grenzing (Spain), Laurence Libin (U.S.A.), Christoph Metzler (Switzerland), Piotr Nawrot (Bolivia), Pascal Quioirin (France), Susan Tattershall (U.S.A.), and your reporter. Our Mexican colleagues included Eduardo Bribiesca, Gustavo Delagado, José Luís Falcón, Horacio Franco, Mercedes Gómez Urquiza, Daniel Guzmán, Eduardo López Calzada, José Suárez Molina, Aurelio Tello, Victor Urbán, María Teresa Uriarte, Alfonso Vega Núñez, Alejandro Vélez, and Joaquín Wesslowski.

The official languages of the congress were Spanish and English, and simultaneous translation of the presentations made them accessible to speakers of either. While many of the participants' names were known to one another, it was new to realize that all brought to the congress major expertise in Ibero-American organs. It was possible to perceive for the first time the full scope of understanding of a topic that had always previously been relatively obscure and difficult of access.

The organs

Dispositions of the three restored organs used for the five evening concerts appear below. The reader should bear in mind that the original chest of the cathedral organ does not exist and there is doubt as to whether the old parts of the chest at La Soledad are original. Thus, both dispositions are reconstructions, and neither is entirely typical of what might be called the Oaxacan style. The Soledad disposition is especially unusual, though the restorer points to evidence for its almost bizarre-seeming pitches on the surviving old parts of the windchest.

The Tlacochahuaya organ, on the other hand, with its breaking high-pitched stops and duplications of 4' and 2' principals in the right hand, seems to conform more closely to a style in which a fair number of Oaxacan organs appear to have been built. (More extensive research on the many unrestored organs will be necessary to confirm this theory.) It was originally a 4' organ, the reeds and 8' stopped register having been added in 1735.

Current research suggests that eighteenth-century Oaxacan organ dispositions did not stress color-stops and mixtures to the degree that, for example, Pueblan or Castilian organs did, but instead were dominated almost exclusively by a plenum made of separately-drawing, virtually identically scaled principal ranks, within which breaks and duplications of treble octave pitches gave each of the four octaves of the keyboard its own tone color. Quint-sounding ranks were few in relation to octave- and unison-sounding ones.

When polyphony is played on such an ensemble it can sound as though each voice were being played on a different registration. Nevertheless, there are possibilities for solo-accompaniment sounds between treble and bass halves of the keyboard, which facilitate the playing of Iberian medios registros. As in Spain and Portugal, in Oaxaca façade trumpets were almost universally added to extant organs of any size in the first decades of the eighteenth century. At the same time, the Tlacochahuaya organ was given its 8' foundation stop, composed of covered pipes.

When in Rome: A conversation with Francesco Cera

Joyce Johnson Robinson

Joyce Johnson Robinson is associate editor of The Diapason.

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In the 1980s I was a graduate student in Rome, doing research on oratorios in the archive adjacent to the sanctuary of the Chiesa Nuova (Santa Maria in Vallicella). That church, established by St. Philip Neri, witnessed the flourishing of the oratorio in the 18th century; more oratorio performances were held there than at any other venue in Rome. Oratorios, performed weekly from November through Lent, were written by the leading opera composers of the day.
Twice weekly (the archive was only open from 5–7 pm on Tuesdays and Fridays; this explains why my research took a while), I entered the large sanctuary and walked toward the altar on my way to the archive. Though the church still revealed its Baroque splendor, there was no splendid—i.e., in playable condition—organ. So I took no note of the instrument; lack of maintenance on an organ was not an uncommon situation in Roman churches.
Fast forward to 2003, to the office of The Diapason, where I was now on the editorial staff. A new CD had arrived,1 featuring organist Francesco Cera playing the Guglielmi organ at Santa Maria in Vallicella, the instrument having been restored by Fratelli Ruffatti.2 I was impressed by the marvelous playing and the incisive sound of the instrument. Even the temperament was revelatory; the meantone tuning gave the dissonances extra pungency and made their resolutions all the more satisfying.
Francesco Cera, born in Bologna, now resident in Rome, studied organ and harpsichord with Luigi Ferdinando Tagliavini and Gustav Leonhardt. He has appeared as a soloist in international festivals and has played historic organs in various European countries. His recordings of the complete keyboard works of Michelangelo Rossi, Tarquinio Merula, Bernardo Storace, and Antonio Valente were praised by the international press. He is currently the conductor of the Ensemble Arte Musica, which specializes in Italian vocal repertoire, from the madrigals of Gesualdo to 18th-century cantatas.3 Cera has led masterclasses and seminars at such institutions as the Accademia di Musica Italiana per Organo, Academie d’Orgue de Fribourg, the Royal Academy of Music in London, the University of Illinois, the University of Evansville, and the Eastman School of Music.
I felt it was worth a try to see if I could meet Mr. Cera in person. An e-mail was graciously answered and led to further exchanges, and my husband and I were able to meet Cera on our next trip to Rome. He was most kind and agreed to show and play the organ for us. We met at the church one December day, along with the organist of Santa Maria in Vallicella. After making our way up the curving staircase to the shallow loft, Cera fired up the instrument. He began playing some works by Rossi, but had not played for very long when the competition arrived—another organ was being played, to lead a rehearsal of children singing. We weren’t going to win this one, so we ceased and desisted and headed for the coffee bar across the street.
Time passed. Cera’s CD was given a glowing review in The Diapason.4 In October 2006 he made a tour to the United States to present concerts and masterclasses, to demonstrate Italian organ music of the 17th century. His tour included a stop in Chicago, where he played on the Flentrop organ in Holy Name Cathedral. We were able to meet up with him once again, to discuss the Guglielmi organ and its restoration in further detail.

JR: Was the Guglielmi organ in Santa Maria in Vallicella installed when the church was first built?
FC: The organ that we hear today is the second built by Giovanni Guglielmi for the church, and for centuries it was paired with a second organ, also built by Guglielmi, for the newly built church, in about 1590. The church of Santa Maria in Vallicella (called the Chiesa Nuova) was constructed at the request of St. Filippo Neri, who in the nearby oratory founded the order of the Philippine fathers; thus it is a crucial place in the history of the Catholic Church. The organ we hear was built in 1612, according to archival research.

JR: Is the Guglielmi organ typical of other Roman instruments? How does its design reflect the style of Italian organ building of the 17th century?
FC: Yes, the Guglielmi organ is a traditional type of organ quite frequently found in large Roman churches at the end of the 16th century. I would say that this organ is clearly distinct from those built in northern Italy during the same period, for example those of Antegnati and his followers. It is typically Roman because it exhibits construction characteristics that are very similar to those of organs built in Rome (such as in the 1598 Luca Blasi organ in the basilica of San Giovanni Laterano, in the small organ ca. 1600 by an unknown builder in Santa Barbara ai Librari, and later in the century in the 1673 Testa-Alari at San Giovanni dei Fiorentini). We can note these characteristics in even later instruments that have survived, and through descriptions in old contracts: a short-octave 50-key manual, C–f3 (plus five chromatic split keys for D-sharp/E-flat, and G-sharp/A-flat); a Ripieno based on a 16' Principal, an 8' Trumpet with full-length resonators (called Tromboni)5, and a pair of flutes pitched at 4' and 22⁄3'. The scales of the principals and of the Ripieno ranks are very narrow, giving much transparency to the 16' Ripieno, and a very silvery sound, full of light, to the organ. These narrow scalings produce a very clear and pungent timbre, compared to, say, Tuscan organs of the same period, which have wider scalings and tend towards a rounder sound. The Tromboni, frequently found in Roman organs, add power and color. The sound of the Guglielmi organ seems to reflect the grandeur and luminosity of Rome.

JR: The organ’s case design is something special, too.
FC
: Its golden case, redesigned in 1699, is a triumph of the Roman Baroque, clearly inspired by Bernini’s style. Gilded carvings show angels that seem to float across the façade: bas reliefs with putti, garlands of flowers, and a big shell crowning the top just behind the major pipes. Three pipes are embossed with a twisting surface, including the central one, 16' low C. The pipe mouths are also gilded with decorative patterns.

JR: Is the Guglielmi organ similar to any of the masterpieces of Italian organbuilding?
FC
: I don’t believe so. For example, the famous organs of San Petronio in Bologna (Lorenzo da Prato, 1475, and Baldassare Malamini, 1596) or the 1545 Antegnati at San Maurizio in Milan have quite a different sonority from the Guglielmi. In fact, the characteristic of Italian organbuilding of every era—from the Renaissance to full-blown Romanticism—is to conceive of nuances of sonority that are distinct in every single region (remember that Italy was divided into many small states until 1860).
At times we have stops typical of a school of organbuilding—for example, in the Venetian school, the 8' Tromboncini (a short-resonator reed); in the Lombardy school, the orchestral stops such as Corno Inglese or Flauto traversiere; or in the Tuscan school, the multi-rank Cornetti. But it is interesting to note how very many old organs having the same stoplist (for example, the most common in various parts of Italy is a Ripieno, a 4' or 22⁄3' Flauto, Voce Umana, and 16' Contrabasso in the pedal) offer quite diverse sonorities, above all in timbre (tone color), due to the scaling and type of voicing. The major organbuilders imparted a personal “character” to their instruments, and it was inevitable that a local “school” resulted. This is the great fascination of the Italian organ—the different nuances of timbre, which still needs to be better understood. The Guglielmi organ is a masterpiece of Roman organbuilding.

JR: The instrument is based on a 16' Principal—is that typical for that time?
FC
: Almost all the large Roman churches had instruments whose Ripieno was based on a 16¢ Principal. This was probably felt to be necessary due to the vastness of the churches, but certainly also for the desire for a very solemn sound. At the same time, the narrow scalings provided great luminosity and clarity.

JR: Who played the Guglielmi organ? What documents refer to the organ?
FC
: Among the famous organists who played the organ were Bernardo Pasquini, who was the organist at Vallicella from 1657–1664, and also in the 17th century Giovanni Battista Ferrini and Fabrizio Fontana (both of them, along with Pasquini, wrote organ music of high quality). Various documents about the organ and its maintenance through the centuries have been published by Arnaldo Morelli, in the musicological journal Analecta Musicologica.6

JR: When was the organ abandoned and no longer maintained?
FC
: At the end of the 19th century, a romantic-style organ was built in the right-side choir loft, and from that point the old Guglielmi, after some mediocre work, was gradually abandoned. Yet most of the 17th-century pipework was not altered—neither the mouths nor the pipe lengths. Thus, notwithstanding the negligence, it was possible to again have the original sound, without having to reinvent it, as it was necessary to do in other cases. This was a very good thing.

JR: How did organ restoration in Italy begin and evolve?
FC
: Historic restoration in Italy originated with the pioneering work of the celebrated organist Luigi Ferdinando Tagliavini and the great scholar, the late Oscar Mischiati. The first organ “saved” from restorations that had a tendency to alter and “modernize” historic organs was Graziadio Antegnati’s 1581 masterpiece in the church of San Giuseppe in Brescia, restored back in 1956. In subsequent years, following the directives of these two great experts, it became more common to respect the original features of every instrument, including the short-octave manuals and pedalboards, which previously had been “normalized” through the addition of chromatic keys. Then came the practice of reconstructing the pipes of lost ranks, with faithful copies of authentic pipes by the same maker. In the late 70s there was a return to the old temperaments, where there had been some surviving traces (meantone and its variants). All this spread at first in the north, with the help of government financing, and since the 1980s, also in central and south Italy. Today my country can claim at least ten organ builders who have specialized for a long time in restorations of the highest quality—work that is on a par with the best carried out in the rest of Europe, perhaps even characterized by a deeper historic consciousness.

JR: Who provided the funds for restoring the organ? When did this come about?
FC
: The Italian government provided funding for the restoration, and the work took place between 1998–2000. The superintendent of historic and artistic works of Rome entrusted the work to Fratelli Ruffatti of Padua, due to their experience in restoring historic organs in various regions of Italy, with the leading expert Oscar Mischiati as consultant.

JR: What work needed to be done on the organ?
FC
: The spring windchest that was found in the organ was almost destroyed by rainwater that had leaked in, but although it was probably from the 19th century it seemed inspired by 17th-century building technique—thus it was reconstructed with the same design. Also lacking was the console, but after an accurate analysis of the pipes, it appeared clearly that its compass was of 50 keys (c1 to f5, with the first “short” octave), plus five added “split” keys, for a total of 55 keys, and the stops arranged vertically.7 The keyboard and pedalboard were reconstructed according to models of the period. The surviving group of original pipes was simply put in the best possible playing condition, and the temperament reset to meantone, with the pitch being detected as A=400—quite low, but close to the documented pitch in use in Rome at that time (i.e., around A=390). Ruffatti’s work has produced a very satisfying result.

JR: What are some other important recent restorations?
FC
: Italy has the good fortune to possess very many Renaissance organs, which have had only minor modifications. Among these are the two organs at San Petronio in Bologna (to which I referred earlier), whose restoration, done by Tamburini under the supervision of Tagliavini and Mischiati, was completed in 1982. These two organs have been recorded on many CDs and have been visited by many organists from all over the world. Then there is the splendid 1556 Giovanni Cipri instrument at San Martino (also in Bologna), and the 1521 Domenico di Lorenzo at the church of the Annunziata in Florence.
Among the most important recent restorations, I would name the 1509 Pietro da Montefalco in Trevi (Umbria), restored by Pinchi-Ars Organi, the 1852 Tronci with three manuals and two small pedalboards at Gavinana (Tuscany), restored by Riccardo Lorenzini, and the 1775 Gaetano Callido at Fano (the Marches), restored by Francesco Zanin. Lastly, there is the 1565 Graziadio Antegnati organ in the church of Santa Barbara in Mantua, within the Gonzaga palace, an imposing 16¢ instrument with seven split keys for D-sharp and A-flat, restored by Giorgio Carli. I had the honor of playing the inaugural concert.

JR: Has there been much publicity about the Guglielmi organ?
FC
: Unfortunately, after the restoration, nothing was published regarding the organ, and few organists played it. Realizing its importance—a great Roman organ from the time of Frescobaldi!—I proposed to Radio France that they do a CD recording for their “Temperaments” series, and Gilles Cantagrel, artistic director and noted Bach and organ scholar, accepted right away.
The CD notably helped develop interest in this important instrument, which restores the authentic sonority of the organs that the great Frescobaldi—and also Rossi, Pasquini, and their German pupils (Froberger, Kerll, Muffat)—would have regularly played, and for which they conceived their organ works.

JR: Francesco, you have toured a few times in the United States. Do you find that American organists know much about Italian organs?
FC
: Generally, I think that it’s quite a mystery—people have only a vague idea—but all the organists that I’ve met in America are very interested to know more! For example, someone who heard the Guglielmi organ through my CD was extremely surprised by the very clear, or as they say, “stringy” sound—but also by the presence of the trumpet rank. Both these aspects are not part of their conception of the Italian organ, if their idea of the Italian organ only comes from visits they made to organs in Bologna rather than Florence. In Italy today, the Italian language is spoken with many varied accents (in the past, dialects were spoken more than they are today), and these differences are found in our old organs as well. It seems to me that the interest in Italian organ music, and the desire to explore it in all its vast scope, is growing. I have the impression that lately, after having concentrated on German Baroque works, people are looking for new repertoire, and the Italian repertory is clearly gaining popularity!

JR: Tell us something about your latest trip to the U.S.
FC
: I was surprised to be able to play two historic Italian organs! I had heard of the 18th-century organ at the Eastman School in Rochester, inaugurated last year and now at the center of a strong, thorough study of Italian organ music. Its placement within the museum is really splendid; being surrounded by Italian Renaissance and Baroque paintings, it is put in a cultural context that is so important for those who are knowledgeable as well as for American students. Equally excellent is the positive organ that I played at Cornell University in Ithaca—an instrument with a strong Neapolitan character, built by Agostino Vicedomini in the 1720s. I think that both these instrument were restored very well.
I was also delighted with the sound of the big Flentrop at Holy Name Cathedral in Chicago—faithful to the Dutch Baroque aesthetic—and also the John Brombaugh organ in Springfield, Illinois, a fine balance between historic copy and personality. I hope that soon the United States can have more organs in Italian style, maybe entrusting their construction to Italian builders so that the true Italian sonority—luminous and full of character—can be more widespread. I think that in mid-size churches with good acoustics, such an organ could be successful, or in churches where in addition to a traditional instrument there is a desire for an organ with a different sonority. Why not?

The author wishes to thank Fratelli Ruffatti, and especially Francesco Ruffatti, for their kind assistance. All translations are by the author.

Welte’s Philharmonie roll recordings 1910–1928: My afternoons with Eugène Gigout

David Rumsey

David Rumsey studied organ in Australia, Denmark, France and Austria. He rose to a senior lectureship in the Australian university system from 1969–1998, also pursuing an international teaching, concert and consulting career as an organist. He worked in various cross-disciplinary fields, especially linking broadcasting, drama and music, arranging a number of major presentations and seminars. In 1998, after mounting a 14-hour spectacle on the life of Bach with actors in period dress and musicians playing historic instruments, he left Australia and settled around 2000 in Basel, Switzerland, where he continues to work as an organist and consultant.

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    Posterity bestows no laurels upon mimesis. Since the invention of the Welte-Mignon piano and the Welte-Philharmonie organ, this expression has lost its validity for recording musicians. Generations far removed from ours will be able to recognize the masters of our age in their prowess and in the totality of their artistry. By means of technology, impermanence and time have been vanquished, the moment of metaphysical experience has been captured for eternity.

These prophetic words of Montgomery Rufus Karl Siegfried Straube (1873–1950) have never rung truer, although the long road, technological means, and near total loss of all that he was talking about in relation to the Philharmonie, could never have been foreseen—not even by a person of such eloquence, vision and culture as he obviously was. The British do have ways with words, the Germans perhaps more with music. Was it his English mother who lay behind this uncanny ability to express himself so well?
My former teacher in Sydney, Australia, Norman Johnston, used to sagely advise his students: “Always proceed from the known to the unknown.” It was well expressed and has long served as a useful life guide. Norman was a pupil of André Marchal, Marchal in his turn a pupil of Eugène Gigout. Like beauty, musical genealogy is probably mainly in the eye of the beholder, although it has been perpetuated often enough—as in Albert Schweitzer’s biography. It is often associated—as there—with those who want to trace their instructional lineage back to J. S. Bach.
By this token, Gigout is my musical great-grandfather. As a student, I put him into a box labeled “romantic French”. And there he remained for a very long time. It was an accurate enough generalization, but when you spend whole afternoons with him—or his musical ghost—you soon begin to realize that he occupied a rather special place in the romantic French hierarchy. Furthermore, he does not always perform in quite the way a “romantic” tag might lead us to expect.
Until recently I had never heard Gigout play. Hardly surprising: he died 14 years before I was born and made no gramophone records. But now that I am a septuagenarian, some unexpected events have changed all that. With apologies to clairvoyants and occultists, whose hopes will now be dashed, perfectly rational explanations are offered, while Straube’s prophecy is fulfilled.

The Seewen Philharmonie
The advice of my teacher was particularly apt over the past few years, as one of the world’s few remaining full-sized Welte-Philharmonie organs was restored under my supervision. The instrument was originally intended for the ship Britannic and is now the central attraction in the Museum der Musikautomaten at Seewen, Solothurn, Switzerland. Associated with it is a remarkable inventory of roll recordings, most commercially released between 1912 and 1928.
Several stages were needed in this not uncomplicated exercise, each of them representing a transition from the known to the unknown:
• restoring the organ
• dealing with the Britannic connections that were discovered during the restoration
• making the pneumatic roll-player work
• adding computer control
• tweaking the pneumatic roll player, computer and console systems to work optimally together
• scanning the rolls digitally
• developing software to electronically emulate the Welte pneumatic system
• auditioning the scanned and converted roll data played on the organ itself
• making an inventory of the roll collection, who played, what they played, how they played, and the current condition of the rolls.
With such a complex instrument, and old technologies that had slipped well behind the front line for nearly a century, we proceeded from our knowns to our unknowns with a mixture of confidence, trepidation and patience. Fortunately all went well.
But what of the rolls? We knew that playing them back over the Welte tracker bar and pneumatic player was always going to work—with the age-old reservations surrounding these machines and their many vagaries. Yet this, too, was surprisingly easy.

The Welte rolls
So the rolls could be played again pneumatically and the organ played manually—just as always with the Welte Philharmonie (Philharmonic to most of the English-speaking world). Seewen possesses, however, mostly only one roll of each recording. Even with other known collections, there are limited duplicates about in the world. Most original Welte rolls are nearly a century old now and show distinctive signs of being at “5 minutes to midnight.” Even with some potentially available copies, Seewen’s collection can exist nowhere else in the world, for it mainly consists of original “second-master” rolls from which the copies were made. So the physical wear and tear, and real risk of damage, even destruction, from pneumatic machine playing are best avoided whenever possible.
With only around 250 roll titles known to exist in more than one copy at Seewen, we are clearly treading on rather delicate eggshells with all of them. Our answer has been to scan them once with people and machines that treat them kindly, digitize them, preserve the rolls separately, then play them as often as we want from computer files.
So the next unknown became digital scanning and playback. Could we side-step the pneumatic roll-player with complete impunity? The scanning device needed its own custom-written software to produce playable files. The data was then transferred to the organ’s computer, for which more arcane software programs had to be developed. The interface had to operate absolutely non-intrusively with the organ’s playing action, for this was a unique and highly sensitive heritage restoration. There was a rough row to hoe here for a while, dealing with the huge multinomial equations of at least four different roll types, their age, and the weird but wonderful Welte multiplexing system, which might best be described as early 20th-century pneumatic computing. Welte’s technical standards also varied from roll to roll and with the earlier and later developments of their technology.
Success began to arrive by mid-2009. The unknown was relieved by the known. From October of that year for the following six months, a team of three specially trained scanners began the digitizing process. This required “sensitive fingers” to mount and guide the fragile rolls without damage and ensure that the best “geometry” was attained with, ideally, just one pass. By mid-2010 all 1,600 or so rolls had been scanned and digitized, and are thus now preserved in two forms: the original rolls and their digital conversions.
Still there were many unknowns: What was played? Who played? How? Phrasing? Tempo? Registration? Does this unique collection fully validate Karl Straube’s statement above? A Pandora’s box of questions and future research projects was suddenly opened up while myriads of fine historic performance details became available.
The latter represent the performance practices of an entire generation of organists who preceded most of those generally thought to be the first ever to make recordings. In chronologically defined terms: the rare “electrically recorded” 78s, most notably those of Harry Goss-Custard in the mid-1920s, were preceded by effectively no acoustic organ recordings. It was exactly during this period, 1912–1925, that roll-recording was in its heyday.
Welte in particular, among the few firms making recordings at this time, managed to capture the playing of a whole school of 19th-century-trained organists in this important time-window. While they and many other firms made rolls aimed to sell in the “popular” and “transcription” repertoire arenas, Welte stands out for their dedication to recording the great organists and original organ repertoire of their own epoch. This included Harry Goss-Custard, himself, then about 13 years younger than when he recorded his 78s.
The downside to the Welte system may well be the limitations of one organ for all organists and repertoire, and a tricky recording technology and medium, but the upsides are many. For one thing, the playability and intelligibility of most roll recordings is now far better than any disc made before the mid-1940s. Fate has decreed that Seewen is the only Welte Philharmonie left in the world on which we can preserve and play so many of these early roll-recordings, reproducing the original playing and registration, at the highest possible standards allowed by this system.

Playing the rolls digitally
It is late 2010 as this is being written. We are halfway through a survey of the digitized rolls, a process that should be complete by late 2011. The results are very encouraging—about 85% play well on one scan. Inevitably there are some problematic rolls, some that may never play again, some re-scans to do, an odd roll that is wound in reverse (standard practice with Welte’s cinema organ players) or other eventualities, including five marked but not perforated “first-masters”. But the overwhelming majority turned out to play well—and, considering the historical importance of it all, quite breathtakingly so.
There are many advantages to playing rolls digitally. Quick search-and-play of the stored data and no rewinding—with all of that procedure’s dire threat to aging paper—are simple and obvious benefits. Dialogue boxes giving timings or the actual registration being used are extremely useful. The Seewen organ, which knew two main manifestations—1914 and, slightly enlarged, 1920–1937—can also be switched from one form to another, enabling the rolls to be heard as they were recorded, or as Welte themselves pneumatically patched them up to play on a larger organ (specifically this one). Smaller player-organ manifestations are also available.
One of the most important facilities offered is the chance to restore the pedal to the point where the organist originally played it: due to Welte’s multiplexing system, pedal notes were often adjusted by moving them slightly earlier so the pneumatic technology could still work while roll-widths remained manageable. They had valid reasons for this, but digital editing now allows restoration of that aspect of the original performance. Others, including the correction of wrong notes and stops caused by holes or tears from years of damage to or decay of the paper, are also possible.
The computer in the Seewen organ is wired straight to the final windchest magnets, thus playing far more accurately and precisely than passing the whole process through paper and pneumatic systems with all their vagaries and notorious technological temperaments. That includes roll slippage or sticking, and worn, underpowered motors, to say nothing of arch-enemies such as dust, air leakage or damaged, corroding lead tubing. Another big plus for digital playback is that repeated playings do not create more wear and tear on rolls. Tear can all too literally be what happens. Simply rewinding a roll can be an act of vandalism against a unique surviving historic performance—the rewind moves at some speed and shredding is a better description than tearing when it happens.
Many rolls are no longer reliably playable pneumatically, and this situation must inevitably deteriorate further with time. So it was not a moment too soon to digitize them. In fact, both rolls and digitized scans are now the targets of careful preservation under the impenetrable vaults of this impressively-built museum (was “Fort Knox” more prototype than legend?).

Restoration
We were lucky. For such a sensitive heritage restoration, it was a relief that Welte themselves had built or converted its action to electric back in early 20th century. Had this not already been done, computer playback could have been unthinkable now. The consequences would have been pneumatic playing only, maybe only 50% of the rolls functioning properly, and a destructive process repeated for each playing. Further deterioration, with time running on its legendary wings—and no effective means of correction for rolls not running perfectly true—would have been our rather anguished lot.
The happy confluence of musical and computer skills found in Daniel Debrunner not only saw to the computer control of the organ’s action, but also developed the roll-scanner and necessary software to convert the rolls into digital formats. A collaboration now exists with a number of partners in a research program called Wie von Geisterhand, which, in late 2010, was awarded another Swiss Federal Government grant to continue through 2011 and 2012.
The museum under Christoph
Haenggi’s direction, Daniel Debrunner, and I are among the Swiss and international partners in the Geisterhand team. Now that all rolls are scanned, we have set about auditioning them on the organ. Sure, Gigout can be heard playing his own Toccata, Communion, and Festival March on the Welte formerly in Linz-am-Rhein (EMI 5CD set 7243 5 74866 2 0 CD 2); but that organ is a much smaller model than the Welte recording organ was. Seewen’s full-sized Philharmonie has all the stops Gigout used. Important aspects of the registration can be compromised on the smaller models where, for example, some foundation stops on one manual are typically borrowed from another, or the pedal Posaune 16′ “pneumatically patched” to a Bourdon 16′—just not the same thing. The currently available CD-recorded repertoire is in any case minuscule compared to Seewen’s holdings.

Cataloguing the Welte recordings
At present rates it will probably take until late 2011 to complete the auditioning process and finalize a comprehensive database. We are also slowly incorporating whatever further information we can glean about the total Welte organ roll production and its current whereabouts around the globe. So far we have over 3,600 entries representing over 2,600 known rolls and those mentioned in Welte catalogues. This gives over 1,600 separate titles.
Already a wonderland of historic recordings has turned up. The relatively short playing times of 78s (at best about 41⁄2 minutes) compared poorly to over 23 minutes available from rolls. The roll performances are without surface noise, demand no interruptions to “change sides”, and are in the most perfect “hi-fi stereo”.
Actually, we could say this process goes one step further: it nudges up towards “live” performance. Those who have experienced roll recordings frequently report the feeling that the artist is present, actually playing. An anecdote relates that admirers of Busoni’s once played a Welte-Mignon recording of his at his home while his widow was in the next room. The accuracy of reproduction was so true that she burst in, eyes full of tears, calling out “Ferruccio, Ferruccio!” Wie von Geisterhand (“as if by the hand of a ghost”) is a most relevant project name.

The Great Playback
Our computer technology began to reach maturity in the second half of 2009. In October 2009 the systematic scanning process commenced in the Seewen Museum’s library, which was specially re-equipped for this task. Then, from November, we could launch the long program of auditioning the scanned rolls. Tweaking it all has continued through 2010. In general, we took the rolls in the sequence of their Welte catalogue numbers. This led to some observations of the firm’s “commercial logic” in its rarified market: many of the earliest Philharmonie rolls are recuts from orchestrion or piano rolls, modified to make them play on an organ with 150 holes in its tracker bar. Many were punched by hand: most impressive at Seewen are the long operatic, orchestral, and symphonic excerpts—including entire Beethoven symphonies and lengthy Wagner or Verdi opera potpourris—mostly hand-punched, often on rolls of around 15 minutes’ duration.
The sociology of this is a study in itself, but clearly, as with the British “Town Hall Organ” culture, Welte and its organists had to “entertain”. There was great public demand to hear operatic and symphonic music, but a notable lack of orchestras around to play it, especially aboard ships.
The auditioning of the roll-scans fell into my lap almost too naturally. There was a curious life-flashback here—history sometimes repeats itself in wondrous ways and without warning. When I was about eight years old, somebody disposed of an old acoustic wind-up gramophone in our backyard. This may have been thoughtless for the precinct, but it was kind to me. A vast collection of 78s was dumped alongside this machine. In the glorious outdoors of sunny suburban Sydney, I would play these recordings over and over. My great favorite was Wagner. Hapless neighbors were serenaded with unsolicited afternoons of Valkyries, Nibelungen and Flying Dutchmen. The complaints were legion. My skin was thick.
In late 2009—some 62 years later—I found myself listening to precisely this repertoire once again, but at Seewen. At least it was indoors this time—winter in Switzerland by contrast to summer in Sydney. Nobody was seriously disturbed, and the museum staff’s love or hatred of Wagner expanded or contracted commensurately according to their predispositions to this music. A subtle, inoffensive art of opening and closing the doors on me in Seewen’s “Hall of Auditory Arts,” where the organ is located, was tactfully developed. Or is that a residual “Wagner social conscience” now returning to make me utterly paranoid?
An amazing mastery of musical expression is found in the manually punched performances. All manner of nuances were reproduced—crescendi, sforzati, tremolandi, rallentandi, rubati, “orchestral” registrations—all fully expressive and highly convincing. One would scarcely guess that so many of them were laboriously drilled out by technicians rather than played by first-rate musicians. In fact, these technicians were consummate artists themselves, sometimes trained organists in their own right. They knew their repertoire and the performance paradigms of their day exactly, and had the skills and capacity to precisely build them into these rolls. All of this was through the medium of millions upon millions of tiny holes punched into paper. Yet there was nothing particularly new in this—in another lineage from Père Engrammelle through Dom Bédos de Celles, skills had already passed on to musical barrel-makers telling them how to make “mechanical” music expressive in the 18th century. And there had then been a 19th-century-long gestation of this art, through the orchestrion’s heyday, before Michael Welte and his crew applied their skills to Wagner, Brahms and Beethoven for their Philharmonie.
Such transcriptions were not only a much-favored repertoire of the Welte era, but are also one of the musical genres that the Philharmonie was truly “born to play”. In discussions of lost Beethoven traditions around World War I, these rolls at Seewen must have their part to play: they were created by people steeped in these traditions. They also knew their Verdi and Wagner.
Cinema organ music, light classics, and even hymns were also recorded. We have German chorales played by German organists or English hymns played by Harry Goss-Custard in what must have been the Berlin or Liverpool Cathedral traditions of the time. The variety of information that is stored on these rolls is truly breathtaking.

So: what is there?
Seewen is the inheritor of the largest ship’s organ ever built and the most important single collection of roll recordings by fully romantic-tradition organists. Listed here chronologically according to their birth years are just 29 of Welte’s organists—about one-third of the total:

1842–1912 Carl Hofner
1842–1929 Johann Diebold
1844–1925 Eugène Gigout
1851–1937 Clarence Eddy
1853–1934 Franz Joseph Breitenbach
1858–1944 Marie-Joseph Erb
1861–1925 Marco Enrico Bossi
1862–1949 Samuel Atkinson Baldwin
1863–1933 William Faulkes
1865–1931 William Wolstenholme
1865–1934 Edwin Henry Lemare
1865–1942 Alfred Hollins
1868–1925 Paul Hindermann
1869–1929 Herbert Francis Raine Walton
1871–1964 Walter Henry (Harry) Goss-Custard
1872–1931 Walter Fischer
1873–1916 Max Reger
1873–1950 Karl Straube
1877–1956 Reginald Goss-Custard
1878–1942 Alfred Sittard
1878–? J(ohann?) J(akob?) Nater
1882–1938 Paul Mania
1884–1944 Joseph Elie Georges Marie Bonnet
1886–1971 Marcel Dupré
1890–? Kurt Grosse
1893–1969 Joseph Messner
1897–1960 Karl Matthaei
1898–1956 Günter Ramin
fl. 20thc “Thaddä” Hofmiller

Apart from the slightly special cases of Carl Hofner and Johann Diebold, the next earliest-born of Welte’s organists was French: Eugène Gigout. Born in 1844, he was educated directly in his country’s great 19th-century traditions of playing, which he himself helped to create and consolidate.
Judging by evidence on the rolls, the Freiburg recordings were made at least in early 1911. But 1910 must be more likely, since a preview of the Philharmonie was presented to the Leipzig Spring Fair in 1911. The final development—with order books then opened—was at the Turin Exhibition of November that same year. Most rolls were then made and released 1912–26, neatly covering the period up to electrical recording, and briefly overlapping it. During World War I, there was a dramatic reduction in factory output, and after 1926 productivity again slowly tapered off as entertainment changed focus to other media—radio, 78s. Roll production later dribbled away to special wartime releases, re-releases or late releases of earlier recordings. The last recording year found so far is 1938 (Binninger playing Böhm on W2244).
Surveying it all, we get an impression of several waves of players fully immersed in their own traditions, with birth dates—and thus, broadly, traditions of playing—covering a span of over 50 years. From England, the USA, Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, and Austria, these organists were considered among the best available from anywhere in the early 20th century. While the list above tells many interesting stories, it is primarily a roll-call of Welte-preferred leading organists selected from about 1910 onwards. Others may have been asked and did not record for one reason or another. Those who did record were ones that Welte saw as potentially “best-selling” artists. Let us make no mistake about it: this was a highly commercial enterprise.

Italy: Bossi
Welte’s Italian connection was uniquely through Marco Enrico Bossi. He was the first organist ever to officially record for them (July 1912). Perhaps the link was made when Welte exhibited their prototype Philharmonie at the Turin exhibition of November 1911? Bossi’s son—also a German-trained organist—had just conducted an orchestral concert there in October. The original organ works that Marco Enrico plays are Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in D Minor (BWV 539), Dubois’ In Paradisum, and Franck’s Cantabile. Transcriptions include Henselt’s Ave Maria, op. 5 (arranged by Bossi), Handel’s Organ Concerto No. 10 (second and third movements), and a Schumann March (arranged by Guilmant). The Chopin Funeral March, Debussy’s “Girl with the flaxen hair,” and Haydn’s “Ah! vieni, Flora” (from Quattro Stagioni/Four Seasons) were also recorded—the arrangers are unidentified, but quite possibly Bossi.
Most importantly, he recorded four of his own pieces: Hora mystica, Folksong from Ath, Fatemi la grazia and Noël, op. 94, no. 2. (The titles of pieces given here reflect the Welte catalogue with its sometimes quaint, often inaccurate presentation—where needed they are corrected.)
Bossi’s playing is notable in many ways; for example, the detachment of pedal notes in the Handel, giving the effect of a double-bass playing spiccato. Notable also is his tendency to arpeggiate some cadential chords and detach in counterpoint—an almost constant marcato broken by rarer moments of “targeted legato” in BWV 539 (cf. Hofner and Gigout later: same generation, same idea?). He was clearly a powerful interpreter. Most notable is Fatemi la grazia, which has an entirely variant ending to that in his printed edition. Other organists—his contemporaries—also play works of Bossi on Seewen’s rolls.
A major article by Nicola Cittadin on this topic is soon to be published in an Italian organ journal.

France: Gigout, Bonnet, Dupré, Erb
The French 19th and early 20th century school accounts for four Welte organists. Their training is an interesting chapter: Gigout was principally taught by Saint-Saëns, Bonnet by Guilmant and Vierne, and Dupré by Guilmant, Widor, and Vierne. The Benoist-Saint-Saëns-Gigout and Lemmens-Guilmant-Widor lineages are indeed musical genealogies of significance here.
The other, Erb, was an interesting choice. He was Alsatian; when he was in his early teens, his country became annexed to Germany. The proximity of Straßburg to Welte’s base in Freiburg is noted. The repertoire he plays is interestingly mixed, although the French school is clearly important and predominates.
Ernst/Bach (G-major concerto)
Vivaldi/Bach (Adagio from the A-minor concerto)
Guilmant (Invocation in B-flat Major; Funeral March & Hymn of Seraphs, op. 17; Melodie, op. 45; Grand Choeur in D Major, op. 18; Elevation, op. 25)
Franck (Pastorale, op. 18, no. 4)
Three arrangements/transcriptions: Mendelssohn (A Midsummer Night’s Dream—Wedding March), Debussy (Prélude de l’enfant Prodigué) and Wagner (Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg—Walther’s Preislied).
The freedoms Erb takes are sometimes little short of astonishing by today’s measure, perhaps even questionable—not least in the Franck Pastorale. His playing constantly fringes on what we might now define as poor, including rhythmic oddities and wrong notes. Yet, hear him through, and the lingering impression is that you have at least learned something. It is too easy to spring to quick judgements here—we are seeking a full understanding of a quite different era. Erb’s playing does not conform to what is generally acceptable today, but it at least changes perspectives and questions our paradigms in this digitally edited, “technically perfect performance” era.
Dupré was later to be one of the very few of Welte’s organists well-represented through gramophone recordings. His earlier roll recordings offer important supplementation and enhancements. An Improvisation on a Theme of Schubert (#2047) is of particular note in this connection. It seems to be a hitherto unknown recorded improvisation. Only two copies of the roll are currently known to exist. Both are in Switzerland: one is at the Barnabé Theatre Servion near Thun, the other at Schloss Meggenhorn, near Lucerne. That from Barnabé has been digitized at Seewen and plays well. It is at any rate skilled and entertaining extemporization, well demonstrating his talents when he was around 40, a most useful and important addition to the surviving Dupré heritage.

North America: Eddy, Baldwin (Lemare, Bonnet)
The North American contingent is represented by no lesser personages than Clarence Eddy and Samuel Atkinson Baldwin, with club membership extended fully to Edwin Lemare and partially to Joseph Bonnet. Eddy recorded Clérambault and Couperin, then on through Liszt, Mendelssohn, Saint-Saëns, Bossi, Buck, and Faulkes. Also German-educated at the right time and place for it, Eddy plays the Reger Pastorale in a notably fine interpretation. Transcriptions of Wagner (Bridal Chorus from Lohengrin; Prelude to Lohengrin, Pilgrim’s chorus from Tannhäuser, Isolde’s Liebestod) and one of his own works (“Old 100th” Festival Prelude and Fugue) complete the bigger picture, not to forget his inclusion of From the Land of the Sky-Blue Water by Charles Wakefield Cadman (catalogued confusingly as Wakefield-Gudmann From the land of the sky-blue).
Eddy’s compatriot, Samuel Baldwin, leaves over 20 rolls, including Buck’s Concert Variations on the Star Spangled Banner, op. 23, and Guilmant’s Sonata in D Minor, op. 42 (complete, on 2 rolls).
Eddy and Baldwin are among the most generally significant organists represented here, but Lemare naturally deserves his very special place. The full story of Lemare—luminary in the entertainment tradition—has been well-told by Nelson Barden (The American Organist 1986, vol. 20, nos. 1, 3, 6, 8). Barden has also made CDs of this most extraordinary organist’s rolls. Seewen has almost all of the rolls, including Lemare playing his famous “Moonlight and Roses” (Andantino in D-flat). However, it seems that some additional rolls exist at Seewen that were not available to anybody until recently. They are:
1239*, Dubois, Sylvine
1241*, Mendelssohn, Ruy Blas Overture
1265**, Guilmant, Funeral March & Hymn of the Seraphs
1266*, Lemare, Symphony in D Minor, op. 50: Scherzo
1267*, Lemare, Symphony in D Minor, op. 50: Adagio Patetico
1269*, Wolstenholme, Romance and Allegretto
1270**, Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg—Präludium
1274***, Gounod, Queen of Saba (Sheba): March and Cortège
With W1286* (Guilmant, Reverie, op. 70), three sources give J. J. Nater as organist, only one Lemare. At present we are ascribing it to Nater.
* = master roll
** = master roll and at least one copy *** = two master rolls held

The British organists: Faulkes, Wolstenholme, Hollins, Walton, Goss-Custard
The British organists of the “Town Hall Organ” era—not to forget that of the Great Exhibitions—were well-represented in the Welte catalogues: six of them. Along with Lemare, they all reacted to their era’s special need for entertaining organ music. This choice of British organists is not surprising when we consider the firm’s exports to England (Salomons’ and Britannic were probably their first, Harrods and many others followed). Not only are some of the most notable recitalists of the era listed, but they also recorded a proportionately large number of rolls. Harry Goss-Custard was Welte’s most prolific organ recording artist, and their catalogue of his rolls overwhelmingly swamps the lists of his disc recordings. Only one work, Lemmens’ Storm, appears to be duplicated on both roll and disk.
The recordings of Faulkes, Wolstenholme, Hollins, Walton, and both Goss-Custards were no doubt made partly to satisfy this British market with so many wealthy industrialists or shipping magnates. The Salomon Welte at Tunbridge Wells is preserved, recently restored, and is a sister—if not a twin—to the Seewen organ. They are the only two of their kind left in the world today on which Welte Philharmonie rolls can be properly played pneumatically, taking the original recording organ’s specification into account. Tunbridge Wells’ capabilities also extend to play Cottage #10 Orchestrion rolls. Its action remains completely pneumatic except for the remote Echo division, which is, and always was, electric.

Germanic territory: Hofner, Diebold, Ramin, Straube, Grosse, Breitenbach, Hindermann,
Hofmiller, Messner, Matthaei

German, Austrian, and Swiss organists account for about half the performers in the above list, and more are represented in our database. Numerically they occupy the most substantial block of historic talent here—their recordings mainly reveal the highly influential Berlin school of around 1900 (Eddy studied there, too). Leipzig, Freiburg, and Rheinberger’s influence in South Germany are also well represented.
Whatever predilection Welte might have had at the outset to use English talent and make good sales to that country, the First World War put a damper on that, although the firm was sleeping with the enemy by releasing Harry Goss-Custard’s rolls well into and through the time-span of this conflict. But they mainly had to concentrate on organists on their own side of enemy lines in the 1914–18 stretch.
The earliest-born of all these seem to have been Carl Hofner (1842–1912) and Johann Diebold (1842–1929). Hofner was educated in Munich, where the Bach tradition is sometimes said to have persisted longer than anywhere else. He was active as organist and teacher around Freiburg/Breisgau from October 1868. Then, appointed as organist at Freiburg Münster, he commenced duties on January 1, 1871. One temptation is to think that Rheinberger was his teacher in Munich. It is possible. But the teacher would have been a mere three years older than the student, and Rheinberger was only appointed professor in 1867, by which time Hofner had been in Metten for some seven years.
In 1878 Hofner settled in Freiburg. There he taught the Swiss organist and pedagogue Joseph Schildknecht, who later wrote an important Organ Method. Hofner features in early organ roll titles: #716, #717, and #722. Of these, the Bach Praeludium and Fugue in C Minor (BWV 549 on #716) is an impressive performance, varying only slightly from the note-readings of modern editions, exhibiting considerable freedom mingled with strong forward drive, and mixing a predominantly detached style of playing with seemingly carefully selected moments of legato. The relationship of this playing style to Bossi’s and Gigout’s might again be noted. The miscellaneous chorale setting of Herzlich tut mich verlangen is on #717, and an improvisation “on a theme” on #722 (not released until 1926).
Hofner died on May 19, 1912, so it was at the very end of his life and slightly before the otherwise earliest known organ recording activity by Welte with Bossi. Thus Hofner seems to have been a kind of early “trial organist” for the company. His may well also be the closest German training we will ever have to Bach’s own era—whatever musical relevance that might or might not have in these circumstances.
Diebold is represented by only one Bach piece—Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (BWV 565)—almost certainly the earliest recording we will ever possess of it. The fugue has notable differences in approach and note-readings from our practices today. Diebold’s rolls were released by Welte between 1912 and 1922. This possibly shunts him marginally later than Hofner, so perhaps he was the later to record. According to the catalogue, Seewen’s holdings and other known Welte collections, including those in the USA, Diebold played the following on Welte rolls:

Organist Johann Diebold
Welte #753* Birn, Weihnachts-Fantasie über Kommet, Ihr Hirten, op. 12
754* Böttcher, Festal Postlude
755* Faulkes, Lied, op. 136, no. 2
756* Mendelssohn, Sonata, op. 65, no. 1 in F Minor
757* Seiffert, Fantasie on a Motiv of Beethoven, op. 10
758* Tinel, Improvisata
774* Jongen, Pastorale in A Major
778* Neuhoff, Andante in E-flat Major
779* Jongen, Pastorale in A Major
780* Guilmant, Communion in A Minor, op. 45
781* Rheinberger, Romanze, op. 142, no. 2
782* Mailly, Finale aus Sonata für Orgel, D dur
783* Bach, Toccata and Fugue in D Minor
* Rolls and their scans now exist at Seewen, mostly in good playable condition.

The recordings of Ramin and Straube, the latter being the auto-prophetic author of the text quoted above, provide illuminating comparisons. The skill of the student, Ramin, at least equaled that of the master, if these rolls are any guide. Kurt Grosse is an interesting enigma—virtually unheard of today, he was one of Welte’s more prolific recording artists, with over 50 roll titles to his credit. This includes some of the epic Reger works (Fantasia on “Wachet auf ruft uns die Stimme,” op. 52, no. 2; Toccata and Fugue d/D; Fantasia and Fugue on B-A-C-H, op. 46). The
B-A-C-H is on a single roll and takes nearly 20 minutes to play; “Wachet auf” takes over 23 minutes (on one roll). Born and trained directly into the first generation of post-Brahms and Reger musicians, Grosse was mainstream Berlin organ school to the core. His playing—including some Brahms Preludes from op. 122—is a fount of challenge, example, and information.
Breitenbach was Swiss. Born in Muri/Aargau, later organist at Lucerne Cathedral, he moved mainly about the southern regions of Germany near Stuttgart. Paul Hindermann was similarly placed—he recorded rolls of Bach, Brahms, Saint-Saëns, Franck, Boëllmann, Schumann, Guilmant, Salomé, and Reger. Hindermann was a student of Rheinberger, although he plays none of his master’s works on the rolls surviving at Seewen. Nor is he listed in this connection in any known global resources we have so far seen. Hofmiller is the most prolific single Rheinberger exponent in this collection—he plays five of Seewen’s 14 Rheinberger rolls. No evidence of him playing other Rheinberger rolls has yet been found.
Mention was made above of Messner, the Salzburger. He studied in Innsbruck and Munich. Unfortunately he was not a prolific recording artist—even if some more rolls currently under calligraphic examination do turn out to be his. We certainly have a “Fugal Overture” to “Theophil” Muffat’s Suite for Organ and two works of Reger (Consolation, op. 65, and Romance in A Minor). It is just one of the many side-steps you have to take with this former musical culture when you note Muffat’s first name is given—as he sometimes did himself—as Theophil, a direct translation of Gottlieb. In this connection, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach was still attributed in the Welte catalogues with the Vivaldi/Bach D-minor concerto transcription, now known to have been by his father.
The early days of the Organ Revival can be very well chronicled through some of these rolls. The 1920–37 additions to the Britannic organ also display Organ Revival influences—although it is surprising how gently voiced the two Manual II mutation stops are. Even leaving Bach (over 80 rolls) aside, there is Eddy (playing Clérambault, Couperin), Messner (Muffat), Binninger (Georg Böhm) and others, who present us at least with interesting insights. Buxtehude is played by Ramin, Bonnet (most interestingly, being the only non-German to do so, possibly under known influences of Guilmant or Tournemire), Stark, Landmann, and Straube. William Byrd is played by ten Cate, Paul Mania includes some Couperin, Dupré and Daquin, while Bonnet also plays Frescobaldi (appearing as “Trescobaldi” once in the catalogues).
The Swiss organist Karl Matthaei was already a most remarkable pioneer of early music in the 1920s. Since then, performance of early music has taken on ever greater specialization, and seemingly also performance improvement—although anybody who wants to pass definitive public judgement on that might need to show a modicum of bravery. At any rate, it is remarkable to have Matthaei’s work preserved here. He plays Bach, Buxtehude, Hanff, Pachelbel, Praetorius, Scheidt, and Sweelinck, forming an amazing early-music oasis in this otherwise high-romantic roll collection.

Improvisations
Some of these organists improvised, too. This is again very important musical documentation in its own right, the vast majority of it otherwise unavailable. The Seewen collection lists well over 20 improvisations, including organists Dupré (mentioned above), Grosse, Hofner, Hollins, Lemare, Mania, Ramin, and Wolstenholme. One of particular interest—by Hermann Happel—is a cinema organ improvisation: Nachtstimmung.

The current state of the art and technology in Seewen
There are always caveats in roll-playing technology. For instance, nobody knows the exact speed at which Welte organ rolls actually ran (or even if they all ran at a standard speed). So tempo cannot be pinpointed to three decimal places. Nevertheless, a considerable amount of research into this topic has resulted in what has yielded a reasonably objective basis for our scanning. This checks out well against subjectively-convincing musical results.
We came to a roll transport speed of 50 mm per second over the scanner’s “tracker bar”, taking into account all our knowledge of the subject and the experience of others, including authorities such as Peter Hagmann and Nelson Barden.
After we derived this figure, we did ongoing subjective checks. The resulting playback limits of “acceptably fast or slow” are all fully credible. About 40 musicians have so far had input and have delivered this consensus. Thus, the hand-punched roll of the overture to Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro can scarcely go faster, and Grosse’s Brahms Opus 122 Chorale Preludes seem about as slow as you would normally want them. The overwhelming bulk of the machine-made Beethoven and Wagner rolls are precisely at “tempo expectations”.
The only evidence we have yet seen of different settings being required to the normal position on the organ’s speed lever is confined to a few rolls, such as Lemare’s (#1217 Siegfried-Idyll) or the complete Boëllmann Suite Gothique (on one roll #752) played by Paul Hindermann. Their boxes have a sticker on them: tempo langsam einstellen (set the tempo to slow). No further details. One presumes that means at the left end of Welte’s speed-lever scale—which is about 20% slower than “normal”. Technological problems can result from this, whether the roll is played pneumatically or scanned. Experiments in the 1960s had the Boëllmann roll played twice at differing speeds for some surviving radio recordings—but the whole system is so sensitive that changing the speed changes the registration! The roll does not play properly at the moment, either pneumatically or digitally, slow or fast.
Subjectivity, technical limitations, and variant playing paradigms still leave questions in roll speed equations. Welte’s records are lost or only vaguely defined in their entire Philharmonie heritage. There are timings marked on some roll boxes, and these are generally very close to those resulting from our scan speed of 50mm per second. Whether this is totally reliable evidence remains to be seen—multiple markings on some rolls are significantly at variance with each other. The cinema organ rolls have a high proportion of timings but some just say “4 to 5 minutes”—a 25% tolerance? The timing marked on the box of #955 (Beethoven Symphonie Pastorale IV. Satz) at 10′10″ is clearly around 7% slower than the roll-scan at 9′29″. And 7% is perceptible. So 50 mm/sec is possibly marginally too fast for this. Alternatively, the Beethoven Egmont overture (#956) is given as 8′30″ on the box, and our scan runs at 8′37″—so 50 mm/sec is fractionally too slow?
Comparison with the few acoustic recordings of the same piece by the same artist could also be a guide, but little more. Pianist Grünfeld’s (Schumann) Träumerei performance on organ roll (#516), early adaptions from original piano rolls, is three seconds longer (2′40″) than his acoustic recording (2′37″). If meaningful at all, this could indicate our 50 mm/sec is again a mite too slow? Seven minutes is written on one roll lead-in which takes 9′09″ to play—so here our choice is much too slow. Dominik Hennig (Basel/Lucerne), Daniel Debrunner, and I are currently spearheading further work in this arena. István Mátyás (Vienna) has also become involved.
We have some details of the timings of historic 78 recordings by Alfred Sittard. At the moment, only one looks to be directly comparable with the same artist’s roll recording (#1037, BWV 533, Präludium E moll), and that is 3′23″ (roll-scan) against 3′23″ (78). But the recordings were made about a decade apart, and while they seem to give fullest endorsement, the chances of achieving such split-second timing precision could also be approaching the miraculous rather than yielding scientific plausibility. Direct comparative tests on the existing Welte organ at Meggen, however, very closely endorse our chosen scan speed of 50 mm/sec.
The most likely explanations are, firstly, that Welte could not or did not hold precisely to an exact speed even if they were clearly conscious of this problem, and secondly, that such precision of tempi was simply not seen as a problem in their era.
The organ’s playing action repetition rates come into this. These are among the more objective tests available to us. In fact, these rates can be quite amazing. They are often used by Welte to give rapid orchestral tremolo effects in the big Wagner-style transcriptions (e.g., “Lohengrin selection” #642). But the firm was sometimes up to a degree of trickery here, as fast repetitions are occasionally achieved by alternating between manuals, thus doubling the limit. Even so, with hand-punched rolls they can be faster than humans can play and crisper than what seems to have been attainable from console playing. There remain obvious physical and musical limits—the diameter of holes in the paper, for one. With our current roll scanning speeds, these limits are reached but not exceeded. The geometry of rolls tugged over the tracker bar, from a take-up spool whose effective diameter increased as the music proceeded, also needs compensation from a digitizer that uses a (linear) roll-tracking pulley.
Investigations will probably be ongoing in perpetuity, but so far we seem to have achieved a convincing position. At any rate, speed adjustments and take-up spool diameter compensations in the organ’s computer allow any future, possibly better-authenticated, roll-speed figures to be applied.
It is probably significant that many who worked with these organs in the later 20th century often simply shunted the Welte pneumatic motors out and replaced them with electric motors that could take the loads more reliably. We restored the Welte roll-player pneumatic motor exactly as it was—typically with its power only barely equal to its purpose—but used fully adequate electric-motor systems for the scanner.
Another caveat is that the performances themselves are not always faultless—sometimes it is the organist, sometimes the technology. This leaves a dilemma— if we don’t make corrections, then they could sound poorly when judged solely by the standards that we are accustomed to. There seems to have been a degree of acceptance of wrong notes, variant tempi, inconsistent phrasing, registration errors and compromises, or other expedients—e.g., from playing 3-manual works on a 2-manual organ—that could well be beyond some current tolerances but were completely acceptable at the time.
Of further significance is the fact that these organists played from earlier editions. The editions are sometimes marked on the master-rolls. Notation has been read or misread, or mistakes in playing were more readily accepted. Yet composers were often still alive—or their culture was well recalled in living memory—so some organists could have been playing on a kind of “original authority” not known to us.
Leaving the performances alone, even if they seem faulty to us, is paramount. Perfection tends to be approached rather than achieved in the culture of paper roll recordings—as with CDs today for that matter. Moreover, the recording musicians, and, not least, Welte’s roll-editing staff, were all thoroughly entrenched in their own era’s musical paradigms. So anybody wanting to glean secrets from these performances is duty-bound to sit up and listen, even if—or especially if?—their credulity is stretched by non-conformity to today’s norms. Grosse, for example, five years old when Brahms died, born and trained directly into that and the Reger tradition, does not hold the lengthened notes in the op. 122 Herzlich tut mich erfreuen (#1859) and rather slavishly obeys—even exaggerates—the phrasing slurs. We could lose credibility if we played it like that today, and perhaps Grosse would have lost credibility then, but we emphatically desist from “corrections” of this kind to the scans.
No doubt, the relative perfection attainable from modern recordings and sheer professional competition have produced changes in standards and expectations. No doubt also, inherited traditions, after several generations of variant pedagogical opinion, have some part to play. What the rolls clearly demonstrate is that both playing standards and performance practices have changed. To make a metaphorical mixture out of it: at least some of today’s guru-preachers of authentic romantic organ playing might need to get back to their bibles.
Organists then were not all attuned to today’s slick playing approaches, although some, like Lemare, actually fathered them. It is also evident that varied interpretations and sometimes seemingly inaccurate, even “unrhythmic” playing were accepted. So: was it an epoch of rubato beyond that which we can now tolerate? Such freedoms are different. Or perhaps it was simply fame, justified or not, that sold roll performances, good or bad? Reger’s works seem mostly to fare better when played by others than the composer himself. Gigout, Eddy, Bossi, Lemare, the Goss-Custards, Dupré, Grosse, and Ramin are among those whose playing is particularly fine, although their interpretations are often at variance with today’s expectations.
One hand-punched roll (Welte #429) of Mozart’s well-known “mechanical organ” work, KV 608, gives some neat surprises: it promotes brisk tempi where some modern editions have perpetuated slower suggestions in parenthesis. Some organists have followed the slower option. Perhaps these parentheses were not known when the rolls were punched? Does retention of a faster tempo date back to an earlier practice, closer to Mozart’s intentions? Who put them there, why, and who follows them may be pertinent questions. The piece naturally presents itself on the Seewen organ with romantic tonal qualities, but these are overlaid with some classical performance attributes. At any rate, with apologies to myself and all good colleagues, it comes across like no organist—or two—can or would ever have played it. Thus, in performance paradigms—was this intended? At least this source is a century closer to its origins than we are now. The tempo of the opening (erstwhile “Maestoso”) section is around half note = 60, perkier than that normally heard within my earshot.

The registrations
Roll-recorded registration practices can be quite clever, with often very unexpected choices or later-edited technical manipulations. Guilmant’s “Seraphs” Cortège (#770) is registered with Harfe at the end, and a trick of roll-editing allows the double-pedaling segment on two registrations to be effectively realized. Such roll-editing clearly supported the organist in registrations corrected or enhanced during the post-recording editing processes. Lemare’s quick additions and subtractions of an 8′ in his Study in Accents (op. 64, roll #1181) may have been achieved with intervention—or not, knowing Lemare. His own endorsement given to the post-production master could hint at this: “Correct at last”. Equally his reputation for dexterous stop-manipulation could well be in evidence here.
The tendency of some Welte organists to draw the Vox Coelestis (on its own) and leave it on through all later combinations, including build-ups to plenums, is nowadays surprising. Reger plays the whole of the first section of his own Benedictus entirely on the Vox Coelestis alone—yes, without even another stop to beat with it. Moreover, he couples it to the pedals, but the rank has no sounding bottom octave, so you often hear just a vaguely-pitched Bourdon 16′ humming away in that lowest pedal octave. The Vox Coelestis clarifies the bass dramatically, but only from tenor C upwards—and then beats with it. This would be unacceptable in most organ lofts today. Yet it is the same whether we play the master roll or either of the two copy rolls we possess, whether digitally or pneumatically (#1295).
Reger’s idiosyncracies are legion in this roll collection. One wonders, when he turned up for his recordings, whether he did not adjourn immediately after his session to the local inn rather than stay on to check and edit his performances? Or maybe he had been at the inn before he made them? Quite possibly both. He had apparently not played organ for about five years when he was delivered to the studio around July 26, 1913 in that rather swank Maybach with its white-walled tires and klaxon (photo, p. 29).
Diebold, a pupil of Töpfer (1842–1929), also shares with Hofner and Gigout the honors of the first recordings and, just possibly, some residual Bach playing traditions. He held a major position in Freiburg/Breisgau and plays Mendelssohn’s first sonata complete (on one roll, #756). For the slow (second) movement he uses the Vox coelestis alone for an entire section which, on account of that same missing bottom octave, omits the C “manual-pedal-point” altogether! While that looks like a clear technical fault, we cannot afford to simply switch in a stop of our own choice to correct it. Further investigation is required, and if this is the way he played it, then no corrective action can be taken by us without at least alerts being issued.
The use of what is loosely referred to as “bells”—in fact there are two sets, both on Manual I: Harfe (xylophone) G–a3 and Glocken (tubular bells) C–g0—is also notably far more frequent than most would normally envisage today. As children of organ reform, we would probably almost never use them even if available. Yet it was an important selling-ploy of Welte’s, along with “Vox Humana”, “Tutti”, “Echo” and otherwise-identified rolls that captured the public’s imagination while draining their purses. So there could have been pressure on organists to use these stops. Some did, some did not. Bells are heard, logically enough, in Bonnet’s Angelus du Soir played by Bonnet himself (#1615), Massenet’s Scènes pittoresques: Angelus played by Samuel Baldwin (#1353), Wheeldon’s The Bells played by Goss-Custard (#2015), or the Wagner Bridal Chorus from Lohengrin (hand-punched, #642). Surprises arrive, though, in Ramin’s fine performance of Reger’s op. 129 (Prelude, #1991) or perhaps Bossi playing Dubois’ In Paradisum (#1011). The ocean, bad weather, and funerals seem to conjure up bells—Eddy in Schubert’s Am Meer (#1666) as well as Goss-Custard in William Faulkes’s Barcarole in B-flat major (#2001) or Lemmens’s Storm by Goss-Custard (#1121). And the list continues with Lemare in Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre (#1251), Erb in Guilmant’s Funeral March & Hymn of Seraphs, op. 17 (#770), and Eddy in Bossi’s Ave Maria (#1648).
The use of the Vox Humana also surprises at times, both with and without Tremulant—and that seems to be independent of “School”. Grosse playing Brahms’s chorale preludes is one notable instance. It was another Welte selling-point—proud of their rank modelled on “Silbermann”, even if it had zinc resonators. Wolstenholme’s use of it in Rheinberger’s Intermezzo (Sonate op. 119, #1546) is typical and effective. Possibly 50% of these performances use bells and/or Vox Humana at some point or other. The Harfe stop combined with Vox Coelestis is another surprise—yet this is expressly required by Karg-Elert in the printed edition of one of his works.
There is no evidence that coercion was used to force organists to choose favored stops—their use, while sometimes surprising, usually seems appropriate. The Vox Humana is occasionally used as a kind of string stop—doubly enclosed, thus allowing each of two boxes to be opened or closed. It can emit some very charming ppp dynamics down around the sound-levels of an Aeolina when both boxes are closed. It also allows useful, delicate-gritty pitch-definition to be maintained in low chords that don’t merely grumble. Grosse in Brahms’s op. 122 (Herzliebster Jesu, #1858) uses this rank well in such a context. Statistically it seems to have been far more often used then than it would ever be today—even if we still included it in our typical new organs. We seem to be “Vox-humana-clasts”, having all but eliminated one of the few organ registers that existed continuously from Renaissance through Romantic and even into cinema organs relatively unchanged. All of Welte’s organists, and the makers of hand-punched transcriptions, had a veritable field day with it.
Some of Bonnet’s interpretations are quite striking—his rubatos and/or rhythmic freedoms playing his own Berceuse (#1612) single him out. Equally so his use of the swell pedal, in an expressive playing style, at times notable for both speed and degree of dynamic change.
One other interesting example of organists and playing styles here is the much-beloved “crescendo fugue”. Alfred Sittard, a German organist, composer and musical editor, was born April 11, 1878 in Stuttgart. He studied in Cologne, then in 1903 became organist at the Dresden Kreuzkirche. In 1912 he moved to Hamburg Michaeliskirche and, in 1925, became an organ professor in Berlin, where he died on March 31, 1942. As mentioned above, he is important in early recording contexts, making 78s in the 1928–32 era. His roll recordings for Welte are much earlier: he included J. S. Bach, Franck, Händel, Liszt, Reger, Saint-Saëns, and his own Choralstudie: Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten sein. A significant influence in the early days of the organ reform movement, Sittard also edited and published music by Buxtehude, Scheidemann, and Weckmann. On Welte roll #1036 he applies the crescendo-fugue approach to the Bach G-major Fugue (BWV 541ii), working through both prelude and fugue in a little over nine minutes, a steady, unrushed performance. To the fugue he applies a “crescendo-diminuendo-crescendo-plenum” scheme, occasionally soloing voices out on Manual II. There is no associated accelerando.

The afternoons with Eugène Gigout
Singling out just one performer for special attention risks the appearance of sidelining the others, but the Seewen collection is truly massive, and demarcations need to be set for an article such as this. We could as well take Wolstenholme, Lemare, Ramin, Faulkes, Straube or any one of dozens of others.
Gigout was the earliest-born of the group invited by Welte to make the first official recordings. His session began on August 6, 1912, the last of five pioneering recording organists. Bossi, Sittard, Breitenbach, and Erb had preceded him. The next group began with Bonnet on February 6, 1913. As will be clear above, Gigout is “musical family” so my curiosity reigned supreme. As it turns out, my arrogant inverted nepotism quickly led to the humility of some unexpected revelations. What comes out of this has the broadest possible implications to the music of his age, his own music, how it was played, and specifically how he and others played it.
Functioning alongside the Lemmens-Belgian derivative school in Paris, but not being part of it himself, he also kept up good friendships with Franck and Guilmant, who were. It was a somewhat unusual cross-tradition situation. Here teacher-pupil genealogies had significance and were potential minefields. Gigout seems to have transcended the traditional in-fighting and was respected by all. Even his choice of recorded repertoire shows no sign of the polarized French organ politics of this era or later—the inclusion of one Franck and four Lemmens pieces alone is testimony to that.
He was in his “mature prime”—aged 68—when he made these recordings. He died at 81. We presume that, like Reger, he was also chauffered up in the Maybach and given the Welte “red carpet treatment”, so aptly described by Nelson Barden in his articles on Lemare.
This all places Gigout in a very important light historically. In early 2010, I found myself listening to him play—effectively “live”—on what turned out to be a number of unforgettable afternoons. The repertoire that he recorded and which survives in Seewen is listed here.

1079* Bach, Toccata, F dur
1587* Bach, Largo (Trio Sonata V)
1588* Bach, Allegro Moderato (Trio Sonata I)
1080* Bach, Präludium E-flat major
1585* Bach, In dir ist Freude
1586* Bach, O Mensch, bewein’ dein’ Sünde’ gross
1081* Boëllmann, Marche réligieuse (op. 16)
1592* Boëllmann, Sortie, C-major (op. 30, no. 5)
1591* Boëllmann, Communion B-flat-major (op. 30, no. 5)
1589* Boëllmann, Offertoire C-major (op. 29, no. 2)
1590* Boëllmann, Elévation, E-flat-major (op. 29, no. 1)
1082* Boëly, Andante con moto (op. 45, no. 7)
1595* Chauvet, Andante con moto no. 6 (arr. Dubois)
1596* Chauvet, Andantino no. 9 (arr.Dubois)
1083* Franck, Andantino G Minor
1598* Gigout, Marche réligieuse
1599* Gigout, Chant (from Suite) (“Lied” in catalogue)
1084* Gigout, Toccata
1085* Gigout, Communion
1086* Gigout, Grand Choeur dialogué
1600* Gigout, Marche de fête (Suite)
1087* Gigout, Minuetto
1597* Gigout, Marche des rogations
1601* Gigout, Fughetta
1602* Gigout, Cantilene
1603* Gigout, Allegretto Grazioso
1604* Lemmens, Scherzo (Symphony concertant)
1606* Lemmens, Fanfare
1607* Lemmens, Cantabile
1605* Lemmens, Prélude E-flat major
1608* Lemmens, Prière (“Gebet” in catalogue)
1088/9* Mendelssohn, Sonata, op. 65, no. 6 complete (on 2 rolls)
1609* Saint-Saëns, Sarabande
* indicates master-rolls.

There are four further Welte rolls known to have been cut by Gigout, but they are neither in Seewen’s possession nor in any collection we yet know of:
1090 Mendelssohn, Prelude, op. 37, no. 2
1191 Schumann, Etude, op. 56, no. 5
1593 listed as “Chauvet-Dubois”: Grand Choeur, no.1, I. livr.
1594 listed as “Chauvet-Dubois”: Andantino, no. 3, I. livr.

Bach
Gigout’s choice of Bach works is significant—with two big preludes and two trio sonata movements, he was not choosing an easy way out. His Bach playing may now be outmoded, but it is instructive: trio registrations, tempo, and general treatment in a “reserved romantic” style that allow the music mostly to be heard without undue fuss. We get the impression that he is always very conscious both of the counterpoint and of the formal structures.
In the Toccata in F (BWV 540—erroneously “E major” in the catalogue!—#1079), whatever questions about his registration there may now be, the organ itself, as always, was a major conditioner of choice. Foundational at the start—all manual flue 8′s and the Fagot 8′ (free reed) coupled—no Vox Coelestis—he makes a quick crescendo to full organ from about one minute before the end. The tempo is sprightly and the work springs to life musically, although he takes some surprising liberties in varying tempi. The ornamentation shows no modern awareness of Bach’s practice, nor is it “purely romantic,” for that matter. There are main-note trill executions and sometimes short, inverted mordents. The duration is 8′57″.
The Trio Sonata slow movement (BWV 529ii, #1587) uses the 16′ Pedal Subbass (coupled to both manuals), while Manual I (RH) consists of Vox Coelestis + Gamba, and Manual II (LH) just the Bordun 8′ + Wienerfloete 8′. He could have used a reed but chose not to—which does align with some modern thought on these matters. He starts with the box tightly shut for a lengthy period of time, then there is a degree of swell pedal manipulation. Again there are some freedoms—instabilities?—in tempo. He takes 5′40″ to play it (and concludes, omitting the short modulatory coda at the very end).
The Trio Sonata first movement (BWV 525i, #1588) is taken at a good “Allegro Moderato”—wherever that indication came from: Forkel 1802 through Griep-enkerl to France? The emphasis with Gigout is on the moderato. Freedoms at the cadential points, and some variant note-readings to today’s editions and performances are part of this item. Registration is Manual I (RH) flutes 8′ and 4′ (coupled to Pedal Subbass 16′ and Cello 8′) against Manual II Oboe 8′ (LH). There is rather a lot of swell pedal used, which could explain the relatively detached playing in the pedal against the more legato manual realizations, questioning modern approaches, which would have articulation strictly identical between manuals and pedals. Duration is 4′40″.
The E-flat major Prelude (BWV 552i, #1080) uses a big, reedy plenum alternating with second-manual flues and Oboe. There is again freedom in the rhythmic interpretation, but a rather noble and “grandiose” basic tempo is chosen. The trills are played as simple “upper mordents”. Like many of these early 20th-century performances, the artists took their time in tempi that were often, but not always, steadier than some today. Duration is 10′51″. There is no known matching roll of the fugue by Gigout.
In dir ist Freude (#1585) takes 3′38″. Both manuals are coupled to the pedals—with foundations 8′ (no 4′ or higher) including Manual I Principal and Manual II Oboe. The swell-box is open, tempo and rhythm are markedly flexible, and there are a few small variant note-readings. The plenum is brought on in a block towards the end, and the trills are then effectively upper-note trills. The roll technology needs some intervention: the pedal advance is at times disturbing. The scan is slated for further checking and possible correction, but this is not expected to change registration, tempo, agogic accent or articulation.
With O Mensch, bewein’ (#1586) we find a slow, but non-dragging tempo. The duration is 5′40″. There are many swell crescendos, the solo is on Manual I Principal + Traversfloete + Vox coelestis; this is accompanied by Manual II Wienerfloete + Aeoline, all 8′s. The pedal Subbass 16′ is coupled to both manuals, giving a very solid bass. This seems intended and occurs elsewhere—perhaps it was because he came from a French tradition of Principal-oriented pedal “Flûtes” where effects like this were more normal? At any rate, it is good fodder for nourishing further thought. The trills are main-note “lower-mordents”—mostly just single mordents. The Adagissimo is scarcely observed—little more than a trace of rallentando (with a brief crescendo and diminuendo from the expression pedal).
These two chorale preludes from the Orgelbüchlein provide some fuel for discussion. Gigout was born 94 years after Bach’s death. Naturally that gives him no open access to styles of playing in Saxony, or even correct editions, but his interpretations are not without distinction, and elements of them could well have some relevance. Similarities to the playing of his German contemporary, Hofner, and the Italian Bossi, have been noted above.

Boëllmann
Gigout, quite apart from being the teacher of Léon Boëllmann, had a close personal relationship with the whole family. This could give added significance to the following recordings.
In the Marche Religieuse (#1081, 7′42″), we have a sensitive performance with some relatively free moments, again especially around cadences. The freedoms are more frequent and crafted differently than those of his Bach: is there a small, but conscious stylistic differentiation being made here? Gigout begins on 8′s, including the Vox Coelestis. He then crosses to Manual II Bordun 8′ + Aeoline 8′ before returning to Manual I (as it was). After the initial change, he proceeds for a time, while the pedal is left coupled to a strong Manual I (Principal, Vox Coelestis, Flutes—all 8′). This again gives unusually solid pedal notes against the Manual II registrations. It all becomes rather grandiose towards the end with a reedy plenum, after which he reduces to (reedless) 16′–2′ foundations (RH on Aeoline alone). The conclusion is also notable for its highly detached articulation in the pedal.
The Sortie (2′43″, #1592) is played strongly and with much energy. The Communion (2′41″, #1591) is appropriately meditative. The Offertoire (3′48″, #1589) and Elevation (3′55″, #1590) originally gave us transposed tracks playing Manual II a semitone higher. This was simple enough to fix unobtrusively, but there remain other small problems with the rolls and consequently their scans. The timings should stand. The rest must wait until the massive logistics of this entire exercise permit.

Boëly
Andante con moto (op. 45, no. 7) is recorded on rolls by both Gigout (#1082) and Bonnet (#1203). The comparisons are instructive: Gigout registers with Vox coelestis and Traversfloete on Manual I, sometimes with Bourdon 16′, and with 8′ Aeoline, Viola and 4′ Blockfloete (RH solo) on Manual II. The second last chord is played on Manual II, but there is no echo passage at the end, at least not as there is with Bonnet. Tone is strengthened for a time towards the middle of the piece by Gigout’s addition of Principal 8′ (Manual I) and the double-bass-like tones of the Violonbass 16′ (Pedal). Bonnet, on the other hand, uses the Traversfloete 8′ and Vox coelestis 8′ on Manual I in a similar manner, but never changes it until he removes the Traversfloete for the echo at the end (leaving the Vox coelestis drawn alone—sic!). On the second manual he draws Viola 8′ and Wienerfloete 8′ and makes a more definite and lengthy closing echo passage—an entire phrase rather than just the final chord or two. No manual couplers are used by either organist and only I/Ped is drawn supplementing the Subbass 16′on the pedals. Bonnet’s 3′23″ contrasts with Gigout’s 2′57″ in a noticeable 12–13% tempo difference. Gigout’s slurring is slightly more conscious and expressive.
These two performances are broadly consistent with each other, but the differences are illuminating. They are both, judged subjectively from today’s vantage point, within fair limits of representing authentic “school” manifestations. What is at least equally important is that they also show how variant interpretations were just as much part of that “school” as conformity to norms ever was.

Chauvet/Dubois
The Dubois transcriptions of Chauvet are a phenomenon of their epoch, apparently rather liked by Guilmant, who included them on his programs. The Andante con moto is played freely by Gigout (#1595, 3′31″), with some quite beautifully shaped phrases, while the Andantino (#1596, 3′51″) is similarly endowed with a sensitive rubato, phrasing, and fine feeling for the melodic lines that characterize this piece. It is all rather clever—you quickly forget they are arrangements. Gigout plays fewer transcriptions than most of the other Welte organists relative to his recorded output.

Franck
Gigout playing Franck—lamentably only the one piece—must be a precious jewel in the entire history of recording. We have many other organists playing his music, but, frankly, none with quite this pedigree. They are barely a generation apart and co-existed in the same school, same city, on good terms with each other for decades; Gigout grew up in Franck’s culture. This puts another aura of special credibility on this recording.
The Andantino in G Minor (#1083) plays very well. Of interest is the eternal articulate or note-commune (or similar) question: “precedence to counterpoint or to harmony”? Here it seems to be harmony, judged by some octave leaps in the left hand to notes that the pedal is already playing. They are not lifted and repeated.
Registration summary: accompaniment commences on Vox Coelestis (alone), solo on Manual II Wienerfloete and Vox Humana (with Man II/Man II Superoctave). Mid-section he adds the Traversfloete to Man I. Here the upper voice is soloed by playing it in octaves—he either achieves an uncanny legato control here or Welte is assisting in the editing processes. At any rate the “solo” and accompaniment on the one manual is very effectively contrived in this way. The Pedal Subbass 16′ is coupled to Man I (again no point in coupling the bottom octave to the Vox Coelestis, but there it is). Next solo section is on same Man I and Pedal registration as first, but Manual II is now Oboe alone and no octave coupler. For the penultimate section he uses Man I and II coupled (giving Travers-
floete + Vox Coelestis + Wienerfloete and Horn—all 8′s). Then the Oboe replaces the Horn. The conclusion is just Aeoline and Vox Coelestis. There is not a lot of swell expression, but what is there is effective and the lack of it at times good contrast. This reminds us of Franck’s Third Choral in the middle section, where at one moment he indicates no “nuances,” only to make a most poignant and beautiful contrast when he does. The tremulant is not once used. Gigout takes 7′42″ to play the Andantino.

Lemmens
Once again we have an unusual authority in these recordings—music of this Belgian founder of the French School being played by a first-generation exponent.
In the Scherzo (“Scherzo Symphony concertant” in the catalogue, #1604, 4′59″) he gives a masterly performance, very expressive, if unhurriedly played. Gigout’s mastery is tangible. His arpeggiation of the chords begins slowly and then moves more quickly, producing a quite striking musical interpretation. A romantically imaginative treatment of the melodic line is also evident, along with freedoms and rubatos that captivate us while still leaving the lingering impression of a vestigial classically disciplined approach.
This tilting to the classical is well illustrated in the Fanfare (#1601 and # 4513). Some might be familiar with Gigout’s playing of it on the Linz-am-Rhein organ from the EMI CDs, but, while the tempo and articulation are in concordance, the registration there is not at all what Gigout heard when he recorded it. While some organists today understandably love to play Lemmens’ Fanfare, it is interesting to compare some performances with Gigout’s. He takes 3′07″, giving it a stately rendition, certainly compared to some who seem to be attempting a speed record for the piece. Gigout’s performance demonstrates ever so clearly how tempo is critical to successful phrasing, and how phrasing, alongside speed, is his key to playing this piece. The more constant legato (or glossed-over legato slurring) of some modern performances—partly enforced by their fast tempi—also conjures up important comparisons: Gigout’s articulation is once again here what we could consider as looking back towards the 18th century. It is mostly quite distinctively detached, but he graces this with an expressive legato in special “purposeful slurring” at clearly-selected moments. His targeting and treatment of these—most notably at cadential points—stems from the music itself but his interpretation is distinctive, structured and precise, part of Gigout’s general style and nowhere better heard than here.
In the Cantabile (#1607, 5′35″) his registration is Manual I Traversfloete, Manual II Bordun and Aeoline 8′ to start with (RH solos). Later the Principal 8′ is added to Manual I. Pedal Subbass 16′is coupled to Manual I throughout. The end returns to the initial registration. He uses much swell expression coupled with some neatly romantic rhythmic freedoms.
For the Prélude in E-flat major (#1605) the registration is: Pedal Subbass 16′, Cello 8′, Man II 8′ Viola and Aeoline, and Manual I Fagott, Prinzipal and Vox Coelestis (all 8′)—Man I/Ped and Man II/I. This is another masterly and strikingly beautiful performance by Gigout. The scanned roll plays remarkably well. Gigout takes 4′42″ to play it.
Prière (#1608, 3′18″): For this erstwhile “Vox Humana en Taille”, his registration is Manual II (LH) Vox Humana 8′ + Aeoline 8′, Manual I (RH) Vox Coelestis 8′(on its own—sic!) with Pedal Subbass 16′ coupled to both manuals. The swell box is open; all is registered without tremulant. Again he employs much expression pedal, sometimes manipulating it rather faster and more dramatically than we might expect. We are reminded here of the few early references to swell manipulation, for instance Handel as reported by J. Hess “struggling with the new device” in London. Broadly speaking, the era of 18th-century nag’s head swells was followed by one of trigger and ratchet devices in the 19th century and balanced swell pedals in the 20th with all their “logarithmic” and “fine-tuning” capabilities as well as allowing the foot to be removed and the set dynamic remain. Although the Welte swell was balanced, there are hints that Gigout might still have manipulated it a little like a 19th-century French ratchet device. Sometimes in these roll recordings, other organists also play in this manner: a little more gross than subtle. It does pose the question as to whether, in an era of historic performance consciousness, we should be differentiating our swell pedal techniques according to delineated 18th, 19th, or 20th century practices. This is just one of the many cans of paradigmatic worms opened up by this world of roll recordings.

Mendelssohn
Sonata op. 65, no. 6 (complete sonata on two rolls #1088 and #1089). This recording was an early Welte release from 1913. As with some others of that vintage, the pedal is advanced to a point of audible discomfort. Accordingly, this is one slated for corrective treatment, after which a better impression of the original performance should be available. That aside, Gigout opens with a reedy combination; then, for the flute and pedal section, he uses his characteristic “expressive articulation”. The swell expression is again a chapter in itself—perhaps a little exaggerated by some modern standards?—but the entire performance is a useful revelation of Mendelssohn interpretation in the immediate post-Mendelssohn era. Gigout, born just three years before the much-traveled Mendelssohn died, was a first-generation inheritor of that musical world.
The arpeggiated chords section (“Allegro molto”) is taken at about half note = 55—slower than the 69 that might be expected from available editions today. The freedom in Gigout’s arpeggiation is again notable, and two curious appoggiaturas are also heard in this section. A few problems linger—possibly from the early development of this technology, possibly uncorrected mistakes, and, just possibly, Gigout’s actual intentions. There are some variant note-readings to today’s norms, e.g., the soprano “A” in bar 43 for example is held right over and only broken just before the last-beat “D” in bar 44; the pedaling from bar 55 is not always exactly as marked.
This was an interesting choice for early release by Welte: French-Gigout playing in the German-Mendelssohn repertoire stream. Object lessons may also be found in his adaptation of this work to an early 20th-century German organ. The chorale solo after the beginning is played on Manual I Traversfloete 8′ + Gamba 8′ + Vox coelestis 8′. It is very effective. The second movement Fuga following really does start “forte”—both Manual II Oboe and Manual I Fagott are included and the swell box is entirely open. At bar 64 an F-sharp instead of F-natural (alto part) is played. The final movements are registered distinctly more reedily than many modern performances—partly occasioned by the organ’s resources, partly by Gigout’s free choice. A fine playing sensitivity in the last movement is well evident.
The complete sonata takes nearly 17 minutes to play. Roll one (1st and 2nd movements) is 10′37″ of music, and roll two (3rd and 4th movements) 6′07″.
Was Welte in something of a hurry to get this roll out? If so, it might also explain the fairly coarse pedal advance and other compromises. Mendelssohn formed a major block in the Welte catalogue and was clearly very important there for his place in German musical culture. Erb had recorded the Midsummer Night’s Dream Wedding March, which was released 1912, and Köhl followed in 1913 with Sonata in C Minor, op. 65, no. 2. But the former was relative trivia and the latter did not represent the truly great interpreter that Gigout offered. Harry Goss-Custard, Clarence Eddy, and Edwin Lemare’s later releases of 1914–16 did much to fan the “Mendelssohn transcription” flames, but very little to represent the sonatas. So it was Gigout, the Frenchman, left to fill this breach with Mendelssohn interpretation until the post-WWI releases. Even then, the offerings mostly included transcriptions and only the odd movement, never again a complete sonata.

Saint-Saëns
Sarabande: this roll (#1609, 3′17″) also gave us a few problems on account of paper movement and distortion, the results of aging, humidity, and other factors, which caused one manual to be transposed a semitone and some small “glitches” of probably little enduring consequence. The transposition fixed, it is evident that this performance also allows interesting comparisons; for, in spite of the classical form—and articulation patterns with 18th-century echoes?—he gives it an overriding romantic treatment endorsing our earlier assessment concerning his stylistic consciousness.

Gigout plays Gigout
Gigout playing his own music is, naturally, of paramount importance. With these rolls we are the fortunate inheritors of much unique material. In general, he seems to move his pieces well along in tempo (of relevance might also be his slightly faster tempo than Bonnet for Boëly’s Andante con moto mentioned above). He shows ties back to 18th-century practices, partly through the repertoire forms he uses (Minuet, Fughetta, March) as well as certain elements of their musical styles. It is evident that his own playing is positioned squarely between “18th-century articulate” and “19th-century legato”—not, however, a general compromise between the two, more a deliberate application of one or other at given moments.

Marche réligieuse (#1598, 4′27″)
He commences on foundations with Manual I Fagott 8′ (a free reed), then crescendos to full organ: the performance fringes nicely on the grandiose and there are some tasteful rhythmic freedoms worthy of observation.

Lied (from Suite) (#1599, 7′39″)
This starts with Manual I 8′s, Vox Coelestis + Traversfloete; he later adds the (manual) 16′ then Principal 8′. The Aeoline 8′ on its own in Manual II accompanies for a time, after which a series of slightly varied foundational registrations follow.
The Manual I Bourdon 16′ was interestingly not available on the original 1909 recording organ, but we know this was modified and some of it reportedly changed under Lemare’s influence. Lemare seems to have first been there, however, after Gigout—although there is prima facie evidence that he might have included this stop in his registration schemes. Either Welte had already included it well before Gigout’s 1912 arrival or there is the possibility of a technical error or an intervention through which the company “re-registered” the piece themselves later. So far there is no significant evidence that the company did this, other than at the behest of the artist, although we know they were perfectly capable of all manner of editing: notes or stops, in or out.

Toccata in b minor (#1084, 2′58″)
This famous work, as played by Gigout himself, is a most interesting exposition of his intentions as well as his flexibility in creative adaption given the resources available. The registration includes Harfe on the main manual (they actually perceptibly sound through in the first section as the pedal is already coupled to Manual I but he plays on Manual II). In fact, the pedal is only used as a manual I and II “pulldown”—just 8′ pitches—until he brings on the Posaune 16′ (alone) for the final chords.
It may eventually be shown that the bells are company intervention or some technical fault that has eluded us. Their presence or absence in the Weil-am-Rhein recording may or may not be of relevance for all sorts of reasons. It has, however, been checked thoroughly by all of us involved—many times—and for the moment we can come to no other conclusion than that they are there as Gigout’s intention or at least with his blessing. Judged in relation to the rest of the collection, this would certainly be the kind of repertoire for which bells might be used. To give a further glimpse into this world of roll-recordings in direct relation to this question, there are some cryptic markings on many of our master rolls—including this one—that are yet to be fully interpreted. These enigmatic details relate to the Harfe, Vox humana, rarely Tremulant and sometimes other stops, occasionally also “Tutti” or “Echo”. They seem to be a check on important aspects of registration, organ models, and appear to endorse the use of some stops which “sold” these organs and their rolls. It is obvious that they were reviewing them for some reason or other in the 1923–1926 era. Similar markings seem to relate to adjustments they did in the crescendos and pedal. On the box of this toccata it gives “Harfe”, on the master-roll lead-in it gives “H ung.f.V.h 23” (Harfe ungeeignet für Vox Humana 23 [Harp unsuitable for Vox Humana 1923]) and “Tutti”. The H is specifically underlined. Make of it all what you will, but all roads seem to lead to the Rome of bells (Harp) being used in this piece quite intentionally. As might be expected from a tradition not so noted for including bells in their specifications, this Toccata is probably a lone example in Gigout’s recordings (although see below Marche des rogations).

Communion (#1085, 4′10″)
Gigout uses the Vox coelestis combined only with the Traversfloete (rather than another string, or Principal).

Grand Choeur dialogué (#1086)
The tempo is relatively sprightly here, with a 5′20″ duration for the entire piece. He takes some notable tempo freedoms and there is no shirking the double-pedaling or any other difficult technical aspects of this work. Gigout plays it as he wrote it except for one moment where the pedal is slightly changed—seemingly either a lapse on his part or editing/technology—and there are elsewhere some slightly variant note readings for whatever reason. But the work is overwhelmingly played intact and true to its published text. The Seewen organ suits it rather well with its strong Trumpet 8′ on the second manual: the manuals are coupled, the second is every bit the equal of the first. Thus the final effect tends to be an addition or subtraction mainly of Manual I foundational weight, aided and abetted by the 16′ Clarinet on Manual II (from tenor G up) when he plays on the main manual. Some subtle but perceptible sound-source shifts from side to side, reflecting the organ’s windchest placements may also be detected, promoting the “dialogué” aspects. It keeps an equality of balance while still offering distinction in tonal effect and sound location. Nevertheless he adds and removes stops, increasing the effect of “dialogué” (actually removing some before the end).
In the pedal he desists from using the Posaune 16′ at all, nor is any form of octave coupling evident (it was available). In fact the piece is dynamically slightly more restrained than it could have been, most notably leaving the main manual Trumpet and the Pedal Posaune off—in other words it is not played with the full tutti available from the organ, showing that Grand Choeur does not necessarily mean absolutely everything.

Marche de fête (from Suite) (#1600, 7′05″)
This is another excellently articulated and finely chiseled performance in Gigout’s more grandiose manner. The rolls account for two of the three works in this Suite.

Minuetto (#1087, 4′53″)
Here he plays the solo on the Clarinet 16′ at the start of the “A”-sections, and uses a purposeful, detached articulation in the pedal along with some notable freedoms that clearly draw this to our attention. The pedal advance is noticeable and needs correction. His rubatos and rallentandos are interesting—sometimes there is a characteristic short pause-and-dwell before launching into a new phrase. Tempo borders on brisk, shattering some slower concepts of “Minuet” perhaps, but the piece moves along convincingly.

Marche des rogations (#1597, 3′51″)
This needed some correction of a transposed track, and the roll-scan is not yet ready to play with full technical certainty, but his articulate performance style is again indisputably evident. Transposed tracks and apparent paper warpage leave questions as to whether his use of bells is really correct. For the moment, however, it seems quite possible and works well since only the Glocken (C–f#0) is drawn, giving a 3-manual effect with Manual I bass + Manual I treble + Man II).

Fughetta (#1601, 2′34″)
This was first published in 1913, the year after he had recorded it for Welte. Another neat Gigout performance, it moves along energetically and displays his characteristic articulation-and-slurring mix using a slightly reedy registration—both Manual I Fagott 8′ and Manual II Oboe 8′ are added to strong foundations at 16′ in pedal and 8′ in manual.

Cantilène (#1602, 4′08″)
A very tasteful, expressive performance. As accompaniment Manual I Traversfloete 8′ + Vox Coelestis 8′, later adding Principal 8′, RH solo on Oboe 8′+ Wienerfloete and Bourdon 8′s. The Pedal Subbass 16′ is coupled to Manual I. He applies almost constant, but tasteful, swell expression, and there are some interesting, not entirely predictable playing freedoms.

Allegretto Grazioso (#1603, 3′34″)
The RH Solo is on the Wienerfloete, sometimes with Oboe and Horn (the latter is a remarkable large-scaled flue rank). The LH accompaniment is on the Traversfloete 8′ + Vox coelestis 8′, with Principal 8′ added for a time. Pedal registration is Bourdon 16′ coupled to Manual I (LH). The interpretation is in a similar style to that of the Cantilène.

Most of Welte’s organists play their music relatively “straight”—that is, without a lot of obvious interpretative freedom in tempo, articulation, rhythm, ornamentation, or rubato. With some, it is even as if they were sight-reading and had not considered the formal structures, subtleties, or even cadences, or, if they did, then they don’t appear to want to do much about them. Gigout is one of the more notable exceptions to this. Yet even he had limits that confined his interpretations mostly to relatively conservative boundaries, certainly by some of today’s more exaggerated standards. In the light of recent research, we can probably say that Gigout was not on solid ground with his 18th-century ornamentation. What he does demonstrate, however, is a romantic tradition and a notable variety of approach to styles.
Notwithstanding the caveats, we have here clear insights into Gigout’s entire musical environment and particularly just how he expected his own music and the traditions surrounding him to sound. As ever, we are free to take or leave the evidence of these rolls with impunity, but those looking for direct sources of playing paradigms for this era will welcome these recordings. Interestingly, the Swiss organist Franz Josef Breitenbach (Lucerne Cathedral) and German Thaddäus Hofmiller (Augsburg Cathedral) also recorded one roll each of Gigout’s music for Welte: Breitenbach the Scherzo, Hofmiller the Marche funèbre. These also have distinctive value in the larger Gigout picture available here.

Conclusion
Posterity may well bestow no laurels upon mimesis: but laurels are due to the whole sequence of events and visionary people who, by an extraordinary 20th century cultural-preservation miracle, have safely delivered this full-sized Philharmonie linked with the largest roll collection left in the world today as a symbiotic musical entity into the 21st century. The performances of these organists can once again be heard and studied, and Straube’s “moment of metaphysical experience” is available to us in a more enduring form than ever it was. ■

The Museum at Seewen is committed to making these performances accessible. Already many public and private, national and international, visits, demonstrations, and symposiums for organists, organ societies, organ students, and teachers have taken place. More are planned as well as some CD releases—three in 2011 on the OehmsClassics label—but the volume of material means that not everything can be published, certainly not immediately.
In the meantime, scholars, organists, organ teachers and their classes are very welcome. However, the playing of these performances is not part of the museum’s regular guided tours except for a few selected demonstration pieces. So, visitors hoping to hear these rolls will want to make special arrangements. From now, through 2011–12, anyone with a serious scholarly interest should make initial contact through me at <A HREF="mailto:[email protected]">[email protected]</A>.
From 2011, a major centennial exhibition commemorating the appearance of the Welte Philharmonie at Turin in 1911 will be mounted by the Seewen Museum. Information is posted at <A HREF="http://www.bundesmuseen.ch/musik automaten/presse/00108/00109/index">www.bundesmuseen.ch/musik automaten/presse/00108/00109/index</A>.
html?lang=en>.
This will include symposium-style sessions dedicated to specific organists and aspects of organ playing. Details will be posted.
You can hear examples of
• #1274, Lemare playing Gounod’s Queen of Sheba: March and Cortege
• #1084, Gigout playing his own Toccata in B Minor
• #1106, Goss-Custard playing Elgar Imperial March, op. 32
• #717, Hofner playing the Bach Prelude on Herzlich tut mich verlangen (BWV 727)
at the following web-sites:
<www.david rumsey.ch> or
<www.musikautomaten.ch&gt;

Acknowledgements
Christoph Haenggi, Director of the Seewen (SO/CH) Museum der Musikautomaten
Brett Leighton, Linz (A), who read this through and offered many important enhancements
Nelson Barden, Boston (USA)
Jim Crank, Redwood City, CA (USA)
Marco Brandazza, Lucerne (CH) custodian of the Meggen Welte and its collection of rolls
Gerhard Dangel, Augustiner Museum, Freiburg/Breisgau (D)
Daniel Debrunner, Biel (CH)
David Gräub, Biel (CH)
Dominik Hennig, Basel (CH)
István Mátyás, Vienna (A)
Hans Musch, Freiburg/Breisgau (D)
Lars Nørremark, Denmark (DK)
Jean-Claude Pasché, Theatre Barnabé, Servion (CH)
Christoph Schmider, Direktor Archepiscopal Archives, Freiburg/Breisgau (D)
and to my wife, Elizabeth, and many others, including the entire Geisterhand team, my sincere gratitude for shared expertise, support and ongoing work in this field.

*

An abbreviated history of recording
(with particular reference to the organ)

1870s–1900: Pioneers of acoustic recording; the cylinder
1877: American inventor Thomas A. Edison developed the “talking machine.” As commercially offered, it could both record and reproduce sound using wax cylinders.
1887: Emile Berliner filed a U.S. patent for a “Gramophone” (using discs instead of cylinders.)
1888–1894: Cylinders were sold, e.g., with readings by Tennyson and Browning. Brahms recorded one of his Hungarian rhapsodies. Josef Hofmann and Hans von Bülow recorded piano music.
1890: Magnetic (wire) recording was first explored by Danish engineer Valdemar Poulsen.
1894: Charles and Émile Pathé established a recording business near Paris. They issued cylinders. By 1904 the catalogue contained ca. 12,000 titles. Berliner began manufacturing his gramophones, founding the “Victor” firm. Their recordings (many novelty items) became popular, especially from coin-in-the-slot machines.
1897: The pianola was patented by E.S. Votey—originally a limited form of Vorsetzer.

1900–1910: “78” era; piano roll-recordings
From 1902 a marked rise in public interest occurred, particularly with recordings of Italian tenor, Enrico Caruso. The fortunes of Victor waxed.
1904: The Welte firm perfected and marketed their Vorsetzer, which was integrated into the “Welte-Mignon” piano from 1905. The recording and issue of piano-roll performances now became a good commercial prospect, although more the province of the rich. Early artists included Cortot, Paderewski, Debussy, Rachmaninoff, Rubinstein, Grainger, Gershwin.
By 1910 possibly 85 percent of recorded music was classical.

1910–20: The acoustic boom
Birth of organ roll recordings

With the phonograph an early mass-media phenomenon was created, no longer just the province of the rich. The “78” (78 disc revolutions per minute) recording fully replaced the earlier wax cylinders and became entrenched as standard. Originally made from shellac—later synthetic thermoplastic resins gave better results with less “surface noise”—they came in 10-inch and 12-inch sizes, the largest of which were capable of durations extending to about 41⁄2 minutes.
by 1912: The first roll recordings of organists were made by Welte in Germany—but ownership of player organs was virtually the sole province of highly affluent individuals, institutions, or companies. Some (rare) early gramophone recordings of organists were made in England and the first complete symphonies were recorded in Germany: solo instrumentalists and opera singers followed with excerpts and potpourris.
1914–1919: Phonograph sales quintupled. Original composition also began for player piano, which sometimes attracted leading composers (Stravinsky, Étude for Pianola 1917). Later Hindemith (Toccata for mechanical piano 1926) and others, notably George Antheil (Le Ballet mécanique, 1926) and Conlon Nancarrow continued this genre of recorded music. Only two roll-composed works for mechanical organ are known: the experimental stage piece, Triadischen Ballett by Oskar Schlemmers (1888–1943) was revised by Hindemith in 1927 as Suite für mechanische Orgel but survives only in an early recording (available on CD) and Studie for mechanical organ by Ernst Toch (1887–1964) which appears to have been lost.
1917: The “Victor” label increased its sales with classical releases, especially popular from their collaboration with the Philadelphia Orchestra conducted by Leopold Stokowski.
All early commercial sound recording and reproduction to this point was achieved solely by acoustical means.

1920s: Electrical recording, broadcasting; roll recordings
From the early 1920s the vacuum-tube (“valve”), invented by Lee De Forest, paved the way for applications such as the amplifier and the record-cutting lathe. Microphones, earphones and loudspeakers now replaced the old needles and acoustical horns, while turntable drives shifted from the wind-up spring to the electric motor. The recording of “classical” music increased greatly but popular music and jazz also established their places. American and German scientists developed Poulsen’s earlier wire recording technology and researched the potential for magnetic tape as an alternative medium to wire.
1923: An optical system of sound recording was invented by De Forest—of special relevance to sound films.
From 1925 electrical recording quickly predominates.
1926: Radio broadcasting is introduced and music becomes far more freely available to all classes of society.
1926–30: After a decade or so of more experimental organ recordings some early organ recordings appear, taking advantage of the newly available electrical technology (Alcock, Darke, Bullock, Palmer, Roper, Marchant, Thalben-Ball—the most notable in England was Harry Goss-Custard who had already recorded on Welte rolls). Edwin Lemare, another Welte player-roll recording artist, later made discs in the USA.
1928 (November): Louis Vierne made 78s at Paris, Notre Dame Cathedral.
Around 1930 in Germany, Walter Fischer made 78s of Rheinberger and Händel organ concertos in an unidentified location, but generally thought to be the Berliner Dom. Alfred Sittard—who had recorded on Welte rolls released from 1913 onwards—made some 78 recordings between 1928–32 in Berlin (Alte Garnisonskirche) and Hamburg (Michaeliskirche). Six of Sittard’s recording titles are duplicated on both roll and disk (two Bach, three Handel, one work of his own).
1930–1: Charles Tournemire made recordings at Paris, Saint Clôtilde.
From 1929 onwards the great economic depression threw the recording industry into serious decline: dance music recordings played on jukeboxes helped sustain a contracted market throughout the 1930s. The vogue of the player piano and player organ began to decline with this and the increasing popularity of the radio and phonograph, although player piano culture survived to a remarkable degree through the mid-20th century.

1945–1970: Microgroove recordings; tape
After World War II, magnetic systems were brought to full technological acceptability (the “tape recorder” era began and the use of wire declined). Similarly constant improvements in optical systems endowed motion pictures with ever higher quality sound.
1948: The “long-playing” record was first introduced (LP 331⁄3 revolutions per minute, for a time also a 45 rpm format); discs made of “vinyl” took over and the “78” quickly disappeared from production. Available maximum playing times increased to 20–25 minutes (about the maximum capacity of some of the rolls from 30 years earlier).
1958: Provision of two separate channels of recorded information in the one groove ushered in the era of “binaural” (stereophonic) recording. This became standard.
The era of “hi-fi” particularly boosted organ disc recordings, which had suffered badly from inadequate technology hitherto. This led to a notable increase in “complete” (e.g., Walcha playing Bach) works and comprehensive anthologies of organ music and organs.
Tape also was used for video recordings.

1970s: Digital
1970s: Digital recording technology displaced analogue and took over the industry (quadraphonic and similar experiments followed but were mostly unsuccessful except in cinemas).
In the late 20th century the player-piano concept was reinvented and applied; e.g., Yamaha’s “Disklavier,” which offered self-recording, and selected performances by artists from Horowitz to Liberace.
1980s: Fully digital compact discs (CDs) were introduced; they dominated the market by the 1990s. Playing time increased to over an hour. Digital editing and mixing techniques also evolved to produce a highly-packaged sound quality.
By the early 21st century, DVDs had also become a factor in sound and video recording as well as mass information storage. Their playing time could now cope with almost any extended musical form, including videos of operas. Recording to computer hard drives and memory sticks recently became an option and seems set to quickly become a new standard.

The Origins of Seewen’s Welte-Philharmonie

David Rumsey and Christoph E. Hänggi

Christoph E. Hänggi studied musicology, arts and history in Basel and Zürich (Ph.D.), later obtaining his Executive Master in Corporate Management. He is a member of the Swiss Musicology Society and was from 1990 to 1992 Head of Music for a classical radio station in Switzerland. From 1993 to 2003 he worked for the Bertelsmann Music Group (BMG), where he became Director International of a BMG Classics label in Munich. In June 2003 he was appointed Director of the Museum der Musikautomaten in Seewen SO, which is under the aegis of the Swiss Federal Office for Culture.
David Rumsey studied organ in Australia, Denmark, France and Austria. He rose to a senior lectureship in the Australian university system from 1969–1998, also pursuing an international teaching, concert and consulting career as an organist. He worked in various cross-disciplinary fields, especially linking broadcasting, drama and music, arranging a number of major presentations and seminars. In 1998, after mounting a 14-hour spectacle on the life of Bach with actors in period dress and musicians playing historic instruments, he left Australia and settled around 2002 in Basel, Switzerland, where he continues to work as an organist and consultant.

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Background
The Welte Company was a German firm, first established in 1832 at Vöhrenbach (in the Black Forest) by automata manufacturer Michael Welte (1807–1880). About 1865 he moved to Freiburg im Breisgau and registered there as M. Welte & Söhne. During the remainder of the 19th century, the firm expanded considerably and became particularly noted for its orchestrions. In 1904 Edwin Welte (1876–1958, grandson of the founder) invented the Vorsetzer, and from that By 1909 a recording organ had been built for Welte’s studios in Freiburg. The Philharmonie was displayed in November 1911 at the Turin Exhibition in Italy. Welte successfully went on to market player organs, cinema organs, cinema player organs and, later, when that market contracted during the 1930s, church organs. They issued punched paper roll recordings dated between 1912 and 1930 of performances by the great organists of the day, and sold them with considerable commercial success. From 1865–1917 they also ran a branch in New York (M. Welte & Sons) under Emil Welte (1841–1923, eldest son of the founder), but it was closed during World War I as an “alien enterprise.” Edwin Welte’s sister, Frieda, married Karl Bockisch (1874–1952), who was active in the firm from 1893 onwards. He later assumed a leading role and became a partner.
Player organs became status symbols of the rich. They were the epitome of home entertainment in their day and, along with orchestrions, were manufactured in both Europe and the USA by a number of specialist firms. Welte instruments were installed in homes, palaces, schools, department stores and one was apparently even in a luxurious “house of pleasure” (the Atlantic Garden orchestrion). Apart from Europe and the USA, Welte’s market is known to have extended to Turkey, Russia, China and Sumatra. The Sumatran instrument was broken up and lost in 1985.
Around 1926 Welte began to be threatened by a rapidly growing radio and recording industry. Business declined so much that in 1932 the firm only narrowly escaped bankruptcy. At this time they were also engaged in a collaboration with the Telefunken Company involving the development of electronic organs, using analog sampling, glass plates and photo-cells. It was a prophetic development for that time. The collaboration had to be terminated because Edwin Welte’s first wife, Betty Dreyfuss, was Jewish. Had Welte been successful, they might well have eliminated the Hammond organ from the pages of history.
World War II finally precipitated the total demise of the firm. Apart from being blacklisted by the Nazis, the Freiburg premises—all but a few scraps of stock, instruments and historical documents—were annihilated by Allied bombing in November 1944. The ruined Welte factory was something of a landmark next to the Freiburg railway station until the mid-1950s. No trace of it remains today—a housing estate replaced it.

Time lines

1902–3
Olympic and Titanic were first planned. Orchestrions and other mechanical musical instruments had long been available.

1908
December 16: Olympic’s keel was laid.

1909
Welte’s first Philharmonie recording organ was built in their Freiburg studios.
March 31: Titanic’s keel was laid.

1910
October 20: Olympic was launched.

1911
May 31: Titanic was launched; Olympic was delivered to the White Star Line.
November: the Philharmonie was publicly demonstrated at the Turin exhibition and the company’s order book opened.
November 30: Britannic’s keel was laid.

1912
April 1: Titanic’s trials first were scheduled.
April 15: Titanic’s sinking.
Work ceased on Britannic pending the Titanic inquiry, after which some changes to design were made, mainly safety items.
Welte first made their Philharmonie available in a range of specific models.

1913
Welte consolidated their organ designs, including modifications to their 1909 Freiburg recording organ, possibly on advice from Edwin Lemare (Kurt Binninger, 1987). Variant models became available in the same year, including the largest, as represented by the Seewen instrument, whose specification well matches the Freiburg recording organ of 1909. Manufacture began in earnest. This gave ample time to build Britannic’s organ. Since work on the ship was delayed, even more time became available.

1914
February 26: Britannic was launched and her fitting-out begun.
July 28: beginning of World War I.
August: the ship became subject to requisitioning by the Admiralty; work was again “slowed.”

1915
May: mooring trials were undertaken; Britannic was on standby for military service.
November 13: Britannic was officially requisitioned as a hospital ship and fitted out accordingly.
December 11: Britannic sailed to England and entered service on the 23rd.

1916
November 21: Britannic hit a German mine and sank off the Greek island of Kea (Tzia) in the Aegean Sea.

The Seewen Britannic organ
Until recently it was unclear exactly when the organ now preserved at the Museum für Musikautomaten was originally built. The museum contains a major collection dedicated to mechanical musical instruments and musical automata, and is located at Seewen, Switzerland (http://www.landesmuseen.ch/e/seewen/index.php). 1912–1920 were the considered limits since such instruments had only just come out of their development stages in 1912, and the Seewen instrument was definitely known to have existed by 1920. Internal evidence such as specification, roll formats, pipe construction, comparison with similar instruments and known availability led us to moot a dating of about 1913 as most likely.
It is a variant of Welte’s “Grundmodell V–VI,” having a two-manual and pedal console with stop tabs and a roll-mechanism for automatic playing. From 1920 it is well documented. However, signposts to its pre-1920 history turned up in the course of restoration work during March 2007. In cleaning some normally unseen wooden beams around the original windchests, the word “Britanik” was found inscribed in four places. By late May 2007, more inscriptions were found, bringing the total to six.
The console is not, or not completely, original. An earlier console would naturally have been modified or even replaced in 1920 or 1937 when the organ was slightly enlarged. The present console, however, gives the impression of having re-utilized at least some of the earlier components.

Organs aboard ships
During the mid-19th century, beginning with calliopes, keyboard musical instruments increasingly came to be featured on the river boats, yachts and ocean liners of Europe and North America. Jules Verne’s 1869–70 novel Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea contains a reference to Captain Nemo playing a pipe organ installed on his ship Nautilus. From fiction to fact took a little time. Harmoniums and grand pianos were featured in such vessels as the Cunard line’s Campania and Lucania (both 1893). Campania even had false pipes arranged, as was sometimes the custom with harmoniums, to make it look like a pipe organ. The race for luxurious on-board musical entertainment was gradually intensified. It became a serious pursuit in the greatest luxury liners of the early 20th century. In their catalogue of c1913–14, Welte identified and illustrated a number of piano and organ installations, including player pianos such as the Welte-Mignon, aboard yachts and ships. Their New York branch installed at least one orchestrion, “operated by electric motor,” aboard the Pocahontas, an American river boat.
But the largest of ships’ organs was destined to be the Britannic’s organ. Others, mainly on vessels of the White Star Line or Lloyds, but including some private yachts such as Howard Gould’s steam yacht, “Niagara,” which also featured a Philharmonie, are well chronicled in these catalogues. The Aeolian company was also involved in ships’ organs. Documents exist showing that the Britannic was originally intended to have a player organ from Aeolian.
Of the White Star Line’s three great “Olympic” class ships—Olympic, Titanic and Britannic—there is neither evidence nor suggestion that Olympic ever had an organ. With the later ships, however, there are different stories to be told.

Titanic
On-board entertainment was an important item in the inventory of luxuries aboard these ocean liners. Titanic had no less than four uprights and one grand piano. In the light of this, oft-repeated suggestions that “an organ” was planned, built, or even installed aboard Titanic, cannot be ignored. There are said to be survivors’ reports of an organ that “played” (Internet Site 1—see below). The detail is vague and the report is seriously questioned. If it has any credibility at all, then we might extract from it that “played” might suggest an orchestrion aboard. It does not discredit other reports, although a second instrument aboard is highly unlikely and has never been suggested. If an organ was installed, then it now lies with the wreck and all claims of a surviving instrument “built too late” are completely errant.
There is an interesting consistency in perpetuation of a belief that the Titanic’s organ was not completed in time for the voyage. A number of collections in North America and Europe possess orchestrions claimed to be “built too late to share the ship’s fate.” Certainly, if there is any element of truth in this, then it was probably an orchestrion. These were available for decades before Titanic was conceived. The Deutsches Musikautomatenmuseum at Bruchsal in Germany has one. It is sometimes claimed that an undated letter from Ilse Bockisch (widow of Karl, his second wife, married in 1932) associates it with Titanic. The letter leaves many unanswered questions.
Suggestions have been made (Internet Site 1) that a Philharmonie was originally intended for Titanic. Welte’s Philharmonie was not offered for sale until some eight months after Titanic’s launching. A specific model was further out of the question until immediately prior to Titanic’s sea trials. The idea that Welte catalogue illustrations (see later) were of a Philharmonie organ aboard Titanic is thus ruled out by the time lines. The earliest known illustration is from 1913–14, well after Titanic’s sinking. If there is any credibility at all here, then the only possibility was an installation after the maiden voyage.
Most evidence points against an organ or orchestrion ever belonging to Titanic. Expert researchers, such as Günter Bäbler and Mark Chirnside, have looked into this matter exhaustively. Both are emphatically of that opinion.

Britannic
By contrast, evidence for an organ intended for Britannic is overwhelming. There is an interesting existing reference to an Aeolian organ with two chests for music rolls in the Britannic’s specification book. There is no evidence that these plans ever proceeded. Illustrations in Welte’s catalogues are renderings that are so accurate that they appear to be or have been made from photographs. The firm variously identifies them as “Welte-Philharmonie aboard a large English steam ship” and “Welte-Philharmonie aboard S. S. Britannic.” Surviving architects’ sketches, now preserved in the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum, show exactly the same organ case in the stairwell area of Britannic. The ship’s plans allocate this space as “ORGAN.” Seewen’s organ has “Britanik” inscribed in at least six places.
The dimensions of the original Seewen organ have been carefully checked against the ship’s plans. It fits exactly into the space allocated.

Time and space considerations
What was possible? Plans survive for all three ships showing their main stairwell areas. These are virtually identical, except that on Britannic a rectangular space identified with the word “ORGAN” was added, jutting out into the stair area. Any of these three ships could easily have had this modification, but only plans for Britannic include it. A Philharmonie Grundmodell V–VI could have fitted into this space on any of them.
Orchestrions generally take little more ground space than an upright piano. They typically had about 260 pipes, whereas a Philharmonie V–VI could have over 2,000 pipes. Orchestrions and salon organs the size of Bruchsal’s (and the other Titanic claimants seem to be of commensurate size) could have been placed almost anywhere aboard these ships. These would not have required identification in architects’ plans; detailed accommodation plans show nothing of this kind.
Even assuming for a moment that the reports of a Welte Titanic organ were true, which organ was too late? Certainly not one of their mass-produced instruments. Orchestrions, having been in production for years, should either have been in stock or available on very short notice. This meant that delivery of such a salon organ should have been easily achievable. It could not be entirely ruled out that delays in development of the Philharmonie might be the issue here. For what it is worth, Ilse Bockisch’s letter describes a failed attempt to deliver “an organ” to Titanic at Southampton. Her letter leaves open too many questions to be trusted as a basis for firm conclusions in this context.
We must conclude that Jules Verne’s idea was best going to be realized with Britannic.

Discussion points
A Welte catalogue of around 1914 has an illustration captioned “Welte-Philharmonie-Orgel an Bord eines grossen engl.[ischen] Dampfers” (“Welte-Philharmonie aboard a large English steamer”). The vessel is not identified by name. The illustration is very lifelike, although some background detail differs from the known architecture of the ship. Another Welte catalogue from about this time reproduces this but now unequivocally identifies it as “WELTE-PHILHARMONIE-ORGEL auf S. S. Britannic der White Star Line” (“Welte-Philharmonie on the White Star Line’s steam ship Britannic”). (See page 26.) The architect’s sketch in the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum and the Welte illustrations show identical organ casework. These all clearly identify ship, organ, size and placement. They show the casework fully in place. Both captions expressly state that the organ was “aboard.” This suggests its presence behind the case. Since a responsible and proud firm repeated this in at least two catalogues, it can leave no doubt that the organ was a Philharmonie and that it probably was installed. No final proof either way is yet to hand.
Time lines easily allow this. By February 1914 there was ample time to build and transport the organ. By the end of July there was also time to install and remove it. The illustrations appear to have been the property of Welte themselves, so all evidence points to the instrument being at least in preparation for, or process of, installation by summer 1914.
The two-story space near the stairs offered ideal dimensions for an organ the original size of Seewen’s. Britannic’s Philharmonie could easily have been finished in Freiburg by late 1913 and moved to Belfast, arriving sometime between March and July 1914. We do not know whether the main staircase was installed before then. The portrayed roll player hints at a console and possibly the wind apparatus being located underneath, with windchests and pipes on top. The apparent width of the roll in the illustration lines up well with the dimensions of Welte’s Philharmonie V–VI rolls: the paper was 390mm wide and there were flanges on either side.
Welte may well have used a hybrid pneumatic-electric action. The company is reported (Binninger 1987) to have used electric actions in “larger organs” and “where consoles were detached.” Welte had developed electro-pneumatic actions as early as 1885, one of the first firms ever to master this technology. Arguments in favor of a fully pneumatic original action also exist. The two main manuals of the almost contemporary three-manual organ at Tunbridge Wells (see Appendix) are pneumatic. Although it is unclear until 1937, the Seewen organ does appear to have always had a hybrid action. Experts such as Peter Hagmann fully acknowledge this possibility and, having searched, can find nothing to disprove it.
Another photograph, from 1916, shows Britannic fitted out for wartime service. Explanations accompanying this photograph refer to a very basic state of furnishing—just white-painted metallic walls. Woodwork from the stairwell later appeared as collectors’ items. Stored items from the ship were publicly auctioned in Belfast in 1919, and many are still preserved in private ownership. This indicates that the internal outfitting of the ship was probably advancing at the time that possible requisitioning became an issue during August 1914.
Although the Welte catalogues show the roll-playing mechanism, no keyboard is apparent. This might lead to a belief that this instrument was a large orchestrion. However, Welte calls it a Philharmonie. This specifically meant that it had a keyboard. The ship’s plans unequivocally identify its space as “organ.” It is instructive to compare the design with the Welte-Philharmonie at the Salomons Centre, Tunbridge Wells, England. This has pipes above and console below, flanked by pillars. The console is on the inside, screened off from the auditor. It is exactly the arrangement with Welte’s organ for Britannic, only decorative details differ and the specifications are very similar.

Installation aboard Britannic 1914
The overall period during which the organ could logically have been installed was February 26 to late summer 1914. This is far more time than an installation would have required. Britannic’s final requisitioning theoretically allowed until November 1915 for de-installation, although Welte staff could hardly have remained or returned then. We do not yet know if anybody from Welte was in Belfast, so we simply cannot say if installation was proceeding or completed before late July 1914. Welte’s illustrations and captions prima facie support the notion that it was.
If Karl Bockisch was in Ireland for the installation, then he may have had to return quickly to Germany with the imminent outbreak of war. Edwin Welte was pursuing an extremely busy traveling schedule, especially across the Atlantic, although he was known to be “in England” (which could include Northern Ireland) at about this time. In 2005 some missing documentation that might clarify the firm’s travel arrangements came into the possession of Gerhard Dangel of the Augustiner Museum, Freiburg, but it has so far proven inconclusive. There is evidence that the Welte family traveled on the German steamer, the Kronprinzessin Cecilie, in September 1912 (this ship also had a Welte-Mignon piano aboard), but no records have yet been found clarifying the movements of Welte employees. Since they were quite itinerant, we must assume these records are now missing. Further clarification as to whether Bockisch or his team were ever in Ireland seems now dependent on finding something of this kind or from dives to the wreck planned for 2008.
Welte staff would rapidly have found themselves behind enemy lines by July 28, 1914. The inscriptions “Britanik” and “Salomoons” in the Salomons Centre organ at Tunbridge Wells make it clear that Welte identified their clients and organs in this way, a practice already established for their pianos and pneumatic roll player devices.

1917–19
There is a lack of surviving documentation that might indicate the fate of the organ between 1914 and 1919. Since Britannic sank in 1916, the organ could not be returned to her. After the war, in the natural course of events, ownership and other details had to be sorted out. White Star Line—no doubt in some disarray with the loss of two of its three most prestigious ships—had no further use for it. So the instrument (with or without casework) would have been available for sale, presumably around 1919, allowing for decisions, communications and paperwork (and possibly transportation back from Belfast).
There were negotiations between shipping company, state and insurance brokers that lasted until 1919 when final damages were paid and an auction of remaining items took place. The organ, being a part of this, would not have been available for sale until all was finalized. It probably elucidates the timing of its sale in 1920. As far as we can currently ascertain the organ was not mentioned in the inventory of items for auction in Belfast mid-1919. A Steinway piano thought to have been lost with the ship, was found after government compensation for the ship’s loss had been agreed in 1917. It was then offered for sale “as Admiralty property,” after which all traces of it disappear. An organ would have been even more obvious. We can only assume that the organ was not part of the compensation negotiations and therefore was either still or once again in Welte’s possession in Freiburg in 1919.

From 1920 onwards
Around 1920, an organ was sold by Welte to Dr. August Nagel (1882–1943) for his residence. Nagel began a highly successful camera manufacturing business in 1908 that later became the “Contessa” brand. He was a great music lover and lived in a magnificent villa in Stuttgart. In 1926 his business went to the Zeiss-Ikon concern. In 1928, he founded another camera manufacturing company that flourished in spite of hard times. This was taken over by Kodak in 1932. No photographs have yet been located of the instrument in Nagel’s possession. Indeed, the apparent absence of even one photograph of this organ is curious for a camera manufacturer: one reason could be that the organ simply was not visible and had no casework to photograph (see later). It seems that the new owner had two small supplementary windchests built to accommodate some additional stops.
Nagel returned the organ to Welte in 1935 for reasons that are now unclear. In 1937, after work on it in their Freiburg workshop, Welte sold it on to Dr. Eugen Kersting (1888–1958), owner of “Radium GmbH,” an electrical manufacturer. Werner Bosch (1916–92), German organ builder, worked on it as a young employee of Welte’s at the time. It was installed in the Radium Company’s Concert and Meeting Hall in Wipperfürth, Germany. Changes were made at Kersting’s request—mainly two reed ranks added and some interesting but small concessions made to organ reform movement principles. Once again modifications to suit a client were a normal part of Welte’s operation. The original Wienerflöte was replaced by a Harmonieflöte (also by Welte), and somewhat miraculously all pipes of both stops have survived. The Wienerflöte can now be returned to its proper (and original “Britannic”) configuration. There was again no sign of earlier original casework: a simple but elegant wooden grille appeared in Wipperfürth.
Towards the end of World War II, in 1945, water damage occurred as a result of bombing. The instrument survived this quite well and was offered for sale through Werner Bosch during the 1960s. No buyers were forthcoming. In 1961 it was used to make an important LP recording, issued in English-speaking circles as Reger plays Reger. The organ was selected as the best available for this purpose, having a specification capable of closely reproducing organists’ registrations on the original Freiburg recording organ.
By 1969, after the meeting room had been turned into a storeroom and the organ had become an encumbrance, it was to be sold for scrap. Heinrich Weiss-Stauffacher (*1920), who owned a collection of automatic musical instruments that later formed the basis of the Seewen collection, was informed. He acquired the organ at the last minute and, in somewhat dramatic circumstances, packed and moved it carefully to its present home. There, after renovation, its re-inauguration was celebrated on May 30, 1970.
During its removal to Switzerland, Bosch’s experience was critical in ensuring its preservation and proper functioning. He and Basel organ builder Bernhard Fleig helped Weiss with the re-installation and subsequently also its maintenance. Apart from normal wear and tear, the organ has remained in good original condition, with few losses or changes.

The restoration
Years of investigation into these instruments (and submissions from experts and organ builders) began in 1998 with the Seewen organ’s removal and storage while the museum prepared for extensions. These created much needed additional space, partly to properly accommodate and display the organ.
The restoration contract was awarded to Orgelbau Kuhn, Männedorf, in 2006. In early 2007, in the course of restoration, the “Britanik” inscriptions began to show up around the original windchests. The beams were carefully checked to see if they might have belonged to another organ. However, all experts—two highly experienced organ builders, the museum director, its conservator and the organ consultant—independently concluded that the beams and the organ were part of the same original instrument.
Very few relevant Harland and Wolff (shipbuilders of Belfast, Ireland) and essentially no Welte records have survived. However, all evidence overwhelmingly points to the Britannic and Seewen organs being one and the same instrument, little changed in its 90 years of existence. The Britannic’s pipework, windchests, console and possibly the action are all either fully original or have been only slightly modified, overwhelmingly by Welte themselves. The organ’s 1920 and 1937 forms are fully valid Welte configurations, developed out of their Grundmodell V–VI. In the few cases of missing or damaged pipework, replacement has been arranged with surviving original Welte pipework or pipes carefully reconstructed to the firm’s manufacturing methods and standards.
The Seewen/Britannic organ is today probably the most typical, intact and best preserved of its size and kind. So far as is currently known, there is only one other Philharmonie of comparable size, Freiburg manufacture and with tonal resources capable of doing justice to the full-sized rolls (Tunbridge Wells, see Appendix below). The collection of rolls at Seewen—nearly 1,300 of them—is well in excess of any other existing collection currently known.

The fate of the organ’s original casework
Welte’s case designs are not noted for standardization, although stylistically they are mostly consistent with their epoch. Cases and organs are sometimes sold separately. No surviving organs or photos show other Welte instruments with casework in the style of Britannic’s.
Welte also specialized in installations in basements, attics and “adjacent rooms,” the organs speaking through holes in walls or floors. This may well have been the reality with Nagel’s residence and might explain a lot in this connection—e.g., the suitability of an organ on offer without a case and the absence of case photographs. Since the Philharmonie was totally enclosed in a swell-box, façade pipes, where they existed, were always “dummies.”
Was the casework removed with the refit to a hospital ship? The photo of the bare-walled area can but indirectly suggest that it was not there. Simon Mills’s Britannic Foundation, now owners of the wreck, believe that whatever was installed—probably not much—was simply covered up and left in place. Reports of Jacques Cousteau’s divers who went down there in 1976 could point to the organ case still being present. They identified “an organ” and reported “metal organ pipes.” The value of these reports has been questioned—indeed the rendering published by Welte in their catalogues hints at wooden pipes or just simple slats of wood, “pipe look-alikes.” If the Cousteau report turns out to be true, then that could hint that the organ was at least partially installed when hostilities began.
An exhibition in Kiel, Germany in mid-2007 reconstructed the Titanic’s stairwell. Given that the three ships’ designs were essentially identical here, it was clear that the organ could be installed or removed with its façade in place. Being a totally enclosed instrument, the façade was purely decorative. The Britannic Foundation has undertaken more recent dives to the Britannic wreck and is currently planning another for about mid-2008 when currents are favorable. The area where the organ was to be placed will then be very closely investigated.
Effectively, Britannic’s casework has now completely disappeared. It is either, as per the Cousteau hint, barnacle-encrusted some fathoms under the Aegean Sea, or it was destroyed, saved in an unknown location, or broken up for use in other organ façades.

The motor and blower
Speculation of wind-raising using Britannic’s steam power sometimes arises (Internet Site 3). The availability of electric power, and potential evidence of a possibly original blower and electric action argue very strongly against steam. In fact, steam was rarely used as motive power for organ blowing. Even then it was associated more within the period of 1812–85 than the early 20th century.
An old motor and blower has survived with the organ. No dates are evident. The motor is rated at 220 volts DC and was made by Meidinger of Basel. The firm was established in the late 19th century and located not far from Welte in Freiburg. Their records only date back to about the 1960s. From its serial number, we only know that it was certainly made before then. Both motor and blower are being restored as part of the historically conscious approach to the project. It is interesting to observe that it is rated at 220 volts DC and the ship’s electric supply came from four 400 kW steam generators, each providing 100 volts DC. Expert opinion informs us that the voltage difference from running two generators in parallel—sensible electrical engineering with two in parallel and two in series—to provide 200 volts is not critical to the operation of this motor. The organ’s wind supply is designed as a regulated system and virtually never needs the full amount of wind (over-) supplied by the blower. Two experts also independently estimated that the motor itself is “probably early 20th century.” Thus, it is just possible that this motor and/or blower could have come down from the original Britannic installation.
From about 1885, a growing preference for power reticulation using alternating current was beginning to overtake that of direct current. By 1913–1914, AC might normally have been the prime choice for such a motor, but the fact that the ship’s supply was DC must have determined a DC motor. This further supports the possibility that the surviving blowing installation at Seewen could have been that of Britannic.?

Appendix

Seewen and similar known surviving Welte-Philharmonie
player organs
Full 150-note functioning Welte player mechanisms appear to survive in no more than ten organs worldwide. Details are scarce, so only tentative information can be offered as set out below. In the September 2006 issue of Mechanical Music, Durward R. Center published an article entitled “Welte Orchestrions / The Age of Opulence.” In it he reports that only two “fully pneumatic” organs (of an equivalent type to Seewen) still exist. Some of Welte’s organs originally had hybrid pneumatic-electric actions, so the field might be extended slightly in this direction without conflict to the general notion of a “Welte-Philharmonie.” (The term “pneumatic organ” is sometimes used to indicate that a player mechanism was attached; cf. “pneumatic” when used to differentiate action types, e.g., electric, electro-pneumatic, mechanical.) Welte’s Grundmodell V–VI had a basic specification of about 23/II+P (23 stops, two keyboards and pedals). The Freiburg recording organ after 1912–13 was about 28/II+P. A degree of discreet borrowing and extension was normal practice in all of these instruments (and less “discreet” in smaller organs and orchestrions). As far as we are aware, however, of Welte’s full-sized (with 150-note tracker bars) roll-playing organs left in the world today, only about eight seem to be of original Freiburg manufacture.

Seewen
The Seewen basic specification after 1937 is 37/II+P. (With retention of both Harmonieflöte and Wienerflöte, the 2007 specification became 38/II+P). This includes extended and borrowed ranks normal to Welte practice. Stop nomenclature is German; the stop-tabs are uniform and fit comfortably across the top of the keys, although some of the new stops added have been placed out of sequence to the right of the earlier stop-tabs. This suggests that the basic console dates from earlier and was only modified in 1937. A collection of about 1,300 rolls is associated with this organ. Organists include Harry Goss-Custard (150 rolls), Edwin Lemare (87), J. J. Nater (84), Paul Mania (76), Kurt Grosse (58), Alfred Hollins (47), Joseph Bonnet (44), William Wolstenholme (39), Walter Fischer (37), Eugène Gigout (35), Thaddäus Hofmiller (31), Herbert Walton (30), William Faulkes (29), Samuel A. Baldwin (26), Clarence Eddy (20), Karl Matthaei (17), Franz Joseph Breitenbach (16), Alfred Sittard (15), Paul Hindermann (13), Marco Enrico Bossi (12), Max Reger (11), Marie-Joseph Erb (11), Günter Ramin (8), Karl Straube (7), and Marcel Dupré (7), among others.

Tunbridge Wells
Residence of David Salomons, Salomons Centre, Tunbridge Wells, England. This organ also dates from c1913–14 and is virtually a twin to that at Seewen. The basic specification is 27/II+P, pneumatic player, pneumatic action. It has, however, a third manual, an Echo division of five stops (remotely placed with electric action), bringing it to 32/III+P. Extended and borrowed ranks normal to Welte practice also exist here. A most valuable survivor, its basic specification includes the full Philharmonie Grundmodell V–VI stops, with resources that sometimes differ slightly from Seewen’s. Apart from the Echo-division, the percussion accessories in particular show some variance, e.g.,“tubular bells” in place of Seewen’s “Harfe” and “Glocke” registers. The console was required, as per the contract, to be modeled on English systems—pistons rather than fixed combinations, manual compasses reaching to 61 notes instead of 58, stop-knobs rather than rocker-tabs, and the stop nomenclature is entirely English. There is no crescendo pedal. Even so, the general size and layout is remarkably similar to Seewen’s. It plays rolls of two sizes, accepting also the Welte #10 orchestrion rolls, the largest orchestrion rolls Welte ever made, and is apparently the only player for them still functioning. A collection of about 150 full-sized Philharmonie rolls is associated with this organ. See website: <http://www.maesto.com/US/welteinstruments.html&gt;.

Other instruments
• a 25/II+P Welte-Philharmonie, from a collection that belonged to Jens Carlson, is now in the Mechanical Musical Instrument Museum at Elm, Germany (Stiftung Museum mechanischer Musikinstrumente Königslutter am Elm).
• formerly at Linz am Rhein, Germany. Also a smaller Philharmonie organ than Seewen, 21/II+P, recently moved to the USA. This organ was used for an EMI CD recording set issued as 7243 5 74866 2 0. It was built in 1925 for the Villa of Lady Burton of England in Cap de Antibes, southern France. Horst King und Sohn restored it for the Linz Museum in 1984/85. Laukhuff of Weikersheim delivered a purely decorative case for it.
• Siegfrieds Mechanisches Musikkabinett, Rüdesheim, Deutschland. The console has the Freiburg firm’s nameplate attached. Two of Wendel’s publications give “around 1922” as its date of construction. 21/II+P with “Harfe und Glocken.” Currently “partially restored.”
• Deutsches Musikautomatenmuseum at Bruchsal (in the “Welte-Saal.”) As well as the so-called Titanic organ, there is a 20/II+P Welte-Philharmonie dating from 1924 in this collection. See their website: <http://www.landesmuseum.de/website/&gt;.
• The Schloss Meggenhorn instrument near Luzern in Switzerland. 19/II+P (with borrowing and extension) probably built 1915–20. An associated roll collection of 104 items features Max Reger, Karl Matthaei, Eugène Gigout, Marcel Dupré and others. The instrument was restored by Orgelbau Kuhn.
<http://www.orgelbau.ch/site/index.cfm?fuseaction=orgelbau.orgelportrait…;
• Tuxedo Park, New York (also made in the USA), at the Spedden residence. Members of the Spedden family were survivors of the Titanic. The organ is still in its original location. It was recently restored by the Kegg Organ Company. 15/II+P of Freiburg manufacture. Year of manufacture is not known at this stage.

Other, related installations (excluding cinema organs):
• An interesting player organ exists at the former Krupp Residence in Essen, Germany at Villa Hügel (now a museum and concert venue). It began as an American Aeolian organ with 9/II+P. In 1914 an Aeolian player mechanism was added. 1921 and 1928 saw the instrument enlarged to 14 stops by Welte, with one of their player mechanisms substituted for that of Aeolian. It was restored in 2003 by Orgelbau Klais of Bonn. Associated with it is a collection of about 110 usable rolls recorded by Ramin, Straube, Sittard, Mania, Lemare and Reger—a repertoire surveying Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Chopin, Gluck, Händel, Haydn, Liszt, Mozart, Mendelssohn, Reger, Schubert and Wagner. Five rolls are of popular music. These appear to duplicate many rolls in the Seewen collection, as would be expected, bearing in mind the Welte catalogue marketing system. The Orgelbau Klais website has details: <http://www.orgelbau-klais.com/m.php?tx=52&gt;.
• A Welte player mechanism—also a 150-note tracker bar—was added in 1931 to the Willis organ at Blenheim, England. There appears to be an associated collection of some 80 remaining rolls, said to be by English organists.
• Technik Museum, Speyer, Germany. 36/III+P manufactured in the USA. Dating from 1916, it must have been one of the last instruments, and the largest, built there before Welte’s New York branch in Poughkeepsie was closed down. Renovated in 2001. A collection of over 600 rolls is associated with it. See <http://www.museumspeyer.de/&gt;.
• An organ under restoration (2006) for the Swiss dealer Hanspeter Kyburz by organ-builder Remi Steis of Germany. It is also of U.S. manufacture. It additionally bears a “W. W. Kimball” company reference underneath Welte’s on its nameplate. It is a II+P organ with much extension and borrowing somewhat reminiscent of cinema organ practice.
• A Welte-Philharmonic of nine ranks built pre-1926 in the studio of Barker Bros.’ department store in Los Angeles, then variously in the possession of Anita Baldwin, South Pasadena Masonic Lodge (1930) and Kyle B. Irwin (1999). Apparently of U.S. manufacture with much extension and borrowing. Barker Bros. eventually owned a total of four Weltes.

Acknowledgements
The authors express their gratitude for the many personal telephone, verbal and e-mail communications received. Special mention is made of
Günter Bäbler, Titanic-Verein Schweiz (http://www.titanicverein.ch)
Andrew Baghurst, Adelaide, Australia
Nelson Barden, Boston, USA (http://www.nbarden.com/)
Durward R. Center, Baltimore, USA
Mark Chirnside, Warwickshire, England (www.markchirnside.co.uk)
Gerhard Dangel, Augustiner-Museum Freiburg, Deutschland
Malte Fiebing, Titanic-Verein Deutschland (http://www.titanicverein.de)
Brooke Green, Tasmania
Bernhard Häberle, Gesellschaft für Selbstspielende Musikinstrumente, Germany
Georg Hofmeier and Gesellschaft des Museums für Musikautomaten, Seewen (GMS)
Philipp Klais, Orgelbau Klais, Bonn, Germany
Brett Leighton, Linz, Austria
Ken Marschall (http://www.kenmarschall.com)
Michail Michailakis, Greece
Simon Mills (Britannic Foundation) England (http://www.thebritannicfoundation.org.uk/)
Bernhard Prisi, Seewen, Switzerland
Wolfgang Rehn and Ueli Schärer, Orgelbau Kuhn, Männedorf, Switzerland
Rico A. Reinle, Münchenstein, Switzerland
Elizabeth Rumsey, Basel, Switzerland
Heinrich Weiss and Susanne Weiss, Seewen and Basel, Switzerland
Matthias Wunderlich, Essen, Germany

 

Eighth International Organ and Early Music Festival, Oaxaca, Mexico, October 21–27, 2010

Cicely Winter

Cicely Winter grew up in the state of Michigan, but has lived in Oaxaca since 1972. She studied piano and harpsichord at Smith College and the University of Michigan, where she obtained a B.A. in music and an M.A. in European history. She later studied piano performance at the post-graduate level in the School of Music at Indiana University. She presents organ, piano, and harpsichord concerts regularly, many of which benefit community service projects. In the year 2000 she co-founded el Instituto de Órganos Históricos de Oaxaca A.C. (IOHIO) and since then has served as its director. The IOHIO focuses on the protection and promotion of the sixty-nine historic pipe organs known to date in the state of Oaxaca.

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The eighth International Organ and Early Music Festival took place October 21–27, 2010 in Oaxaca, Mexico, with the theme, “Celebrating the Bicentennial of the National Independence and the Centennial of the Mexican Revolution.” To honor the two most significant events in Mexican political history, the IOHIO (Institute of Historic Organs) presented its grandest festival yet. For the first time, music lovers were able to hear concerts on all seven restored organs, a unique opportunity to appreciate the richness and diversity of Oaxaca’s collection of Baroque instruments.
In addition, there were three all-day field trips to visit 12 unrestored instruments in village churches, most of which are usually inaccessible to the public; two masterclasses with Swiss organist and musicologist Guy Bovet; two choral concerts, one of which presented choral works that have not been heard for centuries from the early 18th-century notebook of Domingo Flores from San Bartolo Yautepec; the opportunity for organists to play the organ in the Basílica de la Soledad; guided tours of two archeological sites; an exhibit of historical material related to the organs from various Oaxacan archives; a talk about the organs and the work of the IOHIO; a view of Oaxaca’s splendid and varied scenery during field trips to the Tlacolula Valley and the Mixteca Alta; and a chance to sample the local cuisine and revel in the fiesta traditions in the villages.

October 21, Thursday
The festival began with the first of two masterclasses in San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya given by Guy Bovet. Thirteen Mexican organists and organ students from Oaxaca, Mexico City, Puebla, Queretaro, Morelia, and Toluca, as well as one from the U.S., played for Bovet and a group of some 20 auditors from Mexico and abroad. Participants benefited immensely from Bovet’s explanation of the fine points of Spanish repertoire and performance practice. He carried out an important survey of Mexican organs in the 1980s and 90s sponsored by UNESCO and Pro Helvetia.
That evening, Mexican artists José Francisco Álvarez (organ) and Juan Carlos Murillo (trombone) offered the first concert of the festival in the Basílica de la Soledad. This is the first time the trombone has been featured in a IOHIO festival, and the sound blended brilliantly with the organ in a varied program based on arrangements by José Francisco. The magnificent polychromed case of the organ has the date 1686 inscribed on the side of the case, making it the oldest extant organ in Oaxaca.

October 22, Friday
The second organ masterclass by Guy Bovet in Tlacochahuaya once again focused on the Iberian repertoire of the 16th and 17th centuries. Participants presented works by Correa de Arauxo, Cabanilles, Bruna, Aguilera de Heredia, Cabezón, and Durón.
That afternoon, everyone gathered in the elegant space of the Francisco de Burgoa Library in the former convent of Santo Domingo de Guzman for the inauguration of the eighth festival.
IOHIO director Cicely Winter introduced Ricardo Fuentes and Beatriz Domínguez from the Coordinación Nacional de la Conservación del Patrimonio Cultural (CNCPN) who spoke about the goals of their institution and future collaborations with the IOHIO. Next, Alberto Compiani and Josefina Benavides from the “Radio Monterrey” station spoke about the weekly radio show “His Majesty the Organ,” which Compiani initiated as a result of his ongoing collaboration with the IOHIO. It is hoped that starting next year these programs may be broadcast in Oaxaca. Cicely Winter then offered a presentation about “The Historic Organs of Oaxaca and the Work of the IOHIO.” Her talk was prefaced by special recognition of the initiative of Don Alfredo Harp Helú in support of the restoration and maintenance of the organs.
This was followed by an exhibit of documents related to organs from various Oaxacan archives, “Ad maiorem Dei gloriam, el órgano oaxaqueño al servicio del altar,” which afforded an excellent overview of Oaxacan organ history. The exhibit was curated and presented by Polish researcher and IOHIO collaborator Ricardo Rodys.
The second concert of the festival took place in the Capilla del Rosario (ex-convento de San Pablo) and featured the Capilla Virreinal de la Nueva España directed by Aurelio Tello in the presentation of “Music from the Domingo Flores Book (18th century) of San Bartolo Yautepec.” This notebook was part of a treasure of manuscripts discovered by the IOHIO in Yautepec in 2001.

October 23, Saturday
The all-day field trip to the Mixteca Alta began with the third concert of the festival in Santa María de la Natividad. Barbara Owen opened the program with Baroque dance pieces. Later Guy Bovet improvised a sonata on a Mexican patriotic tune in the style of Sor María Clara and played a Fandango with guitarist Vladimir Ibarra. Gabriela Edith Pérez Díaz enchanted the audience with several pieces by J. S. Bach on the marimba. The Ibarra/Díaz duo then closed their program with a piece for marimba and guitar. At the end of the concert, each of the two IOHIO organ scholarship students from the community played a piece. We did not know that the Pan American Races would take place that day and that the highway was blocked. We were waved through by a police car but did not find out until the end of the day that the friends who drove their own cars to the concert were not allowed to pass.
The fourth concert of the festival in Santo Domingo Yanhuitlán was especially important because this organ has not been played for years due to ongoing restoration work in the church. The audience was transported by the combination of the program “The Splendor of the Cathedrals of Mexico in the 17th century,” presented by the Capilla Virreinal de la Nueva España directed by Aurelio Tello, the setting in one of Mexico’s most magnificent 16th-century Baroque churches, and the acoustics in the vaulted stone space. The renowned Uruguayan organist Cristina García Banegas accompanied the choir and enhanced the program with several magnificent 17th-century solo works.
Thanks to the ongoing support of the Federal Road and Bridge Commission, a special entrance was opened from the super highway, allowing us direct access to San Andrés Zautla and saving us over an hour of travel time. The fiesta and concert in Zautla are always a highlight of the festival. We were received in the atrium of the church by the local band with noisy fireworks, mezcal, and dancing, with the elderly women of the town dressed in their traditional skirts and blouses. We enjoyed a delicious stew with squash seed sauce, a special local recipe, served in the patio behind the church. After dinner, we filed into the church to hear the fifth concert of the festival, presented by organist Cristina García Banegas in alternation with Gabriela Edith Pérez Díaz, percussion, and Vladimir Ibarra, guitar. Banegas’s program combined light 18th-century dances with more modern works, including one of her own compositions, while Díaz and Ibarra offered modern works for guitar and complete percussion ensemble. The case decoration of this 4′ table organ (1726) is among the most elaborate in all of Mexico.

October 24, Sunday
This day was dedicated to visiting unrestored organs in the Tlacolula Valley. Our first stop was in San Matías Jalatlaco, located just on the edge of the historic center of Oaxaca City. This lovely 8′ organ, painted blue, was built in 1866 by Pedro Nibra and though missing some pipes, is quite restorable.
We continued on to San Andrés Huayapam and its lovely country church with a splendid gilded altarpiece. The 4′ table organ (1772) is in nearly perfect condition and would require little to make it playable. We were refreshed by a drink of tejate, a specialty of this community.
We made a brief stop at the famous tree in Santa María del Tule before proceeding to Santa María Tlacolula. It was market day and a local saint was also being celebrated, so the streets were packed and it was difficult to get one’s bearings because of the tall tents and rides. First we viewed the little 2′ 18th-century processional organ, the smallest in Oaxaca, which was built for a small chapel. Then we climbed up to the choir loft to see the 8′ organ in the choir loft. Dating presumably from the mid-18th century, this stately organ is nearly complete and has the most elaborately painted façade pipes in all of Mexico.
We were all set to proceed to Mitla for lunch, but a police car was blocking our vans and it took at least a half hour to track down the driver and convince him to move. As a result we had to rush through the rest of the day. After our midday meal in Mitla, we zoomed to San Dionisio Ocotepec to view one of Oaxaca’s earliest and most important organs (1721). This 4′ stationary instrument, though missing its pipes and keyboard, is the closest relative to the Tlacochahuaya organ. Its doors, which were removed from the organ, framed, and hung in the sacristy, were brought to the choir loft for viewing. One of them depicts King David playing his harp and the other, Santa Cecilia playing the Ocotepec organ, showing the bellows behind and the original façade decoration.
We arrived in San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya just in time for the sixth concert of the festival. Guy Bovet offered an elegant program combining serious works of the Spanish repertoire with lighter pieces such as verses from the Sor María Clara notebook. His program ended with an improvisation on the Oaxacan tune “Amor Juvenil,” with Antonio de Jesús Hernández, the 15-year-old son of the sacristan on the trombone. This organ (ca. 1735) is the jewel in the Oaxacan crown. Its gorgeously decorated case and façade pipes make it a work of art in its own right and it synchronizes perfectly with the acoustics and exuberantly painted decoration of the church.

October 25, Monday
Participants had the choice of playing the organ in La Soledad or going on a guided tour of archeological site of Monte Albán with Marcus Winter of the INAH (Instituto Nacional de Antropologia e Historia). There was free time for the rest of the day until the seventh concert of the festival presented that evening in the Oaxaca Cathedral by Cristina García Banegas. Her concert was varied and exciting, and included pieces from the Jesuit mission in Chiquitos, Bolivia. There was an excellent turnout for this concert.

October 26, Tuesday
We departed early in the morning for our two-day journey through the Mixteca Alta. This was only the second time that a concert had been programmed on the organ in Santa María Tlaxiaco, because its three-hour distance from Oaxaca City requires an overnight stay.
Our first stop was in Santa María Tinú. This small stone church houses an organ (1828) that is disproportionately large for the interior space. The organ, completely intact and played just a generation ago, still grunts and wheezes when the bellows located in the loft above are pumped. It is possible that it could be made to play again with just an overall cleaning and patching of the winding system.
We proceeded to San Mateo Yucucuí. The organ (1743) was never painted but is richly carved. The floor of the high side balcony on which the organ sits is much deteriorated, but the custodian had laid down some planks so that participants could get a closer look at the organ. The situation has been evaluated by the INAH and a repair project is under consideration.
Santa María Tiltepec is one of several extant organs located near Yanhuitlan. Appreciated by art historians for its richly carved façade, this 17th-century church houses one of Oaxaca’s oldest organs (1703), unique in both its construction technique and whimsical carved and painted decoration.
After lunch in Teposcolula, we ascended up through the pine forest to Santa María Tlaxiaco. Guy Bovet’s presentation of the eighth and final concert of the festival included some of the most stirring pieces of the 17th-century repertoire and ended with an improvisation on the “Canción Mixteca.” This beautiful 8′ organ, the only 19th-century restored instrument in Oaxaca, offers a broad palette of sound possibilities, which resounded throughout the beautiful church.

October 27, Wednesday
After breakfast, we departed for the late pre-classic and classic Mixtec archeological site of San Martín Huamelulpan for a guided tour by Marcus Winter of the INAH and a visit to the community museum.
From there we went to the nearby village of San Pedro Mártir Yucuxaco. The table organ here (1740) is complete and in excellent condition, even though its bellows no longer exist. It closely resembles the organ in Zautla, though without the painted decoration, the carved pipeshades include faces in profile, and the keyboard is one of Oaxaca’s most exquisite.
The open chapel, church, and ex-convent in San Pedro y San Pablo Teposcolula comprise one of the most amazing 16th-century Dominican complexes in Mexico. A project is nearing conclusion to gild the carved decoration of the 18th-century monumental organ in areas where there was no evidence of former gilding. The IOHIO was not notified of this project and it is being investigated. The organ has a similar profile to that of Yanhuitlan but was painted a cream color rather than polychromed, probably because of lack of funds at the time of the construction.
After lunch, we continued on to Santiago Teotongo, where we could admire the organ as part of one of the most splendid Baroque churches in Mexico. The organ seems to date from the mid-18th century because of the resemblance of its profile to the organ in San Mateo Yucucuí (1743). Even though it lost all its pipes and keyboard during the Mexican Revolution, the magnificent gilded and polychromed case still exists.
Our Mixtec tour culminated with a visit to the church and organ of Santiago Tejupan. This lovely polychromed organ (1776) is the last extant Oaxacan instrument to exhibit religious imagery on the case. Even though it no longer has its pipes or keyboard, the community is most interested in having it reconstructed some day. The name of the donor, cost of the organ, and date of construction appear inscribed on decorative medallions on the façade. Just before getting in to the vans to return to Oaxaca City, Cicely Winter announced that she had a surprise for everyone . . . a visit to one more organ! (just kidding!)

Everyone agreed that the Eighth Festival was spectacular. All the planning and organizational work beforehand really paid off and there were no major glitches, at least within our control. For the first time, we set up a screen and projected the concerts in the church below so that the audience could see the organist and the rest of the activity in the choir loft—this proved to be enormously successful. Three of the organ concerts included pieces from the notebook of the Oaxacan nun Sor María Clara del Santísimo Sacramento. The group of participants could not have been more congenial and included organists, organbuilders, organ students, anthropologists, academics, musicians, teachers, restorers, cultural promoters, and other professionals. It will be a pleasure to maintain contact with these wonderful new members of our growing IOHIO community. During the coming year we look forward to presenting more concerts, producing more CDs, continuing our documentation and conservation project, and writing a book about the Oaxaca organs. So when we organize our Ninth Festival sometime in 2012 we will have a lot to celebrate! 

 

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