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The Organ in Opera: James Welch Performs with the San Francisco Opera

<p>James Welch is lecturer in organ at Santa Clara University
and organist of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Palo Alto, California. He
received the DMA in organ performance from Stanford University. He has
concertized world-wide and has edited several volumes of organ music by Mexican
composers. Further information about his recordings and other activities can be
seen at <o:p></o:p></p>

<p>&lt;www.welchorganist.com&gt;.<o:p></o:p></p&gt;

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In June and July 2004 I was invited by the San Francisco
Opera to serve as organist for its presentation of Ferruccio Busoni’s
rarely performed Doktor Faust. This opera, composed between 1916 and 1924,
features the largest and most complex organ part found anywhere in the opera
literature. The organ parts in most operas are played by a staff keyboardist,
but in the case of a more complicated score such as Doktor Faust, a guest
organist may be brought in. As this was my first experience playing for an opera,
I decided to learn more about the use of the organ in this genre.

While a number of operas include parts for organ, typically
during church scenes, almost all of them are very brief parts, usually written
as reinforcement to the orchestra rather than as solos. Among the major operas
that include organ are Bluebeard’s Castle (Bartók); I Puritani
(Bellini); Mefistofele (Boito); Faust, Roméo et Juliette (Gounod); La
Juive
(Halévy); Cavalleria Rusticana (Mascagni); La Gioconda (Ponchielli);
Tosca, Turandot (Puccini); Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (Shostakovich); Salome
(Strauss); La Forza del Destino, Luisa Miller, Otello, Il Trovatore (Verdi);
Die Meistersinger, Lohengrin (Wagner). Actually, the organ part in Lohengrin is
very small and occurs in the scene prior to the famous Bridal Chorus, which is
itself played by an offstage band (plus the chorus).

As one might expect, the organ parts in Italian operas are
written for one manual without pedals and can be played by any proficient
keyboard person (Tosca, with its pedal part, is an exception). Some of the
German operas have pedal parts, among them being the opening chorale in Die
Meistersinger.

By contrast, Busoni’s Doktor Faust contains more than
four minutes of demanding solo material for the organ, including a solo passage
(Intermezzo) of more than three minutes in length, and two subsequent solo
passages for an additional full minute of playing. (During the Intermezzo in
the San Francisco production, the character playing Mephistopheles was seen on
stage miming the organ part at an organ console in a darkened church.
Unfortunately I could not see this from where I was seated in the pit, but I
heard that his “performance” was very convincing.) The organ part
concludes with a harmonization of Christ lag in Todesbanden in the
opera’s final scene.

Busoni (1866-1924) may have been inspired to write
this extensive part for the organ because of his great admiration for the music
of Bach. However, the organ part in Doktor Faust poses several challenges for
the performer: there is extensive use of double pedals (and not simply parallel
octaves) and awkward cross-hand passages; several crescendi and decrescendi are
called for while both feet are engaged in playing rapid 16th-note passages;
furthermore, the pedal line frequently extends below the range of the modern
pedal keyboard, at one point to an F below low C. All of this is rather
curious, given the fact that Busoni composed concert works for solo organ and
presumably understood the parameters of the organ.

I discussed some of these performance problems with the
musical administrator, explaining to him that various passages were unplayable
as written. He laughed and said, “That’s why we hired you.”
As a solution I suggested that a keyboard-proficient member of the orchestra
assist me in a few of my solo passages. He thought the idea had merit, but the
union requires increased pay to any orchestra member doubling on another
instrument (even for just a few measures), and he felt it was not within their
budget. (Luckily they allowed the celesta player to turn a few pages and push
some pistons for me, but I don’t think they paid him extra.) When I told
the administrator that I might not be able to play all the notes exactly as
written, he smiled again and said, “Do the best you can.”

This stint with the San Francisco Opera was an educational
experience for me, since my normal activities consist more of solo concert
work, church service playing, and academic teaching. All of a sudden I found
myself in the world of highly professional union musicians who were used to
working with each other and their maestro. They had had several weeks to learn
and perfect a highly chromatic and rhythmically difficult score; I was brought
in for one piano dress rehearsal and the final orchestra dress rehearsal.

I was met with some other daunting challenges as well. The
opera’s electronic organ, which left something to be desired tonally and
mechanically, was placed at a far side of the pit, so the orchestra sound was
imbalanced to my ears. The organ speakers were located at a considerable
distance from the console, so there was a significant delay in the sound. (The
San Francisco Opera House was built in 1932 with the idea of eventually
installing an organ; a door near the orchestra pit is still labeled
“Organ Blower,” although the room never contained one.) While I had
a direct line of sight to the conductor, the light on him was occasionally very
dim. I had rehearsed the score and practiced my entrances to a recording of the
work, but in actual performance, I realized quickly that some of the vocal cues
I was used to hearing on the recording were actually sung by a backstage chorus
and were barely audible in the pit. So, other than an unplayable score on a
problematic instrument, and being unable to see or hear what I was doing,
everything was just fine!

Life backstage in an opera house is at least as entertaining
as the action on stage. Singers and instrumentalists mingle in the lounge,
waiting for their calls to return to the pit or the stage. They munch on
snacks, read novels, play poker or ping-pong. My favorite glimpse was that of a
knight in armor, sitting at a computer and checking his e-mail during a break.

I had more than a few nervous moments and even a couple of
sleepless nights until the show opened. In fact, after the first rehearsal I
asked my wife to remind me never to take another job like this again. By the
time the six performances were over, however, I felt differently. I’d do
it all again gladly.

Related Content

Alternative Organists

James B. Hartman

James B. Hartman is Associate Professor, Continuing Education Division, The University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Canada, where he is Senior Academic Editor for publications of the Distance Education Program. He is a frequent contributor of book reviews and articles to The Diapason.

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Across the centuries many outstanding musicians--from Johann Sebastian Bach to Charles-Marie Widor--are recognized for their outstanding achievements in composition, performance, and other notable contributions to organ culture. At the same time, many of these individuals contributed to other musical fields--instrumental and choral--not directly related to the organ. On the other hand, in the wider musical world sometimes this focus has been reversed, when outstanding practitioners in the instrumental and choral fields exhibited significant capabilities with respect to the organ.

This article will chronicle the activities of six selected outstanding figures of the broader musical society whose connections with the organ are perhaps not so widely known. The criteria for their selection include their prominence in music history within their chosen areas of activity, along with the availability of significant information about their involvement with the organ to make interesting stories. While their status in the world of the organ does not match those of the "giants" mentioned above, they worked industriously and successfully within the context of their other major activities as "alternative" organists.

Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901) was the son of an innkeeper in the tiny village of Le Roncole, near Parma, Italy. His first music lessons were at age 3 with the village schoolmaster-organist, succeeding him at his death six years later. His father bought his promising 8-year-old son a battered spinet; Verdi's love for the instrument was such that he kept it for eighty years. In 1823 he was sent to a grammar school in the nearby town of Busseto, where he lodged with a cobbler; he walked three miles back to Le Roncole every Sunday and on other feast days to play the organ, often carrying his boots so as not to wear them out. In Busseto the young Verdi studied for four years with Ferdinando Provesi, the choirmaster and organist of the collegiate church of San Bartolomeo and director of the Philharmonic Society. By age 12 Giuseppe had decided to pursue a serious musical career. He gave his first organ concert at age 13, replacing someone who was ill, when he played some of his own music on the chapel organ.

In 1829, at age 16, his application for the post of organist in nearby Soragna was rejected, perhaps because of his youth, so he continued to deputize for his ailing teacher at Busseto in composing for services, processions, and concerts, while also playing at Le Roncole. As an unpaid apprentice it was expected that he would take over both the salary and the position when Provesi died. Other musical activities included teaching younger pupils, copying parts for the Philharmonic Society, and playing the piano at musical gatherings. By the time he was 18 he had written an assortment of musical compositions, including marches for a brass band, various pieces of church music, and piano pieces.

In 1833 Verdi went to Milan to further his musical education, but he was refused enrollment at the Conservatory on the grounds that it was overcrowded, he was over the maximum age for entrance, he had problems with his hand position on the keyboard, and was a "foreigner." This rejection was a source of bitterness throughout Verdi's life. Nevertheless, he studied canons and fugues with the Conservatory's accompanist and director of music. Meanwhile, his former music teacher in Busseto, Provesi, died, leaving his post at the church vacant, and Verdi applied for it, unsuccessfully. Verdi's lifelong passion for theatergoing started about this time, and his habit of reading novels and plays unrelated to music prepared him for his later intense commitment to opera.

In 1834 musical "civil wars"--street brawls, church invasions, lampoons, arrests, and prosecutions--were waging between members of the Philharmonic Society, which supported Verdi, and opposing factions over the proposed appointment at Busseto. These events resulted in a royal decree banning the use of instrumental music (other than the organ) in church; this edict remained in effect for seventeen years until Verdi succeeded in having it removed in 1852.

Partly to avoid involvement in these uproars, Verdi applied for the position of cathedral organist at Monza, a larger town close to Milan; the Philharmonic Society threatened to restrain him with physical force if he tried to leave Busseto. On this occasion his examiner, the court organist, assured him that he had enough knowledge to be a maestro in Paris or London. In April 1836 he signed a nine-year contract as maestro di musica of Busseto; he took up his new position in 1838.

Now Verdi began work on an opera for Milan's Teatro Filodrammatico, which he continued until leaving Busseto in 1839. His first effort, Rocester, was never performed, but parts of it were reworked into Oberto, Conte di San Bonifacio, which opened on 17 November 1839 with moderate success. At this point Verdi's interest in the organ had ceased with his increasing involvement with opera. By 1860 Verdi was the most successful opera composer of the age. In time, his works, such as Rigoletto, Il Trovatore, La Traviata, Aida, and Otello, became among the world's best-known and most-loved musical dramas. On the other hand, he wrote no compositions for solo or accompanying organ, and none of his operas include the instrument in any way. The organ world's loss--not a significant deficit considering Verdi's many misfortunes and missed opportunities surrounding the organ--was the opera world's gain.

Anton Bruckner (1824-1896) was the first-born son of a family of eleven children of a village schoolmaster and organist in the town of Ansfelden, near the provincial capital of Linz, Austria. Young Anton ("Tonerl") received his first music lessons from his father, then from his cousin-godfather, who was a competent composer of church music. In 1837 he became a choirboy at the nearby Augustinian monastery, St. Florian, where he later served as a substitute organist. The organ there was a large four-manual instrument built by Krismann in 1771; it was one of the greatest on the continent at the time, and one from which the young player received inspirations of beauty and grandeur.

Until 1840 Tonerl led a secluded but thoroughly musical existence as a chorister who also studied piano, organ, and violin. In that year he enrolled in a one-year course of studies at Linz that would qualify him as an elementary school teacher, although for a while he had considered studying law and entering the civil service. Nevertheless, in 1845 he returned to St. Florian as a deputy organist and became chief organist in January 1855; this appointment lasted for ten years. Earlier, on a journey to Vienna in October 1854, he requested an examination by three outstanding Viennese organists who gave him enthusiastic testimonials; these were followed in 1855 by similar tributes from a well-known master organist from Prague. However, he was rejected for the post of cathedral organist at Olmütz in the summer of 1855.

Although Bruckner had intended to study organ with one of his examiners, he abandoned this plan when the post of organist at Linz cathedral became vacant. Bruckner, who was attending as a listener at the preliminary competition, joined in at the last moment and beat his competitors with his improvised performance of a fugue; he won again in the main competition in January 1856. This appointment freed him forever from the drudgery of teaching and the monastic seclusion at St. Florian, and introduced him to the livelier surroundings of the provincial capital.

In November 1861 Bruckner passed his final examination at the Vienna Conservatory. His improvised fugue on a given subject so overwhelmed the examiners that one of them stated, "He should have examined us! If I knew one-tenth of what he knows, I'd be happy." Another one thought that his improvisations closely resembled Mendelssohn's music.

Although Bruckner's earlier application for the position of organist-designate at the imperial court chapel in Vienna had been unsuccessful, he was finally given the post at the Hofkapelle in September 1868. It was an unpaid but prestigious position without much opportunity to assist on great occasions, apart from playing for the emperor and his family; eventually he achieved a paying position. In addition to playing the organ at services and coaching the choirboys, he directed performances of his own church music. His organ recitals at St. Epvre in Nancy and at Notre Dame in Paris in 1869 were warmly reported in the press, and were welcomed by the organ-building firms of Cavaillé-Coll and Merklin-Schütze, on whose new instruments Bruckner had improvised. Encouraged by these successes, Bruckner briefly considered a career as a concert organist. He apparently made strong impressions on such knowledgeable musicians as Franck, Saint-Saëns, Gounod, Auber, and Thomas.

On a journey to England in August 1871 as an official delegate of the Vienna Chamber of Commerce and participant in an international organ competition on a new instrument in Royal Albert Hall, Bruckner's performances received mixed reviews, but his improvisation on God Save the Queen was a highlight of his program of works by Bach and Handel. In July 1886 he was honored with the Franz Josef order and he was also received by the emperor personally, who enjoyed listening to his organ playing. In 1886 Liszt had just died, and Cosima Wag-ner invited him to perform at her father's funeral; Bruckner marked the occasion with improvisations on themes from Parsifal.

Reports on Bruckner's performing style as an organist vary greatly. Although he never composed seriously for the instrument, his powers of free improvisation were generally admired. One of his obituaries suggests that the professional critics had a poor opinion of him. Nevertheless, his early experiences at St. Florian undoubtedly left indelible imprints on his creative imagination, since some aspects of his orchestral style reveal influences of the dynamism of the organ.

His compositions for organ include: Four Preludes (ca. 1836); Prelude in E-flat major (ca. 1837); Prelude and Fugue in C minor (1847), strongly reminiscent of Mendelssohn; Two pieces in D minor (ca. 1852); Fugue in D minor (1861), which has been described as "academic and uninspired"; and Prelude in C major (1884). In the broader musical field his international recognition rests on his nine symphonies, choral church music, chamber works, piano pieces, and a few solo songs.

Antonín Dvorák (1841-1904) was born in Nelahozeves, near Kralupy, Czechoslovakia; his parents ran a village inn and his father was a butcher. He had violin lessons and played for village occasions as a child. When he was a butcher's apprentice, while living with his childless aunt and uncle in Zlonice in 1853, he had music lessons with the town cantor who filled the post of organist and choirmaster, as was the custom with village schoolteachers in those days. At this time Dvorák began to learn harmony and keyboard instruments.

Eventually his father allowed his son to become a musician and to qualify as an organist, so in 1857 the youth entered the Prague Organ School, where he remained for two years, studying theory and singing, as well as organ with the director of the choir at the Cathedral of St. Vitus. Young Dvorák was poor, shy, and sensitive, and not particularly fluent in German, so his talent was not immediately recognized at the school. Nevertheless, in 1859 he graduated with a second prize; his leaving certificate testified that he was "admirably fitted to fulfill the duties of organist and choirmaster." At the graduation concert Dvorák played some of his academic-style preludes and fugues. Around this time he supported himself as a violist in a small orchestra that played in restaurants and at dances. He also worked as an organist and teacher, and eventually married the sister of one of his pupils.

After his marriage he left the National Theater orchestra, in which he had played the viola for eleven years, to become organist at St. Adalbert's Church in 1874; this post left more time for composition, besides raising his status in the eyes of his mother-in-law. While there, Dvorák was appointed to a committee that judged the competing bids for the reconstruction of the church organ and supervised the completion of the project.

In the course of his career Dvorák served on numerous committees and administrative bodies dealing with musical matters, such as theater and arts societies, music competitions, and editorial boards; more specifically, a jury for government stipends to artists, and a member of the board of directors of the Czech Academy of Sciences and Arts in 1890.

A purely private matter was his donation of a new organ, on the occasion of his fifty-third birthday, 8 September 1894, to the church at Vysoká, near a mining town about forty miles south of Prague, where his brother-in-law had his estate.

Concerning Dvorák's ability as a performing musician, little attention has been paid to his achievements on the organ, but his abilities undoubtedly were much above average. Although he held a regular organist's position only from 1874 to 1877, he was appointed as organist for the inauguration of the renewed Czech University in Prague in 1882.

Although Dvorák produced no works specifically for solo organ, a number of his compositions--several songs and vocal duets--specify organ accompaniment. His total creative output includes eleven operas, choral and vocal works, nine symphonies and other symphonic works, various instrumental concertos, chamber music, and piano pieces. His "New World" Symphony (op. 95 in E minor, 1893) and the "Dumky" Trio (op. 90, 1890-91) are frequently heard on recorded radio programs.

Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924) was born at Pamiers, a little town in the Ariège region in the south of France. The youngest of six children, Gabriel's father was a teacher and his mother was the daughter of a retired captain. His earliest introduction to music was when he lived with foster parents in another town, where he would listen to a harmonium being played in an old convent chapel, which inspired him to improvise on the instrument on his own. One day the 4-year-old child was overheard by an elderly blind lady, an excellent musician, who suggested to his parents that his evident talent should be developed.

Eventually, in 1854, he secured a scholarship at Louis Niedermeyer's École de Musique Classique et Religieuse in Paris, a newly established boarding school for training organists and choirmasters. He remained there for eleven years, studying organ (the school had a 12-stop instrument and a pedal piano), piano (one classroom contained fifteen pianos), singing, plainsong, and theoretical subjects. His acquaintance with contemporary music came from Saint-Saëns, who became his piano teacher in 1861 after the death of Niedermeyer, and who remained a close friend and furthered his academic career. While at school Fauré and his friend, Eugène Gigout, planned their future careers as eminent church musicians.

Fauré was not particularly inspired by the organ, perhaps thinking that the mechanical instrument lacked the sensual subtleties of the piano. Even so, the organ's special feature, its powerful bass pedals, left a lasting impression as indicated by the strong bass lines in some of his piano pieces. According to Saint-Saëns, Fauré was a "first-class organist when he wanted to be," but he never kept up his technique and preferred to improvise. He left the school in January 1866 with the first prize in piano performance, organ, harmony, and composition. During this period he composed his first songs, piano pieces, and one choral work.

Fauré's first position was as organist at St. Sauveur in Rennes, which he held from January 1866 to March 1870. He was in trouble with the clergy from the outset, when he used the sermon time for a smoking break. He was dismissed after appearing at a morning service dressed in white tie and tails worn at a municipal ball the night before. His next appointment, at Notre-Dame de Clignancourt in Paris, also ended abruptly with his dismissal for missing a service to hear a Meyerbeer opera.

Following military service in 1871 Fauré was employed briefly as organist at St.-Honoré d'Eylau, a rich parish church in Paris. A more important appointment was as second organist at St. Sulpice in Paris, assisting Charles-Marie Widor; the church had a magnificent 100-stop Cavaillé-Coll instrument. The two musicians amused each other by improvising competitively in tandem during services; their subtle modulations probably were not understood by the clergy or other listeners, however.

A high point in Fauré's career was his appointment in 1877 as choirmaster, a prestigious but low-paying position, at Ste. Madeleine, Paris's most distinguished and fashionable church, where he succeeded Saint-Saëns, who had resigned; he held this position until 1896. Although Fauré's duties did not specifically involve organ playing, the church's impressive Cavaillé-Coll instrument was available for practice purposes when he was not teaching or working on his compositions.

Fauré's renown strengthened during the 1920s, and societies devoted to giving concerts of his music and publishing his works were formed in France in the 1930s and in succeeding years. He was not a widely popular composer, and his music had more appeal to connoisseurs than to the wider musical public. Even so, he cannot be counted among the "giants" of musical history.

Fauré's creative works include one opera, sacred choral works, nearly 100 songs, chamber music, piano pieces, and works for piano and orchestra. His Thème et variations, op. 73, Dolly Suite, 4-hands, is frequently heard on recorded radio programs, and performances of his Requiem still attract good audiences. Although Fauré respected the organ as an instrument having a classical repertoire, his compositions did not include any works for solo organ, but several of his choral and vocal works specify organ accompaniment. Consistent with his respect for Bach, he wrote the preface for an edition of Bach's "48" and revised the whole of Bach's organ works with unofficial help from Joseph Bonnet and his friend Gigout.

Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924) was born in Lucca, a small city in northern Italy, which had enjoyed a considerable reputation for its church music up to the end of the eighteenth century. The Puccini family had an impressive musical lineage of five generations of musicians in two centuries (eighteenth and nineteenth). Giacomo, the fifth of seven children, was expected to follow the family tradition and become organist at San Martino Cathedral. Giacomo's father encouraged his lazy son's mastery of the organ--the child was 5 years old at the time--by placing coins on the organ keyboard so that the boy, trying to grasp them, would have to push down the keys and produce sounds.

Following his father's premature death in 1891, Giacomo's uncle on his mother's side assumed the position at San Martino and continued instructing Giacomo until the child reached the appropriate age of succession. In time, Giacomo's organ playing improved to the level of assisting his uncle at San Martino, as well as performing in other smaller churches. He also played the piano at weddings, in taverns, and in houses of prostitution, as well as at a local convent, where he was rewarded with cups of hot chocolate in addition to his small fee of a few lire that was to be sent directly to his mother.

As a member of a fun-loving gang of youths, when he was playing the organ at a small village church where his brother acted as organ-blower, they decided to get extra money by stealing some organ pipes and selling them to a scrap dealer. In order to avoid detection of the crime, Puccini adjusted his playing of harmonies by avoiding notes of the missing pipes, which delayed discovery of the theft for a long time. Another source of income was from his only pupil, a young tailor--both were 16 years old at the time--and the lessons continued for four years, 1874-8. Puccini wrote his earliest compositions, consisting of short organ pieces, for him; the young man later became a composer of organ pieces himself.

Around this time, Puccini began composing in earnest, chiefly organ music for the church service. Many of these pieces were improvisations that Puccini later transcribed; some of them were derived from folk songs and popular operas, which startled both the priests and congregations. Puccini also introduced lively marches as postludes to play the congregation out of the church; for this he was reprimanded by his elder sister who was preparing to become a nun.

Puccini's first contact with opera was through his teacher, who introduced him to the scores of Verdi's Rigoletto, Traviata, and Trovatore. This experience probably had a decisive influence on Puccini's subsequent career, because he and several friends made a thirty-mile round trip to Pisa to hear Verdi's masterpiece, Aida. At this time Puccini abandoned the family tradition of becoming a full-time church organist and decided to pursue operatic craft at the Milan Conservatory, which he entered in 1880 with the aid of a scholarship from Queen Margherita. His scholarly record was consistently brilliant in counterpoint, his main subject, although he had yet to discover the secrets of the stage.

Puccini's fame rests chiefly on his twelve operas, particularly Manon Lescaut (1893), La Bohème (1896), Tosca (1893), Madama Butterfly (1904), and Turandot (1926); two of his operas, Edgar (1889) and Tosca (1893), contain parts for organ. He also composed various pieces of church music, several choral works, two orchestral works, chamber music (chiefly string quartets), two pieces for piano, and seven songs with piano. His catalogue of works also contains several pieces for organ (before 1880).

Charles Ives (1874-1954) was born in Danbury, Connecticut, where his father, George Ives (1845-1894), was a music teacher who directed bands, choirs, and orchestras. The father had an intense interest in musical innovation and experimentation, such as microtones, bitonality, and acoustics, which he shared with his two sons, Charles and Moss. For example, independence of mind was developed by practicing ear-training exercises such as singing in one key and being accompanied in another. Charles recollected playing drums in one of his father's bands that marched past another group, generating a discordant clash of conflicting keys and rhythms; this phenomenon is reflected in some of his later unconventional compositions.

While at home, young Charles studied drums, piano, and organ with various teachers, becoming a competent pianist by age 12. In 1889 he took his first salaried post as organist at the Second Congregational Church, then at the Baptist Church, in Danbury. At the same time, he composed songs and choral works, along with occasional organ solos that may have been used as interludes in church services or in church-sponsored recitals.

In 1893 Ives moved to New Haven to attend Hopkins Grammar School in preparation for entry into Yale University. While at Hopkins he took a job as organist at St. Thomas's Episcopal Church to help his father pay his expenses. In March 1894 he tried out for an organist position at the Baptist Church, but his application failed.

When Ives began full-time study at Yale in September 1894--he went there primarily for the athletics and as part of the family heritage--he was already an accomplished organist, a skilled composer of band music, and songwriter in the popular style. For his entire four years at Yale he played the organ at Center Church in New Haven--the oldest and most prestigious church there--where he was allowed to play his own compositions. Prior to, and during this appointment he commuted to New York to take organ lessons from Dudley Buck, one of the leading organists of the country. At Yale he took composition lessons from Horatio W. Parker, an established young composer of church music. Under Parker's direction Ives composed his First String Quartet, over forty songs, and several marches, overtures, anthems, part songs, and organ pieces.

Following his time at Yale, Ives moved to New York in September 1898 to take a position as a clerk with the Mutual Life Insurance Company; later he founded his own insurance company, Ives and Myrick. Even before the end of the Yale term, he had secured a position as organist at Bloomfield Presbyterian Church, New Jersey, to begin the following summer. He commuted to this position for two years before moving to Central Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, where he remained until June 1902. In these organist positions Ives remained a well-rounded musician, playing services and recitals, and composing practical pieces. His recital repertoire included works or arrangements by Bach, Mozart, Handel, and Brahms, and often music of his own. One of his works that received its premiere at Central Presbyterian Church was The Celestial Country, an ambitious work scored for two solo quartets and choir, string quartet, brass, tympani, and organ. Around this time Ives decided never to apply for another musical position in order to achieve his musical freedom from the demands of audiences. Although his ultimate decline in composition is sometimes attributed to health problems, he simply may have exhausted his ability to achieve his high artistic aims. Even so, he received the Pulitzer Prize for his Third Symphony in 1947.

Ives's music has its roots in the nineteenth-century Romantic conception of music as an embodiment of emotion and national feeling. The principal aim of his mature works was the personal representation in music of the range of human experience--particularly American experience--in all its drama, emotional power, and confusion. This aim is often revealed in the titles of some of his compositions that deal with specific events: for example, The Fourth of July, Decoration Day, Holiday Quickstep, Thanksgiving, and Washington's Birthday. His musical productions include choral music, vocal music, chamber music, orchestral music (including four symphonies), two piano sonatas, and the Variations on America for organ (written at age 17). Although the original scores of a number of his compositions for organ have been lost, they were incorporated into works for other instruments.

Ives's compositional style reflects his earlier experiences with his father's innovative experiments: explorations of tonality and serial procedures, polymetric and polyrhythmic constructions, experiments with quarter-tones, the use of space as a compositional element, and layered polyphony and multidimensionality. Ives's works were rarely performed during his lifetime, nor were they widely published. In recent years the Charles Ives Society has generated editions and playing materials of his music that are a challenge to all and a threat to some.

In addition to the six alternative organists discussed above, several other well-known names might be added to this group.

Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900) learned to play many wind instruments from his father in London before embarking on an intense period of musical training, including the Leipzig Conservatory, 1858-60. Returning to London, he worked as a teacher and accompanist, as well as organist at St. Michael's, Chester Square, 1861-7, and at St. Peter's, Cranley Gardens, 1867-72. His musical collaboration with W. S. Gilbert produced some of the best-known pieces of popular musical theater, many of which still are traditional offerings of school and college musical groups.

Gustav Holst (1874-1934) first learned music from his father, an organist and pianist. He began conducting local orchestras while attending grammar school, and then played the organ at Wyck Rissington, Gloucestershire, in 1892, although the instrument never figured in subsequent professional appointments. Some of his orchestral compositions became enduring contributions to the musical world. His powerful Choral Fantasia (1930) for soprano, chorus, and orchestra, also includes the organ.

Hamilton Harty (1879-1941) learned piano and counterpoint from his organist father. From age 12 he held organ posts, first at Magheracoll Church in Antrim County, Ireland, then at Belfast and Bray (near Dublin). He played viola in a Dublin orchestra and became known as a piano accompanist in London. In 1920 he became the conductor of the Hallé Orchestra, which he formed into one of the country's finest orchestras.

Leopold Stokowski (1882-1977) entered the Royal College of Music, London, at age 13, where he studied piano, organ, and composition, receiving his diploma in 1900; he also studied at Oxford University (B.Mus., 1903). He was organist at St. James, Piccadilly, 1902-5. In 1905 he moved to New York as organist and choir director at St. Bartholomew's Church on Madison Avenue. Following his debut as a conductor in Paris, he was engaged by the Cincinnati Orchestra in 1909, then by the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1912, an internationally famous organization that he led for twenty-four years.

Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992) began to compose at age 8, even before any formal instruction. He entered the Paris Conservatory in 1919, achieving prizes in counterpoint and fugue, accompaniment, organ, and improvisation (with Marcel Dupré), history of music, and composition. In 1931 he was appointed organist at l'Église de la Sainte Trinité in Paris, remaining in that position for over forty years. Many of his composed organ works reflect aspects of the theological creed of the Catholic faith. Although not a member of any particular school, Messiaen has had a major influence on contemporary music.

William Herschel (1738-1822), British musician and astronomer, is an unusual figure to conclude this section, considering his unique combination of occupations. He pursued an active career as violinist and conductor in the 1760s, and he played the organ at the Octagon Chapel in Bath from 1766 onwards. In 1780 he was accepted into the Bath Literary and Philosophical Society. In the following year, using a telescope he had partially designed and constructed himself, he discovered the planet Uranus.

There is a music wherever there is a harmony, order, or proportion; and thus far may we maintain the music of the spheres.

--Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682)

Religio Medici [1642]

Baroque in Boston: The 13th Biennial Early Music Festival

Larry Palmer

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON.

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Anticipation was high as the hour drew near for the first staged performance
of Johann Mattheson's Boris Goudenow.
Composed in 1710 for the Hamburg Opera, but never performed (probably for
political reasons), the opera slept the long sleep of libraries, narrowly
surviving destruction in the World War II bombing of northern Germany. Moved
secretly for safekeeping, the score remained in Armenia, was returned to
Hamburg in 1998, and now, on June 14, 2005, after almost 300 years, this ink on
paper was about to become living sound for an audience.

Just as I joined the capacity crowd entering the Cutler Majestic Theatre, a
celebratory fanfare sounded forth. I was one of the lucky ones who made it to
my mezzanine spot in the 1200-seat Beaux Arts hall before the overture began.
Those who were not so fortunate created a fair amount of chaos during the
opening scene of the opera, possibly adding some 18th-century-style realism to
the occasion!

Brilliant ceremonial rites at the Russian court, colorful dancing
(especially a divertissement of the disabled that closed the second act, and
the final chaconne), some striking stage pictures (sunrise over the Kremlin at
the beginning of Act III was particularly effective), and the luminously
stylistic, homogeneous playing of the BEMF Orchestra made this a memorable
evening at the opera. Mattheson's music was nothing out of the ordinary, and
gripping, engaging singing, especially from the women, was in short supply. A
bawdy, comic role--the servant Bogda (sung by William Hite)--stood out, as did
some touches such as the percussive clatter of thrown coins (in the Coronation
scene: a foretaste of Britten's slung mugs from Noyes Fludde
style='font-style:normal'>?), and the festive addition of handbells and
castanets for the final tableau.

One strange facet of Mattheson's work is its macaronic text: Italian arias
inserted freely into a primarily German libretto. An added oddity of this particular
performance in 18th-century style was the decision to keep the house lights
dark, although, with a (21st-century) projected text, it might be considered
unnecessary for the audience to refer to the printed texts that had been
provided. 

Festival Concerts

Just how important a mesmerizing singer can be to an opera was borne home
the following evening at Jordan Hall when the Festival offered Nights at the
Opera: Highlights from Beloved BEMF Productions. Opening with a superb reading
of orchestral excerpts from Lully's Thésée
style='font-style:normal'> (staged in 2001), continuing with ravishing and
riveting arias from Conradi's
Ariadne (2003), delivered with dramatic intensity by Canadian soprano Karina
Gauvin, this was voluptuous music presented with authoritative diction and gorgeous
sound, to boot.

It was especially enlightening to have the orchestra front and center, on
stage rather than in the pit, allowing one to observe the close interaction
among the players, and the ways in which they were led by Festival musical
co-directors, lutenists Paul O'Dette and Stephen Stubbs, and concertmaster
Robert Mealy. These leaders, along with the two continuo
harpsichordists--Kristian Bezuidenhout and Jörg Jacobi (who had produced
the printed score and parts used for the Boris premiere)--kept the music moving
with gut-wrenching inflections, infectious dance-based rhythmic nuance, and
some of the most satisfying cadential resolutions to be enjoyed on the planet.
For those not in attendance, these musical splendors may be heard at home in BEMF's
first commercial recording. Their performance of Conradi's Ariadne
style='font-style:normal'> has just been released as a three compact disc set
on the German CPO label (777 073-2).

Excerpts from Luigi Rossi's L'Orfeo,
a back-to-back demonstration of Handel's wholesale borrowing from Mattheson
(nearly-identical arias from the latter's
Porsenna
style='font-style:normal'>, 1702, as used by the former in his
Agrippina
style='font-style:normal'>, 1709), and Mattheson's undistinguished, lengthy
serenata concerning the virtues of chastity,
Die Keusche Liebe
style='font-style:normal'>, failed to achieve the musical excitement generated
in the first half of the program.

Sequentia, ensemble for medieval music, presented the 8 o'clock Jordan Hall
concert on Thursday evening. This was not the ticket I had requested (thinking
that I should at least try to hear one of the 11 o'clock late-night concerts),
but I decided to accept providence and attend Lost Songs of a Rhineland Harper,
a program that proved to be a stunner! Framing two large parts of the program
with songs to texts by the learned medieval musician Boethius, the four-member
ensemble was heard in a variety of voicings, from unaccompanied monophony to
settings with harp, lyre and several flutes, including one made from a delicate
swan's bone. With translations projected on a large central screen hung from
the organ case, it was not difficult to follow the lengthy Latin texts.
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> 

After intermission the dramatic impact was ratcheted up several notches,
especially in the  gripping
Icelandic saga, Atlakvida (Lay of Attila
the Hun), the earliest known retelling of the Rhinegold story later the basis
for Richard Wagner's four-opera
Ring of the Nibelungs
style='font-style:normal'>. In considerably less time, Sequentia founder
Benjamin Bagby related the violent tale, becoming the embodiment of an
Icelandic harper, concentrated and severe in expression, and with such incisive
diction that the old Scandinavian text was chillingly clear. We listeners
experienced grim history as our ancestors might have done. Bagby's performance
was a startling, unforgettable theatrical tour-de-force.

Drama of another sort--that of program changes--informed the Friday evening
program Five Concerti and a Magnificat. An Overture (to the opera Porsenna
style='font-style:normal'>) and the double chorus
Magnificat
style='font-style:normal'> were by Mattheson. The Overture, featuring BEMF's
principal oboist Washington McClain, was followed by the first program
substitution: the Bach
Concerto in D minor for Two Violins
style='font-style:normal'> (with soloists Andrey Reshetin and Maria
Krestinskaya) replacing the scheduled Vivaldi Concerto to have been played by
Giuliano Carmignola, indisposed in Italy. Matthias Maute romped through two
Recorder Concerti (in F Major by Telemann and the G Major, RV 443, by Vivaldi)
with musical insight and astonishing virtuosity. Like soprano Gauvin, he was
unafraid to make the occasional ugly sound for dramatic effect. Replacing
Carmignola's second star turn was Johann Wilhelm Hertel's
Cello
Concerto in A minor
, featuring BEMF's
superb principal cellist, Phoebe Carrai, a satisfying and expressively kinetic
player.

Announcing the program changes, Paul O'Dette quipped that it was probably
the first time, at least in North America, that a program would feature two
Hertel Concerti. A native of J. S. Bach's hometown, Eisenach, the unfamiliar
Hertel (1727-1789), proved his worth in the works heard on this program, with
the Concerto in F minor for Fortepiano and Strings
style='font-style:normal'> a stronger composition. It was lovingly played by
Kristian Bezuidenhout, who achieved hushed, nearly inaudible pianissimi in the
poignant Largo, and also improvised an extended cadenza at the end of this
movement.

A Plethora of Offerings: Fringe and Beyond

The large number of concerts during Festival Week forced would-be listeners
to make difficult choices. For example, two further sets of daily concerts at 5
and 11 included duos for bass violas da gamba; choral music for the Holy Roman
Emperor Maximilian I and his daughter Marguerite of Austria; violin and
harpsichord music for the 18th-century Russian manor house; Gypsy Primadonna
music of 1820s Moscow; "Waild and Krejzy: secular music in 1730s
Slovakia"; and baroque lute music played by the indomitable duo of Stubbs
and O'Dette, who seemed to be everywhere--opera orchestra (Boris was played
four times during the week) as well as all other appearances of the BEMF
Orchestra, master classes, solo recitals, administrative matters--an amazing
musical (and physical) expenditure of energy. Every involvement I noted was at
a very high level, as well.

There were at least 57 scheduled "fringe" concerts in various
nearby venues, plus the concurrent Early Music Exhibition (Wednesday through
Saturday) at the Radisson Hotel, where dozens of demonstration recitals were
sponsored by instrument makers and dealers. As harpsichordist for the Texas
Camerata concert on Thursday (Lindsay Chapel of Emmanuel Church), I experienced
a sold-out house of involved and appreciative auditors. It was not possible to
attend many of these added events (all by groups that had been screened before
receiving an invitation from the Festival management), but I heard enthusiastic
reports about many programs. Of the Exhibition concerts I heard two: the first
a morning program with Team Mattheson (Matilda Butkas and William Carragan),
duo harpsichordists, performing works by the featured composer of the week.
They played fine harpsichords by David Werbeloff [Boston] after Zell and Robert
Hicks [Vermont] after Stehlin for an overflowing complement of listeners, many
seated on the floor or leaning against any available wall space.

In the afternoon Duo d'amore (Geoffrey Burgess, baroque oboes; Elaine
Funaro, harpsichord) again played to a capacity audience in the ample
exhibition space occupied by The Harpsichord Clearing House. Perhaps, like me,
these auditors were eager to escape "the din of antiquity" (to borrow
Daniel Pinkham's apt phrase) and to experience old instruments in some new
music. Both players made cogent cases for their commissioned repertory; the
program included two world premieres (works by Chris Lastovicka and Edwin
McLean, whose contribution Incantations gave opportunity to hear the darker,
smoky timbre of the baroque oboe d'amore)! Funaro programmed two short
harpsichord solos by Tom Robin Harris and Stephen Yates. Additional duets were
by John Mayrose, and Andrew Ford, plus Yates's hauntingly beautiful Canto
style='font-style:normal'> (2004), a lyric fantasia well suited to both wind
and keyboard. For contrast one piece of earlier music could have benefited this
program, although all of the new works were of interest. The only other
insertion of "later music" into the Festival program was a Zuckermann
Harpsichords-sponsored program by California harpsichordist/composer Shelli
Nan.

Events with a particular educational focus included a morning clavichord
symposium at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts; "Performing Baroque Music
According to Mattheson" at the Goethe Institute; "Rediscovering Boris
Goudenow
: Performance and Production Issues
in German Baroque Opera"; a wide variety of instrumental and vocal
masterclasses; and organizational discussions on audience building and other
practicalities sponsored by Early Music America and a panel of early music
concert promoters. 

Friday's day-long celebration of the North German organ featured a recent,
refined Richards and Fowkes organ (opus 10, 2000) at First Lutheran Church,
with organists Edoardo Bellotti, Hans Davidsson, and William Porter playing
literature that demonstrated the organist-composer as contrapuntist, as
preacher, and as orator. In the first of the afternoon sessions, Porter used
the rich plenum and full, singing principals of this modest-sized two-manual
instrument in Buxtehude's monumental Praeludium in E minor
style='font-style:normal'> (BuxWV 142), followed by Krebs's
Fantasia
on Herr Jesus Christ, dich zu uns wend

(idiomatic reed solo) and trio on
Herzlich Lieb hab' ich dich, o Herr
style='font-style:normal'> (piquant, lively flutes). C. P. E. Bach's
Fantasia
con Fuga in C minor
served up the gravitas
of a satisfying 16-foot plenum, complete with Sesquialtera.

This provided the perfect musical segue to my other choice of fringe
program, heard in a religious edifice just across the street. First and Second
Church, destroyed by fire in 1968, was replaced, behind its damaged
façade, with a striking, contemporary building, including a second-story
high-ceilinged, freely-angled chapel. In this sky-lit quiet space Iowa's Carol
lei Breckenridge played all six of C. P. E. Bach's Sonaten für Kenner
und Liebhaber
[Sonatas for Connoisseurs and
Amateurs] (Volume I, 1779) in a musical salon concert, with period poetry read
in German by Michael Herrick. 

Breckenridge, heard several years ago in memorable Mozart performances,
maintained her reputation as a master of the clavichord. Playing a large
unfretted instrument by Paul Irvin [Chicago], she limned the rapidly shifting
emotions of these Sturm und Drang compositions with unflappable technical ease.
The six sonatas, each comprising three movements, are not of equal length, nor,
frankly, of equal interest. Among all 18 movements, the very first (a dazzling
Prestissimo) was breathtaking, as was the complete (and shorter) Fifth Sonata
(F Major). Sonata Three, the only one in a minor key, required a brief retuning
(B-flat becoming A-sharp)--as did the amazing chromatics introducing the middle
movement of the final sonata.

Mid-afternoon on Friday was not a fortuitous time to attract a crowd: about
20 listeners shared this perfect pendant to the organ symposia.

At the Exhibition: An Abundance of Fine
Keyboard Instruments

At least 22 makers and distributors of keyboard instruments were listed in
the 276-page Festival program book (itself a work of art). Fine harpsichords
were much in evidence. In addition to those by builders already mentioned, some
that attracted  attention
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> 
were made by Adam Decker (the
Harpsichord Gallery, Atlanta); Marc Ducornet (the Paris Workshop); and by
consistently satisfying makers Richard Kingston (North Carolina)--whose Flemish
single harpsichord with colorful abstract lid painting by June Zinn Hobby was a
visual and sonic feast, Allan Winkler (Boston), and Douglas Maple
(Pennsylvania). (Harpsichords by Kingston, David Sutherland [Ann Arbor],
Winkler and Dowd were used in the opera performances and for the BEMF
orchestral programs.)

Gut-strung Lautenwerks from Steven Sorli (Amherst, MA) were beautifully
crafted, exciting instruments, as was a portable high-pitched clavichord by
Gary Blaise (San Francisco). I could not resist the 1939 John Challis
clavichord displayed by Glenn Giutarri and The Harpsichord Clearing House among
their many fine instruments, including 
chamber organs. Another triple-transposing continuo organ from Les
Ateliers Guilbault Bellavance Carignan (Quebec) had a pleasingly gentle wooden
4-foot Principal among its four stops.

Also tempting were displays on tables laden with musical facsimiles and
other scores, eye-catching recordings (among the most enticing were the 18
unorthodox and brilliant covers for the Vivaldi Edition CDs issued thus far by
the Italian label Naïve) and opulent publications such as Goldberg Early
Music Magazine, now publishing collectible single-composer issues. It was
necessary to keep checkbook and credit cards firmly under control, although
failing to do so also had its rewards (until the bills arrived).

Boston: Convenient and Memorable

Nearly all the concert venues were within walking distance or accessible by
inexpensive public transport. Food of all varieties and prices was available,
ranging from pre-packaged sandwiches to elegant restaurant menus (Legal
Seafoods was just across from the exhibition space).

And central Boston itself held so many musical associations and personal
memories. For instance it was not possible to be in Jordan Hall without
remembering Ralph Kirkpatrick's 50th anniversary harpsichord recital (in 1981,
during the very first Early Music Festival); or to walk into King's Chapel
without recalling composer Daniel Pinkham, who graced the organist/ choirmaster
position there for so many years. Lovely, now historic, harpsichords built by
William Dowd were in evidence and in use. A photograph of early music pioneer
Arnold Dolmetsch, once employed to direct the making of early instruments at
the Chickering Piano Factory across the river in Cambridge, graced the front
cover of a Boston Clavichord Society brochure.

Inexpensive dormitory housing, available in a building now owned by Emerson
College, was only steps away from Steinert Hall, endowed by one of America's
first early instrument collectors, piano dealer Morris Steinert. Directly
across the street, in the old burying ground on Boston Common, the remains of
composer William Billings are thought to be buried, and he is commemorated by a
plaque placed there during the 1976 American Guild of Organists national
convention (a conference memorable for E. Power Biggs's late-career performance
of Rheinberger Organ Concertos with the Boston Pops, despite EPB's
stress-fractured arm!).

Wagnerian swanboats long have been a feature on the pond of the Public
Garden (founded in 1839). Recent, however, is the reverent, nostalgic addition
to this venerable and well-utilized park: a Garden of Remembrance for the
victims of the 9/11 attack. Many people pause at the simple stone memorial to
meditate, and to read these touching words from Boston and Sea Poems by
Lawrence Homer, poet-laureate of Faneuil Hall:

Time touches all more gently here,

Here where man has said, No:

Trees and grass, and flowers will remain:

. . . watching swanboats glide in season.

It was a pleasure to attend this Boston Early Music Festival and Exhibition,
after a 20-year-long interval of not being there, and to observe the breadth
and vitality of the current early music scene. If Johann Mattheson's music did
not prove him to have been a composer of extraordinary genius, the event was,
nevertheless, a welcome opportunity to learn more about this 18th-century
musician and writer, to assess more knowledgeably his place among his
well-known contemporaries, and to experience yet another from the
ever-lengthening list of forgotten or unknown operas, transformed from dusty
scores to living stage productions through the inspired efforts of America's
premier early music festival. More, please.

Further Information

Stephen Stubbs: "Johann Mattheson--the Russian connection: the
rediscovery of Boris Goudenow and his other lost operas," Early Music
style='font-style:normal'> XXXIII/2 (May 2005), 283-292.
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> 

Previous BEMF reports by Larry Palmer

The Diapason, August 1981, 1, 3 [the
first Early Music Festival].

The Diapason, April 1985, 9 [the 1983
Festival].

The Diapason, October 1985, 10-11
[the 1985 Festival].

In the wind . . .

John Bishop

John Bishop is executive director of the Organ Clearing House.

Files
webDiapJan09p14.pdf (612.71 KB)
Default

revolution: n. 1a. Orbital motion about a point, especially as distinguished from axial rotation: the planetary revolution around the sun. b. A turning or rotational motion about an axis. c. A single complete cycle of such orbital or axial motion. 2. The overthrow of one government and its replacement with another. 3. A sudden or momentous change in a situation: the revolution in computer technology. (The American Heritage Dictionary, Houghton Mifflin Company, 2000)
evolution: n. 1. A gradual process in which something changes into a different and usually more complex or better form. 2a. The process of developing.
b. Gradual development . . .
word-play: n. 1. Witty or clever verbal exchange; repartee. 2. The act or an instance of such exchange.

I can name that tune in four notes.
In 1964 the comedian and parodist Allen Sherman (1924–1973) performed a concert with Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops Orchestra. The program included Sherman’s reading of Peter and the Commissar, a parody on Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf with Cold War overtones (when discussing the effectiveness of an imaginary Politburo, Sherman quipped: “A camel is a horse that was designed by a committee.”), and a hilarious orchestral medley, Variations on “How Dry I Am,” which opens with a statement of the original and familiar melody (sol-do-re-mi) and continues with the beginnings of a series of familiar compositions and songs that start with the same four notes, ranging from You are my sunshine to the 1812 Overture. There’s even an inversion moment quoting one of the variations of Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini.
I think most musicians have had the experience of freely associating a few notes from one melody with another. I know it’s happened to me many times—I’m sitting all dressed up at Symphony Hall surrounded by serious music lovers (and a few old men snoring), when one of those associations hits me—I chuckle and receive my wife’s elbow. And I know I amused the choir at church countless times (at least I thought so) by interrupting a rehearsal to turn a phrase from an anthem by Vaughan Williams into a Rodgers and Hart song. As a budding continuo player while a student at Oberlin, we roared one night in rehearsal turning the second trio from the last movement of Bach’s first Brandenburg Concerto into “The Lonely Goatherd” from The Sound of Music. You can’t tell me Richard Rodgers never heard Bach.
Word-play is same sort of thing. You hear a word that reminds you of another, swap them in context, and you have a pun—that high form of humor that invites such frequent elbows. It’s a matter of sound association—does that make musicians naturally inclined as punsters (otherwise known as pundits)?
I’ll give you a couple classics for free:
Dorothy Parker (1893–1967) was a writer and poet, perhaps best known for her humorous commentary on urban life in America published in The New Yorker. She was a founding member of the Algonquin Round Table, a group of writers, critics, and other literary folk who gathered each day for lunch at the Algonquin Hotel (West 44th Street near Fifth Avenue) from 1919 to about 1929. Harpo Marx, Tallulah Bankhead, and Edna Ferber were among other participants. Speaking about the Round Table years later, writer and curmudgeon H. L. Mencken commented, “their ideals were those of a vaudeville actor, one who is extremely ‘in the know’ and inordinately trashy.”
One session included a contest—each member was given a word around which to construct a pun. Ms. Parker was given horticulture. Her response, “You can lead a whore to culture but you can’t make her think.”
Science-fiction writer Isaac Asimov presented his favorite pun, which involved the story of an old cattle rancher whose offspring inherited the ranch, renamed “The Focus Ranch” as a stipulation of the will. The source of the name—“Where the sun’s rays meet.” Get it—focus, sun’s rays?1

An evolutionary revolution
In the last several days I’ve experienced two artistic revolutions and as I reflected about them, the word evolution joined the fun. I couldn’t find any published etymological connection between the two words, but I can’t avoid the sound association leading to a more meaningful connection—is a revolution a re-evolution? The evolution of musical theater includes several revolutionary moments like Monteverdi’s opera, The Coronation of Poppea (1642), which stands out as a breathtaking and groundbreaking composition with a raft of soloists, a chorus, lots of orchestral music and dancing—a mid-17th-century foreshadowing of the tradition of romantic Grand Opera.
Yesterday we attended a live-by-satellite broadcast from the Metropolitan Opera of Hector Berlioz’s La Damnation de Faust. The revolutionary brainchild of Peter Gelb, general manager of the Met since 2006, these performances are broadcast to nearly 800 venues, including movie theaters and concert halls, exponentially expanding the Met’s paying audience. The audiences are treated not only to huge-format excellent-quality broadcasts of the great operas, complete with “see every hair” close-ups so well known from televised sports, but also to backstage tours and interviews that give a great sense of the bustle that goes on behind the scenes. You see grand stage-sweeping shots and intimate close-ups. When the on-stage lovers are embracing, noses five inches apart and singing at the top of their gargantuan voices, one wonders if there is any hearing left when the afternoon is over. (Makes me think of the cheek-flapping films from early G-force experiments.)
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) created the character of Doctor Faust, a melancholy aging scholar who is contemplating suicide until he hears church bells and an Easter celebration. As he changes his mind, he is approached by Satan (Mephistopheles), who undertakes to win his soul. After several twists and turns, Satan provides Faust with the vision of a lover who ironically kills her mother using Faust’s bottle of poison as a sleep aid, trying to keep the old woman out of the way so she could encounter Faust. In the original Faustian Deal, Dr. Faust signs a pact with the Devil committing his soul to the underworld in return for freeing his lover for ascension into heaven. (After all, it wasn’t her fault that Satan made her fall in love!)
Hector Berlioz (1803–1869) was a revolutionary composer. His skill and insight as an orchestrator was such that his treatise on orchestration is still used in formal musical educations. He was a pioneer of the use of huge musical forces, on several occasions conducting more than a thousand musicians in performance. Berlioz originally called La Damnation de Faust a “légende dramatique”—as such it has most frequently been performed as an oratorio, only gradually evolving into a recognized part of opera repertoire.
Berlioz’s score is fantastique, contributing to the evolution of the symphonique tone poem, his interest in the form having been piqued by such masterworks as Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique. His orchestral technique is far ahead of its time. His sense of the dramatique is unique—the evil villain’s actions oblique, and the outlook for Faust’s soul is blique.
The evolution of stagecraft has been forever changed by electronics. The set for the Met’s production of Faust is a three-tiered skeleton on which the cast of characters carries on, and onto which virtual scenery is projected. The grid changes from a crucifixion scene to a bustling boozy inn to a stately mansion—from a creepy and spooky forest to the underworld and finally to heaven, all controlled by the proverbial flicking of switches. The concept is as revolutionary as the media. And I’ll tell you, watching such a progressive production in a quaint little tin-ceilinged second-story theater in a small town in Maine is surreal. Damnation and ascension complete, we walk out onto Main Street greeted by a wintery wind and the familiar sights and sounds of our little town. Revolution complete.
I think Hector Berlioz, whose imagination stunned the French public in the middle of the 19th century (200 years after the first performance of Coronation of Poppea), would have loved how the Metropolitan Opera, ostensibly but no longer that most stodgy of institutions, would present his music in such an imaginative and revolutionary way.
The other evolution of my week of revolutions was my second visit to the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. I have yet to hear the extraordinary, revolutionary Rosales/Glatter-Götz organ in a live performance, but I have now had two opportunities to be with the organ in the company of Manuel Rosales in an otherwise empty hall. The visual design is fanciful enough in photographs, more so when viewing the organ from the hall. But the most fanciful is standing amongst the curved 32-foot Violone pipes that comprise the essence of the unique design. It’s a little like looking in a curvy fun-house mirror—the familiar is lost, and you feel a little disoriented. After all, the façade pipes of most organs sit obediently on an impost above the fray. To get to the “tracker console” of the Disney organ, you walk between a forest of façade pipes. Their toes are on the stage floor around the console—wind coming from who-knows-where through the floor.
Looking at the façade from inside the organ is a little like getting a backstage glimpse at the Met—you can see the clever structure that supports the façade: each pipe is curved, each pipe faces in a different direction, and there’s no apparent order to them that can be derived from musical scales, tuning systems, or chest order, as with virtually every other organ with an architectural presence. So much for obedience. (Notice that I didn’t bother to mention symmetry!)
In one sense this mighty organ represents a logical evolutionary step. In the past couple decades we’ve celebrated the design and construction of quite a few tremendous new concert hall organs. Each one has design features that build on its predecessors. A terrific amount of work has been devoted to understanding how to move enough air through an organ to produce pleasing and musical tones that can take a listener from whisper to volcano. It’s a grand achievement for a pipe organ to “stand up to” a modern symphony orchestra, which is capable of bewildering volumes of sound. To achieve that with modest wind pressures and slider chests is especially impressive.
There’s nothing quite like the bass response of a symphony orchestra. No great conductor is willing to wait a nano-second for a bass note to develop. The bottom notes from the orchestra’s tuba, trombone, contrabassoon, cellos and basses, and timpani are in the listener’s ears right now. Having spent a lifetime working to make organs sound their best, I can remember myriad struggles with bass response. Think of that low note in the Pedal Bourdon that yodels a little around the second partial before it settles on its pitch, or the note in the Contra Bombarde that offers a half-second of pfffff before you hear a note. No way. The organs that play with modern orchestras have to perform with their orchestral neighbors. On the Disney organ it’s possible to draw a dozen or stops at 32- and 16-foot pitch and play staccato notes in the bottom octaves—surreal.
§
On the score of his massive Grande Messe des morts (Requiem), Berlioz notes, “The number [of performers] indicated is only relative. If space permits, the chorus may be doubled or tripled, and the orchestra be proportionally increased. But in the event of an exceptionally large chorus, say 700 to 800 voices, the entire chorus should only be used for the Dies Irae, the Tuba Mirum, and the Lacrymosa, the rest of the movements being restricted to 400 voices.”
The score calls for 4 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 English horns, 4 clarinets, 8 bassoons, 12 horns, 4 cornets and 4 tubas (in the orchestra), 4 brass choirs [Choir 1 to the north: 4 cornets, 4 trombones, 2 tubas; Choir 2 to the east: 4 trumpets, 4 trombones; Choir 3 to the west: 4 trumpets, 4 trombones; Choir 4 to the south: 4 trumpets, 4 trombones, 4 ophicleides (usually substituted by tubas)], a battery of percussionists, 16 timpani played by 10 timpanists, 2 bass drums, 4 tamtams, 10 pairs of cymbals, 25 first violins, 25 second violins, 20 violas, 20 violoncellos, 18 double basses, 80 women’s voices (divided between sopranos and altos), 60 tenors, 70 basses, and tenor soloist.
Alas, no organ. And he thought it would be a grand performance.
But the nearly equally ambitious (minus the four spatial brass choirs) Te Deum is scored for 4 flutes, 4 oboes (one doubling on cor anglais), 4 clarinets (one doubling on bass clarinet), 4 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 2 cornets, 6 trombones, 2 ophicleides/tubas, timpani, 4 tenor drums, bass drum, cymbals, tenor solo, 2 large 3-part (STB) mixed choirs, 1 large unison children’s choir, strings, and (yes, Virginia) organ.
I’d love to hear that piece performed in Disney Hall. Given available space, they’d probably have to settle for about 300 singers, but that’d do. In the hall’s spectacular acoustics I’m sure I’d be able to hear every “K”, every “T”—and while most vowels would be clear, I’m afraid barely “O’s.” (Sorry, Hector.)

 

The First Six Decades: Spreckels Organ Pavilion

Balboa Park, San Diego, California

Douglas Ian Duncan

Douglas Ian Duncan served the Naval Training Center as well as Congregational, Lutheran, and Episcopal churches in the San Diego area. He directed the Lutheran Oratorio Society, the Episcopal Choral Society, and the music program at the San Miguel School. He studied at the University of Redlands and obtained his degree from California Western University. His principal instructors were Lillie M. High, Margaret W. Dow, Charles H. Marsh, and Dr. Walter Teutsch. All of his instruction and playing were in southern California. He now lives in retirement in the desert.

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It was December 24, 1925 when Mr. and Mrs. George D. Duncan,along with their daughter Dorothy, attended the annual Christmas Eve program atthe Spreckels Outdoor Organ Pavilion in Balboa Park, San Diego. Mrs. Duncan wassoon to have a child and the small maternity hospital was only about a mileaway. Two days later, the Duncans celebrated the arrival of their second child,Douglas Ian. But I am way ahead of the story!

Could a pipe organ, sounding out into the open air in apark-like setting, be built? This is a question that entered the mind of agentleman named John D. Spreckels. He had a great fondness for music, had amusic room added to his mansion in Coronado (a city across the bay from SanDiego), and he spent many hours at the console of his three-manual Aeolianplayer organ. He consulted organ builders and organists about the additionalproblems that might be caused by climatic conditions  in tuning and on the working parts of the instrument. Hevisited often with his good friend, well-known organist Humphrey John Stewart.John D. held ownership in a beautiful private pleasure park, loved thearea's temperate climate that all San Diegans enjoyed, and he wanted toshare those things which he found joyous with others.

The birth of Balboa Park

The story as related to me, beginning in 1957 by Fred W.Reif (1889-1964), who spent his working life as a purchasing agent forone of the Spreckels- owned companies, and in retirement served the San DiegoHistorical Society, is as follows. About the beginning of the twentiethcentury, John D. and his brother Adolph B. began making investments in and nearSan Diego. Transportation was a key to developing their many ventures, and theSpreckels brothers acquired local and suburban railways. At the end of one oftheir streetcar lines was the pleasure park called "The Bluffs."John D. renamed the park "Mission Cliff Gardens" and made manyimprovements so as to increase the number of passengers on the San DiegoElectric Railway. There were magic lantern shows, soft refreshments,beautifully maintained gardens, a central pavilion for Sunday band concertsand, along the crest of the escarpment overlooking wide Mission Valley, werevistas extending from the Pacific Ocean to the distant mountains. In theforeground could be seen the ruins of the first of the twenty-one Californiamissions, San Diego de Alcala. It was at this location, so I was told, thatJohn D. thought about an outdoor-speaking pipe organ. Why, it might attractriders to the trolley line! That was about 1910, and San Diego had a populationof a little less than forty thousand.

A stock market panic in 1907 had left many folks uncertainabout investing in San Diego; however, the Spreckels brothers could onlybelieve in a dynamic future! San Diego had a great natural harbor, completionof the Panama Canal was set for 1915, and it would be the first port of call onthe western side of the United States. In 1909 a member of the Chamber ofCommerce came up with a great idea--celebrate the opening of the canal withan exposition! When the much larger Chamber of Commerce in San Francisco heardabout the harebrained idea from the little town down south, they announced thattheir city would have a fair and San Diego could forget their plans. John D.Spreckels, who had come from San Francisco a few years before, thought that SanDiego needed a boost and he subscribed $100,000 toward an exposition. Othersfollowed and soon the support and approval of the concept grew to one milliondollars! In 1910 the citizens passed bonds for park improvements. Finally,there was an agreement that both San Diego and San Francisco would hold fairsin 1915. The San Diego Exposition Company arranged to use some of the mostlyundeveloped City Park. CITY PARK!! What an awful name for the location of aFAIR--the name was changed to BALBOA PARK! The next two years saw theexposition company making many changes--in the location within the park,in the architecture of many of the exposition buildings, and in the selectionof the New York architectural firm of Bertram Goodhue. Many of his buildingdesigns were of the lavish Spanish Baroque.

An organ for Balboa Park

Again we have Mr. John D. Spreckels enter the picture! Forseveral years he and the officers of the electric railway had desired aright-of-way through City (now Balboa) Park to the growing residential areabeyond. He also wanted to give the fair an organ, and the officers of theexposition company wanted a fine pipe organ. Ah, behind the scenes there werenegotiations! It was announced that the Spreckels brothers would give the fairan organ (perhaps the same one that was planned for Mission Cliff Gardens) andthe rail line was extended into the park giving the fair an added easternentrance. The Austin Organ Company of Hartford, Connecticut was awarded the bidfor an instrument of four manuals, 46 ranks, and 3024 pipes costing  $33,500. The contract with Austin waswith the San Diego Electric Railway--the very same company that owned theGardens and wanted the park trackage!

Several sites were considered for the location of theexposition organ and  finally, whenBrazil decided not to exhibit, the pavilion was located at the south end of thefair's central mall--the Plaza de Panama. The pavilion design  was executed by the Los Angeles builderHarrison Albright, using steel and concrete. Albright had built a number ofstructures in the San Diego area, had designed and constructed the John D.Spreckels home in Coronado, and he must have worked very closely with the Austin Organ Company. Thepavilion building cost $66,500. His design of the main structure included ablower room in the basement, two offices and a rehearsal room on the main floorbehind the stage and, on the second level, a large chamber for the walk-inUniversal Air Chest with manual pipes above and pedal ranks on the sides andback. On each side of the chamber, Albright included a shop for the organ tunerand, at the other side, a tiny apartment for the building custodian. Above thepipe  chamber was a forward slopingceiling to aid in directing the sound out through a grilled aperture. A goldpipe grill was designed that hides all but fifteen of the speaking pipes. Alarge rolling steel door encloses the organ when it is not in public use. Themain building is more than seventy feet high.

Spreckels owned the morning newspaper, The San Diego Union,and reported in the March 17, 1914 edition that work had begun on the structureto house the organ. It was finished in seven months. The local citizens wereintrigued by all the work at the fair, and  the exposition company allowed the public to enter theconstruction site on  Sundays.Among those who came for a visit were Mr. and Mrs. Austin D. Thomas who hadrecently come to the United States from Wales. He had accepted the post asorganist and choirmaster of the newly built 1400-seat First Presbyterian Churchwith its three-manual thirty-rank Johnston organ. I enjoyed many visits withMr. Thomas and he related that methods used in constructing the pavilion werevery interesting. First, Albright erected two rather large rectangular concretetowers to support the large metal folding door. Then, he told me, after thedoor was in place atop the towers, the building was built up and over the bigdoor. At each side of the main building are quarter round peristyles withCorinthian-style columns that support an attractive balustrade above.Incorporated in the decorations affixed to the structure are places for lightglobes to outline the building at night. Harrison Albright was not a trainedarchitect, and all of his hotels, office buildings and houses have a castsameness. The Organ Pavilion is no exception!

The San Diego Union reported on October 20, 1914 that theAustin organ had arrived. The installers must have been busy because, as Mr.Thomas related, nine ranks did not sound at the first hearing of theinstrument. The appointment of the Official Exposition Organist was made byJohn D. Spreckels, Dr. Humphrey John Stewart, along with an organ tuner and abuilding custodian, a Mr. Douglass. The custodial duties included more thanjust keeping the building and grounds clean. He had to crank open and thenclose the big ten-ton folding door by hand! Perhaps I should interject a storyabout the door.  For about eighteenyears, Mr. Douglass cranked the heavy door open for each concert and, after theprogram, lowered it holding back the force of the weight with a hand brake. Itwas a lot of work and he was not getting any younger! One day he went to seethe director of Balboa Park and he said something like this, "I am tiredof opening and closing that big heavy door and I want you to install anelectric motor to operate it." The following day Mr. Douglass appeared atthe director's office and he repeated his words. On the third day, the parkdirector thought Mr. Douglass was serious! There would be no organ concert ifthe door did not open. City workmen found a Ford Model A back axle, attached anelectric motor to the end of the shaft, and presto, the cheap drive worked forthe next thirty years!

1915--The Panama-California Exposition

The dedication of the organ and pavilion took place on NewYear's Eve 1914 at nine o'clock before the formal opening of thePanama-California Exposition at midnight. Many thousands were in attendance andfilled the open area reaching up the mall. Perhaps the words of H. Austin Adamsin his book, The Man, John D. Spreckels,best describe that wonderful evening:

The occasion was one never to be forgotten. As John D. roseto offer his gift to the people of San Diego, he was so moved by the ovation hereceived that his voice was choked by tears. At last, when another and louderoutburst of applause died down, he said simply to the president of the ParkCommission, John F. Forward, Jr., "I beg you to accept this gift onbehalf of the people of the city of San Diego." On either side of himwere seated high government officials, the governors of many states, foreigndiplomats, and scores of others prominent in the business and social world. Butas he stood there trying to control his emotion sufficiently to read the formaldeed of gift, he looked not around him but out over the enormous sea of facesturned up to him in gratitude and honor--the faces of the"undistinguished many" for whose benefit he had conceived and carriedout this noble thing. He managed, somehow, to read the deed. Few caught thesequence of the words, so broken was his utterance; but through the breaks allcaught a glimpse--their first in many cases--of the real John D.

Mr. Forward elegantly responded and was followed by theHonorable Samuel M. Shortridge of San Francisco who gave an overly long floridspeech. Ah! At last, the more than ten thousand people in attendance could hearthe Austin Outdoor Pipe Organ. The program follows:

Part One - Organ Solos - Dr. Humphrey John Stewart - Organist

1) Processional March (Music Drama Montezuma), Stewart

2) Fantasia on Christmas Melodies (Written for Opening),Stewart

3) Overture ("Guillaume Tell"), Gioacchino [sic]Antonio Rossini

Part Two - The fifty-piece San Diego Popular Orchestra underthe direction of Chesley Mills and the People's Chorus of 250 voicesdirected by Willibald Lehmann

1) Pomp and Circumstance (Orchestra), Edward Elgar

2) The Heavens Are Telling (The Creation), Franz JosephHaydn (Chorus and Orchestra)

3) Overture (Orchestra), Jacques Offenbach

4) The Marvelous Work (The Creation), Haydn

Finale - Orchestra, Chorus and the Spreckels Outdoor Organ

5) Unfold ye Portals (The Redemption), Charles Gounod

Of the first year of the Panama-California Exposition, itcan be said that the outdoor speaking pipe organ was the main attraction. Inhis Balboa Park Research, Richard W. Amero said, "During its briefexistence of one year, the Spreckels organ has sent forth melody more timesprobably than any other organ in America in a like period. Only seven times inthe 365 days of the year has Dr. Stewart been forced to abandon his dailyrecitals because of weather conditions. Eight numbers were played at eachrecital making a total of 2,864 selections played during the year of1915." Among the guest organists who came to play that first year wereClarence Dickinson and William C. Carl of New York; Roland Diggle and ErnestDouglas from Los Angeles; and from Auckland, New Zealand, Harold Gregson. Whenthe great contralto, Madame Ernestine Schumann-Heink, would join HumphreyStewart at the pavilion, it was reported that 20,000 would pack the area. Herstrong voice would soar above the organ (there was no amplification in thosedays) and the crowd would roar with enthusiastic approval. The little town ofSan Diego put on quite a show in 1915 and the exposition came to a closeshowing a profit.

So popular was the fair in San Diego that it ran for asecond full year, this  time as thePanama-California Interntional Exposition. San Francisco had been selected in1915 as the site for an international event--now it was San Diego'sturn! Exhibits were brought from the big city up north, and while theattendance was not as great as that of 1915, the International Exposition of1916 was a success. Dr. Stewart played 1,768 selections and concerts werecanceled eighteen times. Among the guest artists in 1916 were John Doane ofChicago (later to retire in San Diego); Uda Waldrop from San Francisco (laterplaying the Spreckels Organ at the Palace of the Legion of Honor); and Royal A.Brown (who became Dr. Stewart's assistant.)

When the second exposition closed on New Year's Eve1916, it was again the famed contralto Madame Schumann-Heink, who at the strokeof midnight sang "Auld Lang Syne." As her voice was heard, theoutline lighting of the pavilion and the lights of the fair buildings wereextinguished, the grounds fell to near darkness, Madame Schumann-Heink led achorus in the singing of "The Star-Spangled Banner" while bombsexploded, flags of nations were unfurled, and atop the pavilion building apyrotechnic display in glowing colors read "World Peace 1917."

The year 1917 saw Mr. Austin D. Thomas play for two weekswhile Humphrey Stewart went on holiday in San Francisco. In 1918, Royal AlbertBrown became the assistant organist and played one concert each week. The year 1919 saw a total of 2,270selections by 385 composers performed.

Humphrey John Stewart

Perhaps now is a good time to tell about the first threemusicians who served as resident organists at Balboa Park. The Spreckels familyhad long known and admired Humphrey John Stewart. Born in London on May 22,1856, he served as a choir boy and studied organ in his youth, and later playedat Holy Trinity, Tulse Hill, London. It was in the United Kingdom that hebecame known as a composer and as a fine recitalist. At the age of thirty, hecame to San Francisco and played at three churches: The Advent, Trinity, andFirst Unitarian. While in the Bay Area, he wrote compositions for orchestra,choir, and organ, and served as the conductor of the Handel and Haydn ChoralSociety. He also wrote two of his three music dramas which were given at theBohemian Grove in the California Redwoods. In 1901, he became the OfficialOrganist at the Pan-American Exposition, Buffalo, New York, where he performedrecitals on the large four-manual Emmonds Howard Organ (a Westfield,Massachusetts builder) in the 180-foot-high domed Temple of Music. At the closeof the fair, he accepted the post as organist and choirmaster of TrinityChurch, Boston, staying two years before returning to San Francisco to play forthe next seven years at St. Dominic's Church. In going to San Diego atthe end of 1914, he set a much higher standard for organ music, a standard notknown before. In the late spring of 1917, Humphrey Stewart played a Prelude andFugue by Mendelssohn, a Guilmant Sonata, three of the larger Preludes andFugues of Bach, original works by then-living composers in Europe and theUnited States, and transcriptions of classical orchestral compositions. Stewartwas noted for his ability to hold his audience in rapture with his resourcefulimprovisations! After serving as Exposition Organist for two years, thenplaying another sixteen full years as the Official City Organist, Dr. Stewartpassed away on December 28, 1932. The best words to describe him were publishedin the January 2, 1933 issue of The San Diego Union:

COMPOSER PAYS STEWART TRIBUTE

The Union yesterday received the following letter from EdwinHenry Lemare, famous organist and composer, former municipal organist at SanFrancisco and Portland (Maine), who now resides in Hollywood.

"Editor The San Diego Union: I am indeed grieved tohear of the passing of my dear friend and confrere, Humphrey J. Stewart. Fewknew him as I did and no one enjoyed a closer friendship. As a noted concertorganist, he never failed to uphold the great traditions of his art.

"The people of San Diego were indeed fortunate inhaving that public spirited citizen, the late John D. Spreckels, present theorgan and later subsidize Dr. Stewart's services for so many years. Thesetwo men were always the closest of friends and Dr. Stewart never ceased tomourn the loss of his admiring patron.

"Although an Englishman (!) Dr. Stewart had anunbounded sense of humor and few could equal him in conversation, or hisability at repartee.

"It was at the Bohemian Club in San Francisco, ofwhich he was an old and  honoredmember, that I first met Dr. Stewart, and the many happy days spent together inthe Bohemian Grove never will be forgotten. Everyone there loved him, nor couldit be otherwise, as his kind and affectionate nature magnetized all who methim.

"His passing is an irreparable loss, not alone to theBohemian Club, but to all centers of the past activities. Dear old Humphrey! Weshall never cease to love and revere your memory.

"May his good soul rest in peace.

Edwin H. Lemare"

May I again interject a story? Royal A. Brown once told methat Humphrey Stewart had a hand in selecting the stop list for the SpreckelsOutdoor Organ. I have for years pondered this statement!   Lemare designed the organ at St.Margaret's, Westminster, London which was built by J. W. Walker and Sons.As the two instruments had similar specifications (St. Margaret's wasthree manuals, the Park four), was it John and Basil Austin or could it havebeen a Lemare and Stewart combination that determined the needs and stops foran open air organ?

Royal Brown

The San Diego City Council appointed HumphreyStewart's assistant, Royal Albert Brown, as the Official Civic Organist.Born in Texas in 1890, Mr. Brown came to San Diego when he was in his earlytwenties. He played piano with the small chamber orchestra in the  Crown Room of Hotel del Coronado. Thenhe turned to the organ and played at the Plaza Theater and at Rudders Grill,both of which were on the central plaza of downtown San Diego. The Grill was amost interesting restaurant. It was located in the basement of The UnionBuilding, had a grand piano and a pipe organ, served fine cuisine, and oneentered by way of an outdoor stair built into the sidewalk. At the head of thestair a sign read, "Roy Brown at the Console." My piano teacherloved to dine at Rudders. When Dr. Stewart came to San Diego, Royal Brownstudied with him before becoming his assistant at Balboa Park. Then, in 1927,he took time off and went to study in Paris with Marcel Dupré. Heattained both Fellowship  andChoirmaster certificates from the American Guild of Organists. The city fathersagreed to pay for three concerts each week, and Mr. Brown was asked to play anadditional weekly program and on holidays throughout the year without  remuneration. The concerts were set forWednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday at 2:30 pm. In 1935-1936 BalboaPark was again the site of a world's fair--the California PacificInternational Exposition. In 1915-16 the organ was the key attraction;twenty years later the Spreckels Organ had a competitor! In a canyon southwestof the pavilion about one half mile, the Ford Motor Company built a symphonybowl and at the center of the seating area was a platform for the newest inmusical sound--a Model A Hammond. Royal Brown never called it anorgan--he referred to it as "a unique instrument." When thefair closed and the Hammond was gone from the Ford Bowl, the pavilion returnedto the usual schedule for the next almost four and quarter years. Then again,an interruption. The Navy occupied Balboa Park and the general public did notreturn until the summer of 1948. Mr. Brown was brought back and the organ washeard only on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. During the summer, the Saturdayconcerts were moved to Monday evenings at 8:15. The organ tuner at that timewas Mr. Leonard L. Dowling, who loved showmanship and theatre organs. Heexpertly put together lavish color lighting. The hues would change as theprogram progressed. Mr. Dowling helped make those evenings at Balboa Park veryspecial!

Royal Brown, like his predecessor,  worked to improve standards of organ music in the area. Inthe 1930s, he brought Albert Riemenschneider from Baldwin-Wallace College,Berea, Ohio, who gave lectures, played, and helped  organists mark music in fingering and phrasing of Bach. Thestudents sat at small tables grouped around the park organ console. What awonderful outdoor classroom experience it must have been! A new-three manualAustin organ was installed at St. Joseph's Church in the last year of Dr.Stewart's life, and Mr. Brown succeeded him there also. Later he went toplay at the Union Congregational Church in La Jolla. Royal Brown composed andarranged many pieces for organ, and none, to the best of my knowledge, haveever been published. Each year he would perform his "Balboa ParkSuite," musical expressions of buildings and the grounds near the organpavilion. Another well remembered work was his "PedalÉtude," a tour de force that, had it been published, would be onconcert programs today! His repertoire was extensive, he played all of thelarger works of Bach, the fourteen "Stations of the Cross" byDupré, the "Ad nos" by Liszt, and the "Sonata on the94th Psalm" by Reubke.

Perhaps I can share with you two stories about Royal Brown.It was a raw December day, a Saturday in 1951, and I was the organist andchoirmaster of Grace Lutheran Church which is located on the north side ofBalboa Park. The building was not heated, I was weary of practicing in thecold, and I went out for a bite to eat. As I warmed in the small cafe, I beganto wonder, "How does Royal Brown manage to play on a day as cold asthis?" Off I went to the 2:30 program at the park! The few listenersheard a faultlessly played concert, and I sat through the hour and wondered whyI had the nerve to complain about the cold. I drove him home that afternoon,and as we drew up in front of his house he handed me an envelope. Inside was ahand-written holiday card in red and green ink with original music set to thewords "We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year." Thesecond story was told me by a park gardener. Mr. Brown liked to arrive at thepark on the streetcar. As he walked from the station toward the pavilion, hewould wander through the Rose Garden, pause, look furtively about, casuallylight a cigar, and then snip off a rosebud. Thus, the second resident organistalways had a fresh rose boutonniere for his concert! The gardeners watched inamusement, the stems were always properly cut, they liked Mr. Brown, and theynever said a word to the park officers. And those cigars, they smoked up mycars on the way  to AGO meetings.He was the right person to fill the post of Official Civic Organist at exactlythe right time. Royal Albert Brown died on October 28, 1954.

Charles Shatto

Charles Rollin Shatto was born in Iowa in 1908 and wasbrought to the San Diego area as a young child. His father accepted thepastorate of the Congregational Church in National City (a city adjacent to SanDiego). The church structure, built in the 1880s, was an ornate woodenVictorian building and, at the back of the choir loft, was a one-manual trackerorgan with an attractively painted pipe façade. This organ fascinatedyoung Charles and he studied piano with a local piano teacher. The ChineseCongregational Church needed an organist and young Charles helped out byplaying their foot-pumped reed organ. As he grew, he studied organ with Mr.Brown and Dr. Stewart and made two trips to Paris to take instruction in organand composition. Mr. Shatto took the position as the senior organist of FirstMethodist Church of San Diego playing the then-new 29-rank, three-manual HenryPilcher organ. He served the church for many years until one tragic day when hewas in a vehicular accident. The car caught on fire, his wife was killed, andhe escaped with two badly burned hands. Painfully, he recovered, took a lesserpost at the Park Boulevard Methodist Church, arranged for a better pipe organto be installed, and remained until 1957. In the autumn of 1957 he accepted theposition as organist at the French-speaking Parish of Notre Dame des Victories,San Francisco. He served the church for twenty-five years, had the smallfour-manual Murray Harris organ restored to its original specification, andenjoyed his tenure where contemporary French compositions could be played withappreciation. Mr. Shatto was a noted sight reader, played complex music withease, and wrote thirty-nine works for organ. Among his writings are two musicalsketches, "Cabrillo Bridge" and "Sunrise from the CaliforniaTower"--both Balboa Park landmarks. His "Poem" waspublished in 1964 in the California Organist Collection.

While in San Francisco in September 1976, I went to hearCharles Shatto play on the newly restored organ at his church. After theservice, he graciously extended an invitation to have lunch. Fine! We climbedinto his car and off we roared down narrow city streets, up and down hills,missing parked vehicles by inches, and arrived at a fine restaurant onFisherman's Wharf. He climbed out of the car in fine spirits. I arrivedfeeling as if I were leaving the world's best roller coaster! The lunchand conversation were most enjoyable and the ride back to the church was mostmemorable!!! I later learned that he was famous for his driving--very,very famous. Charles Rollin Shatto died on New Year's Day 1983.

And so, this narration comes full circle. The yet to be bornchild, whose parents attended that Christmas Eve program in 1925, grew toadulthood hearing the great music played by Stewart, Brown, and Shatto. InSeptember of 1957 Douglas Ian Duncan took his place at the console of Mr.Spreckels' generous bequest to the people of San Diego as the fourth inthe line of civic organists. During his more than twenty-year tenure he hadplayed 1,249 public recitals when he retired on February 5, 1978.

Postscript

Douglas Ian Duncanserved the Naval Training Center as well as Congregational, Lutheran, andEpiscopal churches in the San Diego area. He directed the Lutheran OratorioSociety, the Episcopal Choral Society, and the music program at the San MiguelSchool. He studied at the University of Redlands and obtained his degree fromCalifornia Western University. His principal instructors were Lillie M. High,Margaret W. Dow, Charles H. Marsh, and Dr. Walter Teutsch. All of hisinstruction and playing were in southern California. He now lives in retirementin the desert.

Jared Jacobsenbecame the Fifth Official Civic Organist in 1978 and served through 1984. Hewas born in Newcastle, Pennsylvania, came to San Diego first to be the organistand choirmaster of St. James-by-the-Sea Episcopal Church, and later served St.Leander's Roman Catholic Church, San Leandro, California. He holds agraduate degree from the University of Arizona, and is now the organist andteaches music at The Bishop's School, La Jolla, California. He has fordecades spent his summers on the staff of the Chautauqua Institute insouthwestern New York state.

Robert Plimpton cameto Balboa Park in 1985 and played for more than sixteen and a half years. Onhis retirement, the City of San Diego granted him the title of Official CivicOrganist Emeritus. Born in Oil City, Pennsylvania, he graduated from EasternCollege, St. David's, and studied with Robert Elmore, Anton Heiller andMarie-Claire Alain. He came to San Diego to be the organist at the FirstPresbyterian Church and now serves San Diego's First United MethodistChurch.

The present organist at Balboa Park is the world-renownedconcert artist, Carol Williams. Born inthe United Kingdom, trained at the Royal Academy of Music in London, she cameto the United States to extend her education. She has an Artist Diploma fromfrom Yale University, and her DMA was earned from the Manhattan School ofMusic. Her studies have been with David Sanger, Daniel Roth, Thomas Murray, andMcNeil Robinson. Dr. Williams has performed all over the world includingNotre-Dame Cathedral in Paris, Westminster Abbey in London, and RiversideChurch in New York City.

In 2005 the Spreckels Organ will be celebrating 90 years; onSaturday January 1 at midday, a five-hour concert was presented to celebratethis wonderful Austin organ and historic venue. Throughout the year many eventsare planned; information can be found at <www.sosorgan.com&gt;.

The author wrote the above article in honor of the ninetiethyear of performance at the world's largest outdoor organ. The above wordsbrought as much enjoyment for him as did playing in the open air for twentyyears, six months and

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s <i>English Suite for Harpsichord</i> at 100

Larry Palmer

This latest installment of the very occasional series “Harpsichord Repertoire in the 20th Century” is dedicated to The Diapason as a special tribute for its 100th birthday. Harpsichord editor since 1969, Larry Palmer has written for the magazine under every editor, except for founder S. E. Gruenstein.

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Fifteen years ago, on November 5, 1994 to be exact, I first encountered the work that, thus far, appears to win the sweepstakes as the first 20th-century solo harpsichord piece. It was featured in Igor Kipnis’s Spivey Hall recital, the culminating event of the Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society’s conclave at Clayton State College in Morrow, Georgia.
Igor and I shared an abiding curiosity about these earliest works for our instrument. My first encounter with the earliest known harpsichord composition by a post-baroque or post-classic-era composer, Francis Thomé’s Rigodon, opus 97, came from Kipnis’s recording of the piece; rather than asking him for a “copy,” I instituted a search for it, and was rewarded with a yellowed original, from the stock of the venerable music store, Noten Fuchs, in Frankfurt. But Thomé’s charming pastiche dates from the final decade of the 19th century! In my 1989 book Harpsichord in America, pride of place for the FIRST 20th-century composition was given to the Sonatina ad usum infantis by Ferruccio Busoni (1915/1916). So, hearing a work that predated Busoni’s was an exciting discovery.
Musical history intrigues me; searching for unusual repertory delights me; thus it was a bit humbling, to say the least, to realize that I had not noticed the 1909 date for the English Suite, right there in bold print in Frances Bedford’s Catalog of 20th-Century Harpsichord and Clavichord Music (embarrassing, even, considering that I had written the Foreword to Fran’s invaluable tome, and had failed to cite Castelnuovo’s work).
Kipnis wrote an extensive (and deservedly complimentary) review of Bedford’s volume for the Early Keyboard Studies Newsletter of the Westfield Center (Volume VIII/3, July 1994). He chose to cite this English Suite as a working model for some ways in which to utilize the catalog. His research concerning the early history of Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s composition appears in endnote five. I am quite certain that not every reader of The Diapason has perused this material, so here are Igor’s discoveries:

“As an example of how valuable Frances Bedford’s catalog can be, a personal experience: leafing through the volume for examples that I might not know . . . I came across the name of Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, a composer born in Italy (1895–1968). I became curious about the 1909 composition date attached to his English Suite for harpsichord. Seemingly, it had been revised in 1940, shortly after his arrival in the United States. Because of Bedford’s information—first, that the piece was to be found in the [Ralph] Kirkpatrick archives of the Yale University Music Library and, secondly, that it had been published by Mills [Music]—I was able to consult the manuscript (there is no evidence that Kirkpatrick ever played it), contact the composer’s two sons, and obtain from the Castelnuovo-Tedesco archive other copies of the manuscript plus the out-of-print Mills publication of 1962, now reading ‘for piano or harpsichord.’
“The reconstructed story, based on facts contained in the composer’s unpublished biography, several pages of which were most helpfully translated for me by Dr. Pietro Castenuovo-Tedesco, is that the fourteen-year-old composer, then in Florence, had been assigned to study and imitate various baroque suites by his teacher, Gino Modona. None of that output was published at that time, but [C-T] continued to play one of his pieces in particular, a three-movement ‘English suite’ based on Thomas Arne that he had intended for harpsichord (or piano). After settling in the United States, Castelnuovo-Tedesco transcribed the seven-to-eight-minute piece onto music paper, and he may have sent it to Kirkpatrick. (Bedford writes ‘revised,’ but, in fact, the composer set the music down from memory in 1940. A few range modifications in his own hand may be found in the manuscript, possibly a result of his having talked with Kirkpatrick.) The neo-classic English Suite, therefore, stands as the earliest solo harpsichord piece of our century, as well as a remarkably mature work for a fourteen-year-old student. It . . . will figure on my 1994–95 recital programs.”

My recollection of Igor’s performance is that it did not immediately impel me to play the piece. But being the conscientious academic that I try to be, I resolved to obtain a copy for use in a 20th-century harpsichord course. Finding the work proved to be ridiculously easy, since, for once, I remembered to check our own local library holdings. And there it was, on the shelf of the Hamon Arts Library at Southern Methodist University in Dallas! Pristine pages, apparently never placed on a music desk! I made a copy for reference, and returned the original score to the library.1
Occasionally I would pull down my copy of the English Suite from the shelf; gradually, with each re-reading of the score, I became somewhat more interested in playing the piece in public. There are, as Kipnis noted, several notes that exceed the range of the harpsichord. (A similar problem occurs in the Busoni Sonatina. That seems especially unwonted given that Busoni owned a Dolmetsch-Chickering double harpsichord, quite evident in photographs taken in his personal library in Berlin, and thus one might expect him to have been aware of the instrument’s ambitus.) Nevertheless, with only minor adjustments, Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s work proved to be playable on the harpsichord.
Now that I have performed the piece repeatedly in recitals, I have not shied away from revising those passages that seem too pianistic to be performed as written (especially several spots in the lyrical second movement during which the young composer could have benefited from “tying his right leg to the bench” as another composer once promised he would do when I criticized his reliance on the damper pedal, although ostensibly he was writing for a harpsichord!).
Examining the ten-page score as published by Mills Music, movement one, Preludio, quasi un improvvisazione [Example 1], shows a distinct similarity to the arpeggiated first movement of Arne’s Sonata III in G Major. Probably it should be performed in a manner suggested by the 18th-century Englishman in prefatory words engraved above the first staff of his publication: “In this, and other Preludes, which are meant as Extempore Touches before the Lesson begins, neither the Composer nor the Performer are oblig’d to a Strictness of Time.” Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s broken chords and scales lead to a thrice-presented perky motive, presented the last time as a duet. Five measures, combining running passages and a hint of the lively motive lead to seven block chords that serve as a bridge to the second movement. When performed on the harpsichord, perhaps these chords are best played arpeggiando (an indication not found in the 20th-century work, but specified in Arne’s, where the number of unadorned chords is the same).
Completely of its own time, the following Andante movement [Example 2], a passionate aria comprising 62 measures, is the most extended of the three. Indeed its purple chromatics [Example 3] presage the bluesy, Gershwinesque harmonies of Frederick Delius’s 1919 Dance for Harpsichord (another work needing judicious rescoring if one is to make musical sense of its left-hand octaves and oom-pah-pah accompanimental figurations).
Movement three, Giga [Example 4], is a compact, vigorous fugue, to be played “in a mechanical way.” Several further Italian adjectives indicate the composer’s concepts for a proper performance: “burlesque, bassoon like,” or “drily, in the manner of a marionette.”
Biographies of those first associated with the new-old harpsichord often contain illuminating anecdotes. A description of Castelnuovo’s living conditions at the time he was creating his first published work Cielo di Settembre (September Sky) (composed in the same year as the English Suite) is found in this 1964 letter to his cataloger Nick Rossi:

. . . really, up to that time, I had written music which was, more or less, ‘derivative’. I also remember, almost physically, how I felt . . . all alone in that huge old Florentine palace where we lived, with the big rooms and the high ceilings. . . it was so cold! (there was no central heating) and my hands were frost-bitten: I had to wear wool half-gloves, to be able to play . . .; and sometimes my fingers ached so much that I cried . . .2

September Sky, for piano, was praised several years later by the composer Alfredo Casella (who was, incidentally, for several years the harpsichordist with Henri Casadesus’ early music ensemble, the Société des Instruments Anciens). Perhaps such site- and mood-evoking words written during Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s latter years will help to rekindle some current interest in his earliest essay from those pioneering days of the harpsichord’s revival. From such efforts the modern harpsichord repertory has blossomed exponentially. Each of the thousands of new compositions for our instrument doubtless has its unique story, but I suspect that few of these are as unusual as this tale of a student work transcribed from memory by a mature, politically displaced Italian neo-classic composer.

Some Sins of Commission

Larry Palmer

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON.

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

Calvin Hampton

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

Neely Bruce

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

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

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

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

Is gone.

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

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

Rudy Shackelford

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

Ross Lee Finney

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Herbert Howells

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

Gerald Near

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

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

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

Vincent Persichetti

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

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

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

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

Rudy Davenport

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

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

Glenn Spring

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

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

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

Tim Broege

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

Simon Sargon

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

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

Sources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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