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A Tribute to Robert Glasgow, Hill Auditorium, The University of Michigan, May 29, 2009

Marcia Van Oyen

Marcia Van Oyen is Minister of Music, Worship and Fine Arts at the First United Methodist Church of Plymouth, Michigan. She earned master’s and doctoral degrees at the University of Michigan, studying organ with Robert Glasgow.

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For over half a century, Robert Glasgow (1925–2008) imparted his mastery of the pipe organ to generations of eager students, holding teaching positions at the University of Michigan (1962–2006) and MacMurray College (1951–1962). He was a combination of pedagogue, preacher, conductor, and touchstone for musical excellence, and always a wry commentator. Efforts to perfect technique were all channeled towards creating a performance that was infused with emotion, well proportioned and prepared, and as a result free to spin effortlessly into a polished, engaging performance.
He was no less a teacher when performing himself. During his peak performances, the music would float palpably in the air, waves of sound undulating through the auditorium as if they were alive. His performances were neither earth-bound nor encumbered with fussy articulations or gyrations at the console. His disciplined, quiet technique and painstaking orchestration of the organ’s voices rendered many memorable concerts.
On May 29, students, colleagues, and friends gathered at the Hill Auditorium on the University of Michigan campus for a tribute concert to honor Professor Glasgow’s legacy. Organized by Jeremy David Tarrant, the program included stunning performances by six former Glasgow students: Susan De Kam, Steven Egler, Peter Stoltzfus Berton, Charles Kennedy, Martin Jean, and Jeremy David Tarrant, as well as personal remembrances given by six speakers from various eras of Glasgow’s career: David Palmer, Marilyn Mason, Louis Nagel, William Aylesworth, Martin Jean, and Orpha Ochse.

David Palmer kicked off the evening with some introductory remarks: “As a teacher and mentor, here was one who tapped into the depths of music in an uncompromising and exhaustive way, whether teaching or performing. Who of us who were his students can forget lines such as ‘Why can’t organists join the musical human race?’ as he decried dull or faddish playing. ‘Don’t aim to just please organists in your playing.’ Or ‘Why, there’s nobody at home,’ as he tried stop after stop, searching for just the right sound. ‘Think of pinwheels,’ he said to me in Messaien’s Transports de Joie. ‘Think of a French sauce, as you play this, not just meat and potatoes,’ attempting to get us beyond the notes. Food was often a ready source of imagery for him. As I got closer to my own undergrad recital, and in his frustration in trying to get me out of my reserved personality, he blurted out, ‘Just play the hell out of it!’ Performers he idolized were not organists. He urged us to hear the likes of Artur Rubenstein, Pierre Fournier, Elizabeth Schwarzkopf, and so on. And of course we heard them all, here in Hill Auditorium.
“Words of praise came only when truly deserved. The effective culmination after months of work, that is, knowing that one had achieved something close to his standard was life-affirming, and clearly relative to an objective personal standard. Easy approval was not Bob’s way, not only with his students, but especially with himself. Would that the reservations he had about his own playing had not prevented the world from having only one published recording of Franck, from All Saints in Worcester. Much of his hesitation probably came from the fact that he knew that no recording fully captures a live performance. And what performances he gave. I’ve said this before, but when Bob played, the audience reaction was akin to the frenzy that Horowitz used to generate. Bob reached any audience. One didn’t have to be an organist to be swept away. His first unveiling of the Liszt Ad Nos, in 1965 if I’m correct, remains one of the great concerts I’ve ever heard in my life. Franck, Tournemire, Vierne, Widor, Schumann, Sowerby, Bach—whatever music he played was revelatory.”

Susan De Kam
followed Palmer’s remarks with an elegantly energetic rendering of the Prelude et Fugue sur le nom d’ALAIN by Duruflé. Throughout the evening, elements of Glasgow’s style were evident in the performances, but not slavishly so. He never sought to produce clones of himself, but rather sought to elicit the best from the musical personality and talent of each individual student. The variety of repertoire on the program demonstrates Glasgow’s versatility as a teacher, and his penchant for selecting repertoire matched to a student’s interests and abilities.

Marilyn Mason took the podium next. “I was responsible for hiring [Robert Glasgow]. When I had played in Pennsylvania, at a regional convention of the AGO, several of us had breakfast the next morning. I can remember it very clearly: Harold Gleason, Catharine Crozier, plus a few others who had joined us. We spoke of several things: of our views of organ playing, organbuilding, and specifically of Michigan. At that moment during that breakfast, I shared with Dr. Gleason that we were in the market for a third teacher. Both Bob Noehren and I were teaching here at Michigan. Without hesitation, Dr. Gleason spoke: ‘We have a recent graduate who is a splendid organist and I’m sure a good teacher. Just now he is teaching at MacMurray College in Illinois. He is a fine person and an excellent organist, and I know he will make his mark in the organ world.’ Indeed, of course he did. I came home and I talked to my Dean, Earl V. Moore, and his assistant, Jim Wallace. They were actually the search committee. Those were the days when you had two or three or one—no résumés needed, mostly a high recommendation from Harold Gleason. They were in favor. The next thing was the audition for Bob Glasgow, and the rest of it is history. Indeed he did make his mark, and fulfilled all of the Harold Gleason prophecy.
“When I saw in 2007 that the complete works of Vierne would be published in a new edition, I went to my good friend Charles Reynolds, who runs the music library and said, ‘We must get this. I want to order it and I want to give it to the University of Michigan in honor of Bob Glasgow.’ Bob knew about this. The publication wasn’t ready, but he saw the outline of what was in each volume. This is a beautiful edition. There are thirteen volumes, all the organ works of Vierne, edited by David Sanger.
“So we bought this for the University of Michigan in April 2008 and the bookplate on the inscription of each volume reads, ‘Given by Marilyn Mason in honor of her distinguished colleague, Professor Emeritus Robert Glasgow, University of Michigan, 1962–2005.’
“He was a treasured colleague of mine, and that sense of humor which he had always came to the fore. All of us have a sense of humor, but his was unique, very special. We should make a book of all those wonderful sayings.”

Steven Egler preceded his polished performance of A Triptych of Fugues by Gerald Near with brief explanatory remarks. “Lest the music of Gerald Near stick out like a sore thumb amidst all of this other great literature that Bob played and loved, I need to explain a couple of connections. This Triptych was Gerald Near’s third organ composition, composed for Bob in 1965, and premiered by him in Hill Auditorium January 30, 1966. Gerald Near was a student of both Marilyn and of Bob, while he was a master’s student in composition and conducting.”

Louis Nagel, professor of piano at the University of Michigan, offered these thoughts: “Grandeur and majesty are words that come to mind when I recall the performances I heard from Bob Glasgow. He and the organ were one and the same when he played, and his ability to tame this gargantuan instrument, to console the console if I may say it that way, was inspirational. I remember a particular performance in Hill Auditorium one summer. The temperature outside had risen that day to a hundred degrees, perhaps beyond. Inside Hill—this was before air-conditioning was installed—the temperature was considerably above that. Needless to say, the program included some demanding nineteenth-century works. I arrived in a short-sleeved shirt and casual pants. I even sat by a fan placed in front of an open door. Professor Glasgow walked out on the stage in full concert attire, sat himself at the keyboard, and proceeded to perform for over an hour with the greatest command and ease. After the concert, I went backstage and greeted him. He had hardly worked up a sweat, it seemed to me, despite the athleticism of his performance. (We pianists don’t have to use pedals that way. We have to watch [organists] to realize how comfortably we really have it.) ‘Aren’t you hot?’ I asked him incredulously. ‘No,’ he rather laconically replied. I must have looked disbelieving still, so he told me he grew up in Okalahoma where it routinely got that hot in the summertime in the shade, and this did not faze him at all. I congratulated him and retreated, chastened, but eternally admiring of his honesty and endurance.
“Bob was a very special colleague. I believe that he was as apolitical as he could be; at least he seemed that way as I knew him. Rarely did I have occasion to discuss school issues with him, or serve on any committee other than an occasional doctoral dissertation. I visited, at his invitation, a couple of organ juries, and he was deeply involved in the performances of the students taking their juries, not just his students, but all the students. He was a devoted and compassionate teacher, and I think his attitude made a major impression upon me. His fusion of teaching and performing as two sides of the same coin certainly influenced my own thinking on that subject.
“In preparing these comments, I listened twice to the CD we have in our library of Bob playing the works of César Franck. Franck, as we all know, worshipped at the altar of modulation. I am amused, in fact, when the title of the piece says Choral in E major or Cantabile in B major. For one phrase it is in E or B, and then goes on through 29 more tonalities. I was struck by the fact that Bob also modulated in his life, originally planning to be an architect. Had he changed keys fractionally as much as Franck, we’d probably not be gathered here today to recall his life as an organist. Fortunately, he did not modulate after arriving in the tonality of music, but remained firmly rooted in the parallel tonics of teaching and performing. And thus his long and honorable career here at the University of Michigan serves as a remarkable example to all of us of true dedication, collegiality, grandeur and majesty.” Peter Stoltzfus Berton then gave a focused, fervent performance of Franck’s Prière.

William Aylesworth, who had studied organ with Professor Glasgow at MacMurray College, shared a number of humorous anecdotes from his student days, beginning with his encounter with RG at registration, seated at an old-fashioned student desk: “I walked in to find a rather slender young man with reddish hair, who was nervously shuffling a stack of papers. He had several pens and pencils in one hand, which he kept dropping on the terrazzo floor. He would leap up to retrieve them, just spider-like, and just get going on something, then something else would fall, and it would happen all over again. Not that Bob was ever nervous, or anything like that.” He also recalled being presented with the fourth edition of the Gleason organ method at his first lesson, much of which at that time was hand-typed and hand-scripted. “This book far surpassed the significance of the Holy Scriptures in Bob’s estimation.”
“For us organ students [required attendance at Chapel services] was no hardship. Bob would begin by playing an opening voluntary. Can you imagine him doing a Psalm Prelude by Herbert Howells or the Frank Bridge Adagio in E, or I think he even used to play the Barber Adagio for Strings. To hear him, with his incomparable rhythmic sense giving out a hymn. No fancy harmonies behind it, mind you, but totally as is, as perfectly as anyone could imagine. And believe me, when he got through giving out that hymn, everybody was standing on their feet ready to sing. It was really something. Then there were his magnificent choir accompaniments—often a 17th- or 18th-century piece in Latin or perhaps an early 20th-century work. Some of the Latin titles were mercilessly parodied, which led to endless giggles, from Bob, too. [One of the pieces we performed] was Bach Cantata 140. Of course, being out in the sticks like we were, Bob was the orchestra. I remember the Messiah, Bach Magnificat, Brahms and Fauré Requiems, always accompanied by Bob at the wonderful Aeolian-Skinner. Now he took all of this very seriously, and his accompaniments were rhythmically vibrant, and were color-wise and style-wise as fine as anyone could ever imagine. He would work for hours on these to get them just right. He would say, ‘fiendishly difficult,’ but they were done to perfection. Just imagine having all this to listen to as a student. And I think it helped him broaden his sense of musicianship as well.
“The most wonderful thing about my four years at MacMurray was the example Bob set for all of us. His mind was never still. He knew literature, art, architecture, drama, movies, and led all of us to a deeper appreciate of all that. But it was the musical example he gave us to measure up to, if we could, which was his greatest gift. Several times in the years since, I was able to tell him that he has always been my musical wellspring. It will always be true.”
Aylesworth’s light-hearted anecdotes were contrasted by Charles Kennedy’s intricately colorful and nuanced performance of the Howells Fugue, Chorale and Epilogue.

Martin Jean recalled his early days as a Glasgow student: “It was clear to me from my first lesson with Professor Glasgow that on some level we ‘clicked.’ I played the Liszt ‘BACH’ for him before my first semester of study, a piece that I had a hard time liking, and emerged from his studio that day with a new love of the music. This happened over and over again. But on many other levels, at least at the start, we were strangers to one another. I was a midwestern Lutheran, he was a Scot Presbyterian from Oklahoma. I was thoroughly Germanicized in my aesthetic; he was a Francophile. But one of the things that sticks in my head as different were the ways we kept time. I come from a family of morning people, and, as we all know, no one with any sense would have a lesson with RG before 10:30 in the morning, mostly because he was up half the night before watching old movies in the back room of his apartment. He was as puzzled with me as I was with him. ‘How can you get up so early?’ he would ask. ‘Well,’ I would answer, ‘I like being up when no one else is around. How can you stay up so late?’ He replied, ‘Same reason.’ It never made sense to me. Being a nocturnal animal was just not in my nature and it still isn’t. It seemed a lonely life to me, and as I came to know Bob better, I worried more and more that he lived a lonely life.
“I know for a fact that many of us caught our love for old films from Bob. Ironically, my first glimpse of the Yale campus came through the window of the Taft Hotel in the last scene of ‘All About Eve.’ It was indicative of Bob in general: that which he loved, he loved to share. And we, his students, were all the beneficiaries. He was an open book to us. From music to art to poetry to old movies to great food to Catherine’s killer punch to the joy of staying up late and enjoying the moonlight. It turns out that that nocturnal animal, deriving strength from moonlight instead of sunlight, was not so different from me. He simply liked to stay up later. The moonlight that nurtured him would for me, too, become alluring. Instead of the fierce brightness of the morning, there would be the dazzling gentleness of the evening light, stunning in its own way, a kind of sentinel that looked after him during his night-time vigil. I offer this piece in honor of that memory and so much more.” Jean then read the poem, “Clair de Lune” by Paul Verlaine, followed by a poignant rendition of Vierne’s fantasy piece of the same title.

Orpha Ochse
was the final speaker for the evening. She and Bob Glasgow met at the Eastman School of Music, found they had much in common, and became fast friends. I recall Professor Glasgow always speaking of her with the utmost respect. Ochse began, “From the very first, I was awed by Bob’s music making, his understanding of the organ’s tone colors, his sense of style. Even then, he instinctively knew where he was going musically and he was not to be distracted. A quarter of a century later, he still maintained both his stylistic preferences and his artistic integrity through those years of the early music frenzy, a time when organ recitals were often more performance practice than music. And in his later years, he remained on track with his artistic convictions.
“Bob’s students were his family. He worried about them as much as any parent, and he was as proud of their accomplishments as any grandparent. I’m surprised he didn’t carry their pictures around in his billfold. Through the years, many of those students became my friends. I earned a place in that family circle by listening untold times to Bob’s musings about how talented and how wonderful his students were. I may have stifled a yawn, but he did speak truly. His great legacy depends on the generations of students who absorbed the lessons of musicianship that he exemplified. And this evening, we’ve been privileged to hear them create a fitting monument in his honor.
“I recall one time when Bob and I visited Harold Gleason toward the end of Gleason’s life. Harold loved to carry an idea to the ridiculous extreme. He said on this occasion, ‘You know, nothing in nature is ever lost. It may change form, but it continues to exist. If we send vibrations out into space, they just keep going forever. Maybe if we knew the spot in outer space to pinpoint, we could hear Mr. Bach playing.’ Well, Harold was just fantasizing to amuse us, but on this special occasion, we really do hear the Glasgow legacy, and are reassured that it will be perpetuated in new generations of grand-pupils and great-grand-pupils. Those of us who have been privileged to attend great universities and learn from great teachers assume a lifelong responsibility. Somehow we ought to repay the efforts that were made in our behalf, and justify those awesome opportunities.
“I’m drawn to the imagery presented in the letter to the Hebrews. In this familiar passage, the Greek people who are no longer with us watch to see if we will carry forward their work. ‘Since we are encompassed about by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us thrust aside every impediment and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us.’” Jeremy David Tarrant closed the concert with a thrilling performance of the Choral and Final from Widor’s seventh symphony.

On the evening of May 29, Hill Auditorium was alive with the legacy of Robert Glasgow, an atmosphere created by the cumulative effect of electrifying performances, affectionate spoken tributes, and the collective remembrances and esteem of all who had gathered to celebrate all that made Robert Glasgow unforgettable.
As I listened to the concert, I mused on my own student days. In particular, I recalled my nervous approach to the mammoth organ console at Hill to play the Franck B-minor Choral for my master’s recital, and several occasions when I laughed heartily at one of Professor Glasgow’s signature comments during a lesson (“It’s like putting lipstick on a pig. It’s still a pig.”). When he would assume the bench to demonstrate a point, I watched, fascinated with the way he used the weight of his hands and arms to move effortlessly over the keyboards. I enjoyed and endured studio classes on Tuesday nights, sometimes lasting until 11:00 pm. I will never forget the day he both complimented and humbled me by saying, “You have enough musical instinct for three people; you just need to calm down.” I treasure his hand-written directions in my Franck scores, and I can still hear his voice in my mind, coaching me through the long phrases.
At the reception after the tribute concert, Huw Lewis mentioned that he had cut short a visit with his family in Wales to attend the tribute concert. I said, “But Huw, this is your family, too.” He replied, “You’re right. They are.” And what a heritage we all share, thanks to the inspiration, encouragement, discipline, excellence, mastery, romanticism, musicality and uniqueness of Robert Glasgow. 

 

Related Content

Robert Glasgow at 80 (section two of two)

A conversation with Steven Egler

Steven Egler

Steven Egler is Professor of Music at Central Michigan University, Mt. Pleasant, Michigan, where he has been a member of the faculty since 1976. He was a student of Robert Glasgow from 1969 to 1981, during which time he completed the B.M., M.M., and D.M.A. degrees at The University of Michigan. Egler is also Councillor for Region V of the AGO.

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SE: Please comment about the Gleasons, their teaching, and working with both of them.

RG: They’re both gone now. Harold way back [1980] and Catharine more recently [2003].

SE: How did they compare as teachers?

RG: Quite different from one another. She was very exacting. He was, too, but he was older--a generation older. I didn’t study with her except for some special repertoire. He would suggest that I take a particular piece to Mrs. Gleason that she’d been playing, so I could see what she had to say about it. That was interesting. I studied with Catharine for the whole summer after I had already finished the degree.

But Harold was somebody with a certain presence, because there was a wonderful human mind, sense of humor, and many, many years of experience--and not just in organ. In fact, some of his instructions would be to listen to some orchestral piece because it had something to do with what I was working on; so I did exactly as he told me to do. He had studio class every week--small class, five students.

Catharine’s main influence was in her playing. She played through her recitals before every time that she went on a tour, which was three or four times a year. She would play the tour programs for us up there in [Organ Studio] 427. We could watch everything that she did. Technique was all there. Everything was PERFECT. It was a wonderful example. No frothing at the mouth. Very elegant. THAT was most instructive.

SE: And it was always from memory, right.

RG: Yes.

SE: That’s interesting to me, about memorizing. What about extemporization?

RG: I wouldn’t give you a dime for an organist who couldn’t extemporize a little bit, who has to have every note written down on a piece of paper before he can play anything, who can’t even touch the manuals without having the notes down on the page. I-IV-V-I, if nothing more than that.

But they don’t seem to stress that enough everywhere. I don’t see why they can’t do it. Just scared to death. Make music, as it were. You know what I mean? If you leave your scores at home, on Sunday, go make music. Maybe find a hymn tune and just play on your own. But you know, we’re afraid of it, even though we’ve got music in us and enough technique in our fingers--but of course that takes daily practice.

SE: You’re absolutely right!

RG: It’s partly about your early experiences as a child. There was nothing wrong with sitting down and playing on the keyboard without having anything on the music rack.

SE: Your first teaching position was as professor at MacMurray College in Jacksonville, Illinois, from 1951-1962. It must have been very exciting to get a teaching position right after receiving your graduate degree from the Eastman School. Please describe how this appointment came about.

RG: The appointment was in May of that year, and I started teaching in September [1951]. I knew about the place because I knew of at least one student at Eastman from Jacksonville who had been a student of Ruth Melville Bellatti who was the teacher there before I was. There had been Eastman teachers there in the department of music.

The school was about to get a new four-manual Aeolian-Skinner organ in the chapel. It was a beautiful organ, and I was lucky to have it while I was there--the last 10 years that I was there.

I went back to play there, and they gave me an honorary doctorate [Doctor of Music]. [The recital and conferring of the degree took place on October 3, 1975.] It was a high point for me. That concert was the first concert on the Jacksonville/MacMurray Civic Music Series. They had all kinds of things, you know: orchestra, pianists, from all over--not just one area. They had a full house, as I recall. Do you remember Ruth Melville Bellatti?

SE: No. I only recall hearing the name.

RG: She was my predecessor there once removed. She was a classmate of Catharine [Crozier]. She was a superb player, and she was the one that really got the ball rolling on that new organ.

SE: Didn’t Harold Gleason design that organ?

RG: He had a lot to do with it. He made some suggestions.

SE: That would explain the connection to Eastman. 

RG: Many of the teachers had been from Eastman way back into the 1930s. Joe Clelland went there back in the 1930s and brought Ruth to the faculty. That was one of the best things they ever did. Then she got married to Walt Bellatti and started raising a family. That’s when they got Wilbur Sheridan for four years, and then just the time before the organ was to arrive, he left--went to a college in Washington state, and that’s how I got the position. I saw the new organ specification on paper and thought, “You’re leaving this?” Those were wonderful years. Catharine Crozier played the opening recital.

SE: Didn’t you direct the orchestra at MacMurray?

RG: That was the first year that I was there. The director/chairman called me in and asked, “Wouldn’t you like to conduct the orchestra?” “Sure, I can’t wait.” “Well, you’re the only one around here with any orchestral experience.” I said, “What, I haven’t had any orchestral experience.” “Yes, but you’ve PLAYED in one.” That means you are a conductor if you’ve played in an orchestra.

Well, such as it was. They had five violins, clarinet, bassoon, that was it. String bass, cello, and PIANO--fill in, you see. It was kind of pitiful there for a while, but I was game--I had no choice! They had to grab players anywhere you could find them--faculty, local residents, students--and nobody was any good. It was pretty bad, and I wasn’t much better.

We had a concert coming up right away--Christmas Vespers--and we had to get together right away. In the first place, I had to find something that I thought they could play amongst this VAST repertoire in their library. At the first rehearsal, about half of the instruments were there. The next week, it was just be another arrangement of people, sort of like pick-up. I thought that this was hopeless, so I told the pianist to play loud! We’ll have to have something to carry us through. That was my experience with that orchestra. 

I also taught counterpoint, which I wasn’t planning to do, but this other teacher had left. He was the string teacher and taught counterpoint.

SE: How were your organ students there that first year?

RG: The first year, I think that I had six, and I was lucky to have that many. They didn’t know me, and the organ was coming next year. Then I started playing over the radio every Sunday afternoon, and that got a lot of attention for that area. Then the students began piling in, and there were some very good ones.

One of the prides of that school was the chapel building, which is a handsome building, and the organ. In the meantime, they have acquired a new music and arts building.

SE: How did your appointment to The University of Michigan come about?

RG: It was late in the year and I had been out in Los Angeles to play for my first national convention of the AGO. Then I played for Clarence Mader at his church in Los Angeles that summer, Immanuel Presbyterian Church, Wilshire Boulevard.

Marilyn Mason had played in Springfield, Illinois that spring, and I went over to hear her, and I met her afterwards. Then, in a few days’ time, she called and asked if I would like to be considered for a job at The University of Michigan. There were no vacancies then, but that summer--June--it opened up. So they called me up, flew me back. I met with the dean and the executive board, and was offered the position. Just like that!

SE: Who was the dean of the School of Music then?

RG: James Wallace--a grand guy. Just first rate. He was an ideal dean. The door was always open to students and faculty alike. He was not impressed with himself. His trump card: he was very humane. He would never miss a faculty recital. If there were two on the same night, he would go to the first half of one and the second half of the other. It was the same with some of the older students. He’d show up! 

SE: What have been any highlights of your years at Michigan?

RG: There have been many, such as receiving the Harold Haugh Award for Excellence in Teaching; I appreciated getting that award. And the Eastman School of Music Alumni Achievement Award.

In February 2002, Eastman and the Rochester Chapter of the American Guild of Organists (organized by Tom Trenney) invited me back to do a masterclass for their students. They wanted me to do a roundtable discussion with David Craighead (“Conversation with the Masters”), talking about the “old days.”

Right at the end of that, the Director of the School of Music, James Undercofler, surprised me and presented me with [that year’s] award for Distinguished Alumni Achievement. It was like a diploma, and he read off the citation. This was a surprise, a big surprise.

SE: How have organ teaching and playing evolved over the course of your 50-plus years of teaching? Compare your current students to former students.

RG: Students have changed in the 40 years I’ve been here. They’re not as open and natural. They’re more guarded--not all--more so than they used to be. They had more fun then. It’s all very serious now.

SE: How has the Organ Reform Movement affected organ building and performance?

RG: Well, the level of organ building and tonal design has improved somewhat; but I still enjoy a good E. M. Skinner with certain repertoire, and I have some students who feel that way. They are really fascinated with E. M. Skinner’s philosophy (if you want to use that word). I don’t find anything very charming in the neo-Baroque ideal. Cavaillé-Coll built organs according to his own ideal. He didn’t copy something from before. We wouldn’t have the great 19th-century heritage in France if he hadn’t followed his own creative urge.

SE: What advice would you give to young organists entering the profession today?

RG: Try to think of yourself as a musician first and don’t worry about what’s the latest thing. Follow your own musical instincts. I grew up playing on a flat, straight pedalboard in Oklahoma City, on the only mechanical action organ in town at that time, and I think that it’s still there. It never wore out. It was one of those Hinners--workhorse of an organ--and they just didn’t wear out. Like Austin--it doesn’t wear out.

SE: Can you say anything about your long-standing friendship/collegial relationship with Orpha Ochse?

RG: I first met Orpha when she was new at Eastman, as I was. I was sitting there (fourth floor), and she came up and asked me, “Does it make any difference which of these organs we can practice on?” I said, “No, as far as I know.” We just became friends. The organ department had a lot of new students that fall (1949), but of course, I’d been there since late June--taking lessons, practicing, working--and that’s when I got my church job, which was why I was there so early.

Her personality, sense of humor--very droll sense of humor--you’d think that she was dead serious about something, but she wasn’t. And she had this incredible ability to see into things--the phony side of things, which I appreciated very much, at that time especially.

SE: That must be an incredible thing to have a friend like Orpha over such a long period of time.

RG: Well she’s a rare bird, that’s one thing for sure, and she is also an extremely intelligent bird. She has an unbelievably sharp mind, and therefore it is fun, but you don’t fool her for a minute.

And her books are universally regarded and essential in any organist’s libary: The History of the Organ in the United States; Organists and Organ Playing in 19th-Century France and Belgium, a great resource; and more recently her books about the Austin and Murray Harris companies.

SE: What were some of your favorite organs to play throughout your career?

RG: The 1911 Austin at First Presbyterian Church, Oklahoma City.

The 1920 Kimball organ at the Shrine Auditorium, Masonic Temple, Oklahoma City.

The 1918 Kimball at First Church of Christ, Scientist, Oklahoma City.

At the Eastman School of Music, the 1936 G. Donald Harrison Aeolian-Skinner in Strong Auditorium. This was a totally different idea of organ design. I hear they’re going to restore it.

Church of the Advent, Boston, Massachusetts, 1936 Aeolian-Skinner. It has some of the loveliest sounds that you will hear anywhere. It, along with the Groton School instrument (1935), represented Harrison’s new “American Classic” design.

High on this list would be Merner Chapel, MacMurray College, Jacksonville, Illlinois: 4-manual Aeolian-Skinner (1952).

All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Worcester, Massachusetts, 1934 Aeolian-Skinner. It has been through many transformations/revisions but is now restored (under the supervision of current organist and former student, Peter Stoltzfus).

Bridges Hall, Pomona College, Claremont, California, 2002 C.B. Fisk. I just heard this a few weeks ago, demonstrated beautifully by college organist Bill Peterson--such an organ and such playing!

 

SE: What various influences led you to devote your efforts to the romantic repertoire?

RG: I like the music! I loved the Franck D-minor Symphony and heard it performed before I actually played it in the high-school orchestra. The Saint-Saëns Symphony No. 3--a recording that I had on 78 record--the reeds of that organ were compelling. I identified with the sounds of those instruments right away. I did not know much about Cavaillé-Coll, but I knew that I liked those sounds.

SE: Do you want to say anything about your performing career, Bob?

RG: Well, I enjoyed it while it lasted. I’m not performing any more. I have what is called atrial fibrillation. Have you heard of that? My heart doesn’t have any rhythm: it doesn’t know where the beat is. It goes crazy because you can’t get enough oxygen for it to operate correctly, so I’m taking all of this medication--I have been now for a couple or three years. It keeps me sort of on an even keel.

The last performance that I did, I almost couldn’t play. I’d been out to West Texas. What a trip--nightmare of a trip! Flying out there, changing in Houston, missing the connection, galloping through the terminal, then missing the connection, then pain all over every inch of my body. It was heart failure. The heart was trying to do the best that it could, but it couldn’t keep up. I didn’t know that at that time. 

I got to the church the next morning. The organ man was there and the organ wasn’t ready to play. He said that I’d have to come back later on in a couple of hours and that they needed more time. I never got to the organ until the night before the performance. It didn’t go very well. I was too tired, by the time I got to second half, I thought that the other pieces were ho-hum, ordinary. Then I thought that maybe this was the right time to “turn the corner.”

I then went to North Texas State University, Denton, Texas, which was presenting a conference on Cavaillé-Coll. I did a recital of that repertoire on that organ in the main hall, and that was hard to do, too. I was just exhausted, and I couldn’t get rested. I thought then, “Just cool it. You don’t need to do this the rest of your life.” The more that I thought that way, the more comfortable I felt.

I played Widor Seventh, complete, on the last part of the program. I got into the next-to-last movement (slow movement) and the organ ciphered, so I had to stop, of course. By this time, I was so dizzy that I didn’t know which way was up, so they came up to see about me. I told Jesse Eschbach, my former student, that I couldn’t go on and that he would have to help me out and that I couldn’t finish the recital. Meanwhile, the audience was wondering what was happening since I didn’t return. I was supposed to teach a performance class the next morning. I did get up and do that.

Then I went to Memphis. I got things worked out, but there was trouble with the organ and one of these impossible situations where the console is where you can’t get to it--you needed to be an acrobat! Nice acoustics, though. Nice organ--Schantz. So I didn’t go. I didn’t play. I cancelled out about an hour before curtain time--too dizzy!

They all seemed to understand when I told them what had happened. But that was the last time I attempted to play anywhere, and I thought then, “That’s it. I’ve done this now since I was that high, so that’s fine.” Having made that decision, I felt as if there was a big weight lifted off of my shoulders. But I’m sorry that I didn’t know more about it (my situation) before that performance because people were down there and waiting. So I got on the plane the next morning and flew back here, and that was it.

SE: So, what about retirement and the whole concept of retirement?

RG: The concept of retirement? Well, at The University of Michigan we have what they call a retirement furlough. It’s a nice deal. You have another year to do things that you want to do and get paid full salary. You teach as much as you want to or not at all. And they’ll furnish you with a studio or office.

SE: So, will you do that then?

RG: I’m going to stay right here for the time being--and then, we’ll see. I have no idea what I’m going to do after that. I think I’m going to get together all of my annotated copies of all the scores of Franck, some Widor, and some Sowerby, and get those out. That’ll take me the next 10 years!

SE: What about recording?

RG: The only thing that I regret is that I didn’t go on and record more than I did. I wish I had gone ahead and done all the Franck. I had that in mind, but I didn’t get to it soon enough. And I’m not too happy with what I did, although I’ve been told over and over again how wonderful it is, so I thought, “OK, if you think it’s so wonderful, I’ll shut up.”

That was a wonderful organ (All Saints’ Episcopal, Worcester, Massachusetts) for Franck, rather than packing up and going abroad. I didn’t want to do that. There’s a lot more to a “telling” performance than a particular organ. The particular organ does help, but I don’t think you have to have only THIS organ. If you do, you’re kind of stuck.

SE: Your legacy as a teacher and a performer are legendary, and you have been an inspiration to countless numbers of organists, myself included. What do you feel has been your greatest contribution to the organ world?

RG: Students (without hesitation), and I don’t hesitate a minute to say that, in spite of a few huge disappointments; yet some times I can’t stand them! But that’s more lasting. And maybe, to a certain extent, my performance, because you demonstrate what you’ve been teaching. One should be able to do that: put up or shut up. But I’ve done that over a period of how many years, so I didn’t feel too badly about realizing I couldn’t do it anymore or shouldn’t do it anymore.

RB: It’s like a chain of succession.

RG: Well, we now have the next generation of mine. I’ve been blessed the past 54 years with some extraordinarily talented students--almost too numerous to list here.

A Conversation with Robert Town

Lorenz Maycher

Lorenz Maycher is organist-choirmaster at First-Trinity Presbyterian Church in Laurel, Mississippi. His interviews with William Teague, Thomas Richner, Nora Williams, and Albert Russell have also appeared in The Diapason.

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Robert Town has recently retired after more than forty years of overseeing the organ department at Wichita State University, where he established a legacy of the highest standards in organ performance with his many award-winning students, oversaw the plans and completion of a world-class concert hall and organ, and brought the great organists of the world to the Wichita community through the Bloomfield concert series. In this colorful interview he reminisces about his student life at Eastman, his encounters with eminent musicians such as the Gleasons, Arthur Poister, Marilyn Mason, Marcel Dupré, the Duruflés, Mildred Andrews, and Claire Coci, and his notable career as a teacher and recitalist.

—Brett Valliant

Director of Music, Worship and the Arts

Senior Organist, First United Methodist Church, Wichita, Kansas

Lorenz Maycher: Tell us about your early years.
Robert Town
: I am from Meridian, New York, a little village just west of Syracuse. My parents took me to church for the first time in 1940, where I heard the one-manual, six-rank 1876 Hook & Hastings organ. And that was it. I started piano lessons when I was five and took all through my school years.
I became fascinated at the age of ten with something new on the market—the Hammond organ. My mother and I had stopped into Clark Music in Syracuse, and Mr. Clark showed us a church-model Hammond, which I thought was just wonderful. The Hook & Hastings organ in our church was thought to be old and beyond repair. At my instigation, when I was ten, I raised money with other kids in town by putting on circuses, magic shows, and the like to start an organ fund. At the end of two years we had raised $50. The Ladies’ CIC from church added $50, my father $100, and the man who owned the hardware store $100. Before long, we had enough to buy the Hammond organ for the church. I played the prelude and postlude sometimes, and took Hammond organ lessons at the music store in Syracuse. I became the organist at that church at fifteen, and then at First Baptist Church in Weedsport, New York when I was fifteen, where I played a two-manual, ten-rank Steere & Turner for $5 a Sunday.
In my sophomore year of high school, Warren Scharf, who had just finished his master’s degree with Catharine Crozier at Eastman, came to Auburn, New York, to be organist at Second Presbyterian Church, which had, and still has, an E. M. Skinner organ in the gallery. I began lessons with him, and he started me right from the beginning of the Gleason book, with exercises and pieces for manuals alone. At the age of fifteen, having to start from the very beginning was demoralizing, but was the correct thing to do. I studied with him for about six months, until he was drafted into the Army, ending my organ lessons. However, I had become intent on studying with Catharine Crozier at the Eastman School. When her first records came out from Kilbourn Hall, I bought them right away, even before I had anything to play them on. When her Longview, Texas, records of American music came out in 1953, I bought those. They are still marvelous to this day.
I met and heard Miss Crozier for the first time when I was fifteen, at an AGO regional convention in Utica, and made an appointment with her the next year to see how I could best prepare to become her student. I took off two days from school and took the bus over to Rochester to meet with her. Not wanting me to develop any bad habits, she urged that I not take organ lessons until I came to study with her. She did say piano was of the utmost importance, however, and that I could not have enough of that, emphasizing scales and arpeggios.
When I went to audition for her on December 18, 1954, they neglected to tell her. So, after my ear training test and piano audition, Edward Easley, who directed the auditions, looked around for her and found that she had gone out shopping. He found Mr. Gleason in Sibley Library and had me play for him instead. Halfway through my audition, Miss Crozier walked in. I was playing the Messiaen Celestial Banquet, and got so distracted that I left out the pedal part! Afterwards, to my great surprise, she said in a very cold and unsympathetic tone of voice, “Would you do a modulation for us?” I was so shocked that I turned around and said, “You mean from key to key?”
I was devastated when, in 1955, just as I was about to graduate from high school, I learned Catharine Crozier and Harold Gleason were resigning from the Eastman School. I had already been accepted.
As a teacher, Catharine Crozier had been difficult and unsympathetic. She had too many students to suit her, wanted an assistant to take beginning students, and only wanted to teach upperclassmen. Miss Crozier was unhappy.
I think it would be safe to say they knew they were leaving Eastman by January of 1955. Robert Hufstader from Rollins College wrote Eastman asking for a recommendation for a replacement for Arden Whitacre, who had resigned, and that is how the Gleasons found out about the opening at Rollins. Over Christmas holiday, they went down, unbeknownst to anybody, and looked the job over.
I went to Eastman in the fall of 1955. David Craighead, who was 32 years old at the time, had been appointed the new organ instructor. He came to have a very successful tenure at Eastman, and was a prince of a fellow, but his teaching style was very different from Catharine Crozier’s. When Catharine was in a lesson, it isn’t an exaggeration to say the student might receive a tap on the shoulder every two measures. When Mr. Gleason gave her students lessons while she was away on tour, her students did not think he was a very good teacher because he did not stop them every two measures!
In one of my first lessons with David Craighead, I had some things from the Gleason book, and he admitted he did not agree with all the precepts of that method, saying it was too fussy, with too much to be concerned about. He did not even think it was necessary to wear organ shoes and played in his street shoes. I sat in the practice room with the Gleason book, working on pieces for manuals alone, which, after time, Mr. Craighead thought were too easy for me; so he assigned about ten chorales from the Orgelbüchlein and two of Karg-Elert’s chorale improvisations, an impossible leap from what I had been playing. The former Gleason students would sometimes come in and say, “It would be helpful if you would do it this way.”

LM: What were the practice organs and studio organs like at Eastman?
RT
: The organ in Catharine Crozier’s studio, where David Craighead first taught, was a three-manual Aeolian-Skinner of about 26 ranks. The whole instrument was installed in a chamber in the ceiling. In Norman Peterson’s studio, next door, the Great and Pedal were on the floor level (the early records of Catharine Crozier at Kilbourn Hall have a drawing of that Great and Pedal on the cover), and the Swell, Choir, and basses were located in the ceiling chamber. There were three Aeolian-Skinner practice organs that were in great demand all the time. One was called “the Trumpet Skinner”; one was “the Mixture Skinner”; and the third was a small three-manual. The other practice organs were two-manual Möllers of five ranks each, most of which were original to the school when it was built in 1921, and two three-manual Möllers in such poor working order that no one could use them.

LM: You told me an amusing story about hearing Claire Coci when you were a student at Eastman.
RT
: The year before I went to Eastman, Claire Coci played a recital at Kilbourn Hall, and some of the Eastman students sat behind the console. As things went wrong, she would curse, often loud enough for the first few rows to hear. When we found out she was to play a recital on the Holtkamp organ in Crouse Auditorium at Syracuse, two carloads of us organ students from Eastman drove over to hear her, and the Syracuse students reserved the front two rows for us.
While she was practicing for that recital, a couple of organ students were listening to her from the balcony. She noticed and called up, “Do you kids know where there is a Coke machine around here?” One of them ran downstairs and brought her up a Coke, and, in one of her enormous gestures in playing, she knocked it off the bench and the bottle shattered on the floor. When she finished practicing that piece, she got up and kicked the broken glass under the pedalboard.
For the recital, the dress she was wearing had many different layers which had to be parted to get out of the way and put over the back of the bench. She fussed and fussed, trying to find the part. She couldn’t, and finally muttered, “My God, it would take a road map to find your way in here.”

LM: From Eastman, did you go right to Syracuse to work on your master’s degree with Arthur Poister?
RT
: Yes. Arthur Poister was a great man—very sensitive, intuitive, and wise. Classes began in the fall of 1960, and lessons with Poister were a revelation, as was playing the Holtkamp organ at Crouse Auditorium. He waited about three weeks into school to comment on my playing. I had been working on the F-Major Toccata, which was one of his favorite pieces, and played it for my lesson, which certainly was not a finished performance. Beverly Blunt came in to wait for her lesson. He looked at her, and said, “Did you hear that? Wasn’t that wonderful?” He did that to encourage me, and it did. To have ANYONE say I was wonderful! I walked out of there on a cloud!
Arthur Poister taught at Crouse all morning, and had full reign of the auditorium, with his students practicing there afternoons into the evening. We each had Crouse one hour a week. I loved exploring, hearing, and getting to know that organ. I visited there this past summer for the first time since our Marcussen organ was installed here in Wichita. Curious to see how the Holtkamp in Crouse would seem to me these days, I sat down in the stifling heat and played individual stops and choruses, then finally got to full organ. When the old Roosevelt Trombone came on in the pedal, I concluded it was still magnificent.

LM: What would Arthur Poister say about a piece like the Toccata in F? Did he tap you on the shoulder every two measures?
RT
: No, no—never. He did not like articulation in Bach, and had learned and memorized all the Bach works with Marcel Dupré over the course of two years in Paris. He thought Bach should be played legato, regardless of Walcha and others on the scene at the time. He taught and used the ornaments as explained in the Dupré edition of the Bach works. If someone detached something, he would say, “You kids! You just want to break up things, when it would be so much more beautiful if you would just stop that!”
It was amazing how his students came to play the way they did, because he never said much about pedaling or fingering. In fact, I was studying the Partita on “O Gott, du frommer Gott,” and, in the last variation, I did not know what to do in one passage. He said, “You have had enough organ to be able to figure it out yourself.” Then, he threw in a little hint by saying, “It may be all thumbs.” When I look back at my Syracuse years—Calvin Hampton was there, Paul Andersen, Lawrence Jamison, who was the star of the undergraduates—when I look back on the preparation of the undergraduates, and the caliber of master’s recitals with that man, it was phenomenal. It is the mystery of Arthur Poister how it happened—how he did NOT correct fingering or pedaling, and only talked about the way it must sound. His only concern was how to communicate musically.

LM: Did you ever play for Marcel Dupré?
RT
: No, but I met and heard him July 6, 1969, on my first trip to Europe. I was with two other Americans, and we started out unsure that any of the big organists would be playing that day, it being time for their holiday, and our having made no prior arrangements to visit organ lofts. We started out at 9:00 at St. Clothilde, and Marie-Louise Jacquet came down the aisle after Mass. I inquired if Langlais was at the console, and she said, “Yes, and you may go up.” I was the first to enter. He was sitting at the console, waiting for the next Mass, and turned and said, “Yes?” I introduced myself and the two others, and said, “I bring greetings from Catharine Crozier.” He was delighted, and said, “Tell me, is she still playing that perfectly horrible Reubke piece?” He very kindly and generously went over the stops on the entire instrument. Then, he opened his Braille watch and said, “I have just enough time to play the Franck B-Minor Choral for you before the next Mass.” He seemed so delighted that someone had come up to visit him in his organ loft. We signed his guest book, and he showed us to the door before he had to pile back on for the next Mass.
We then walked to St. Sulpice, where Mass was already in progress. We walked far enough down the aisle to look back and see who was in the loft. We couldn’t see anyone, except one man standing at the rail. After a time, he noticed us looking up with great interest, and motioned for us to come up. There were 15 or 20 other people in the loft visiting that day, including Guilmant’s granddaughter. The man who had motioned to us took me by the shoulders, led me over and planted me on the left side of the console, and I listened and watched HIM—Dupré—improvise and play. We were told he had just played the Bach Passacaglia. After our arrival, it was all improvisation.

LM: Did he welcome you?
RT
: Oh, no. He was absolutely oblivious to anyone being there at all—no eye contact, no smile. His hands were deformed with arthritis, and it was most distracting for me to watch him play. The little finger on his left hand had a joint that actually pointed up, instead of down, so he had to play on a different part of that finger. It did not seem to bother him. During communion and at other times, when he wanted to see how they were making progress downstairs, he would insert a pedal point into his improvisation, stand up on the pedals, and look down the length of the nave. His improvisations were fantastic, and we were in seventh heaven. His postlude was very reminiscent of the first piece in his Fifteen Pieces—big, block chords on full organ, with the theme in the pedal. The other improvisations were very contrapuntal.
When Mass ended, apparently he had an appointment with someone, because a young man came up to him. When Dupré saw him, they went off together to a room behind the console, and were there for some time. On his way to the room, he did not take notice of anyone. When they emerged, he made his way back to the console, again without acknowledging our presence, and began the prelude for the next Mass, which was the “Grand Orgue” Mass. When the postlude of the “Grand Orgue” Mass ended, all of a sudden, he looked around and noticed there were people there. I extended my hand and introduced myself as a former pupil of Arthur Poister. If ever in my life I saw a face light up, it was at the mention of Poister’s name. His gnarled hand shot up in the air—“AH! ARTHUR!” I wish I had a picture of it. He asked me to please give Poister his best. After that Mass, we stood outside St. Sulpice and watched as Dupré came out and got into a Mercedes.

LM: Let’s get back to your student days and Syracuse.
RT
: After my master’s recital, I decided to stay on at Syracuse and work on a Ph.D. in humanities, which was the nearest thing they offered that had to do with arts and music. But I did not like it. There was no actual music, no practicing, no lessons. So, when Kirk Ridge, who was chairman of the school of music, contacted me to teach piano full-time for the spring semester 1963, as a temporary replacement, I jumped at the chance.
That semester, when I wasn’t teaching one of my 36 piano students, I was practicing and playing recitals. I had seen an ad in The Diapason announcing the Boston Symphony and AGO organ competition, so decided to enter. Even after two years with Arthur Poister, I still had thoughts that I did not measure up to others, and I did not think I stood a snowball’s chance in a hot place of placing in the Boston competition. However, I made a tape and sent it in. In the meantime, I had also decided to apply to the University of Michigan to work on a doctorate with Marilyn Mason, so I flew to Ann Arbor to audition for her.

LM: What was your first impression of Marilyn Mason?
RT
: I liked her! When I arrived at Hill Auditorium, she was practicing the Schoenberg. We went to one of the side rooms off the stage, and I auditioned for her on a 3-rank Möller. She was very nice, personable, and encouraging.
After my audition, I went back to Syracuse and received a letter from the Boston AGO saying I was a semi-finalist. I thought there was some mistake and even called the man who had written the letter and asked him if it were a mistake. He assured me it was not. The semi-finals were held in April at the Arlington Street Church on a Whiteford Aeolian-Skinner. They kept us all in the basement apart from each other, and I have no idea who the other contestants were. Two others and I were selected as the finalists.
For the finals, which were open to the public and held at Symphony Hall in May, we each had to play thirty minutes. I had gotten there four days early to practice. The combination action on the Symphony Hall organ was very unreliable, and there was an enormous setterboard in the back of the console. Even after setting pistons, some of the generals were undependable. During my practice time, I learned which ones were reliable and which ones to avoid. I never saw any evidence of either of the other two finalists practicing. We did not have scheduled practice times, and every time I walked in, I was able to get to the organ.
There was a big crowd there for the finals, and the hall was set up with round tables for the Boston Pops. We were allowed five minutes to walk onstage informally and set our pistons before playing, then had to leave the stage and reenter formally to applause. I played from memory, and all I could think was, “If I can just make it through this without making a complete fool of myself . . . ”
Afterwards, we three finalists went down into the audience and mingled. I kept myself in close proximity to the other two so I could go up and congratulate the winner. A woman came out on stage and said, “Here’s the news you’ve all been waiting for: the winner is Robert Lloyd Town.” The other two finalists looked at each other in disappointment, turned around, and left. Lawrence and Ruth Barrett Phelps both came up to me, and that was the beginning of my very long and valuable friendship with him. Larry later gave us much help on our new hall and Marcussen organ here.
As the winner, I was given a full-length recital at Symphony Hall that next February. The previous day, a blizzard paralyzed the entire city. Harry Kraut, who managed the Boston Symphony, called my hotel room and said, “Can you come back and play for us in April?” Rubenstein was to have performed with the Symphony that evening, and instead, they held it as an open rehearsal for anyone who could get there. They paid for me to come back in April to play my winner’s recital on the Symphony Hall recital series. I had heard Catharine Crozier play on that series the previous year, and stepped in on her practice, and went to lunch with them—the Gleasons.

LM: How did Catharine Crozier and Harold Gleason interact with each other in a social setting?
RT
: They were not very affectionate. Just before she went in to play a recital once here in Wichita, I saw him take her hand and give it a squeeze. That is the only sign of affection I ever saw between the two of them. Mr. Gleason had a great sense of humor. He liked stories—tawdry stories; the more so, the more he liked them. She would turn and look the other way. They were both here in 1973 for a day of masterclasses and a recital. It had just been announced that Mildred Andrews was to be married. We were driving along in my car, and I told them the news. After a moment of silence, Harold said, from the back seat, “Well, I guess she didn’t want to die wondering.”
If I could characterize their relationship, it was very much one of teacher and performer. He was an invaluable coach—another set of ears to tell her how it really sounded. As time went on, she relied on recording herself over and over, and kept a tape recorder on the bench at all times, even recording small passages to play back to herself.

LM: You were around the Duruflés a lot, too. Did they have a similar relationship?
RT
: No. Although they were 19 years apart, they interacted warmly as man and wife. She was a very loving and devoted wife to her great organist-composer husband, with little to no thought of herself. That tells you right there of the difference between the Gleasons and the Duruflés. After the accident in 1975, until his death in 1986, she went across the street to play for church, but abandoned all teaching and concertizing just to take care of him. I had a letter from her in 1984 saying he could do nothing for himself, and she had to bathe him, get him in and out of bed, and everything else. She was as devoted to him as anyone could ever be to another.
When they were here in 1969, I was dean of the Wichita AGO and responsible for showing them around, and we became good friends. She was cute and unpretentious. Over lunch, I told her I had heard about the tremendous standing ovation she had received at St. Thomas Church, October 1968, for her performance of the Liszt “Ad nos,” to which she replied, “Ah, but that was not for me, but was for my husband, who was more busy than me, pushing and pulling the stops—and for Liszt.”
The Duruflés’ manager, Lilian Murtagh, only charged us $700, and they did not come over here to make money, but for sightseeing, enjoying the people and the organs. When the place went wild after their recital, she came back out and played the D’Aquin “Cuckoo,” followed by their cute routine of taking bows: they would go into the sacristy, then he would push her back out and close the door. She would shrug, then bow so nicely. Then she would go in and they would both seem to come back out together, but she would run back in and close the door. He’d look at the door, then turn and bow. She then played the Vierne Impromptu and Dupré’s Second Sketch, during which, with the octave trills and the octaves in the pedals, I thought the organ was just going to collapse. The audience would not let her go, so she came back and played the theme and four or five variations from Variations on a Noël.
For their masterclass the next day, we arranged for them to play and discuss music. Mildred Andrews sent her entire organ class. He played the Franck A-major Fantasy and then his own Veni Creator, in which he had some registration problems, so Madame Duruflé moved him over and played it herself. She had played Tournemire’s Victimae the previous night, so she played the Ave Maris Stella, followed by the Duruflé Scherzo. He discussed each piece very nicely through a translator. I was sitting about five feet from the console when he approached me and whispered, “Would you like to terminate the class with the Liszt?” Of course, I said “Yes.” He turned to her and said, “The Liszt.” “Ah, but I am not prepared!” She set up a few pistons, and, I’m here to tell you that I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own ears and eyes. Her performance was amazing. Afterwards I asked her where else she would be playing the Liszt on the tour. She said, “Nowhere. Perhaps next spring.”
After the class, I took them out to the university to see the mighty 18-rank Casavant in the chapel. They wanted me to play, since it was my post, then they came up to the console. I asked if she would like to play. “Oh yes, with pleasure.” She sat right down, pulled some stops, and tore right into the Sinfonia from Cantata 146, transcribed by Marcel Dupré, from memory, of course. It was played with the refinement and finesse as if she had been practicing it on that organ every day of her life.
We had been talking about the French system of assigning letter names to notes, and she tried to explain it to me, although I did not understand. She figured out the notes for “T-O-W-N” and improvised a fugue on it. When she finished, she said, “It was too academic.” So she improvised another one!

LM: A few minutes ago, you mentioned Mildred Andrews. Were you close?
RT
: I loved Mildred Andrews as an “adopted” student, and we became close after she came to Wichita in 1976 to give a day of masterclasses for the AGO. Afterwards, I received a note from her saying she had conducted masterclasses from north to south, east to west, in thirty-five states, and that my students were the best she had ever heard. That sealed our friendship. Although I did not realize at the time how much proper attire meant to her, my students had shown up dressed for the occasion.
At the University of Oklahoma, Mildred Andrews had a strict dress code: the girls showed up in a dress, or they would not have a lesson; the boys showed up in shirt, tie, and jacket—no moustache or beard. I know of one occasion where a student showed up in the wrong attire, and Miss Andrews drove her back to the dormitory to change, then back to Holmberg Hall for what remained of her lesson time. There was never a “Well, it’s all right this time.” When she attended organ conventions, she would show up wearing one outfit in the morning, another in the afternoon, and in the evening, a third, usually full-length.
I was up for a promotion in 1976, and again in 1978, and she wrote wonderful letters of recommendation, saying things like, “I wouldn’t just promote him; I would do everything in my power to keep him.”
She was a character. One year an organist we were planning on having play for us in Wichita played a recital in Norman, so one of my students and I drove down to hear her. Mildred Andrews and Mary Ruth McCulley sat behind us for the recital. When the organist came out, Miss Andrews tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Tell her when she comes to Wichita not to wear that dress. It looks like something you’d wear for Halloween.” The recital opened with the Chorale and Variations from the Mendelssohn Sixth, and it did not go well at all. Mildred Andrews did not like Mendelssohn in the first place, and tapped me on the shoulder again, and said, “And for heaven’s sake, when she comes to Wichita, tell her to play something she knows!”

LM: Did Mildred Andrews study with Marcel Dupré?
RT
: Yes, at Fontainebleau. She used his organ method and used the Dupré editions. She had studied at Oklahoma University for her bachelor’s, went to Michigan for her master’s, then back to OU to teach.

LM: What was the secret to her success?
RT
: If there is a key word to Mildred Andrews’s success in teaching, it was determination—devoted determination. She would not rest, she would not stop, until she had solved a student’s technical problem, and was always looking for more effective fingering and pedaling, many times arriving at unorthodox solutions. She was devoted to her students, although there were some who did not get along with her, and did not like her.
She was very organized and demanding, outspoken and even brutal—even towards her peers. In 1971, the Duruflés gave a recital and masterclass at Boston Avenue Methodist Church in Tulsa, and I drove down to hear them. For the masterclass, that huge choir loft was full of listeners. Madame Duruflé played the Prelude and Fugue on the Name of ALAIN, and Maurice Duruflé asked “Are there questions?” Mildred Andrews shot back with “Yes! I’ve been timing this performance on my metronome, and have just found her playing a tempo other than is indicated in the score.” Madame Duruflé replied, “I played it as I felt it.” Maurice Duruflé backed up his wife and said he agreed with her performance. Mildred Andrews would not stop there and said to Madame Duruflé, “Well, I would like to know the correct metronome marking so that my students can play it the way YOU ‘feel it.’” I heard her do that numerous times. She would stand up to her peers as well as her students. That was a side of Mildred Andrews that I prefer not to think of. But, as a teacher, she was devoted and determined in every way.

LM: We keep getting sidetracked by all these hair-raising stories! Can we go back and talk about your days as a student at University of Michigan and your time with Marilyn Mason?
RT
: I loved being with Marilyn Mason—dearly loved her. I had and still hold the greatest admiration for her. She was very good to me at all times and in all ways. Jim Bain was close to her, too. The three of us used to have our own little parties together. He and I called her “The Madame.” One morning, at an unthinkably early hour, we knew she was going to be leaving from the Detroit airport to play a recital, so we got ourselves up and to the airport and waited for her arrival so we could surprise her, which we did, and had a little party right there at the gate, then saw her off.
One year Marilyn arranged for Leo Sowerby to visit for an organ conference. He had been teaching at a summer camp in Put-in-Bay, across from Port Clinton. We had two days of recitals scheduled at Hill Auditorium, one of which included Marilyn playing his Pageant. We drove down to Port Clinton and took a little commuter plane over to the island to pick him up. The plane looked as if it could fall apart at any moment. Marilyn got in, looked around, and made the sign of the cross. We drove Sowerby up to Ann Arbor and had a dinner with martinis at my apartment in Huron Towers. Marilyn made lasagna at her house and brought it over. After we had had sufficient martinis, Sowerby told us about a nun who had been taking composition lessons with him. She brought in the exposition of her composition to him, and it had a series of parallel fifths in it. He explained to her that, in the style she was writing, parallel fifths were not appropriate any more than in music of the 18th century, and they should be rewritten and corrected. When she came back the next week for her lesson, she had added more to it but had done nothing to correct the parallel fifths. He pointed them out again and tried to explain to her more clearly why they needed to be changed, asking her to please correct them. She came back the third week, and the composition had been extended further, but nothing had been done about the parallel fifths. Sowerby became impatient and spoke to her about it, whereupon she burst out, “Dr. Sowerby, I don’t care anything about your [language unbefitting a nun deleted] parallel fifths,” and walked out!

LM: Was he laughing when he told that?
RT
: No. He said it matter-of-factly.

LM: When did you come to Wichita?
RT
: In the spring of ’65, the dean of Wichita State University asked the dean of Michigan’s school of music, James Wallace, for a recommendation for an organist. I was ready for a break from school, so applied for the job, and was asked to come to Chicago, to the Sherman House Hotel, for an interview with the dean. We spoke for about an hour, and it was a very pleasant conversation. He built the school of music here—Walter J. Duerksen. As we wound down, we shook hands, and he very nicely said, “I can’t say for sure, but I feel nearly sure you are going to be the choice. You will hear from us within a couple of days.” Sure enough, his secretary sent me a contract. I was twenty-seven, and ready to get out on my own and make a living, although I did plan to finish my degree at Michigan in summer sessions.
My first fall here, I had seventeen students: six were master’s students, and I inherited a graduate teaching assistant and five beginners, and had a graduate organ class, plus two undergraduate classes. That next summer, I had so many students wanting to continue lessons that I felt duty-bound to stay here and teach. I ended up teaching every summer session, with the exception of 1969, until the 1990s, and never went back to Michigan to complete my degree.
When I came here, there were two organs on campus—a seven-rank Möller, and the Casavant in the chapel. An eight-rank Reuter was added in 1970.

LM: Was there any talk of a concert instrument at that time?
RT
: No. However, it soon became apparent that we needed one. During a period of ten to twelve years beginning in the 1970s, we had numerous finalists and winners of prestigious national competitions. Two students won Fulbrights. University administrators realized there should be some place for these people to play on campus other than the chapel. The Dean of Students, Jim Rhadigan, said to me one day, “We’ve got to have a new organ and a new hall for these kids!” and an organ recital hall was soon added to a list of university capital needs.
At this point, I should introduce Gladys Wiedemann, one of Wichita’s leading philanthropists. She belonged to a club called “Mink or Sink,” obviously for wealthy ladies, and belonged to another club called “The Organaires.” The Organaires had about twenty members who were wealthy dowagers with electronic organs in their homes. They met monthly at a different member’s home, and everyone in attendance had to sit down at that particular organ and render a selection following a very extravagant lunch. Mrs. Wiedemann had a concert-model Hammond in her home.
In 1973, the organ students and I decided to sponsor the Gleasons in a summer workshop and recital. We took out an ad in the AGO magazine, which was called “MUSIC” at that time, and I started calling people for contributions for Catharine’s recital fee. Some friends in town suggested I call Gladys Wiedemann. So, I got up the nerve and called her. Right away, she said, “Well, would $100 help you out?” The following year we sponsored Marilyn Mason, and she gave another $100. Two months later, I received a letter from Mrs. Wiedemann saying she was going to have a Christmas party for the Organaires at the Wichita Country Club, and wanted to know if I would play a program for her party on an appropriate electronic. In gratitude for what she had already done for us, I wrote back to her immediately that I would be happy to play the program gratis. We went to dinner to discuss the details of this party for the Organaires, and that was the beginning of our friendship.
I played for her party, and she invited officials from the university. She also hired a dance band, Doris Bus and Her Dance Band, and Mrs. Wiedemann danced up a storm. The next day, she called the head of the endowment association at the university, and told him she would like to make a contribution to the university. He suggested she establish an organ scholarship, and that was exactly what she wanted to hear.
In 1979, an organ recital hall was added to the long list of capital needs for the university. By 1981, it was on a priority list of five years. I thought I should acquaint myself with all the organ builders in order to be prepared to make a serious recommendation, so in the summer of 1981 I went on a European organ study tour led by Earl Miller. We visited organs in the Netherlands, and I saw and heard a Marcussen organ at St. Laurance Church in Rotterdam, where there are three Marcussens. Larry Phelps had been telling me all along, “Marcussen is the only way to go.” The following summer, I returned to hear other instruments and went to Freiburg Cathedral for a recital. The Marcussen there, in the “swallow’s nest,” is only two manuals, but we all agreed that night if we could get an organ even half as good, we wanted it. That recital was the defining moment.
Gladys Wiedemann was a woman of unimpeachable integrity. She discussed money and business matters with me as long as they did not concern me. Very rarely, however, did she mention the purchase of an organ. But, when she encountered the president of the university at social functions, she would tell him she was going to do her part when there was a building to put it in. And she considered her “part” to be one-fifth of the cost of the organ, $100,000, with four other donors giving a like amount.
The central administration asked me for a report on my students for a proposal to be submitted to Mrs. Wiedemann. As March neared in 1983, I learned the president was going to meet with Mrs. Wiedemann in her Florida home to propose that she donate $500,000 for the organ. They got along well in business matters, and I felt very comfortable letting him meet her. She had already made sizable contributions to the university through him. Unfortunately, the meeting did not go well, and he came back without an agreement for more than the $100,000 she had initially offered. So he asked me to meet with her over spring break, which put me in a very uncomfortable position.
Mrs. Wiedemann received me warmly, as if she were glad to see me. I had been fretting on the plane down and all day Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday about how I was going to bring up the subject of the organ. After dinner, she rounded the corner from the dining room to the living room and, with a decidedly unpleasant look on her face and the proposal in her hand, said, “Well, I suppose while you’re here you’ll want to talk something about this organ.” I was not prepared for her to bring it up, so had not prepared a response. All I could think of was, “Well, I would like to tell you something about the builder we have in mind.” She said, “Oh?” in an immediately relaxed and interested way. I did not say a thing about money, or her part in it. She sat down visibly relaxed and said, “Tell me something about these people.”
She did seem interested in what I had to say about Marcussen, and at one point she said, “Maybe I could give an organ sometime, to my church or even to WSU,” then, “Maybe I should make a trip over and see where these organs are built sometime,” and, finally, “You know, in two weeks I’ll be back in Wichita. Would you be willing to come to my house and meet with my financial advisor and tell him everything you have just told me?”
The next month, Mrs. Wiedemann called to schedule a meeting. The last student I had that day was a devout Catholic, and she brought me a scapular and told me to put it in my pocket, saying it would help. I still have it. I was received nicely and I made my pitch for the Marcussen organ. Her financial advisor seemed interested, as did she. We were in session for two hours. As the advisor got up to leave, she said to him, very upbeat, “Well, are we going to be able to do it?” Not wanting to say anything in front of me, he replied, “I will be back on Friday, and we can discuss this and other matters at that time.” She said, “Gee, I hope so!” As soon as he was out the door, she said, “You know, you make a good presentation. You ought to be the dean.”
When she finally called me the next Tuesday, she was very foxy. Supposedly she had called to talk about humorous little things that had happened at one of her clubs. After a few minutes, she said, “Well, you have to be on your way to teach, so I’ll get off the phone. We’ll talk another time.” And, just as I was about to put down the phone, she said, “OH! Yes, by the way, I suppose I should tell you I have just called up Clark Ahlberg (WSU president) and asked him to write up a pledge for $500,000 for the organ.”
At the end of the school year, I went to Denmark to visit Marcussen, and we talked about the stoplist, which had already been in the works for two years. My most notable advisor through its design was Lawrence Phelps.
After several hair-raising setbacks, we signed the contract for the organ in December of ’83, when everything seemed like it was on solid ground, until October of ’84, when the contractors’ bids on the building came in, and every one of them, even the lowest bid, exceeded the amount of money we had to spend on the building by over $100,000. I attended the meeting, and there wasn’t one of them that was even in sight of the money we had.
From 1934 to ’54, a wonderful man by the name of Sam Bloomfield and his wife lived in Wichita. He was the first airplane builder in Wichita, which is now known as the air capital of the world, and had countless patents on aeronautical devices he invented, as well as other inventions. The Bloomfields moved to California in 1954. They had been very active in the arts in Wichita, and our dean, Gordon Terwilliger, had known them both personally. So, he called up Rie Bloomfield (her name was Henrietta) and explained that the hall was in jeopardy. The good Mrs. Bloomfield came through with $150,000, which put us over the top. Construction on the hall was begun in December of ’84, and the organ was declared finished on July 9, 1986. A 5-rank Phelps practice organ was installed in my new studio.
For the inaugural series, we had Gillian Weir, Dennis Bergin, François-Henri Houbart, and Catharine Crozier, and I gave the last one in April, 1987. President Ahlberg named the hall for Gladys Wiedemann, and at the dedication ceremony for the hall and organ, she was so overcome with emotion that she just sat there and wept before the ceremony ever began. The following season I was allowed $3,000 for the University Organ Series, as it was called. It did not go very far, but we had Madame Duruflé in 1992, and Olivier Latry in 1993.
In 1994 the aforementioned Rie Bloomfield endowed the organ series in her name, which has allowed me to have four to five major recitals per season. Catharine Crozier recorded the Rorem works in 1988, and inquired about playing a vespers series here. She played again in 1989, and weekly vespers recitals in 1993, ’97, and ’99. She recorded works by Franck for Delos in 1997. The Marcussen organ here became her favorite, and she said there was not one organ in Europe or in the United States that she liked better. In twenty years, most of the world’s major organists have performed here, and many have remarked about this marvelous instrument. After forty-one years of teaching, I played a final series of vespers recitals in March, 2006, and a Robert Town Finale recital in May. The organ professorship became an endowed faculty of distinction chair in my honor in 2005.

Dialogue avec une artiste: A conversation with Ann Labounsky

Andrew Scanlon
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The following conversation, conducted both in person and by telephone in March 2013, explores the career of one of America’s most eminent musicians and teachers, Ann Labounsky. Dr. Labounsky was my undergraduate organ teacher at Duquesne University, and she is now in her 44th year as professor and chair of sacred music and organ at that same institution. Some years after completing graduate study and working in church music, I had the privilege of returning to Duquesne as a faculty member, teaching alongside Dr. Labounsky for four years. We maintain a close collaboration, and therefore, I have been in the unique situation of knowing Dr. Labounsky on several levels since we first met in New York City at the 1996 American Guild of Organists Centennial Convention. As a teacher, mentor, colleague, and friend, Ann has challenged, encouraged, and supported me in many ways. In this interview, we discuss Ann’s life and career. Several life chapters particularly dominate our discussion: Ann’s student days at Eastman as a pupil of the young David Craighead, and the full circle of Ann and David’s long friendship; Ann’s time as a Fulbright scholar in Paris, studying organ under André Marchal, Jean Langlais, and Marcel Dupré; and finally, Ann’s inimitable teaching career in Pittsburgh. 

 

 

Andrew Scanlon: When people ask me why I decided to learn to play the organ, I most often reply, “Actually, the organ chose me!” Most of your life has been devoted to the organ. What was your first encounter with the organ, and when did the organ first “choose you?”

Ann Labounsky: As a young girl, our family was living in Port Washington, Long Island, and my mother used to take me to a Methodist church across the street from our home. This was before I could read; and I must have heard the pipe organ, but I don’t have much of a memory of it.

Later, we attended Christ Church (Episcopal) in Oyster Bay, where Paul Sifler (also a composer) was the organist-choirmaster. My mother, my brother, and I all sang in the choir, and it was then that I became interested. I was fascinated by the way Paul played. I would come early for choir rehearsals or lessons to watch him practice. I began studying the organ with Sifler at age 15. He was a very good teacher for me, and I loved his compositions. One summer, I went away to a camp, where I couldn’t play the organ for about two weeks, and I missed it so much. I think at that stage, I knew I would be an organist.

 

The conventional wisdom seems to be that before learning the organ, a strong piano background is useful, even essential. Were you already accomplished on the piano? 

My piano teacher in high school was John LaMontaine, Paul Sifler’s partner. He was also a wonderful composer and had a great command of technique. He followed the Tobias Matthay school of relaxation. I would take the train to go to their apartment on 57th Street in New York to take the lessons. It was he who encouraged me to go to Eastman. 

 

Since your piano teacher encouraged you to apply to the Eastman School of Music, did you audition on both piano and organ? What was required for the audition?

Yes, we were required to perform on both instruments. For the organ portion, I remember playing Mendelssohn’s Sonata No. 6, but can’t remember which Bach I played. I do recall that I played a recital my senior year of high school and had played Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor and Wir glauben all an einen Gott on that recital, so I must have played one of those works. For the piano portion, they required that you know all scales and arpeggios, as well as the performance of a work by Bach and a Beethoven sonata. I was very nervous for the audition.

 

Before you went to Eastman, what, if anything, did you know of David Craighead? Did you want to study with him, or were you taking the advice of your teachers?

Well, no; actually, I didn’t know anything about David Craighead. But John LaMontaine had studied at Eastman, and he thought it was a very good school. He wanted me to study with Eastman’s piano teacher, George MacNabb. (It was from MacNabb that I learned the Brahms Fifty-one Exercises, which I still use.) Paul Sifler thought that Catharine Crozier would have been a good organ teacher for me, and I looked into studying with her. However, by the time I entered Eastman as a freshman, Crozier had already left the Eastman faculty for Rollins College in Florida. 

 

Did you audition anywhere else besides Eastman?

No. It always makes me laugh now, because these days, students audition at several schools. But for some reason, I didn’t.

 

Had you given any thought to what might happen if you didn’t get in?

No, that didn’t occur to me! 

 

In 1957, you moved upstate from Long Island and began your new life in Rochester. What are your memories of those undergraduate years? 

Eastman was a wonderful school. For many years, I stayed in close touch with the friends that I made there because we all struggled together. It was very demanding; in fact, I had nightmares. I was so afraid that I wouldn’t do well enough and that David Craighead would make me study with Norman Peterson, the secondary teacher! 

 

Can you recall your close friends and colleagues from that time?

Some dear colleagues included Bill Stokes, Joanna Tousey, Bill Haller, Maggie Brooks, Bruce Lederhouse, Jim Johnson, Gretchen Frauenberger, and Robert Town. Roberta Gary was working on her doctorate and David Mulberry was a senior, but they were beyond me. They were the great legends at the time!

 

How many students were studying organ then?

I think there may have been about ten—smaller compared to what it is now. 

 

Can you recall periods of particular growth in your playing during the Eastman days, or conversely, any precise struggles?

I don’t recall any struggles specifically; everything was difficult. We had to have all our repertoire memorized. I would get very nervous before performances. I wish that I would have found a way to get over that more easily, as I look back now. But all of this contributed to my growth as a musician. 

 

When you arrived at Eastman, in the studio of David Craighead, he was still fairly new to Eastman’s faculty, correct?

Yes, he had arrived in 1955, and I entered in 1957. He always told me this funny story about when I first arrived. Evidently I went up to his office and knocked on his door and introduced myself. I said, “I’m Ann Labounsky: Ann without the ‘E’!” David said he always remembered that.

 

What was Craighead like as a teacher in 1957? What aspects of learning did he emphasize as a young teacher?

He was always very precise. At that time in his life, he was rather nervous, quite inhibited. He would tell you all the things that were not right, but you always wanted to strive to do better in the next lesson. We spent a lot of time on the registration. He used the Bonnet Historical Anthology of Music, which was highly edited, and not a good edition. He used the Seth Bingham edition of Couperin’s music and I hated that music back then; it wasn’t until I went to Paris to study with [André] Marchal that I knew what it all meant!

 

That anecdote reminds us of how David Craighead evolved tremendously, over the years, both as teacher and a performer.

He did. I remember seeing him some years later, perhaps in the early 1970s. He had come to perform in Pittsburgh, and we attended the Pittsburgh Symphony together. He spoke of the Offertoire from Couperin’s Mass for the Parishes, and how he had learned about the notes inégales. For Bach, we changed registration frequently and each change was well marked in the score. Also, phrasing was carefully marked. Craighead was meticulous about every detail, but was patient in working with us until we got it right. He was most effective when he would quickly slide onto the bench to demonstrate a passage.

 

Can you remember your degree recitals?

They were all in Kilbourne Hall on the Skinner organ. For my senior recital, I played the Bach Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543, and of course, a lot of American music. David Craighead loved the music of Sowerby. I played Sowerby’s famous Arioso, which was gorgeous on that organ. At Eastman, there was a kind of “shopping list” of music that we all had to work on. Ironically, when we got to Langlais’ music, I hated it! I had performed some of the Hommage à Frescobaldi, and I didn’t like it at all! I also remember playing in the weekly performance class in preparation for my senior recital. At one such class, having completed a play-through of the Bach “A Minor,” I remember David Craighead saying, “That was bloody but unbowed!” 

 

When you were wrapping up your days at Eastman, did David Craighead advise you about what you should do in terms of furthering your education?

David Craighead was very different from Russell Saunders, who told the students exactly what they should do. David took a far more hands-off approach. He gave his students the confidence to make their own decisions. I thought about staying at Eastman for my master’s degree, but decided to go to the University of Michigan. It turned out to be a very good thing to do that, as I would meet my future husband, Lewis Steele, at Michigan.

 

After four years at the Eastman School, I imagine that you had a much broader sense of the organ world, and you knew what you wanted?

I certainly knew that I wanted to go on to earn a master’s degree, but at that time, I didn’t know much about church music or improvisation. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted, except that I wanted to learn music.

 

In few words, can you summarize the church music curriculum at Eastman in those days?

It didn’t exist! 

 

Your next move was from Rochester to Ann Arbor. Tell us about what life was like at the University of Michigan in 1961.

In those days, the president of the AGO was Roberta Bitgood. She did a wonderful thing for the new students at U. of M. When we got off the train in Detroit, she met all the students. She had gathered members of the clergy from churches in the area that were looking for organists. She introduced all of us, and as a result, I began a church job right away in Dearborn, Michigan, about an hour from Ann Arbor. 

U. of M. was a very different school than ESM. My teacher there was Marilyn Mason. Mason was less of a teacher for me, but more of a coach. David Craighead had really formed my technique—so she didn’t have to work on that. We worked on musical details and interpretation. We always had our lessons on the organ in Hill Auditorium.

 

Were there other organ teachers?

Yes. Ray Ferguson and Robert Noehren were on the faculty at that time. 

 

Besides organ playing, were there any other memorable aspects of the Michigan graduate degree program that helped you grow?

The courses at Michigan were wonderful! I especially recall Hans David the musicologist, and Louise Cuyler, and I learned a great deal from both of them.

 

You mentioned that you also met your husband while at Michigan?

Yes, I earned the degree in one year and two summers, and I was getting ready to play my recital. I met Lewis Steele on the steps of Marilyn Mason’s studio. I needed soloists to sing in my church every Sunday since we didn’t have a summer choir. I heard his resonant voice, and asked him to sing a solo. That’s how our romance started! 

 

Would you care to elaborate?

Well, three children and four grandchildren later, we are very happy together. 

I could never have done the things I have done without Lewis’s support. He always said that in a marriage, it’s not a 50/50 partnership, rather it’s 100/100. You have to give all of yourself, all the time. He did so much in raising the children. I had no idea even how to change diapers. He taught me. So many of the things I didn’t have (for example, expertise in theology, scripture, choral directing), Lewis did have. It has been a wonderful partnership over the years. I always remember what Marilyn Mason said: “I’d marry him for his laugh!”

 

Can you sum up the church music curriculum at U. of M. in those days?

They had two tracks. You could earn the MM in organ, which I did, or the MM in church music. However, it seemed to me that the only difference was you didn’t have to memorize the recital if you were in the church music track. All students took Robert Noehren’s course in organ building, which I almost failed! You had to know the composition of mixtures, which was too much for me! He was a very good teacher, though. He had a significant influence in the organ department there at that time. 

 

As your time wound up in Michigan, the next big step would be the Fulbright process. What were you doing in Michigan to prepare for the program in France?

By the time I got to Michigan, I knew I wanted to go to France for additional study. In fact, I had applied for a Fulbright while still an Eastman student, but I didn’t get it. I applied a second time while at U. of M. I had been passionate about the French language and was determined that I would go to France one way or another. Every week, I would get together with Deedee Wotring, one of André Marchal’s former students. We would meet for coffee, and she would force me to speak French! 

 

But your love of France and the French language had begun long before Michigan, through your beloved Aunt Julia, correct?

I’m glad you mentioned Julia. You knew her and played at her funeral. She had studied art in Paris after the war, and following her arrival back home in New York, she spent every weekend with us in Long Island. Julia was determined to teach me how to speak French! My father (a geologist and engineer who worked on the Manhattan Project) was Russian, his second language being English. I was determined I was going to Paris to study, even if I had to be an au pair

In April, having applied for a Fulbright, saying I wanted to study with Marchal, but not yet knowing my fate, I went to a recital at St. Thomas Church Fifth Avenue, performed by Jean Langlais, whom I met for the first time. I told him I had played his Miniature on my graduate recital at the University of Michigan, and that I hoped to soon be in Paris studying. He replied that he hoped he would see me! When I returned home to Long Island from that recital, I found out I had gotten the Fulbright grant! That was such a great blessing to be able to go, with everything paid for; it was just a marvelous thing. 

I should speak a little bit about how we got to France. The first time we went over was on the “Queen Mary,” and on the “France” a number of times. It took five days, and there was no jet lag, because each day you changed the clocks only one hour. It was a wonderful way to travel. Ruth Woods (Harris) and I went together, both studying with Marchal on a Fulbright grant. We remain close friends.

 

Though you are perhaps best known as the leading American disciple of Jean Langlais, when you set off for France, your initial intent was to study with André Marchal, and you did. Tell us about studying with Marchal.

When I heard Marchal play for the first time, it was at Oberlin. He played in a way I had never heard anyone else play. Each line breathed. I heard music differently when he played, and I wanted to learn what he knew. Fortunately, my French was good enough that I didn’t need a translator, but his daughter Jacqueline often translated for the other students. Lessons were in his home at 22 Rue Duroc. I also wanted to study improvisation. Even though Marchal improvised very well, at that time he no longer taught improvisation. He said: “Well, you may study improvisation with Langlais.”

You must understand about the teachers all over Europe at that time: they were very possessive of their students. You were not able to simply study with anyone you wanted; definitely not several teachers! You went abroad to study with ONE teacher. I studied organ repertoire with Marchal, but Marchal gave me his permission to study with Langlais. After that time, while continuing to study with Marchal, I would then go to Ste. Clotilde in the evenings for my lessons with Langlais, which was wonderful. Playing on the organ that Franck, Tournemire, and Langlais knew so well, and hearing their music on that instrument, made all the difference in learning that music.

 

What musical facet did Marchal underscore the most in how to play the organ?

The touch. He had a way of phrasing each line independently. And he had such a concept of the whole piece. I remember working on Bach’s great Fantasy and Fugue in G Minor (BWV 542) with him. He had the whole piece completely engraved in his mind—every voice. It was amazing to me that this blind man knew music so well. For example, if you used a fingering that was not effective, he could tell!

 

You mentioned having studied Couperin as an undergraduate at Eastman. I know that with his interest in early music, Marchal would make the classical French school an essential part of what you studied. How did your point of view evolve with respect to this music?

Marchal just knew that music. I don’t know how—because he had studied with Gigout, and of course, everyone was playing completely legato then. Marchal attributed his style of playing to studying the harpsichord, saying that as a result, he had learned a different way of playing. And in the 1960s, no one else was playing like that. We usually associate Marie-Claire Alain as a leader in the early music revival for the organ—but even in the 1940s when Marie Claire Alain was very young, it was Marchal who was the first great leader in this movement. There was something about the way he played that helped me understand that “this is how you play!” With Marchal, I studied all Couperin, as well as all the music of de Grigny, Clérambault, Daquin, etc.

 

I recall from other conversations over the years that you recall practicing constantly during the time you were in France. You learned a great deal of music—how much repertoire did you absorb in two years?

In addition to all I mentioned just above, with Marchal, I studied all the Bach trio sonatas, all the big preludes and fugues—tons of repertoire! With Langlais I studied all of Franck’s music, much of Tournemire, and other pieces, too. In terms of how lessons worked, with Marchal (and Donald Wilkins said it was the same with Duruflé), you brought in a piece to a lesson, one of these big pieces, and they told you everything you needed to know. If you brought in the same piece again to another lesson, they said, “Well, I already told you everything I know about it last week!” We knew that we wouldn’t be there forever with those brilliant musicians. Our goal was to cover as much repertoire as possible in the shortest amount of time.

 

Do you still play the pieces you studied with Marchal or Langlais the same way as when you learned them? Or do you perform them differently now?

Wonderful question. I think that the spirit is the same; some things changed a little. I’m constantly trying to think in a fresh way, but the spirit of what I learned from Langlais and Marchal has stayed with me.

 

Concerning Marchal’s teaching, did he have any idiosyncrasies?

Many have said of Marchal that if a student was not gifted, he would be very lenient with that student; but the more diligent a student was, he would be much more strict. And that certainly was true. One funny story was about phrasing in one of the trio sonatas. I had asked why he played it that particular way, and he thought for a long time. After quite a long period of silence, finally he answered: “Because it pleases me!”

 

Many people are very well acquainted with your work and expertise on the music and the life of Jean Langlais. Much of this information can be learned from your book, Jean Langlais: The Man and His Music (Amadeus Press, 2000), as well as from the liner notes on your CD recordings. Would you share with us, in a broad sense, what it was like to be Langlais’ pupil, and how that relationship developed over many years?

Langlais was extremely supportive. He always made you feel that you could do anything! If you made a mistake, he knew, but he was just thinking about the music. Always so encouraging and supportive, he was continually trying to find places for his students to play, and to help them in whatever way he could. As I learned his music, I became more and more interested, and I wanted to learn as much as I could. 

 

Over the years, how much cumulative time did you study with Langlais?

I have no idea. I usually had a weekly lesson on Wednesday evenings, when the church was closed. In addition to that, on Saturday afternoons, we were at the Schola Cantorum, and that’s where we worked on improvisation. Over the years, I returned many more times to study.

 

After remaining in France for an extra year, what path did your career take upon returning to the States?

Langlais asked me to be his guide for his fall 1964 American tour, and I did that. Shortly thereafter, I took a job in a very large Roman Catholic church in New Hyde Park, Long Island. I had a choir of men and boys that I had to develop and direct. That was hard work. 

 

How did you end up in Pittsburgh? Did you move there to take up your position as organ teacher at Duquesne University?

In 1967, Lewis and I moved to Pittsburgh to take up a joint church position at Brentwood Presbyterian Church. Lewis was the choir director, and I was the organist. We had only one child, six months old. Two years later, in 1969, the head of graduate studies at Duquesne University called and asked if I would like to teach organ at Duquesne—but I had never heard of Duquesne! Honestly, I was not thinking about teaching in a college and university. I had done some private teaching, but had not thought beyond that. I wanted to be a church musician and recitalist. Looking back on it, I don’t know why I hadn’t considered university teaching. I was busy at the church and raising our kids. So, in 1969, I began teaching part-time, and it initially cost our family money for me to teach at Duquesne, because I had to pay for child care! At that time, there was a degree program in organ, but no sacred music program or sacred music courses. 

In 1972, around the time of the birth of our third child, the dean of Duquesne’s school of music at the time, Gerald Keenan, called me into his office and said they wanted to hire me full-time. After that time, I was the only organ teacher.

 

What was your strategy for building up the sacred music degree programs at Duquesne? 

I didn’t really have a strategy. I worked slowly, adding courses as it made sense. Even before I was full-time, I had brought Jeanne Joulain to Pittsburgh for a recital and workshop—in that way, I was already developing a tradition of guest artists. The first class that I started was the “Service Playing” course. I was always interested in improvisation, having studied it with Langlais, and I had won the very first AGO improvisation competition in 1966 in Atlanta. I began an improvisation course, focusing on rather simple aspects of improvisation. 

For a few years, we moved along slowly, trying to figure out the curriculum and course requirements. In 1976, the 25th year of the Duquesne School of Music, I decided that Langlais should come to Duquesne. This coincided with the official establishment of the sacred music degree programs. While Langlais was in residence, we awarded him an honorary doctorate, and we had a whole week of concerts featuring premieres of his music. This started things off in a huge way, attracting a lot of national attention. Gradually, more and more students wanted to come to Duquesne, continuing over the years. I couldn’t say in what specific year things really blossomed. Another aspect of our program’s emphasis in church music came after I realized there had been a huge void in the Catholic Church after the Second Vatican Council—no choirs, no hymnals, a very low level of music. I saw that Duquesne had a responsibility and an opportunity to take a lead in this area. The dean, Robert Egan, agreed with me, and we worked for several years on strengthening the program. I called many people at different universities to see what other programs were offering. In those early days, I taught all the courses myself, as we didn’t have that many students. 

 

For many years, you have been a serious campaigner for the cause of the AGO certification program. From where did your advocacy of this program emerge?

Initially from Walter Hilse. I met Walter while we were both students in Paris. Walter, also from New York, was studying composition with Nadia Boulanger and organ with Maurice Duruflé. On Wednesday afternoons, Boulanger taught an analysis class for foreigners at her apartment, for which she had a huge following. She had a small house organ, having been a student of Vierne. Students would play pieces (Fauré, for example), and then she would pull the pieces apart and ask questions. She was a huge personality. I still have the scores. (We had to buy the ones she was going to discuss.) At these classes, Walter Hilse encouraged me to become certified. I distinctly remember him saying “You really should take the AAGO [Associate of the AGO] exam.” He has always been a huge promoter of the exams and has had many private students. Anne Wilson and Todd Wilson, for example, prepared for the exams with Walter. While my husband and I were still living on Long Island, I decided to do this. Once I began teaching at Duquesne University, it occurred to me that those skills were so vital to all students, that they should be learning these skills while studying for university degrees. 

 

Did the desire to help students become fluent with keyboard skills such as those tested on the AGO exams prompt you to require the AGO exams as part of the sacred music degrees at Duquesne?

In the early 1980s, I was on the National Committee on Professional Certification. Only one other school in the country was making it a requirement to take the exams. So, I decided to initiate the exams at Duquesne. When you tell people they have to do it, then they just do! Not everyone passed, and people took different exams, depending on their level of expertise. I met many wonderful people on that committee, including Max Miller, Sister Theophane Hytrek, John Walker, and David Schuler, for example. Different years, various others rotated on and off that committee, such as Todd Wilson. 

 

When did you ultimately attempt the Fellowship exam? 

Since I had already made the exams a degree requirement at DU, and I was the National Councillor for Education, I decided that it was time. You can’t just say to someone, “you should do this!”—you need to set an example. During a very busy time, when I had three children, was teaching full time, playing recitals, and was on the national board, I worked with two former students in Pittsburgh, John Miller and Robert Kardasz, to prepare together for the FAGO. Eventually, we all passed! It gave Pittsburgh more people with the FAGO diploma, where previously only Charles Heaton and Don Wilkins had earned it. We needed more highly certified people for a city our size.

 

Why do you consider it so important to take the certification exams?

There are a number of reasons:

1) In order to keep growing you need both long-term and short-term goals. As a student, it’s a short-term goal. Before earning a degree, it helps you have a point of arrival.

2) After my student, John Henninger, graduated from Duquesne, he went on to Westminster Choir College for graduate school and had applied for a church job in Princeton. He had passed the CAGO while at Duquesne, and he was appointed to the job because of having the Colleague Certificate. 

3) The exams represent a very structured way of testing both theoretical and practical skill. You can work at your own pace, and everybody I know who has done this, whether or not they have passed, has profited by it. It seems like a natural thing to do this, when you consider that so many other professions offer certification.

4) Earning an AGO certificate is a way that we show we’re at a certain level in our profession.

5) Earning certification does level the playing field and sets a high standard.

Our professional organization is extremely important. I get upset with people who complain about aspects of degree programs, churches, even the AGO—when the only thing you can do is to get right in the trenches to make things better!

 

Several graduates of Duquesne have gone on to earn the highest AGO certification. How has that made
you feel?

Very proud. You [Andrew Scanlon] being one of them, and now even serving on the national exam committee—that has made me especially proud. My current colleague, Ben Cornelius-Bates, has recently earned the FAGO also. 

 

Reflecting on your almost 45 years of teaching at Duquesne, how would you say your teaching and playing has evolved?

On teaching, David Craighead always said that you learn so much from your students, and I really have. In the beginning, I felt I didn’t know much, but I learned along the way. I found some things that worked well, and I fought the scars of things that didn’t work well. I have found it important to document what each student does. Recently, I got a computer in my studio, and using the “Blackboard” tool has been transformative. I have begun taking notes for each lesson and posting them for each student to view.

In the early days of my teaching, I was still very much in the mode of the teachers I learned from in Paris—Langlais, Marchal, and Dupré. They were very directive. They told you exactly what they wanted you to do. Initially, I taught the way they taught, because it was so fresh in my mind. As things have evolved, I have wanted to help each student find his own voice. I might not always agree with the student, but feel strongly that it’s in the best interest of each student to let them develop their own musical instincts. 

Ironically, when I performed all the recitals that Langlais had organized for me, I still felt I was his student. Langlais said, “You have to do this the way you want to do it.” But he had not taught that way. For example, he was known for saying so emphatically in his teaching that “Franck is tremendously free—just like this!” In improvisation, he taught the Thème libre, which, of course, is not free at all!

As you grow older, you grow in wisdom. You learn a lot from your children, also. They keep you humble, and they really tell you when you mess up! 

When I look at David Craighead, I keep thinking of how he was when I first studied with him at Eastman. Then, he was a new teacher. I had the joy of knowing him so well for the last 14 years of his life, and he had changed so much. He started by telling the students when they had made mistakes, but ended up changing lives. I try to do that too. I try to be a mentor, to do everything I possibly can to encourage my pupils, and help them get along well together. Music school can be almost like a monastery, when you’re all working together, and it’s so important to have a good rapport with your colleagues, to show great compassion for one another. 

Secondly, in answer to your question about my own playing, several things have contributed to the way I have played over the years. One of these was earning my Ph.D. in musicology, and beginning my biography of Langlais as the dissertation. All my years of teaching, the wisdom I gained from colleagues such as Robert Sutherland Lord and Don Franklin, making all the Langlais recordings—all of that contributed to the evolution of my playing. Other factors include the 1985 Bach Year, when I was asked to play an all-Bach recital on the Beckerath organ at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Pittsburgh. I changed my approach to Bach playing, using all toes, and different fingering. Change was in the air at that time. 

 

Have there been still more recent developments?

Yes. I have been working with Don Franklin on the tempo relationships in Bach preludes and fugues. We have been looking back to Kirnberger’s tempo relationships. I am constantly trying to learn more. If you have everything figured out, you may as well just retire, and I’m certainly not ready to retire!

In addition, after being asked a few years ago to do a peer review of a string methods class, I became fascinated with the violin. I realized that I had always wanted to play the violin, but I was afraid to try! I started taking violin lessons with David Gillis, a member of the Pittsburgh Symphony, and I’m still studying! I’m working on the Vivaldi sonatas, Opus 2, which I love! It’s a whole other world. 

The most recent development is the establishment of Duquesne’s chant schola under the direction of faculty member Sister Marie Agatha Ozah, HHCJ. We study the St. Gall notation to incorporate those interpretive elements into our singing. In May 2013, I led a study trip to Paris to play the important organs there and gave a short concert at the Benedictine Abbey in Solesmes. 

 

How do you know what to say when a student plays? What not to say? 

Always, I do it by intuition, and I think David Craighead did too. I’m careful not to say too much, and not say too little. 

 

How do you decide not only what to say, but how to say it? How do you break through?

Teaching is so dynamic, because you have to figure out where the student is and how the student will perceive what you say. You always have to be honest, but you need to be helpful—not damaging. You can’t say something is good when it’s not. Some teachers are more didactic, but I find that I do almost everything by intuition.

 

Realizing that you could retire, what keeps you going?

I love what I’m doing. I’m finally at a point when I can do it more easily.

I still have a lot to give to the students. I can still make a difference in their lives, and I still enjoy it. When we look around the country, and see the teachers who have retired, only to see their programs eliminated, that is always a danger. 

 

What are your hopes for the future of Duquesne’s sacred music and organ programs?

We are working very hard to get a world-class organ on campus! We have plans, and hope to be able to do this in the near future. The last piece of the puzzle is to put a doctoral program in place. That has been in discussion for many years, and it has been very challenging because there are many hoops to jump through. Our library holdings have been critical, but we now have many sacred music collections (the Langlais Collection, the Craighead Collection, the Boys Town Collection, the Richard Proulx Collection, to name a few). We have the faculty, and the quality of teaching, but we need more financial support. 

 

What else would you like to say?

Duquesne University has always been a religious institution. Our mission is to train church musicians. There are other schools whose main issue is getting students ready for competitions, which is wonderful, and I admire them very much. But even David Craighead agreed that he wished the Eastman School had done more with church music and preparation for the AGO exams. I want to prepare students to be musicians in churches of all denominations. We are trying to evolve, as the church continues to evolve. Students have to learn both pastoral skills and musical skills. These are difficult to teach. Our internship, for example, is a requirement partially because of NASM accreditation, but it’s also a critical area that we use to help each student in that very way. 

 

Ann, thank you for sharing these details of your life in teaching and performing. Albert Einstein said, “I never teach my pupils. I only attempt to provide the conditions in which they can learn.” My experience of you as a teacher and mentor has been just so. You always gave the students exactly the right amount of guidance, and offered the right words precisely when they were needed; and yet you always allowed each student to discover his own path. You have led the way gracefully, setting a high bar and leading by example. Most importantly you have shown me the importance of constant, ongoing learning. I look forward to many more years of collaboration and friendship and wish you many blessings for continued joy in your work. 

An interview with Marilyn Mason

50 years of teaching at The University of Michigan, Part 2

by Dennis Schmidt
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Part 1 of this interview appeared in the October issue of The Diapason, pp. 16-21.

Q: I just wonder how you get all your energy.

A: Well, maybe it's because I'm from Oklahoma. I do exercise a lot. I walk quite a bit and I used to bike a lot, too.

Q: Does everybody in Oklahoma have energy like that?

A: It depends on the genes. They're always friendly, I know that.

Q: What suggestions do you have for young organists?

A: There might be some suggestions which are based on my own experience. One of them is the Boy Scout motto: "Be prepared," because as I look back the break that I had was in 1950 when the Boston AGO called me to say "Robert Ellis was to play and he cannot play. Will you play the Schoenberg 'Variations' for us?" I had less than two weeks to prepare this piece. But fortunately I had been prepared. I'd had my lessons with Schoenberg. I'd been preparing the piece and playing it for some time. I had it memorized.

The second thing is to be flexible. That is, if someone asks you to play, don't say, "I won't play because we don't have four manuals." Don't say, "I can't play because there's only two manuals."  Roll with the punches, be willing to fit into the situation. It's better to be playing a recital and have to make a few compromises than not be playing at all.

The third thing, very important, is be dependable. If you say you will be there, if you say you will do such and such, be there, do it. Be known for your dependability and your accountability.

Don't procrastinate. That comes along with being dependable. Don't put things off. I have a very fine colleague in the organ department--James Kibbie. He is the splendid example of this. He never procrastinates. If I suggest something or if I ask him to do something, he does it immediately. I think that's an important aspect of our work. If for any reason I might have to put off something, it's because my inner sense of the whole situation says "wait." We all know of situations where if you had waited a little bit things would have worked out a little better than if you had gone ahead immediately. So I say procrastination with a grain of salt--using your own judgment.

These four things matter: to be prepared, to be flexible, to be dependable, and not to procrastinate.

Q: Please tell about the Fisk organ here which is named "The Marilyn Mason Organ."

A: The organ which stands in the Blanche Anderson Moore Hall in the School of Music is a result of a lot of thinking and consulting and wondering what was going to happen next with our department. Robert Clark was teaching with us at the time we were thinking and trying to decide. He had just made his first trip to what was formerly East Germany. We knew that we were going to have this fund started by Judith Barnett Metz. She told me, "I would like to do something in your honor. Would you like a Marilyn Mason scholarship?" I said, "Well, we need an organ more than anything." So she gave Michigan the initial funds. Bob Clark said, "We should have a copy of one of those beautiful Silbermanns because we don't have anything like that." At that time, about 1979-80, there was nothing like that in the States. So he was the one who gave us that marvelous idea, and the whole faculty--Robert Glasgow, James Kibbie & Michele Johns--thought it was the right thing to do. So, that's what we did. The interesting thing is how it came about. I went to our Dean, Paul Boylan (and he had just become the Dean in 1979). I said, "We're going to have this money for an organ, but we can't have an organ without a place to house it." He said, "I want to have a rehearsal/concert hall for musical theater, because we're expanding that wonderfully." Then he said, "Can't we think about combining the two?" which is of course what we did. So we arranged to visit President Shapiro (this was during his very early days in office) and called on him together with this proposal. He said, "I'll be glad to help you and I think it a good idea." So he was very helpful in getting us funds from the legislature. Then there was other money which helped us get the Palmer Christian Lobby. People donated for that. The Earl V. Moore people donated for that. Bill Doty, Mildred Andrews and Franklin Mitchell also donated to the lobby. The hall is named for Blanche Anderson Moore (wife of Earl V. Moore) who was a very devoted patron of the arts. She came to many organ recitals. I remember seeing her at Hill Auditorium when some of us were playing. And so we named this hall in her honor. The organ contract was signed in 1980 with Charlie Fisk, who said, "I won't have the organ for you until 1985." We said, "Oh, it will never come." He said, "It will be here quicker than you can realize." That was really the truth--it was here very quickly. We dedicated the organ on October 4, 1985, and it was a special occasion.

Q: Was the organ named for you at that time?

A: No, that was a few years later. Dean Boylan said that it should be named for me because the initial funds had been given by Judith Barnett Metz in my honor. This was a very nice gesture, and I appreciate it very much.

The organ is modeled after a Silbermann, but there is no specific organ which it copies. We would not want, and  we could not make a perfect copy simply because the hall is different and the time is different. We're no longer in the 18th century. In most of the churches where the Silbermanns stand the organ is in the west gallery, while this one is in the front. We have a very nice situation the way the hall is built. There are tiers of steps that go up to the organ. Last night, as part of our Institute, there was a choral concert with James Abbington, conductor. The singers were standing on these different steps, and it was nice for the 20 singers to be heard that way in  acoustics quite sympathetic for the voices.

Q: The Fisk organ has provided the students there with an opportunity to encounter historic organ building principles that they wouldn't have in other places.

A: Exactly. It's been a big impetus for us. I am especially glad that we could provide the original type winding: the bellows may be hand pumped and a recital could go on despite an electrical storm, and Michigan has them. With this organ, our teaching organs and the organ at Hill Auditorium, we feel very blessed. We have 16 practice organs plus 3 teaching organs and 2 performance organs. We have the magic number of Bach--21.

Q: Would you talk about your family?

A: My first husband was Professor Richard K. Brown. Many of my students knew him. He was a true gentleman, a wonderful engineer and teacher, a man whom I had first met in 1945. We were married in 1949 (long enough time for him to see me in action, so to speak, and he knew what he was getting). He continued teaching at the University of Michigan until he retired in 1987.

We have two sons. The first is Merritt Christian Brown (named after my father and Palmer Christian), born in 1955. He's a scientist who earned his Ph.D. here at Michigan. He took classes with his father in engineering. He would come home and tell his father, "You could make that course even more strict. You have some very gifted students in there." Richard would say, "But I'm aiming for the middle students as well as the gifted ones." Then he would say to his son, "Please, don't go into engineering." Our son played the violin just wonderfully, studying with Gustave Rosseels at Michigan. When he would finish practicing, I would say, "Oh, Chris, you play so beautifully, but please don't go into music." So, here was this young man with opposing directives, so he chose acoustics. After earning the Ph.D., he continued research in the Kresge Hearing Laboratory. Later, he read a paper at an acoustical conference in Los Angeles. An engineer who heard him there said, "We would be very interested in having you join our research at Massachusetts General Hospital." Chris was intrigued with the work they were doing, so he joined that research group. His mentor there was Nelson Kiang. Dr. Kiang later invited him to teach at Harvard. He is Associate Professor at the Harvard Medical School where he teaches physiology. His specialty has been the inner ear. His music and his engineering led him into this.

To me, that's a lesson that young people must know. You must explore the options, and how better to explore the options than to go to school. If you're a freshman or sophomore in school and not happy with what you're doing, it may be that the Lord in telling you to go in a different direction.

I had a wonderful student, Weston Brown. After his sophomore year, he said, "You may be mad at me, but I think I want to change my major." I said, "No, I want you to do what you want to do." He said, "I am making straight A's in German and I am making a B in music history." I said, "The Lord is trying to tell you something." He said, "I love German." He earned the Bachelor's and Master's and later a Ph.D. from Columbia in German and musicology. That's a fine example of how you can find options if you keep watching. The best advice is to watch for the options and hope to find something that you enjoy doing. Try not to think about money. If you think only about the money you will make, you may end up doing something that you don't enjoy .

Our second son is Edward Brown, a wonderful young man who's a free-lance photographer. He lives in California. He likes California because the light is always wonderful there. But I think he loves it because there's no snow, fog or ice.

Q: Did either son have an urge to play the organ?

A: Not really, probably because they heard so much playing. It didn't turn them off, but they probably thought one organist was enough. I practice the piano a lot a home. Once one of our neighbors, Mary Sinnott, said to our son Edward, aged 10, "What's your mother doing?" He said, "She's playing the piano." The next day, Mrs Sinnott said, "What's she doing now?" He said, "She's still playing the piano." They got used to that.

When they were younger, I put them to bed with organ music on the house organ which my husband and I assembled in 1955. I gave that organ to two doctoral students, Howard & Marie Mehler. We purchased a small Walker tracker for practicing. My family has always been very supportive but also understanding with my schedule. The dishes may not get done or the beds made if I have to practice.

In 1991 my husband had enjoyed four years of retirement. Gardening was one of his interests and his beautiful rhododendrons still bloom. He suffered a stroke on May 7, 1991. We had to take him to the hospital. We thought he would recover from this, but on July 23 he slipped away. Both of our sons were extremely supportive of me at that time. Even though I had this great loss, I still had my teaching which was a comfort to me. I had become organist of the First Congregational Church in 1984. There, Tom Marshall had been my trusty assistant. I had the inspiration of the Wilhelm organ at the church and we had the Fisk here.

In the autumn of 1991, I felt more settled. Music was a great support to me. One of our good friends, Jim O'Neill, formerly chairman of the French department, called. "We have a dear friend and he would like for you to play a memorial service for his wife who died some time ago." Other friends, Mary and Bill Palmer, arranged dinner where I met William Steinhoff. Later, he came to the house to discuss music he wanted--mostly Bach and Mozart. I played for that service in January of 1992. After that, we had lunches and dinners. It was satisfying to spend time with someone who was not in music and yet who was very supportive. It's important to have a sympathetic person near you, someone who understands you. He is an emeritus Professor of English Literature at Michigan. Although he had taught here for 30 years, I had never met him. We were married on May 8, 1993. Someone said, "What did you do about music?" I said, "I played for my wedding!" We were to be at the church Saturday morning at 11:00. My sons were there along with Bill's nephew and niece. No one else was present. I said, "Well, I'm just going to play the prelude." So I played the Guilmant March on a Theme of Handel. Bill came in, saying, "Am I late?" So, Terry Smith performed the service for us. Then I moved to the organ and played the Widor "Toccata." That was a fine ending for our wedding service.

Q: Do you have brothers and sisters who are musical?

A: My brother James Clark Mason was musical. He was a wonderful family man, and loved his four children and wife. He died two years ago. My sister, Carolyn Mason Weinmeister, is active in computers and computer programming.   She enjoys music and sports. She lives in Oklahoma City and has one daughter and son.

Q: How do you keep your positive attitude?

A: A lot of this is based on the loving care that we had as children. Both our mother and father were supportive of us. My mother always did the cooking and dishes so that I could practice the piano or go to the church and practice the organ. A loving home, to be surrounded by such love, and a religious home, to be surrounded by Presbyterian Protestantism--these things are what you cannot take away but also what you can't buy. Parents must be aware of this when raising children. That religious upbringing that I was given is something that no one can ever take away and I hope I never forget.

Q: You continue to be a church organist, and you've been a church organist for a long time along with your teaching. Have you been an organist at several churches in Ann Arbor?

A: I was a substitute organist at the Presbyterian Church where we belonged for many years. When Zion Lutheran needed an organist, the music committee invited me to play there. I was the organist for many years in the early sixties. John Merrill was the choral conductor. I enjoyed the liturgical service and the Lutherans. I enjoy being a church organist and I like to play hymns.  I sometimes remind the students that if they are church musicians the title "church" comes first, with the flexibility and dependability that I mentioned earlier. And, after all, that is usually where the best organs are!

We were out at our lake cottage one Labor Day weekend, and I had to return for church on Sunday at Zion Lutheran. I went to the Schantz organ, saw the bulletin and #15 for the processional hymn. I opened the hymnal and found "Joy to the World." This was on Labor Day weekend! I thought--these Lutherans, if they want "Joy to the World" they're going to have it! I really gave it the full treatment. The choir came down the aisle with their books under their arms. Not a person was singing. When they arrived in the chancel the minister announced, "And now we'll have the opening hymn, number such-and-such." I had misread it and the "15" was the page number for the order of service. Regardless, I enjoyed the Lutheran service very much.

In 1963, I had a fine student, Donald Williams, who was just graduating. I recommended that he take over and he was invited. Dr. Williams was the organist/choirmaster at Zion Lutheran for over 30 years.

We need not frown on church and service music. As I said, that's where the good organs will be. We have at First Congregational a wonderful conductor, Willis Patterson, who inspires us all. My assistant, James Nissen, is Associate Director of Music. He is so versatile that he can play if I am gone or conduct if Willis is gone. That is good.

Q: The fact that you keep active in church music is a testimony to your own students and a good way that you can tell your students what they are going to experience when they go out to church jobs as well, because you know just what they will encounter. I think a lot of organ teachers in colleges are detached from that.

A: I don't want to ask my students to go into church music without experiencing it myself. We must not be detached from church music. We must be right in the swing.

One thing I do tell my students who move into church positions: You're a new organist and choir director in a church. If you don't hear anything, you're terrific. Keep telling yourself that. You'll always hear when somebody doesn't like it. When they don't like it, you must smile and try to agree. Don't be defensive. They may have a reason for saying so.

Q: I'd like to know when the cooking requirement came into the DMA program.

A: All my students, even Master's degree students, are invited to cook a meal for us. That idea came in the '50s. One of the nice meals that was prepared was by John McCreary and Phil Steinhaus. They knew that Jean Langlais was coming. They said, "We'll prepare a Master's dinner." So they prepared a wonderful dinner for us. It's referred to on page 15 of the book, Hommage à Langlais, in Langlais' diary, where he says, "We've had a dinner with the students and Marilyn Mason and her husband." That dinner was memorable because there was a pot roast which was luscious. The flavoring on the meat, the carrots and onions were delicious, but the potatoes had been added too late and they were hard. Langlais was trying to eat them with his knife and fork and said, "Is this some new vegetable in the United States that we don't know about?" Poor John was so chagrined. Those potatoes will always be remembered as the ones that didn't make it. That was the beginning of that requirement. And I am now so proud of Phil, his wonderful career as organist/choirmaster and his work with Aeolian-Skinner, and with John, too, 30 years in the Cathedral in Honolulu as Organist/ Choirmaster! I do feel we had that cooking requirement especially for the men, but we must all learn to cook.

Q: You're certainly well known for your jokes. For many years you had a joke book that you lost along the way.

A: No--it was stolen at Riverside Church. I was playing a recital there. The organ console had two large mirrors so the audience could see while you play. I thought I would put my purse right behind me. That purse had my joke book and some jewelry. Someone reached in behind and took the whole thing. Someone said, "What nicer way to lose it than to have it stolen from Riverside Church." But I've kept a lot of stories in my head. Along with flexibility comes a sense of humor--mostly to be willing to laugh at yourself. If we can have the light touch as we go along, I think that helps.

Q: Along with that, can you think of some humorous incidents in your travels that would be interesting?

A: I can think of some humorous things that happened here in Ann Arbor. I was playing for freshman convocation in the first week in September for about 4,000 new students. I had played the prelude, but they asked me to play a special piece. I chose the Haines "Toccata," which is something that I enjoy playing and can play without too much extra practice. The Dean of the Faculty, Charles Odegaard, looked over at me and said, "And now our organist will play --Miss Marilyn Monroe." All of these students just howled, and he was so embarrassed. He said, "Oh, I'm sure Miss Mason will do just as well." Then I did play and it was fun.

Another thing that happened at Hill Auditorium occurred in 1985. I had scheduled a series of 16 recitals of the music of Bach (1985 was 300th anniversary of Bach's birth). So I was doing that series here at the Fisk organ every Sunday afternoon at 4:00. But I was also supposed to play for a graduation ceremony at Hill Auditorium at 2:30. So I said to my colleague Sam Koontz (our organ technician at Hill Auditorium who knew the organ like the back of his hand and who had been one of my Master's students), "Will you please play the final hymn, which is the Michigan hymn, and then a postlude?" Sam said, "I'll be glad to." I played the opening prelude, the processional and "The Star-Spangled Banner." The console was in the corner on the far stage left. By this time it was about 3:00 and I needed to leave. So I left, and Sam was on the bench. I got to the Fisk on time and played the Bach recital in the afternoon. But I heard afterwards, the Vice President of the University, Richard Kennedy, had said at Hill (which he had never done before) "We're so happy to have our organist today--please thank Marilyn Mason." He looked back at the console. Sam threw up his hands in dismay, because I wasn't there. After that, when I was thanked for these occasions, Mr. Kennedy always looked back to see me.

Q: You mentioned that there have been 111 doctoral students. Do you have any idea of the total number of students you have taught?

A: No, I don't. But in over 50 years there were a lot of students. I wish I'd kept track, but at the time that is not the most important thing. Actually, we have graduated 600 organists in the Bachelor's and Master's programs since the first ones in 1932.

Q: I remember seeing the sea of people at your recognition dinner in 1986. All those people had been touched by your life, and also by the blue pencils that were given to each one.

A: I got the idea of the blue pencil from Palmer Christian. It's such a good way to mark music and it's easy on the eyes. It's a very important thing to mark fingering and how you're going to do things--not to have a Monday way, a Wednesday way, and a Thursday way. I have a student, Robert Jones, in Houston, who's fanatic about that. The strategy in the hand helps us to play. There are many people who say they're far too "creative" to mark their fingering. These are very often the ones who don't play as well as the ones who know where they're going.

The next thing is making the goals in your study. If you have a piece you want to learn, divide it into sections rather than trying to learn the whole thing all at once. Young people should have goals to learn certain music. In the semester system, we have juries for the music the student has learned. I don't know but that all of us don't waste time by being rather aimless. We waste time by not having an objective. That's why I've enjoyed teaching, because the goal is to be there and to have a plan.

Another goal I've had over the last five years is recording all the works of Pachelbel. He's such an imaginative composer. He doesn't have the rhetoric of the North Germans. He has a sweetness, placidity and strength in his music, and it has been a great joy to learn and play his music. These are recorded in the Musical Heritage Series. I began the series with the freely composed works, but then there were enough chorale preludes for three disks. The chorale preludes were written for services or as interludes for hymns. So we decided that the chorale would be sung first. A gifted tenor in the doctoral program, Robert Breault, sang the melodies. After  recording the chorales, we came to the Magnificats. I asked a Benedictine monk, Irwin West, to sing the alternation. There are more Magnificats written for the first tone than for any other. Dr. Tom Strode and his Boychoir sang the alternation for Volumes 7 and 8.

Q: Have you done some additional teaching elsewhere in addition to your teaching at Michigan?

A: I did some  teaching at Columbia University during summers while I was in doctoral studies. I taught at St. Paul's Chapel at Columbia, where Searle Wright was the organist. I also taught at Pomona College in Claremont and at the school in Brazil. But I love Michigan a lot. What's wonderful about teaching is that the clientele changes. I have had students for as many as four or five years. I have recommended that some of my students study with my other colleagues in the department. Prof. Glasgow, Dr. Kibbie, and Dr. Johns each have their own special things to offer.

Robert Glasgow excels in the nineteenth-century interpretations, while Dr. Kibbie enjoys the baroque and contemporary. Michele Johns with her expertise and experience has brought  much to our curriculum in church music practices. Her position as organist/choirmaster at Our Lady of Good Counsel, Plymouth, has given "hands-on" experience to so many of our students.

Q: Was there ever a thought that you would go anywhere else to teach?

A: I had a wonderful offer from USC  and Raymond Kendall in the '50s. But I talked to my husband and to Dean Moore and decided to stay here.

Q: In a job interview, someone once asked me what I would like written on my tombstone. What would you like to be remembered for?

A: You would like to think that the things you have done have been a blessing to other people and that you were kind. We all have our own opportunity to serve. So, for the stone, I have two suggestions: "She served and enjoyed" or "S. D. G."

Q: Thank you, Marilyn, for your 50 years of teaching at the University of Michigan and for the positive influence you have had on so many lives!

Robert Glasgow at 80 (section one of two)

A conversation with Steven Egler

Steven Egler

Steven Egler is Professor of Music at Central Michigan University, Mt. Pleasant, Michigan, where he has been a member of the faculty since 1976. He was a student of Robert Glasgow from 1969 to 1981, during which time he completed the B.M., M.M., and D.M.A. degrees at The University of Michigan. Egler is also Councillor for Region V of the AGO.

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Robert Glasgow, Professor of Music at The University of Michigan, will celebrate his 80th birthday on May 30, 2005. In honor of this occasion, I was delighted to be invited by Jerome Butera, editor of The Diapason, to interview Professor Glasgow, and did so on February 12, 2005. We had a wonderful afternoon at his organ studio in the School of Music, and he answered many questions about his life and career. Thanks to Prof. Glasgow for the interview, and we wish him Godspeed upon the occasion of his birthday and best wishes upon his forthcoming retirement.

Robert Glasgow has taught at The University of Michigan since 1962, after teaching at MacMurray College in Illinois and having graduated with distinction from the Eastman School, where he was also awarded the Performer’s Certificate. MacMurray College named him an honorary doctor of music, and his Michigan colleagues honored him with the Harold Haugh Award for excellence in the teaching of performance. He has concertized abroad several times, has toured the United States and Canada every season, and has appeared as a featured performer, lecturer and clinician at numerous national and regional conventions of the American Guild of Organists. Mr. Glasgow was named International Performer of the Year in 1997 by the New York AGO Chapter.

 

Personnel coded as follows:

SE--Steven Egler

RG--Robert Glasgow

RB--Robert Barker, who also took the photos that accompany this article.

SE: Bob, please tell us about your childhood in Oklahoma City and your early music training. Did you come from a musical family?

RG: I would say so. Both my parents played musical instruments. My mother was a pianist and somewhat of an organist. My father played violin rather well and also clarinet. In fact they played piano and violin in the church orchestra, and that is where they first met.

My mother heard about a new Presbyterian church being built in Ada, a little town in southeast Oklahoma. They were going to have a new organ; it was going to be a Hillgreen-Lane. When my mother learned about it she called to ask if they needed an organist. Of course, being a little town out there in the middle of nowhere, they said, yes, they needed an organist. My mother decided to take some organ lessons and be down there in about six weeks. So she did; took six lessons from a lady in Oklahoma City and learned how to play the pedals and the manuals--enough to play a service. So she became organist of that church.

SE: So your mother was an organist?

RG: She was a natural musician and she had a lot of piano study. When she was in high school, her piano teacher told my grandmother that she didn’t think that she was making the progress that she should. She said, “Your daughter has too much talent for her own good . . . that it was too easy for her.” By the way, when I started to play the accordion, she learned the accordion herself; then she’d listen to things on the radio and then she’d play them to me, and I’d learn them by ear. She’d learn them by ear and then transfer them to my ear when I’d come home from school. It was great fun!

Well, it’s easy! It’s the easiest way to learn music rather than read through all of those notes--the printed page! I still think that there’s something to be said for learning by ear at a young age. In the first place, making music is perfectly natural. It’s not going to become any more natural than it is right then.

You want students who can play with great persuasion and do not sound affected and contrived. Those who do play this way started off as youngsters playing by ear, singing tunes they’ve heard, listening to the radio.

SE: Who were some of the organists who inspired you as a young man?

RG: The organist at First Presbyterian Church, Oklahoma City, Mrs. J. S. Frank. Mr. Ken Wright of radio station WKY, who played a 4-manual Kilgen organ in the radio station studio--this organ produced some very beautiful sounds. His playing was very tasteful, he had good organ technique, and presented a good variety of popular style repertoire. For every broadcast he played his own theme song that was not published, but I learned to play it by ear. Jesse Crawford, a very famous theatre organist of the time. I had many of his recordings. Marcel Dupré came to Oklahoma City in 1939 to play a recital at First Christian Church. He had just played the wedding of the Duke of Windsor (Edward VIII) and Mrs. Simpson. The recital was a sell-out event. He brought his daughter Marguerite on the tour, and they played Franck, Dupré, etc.

SE: Did your parents encourage music study as a boy?

RG: Well, I guess so. They didn’t discourage it. It was a perfectly natural thing in our home when I was growing up. I was an only child.

SE: What instruments did you play?

RG: Accordion! I wanted to study and play the organ, but I could not reach the pedals, so I talked my folks into buying me an 80-bass accordion. That’s how I learned to play the pieces my mother taught me by ear--on that accordion.

SE: So that’s as close as you could get to the organ sound.

RG: Yes, it’s like an organ. It’s a wind instrument. I loved doing it, and I got pretty good at it. I was popular playing for church basement suppers and things like that.

SE: You were well known early on.

RG: Oh yes, I started playing at age nine, and by eleven I was hot stuff!

SE: Who was your first teacher?

RG: My mother. She taught me some piano. We had a little baby grand. She taught me how to read the notes. I had these little pieces that I was supposed to learn, but I’d sort of half learn them and I’d fill them in myself and fix them up. Mother would say, “You’re not playing what’s there.” I told her one time, “My way is better!” Talk about cheeky!

SE: So you learned your notes then after you played the accordion: you learned the accordion by ear.

RG: Almost everything that you played on the accordion had to be arranged for the instrument anyway. There was very little written for the accordion all by itself. My piano book had wonderful illustrations in it with the keyboard going up into the sky. It was wonderful, lovely, and all very visual. But the last piece in there was the Minuet in G of Beethoven. It has a B section--all 16th notes--and I looked at that and thought, “Oh boy, if I ever get to play that piece I’ll be really good.” That was the last piece in the book, and if you got that far you were a finished pianist.

SE: So you were done. That was it!

RG: Yes. All done.

SE: Then you were ready for the organ, the real thing.

RG: I was ready, but I still couldn’t reach the pedals, and I hadn’t enough piano according to the piano teacher. Our church organist was a wonderful musician--Oberlin-trained from way back. She took me later on, but she said then that I didn’t have enough piano.

We’re missing a very important part right in here when I took up the string bass, and that’s had much more of a lasting effect upon me than anything else. The junior high school orchestra wasn’t all that good, but by the time we got to high school, the orchestras were very good. We went to state competitions at the University of Oklahoma and won A-1 ratings. We played Mozart Symphony No. 40 and Eine Kleine Nachtmusik--music of that caliber--and also the Franck D-minor Symphony.

SE: So did you just start playing the string bass?

RG: No. Oklahoma City Public Schools offered instruction in strings: first of all, violin, some viola, and you got free lessons, class lessons. This was fourth grade and there were little-sized instruments. I didn’t care anything about that: I wanted to play the big strings. By seventh grade, I could do string bass or cello, so I took up string bass because I liked the look of the scroll at the top. I’d take that instrument home on weekends and practice it and learned to play it.

SE: There must have been something about the bass notes.

RG: Oh yes, indeed. It was a physical thing. It was wonderful to play in an ensemble like that, and we really became quite good. Then they had a junior symphony (Oklahoma State Junior Symphony), and you had to audition to get into that. I got into it, and that was more fun than anything. We did get to play the major repertoire then.

That had a lasting effect. By the time I got out of high school, I was finished. I couldn’t keep using the string bass in the school. I didn’t have one. And, anyhow, guess what came on then?

SE: World War II?

RG: It was already going. But one thing that I got out of that was the GI Bill--a godsend for everyone of that generation.

SE: And that paid for your education at Eastman?

RG: Yes, just did. The amount of time you got was the amount of time that you had been in the service, and mine worked out just right. Eastman cost more than anything; in those days it was $500 a year!

I came back and I didn’t know what I was going to do where music was concerned. I thought I’d be an architect and was very serious about it. I kept drawing all the time. I couldn’t get away from it. I’d draw house plans, church plans, and outsides of buildings. Some were not bad, as I look back on that. I was about ten or eleven years old when I started drawing pictures of houses and floor plans.

SE: What sort of time was there, Bob, between your time in the service and going to Eastman? Was there much of a gap there?

RG: Well, I didn’t go to Eastman right away because it was too late by the time I got out of the service. It was March, and I had been working on Eastman for well over a year before that; there were thousands of GI’s out of the military service, and they all wanted to do something, go somewhere with the GI Bill. By that time, I wasn’t even sure what I was going to do.

I decided I’d try for Eastman and then got the usual letter back stating, “No. We’re sorry, but you’re the low man on the totem pole. You’d be a transfer student.” That year I went to Oklahoma City University and was a piano major and had good teaching there. The faculty were all Eastman graduates. I then got busy with applications at Eastman and sent audition recordings of both my organ and piano playing.

I got this letter, “Sorry for you. You’re too late . . . way too many students . . . I don’t want to discourage you . . . but send your audition recordings to us right away.” Instead of sending it to the admissions office, I sent it to Harold Gleason. In days, I had this note back from him! The first big thrill that I had was that he wrote to me and said to check that I had all of my papers in, and that they wanted to have me there in the fall. WELL, that did it! He saw to it that I got in. So I found myself at Eastman that summer and got a church job right away. That plus the GI bill got me through without too much trouble or hardship.

SE: When did you start at Eastman?

RG: Summer of 1947. I started in with the program right then, but they classified me as a sophomore. Of course, I had the freshman year at OCU, and all that work was accepted. I took their basic exams.

SE: That must have been very exciting. 

RG: Well, it was! It was scary, too. I thought, “What am I doing here with all of these talented people? Good grief, they are going to find out about me. They are going to catch up to me and send me home.” I didn’t think that I was that good.

SE: It looks like that didn’t happen.

RG: It didn’t, fortunately. I was trying to figure out how I would explain it to the folks at home. It turned out that I stacked up pretty well with the rest, but at first I didn’t think that I was going to.

I went there because I had advice from people at home who were graduates of Eastman and who told me that there was only one place to go and only one teacher for me. There weren’t nearly so many organ teachers then and nearly so much good organ teaching then as there is now. 

SE: Who was your teacher in Oklahoma City?

RG: Dubert Dennis. He was an Oklahoma boy--Cherokee Indian--but he put me on the straight and narrow with the Gleason Method. I’ll tell you! Hand position. Finger action. I’d never had anyone be so fussy with me before. I thought, “I’ll get to Eastman. I’ll show them.” Turned out to be just the other way around, of course. I had to get off of my high horse. I did pretty quickly.

SE: We’ve all had someone like that in our background.

RG: You need to sit back where you belong and not where you don’t belong. It’s one of the best things a teacher can do for you sometimes. To say, “Wait just a minute. You’ll be there in a minute, but not right this minute.”

RB: Humility?

RG: I don’t think humility. It’s just honesty about where you are in terms of your development, and not imagining you are further along than you really are.  That’s often the trouble some students have: they think they are so much further along that they really are, and are unwilling to do “repair work.”

SE: That might be one of those later questions . . .

RG: Another big thrill while at Eastman was when I auditioned for the Performer’s Certificate. I thought that it would be fun to play with the orchestra. In those days you did not choose the concerto before you got accepted as a candidate for the Certificate.

I got chosen, and I thought that I would do the Poulenc, but it didn’t have any pedal cadenza. I wanted something that would show off the pedals. I found the Flor Peeters Concerto in a music store, so I chose that, and Howard Hanson liked it better than the Poulenc. Hanson was not a fan of Poulenc. 

He was a wonderful conductor and wonderful musician to work with on that concerto. It was the American premiere, and it did have a big pedal cadenza in it and a rousing climax. It just brought the house down. Flor Peeters knew how to write for organ and orchestra very effectively.

A conversation with James Kibbie

Joyce Johnson Robinson

Joyce Johnson Robinson is associate editor of THE DIAPASON.

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James Kibbie is perhaps best known through his position as professor of organ at the University of Michigan, where he has served on the organ faculty since 1981. Also quite active as a performer and clinician, Kibbie is at present involved in a project to record all of J. S. Bach’s organ works, with the recordings to be made available, free of charge, through Internet distribution rather than CDs (see www.blockmrecords.org). A portent of this is Kibbie’s own website (www-personal.umich.edu/~jkibbie/), where the professor has presented a yearly “Christmas card” of a downloadable performance, recorded on the Létourneau instrument at his home. We talked with James Kibbie during a visit he made in May 2007 to Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois to present a recital and masterclass.

Joyce Robinson: Let’s begin by asking how you got “the bug.”
James Kibbie
: I’m from Iowa! A lot of organists are from Iowa, and the way I got interested in the organ was the way that every single organist does, by hearing it played in church. It is a really valuable thing for churches to allow young musicians access to the organ. That was the case in the congregation where I grew up, and I think that experience is what creates organists.

JR: Did you come from a musical home? Were your parents musicians? Did they encourage your musical studies?
JK
: My mother was a pianist, and I begged her to teach me to play. She was a school teacher, and she knew kids pretty well. She was smart enough not to try to force me to practice. Instead, the rule was that either I practiced regularly, or I had to give up completely and never touch the piano. That was enough motivation (sometimes just barely). My father was also a teacher, and he believed fervently that young people should pursue their own dreams and goals, wherever that led them. He always encouraged me, though I think it was a surprise to him to have a musician for a son.

JR: I notice you are wearing a POE shirt!
JK
: This is from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a couple of years ago. I am so hot on this idea of pipe organ encounters! They have been enormously successful. I’ve taught at a number of them with somewhat different formats, and it turns out that any format for the POE works, because if you just bring young people together with the organ, the instrument sells itself.

JR: AGO statistics don’t show college enrollments going up. By now POEs should have had an effect, but they don’t seem to be increasing enrollment in organ programs.
JK
: We’re doing well with enrollment at the University of Michigan. Not just in numbers, but in terms of quality—phenomenally gifted students, particularly undergrads. We routinely see now on résumés from students who are applying that they have as high school students attended at least one, many times more than one, POE. We definitely see the results—not just in numbers, but in the level of preparation for students.

JR: That’s reassuring. Now where did you get your bachelor’s degree?
JK
: What at that time was called North Texas State University. It’s now the University of North Texas. I got bachelor’s and master’s there, with Donald Willing.

JR: And then you went on to Michigan, and you studied with Marilyn Mason—who’s now your colleague!
JK
: Yes. I was really lucky—I had those two master teachers, who are very different as musicians and as people, but they were both so kind to me. And it turned out later that they were both exactly the right teacher for me at that particular time in my development.

JR: You went on to win some competitions—the Grand Prix de Chartres and the Prague competition. You had recorded and played music of Czech composers—Ropek, for example—was that an outgrowth of the competition?
JK
: This was in 1979, at the height of the Cold War, so it was a very different place than the Czech Republic is now. After the winner’s recital at Dvořak Hall in Prague, Jiří Ropek came up and introduced himself and invited me to have dinner with him and his family. He was professor of composition at the Prague Conservatory and also organist at St. James Church, which is a historic church in the Old Town section of Prague. That started a long, warm friendship. In fact, one of the pieces I’m playing tonight is his variations on Victimae Paschali—he gave me a copy of the score to those variations at that first dinner, and said that he hoped maybe I would learn them and perform them, and I have performed them many times over the years. He passed away in 2005.
During the first years that I knew him, we corresponded—though not too often, because he said if he received too many letters from the West, it was a red flag to the Communist authorities, and he got in trouble, because he was a known opponent of the Communist regime, so it was certainly easier for him after the fall of Communism. He had earned a doctorate at the Carolinian University in Prague, but the Communist government had prevented it being awarded. Finally, in 1990, when Communism ended, the university could officially award him the doctorate that he earned over 40 years earlier. It’s remarkable!

JR: You’ve been at the University of Michigan now for over a quarter of a century!
JK
: That’s right, 26 years. I love it! I get up most mornings looking forward to most of the things I’m going to do that day. I realize that’s a gift that not everyone has.

JR: Over the course of over a quarter of a century you must have noticed some changes, both in the program and in the students.
JK
: There have been big changes in the field of church music, and all of us are either working as church musicians, or teaching students who will work as church musicians, so it’s central to everything that we do. I don’t think anyone of us could have foreseen all of the ways that church music has changed over the past 25 years. That means we can’t foresee how it’s going to change in the next 25 years.
I’ve been thinking about this—how do I prepare my students when I can’t foresee exactly all of the ways they’re going to need to change and adapt professionally? The answer must be to return to core values—to teach the commitment to excellence. If I can communicate to students that there’s one standard of music-making for everything that we do—our best effort—that is the thing that will serve them well no matter how the field changes.
If I’m coaching how you play an ornament in Bach, or how you achieve a legato line in Franck, I’m not just dealing with that repertoire, I’m modeling for the student this attention to detail and integration of all of the elements of performance that they’re going to have to rely on to create music in ways that I might not be able to imagine right now.

JR: Do you talk with your students about the job situation in church music?
JK
: Yes, and without apology, we position our students to compete for the jobs at the top end. There the situation is quite favorable—salary, working conditions, the artistic content of the jobs—can be very satisfying. Where our profession is really struggling is in the part-time positions, particularly in some communities where there is not a tradition of paying well for church musicians. Those aren’t the kind of jobs necessarily that our graduates from the University of Michigan apply for, but they’re the jobs that the majority of our professional colleagues nationally are holding.

JR: Have any of your prior students been in touch with you and communicated that a church job they were in was starting to go in the “happy- clappy” direction?
JK
: Oh my, yes, sure! (laughter) But if nothing else, we can take Johann Sebastian Bach as our model—if things don’t go well in a church job, you look for another one, but you don’t quit the present job until you find the new job first, which is what he did!

JR: Can you discuss the imbalance of today’s high level of talent, yet fewer college teaching positions and fewer upper-rank positions for church musicians?
JK
: I recall something that I heard about the American jurist Daniel Webster. When he was a young man, he apparently wanted to become a lawyer. He went to his father and said, “I’m interested in the law as a profession, but it’s very crowded. I’m not sure about the job prospects.” His father said, “Remember—there’s always room at the top.” I’ve told that story to my students countless times. The answer for them is that they have to position themselves in terms of their abilities and their résumé and their preparation to compete at the top.

JR: How has your teaching changed over the last 25 years? Do you use different method books now?
JK
: The longer I’ve taught, the more comfortable I’ve become communicating my own point of view. That’s what students come to their teacher for, and ultimately it’s all the teacher has to offer. I’ve used several method books successfully, but I keep coming back to The Organist’s Manual (love the pun) by Roger Davis. It has a superb selection of repertoire and just the right amount of technical exercises and explanations. If students balk at the price, I explain how expensive it would be to buy all of the repertoire separately.
When I was a freshman organ major, I assumed I’d study the “canon” of great organ music. Most organ students still expect that today, but there has to be room in our canon for great, noble music by living composers, including women, and music from many cultures and traditions—African-American composers, for example.

JR: At the University of Michigan there is a scholarship fund established in your name. How’s that going?
JK: It’s going very well! It’s endowed permanently, so we award it in perpetuity every year. It’s one of a number of named scholarships that we have and it is so necessary. You know that the costs of education are far beyond many families’ ability to pay, and church musicians don’t have the potential for large income after graduation the way some other fields do, so we have to have scholarship funding for our students. It’s essential.

JR: That’s quite a tribute. It was your students who set that up.
JK
: They did, and it was done at the conclusion of the complete Bach works series that I played in 2000. It was announced at the final concert of that Bach series. They “passed the hat” at that concert, and then one of my alums, Dr. Edward Maki-Schramm, led the fund-raising, and it’s done very well since.

JR: As musicology evolves there’s always something new in performance practice. Do you keep integrating this with your teaching?
JK
: I do, and particularly for older music—Bach and Buxtehude—there are so many questions that all of us have that must be answered just to play the piece. That’s what I concentrate on—the practical performance-based decision-making that performers must face. I have gradually come to understand that some of those questions—for example, in Bach’s time—had a precise answer. Whether or not I can discover it after more than 250 years is another question. Some of those questions never had a single answer. There was a range of possibilities open to the performer, and the individual performer was expected to make personal choices from that range of what was possible or appropriate.
That’s what resulted in a unique personal performance, which is so vital to all music, especially Baroque music. Performing Bach or Buxtehude is more of a partnership between the composer and the performer than is true of music of some later generations. I have increasingly moved in teaching to encouraging students to identify what that range of possibilities, historically, is, and to make their own choices within that range to create a performance that might be very different from my conception of a work—or someone else’s—but still faithful to the intent of the composer.

JR: Do you have an overall philosophy of performance practice?
JK
: What I value most in music performance is the sense of certainty—a compelling performance, a convincing performance: “This is the way it goes!” Dr. Karl Schrock, one of my doctoral students years ago, said to me, “I think the most authentic performance is a convincing performance.” I have decided that what creates that sense of being so convincing is not just making effective decisions about all of the issues of performance—registration, tempo, ornamentation, articulation, nuance—but that intuitive ability of some performers to integrate all of their choices into a single vision of the music.
That’s what I concentrate on in teaching. When I judge competitions, I think that’s what I respond to—not necessarily looking for somebody who plays the piece the way I do, but who creates that sense of certainty.

JR: Some performers maintain that Bach, for instance, should be played in a certain way.
JK
: Anybody who knows the nature of the historic record has to acknowledge that there is so much we don’t know. The answer to so many of these questions is—we don’t know. If anyone pretends to know how Bach played the organ, they’re deluding themselves. We have to be intellectually honest enough to be able to say the words “I don’t know.”

JR: Bach was such a musician and so knowledgeable about the organ; if he had the instruments and technology we have today, would he have used them?
JK
: He might have written very different music. All of these people—Bach, Buxtehude, Franck, Dan Locklair—are using the materials that they have at hand to create great music: the kind of organs, the way people play the organ, the abilities of the musicians they’re working with. And because they’re geniuses, they use that raw material to create great musical works. So then if, after the work is created, I depart from that, I introduce anachronisms—the word means “out of time,” something that doesn’t belong to the time of the composition—I weaken it.
Even though it’s true that Bach might have used different sorts of organ effects that weren’t available to him then, the fact is that not having had them, he wrote music that doesn’t need them. Actually, by introducing them, we’re weakening the musical content of what he provided us. Our generation’s contribution to the understanding of performance practice has been that the music sounds best if you hear it approximately in the context of how the composer conceived it. Within that, as I said, there’s so much that we don’t know.
Our generation hasn’t grappled with what may be the central question: if I can create a 100% authentic performance, if I could play the organ exactly as it existed, the instrument that Bach knew, in exactly the acoustics, and play every detail of the performance exactly as Bach did it, my audience would be listening to it with 21st-century ears, not 18th-century ears. As a result, it’s a radically different piece of music.
We have not begun to address that limit on authenticity, and I think it’s probably the next generation that’s going to have to grapple with that. Our generation seems not to have been willing to think about that.

JR: One of the current trends in organ building is in the direction of larger scales and higher wind pressures—we’ve moved away from the Orgelbewegung and now we’re in another direction. Is this a fad?
JK
: The best organ builders may draw inspiration from various historic periods, but they invariably build instruments that are of their own time and their own place, and that reflect the personality of that builder. The artistic direction of the particular builder doesn’t come essentially from historic models; you can learn from E. M. Skinner or Arp Schnitger or whomever, but the finest builders must gradually develop their artistic personality. I am not as interested in historic modeling as I am in the quality mechanically and tonally of the instruments, judged by contemporary standards.

JR: You have a Létourneau instrument.
JK
: In my house—I’m so proud of it. We have another Létourneau at the University of Michigan. My colleague Michele Johns recently led a project to relocate that organ to a newly created small concert hall that’s a joint project of the School of Music, Theatre & Dance and the School of Public Health. It will be the focus of an ongoing series of chamber music concerts and will also be used for teaching and practice. The room is great—cabaret seating, a catering kitchen, and even a rose garden.

JR: Let’s talk about the instruments at the University of Michigan.
JK
: Our students typically have some of their lessons on the big four-manual E. M. Skinner/Aeolian-Skinner organ in Hill Auditorium, some lessons on our Fisk in the style of Gottfried Silbermann, and some lessons on one of the two studio organs. We also have the Létourneau organ in its beautiful new hall, and we have a number of tracker and electric-action practice organs. All are pipe organs, of course. That’s what students expect, and only a pipe organ allows for performance of the repertoire to the standards we require. We also have access to some fine organs in local churches—Ann Arbor is a great “organ town.”

JR: Did you choose a Létourneau for yourself because of the one at the university?
JK
: Yes, and because I had worked as consultant on a number of projects where Létourneau had been the builder chosen, and I developed a particular fondness and respect for his instruments. When I got this house organ in 2000, I wanted to make a little recording—sort of like a baby picture, you know, the proud parent!—so I recorded a partita Hugo Distler had written for his own house organ and put it on my website as a free download at Christmas time. That began what’s now an annual tradition.

JR: Your Christmas card!
JK
: Yes! And I tracked the month-by-month downloads for those various recordings, and where the requests for downloads were coming from. It’s phenomenal, the number of people that month after month download these little house organ recordings—from Romania, China, western Europe, South Africa—all over the world! That’s what alerted me to the importance of this field of Internet downloads, and it’s one of the things that made me decide to release the Bach recordings as free Internet downloads rather than as commercial CDs.

JR: Do you have a grant for the Bach recordings?
JK
: It’s very expensive, about $60,000 over three years to make the recordings, plus the expenses connected with the website. I puzzled a long time over how it could be possible. Then Dr. Barbara Sloat came to see me. I hadn’t met her before, but she explained she wanted to do something to honor her husband Barry, who was nearing the end of his life. He had attended all 18 recitals in the complete Bach series I had given at the University of Michigan in 2000. She wanted particularly to recognize Barry’s interest in the organ and in Bach, and she offered a very generous donation toward my Bach recording project. The University of Michigan has provided the remainder of the funding.
It’s a three-year project to record the complete organ works of Bach on historic 18th-century organs in Germany. As the recordings are made and mastered, they’re put on this website (www.blockmrecordings.com), sponsored by the University of Michigan, so that they can just be downloaded free by anybody, anywhere in the world.

JR: Your project is recording Bach on historic instruments. What were the criteria you used for choosing instruments to record on?
JK
: There’s no single “Bach organ,” because he wrote for such different instruments over the course of his life, from the North German organs he knew in his youth to the late Baroque organs of his Leipzig years. I haven’t tried to make my recordings an anthology of historic organs. I’ve chosen a limited number of instruments, so I can deal with each instrument in detail. The 2007 recordings are on three Silbermann organs, the one-manual and two-manual instruments in Rötha, and the magnificent three-manual organ in the Dresden Kathedrale. About seven hours of repertoire on these organs is now posted on the website.

JR: Robert Clark recorded on the organ at Naumburg. Is that one of the instruments?
JK
: No, instead I’m using two Trost organs next year that have a similar late-Baroque character, in Waltershausen and Grossengottern. But I love that recording of Robert Clark! I think the performer, the repertoire and the organ all match perfectly. He must have thought a long time in putting it together—selecting not only the organ, but the pieces that would go with the organ and go with him and what he wanted to do. I think it’s one of the great Bach recordings.

JR: What will you tackle next after your Bach project on the Internet?
JK
: Bach is enough to think about right now, but I’ve already decided that my reward in 2009, when I finish all of the Bach recordings, is going to be particularly to go back to the organ works of Franck. It’s been several years since I’ve performed Grande pièce symphonique, for example. I’ve performed all of the Franck works, but I’m looking forward to going back to them as a sort of reward for finishing the Bach project.

JR: Do you have any favorite instruments that you like to play, besides your own?
JK
: Instruments that belong to the time and place where they were built, not instruments that try to do everything, but instruments that do one thing, or one slice of the pie, particularly well. If you have a beautiful instrument, it lends its beauty and its integrity to anything that you play on it. Silbermann never thought of his organs playing anything other than contemporary music—music of 18th-century Germany—and yet churches with Silbermann organs have very multi-faceted musical programs, and the organ is central to that music program now in the 21st century as much as it was in the 18th, in ways that Silbermann couldn’t imagine. Because the instrument is so beautiful and so well built, it becomes flexible over time.

JR: Do you have an overall hopeful view of the organ world, especially in our culture? Ours is a culture of mediocrity, feeding off the bottom. How do we who feed off more lofty things deal with this?
JK
: I’m enormously optimistic. The level of organ performance right now in this country is the highest that it’s been, I think anywhere, historically. The students, particularly the undergraduate students that we’re getting at the University of Michigan, are some of the finest talents that we’ve ever had. The quality of organ building is as high as it’s ever been in this country; there are new pipe organs being built all the time, including some really significant instruments in high-visibility venues. I am not worried!

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