The 2011 American Alain Festival

Greetings, dear reader, from Lawrence, Kansas, where I am staying the night after two-and-a-half days in Wichita at the 2011 American Alain Festival. Jehan Alain, for those of you with limited knowledge of 20th-century French organ composers, was quite possibly the most original voice of his generation, with a prodigious output (considering his brief twenty-nine years on this earth). Moreover he had a generous soul and a fervid imagination. This year marks Alain's hundredth birthday, and we celebrated his life and work with a series of lectures and performances. Our guest of honor was Aurélie Decourt, the composer's niece (and daughter of Marie-Claire Alain, who during her career was unquestionably the foremost expert on her brother's works). Other guests included many of Marie-Claire's American students (of whom many are bigwigs at various universities and larger churches). All in all it's been quite worthwhile. The world of professional organists is a relatively small one, and it has been interesting to observe professional organists en masse: though some are prone to cattiness (a common trait in all of academe, I fear), many are agreeable enough. Most could fairly be called eccentric, in one way or another.

I fear it may not interest you for me to go into much detail about what we covered at the conference. Suffice it to say we examined Alain's biography, instruments, and influences. There is also the issue of the various editions of Alain's works, which have differed in many registrations and other markings. Indeed, there was a major controversy about twenty years ago when a musicologist raised questions about the integrity of Marie-Claire's work. This led to much bickering back-and-forth, and it was quite obvious that there is still much bitterness over the whole episode. Such are the petty affairs of academia, I suppose.

See also:
Alain's Postlude for the Office of Compline
(a past entry on this-a-here web-log)

The Inauguration of the Organ at Gröningen, 1596

In 1596 Heinrich Julius (1564-1613), the Most Reverend Bishop of Halberstadt and Serene Duke of Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel, celebrated the completion of the pipe organ he had ordered four years earlier from the organ-builder David Beck. To inaugurate the instrument, located in the Schloßkirche at Gröningen, he hosted fifty-three organists and church musicians from across Germany, among them the renowned Hieronymus Praetorius (1560-1629) and Hans Leo Hassler (1564-1612). Heinrich Julius's own music director at the time may have already been the young Michael Praetorius (1572-1621), who would go on to have a remarkable career as composer (of more than 1,200 chorale arrangements), consultant, and music theorist (his Syntagma Musicum is doubtless our most important source for music practice of the early seventeenth century).

Heinrich Julius himself was one of those colorful characters who abound in the first century of the Reformation: a Lutheran, elected bishop at the age of two, patron of the arts, witch-hunter, alcoholic, kabbalist, and polymath (or, perhaps more accurately, dilettante): he was trained in ancient and modern languages, philosophy, law, and theology, and fancied himself a playwright, architect, and musician. His learned tastes — though they fostered much great art that has survived to this day — proved financially ruinous, alienating both the nobility and the burghers of his realm.

We can only speculate about the goings-on at the conference at Gröningen. It is certain that the gathered organists took full advantage of the opportunity to observe the variety of compositions, styles, and performance practices assembled from across the Holy Roman Empire. It is almost equally certain that demand for liquor far exceeded the capacities of the city of Gröningen during the conference.

Unfortunately, of the fifty-three organists who were in attendance, very few left music that has survived to this day. What is still extant is very impressive, at least when performed on an appropriate instrument. I am fortunate to have an organist friend who visited Germany this past summer and purchased for me a number of very fine organ CDs, among them one featuring works of H. Praetorius, Hassler, and M. Praetorius, played on the Fritzsche/Treutmann organ at the Church of St. Levin in Harbke.

Listen: Michael Praetorius - Wir gläuben all an einen Gott
(11min, 20.66MB)
performed by Jean-Charles Ablitzer

Contra Keillor

My chief pleasure for the past, oh, eighteen years, or so, was being a good student. (Like many people at institutes of "higher" "education", I suspect I am better suited to be a student than to go into any sort of useful career. But I am attempting to correct this by means of honest employment, if music can be called honest employment.) Now that this is no longer an option, I find one must savor life's little pleasures, like discovering a new, good, artist while listening to Pandora. Or the lime yogurt, served in a waffle cone, at Arthur's. Or the luxury of an off switch when I hear Garrison Keillor, that old windbag, on the radio.

Do not misunderstand me: I think Minnesotans and Lutherans owe a debt of gratitude to Mr Keillor for all those years of good PR. I was once a great fan of A Prairie Home Companion, and I still tune in to it regularly. But invariably I will turn it off within a few minutes. Sometimes there may be good musical guests on the program, but the rest is quite dispensable. Oh! Another quaint anecdote about Wobegonians! Oh! Another sketch based on puns! Oh! He's singing again. Really it is Keillor's singing that is the worst. It is emblematic of the sort of sentimental self-indulgence that has come to define the program, which has been coasting — I think — for years, now. I rather hope they don't find a new host to replace Keillor when he finally quits milking the cash-cow that is public radio in a few years.

Chicago, Briefly

I am just returned from a brief trip to Chicago. The traffic was pritnear unbearable, but was, I hope, justified by my destinations. Besides attending a quite tolerable concert (the rather-unfortunately-named band Balmorhea), I was fortunate enough to visit Powell's Bookstore (which, indeed, is a sister store of the venerable Portland institution I visited in January); I purchased Mann's Doctor Faustus and an old edition of Chesterton's biography of St. Francis, which I think will someday make a fine gift. (Yes, I have begun to buy second copies of some books, the mark of an irredeemable bibliophile. But my excuse is that I do intend to give them away, eventually.) Best of all I went to a Meinl Kaffeehaus, where I had the first proper Eiskaffee and Palatschinken since I returned from Vienna (now several years ago). "O Memory, hope, love of finished years!" The great pleasure of such fare was counterbalanced by the reminder that I will likely not be able to visit Vienna for some time still. Nevertheless I recommend the place highly.