Aestival Organ Preludes and Postludes

31 May (Visitation):
Ludwig Sennfl (tablature by Jan z Lublina): Ave Rosa sine spinis
Charles Callahan: Petite Carillon on Ave Maria
3 June (Trinity):
Georg Böhm: Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr
Healey Willan: Postlude on Nicaea
10 June (Corpus Christi, observed):
Leo Sowerby: Meditation on Pange lingua
Alexandre Guilmant: O salutaris Hostia, Op. 59, No. 2
17, 24 June: [on vacation]
1 July:
J.S. Bach: Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier, BWV 731
Johann Pachelbel: Toccata in E minor, T. 240
8 July:
Dieterich Buxtehude: Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 137
Johann Pachelbel: Toccata in C Major, T. 231
15 July: [on vacation]
22 July:
J.S. Bach: Prelude and Fugue in A Major, BWV 536
J.S. Bach: Dies sind die heil'gen zehn Gebot, BWV 635
29 July:
Josef Gabriel Rheinberger: Pastorale, Op. 156, No. 8
Adolf Friedrich Hesse: Postlude in G Major
5 August:
Dieterich Buxtehude: Nun bitten wir den heiligen Geist, BuxWV 208
Dieterich Buxtehude: Wir danken dir, Herr Jesu Christ, BuxWV 224
12 August:
Samuel Scheidt: Ballo del Granduca
Anonymous (from the Dublin Virginal Manuscript): Alman Bruynsmedelijn
15 August (St. Mary the Virgin):
Pablo Bruna: Tiento de 2º tono por gesolreut sobre la letanía de la Virgen
Johann Pachelbel: Magnificat primi toni
19 August:
Orlando Gibbons: Fantasy in C Major
William Byrd: Pavan: The Earl of Salisbury
26 August:
César Franck: Offertoire ou communion in E minor (from L'Organiste)
Edward Elgar: Vesper Voluntary No. 3, from Op. 14

And mark your calendars: on Sunday, 15 July I will be giving a recital at 7:00pm, at St. Vincent de Paul Roman Catholic Church in Elkhart, Indiana. More details to come.

W.H. Auden on Liturgical Reform

I have, of late, been feeling mighty contrary, especially in matters liturgical. This mood was prompted, in part, by reports that suggest I am not alone in my reactionary tastes. When complaining about artless, ugly, and unnecessary liturgical reforms one need not look far to find kindred cantankerous spirits, though few of them appear to be involved in the bodies that decide such things. (One can at least take some comfort in being right, I suppose.) I present here one such spirit, W.H. Auden, whose work I generally enjoy. This letter (dated November 26th, but without a year; it was written while Auden resided at St. Mark's Place in New York) was apparently prompted by alterations to the Episcopalian liturgy.

Dear Father Allen:
Have you gone stark raving mad? Aside from its introduction of a lesson and psalm from the O.T., which seems to me admirable since few people go any more to Mattins or Evensong, the new 'liturgy' is appalling.

Our Church has had the singular good-fortune of having its Prayer-Book composed and its Bible translated at exactly the right time, i.e., late enough for the language to be intelligible to any English-speaking person in this century (any child of six can be told what 'the quick and the dead' means) and early enough, i.e., when people still had an instinctive feeling for the formal and the ceremonious which is essential in liturgical language.

This feeling has been, alas, as we all know, almost totally lost. (To identify the ceremonious with 'the undemocratic' is sheer contemporary cant.) The poor Roman Catholics, obliged to start from scratch, have produced an English Mass which is a cacophonous monstrosity (the German version is quite good, but German has a certain natural sonority): But why should we imitate them?

I implore you by the bowels of Christ to stick to Cranmer and King James. Preaching, of course, is another matter: there the language must be contemporary. But one of the great functions of the liturgy is to keep us in touch with the past and the dead.

And what, by the way, has happened to the altar cloths? If they have been sold to give money to the poor, I will gladly accept their disappearance: I will not accept it on any liturgical or doctrinal grounds.

With best wishes,
[signed]
W.H. Auden

Let Us Now Praise Famous Organists

I have written before about the power of media (books, in particular) as tangible objects. This point was driven home today as I was cataloging (a word that looks misspelled, but isn't) my organ literature. Much of it, as it happens, is inherited, and I hope to someday pass it on to someone else. Much of the inherited stuff, it appears, was itself inherited, for many of the older volumes are marked with the distinctive signature of a Hans Vigeland (a wonderfully Norwegian name). My curiosity piqued, I hurried to the internet, where a summary search reveals that Mr Vigeland was an "internationally acclaimed organist and arranger" from Buffalo, New York. For a man who's been dead for decades, there's a remarkable amount of information to be found about him:

• Before joining (or being conscripted into?) the army, he was organist and choirmaster at First Congregational Church in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. He was a soldier at Camp Croft, South Carolina, and served as organist in town. This hilariously inaccurate 1941 article from the Spartanburg Herald-Journal describes a concert he was to give at the First Baptist Church there. (The article was clearly written by a newspaperman with no knowledge of music: "This piece opens and closes with a light scherzo sounding pattern, the middle section contrasting in touch, in the form of a canon." "The main theme is introduced in the pedal, and because of its treatment is compared to what is nowadays associated as a passacaglia." "Handel, who was Purcell's successor as England's outstanding composer, is said to have been strongly influenced by Purcell's music." Huh!) A guest article Vigeland wrote for the Herald-Journal reviews a performance of The Pirates of Penzance. The money quote? "Miss Platt's singing was as easy to the ear as her appearance to the eye."
  
• From 1949 to 1975 he served as organist at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Buffalo, where he must've presided over the installation of the 84-rank Aeolian-Skinner organ completed in 1958.
  
• His son Nils is now chair of the composition department at the Manhattan School of music, and is famous enough to warrant his very own (one-sentence) Wikipedia page.
  
• Knut Nysted, a notable composer whose choral music you might actually be expected to've heard of, was apparently a friend: he dedicated at least one piece to Vigeland, and in copies of programs (tucked away into the very music I now possess) one sees that Vigeland played pieces by Nysted.
  
• One suspects Vigeland may have had a sense of humor. He was known to "play" Cage's music. He is responsible for the placement of the image of Duke Ellington among the saints in the windows at Westminster Presbyterian.
  
• Vigeland was among the party to greet visiting composer Ralph Vaughan Williams at the Buffalo airport; he spoke to RVW about his admiration for the composer's Christmas cantata Hodie. "I've just learned," RVW replied, "in your state of Texas, that it should be pronounced Howdy."

In any case, it seems Mr Vigeland was quite the fellow. And I now have some of his organ music!

Admirable Words, Vol. V

1. Athwart
   
2. Bint
   
3. Conniption
   
4. Encarnadine (a rarer, but better, spelling than Incarnadine)
   
5. Esplanade
   
6. Glebe
   
7. Lagniappe
   
8. Malinger
   
9. Palanquin
   
10. Termagant

O Tempora! O Mores!

After many years of abuse (mostly repeated droppings, mostly on concrete), it was decided that I need a new cellular telephone. I therefore made my way to the local cellular-telephone-store, fully prepared to have wares hawked at me. There is an almost antiseptic quality to such a store, what with its kiosks on an otherwise bare floor space. I suppose this is the most fitting sort of display for a technology so far removed from any sort of organic human experience. At least I was only there for a brief time: I stipulated that I needed a phone that I'll be able to use in Europe, and was pointed toward several options, of which I selected the cheapest and least modern. I was dismayed to find that it was a "smart" phone (am I using the proper terminology? I mean it was a phone with internet and a tiny little keyboard). Heretofore I had taken some consolation from the fact that I did not own a "smart" phone; was I to give up this source of satisfaction so easily? Alas, there were no other options. There can be, I confess, a fine line between Luddism and snobbery. I maintain that the amenities provided, beyond (or perhaps including) that of making phone calls, are patently unnecessary, and I felt as though pierced by the disapproving glance of Wendell Berry. But I now will use said amenities, nonetheless. Perhaps I should've put up more resistance? Probably. Shall I come to depend on these unnecessities? I do hope not. Is there a day when I shall give up the cell phone entirely? It is my fond desire, but not one I foresee fulfilled for a long while. In any case, I have resolved to limit my use as much as possible.

Concerning Taste

There is, as the saying goes, no accounting for good taste. (It stands to reason that there is likewise no accounting for bad taste either, but there really should be some accounting for no taste, for that is just another name for ignorance.) I have noted that certain acquaintances of mine cannot countenance certain composers, even composers that are widely accepted as part of the established canon. A fellow cellist at Augustana could not abide Copland, for example. And my organ teacher at Notre Dame has such an antipathy towards Vaughan Williams that his music irritates him almost to distraction. I happen to like both composers quite a bit. (Just now I was listening to RVW's The Lark Ascending, which I think to be a piece of surpassing loveliness.) I think I understand, however, why they provoke such a reäction in particular individuals: more than anything else, each has a distinctive harmonic language that one either likes (or, at least, tolerates) or doesn't. In both composers' cases there is a — what word ought I to use? — a charm to their works that overcomes their compositional deficiencies. (For, indeed, neither is formally a perfect composer. Vaughan Williams, in particular, has some very clumsily-written works, from a compositional standpoint.) What can be said of those people who fail to notice this charm? Well, that's what we can't account for, I guess.

The question that bothers me — that may keep me awake tonight — is how broadly such differences in taste can legitimately differ. I would venture to say that nearly half of my Lutheran parishioners (though a smaller fraction of my Episcopalians) have no fondness at all for the established canon of organ music, which is of course what I play. Much of this can be fairly attributed to ignorance (that is, no taste); most of it, I hope. I will not pander to the lowest common denominator, in any case. But I do wonder whether there is room for legitimate dislike of such music. Classically-trained musicians, after all, are taught to appreciate a certain body of music; can a person reasonably protest the established classical canon?

Rückkehr nach Wien

It is now fifty-four days until I will be leaving for Europe. As of now the itinerary includes several days in Vienna, then Prague, Erfurt, Tröchtelborn (a tiny town outside Erfurt where an organist friend of mine will give a recital), Halle, Leipzig, Magdeburg, Hannover, Norden (another small town, but home to perhaps the greatest Arp Schnitger instrument in the world), Hamburg, Roskilde, Copenhagen, and Stockholm. (I am also optimistic that we may be able to visit Lövstabruk and Östhammar, towns north of Stockholm, each with fantastic organs of their own.)

The organ-tour portion of the trip (basically everything from Erfurt onwards) will be a lot of fun, I don't doubt — I am attempting to reäcquaint myself with all of my North German repertoire that has proven less-than-ideal in Dixon — but at the moment I am especially excited to return to Vienna. Though by now I have surely forgotten nearly everything I learned about how to survive in that city, I remember it fondly. I am resolved that I shall catch a concert at the Musikverein, eat a Hot-Dog at my favorite stand in the Naschmarkt and some Döner at Schnitzel King (whose proprietor, though his brain is surely addled by a multitude of plum schnapps shots taken with visiting American students, is a very pleasant fellow), and visit the Kunsthistorisches Museum. (Holbein awaits!) Perhaps the only downside is that I will be horribly jet-lagged all the days that I am in Vienna, for we'll only be there three days and I am quite sensitive to such things. (Even the one-hour switch to South Bend time throws me off.) But no matter: it is Vienna. It will be glorious. And even if the weather is miserable — as it was for more than half the time, last time I was there — I will enjoy simply being back there. At the very least, it will give me an opportunity to write about it in my Vienna travel log.

Surrexit Christus

The Bible characters I most relate to are those who have no idea what's going on, those who are more or less ignorant of their place in the narrative of salvation. Perhaps for this reason I prefer the three women — who go to the tomb early Sunday morning — as they are described in the reading from Mark: "they went out quickly, and fled from the sepulchre; for they trembled and were amazed: neither said they any thing to any man; for they were afraid." People, with the exception of certain saints and poets, are generally not very good at recognizing the work of God: we are more likely to be doubtful, or confused, or "affrighted" (as the Authorised Version puts it), than to observe God's workings with serenity and joy. We do, if we are fortunate, have moments in which the utter mystery of God is somehow tolerable. Well, "tolerable" is not really the word I mean. I don't mean we merely tolerate God; I mean that there are moments in which Grace — which by its nature is uncomfortable for us — is not only less uncomfortable but actually comforting. I hope, dear reader, if you celebrate Easter, that you may have such a moment during this season.

Arvo Pärt: Passio

Arvo Pärt: Passio Domini nostri Jesu Christi secundum Joannem
(The Gospel of John, chapters 18-19)
This — the internets, that is — is just about the worst medium for a piece like Pärt's St. John Passion. The work is worth remembering, though. Here is some context: [1] [2] [3]

Organ Preludes and Postludes through Whitsunday

7 April (Easter Vigil):
Louis Vierne: Symphony No. 1, Op. 14 – VI. Finale
8 April (Easter Sunday):
Georg Böhm: Christ lag in Todesbanden
Louis Vierne: Symphony No. 1, Op. 14 – VI. Finale (reprised!)
15 April (1st Sunday after Easter, Quasimodo):
Healey Willan: Prelude on O filii et filiae
Flor Peeters: Hymn Prelude on Gelobt sei Gott
22 April (2nd Sunday after Easter, Misericordia):
Michael Praetorius: Vita sanctorum
Jean-François Dandrieu: Fugue sur l’hymne des Apôtres «Exultet»
29 April (3rd Sunday after Easter, Jubilate):
Edward Elgar (arr. W.H. Harris): Nimrod (from the Enigma Variations, Op. 36)
Ernst Pepping: Sonne der Gerechtigkeit
6 May (4th Sunday after Easter, Cantate):
J.S. Bach: Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele, BWV 654
Max Reger: Lobe den Herren, Op. 135a, No. 15
13 May (5th Sunday after Easter, Vocem Jucunditatis):
Joseph Jongen: Chant de mai, Op. 53, No. 1
Hermann Schroeder: Allegretto, Op. 9, No. 4
17 May (Ascension):
J.S. Bach: Prelude in D Major, BWV 532a
François Couperin: Messe des Paroisses - VII. Petite fugue sur le chromhorne
20 May (6th Sunday after Easter, Exaudi):
J.S. Bach: Fugue in D Major, BWV 532b
Max Reger: Jesus, meine Zuversicht, Op. 135a, No. 13
27 May (Pentecost):
Dieterich Buxtehude: Te Deum, BuxWV 218
J.S. Bach: Komm, Gott Schöpfer, Heiliger Geist, BWV 631