Please do/don’t touch!

At a former church post, I ‘presided’ over two Aeolian-Skinners. And I babied them and fed them and took care of them and named them. And I developed and maintained ways to share them with other organists as much as possible. I was determined to find the middle ground between locking them up and opening them wide. During my tenure there, I posted a notice on the music rack containing a list of my ‘house rules’ and a chart of available memory levels (I had 216 to spare). My house rules outlined exactly what I would consider good and bad regarding heavy technique, light switches, eraser crumbs, and what went into which trash/recycling can. Some people thought all that was much ado, while others appreciated the frank heads up. Since the organs were Aeolian-Skinners, I gave not one whit about what anyone thought one way or the other. All went well, and I ended up banning only one person during my seven-year tenure.

I have previously discussed the unnecessary fortressing that has gone on in our churches since 9/11. But our churches are fortresses today, and they (as fortresses) are here to stay. At that same church with the two Aeolian-Skinners, I would no longer be allowed in to play them now, if I were not on the schedule that day. Easy enough to get on the schedule, but as I have asked before, how much security threat does a guy in a suit and carrying music and organ shoes pose, and where on earth could he be heading once in the building? But there we are.

I have previously discussed the evils of console clutter. But the ‘don’t touch’ rule is as damaging as the clutter. It is a common joke among organists that the tighter the security, the more the organ in question just needs a good church fire. However, the church organ is most often the only one the church has, and so the incumbent as its curator must protect it to some extent. There is no universal solution to be had in this blog, but I will remind the dear Reader that open-console hospitality helped lead to my career choice and has remained my model, and I have always maintained such hospitality by paying it forward.

We are our instruments' curators and stewards. It doesn't matter how much we love or hate an organ; it’s probably the only one we have. Ensuring its wide appeal requires us to be something other than militaristic to visitors, and protecting it against damage requires us to be something other than nice to abusers.

That's the console. However, lock up the chambers tight; you don’t want vandalism in there. Check doors and locks regularly. Should something go horribly wrong in the chamber, the list of potential culprits should be kept as short as possible. The only people who need keys to the chambers are you and your building superintendent. On the other hand, be willing to escort visitors through your chamber, if it can be done safely. It is a fascinating place to visit, and such a visit may hook a potential organist or organ builder.

Be bold with protective measures, but be as hospitable as humanly possible. As our instruments’ curators and stewards, we are the rule setters, and therefore we must set rules. Hook new organists any way you can, which surely involves giving them access.

on Richard Forrest Woods – Part 2

This is one of many installments of a biography of mentor and friend Dick Woods. See here for the entire series.

*******************

The lay of the land

I received many scores and books from Dick’s estate, courtesy David Templeton. Among those materials was a copy of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, which a twenty-year-old Richard Woods (only one year younger than the book) acquired in 1949, most likely in Pittsburgh, where he was enrolled at the Carnegie Institute and playing at Trinity [Episcopal?] Chapel in Sharpsburg at the time. On the inside facing page are his signature Richard F. Woods and year of the book’s acquisition, 1949.

Five years later, he affixed on the inside front cover a small sticker pre-printed with his name and address, 1318 Soniat Street, New Orleans. At that time, he was enrolled at Tulane University and working as organist/choirmaster for Grace Episcopal Church on Canal Street.

Then some eighteen years later, he added more. On the inside facing page under his signature is a complete listing of his professional posts from 1949 to 1972:

Trinity Chapel [–] Sharpsburg, Pa.
Grace Church – New Orleans, La.
St. James Church – Wichita, Kan.
Holy Angels Cathedral – Gary, Ind.
St. David’s Church – Austin, Tex.
St. Matthew[’]s Church – Austin, Tex[.]

For whatever reason, his final two positions do not appear: Chapel Organist and Lecturer [later Adjunct Professor] in Church Music at the Episcopal Theological Seminary of the Southwest, Austin, and later Organist-Choirmaster [Director of Music] at the Church of St. John the Divine (Episcopal), Houston.

There are numerous notations in the margins throughout the book, usually of a practical or clarifying nature, perhaps for Dick to impart to his students or, less likely, as reminders for himself in carrying out his routine field duties. Perhaps he taught his Seminary classes from it. Perhaps he kept it on his shelf to preserve it, while he used a church copy for his field duties. Perhaps he treated it as the single man’s ‘family Bible’ containing life milestones. If that last scenario is true, then Dick’s highlights of his life revolved around his service in the Church. In any event, the penciled listing of church positions is invaluable. Several posts not mentioned in his obituary are included in it.

Apparently, this particular Richard wasn’t “Dick” until midway through his career. He was always Richard in print and on stage. However, some folks who knew him prior to his years in Texas refer to him only as Richard. Best I can tell, it wasn’t until the Texas years that people more commonly began calling him Dick.

Dick didn’t talk about himself. He didn’t talk about past positions. He didn’t even talk much about his crucial years in Paris. That’s one reason this biography didn’t take a formal publication route. Details of Dick’s personal and earlier professional histories are vague and hard to come by. The anecdotes from others are not only tantalizing but also sometimes entertaining. Enter Mr. Bruce Power:

Bruce Power was one of Dick’s best friends in Houston, one of those friends Dick could confide in, one of those friends who kept secrets, one of those friends who was always around and on time, right where needed. Officially, Bruce was the Assistant Organist/Choirmaster at Christ Church Cathedral, choral accompanist at St. Agnes Academy and Strake Jesuit Preparatory, and prolific freelance accompanist. Personally, Bruce loved people and loved to discuss the world with them. He and Dick were definitely kindred spirits on that score, and the world surely came into sharper focus during their conversations, many of which took place over margaritas, fajitas, and cigarettes at the original Ninfa’s Mexican restaurant on Navigation Boulevard in Houston.

Bruce told me that he still misses those days. He and Dick talked about everything under the sun, especially philosophy. And music. Just music. Not the organ. Dick also sprinkled in nuggets of wisdom from his time studying in Paris with Nadia Boulanger, who was a whole-world renaissance woman. What Bruce and Dick didn’t talk about very much was Dick. He just wasn’t the type. He did tell Bruce once that as a teen, he would sneak out his window at night and go party in Pittsburgh! Whatever ‘party’ might mean. But knowing Dick, I suspect he just wanted to be around artistic folks who weren’t buried in their work, folks who could discuss all arts, politics, traveling, and human acceptance.

Next time: The early years

Dude, who ARE you?

I can’t keep this quiet any longer: I found a unicorn. I have kept quiet about it for more than a year, but it’s time to expose this story to the world.

On Christmas I of 2023, my wife and I decided to check out the Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines, Iowa. Many of our neighbors go there, and thousands of others do, too. We had heard so much about the traditional service that we just decided to give it a go. Of course, we had heard a lot about the more ‘usual’ services there, too, and no, thank you. The Lutheran Church of Hope is a mega church that happens to be Lutheran. Or it’s a Lutheran church that happens to be mega. To the Reader who has trouble using ‘traditional’ and ‘mega’ in the same sentence, you’re in good company. But hear me out:

So we walked in without having done any research beforehand. Let’s just go see. Imagine my pleasant surprise to find the chapel bright, airy, modern, quite Lutheran chapel-ly looking, well-enough removed from the arena next door for the swarming masses, and not a stitch of carpet anywhere. And imagine my even more pleasant surprise to see a three-manual Allen in there. All good signs.

The organ was being played on by a fellow who was vested and improvising his way through Christmas carols for a prelude. I thought snarkily, “Yeah, this must be the fellow they pay $25 a week to play this one service, and then he goes to his ‘real’ church job. Let’s just see how this goes.” Then I listened more closely and discovered that this fellow knows what he’s doing, and he’s worth far more than $25.

This was shaping up to be Traditional enough. But the screens, like your sins or the long arm of the law, will always find you out. No hymnal, no bulletin, and no music on the screen. Hymn texts only. Can’t escape it. We endured a non-traditional and very loud greeting on the screens from a couple staff members, on a video that was to be played at all services that weekend. But then back to our traditional service. This fellow launched into the opening hymn, and I sat straight up – oh, this guy is no joke! Thrilling introduction, hymn in same tempo, lots of colorful harmonies. And all improvised. Okay, man, who ARE you? Where did they find you? And how have I not known about you around here? I MUST find you at your ‘real’ church job and listen to more.

The first part of the service went quite traditionally, with the hymn playing continuing in its commanding and supportive way. Then when it was time for the sermon, this guy slid off the bench and approached the center and began to preach. Okay, dude, who ARE you??! This fine organist is also the preacher?? Well, let’s hear what he has to say.

A lot, apparently. He began to explain the scriptures like no one I had ever heard before. I learned the finest points of scriptural linguistics I had ever heard from anyone before or since. Dude, I ask you again, who ARE you?

The offertory was a sparkling improvisation at the piano this time, to illustrate the idea of ‘light’ from the lectionary for the day. And the rest of the service continued in a similar high quality. Someone else celebrated.

Well, this guy wasn’t done. For the postlude, he improvised a freaking fugue on the final hymn. I was completely undone. Finest service playing I had heard in years. My wife encouraged me to go introduce myself. I said, “No! I’m too ashamed!” But yes, I did go introduce myself and ask for some time over coffee sometime to learn more about him. Coolest unicorn I ever encountered.

The Rev. Dr. Richard Webb is listed as Professor and Lead Pastor for the Chapel at the Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines, Iowa. He studied organ and choral conducting at Kansas and then went to seminary. He was an organist seeking to be a pastor. Now he is a pastor who also happens to be an organist. He was hired at Hope to be a pastor first, and the rest just sort of came along and he was able to handle it. Although his talents as an organist are formidable, he has neither the time nor the inclination to be an organist except for Hope’s purposes. [Oh, so THAT's why I hadn't heard of him!] He resurrected the Holtkamp at the former University/First Christian Church in Des Moines, which is now the Hope-Elim campus. He plays that organ regularly for organized hymn-sings with the Hope family. And of course, he plays from memory and improvises interludes, preludes, and postludes in his usual flowing and masterful way.

Hiding his talents under a bushel? Not in the least. He is a pastor, and he serves his congregation. He does it with the Bible first and the organ second. Because he can.

My wife and I couldn’t wait to attend the Chapel service again the following Sunday, expecting to enjoy this some more. That time, he was playing but wasn’t preaching. As it turns out, he plays that service every week but preaches for it only about once per month. So on our second round there, we endured a different Hope pastor’s preaching, complete with a sports video. I’ll stop there.

I never thought I’d be attending Bible study again. But I even Zoom into Pr. Richard’s weekly men’s Bible study whenever I can. He is a fount of knowledge, and I don’t mind gushing about it here. If I have piqued your interest, you now know where to find a unicorn.

on Richard Forrest Woods -- Part 1

Richard Forrest Woods (1929-1993) served as Organist/Choirmaster of the Church of St. John the Divine (Episcopal) in Houston for the final twenty years of his life, during the last three of which I was his assistant. You are now reading the first of MANY posts forthcoming, of an unofficial biography of Dick, interwoven with my own memoirs and interpretations. There is a reason for that potentially convoluted approach:

Dick retired in 1993, just before the Internet came into its wholly ubiquitous presence. The first substantial mention of him on the Internet is an earlier post of mine with some photos, published seventeen years after Dick’s death, with nothing else emerging online since. After posting that entry, I heard from several people around the country who sang under Dick or knew him or otherwise knew of him. They had discovered the blog post and wanted to know more. I was particularly moved by one fellow who sang as a boy chorister in the early 1960s under Dick at St. James, Wichita. He shared the heartbreaking story of Dick being dismissed from that position on false charges and the boychoir being immediately disbanded under the don’t-ask-any-questions-you-kids mandate typical of the times. But he remembered the sense of dignity, purpose, and musical beauty that Dick introduced to him and his fellow choristers, and he was keen to learn more about Dick’s whereabouts after that. When I connected this gentleman with a couple members of the choir at Dick’s final post, St. John the Divine, Houston, I saw admiration flow in their writing, an admiration I have come to expect from all who worked with Dick.

For decades myself, I have been in a similar frame of mind as that former boy chorister: revisiting my past with lessons learned, hoping to learn more, searching for closure or more information, revisiting happy memories, and better understanding the bad ones. It was then that the inspiration came to research all of Dick’s previous positions, as sources and eyewitness interviews were available. I had planned a full-length, publishable biography, but for most of his previous positions and family history, the history is so scant and so haphazardly preserved (if preserved at all, in that pre-digital age) that there would be very little foundation on which to construct a document of any scholarly merit. Furthermore, my attempts to reach a few folks who knew Dick during his pre-Texas era failed. Without their input and insights, a would-be document would have suffered even more.

Then I thought I might deposit what I had into an archive somewhere, such as with the Association of Anglican Musicians or the American Guild of Organists. But then I realized that anyone searching for Dick, who more than likely would be more admirer than scholar, wouldn’t find that. And so it is here in public, in a looooong series on this website, as a tribute not only to Dick but also to those who loved him and cherish their days with him. I hope that any readers here who might be admirers of Dick Woods will reconnect somehow with this ‘renaissance man’ [Bruce Power’s endearing term] who served all too briefly among them.

For now, a few acknowledgements while I gather my notes and start writing:

John Gearhart, Dick’s successor at St. John the Divine, Houston, and my boss for one year there, has been gracious and forthright with his memories and perspectives. Although he never met Dick, he provided me with much-needed insight into the political and administrative workings of that parish that affected Dick. The support I have always received from John and from his former wife Laurie has been a welcome and calming presence in my life since first meeting them in 1993.

Bruce Power, who during Dick’s years in Houston was Assistant Organist/Choirmaster of Christ Church Cathedral, was one of Dick’s closest confidantes and kindred spirits. His insights into Dick as a friend have been invaluable in enriching my understanding of the man beyond the musician. Dick once told me that he considered Bruce ‘a true friend,’ and I know from my own friendship and collaborations with Bruce since 1990 that that was more than superficial praise.

Ron Wyatt, recently retired from Trinity Church in Galveston, was Dick’s executor, friend, champion, sounding board, and much-needed voice of reason over a span of decades. It has been a pleasure to reconnect with Ron, hear more stories, bust a gut in laughter, and shed a tear or two.

To a person, the many people I have been able to visit with and learn from have been united in their devotion to the man Richard Woods, who brought them together in music from day one. Their care in tending to Dick and his memory is inspiring. And their ‘stories’ match: Dick changed their lives through music and friendship. Their multi-faceted insights have brought to this author an immeasurably enriched awareness of a man I worked for and worked with, but whom I knew for only thirty-seven months.

Many more installments to follow. Next time: The lay of the land

The Christmas church hopper strikes again

It has been a few years since I was free to roam on Christmas Eve. The thrill has not waned, and I am happy to report that this year, some disappointments have waned.

My wife and I attended three services; two on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas morning. All three with organ, naturally. Two with choirs. And a bishop in a pear tree. We sang and sang, and we heard choirs and organ voluntaries and about 1.25 good sermons out of 3. No one played "The Chord," if you know what I mean.

I have blogged before about the magic of Christmas for me when I spend half of it in church. That's just my thing. Suit, tie, cold weather, people everywhere -- it just thrills this heart of mine. My hat is off to the musicians who work and work to pull it off each year. I miss the Christmas madness that occurred on my own organ bench each year. Depending on the church, I used to play between two and five services each Christmas Eve and Day, but no more. (I divide my time between two states each year and am unable to serve a congregation regularly anymore. In case you wondered.)

Only because it's on my mind and because it's part of me and this is my blog: The ubiquitous screens just don't do it for me and probably never will. I am dumbfounded by the useless information on them, and I am equally dumbfounded by the sudden lack of information on them when it's time to sing. The movie clips from Elf to illustrate heavenly concepts during the sermon don't do it for me and definitely never will. The regular organist handing off Christmas Day to someone else doesn't do it for me -- unless they're handing it to me, which I'm glad to have.

But, hey, the magic is still there, and I have been refreshed this year with some much-needed forays into three other worshipping circles, none of which I had previously encountered at Christmastime. As of this writing, Christmas Day 2024 is sixteen hours old, and so I hope yours was grand and that you have discovered some magic along the way, too.

Commencement: Well, that's one solution

It would appear that the days of School of Music Commencement on School of Music stage are over. I didn't see that one coming, but it does pose a few solutions, however draconian, to my aches and pains in this series of posts.

Since 1990, my school of music had held its own Commencement ceremonies in its own auditorium, with the organ serving as the processional vessel of choice, played by yours truly. No canned Pomp & Circumstance. No assembling an overworked brass quintet or full band or orchestra. Just me. All other units across the campus held their exercises in larger venues. Then the huge arena was built several years later, and those units moved in there, but we got to stay in our own house. That was always cozy and meaningful, especially for our own graduates.

Covid knocked out ALL Commencement exercises for a time. Then as things came back, the School of Music was moved "temporarily" into the arena, coupled with another similarly-small-sized unit, to allow for proper social distancing. Now, such appears to have become a "tradition." So there we are, relocated, and no one I know of has raised a fuss about it. Neither will I.

As I've described in the other posts under this tag, our Commencement exercises have always had their problems. But the meaning of being on one's own stage for one's own Commencement is now lost on a class of students who never knew the difference. So they are none the wiser, and I myself will not complain about not having to "work" the event (after all, there's no organ to play in the big arena). It all gives me an extra week or so of summer vacation. No one is going to miss me at the cattle call in the arena, and I'll not apologize for deliberately missing a ceremony, away from which the current administration continues to chip the finery.

Any of you liturgical church types see a similarity between this and your own situation at church? My condolences -- your situation is worse than mine.

Weddings! Part 6: A 'shameful' history

I’m a wedding know-it-all. Weddings are where my service playing philosophies came into focus over the years. But I’ll confess the sins of my youth here:

When I became able to play love songs on the piano well enough to play weddings, I did so. The preludes to weddings in North Carolina in those days included tunes like “Ice Castles,” the theme from “Ryan’s Hope,” the theme from “The Young & the Restless,” the theme from “Exodus,” “We’ve only just begun,” “A time for us,” “Evergreen.” “Close to you,” “If,” “Endless Love,” “Sunrise, sunset,” and so forth. I like to listen to 70s and 80s pop, and I still think back to those weddings when these tunes come on.

I once consulted a couple who wanted Wagner for the wedding party. Easy enough. But during the consultation, the MOTG had a bright idea: imagine after that thunderous Wagner the bride “glides” down the aisle to “Nadia’s Theme.” Oh, how beautiful that would be. It just gave her chills to think about it. Yeah, still gives me chills, too. But hey – at the time it was a novel idea, and I was a little perturbed that I didn’t come up with it myself.

After all these years since the first wedding I played in 1980, it all still makes me cringe even today. And it makes me cringe equally to think back to how I learned otherwise. Where I grew up, one becomes an expert by being shamed into it. I learned to shun those tunes at weddings because someone more liturgically savvy than I shamed me into it. It wasn’t until later that I encountered another liturgically savvy person who suggested that the love songs could still be used at, say, the rehearsal dinner or wedding reception. Good idea, not so shaming, and I have suggested that ever since without so much as a whimper of resistance.

A new fugue state

I am currently involved in a most interesting, unique project. Picture it:

1990s: Pianist Dale Tsang and I are classmates at Rice.

2020: Dale's fiancé, Bay Area-based composer David Garner, has written seven fugues for organ. Dale remembers me and asks me to premiere them!

2020: I marvel at the high quality of these pieces and thoroughly enjoy learning them. Maestro Garner has written for the art and not for the market. These pieces are not easy! But they are masterful and a delight to play. I hope they will go far. There is a soothing one "on" D (Garner prefers "on" to "in"), a pompous one on E-flat, and rambunctious ones on F-sharp, A, C, G, and B-flat.

The premiere is Friday, April 22, 2022, 7:30 pm at the Congregational Church in Berkeley, Calif.  

Meanwhile, a recording is in mind. Go here and participate!

Christmas 2021

I enjoyed another Christmas Eve of church hopping this year. Four services in three churches, all capped by playing a ditty or two for the last one. Covid protocols notwithstanding, it was a nice evening. I attended four services in three neo-Gothic edifices, one of which was my first visit. See here and here for previous experiences.

One service was led by an adequate Aeolian-Skinner being played more than adequately. One was led by a horribly inadequate Reuter being played more than adequately. And the last two on the big Schlicker were top-notch, which is why I go in the first place. (Notice that we organists mention the organ and the playing long before mentioning the sermon, if at all.)

I continue to mellow in my old age. While I miss the days of liturgical and musical propriety and am still agape at some things I see going on, I nevertheless made it through all services without leaving in disgust this time. While I would normally be horrified by beginning worship at such a holy time with, "Good evening! [*pause*] Oh, we can do better than that! GOOD EVENING!!" I can still sit there quietly without participating in such a garden party orgy in front of the manger. And when I discovered much to my horror that the fellow I saw in the narthex in the bright red wrapping-paper-patterned suit and tie was the pastor and that he had no intention of covering any of that up with vestments for the upcoming service, I nevertheless stayed on and rode the boat with everyone else. I shouldn't ignore the fact that perhaps some folks there would have been equally horrified to learn that I show up to some services to take in the architecture and hear the organ, not necessarily to celebrate the Nativity. On the other hand, based on the garden-party element throughout one service, I'm not sure anyone else showed up with perfectly upright worshipful intentions, either. It is what it is.

I am letting go of some liturgical snobbery. Facebook lights up each year with my colleagues grousing about how society lets Christmas in at Halloween and then lets it die on December 26, while we liturgical addicts are just getting started on our twelve days on the 25th. But that IS the difference between society and the church. So let's let them be different. Let church have its other-worldly schedule, and let society have its decorations and non-sequitur songs such as "My favorite things" and Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Church must be different -- that's it's job. I suppose I'll still resist Christmas carols showing up during Advent, but in the kinds of churches I would regularly want to frequent, I don't have to worry about that.

So this is a love letter to the Church and to the World: you two are still different, no matter how hard some folks try to fold you together into the same loaf. You are both man-made, and so I will no longer bemoan the tensions between you. I now celebrate them, even while I hope with a little trepidation that you will always remain separate. If Church stops resembling something other than the World, I'll be done. But by the time that saturation truly occurs, I'll be too old to get out of the house, anyway. Merry Christmas to all. To both.

Sobering up

I miss organist conventions.

Year after year, at just the time when I think I am all alone in the fight against mediocrity, the bureaucracy of teaching, and my own regrets, I attend an organist convention and am nearly instantly encouraged by kindred spirits in kindred situations (or worse). Truly, I am blessed.

Covid has destroyed our ability to get together as large groups for quite some time to come. But recently I was able to have what I call a mini-convention, with another professor several states away. He and I acknowledged our current plights and briefly discussed what we do as the only organ fish in our respective ponds. Here are some of the conclusions we drew:

-- The so-called "organist shortage" is real. I have blogged about it before, but I don't trust anyone's assessment of it anymore, including my own. It is a dynamic situation, but it is clearly aggravated by 1) churches that can't or won't compensate appropriately; 2) organists who won't drive so far out of town for the pay just mentioned.

-- Given the above, a given organ is no longer used and is eventually removed, rarely to greener pastures.

-- There is certainly no shortage of organ DMAs continuing to come out of the larger schools. But I have heard too many of them speak of "taking a church job until ...". For some reason, a church job for an organist became in many minds just a side job until the recital career or teaching post takes off. This is tragic in the mindset of many organists. To them, the real shortage is in organ teaching jobs.

-- Church is in trouble. Gotta acknowledge that. Society is less and less church-bound for spiritual reasons, and this is worsened by the fact that ecclesiastical architecture seems to be fading as a source of art and inspiration. Even among architects today, I am discovering that church architecture is not even of historical interest anymore. "Space for an organ" to today's architect is a broom closet for speakers, and then not even enough of those. Tragedy of the highest order.

-- The Church's danger of demise comes with ramifications for church organists and organ teachers. We're seeing it everywhere, and Covid has only worsened it. But we have to say it aloud: "If churches continue to close, there will be no more jobs for church organists and organ teachers." How's THAT for a cold shower to sober up with?

-- However, the organ is not in trouble. It is still a fascinating machine and source of inspiration to thousands of young folks everywhere. We just can no longer count on church to introduce them to it. So THAT is where we organ professors must now turn our attention. I am truly blessed, once again, to be able to go out and preach that gospel often. We have a rich field of creativity in changing how we attract others to learn the instrument. We need help with it, but we also have to grapple head-on with the sobering realities of things that are no longer or may not be around for much longer.

Sorry I don't have better news today. I'm sure better news is coming. This thing called the organ won't die. But we might, if we don't listen to its call.