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.

One more on Commencement, and I’ll be done, I think

I thought I was finished grousing about Commencement, but there’s more.

I do love Commencement, honestly. I love the ceremony. I love the intimacy of the School of Music holding its own ceremony on its own stage, using its own organ and organist. But I have blogged in this little set of posts about some elements of it that gnaw at my patience. When the very nature of ceremony begins to be threatened, I begin to pace like a caged tiger. My displeasure at all that is identical to my displeasure with the ongoing bastardization of liturgy at every turn in every denomination for the past few decades. Hey, it's my job; it's what I do. So here's one more component of our Commencement exercises that has begun to drive me crazy:

This University holds seven separate Commencements, divided by college unit. About four years ago, upper Administration decided that Commencement proper should begin at the advertised hour and that, therefore, the procession should commence at fifteen minutes before the hour. This has necessitated wordier advertisements of procedure and start times, and it has wrought a bit of havoc with the ceremony for the smaller processions that don’t take fifteen minutes (such as the School of Music and some other smaller units – ours takes about 7).

Perhaps the more liturgically-minded reader can appreciate the liturgical incorrectness of this decision. To advertise a ‘service’ for a certain hour but then to say that there will be fifteen minutes of ‘pre-game’ attractions sends the clearest message that those fifteen minutes are not part of the service. But would my Episcopal and Lutheran friends want to concede that the opening voluntary and opening processional hymn are not part of the ceremony? Would anyone want to concede that if the procession is not part of the ceremony, then the network cameras don’t need to be turned on until the princess bride has arrived at the altar? Heavens, no, folks. The procession is half the show. It’s the pretty part. All those pretty colors processing into place. It IS the show, and the rest of the ceremony feeds out of that pageantry. Well, that’s all I have to say about that.

The truth is that none of this will change, I'm sure. I'm howling at the wind to think that Administration will listen to a lowly music professor. On the other hand, wouldn’t it be nice if a music professor were listened to on musical matters, especially if the present matter is also of a [secular] liturgical nature, one of this professor’s specialties. Well, this is why it’s all being blogged about here, rather than being sent to Administration in a memo.

Churchly responsibilities

The musicians in a church tend to have to leave Sunday School early to get to choir warmup, or they have to miss some midweek services for choir rehearsal.

As the organist, I would love to have attended (or even led) some Sunday morning classes, but alas. However, I was certainly "getting some church" each week. The choirs were my Sunday School. The music was my food. The paycheck wasn't the only thing getting me to church each week.

I always felt a responsibility to the choir members and to the congregation. Since the choir was likely having to miss something else to participate in music, then I felt that I should give them the holiest time I could. It was work time, but it was beautiful music preparation time. And it was 'sacred' in that it began and ended on time. And in the course of a routine rehearsal, we'd also joy in just being together, all huddled over beautiful music, cracking a couple jokes, and listening to progress being made at every turn. Dare to tell a musician that THAT is not church!

For the congregation, my responsibility was deeper but shared with the choir. Our job was always to lead the congregation in their own musical health and also to offer praise that they themselves couldn't offer (unless they joined the choir and came to rehearsals). But we had to be ready. We had to have rehearsed and practiced. We had to do some nuts-and-bolts, non-holy work to get there each week. And yet when we presented our hard work, it was translated as "worship" for the whole room. That was a non-sequitur I have never really processed fully -- that of training and preparing in order to allow the Spirit to be free.

An old friend always said, "God does not do dishes," which meant that we have to learn the notes and watch the conductor, while everyone else gets to ride the train and experience the holiness of the moment. That was a trade I was willing to make, since I had already "had church" with the choir before the congregation arrived.

Somewhere in there, I hit the right notes. Somewhere in there I allowed everyone a little extra time to hit high notes, spit out lots of words, and breathe between stanzas. Perhaps somewhere in there, I also offered some sort of musical thrill? My job was simply to be prepared on a professional level. There was nothing I could do about the otherwordly of it. 

People who say, "Y'all, we just really need to focus on the Lord when we sing this," are wasting their and my time. God doesn't do dishes. You need to focus on the MUSIC and let the Lord do as he pleases. Count on your professional music leaders to point the way. That's how it works.

Commencement: stirring, not Shakered, please

I deeply regret what COVID has done to our public gatherings, and I sympathize with those students who didn't get to 'walk' during Commencement ceremonies last May and likely won't this coming May. Our Commencement exercises for the Hayes School of Music at Appalachian State are intimate and enjoyable. I always enjoy being part of a smaller exercise than with the cattle call for the other units across campus.

Every large college unit at this university holds its own Commencement ceremonies in the large multi-purpose arena across campus. There are therefore seven separate ceremonies across three days each spring. However, the School of Music holds our ceremonies on our own stage, in our own building, with yours truly providing prelude and processional music on the mighty Casavant. On the surface, I love it; I love the intimacy; I love being in our own house, seeing our own graduates walk by on the stage where they performed, being able to hear each one’s name, and watching them shake paws with our administration as we send them forth.

But of course, for some musicians like me, there are flaws, and I was glad, frankly, not to have to deal with them last year. See here for additional posts. And now see below:

At each ceremony across the entire campus, the crowds stand and sing “Simple Gifts.” What in the world for? Why does “’Tis the gift to be simple…” need to be sung in such a setting?

Answer: it doesn’t.

The text is problematic. "'Tis the gift to be simple...come down where we ought to be...when true simplicity is gained...turning, turning, we come 'round right..." Most of that is archaic, and it refers to imagery and concepts that no longer apply in our particular society. And life is not simple if you’re a college student, and we should stop saying it is or that it should be. I always cringe and fold into myself while accompanying that tune each year, always asking myself, “What does this MEAN? Aren’t there other, more suitable, affirming tunes and texts we could be singing en masse each year? Why am I seated at the world's most complex musical instrument, playing a song about simplicity, with a gathered group who find simplicity too sensational to pursue at face value?”

The local love affair with the Shaker tune apparently comes from the tune's appearance in Aaron Copland's ballet Appalachian Spring. But that is problematic. In 1944, Copland had the entire score written and orchestrated, but he still had no title. Choreographer Martha Graham suggested a title. I can picture it now: “Aaaaaron, behbeh, why dontcha cawl it aaaapp-uh-LAYTCH-un spring?” [Complete with mispronunciation of ‘Appalachian,’ I'd bet. If you're puzzled by that, see here.] And Copland bought it. And the name stuck. And someone at what was then called Appalachian State Teachers College must have thought what a nice idea it would be to sing that tune for our purposes here. Just from self-associating with one word in Copland’s completely after-thought and externally-suggested title? Sorry, but Copland didn't write Appalachian Spring for us here.

The tune is problematic. Each year, I send in my titles for processionals, and each year, the program proof comes back reading “Simple Gifts, trad., arr. Harbinson.” Long-time faculty member and former dean Bill Harbinson arranged an accompaniment for the brass quintet to play in the arena for the other units’ Commencements. But for our ceremonies here with organ alone, I don't play that version. Each year, I have to remind my Associate Dean that “No, the version I play is not 'arr. Harbinson.' It’s more accurately 'trad., harmony improvised by Bell, melody adapt. Copland, melody further trainwrecked by audience.'” The audience tends to sing the rather altered hymnal version of the tune ("I danced in the morning"), while I play the original. And so this melodic train wreck perpetuates year after year. It’s a classic case of what happens when you don’t provide the notes to go along with the lyrics (hint, hint, screen-dependent churches).

I accept a lot of annoying realities, but this one refuses to get out from under my skin. This ‘tradition’ borne from ignorance makes us look like idiots to those who know. And now that you know, please don't think we're idiots. I'm working on it.

Widor vs. Joby, Part 11: Suite Latine and Trois Nouvelles Pièces

This is the eleventh and final installment in my series on my take on playing the complete works of Charles-Marie Widor. See the first post in the series for an introduction and my philosophies behind this blog series. And as always, refer to John Near’s edition for important corrections in the scores that I might not necessarily mention.

The Suite latine and Trois Nouvelles Pièces are up today. Visit my program notes on the pieces. And of course, feel free to order the recording.

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The Suite latine makes me feel like I’m ‘cheating.’ We’re not used to seeing a Widor organ piece that’s not a Symphony, and so I feel like I’m intruding into a forbidden corner of Widor’s mind! These pieces feel like composed improvisations. And if that is the case, then we have a most valuable glimpse into Widor’s late improvisational prowess, of which increasingly fewer people – if any now – have ever heard in person.

If you have been keeping up all this time with these many posts in this series, you’ll notice that the later the piece, the fewer performance comments I have. With the later pieces, Widor was less inclined to revise, and at that point in his life, he didn’t have time to get around to it, anyway. But there’s also something to be said for him ‘getting it right’ the first time later in life.

I have only two comments for the Latine. First, the final two pages are, in the words of my dear friend John Yarrington, “worth the price of admission alone.” Second, I would point out a magnificent ‘Wagner moment’ in movement 1, measures 59-65. As noted before, Widor admired Wagner’s music, and it may or may not be accidental that tiny moments of Wagnerian inspiration exist here and there.

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And finally, for the Trois Nouvelles Pièces: Widor’s indications throughout are enough, and I have no corrections or performance quirks to offer. Not only did Widor have no further opportunity to revise these later works, but he also ‘got them right’ the first time. In some cases, that may be because he was such a sure composer for the organ and did not need to re-infuse works with a more mature style. In other cases, he did not provide quite the volume of in-score indications he had earlier, in which case, the performer is at more liberty there, requiring less commentary here. Just do as Widor said, and given the choice, don’t go overboard with anything.

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I know of no liturgy to wrap this up, and so I’ll simply announce, “Our Widor series is concluded!” (to which many may enthusiastically reply, “Thanks be to God!”).

Widor vs. Joby, Part 10: Bach’s Memento

This is the tenth installment in a series on my take on playing the complete works of Charles-Marie Widor. See the first post in the series for an introduction and my philosophies behind this blog series. And as always, refer to John Near’s edition for important corrections in the scores that I might not necessarily mention.

Bach’s Memento is up today. Visit my program notes on the piece. And of course, feel free to order my recording.

I feel these pieces are the hardest Widor wrote – not only because the notes are difficult at times but also because the difference in ornamentation from Bach to Widor may threaten the integrity of either composer’s wishes. Matters get further complicated when one is tempted to use ordinary touch on these pieces (because they’re Bach) but then required to play them legato (because they’re Widor). Honoring one composer snubs the other!

At any rate, there is something insightful about seeing Widor's respect -- indeed his love -- for Bach in creating these paraphrases. Playing them is also an interestingly oblique way to include Bach on a recital program.

I'm still puzzled by the English possessive in the set's title (“Bach’s”). It looks to be Widor's own title, but why did he use the English possessive form for it? Had it been in French, the title would have been something like Memento de Bach. Had it been German, it would have been something like Bachs Memento (no apostrophe). I have found no satisfactory answer to this question. Let me know if you have!

See John Near’s edition for commentary and corrections to the original Hamelle edition. Meanwhile, I'll offer just a few of my comments on a few movements:

Movement II: Miserere Mei …

This one introduces some ambiguous problems of harmonies and note choices, described in John Near’s commentary in his edition. I wonder if Widor had a preferred harmonic function in mind, different from Bach’s. Or I wonder (more likely) if he might have been working from a faulty Bach edition in the first place. Hey, we have learned a lot since then, you know.

Movement III: Aria

This one has registration problems. Manuals are not indicated at the beginning. If the hands play on a single manual, they run into each other, especially in measure 19. Widor also asks for an expressive division for the right hand, which would preclude, say, the Great. I decided to register each hand separately but similarly, more often with 8-foot flutes. The hands move to the Récit Gambe, a nice contrast, where Widor indicates. If the organ has only two manuals, then I would put the right hand on a flute and the left hand on the string.

Movement IV: Marche du Veilleur de Nuit

This is probably the quirkiest thing Widor wrote for the organ. See what John Near has to say.

Movement VI: Mattheus-Final

I’m not sure I could stand the indicated full organ with this piece. The notes are so high that mixtures (in some countries) will just make the neighborhood dogs howl in pain. Depending on the organ at hand, you may do well with full foundations and 8-foot reeds, with little to no 2-foot or mixtures.

Measures 33-34, 45-46, 101-102: In the passages beginning with piano into the crescendo hairpin, I solo out the lowest manual voice on the Positif, having reduced the Positif a bit first to balance. It helps make a smoother diminuendo to the Récit.