Seven thousand in Israel

A dear friend of mine just announced that she and her other full-time music faculty colleagues are being dismissed. The reason given is that music faculty just don’t produce enough teaching credits for the university to continue to consider them viable. And that is true – we music teachers spend a lot of time one-on-one with students. We teach about 10-15 students per week, while classroom teachers all across campus teach upwards of 50-200 students per DAY. Therefore, it has become a regular occurrence for our administrations to have to defend to upper administration the art of music and its expenses. Yes, music is expensive. It requires instruments, instrument maintenance, huge spaces for rehearsal, many small spaces for practice, individual teaching offices, and a climate-controlled building that is exempt from any cost-cutting measures deemed necessary by the university to save on heating and air conditioning, not to mention what is required in the way of humidity control. Then add in full-time salaries and benefits for all this one-on-one instruction, and the numbers just don’t add up with the other departments across campus.

This has always been the case. And perhaps it was only a matter of time before questions began to be asked about it. And so here we are. The questions are being asked, mostly by accountants and university boards of governors. In the case of my friend mentioned above, it was asked by an outside consultant, who then convinced upper administration to take that big step toward balancing the music credits taught with those all across campus, to get rid of the full-timers and their benefits and have all the teaching done by adjuncts and part-timers. It’s all about the bottom line, and the bottom line here is that universities save lots of money when they don’t have to pay full-time salaries and benefits. They’ll blame the economy. They’ll blame a lack of philanthropy. They’ll blame the Department of Education for forcing their hand. But the real problem lies in a growing misconception that music is universal and therefore universally acceptable, no matter how amateurish it is. But this doesn’t start at the university level. It comes from the high school and primary school level, too, where arts and music are routinely gutted from shrinking budgets and curricula. But it doesn’t stop there. It also occurs at home, where children are encouraged to play soccer rather than practice the piano. It occurs at home, where children are told that the halftime show at the Super Bowl was one of the finest performances ever produced. It occurs at home, where children are told that arts and music can be enjoyed any time and don’t need to be studied by non-musicians and that science and accounting are much more important in today’s economic climate, before China overtakes us. What nonsense.

This has been only one story told by one blogger. There are plenty more horror stories that could be told about this. But what do we do? Honestly, I don’t know. But I know that there are still students out there wanting to come study with me, and so I’m going to keep showing up for work until work tells me not to. I’m not going to give my art and work away, and I’m going to train others to be the very best they can be. Meanwhile, I have removed my friend’s university from mention in my bio (I used to teach there), and I shall quietly rejoice if that university sees a firestorm of protest that purges either its donor base or its entire upper administration; I don’t care which. And I shall continue to hope that in the U.S., there may always be “7000 in Israel, knees which have not bowed to Ba’al,” people who miraculously believe that people are more important than money.

We do what we know

I can usually see myself doing anything for a career. That is always easier to envision while I’m actually doing it. Examples: during my flight training, I could see myself as a commercial pilot and still would, in fact, enjoy flying for, say, FedEx or any other company that does not involve neurotic passengers or their screaming children. During discussions with medical friends over the years, I could see myself as a surgeon. During funerals, I could easily see myself as a funeral director or grief counselor. And during the arduous work of cleaning out my mother’s house, I could see myself as a mover or crime scene cleanup agent. It’s not that I’m thinking of jumping ship on my current career. (But don’t push me, because teaching is no longer a picnic for anyone anymore, and the performing front has never had much room for more than a handful of recurring names.)

The ‘hey-I-could-do-this’ thinking works on several fronts. I have discovered many times that I might actually have something to say in other ways. Sometimes I feel I could write a fine novel, compose a fine musical, compose a fine opera, conduct an opera, or direct a film. But those senses are strongest when I’m actually reading a novel or listening to a musical or opera or watching a decent film or directing music for a production.

Most of the great composers came from musical families and had strict formal training at early ages. They tended to have family support or outside recognition of their abilities. All they needed after that was encouragement to pursue their careers. (Of course, we shouldn’t overlook the fact that most educated people in centuries past were educated in the arts as a matter of course. My, how times have changed.) Anyway, I see that in modern times, our kids still tend to do what they already know. The ones with parents who listen to pop or were potheads in college tend to gravitate toward starting their own garage bands. The ones with parents who took them to concerts and operas tend to stay in those spheres, even if avocationally. The ones who grew up in the church tend to sing, play, or compose church music or at least sing in a choir regularly. I wrote a couple Gospel songs in teenage years (they were what I grew up with), but I quickly moved on to hymn reharmonizations and a couple octavos (they were also what I grew up with). After many years’ saturation in classical and opera, I might actually have something to say in those spheres now, too. Better late than never, I suppose, but Mendelssohn, Mozart, Distler, and Schubert were long dead at my age...

Clyde Holloway's memorial service

I attended my last mentor's memorial service this past weekend in Houston. An event like that is more like a family reunion than a memorial service. The memories, the friends, (the foes), it's all so strong and vivid that it's worth preserving here in cyberspace.

The service was at Christ Church Cathedral in downtown Houston, where Clyde served for many years. Organ music selections were most appropriate: BWV 547 (with which Clyde won the AGO national competition in 1964), the Franck Prelude, Fugue and Variation (which Clyde loved and which the Rice organ played beautifully), the Messiaen Joie et clarté (representative of Clyde's dissertation on Messiaen), and the Final from the Vierne 1st (which was always Clyde's swan song in a given church). In addition, Jason Roberts improvised a brief but stunningly clever prelude which had the basic form of the opening pages of the Reubke Sonata (which Clyde recorded twice and with which Clyde inaugurated the Rice organ), and which also contained brief allusions to the Liszt BACH (which Clyde recorded) and to the Messiaen Banquet céleste (which Clyde used as a teaching piece -- when Jason played those familiar first few chords, there was audible tittering in the nave. It was utterly brilliant and unifying for all of us gathered).

The Cathedral and choir offered their customarily high-quality liturgy. It was a pleasure to be back there. The choir sang the Malcolm Boyle "Thou art praised in Zion" and the Duruflé Ubi caritas. Hymns were sturdy tunes such as Vigiles et sancti and Cwm Rhondda. The eulogies were short and lovely. I was amazed to hear about a younger, healthier Clyde I did not know. Did you know that he once donned a pair of overalls to help paint a former student's barn? But everyone was in agreement about his teaching and his love for his students. The only flaw I found in the service was in the Dean's insistence that a congregation full of professional organists needed to be told to stand and sing the hymns or to sit and listen to the closing voluntary.

Just so I don't forget those I chatted with, in no particular order: Karen McFarlane (Clyde's manager), Daryl Robinson, Pieter Visser, Marty Wheeler Burnett, Marsha Seale, Bob Simpson (Clyde's sucessor at the Cathedral), Jian-Guang Shi, Melissa Givens (my dear friend plus hotel and taxi for this trip), John Marsh, Sandi Ward, Jan Salassi (Jouett, but she'll always be Salassi to me), Anna Marie Flusche (Clyde's first doctoral student to finish), Wick Rowland, Emily Borling, John Meier, Paul Meier, Suzanne Anderson, Jason Roberts, Ann Colbert Wade (Clyde's first graduate student), Ben Harris, Tom Crow, Lucinda Meredith, Glen Douglas, Carl & Pat Hand, Ann Frohbieter, and Linda Hazelip. I probably forgot a few.

Then a few folks I saw at a distance but didn't get a chance to visit with personally: Micki Simms, Cathy Hildreth, George Ritchie, Mary Bahn, Bruce Power, Robert Bates, Matthew Dirst, Chris Thomas.

And of course there were surely some folks there I didn't see at all, plus some who wanted to be there but couldn't, plus others who should have been there but weren't (shame on them).

Rest in peace, Clyde Barrington Holloway II, 1936-2013. Maker of careers, especially mine.

Occupational hazards

I have been working out some pain in my shoulder in physical therapy (which I highly recommend). So now I've been reflecting on the aches and pains I have had over the years, and as it turns out, I can blame most of them on the organ:

1. Shoulder pain: I spend hours each day folded forward into myself, arms extended. That makes the chest strong and the back weak. Solutions: stretch the chest and shoulders regularly, and buy (and use) a rowing machine. Problem solved.

2. I had a bout with tendonitis in my right hand in grad school. Can't imagine why. I was only practicing many hours a day and playing Sundays on a three-manual tracker. And to make financial ends meet, I was entering ten-key data in an office. That uses the right hand. Gee, imagine the potential for pain. Solutions: rest that hand! Carry everything in the other hand. Move things, push buttons, write, open doors, and brush teeth with the other hand. Rest. Aleve. And then take a close look at manual technique and quiet it down in a big way. Pain and suffering were the catalyst through which I honed a rather quiet yet effective manual technique. I'm proud of the result, even if the process was no fun.

3. Bach Trio Sonatas make the inner thighs sore. They'll get over it.

4. Widor makes everything sore.

5. When a foot rests lazily on its side on the pedalboard, it can start to fatigue.

6. Every now and then, I encounter expression shoes that are set too low, which when fully closed stretch the Achilles too much.

7. <insert your own here>

8. Finally, I myself can be an occupational hazard for a tyrannical clergyman or a clueless secretary. But that can make the tendonitis flare up again if I punch them too hard.

Another nunc dimittis

I just got word that my teacher and mentor Clyde Holloway died this week. As of this writing, details are unknown, but reflection on my long relationship with him is already heavy.

I met him at my Rice audition in the spring of 1990. The music building was not yet finished, and the School of Music was still scattered all over the campus. My audition was in the chapel, and Clyde's office was in the basement of a language building of some sort. I still remember standing outside Fondren Library, where there were more music offices, when I saw him walk out with another student in conversation. That was the first time I ever saw him in person, but I was too shy to speak up, and we didn't meet until later that day at our official rendezvous time. Fast-forward to just last week, to my final conversation with him. He was at First Presbyterian in Houston, helping a former classmate of mine get ready for her recital at "my house" next March. He called me several times to ask about specifications of the organ here, and he and she were working within those parameters where they were. He and I also briefly spoke of a draft I had just sent him of an interview a couple years ago, intended for The American Organist magazine. He never had a chance to review that and get back to me, and so I'll be sending it to the magazine as a memorial tribute rather than a retirement tribute.

Virtually everything I do as a professional is informed and infused by the mentoring of both my organ teachers. Thanks to H. Max Smith, I have the job I have. And thanks to Clyde Holloway, I know how to do that job. Max's example taught me how to behave, how to be there for students, how to network, and how to be diplomatic. Clyde taught me all the rest: the teaching, the practicing, the performing. And it's all working!

The four most important father figures in my life are now gone: my father Donald Bell, my first boss Richard Woods, and my two organ teachers H. Max Smith and Clyde Holloway. There is absolutely nothing I do in my life that does not remind me of at least one of these men. I am living proof that all of them lived! To meet me is to meet them on some level, and I say that proudly.

Rest in peace Clyde Holloway, 1936-2013.

Big Deal

It is my distinct pleasure to introduce to you tonight Big Deal Of The Month. Mr. Month won first prize in the local-national-but-really-regional competition and is a senior at Hotshot Conservatory, where he sort of studies with Dr. Comen Studywithme, who is rarely around because he's always traveling to play recitals.

Would you please make welcome Big Deal Of The Month! [Applause.]

Wait a minute, the janitor is walking out on stage. What could be wrong? Microphone? Air conditioner? Organ not turned on? Oh, wait, actually it is the organist, excuse me, the performer, excuse me, the artist. Nice shirt; perhaps you might iron it next time. And tuck it in this time. And where is your coat? Stand up straight. Walk straight. Don’t fall into your bow. Feet together when bowing, you stork. And oh no, no, NOOOOOO, please do not speak before you play. Oh, dang it, you spoke before you played. And you’re still talking. And I’m still sitting here, having been promised a recital. Oh, great, now I’m hearing recited aloud the program notes I already have printed in my hands. And take your hands out of your pockets, for heaven’s sake.

Okay, we’re finally underway now. But your feet are hanging on the bench as if you were fishing off a pier. Don’t your feet have somewhere else to be -- some notes, perhaps? And lower your wrists. And sit up straight. And keep your elbows still. And slow down and hit the right notes. You're a senior, you know. Have you not learned this stuff by now?

Thank goodness this is only entertainment. If it were important, our future would be in trouble.

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

Oh, wait. It is important. Well, I’m doing the best I can in my little corner of the world. I’m doing everything I can to remind my students that playing well is only about 40% of the battle. Beyond that, the personality eventually becomes a deal breaker, and gracious hosts won’t put up forever with only 40%. Organ recitals are public events, and a knowledge of public behavior is still necessary for sustained success. When the day comes that I stop being a gentleman or lose command of spoken and written English or lose my interest in the audience's enjoyment or lose interest in thanking my gracious host or lose interest in looking and sounding good, then it will be time for retirement. Set your clocks, and hold me to it.

Joby's rules of subbing

Playing short-term at another church requires you to do things their way. You don’t want people shaking their heads because they couldn’t figure out what you were doing. Here are the things I recommend taking care of beforehand:

1. Find out who is in charge. Pastor or music director?

2. Check that the hymn numbers in the bulletin are correct. Point out any wrong numbers to whoever is in charge, and let them deal with alerting the congregation.

3. Synchronize your watch with whoever is in charge.

4. Ask what should happen at the service start time. If the service is at 11:00, exactly what do they want to occur at the stroke of 11? Prelude starts then? Prelude concludes by then? Announcements? Striking the hour? Once you have your answer, honor that time at all costs. Honoring time makes you look very good, especially if the church is used to an organist who is always late.

5. Ask if hymns are announced or if you’re just supposed to jump in when it's time for each.

6. Ask if hymns are conducted. And hope they are not. If they are, follow the conductor carefully. Unless s/he has no idea what s/he is doing.

7. Ask about tricky rhythmic spots, such as the fermata in Lasst uns erfreuen or that infernal rhythmic kick in Hymn to joy.

8. Ask if Amens are used, whether printed or not.

9. Offertory and Doxology issues: a) if the Doxology is the Old 100th tune, ask which rhythm they use; b) ask about an Amen; c) ask if you should extend the Doxology introduction so that the ushers can get back down to the front; d) ask what you should do if the offertory is over but the collection is not.

10. Ask if there are any unprinted sung responses in the service. Ask if there are any spots where you need to provide pitches for the choir. Ask if those pitches should be blocked or spelled out.

11. If you’re playing the anthem, ask how many people are in the choir. This will help with organ registration.

12. Ask if there is any music they’d like played on the other instrument. Sometimes churches are shy about asking an organist to play the piano or vice-versa, so offer them that flexibility up front. It only makes you look good, and it gives them a better service.

13. Ask if there are any non-musical tasks you should perform, such as dimming lights, rolling a tape recorder, moving something, etc.

14. Plan where you will sit during the sermon. Try to stay out of sight so that you are not distracting to others. If you end up being on full display or in the line of sight of a camera, sit still, and don't text or play games on your smartphone. But if you're completely out of sight (and I was in one church for 7 years), then bring your smartphone and your laptop and a good book. If you're playing three services, you'll want the distraction. I wrote my dissertation during sermons for months. And I composed a lovely piano four-hand arrangement of [title withheld, because I never got permission to do it] during FOUR Easter sermons one year.

It's official

Two things are official this week: 1) Yesterday, I arrived for my third stay at a certain hotel, a record for me for number of stays in the same hotel. 2) I have never worked so hard to register a recital on a two-manual organ.

The hotel in question is the Comfort Suites, Kilgore, Tex., headquarters for the third annual East Texas Pipe Organ Festival, a yearly celebration of the perfect storm which occurred in northeast Texas and northwest Louisiana, courtesy the Aeolian-Skinner Organ Company, its President and Tonal Director G. Donald Harrison, and regional rep/designer/tonal finisher/local boy Roy Perry. The Festival, the brainchild of Lorenz Maycher, is truly an exciting event. Last year, it welcomed its first students (mine). This year, it is welcoming a record number of attendees, plus students from at least three institutions, courtesy scholarships from a benevolent source and from the Festival itself. The Festival continues to grow, and these landmark organs are gaining a wider audience among the people in a position to keep these instruments healthy for generations.

Now, for the aforementioned two-manual organ. It is Aeolian-Skinner Op. 1175 at St. Luke's United Methodist Church, Kilgore. Even if you don't crank up the blower, you can just look at the console and see that it is a "masterpiece in miniature" (a term I frequently steal from Scott Davis of Austin, Tex.). The organ is a large 2-manual, rather than a small 3-manual. But the possibilities are still endless as of Day 2 of practicing. And because those possibilities are endless, I'm burning through even more pistons on this baby than I would on a larger instrument. This organ can do anything, but it has to be configured to do so, piston after piston. I'm having to re-write my entire brain hard drive to accommodate the extra workload in performance, but oh, how rewarding. I'm looking forward to this recital on Wednesday!

Well, that's just the specification of the organ. Let's move on to its voicing. That won't take long, because only an in-person hearing can get the job done with understanding any organ's tonal disposition. I'll just say that this organ had to be perhaps more carefully thought out tonally than others because it is in a low-ceiling room with lots of carpet. That explains the big ol' Contrebasse in the Pedal, the en chamade, and the delicious plethora of 8-foot stops. If I had to complain, I would wish that the 16' Bassoon in the Swell were extended to 8', and that the 8' Gedeckt in the Swell were extended to 16', as duplexed to the Pedal. But who's counting? The organ is a triumph.

You can read more about this organ and the others in the Festival here. My name is Joby Bell, and I approve the message from these organs.

Memorization, Part 4: Crashing and burning

If you’re not used to playing from memory, then a major memory slip can be disastrous to the performance and/or to your willingness to get up off the mat. But if you’re a seasoned traveler down memory lane, then crashing and burning in performance is nearly always salvageable. In any event, it’s how life goes. It happens because we’re human. And yes, I have heard hotshots in the profession nearly derail in performance. They, too, are human. But the rewards from playing from memory outweigh the task of cleaning up a train wreck on the spot when things derail.

I think I get more unnerved listening to someone else get lost than I do when I get lost. I grunt and sweat and fidget along with them, willing them back on track. But that applies only to people I don’t know, oddly enough. I wasn’t concerned when I was listening to a mentor perform the Franck Pièce héroïque. Somewhere in the middle, it turned into what a dear friend of mine later called “Pièce chromatique et traumatique.” But the performer’s extended “save” was fascinating (if a little long). I have heard another mentor pretty much improvise the entire Bach Passacaglia. Not sure what that was about, but it was interesting to listen to. Too bad the program didn’t say “Improvisation on BWV 582.” (I have also heard people sound like they were improvising that piece, with the score on the rack! But that’s for another post.) Finally, when classmates and I would listen to each other perform in studio class, the crashing and burning was expected, but it was also mighty entertaining. We took solace in the fact that it was only studio class, thank goodness.

Well, on to my own crash experiences. They don’t happen very often. Not because I’m a genius but because the way I memorize is so detailed that there is always a familiar safe house not far beyond a crash site. But every now and then, I do have one of those moments where I can’t see ANY refuge ahead, and I just keep going, carrying my guts in my hands and looking for an escape hatch. Three such moments come to mind:

1. In 2002, I improvised the entire transition passage just before the variations of the Duruflé Veni Creator. That passage is notorious anyway, and I was hopelessly lost for at least a page.

2. In 2004, I reduced the fugue of BWV 541 (G major) from four pages to one. One pedal note sent the whole thing spiraling. One hand was ready to follow the pedal, and the other knew better. That was the worst crash of my career to date. And I had been playing that piece from memory for seven years!

3. Just yesterday, November 3, 2013, I nearly crashed and burned in BWV 550 (the other G major). I had allowed myself to be distracted by a sore finger and by the fact that I had forgotten to take the Wind Stabilizer off. Crash, bang, boom. But I kept going and eventually found the station.

There are several morals to this story: 1) Always respect Bach’s ability to derail you, apparently. 2) Don’t play Bach in G major (apparently). 3) Let go of little things like wind stabilizers. 4) Tell organ builders to make wind stabilizers settable on pistons. 5) Get BWV 550 cleaned up before next week’s recital.

Help Yourself IX: Advent 2013

Here are two Advent-ish offerings for you. If you find either or both at all useful, then click, print, and use freely, with my compliments for a joyous upcoming season of wonder, 2013!

HELMSLEY descant only

Let all mortal flesh soprano solo and organ