Texas, Part 4

More recitals and some wonderful meals! And the second annual East Texas Pipe Organ Festival is now concluded. As of this writing, my students are nearly home now, and I have gone to Houston to practice for a recital. Stand by for some stirring assessment by the students on what they heard and what they have learned. Ears and careers have been changed this week, that's for sure. Martha would say, "It's a good thing."

Texas, Part 3

A soothing recital. A delicious Texas BBQ lunch. A thrilling recital. Another recital. A delicious dinner on the lake. And a spectacular silent movie. A great day to be in Kilgore, Texas!

Texas, Part 2

And with Day Four, we arrive at the first full day of the Festival. We are also reminded that a full day of ANY festival means that the late night carousing will be severely cut short, compared to the other days. Everyone now appreciates the benefits of a full night's rest.

So, a jog, two recitals, a lovely catered lunch, a recital. That brings us to a lovely, poignant visit to the local history museum, where there are many photos and other exhibits on Roy Perry and Alexander Boggs Ryan. We also enjoyed an address by Ryan's sister, plus the reading of some heretofore unknown letters between Ryan and Marcel Dupré. A lovely hour, indeed. From there to a gala reception in Ryan's memory, then another recital, and a jam-packed day is complete.

Note: Churches, stop closing your balconies for organ recitals. The best sound tends to be up there, and we'll just go up there anyway. And get your electrical outlets up there fixed. How am I supposed to charge my phone in a balcony where I'm not supposed to be, when the power is not working?

Texas, Part 1

The second annual East Texas Pipe Organ Festival is underway! I have brought five students with me, and we are having a blast.

Saturday, November 10, a.k.a. Day One: 16.5 hours on the road! Lots of laughs, and lots of miles.

Sunday, November 11, a.k.a. Day Two: Church at First Presbyterian, Kilgore, Tex. One airport run for the last student. One recital at First Baptist, Longview. Delicious dinner at Nanny Goat's in Kilgore, courtesy of Lorenz Maycher. Bowling. Whataburger.

Monday, November 12, a.k.a. Day Three: Shopping in downtown Kilgore. Lunch at The Back Porch. A panel discussion with Charlie Callahan and Larry Palmer on "Composers They Have Known." Happy hour in one room, student homework in the next. A recital at First Presbyterian, Kilgore.

There is no way to describe the beauty of the Aeolian-Skinners at First Presbyterian and St. Luke's Methodist, Kilgore, and First Baptist, Longview. And there is even less way to describe my joy at watching my students get acquainted with them and enjoy the company of fellow Aeolian-Skinner fans. We're having a ball.

Texas bound

SEVEN of my nine students are heading to Kilgore and Longview, Tex., on Saturday to attend the second East Texas Pipe Organ Festival. We have made our plans, paid our registration fees, procured a university van, found a hotel expense angel, and gotten excited about hearing some creamy American organs. Organs courtesy of Aeolian-Skinner, G. Donald Harrison, and Roy Perry. Festival founding by Lorenz Maycher.

My students have treated their ears to the Aeolian organ in Duke Chapel, plus the E.M. Skinner organ at St. Paul's Church in Winston-Salem. And so it was easy for them to recognize the excitement behind my voice when I told them of the Festival in Texas. And SEVEN of nine students are going, and they are missing an entire week of classes for it. An exciting enthusiasm, indeed.

So far, only three organs have brought tears to my eyes on first hearing. One was the Cavaillé-Coll in St-Sulpice, Paris, the sounds that Widor knew. The second was the Cavaillé-Coll in Ste-Clotilde, Paris, the sounds that Franck knew. And the third was the Aeolian-Skinner in First Baptist Church, Longview, Texas (of all places). Those of you who know your organs know what I'm talking about. The history represented in Aeolian-Skinner has been defended in many corners and destroyed in others. But that little pocket in northeast Texas still knows what it has, and the organs have been cared for and are being celebrated anew. Let the good times roll. We can hardly wait!

Nine beautiful minds

My undergraduate professor H. Max Smith always called his students his "children." I do the same, and I enjoy the fresh dynamic every year with students coming and going. Anyone majoring in music is also majoring in their applied music teacher. The "family" element is unavoidable unless you go to some trouble to avoid it. My first couple semesters at Appalachian, my studio was "tight," but I believe the studio I have now represents the greatest level of mutual support, "family," and new ideas I have seen so far.

These guys have gotten excited about a trip to the second East Texas Pipe Organ Festival in a couple weeks in Kilgore, Tex. SEVEN of my nine students are going on that rather lengthy road trip, and they're missing a week of classes to do it. That's excitement in action, and it's exciting to behold. The other two students must be left behind, sadly, but they surely wanted to go with us. And we hate to leave them behind.

These guys are excited about the studio's new Facebook page and YouTube account (which the students set up), and a science experiment going on at my house that we are currently calling 'Frankenorgan.'

Represented in this studio is a wide range of graphic design skills, fine aptitudes for improving the art of organ playing, blossoming professional demeanors, increasing eyes toward effective self- and studio marketing, Halloween ideas, eyes toward helping each other and helping me with non-teaching workload issues. I used to have only one or two right-hand men at a time. Now I have seven, plus two right-hand ladies.

So, I raise my glass (tonight at "family dinner," Hurricane Sandy permitting) to Chase Branham, Nathan Brickman, Carol Brown, Jake Hill (coiner of the term "family dinner"), Caroline Kimrey, Jonathan Poe, Johnson Ramsaur, Rodney Ward, and Shane Watson.

app-uh-LATCH-un

It’s all in a name.

The latest spell-check is now “fixing” my name from ‘Joby’ to ‘Jobie.’ I got an email from a dear friend just the other day, addressed to ‘Jobie.’ What gives? Since when was ‘Jobie’ more recognizable than ‘Joby’ to a computer? Mercy, they’re BOTH weird.

My mother Judith spelled her name Judi, not Judy. And her “best friends” always misspelled her name. Best friends, indeed. They also didn’t know the names of her children very well, either.

I have been called ‘Jody,’ ‘Toby,’ ‘Joe,’ and ‘Joe B.’ quite enough, thank you very much. I was once ‘Roby’ in a school yearbook. I have been ‘John’ in junk mail. And I was once ‘Mr. Ray Bell Joby’ on an insurance claim. The dentist’s receptionist once called me ‘Jaby.’

My sister is named Talana. That’s pronounced ‘tuh-LAH-na.’ The poor girl has endured ‘tuh-LAA-na,’ ‘tuh-LAY-na,’ ‘tuh-LOO-la,’ ‘banana,’ and ‘TAAL-uh-nuh.’ But her grandchildren call her ‘la-la,’ which is wonderful.

My alma mater and employer is pronounced app-uh-LATCH-un, not app-uh-LAY-shun nor app-uh-LAYTCH-un. Yes, I know. I can hear you now. If you don’t live in this area, then you think it should be pronounced otherwise. But verily I say unto you, them what live here know what they be doing. When our football team was on top a few years ago, having won three straight national championships plus a surprise win against Michigan in 2007, even the sportscasters had corrected their pronunciation to LATCH.

Well, this is an organist’s blog. Shall we move on to stop names? I’ll not list examples here; organists can provide plenty. But I’ll say that I cut a lot of slack on stop names. After all, they’re usually in some other language, and their pronunciations can be taught and learned. All are forgiven.

For the record, I am named after Job. Mother decided that after 22 hours of two-week-premature breach labor and after a first breath that consisted nearly entirely of amniotic fluid, that I was a pretty patient fellow. Still am. Call me crazy. Actually, call me Joby.

But that’s what I’m supposed to do

I once overheard a nice lady praising Rob Landes on his ability to play any tune in any key on the spot. He replied, “Thank you! But that’s what I’m supposed to do.” And he was right. Jazz musicians need to be able to do anything. Church musicians need to be able to do almost anything. It’s what we do.

I suppose I was a bit of a wunderkind. I was doing some things in music that no one my age in that town was doing. Now that I’m old(er), I’m doing much the same things for pay, only now it’s what I’m supposed to do, rather than something a normal kid shouldn’t want to or be able to do. Although I enjoy the praise today, I do hope that I have improved as a professional and no longer play like the wunderkind – nothing is worse than an older person still capitalizing on their child star status.

My former classmates, bless their hearts, seem to be able to talk only about their children, how much trouble they are, how much time and energy they take, how dirty their diapers are, and how being a taxi service for them is a pain. But that’s what parents are supposed to do – that’s how raising kids is supposed to be.

I look back from time to time at my previous Blog and News posts, and I see that about all I can talk about is how busy I am. But I also see that I’m always quick to add that I like it that way and I want it that way. Performing, teaching, planning, mentoring: it’s what I’m supposed to do. I chose it.

Now, I have to get back to work. Quit reading this and go do what you’re supposed to do. See you next week.

Making LIVE PERFORMANCES

Music City Mixture is my new recording. Live Performances is my previous recording. One does not set out to “make” a recording of previous live performances. One just notices that one has some tracks from several performances that sound good, and hey, why don’t we compile all that on a CD and order some graphics and keep it inexpensive and maybe hand it out for free. And that’s what one did. That little recording has gotten a good bit of mileage. It makes a great gift and an easy promotional handout.

You’ll find program notes for the individual tracks on the Program Notes tab of this site. Here are some more tidbits:

Most of these tracks were taken from my faculty recitals at Appalachian State University. When I learn a new piece, I try to trot it out on that stage before taking it on the road. The home stage is a comfortable laboratory. It represents the end of preparation and the beginning of rewarding repetition out on the road. I try to play "at home" each semester.

The Mulet Carillon is a favorite opener of mine. Adding the Zimbelstern was my idea, but there are far too many of those in this country that sound like a blind handbell choir missing a ringer.

The Brahms Chorales represent one of the most basic underlying philosophies behind my program notes: tell the listener what they need to listen for; tell them what they need to know to “get” the piece. If anyone knows the name Johannes Brahms, then they have all the information they need to understand these pieces when they are told that these were probably the very last notes Brahms wrote. If the performer keeps that in mind, these pieces never go stale.

The G major Concerto is a favorite of mine. It is entirely too cute for its own good.

I remember hearing Paul Meier play the snot out of the Mendelssohn f minor Sonata during my grad days at Rice. The piece finally made sense, and knowing Paul’s teacher so well, I then knew how to make the piece make sense myself. I finally got around to learning it about ten years later.

Franck appears to be my favorite composer for a while. I’m learning the complete works, recital by recital, about two pieces per year. The Prelude, Fugue, and Variation is a perennial favorite, and its opportunities for musical expression are limitless.

Finlandia is just perfect; not the way I play it, but the way Sibelius wrote it. Transcriptions pose the balancing act between making the organ sound like the original instrumentation and letting the piece translate however it likes to the organ. Myself, I hear the orchestra and play accordingly. I do the same thing when accompanying; I feel that the original needs to be kept in mind while performing. After all, Sibelius knew what an organ was – he could have written Finlandia for the organ if he liked. I play the fanfares differently now, forsaking the transcription and playing the original rhythm now.

The c minor trio Sonata is one of the nastier ones for difficulty, especially the third movement. I love this piece, and I love how Bach can make one of the quintessential “dark” minor keys sound like a birthday party.

The sixth Howells Psalm Prelude is one long fanfare. Even the quiet parts have a breathless anticipation about them. It has been a while since I played it or heard it, and it came up on my playlist in the car just the other day. I hardly recognized it, but I really like the writing – Howells keeps using the same harmonies in all his works, but they always have something new to say. It’s a very unique style that will hopefully be preserved.

Dan Gawthrop’s Floral Preludes have made a splash. And Lord knows I have done my part to keep them going! I thrill to the sound of an audience laughing during an organ recital.

The Jongen Toccata was to have been used on an all-French recording made at Rice. But it didn’t happen. However, this track is footage from those recording sessions. Quite a piece. And quite an organ for it.

Feeding time at the organist zoo

We human beings love to eat. Look at how we turn eating into a social event, not just a survival instinct. We gather at major holidays to feast. (Even our major church liturgies are called “feasts.”) We eat cake at birthdays. Church members provide a meal to the family of the deceased after the funeral. And the ultimate eating for Christians is communion. It’s a celebratory meal, taken quite directly from Jewish custom. And Christians have an easy out: they eat in church because Jesus TOLD them to!

And I’m no different. I learned from church how to eat as a celebration, not just as something to quiet down a grumbling stomach. Ever since childhood, I can remember a meal being added on to a gathering. We would go eat Sunday lunch at Redman’s Cafe (oh my, the mashed potatoes and gravy). And we would go eat Sunday supper at the Hungry Bull family steakhouse after Sunday evening church (Baptists do evening church, you know). And we would make our reservations for Wednesday evening supper at the church. The church’s Homecoming celebration always included a huge potluck. Sunday School classes got together over potluck or a restaurant.

I carried the torch into grad school. Choir members and I would eat after Thursday rehearsal and Sunday church. We would gather every year over Mexican food for the boss’s birthday (we still do, actually, lo these 19 years after his death!).

I could go on and on. Couldn’t you?

Today, my regimen still includes lots of social eating. After Monday evening Appalachian Chorale rehearsals, a few of us go to Chili’s for what one student now calls “dinner with the family.” And after EVERY performance where I or any of my students is on stage, we go eat. It’s now a habit, one that no one dares think about changing.

A few weeks ago, after my recital at Bethel Lutheran in Rochester, Minn., it was off to Beetles bar & grill. Yesterday, after my recital at Lenoir-Rhyne University, it was off to da Vinci’s in Hickory. Tonight, after Appalachian Chorale rehearsal, it will be to Chili’s for “family dinner.” And so it goes.

You’re probably hungry now. Call me, and we’ll go eat!